BH Fanfic: Aftermath ch 6-10 (over 15's only)

[Melissa Kane]

As ever, there are spoilers throughout this fanfiction so if you don't want to know what happens in the series, please do not read on.

And for those in the know, please let me know what you think as well as advising me on any spelling, typing and grammatical errors.
Thanks and enjoy!
'Lissa.

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Chapter Six

Mitchell sat back down, the breakfast bowl chinking against the wooden dining table, rattling the sthingy inside noisily. Annie brought over another coffee and the carton of milk. Mitchell shook some of the flakes out into the bowl and gave his friend a bright smile as he took the milk from her. He poured it over and tamped the cereal down with the back of the sthingy, making sure everything was nicely soaked. He was exhausted but he knew the food would help wake him back up. Deciding that the flakes were adequately soggy, he began eating.

Annie was watching him, trying to be inconspicuous about it but he noticed all the same. She did that occasionally but he never let on that he knew. All of a sudden, he paused in the middle of his breakfast and yawned widely, covering his mouth with a gloved hand. He didn't really breathe as in processing oxygen into his body but he'd discovered that yawning was a hard habit to break, even after almost a century of being dead.

“Long night.” Annie commented, leaning on the table, resting her chin in her palm. Mitchell nodded and swirled his breakfast with a sthingy. He took another large sthingyful of them to his lips and chewed enthusiastically. Annie smiled.

*****

George closed his bedroom door quietly, Nina was watching him leave with a serious look on her beautiful face. He hated that she had to have been drawn into this. He heard her get up from the bed, heard the squeaky spring squeak and loose floorboard rattle lightly as she padded into the bathroom. He was disheartened and more than a little emotional. And tired. Far tireder than he would normally be. He simply stood, not wanting to leave her but not wanting to crowd her either.

The chatter from the others floated up to him from downstairs and his stomach gave an almighty twist.

“George seems to be coping pretty well.” He heard Annie say, conversationally. If only she knew.

He could hear Mitchell chewing, smell the milk and cornflakes his friend was eating. “Thats what worries me.” Mitchell said through a mouthful of food. He simply stood, listening on legs made from jelly. “Part of me just wants him to have a reaction. To feel guilt or, or horror...”

George drew a slow breath. He was feeling something, but it wasn't anything Mitchell thought he should feel. And, he suspected, what he was feeling would worry his friends more.

“Maybe he's fine with it.” Annie replied.

“He killed someone.” Mitchell shot back emphatically. Even from up here, George could even sense the stress levels in the vampire's voice. He still couldn't quite believe what he'd done last night or how things had gone so far astray from his plan. Obviously Mitchell didn't know and George wasn't going to tell him.

Annie had said, “Does Herrick count as someone?”

Mitchell replied with almost the exact thought he himself had just formed. “To George, yeah.” That chilled him and the werewolf gave a small shudder. “We should keep an eye on him. There's no knowing how this might affect him.”

Already, below him, the conversation was carrying on. Annie sounded curious as she asked Mitchell “Why could I hear those voices?” Voices? George crept curiously to the top of the stairs to listen closer. Simultaneously, he was aware of Nina moving around the bathroom right next to him. He began sneaking down the stairs, listening to the conversation between his best friends in the world.

“The dead people. I never used to be able to do that.” She sounded mystified.

“You turned down death. No-one's ever done that. Its like it opened something in you.” Mitchell sounded more animated, not quite excited but better than he had been all morning.

“Like I have a whole new skill set.”

Mitchell let out a little laugh. “They should make an action figure of you.”

George reached the bottom of the stairs and straightened himself properly, as if he'd only just arrived. They didn't have to know he'd heard everything. They didn't have to know everything. He moved toward the kitchen as Annie and Mitchell were laughing together. Annie was the first to notice him as Mitchell buried himself in his breakfast. “How's Nina?” She asked softly.

George just stood near the fridge, gathering himself. “Okay.” He moved to sit down and removed his glasses. They were, of course, a part of his normal self. This time tonight, it would be a different story but right now, the strength of the lenses was really hurting his eyes. Plus, it gave him something to do with his hands, holding his spectacles in front of himself on the table. “I mean, a bit freaked out.” He sighed, tiredly.

Mitchell regarded him carefully. “You forget what its like, to be faced with all this.” Neither Annie nor George could disagree with that statement. The pretty young poltergeist began looking at George intently – he didn't think he could stand the both of them scrutinising him like this. But, her expression turned to one of interest.

