Sophie Morgan (Book 1): Relative Strangers (A Modern Vampire Story) (6 page)

"Right pet, I’m off to bed now," her words stone and peculiar.

I quickly covered the dressing with my palm, trying to look nonchalant.

"The tape was peeling back at the corners," I blurted out.
Guilty. Caught
red handed.

Maggie didn’t respond, but there was no mistaking the icy chill which filled the small space. Was she frustrated? Annoyed? Disappointed? I couldn’t read what she was trying to say to me.

"The door to my place is right at the top of the stairs," she added. "I’ll leave it unlocked. You feel free to come in if you need anything. Make sure the lads get you home okay. If they give you any trouble, just come and get me. If you want to stay, you’re welcome too; there’s a sleeping bag and a pillow on my sofa. Don’t go anywhere on your own though, and if you don’t feel well, you come get me straight away."

I thanked her for showing such kindness and silently followed her out of the toilet and back into the bar. She handed a bunch of keys to Mickey on her way past him, squeezing his hand tightly as she did so, before heading up the stairs and into the darkness.

Once we were the only two left in the bar, Mickey and I shared silence for what felt like an eternity. At first he leaned against the bar, while I resumed my seat at the table. It took an age for him to travel the distance between us. Once he had planted himself next to me on the bench, I decided that someone had to speak, and it looked like it was going to have to be me.

"So what happened?" I asked. Both of us looked straight ahead at the bar, not wanting to make eye contact.

"Do you remember anything at all?" he quietly asked.

"Bits, but I’m not sure it makes sense. I remember we were going to head back here. I remember giving you Tracy’s bag, heading on up to follow you, and then…" I shrugged my shoulders and left the words trail off, hoping he’d fill in the rest.

He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and didn’t answer for a really long time. When he did it, he just muttered incoherent sentences under his breath; anybody would think that he was the one who had been attacked.

"Are you okay?" I found myself asking.

Stupid question really, of course he wasn’t okay, he’d just dragged a half-dead girl off the street and into the pub, she was possibly a lunatic who thought it was a good idea to run after robbers, and he’d now locked himself in the bar with her.
Great question Sophie, no flies on you is there? Really fucking insightful, well done.

"No, "he blurted out, "I’m not feckin' okay at all." I deserved that. "I think I may have bloody killed someone and you’re asking me if I’m okay. Fuck, Sophie, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, I’m sorry I shouted. Oh my God, I’m going to prison".

I really didn’t know what to say to the outburst, partly because I didn’t know what he was talking about. Killed someone? What had he done? Mickey was unravelling before me; cradling his forehead in his hands, he shook his head vigorously from side to side. Through the gaps between his fingers, I could see that tiny pools of water were forming in the corners of his eyes.

"Michael, I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me. What are you saying?"

"He was just all over you", he explained, his eyes pleading. Tears trickled down his freckled, pale skin.

"Who was?"

"That smooth talking bastard from before. The one who was
oh so feckin' helpful
about her bloody bag."

"It was
him
?" I asked, completely failing to hide my horror.

"I swear I thought you were right behind me. I didn’t notice till it was too late. I thought you just wanted some time on your own. When I went back to look for you, I saw him. Oh God Sophie, he was ripping chunks out of you. Can’t you remember me finding you?"

I touched the dressing on my neck and I remembered alright. I’d never felt pain like it my life.

"I remember him attacking me, but I’m sorry, it’s just a big black hole after that", I replied.

I was beginning to feel uncomfortable, flushed, it was probably the nerves; it’s not every day you get attacked in the street by a cannibal. My skin was so hot I thought I’d either be sick or pass out. I took my jacket off and let it fall behind me. My body ached to do it, but I didn’t care.

"I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. First of all, I just saw your feet. They looked like they were floating in the air; just kicking about at nothing. It was then that I realised what must have happened." I gave him a nod of encouragement, signalling him to continue." There’s an old nightclub down the street, with a door set back into the wall. I guessed you were in the doorway and it didn’t look like anything good was happening to you. I lifted a loose brick that I saw in the kerb, hoping that I wouldn’t have to use it, but when I came closer, I could see it was that dickhead from earlier. I’ve never seen anything like it; he was literally tearing a chunk out of you. There was so much blood. I shouted, but he didn’t stop. I thought you were half dead... I had to get him off you."

"What did you do Michael?"

"I hit him with the feckin' brick!"

He choked on the words; he forced them out with such speed and force. I think he was relieved to get them out.

"And he let me go?"

"Sort of, first of all he just looked at me, so then I just threw it at him. He dropped you and staggered off. He was covered in blood. Soph, I think I might have killed him".

"But he was alive when he left us?" I asked after a long pause, choosing my words carefully.

"Yes"

"So, as far as you know, you didn’t kill him." I gripped his hand and squeezed.

"Well, no, but who could survive that?”

"Who could survive being bitten like this?" I asked.

With that, I gently pulled his fingers towards me and up to my neck. I peeled back the dressing to reveal the wound. But where there should have been open flesh there was a perfect surface of fresh, healed skin.

"What the...?" he muttered.

"Indeed," I replied.

After a few rounds of ‘that’s not possible’ versus ‘I know, but it has to be’, we settled on being confounded together over two glasses of whiskey. I wasn’t a fan of spirits, but it seemed to be a sort of drink you should have in a crisis, plus I didn’t know where the kettle was.

"I don’t understand Sophie, how could anyone heal so quickly? I was the one who found you, you were covered in blood, and it was all over him, his face. I’ve had a few scrapes in my time, even a dog bite, but nothing and I mean nothing, has healed that quickly".

"I was definitely bitten, I remember it. I felt it."

