Chapter 14

It’s so strange. Jay would say ‘a weird compulsion’ has taken hold of me. I walk through the mist, and the wavering white smoke parts before me like sheer voile opening either side of a window. But the scene is not anything as ordinary as a lovely green, flower filled garden.

I’m cold - in only a tee-shirt and pyjama bottoms. A strange hollowness suffocates my spirit and darkness presses in around the edges. I’m in a back alley. I think it’s one of the streets behind campus but I’m not sure. Shadows skulk behind the large black and brown bins. I can distinguish the colour of each as my eyes adjust to the night - creepy! At the end of the alley, I can see the brightness of the street. All I have to do is walk to the end and turn, back to the safety of the halls.

What am I doing out here?

I haven’t slept much the last few nights. I’ve been suffering from some crazy kind of insomnia that has made me hyper rather than tired. Still, I’m wide awake. It feels as if I will never need to sleep again. I think - it’s something to do with Jay but I don’t know why. Even so, he doesn’t see anything but Carolyn. Why am I even thinking of him? Rich guys are a waste of a girl’s IQ.

The air smells of rotten fruit and vegetables, which I think is coming from the bin that’s tipped over; its contents are all over the cobbles. This place reeks. What brought me out here in the middle of the night? I’m looking ...

Looking out from the rooftops I see Lilly swaying dazed in the middle of the deserted back street. I stand up on the tiles. She moves slowly through the dark. She looks like a vertigo sufferer, her hands outstretched as though to stop herself from falling.

What is she doing out on such a cold night?

I walk stealthily along the roof following her path above the dark alley. Her movements are unnatural. Is she sleepwalking?

I’m walking. Yes. That’s it. I need some air. I couldn’t breathe in that stuffy room anymore ...

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I’m with Carolyn - yet here I watch Lilly. I cannot pretend that night meant nothing, even if she can. She is Caviar and Bollinger; strawberries and cream at Wimbledon. I can’t remember fully what happened the other night. Was it something to do with the E? Anyway what difference does it make? It is time to move on. Why is she ... ?

Why am I ... ?

... here?

... here?

I smell blood. Brackish, hot and fresh.

What’s that smell? It’s the most ...deliciously ...attractive ... Like the aroma of fresh coffee or chocolate chip cookies straight from the oven.

The air swells with the aura of new death. I see ...

I close my eyes. I can’t see but my sense of smell has taken over. That perfume is important to me and I don’t know why. It’s ... food! I’m hungry.

The smell doesn’t affect me. I’m not hungry - things certainly have changed. What is this? I can see something ... behind the bin. My god! Lilly hasn’t seen him and she’s walking ...

I walk towards the brown bin on the left hand side of the alley. I’m certain now this is where it’s coming from.

‘Lilly.’

I say her name twice before she stops walking. She’s almost there when he decides to reveal himself. The stench of rotted liver and damaged organs mingles with the blood of the girl lying dead behind the bins. The tang of crack flavours the sweat that seeps from his forehead. He’s out of his mind. Long term drug abuse has frazzled his brain. His trousers are soiled; they smell of stale faeces, ground-in gutter filth and fresh blood. He grins at Lilly but the smile does not reach his eyes, because they are dancing to their own tune. Spittle drips down his chin and onto his already grey and mucky tee-shirt. He leers at her. I’ve seen this look before.

‘Lilly. Step back slowly. Don’t make any sudden moves.’

I try to get closer without spooking him but his hand comes up and I see the weapon he used on his victim. It is a broken beer bottle. Blood and gore from her torn stomach drip from the sharp edges of the glass. He shuffles forward, closing in on my girl and I’m suddenly afraid for her.

‘Lilly!’

She jumps, coming out of her trance. I circle around, flanking him, trying to get between them. I can see her face, and she’s watching the bottle every bit as intensely as I am, except it is the blood that holds her attention; her eyes follow a red droplet as it falls to the ground and lands on the junkie’s mud splattered trainer. I am distracted by the red fluid and foolishly don’t anticipate his movement. He rushes forward, the bottle held out ready to tear upwards through her delicate flesh. I throw myself in without thinking, my hand swats at his wrist but he falls back shocked and the glass slices through my palm. I wince, pulling back my hand, though more from shock than real pain because within a second it is little more than a scratch. Even so, my blood mingles with the blood of the dead girl and dribbles down the rim of the bottle.

Lilly advances. She circles him and her eyes are devoid of expression. I watch, fascinated. She has changed. I am suddenly not afraid for her anymore. Her movements are compelling, hypnotic, and he freezes, watching her. His face goes slack. Lilly moves closer, her hand outstretched. He stands still, offers up his throat. She grabs him by the throat and squeezes as the bottle slips from his oxygen-starved fingers and lands on the outstretched leg of the dead girl. It bounces without breaking and rolls a few yards before coming to a halt against the green bin. His feet dangle a few inches from the ground as Lilly lifts him with super-human strength. Her hand tightens. He kicks and twitches, but more as a reflex than a protest, as silently he dies; spit bubbles from his foaming lips. He gurgles, but she doesn’t let go, merely increases the pressure, cutting off the sound sharply. His bloodshot eyes swell as blood vessels burst and the whites bleed to dark purple. His face bloats, impossibly swollen; it looks like a distorted balloon and any moment it will burst and spray the entire area with his brains.