“How long did it stand there and stare at her? What was that all about?”

From what nina had told him and he'd pieced together for himself while in the car, George had an idea. “Maybe there was something about her I recognised. A connection... that stopped me wanting to hurt her.”

Mitchell was smiling as George ended his musing. You're using “I” and “me” when you talk about the werewolf.” George frowned. “You didn't used to do that.”

The frown opened into a look of pleasant realisation. “All sorts of things are different now.” With a small smile, he added, “The last few months have been like living in dog years.”

Annie smiled back. She had never once heard George make a joke concerning his condition. Maybe he was right, all sorts of things were different now. With her. With him. With... Mitchell? She stretched and then cradled the mug on the table between her hands. “So what happens next, Mitchell?”

Taking up the idea, a weary-sounding George added his voice. “Yeah. Is it over? Are we safe now?”

The air was thick with cautious expectation. Mitchell thought for a moment. There were so many possibilities, too numerous to mention and some that would be devastating to his friends' newfound faith. But they had both proven that they were strong, brave and loyal. They deserved the truth, at least most of it. “Maybe Herrick was right. Maybe someone else will take up where he left off.” He sighed. “Maybe thats it. Maybe nothing happens now.” He considered for a moment. “None of us know what safety if like. What if this is it?”

The three of them sat in silence, Annie looking contentedly at her friends, George brightening with tentative hope, Mitchell contemplating their prospects. Maybe, together, they had a semblance of a future, of a life, normal or otherwise. Maybe George was right last night. Perhaps... love and a willingness to sacrifice all for each other was all that was all they needed to be “human” after all.

*****

Annie was left alone in the kitchen. Mitchell, upon finishing his breakfast, had gone to bed with exhaustion. George had gone to check on Nina who still hadn't come downstairs. Now, she was left pottering around the kitchen, washing up and tidying away the dishes. She wiped down the table with a spring in her step. Everything was coming together.

She stooped to take two steaks from the freezer, the ones George had asked her to put on the draining board of the sink to thaw out for tonight since it was his turn to make dinner, she paused. George had said nothing but Annie felt guilty about her cold reaction earlier yesterday. She was hurt, more than hurt, that he was leaving them in their time of need and had refused to say goodbye properly. She noticed, even through her anger, that he hadn't pursued it. She though he was running away, being a coward and abandoning them just when things were at their most dangerous. If she'd known...

The beef steaks hit the floor as she all of a sudden she realised something with an utterly horrifying clarity. When he was leaving, he'd said something like, “Someday you'll understand why I'm doing this.” Now she understood perfectly. He'd never intended to run away with Nina, never to run away at all. He was making them all think that, Nina included, so he could do what he felt he needed to do alone. And if he failed, at least he tried. He wasn't expecting to come back and if he hadn't... the last thing she would have done was push him away. She had come so close to losing them both in the past few days. She began to cry a little.

The sound of footsteps interrupted her and she flinched as George popped his head around the door frame. He saw Annie's miserable look and the steaks on the floor. The expression was part disappointment, part concern. He looked back over his shoulder. “One minute.” He said brightly and moved to crouched beside Annie to pick up the meat. “Hey, its alright. I'll give them to the lady at number 13. That snappy little spaniel of hers will like those. I'll pick something else up on the way back. I was just walking Nina home.”

As he stood, iced-over raw meat in hand, Annie impulsively threw her arms around him, making him yelp in surprise. “I'm sorry.” She murmured into the collar of his dark polo shirt, tears flooding down her cheeks. Awkwardly, and with no small amount of bemusement, George put his arms around her and hugged her as best he could with a sizeable chunk of dead cow in each hand.

[Melissa Kane]

Chapter Seven

The door of the house clicked closed behind them. George was frantically rubbing his hands together to get some circulation back while Nina, in spite of everything, was giggling a little. “What just happened?” She asked as the chuckles subsided. She was walking with her hands shoved in her pockets as George moved smoothly along beside.

George looked mystified. “I really don't know.” He was keeping an eye on her as they walked down the hill, away from the hospital. “She was upset about dropping the steaks, I think. Then she just... and I was left... with, with the um, meat.” Nina, he realised, had been withdrawing into herself with each word and was now barely listening. George licked his lips and slid his glasses down to the tip of his nose so he could see over the top of them for the time being. Already, though, he felt his eyesight weakening again. “Are you really okay?”

