Dance Until Dawn (2 page)

‘This is an old building,’ he replied. ‘Around two hundred and sixty years old, to be precise, and the cellars are damp. There was no such thing as damp proofing in the Georgian era, therefore, dampness in a house of this age is unavoidable. I apologise if it causes you distress.’

The stomach cramps chose that moment to return – with a vengeance, and I doubled over in agony. ‘What have you done to me?’

His voice came now from the darkest shadows. I strained my eyes to see where he’d gone. ‘Only feeding will make the pain cease.’

I heard myself moan as the pain intensified and became aware that he’d left the room. I don’t know how I knew, because he’d made no sound. But I just did.

I wondered what drugs he’d injected me with to get me here. I could already be dying. Actually, dying would be better, at least the pain would be gone. That had to be proof I wasn’t dead. Dead people didn’t feel pain, did they?

Pervert. How many women did he have in his other dungeons?

He was probably on his way even now to his own home, leaving me trapped somewhere underground where no one would ever find me.

I went back over to the bed and pulled myself up onto it. Another wave of pain assaulted me, and I closed my eyes as cold tears trickled down my cheeks.

I didn’t want to die in this damp, dark place.

I didn’t want to die away from my friends.

I didn’t want to die …

10 February

It has been a few weeks since I have written in this journal. Somehow I feel it is important to record Elinor’s rebirth and progress.

Unfortunately, I already fear her conversion is going to tread a somewhat rocky path.

I had watched the fledgling when she struggled her way out of the grave. She looked so small and fragile, and yet she fought like a warrior to free herself from the earth. I felt full of admiration for her tenacity. I have seen many rebirthed vampires in my long existence, but she was among the quickest to emerge from the grave that I have ever witnessed.

Initially, she asked for my help, but then terror set in, and she ran away like the wind. Alas for her, she could never be swifter than me, and I was already at the cemetery gates when she arrived.

She ran instinctively to her old home, and I followed. I saw her staring down at me from the upstairs window. Her feeling of terror reached me from where I stood, and I knew she had not yet grasped the fact that she was dead.

I crossed the road to the house and climbed the stairs to her apartment. Standing in the open doorway, I watched her for a few minutes before she sensed I was there. I knew I would have to be strong, assertive – perhaps even cruel – in order to get her to go with me that night. I did not relish that particular part of my role, but if I once softened, it would all be for nothing.

She argued and wept, whilst trying to keep a distance between us at all times. She even threw a chair at me – brave for one so young – especially as she was consumed with terror and disbelief. Yet still the relentless time advanced. For her own safety she had to be safely tucked below ground level long before dawn, or I would lose her, not just to the daylight hours, but because her mind would be lost to me. She needed to be asleep soon in order to cope with the first night of the change. If necessary, I would render her unconscious, but I wanted to avoid that, if at all possible.

Eventually, I resorted to jumping from the second-floor window with her in my arms, in an effort to demonstrate immortality. Unfortunately, that only caused her terror to intensify, but at least we were out of the apartment.

Luckily for me, the Thirst gripped her when we were outside and she collapsed. I managed to find a cab, using the excuse of inebriation to explain my comatose ‘girlfriend’. She did not awaken even when I carried her downstairs to the cellar. Thus passed the first night of her rebirth, and the first night she has seen me as the monster I truly am.

11 February

The sun had almost set when I went back to the cellar. I unlocked the heavy door and slipped inside the room, making sure to lock the door behind me. Security must be paramount, especially for these first uncertain nights.

After the fledgling’s disorientation with her rebirth last night, I find myself wondering what she will be like tonight. It is not unusual for a new vampire to forget the last few days of its human life. There is, after all, an unprecedented amount of information to take in. First and foremost, the fledgling needs to recognise the terrifying reality of its own death, followed by the
undead
realisation. It is a lot for a human brain to take in – or rather, a former human brain.

I know I will have to assert my dominance over her quickly, much as one would in order to train a young animal. I also know she will be terrified and the dismal surroundings of the cellar will not have helped, but I have no choice. She has to be contained for at least four nights, maybe more, and she must be watched over, perhaps even counselled. I have no way of knowing, as yet, how she will react to anything.

Above all else, I have to keep her safe.

Once again, I wondered whether I had made the right decision to turn her. The fact that I first saw her more than twelve months ago is somewhat irrelevant now. She was unaware of my existence for much of that time. But I had not been prepared for the horrific accident that very nearly terminated her existence.

Fate forced my hand, made the decision for me and now there is no way back. I can only hope she will not despise me for it. The world without her presence would have been a dreary place indeed.

