Sophie Morgan (Book 1): Relative Strangers (A Modern Vampire Story)

by Treharne, Helen

  Through the all-consuming darkness of each emotion, one word burned through them all: inoperable. It didn't matter that there was a forty percent chance of having more than six months. All she heard was that she was going to die. Something which she wasn't even aware of was going to ravage her body from the inside out, and it didn't feel like there was anything she could do about it. Crying into her Chardonnay, she wished that she at least had a cat.

  The buff folder sat on her desk for several days before she finally decided to open it and scan the contents for her client's telephone number. He sounded as if he'd been expecting her call. He didn't pass any comment on her rash departure at their last meeting, or question her desire to meet him somewhere quiet, but public. She proposed a wine bar which she knew in a quiet side street, which was popular with professionals, but would be quiet on a weekday evening.

  They met at seven o'clock. Rachel was the first to arrive and waited nervously for him at the table she'd called ahead to reserve, adjusting her pashmina and skirt hem several times as she did so.

  He slid gracefully onto the seat opposite her, unbuttoning his jacket as he did so to make sure it hung properly on his slender frame. The waiter came to take his order and presented him with a wine list, which he politely refused. The young solicitor smiled nervously and clutched her glass of crisp white wine so she had something to do with her hands.

  "I don't imbibe, except communion wine," Ferrers replied with a dry smile. "Old habits can be so hard to break."

  She couldn't be sure if he were joking or trying to intimidate her.

  Ferrer's returned his attention to the leather-bound menu. "Perhaps some water?" he suggested to the waiter, who promptly scurried off towards the bar. Rachel didn't know why he was so nervous - little did she know that a large share of the venue was owned by one of Ferrer's holding companies. He never revealed everything about his business interests, no matter what she thought.

  Neither party spoke until the water was delivered. Rachel attempted to speak, but while her mouth opened, words didn't form. None of the sentences which she had carefully rehearsed prior to their meeting sounded right. Words flashed before her eyes, but her brain failed to connect them into coherent speech. Ferrers sipped his water slowly before deciding to instigate the parley off formerly. When he did, Rachel couldn't speak anyway. She just sat in quiet disbelief and listened.

  "Vampires are real?" she hissed across the table, clutching her now lukewarm Chardonnay.

  "Yes, Rachel, that is if I may call you Rachel. I feel like I know you so well." Of course, he did. Unknown to her, he had tasted her blood on more than one occasion; so skilled was he in the art of extraction.

  "Yes, that's fine." She nodded." No, wait... what? Seriously? Vampires are real and you're a vampire? You're actually one? You genuinely expect me to believe that, do you?"

  "Yes."

  She couldn't figure out if he found her tiresome or was just being direct. This whole thing was overwhelming. If this was meant to be a joke at her expense, it wasn't funny. She was in no mood to play games. She paused for a moment to process his answer.

  "And you want to make me one?" she eventually whispered, leaning across the glass table top and studying his reaction.

  "If you would like, it's entirely up to you. If you prefer, we can leave this place and you go back to your life. It will be like we've never had this conversation. The choice, however, is yours."

  Not entirely convinced by what she was hearing, she sat back in her chair to consider the options before she responded. She reviewed the situation in her head. It was likely that she would have at least a few months left in reasonable health. Her healthcare cover would provide the best treatment she could get, and financially she had no worries. The last few months of her life could be spent in relative comfort, but she'd still be dead, dead and alone at twenty-eight.

  But what was the alternative? She wasn't even sure that Mr Ferrers was entirely sane. She didn't even know if she believed in vampires in the first place. The whole thing was incredulous, but here was a client telling her that she'd have a life as long as she wanted, could continue working, could travel the world and meet exciting people. All she had to do was say yes. Okay, there'd be no children, but that clearly wasn't going to happen anyway.

