Sophie Morgan (Book 1): Relative Strangers (A Modern Vampire Story) (18 page)

I’d never resigned before, but I’d coached enough people through it as part of my job, so I told her that she’d have it in writing by the end of the day and I’d ensure that I’d nailed down all my open vacancies for her. That would be no mean feat given that mine were at the senior end of the market, usually involving lengthy selection processes and even longer notice periods. All in all though, I felt I was fair.

Tracy collared me as soon as I got out of the door, dragging me into the tea point to interrogate me. I gave a potted summary of the conversation I'd just had and she burst into tears, throwing her arms around me, which I wasn't expecting at all. I found myself patting her on the back and murmuring some appropriately comforting words. I assured her that I’d be there for at least a month as I’d need to work my notice and give notice on my flat.

The day continued on a positive note. I marked the 2nd December in my diary as my last day at work, circling the date with thick red pen. It felt exciting. I pulled together a list of all my current vacancies, noting what needed to be actioned, and when, for each one. I did the same with a list of my top candidates, drafting a quick action plan for each of them so I’d get them as many interviews as possible before my departure. For a brief moment, I felt like I enjoyed my job again, but that was only because it was something to focus on and it was going to have a distinct end date. It was quite liberating.

By the time six o’clock came around, I’d crossed off everything my to-do list, including firing an email off to my landlord to give him the required notice on my tenancy. I still had a spring in my step as Tracy and I walked to her car, taking advantage of the offer of a lift home. I’d been so excited by my decision in the morning, I’d forgotten entirely about walking home in the dark. Perhaps I was getting some perspective back.

The screeching down the phone signalled that my Mum was very happy about my news. That was quickly followed by tears and excitement that we’d be living together for a while, "all girls together". She didn’t even care too much that I hadn’t got a plan in place regarding a job, although I mentioned that I’d consider a transfer to another office if one came up, but that I wasn’t sure, perhaps I’d just take some time out.

I’d barely finished getting all my words out when she recommended that I considered taking over the management of the property side of the family business. After all, we’d both agreed that the letting agent was doing very little for the money he was being paid. He was getting about fifty pound a month for each property. I could pocket that and run the business myself, she’d rather it went to me. It wasn’t a massive amount, but with the small portion of the rental income I received, and a free roof over my head, I’d probably be better off than if I was living and working away.

Once I was settled, I could eventually live rent free in one of the houses we owned. There was bound to be one coming free soon. As we talked, I realised that we’d both be considerably better off in the long term as well. I could focus on growing the lettings business further, which the agent wouldn’t have been able to do. Overall, it seemed like a win-win for everyone. Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner? Of course, while we may have only just been discussing it now, Mum might have been formulating it in her mind for a lot longer, waiting for the right opportunity to broach it.

Once I finished the call to my mother, I went online and caught up with my personal email. There wasn’t much to action, just a few spam emails and some notifications from YEARBOOK, which I moved to another folder to action when I had time. None of them were from Mickey or Sean so I wasn't that interested. I quickly checked to see if Sean had reactivated his profile page, but sadly, there was nothing and no emails either. I was disappointed but tried to not let it get to me. I was committed to focussing on the positive.

I turned on the TV as a distraction, settling down with a bowl of cereal and a mug of tea for my dinner. I hadn’t been shopping since the previous week and my supplies were running low. While I waited for the regional news section, I jotted down a brief grocery list on the note jotter by my phone. I decided to get up early and go to the twenty-four hour supermarket on the way to work; there was nothing that wouldn’t last a day in the boot of my car. Once I finished my bran flakes, Charlie lapped up the residues of the milk from my bowl. It was past its freshest, but he didn’t seem to mind. I’d have to drink my tea black until I went shopping.

The news told me that the body had now been identified and the families notified. The victim was fifty-four-year-old Trevor Parker, an accountant from a nearby part of the city. After a brief introduction by the news presenter, I watched a short interview with his widow and their teenage son, filmed in the family home. They seemed like a perfectly normal, ordinary household. I felt sorry for them.

Following the family’s appeal for information, the film cut to the outside of their home, where the reporter that I’d seen at the scene, described how Mr Parker was subjected to a horrific ordeal with an unknown weapon, and left for dead. Police were continuing with their enquiries and asking anyone with information to come forward. A Freephone telephone number was provided and I jotted it down just in case, although I wasn’t quite sure what I’d say if I decided to call it: "Hello, I think there’s a vampire on the loose on my estate".
Yeah, maybe not.

I didn’t bother to watch the rest of the local news, but instead went to my laptop, searched for an outline of the story on the channel’s website and emailed a link to Mickey.

I hoped that it might spur him into responding, but if he didn’t then, it would
definitely
be my last attempt. If he wanted to carry on and pretend that vampires didn’t exist, then that was fine; well, no, not fine, but it would be a last ditch attempt. I didn’t need any more stress or hassle than I already had and I wouldn’t have wished how I was feeling on anyone. In short, I felt terrified, angry and vulnerable.

After I pressed the send button, I stared at the screen for a long time in the hope of an immediate reply. I didn’t get one.

The neighbourhood’s excitement over our murder victim was almost extinct after a few short days. Even Carol seemed to have got over the worst of it and was going about her business as usual. I bumped into Roy in the corridor and exchanged our usual pleasantries, referring to the incident only occasionally when it had featured on the news again. From what I recall, that only happened two, maybe three times. I expect there's not much of substance to report until you actually have a suspect.

