Sophie Morgan (Book 2): Death in the Family

by Treharne, Helen

  Mum followed me out to the hallway.

  “By the way,” I said slipping my jacket back on, “I met a guy at the auction yesterday, a graphic designer. He offered to have a look at doing some work for us, business cards or such like I suppose.”

  “Is that right?” Mum said.

  I slung my bag over my shoulder. “Uhuh. I’ll have a think about it, let you know. It’s probably nothing. All a bit weird really.”

  “Is that so?”

  I smiled, kissed her quickly on the cheek and left her in the hallway, standing arms crossed, expressionless.

  The house inspections were a breeze. Both sets of tenants had rented off us for years and took better care of the properties than many homeowners would. It made my life a lot easier but also my day a lot shorter and I needed to fill it if I was going to stave off thoughts of Mickey.

  Nothing was to be gained my being maudlin so I headed into town once I’d finished, to pick up some paperwork from the newsagent and collect any business post.

  Michelle was on duty, as usual. She worked Saturdays and most weekdays.

  “Hey Hon, how are you?” Michelle asked, rotating her Mars Bars and her Rolos. “Good weekend? Anything exciting?”

  “Oh, you know, the usual, planning to take over the world, learning to juggle, the usual stuff.”

  Michelle laughed. This had become our customary routine.

  “What about you?” I asked her.

  “Went out to Ritzy’s on Saturday night, got hammered, came home, had an argument with the old man, spent Sunday making up, the usual.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I said, breezing past with my papers under my arm. “Anything exciting happened today?”

  “No, same old, same old. I think I’ve got an admirer though.”

  I span around. “Really? Shame on you!” I said. “You are a married woman.”

  Michelle smiled her frosted pink smile. “He’s out there all the time.”

  She nodded her head in the direction of the window. I looked out. “Who?” I asked.

  “Ah, he’s gone now. This fella, he’s there a lot. Not every day but I’ve seen him a few times. He never comes in. Just looks through the window.”

  “Well, tell him to come in and ask you out or to bugger off and leave you alone.”

  We laughed together, before I popped into the back office to dump my stuff and open the post.

  While Michelle went about serving customers, I sat at the small desk, sorting through my paperwork, listening to the digital ring of the cash register in the background. There wasn’t much to do. I filed away the inspection reports in the filing cabinet, binned the junk mail and put invoices that needed payment into a file to take home. I didn’t really have much else to do. I felt a bit flat.

  I’ll go for a coffee, I thought, and reached down into my bag and grabbed my purse. I thumbed through to make sure I had cash, spotting Darren Thomas’ business card in the process. I took it out and looked at it, in all its sharp, colourful glory.

  I picked up the handset but replaced it without dialling. I decided to opt for a less confusing latte instead.

  18

  The corridors of the university’s Social Studies department bustled with students, recently returned to study, although they quickly disappeared once the hour came and classes and seminars started.

  Rachel flashed a salacious grin at each male student who turned his head to admire her slender, feline frame as she leaned into the door frame of the departmental secretary’s office. Richard was too busy rustling through a filing cabinet crammed with papers to notice her.

  "Why are we here again?!” she asked.

  "I told you. Charles wants us to find out more about this Kurt Andersen guy. This seems like a sensible place to start."

  Rachel huffed. “What for?”

  Richard lifted his eyes up from the drawer, keeping his place in the endless buff files with his fingers. He didn’t turn around. “I don’t know. He has something that Charles has been asked to find, or at least find out more about. I didn’t ask and I strongly suspect he wouldn’t tell either of us if we did.”

  An olive-skinned guy in an Italia soccer shirt winked at Rachel as he navigated the crowds. She arched her back and stuck out her chest. Her admirer paused for a moment, but moved on once she started talking to Richard again.

  "Couldn't we just find him in the Yellow Pages and pay him a visit?” she said. “I could turn on the charm." She leaned into the frame of the department secretary's door. "This isn't what I became a vampire for you know, rustling through paperwork in some dusty office. I did enough of that while I was alive."

