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Post by Melissa Kane on May 30, 2009 20:48:03 GMT
And Then What? Chapter Six
George twitched in his sleep, curled as he was upright against the wall near the abandoned desk in the ruined office he now called home. In his mind's eye, he was travelling. Flying. Gliding on the winds. He'd always liked these flying dreams, even from childhood. They were one of the few times in his life he didn't have to be anything but happy. He was floating, high in the air, looking down on the world below as life went on. Cars drove on streets and people walked on pavements and in his sleep, George smiled at the notion that they looked like the players in PacMan. A yellow car, his dream's very own PacMan, stood out from all the other drab colours around and as it drove past a vibrant pink house he recognised, a disembodied voice broke into his dream. “They eat ghosts, don't they?” The tone was rich, melodious, yet somehow sinister. It effectively shattered the sweet feeling of freedom.
His brow knotted slightly as he fought to hold onto the pleasant dream but already he was falling, hurtling back down to Earth and expecting to land with a loud thump. Part of him recalled the idea that was commonly held that if you ever hit the ground during dreams of falling, you died in real life. He'd always pooh-poohed the idea with the reasonable question, “How would you know?” - or at least he had until he met Annie. But as the ground rushed toward him, he could see faces and details now, he began to wonder if it were true after all.
He frowned and his eyes flickered open momentarily. The last of the dream dissipated. He hadn't hit the ground, though he couldn't now remember why that was important. He realised he must have drifted off to sleep sometime after he ran out of tears, the restlessness and tension of the last few days finally getting to him as his body got one of the things it was craving. The skin of his forehead furrowed deeper as he realised, in the brief moment he had opened his eyes, that he'd seen something. Carefully opening his eyes again, he could now see a human form silhouetted in the doorway of the office. Scratch that, a man-shaped form. In here, it wasn't likely to be human. George squinted, blinking harshly at the backlit figure, still shaking off the dregs of sleep.
His forehead smoothed out as he recognised the man. Part of him was actually insanely happy to see him, another part was inevitably feeling guilty and a third part of him was dreading what came next.
“Always stirring thing up, aren't ya, George?” The man asked nonchalantly .
*****
“So, what are you both doing tonight?” Annie asked chirpily at the table, her fingers laced under her chin. At least her ghostly form was holding steady now – but Mitchell was well aware of the scare the incident the other night had given her. He, however, couldn't answer her cheerful question right now. Nina and Annie had collaborated and made a casserole on the day off and Mitchell had to admit, it was really tasty. There were none of the flourishes of seasoning and garnishes when George did these types of things but it was wholesome and it kept away the gnawing craving for blood. It was so good, Mitchell was halfway through his second bowl already, eating like a machine.
Nina, a little more sedately, was nonetheless eating hungrily. It took a moment for either of them to reply. When they did, it was Nina who spoke first. “Well, I'm on the early shift until three tomorrow then I'm on call from then until ten. So... after this, I'm going to have to go home and sleep.”
“Or you could stay here?” Annie posed the invitation as a question as she glanced over at Mitchell. He paused before simply nodding while sthingying some more delicious casserole into his mouth.
Nina shook her head. “I'll sleep better in my own bed, if you don't mind.” She said softly, the implication clear. The constant reminders of George kept her awake, wondering and imagining all sorts of things.
Annie's cheerful demeanour was slightly displaced. “And what about you, Mitchell? Its your day off tomorrow, isn't it?”
Mitchell suspected Annie was growing scared of being left alone – her confidence wasn't as strong as it had been. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. We can, I dunno, have a quiet night in, if you want. Get in some snacks, watch telly, curl up away from the rest of the world for a little while. Thanks for that, by the way, Nina. We owe you for lending us your spare TV.”
Nina nodded that it was alright as she pushed her empty bowl away before picking up her cup of coffee and sipping at it. “It was sitting in the spare bedroom, doing nothing. My brother never comes to stay any more so why not.”
“Why doesn't he stay over?” Annie asked curiously.
Nina pulled a face and said matter-of-factly. “Because he's an ar*e and doesn't care about anyone but himself.” Very obviously she and her brother had had a falling out somewhere down the line, but something in her tone told Mitchell and Annie she missed having him come to visit.
“Anyway, since I'm off tomorrow, why don't we do something then? I have a... a thing on later but I'm free all morning.” He smiled brightly.
“A thing? Is it a thing I can come to with you?”
Mitchell shook his head. “Sorry, not this time.” A knowing look came over Annie and she glanced at Nina who was eating and listening but with half an eye on the time.
“Okay. So where can we go in the morning?” She asked then moving to a feigned conversational tone, she continued. “What time is this 'thing'?”
Mitchell finished off the last sthingyful of his bowl and considered a third. “One thirty so we have loads of time.” Licking his lips and enjoying the thin sauce that he tasted there, he thought. “Is there anything you particularly want to do?”
Annie let herself smile self-consciously. Mitchell always loved that smile, she looked like a little girl, all innocent and sweet like her nature. “Well, there's a fair on in Dame Emily Park...”
Mitchell grinned and replied before she could finish her sentence. “That sounds like a great idea.” He said excitedly then cast a commiserating look in Nina's direction. “Its a shame you're working. You could have come too.”
“Win a teddy for me and I'll be fine.” She actually laughed. It was her first honest laugh in a few days and was good to hear.
“For the fair lady, I'll do my best.” Mitchell replied chivalrously.
*****
It was still light on the walk home. Over-protectively, Mitchell had offered to drive her back to her place but she had refused saying she needed to walk off the casserole anyway. Both he and Annie were being good to her. They were trying to help, of course, and include her in everything they did. But, to be perfectly honest, she was finding all the attention annoying. No, not annoying. But it did get on her nerves when she just wanted to be alone and get her head around everything. She still had this mad urge to go, to just run. Where she would go and what she would do weren't foremost in her mind. All she knew was that her need to get away from people, cities, other things, was powerful.
But she was not a woman to flee her responsibilities or lose her head in a crisis. She was a nurse and she had sick people to care for. She had her mum and dad over in Chipping Sodbury – they were both getting on a bit so she couldn't just leave them, either. There were her friends who, admittedly, she had been neglecting lately.