This was about his sixth time of asking her that today. “I'm fine.” She snapped, stopping in the street and turning to face him while extracting her hands from her pockets and spreading them wide. “Just stop asking me that! I'm fine!” She winced, regretting the movement and flexing the right hand to try to make the pain ease off.

George couldn't fail to notice. “Wh... whats wrong with your arm?” He asked lightly, a little afraid of provoking another savage reaction but too concerned to ignore it.

“Nothing.” It came out harshly, a little too fast. She tried again, slowing herself down and working hard to soften her tone as she thrust her hands back into her pockets and turned to walk on. This was George, as he'd always been, yet he was different. “Honestly, its nothing. Really. Nothing you need to worry about.” She was tense and pained. She set off walking, steps turning to strides as she rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, leaving George standing in the street.

He was left watching the way she had gone but for the life in him, couldn't immediately make himself move. She was all over the place, one minute laughing, the next angry, the next snarling like a... like a wolf? In a heartbeat, she was being first warm then ice cold toward him. She was unsettled, as she obviously would be after learning that her boyfriend becomes a ravening monster under the light of the full moon. She had every right to be distant and upset but he felt there was something more. This doubt spurred him on. As he set off to catch her up, though still not sure if it was wise to do so, George failed to notice the figure watching from the passenger side of a stationary car on the street opposite.

“Nina, wait.” George caught her up easily, jogging along and barely breathing hard, but he wanted to stop and properly talk with her. He didn't touch her and she didn't slow her pace until she got near her door. “Nina.” She stopped at the foot of the steps to her door and turned. Now that he had her attention, George wasn't sure how to say what he needed to. “Can we talk inside?” He asked, indicating her door while looking around the street, suddenly quite nervous. There was a strange and unsettling scent in the air.

Nina sighed. She knew they had to stop beating about the bush. “Come on then.” She said resignedly.

*****

Annie sat on the couch, idly reading the Bristol Evening Post from the previous night. She had read all the local headlines and was buried in the entertainment section. She was up to the cinema listings for the following week when she looked up to see someone standing in front of her. She gasped and stood up, reflexively disappearing and reappearing near the door. “Oh God, Michael, you scared me.”

The other ghost grinned. “I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have just turned up like this but I had to see you again.”

For some reason, notwithstanding the fright he'd just given her, Annie felt herself smiling back. “And whys that?” She asked, approaching him slowly.

Michael looked her up and down appreciatively. “Well, you're pretty, clever, funny, caring and... and you and John really helped me. Thankyou.”

“John? Oh, you mean Mitchell.”

“Yeah, Mitchell. Sorry.” Michael took a chance to look around walking across the room and standing right in front of where the door to the afterlife had appeared. Annie realised it had only been three days ago since she'd forgone the chance to cross over, yet it felt like a lifetime. “Is he... here?”

The question from the curious dead man brought her back to reality. “Pardon? Oh, oh, he's sleeping right now. Long night, y'know?” Annie shrugged with a soft, nervous giggle then paused as Michael's words finally sunk in. “Helped you? How?”

*****

After shedding their jackets and hanging them up near the door, George sat on Nina's leather couch, perched near the edge with his hands clasped together between his knees, watching her intently. He was nervous of the atmosphere he had been aware of outside but right now, in here, he was finding the impending death knell of yet another relationship thanks to this f**king curse almost unbearable. Meanwhile, Nina winced as she sat on the chair, purposely sitting well away from George who continued to watch her sadly but made no move to approach. She was grateful that he was giving her space.

Sitting alone in the bathroom at George's house, examining the scratches on her arm and the implications of them, Nina had felt lost, fear and shock made her hands shake wildly. They, the claw marks, stung sharply if she moved too fast or too far and continually ached. He hadn't meant to pass this on to her, she knew that deep down. She understood that he didn't have a malicious bone in his body. Quite the contrary, he had tried more than once to leave her and she'd assumed it was that he'd been hurt by another woman, scared into submission by her mistreatment of him. To find that it was not someone else but his own wild self who had him too afraid to fully commit to her was devastating. When he told her he was a man with a secret, she could never have imagined this.

Though she understood and forgave him, she just couldn't see him without remembering that animal. So here she was. 24 years old and destined to be a monster come the next full moon. It was apparently going to hurt worse than anything she had ever felt before and then she would be a ravenous beast.

