Sophie Morgan (Book 1): Relative Strangers (A Modern Vampire Story) (23 page)

If I’d had any strong drink in the house, that would have been the time to take it. As it was, all I had was a copious supply of tea bags, half a jar of generic instant coffee and an unopened bottle of Martini which I’d won in a raffle the previous Christmas. I’m sure there was some beer somewhere, but there was no time to hunt for that. I had to settle for several deep breaths and my French cook’s knife for courage. I didn’t intend on using it, but if I had to, I would, and it was better to be prepared for the worse than not.

All I wanted was to see if Richard was upstairs and stop him from doing anything terrible. At the same time, I wanted to tell him that I was going to be moving on and didn’t want any trouble. It seemed cowardly and gung-ho all at the same time. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but either way I’d be about for at least a couple of days before I moved on. Getting killed in the interim wasn’t in my plan, but neither was witnessing or being complicit in any more murders.

I managed to make it up the stairwell to Richard’s flat without attracting any attention. I was glad; in my current state, there was no way I could have come up with a reasonable explanation for walking around the building with a knife. My palms were sweaty and my heart was about to push itself right out of my chest cavity.

Now that I was standing outside Richard's door, I wondered if it was such a good idea. Perhaps things wouldn’t go too well if he opened it and found me stood there, weakly waving a weapon in his face. The knife was intended for self-protection, but given the volatile situation, it could easily be mistaken as out and out aggression on my part. After a brief reimagining of prospective outcomes (including the option of Richard immediately ripping my throat out, as I waved the knife sheepishly before me), I slipped the blade deep into the pocket of my sweatshirt.

Several deep breaths didn’t help me compose myself, but then again this was a very surreal situation. I imagine it would be very difficult for anyone to try and look nonchalant. I felt like a Christian being thrown to the lions; I was a teenager asking a girl on a first date. But despite my fear and confusion, there was still this small buzz of compulsion, driving me forward, to make my last stand. This was my Little Big Horn, although I wasn't sure if I was Custer or the Indians.

Looking back, I'm not surprised at how I felt. How should I have felt exactly? How would you? It’s not every day that you find a vampire living above you. I considered just going downstairs, packing up and doing a runner. But I knew I couldn’t live with myself if that resulted in Richard going on a rampage. I knew I’d be taking my life in my hands going in, not just because of Richard, but because of his vampire friends too. The vampire Ferrers had made his intentions quite clear, well sort of. I better keep my nose out of their business or else. It had all been wrapped up in a pretty ribbon bow of niceties and good breeding, but I understood his meaning. In some respects, it would have been easier if he had just crept into my flat and murdered me in my sleep.

I emptied my lungs and gathered my thoughts. Everything became still.
Right, Geronimo.
I rapped my knuckles on the door of the flat. There was no response. I waited for a few seconds, listening for signs of life, then knocked again, a little firmer.

No one came to the door, but I was positive I could hear someone shuffling about inside. I placed my ear on the painted white door and listened intently. It sounded like someone was listening to music. I quickly withdrew my ear in case the door opened suddenly and I fell through it, or worse.

However, I still didn't know if Richard was in there. His car being parked out front meant nothing. After all, perhaps he wouldn't need it where he was going. There was also the possibility that he was in the flat, but was dead. If he hadn't been able to feed, he may have just dragged himself back to his apartment, curled up and quietly died. I could only hope. But what if someone was in there with him? For all I knew, Richard could have lured some unsuspecting victim and fed on him, killed them even.
Damn it, he isn't meant to be feeding, he was supposed to have packed up his things and pissed off
.

But was I actually going to do if that was the case? Call the police? I think that the ship had probably sailed. If there was ever a time I was going to tell them, it was when they were standing outside my front door inspecting a murder victim. Mr. Ferrers and my gut instincts were in agreement. If I called the police now, telling them that I thought my neighbour was turning into a vampire, they'd have the mental-health- team around to see me in a matter of hours. I'd end up like Seamus' cousin. What good would that do anyone, especially me?