I know I have to be patient, I need to win her trust before I can hope for anything more. Somehow I do not think it is going to be easy.

I watched as life began to return to her body, and I knew she dreamt in the way only a vampire can. Just before the awakening, when the daylight hours are chased away by night shadows, this is when we dream, and the dreams are rarely pleasant. Sometimes, in the case of fledglings, the dreams take the form of flashbacks from the previous human life. Add to the dreams, the first ravening thirst of the newly fledged, and the reasons for incarceration become apparent.

I could tell the child’s dream consumed her with terror, and I began to talk to her to bring her out of it. I talked softly, speaking her name, and asked her to return to me – her maker. Our bond should be strong even in these early stages. I knew she would hear me.

I should have known things would not run smoothly. It has been many decades since I have instructed a fledgling, and I have never before been emotionally attracted to one. In fact, I have not actually made a fledgling for over a century.

Time really is of the essence, and I have to get her to feed as a matter of some urgency.

I was somewhat surprised by her behaviour towards me. I had not exactly expected her to fall into my arms with words of undying love, but I was disappointed, to say the least, by her complete lack of any positive feelings. Again, I suppose I feel I already know her well … but she does not remember me.

At the moment, all she feels is the pain of the Thirst, and anxiety at finding herself imprisoned. I am the person she will trust least, yet, ironically, I am the one she needs the most. She does not know the real reason I made her into one of us, and I cannot tell her – at least, not yet. She will not understand fully until her brain begins to function normally. I can only hope that she responds to feeding.

Despair

It was completely dark when my eyes snapped open. I lay still for a moment waiting for pain, nausea or anything else to kick in. It didn’t. So far, so good.

I sat up carefully and slid my legs over the edge of the bed. I looked around my prison, and as my eyes became used to the darkness, I could just make out a door in the far corner. Unfortunately, it looked pretty solid.

My mouth felt as if it had been scoured with sandpaper, and again I felt very thirsty. It felt like the kind of thirst caused by serious dehydration. A thirst that grows more unbearable with every passing minute.

Thirsty … So very thirsty. I licked my dry lips.

I suddenly wondered whether there were rats in here, and immediately swung my legs back up on the bed so I could sit cross-legged. I didn’t want rats running over my feet – the very thought made my stomach churn.

There were no creepy green eyes glowing in any of the corners, which meant I was alone – at least for the moment. But a new conviction gnawed inside me, one that said
he’d
be back soon, and I’d never see the outside world again.

I wondered if anyone had missed me? Were they looking for me? I had a big circle of friends, surely
someone
would have contacted the police when I didn’t show up for work? Oh …
work
 …

More than anything I longed to be back in the familiarity of the garish hustle and bustle of the theatre. I even longed for the gruelling, strenuous rehearsals, and the usual biting comments from the choreographer, as he strived to get the best from us – his dancers. I missed music too, and I wanted to be with people. Most of all, I wanted to be
outside
.

The only sound in this eerie place was the faint
drip
,
drip
,
drip
of water. It must be the damp running down from the walls just as
he
had said. I shuddered. No wonder the sound of water had constantly been used as an implement of torture. It also explained how plumbers could charge so much … and why people in cheap apartments went crazy … the dodgy washers in all the taps made them drip constantly and the sound drove them all mad. I remembered how yesterday I’d nearly fooled myself into thinking I was still at home and the only problem I had to worry about was a faulty washer.

Being incarcerated made my brain lurch into manic overdrive, and my imagination is rife at the best of times. I couldn’t imagine why he’d
brought me to this place, but whatever his plans were, they couldn’t be good. The one comfort I had was that if he wanted to kill me, surely I’d already be dead? But didn’t he say I
was
dead already? Sick, sick man. I wished he’d get on and do whatever he intended to do and just get it over with.

Time had no meaning at that moment. I had no idea whether it was day or night. I never wore a watch, that’s what mobile phones were for – as well as making calls, obviously. Calls … mobile … of course …

I jumped up from the bed to look around, but there was no sign of my bag as far as I could see. So no phone either, then. Damn.

If this was evening, shouldn’t I be at the theatre? I must have missed rehearsals. I’d lose my job. Surely
someone
had missed me?

The door opened and
he
strode in, his tall frame silhouetted in the light from the old-fashioned oil lamp that he carried. The yellow flame flickered in the damp air as he moved further into the room.

He stood the lamp carefully on the floor and then came towards me.