And, of course, there was Mitchell and Annie who as well as trying to help and protect her, seemed to be relying on her, too. That whole thing with Annie disappearing and reappearing was weird and a little scary. Speaking of scary, she turned around quickly and caught sight of a shadow disappearing between two houses behind her. It could have been something or nothing, but she wasn't willing to take that chance, not considering what had happened. She began to walk home that little bit faster, just shy of a run. As she rounded the corner of her street, she succumbed and broke into a run, made a mad dash for her house.
*****
“I thought it was you, before.” George said, suppressing a yawn. Now was most definitely not the time.
“Yeah. I was waiting for you to realise. Didn't think you'd have forgotten me so quickly.” Tully said, sitting himself down comfortably against the wall opposite George. The younger werewolf could clearly make out the facial scars Tully bore diagonally across his forehead and onto the bridge of his nose. They were healed as far as they ever would. Wounds inflicted by other werewolves would never heal completely away. It was part of the curse.
Dully, George replied. “How could I forget?” He was sick to his stomach and tired of all of it.
“Oh, now don't be like that! Its not all bad. Two squares a day, snacks, a shower every two or three days, no-one bothers you.” Tully winked. “That Zhen's a bit of alright. Up for some fun, if you get me.” George fixed him with his best disgusted look at which Tully laughed. “Your face is a picture.”
“So's yours.” George shot back humourlessly.
This, Tully took in his stride. “Yeah, you did a good job of making me pretty.” He quipped.
George had to smile in the face of such good cheer. Tully had a way of just making you feel good sometimes. But George knew that deep down his maker despised the wolf and what it did to him as much as he himself had but he always tried putting a positive spin on it. George had to admire that in him. It made such an unlikable man oddly likable... until you knew him better. “It was a tough job but someone had to do it.”
Tully grew serious. “You know, I was proud of you.”
“But not any more.” George finished what he thought was Tully's sentence.
“I still am. That back there took guts. Not many people stand up to Yuri. He's been a werewolf for something like fifteen years so he knows stuff the rest of us can only guess at.”
Curiously, George had to ask. “Stuff? What stuff?”
“He's been around, y'know? All over Europe, Russia and Canada. He's learned how to really be at ease with all this. George, he can teach us more than just tricks. He transforms and barely feels it – can you imagine not going through all that agony every month?” Tully sounded excited and awed. It sounded too good to be true to George and in his experience if something sounded that way, it meant it probably was.
“You only have his word that it is painless.” He pointed out.
“I've been here for six months or so – they caught me that morning you left me behind.” Tully noticed the shiver and the strange look George gave him, but forged on regardless. “But I'm not bitter. Because I've seen a wolf who can do it all. Yuri doesn't have to scream like we do, he doesn't feel the pain. George, we can be like him. But he has to be able to trust everyone in the pack first.”
The notion was still too good to be true and something hungry lurked in Tully's eyes that George really didn't like the look of. “Why would you think I want to be part of the pack?” George asked haughtily, subtly getting to his feet and picking up the blanket. “All I want is to go home. I don't care about the pack or this supposed painless-transformation.” Those were outright lies. He did feel a connection with the other werewolves regardless of the disagreements and personality clashes, he wouldn't want any of them to be harmed. And as for a painless change, that would be number two on his wish list right after not having to transform at all. But he was committed to the lie as soon as the words left his lips. “Curses are meant to hurt, the punishment is for a reason. But I know where I have to be and thats where I'm going to go. You stay with them. You wanted other werewolves and you have them.” He faltered. He too wanted one other werewolf. One he could no longer have. When he continued, there was less vehemence in his voice. “Me, I have all I need in that house in Bristol and come hell or high water, I'm going to get back there someday.”
Tully too was now on his feet. He looked saddened and that look on his face threw George. “If that's your decision...”
“It is.”
“...then there's not much else to say, is there? But the only way werewolves get out of here is dead.” Tully left the office and headed back across to the others slowly. George stood and watched him leave with a new sense of purpose. He would prove Tully wrong. He'd find a way out, for all of them, and then get back home to his friends. Or die trying.
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Post by Melissa Kane on May 30, 2009 20:48:49 GMT
”And Then What?” Chapter Seven
As they walked into the park the following morning, Annie was clinging to Mitchell's arm. She really had lost most of the confidence she had built up over the months they had been living together in the House. The vampire knew he'd have his work cut out helping her to be strong again like she had been not so long ago. But it'd be worth it in the end. Annie let out a sigh. “You okay?” Mitchell asked, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. Annie was happy to have felt it but her mumbled reply was muted in its enthusiasm. “You don't sound it.”
Annie stopped abruptly. “We shouldn't be doing this.” Mitchell cast her a bemused look and turned to face her properly. “Going out, having fun, its not right. We should be out looking, doing something.”
“And if we all keep getting stressed out like this, we're not going to do ourselves any good. A little relaxation now will give us a clearer perspective later. Then we can find him together.”
“Find who?” A gentle female voice joined their private conversation and they both spun around to see a woman leaning calmly against the trunk of a tree, under the shadow of an overhanging branch. Her hair was pulled back from her face, a pale and delicate face bearing large, dark brown tinted sunglasses. She wore a pink blouse, demure white-and-grey houndstooth ladies business suit jacket with matching skirt and calf-length grey stiletto boots. She looked quite different from how Annie remembered her. It took a moment for the recognition to hit her.
Annie blurted before she could stop herself. “What are you doing here?”
Mitchell had the rare honour of being completely out of the loop here as he looked between Annie and the vampire who was vaguely familiar but no-one he could really identify. “You two know each other?”
“This is Julia.” Annie announced breathlessly, a little surprised.
“The Julia who attacked George and Nina? The ex-Julia?” The realisation dawned. It felt like so long ago that he and Annie were shocked by George's resigned revelation that Julia was among the ones who attacked them. It was barely eight days ago. Eight days and the world had once more gone into a snowstorm-like maelstrom.
“Well, thanks to him, I'm now the very ex Julia.” Julia spat viciously, standing up. Out of the shadow she strode, coming to face both of them fearlessly. Her boot heels clicked as she left the grass and stood on the paved pathway instead. As a contrast to her tone just second before, she said the next in a calm, conversational way. “And where is he?” Looking a little beyond them for a moment.
Mitchell and Annie exchanged a look. “Him who?” Mitchell asked.
“George!” She snapped back.
“So you've not heard? He's missing.”
Julia stopped looking past them and fixed Mitchell with a dark-eyed glare. “Missing?” She sneered.
Annie, who up until this point had been fairly well struck dumb by the savage tone of the vampire's voice, now let her tumultuous emotions run over. “Probably dead.” She added miserably.
