Sophie Morgan (Book 2): Death in the Family

by Treharne, Helen

  I made the final few steps in one leap, twisting my ankle a little as I landed. A sharp pain shot up my leg but quickly dissipated. Nothing major damaged. I didn’t care anyway. I'd take time to feel the pain later. In that moment, I felt like I could have lifted a car if I had to.

  I threw my bag down on the floor, revealing the weapon I intended to use – good old Mr. Screwdriver. I was terrified, sure, but if my chickens were coming home to roost, and Ferrers was my chicken, then I was going to damn well finish him off and carve him up.

  "Get away from him you son of a bitch," I yelled. My head was pounding, my heart racing. I could feel every fibre of my being, every molecule in my body moving, every neuron firing. The vampire took a step back from his work and stared at me.

  "Well, well, well, what do we have here? What a pleasant surprise this is, I must say."

  "Eeevvee.... Hur...Aye... own"

  "Oh, shut up, professor,” said Ferrers. “All this unpleasantness could have been avoided if you had just cooperated to start with."

  "Stop tormenting him you sick bastard."

  "Now Sophie, language. There's no need for that is there." He grinned. "Well, I had hoped that we would meet again soon but this is a most unexpected turn of events."

  "You came looking for me? Why? What do you want?” I said, my right foot behind me, my body angled. “I've told you, I've got no interest in you lot. You leave me alone, I'll leave you alone, isn't that right?"

  "Oh dear girl, I think that the time for negotiation between us is most certainly over. I think you lost that privilege when you stabbed Richard. My poor boy, wrestling with such a difficult transition and there you are, practically breaking into his apartment to stab him with a kitchen knife, and not a very good one at that."

  "What do you want then? Him? Me? Why?" I scanned the room for a better weapon - I don't know, a chainsaw maybe, or a shark gun. Something that wasn't as paltry as a flat-headed driver, and that wouldn't require me getting up close and personal to use. Where’s a flame thrower or a javelin when you need one, I asked myself.

  "Well, I was here anyway, because of you, my dear. You see you really are quite fascinating. Very few people have survived a vampire attack; the few, who know about our existence, are...how shall I say it? Collaborators. You are altogether different, aren't you?"

  "I guess. I don't know. Not particularly. I'm just me. Just a normal young woman trying to survive, to not get killed." Damn it, why isn't there anything around here I can use? "Tell you what, why don't you let the man go, and we can talk. Just the two of us." I'd seen hostage negotiators use this tactic in films, maybe it would work; it was doubtful, but worth a shot.

  "What is he to you?" Ferrers asked. He had a point, although the same question was burning through my head as well. What did he want with my estranged uncle?

  The bloody victim in the chair attempted to shake this head.

  "He's nothing to me,” I replied. “I don't even know him that well."

  "Then I shall finish my work here,” Ferrers said, waving a Stanley knife at Kurt. “Then we will talk."

  Ferrers flipped his head back and plunged his fangs into my uncle's flesh. Flesh ripped and blood pumped as the professor's body contracted with spasms of pain. Ferrers’ body quivered with the rush of blood; I saw it as he waved his bladed hand in my direction, his eyes locked on to his victim.

  "Nooooo!" I screamed and raced at the entwined bodies before me. Ferrers extended an arm, whacking me across the neck. I flew into a workbench, tools and equipment scattering. The screwdriver slipped from my hand. Choking, I attempted a breath. I tried another, another and another until my throat relaxed and air filled my lungs. Staggering, I pushed myself up to my feet.

  I felt dizzy and wanted to throw up. No time for that Sophie, I told myself. I saw a paint can on the floor, the size that paints a whole room once and still leaves you enough to do the ceiling. I reached for it, swaying with disorientation, lifted it off the ground and swung it has hard as I could. My aim was poor, but the missile was enough to get the vampire’s attention.

  Ferrers released the limp body of my uncle and stepped around the upturned paint can at his feet. Kurt slumped in the chair, kept upright only with the assistance of the cords which bound him. I couldn't tell if he was breathing, but if he was dead I hoped he was going to a better place.

  Ferrers charged into me, pressing me into the wall. It felt cold, even through my jacket, the smooth floor slippery as my boots failed to make traction. I heard something crack. I wondered if I'd stood on something or broken some part of myself.

