Bring Me to Life

by Scarlett Parrish

  "Honestly, Sergeant---"

  "Nathan." I don't feel entirely comfortable having him use my first name, but when he uses my long-defunct title, it sounds like mockery.

  "Honestly, Nathan, where has this military pride got you? Oh, you can tell yourself you're an honourable man all you like, but---" The lift judders, disturbing his cool command for a split second, and his shoulders flinch in a barely- suppressed shiver of discomfort. "Always did hate these fucking things," he mutters. "Why couldn't we have taken the stairs?"

  "Oh, I am sorry. What sort of a host am I?"

  "A deceitful one, for a start."

  Aaaaand, the old Adam's back in the room.

  The only reply I give are two is-that-so raised eyebrows.

  "As I was saying, you can kid yourself into thinking you're an honourable military man all you like, but what sort of sergeant would spend decades hiding like a rat in a hole just because he was too much of a fucking coward to tell me he wasn't dead after all?" Adam's in my face now, snarling; now that we're alone, no longer in public, he feels he can say what the hell he likes, but it works both ways.

  "Someone who was trying to stay the hell away from the guy who did his level best to kill him," I shoot back. "Did you ever think of that, Adam? Ever? That being anywhere near you sickened me, and I just wanted to get away? Did you ever ask yourself if perhaps I didn't want Will to save me? Maybe I fucking wanted to die, but he did the altruistic thing and brought me back even though I'd rather be dead than live on the same planet as you?"

  Not for the first time tonight, Adam stares at me, open-mouthed in shock, and at close proximity, his sudden pallor is all too obvious. He drank recently, as evidenced by his recent ability to cry (or nearly), so there's blood in him, and it reddened his cheeks when he spoke to me in anger moments ago, but now it drains away.

  "I---"

  "Don't," he interrupts. "Don't you dare do the right thing and say you're sorry." He steps back, still staring at me in that I can't believe you said that way he has, then he adopts the same posture as me---spine straight, facing front. "I know you're not."

  "You can read my mind now?"

  "Always heed what a man says in anger because that's bound to be the truth."

  "Welcome to my humble abode. Temporary lodgings, I mean." I don't turn around as I speak, even when the door gives its terminal click. Alone with Adam. Sure, we talked on the street, sparred in the lift, but this room offers comfort and privacy.

  Well, privacy, at least.

  "Quit the niceties, Nathan." He sighs, trying to tell me he's fed up with these games, but he likes to play. I've known him too long not to have noticed that. "Let's just cut to the chase. I came up here because I want you to tell me exactly what happened and---"

  "Actually." Turning on my heels, I waggle a forefinger, schoolmaster-style. "You asked to come up here to talk, and I agreed. So don't talk like you decided, so mote it be."

  "Always so bloody pedantic. Does it really matter? We both know what we came here for. Spill."

  I lift my eyebrows. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Why did you lie to me? Why did you and Will lie to me?"

  "May I remind you, we didn't exactly lie. We just didn't bother telling you some of the finer points of the matter."

  "Oh, like, you've been alive for the past seventy years and---"

  "Technically undead, not alive, according to my papers, at least."

  "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" he demands, shouting louder than I've ever heard.

  Apart from the evening in question, the one he wants me to explain in excruciating detail.

  I let my coat slip down my arms, catching it before it hits the floor, a smooth move I've executed a number of times in the past, and yes, childishly, I'm pleased that Adam's watching as I do it again. His gaze burns into me as I slip past him and hang my overcoat on one of the hooks by the door. I glance at the door handle, and in the back of my mind is the notion that it locks automatically when it clicks shut.

  Shit. I'm in a locked room with Adam.

  All I have to do is flip the latch if I'm that panicked, but no. I'm being stupid. This needs to be done.

  "I didn't tell you..." I run my hand over my coat, pretending to make sure it hangs properly, but I just need something to do with my hands, an excuse not to turn around and see the hurt and anger on Adam's face all over again. "I didn't tell you because you smothered me."

  He doesn't say anything, and I count to ten before looking at him. Only then does he speak.

