The People in Our Lives (In Between 12 and 13, PG)
Posted: Sat Jan 15, 2011 8:29 am
Disclaimer: Moonlight is not mine and no copyright infringement is intended.
This is my favorite interval between episodes, and one for which I've already written a couple of stories. And since I'm rather attached to the events in those stories, this story is a little different from the others in the series. There are three different points of view in it (but don't worry, the main one is still Mick's!)
The story is posted in two parts. The second part is in the same thread.
IN BETWEEN
twelve and thirteen
The People in Our Lives
The cemetery parking lot was nearly full, and Carl had to circle it twice before he found a space for his car between two police cruisers. At least plenty of people came, he thought bleakly, getting out of the car and crossing the green lawn. Everyone from the D.A.’s office was there, along with what seemed to be half the city’s police force. And Beth, of course, standing alone in a black dress, her eyes downcast. Carl walked up to her and she nodded to him, her hands clasped together in front of her. She was wearing a diamond ring on her left hand, a ring he’d never seen her wear before. The stone sparkled in the sunlight, and she looked down at it self-consciously.
“Thank you for coming, Carl,” she said.
“Josh was a good man. And a good friend.” He glanced at the ring again. It was definitely an engagement ring – had Josh proposed to her before his death? Or was the ring in honor of Mick St. John? Carl didn’t like the way Beth had strung Josh along, making him crazy while she’d flirted with St. John, but it was hardly an uncommon thing to happen. And if she’d truly cared about both men, maybe she simply hadn’t been able to decide which way to turn.
She saw him looking at the ring, and flushed. “It’s from Josh,” she said.
“I didn’t realize you’d taken that step.”
“We hadn’t. But Josh’s jeweler gave this to me – Josh was having the stone re-cut. He was planning to propose. So I thought I should wear it today. For him.”
Carl nodded, wished her well, and moved on, carefully not asking what her answer would have been. She couldn’t have found a better man than Josh, but there was no question of her attraction to Mick St. John. Why do some women always fall for dangerous men like him? Josh had been utterly baffled by it. Carl was thankful that his own love life was nowhere near that complicated. He and Christa had been seeing each other for two years now, and neither of them had ever thought of straying. Not that we haven’t had problems. Christa had gotten a job offer in San Diego and was desperate to move there; Carl liked Los Angeles, and didn’t really want to leave. And now, with Josh’s death, he felt obligated to stay, to make sure justice was done for his murdered friend. And even if I move, I have to make sure, first, that I don’t leave a vigilante loose on these streets.
Carl glanced at his watch. Still ten minutes to go; he’d come early in case the traffic was bad. Maybe he should go ahead and find a place at the graveside. But before he could decide, he saw a tall dark figure come out from under the trees, walking straight toward Beth.
It was Mick St. John. But this wasn’t the way that Carl had expected to see him. Mick was limping badly, each step an effort, and even from where he stood Carl could see the bruises on his face. Mick made his slow way toward Beth, who was watching him in open astonishment.
Carl quietly moved closer, watching them from behind a tree. They looked awkward with each other, which was no surprise after what had happened between them when Josh died. Carl had never seen Beth in such a cold fury, all of it directed at Mick – because he hadn’t been able to save Josh’s life. No one could have saved him, the doctors had said later, but that hadn’t made any difference to Beth’s anger. Well, grief could take strange forms, especially when guilt lay beneath it. Carl had almost felt sorry for Mick, when Beth had turned her back on him. He’d looked as if she’d killed his soul.
But now they were talking. About what? It wouldn’t hurt to have a little extra information, before Carl interrogated the guy. He crept closer, and listened.
“How does it feel?” Beth asked.
“The sun, the pain, the mortality . . . it feels amazing.” Mick was looking up at the sky, with a blissful smile that made Carl wonder just how hard he’d been hit in the head. Carl hadn’t been planning to question Mick today, but on second thought, maybe this would be a good time. With his injuries, he might be off balance, and this would be advantageous to Carl. Decision made, he strode briskly toward Mick, who glanced at him and took a step away from Beth.
“Mick,” Carl said heartily. “Glad you came.”
Mick nodded to him politely.
“I need to talk to you about a couple of things. Think you’d have a minute afterward?”
Mick looked taken aback, and Beth frowned. “Carl, this is Josh’s funeral,” she said.
“Yes. And I need to make sure Josh’s killer doesn’t go loose. I need all the information I can get to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Beth lifted her chin, as if she would argue further, but Mick said quietly, “I understand. I’ve got time. It’s not a problem.”
“Good. Thanks. I’ll meet you after.” Carl turned away, and as he walked off he glanced over his shoulder. Mick was watching him, looking very unsettled. Good, Carl thought, pleased, and made his way on to the graveside.
Carl had meant to keep an eye on Mick during the ceremony, to watch his reactions, but found himself overcome with memories of Josh. No one ought to be killed like that, just doing their job – and how had a lawyer’s job ever gotten to be so dangerous? Carl was supposed to be the one with the dangerous job. He found himself tearing up, and got himself back under control just in time to meet Mick. It was time to set aside emotions, and get to work.
He led the way to his car, got in, and watched as Mick settled himself painfully in the passenger seat. Up close, his injuries looked even worse. And he was so . . . different. Carl had seen the man injured before, after the incident with Lee Jay Spaulding, but he’d still moved smoothly, confidently, even when he’d been in pain. Now he seemed unsure of himself, as if he wasn’t comfortable in his own body. Maybe that was because he’d been hit in the head. He’d certainly taken one hell of a beating. But how had that happened? The guy was a phenomenal hand-to-hand fighter – he had, after all, taken out two HEM men by himself, unarmed. He looked, now, as if he’d taken on the whole gang. But his injuries couldn’t have happened during that melee at the Hollenback Bar, even though Carl was sure that Mick had been there. He’d seen Mick himself after that, without a mark on him, when he’d gone to the station to give his statement. So what had happened? It couldn’t hurt to ask.
“How many of them were there?” he asked, gesturing at the bruises on Mick’s face.
“Two,” Mick said with a grimace.
“That’s all? Thought it would have taken four, at least, to do that kind of damage.”
“Yeah, well. I wasn’t quite up to par last night.”
“Last night, huh?” Had Mick gone after a few leftover gang members, and been taken by surprise? “Who was it?”
“Relatives,” Mick said shortly.
“Whose relatives?” Carl asked, thinking of Tejada.
Mick smiled ruefully. “Mine.”
Mick’s usual tight reserve was gone, his body language open – and on this, at least, Carl would have sworn that he was telling the truth.
He’d planned to take Mick to the station, but changed his mind and drove to a small café instead. It was just as well that he was driving his own car instead of a police cruiser - he didn’t want Mick putting his guard back up, and maybe he wouldn’t, if Carl kept things casual. The young waitress led them to a table in a secluded corner, and as they sat down she set out silverware and menus. Mick grabbed his menu and scanned it eagerly, waving the waitress back so that he could order immediately, and Carl shrugged and made his order too. “Hungry?” he asked dryly, as the girl tucked her pad away and left.
“Yeah, starving,” Mick said. “What did you want to ask me?”
“Well, let’s start with the information you got from Bustos. You said he told you that Tejada was holed up at the Campos Bar, right?”
“Right. That’s what he told me.” The waitress brought coffee and Mick lifted his cup to take a sip, eyes closed in pleasure. “God, this is good coffee!”
Carl sipped his, and shrugged. It was okay, but he’d hardly call it great. “We went to the Campos Bar to pick him up,” he said. “But Tejada wasn’t there.”
Mick frowned. “He’d already taken off?”
“More like, he wasn’t ever there. We figured that Bustos had lied to you. But when we confronted him about it, he swore that he’d told you it was the Hollenback Bar.” And I wish to God I’d recorded that session, Carl thought. But he hadn’t dared to. Letting Mick in there on his own had violated more rules than Carl cared to think about, and he’d had no desire to have a record made of the event.
Mick shook his head. “That’s not what he told me.”
“It also turns out that Tejada was at the Hollenback Bar.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Totally. He was gone by the time we got there, but he’d definitely been there.”
“Damn,” Mick said, looking distressed. “I could have sworn that Bustos was telling me the truth. Is Tejada still loose, then? Beth still isn’t safe?”
Beth. The reason you lied to me then, and the reason you’re lying to me now.
“He’s not loose,” Carl said.
“You caught him?”
