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Post by Melissa Kane on Oct 20, 2009 18:15:06 GMT
And Then What? Chapter Twenty-Six
“Okay, this is officially weird.” Nina rang the doorbell again and stood back, looking up at the windows of George, Mitchell and Annie's place. She pulled her light brown jacket around her tighter, warding off the chill in the air as the sun sank behind the horizon. Twilight used to be her favourite time of the day but now, all she could think of was the moon rising and how it was going to affect her in a few nights time. She glanced worriedly at the sky, purplish-grey clouds meandered across the navy blue sky, hinting at the promise of yet more rain. The effect of the coming night was lessened by the bright orange streetlights as they winked on, one by one as their sensors noticed the lack of light around. “Oh come on!” She snapped, digging a finger into the doorbell and letting it ring for an annoyingly long time before releasing it and rapping on the door with her knuckles. Where in God's name were they? Mitchell wasn't on the rota to be on shift tonight, she'd checked. He should be home. So should Annie. Delving in her knapsack, the strap carried laterally across her body, she rooted out her phone and slid it open. Pushing her hair behind one ear, she pressed number seven on her speed dial – that would call Mitchell's mobile directly. She didn't need to put her mobile anywhere near her ear to hear the ringing at the other end. Her senses felt clearer, sharper than usual. They had been becoming clearer by the hour today. George... he'd warned her that it would happen for a few days before the transformation.
Speaking of sharper senses, something felt different. She didn't feel like she was being watched any more. She'd felt safe enough a couple of days ago to go back to her own place. To be honest, Sasha had probably been getting a bit bored of her being there and the fumigation story was wearing a bit thin anyway, but Sasha had just been a total star the past couple of weeks. Plus... well, human company on a one to one level was something she'd found herself craving. Talking with patients just didn't fill the hole she had inside her since it happened. She wondered how on Earth George had coped for so long with only supernaturals for company.
Then again, now that her senses were expanding, being around humans was making her nervous. So nervous that it was beginning to interfere with her work. She was able to tell what was wrong with some of them just by the scent they were giving off and keeping that unexpected knowledge out of her voice while she tended to them and tried to soothe their worries, waiting for their official results was horrible. Just this afternoon, Mr Thomas had gotten his results back. She'd heard the doctor telling the poor man he had an ulcer and knowing that when she could plainly smell cancer was heartbreaking. She'd taken the doctor to one side later and asked him to look again, feigning the excuse that she has seen other signs not indicative of stomach ulcers. Whether Doctor O'Connor would listen remained to be seen.
So, right now, she was trying to find Mitchell and Annie to touch base with the people who could help her deal with this while George was away. Away... in her head it sounded like he'd just gone off on holiday somewhere. In truth, it was the only way she dared think. How could she cope of he never came home, if she never got a chance to have him to turn to when things like this happened? Or to have him wrap his arms around her and whisper into her hair how beautiful he thought she was and how much he loved her. Her eyes welled with unbidden emotion and she tensed her jaw, determined not to think like this. He'd be back, his gentle, caring self. He had to be.
The phone was still ringing maddeningly, buzzing over and over again. It hadn't even gone to voice mail as she'd expected it to. “Pick up, Mitchell. Bl**dy hell!” Frustrated, she slid the phone shut, cutting off the call and cupped her hands around her eyes to try to peer in through the frosted glass of the window by the door. There were no lights on, no TV on, no movement anywhere. With a feeling of intense disappointment, she thrust her phone into her bag and set off for her own home.
*****
“What's going on?” George asked, moving along beside Mitchell down the whitewashed corridor then down some steps. Jonas was in front like some kind of gorilla. Behind them were Li and Danica, sandwiching them in the stairwell.
“There's been a change of plan. We're not putting up with Turner's outmoded concepts any more. We've taken over. Doing things our own way.” Li sneered, purposely prodding George in the back with his finger, knowing it was annoying the werewolf.
Mitchell made a tutting sound. “So thats what you meant by 'put me in with the other vampires', eh? You stuck Richard and the other one in there with the werewolves?”
“Crowley.” George offered.
Li laughed unpleasantly. “Well, they revere werewolves so much, I thought they might like to get up close and personal for once.” They had reached the bottom of the narrow access stairs. “Jonas, hold him. That one's a nuisence at the best of times. Its caused all this trouble and for what? Well, can't let it get away now.”
“IT has a name.” George snapped.
“And it is better off shutting its mouth if it would like to live long enough to keep its name. You understand.” Li retorted, prodding George's back again.
George pressed his lips together but was visibly seething. Mitchell shot a look at the other vampire as Jonas got hold of George's upper arm. The werewolf's expression twitched. The vampire got hold of the bruised portion of George's skin, it seemed, but he was tamping down that reaction too. Danica, a head and a half shorter then Mitchell nonetheless pinned his arms behind his back. She was strong, far stronger than any vampire he'd ever encountered. She had hold of his arms from behind by the elbows and was pulling them together so hard that Mitchell's shoulders were aching in an instant.
They entered another door and followed another nondescript white corridor for several feet before stopping. Li took out a bunch of keys which George recognised as belonging to Crowley. He opened the door and led the way inside. George recalled this icy cold room from his first moment here, when Crowley had been leaning over him with black eyes and telling him he was going to be safe. Only now did he realise it was like a stumpy link corridor between the vampire side and the werewolf side of this building. It was pretty much No Man's Land, he guessed. At least there was no hospital bed with those thick straps across it in here now as Danica and Jonas herded them through. Li went on ahead and with a jingle of the keys in this darkened room, he opened the door at the far end which led out into the 'containment area'.
Beyond was the garish, filthy room and the smells drifting from it were both enticing and terrifying. George could sense the other werewolves and a pang of longing hit him. It was powerful and practically rocked his on his heels. And while part of him was glad to be among werewolves again, George was also very acutely aware of what it meant. He was, once more, a prisoner. Less than - well, perhaps not less than human because he was already that anyway, but even less human than he'd tried to be. A hatred rose in him at both the place and its occupants for no other reason that the represented a loss of liberty – and that in turn spurred a spike of guilt. This internal conflict must have shown because Mitchell whispered, “You okay?”
George had no chance to reply as Jonas and Danica flung them through the door. It closed behind them with a resounding clang and the metalling rattle of archaic keys in the lock. George stumbled forward a short way, stopping just short of the water trench. Mitchell was able to regain his balance a little quicker. “'Nother one.” A voice growled in his ear and Mitchell was yanked away to the side.
“They extended the trench?” George murmured rhetorically. Obviously they had. The water receptacle had only run for half the width of the warehouse before he had escaped but now it was from wall to wall, a dividing line between the sleeping and lavatory facilities and the food, clothing, the 'shower' and that mountain of bricks – and speaking of the mountain of bricks, that seemed smaller. He turned, eyes no longer complaining at the harsh light as the full moon drew closer, to see Mitchell being thrown past the tumbledown wall toward the nest area by Yuri. “HEY!” He turned and raced after them, Mitchell had fallen to his hands and knees, Yuri was standing back and laughing. Putting his full bodyweight behind his move, George launched himself at Yuri and succeeded in making the bigger man stagger to one side. The move hurt like hell, a thousand needles though every inch of his barely thawing body but in that moment George couldn't have cared less. He fixed Yuri with a dark, dangerous look which the Russian werewolf returned in spades, fists clenched. A punch from him would pretty well take his head off, that much was clear to George, yet he didn't back down. This was all the bottled up resentment he should have directed at Li, but since that target wasn't here, he could use it on Yuri instead.