  Currently, all she had was a few good months, followed by a few horrific ones. Even if he was going to take her into an alley and kill her now, what was the difference? It surely couldn't be any worse, and if everything he was saying was true, then perhaps she had everything to gain. He'd been right about her dying after all. Perhaps he was right about the type of future she could have. She'd worked her whole life for the big pay-out, maybe this was it. It wasn't conventional but perhaps that was a good thing.

  "Why me?" she eventually asked him," why not her?" She nodded towards a tall, slender woman with supermodel looks who was ordering champagne at the bar.

  "Why on earth would you want to be like her?" he asked. "Wouldn't you rather be you, but better?"

  And on that note, she finished the last drop of wine from her glass and placed it confidently on the table. She was going to allow him to give her the best compliment she'd ever had.

  CHAPTER 12

  I woke up from my nightmare to find that I was still alone. The towel was wet with sweat and I’d knocked the wine glass onto the carpet. As my heart still pounded in my chest, I trotted into the bathroom, locked the door behind me and turned on the shower.

  When Tracy eventually came back to the hotel, she was too busy chatting on her mobile phone to hear me sobbing on the floor of the shower cubicle. Once she had finished the call, and I felt suitably composed, I left the cooling comfort of the tiled floor and made what I hoped resembled a breezy entrance.

  As I sat on the bed, towel drying my hair, I watched her unpack all her purchases, her toys and trinkets, and marvelled at her joy in such trivialities. I wished I could feel that carefree and wondered if I ever would again. My heart felt like it would explode through my chest at any moment, but I smiled dutifully as she proudly displayed each purchase and bargain. Bless her, she has no idea what’s really going on out there in the world.

  After ten minutes of parading around in new shoes and holding her hair up in different positions to show off new earrings or a necklace, she finally tired of it or perhaps just noticed that I had.

  "I’m sorry", she sighed, "here I am wittering on at you about shopping, and you’ve been stuck in all day. How crap a mate am I? How are you feeling, any better? You look a lot better. How is your neck?"

  I was relieved that I’d remembered to redress my non-existent wound when I got out of the shower. I only had one dressing in a small first aid kid I habitually carried when travelling. I’d have to make it last if I were to maintain the façade of still being injured. At least we were flying out tomorrow morning, I thought. I could probably avoid Tracy for the remainder of the week.

  I assured Tracy that I really was fine, nothing but a mild headache and a few bumps and bruises, nothing that a few days off work couldn’t cure. Her knitted brows and the forced nod of agreement showed me that her instincts told her not to believe me but that she was nevertheless going to choose to.

  It was beginning to get dark when she eventually proposed that we get out of the room and go get something to eat. After all, we’d leave the hotel before breakfast. It would be sensible to fill up on food while we could, in case we didn’t have time to grab anything at the airport. I knew she was right and I was starting to feel hungry again anyway, the lunchtime waffle having finally burned off in my sleep.

  I had also promised to see Mickey before we left and, more than that, I desperately wanted to. We had a connection now, which went beyond just enjoying each other’s company or physical attraction. We had shared an experience which most people never would. He’d saved my life and I’d saved his, several times in fact, and I sensed that it would be a connection we’d never be able to shake free from.

  I coul
dn’t imagine getting on a plane and never speaking to him again and I felt sick at the thought that it might be the last time I’d ever see him. I couldn’t bear the thought that this horrific chain of events would somehow be brushed under the carpet because I’d have no one to talk to about it. I’d have to swallow it down, pretend it never happened and try to create a normal life. That was a recipe for disaster. I’d never stay sane; the remainder of my life would be little more than a massive lie.

  I let Tracy lead the way to a bistro close to the hotel. My hunger was erratic, swinging between being ravenous to nausea at the thought of food. I wasn’t sure what to order, so settled for soup and a side order of bread. It seemed a sensible compromise.