“Nope. We found his body.”
Mick stiffened.
“The remains of it, anyway,” Carl went on. “He’d been burned, and there wasn’t much left to identify it by. We had to use dental records. Thankfully, it wasn’t a hands-on job for me.”
“Then – Beth is safe now.”
“Probably. Tejada was in total control of this chapter of HEM, and never let his underlings build up any power. I doubt that anyone else will take over, and it looks like what’s left of the gang is scattering.”
“What’s left of them?” Mick asked cautiously.
“Well, something did happen at the Hollenback Bar. The theory is that a gunfight broke out among the gang members, and some of them ended up killing each other. I guess with guys like that, it’s no surprise, right?”
“I guess.” Mick took another sip of his coffee. He’d been nervous while Carl had talked about the bar and the body, but now, drinking coffee, he seemed to be completely distracted by the taste. In the ensuing silence the waitress brought their food – a steak for Mick, a burger for Carl – and they dug in. There was nothing wrong with Mick’s appetite, for certain. It was obviously painful for him to eat, with his face so battered, but he didn’t seem to care.
“So what will happen with Beth?” Mick asked after a time. “Will she still get police protection?”
“For now. We’ll probably stand down by tomorrow, but we want to be absolutely sure she’s safe.” And you’d have been there too, insisting on protecting her, if you hadn’t already known that Tejada was dead. Carl pushed aside his empty plate and said, “So what made you so sure Bustos was telling the truth? What did you say to make him freak out like that? When we pulled him out, he was screaming that you’d turned into a devil.”
Mick flinched at the word devil, and Carl wished there’d been a camera in that interrogation room that could have picked up Mick’s face. What had Bustos seen? The go-go dancer from the bar had also spoken of el Diablo. And el Monstruo. “I made a few threats,” Mick said. “That’s all.”
“Well, you certainly scared him. Not enough to make him tell the truth, though.”
Mick looked away, his eyes downcast. “Carl – I’m sorry. I was just so sure. I hate that I sent you off in the wrong direction.”
Oddly, Carl got the impression that this time, Mick was telling the truth. He really hadn’t wanted to lie to Carl about what Bustos had told him. But he’d done it anyway. He wanted to question Bustos alone because he didn’t want us to know where Tejada was. He wanted to take Tejada out himself.
And Carl couldn’t help sympathizing. Tejada had been a horror show. He’d had Josh killed; he’d come incredibly close to killing Beth as well. And there’s Mick’s motive. Mick would do anything, anything, to protect Beth. Josh had even asked him to watch over Beth, in spite of his extreme jealousy of the man. Josh had known that Mick would keep Beth safe, no matter what happened. But he’s a vigilante, and I don’t believe for a minute that Tejada is the first person he’s killed. I can’t let this go on. The problem was, he had no real evidence. He knew, from experience and training, that Mick was lying to him, but that wasn’t proof of anything. Well, maybe he could get Mick a bit more off balance with a different sort of question.
The waitress came back to refill Mick’s coffee, and shyly asked if they wanted dessert. Mick did, of course: apple pie and ice cream. When the dessert arrived, Carl said casually, “I saw that Beth was wearing an engagement ring today.”
Mick, scooping up ice cream, only nodded. “Yeah. She was.”
“I guess she and Josh were getting pretty serious. I hadn’t realized they’d gotten engaged.”
“They hadn’t.” Mick ate his ice cream, his expression blissful. So much for hitting him with a surprise. He’d obviously known about it.
“Well, they must have. Why else would she be wearing his ring?”
Mick shook his head calmly. “He was planning to propose, but he never got the chance.”
Damn. Mick and Beth had talked a lot more than Carl had realized. “If he had proposed, I wonder if she would have said yes,” he mused, picking up his coffee.
For the first time, Mick seemed affected by the topic. He said slowly, “I don’t know. I don’t think she knows, either. But in the end . . . it wasn’t meant to be.”
Carl drove Mick back to the cemetery and dropped him off in the parking lot, which was now nearly empty. Mick put the Mercedes’ top down and climbed into the driver’s seat, looking out at the bright day. He couldn’t get over how it felt to be outdoors in the sun. It didn’t hurt. He still flinched whenever he moved from shade to sunlight, anticipating the pain, but it didn’t come. And it felt so good to sit here behind the wheel, the top down, basking in the light. The warmth crept through his entire body, and even eased the sharp ache in his knee. Mick closed his eyes and leaned his head against the seat back, letting the sunlight warm his battered face.
He was overwhelmingly glad that he’d gotten to see Beth today, to speak to her, to tell her that he was human. She hadn’t turned away from him, hadn’t asked him to leave her alone. She was still part of his life. There was still hope. Between that, and being human, Mick wasn’t sure he’d ever been happier before in his life.
He supposed he ought to be worried about Carl’s interrogation. Carl didn’t seem to suspect him of anything supernatural – not yet, at least – but he did suspect that Mick had lied to the police. And I’m pretty sure he believes that I killed Tejada. He may even have witnesses. This was dangerous. Mick couldn’t afford to be arrested or jailed, not even now. There was no telling when the cure would wear off, when he would turn back into a vampire – and a vampire could never survive imprisonment. If things got bad enough, he’d still have to disappear.
But at this moment, he couldn’t seem to care. It was impossible to believe that things would ever get that bad. Beth wasn’t angry with him any more, and he was, incredibly and amazingly, human. There was so much to do, to feel, to experience. He hardly knew where to start. He remembered the minister’s words at the funeral . . . make the most of the time we are given. There was sheer wonder everywhere around him. He traced a finger along the edge of the steering wheel, feeling the warmth and the texture of it. His newfound sense of touch kept astonishing him: he’d known it had been diminished when he was a vampire, but he hadn’t realized how much. If only I could have touched Beth today.
He sat up straight and started the car, wondering where to go. He could drive to the beach, lie in the sand, let the sunlight sink deep into his bones. He remembered, now, those long summer days with Rosie, idyllic days spent swimming in the sea and running on the sand. He’d loved the beach when he’d been human, but he couldn’t recall any time that he’d ever gone there alone. I won’t go yet. Not until I can take Beth with me. He might miss it altogether – he might, after all, lose his humanity tomorrow – but somehow, he didn’t want to go there without Beth.
Instead . . . well, he certainly needed to do some shopping. He needed to buy food, for one thing. Real food, not takeout – preferably items that would keep, or could be frozen, in case it took a while for him to figure out how to use the stove. He’d better get sunscreen, too, if he wanted to keep soaking up the sun. And he needed a bed, of course, complete with pillows, sheets, and blankets. He imagined sinking into a soft mattress, his head cushioned on a feather pillow, and nearly fell asleep just thinking about it. He’d forgotten, too, how tired humans got.
By dusk he was back at his apartment, surveying the new arrangements. The bedroom upstairs was full of storage, so he’d left the bed downstairs, next to the couch. He could always move things around later, and he wanted to sleep in the bed tonight. There were pillows and new sheets on the bed, and a brand-new alarm clock on the table beside it. The kitchen was full of groceries – bread from a bakery, bottles of wine, fruit and coffee, fresh-squeezed orange juice. He’d put frozen vegetables and ice cream upstairs in his freezer, taking intense satisfaction in using the appliance for something so prosaically normal. Happily he sat on the edge of the bed, and wished he could share this joy with Beth. Or with Josef. Or Elaine.
It was far too soon for him to seek out Beth, though, and he wasn’t quite ready to face Josef. Mick was almost sure that Josef had known something about the cure, and had lied to him about it. How could Josef not have been aware of it? He kept up with everything in both worlds, human and vampire, and the cure crossed both of those worlds.
Elaine. Mick picked up his keys, put his coat back on, and headed out.
It was completely dark by the time he reached Elaine’s little house. Mick parked out front and turned off the engine, trying to relax his grip on the wheel. Night driving was a very different experience now – he was sure his vision was normal, for a human, but he felt like he couldn’t see a thing in the dark. He couldn’t react as quickly, either, couldn’t move the car as if it were part of his body. The last time I felt this way, I crashed the car and nearly killed myself. Four blocks away from here. But he’d been drugged and ill, then. This was different . . . it was normal. And normal was something that he could definitely get used to.