“There aren't words.” Those three small, inoffensive words resounded in her head, almost above all others. They only came second behind, “Scratched by a werewolf.” She'd vomited twice as the realisation hit her, her stomach had begun to rebel at the thought. After she had evacuated her stomach contents, it restored some of her composure. Thinking a little clearer, she had raided the first aid cabinet, which was suspiciously well stocked with all kinds of sophisticated dressings and creams, and placed padding over her injuries.

Bringing herself back to now and looking around her flat, she felt tears well in her eyes. In her own home, she could finally let everything sink in. This was the place she had first felt safe, away from him and the abuse. It was here that she established herself a new home, career and life, where she'd healed herself and learned to be a stronger, happier person. But now she felt her strength leaving her, she had to meet the one kind and decent man who treated her with respect – and he turned out to be worse than all of them in his own way. “I don't think I can cope with all this.” Nina mumbled, dropping her face into her hands.

Unable to bear her misery for a moment longer, George moved and knelt in front of her. He placed a gentle hand on her knee. This made her look from behind her hands. He was upset for her, sympathetic, afraid, helpless and concerned all at once – and every emotion showed on his face and especially in his pale eyes. “Nina. You're so much stronger than you think. If anyone can cope with all this, you can.” He grasped her hand as she lowered it and she all but yelped in pain when he pulled it toward her. George almost fell backwards in surprise but he held on. He looked at her face then back at her arm. He peeled her dark purple sleeve back gently. He didn't ask what had hurt her. It was almost like he could sense the wounds underneath, dressed though they were and slathered in a coating of antiseptic cream.

He rolled her sleeve up to her elbow and regarded the professionally applied dressing. There was an odd, still moment with Nina watching George as he ran his fingers over the surface of the bandage. She didn't move or try to pull away despite it hurting as he held her fingers in his own and removed the dressing with his free hand. Four perfect, ragged claw marks ran diagonally across her forearm. He looked up her slowly, tears shining but not yet falling as the hand holding her fingers began to shake. “You got this last night.” There was no question there as he laid his hand, palm flat, over the wound and purposely touching it directly. He was shaking his head slowly. “I'm... Jesus I'm sorry. Nina I... I'm just so sorry.” Now he knew exactly why she couldn't bear for him to touch her. He'd made her a monster.

He let go of her arm and in a smooth single movement, retreated across the room from her, tears falling easily, solely for her. As his back hit the wall, he let the whole revelation in. She was now a Lyco, just like him. Another life blighted, if not utterly destroyed, by this curse.

[Melissa Kane]

Chapter Eight

Mitchell jerked awake suddenly. He flicked the covers back off his bed, welcoming the cool air from the partly open window on his bare chest and stomach. There was still a small, reddish-brown scar near his right collarbone, but even that would be gone in a days time. The memories of how it got there, and more importantly how it was erased, would never leave him.

He'd dreamt about Josie, but not as she was just yesterday but at the time they had dated. With her bright, soulful eyes, beautiful long dark hair and a smile that had effortlessly charmed the most charming of vampires into submission. The detail that the dream came with was startling – full colour and as clear as the day the memory was made. But it had turned dark. Josie became a red head thanks to his imagination and as he slept, he knew where this would lead. The red-headed woman with Josie's perfect face succumbed to him, he bowed his head and fed from her but not gently, in his hatred for the woman, he tore her throat out as he did when the dream descended into a nightmare. As he set to work dismembering her, he woke.

Mitchell shook his head, to dislodge the persistent images. He needed company to drive them away. He slid out of bed and wriggled his toes on the cold floor. Clad only in boxers, the cold air raised the hairs on his body. He reached down and grasped his discarded jeans, pulling them on. He had spilt a little milk on his t-shirt at breakfast, something George had immediately pointed out much to Annie's amusement. He selected a shirt from the pile of ironed but not yet put away garments and slid that on before taking raiding his messy underwear drawer for socks. He had, this time at least, put his dirty socks in the linen basket inside the door of the bathroom. He didn't want a repeat of the debate his failure to do so last time – George had had a bit of a screech about it 'cause Mitchell brought down an armful of washing just after he'd finished. It always amused him, the wide array of things that really got on George's nerves. Mitchell grinned at the thought as he pulled on his black socks, slipped on his boots and idly toyed with the idea that he should take his washing out of the basket after all. The nightmare was beginning to fade, thankfully, but good company was still foremost in his thoughts. After coffee.