Terror gripped me, and convinced that he’d pull out a knife at any moment, I ran to the end of the bed and squatted down, in an effort to make myself as small as possible. I pressed back against the hard damp wall, feeling thankful that most of the narrow bed now stood between us.

‘Don’t come any closer,’ my voice sounded thin and hoarse.

‘My apologies, I forgot about the lack of light in here,’ he said. His voice sounded calm, almost matter of fact – he could have been talking about the weather.

I pushed shaky hands through my long tangled hair, and rocked back and forth. I didn’t want him any closer to me, I really didn’t.

He continued to move closer. How I wished I could push myself through the wall in order to get away. I bit my lip to prevent a frightened sob from escaping.

The now familiar pain suddenly clawed at me from inside my body, and I screamed in agony. I began to babble, sounding incoherent even to my own ears. ‘Do something! Help me! Let me go … please, give-me-my-
life
-back.’

‘I cannot give you that,’ he said. ‘I can give you almost anything else.’ He paused. ‘But not that.’

‘The pain …’

‘The pain you feel is the Thirst. It is caused by your need to feed. With each night you abstain, the pain will grow, and you will become weaker.’

‘So feed me.’ I gasped as another onslaught of pain caused me to double over again.

He brought a silver phial from his pocket and stood in front of me.

‘You should try to sup from this,’ he suggested, as he held it out to me.

Warily I took the phial from him, even though my hand shook with the effort. The smooth surface felt strangely warm, and I risked a glance at him. His face was devoid of any expression, as usual, except for his eyes, which glowed eerily with their hypnotic green light. I pulled the stopper out from the bottle and sniffed gingerly at the opening. It smelt odd, yet strangely familiar, a musky, almost metallic aroma.

‘What’s in here?’ I asked.

‘What you need to survive,’ he replied.

‘Is it poison?’

Yeah right, like he’d tell me if it was.
Yes, of course it’s poison, so I can peel your skin off and get someone to stitch it back together once you’ve died a revolting and painful death.

‘It is not poison.’

I had no way to know whether he was speaking the truth or not. His impassive face belied the gleam in his expressive eyes. I raised the bottle to my lips, even as I fought against the voice inside my head, warning me, screaming at me not to drink from it. My legs trembled, and I sat down on the bed before I fell over.

‘It will lessen the pain.’

Anything that could lessen the gut-wrenching pain in my stomach had to be worth a try. Against my better judgement, I took a large swig from the bottle and realised, far too late, what it was as I swallowed.

Blood
.

The warm, viscous liquid made me gag almost the moment it went down my throat. Retching, I toppled off the bed onto my knees, and vomited violently. A dark red stain covered the flagstones, reminding me of what I’d attempted to drink. What
he
had made me drink.

I stood and hurled the phial at my tormentor as I screamed obscenities at him. Words I didn’t even realise I knew. My fear of him had been replaced by horror and disgust at what he’d made me do.

He caught the phial easily in one hand, his face composed and devoid of expression. ‘For such an innocent-looking beauty you have a man’s colourful use of the English language.’

‘Sexist bastard,’ I added for good measure.

My insides still felt queasy, and I screwed my eyes shut. My mouth filled with bile and I could still taste the strong metallic taste of blood. In fact, I didn’t think I would ever be rid of that foul taste.

‘
Why
?’ I demanded. ‘Why are you making me drink blood?’

‘Blood is the staple diet of the vampire,’ came the calm reply.

‘You’re obsessed with vampires. You perverted creep.’

‘Why do you suppose I am keeping you here?’

I raised tear-filled eyes to his.

‘Because you like torturing women.’

‘No.’

‘You just want to torture
me
.’

‘No.’

‘Rape me.’

‘I do not condone rape.’

‘Kill me.’

‘You are already dead.’

I felt the cold realisation of utter despair. This man would never release me. Whatever his plans were, getting me a cab home wasn’t among them. I had never felt so alone in my life. I might live alone, but I was rarely there on my own. I was rarely there period. Rehearsals, matinee shows, and evening performances all took up most of my waking hours.

Shit.

Rehearsals.

‘I have to go to work,’ I said. ‘I’m late for rehearsal.’

‘I think your colleagues would be rather alarmed to see you.’

‘What?’ I looked at him again and he returned my look calmly.

‘You have not been at work for five weeks, maybe more.’

‘Five
weeks
? Why?’ Horror filled me afresh at this new information.

‘It is rather unusual for dead people to continue with their former careers in my experience.’

‘There you go again with the dead people crap,’ I muttered. ‘Can I have a mirror?’

‘I fear a mirror will not be of any use to you.’