Julia absorbed this for a moment, glowering between the two souls entombed in varying stages of deadness in front of her. The anger she was exhibiting was obviously way out of proportion to whatever crimes she supposed had been committed against her. Mitchell couldn't imagine George doing anything so bad as to deserve such hatred from a woman who had once adored him as much as he worshipped her. But Julia was boiling emotionally and moved closer, far closer than either Mitchell or Annie were comfortable with. She shook her head slowly and tutted. “No. He's not dead.” She was almost nose to nose with Annie as she hissed. “If you believed that, you'd not be making plans to find him.” Drawing back, the new vampire snarled before pausing. A look of dangerous cunning filled her eyes. “But if he's not dead yet, he will be when I find him. Pratchett can take a flying f*ck if he thinks I'll let that conniving cur get away with what he's done.” She shot a black look in Mitchell's direction then looked Annie up and down, curling her lip malevolently before she turned on the heel of her stiletto boots and moved off down the path and out of the park.
Annie made to follow, to demand to know what had happened, but Mitchell put a hand on her arm to stop her as she moved past him. “Let her go.” He said quietly.
*****
The bell which always rang twice to signal the opening of the shower room now rang once, loudly, indicating to the captive werewolves that their food was due. George, who had been poking around in the derelict office, raised his head and nodded. “Pavlov's Dogs.” He murmured to himself and allowed a small smile at the irony. He was feeling weak, shaky and tired but if he was going to get out of here, he needed to make sure he had the energy to do it. He put his assembled treasures consisting of half a dozen paperclips, three pens, a pad of curled and water damaged paper, a rusty key and a half a plastic ID card, all random items found in the drawers and among the debris on the floor, on top of the surprisingly intact desk then headed out across to the far side of the warehouse.
He was the last to arrive and was quite surprised at the reaction he received as he joined the gathering for feeding time. As he rounded the side of the pack to stand near the wall, he noted that no-one was openly hostile as he'd expected but neither did they acknowledge him. Luke in particular wouldn't even meet his gaze, instead finding the floor and his own rough-skinned hands far more interesting. Most of the others, Daniel, Zhen, Kevin or Kelvin or whatever his name was, well they were all casting him nervous, quick glances then looking away if he so much as twitched to look at them.
Tully, standing near the centre of the pack wasn't looking away but George noticed a certain disappointment as he watched George settle away from the others. Had he hoped that George's decision to come over meant he'd taken the older mans words to heart? Maybe, he thought, but Tully was wrong. Meanwhile, Aleksandr and Yuri were at the head of the gathering and Yuri was looking over, almost daring him to make trouble. George, willing his sore eyes to quit aching, stared back. Rebelliously, he folded his arms with a little defiant glare and leaned back against the wall which, unfortunately, was a little further behind him than he'd anticipated. The little boy beside the large Russian giggled as the outcast werewolf righted himself as smoothly as he could. George broke off the staring contest to give the child a weak smile. Aleks returned a grin even as Yuri tugged on his hand with a stern warning in Russian. The boy's smile faded as he turned and faced front as he had been told. This saddened George - the little blonde kid was far too young and innocent to have to bear this curse. Too young by far. At least he, George, and most of the others had had a chance at a normal, human life first.
As they waited by the hatch through which the food would be pushed – George had seen the process from afar but not joined it before now – he was taking in the layout of the walls. The one directly opposite the one he now leant his back against was long, stretching out for around 20 feet. The broken down internal wall they stepped through to get into this feeding chamber carried along inside the main room revealing the openings for first the shower room, then a stretch of blank wall leading into the bizarre little clothing room he had used on his first morning here. George frowned, squinted and thought about the dimensions again. The shower room was only ten feet deep, yet the wall on this side extended a further ten feet beyond.
As he pondered, it began to make sense. The area in which they were being held was only part of the whole and the other half was used by their captor or, more likely, captors to move around and tend their needs. Beyond the back wall of the shower room must be another room of equal size from which the water through the hosepipe was controlled. That the building was a plain rectangle was something he had to simply assume right now. But, bearing that in mind, if the shower wall could be breeched, he could get into an area of the warehouse occupied by their captors and maybe find a way out from there. He had a rudimentary theory he could build on now.
Presently, the hatch opened and paper plates loaded with a quantity of what looked to be a beef dinner were slid through, one at a time. Yuri took each plate and handed it to a waiting pack member who them moved off, picking up the food with filthy fingers as they walked and sat by the walls or moved into the main living space of the warehouse. George stayed put until everyone, Yuri included, had received their rations before pushing himself upright. With a little stagger, symptomatic of his self-imposed malnutrition, went to the swinging hatch that looked a little like a cat flap. He crouched slightly as he got there and saw a hand pushing the plate through. He took the food, not able to see anything of interest besides a stained apron, and retired all the way across the warehouse back to his, well his quarters, he guessed.
As he walked, the smell of warm roast potatoes, meat, carrots and green beans drew a growl of expectation from his stomach. Once more inside his shadowy refuge, he ate it all but slowly so as not to overfill his shrunken stomach too quickly. The stained and empty plate, he set aside on top of the items he discovered earlier just in case it might come in useful later. Then, with a wide yawn and a rough rub of the quite prolific growth of dark stubble on his jaw and upper lip, he set to work.
*****
Mitchell and Annie were walking slowly side by side around the fair, though the encounter with Julia had pretty much taken any potential fun out of it. Annie had voted for going home straight afterwards but Mitchell convinced her that nothing had changed and they needed to go even more now, to relax and get their thoughts straight. Now they were weaving through the not quite so thronging masses, Mitchell tearing small amounts of pink, fluffy candyfloss from the contents of the clear bag in his hand.
Their scant conversation had thus far been avoiding the issue but now Annie couldn't keep her questions inside any more. “What's happened to her?” Annie asked, concerned. That was not the Julia she had spent an entire night talking to. “Does becoming a...” She lowered her voice with a sly look around, “...A vampire really change a person so much?”
“Well, yes and no.” Mitchell paused as they wandered past the fairground waltzers. “I suppose its easiest to say it makes your deepest personality traits more pronounced.” He searched for a useful example. “Say, someone mildly mental before could be completely insane after.” Annie got the unshakable feeling that he was thinking of someone in particular.
“So could it be that if you were upset with someone, becoming a vampire could make you hate that person?” Annie suggested, thinking of the way Julia spoke about George and how she may have felt about him previously.