As he padded downstairs, Mitchell could hear voices talking, the female one was obviously Annie but the male one was definitely not George. The tone was too low and almost musical. He'd heard that voice recently but couldn't quite place it. As he entered the open plan living room, he saw Annie sitting on the couch with a dark-skinned man and smiled, hiding his confusion. “Michael?”

The ghost turned and smiled. “John. Hello.” Michael stood and held out a hand. Mitchell shook it.

“Hi again. Wh... what are you doin' here?” He realised immediately that this sounded impolite. “Sorry, I meant that its a bit of a surprise. You being here. How'd you find us?”

Michael looked pleased with himself. “Its not difficult to find you two. And I wanted to thank you, for earlier. It meant a lot.”

“You're welcome, though I'm not sure what we did.” Mitchell indicated for Michael to sit down. The ghost complied and sat back on the couch, arms spread over the back of the couch with one ankle brought up to rest on his knee, making Mitchell have to sit on the chair opposite. In the denim jeans and jacket and a plain white t-shirt beneath, he looked every inch a James Dean clone and a little different to how he'd appeared in the hospital canten earlier. Michael was almost touching Annie's shoulders with one hand until she leaned forward to talk across the gap between her and her housemate.

“Michael was just saying that until he met us this morning, he didn't know he was dead. And he'd heard about a ghost and a vampire that lived together from some friends but hadn't been able to find us.” Annie gushed.

“So that sounds like you didn't just happen across us at the hospital.” Mitchell commented, wondering why there was no mention of a werewolf in the list. That should have been more surprising than a vampire and a ghost – especially since, at the hospital, he has clearly said others had mentioned him, Mitchell, and his companions, not companion. This made him suspicious.

“I've been wandering for a long time, I suppose. But you made me realise why I was so lost but drawn to people who I knew really weren't people. Well, no, not that. I mean who... I knew they were different. You two sort of showed me that kindness exists as well as, well, the other stuff.”

He flicked his gaze subtly to Annie who seemed quite taken with this new spirit already. Maybe it was the cool factor that was drawing her attention. For some reason, Mitchell was getting an odd feeling about this whole situation. Michael's excuses weren't ringing true. “Give me a minute, I need a coffee. Annie, will you get the milk, please?”

Mitchell stood up and headed to the kitchen. “Excuse me a minute.” Annie apologised as she tagged along. Once in the kitchen, Mitchell turned to face Annie, hidden from Michael's sight near the fridge. He had already noticed that it was growing dark out. He'd slept for quite a long time today, it seemed. “Mitchell?”

Annie was standing near to him, close enough to touch. She too was hidden behind the fridge. “Mitchell, is something wrong?” She was whispering as she peeped back through the archway. Michael was still stretched out, as comfortable as you like, looking around the room from the sofa.

The vampire shook his head, also lowering his voice. “I dunno. Something's not ringing true about him.”

Annie looked back. “In what way?”

Mitchell paused. “Nothing I can put my finger on. It just feels like he's not telling the truth.” He touched Annie's upper arm. “You like him?”

Annie bit her lip. “A little, yes.”

“Just be careful.” He replied turning to switch on the kettle.

“Need any help?” Michael asked, poking his head through the hatch into the kitchen. Smooth as you like, Mitchell looked up and smiled. Annie had seen this sudden switch from one emotion to another before, the sliding on of another mask to hide what was happening. He'd learned this over the years, she assumed.

“Nah, we're good. Its just Annie's got this habit, she makes loads of tea and coffee then hides the milk.” He laughed good naturedly and winked at her. Annie smiled, but it was cooler than before. She was torn between her attraction to Michael and her trust in Mitchell. “We'll only be a couple of minutes.” Mitchell added, grabbing the coffee jar and a sthingy from the pot by the kettle.

Michael nodded and withdrew after allowing himself a lingering look at Annie. He instead moved to the cabinet behind the door and began nosing through their combined CD collection which was, in a word, eclectic. Mitchell, standing by the kettle as it began to bubble, watching from the corner of his eye as the ghost began removing random cases, looking at the song lists on the reverse, then putting them back in different slots. That was going to drive George mad when he saw it – it could be quite entertaining.

Annie fetched the milk from the fridge but before she could put the carton on the counter, there came the rattling sound of a key in the door. George entered quickly, shutting and locking the door behind him. He looked stressed and pale.

Michael, standing to his left, stepped toward the kitchen while turning a CD case over in his hands. Before Mitchell could shout a warning, George turned quickly... and walked right through Michael. The CD case clattered to the floor, startling the werewolf. Michael looked stunned too. “Wow, must have lost solidity for a moment.” The ghost mused as he bent down to pick up the case.