There was a light on in Elaine’s house. He pushed open the car door and got out, but his bad knee gave way and he stumbled, falling to the pavement. Human joints stiffened when they were injured, too; he remembered that now. Ruefully he pushed himself up and strode to the front door, glad that no one had seen his fall. He hesitated at the door: he couldn’t smell Elaine, or sense her presence, but she ought to be home at this hour. He knocked briskly, but there was no movement, and the house stayed silent. Was she not at home? Or did she simply not realize it was him? She probably wasn’t in the habit of answering the door to random humans, after all.
“Elaine!” he called out, knocking again. “It’s Mick! Are you home?”
An instant later the door opened, and Elaine stood there, her face turning pale with shock. “Mick?” she said, her voice full of horror. “Oh my God, Mick!” She caught his arms and pulled him into the house, shoving the door shut behind him.
“Elaine -- ”
“You’re bleeding! Mick, what happened? How can you be hurt again? You’re not healing! You’re not -- ” Her panicked voice trailed off as she took in his scent, and she abruptly let go of him, and backed away.
“Not a vampire,” Mick finished for her. “Elaine, I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He hadn’t thought of how it would look, coming into her house injured. And there was blood on his hands, just as there had been before, blood he hadn’t even noticed. He must have scraped his hands on the pavement when he’d fallen.
“You’re mortal,” Elaine whispered.
“Yeah.”
“I – I never thought you’d really -- ” She glanced at his hands again, her eyes drawn inexorably to his human blood. She turned away abruptly and went into the kitchen, opening up a cabinet to take out a bottle of whisky. Mick slipped past her through the living room to the bathroom, and quietly washed the blood off his hands. The scrapes weren’t deep, and they’d already stopped bleeding. When he returned to the living room Elaine was sitting hunched in a chair, two full glasses in her hands and the bottle on the table beside her. Mick took one of the glasses from her and cautiously settled himself on the couch, careful of his aching leg.
Elaine was staring down into her glass, and Mick raised his to catch the scent of the drink. So strange . . . he could once have identified every ingredient, and he couldn’t begin to now, but the smell meant something now. The aromas of food and drink had been intense before, but somehow meaningless. But now . . . he took a sip and the drink burned his throat wonderfully, flaring with subtle flavors. Mick took another blissful swallow of whisky, and looked up to see that Elaine had almost finished her glass.
“It’s good stuff,” he said.
“It’s just the cheap kind,” Elaine said with a stiff shrug. “I didn’t think you’d like it.”
“It’s wonderful. Of course I like it.”
She eyed him curiously. “Is it that different, drinking as a human?”
“Oh God, yes. Don’t you -- ” He’d been about to say don’t you remember, but of course she couldn’t. Elaine had never once drunk alcohol when she’d been human. “It’s all different,” he said, lifting his glass to drink down the rest of it.
“Really.” Elaine picked up the bottle and refilled both their glasses. After she’d drunk most of her second glass, she said, “How did it even happen? How did you find this -- cure?”
“Coraline. She brought it to me.”
“Brought it to you? Why?”
He shrugged uneasily. When had Coraline ever given anyone anything, without demanding something in return? But last night she’d not only given him the cure, she’d sacrificed herself in order to save him from Lance. “She was human for months,” he said. “Maybe . . . maybe it changed her. Maybe it made her understand, finally, why I wanted it so much. She said she’d taken my life from me, and she wanted to give back what she could.”
“Coraline said that?” Elaine’s voice was skeptical. “That sure doesn’t sound like her. She can’t possibly have meant it.”
“No, I think she did.” Mick frowned, and took another drink from his glass. Coraline had seemed like a different woman last night, someone he’d never known before, the kind of person he’d only dreamed she could be. He thought of the lost look in her eyes when Lance had carried her away, her fear when he’d approached her with the stake. She hadn’t been acting. She really had sacrificed herself. Mick looked intently at Elaine. “And I know how she felt. About – about giving back. I wish I could give back what I took from you.”
“You didn’t take anything from me,” Elaine said, her voice flat. “I was dying anyway. And why the hell would I want to be human again?”
“It’s so different,” Mick murmured. “So different. I’d forgotten so much. I can remember my childhood again, and it was just a blur before. Wouldn’t you want that back?”
“Why would I? I hated my childhood. I was glad when you told me I could never see my family again.”
“But you loved Chloe.” Mick finished his drink and tried to set down the empty glass. His hand wavered and he nearly dropped it, but he finally managed to get it onto the table beside him. “Being human . . . it changes the way you remember. It changes everything. The things I did as a vampire feel . . . distant. And the things that came before . . . they’re clearer.”
“It changes everything?” Elaine’s face twisted with pain. She slammed her glass to the floor, and it shattered. Mick flinched, instantly remembering how he’d broken Rosie’s window, so long ago, shards of glass flying as he lunged through it to attack her . . . some of the things I did as a vampire are clearer, too. Oh, Rosie. “Has it changed the things you’ve done?” Elaine asked bitterly. “The people you’ve killed?”
“No,” Mick whispered. He felt suddenly dizzy, nauseated, and realized vaguely that he was drunk. Very drunk. How much whisky had Elaine poured into those glasses, anyway? He’d been drinking like a vampire, with his mind on other things. Maybe he could have tolerated that much alcohol when he’d been human before, but his body wasn’t used to it now -- he hadn’t really had a drink in over fifty years. All his elation had fled somewhere, leaving emptiness behind, and he knew that Elaine was right. It might feel more distant, but nothing he’d done as a vampire had changed. Not what he’d done to Rosie, not what he’d done to all those other innocents. He felt himself falling, but suddenly Elaine was there, holding him in a strong, gentle grip. Her hands were so cold . . . he’d never noticed that before. His hands would be like that again, soon; he’d turn back into ice. His face must be cold again already, the tears were so hot against it.
“I’m sorry,” Elaine whispered. “God, I didn’t mean to say that to you. It’s just - you’re all I’ve got, and you’re mortal now. You’ll – you’ll get old. You’ll die. I know that’s what you want, and I’m trying to be glad for you, I really am, but it just . . . hurts.”
Mick couldn’t answer. He felt Elaine ease him down onto the couch, felt its rough cloth against his tear-streaked face.
“And damn it all, look at you. Two glasses of whisky and you’re out for the count; you’ve already gotten yourself beaten up . . . hell, you’re not going to live long enough to get old.”
“Won’t,” Mick murmured. “Won’t get older.”
“What? Mick, what do you mean?”
“Won’t last. I’ll turn back.” And why, why, did that have to happen? Why couldn’t he stay human, and live his dream?
“You’ll turn back?” Elaine’s voice caught. “When?”
“Soon. Too soon.”
“I’m . . . I’m sorry, Mick,” she said. But even a drunken human, on the verge of passing out, could tell that she wasn’t sorry at all.
Sunlight shone through the dappled leaves above him, and Mick pulled himself up to the branch that was his goal, grinning. Good job! Sam yelled from the ground below. You did it! Their mother appeared at Sam’s side, looking somehow proud and appalled at the same time, and called out, Wonderful, Mick! But come down now, would you? Mick started down carefully, not wanting to scare her. His father said that she was in a delicate condition these days, and it was important for both boys to make things easy for her. Once he was on the ground she pulled him to her and gave him a quick hug, which was okay since nobody but Sam was watching. And he’d never admit it even to Sam, but Mick liked having the chance to feel her rounded belly, to wonder about the new life that was yet to come. What will the future be like?
I don’t know, Sam said, as they both finished off their bottles of beer. What’s going to happen to us, Mick? And how’s Rosie going to manage? Rosie was only eleven, and both of her brothers were about to go off to war. Mick was leaving tomorrow, for basic training, and after that he’d be sent to Europe. Sam would be following soon after. Sam said, Daphne and I were going to try and start a family. But what if I get killed out there? I don’t want to leave her all alone with a baby on the way. Mick didn’t know what to answer, didn’t know what Sam and his wife ought to do. All he could think of was how simple everything was now. All this time he’d spent worrying over what his career should be, and now he knew that all he really wanted was a family. He wanted to get married, and have kids. With the war looming over him, would he ever have a chance for that? Would he ever even see his parents again, or Rosie?