  "Got it!" Richard said, pulling out a buff folder from the top drawer.

  He quickly flicked through the contents. There wasn't much in it - a class schedule, resume, contact details, a few news clippings and short journal articles, copied from the originals, and finally a list of publications and academic achievements. Richard took out his smartphone and took photos of the contact details and the schedule.

  Once satisfied he’d captured everything he wanted, Richard slipped the folder back into place in the cabinet, put his phone back in the inside pocket of his jacket and nodded in the direction of the corridor.

  “C’mon,” he said. “I’ve got everything we need.”

  "Wonderful," Rachel huffed. “So we’re done?”

  “Yes, we're done."

  The landlady nodded at Kasper with a wry smile as he strode across the bar towards the stairs which led to the accommodation above. He knew he was attractive; decades of girls throwing themselves at him had taught him that. She was a little old for his taste, in her fifties maybe. Still, he needed to eat.

  Kasper nodded a hello and gave her ’the look’, the one that said follow me, and you'll have a good time.

  The landlady furiously counted coins and gave them to the only customer there. He took the change, popped it in the cigarette machine, took a packet of Silk Cut and left. Unlike the inner city pubs, The Rising Sun Hotel still closed for a couple of hours in the afternoon, once it had ceased serving its small lunchtime menu. Kasper knew he would have a few hours with her before it opened again, perhaps a little less if her husband returned from whatever errand he was running. He wouldn’t need that long though, quarter of an hour at most.

  In the seclusion of Kasper’s room, the landlady moaned as he cupped her breast through the silken opening of her blouse, the buttons already undone before she entered the room. Her legs quivered and spread as he pushed the pencil skirt to her hips and manoeuvred his lips up her thigh.

  Before she had time to realise it, it was over.

  When she opened her eyes, the landlady wondered why she was lying on the cushioned window seat of the front bar. She had no recollection of how she got there and why she was there. She hadn't seen Kasper for at least a day, yet he was standing over her.

  "I'm ever so sorry," she said. "I think I must have ... blacked out or something."

  "Yes," the vampire said, "I found you on the floor. Fainted perhaps?" She murmured a ‘maybe’. She had skipped lunch after all. "You were lucky I came back when I did," he added. If Kasper hadn’t fed when he did, he would have been dangerously close to going too far with a victim. A hungry vampire was not a happy one.

  "She's restless," Richard told Ferrers, showing him the images he'd transferred from his mobile phone to his tablet computer.

  "Indeed, "Ferrers said absently. Rachel had been a marvellous solicitor - diligent, intelligent and discreet. The transition for all vampires was difficult, but her descent into a carnal binge was growing tiresome.

  Not only was it dangerous and might attract attention, but it meant that the qualities he had so admired in her, were being quietly eroded into nothing.

  As Ferrers studied the images before him, he wondered if Rachel needed a female role model. He had never been bothered by gender, or given it any meaning. A vampire is a vampire, male or female - just as effective as killing, just us vul
nerable to the hunger, all made and capable of being destroyed in the same ways. Rachel was becoming a tedious stereotype. He resolved to address the issue once this business with Sophie and this blasted manuscript were attended to. He would send her to Margeaux; she could teach her what a strong woman could achieve, with her brain and not just her body.

  "So what do you think?" Richard asked.

  "It is unusual for someone of my age to be surprised Richard, but surprised my dear boy I am."

  "I know. I couldn't believe it myself. Imagine that, Professor Andersen, living practically next door, well a few doors down anyway. Honestly, you couldn't write this shit."

  Ferrers winced. He didn't like profanity in any of its forms; it was lazy and added little to the conversation. He spoke when he had something to say and didn't say things he didn't mean or didn't need to. Cursing was filling space unnecessarily.

  "What I should do now? “Richard asked. “Visit the guy?"