“On a small scale, yeah.” Mitchell confirmed as they sat down on a bench for a moment.
Annie watched the people passing by, kids with parents, a couple of teenagers in school uniform, Obviously they were bunking off school. After a while, she looked Mitchell over thoughtfully as he finished off the last of the candyfloss. “What were you like? Before, I mean.” Mitchell laughed at the question but didn't reply. “Well?” Annie persisted.
“Well what? I was just a guy, a soldier.” Mitchell shrugged, ripping a slightly larger piece of cotton candy from the bag and stuffing it into his mouth. It melted almost instantly on his tongue and really wasn't curbing his hunger. He was regretting not getting a hotdog or two at the stand near the entrance now. "Just, y'know, human."
“That is not an answer.” Annie chided but decided not to press the matter. “Anyway, you have that prize to win. You promised, remember?” She added, pointing to the shooting gallery on the other side of the dodgems. Mitchell grinned and they stood and headed toward the stall.
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Post by Melissa Kane on May 30, 2009 20:49:17 GMT
And Then What? Chapter Eight
Annie was a little down. She and Mitchell had just begun actually enjoying the fair when Mitchell checked his watch and announced that he had to get to the thing he had on this afternoon but he made sure to walk Annie home first. She knew in herself that she was nowhere near recovered enough to simply will herself back and Mitchell, well he would have advised her against it at any rate. So with a large brown bear with a yellow and pink spotted bow around its neck and a bag full of other assorted prizes, they made the ten minute walk back to the house. Before he left, Mitchell made Annie promise not to do anything until he got back, just in case she might try expanding her senses again or something just as dangerous.
Now alone in the house, the crushing loneliness got to her. The big brown bear on the sofa stared with its large, black, button eyes. Idly, just for something to do, Annie took the plastic bag of prizes and snacks into the kitchen and set them out on the worktop. They'd won some smaller cuddly toys for throwing rings over moving wooden pegs – Annie didn't like to admit it but the thingyy man running that stall had gotten on her nerves so much when she was throwing that she'd cheated slightly and used her telekinesis to make sure all but one of the rings landed on target. The disgruntled fairground employee had kicked up a fuss and refused to give them prizes until Mitchell and an older couple who were tossing rings in the next slot in the stall had all gangs together and threatened to report him to the fairground management and have the whole shebang investigated for fraud. Mitchell had even wheedled a pretty pink flowering plant in one of those little terracotta pots out of the man who, by caving in, had all but admitted his game was rigged.
“Come on!” She suddenly said to the empty kitchen. “Pull yourself together!” She looked around the room and up across the ceiling, half expecting the house to have reacted somehow. Nothing moved. However, having simply voiced the command to herself, Annie set about putting the food stuffs away and packed the three small cuddly toys back into the carrier bag. She paused when she came across the poor, neglected and drooping plant in its cracked terracotta pot. “You look like I feel.” She said, touching the bent green leaves briefly before running a little water from the tap into the pot and setting it on a saucer on the window sill. She then busied herself making hot beverages and hunting around for something to prepare for Mitchell when he came home for his tea.
*****
A welcome shaft of sunlight striped George's face as he looked up at the opening high in the wall. It was up near the eaves way above him and was a rather filthy and unkempt air vent. He'd ignored the others' rather vocal complaints and made his way into an area of the warehouse closed off by a collapsed wall. He had, of course seen the broken down pile of bricks before but it had been on his first day here and Zhen had gently told him it was unsafe so he had avoided it. Now, though, he had nothing to lose by making the attempt to see what was on the other side. So earlier, he'd pushed the oddments he had found buried among the debris in his quarters into his pockets on impulse and set out to find a way out. The shower room, of course, was his first stop and earned him a fair number of enquiring glances. But the wall there was solid and impassable, he had discovered after much tapping and listening.
Clambering over the bricks, he'd begun to wonder if it was such a good idea. The broken bricks slid and shimmied under his feet and getting a good grip with his cool fingers was rather awkward as the whole thing felt like it simply wanted to avalanche down into the main area. As a precaution, the seven other werewolves had retreated and now watched in concern from a safe distance. Not a one of them had come near or tried to stop him. Grimly, George looked up. The crest of this unstable hill was a few feet above him and he plunged on, picking hand and foot holds carefully. Presently he made it to the top, a good twelve to fifteen feet above the rest of the warehouse, and stood, balancing precariously and catching his breath, looking down into a wide expanse of filthy space. It was here that he could see and feel the slight sunlight entering. God, that felt so good!
*****
A tap came at the door and Li entered without being bade. “It is done, I assume?” Turner asked from his desk. He ejected another CD-Rom from his computer and the afterimage of a man in a white nurses tunic winked out of existence and returned to a screen featuring animated ribbons of red and yellow colour flowing across it. No formalities here. The job he has asked for had needed doing.
“Not yet, Master. But we have guards posted outside.”
Turner didn't look put out in the slightest but the tone of voice he used indicated a certain weariness. “You know, I wonder why we continue with your services, Mr Li. I truly do.”
This rankled. Maybe if the Master got out once in a while instead of obsessively watching the captives, he might know a little of the world around these days and how difficult things had become. However, Li buried his ire beneath a blanket of reverence. “As do I, Master. But she will be ours soon. They dislike confinement.”
“Indeed.” Turner actually smiled and pointed toward the window. Li obediently crossed to the observation window and looked down into the warehouse. He didn't immediately see what the Master meant as the werewolves were all clustered together near the dorms they called “nests”. With a sigh but not getting up from his desk, Turner elaborated. “The new one has gone exploring.”
Li instinctively searched the perimeter of the room and spotted a figure standing up on top of the mound of bricks leading to what had once been the loading bay of the warehouse itself. The interior wall had succumbed when the entire site was initially earmarked for demolition. The Master had pulled a few strings – he had connections in high offices of the human world, it seemed – and acquired the building entire. He had told them it was for a private and charitable rehabilitation program he was running thus receiving funds from Government. Turner has said this was the least they could do to help but had since prevented all visitors coming to this part of the building telling them it was merely storage. He instead sent them to the converted barn nearby which now served as medically assisted dormitories for the injured parties they brought in. The new werewolf abruptly disappeared from view down the other side of the pile. “Master?” Li thought the event should be brought to the Master's attention in case the new one had broken its neck falling down. They had had one such casualty before and the Master had taken the loss hard. “He's gone down the other side. I don't know if he's fallen.”