At the very same time, George also bent down and closed his fingers around the corner of the case. He shivered violently but clearly couldn't see the hand overlaying his own. George lifted the CD and put it back in an empty slot. In fact, Mitchell realised, it wasn't just George. Very obviously, neither could see the other considering the momentary bemused look on Michael's face at the floating CD.

“Y'alright, George?” Mitchell called, concerned.

“Yeah.” He replied, and hurried up the stairs without so much as removing his coat. The tone was dull and not at all convincing. Mitchell and Annie shared a look.

“You have doors and music that move on their own? You two are fascinating.” Michael grinned, unfazed. “Never seen the likes.”

“That was weird!” Annie whispered in Mitchell's ear.

“Will you make the brew and look after him? I'm going to see whats wrong with George.” Mitchell whispered back, looking worried and hurrying out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

[Melissa Kane]

Chapter Nine

In the street opposite the distinctively pink-painted end-of-terrace house in Totterdown, a pale yellow Toyota, battered through what looked like years of general wear and tear, came to a halt. Inside, two figures lingered, leaving the dipped headlights on.

“Is this it?” The dark-eyed man in the passenger seat asked, a light Scots accent adding colour to his otherwise faultless English accent. He leaned forward to look past the driver at the curtained windows. Light peeked from just above the curtain rail but otherwise the house looked to be in darkness.

“According to the records, yes Sir.” The driver confirmed with a vague oriental lilt which matched his Eastern features perfectly. “They've been making quite a bit of noise in local circles lately.”

The passenger nodded. “Thought one of them had sensed us earlier.” He narrowed his eyes which seemed at odds with the almost white blonde hair atop of his head. “Certainly something made it nervous.”

“They're always nervous, Sir.” The driver commented drily, adjusting the chain at his throat that rested just over his t-shirt's collar. It bore a small gold insignia which resembled an upper case K and a fussy, decorative lowercase e – it was, in fact, a Japanese kanji.

“Lets not make them moreso. You know how they tend to bolt for cover at the first sign of trouble.”

“Sir.” The driver nodded and took the car out of neutral, pulling out into the otherwise dead street and turning down the sidestreet at the corner of the house.

*****

George's bedroom door was just swinging closed as Mitchell hit the top of the stairs. He waited a beat or two before knocking. He got no response. Knocking again, he spoke. “George?” Nothing. Tentatively, he opened the door. His friends jacket was haphazardly cast over the bed.

He heard a low sigh from the bathroom above the running of water – George's was the only room that was ensuite. Easier for him to clean up after his transformation though there was a second door for general access. Mitchell rounded the corner and saw his friend splashing water on his face at the sink. There was a jerky severity to the movement as he rubbed at his skin which was unsettling.

George kept his head down over the sink, but his hands stopped moving. He gripped the edge of the sink shakily, breathing slowly but deeply. Mitchell just stood and watched, waiting as George tried to get himself together.

“What happened? You've been gone for a while.” He asked lightly.

Last time a woman he loved found out about his condition, his reaction had been similar. He's withdrawn into himself for a short while. If George and Nina had split up, Annie and he were on clean-up duty again as well as guilt-watch. George stood upright and faced him. Now, under the harshness of the fluorescent bathroom light, his friend looked paler still, the worry lines on his forehead deeper than ever. He shook his head, unable to put his thoughts into words.

Mitchell followed the awkward silence with another question, the only one really that sprang to mind. “Are you and Nina okay?”

George's shoulders sagged. “I'm not sure.” Another sigh. It spoke volumes to Mitchell. “It... its gotten complicated.” He sounded defeated.

Mitchell backed up and moved the coat, sitting on the edge of the bed. “So what did happen?”

George moved wearily to the bed and sat down. “We went to her place.” He didn't mention the small spat they'd had on the way. He knew, now, the cause of it and couldn't blame her in the slightest. He looked toward Mitchell. “We... talked. Both cried a bit. Talked some more. Did..?” He struggled to form the question. Mitchell noted the slight shake in George's hands. “Did you notice anything last night?”

“Nothing springs to mind. Why? What kind of 'anything'?” Mitchell replied calmly. George searched his friend's face for anything, any hint of an outright lie or a partially concealed truth.

“The kind of anything where I, I may have... accidentally... scratched... her.” The latter words were wrenched from him, every syllable laced with pain and grief. George sank his head into his hands miserably.