  "No, not yet. I think I shall pay him a little visit, perhaps,” Ferrers replied. “This is his schedule, yes?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I shall consider my next move, Richard. In the meantime, appraise yourself of Miss Morgan and her movements. Don't let her see you; she knows what you are now and I don't want to alert her to our presence."

  "No problem. I've dug out a list of pubs, restaurants, businesses in her area. The Companies House register threw up a few interesting things - like the property business of hers, or her family’s, owns a couple of shops too. It looks like they don't just own the buildings either. I'll keep digging online, maybe take a gander at the premises. They're in Bethesda though, hiring a car will make it easier."

  "As you see fit Richard. You have enough cash?"

  "Yes." Richard had about just under a grand burning a hole in the inside pocket of his jacket, and a case with a few more thousand in upstairs.

  Richard ripped the top off a blood pack and started sucking, waiting for further instruction. He decided to ask the question that had been burning its way through his mind for weeks. "Charles?"

  Ferrers didn't raise his eyes from the tablet.

  “What’s your fascination with Sophie anyway?” Richard asked. “Are you going to turn her into a vampire?"

  Ferrers gave Richard a look that could have screamed amusement or disappointment, he couldn't be certain which. "I have been asking myself that very same question, my dear boy."

  That was his cue to leave, which Richard gladly took. Sometimes Ferrers was the most uncomfortable creature to be around.

  19

  Richard had spent exactly eight hours following Sophie Morgan around in his rented Vauxhall Corsa. The only thing worse than the economy car, was having to traipse around Bethesda and Bethel after Sophie like a private eye. He didn't mind digging around on the internet, but Bethesda was quite possibly the most boring place in the world. He could count the people that he had seen on his stake-out on two hands. He'd worked his way through three blood packs from the icebox in the car boot just to pass the time.

  All Sophie seemed to do was go to the gym, hang out with her mother and work. Oh, no, let’s not forget the extra especially exciting trip to the supermarket. From what he could gather, Sophie was just as boring and uninteresting as she had been in Coventry. He'd hardly ever heard her TV or music from the apartment below him. She never had wild parties. She was pleasant. Bland.

  If Ferrers was planning on turning Sophie, he might be doing her a favour. Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing for him either, he thought. He had mulled that prospect over considerably. Rachel was unstoppable, hot but unstoppable. Sophie was attractive enough. It could be interesting to see what she'd turn out like if Ferrers had his way. She might mellow Rachel out. Of course, Rachel might rip her throat out as soon as she saw her.

  But Ferrers hadn't revealed what his plans for Sophie were. Perhaps he'd lose interest in her soon though; after all he had other distractions which seemed to be keeping him entertained. Ferrers was spending hours alone in his room listening to the Platters. Richard was dragging him into the twenty-first century with an mp3 player and a back catalogue of his favourite tunes. Ferrers said that music had always helped him to think. And of course he had plenty of other things to think about, this business with this Professor Andersen guy, for example. He didn't know what Ferrers wanted with him either.

  Richard tossed an empty blood pack into the footwell of the passenger seat and turned the key in the ignition. Sophie Morgan strode out of the gym with her bag slung over her shoulder.

  Through the drizzle on the windscreen, Richard saw a movement. He peered towards the glass, across the car park at the scene that was unfolding. "Well, blow me," he said.

  It had been a quiet day. A few work-based activities, a relaxing late lunch at the coffee shop, the weekly grocery shop, a quick stop home to feed Charlie and change and then a nice liberating trip to the gym. I hadn’t expected to leave my work out to be accosted by a stranger, yet that was what happened.

  It was dark by the time I’d left the fitness centre. It was a well-lit area. Plenty of people around. I had felt reasonably safe. My car was parked only a few spaces from the gyms entrance on the retail park. The shops had shut, but there were usually a few people who lingered about, going to the fried chicken shop or, more often than not, the gym.