  Okay, then, so this is how it is. He wants me to look him in the eye as I hurt him. As he hurts me.

  "I smothered you?"

  "I told you that countless times. I told you I didn't want to change."

  "You did! You bloody did want it. You told me you were just frightened, and..."

  "And you bit me anyway."

  "I know I did, but..." Adam does that thing again, where he balls his fist and raises it. This time, he hits it a few times off his own forehead, like he's trying to force his mind to come up with the perfect word or reason or excuse or lie.

  Something, anything, to make all of this all right again. To make it never have happened. But if it hadn't, we wouldn't be here now, having this mess of a conversation. I would more than likely have been dead for years. Nearly a century old, so definitely on my way out if still alive.

  Adam's fist flattens, and he presses the palm to his face, covering his eyes. "I thought I could persuade you. I couldn't let you...I mean, there was a war on, Nathan." He drops his hand, lets me see his face again, and he's almost laughing. "You could have died. And then where would I have been?"

  "You took away my ability to choose for myself. I might have backed out and changed my mind again for all you know---"

  "Or got caught up in another bombing and killed, leaving me behind!"

  "Oh, sure. Sure. Because this is all about you, isn't it?"

  "Look, just..." He slips off his own jacket.

  "Mind if I...?" And nods down at his shoes.

  "Go right ahead." I shrug, wondering if the casual gesture covers over the nervousness I feel at the realisation that he's staying.

  Adam hangs up his jacket, kicks off his shoes, and moves over to the sofa. As he sits down, I give a little huff of laughter.

  "No wonder they call you Padlock."

  "What?"

  "I spoke to one of the barmen at Vlad's. Scott, I think his name was. I asked for you. He wasn't sure who you were at first."

  "Must be new."

  "Have you been going there long?"

  "How did you know I went there at all?"

  Pause. "Will."

  I give a brief nod before carrying on. "I described you, and I realised you might not look the same. Your accent might have changed. You might be going under a different name. Anything about you could have been different."

  "And is it?" Adam rests his chin on his hands and looks me straight in the eye. "Have I changed?"

  I pause before answering, not sure if there's a right answer to give. From what I've seen this evening, he's mercurial, going from flirtatious to angry to playful to pleading so fast, he makes my head spin. Part of that I put down to the shock of seeing me again after a long, long period of believing I wasn't around at all. Thinking the only thing left of me was my ghost.

  "No," I whisper. "You haven't changed at all." Still confusing, still unpredictable. But what harm can it do, having him in my hotel room? I'm already dead, and things don't get much worse than that.

  "That's a shame." He gives a half-smile, shaking his head oh so slowly. "I was hoping you'd think I was different from the way I was then."

  "Only because you can't kill me this time around."

  "Ouch. You just don't know when to stop, do you? Wait, no, no, don't tell me. I could say the same to you, Adam. Am I right? So," he continues without waiting for my answer, and I'm not even sure I could give one, "tell me. I tore your throat out, then...?"

  "Nice
of you to be so apologetic about it."

  "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't still be around."

  "No, Adam. No. If it weren't for Will, I wouldn't still be around."

  "Then please, enlighten me. I. Tore. Your. Throat. Out. And...?"

  "And I was damned near unconscious for the rest of it. Will filled me in when I came round. Apparently, he told you to get out of the room, to go to a particular place where he'd meet you later...?"

  "Yes." Adam nods, and his eyes cloud over.

  "There was a place..." He clears his throat a few times. The words are getting stuck, or maybe he chokes on the memories. "He came to me later and told me he'd taken care of things. You were dead. He flat out lied to me about you."

  "Fancy that. A dishonest vampire."

  "Say what you like about me, but I never lied to you."

  "Ever?"

  "Never. At all. Anything I said, I meant it."

  I'd gasp if I had need of oxygen. As it is, the shock and discomfort jolt through my body in an instant without any intake of breath from me. Adam Locke really messes with my head. I can never predict when he's going to say these things, these words that seem sincere and heartfelt, and I never know when to believe him. Not anymore.