At this Turner looked up from his work as another face, this time an Asian female doctor, graced his computer screen. “Get Crowley and go and check on him.” The old vampire shook his head and sighed. “We really must remove that rubble, Li. Its a deathtrap.”
“I will arrange it, Master.” Li gave a low, reverent bow and scuttled from the room and headed to the caretaker's quarters two floors below where Crowley would no doubt be slumbering, hidden from the midday sun. As he hurried along the corridor, Li huffed air from his mouth irritably. After all the trouble he and his team had gone to to acquire that werewolf, it would be annoying to have it die before they could use its potential.
*****
The graveyard itself was, well, as silent as the grave. Nothing stirred among the peaceful arrangements of stone and marble monuments marking the final resting places of the dead. Annie's grave was here, somewhere, but he didn't have the time right now to try to locate it. He knew where he had to go though why they had to do this so riskily in full daylight was beyond him. Adjusting his sunglasses to repel the worst of the sunlight which was still prickling at his skin and hurting his eyes.
“Mitchell.” Pratchett was standing peering out of the shadow of a large, old willow tree, the catkins on its branches hanging low enough to almost touch the ground. The large leader of the Coterie was flanked by two other vampires, though they were veiled from sight. Mitchell sauntered over, not keen to throw himself into what could easily be a trap. He stopped short of the tree. Pratchett seemed to understand his trepidation and moved himself just outside the veil of branches accordingly. “I'm glad you got my note.”
“What is it you want me to do?” Mitchell asked, in no mood for games or pleasantries.
“So its like that.” Pratchett murmured. He had the lay of the land. “We need your expertise.”
Mitchell simply stood, squinting against the sun, waiting and vaguely curious.
*****
“Eight out of ten for the dismount.” George coughed, covered from head to foot in bruises and red brick dust. He'd lost his footing a foot from the top and slid all the way down to the floor on his back. That was going to hurt come the morning, he knew. It bl**dy hurt now. Bricks were strewn in a wide semicircle in front of him as he clambered awkwardly to his feet with a groan. He found it agreeable that there were no lights here, save the natural light which illuminated small portions of what appeared to be quite a large room. “Three for the landing.” He added, dusting himself off gingerly.
In spite of the aches, George grinned. The sun shone in, dappling welcome light off the filthy walls above. This part of the warehouse was as tall as the rest but more light got in. the windows in the other part had been boarded over but here, aside from the largely inaccessible vent, pinpoints of light came in through a battered metal roller shutter door. Water dripped noisily onto something metal somewhere in one of the unlit corners and a breeze rattled the doors persistently. As he drew closer, he ascertained that the door had an electric point at the side of it though George was already quite sure that was deactivated. There was, however, a rusty chain dangling down though the ends were tangled together, knotted tightly about six feet up from his present position. Standing below, holding his aching back, he wondered if he could get to them and use the manual method to open it, get out and find out where the heck he was. He glanced back over his shoulder and up at the mound of rubble that, for now at least, seemed to have settled, he wondered if maybe the others might follow and help if he asked.
As it stood, he was still pondering how to reach the chains to open the shutters when a door opened in the wall to his left. Two figures were silhouetted in the harsh electric light from behind, temporarily blinding George who retreated a little way, shielding his eyes with one hand. It didn't take long for his eyes to adjust to the light level, but focussing was quite another matter entirely. The first man to enter, and he was certain they were both men by the way they walked, was almost on top of George before he could see him clearly enough to recognise him. The second, smaller man hung back but George was sure he didn't know this one. He looked like he was Chinese or perhaps Japanese, George had always been a little hazy on the difference in appearance. “Easy now, son. We're not gonna hurtcha.” A strong Irish drawl was familiar and George knew exactly where from. He simply stood, staring, breathing as quietly as he could. The Irishman that George thought was called Crowther was standing still and talking softly, as if to a wild animal. “We only came to make sure you were okay. That was quite a fall. Are you hurt?”
George frowned, a little indignantly. “I'm fine. I didn't fall.” He wasn't going to let them know he'd hurt himself. And how had they seen him anyway? They must have an observation booth somewhere. Or security cameras. They certainly appeared to have enough power to run them. “And don't, don't, don't talk down to me.” He added with a gesture of annoyance. He moved to push his glasses further up the bridge fo his nose only to find they weren't there.
“Of course, I'm sorry.” The man whom George recalled was not-quite-a-vampire, held one hand out. “Look, just come with me, we'll look y'over just to make sure you're not hurt, okay?” George regarded the hand with suspicion, completely unaware of how much like his wolven side the tilt of his head was. The hand remained steady. “We met six days ago, when you first came here. I'm sure you remember.” The man quirked a smile of admiration. “Your kind has an amazing capacity to remember. I know you've no reason to trust me. Werewolves have little reason to trust anyone. But I only want to look after you, alright? To help.” The dark eyes that met his own were sincere, George could sense it. He flicked his gaze to the second man with a questioning look. “Dat's Mr Li. We're both here to help.”
George licked his lips but didn't move. “So where am I?” Crowther looked to the other man, this Mr Li, obviously not sure what he should reveal. So Crowther was just a lackey. “You tore me away from my life, my home. I at least deserve to know where you've brought me.”
“Consider this a refuge.” Mr Li said calmly, standing aside and directing a hand toward the open door. “Crowley will make sure you're cared for, but you really must come with us now.” There was no coaxing in this man's voice, it was a command. George filed away the name, Crowley, and with no choice in the matter, passed by the two men and out through the door.
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Post by Melissa Kane on May 30, 2009 20:49:45 GMT
And Then What? Chapter Nine
Mitchell waited patiently until Pratchett had outlined the problem to which he was, apparently, the solution. As Pratchett spoke, Mitchell was already aware of the dilemma. The thinly veiled command also brought home to him the true nature of the pact he had entered into. He wasn't free. Annie had been right – it was simply a new form of control over him. Deep down, he always knew that to be the case, but it was nice for those few weeks to think he had some kind of freedom. Distracted as he was, he became aware that Pratchett had stopped speaking.
“You need me to hunt her down?” He asked, clarifying what he already knew.
Pratchett nodded. “Beckett has already become a liability.” He drawled wearily, the strain of his role showing on his face under the harsh sunlight. His neat goatee twitched and he allowed himself a humourless smile. “She cannot be controlled, so she has to be removed.”