“Oh Christ.” Mitchell couldn't think of a single thing to say that could make this any easier. “When?” As soon as he said it, he knew how stupid it could sound. Obviously it was last night. He had meant it to mean when during the course of events.

For a while, George didn't answer, mired in the guilt and grief that was slowly breaking him down. Mitchell put a hand on his friend's shoulders, rubbing soothingly. This was the thing, the other thing George had been fighting so hard against. He'd always been afraid of passing this on, horrified by the prospect that he might kill someone. They were, in effect, his golden rules, never to be broken. Now, in one single night, while trying to protect those he loved the most, he had shattered both rules. God only knew how this would affect him mentally. For the first time, Mitchell was actually afraid that the lost wolf he'd befriended would unravel completely. Or worse, simply give in and let the wolf take over – to become hedonistic and opportunistic like Tully and many of the other Lyco's Mitchell had encountered over the years.

However, when George next spoke, still with his head down, he sounded remarkably calm. Almost stable. “When I pushed her away, I grazed her arm.” He took a deep breath and let it out with a huffing sound. “It won't ever end, will it?”

*****

“Did you do that?” Michael asked, settling close to Annie on the couch as she put the hot cup of coffee on the table ready for Mitchell's return. She tried to move over a little but the arm of the sofa was in her way. Michale made sure his hip touched hers.

“The CD? I... I don't know.” She said, still confused by the oddity of what had just happened. She didn't think mentioning a werewolf was a good idea, not given Mitchell's concerns.

He smiled at her. “Talents that you don't realise you have. Even in death, you can be surprised, eh?”

“Constantly.” Annie agreed, relaxing a little more. “Could you just, move up a little? Its a bit crowded.

“Oh, sorry.” Michael laughed and shuffled to the other end of the couch immediately. “I don't mean to crowd you. Its just that I don't meet many people like you.”

“You were looking for us, though, right? You said before...”

Michael interrupted, all of a sudden serious. “Some of the people I know pointed you out. I'm sorry. I had to lie about knowing I was dead – but I needed to know what kind of people you were. I mean, John was with those other ones so much, I kinda thought you were with them too. The cruel ones. But then, I saw you. I was watching when you went in and let all those people out. I knew then that you were a good person and the way you are with John, I knew he had to be good too. You can't be too careful. Where's the other one? He was with you for a while but he disappeared a few months ago.” He clicked his fingers. “I can't remember his name. Its a G name.”

“George?” Annie asked.

“No, no. That sounds wrong. Juh, Guh... oh wait, Gilbert, thats it! He was a friend, right?”

Annie was, she had to admit, taken aback. “Yeah, yeah he was.” She found herself smiling fondly at the memory of the time she and the dour 1980's ghost spent together. “Gilbert moved on. He went through his door, it appeared right over there.” She pointed to the corner of the living room.

“Door?”

“When you resolve your death, you find out why you're trapped her and fix it, a door to the... a door appears.”

Michael raised his head, nodding understanding. “I see. I remember a tunnel, but no door. So thats why there's only been the two of you for so long now.”

Two? He really had no idea about George at all. “Do you... remember anything else? About when you died, I mean.”

Michael stared at her, meeting her eyes and holding her gaze. “The men?” Annie found herself nodding slowly as Michael shuddered violently.

[Melissa Kane]

Chapter Ten

Footsteps descended the stairs and Mitchell appeared, looking over to the living room and mildly surprised to find only Annie sitting there looking at him expectantly.

“Its alright. Michael's gone.” Annie chipped in immediately. She jumped to her feet and scooped up the mug of cold coffee in her hands. “We were just talking about being dead and he decided to go.”

“Without saying goodbye.” Mitchell wasn't particularly worried.

Annie drew level with him on the way to the kitchen and peered up the stairs. “What happened?” She was concerned.

“Its not gone well.” Mitchell replied softly looking over her shoulder, following her gaze. Annie turned back and was a hair's breadth from having her lips touching his. She was startled but didn't move. Mitchell drew back first, a small smile gracing his pale lips. “Sorry.”

“Its okay.” She whispered, a vague disappointment sweeping over her as Mitchell turned and headed to the kitchen. She sighed and followed.

“So thats why he was gone for so long?” Bringing them back to a safe topic was best. “Have they split up?” She asked sympathetically, putting the cold beverage on the counter and distractedly taking up a new cup. She began fussing around the kitchen as Mitchell withdrew a tin of soup from the cupboard.