  "Right. Well, then. So. Will told you to clear off then came back to me. I remember him leaning over me. I think..." I've told this story before.

  Kieran knows it now. But to say the words in the presence of the one responsible is nauseating. But I have to do it, if only to prove that I can. "I think I begged him to kill me, I don't know. I might not have said it out loud."

  Adam groans, cradling his head. By God; he really seems to show some regret in moments like these.

  "So, he did what he did then got me to a safe ---"

  "Wait, wait; you can't just brush it off like that. You can't just say he 'did what he did' and leave it there."

  "I was unconscious, Adam." I stand in the middle of the room, at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. Any closer, and I might weaken, might start to feel some sympathy. Adam has a talent for making me feel things I don't want to. "Or dead. Nearly. Will told me, but I don't care to repeat it."

  Shuddering, I think of myself then, and Kieran recently. His transition was so much more peaceful. It hurt, sure, but he was willing. He had a reason to do it---for the man he loved. It wasn't forced on him in a bloodbath like my change was.

  The lucky bastard.

  In a way, I'm grateful to Kieran for getting me over my fear of changing anyone. I never want to do it again, but now it won't dog me, taunting me with its unspoken, spectral, "dare you; dare you to do it. Prove you're not scared, Stephenson."

  Well, I don't have to be scared of creating another vampire anymore because I've done it.

  And I never will again.

  "Will took me to a safe house. I begged him not to say anything to you. He wondered why at first, but..." I shrug; my eyes have lost focus. A part of me knows I'm in this hotel room with Adam, but I'm also partially there, back then, with Will. "I begged and pleaded, and to put my mind at rest, he agreed. He said he had to come out to meet you, to explain, and I said, Tell him I'm dead, Will. Please. You won't be lying, not really. I am dead. Just let him think the worst. I don't want him to know. "

  "Why? Why? It can't be because I...what was it you said? Smothered you. Not that. To let me think...after everything we'd been through? You let me think that? You thought it was a good idea to ---?"

  "No, Adam. I didn't think at all. All I knew was that you had forced something on me I didn't want, and I needed time to deal with it. Jesus, I was a fucking vampire for goodness' sake. Can't you appreciate how big a change that was for me? Unplanned, unwanted? And I couldn't do a thing about it apart from go out one morning to watch the sun come up, and don't think I didn't consider it many a time."

  "What stopped you?"

  "Pardon?" I can't believe what I'm hearing.

  He almost sounds like he's daring me to do it.

  "Honestly. I'm curious. If you didn't want to be a vampire, what stopped you?"

  "Because I wanted to live, Adam. Deep down, I wanted to be alive. And I couldn't be. 'Undead' is the next best thing. That's at the heart of it, if you'll pardon the pun. I thought about it seriously in the early days, but I was too weak to do anything on my own, and I had too many people around me who'd have stopped it. And I felt bad for Will. He'd come and visit me at the safe house and---"

  "He what?" Adam shoots to his feet, putting me on high alert again. "He visited you?"

  "Yes, to make sure I was---"

  "All the time he was fobbing me off with excuses about laying low, and spending time apart until the dust settled, and I should go somewhere else for a while, and..." Adam shakes his head, a half-smile playing at his lips. "Incredible. All that time, the pair of you..."

  "Honestly, Adam; you speak as if we had an affair."

  "And did you?"

  "What? What the hell did you just say? No. Never. Jesus. The things you come out with."

  "Can you blame me?"

  "Actually, yes. Yes, I can. I can blame you for a whole lot of things, and thinking you have the right to make such accusations about my post-death sex life isn't the worst of your sins, so I'll let it fly just the once, but if I hear any more bullshit like this, I'll..."

  "You'll what?" The frown returns, and he doesn't take his eyes off me as he approaches. His feet don't make a sound on the thick carpet, reminding me of how talented he is at sneaking up on people. "Walk out on me? Again?"