The door to the flat next to Richard's opened, and an unkempt middle-aged man walked out of the flat and smiled at me. His navy overalls were covered in a coating of dust and specks of paint and I wondered if the man had bought it or was simply a decorator fixing it up for somebody else. I returned his gesture, but my smile lacked joy.

Once I heard the external door to the block of flats slam, I hammered at Richard's door again. Rather than using my knuckles to create a polite rap, I clenched my fist and punched it with the meatiest part. The force I exuded surprised me. The door shook in the frame a little.
Okay, perhaps a bit too aggressive that time Soph
.

After a short while, and increasingly frustrated at the lack of response, I reached for the door handle, depressed it and pushed. It opened easily; it wasn't locked. "Hello?" I called, stepping through the doorway and entering the narrow hallway. "I said hello?"

As there was no reply, I carried on walking to the living room, taking a sideways glance into the small kitchen and finding it empty. The two bedroom doors, one of which I assumed led to a room Richard, used as an office, were closed. The bathroom door was ajar, but there was no sign of life from behind it. Within seconds, I was in the living room. It was as immaculate as it had been on the other sole occasion I’d been in it. Whatever Richard was going through, he’d managed to maintain some semblance of normality. I guess if you were going to live forever, you’d want to spend your eternity somewhere nice.

I scanned the room for signs of life. No empty plates or cups, but the stereo was playing easy listening hits softly in the background. I hadn't pegged Richard as a Perry Como fan, but then he was just full of surprises, wasn't he?

"Well, well, well and what do we have here?"

I spun in the direction of the voice, dropping my knife in the process and stumbling backwards into a chair. It was Mr. Ferrers.

"My, my, what a sharp knife you have?" he observed.

We both looked at the blade lying at my feet on the carpet. He didn't have to say it, we both knew that he’d be able to traverse the distance between us before I even had a chance to bend down and pick it up.

Ferrers was definitely not like any of the vampires I'd seen before. He was poised, tall and lean. If I was a betting woman, I'd have put money on him winning the Olympic hundred metre sprint under ten seconds. He was probably too composed to even break a sweat. There was a quality about him which set him apart from the other vampires I'd encountered, and it went beyond his polished shoes and well-clipped nails. I'm loathed to admit it, but emitted a certain
je ne sais quoi,
an unassuming charisma. Richard had been right when he alluded to it - who wouldn't want to be like him? He seemed accomplished, intelligent, and polite. In many ways, if I was going to paint a picture of what a suitable gentleman friend would be for my mother, he was it, less the vampire bit of course. But more than that, unlike the other vampires who seemed to lack an element of self-control, Ferrers was measured and in his own way thoughtful. To my mind, he just seemed much more adept at being a vampire. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising that being a vampire looked appealing if he was the first one you met.

"Where's Richard?" I asked, my words stumbling over my lips. I wasn't convinced that I cared anymore, but Ferrers had entered the room and was blocking my exit. He casually leant against the dining table with his arms folded in front of him. The gesture was supine but unsettling. There was no way that I could pass him without putting myself dangerously within his reach. This was not going to plan.

"Richard is in bed, resting", Ferrers replied.

"Why is he in bed?" I demanded." What have you done to him?"
I may as well establish some facts while I'm here.

"You know what I’ve done to him. He’s one of us now. It’s what he wanted." His matter of fact manner was disconcerting.

"I can’t imagine why."

"Yes you can," he replied, taking a seat at one of the dining chairs facing me. "I’m everything you’d like to be. I’m confident, learned, well-travelled, respected. I have total and utter freedom and people admire me for it, they want to be like me."

"I don’t want to be like you."

He smiled, removed an invisible speck of something from his trousers and flicked it on the floor. He probably had perfect vision. It was easy to hate some people.