Mitchell got to his feet, looking at the other occupants of the room. Now so close, he could see four werewolves though he wasn't counting George.
“Where is Aleksandr?” Yuri asked, relaxing his fists. “You have not left him with that Daniel?”
George hesitated. Right now there were no guarantees as to where the boy was. “No, He's safe.” Mitchell interjected, having no idea who this Daniel was while standing almost back to back with George. Mitchell was keenly watching the three werewolves in front, two of whom were closing in circuitously. The third who was hanging back a long way looked like Tully, though with deep scars across his face. He had a hand held to his forearm which was across his body and looked to have no intentions of moving. “He's safe with our friend.” Mitchell added as Tully nodded in silent greeting.
“And I should take the word of wamphyrs after what they did?” Yuri asked, not addressing the speaker in the slightest.
He didn't know what the vampires had done but it was enough to have made Yuri think twice about trusting them. George nodded but only half believed his own words as he spoke. “Aleks is safe, like Mitchell said. Our friend Annie's taking good care of him. I don't know where Daniel is. Or Luke. ” He raised his chin and without turning spoke a smidgin louder and noticeably more confident. “Back off, Kelvin. You have your pack, I have mine. Right?” It was almost like George knew where each person was in the room without looking. For all he knew, he might well do, Mitchell mused before moving back another pace.
“He's yours? Not with them?” Kelvin asked softly, the middle-aged man was looking Mitchell up and down as he spoke. He had halted his approach at least.
“No, he's not one of them. He's my friend.” George half turned and pointed. “Mitchell, do you see that office over there? Head toward it.” Mitchell obeyed, backing away from the captive werewolves. Besides, the change in George's demeanour was odd – if he didn't know better, Mitchell could have sworn it was the night of the full moon based on the intensity of George's reaction. Yet he knew it wasn't. Unless he'd been unconscious for longer than he thought.
He glanced backwards and found himself near to the door-less entrance to the office. He stopped and looked back at his friend. George was now in the centre of a tight circle of the werewolves. They'd closed in so stealthily that even Mitchell hadn't noticed it while he'd been watching. He stayed still, regarding them seriously. Surely they wouldn't hurt one of their own? They were all talking in hushed voices, huddled together, but George broke the apparent conversation to meet eyes with Mitchell. He motioned for his friend to go inside the office which Mitchell did with reluctance. It was a hesitance based not only on what he could see in front of him but what he sensed behind, too.
“Mr Mitchell.” Turner greeted tersely. “Sit yourself down.” The ancient vampire was sitting on a silver sheet, Crowley beside him, facing the door hole. Mitchell pointedly sat with his back against the opposite wall, to the left of the door, not far from an overturned wooden desk. “It seems there is more than one traitor on site tonight.” He lamented laconically.
*****
While Annie peered with her fingers twined through the twisted, rusty metal mesh of the fallen fence, past the stacked metal and pallets to the building beyond, Aleks hung back, crouching among the long grass with the bag they had taken from the car and watching her every move. He liked this dead lady. Annie was kind to him in the way Giorgi was. She smelled strange and he liked interesting scents. He had smelt the dead before. His mother's ghost and the others had smelt like the air did just before a thunder storm, a scent barely noticed until you were really close. Annie was different. The air around her did smell like thunderstorms but it was mixed with something else. It made Aleks think of old things, dusty and forgotten. It was almost a sad smell yet it didn't make him feel sad. This must be what English ghosts smelled of.
Annie disappeared, reappearing beside him a second later. He turned, staring at her expectantly as she began to whisper to him. “Okay, we're going to play a game now. Its called Hide and Seek. Do you know it?” Aleks gave a small shake of his head. “Okay, you have to hide in this long grass so nobody can see you. You've got to stay quiet like a little mouse. You stay here until I come back.”
Aleks knew this was not a game. “You find Giorgi?” He asked, barely above a whisper.
Annie smiled. “I'm going to look for George, yes. And Mitchell.” The little boy flinched but said nothing. “So you're hiding and I'm seeking. Right?” Aleks nodded and crept backwards to lie down on his belly inside a large clump of dry grass, the bag under his head as he rested his chin on it. Annie leaned over, ruffled the little boy's hair and set off. Soulful eyes watched as she teleported away, materialising inside the yard, in a spot she could see was clear. She looked up and could now see the name Kenyon's painted high on the wall. “Now, how do I get in there?” She asked herself, walking up to the building. There was no point in wasting energy where she didn't have to. Ahead of her was a faded green door. It looked like a fire exit. To the left of that was a high roller-shutter door which looked like it hadn't been opened in years judging by the amount of rust and dirt all over it. The wall itself extended up further and she could see small, blacked out windows on the second floor. That would have been some kind of storage or office space at one time, she supposed.
Figuring that a fire escape should be clear on the inside, she melted through the door with a soft whoosh. In seconds she was inside. She found herself in a corridor, painted in peeling, neutral white and with a smattering of damp here and there. A door lay to her left as she walked forward, mentally trying to map out where she was going just in case she encountered anyone. With the memory of butterflies fluttering in her stomach, she pressed on into the building itself.
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Post by Melissa Kane on Oct 20, 2009 18:16:14 GMT
And Then What? Chapter Twenty-Seven
George didn't like being surrounded like this. He really didn't like it at all. “Do not trust wamphyrs.” Yuri intoned, wagging a finger in George's face and sounding a million miles away from the man who had last told him that Crowley was the vampire who should look after them. He cast a wary glance at the the office. “They will always betray you in the end.” He spat bitterly.
George shook his head slowly. “Mitchell isn't like that.”
Yuri came closer, Zhen and Kelvin moving in from their side and Tully finally coming in from his so they were all almost touching George. “It was my thought about Crowley also. But look...” Yuri reached out a hand and grasped Tully's wrist, moving around to hide the movement from those in the office. He stretched out the other werewolf's arm and Tully carefully rolled back his sleeve. It stuck at one point and Tully drew in a hissing breath, clenching his fist so hard that the veins stood proud. The cause of the pain was a deep brand burned into the skin of his forearm, just above the inside of his wrist. Blackened at the centre and still looking an angry red around the edges. it looked excruciatingly painful. George stared at the wound, the analytical part of his memorising the symbol, and he felt sick and angry. “They do this because he tried to get out.” He heard Yuri's explanation then looked toward the office himself. He noticed Mitchell still there and waved him away ruefully. He'd fill Mitchell in on the details later but right now his presence was not going to help the atmosphere of fear and resentment he was sensing among the others, him being a vampire and all.
“So Crowley did this?” George murmured, regarding his maker carefully.
“Yeah. Just another one for the collection.” Tully quipped, pulling his arm away and hiding his brand hurriedly. If George didn't know better he would have sworn Tully was embarrassed.