I am coldly excited by the sheer brutality of the moment. Power surges through her muscles. She squeezes harder and I feel the snap as though it is my fingers around his dirt-encrusted throat. The junkie’s body lolls and she tosses him like a stringless puppet into the corner of the alley, knocking over a full black bin with the force of the throw.

At the back of the terraced houses a light switches on in an upstairs window. We must leave.

‘What ... have you done to me?’

Emotion has returned to her face, and through her half open mouth I can see the long sharp points of her excessively long canines. Her hands are blood stained and she stares down at her outstretched palms in horror.

‘Come. We have to leave.’

‘The girl’s dead. Her blood ... called me.’

‘Yes. It did.’

‘I’m hungry.’

‘I know ...’

She stumbles and I catch her. She is weakened but enhanced. More lovely than she’d ever been. Changed but recognisable. Oh God! How on earth did I fail to notice? Excited, I crush her to me. My heart feels full. I think it might actually rupture spilling out four hundred years’ worth of longing.

The back door of the house beside us flings open and florescent light spills out of the kitchen in the tiny back yard. We are blocked from view by the high red brick wall surrounding the yard. Lilly’s heart rate speeds up and I feel her fear leech out into my every nerve. I force myself to calm her. At first her psyche refuses my pulses but I press harder and being the older of the two, I’m relieved to find I am much stronger than she is. I push my consciousness into her and she stills with the cold calm of four centuries experience.

‘What’s going on? I’ve called the police ...’ A frightened male voice calls out into the night.

‘What is it, Dave?’ a woman whispers beside him.

‘Fuckin’ junkies again ...’

We remain still and quiet until the couple are satisfied and go back inside. The back door closes and locks and bolts are slammed with paranoid care. I know that like me Lilly will be able to see as clearly as if it is a bright summer day despite the sudden return to pitch black. Her eyes are wide, scared but somehow curious. The green of her irises is brighter and more fey like. I do not know what to say to her, how to explain. I have given up believing that this day would come. A torrent of emotion sweeps through me. I feel like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain. What kind of mentor will I make? How can I put her through the pain of death after mortal death?

The distant call of a siren spurs me into action.

I pull her closer to me and this time when I lift her into the air she merely gasps.

‘I remember this.’

‘Yes.’

Gathering the air beneath us, we blaze straight up. We are suspended and her fear spills out into me as she looks down. From here we can see the body of the girl twisted into an impossible angle. Her tee-shirt is ripped and her jeans pulled down around her ankles.

‘He ... was raping her ... but she was dead.’

‘Yes. The world is full of very evil people, Lilly.’ My explanation seems trite; after all I’m one of the ‘evils’.

Within minutes the police car pulls up, its lights and siren at full pitch.

‘God, Jay. Your blood ...’

‘What?’

‘DNA. You cut your hand on the bottle.’

I glance at my hand, now healed. Her nearness has made me careless; I marvel at her presence of mind. She really is a very intelligent girl. She never fails to amaze me.

‘I ...’

‘I know what to do.’

Two police officers walk down the alley swinging their torches over each corner. It is not long before they find the girl or the junkie. One of them bends down, checking for a pulse, but I know that they won’t find any.

‘Fuckin’ hell!’ The younger PC gulps as his torch illuminates the girl.

‘Better call in and get CID down.’ His partner is older by about five years, but he seems far more cynical.

‘Shouldn’t we gather evidence?’

‘Christ. When did you graduate? Yesterday? We mess with this and homicide will have our bollocks on toast with garnish.’

‘What should I do?’

‘Come back with me to the car. We’ve got to tape this area up and call in.’

‘Shouldn’t one of us stay with the bodies?’

‘Why? They’re dead, you moron. They’re not going anywhere.’

While the rookie reports the scene, the other man opens the boot of the car and pulls a thick roll of yellow tape out of a dark blue canvas bag. Lilly and I land near the bin. She picks up the bottle and holds out her hand. I take it and we run silently away from the police car and out through the other side of the alley.

‘You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Jay.’

‘I know, but for now, run ... Feel the strength of your limbs, Lilly! Feel your power! My darling, you’re immortal.’

Our laughter echoes through the streets and soon we are on Oxford Road, running full pelt under the street lights. For once caution is furthest from my mind. She is drunk on the adrenaline of her first kill even though she didn’t feed. I hold her hand and we sprint, an invisible blur, enjoying our strength and power. It seems so long since I allowed myself anything other than human behaviour.

I lead her through the busy street, back to Deansgate and my apartment. The ecstasy of being with her chokes my throat. I can barely hold back the cry that pushes up from inside me. It has been four hundred years since I lived with a woman, as any mortal man might, bringing up his children. My future fantasy is dispelled as, with this thought, the memories raise their ugly head, hungry to be relived.

I lapse back into the past as the cry echoes through the empty caverns of my chest - I’m not alone!