  I grappled with Ferrers’ clothing. He pressed his body harder into me, with a sense of intent that was lethal rather than sexual.

  His slim fingers brushed my face with an unsettling tenderness. Blood from his fangs dripped on my chin.

  His eyes darted up and down my face, before landing firmly on my own eyes. I tried to look away, but his grip held my chin steady. An index finger traced the line of my jaw and the curve of my nose.

  “Why do you intrigue me so?" he whispered, gently tapping the tip of my nose with his finger.

  I thrashed my legs, pounding my heels into the wall. My throes were pointless. Ferrers didn’t even blink as my boots made contact with his shins. He loomed over me like a watchtower. Waiting.

  I abandoned hope of fighting my way out. There was nobody to help me. No Mickey. No Darren. Nobody.

  "Please," I begged, tears streaming. "I didn't ask for this. Let me go."

  The tension around my throat softened. Ferrers’ fingers uncurled.

  As I shifted my weight on my jelly legs, wheezing, Ferrers turned on his heel and waved his arms in fury.

  “No!” he yelled. "This cannot be." He angled his body towards me, looking over his shoulder in my direction. “What are you to this man," he screamed, pointing at the bloody professor.

  My body froze, as did my brain. Say something Sophie, I told myself. Work, brain, work.

  "He's my uncle" I cried, blurting out the words with an air that made them sound untrue.

  Ferrers looked at me. Then he looked at Kurt.

  "Okay?” I shouted. “He's my uncle. I don't know for certain, I’ve only met him once before, it could be some fiction he’s created in his old mind, but that’s what he says."

  I wondered if my uncle was still alive. It was difficult to tell. Now I’d said the words, ‘He’s my uncle’ I felt a greater responsibility for his wellbeing. He wasn’t a stranger anymore. I had admitted what he was to me, like an addict admitting to dependency. Isn’t that the first step to recovery? Admitting that you have a problem.

  Ferrers’ eyes widened, his nostrils flared and an aspect blacker than night descended upon him. I’m going to die, I thought.

  Then, just as quick as the first thought arriving, came a second. A short, sharp burst of an idea that took only a nanosecond to form. It wasn’t rational. It was probably impossible. If I’m going to die here, I thought, in a dingy basement, then I’m going to go down fighting. Okay, not fight, but run. Yes, run.

  A rush of adrenaline surged through my body igniting each muscle into action. I peeled myself from the wall and turned to the stairs. And I ran.

  I ran into her.

  "You have got to be kidding me," I said. The words escaped my mouth involuntarily.

  There she stood. Rachel.

  Attractive. Slim. Lethal. I'd met this vampire once before; she'd tried to kill me outside my flat in Coventry. This bitch was nuts. She'd have killed me too if it hadn't been for Ferrers’ intervention – not that I felt l owed him a thank you.

  There was something about her skimpy dress and sense of entitlement that made my blood boil.

  I slapped her. The action surprised me.

  "Party’s over,” I said, looking over my shoulder at Kurt. Something swelled in the pit of my stomach. “Looks like Daddy here started without you."

  A hand pressed deep into my shoulder, holding me still.

  "I'm
sorry Rachel,” Ferrers said. “Professor Andersen was not very forthcoming when it came to answering my questions. I got a little carried away. Thank you for coming though… eventually. Regretfully, your particular talents won't be required."

  I wondered what talents they were. Judging by the outfit, I thought, the intention had been to screw whatever information they wanted out of Kurt.

  Rachel leered over my shoulder and around Ferrers. Kurt still sat slumped in the chair, listing to one side. Alive, maybe. Dead, probably.

  "Not my type anyway,” she shrugged.

  Ferrers tightened his grip on my shoulder, his nails pressing into the leather of my jacket. "Where's Richard?" he asked.

  "On his way,” Rachel replied. “He wants to talk to you."

  Ferrers pulled his arm in. I stumbled. My back pressed into his chest, but I felt no warmth.

  "Does he indeed?” Ferrers said, smelling my hair. “What about?"

  "About me,” Rachel replied with a shrug. “He says I've overstepped and that you need to control me."