"I know, I know. Don’t forget I was there, I saw him. You were bitten all right; he had blood all over his face. I had to put my hand over your neck to stop it all pumping out. I’ll admit, by the time I got you back here, it didn’t look as bad as it did initially, but things always look worse before you get them cleaned up".

I slid my glass around the table, passing it between my hands. The rhythmic side-to-side motion was hypnotic and strangely calming. I could feel tears welling up behind my eyes; I closed them to try to cut them off. As the fluttering started in my chest, I knew I was probably fighting a lost cause. Seeing that I had difficulty keeping it together, a warm hand reached out across the table and tightly grabbed mine. He held it silently for a while, allowing me to gather my emotions and quietly wipe away the solitary tear that had managed to escape.

I paused to compose myself, before turning my face towards him and looked straight into his eyes. With the most serious expression I could muster, I finally spoke.

"Well, I’m pretty bloody sure that I was bitten by a vampire."

"What?"

The words came out part declaration, part question, but I knew in my gut that I was right. It was some strange, silent knowledge that I couldn't explain. Every cell in my body was whispering "vampire, it was a vampire." Perhaps it was all the Saturday nights watching Hammer Horror movies with my Mum, but at that moment I was absolutely convinced.

"Okay, well perhaps not an actual vampire," I added, "as I’m guessing they don’t exist, and I’m not delusional, but someone grabbed me and they definitely bloody bit me. What would you call it?" I'm not certain if I was trying to convince him or me in that moment.

"Right about now, I’m pretty open to believing anything, but a vampire? Do you honestly think that there is someone running around out there thinking they’re a vampire? I know what I saw, but none of this makes sense. To be honest, I’m more worried that that psycho is going to kick that door open any minute and try and finish off what he started, head injury or not".

It took me a while to compose myself and re-jig the words bouncing around my head into something resembling a coherent sentence. "I think I may have been bitten by a vampire or at least someone who is pretty certain that he is".

"You’re serious, you’re really serious?"

"Yep", I looked straight at him. I wanted him to be under no illusion about my conviction. "Look, I know that probably sounds crazy, but it’s about the most rational explanation for the crazy that I have. I know that they can’t exist
.
I’ve scoffed at enough horror films in my time and people who believe in fairies and angels and all the rest of it, but I was bitten by someone. I’m not saying that he is some sort of freaking demon or anything. What I am saying is that he was no normal person. No ordinary person does that, and what’s happening to me isn’t normal human healing either. I think if you hadn’t come along he would have killed me. Maybe he feels that he needs to drink blood to survive – hell, maybe he actually does have to. Maybe he’s thirty, maybe he’s three hundred. I don’t know, but you can’t tell me that this is normal."

"Okay, I’m prepared to admit that this whole thing is pretty feckin' weird. And sure, he was chewing you like an old dog with a bone, but do you have any idea how nuts this all sounds?"

"Yes, Mickey I do. But I also know that what attacked me wasn’t exactly functioning like a sane person, if it were a person at all. And I think on some level you must know that because otherwise you wouldn’t have hidden that fact from everyone else here. Ask yourself why you didn’t tell them that some lunatic was tearing chunks out of my neck. You can say it was because you were in shock, because you didn’t want to upset people, or any other of the million reasons I’m sure I could make up if I were in your position. Hell, I was hardly shouting it from the rooftops either. But face it; you didn’t mention it because you know that something isn’t right here. That someone,
something,
attacked me and you’re doing all you can right now to persuade yourself that this is some run of the mill thug, or some nut job who you’ve quite possibly killed.”

I don’t know if Mickey’s brain had processed the night's events in the same way mine had. Perhaps it  was just that my delivery was particularly convincing, but my argument persuaded him that I had a point. He stared into the drink in front of him as if it held the answer to some of the questions he was silently asking for himself. What was better? A supernatural being running rampant or a mentally ill human biting chunks out of random strangers? Given that the latter meant that he had seriously injured, possibly even killed, another living being, I suspected that the former option may have seemed like a more comforting one. For all of Mickey’s rough and ready image, I knew he wouldn’t be able to hurt any living creature without remorse.

The silence broke when Mickey broke out into hysterical laughter, a sort of half chuckle, half splutter as he declared how crazy this all was. It stopped almost as quickly as it began when he slugged back the last of his drink and rubbed his face with both hands. When he dropped his hands back onto his knees with a slap, his hair was sticking up where he had ruffled it and his eyes looked wide, if not a little manic.

"Ok,” he said purposefully, "what do we do now?"

I’ve always been good in an emergency, it’s when my ‘just get on with things’ attitude operates best. The pounding in my head had subsided and I was able to think clearly for the first time since the attack.

First of all, I was certain we needed to find out what exactly had attacked me. This would mean going back to the scene of the crime and looking for some evidence, if not following any leads to track the culprit down.

Secondly, we needed to establish if Mickey had actually killed this thing. If it turned out to be human, then he could well be injured, and no matter what it had done to me, I wasn’t going to let a clearly disturbed person bleed to death in the street. Plus, I wasn’t going to have Mickey wear that guilt around his neck for the rest of his life.

Besides, if it did turn out to be some supernatural creature of the night, then I definitely wanted to know about it. This could change the face of the world, at least for the people who knew about it. I couldn’t just ignore it and spend my nights sleeping with the light on and hoping that I wouldn’t get slaughtered in my bed by some creature of the night. No, not for me, I thought. It’s always best to stare reality in the face and deal with whatever looks back at you.

"Where’s your toolkit?"

Mickey looked at me, confused.

"I’m not going out there unprotected. Have you got a hammer or a screwdriver or something we can take out there with us?"