Do they even have a chance? Mick watched wearily as the last ambulance disappeared over a rise, leaving only a trail of dust behind. A three-man patrol had walked into a nest of land mines, and the results had been horrific . . . Mick’s mind shuddered away from what he’d seen. He’d kept the men alive long enough to get them sent to a field hospital, but he didn’t know if they could possibly survive. Well, he’d done all he could. This crisis, at least, was over. He could finally sit down and read the letter that had arrived in the middle of it: a letter from home, one of the only things that could carry him away from all this blood and death. He pulled it out of his pocket, smiled at Rosie’s careful handwriting on the envelope, and ripped it open. No photographs this time, which was odd . . . just a single sheet of paper . . . Dear Mick, maybe the Army has already notified you, but in case they haven’t there’s something I have to tell you. Only I don’t know how. I never thought anything could happen to him behind the lines, but – Sam’s dead, Mick. There was a bomb. The building where he was working was destroyed . . . .
“No,” Mick whispered, staring at the letter. “No.” He was standing still, but he was falling, falling . . . and as he fell, he felt his body jerk awake. He sat up with a start, shaking, and stared around the room. He was indoors, not out in the field; there was no letter in his hand. The war was over, long over. He’d been dreaming, dreams full of old memories, some wonderful and some still too painful to bear. But God, since when had dreams feel like that?
“Mick?” A girl came into the room. Was it Rosie? She almost always came to him, when the nightmares were bad . . . but no, of course it couldn’t be her. His vision cleared. He saw Elaine, and remembered who he was now, and where he was. That was a human dream, he realized. He was dazed by its power. But it must, at least, mean that he was still human. He touched his face to make sure, feeling, with a rush of relief, the aching pain of deep bruises. “Mick,” Elaine said again. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Got a hangover?” she asked, her voice dry.
He had a headache, he was desperately thirsty . . . for water, what a novel thought . . . and he seemed to be hallucinating: he suddenly saw Logan behind her, his mouth open in surprise, a laptop tucked under his arm.
“Holy crap,” Logan said. “I don’t believe it.”
A few minutes later, in Elaine’s tiny bathroom, Mick leaned over the sink and stared into the mirror. The cuts and bruises were still there, and he was thoroughly rumpled and bleary-eyed. No wonder Logan looked so shocked. Mick filled a glass with water from the sink and gulped it down, then refilled it and went back out into the living room. Elaine and Logan had taken over the couch, and Logan was showing her something on the laptop. What were they saying? He couldn’t hear. He felt disoriented, as if he’d been deafened – but no, he wasn’t deaf, he was just human. This was normal, but he couldn’t help wishing, just for an instant, that he could hear their discussion. Something strange seemed to be going on. Elaine was gazing down at the little laptop raptly, and Logan, in contrast, appeared thoroughly uneasy.
They both looked up as he approached. Elaine pulled the computer possessively into her lap, and Logan stared at Mick in open astonishment.
“It is something you took, right, Mick?” he asked nervously. “You didn’t just – well - spontaneously turn human, did you?”
“Vampires never spontaneously turn human, Logan,” Mick said, settling himself in a chair. “Don’t worry. It was something I took.”
“Wow.” Logan looked relieved, and slightly impressed. “I mean, I know you always said you didn’t like being a vampire, but I didn’t think you really meant it.”
“And did you really mean what you said last night?” Elaine asked. “That it’s temporary?”
“Yeah.”
“It is?” Logan said, startled.
“How temporary?”
Mick wished, now, that he’d asked Coraline more about that, when they’d been walking away from his building. She’d started to explain, but he’d been distracted by the warmth flooding through his body, and then Lance had appeared, and it had all been too late. “Coraline said she got about six months from it. But she was surprised it had lasted that long, so I guess it’ll probably be less than that.”
“How does it work?” Logan asked. “Is there any way to measure it in your blood, to tell when it’s going to wear off?”
“I don’t want to know when it’s going to wear off,” Mick said. All he really wanted was a way to replicate it, and the blood sample he’d drawn from himself was now his only hope for that. A very faint hope, but it was all he had left. The sample he’d taken from Coraline had broken in his shirt pocket, and he’d lost the bloodstained shirt somewhere in the melee surrounding Josh’s death. He’d had it in his hand when Beth had picked him up at the curb, and he thought he’d dropped it in the car, but later, when he’d looked, it hadn’t been there.
Coraline said that there was more of the cure, somewhere. Hidden. But Mick couldn't find any hope in her words. It could be hidden anywhere in the world. How would I ever find it?
“Whoa. So it could happen any time.” Logan’s eyes were wide. “What if you’re out in the sun when you change back?”
“I guess it’ll hurt,” Mick said dryly. “Come on, sunlight isn’t a big deal. It’s not like I’ll burst into flames.” It would actually be a much bigger problem if he changed back in public in the next few days, when someone might see his wounds instantly heal, but he wasn’t going to worry about that, either. “Please tell me you know that, Logan.”
“Well, yeah, but -- ” Logan glanced sideways at the window, where the first faint light of dawn was showing through the gap in the curtains. “I sure don’t go out in it.”
“What happens when you turn back?” Elaine asked abruptly. “Is it – will it - it won’t be like being a new turn, will it?”
“No,” Mick said quickly. He felt sure of that; Coraline had been completely under control when she’d turned back. And there would be nothing to adjust to. He’d already been there, and he knew, now, how to deal with it. “I’ll just go back to where I was before,” he told Elaine.
“Okay.” Relieved, she sat back, still holding the computer.
“New laptop?” Mick asked, nodding toward it.
“Yeah,” Elaine said. “I got this super cheap on ebay, and it doesn’t work, but Logan said he’d fix it for me.” She was too closed for him to read her, and even as a vampire he hadn’t been able to tell what she was thinking half the time, but she was holding the laptop as if it were a child, almost caressing it, and he was sure it wasn’t a mere bargain she’d picked up.
Logan was still nervously eyeing the gap in the curtains. “I’ve gotta go,” he said, and reluctantly Elaine handed him the computer. When she saw Mick watching her, she flushed, and looked away.
Logan left Elaine’s house ten minutes before Mick did, but two blocks down, Mick saw Logan’s little car pulled over at the side of the road, with a hand waving from the driver’s window. Good thing it’s nearly dawn, or I’d never have seen that. Mick brought the Mercedes to a stop in front of the other car, and got out to meet Logan by the curb.
“What’s up with the laptop?” Mick asked, before Logan could say a word. “Where did Elaine get it?”
“I don’t know where she got hold of it, or how . . . but it’s Kevin’s computer,” Logan said.
Mick frowned. “But it doesn’t work, right?”
“Oh, it works. But it’s got security. Elaine wants me to break the passwords so she can look at all his files.”
Mick stared at him, dismayed. “What does she want to do? Find out if he wrote anything about her?”
“I don’t know. But I’m afraid that’s it. I don’t think he did write anything about her, though, and there is some stuff about another woman in there. Intimate stuff.”
“How do you know that?”
“I already broke all the passwords, while I was waiting for you. I didn’t say it was good security.”
“Hell,” Mick muttered.
“Yeah. I figure I can put her off for a while, and say it’s a big job or something, but eventually I’ve got to give it to her. Maybe I oughta erase some of those files,” he said miserably, “but that wouldn’t be right.”
Mick put a hand to his mouth, thinking. His first impulse was to grab the laptop from Logan and erase the offending files himself, but how could he do that? If Elaine really wanted to look into her husband’s secrets, he didn’t have any right to stop her. But why is she doing this to herself? “Delay it as long as you can, all right?” Mick said at last. “It’ll give her more time to heal. And tell me, before you give it to her. Okay?”
“Okay,” Logan said. “I told her it would probably take at least a couple of weeks.”
“Good. Then we’ll be ready.” And surely Elaine knew what to expect, Mick thought as he drove on through the dark pre-dawn. She had to know that it was unlikely in the extreme that Kevin had written a word about her; she had to know that there would have been other women in his life. She’ll be all right. He couldn’t quite convince himself of this, but nothing would happen for at least two weeks, and that left him free . . . he didn’t need to worry about it, not yet. He could still enjoy every moment; he could still make the most of the time he’d been given.
And what to do, in this moment? Everything was still so intense, so amazing; the cool reserve of the vampire was gone and he could feel things in ways that he’d forgotten were possible. In this short day Mick had already felt joy beyond belief, and despair that had brought him to tears.
That morning, and the next morning, he watched the sun rise. He ate food from the freezer, puzzled over the stove, and spent an entire afternoon wandering through the streets near his building, in the full light of day. He thought of Beth, of the way she’d watched him in the sun, of the look on her face when she’d found out he was human. Each night he dreamed, more vividly than he could ever remember dreaming before, and on the second night he woke in a sweat, wildly disoriented, with his head spinning and the building swaying beneath him. In an earthquake.