The group parted and with an oddly curious glance at Zhen, George went to the office in a stern silence. It didn't entirely surprise him to see that Mitchell had set himself down away from the others and George had to confess that inwardly he was pleased to see that Crowley and Turner looked just the tiniest bit scared. Whatever Yuri and the others had done before they arrived seemed to have worked. Perching himself on the edge of the desk, halfway between the two factions, George looked the two older vampires over seriously.
“Are you okay, George?” Mitchell asked anxiously.
The werewolf glanced over and his expression softened perceptibly up to but not beyond the point of offering a smile. “Yeah, they just wanted to bring me up to speed on current events.” His eyes hardened again. “Is that your way of looking after us then? Branding us like, like, like livestock?” Mitchell saw George's jaw flex though his tone was even, almost enquiring. “Did you have that planned for me, too?”
“Branding?” Mitchell repeated with a frown.
Turner was the one to reply but sounding a good deal less authoritative than he had up in his office. “It isn't how you think. He was just made an example of so the others wouldn't try to escape.”
“Oh well, that, that makes it alright then.” George threw his hands up in the air. “To, to keep these people here against their will. Hmm? You have no idea, have you? You haven't got the first clue what it means to be alive 'cause, 'cause you've been dead too long to care.” George stopped, his bottled anger spent as fast as his fluctuating energy reserves. He slid to his feet from the desk and went to sit down beside Mitchell. “At least Mitchell gives a sh*t. He cares. He, he, he loaned me this coat, these gloves because he knew how cold I was. How cold we all are in here. This place is like a fridge. We're half starved and slowly dying of boredom and loneliness – and that's if the hypothermia doesn't get us first!”
Turner and Crowley sat in stunned silence. Outside they could all hear the other werewolves restlessly moving around, probably well within earshot. “There were only really three that actually died of hypothermia.” Crowley began, very much cowed. “That's when we started providing the clothes from the ones that died of their wounds after attacks for the living.” He explained.
George let out a bitter laugh as he looked at himself with disgust, switching to that high and 'resigned to the fact that these things do indeed usually happen to him' tone. “And to cap it all I'm in a dead man's clothes. Just sodding perfect.” He lamented until his brain caught up with the implications. “So... before that you kept the people you abducted naked?!”
Turner nodded. “Of course. You have a naturally higher body temperature than humans. We thought you could stand it.” At this George gaped a little and even Mitchell was a bit taken aback.
“That, that's just, its... “ George couldn't countenance the grand lack of knowledge enough to form a sentence so instead let out a huff of frustrated air and growled at Crowley. “And you call yourself a doctor!”
Mitchell had been watching the conversation back and forth carefully and only now chose to speak. “How long have you been doing this?” George looked over with raised eyebrows, as if it hadn't occurred to him.
“Not long, a decade, maybe fifteen years, something like that.” Turner replied offhandedly, more aloof again now he was addressing Mitchell.
Piling in on the new topic of conversation, George asked, “And in all that time... how many of us have you, have you kept captive?”
“We have only managed to bring forty-three werewolves here since the mid 1990's. But here and now, this is the largest number we've ever had at one time. Your numbers are on the rise. No thanks to this heathen and his antics.” Turner explained. George glanced over but seemed unconcerned. Perhaps the jibe was once more not sinking in.
Crowley, perhaps gaining in confidence because of the way his Master was speaking, pressed on by adding to the tale. “That vampire alone has murdered fifty-seven werewolves since World War One. And he has encouraged the destruction of more than a hundred in all. Did you know that?” He pointed at Mitchell.
“I knew that.” George replied though the tone was uncertain and Mitchell knew it was an out and out lie. He'd never had the inclination to tell George a great deal about his past – the past always seemed to be such a dangerous or terrifying place for both of them that any discussion of it had had actively avoided. “But that's not who he is now.” This, at least, was said with more confidence.
“That is neither here nor there anyway. I'm curious, Mr Mitchell, as to your interest in this werewolf.” Turner had his fingers arched in front of his face, his elbows supported by his knees.
“He's my friend.” Mitchell said simply. George nodded agreement.
“I don't mean now. Your... act of charity was noted a long time ago. Why would you not allow this one to be murdered as you did so many others?” Turner's expression was cold and the term 'act of charity' said with a sneer.
“You know, I have no idea. I guess I saw something different about him. Or perhaps there was something different about me.” Mitchell came back smoothly. “Annie thinks it was fate, though.”
“Annie? Ah, the spirit. Yes, she makes up this remarkable pack of yours, does she not? She and your mate.”
At Turner's words, George gave a strange whole-body flinch and turned his face away from all of them. Mitchell raised an eyebrow at the reaction, but said nothing. When George replied, there was a distinct faltering. “Yes. They're my friends.”
“Remarkable.” Turner smiled, repeating his earlier sentiment.
“What's remarkable?” George snapped, almost instantly switching from meek and quiet to defensive and slightly aggressive. It was so sudden, it shocked Mitchell. George was even more unpredictable than normal and this was not a good thing for anyone.
Turner wasn't fazed, continuing talking in his silky smooth and soothing tone. “Its remarkable to think that you are allied with two supernaturals with whom you should never associate.”
“What are you on about?” George grumbled, the sudden anger sinking again. Mitchell noticed Crowley look his friend up and down with an expression of concern and give Turner a light, warning touch on the arm. Turner nodded. The meaning was obvious. 'Tread lightly'.
“Vampires hate that they owe their existence to Lycos.” Turner said simply. Mitchell made a dissenting noise and the older vampire ignored him, staring fixedly at George instead. “But they do.” For his part, George seemed curious. “Do you know the history of your kind?” George shook his head slowly, blue eyes watching those dark ones keenly. Mitchell had seen this intensity before, George was already absorbing information into that massively intelligent brain of his. “Then I'll tell you. Its a story you need to know and given Mr Li's current engagement, we may be here for quite some time.” Turner sounded unperturbed by this thought. “As an intellectual gentleman, have you ever wondered, Mr Sands, George, why there are vampires and shapeshifters prevalent in every single civilisation throughout history?”
“Race memory?” George put forward after a short, ruminative pause. “Collective recollection of meeting our kinds before?”
Turner almost clapped his hands in delight, but instead used the tone of his voice. “So close. So clever and so close. It is a race memory of sorts, but not from encountering Lyco's. From being descended from them.”
“Hold on, a few minutes ago you were calling us werewolves, and now we're back to being Lyco's again.” George queried curiously. His anger seemed to have been quieted by his pursuit of knowledge.
“Forgive me. The meaning has changed from my day. When I was a young vampire, Lyco's were respected. These base creatures have made the title a racist slur.” He flicked his hardened gaze to Mitchell contemptuously.
“Mitchell never calls me a Lyco.” George replied, a vague note of warning in his tone.
Turner resumed his tale with a deferential nod. “Very well. I'll continue. A Lyco was the name, one of the names, given to the ancient Gods, the protectors of the creatures of the Earth. They had power, immortality, strength, the ability to assume the forms of other beasts at will, though not, it is said, without sacrificing comfort. Their transformations were powered not by the light of the sun, but the opposing and closer power of the moon. The fuller the moon the stronger the power.” George made an odd sound which may or may not have been acknowledgement of this news. Turner continued. “They had a number of forms to take, they could become approximations of other animals but were able to traverse on two legs or four, or on wings if they chose to become like the birds and fly – the only difference from their natural counterparts were their everpresent ebony eyes, the same in every form they might take. But many came to hate the agony of the transformation and chose to remain in one form. The most common form was of a bipedal ape, and this proved popular because it was useful for both hunting on the ground and scaling trees for fruit. The only form aside from pure Lyco which allowed for opposable thumbs.”