  I’d spent a couple of hours working out. I’d taken a body-pump class first that left me feeling tired but exhilarated, followed by half an hour on the treadmill and a leisurely swim. I had time to kill after all – very little work, nobody at home to worry about me, no social life to speak of.

  The last thing, I had been prepared for, was a man to follow me to the car. A vampire would never be so obvious, I told myself. Looking around out the corner of my eye, I could see that there was nobody to call to for help. With any luck, I thought, I’ll make it to my car quickly, or someone will leave the gym behind me. Damn it, I chastised myself, why didn’t I just leave after the class with all the other people. Who hangs out at ten o’clock at night in the gym? If I don’t get killed tonight, I’m going to get a life I told myself.

  My hands felt cold. I gripped my car keys tightly in my hand, prepared to use them as a weapon if needed. My chest constricted and I felt my throat begin to tighten. No, wait, what are you doing? I said to myself. You can deal with this, Sophie. Think. If this was a vampire, wouldn’t he have killed you by now?

  I suddenly felt brave. Shit or bust I told myself. I spun around and charged at my stalker, arms outstretched and head down. The body bump classes were paying off.

  "What do you want?" I asked through gritted teeth. "What do you want from me?"

  The words spat out of my mouth like venom. I gripped the lapels of the man's coat as I pushed him hard into the brick wall. I was amazed at my strength - the cocktail of fear, anger and adrenaline had powered me into him, grabbing him firmly and almost lifting him off his feet.

  "Please Sophie,” he said. “I just want to talk - you don't understand - please, just let me explain."

  His sincere, if not slightly anxious, pleading put me off my guard. Even with his geography teacher appearance, I didn't expect my attackers to try to rationalise with me and calm me down. Experience told me the majority of people who invaded my personal space mainly wanted to hurt me, if not kill me.

  Something told me that this guy wasn't a vampire though. No fangs, no tearing at flesh. Just good old-fashioned lurking. Although I knew that he was more likely to be a stalker or a sexual predator than a vampire, my gut still told me to let him go.

  Relaxing my hands, I released my grip and took a step back from him. I deliberately made sure to allow myself enough space to react to any sudden movements on his part. While I could see I was faster, fitter and considerably younger than my potential opponent, I'd learned that appearances could be deceptive and for all I knew this could be a different type of vamp that I hadn't experienced yet. After all, my first encounter with a vampire was a perfectly polite
, handsome stranger in a bar. I had been pretty bowled over until he had dragged me kicking and screaming into a dark alley and tore a chunk out of my neck.

  The man pushed his floppy fringe back from his face and tidied up his raincoat by gently pulling down on the cuffs. He adjusted his tie and shirt collar in the same way.

  "There, that's better,” he said, in an accent, I couldn't quite place. It sounded European - maybe Scandinavian, I couldn't be sure.

  His composure was unnerving. A few moments ago, I was convinced that this rather unlikely looking assailant meant me harm.

  I stood back and took an impartial inventory of the seemingly gentleman in front of me. He really didn't seem that threatening at all. He was tall, maybe a little over six foot and a little overweight - although it was obvious from his frame that in his younger days he could have been quite the athlete. His mop of blonde hair was fine and in need of a trim. The beginnings of a fringe skirted his spectacled eyes. As I stood there processing all this information, weighing up what this man could possibly want with me, I suddenly realised something important. The hair on the nape of my neck stood to attention.

  "How do you know my name?" I asked, although I didn't give him any time to answer. "Have you been following me? Have you? Stupid question, of course you have. Don't tell me it's a coincidence! Let's be honest, it doesn't look like you’re a regular member of this gym.” I regretted the last words; that was unnecessarily mean and I was better than that.

  "Sophie,” he said. I could tell he intended his words to be soothing, but they weren’t. "I know who you are. I know what you are. I just wanted to see you, to make sure you are okay, perhaps even get to know you."

  "What I am?" I said. What a creep, I thought, nothing like smoothing over a socially difficult situation with a poorly hidden insult.