That said, the whole thing did mean that people were a lot more vigilant. I noticed people taking a second look when a strange car pulled in, usually a neighbour's visitor, and I did much the same. Now that the nights were drawing in and it was getting darker earlier, I made a point of driving to and from work each day, rather than walking as I usually did.

I began going to the gym more, too, trying to get into good physical shape in the event I’d have to defend myself or run away from a potential attacker. I’d joined the gym near the University earlier that year, but hadn’t used my membership as much as I should or could have. I took a few fitness classes and regularly ran on the treadmill.

In Antwerp, I had surprised myself with the speed with which I could run when motivated. I decided to ask my neighbour, Richard up for some running tips, and to ask if he fancied a novice joining him for a run one evening. I’d not actually witnessed him go for a run, but I’d seen him in all the right gear which intimated that was serious about it. It made sense to not run alone with a vampire, or the plural of, running amok in the neighbourhood. I wasn’t sure if one death constituted amok, but given recent events I didn't think that hyperbole should be my biggest concern. I wasn’t sure what hours Richard kept, but I thought it was a safe bet to assume he wouldn’t be working on a Friday evening.

Richard looked surprised when he opened the door. I’d left it until after eight, to allow him time to have his dinner. He was wearing black jeans, black tee shirt and socks. Although casual, it all looked quite expensive. I don’t really have any interest in designer wear, but I can spot it when I see it. I rarely saw him out and about, so I wasn’t sure if he always looked like that or if he was getting ready to go somewhere special or to receive a visitor. I hoped he wasn’t disappointed to find me at his door; I was getting tired of getting the brush off.

"Hi Rich. Sorry to bother you, do you have a minute?"

He looked shifty. "I guess. I’m on my way out soon," he replied. "I’m meeting some friends for a run."

"That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about," I revealed, smiling sweetly.

After a few seconds of grinning on my part, politely waiting for an invitation to enter his home, he opened the door wider to let me in.

Richard had done a lot more to his place than I’d done to mine. I knew he owned it though, and I suppose that would make a difference. Everything was spotless and perfectly placed. It could have been a show home. The walls and carpet were complimentary shades of light grey. A sheen of subtle lighting was provided by spotlights in the ceiling.

There was a single leather couch in the living room, facing an enormous flat-screen TV and a large bookcase which housed more books than I could count. I couldn’t read the writing on the spines from a distance, but they certainly didn’t look like trashy holiday reads. Some were big and glossy coffee table types; others looked older, but expensive, first editions perhaps. There were no photographs anywhere to betray much about his personal life, but there was a large abstract painting hung over a small table and chairs along the nearest wall.

It was difficult to see why someone so cultured would be living in this little industrial city and not living it up in a big city somewhere. I guess living somewhere cheaper means you have more money to spend on expensive things.
Better to be a big fish in a small pond.

For someone who gave the appearance of being confident, he was agitated and seemed to find it hard to maintain eye contact. I wondered if he often had women in his flat or whether it was just me having this effect on him. I hadn't seen him with any women and I wondered if he was gay or just not bothered; not that it was any of my business, and not that I was particularly interested either.

Richard was so different to Mickey, who seemed so entirely at ease both with himself and everyone around him. Nervousness was not what expected of Richard and I’m not sure why. I wondered if I’d caught him in the middle of doing something embarrassing. I decided not to ask for a seat in case he worried I’d never leave; he looked anxious enough as it was and it was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable too. It was probably sensible to get straight to the point.

"I’m considering taking up running and I noticed you seem to be into that sort of thing. I wondered if I could go out for a jog with you sometime, maybe this weekend. I don’t think it’s sensible for a woman to be running alone at night, especially with everything that’s gone on. Perhaps you could even give me some tips?"

"Oh, you want to take up running!" He sounded relieved. "I can certainly give you some tips, although I usually run late at night, and that's with a group."

"I don’t mind joining your group." I hinted.
This is like pulling teeth.

"They’re very advanced. I don’t think it’s for you."

"I run pretty fast. I wouldn’t mind."

"I think they would."

"Oh."

There was an embarrassing silence as I realised that I must look like someone who would make a rubbish runner, or wasn’t hip enough to hang out with the cool kids. Or perhaps he just didn’t like me. This was not the conversation I had hoped for. "Thanks anyway," I offered up. Deflated, I turned back towards the door to the flat.

"If you want, I may be about some time over the weekend. If I get time, I’ll give you a knock. We could go for a quick run, just enough to give you some tips. I can’t promise anything though; things are pretty manic for me at the moment." Despite extending the invitation, his words felt empty and detached, cold even, like an amateur actor reading from a poorly written script.

"Okay, thanks. I’ll be in most of the weekend". Before I had finished my sentence, he had closed the door in my face.

When I returned to my flat, Charlie was pacing angrily back and forth the lounge, waiting to be fed. I put some dried food into his dish and continued with some of the packing, which I’d made a start on in the week.

As I didn’t have much in the way of furniture to take, there was very little to do in terms of preparations for my move. Nevertheless, I had a lot of time to fill and I was finding the wrapping and packing of my little bits and bobs quite calming. There was something reassuringly straightforward about wrapping up my few good glasses and ornaments in newspapers, and I had plenty of packing material given my recent research activities.

I methodically worked my way through my wine glasses and then moved on to my Christmas decorations. I didn’t have many pieces, but what I had were good quality, so I wanted to make sure they didn’t get damaged in transit. Once Charlie had finished his dinner, he helped me by leaping in kitten-like fashion between the crumpled sheets of newspapers, attempting what can only be described as a sort of feline football.