“They discovered, however, that it was only regular transformations which kept them immortal. Staying in one form and using the power the sun instead of that of the moon changed their appearances, lost them their fur, weakened their senses and shortened their lifespans. They began to procreate then die, each generation of these new creatures losing the link to their Lyco ancestors until they forgot altogether. The Lycos themselves grew angry at this and most abandoned their brethren to this new life, preferring the safety of their forest homes. But some were curious. Some learned to shift into an approximation of this new hairless ape and looked for ways to punish them for what they saw as a betrayal.”
“The hairless ape being a human.” George supplied.
“Indeed. These Lycos were pure anger wrapped up in a wholly inappropriate shell, betrayed by their black eyes they learned to disguise them though their latent fury would occasionally bleed through. Their teeth would grow and they would kill a human, taking back some of the diluted Lyco blood they felt these creatures were not entitled to.”
Mitchell butted in. “Vampires.” He didn't want to admit it, but this was an intriguing story, not one he had heard.
“Yes.” Turner replied stonily. “But when, after centuries of observing humans, generation after generation, these vampires returned to their pure Lyco brethren, their corruption, the taking of lives not theirs to take, meant they were shunned. Their hatred for humankind turned slowly to a hatred for Lyco kind too and they slaughtered the God race in their anger. One escaped and found a world much changed, overrun by humans. It was heartbreaking for her to see these humans, once part of a proud race which protected the world's natural balance, now killing other creatures for sport. And when the humans began to hunt her, she ran. But they found her lair, her sanctuary, and slew her. In her death throes she scratched three of these hunters. The touch of a pure Lyco reawakened their long diluted Lyco heritage. As the moon rose to its full potential, so too did they.”
George was shaking. Mitchell was too. He'd never heard the legend in full and, d**n it, he believed every word.
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Post by Melissa Kane on Oct 20, 2009 18:17:01 GMT
And Then What? Chapter Twenty-Eight
The featureless corridors seemed to go on forever, occasionally branching out but all the same. The identically coloured, uniformly designed doors standing both left and right were not helping in the navigation process in the slightest. Annie was completely and utterly lost and she didn't mind admitting it. She took to peeping through the tiny rectangles of wire-reinforced glass which was set into the doors but found most of the rooms were largely unoccupied, holding already made beds with white sheets and not much else. However, as her meanderings continued, she hit the jackpot! In one room she could see a figure lying on one of the beds. She tried the door handle only to find it was locked. However, the figure inside flinched and looked toward the door with wide, scared eyes which grew wider and more scared when Annie suddenly materialised inside.
“Oh God! Who are you?!” The woman squealed, holding a bandaged hand to the ample chest of her hospital gown as she sat up.
Holding her hands out in an non-threatening a pose as she could, Annie moved forward. “I'm Annie. I'm just looking for my friends.” She stopped talking and frowned. “You're a werewolf.” She commented quietly as the realisation hit.
It was like when she first met George... she could almost see a shadow of the animal sliding around beneath the skin. And she had witnessed the same in Nina, the barest hint of this unearthly movement. It was an incredibly unnerving thing to see, to know, but Mitchell didn't appear to have a clue what it was she could actually see. He was only aware ghosts could sense the nature of a werewolf's condition but that the reverse was not true. She stared for a moment longer, watching the woman before she realised that she was staring and pulled herself together. She couldn't see that in George any more, maybe it was the old phrase, familiarity breeds... something or other. She couldn't remember it.
The woman, a plumpish lady in her mid forties, shook her head. “What are you talking about?” She sounded only mildly hysterical as she shuffled backwards on the bed to wedge herself in the corner which formed between the wall and the head of the bed itself. “You're not the doctor. Get out! Get out! I'll scream, I will!”
Annie backed off, finding herself bumping her behind on a trolley of medical equipment which was hidden from sight on the wall beside the door. It rattled and Annie glanced at it. Rolls of dressings and a bottle of some dark liquid sat on its surface. There was also a pretty official looking medical chart which apparently told her this woman was called Anneka Chalmer. “Are you okay, Anneka?” Annie asked softly. “What, what happened to your hand?”
Still scrunched up in the corner, the woman looked down at her hand. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you.” She mumbled. She didn't seem to realise Annie had used her first name but she seemed less hysterical by the second.
Staying in her position near the door, Annie already thought she could guess. “Were you bitten by a... by an animal?” She asked, offering a route for the woman to perhaps open up a little.
A pair of surprisingly bright eyes snapped up from their reverie. “An animal? It wasn't an animal. Its was a monster!” Anneka replied with the sound of one who expected at any minute to be taken to the insane asylum.
“Big and furry, all teeth and claws.” Annie continued, moving forward a little with a hand outstretched, almost like she was coaxing an animal.
“And glowing yellow eyes, I remember that. I heard something, it wasn't a sound that should be in a hospital... I only peeped out of the cubicle. It was... it was crouched over, eating the doctor. Then it lunged and bit arm, my hand, tried to claw me... then that nurse saw it. She screamed and it jumped on her, ripped her to... to bits. Then the men with guns came, one of 'em led me outside to where an ambulance was waiting. That thing was still in the hospital, I could hear the screams.” The woman was trembling at the memory. Unable to help herself and with tears standing in her eyes, Annie walked to the bedside and took the woman's uninjured hand in her own. This time she didn't pull away, didn't cry out or comment on the deathly cold entity that was touching her. She simply tightened her grip on Annie's hand like she was a lifeline. Annie held the woman's tortured gaze. “You know what it is.” Not a question but a simple fact stated with a deathly calm.
Annie nodded. “I'm so sorry.” She added her other hand around the Anneka's and stroked the back of her hand with a thumb, a crumb of comfort from the dead to the living. “But it'll be alright. I have a friend who will know what to do. He'll be able to help.”
“What was it?” She whispered, the captive hand shaking uncontrollably.
Given the state this brand new werewolf was in, Annie wasn't sure she should say anything. It would terrify the poor woman even more than she was already. Yet to lie to her would be a greater betrayal. She had a right to know what was going to happen to her and what she would become. Or was it better that she not know, that she have a few more nights of ignorance about her condition. In here she surely couldn't do much harm. It was why George locked himself up most months, after all. To prevent himself damaging others... and given the situation right now... well, that plan hadn't exactly worked either. No, she had to know. She gripped the hand a little tighter. “It, it was a werewolf.”
Their eyes met again then Anneka inclined her head forward. “I knew it wasn't a real wolf.”
“That's not all.” Annie continued, a little surprised at the acceptance. “Because you survived...”
“I'm going to be one too?” She pre-empted Annie's next words and seemed to take the most devastating news quite calmly. Annie suspected there was an element of shock involved. “That was what that doctor meant when he said I might feel different over the next few days and weeks?”
Annie shrugged. “Maybe.” She paused then thought of something. “Who was this doctor, Anneka?”