‘Why?’
I wish someone would give me my brain back
 …

‘Vampires cast neither reflections nor shadows.’

‘Yeah right,’ I said bitterly. ‘If I
believed
in vampires, which for your information, I
don’t
.’

‘How terribly unfortunate for us both.’ An amused tone had crept into his deep voice.

So it seemed I’d lost my job, as well as being imprisoned by a blood-drinking, vampire-obsessed psychopath, plus I could never put makeup on again because I didn’t have a reflection, apparently. Nothing left for me then. He had obviously been removing my identity … or something … for ages. Wasn’t there a film about that too? I held my head in my hands, trying to keep track of the frantic thoughts as they whirled around.

‘Who or
what
are you?’

‘You may call me Will.’

‘I can think of things I’d rather call you,’ I replied. ‘So
what
are you? You say you aren’t a lunatic, so what are you? Serial killer? Rapist? Or just a pervert?’

He walked towards me again, and I scuttled up the bed away from him.

‘I am your sire. Your maker, if you like,’ he began. ‘Like you, I too am a vampire, although I have been a vampire for over three hundred years.’

‘You need to get out more,’ I shook my head again. ‘Take my advice and ditch the horror DVDs, they’re melting your psycho brain.’

‘I understand that this is rather a lot to take in,’ he said. ‘But I would appreciate it if you would stop referring to me as either psychotic or perverted.’

‘Well
I’d
appreciate not being kidnapped and shut in this filthy hole.’

‘
Touché
.’

Will moved away from me, then turned suddenly to pin me with his emerald gaze.

‘It is imperative that you feed soon,’ he said, his voice still calm but with a thread of something else in it now. It sounded like fear … but no … surely it couldn’t be.

‘And if I won’t?’ I looked down at the red stain on the floor again.

‘You will not survive.’

‘Is that a threat?’ I asked.

‘Fact.’

‘I will not drink blood.’

‘I am very much afraid you will have to.’

I did look up at him then. He still held the phial in his left hand.

‘I have no idea who or what the hell you are, but I am not drinking blood, you—you disgusting pervert!’ My voice rose to a near hysterical scream at the end of the sentence. I could feel tears fill my eyes again, which threatened to fall, and I struggled to prevent them.

He sighed and bent to retrieve the stopper from the phial. After he had replaced it, he slipped the phial into his coat pocket and got out a pack of cigarettes. He put one between his lips, struck a match, and lit it, regarding me over the glow from the flame. I watched him from my safe distance.

‘Very well,’ he began, ‘allow me to tell you a few home truths.’

I went to speak, but he raised his hand with an authoritative gesture, and I fell silent.

‘Against my better judgement I have allowed you to give vent freely to your anger and frustration. You have, I believe, used most of the obscene language in the English-speaking world. Now you will listen to me, if you value your survival.’

I felt another thrill of fear slice through me at his cold words, but said nothing.

‘In order to survive in our world, you have to feed. The food of the vampire is blood. If you do not feed, your flesh will wither and fall from your bones, yet you will not die. Your beauty will be lost, and your mind—
you
will be lost, and that I cannot allow.’

I made no comment. The man was mad, clearly deranged, and I was his prisoner. If I said anything he didn’t like, he might turn into a raging maniac. He looked strong. I felt sure he could pull me apart with his bare hands.

‘Yet you still do not believe me.’

I looked at him. He looked so calm and
reasonable
, standing there smoking his cigarette. The feeble light from the sputtering lamp chased some of the shadows from his handsome face and illuminated those incredible eyes. I shook my head slowly. He leaned away from the wall to extinguish his cigarette.

‘I have no idea why your first attempt at feeding made you sick, I have never before witnessed such a phenomenon. I can only surmise it is because you have retained more humanity than most during the change. But then, I always knew you were unique.’

I thought he might have been making a joke, but if he was, his face showed no sign of humour.

‘You don’t know anything about me,’ I retorted.

He raised his eyebrows at that and walked slowly back towards me.

‘Your name is Elinor Jane Wakefield but most people call you Ellie. You are twenty-five years old and a dancer by profession. You live alone, or at least you used to live alone, in a first floor apartment in a Victorian house in Crouch End, North London. You are an only child, your parents are dead, and you were brought up by foster parents, whom you left at the tender age of eighteen to attend dance college. You enjoy going to popular music concerts and festivals and you dance like an angel.’

I stared at him, completely dumbfounded. How the hell did he know all that? Will continued, his face still impassive.

‘I also know that you have never been truly in love, which is something I intend to rectify.’