  “Is that what Richard said?” Ferrers said. I suspected that Ferrers didn't take kindly to being told what he should do, but even I could see that Rachel needed reining in. Ferrers had once told me that it was in a vampire’s interests to keep a low profile - she looked like she did anything but.

  “Well, I won’t spoil his fun in telling you,” Rachel said, flashing a broad smile in my direction. “You know how I can get carried away sometimes. Just like you… Daddy.”

  I couldn’t be certain whether her words contained an edge of humour or of sarcasm, nor could I see Ferrers’ reaction which didn’t help me gauge the situation any more effectively. Nevertheless, it was during their exchange that I realised something. They were just as fucked up a kind of family as mine. Whereas Ferrers had a wild child of a daughter, acting out uncontrollably, a bit of a strumpet really, I had a disappearing dad and a re-emerging uncle.

  The pair of vampires continued their conversation, but I didn’t listen to the words. All I could think of was, that I could use this. I could maybe survive.

  Now as it turns out, a head butt hurts more than you think it might. Certainly more than it looks like it would on TV; because when I forced my skull into Rachel's face, it hurt... bad. I'd hoped that Ferrers would comfort his vampire child, giving me enough room to escape up the stairs and get out of there. No such luck.

  Rachel's tone turned a virulent red as she licked at the blood dripping from her nose.

  "That's it, “she said, poking the air. “I’ve had enough of little-miss-not-to-be-touched. What the fuck do we want with her anyway?"

  Before Ferrers could reply, Rachel tore me from his arms and pushed me into the ground. My head span.

  Rachel straddled me, pinning my arms to my sides. She grabbed my head with both hands and smacked it into the concrete floor.

  "No Rachel!” Ferrers bellowed. "She is not for you."

  "I'm tired of you telling me what to do. All I ever fucking do is listen to you. Be this, behave like that. You made me this. You gave me all this, this strength, these urges, and you expect me not to use them? You'd rather waste your time in your books, sneaking around after old bits of bloody paper, or her."

  Rachel pounded my head into the floor once again.

  A moan escaped from my lips. In my haze, I wondered if my mother would ever get to bury me, if my body would be found. Would Mum ever know what had happened to me? Would I end up in a ditch somewhere or buried somewhere alongside Kurt; two strangers sharing a makeshift tomb.

  The weight on my chest suddenly subsided.

  Through the flicker of eyelashes, I caught glimpses of shapes and colours. Rachel’s kicking legs. Ferrers dragging her. A snapping noise – a crack. Rachel’s body sinking to the floor.

  The images became fuzzier, the colours descending into monochrome.

  I knew what was coming next.

  I’m going to die, I thought. He’s going to kill me, or perhaps he’s going to turn me. He’s going to make me one of them.

  I prayed silently to myself that death would come quick and be finite. I prayed that for Kurt too. I prayed that Ferrers would leave and get hit by a bus on his way back to whatever rock he crawled out from under.

  Yes, death would be peaceful. I'd be with granny and granddad. We'd be together and Mum could go ahead and live her life.

  But death did not come and I could not understand why, except for the sound of footsteps coming down the wooden steps and the way something somehow changed in the room. Perhaps it was the blood slowly seeping from the back of my skull, my proximity to the end of it all, but a peculiar feeling of peace washed over me and, as I closed my eyes and succumbed to it, I felt as if I was going home.

  The door to the cellar burst open with a crash. Richard tumbled down the steps and landed in a heap at Ferrers’ feet.

  “How nice it is for you to drop by,” said Ferrers, looking at the figure on the steps. “An unexpected surprise, I must say.”

  Kasper took the final few steps in one leap. He landed on both feet, legs wide and his chin proud. "This isn't how I expected us to meet either,” he stated evenly.

  "But how delightful it is nonetheless,” replied Ferrers, sharply releasing his grip on Rachel’s neck. Her limp body dropped to the floor with a thud.

  “Delightful isn’t how I would phrase it.” Kasper’s lips tightened as he processed the scene before him. Kurt. Sophie. He was right to come, he thought. He tried to listen for heartbeats amongst the unconscious. One was strong still, the other merely a whispering echo.