“He called himself, um, Crowley I think.”
“Look, I'm going to go and find this Crowley. Will you be alright on your own?” She realised that this was a silly question under the circumstances but she'd already asked it now.
“I'll be okay.” Anneka replied, biting her lip. Annie gave the scared woman a small fortifying hug and left, albeit reluctantly.
*****
Li stood with his hands behind his back in the Master's former office and looked down at the warehouse below. The animals were huddled together but not really doing a lot. He'd hoped they would attack the vampires in their midst, and to be honest, they had half-heartedly begun to do just that then Turner and Crowley had fled to that old foreman's room. The animals didn't give chase. He figured that was because they weren't near enough to the full moon to be all that aggressive yet. He'd had higher hopes when he put that pain in the arse werewolf back in there with his vampire friend. Again, the other wolves started on the vampire then that Sands one stopped them and sent the vampire to the office room too.
For some unfathomable reason, they all seemed to go along with whatever that one said. The escape had been his idea, they got that from the one that didn't manage to get out before they punished him - a bit less severely than Li had liked but he hadn't been the Master then. Well, now that he was there'd be a few changes 'round here. No pandering to the whims of the captives anymore. They were here for one thing and one thing only and it certainly wasn't anything to do with that fairy story the old Master believed in. What a load of cr*p, vampires owing their existence to werewolves. If anything, it was the other way around.
Anyway, Turner, Crowley and that Mitchell, the one Sands was fond of were in that little room. Out of sight. Now that was something he didn't like. They could be plotting anything in there. As he moved along the glass wall for a better look, the huddle broke up and the troublemaker left the others behind to go to the office too. It didn't look happy by any means. The rest of the werewolves just milled about for a bit, the female settling down in one of the holes and cuddling up with that old male she was always with. The big male and the one he'd branded stayed near the office, probably listening to what was going on in there.
He crossed the room, bored now with the lack of action. How Turner could stand and watch for hours at a time was beyond him. He settled himself down in the chair and thumbed on the hard drive of the computer. It buzzed and squeaked but warmed up quite quickly. Not like the piece of junk he'd been left with in his office down the hall.... what used to be his office. This was his now. The monitor blinked into life, showed a few diagnostic checks then the screen loaded up. A nightime image of a river draped with trees and bearing the rippled reflection of a full moon appeared and the icons popped up one by one all around the periphery.
He had to say one thing for Turner, for an ancient vampire, he was very at home with technology. There was a file solely dedicated to the kitchen inventory. Every single lentil was accounted for, practically. Another contained the personal and medical records of all the werewolves they had once had here as processed and imputed by Crowley. He couldn't access this at the moment – it was password protected. He'd already tried all the combinations of subjects, years and names he could think of but he'd not cracked the password yet. He could get into the one next to it, the file containing information about the deceased werewolves. Each one had an identifying picture, details about names, dates of birth, treatments given by Crowley, anything noteworthy about their sojourn here and the places their corpses had been taken after they'd outlived their usefulness. Li found it amusing that Turner had insisted they be given a decent burial. Not on consecrated ground, that would have been impossible, but in various cemeteries in the local and not so local areas.
But the file that piqued his attention was the file marked Utilities. All the electrical and electronic functions of this building could be controlled from here. Not much of that was used in the care of those in the containment area, mind you, but here in the offices. Air conditioning, heating, lighting, bells, boilers, cameras and door security locks were all controlled from the programs in. He looked into this folder which was, considering its usefulness, surprisingly unprotected. A smile spread across Li's face as he realised he had something at his disposal which would stir things up a bit down there. He heard about it but Turner had never use it, on Crowley's advice. The old doctor said that to use it could hurt the werewolves, could drive them mad them if it were used too near the full moon. Maybe stirring them into a frenzy of pain would get the desired result.
*****
Annie had travelled the entire expanse of the ground floor and had discovered five other people locked in rooms, looking like they had varying levels of injury. She didn't visit with any of them after Anneka. She had to find Mitchell and, with luck, George, before she could think of getting them out of there. But there was no-one in the corridors at all. She briefly went into a room whose door was wide open. It looked like some kind of doctors surgery or one of those Chinese places you'd go to have needles stuck in you. Or at least it would have if one of the beds hadn't been turned over and there weren't papers on the floor. It looked like there'd been a struggle.
Leaving that room, she'd not been walking along the corridor for more than a few seconds when she heard movement. Footsteps on the stairs which were coming closer from behind the mesh-windowed door in front of her. Shadows drifted over the glass. She couldn't afford to be seen, even if they couldn't hurt her. She needed to find the others as secretively as possible. Annie looked around for somewhere to hide, but there was nowhere. In desperation, she closed her eyes and willed herself sideways, hoping she didn't re-materialise inside a wall or something. Seconds later the door opened. Jonas and Danica entered the corridor.
“Did you hear something?” The female vampire asked, looking around, alert.
Jonas, following her cue and looking around also, replied, “No. What did it sound like?”
“Sounded like a whooshing noise.”
Jonas grinned and swept her up against his big chest. “Probably just Li playing with the air con. Boys and their toys eh?”
Danica was laughing as he began nuzzling her neck. “Jo, we can't. Not here. He'll see us on the cameras.”
Jonas raised his head, eyes black and full of lust, fangs drawn. He let her down to the floor again as he looked around. “Dani, in here. Crowley's not going to need it anymore.” He wiggled his eyebrows, backing into the room, leading the vampiress in by her hand. He righted the fallen bed with one hand while Danica kicked the door closed to hide their activity.
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Post by Melissa Kane on Oct 20, 2009 18:17:56 GMT
And Then What? Chapter Twenty-Nine
The revelations had led to a short silence in which each man in the room felt under scrutiny from the others and George was the first to break the silence. “That makes... sense.” Was all George could reply in a breathy half whisper before frowning and turning his gaze inward. Mitchell fancied he knew what George was thinking – this was a direct contradiction to the strong faith he had always held so deeply. Yet it was obvious that he at least believed part of Turner's tale.
George's frown deepened and without a word, he got to his feet and left the room. Mitchell scrambled up and followed only to find that George had stopped right outside the door and was staring across the warehouse. “What's wrong?” Mitchell whispered, staying close behind him. Tully and the large, dark-bearded werewolf were looking in the same direction.
“Attention!” A voice boomed out, echoing painfully around the large expanse. Mitchell looked around, knowing there must be speakers somewhere but seeing none. He was a little surprised to find George and the other werewolves doing the same. So being spoken to over the public address system was not a usual occurrence, it seemed. Even Turner and Crowley deigned to join them at the doorway.
“This can't be good.” Mitchell heard Crowley murmur at the same time hearing a low groan of “What now?” from George.
The voice boomed out again over the PA. “Everyone gather in the sleeping area.” The inflection in these words marked the speaker out as none other than Li. Tully and the big werewolf moved off immediately. George remained standing in the doorway, preventing Mitchell and the two older vampires from passing. “NOW!” Li roared from the speakers. George winced and moved toward where the other werewolves were huddled. He stopped a little way from them and looked over his shoulder. Mitchell was not far behind but Crowley and Turner had remained in the doorway of the small office.