  "Okay, let's get one thing straight. You don't have the right--- legal, moral, or otherwise---to put anyone on a guilt trip over this. Not Will, and certainly not me. He was the one who helped me and kept my survival secret because I begged him to. I didn't want you to know because I knew you'd smother me." Or be a constant reminder of how someone I loved could hurt me. "I didn't want to be around you. I just wanted to get on and lead my own life without you in it, so if you're looking for someone to blame for you not having your little pet around for the past seventy years... Blame. Me. And remember this, Adam Locke: I don't give a damn. I don't give a flying fuck about how much this bothers you because I'm the one who was changed against his will."

  "It was Will who changed you; you can't blame me for that."

  "I blame you for putting us in that position in the first place. This is your fault, Locke." Just like he did to me earlier, I jab him in the chest with a forefinger, and he stumbles back a step. Physically, I'm not much stronger than him; army training, yes, but death is the great leveller. So it must have been shock that threw him off balance. I didn't hit him, but I made aggressive contact, and that's rarely happened with anyone, let alone Adam himself.

  He glares down at my hand, says nothing, then looks back into my eyes, his own positively glowing with defiance. Daring me to go further.

  "And the sooner you realise that," I add, still pointing, though no longer making any contact, "the better."

  Adam's hand shoots out to grab my own, his grip crushing my fingers, but I won't give him the satisfaction of crying out. "Why now?" he demands, his gaze flicking down to my hand then up to my face. "Why show up tonight, of all nights? Why not just stay in hiding, avoiding me for all eternity?"

  "One can't run forever, Adam." I hope the grimace tugging at my face gives the impression of disgust rather than pain.

  Something in him must be capable of mercy because he loosens his grip but doesn't let go entirely. I'm sure that's a metaphor for something.

  "You made a bloody good go of it."

  "We would have run into each other someday. It's a small world."

  "Big enough to hide you for seventy years. You've been in the same country, I assume?"

  "Within the British Isles, yes."

  "For seventy years? Weren't you bored?"

  "Looking over one's shoulder for decades on end is excitement enough for me."

  "And you've suddenly, for no apparent reason, decided to give in? Force
the issue? Why now?" He pauses, the click of his tongue a barely-audible tsk against the silence of the room. No windows mean no traffic noise, and other guests know well enough how to be discreet. "Will. Of course. Something to do with him telling you I hang out at Vlad's." He shakes his head, and his fingers flinch on mine, but he still doesn't let go.

  I can't work out why I haven't pulled away.

  "So." His gaze meets mine. "You asked him where I was? For what reason?"

  I feel the frown wrinkling my brow, uncertainty over how much to say preventing me from answering immediately. If I tell him Will volunteered the information and asked me to come, Adam will ask why, and I'll have to confess, oh, a whole bunch of stuff, and good God, there have been too many secrets and lies these past seventy years, and I just don't care anymore. I'm tired of running, and looking over my shoulder, and lying, and deceit. "Will told me where you were. What you were up to these days. He said you keep in touch here and there; he knew which town you 'lived' in these days---"

  "Good old Nathan; you can't help putting words like life and live in inverted commas, can you? I can positively hear the quote marks in your voice. Still can't get used to being dead, eh?"

  There's a smart reply to that; I just know there is. But I can't think of it. "You're still holding on to my hand."

  "You still haven't pulled away."

  "Will asked me to come and seek you out."

  Adam's eyebrows lift in obvious surprise.

  "He asked a favour of you?"

  I shrug. "Yes. He wanted me to come and see you. We---he---thought it was time."

  "Still doesn't explain why now, as opposed to last year, next year, in another decade's time.

  You're good at hiding, Nathan. Why not carry on?"

  I open my mouth to speak, but nerves make me hesitate. Oh, in for a penny, in for a pound.

  "He's met someone."

  "You what?" Adam bursts out laughing, pats my hand gently before turning away. Quite what the break in physical contact does to me, I don't know, or don't want to admit. "He's met someone? Will Bosworth, the eternal bachelor? Bloody hell. So ---" he looks over his shoulder "---what's that got to do with you? And me?" Then he goes back to shaking his head, pacing slowly up and down beside the bed.