“Not yet. Thats one good thing.” Mitchell lamented as he opened one of the cupboards, looking for a pan.

Annie stopped, letting the sthingy she was holding rest inside the mug as she faced Mitchell. “There's something else?”

He drew in a breath. “Nina was scratched by him.” He let that sink in.

Shocked, Annie sat down in one of the chairs at the table. “Oh God. Poor Nina.” She gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. “And George must be feeling so guilty.”

“From what he said, it sounds like they've both taken it pretty hard.” Mitchell continued. “George is... he's devastated.”

“I'll go and see him.” Annie said, rising to her feet with urgency.

“I dunno if thats a good idea. He was going to have a shower then I told him a good night's rest will put everything in perspective.”

“I just want to... to check in on him. Make sure he's still okay.” Mitchell couldn't argue with her - she was a worried as he himself was. He was their friend, after all, and if she wanted to try to reassure him, it couldn't do any harm.

“Just be careful he's not still in the shower.” Mitchell called after her as she left.

*****

Nina sat huddled on the chair, the night drawing in but with her lights still off. She just couldn't move. The sandwiches and tea George had made for her were left untouched on the table. The tea had a very pale brownish white scum on the surface where the cold milk had risen to the top having been left for so long. She'd found herself staring at it for the last hour since George had gone home. He had offered to stay with her but she had rather savagely told him to leave her alone.

As soon as the words had left her lips, she regretted them. And the guilty, wounded puppy look on George's face made her feel even worse. He'd not said a word as he gathered his coat from by the door and left, though she had sensed him linger at the door, probably looking back at her. She flinched as the door clicked closed and wanted to get up and call him back. Instead, she remained there, frozen and turning over everything in her mind.

He had told her everything. The whole story of how he'd become infected, the memory clearly still hurting him even now. He'd told her all about the vampire hoardes living in Bristol and how they were the danger posed by vampires who could easily sense, what was the word? A lyco? Yes, he had called himself a Lyco – presumably a derivative of the term lycanthrope. He told her how they would attack and kill people like them and when she asked why, with a tremor in her voice that she hated, he hesitated in telling her that they did it for no other reason than for entertainment.

She had asked how come he could trust Mitchell and be victimised by other vampires. Mitchell, he had replied with no small measure of pride in his friend, was unusual for a vampire. He wanted to stay off blood and to stop killing in spite of the temptations the other vampires would put in his path. He didn't want to take the easy route and give in. George has sighed at this point. “We're two of a kind in that way.”

George went on to tell her every detail of the encounter he'd had with another werewolf whose name she couldn't now recall but who had sounded unpleasant. He even reminded her that she had met him, briefly, when she came to apologise after their first, slightly incendiary meeting. In all honesty, she could not remember what he looked like though if she ever saw him again, she might. She saw so many people in the course of her day to day life, she rarely could bring to mind the faces of every single person she'd ever met. George had shaken his head and asserted that he didn't expect him to ever come back.

He had shyly admitted that she was the first person he had ever told that this other one was the werewolf that made him. That surprised her since she assumed that he and Mitchell had no secrets. At this he had frozen with some deep seated realisation. He wouldn't tell her what it was, only that it was something the other one had said would happen that did. Haltingly he went on to explain how he contained himself during the transformations. Sometimes he would lock himself away in a secure room in a forgotten area in the basement of the hospital. Sometimes he would take to the woods on the outskirts of Bristol and change there.

Nina was taking in details, but each new thing made her feel nauseous. She'd learned all she wanted to about last night. Christ, was it only 24 hours ago? The world had changed so much in such a short time. At this point her stomach chose to remind her, at great volume, that she'd not eaten all day. Making an effort to uncurl herself, she took up one of the cheese and pickle sandwiches, which George had sweetly cut into neat triangles. In spite of everything she'd learned today, the loving way the food had been prepared made her smile.

It was one of the sweet touches George always had. That single thought pulled her up short. She was wrong. No, the world itself hadn't changed at all, only she had. She and her perception of it. She bit into the sandwich and was surprised at how the sweet pickle made her hungrier than she's been for a long time. She had devoured half the mountain of food before she realised what she was doing. The food in her stomach somehow made her feel better. Not that it could take away everything she'd heard, seen and had happen, but she was beginning to see things in perspective.

Nina looked toward the phone then flicked her gaze to the clock on the wall. Was it too late to call?