“Everyone means EVERYONE!” Li intoned again and Mitchell glanced up at the section at the top of the wall to their left. The long window of black glass overhung the warehouse at an upward sloping angle. Obviously it was from here that Li was watching them. He felt rather than heard the two other vampires move out into the open. “Now then stay put. If anyone moves so much as a muscle, we will use this.”
Seconds later, a very loud monotone noise, similar in tone to an industrial fire alarm set off. Mitchell instinctively clamped his hands to his ears but it was the reaction it wrought on the werewolves which was horrible to see. Each one held their ears and were screaming as if in mid-transformation, the woman collapsed and the others were driven to their knees. Over the tops of the siren and the screams, Mitchell could just hear Turner begging Li to “Please stop!” The blare stopped and the vampire could hear a loud buzzing kind of ring in his ears as he released his head from his hands. The screams from nearby faded to whimpers of pain. Mitchell almost moved to George's side when his friend stood up and held out a hand. There was a trace of blood on that outstretched palm.
“George?” Mitchell enquired worriedly. With the heightened hearing they had before the full moon, that sound must have been excruciating.
“No moving.” George gasped, not looking over nor opening his eyes. Mitchell could see a miniscule trickle of blood from his friend's nose which seeped into the growth of hair on his upper lip and disappeared. Minute traces of blood also graced the inside of the ear that he could see. Jesus, they'd been completely wrong to think that Turner's treatment of them was the worst.
Moments later a door opened and several vampires came in, none of whom Mitchell had seen before. Mitchell glanced around as they surrounded the captives and caught the disappointment on Turner's face. Each of the invading vampires took one captive by the arm. The werewolves were compliant, their wits not yet recovered from the assault on their ears. Not wanting to subject them to further pain, Turner, Crowley and Mitchell allowed themselves to be forced along.
Soon, all were lined up with their backs against the broken walls, facing the water trough. The vampires had been placed on the shortest section of jagged brickwork while all the werewolves were forced into position along the longest segment. “What is this?” Mitchell asked. None of the vampires looked at him, or even acknowledged his question as they held the captives in place with a hand to the chest, or stomach in the case of the young female werewolf.
“This, Mister Mitchell, is a preventative measure in case that troublesome friend of yours decides to try to lead another rebellion.” Li appeared, in person, in front of them. He and another man, the unlucky Gareth, were between them holding a great long chain with manacles and huge balls of metal attached at intervals. It looked like something from the dark ages. They seemed to be struggling with the weight as they stopped beside the trench. They dropped the chains to the ground with an ear-shattering clatter yet the werewolves barely reacted. Their tortured ears still hadn't recovered enough to be hurt by that.
“Listen up!” Li shouted, knowing most of the ones he was addressing were half deaf. “Since the earlier approaches have been less than effective in keeping you animals in order...” This was said with a pointed glance at Turner. “...I, as the new Master, am imposing another method. Gareth. Will you do the honours.” Then he said, “Move them forward” to the vampires holding the captives. Mitchell was yanked forward roughly by a great fistful of his clothes. No-one else was treated any less gently.
The red headed vampire grasped the chains, the two ends held together by a large and somewhat gothic looking padlock. This he unlocked and set about dragging one end of the chain around the half destroyed wall. Li took the other end and traversed the other way so the chain looped all the way around and wove through the numerous gaps within both segments of the damaged brick work. It then became clear that the shackles were attached to lengths of twin chains, and Gareth and Li now set about fastening these to both of the eight captive's ankles. They all locked with the same key, Mitchell noted as he watched George's being locked and then his own.
When everyone was restrained, all the vampires withdrew. Li stopped and faced the now chained men and woman. The other vampires arranged themselves on the other side of the water trough with the exception of Gareth who chose to stay beside Li as his new right hand man, it seemed. “Don't think about trying to break the chains, or the lock. They will be monitored 24/7 and if you so much as move them outside of normal activity, then that alarm you heard will set off for a period of five minutes. Further repetitions of tampering with the chain will increase the siren's duration by five minutes each time. I trust you all understand the implications.” No-one moved but their understanding was clear by the fear in their eyes – mainly those of the lycanthropic prisoners. “Good. Now these chains have enough length so you can reach the water to drink. A guard will be sent in only once a day to escort you one by one to the toilet.” Li was smiling as he said this and stared at George. The werewolf straightened but said nothing. He already had the idea in his head that Li knew how they'd managed to get out and he'd just proven it with that statement. With a wave of his hand, Li silently commanded his people to leave. He turned to follow when a voice spoke up.
“What will we do for food? We must eat.” The large Russian werewolf asked, neither timid nor assertive. He just sounded beaten. He too had a little blood around his nose and ears, Mitchell couldn't help but notice.
Li pivoted on the spot with a broad grin. “Yes, Mr Kozlov. You must. Food is necessary.” Li clicked his fingers. “Which is why we have these for you.”
Three of the vampires returned from that cold access room carrying a large canvas sack each. They untied the white string from the tops and turned the sacks over, holding them by the little ears the seams made at the bottom of the bags. Three huge hunks of raw meat splattered out onto the floor, blood splashing those in chains and coating the concrete with scarlet liquid. The concrete drank the spilled fluid almost hungrily. One corpse was very plainly an almost complete adult pig, freshly skinned. The second was possibly a sheep without its head and the third, the largest, had to be a half-grown cow. The vampires shook the sacks out and wordlessly left once more.
Mitchell closed his eyes. The scent of the blood was overwhelming and though it was only animal blood, he was already feeling that familiar surge of hunger for a hot liquid so thick that it might well be a food group. He hadn't been able to eat today thanks to the whole situation with Clive and then his interrupted chippy dinner which right now seemed to have been a million years ago. If he didn't keep up with the carbohydrates, he was likely to be consumed by that hunger.
Li chuckled, long and low. “Enjoy your dinner.” He crowed as the door to the cold room closed with a jarring finality.
No-one, however, watched his retreat. As Mitchell reopened his, he realised that all other eyes were fixed on the offering of raw meat. The female werewolf moved closer to the pale older man beside her, averting her gaze to hide the fact that she was crying. The big werewolf on the end with the dark, bushy beard was quiet as he sat down heavily. Tully, in the middle, was pressing his lips together, trying not to slaver, perhaps imagining the meat cooked and browned to perfection though on this Mitchell couldn't be sure. One by one everyone began to sit down.
“Bast*rd.” Crowley hissed, gritting his teeth. Turner grunted, echoing the sentiment. Neither of them, however, seemed bothered by the strong smell of the fresh blood – and it was fresh.
George, meanwhile, had paled significantly which, considering his earlier almost deathly pallor, was alarming. “For once, I agree with you.” He murmured before losing control and darting around between the shards of wall. He stumbled over the loop of chain and landed hard on his knees. Mitchell could see and hear his friend heaving violently, half expecting that siren to set off at any moment. When it didn't, he moved to offer his help but George waved him away almost impatiently. One thing was patently obvious as he turned away, disheartened. George hadn't enough left in his stomach to be sick with. He returned to the line up after several minutes, flicking his ankle to prevent the chain from catching and sank to the floor. He was getting his breath back and rubbing his knees when he suddenly stopped and looked at his hands.