At this Mitchell smirked. “And your fearless minions can't do it for you?” He asked.
Pratchett fixed him with a dark-eyed glare that wiped the smirk right off Mitchell's face. “We have other concerns. This is now yours unless you want that pretty little corpse dealing with permanently.” There was a cold, predatory look in Pratchett's eye that Mitchell, to his shame, recognised. That, to his further shame, he caved in to. It wasn't like he had a choice, of course. The threat was enough, more than enough, to ensure his cooperation.
“How do you want it done?” Mitchell asked evenly.
“However you like. You'll need to find her, of course.” Mitchell turned to leave but Pratchett caught his arm swiftly. Mitchell looked at the hand holding him then listened carefully to the other vampire's hushed instruction. “And soon. We don't need her making trouble. Understood?” Mitchell nodded once, shook his arm loose and left.
*****
Annie sat on the doorstep, her cheek turned toward the sun as she watched the comings and goings of the street. Occasionally a neighbour would wave hello and she waved back. It seemed the paedophile accusations were now forgotten, although, she mentally amended, she hadn't been a part of them in the first place. She sat waiting for Mitchell, but just seeing the life around was making her feel better. On an impulse, she had brought the little plant onto the doorstep with her to get better access to the sunlight.
“Hello dear.” An old lady was walking by with a small bag of shopping.
“Hi. How are you?” Annie greeted as the lady stopped.
The lady looked up at the house and smiled at Annie. “Do you live here?”
“Um, yeah. Yeah, I'm Annie. I'm staying with George and Mitchell.” She said, carefully choosing her words.
“Oh, they are nice boys.” She smiled. “You look after them, eh?”
Annie grinned. “In a way. We look after each other. Or try to.” She added.
“And who's you're little friend?” The old lady asked. Annie raised and eyebrow and looked around. “There, dear, on the step.” it took Annie another few second to realise the old lady meant the plant. “May I?” She asked, holding out her hand to see the little flower closer. Annie handed the plant pot up. “Oh, he's a Belami rose. He'll be such a handsome little fellow when he grows up. I'll tell you what, put half an aspirin in with his feed and he'll grow up lovely and strong before you know it.
“Really?” Annie was slightly bemused.
“Oh yes. He'll be lovely. You take care of him, dear.” she handed the plant back and Annie kept it on her lap, idly stroking the leaves and the old lady continued talking. “I'm at number sixteen. If you have any trouble getting him to grow, you let me know and I'll see what I can do. I grow my own, you see. I know all their little foibles and preferences. Alf sometimes says I love my flowers more than I do him. Oh, do look after him won't you? He'll be beautiful, dear, I guarantee it.”
“Thankyou. I will.” Annie called out and waved as the lady went on her way. She stood up and took her little plant back inside with a smile. It wouldn't hurt to try growing it, she thought. The house could use a bit of colour.
*****
Sandwiched between Crowley and Li, one in front and one behind, George took careful note of their route. He had managed to sneak a look at the lock on the door into the old loading bay behind the mountain of bricks before being ushered bodily out into a brightly lit corridor and held by the arm while Crowley locked up. They walked for several minutes in silence, George craning awkwardly over his shoulder now and then as he followed Crowley. If he slowed his pace, Li would prod him hard in the back with one bony finger. That certainly wasn't helping the newly formed bruises and after the second time, George had snapped his head around and let out a low growl that not only surprised Li but himself too. Stunned by how feral he'd sounded, George faced front with wide-eyed shock, ultimately losing track of his location until Crowley came to a stop. He pulled out a small bundle of keys, unlocked the nondescript generic white door and indicated for George to go inside. Li closed the door to and held a hushed conversation with Crowley that their captive werewolf couldn't quite make out fully but which sounded like a warning to “keep and eye on this one”.
Surveying the room, it appeared to be half doctors surgery and half new-age psychiatrists office, sans diplomas all over the walls but with a strange incensey smell. Medical equipment stood in orderly lines on the worktop which also bore a large stainless-steel sink. Above the worktop were racks and drawers, all labelled neatly with bits of paper attached with clear tape underneath the round, white knobs. An examination bed and thickly-padded couch stood side by side a few feet apart. The room was a clinical white but clean. The smells of disinfectant and incense were so strong they were stripping the lining of his nostrils.
This room had a window, a long, narrow affair set high in the wall. However, he wasn't going to get any natural light here – it had been coating in a thick layer of black paint. An idea struck him but before he could set anything into practice, Crowley entered the room alone. He locked the door securely behind him and clipped the entire ring of keys back to his belt, pulling his woollen jumper down over them.
“How are you feeling? No headache or dizziness.” Crowley asked immediately.
George raised an eyebrow. “Should I have?” He asked, internally cursing at the rudeness of answering a question with a question.
Crowley gave a calm, tolerant smile. “Not especially, no.” He said a trifle too quickly for George's liking. “But it was quite a tumble you took. Take off your shirt, I need to check you over.”
“I will not.” George replied indignantly. “I'm fine.”
“Look, I promise I'm not gonna hurt you. But you aren't moving right, you've not been eating and frankly, you look pale, ill.” Crowley tried again. “I need to be sure you're okay then you can go back to the others.” He patted the examination bed. “Hop up.”
George complied with the latter, but kept his shirt firmly on. He felt like being antagonistic right now even though this possible-vampire had showed no signs of violence toward him. Crowley moved to the counter, behind George and out of sight. There was a rattling of metal on metal, a soft rustle of fabric moving and then Crowley came around the couch and back into George's line of vision. The man now wore a white doctorly smock and had a stethoscope hung about his neck.
“Are you a doctor?” George enquired.
“Aye. I was a GP before I died.” Fumbling in the pockets, Crowley removed a small pen-like light and shone it in George eyes. “Watch the end of my pen.” He added, turning the light off and flipping it over to reveal the tip of a ballpoint pen which he proceeded to wave to the left and right randomly as George followed it as best he could. As Crowley worked he talked. “The Master keeps me here to help tend the wounded werewolves. Make sure you're all in peak physical fitness, y'know? You're all too important.” Crowley grasped George's wrist, fixed his eyes on his own wristhingych and took his pulse. After 30 seconds. “Hmm, your pulse and breathing are a little fast, even for a werewolf.” Crowley mused as he rounded the bed and bent over a paper on the counter, jotting down his findings so far. “Take off your shirt, please.”