-
This is my favorite interval between episodes, and one for which I've already written a couple of stories. And since I'm rather attached to the events in those stories, this story is a little different from the others in the series. There are three different points of view in it (but don't worry, the main one is still Mick's!)
The story is posted in two parts. The second part is in the same thread.
IN BETWEEN
twelve and thirteen
The People in Our Lives
The cemetery parking lot was nearly full, and Carl had to circle it twice before he found a space for his car between two police cruisers. At least plenty of people came, he thought bleakly, getting out of the car and crossing the green lawn. Everyone from the D.A.’s office was there, along with what seemed to be half the city’s police force. And Beth, of course, standing alone in a black dress, her eyes downcast. Carl walked up to her and she nodded to him, her hands clasped together in front of her. She was wearing a diamond ring on her left hand, a ring he’d never seen her wear before. The stone sparkled in the sunlight, and she looked down at it self-consciously.
“Thank you for coming, Carl,” she said.
“Josh was a good man. And a good friend.” He glanced at the ring again. It was definitely an engagement ring – had Josh proposed to her before his death? Or was the ring in honor of Mick St. John? Carl didn’t like the way Beth had strung Josh along, making him crazy while she’d flirted with St. John, but it was hardly an uncommon thing to happen. And if she’d truly cared about both men, maybe she simply hadn’t been able to decide which way to turn.
She saw him looking at the ring, and flushed. “It’s from Josh,” she said.
“I didn’t realize you’d taken that step.”
“We hadn’t. But Josh’s jeweler gave this to me – Josh was having the stone re-cut. He was planning to propose. So I thought I should wear it today. For him.”
Carl nodded, wished her well, and moved on, carefully not asking what her answer would have been. She couldn’t have found a better man than Josh, but there was no question of her attraction to Mick St. John. Why do some women always fall for dangerous men like him? Josh had been utterly baffled by it. Carl was thankful that his own love life was nowhere near that complicated. He and Christa had been seeing each other for two years now, and neither of them had ever thought of straying. Not that we haven’t had problems. Christa had gotten a job offer in San Diego and was desperate to move there; Carl liked Los Angeles, and didn’t really want to leave. And now, with Josh’s death, he felt obligated to stay, to make sure justice was done for his murdered friend. And even if I move, I have to make sure, first, that I don’t leave a vigilante loose on these streets.
Carl glanced at his watch. Still ten minutes to go; he’d come early in case the traffic was bad. Maybe he should go ahead and find a place at the graveside. But before he could decide, he saw a tall dark figure come out from under the trees, walking straight toward Beth.
It was Mick St. John. But this wasn’t the way that Carl had expected to see him. Mick was limping badly, each step an effort, and even from where he stood Carl could see the bruises on his face. Mick made his slow way toward Beth, who was watching him in open astonishment.
Carl quietly moved closer, watching them from behind a tree. They looked awkward with each other, which was no surprise after what had happened between them when Josh died. Carl had never seen Beth in such a cold fury, all of it directed at Mick – because he hadn’t been able to save Josh’s life. No one could have saved him, the doctors had said later, but that hadn’t made any difference to Beth’s anger. Well, grief could take strange forms, especially when guilt lay beneath it. Carl had almost felt sorry for Mick, when Beth had turned her back on him. He’d looked as if she’d killed his soul.
But now they were talking. About what? It wouldn’t hurt to have a little extra information, before Carl interrogated the guy. He crept closer, and listened.
“How does it feel?” Beth asked.
“The sun, the pain, the mortality . . . it feels amazing.” Mick was looking up at the sky, with a blissful smile that made Carl wonder just how hard he’d been hit in the head. Carl hadn’t been planning to question Mick today, but on second thought, maybe this would be a good time. With his injuries, he might be off balance, and this would be advantageous to Carl. Decision made, he strode briskly toward Mick, who glanced at him and took a step away from Beth.
“Mick,” Carl said heartily. “Glad you came.”
Mick nodded to him politely.
“I need to talk to you about a couple of things. Think you’d have a minute afterward?”
Mick looked taken aback, and Beth frowned. “Carl, this is Josh’s funeral,” she said.
“Yes. And I need to make sure Josh’s killer doesn’t go loose. I need all the information I can get to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Beth lifted her chin, as if she would argue further, but Mick said quietly, “I understand. I’ve got time. It’s not a problem.”
“Good. Thanks. I’ll meet you after.” Carl turned away, and as he walked off he glanced over his shoulder. Mick was watching him, looking very unsettled. Good, Carl thought, pleased, and made his way on to the graveside.
Carl had meant to keep an eye on Mick during the ceremony, to watch his reactions, but found himself overcome with memories of Josh. No one ought to be killed like that, just doing their job – and how had a lawyer’s job ever gotten to be so dangerous? Carl was supposed to be the one with the dangerous job. He found himself tearing up, and got himself back under control just in time to meet Mick. It was time to set aside emotions, and get to work.
He led the way to his car, got in, and watched as Mick settled himself painfully in the passenger seat. Up close, his injuries looked even worse. And he was so . . . different. Carl had seen the man injured before, after the incident with Lee Jay Spaulding, but he’d still moved smoothly, confidently, even when he’d been in pain. Now he seemed unsure of himself, as if he wasn’t comfortable in his own body. Maybe that was because he’d been hit in the head. He’d certainly taken one hell of a beating. But how had that happened? The guy was a phenomenal hand-to-hand fighter – he had, after all, taken out two HEM men by himself, unarmed. He looked, now, as if he’d taken on the whole gang. But his injuries couldn’t have happened during that melee at the Hollenback Bar, even though Carl was sure that Mick had been there. He’d seen Mick himself after that, without a mark on him, when he’d gone to the station to give his statement. So what had happened? It couldn’t hurt to ask.
“How many of them were there?” he asked, gesturing at the bruises on Mick’s face.
“Two,” Mick said with a grimace.
“That’s all? Thought it would have taken four, at least, to do that kind of damage.”
“Yeah, well. I wasn’t quite up to par last night.”
“Last night, huh?” Had Mick gone after a few leftover gang members, and been taken by surprise? “Who was it?”
“Relatives,” Mick said shortly.
“Whose relatives?” Carl asked, thinking of Tejada.
Mick smiled ruefully. “Mine.”
Mick’s usual tight reserve was gone, his body language open – and on this, at least, Carl would have sworn that he was telling the truth.
He’d planned to take Mick to the station, but changed his mind and drove to a small café instead. It was just as well that he was driving his own car instead of a police cruiser - he didn’t want Mick putting his guard back up, and maybe he wouldn’t, if Carl kept things casual. The young waitress led them to a table in a secluded corner, and as they sat down she set out silverware and menus. Mick grabbed his menu and scanned it eagerly, waving the waitress back so that he could order immediately, and Carl shrugged and made his order too. “Hungry?” he asked dryly, as the girl tucked her pad away and left.
“Yeah, starving,” Mick said. “What did you want to ask me?”
“Well, let’s start with the information you got from Bustos. You said he told you that Tejada was holed up at the Campos Bar, right?”
“Right. That’s what he told me.” The waitress brought coffee and Mick lifted his cup to take a sip, eyes closed in pleasure. “God, this is good coffee!”
Carl sipped his, and shrugged. It was okay, but he’d hardly call it great. “We went to the Campos Bar to pick him up,” he said. “But Tejada wasn’t there.”
Mick frowned. “He’d already taken off?”
“More like, he wasn’t ever there. We figured that Bustos had lied to you. But when we confronted him about it, he swore that he’d told you it was the Hollenback Bar.” And I wish to God I’d recorded that session, Carl thought. But he hadn’t dared to. Letting Mick in there on his own had violated more rules than Carl cared to think about, and he’d had no desire to have a record made of the event.
Mick shook his head. “That’s not what he told me.”
“It also turns out that Tejada was at the Hollenback Bar.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Totally. He was gone by the time we got there, but he’d definitely been there.”
“Damn,” Mick said, looking distressed. “I could have sworn that Bustos was telling me the truth. Is Tejada still loose, then? Beth still isn’t safe?”
Beth. The reason you lied to me then, and the reason you’re lying to me now.
“He’s not loose,” Carl said.
“You caught him?”
“Nope. We found his body.”
Mick stiffened.