“You said...” George was still gasping a little as he began speaking. “I understand why v-vampires hate us but..." He indicated the meat. “W-why this?”
Everyone was now seated because there was little else to do. Crowley leaned forward to look around Mitchell and regarded George soberly. “By reducing you all to eating raw meat like this, he's trying to take away the last vestiges of your, your...”
“Humanity.” Tully replied still staring at the meat. “We're not human, though. Not now.”
“And we never will be again.” George added quietly, head down and hands holding his knees. After this was said, the room lapsed into silence. No-one dared risk touching the chains which held them by both feet and neither did anyone want to touch the raw flesh on offer in front of them.
The depressing lack of conversation continued and that, combined with the cold, lulled Mitchell and some of the others into a half-doze. It was some time later that Mitchell awoke to the sound of the chains moving. Jerking to full wakefulness, he glanced around. To his left, Crowley and Turner were sitting, talking in whispers. To his right, Tully was nearest to him, then the older werewolf, the female then the big Russian man. He'd yet to learn names but right now he couldn't care less. Where was George?
A short but frantic hunt found the missing werewolf had moved to the opposite side of the wall and was now sitting as far from the others as he could get, chains stretched to their limit as he faced away, looking back toward the office and those strange circular beds. Mitchell got to his feet, stepping over the retaining chains carefully and stretching his own restraints to their limit to go and sit beside George.
“Are you okay?” He asked softly.
“I'm fine.” Came the dull reply.
Mitchell could see the blood had dried in George's ear now, it had faded to a brownish scum around the inside. “How are your ears?” He persisted, detecting a coldness of attitude from his friend he'd not expected.
“Numb.” George came back laconically. He then seemed to think better of this dryness and looked across at Mitchell. “You?”
Mitchell offered his best comforting smile. “I've been worse. ” George just nodded. A tense silence drew out between them. Mitchell hated this uncomfortable feeling he was getting that George was angry with him. “Look, what's..?”
“How did you...?” Both began to speak simultaneously then stopped in synch. Mitchell gestured for George to speak first. “Th-those things they said about what you did. Are they true?”
“About the... no, Turner's wrong. It wasn't 57.” George let out a sigh of air. “It was more.” Mitchell admitted with more than a trace of shame.
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Post by Melissa Kane on Oct 20, 2009 18:19:19 GMT
And Then What? Chapter Thirty
Annie looked around herself. She'd shifted herself sideways into what could only be described as a kitchen, but it was quite unlike any kind of kitchen she'd ever seen before. Pokey though it might be, nonetheless it was stocked with gadgets and enough food to keep Mitchell happy for weeks. Annie looked around with the thought that this seemed far too small to feed a pack of werewolves. It was then that she heard a horrendous noise, first an ear-splittingly loud buzzer which was comparable in force to the cacophany of the dead. Mixed into the sound, and so close by, came the mingled screams of several people. One scream hit her above all the others – it was George! They were hurting him. Without a second thought she materialised somewhere toward the source of the sound – she might be dead but she could sense the strength of the vibrations from both the alarm and the agonised cries, and knew she was close. She was in a toilet area which was filthy and had definitely seen better days.
Peering out, she heard the alarm stop. It had only been for a few seconds at most but what she saw scared her. Even from this distance she could see that at least three of the people kneeling around were werewolves. Mitchell and George were nearest, her vampire friend still standing at least though George had been driven to his knees. Most of the people there were whimpering softly after the horrible noise died. Mitchell, and thank God he was alright, started to move toward George who held out a bloodied hand to stop him and said something she couldn't hear from here. Annie was incensed. They used that sound to hurt him? Hurt them, she amended mentally, seeing the other werewolves with the same kind of pained expression.
She was about to head across to offer some assistance when there was a crash of a door opened off to her left then a hoarde of vampires entered. She watched them manhandle all the people there away from what looked like circular pits in the ground over and behind a tumbledown wall. She almost stepped out of hiding then and there when two more vampires appeared. Now these two she recognised even as they carried what looked like a huge pile of scrap metal between them. It was the red headed vampire who she assumed must have somehow managed to get Mitchell caught and the vampire who attacked George at the car.
The kidnapper was shouting at Mitchell, she realised as she crept a little closer while staying close to the outside of the toilets. Or at least he was speaking loudly. She could hear every word and felt a perverse pleasure, a thrill of pride, when she heard him accuse George of starting a rebellion. From here she couldn't see anyone. But her pride turned darker as she saw the vampires manhandling their prisoners while both the red haired vampire and the Chinese one ran chains around the stonework. She could hear the clank as chains were moved, out of sight, but she could imagine the events easily. Annie's eyes momentarily flashed a vivid purple as her earlier rage returned. This treatment of her friends and those other poor werewolves raised it to a fever pitch. She was seriously thinking about destroying the whole wall when the kidnapper, his work done, began speaking again.
As he laid down the law about their punishments should they try to escape, Annie glanced around, her anger retreating to a simmering boil as she realised that if she did anything, she might end up hurting her friends more than they already had been. With her lips pressed tightly together, she remembered she had someone else to think of, too. This dissipated the last of her outrage. She had been asked to take care of the little boy and as much as she wanted to help here, she realised she was not able to yet. This wasn't the undertakers and she didn't have the resentment she had felt toward George at that time driving her on to prove herself. And, as much as she hated to admit it to herself, it really had been that resentment that he would abandon Mitchell in his time of need which helped drive her to prove the point that she could help. Right now, though, faced with such a delicate situation as this, she wasn't feeling as confident as she had then. Her boys were in trouble but they had each other to rely on here. Besides, she had her responsibility to Aleks. Reluctantly, while the Chinese vampire who, she understood had claimed this place as his own, was still talking, she evaporated herself to the other side of the wall.
She'd forgotten about the people who'd come down the stairs. They were just exiting the overturned room as she appeared, inches in front of them. They were tousled and bleeding from various wounds. The man had clear scratch marks where blood seeped into his white shirt.
Jonas and Danica stared, slightly startled. “What the f...?” Who are you?” Jonas asked suddenly, pulling in his jacket hastily.
Danica blinked, tucking her blouse into her pants, her beribboned hair now askew in any number of different directions and the tips bloodied. “Shhhhhii... that's the ghost we were sent to look for, right?” She stopped tucking and made a grab for Annie.
It was unfortunate for them they had only just left the half ruined doctors office. Annie shrugged, realising she had to get out of there now. Without even using her hands, she pushed a strong wave of energy away from herself, almost sweeping the vampires off their feet. They landed in a tangled heap back inside the room and Annie pulled the door shut while they were still trying to disentangle themselves from the bed which, by now, had once more collapsed.
“YOU!” A voice roared from further down the corridor. Annie looked along and saw the kidnapper vampire emerging from a doorway. “Get her!” He growled and from that doorway came all the vampires who had been restraining those inside the warehouse.
Now, one or two vampires at time, she could handle with confident ease, but this frothing mass of fangs were a bit beyond her. Annie ran and disappeared straight through the closed door to the stairwell. The vampires were not far behind and she had to make a choice. She could head up the stairs into God only knows what kind of space or she could head straight on through the second door marked Car Park.