George now complied. He somehow found this vampire as non-threatening as he did Mitchell, a reaction in his gut told him so and thus far, his gut reactions had been spot on every time. He guessed Crowley was a vampire anyway. He had confirmed that he'd died but the black eyes he remembered from their first meeting meant he probably wasn't a ghost. Folding the garment neatly and setting it aside, he heard Crowley tut softly as he came up behind his back. “You lied that you hadn't fallen, eh?” George's head felt heavy as he nodded.
Crowley came around in front of him carrying a portable blood pressure monitor, the kind in the long black case with the little rubber bulb which inflated the band manually. Crowley applied this quickly and stood the rest of the apparatus that resembled a thermometer fixed inside the case on the bed beside him. George watched interestedly, ignoring the way the armband pinched the skin on his upper arm. The doctor vampire smiled and nodded encouragingly.
“Now then, lets have a look at your back. It looks sore.” Crowley commented, packing up the blood pressure equipment and going around the other side of the bed again after more rustling of paper and the high chink of a glass bottle on metal. “Does this hurt?” The doctor asked and touched two fingers lightly to the skin just below George's left shoulder blade. He sat up straighter and the screeching “Ow!” he uttered confirmed that it did indeed hurt. “Sorry about that. I have some iodine to clean the cuts, but this may sting a little.”
“Then just leave th...OW!” George's protest was cut short as the cold tincture stung the scrapes and bumps he had all over his back, shoulders and elbows. They continued to hurt after Dr Crowley stopped tending the wounds and, by the rustle of paper he heard, was filling out the report again.
“Now then, just relax Mr... um, whats your name?”
“George Sands. “He replied automatically, still wincing as the iodine seeped into the damaged skin.
Crowley looked up from the paperwork. “Sands? I knew a man called Sands once. Good man. He was a soldier.” George could hear the smile in Crowley voice. “Yeah, a da*n good man he was. Lost him in the second Boer War, so we did.”
George carefully tried to look over his shoulder. “The Boer War?” Crowley confirmed it. “The early 1900's?” Again, Crowley confirmed the information. “So just how old are you then?”
He heard a laugh from behind. “Old enough, lad. Date of birth?”
“18th September '83.” He answered absently, trying to determine if his back was still stinging or not. His skin was prickling so much, he was finding it hard to tell. Plus, his neck was feeling a bit weak, hardly able to hold his head up.
When Crowley next spoke, he was close behind George again. “Its drying nicely now. The stinging will stop shortly. Okay, lie back for me, George. Just lie down, thats right.” The doctor put a hand at the back of his neck to guide him. The move left the werewolf vulnerable as he lay shirtless in a locked room with a vampire but right now he was feeling so at ease he didn't really care. “Just relax. Breath normally for me, okay?” Putting the stethoscope to his ears, Crowley placed the bell at varying spots all over George's chest, listening for several seconds at each spot. He frowned as he let the stethoscope drop and removed the earpieces. He felt along George's ribs and midsection expertly, pressing two fingers into the soft flesh here and there and still frowning. “Okay, just stay still for me.” Crowley said and turned away. George watched him, inexplicably feeling a little drowsy. His eyelids were really feeling heavy and his pale blue eyes began to close.
“Hey.” George was fighting his sleepiness but his speech was slurring a little as he tried to talk. “Why don', don't... you call us, call us, um...” He licked his lips, slightly worried as he felt his thoughts turning to cotton wool. “Luh-lycos?” He was blinking hard and trying to take fast, shallow breaths to wake himself up. Just before sleep stole over him, he realised his mistake in breathing in more of the incense.
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Post by Melissa Kane on May 30, 2009 20:50:12 GMT
And Then What? Chapter Ten
Mitchell left the cemetery slowly, ruminating over his options as he walked home. Put simply, he was now to be Pratchett's pet executioner. That didn't sit well with him at all, and it certainly wouldn't go down well with Annie, though he had to admit that Julia had overstepped her mark. How could he do what needed to be done in good conscience? He knew of a couple of ways of removing a vampire from the scene. He had done so on a few different occasions. The obvious stake or any sharp implement long enough to penetrate right through the chest cavity through the heart did the trick efficiently. Simply removing the heart or head, in fact, had the desired effect – it was one thing the legends had right though he had to admit, the same thing was pretty effective in killing most supernaturals and, for that matter, most humans too.
One lesser known method that he had not heard mentioned in the legends anywhere was the entering into a religious building. They could not cross the threshold under normal circumstances but he remembered a tale Herrick had told him. Years ago, when Herrick was a young vampire himself, his maker told him of a vampire who had been pulled into a church by a rather brave priest who, at the moment of contact with the doorway, invited him in. Once inside, the vampire could not get out again and the weight of the surrounding religious artefacts crushed him to dust. Mitchell had viewed this “friend of a friend” tale with undisguised scepticism but had changed his mind when he had, a few years later, had the misfortune to find himself in a small-town graveyard outside the church. For some reason, he could feel it, the power inside, and that power convinced him that maybe part of the story was true. But to use this as a way of destroying a vampire was cruel. Far crueller than Julia or anyone deserved.
The whole thing to do with the homicidal effect of sunlight was a cunning ruse made up by the vampires themselves and whispered in the ears of unsuspecting fledgling vampire hunters. They believed the story and so, witnessing people they thought to be vampires out and about in the sunlight made them let their guard down and made them easy prey. Mitchell smiled momentarily, remembering some of the delicious violence of his past before the man he was now reasserted himself and quashed the grin. It worried him somewhat that these lapses had become more frequent, especially since Herrick died. He began to wonder if much of his determination to reject vampire society had come from actively rebelling against Herrick. Without his maker to contest, he was beginning to slide into his old ways.
It was with an air of surprise that Mitchell found himself only a few blocks from home. His feet had carried him unerringly through the streets as he walked with his chequered Burberry cap drawn down against the sun. Thinking of killing Julia was opening a door inside him that he had tried to keep closed. Mentally he slammed it shut. No, he wouldn't kill Julia. As he put his key in the lock, he resolved to find a way to pacify her without having to end her existence. Maybe Annie could help.