  We ate in silence as I couldn’t think of any innocuous chit-chat, and by that point Tracy had exhausted all of hers. It wasn’t awkward though; if anything, it was pleasant to sit, eat and watch the world go by. For different reasons, Tracy had probably found this break quite exhausting too, and as I silently ate I wondered if she would keep in touch with Kieran.

  Our evening promenade took us past the hawkers selling their wares in the square and the windows of the boutiques which remained open. We stopped occasionally to admire some of the cute things displayed within them. Comments like "Oh I wish I’d seen that before" and "I like that, that’s lovely” passed between us. There was something reassuring about it, like white noise.

  We were both admiring some delicate glass ornaments when she spontaneously told me she really liked Kieran. She didn't divert her gaze from the charming gifts for a single moment. I didn’t need to tell her it wasn’t going to go anywhere because she knew. I was relieved. I really had bigger things to worry about and if that made me a bad friend, then so be it. Having confessed, Tracy sighed and reached for my hand, squeezing it for a long time while saying nothing.

  Although we were very different in many ways, Tracy was ultimately a practical person. She’d been hurt before and wasn’t going to waste time or tears on someone who wasn’t going to be a long-term prospect. It wasn’t a reflection on Kieran, it was just the truth.

  For all the flattery and flirtation, and despite whatever had passed between them during the night before, she was a hard-nosed business woman who had built a stable life for herself. He was a nomad, travelling across Europe picking up gigs where he could. I suspected that despite her bravado, was looking for a man who could offer her a bit more than a few laughs and a fumble.

  There was something quite pleasant about holding my friend’s hand as we made our way through the streets and towards Antwerp's nightlife. I would take comfort in her friendship until I met Mickey again, my safe place.

  Part of me also wanted to keep her close, keep her safe, keep her away from whatever harm might come our way that evening. I hoped that I was overly paranoid, but who could blame me for wondering if some ‘creature of the night’ would jump out at us.

  As the sky became increasingly bleak, it felt like a blanket of doom engulfing my body. I wanted to be anywhere but there, but not certain that somewhere else would be any safer. At that moment, I realised that life was never really going to be the same ever again.

  We eventually arrived at O’ Malley’s and I felt both relieved and brimming with anticipation. A few customers were in situ, but overall it was very quiet, nothing like the previous two nights. Sean and Maggie were serving behind the bar while Mickey sat in a corner flicking through a newspaper. Although it was dark, I could see that he still looked tired and pretty beaten up. He was nursing a pint of cola and a packet of crisps.

  I caught his eye as he looked up from his paper and I waved at him. He folded the newspaper in two and placed it on the table in front of him. We both walked towards the centre of the room, meeting each other half way as Tracey made a beeline for the bar. She spoke a few words to Sean, who produced a couple of local beers. They had a brief chat about something, which I couldn’t hear, before Tracy returned with the drinks, handing me one of them. I was grateful that she’d only purchased a small serving; I was in no mood for alcohol, and given the injuries I’d sustained the night before I didn’t think it was a very good idea.

  Mickey was the first to speak, informing Tracy that Kieran wouldn’t be in that night, and so it was doubtful that she would see him again before we went home. He was playing a regular session in Brussels; apparently it was one he usually did on the last Sunday of the month. Kieran had several friends there and wouldn't return for a few days. Mickey clearly felt uncomfortable at having to relay the news, he winced at every word as if trying to navigate a minefield.

  Tracy shrugged her shoulders at him, with a nothing more than a hint of sadness. She told Mickey that Kieran had told her as much and that she understood completely. I didn’t know if that was true or if she was lying, but I chose to believe it. Her need to keep a sense of pride was more important than any desire on my part to know the truth. It was something that I appreciated all too well after the cruel way in which my last relationship had ended. Dignity trumps reality sometimes.

  The three of us stood awkwardly in silence for a while, until Tracy eventually declared that she was going to sit at the bar and watch the TV. There was a football match showing, a sport which I’m sure she didn’t follow, but I wasn’t going to argue with her. She wasn’t daft and I suspected that she sensed there was something between me and Mickey that was weird to be around. He was like a nervous schoolboy and my body language fared no better.