She melted through the car park door just as the first vampire barrelled through the swing door. He hit that second door even harder but by then, his quarry was nowhere to be seen. The shutter doors were closed and the ambulances that usually parked in there were missing. “She stole a bleedin' ambulance!” He exclaimed.
The second and third vampires arrived behind him. He reiterated his point about the ambulances with great gusto before one of this fellows, the fifth vampire into the car parking space, Amrit, pointed out that the door was closed before they could put the vehicle inside so she hadn't stolen anything. She had simply done what ghosts do and disappeared.
To put it bluntly, their prey had gotten away.
*****
Nina glanced at her watch. The neon digits glowed telling her it was 4.32am. She had a little over an hour before she had to be on shift at the hospital – having already worked a 22 hour shift then having been given 8 hours off before her next one. But despite her fatigue, she'd been unable to sleep a wink, she drove over to George's place in hopes that the housemates had returned. Now she stood, huddled in her thickest jacket while the wind whistled up Henry Street while looking up at the first floor windows. This one nearest above her was Mitchell's room, she was sure. Surely a vampire didn't sleep nights? Or if Mitchell did, surely Annie didn't. Did the dead sleep at all?
She was passed by a lone chip shop paper which flapped along cheerfully in the autumn breeze, its passage loud among the rustling of fallen leaves in the wee hours of the morning, as she went to the door. The street itself was empty, illuminated by the warm orange rings from the streetlight so that the road itself looked like a game of Twister made for a giant.
Nina took herself a deep, slow breath and rattled the letterbox hard a couple of times. Somewhere down the row, a dog barked. What if they were asleep and she was making all this noise, waking them up and...
“Alright?” A cheery voice greeted her. She turned, startled, to see a twenty-something year old man hopping playfully from paving stone to paving stone toward her. He bore a wide, appealing grin on his impish face and the dark hair atop his head flapped. He looked like a six foot tall pre-schooler. He wore a demin jacket and jeans, his hands thrust into the jacket's pockets. He paused and looked at her keenly before resuming his game as if nothing had happened.
“Bl**dy hell, why do I always end up with the barmy ones?” Nina breathed, nodding in greeting but then tried her hardest to ignore him. She even stepped back right to the kerb to give him plenty of room to pass her by. He kept on coming and to her dismay ended his last hop right beside her. He turned and faced the house, looking up at the windows in a kind of parody of Nina's earlier stance. Nina diligently ignored him and walked to the side of the house again, sidling past the recycle bins and peeping in through the window. He followed, eyeing her curiously. “What do you want?” She barked over her shoulder after a second or two. He was leaning on the bins, grinning at her in that almost mentally deficient way.
“How do you do that?” He asked, looking her over. “That's trippy, that is.” Given the hour, he wasn't making the slightest effort to lower his voice.
Nina frowned, realising this guy really wasn't going to leave her alone no matter what she tried to do. “How do I do what?” She asked, surprisingly not feeling intimidated by the man, just irritated.
“That, there.” He pointed a long finger at her face. “You're doing it again. Its like your moving your face but not. Its like there's something moving under your skin. Bizarre.” He paused and the grin lessened just a little bit. “Never seen anyone like you before. What are you? You're not a human, are you?”
Nina blinked and shook her head slowly, giving him her sternest stare, hiding the surprise she felt at his insight. Without warning the man thrust his hand out. “I'm Michael. Michael Gold.” Nina didn't bother to move and certainly didn't shake his hand. She was beginning to get the a sense that the man wasn't really a man in the strictest sense of the word. Not that he was a woman or anything. Not that, but he wasn't – human, either. He left his outstretched hand in the air. “So, you looking for Annie, then? Or Mitchell, maybe?”
At this, she couldn't keep the surprise down. “How do you know Annie and Mitchell?” She asked. Something clicked as he leaned closer, trying to peep in through the window himself it seemed, that hand of his still waiting to be shaken. “Are you... dead?”
“Yep, I'm totally dead. And I met them at the hospital. Annie helped me, she set me free. I was just coming back to tell her all the things I've found and, well, see her again.” Michael still smiled though he sounded wistful. He wiggled his hand in the air, urging her to shake it. Seeing no reason not to since the dead couldn't hurt her, Nina finally took the offered hand.
“I'm Nina. I'm... a friend of theirs too.”
“A living friend, I see.” He observed, releasing Nina's hand almost straight away. “Well any friend of Annie's is a friend of mine. So, you just fancied popping round for a chat at this Godforsaken hour, eh?”
“Yes. Well, actually I needed to see Mitchell about something. But I don't think they're home.” She skirted the issue tactfully. She wasn't about to tell this virtual stranger her business.
Michael's smile broadened some more, making Nina idly wonder if this ghost was made of elastic or something. “You wait here, friend Nina. I'll nip inside and see what those two are playing at.”
“No wait...” Nina protested, but she was too late. Michael was already gone. Through the net curtains, she could see a shadow moving among the rest of the shadows in the darkened house. With a sigh, she went around to the front door, standing on the doorstep and bouncing on the balls of her feet in an effort to keep warm. More leaves skittered past her and the chip shop paper scratched its way along further down the street. It was several minutes before the door opened. Michael was standing there, all trace of his previous good humour gone.
“No-one's home.” He reported, holding the door open to let her in. She crossed the threshold and looked around. There were no signs of a struggle and Mitchell's leather jacket was gone. Cups and papers were left around the place and her venture into the kitchen showed that no washing up had been done and one of the chairs from the dining table was sticking out at an angle.
“Maybe they're just out enjoying themselves,” Nina wondered aloud, loud enough for Michael to hear.
“Perhaps.” He replied, not sounding like the man he had outside. In here he was more serious and no nonsense. Nina wandered around the kitchen itself and an unbidden anger began to simmer. How could they have forgotten about George so soon. She knew in her heart that her anger was irrational, but she indulged it nevertheless. They were supposed to be his friends! How could they think of enjoying themselves when they should be trying to find him? They had to find him, even if he were dead. That thought hurt her and she pushed it away. She glanced at the calendar pinned to the side of the kitchen cabinet. The crosses marking off the days stopped just before the last full moon. They hadn't even been counting down the days since his disappearance. The page hadn't been turned over. Didn't they even care?
“Hey, um, Nina? Look at this.” Michael poked his head through the little hatch and beckoned her over. She moved into the living room to find Michael with his finger poised over a small number one seen only through a small hole in the casing when you were right above it. “That means there's a message right?”
“Yeah.” She breathed, moving closer. She touched the rewind button and then pressed down on the play key as Michael moved to one side, watching intently.
She heard her boyfriend and Mitchell instructing the caller on how to leave a message. Hearing his voice brought a slight tremble to her lower lip. Then came the message. “Annie? Mitchell? Pick up. Please! Come on, someone's usually there. Annie? Annie, its me. George. Pick up... Shhhhhhhit... they're here.” Nina put her fingers to her mouth as she listened then reached forward and stroked the top of the cassette holder as if by touching it she could somehow reach George.
Michael looked between her and the machine. He didn't recognise the voice on the tape but clearly the man meant something special to her. “Are you okay?”
Nina swallowed. “Yeah. Yes. Yes, I'm okay. He.. he's alive.” She whispered numbly. “Or... he was.”
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