"So why is he still here? Why is he in bed in this pokey flat? Why isn’t he off jetting the world with you seeing the sights if your life is so great?"

The flat wasn’t pokey, I was sure it was marginally bigger than mine, which was, in fact, a decent size for a two bed, certainly by most people’s standards. But it was true, I couldn’t really understand why they would be setting up in the West Midlands when there would be more glamorous places to be.

"Richard isn’t feeling quite himself at the moment," Ferrers explained, devoid of emotion. "It happens to us all at first. It's not unlike a virus, ravishing your immune system. Now, he has a fever, but it will break. He will feel better, and his conversion to my kind will be complete. The first few weeks are always the most challenging. But in answer to your rather interesting question, then of course Richard is free to move on and do as he wishes. When he is more himself, he may choose to stay with me, or close by at the very least. Alternatively, he may go his own way and live and feed wherever he chooses, I will have given him a long, potent life, the ability to experience a great many new things, and see a great deal more after all. Even vampires can outgrow their relationships."

"Fever? He'll survive and then become a vampire?" I asked, choosing not to indulge Ferrers’ desire to talk about himself or promote vampirism to me as any sort of desirable lifestyle.
Vamp-Lite - all the longevity you want with none of the calories; snack between meals, but never kill.

"Yes, he’s fed on enough human blood to complete the transition. It doesn't take a great deal, but it does take a little while for the body to adjust to the new…" he paused, searching for an appropriate phrase, "... status."

I guess he didn't have to talk to humans about being a vampire that often, what with there being such lack of defined terminology.

"And if he hadn’t fed?” I asked. I really wanted to ask who Richard had fed on, but I didn't want to push my luck, and part of me didn't want to know. Knowing would make it real, and I was still partially treading water in denial.

"He’d go mad and in time. It’s not pretty, but it doesn't take long, a few days, sometimes a week. As he’s drank human blood, the transition will be easier. If he has consumed more, of course, the transition would be practically noticeable, but as it stood our window of opportunity was somewhat limited."

"But hasn't he been here the whole time? Who...?" my words trailed off into thoughts of my neighbours. Had Richard popped downstairs and had a nibble on Roy? Had they crept into my flat and drunk from me without me even knowing it?

"Your blood," Mr Ferrers replied, answering the question I hadn't yet asked. I thought I could detect the hint of a smile, but couldn't be certain.

I must have been wearing my confused face as he went from looking straight into my eyes, to my hand. I followed his gaze and was reminded of Richard's small, but painful, bite. The two faint scars, left by his burgeoning fangs, resembled little more than faded cigarette burns.

"Mine?" I stammered, "I’m responsible for his... change?"

"No, well not exclusively. But your blood certainly sealed the deal, as they say. The speed of his conversion is actually quite remarkable. You must have a very interesting blood type. It’s fascinating."

I felt sick. I couldn’t quite tell if he was deliberately mean or mischievous. Either way, he seemed to enjoy making me squirm.

"So what am I now?" I asked, "Dessert?"

"Now that’s an interesting thought," he replied, tilting his head a millimetre or two to one side. He appeared to be studying me, intrigued by me, although I wasn’t sure why. I'm sure I was just a tiny ant to him, one which he could crush whenever the fancy took him. "I’m sure you would be delicious," he added.

I needed to get him thinking of me as a person, rather than as dinner, isn’t that what they always try to get kidnappers do? Attempt to help them see their hostages as real people, regular people with families and lives. I wasn’t convinced it would work, given that he seemed perfectly happy to eat other people for dinner. Perhaps just getting him on any other topic of conversation would help distract him, give me a moment’s reprieve from his invasive stare, time to make a dash for it.

"So, what about you? Why aren’t you off with the supernatural jet set? Surely you should be living it up on the Cote D’Azur, or somewhere else equally exotic?" I attempted the smallest of steps towards the door, but I'm sure he must have detected my tiny shuffle. I was pathetic.