“The remains of it, anyway,” Carl went on. “He’d been burned, and there wasn’t much left to identify it by. We had to use dental records. Thankfully, it wasn’t a hands-on job for me.”
“Then – Beth is safe now.”
“Probably. Tejada was in total control of this chapter of HEM, and never let his underlings build up any power. I doubt that anyone else will take over, and it looks like what’s left of the gang is scattering.”
“What’s left of them?” Mick asked cautiously.
“Well, something did happen at the Hollenback Bar. The theory is that a gunfight broke out among the gang members, and some of them ended up killing each other. I guess with guys like that, it’s no surprise, right?”
“I guess.” Mick took another sip of his coffee. He’d been nervous while Carl had talked about the bar and the body, but now, drinking coffee, he seemed to be completely distracted by the taste. In the ensuing silence the waitress brought their food – a steak for Mick, a burger for Carl – and they dug in. There was nothing wrong with Mick’s appetite, for certain. It was obviously painful for him to eat, with his face so battered, but he didn’t seem to care.
“So what will happen with Beth?” Mick asked after a time. “Will she still get police protection?”
“For now. We’ll probably stand down by tomorrow, but we want to be absolutely sure she’s safe.” And you’d have been there too, insisting on protecting her, if you hadn’t already known that Tejada was dead. Carl pushed aside his empty plate and said, “So what made you so sure Bustos was telling the truth? What did you say to make him freak out like that? When we pulled him out, he was screaming that you’d turned into a devil.”
Mick flinched at the word devil, and Carl wished there’d been a camera in that interrogation room that could have picked up Mick’s face. What had Bustos seen? The go-go dancer from the bar had also spoken of el Diablo. And el Monstruo. “I made a few threats,” Mick said. “That’s all.”
“Well, you certainly scared him. Not enough to make him tell the truth, though.”
Mick looked away, his eyes downcast. “Carl – I’m sorry. I was just so sure. I hate that I sent you off in the wrong direction.”
Oddly, Carl got the impression that this time, Mick was telling the truth. He really hadn’t wanted to lie to Carl about what Bustos had told him. But he’d done it anyway. He wanted to question Bustos alone because he didn’t want us to know where Tejada was. He wanted to take Tejada out himself.
And Carl couldn’t help sympathizing. Tejada had been a horror show. He’d had Josh killed; he’d come incredibly close to killing Beth as well. And there’s Mick’s motive. Mick would do anything, anything, to protect Beth. Josh had even asked him to watch over Beth, in spite of his extreme jealousy of the man. Josh had known that Mick would keep Beth safe, no matter what happened. But he’s a vigilante, and I don’t believe for a minute that Tejada is the first person he’s killed. I can’t let this go on. The problem was, he had no real evidence. He knew, from experience and training, that Mick was lying to him, but that wasn’t proof of anything. Well, maybe he could get Mick a bit more off balance with a different sort of question.
The waitress came back to refill Mick’s coffee, and shyly asked if they wanted dessert. Mick did, of course: apple pie and ice cream. When the dessert arrived, Carl said casually, “I saw that Beth was wearing an engagement ring today.”
Mick, scooping up ice cream, only nodded. “Yeah. She was.”
“I guess she and Josh were getting pretty serious. I hadn’t realized they’d gotten engaged.”
“They hadn’t.” Mick ate his ice cream, his expression blissful. So much for hitting him with a surprise. He’d obviously known about it.
“Well, they must have. Why else would she be wearing his ring?”
Mick shook his head calmly. “He was planning to propose, but he never got the chance.”
Damn. Mick and Beth had talked a lot more than Carl had realized. “If he had proposed, I wonder if she would have said yes,” he mused, picking up his coffee.
For the first time, Mick seemed affected by the topic. He said slowly, “I don’t know. I don’t think she knows, either. But in the end . . . it wasn’t meant to be.”
Carl drove Mick back to the cemetery and dropped him off in the parking lot, which was now nearly empty. Mick put the Mercedes’ top down and climbed into the driver’s seat, looking out at the bright day. He couldn’t get over how it felt to be outdoors in the sun. It didn’t hurt. He still flinched whenever he moved from shade to sunlight, anticipating the pain, but it didn’t come. And it felt so good to sit here behind the wheel, the top down, basking in the light. The warmth crept through his entire body, and even eased the sharp ache in his knee. Mick closed his eyes and leaned his head against the seat back, letting the sunlight warm his battered face.
He was overwhelmingly glad that he’d gotten to see Beth today, to speak to her, to tell her that he was human. She hadn’t turned away from him, hadn’t asked him to leave her alone. She was still part of his life. There was still hope. Between that, and being human, Mick wasn’t sure he’d ever been happier before in his life.
He supposed he ought to be worried about Carl’s interrogation. Carl didn’t seem to suspect him of anything supernatural – not yet, at least – but he did suspect that Mick had lied to the police. And I’m pretty sure he believes that I killed Tejada. He may even have witnesses. This was dangerous. Mick couldn’t afford to be arrested or jailed, not even now. There was no telling when the cure would wear off, when he would turn back into a vampire – and a vampire could never survive imprisonment. If things got bad enough, he’d still have to disappear.
But at this moment, he couldn’t seem to care. It was impossible to believe that things would ever get that bad. Beth wasn’t angry with him any more, and he was, incredibly and amazingly, human. There was so much to do, to feel, to experience. He hardly knew where to start. He remembered the minister’s words at the funeral . . . make the most of the time we are given. There was sheer wonder everywhere around him. He traced a finger along the edge of the steering wheel, feeling the warmth and the texture of it. His newfound sense of touch kept astonishing him: he’d known it had been diminished when he was a vampire, but he hadn’t realized how much. If only I could have touched Beth today.
He sat up straight and started the car, wondering where to go. He could drive to the beach, lie in the sand, let the sunlight sink deep into his bones. He remembered, now, those long summer days with Rosie, idyllic days spent swimming in the sea and running on the sand. He’d loved the beach when he’d been human, but he couldn’t recall any time that he’d ever gone there alone. I won’t go yet. Not until I can take Beth with me. He might miss it altogether – he might, after all, lose his humanity tomorrow – but somehow, he didn’t want to go there without Beth.
Instead . . . well, he certainly needed to do some shopping. He needed to buy food, for one thing. Real food, not takeout – preferably items that would keep, or could be frozen, in case it took a while for him to figure out how to use the stove. He’d better get sunscreen, too, if he wanted to keep soaking up the sun. And he needed a bed, of course, complete with pillows, sheets, and blankets. He imagined sinking into a soft mattress, his head cushioned on a feather pillow, and nearly fell asleep just thinking about it. He’d forgotten, too, how tired humans got.
By dusk he was back at his apartment, surveying the new arrangements. The bedroom upstairs was full of storage, so he’d left the bed downstairs, next to the couch. He could always move things around later, and he wanted to sleep in the bed tonight. There were pillows and new sheets on the bed, and a brand-new alarm clock on the table beside it. The kitchen was full of groceries – bread from a bakery, bottles of wine, fruit and coffee, fresh-squeezed orange juice. He’d put frozen vegetables and ice cream upstairs in his freezer, taking intense satisfaction in using the appliance for something so prosaically normal. Happily he sat on the edge of the bed, and wished he could share this joy with Beth. Or with Josef. Or Elaine.
It was far too soon for him to seek out Beth, though, and he wasn’t quite ready to face Josef. Mick was almost sure that Josef had known something about the cure, and had lied to him about it. How could Josef not have been aware of it? He kept up with everything in both worlds, human and vampire, and the cure crossed both of those worlds.
Elaine. Mick picked up his keys, put his coat back on, and headed out.
It was completely dark by the time he reached Elaine’s little house. Mick parked out front and turned off the engine, trying to relax his grip on the wheel. Night driving was a very different experience now – he was sure his vision was normal, for a human, but he felt like he couldn’t see a thing in the dark. He couldn’t react as quickly, either, couldn’t move the car as if it were part of his body. The last time I felt this way, I crashed the car and nearly killed myself. Four blocks away from here. But he’d been drugged and ill, then. This was different . . . it was normal. And normal was something that he could definitely get used to.
There was a light on in Elaine’s house. He pushed open the car door and got out, but his bad knee gave way and he stumbled, falling to the pavement. Human joints stiffened when they were injured, too; he remembered that now. Ruefully he pushed himself up and strode to the front door, glad that no one had seen his fall. He hesitated at the door: he couldn’t smell Elaine, or sense her presence, but she ought to be home at this hour. He knocked briskly, but there was no movement, and the house stayed silent. Was she not at home? Or did she simply not realize it was him? She probably wasn’t in the habit of answering the door to random humans, after all.