  When she left, Mickey gestured towards the seat he had vacated and offered to carry my drink. Despite it all, I felt a little rush of butterflies in my stomach. I took a place at the table and sipped my small beer while he shuffled the papers to one side and took a seat next to me.

  "So, did you watch the news at all today?" Mickey asked, taking his seat.

  I explained that I’d spent most of the day in bed, missing the news and most of my final day in Antwerp.

  "I’ve been watching it all day," he reported.” I tried to get some sleep, but I just couldn’t get off. There was nothing mentioned about our pointy teethed friends, nothing in the paper either, not that I understood much. I didn't do anything past GSCE French and I don't know any Flemish!"

  "That’s good; about the lack of news I mean," I said hopefully.

  I think I was trying to persuade myself that it was a desirable outcome, but in all honesty, I didn’t know what to make of it. Had we imagined the whole thing? Should I be relieved there was nothing in the paper? Were the vampires, who we thought we had dispatched, still alive? Was that even the right word? Perhaps they weren’t actually dead, really dead. That would explain why no bodies had turned up and I imagined for a moment that they would burst through the door and finish the job. With any luck, the one surviving vamp had just done a sterling job of disposing of the bodies.

  "I guess they don’t want any bodies turning up either," Mickey added, reading my mind.

  "Maybe," I shrugged my shoulders and took a sip from my glass. We can but hope, eh?

  "Is she okay?" he asked, changing the subject and nodding in Tracy’s direction. "Did you tell her anything?"

  "No, God no. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone and what be the good in telling her? She’d think I'd lost the plot. I think that she’s more down in the mouth about her love life than what happened to me last night." On reflection, I probably sounded catty, but that wasn’t my intention, although maybe on some level I was jealous, jealous that my worries could not be as minor as ‘man trouble’.

  "It’s not her," Mickey replied, “Kieran doesn’t seem to stay in one place for too long. I think he was initially only going to stay here until after the Summer of Antwerp festival. I expect he’ll head to somewhere else soon. Maggie’s known him for a while; he's a bit of a free spirit."

  "Don't worry about Tracy, she’ll be fine Mickey. You can’t really expect anything to come from a holiday fling, can you really?" I said without thinking.

  Mickey looked down at his feet. He was hurt that I
might have thought of us, in that way. I stretched out my little finger across the table, reaching for his hand. I brushed the small digit against his. It tingled.

  "I hope we’ll keep in touch," I assured him.

  "Me too, I think we should. I’d definitely want to." His eyes were truthful and earnest.

  I smiled and reached into my small bag for a pen and paper. I scribbled my number, email and address onto the small jotter pad. I ripped off the sheet of paper and slid it across the table. He inspected the note before he folded it over and slipped it into his jeans pocket. He asked for the pad, wrote down his mobile telephone number and email address and passed it to me. I tucked it into the notes section of my purse for safe keeping.

  "I’m not sure how long I’ll be here now, "he said regretfully.” I think I’ve had enough of this place, time to move on. Maybe it’s time to go home."

  I knew how he’d felt, I’d been having the similar thoughts. Even if the whole world was taken over by the supernatural, I’d rather that I was close to my loved ones when it happened, back in the place I was born, where I would ultimately belong like no other place on earth.

  But unlike Mickey, I didn’t have anyone else I was responsible for; he had Sean, he’d assured his parents he would look after him and that didn’t involve bringing him this close to danger. Although neither of us said it, we both knew that we didn’t have any guarantees that our vampire friends were really dead. At the very least, one of them had survived, and they could easily come back to find us. It wasn’t really safe for any of us.

  "What do you think has happened to them?" I eventually asked.

  Mickey shrugged. "Probably dumped in the Scheldt; that’s what I’d do. Weight them down and dump them, get rid of any evidence of what happened or who they were."