Moonlightaholics

francis wrote: Mick felt like he was suspended, never growing up, almost like Peter Pan. Thirty was a good age to be immortal, but still, he yearned for growth, the wisdom of old age. He felt like he didn’t move forward, just run in circles, emotionally.

francis wrote: But he always stayed the same person, Mick St. John, P.I. and gloomy loner, keeping his old files when he moved.

francis wrote: „What if I changed identity, moved to, say, China, or Chicago, or France, had another job, another car, a fabricated resume?“

She shivered. „Would you take me with you?“ Her voice was wistful, longing. Almost pleading.

He choked up. She was the one he could never leave behind. And she wouldn’t want to be left.

When she told Mick that Josef didn’t deem him cut out to be a vampire, her husband laughed into her face. Josef was right, of course. She meant it as a warning not to get into his face, but Mick saw it as the beginning of a possible friendship. He felt that Josef was someone he could just be himself with, someone who saw through his mask, without molding him to his fit, valuing honesty and differing opinions. Mick discovered later that Josef thought the same of him, and they established a routine of late night visits at Josef’s place that were the one thing in Mick’s life he was looking forward to at the time.

The Cleaner would take his remains and destroy them, scatter his ashes to the wind. He wouldn’t have a home in death.

Beth was his lifeline. He hadn’t really lost his soul after all.
He had relocated his soul into her.
She was his home.

If he died tomorrow, noone would bury him, mourn him at a wake, there would be no stone with a name and date. The birth date would be wrong anyway. The Cleaner would take his remains and destroy them, scatter his ashes to the wind. He wouldn’t have a home in death.