  Ferrers’ gaze followed his then returned to Kasper, his head cocked. “I have missed you, my boy. Things haven’t quite been the same without you. It’s been far too long. Things are different now.” He smiled. “I’m different now.”

  “But not too different. Still making vampires I see,” Kasper said, nudging Richard’s beaten body with his boot. Ferrers didn’t bat an eyelid.

  Richard grumbled and moaned through bloodied teeth. He wasn't used to being on the receiving end of physical violence. He decided that staying on the ground was a sensible option. Through his swollen eye, he could just make out Rachel's long, silken legs prostrate on the floor, out of reach, but tempting him with their nakedness. Her face was where the back of her head should be. He wondered if a broken neck would kill a vampire. He wasn't upset by the prospect, just curious.

  Kasper stepped over Richard. “Tell me, did any of them choose it?” he asked. “Or do you just make companions for yourself when you need entertaining?”

  “Tsk, tsk," Ferrers said wagging a finger. “Play nice. Is that any way to speak to your….father? And in front of the children!”

  Kasper’s eyes darted to his daughter. Poor Sophie. Sprawled out on the floor, limbs splayed awkwardly. The photograph, he'd seen of her in Antwerp, didn’t do her justice. She had a simple beauty which reminded him of Julie. At least she was alive. Her heart beat was still pulsing in time. Strong, for now at least.

  Ferrers’ eyes followed him. “Ah yes, the delightful Sophie Morgan. Quite an interesting girl, I must say.”

  Kasper shrugged, but the tension in his body was unmistakable. “Do you mean the girl? I don’t know her.”

  Ferrers lowered his gaze and arched an eyebrow. “Oh, of course.”

  Kasper sank into the soles of his feet. His fingers curled.

  “Still,” Ferrers continued, “you know him though don’t you. Your brother? Surely you haven’t forgotten him after all these years.”

  He grabbed Kurt’s hair and yanked his head back. “Here, take a better look.”

  Kasper lowered his centre of gravity, breathing air he didn’t need, licking lips that salivated from a rare cocktail of hatred and hunger.

  “See,” Ferrers said. “Still alive. I haven’t killed him. I haven’t turned him either. Not yet. You’ve still time to save him.” Ferrers patted Kurt’s slumped shoulder. “All you need to do, is come over here.”

&nb
sp; Kaspers’ guts twisted. The muscles in his jaw tightened. His chin jutted.

  “Leave him alone,” he hissed.

  Ferrers sighed. “It is of no consequence. I doubt you could save him, not without turning him yourself and I know you wouldn’t want that. Of course… I could.” He flashed Kasper his gleaming fangs. They were longer than Kasper’s, sharpened by centuries of use. “Of course, I could save him. You know that, don’t you? Or you could just leave him to die. Or maybe you’d rather feed on him. Perhaps you’ve come to join me?”

  Kasper had waited for this moment for a long time, yet it was a moment that he had also come to fear. Being near his maker filled him with a sense of belonging. His heart swelled and his limbs welcomed a pleasant ache which he had learned to suppress. He had felt it as soon as he had set foot in the property. But it was no match for the anger bubbling up within him.

  His chest constricted. His fingers contracted into fists. A pounding hatred for Ferrers raged in his heart, which no longer beat, but remembered what family felt like. Nobody was going to hurt his family, especially not Ferrers. His lips curled back and his eyes, pupils already dilated and huge, darkened with a mood as stormy as the waves of vitriol crashing behind them.

  Ferrers laughed. "As I thought, you haven’t changed at all have you?" He clapped his hands together in delight. “Oh dear boy, it’s like old times.”

  “No, not like old times. I have a choice. And I choose them!”

  Kasper stamped on Richard's head as he launched himself at Ferrers, grinding his boots through Richard’s skull. The movement was so swift that the recumbent vampire uttered no sound and made no attempt at retaliation.

  Ferrers blocked Kasper’s first blow with his arm, laughing at the youth’s attempt to strike him.

  Kasper retaliated with a hammer punch followed by a swing to Ferrers’ jaw that knocked him off balance.

  Ferrers regained his footing, rubbing his chin. His smile was disconcerting. Aggravating.

  Fuck you, thought Kasper. You’re bloody enjoying this, you bastard. I’m going to rip your fucking head off.