“Elaine!” he called out, knocking again. “It’s Mick! Are you home?”
An instant later the door opened, and Elaine stood there, her face turning pale with shock. “Mick?” she said, her voice full of horror. “Oh my God, Mick!” She caught his arms and pulled him into the house, shoving the door shut behind him.
“Elaine -- ”
“You’re bleeding! Mick, what happened? How can you be hurt again? You’re not healing! You’re not -- ” Her panicked voice trailed off as she took in his scent, and she abruptly let go of him, and backed away.
“Not a vampire,” Mick finished for her. “Elaine, I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He hadn’t thought of how it would look, coming into her house injured. And there was blood on his hands, just as there had been before, blood he hadn’t even noticed. He must have scraped his hands on the pavement when he’d fallen.
“You’re mortal,” Elaine whispered.
“Yeah.”
“I – I never thought you’d really -- ” She glanced at his hands again, her eyes drawn inexorably to his human blood. She turned away abruptly and went into the kitchen, opening up a cabinet to take out a bottle of whisky. Mick slipped past her through the living room to the bathroom, and quietly washed the blood off his hands. The scrapes weren’t deep, and they’d already stopped bleeding. When he returned to the living room Elaine was sitting hunched in a chair, two full glasses in her hands and the bottle on the table beside her. Mick took one of the glasses from her and cautiously settled himself on the couch, careful of his aching leg.
Elaine was staring down into her glass, and Mick raised his to catch the scent of the drink. So strange . . . he could once have identified every ingredient, and he couldn’t begin to now, but the smell meant something now. The aromas of food and drink had been intense before, but somehow meaningless. But now . . . he took a sip and the drink burned his throat wonderfully, flaring with subtle flavors. Mick took another blissful swallow of whisky, and looked up to see that Elaine had almost finished her glass.
“It’s good stuff,” he said.
“It’s just the cheap kind,” Elaine said with a stiff shrug. “I didn’t think you’d like it.”
“It’s wonderful. Of course I like it.”
She eyed him curiously. “Is it that different, drinking as a human?”
“Oh God, yes. Don’t you -- ” He’d been about to say don’t you remember, but of course she couldn’t. Elaine had never once drunk alcohol when she’d been human. “It’s all different,” he said, lifting his glass to drink down the rest of it.
“Really.” Elaine picked up the bottle and refilled both their glasses. After she’d drunk most of her second glass, she said, “How did it even happen? How did you find this -- cure?”
“Coraline. She brought it to me.”
“Brought it to you? Why?”
He shrugged uneasily. When had Coraline ever given anyone anything, without demanding something in return? But last night she’d not only given him the cure, she’d sacrificed herself in order to save him from Lance. “She was human for months,” he said. “Maybe . . . maybe it changed her. Maybe it made her understand, finally, why I wanted it so much. She said she’d taken my life from me, and she wanted to give back what she could.”
“Coraline said that?” Elaine’s voice was skeptical. “That sure doesn’t sound like her. She can’t possibly have meant it.”
“No, I think she did.” Mick frowned, and took another drink from his glass. Coraline had seemed like a different woman last night, someone he’d never known before, the kind of person he’d only dreamed she could be. He thought of the lost look in her eyes when Lance had carried her away, her fear when he’d approached her with the stake. She hadn’t been acting. She really had sacrificed herself. Mick looked intently at Elaine. “And I know how she felt. About – about giving back. I wish I could give back what I took from you.”
“You didn’t take anything from me,” Elaine said, her voice flat. “I was dying anyway. And why the hell would I want to be human again?”
“It’s so different,” Mick murmured. “So different. I’d forgotten so much. I can remember my childhood again, and it was just a blur before. Wouldn’t you want that back?”
“Why would I? I hated my childhood. I was glad when you told me I could never see my family again.”
“But you loved Chloe.” Mick finished his drink and tried to set down the empty glass. His hand wavered and he nearly dropped it, but he finally managed to get it onto the table beside him. “Being human . . . it changes the way you remember. It changes everything. The things I did as a vampire feel . . . distant. And the things that came before . . . they’re clearer.”
“It changes everything?” Elaine’s face twisted with pain. She slammed her glass to the floor, and it shattered. Mick flinched, instantly remembering how he’d broken Rosie’s window, so long ago, shards of glass flying as he lunged through it to attack her . . . some of the things I did as a vampire are clearer, too. Oh, Rosie. “Has it changed the things you’ve done?” Elaine asked bitterly. “The people you’ve killed?”
“No,” Mick whispered. He felt suddenly dizzy, nauseated, and realized vaguely that he was drunk. Very drunk. How much whisky had Elaine poured into those glasses, anyway? He’d been drinking like a vampire, with his mind on other things. Maybe he could have tolerated that much alcohol when he’d been human before, but his body wasn’t used to it now -- he hadn’t really had a drink in over fifty years. All his elation had fled somewhere, leaving emptiness behind, and he knew that Elaine was right. It might feel more distant, but nothing he’d done as a vampire had changed. Not what he’d done to Rosie, not what he’d done to all those other innocents. He felt himself falling, but suddenly Elaine was there, holding him in a strong, gentle grip. Her hands were so cold . . . he’d never noticed that before. His hands would be like that again, soon; he’d turn back into ice. His face must be cold again already, the tears were so hot against it.
“I’m sorry,” Elaine whispered. “God, I didn’t mean to say that to you. It’s just - you’re all I’ve got, and you’re mortal now. You’ll – you’ll get old. You’ll die. I know that’s what you want, and I’m trying to be glad for you, I really am, but it just . . . hurts.”
Mick couldn’t answer. He felt Elaine ease him down onto the couch, felt its rough cloth against his tear-streaked face.
“And damn it all, look at you. Two glasses of whisky and you’re out for the count; you’ve already gotten yourself beaten up . . . hell, you’re not going to live long enough to get old.”
“Won’t,” Mick murmured. “Won’t get older.”
“What? Mick, what do you mean?”
“Won’t last. I’ll turn back.” And why, why, did that have to happen? Why couldn’t he stay human, and live his dream?
“You’ll turn back?” Elaine’s voice caught. “When?”
“Soon. Too soon.”
“I’m . . . I’m sorry, Mick,” she said. But even a drunken human, on the verge of passing out, could tell that she wasn’t sorry at all.
Sunlight shone through the dappled leaves above him, and Mick pulled himself up to the branch that was his goal, grinning. Good job! Sam yelled from the ground below. You did it! Their mother appeared at Sam’s side, looking somehow proud and appalled at the same time, and called out, Wonderful, Mick! But come down now, would you? Mick started down carefully, not wanting to scare her. His father said that she was in a delicate condition these days, and it was important for both boys to make things easy for her. Once he was on the ground she pulled him to her and gave him a quick hug, which was okay since nobody but Sam was watching. And he’d never admit it even to Sam, but Mick liked having the chance to feel her rounded belly, to wonder about the new life that was yet to come. What will the future be like?
I don’t know, Sam said, as they both finished off their bottles of beer. What’s going to happen to us, Mick? And how’s Rosie going to manage? Rosie was only eleven, and both of her brothers were about to go off to war. Mick was leaving tomorrow, for basic training, and after that he’d be sent to Europe. Sam would be following soon after. Sam said, Daphne and I were going to try and start a family. But what if I get killed out there? I don’t want to leave her all alone with a baby on the way. Mick didn’t know what to answer, didn’t know what Sam and his wife ought to do. All he could think of was how simple everything was now. All this time he’d spent worrying over what his career should be, and now he knew that all he really wanted was a family. He wanted to get married, and have kids. With the war looming over him, would he ever have a chance for that? Would he ever even see his parents again, or Rosie?
Do they even have a chance? Mick watched wearily as the last ambulance disappeared over a rise, leaving only a trail of dust behind. A three-man patrol had walked into a nest of land mines, and the results had been horrific . . . Mick’s mind shuddered away from what he’d seen. He’d kept the men alive long enough to get them sent to a field hospital, but he didn’t know if they could possibly survive. Well, he’d done all he could. This crisis, at least, was over. He could finally sit down and read the letter that had arrived in the middle of it: a letter from home, one of the only things that could carry him away from all this blood and death. He pulled it out of his pocket, smiled at Rosie’s careful handwriting on the envelope, and ripped it open. No photographs this time, which was odd . . . just a single sheet of paper . . . Dear Mick, maybe the Army has already notified you, but in case they haven’t there’s something I have to tell you. Only I don’t know how. I never thought anything could happen to him behind the lines, but – Sam’s dead, Mick. There was a bomb. The building where he was working was destroyed . . . .