*****
Blinking slowly, George roused to the sound of raised voices. Raised and not particularly happy voices. He moved his head minutely, wincing at the persistent thump of a near-migraine in his head and down his spine, and looked around guardedly. The smell of incense was gone as were the sterile white walls medical room. He was on the cold floor of the warehouse office again, fully clothed and freezing. Outside the office, in the full glaring light of the overheads, Tully and Daniel stood having a loud and headache-inducing argument with Yuri and the others. The volume did not make their conversation any easier to understand – something about one of them being right and not living in a box – and George admitted defeat, lowering his head back onto his arm. He closed his eyes against the misshapen quadrangle of garish light coming in through the doorless opening and sighed heavily. Try as he might, every slow, laborious beat of his heart shook his brain against the inside of his skull making sleep dam*ed near impossible. The voices continued arguing but George was really not listening. He felt horrible, almost like his body and brain were being squeezed from the inside out. He was as weak as a kitten while being simultaneously hot on the inside and freezing on the outside.
He did, however, become vaguely aware of someone as they entered the room a short time later. A warm hand pressed to his forehead and down onto his cheeks gently but even opening his eyes proved far too much of an effort. The hand rested on the centre of his chest for a long time then he felt his free arm, the one he wasn't currently reclined upon, being moved as his sleeve was rolled up. He felt fingers probing at the skin from his bicep down to his wrist. He heard the owner of the hands tut under her breath – definitely a female tut – and carefully pull his sleeve down before resting his arm across his belly. It was sometime during this examination that George realised the argument had stopped.
“Will he be okay?” Tully asked, his footsteps hellishly loud to George's ears as he entered the room.
“I think it was only a small dose.” Zhen replied softly in her accented English. “He'll be sore and sick when he wakes up properly but he should be okay.” She added as George felt her fingers brush against his forehead again momentarily.
Tully made an odd kind of squeak as he, presumably, sucked his teeth. “I warned him what happens. He didn't listen.” He sounded almost aggrieved.
“He's just a pup. And anyway, we all try our luck at first. He's no different.” Zhen clucked, sounding further away. Funny, he hadn't heard her move. “You coming?”
“Yeah. I'm coming.” Tully replied and the loud crash of his retreating footsteps made George cringe again.
By his best guess, it was half an hour or so before he was strong enough to sit up properly. His head still thumped nastily, but he had at least partial control of his legs now. He curled them to his chest as he sat upright. Zhen had been so right, his muscles ached as did every internal organ so far as he was aware. His body, internally, felt like it was one big bruise and his stomach once more rolled and churned unpleasantly. The visit to the medical room was, he figured, meant to scare him off trying to escape again. Well, he wasn't about to let that happen. Nope, obviously he had been onto something on the other side of the bricks, something they didn't want him seeing. He just had to find a way of sneaking back that way unnoticed, but given their CCTV or however they monitored the inmates, that could prove difficult. As he sat, knuckles rasping against a by now quite prodigious and uncomfortable growth of dark beard on his cheeks, chin and throat, and while setting about gathering his wits and strength he felt around in his pockets for bits of items he had carried. They were, mercifully, still there. A plan was forming in his mind and he'd need his little treasures. Additionally, he knew whatever he did would have to work first time or he'd be in deep trouble.
*****
Crowley was furious. He had Li pinned to the wall by his throat and though the move was not, in itself, detrimental to his health, Li was quite uncomfortable nonetheless. “I told you I'd handle it!” Crowley roared, quivering with black-eyed rage. All semblance of the meek vampire from earlier was gone. Crowley was quiet until someone came messing with his werewolves, a fact of which Li was perfectly aware. It was this reverence to the creatures that earned Crowley the job as the animal's caretaker in the first place.
“You mollycoddle them too much.” Li countered, not even attempting to extricate himself from the older vampire's grasp.
Fangs bared, Crowley snarled. “And you treat 'em loike dey're animals. Dey aren't! We need to protec' dem.”
“Come on,” Li argued laconically, “You've said it yourself, they're hardier than they first appear.”
“Don't you tink dey have short enough lives? Dey have so many dangers to watch for dat dey don't need interference from ingrates like you!” Crowley snapped, his anger thickening his Irish accent to the point of being nearly incomprehensible. He gave a final push then let Li down, pacing away a few steps and turning, trying to get himself in check once more.
Li straightened his shirt collar, irritated at the extra creases Crowley had made in it. “I'm an ingrate now, am I? Have you forgotten who apprehended that particular specimen. Most of those specimens, in fact. They're the ingrates. They don't know they're born!” Li waved a hand toward the wall behind him where lurked the werewolf pack they had assembled over the space of two years.
Crowley, his eyes now their usual deep brown and his fangs put away for the time being, advanced once more but did not lay a hand on Li this time. “You have no respect for dem. You only want what you can get from dem and den scr*w the werewolves and the old ways.”
Li grinned wolfishly and poked a finger into Crowley's shoulder as he spoke. “That's right. The old ways are dead and gone. There's no place for them here. Its something you would do well to learn, old man, before its too late.” He re-straightened his crinkled collar. “Now if you'll excuse me, the Master will want an update.” He strode away leaving Crowley simmering with indignation.
*****
Mitchell and Annie had spent the last hour sitting in the living room discussing what to do about the Julia situation. With the TV chattering quietly to itself in the background and Annie cuddling the large teddy bear on her lap, Mitchell had told his ghostly housemate all about the meeting with Pratchett and his instructions.
“But why you? He has more than enough vampires to deal with one renegade.”
To this, Mitchell had no answer, though he voiced his suspicions that whatever the other thing they were involved with was would make itself known soon enough. He'd been forbidden to interfere in the vampires' activities but next time he saw Pratchett or one of the underlings, he'd ask. Expressing an interest surely couldn't be so bad.
Annie stole a look at the kitchen then asked, “And are you going to do what he told you to?”
“I have to. But I won't kill her unless I have to.”
“Is there another way?” Annie sounded doubtful.
Mitchell shrugged at this, at a loss as to how could she be neutralised as a threat without killing her. Annie confessed to having no ideas either but stated that clearly the woman was unbalanced.
“She's totally barking. I mean look at today, how she acted.”
“Love is different for a vampire. It's always corrupted when you change from one thing to another.” He changed the subject quickly before Annie could ask more. “Now, how to deal with Julia. What if I could convince her to leave, to leave Bristol or maybe England?”
“And how are we meant to do that? She's as mad as a hatter and irrational to boot.” She asked softly. “Why would she leave? It wouldn't be just on our say so.”
Mitchell was inordinately proud in that moment. He selfishly didn't want to do this alone and Annie had already included herself in this even though it wasn't her obligation. Impulsively he gave her, and the passenger on her lap, a hug as he replied, “Between us, we'll think a way.”
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