“No,” Mick whispered, staring at the letter. “No.” He was standing still, but he was falling, falling . . . and as he fell, he felt his body jerk awake. He sat up with a start, shaking, and stared around the room. He was indoors, not out in the field; there was no letter in his hand. The war was over, long over. He’d been dreaming, dreams full of old memories, some wonderful and some still too painful to bear. But God, since when had dreams feel like that?
“Mick?” A girl came into the room. Was it Rosie? She almost always came to him, when the nightmares were bad . . . but no, of course it couldn’t be her. His vision cleared. He saw Elaine, and remembered who he was now, and where he was. That was a human dream, he realized. He was dazed by its power. But it must, at least, mean that he was still human. He touched his face to make sure, feeling, with a rush of relief, the aching pain of deep bruises. “Mick,” Elaine said again. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Got a hangover?” she asked, her voice dry.
He had a headache, he was desperately thirsty . . . for water, what a novel thought . . . and he seemed to be hallucinating: he suddenly saw Logan behind her, his mouth open in surprise, a laptop tucked under his arm.
“Holy crap,” Logan said. “I don’t believe it.”
A few minutes later, in Elaine’s tiny bathroom, Mick leaned over the sink and stared into the mirror. The cuts and bruises were still there, and he was thoroughly rumpled and bleary-eyed. No wonder Logan looked so shocked. Mick filled a glass with water from the sink and gulped it down, then refilled it and went back out into the living room. Elaine and Logan had taken over the couch, and Logan was showing her something on the laptop. What were they saying? He couldn’t hear. He felt disoriented, as if he’d been deafened – but no, he wasn’t deaf, he was just human. This was normal, but he couldn’t help wishing, just for an instant, that he could hear their discussion. Something strange seemed to be going on. Elaine was gazing down at the little laptop raptly, and Logan, in contrast, appeared thoroughly uneasy.
They both looked up as he approached. Elaine pulled the computer possessively into her lap, and Logan stared at Mick in open astonishment.
“It is something you took, right, Mick?” he asked nervously. “You didn’t just – well - spontaneously turn human, did you?”
“Vampires never spontaneously turn human, Logan,” Mick said, settling himself in a chair. “Don’t worry. It was something I took.”
“Wow.” Logan looked relieved, and slightly impressed. “I mean, I know you always said you didn’t like being a vampire, but I didn’t think you really meant it.”
“And did you really mean what you said last night?” Elaine asked. “That it’s temporary?”
“Yeah.”
“It is?” Logan said, startled.
“How temporary?”
Mick wished, now, that he’d asked Coraline more about that, when they’d been walking away from his building. She’d started to explain, but he’d been distracted by the warmth flooding through his body, and then Lance had appeared, and it had all been too late. “Coraline said she got about six months from it. But she was surprised it had lasted that long, so I guess it’ll probably be less than that.”
“How does it work?” Logan asked. “Is there any way to measure it in your blood, to tell when it’s going to wear off?”
“I don’t want to know when it’s going to wear off,” Mick said. All he really wanted was a way to replicate it, and the blood sample he’d drawn from himself was now his only hope for that. A very faint hope, but it was all he had left. The sample he’d taken from Coraline had broken in his shirt pocket, and he’d lost the bloodstained shirt somewhere in the melee surrounding Josh’s death. He’d had it in his hand when Beth had picked him up at the curb, and he thought he’d dropped it in the car, but later, when he’d looked, it hadn’t been there.
Coraline said that there was more of the cure, somewhere. Hidden. But Mick couldn't find any hope in her words. It could be hidden anywhere in the world. How would I ever find it?
“Whoa. So it could happen any time.” Logan’s eyes were wide. “What if you’re out in the sun when you change back?”
“I guess it’ll hurt,” Mick said dryly. “Come on, sunlight isn’t a big deal. It’s not like I’ll burst into flames.” It would actually be a much bigger problem if he changed back in public in the next few days, when someone might see his wounds instantly heal, but he wasn’t going to worry about that, either. “Please tell me you know that, Logan.”
“Well, yeah, but -- ” Logan glanced sideways at the window, where the first faint light of dawn was showing through the gap in the curtains. “I sure don’t go out in it.”
“What happens when you turn back?” Elaine asked abruptly. “Is it – will it - it won’t be like being a new turn, will it?”
“No,” Mick said quickly. He felt sure of that; Coraline had been completely under control when she’d turned back. And there would be nothing to adjust to. He’d already been there, and he knew, now, how to deal with it. “I’ll just go back to where I was before,” he told Elaine.
“Okay.” Relieved, she sat back, still holding the computer.
“New laptop?” Mick asked, nodding toward it.
“Yeah,” Elaine said. “I got this super cheap on ebay, and it doesn’t work, but Logan said he’d fix it for me.” She was too closed for him to read her, and even as a vampire he hadn’t been able to tell what she was thinking half the time, but she was holding the laptop as if it were a child, almost caressing it, and he was sure it wasn’t a mere bargain she’d picked up.
Logan was still nervously eyeing the gap in the curtains. “I’ve gotta go,” he said, and reluctantly Elaine handed him the computer. When she saw Mick watching her, she flushed, and looked away.
Logan left Elaine’s house ten minutes before Mick did, but two blocks down, Mick saw Logan’s little car pulled over at the side of the road, with a hand waving from the driver’s window. Good thing it’s nearly dawn, or I’d never have seen that. Mick brought the Mercedes to a stop in front of the other car, and got out to meet Logan by the curb.
“What’s up with the laptop?” Mick asked, before Logan could say a word. “Where did Elaine get it?”
“I don’t know where she got hold of it, or how . . . but it’s Kevin’s computer,” Logan said.
Mick frowned. “But it doesn’t work, right?”
“Oh, it works. But it’s got security. Elaine wants me to break the passwords so she can look at all his files.”
Mick stared at him, dismayed. “What does she want to do? Find out if he wrote anything about her?”
“I don’t know. But I’m afraid that’s it. I don’t think he did write anything about her, though, and there is some stuff about another woman in there. Intimate stuff.”
“How do you know that?”
“I already broke all the passwords, while I was waiting for you. I didn’t say it was good security.”
“Hell,” Mick muttered.
“Yeah. I figure I can put her off for a while, and say it’s a big job or something, but eventually I’ve got to give it to her. Maybe I oughta erase some of those files,” he said miserably, “but that wouldn’t be right.”
Mick put a hand to his mouth, thinking. His first impulse was to grab the laptop from Logan and erase the offending files himself, but how could he do that? If Elaine really wanted to look into her husband’s secrets, he didn’t have any right to stop her. But why is she doing this to herself? “Delay it as long as you can, all right?” Mick said at last. “It’ll give her more time to heal. And tell me, before you give it to her. Okay?”
“Okay,” Logan said. “I told her it would probably take at least a couple of weeks.”
“Good. Then we’ll be ready.” And surely Elaine knew what to expect, Mick thought as he drove on through the dark pre-dawn. She had to know that it was unlikely in the extreme that Kevin had written a word about her; she had to know that there would have been other women in his life. She’ll be all right. He couldn’t quite convince himself of this, but nothing would happen for at least two weeks, and that left him free . . . he didn’t need to worry about it, not yet. He could still enjoy every moment; he could still make the most of the time he’d been given.
And what to do, in this moment? Everything was still so intense, so amazing; the cool reserve of the vampire was gone and he could feel things in ways that he’d forgotten were possible. In this short day Mick had already felt joy beyond belief, and despair that had brought him to tears.
That morning, and the next morning, he watched the sun rise. He ate food from the freezer, puzzled over the stove, and spent an entire afternoon wandering through the streets near his building, in the full light of day. He thought of Beth, of the way she’d watched him in the sun, of the look on her face when she’d found out he was human. Each night he dreamed, more vividly than he could ever remember dreaming before, and on the second night he woke in a sweat, wildly disoriented, with his head spinning and the building swaying beneath him. In an earthquake.
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