The new club had sounded promising; loud music, dark corners and bouncers who didn't ask questions. He'd been offered cocaine and ecstasy within ten minutes of entering, and taken both. Neither were new experiences for him, but it helped take the edge off the monotony.
The session had started hours before; it was after midnight, but would continue till after dawn. The mass of people moved across the dance floor as one body, arms high in the air, waving, eyes closed in rapture. Anonymous faces grinned at him as he moved through it. A sweaty guy without a shirt slung an arm around him and mouthed some words which he couldn't hear. He shrugged him off and the stranger carried on dancing, sucking hard on a lollipop from one hand, and waving a bottle of water in the other hand. It was a familiar scene with a familiar set of feelings. For those few hours, he could pretend to feel part of something bigger - artificially connected to the hordes around him while remaining completely and utterly alone.
He weaved his way through the dance floor and made his way up the half a dozen steps to the main bar. A few men were in front of him, cans of Red Stripe and bottles of water in hand. They'd move quickly enough and later on the bar would be practically empty - most patrons would just refill their water bottles in the cloakroom.
As he waited to be served, he noticed a woman staring at him at the end of the bar. He didn't smile at her, it wasn't his style. Her pupils were dilated, huge, her eyes almost completely black. She must have dropped at least a few tabs, he thought. He wasn't usually attracted to women who were into that. He fucked them, yes, but he didn't find it particularly desirable. Those sorts of girls fawned over him, partly because of his looks, partly because of the drugs, but their clothes were always cheap. She wasn't like that though, and it surprised him. Her gold silk dress was designer, Dolce and Gabanna maybe, and draped enticingly from one shoulder. It skimmed her torso and her thighs, gently hinting at what lay beneath. There's no way she's wearing underwear, he thought.
Twisting the cap off the plastic bottle of water he had purchased, he faced her and stared back. She watched him as he brought it to his lips and took a sip. She didn't smile back. Turning his back to the bar, he made his way towards the exit, past the woman. She kept her gaze on the space he had vacated; unmoving, silent, like a beautiful statue. It should have been the moment that she turned, flashed a smile at him and grabbed his arm as if to "stop", or at least flash him a flirtatious grin. But there was nothing.
"Fuck you then," he thought to himself as he pushed the metal handle on the door open and stepped into the street. He leaned into the damp wall, reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and took out a lighter and a pack of menthol cigarettes. He lit a smoke and sucked on the minty fumes. The rush from the ecstasy was beginning to kick in and he felt twitchy. He'd need to go in and dance soon. He alternated inhaling with a swig from the bottle. Once he'd consumed the remaining water, he threw the bottle on the ground.
Bang.
The noise of the fire door being pushed open made him jump. He turned and saw it slam behind the woman as she stepped into the alley. It was her again. Couldn't resist me, he thought. Wearing her high-end clothes, she should have looked out of place in the dark, damp side street. But she didn't. She seemed perfectly at home as she slinked over to him. Smooth, elegant legs transported her rhythmically across the cobbles. The artificial light of the street lamp hit her dress, making it shimmer.
Every hair on his scalp stood to attention, every skin cell tingled, every neuron fired. Warmth spread across his chest. His heart pounded hard in his chest as she finally came to a halt before him, inches from his face. This was a new feeling - excitement maybe? He was aroused beyond his understanding, like the hunger of a starving man. She was stunning. Is this what real desire feels like, or is it the drugs? Had he ever felt this excited before? It was as if he had just been born, experiencing the world and all its sensory pleasures for the first time, all in one hit. The thought that he might not be able to perform under the drug's influence flashed across his brain, but he shook it off; there was nothing that was going to stop him from having her. He didn't care if they were in some dirty, shitty alley, a hundred people could walk past and he wouldn't have given a toss. He would have her, devour her. The feeling was amazing.
As if reading his mind, she reached up and hooked her slim fingers under the single shoulder strap of her dress and let the silk fall from her body to reveal her nakedness. He reached up to touch her small, perfect, breasts, but she pushed his hand back to his side and forced him back, pushing him against the wet brickwork. Her confidence aroused him even more.
He thought he might explode, or at the very least pass out as she pressed torso into his and parted her lips, caressing his neck with her tongue and nuzzling into the flesh with her teeth. Richard tilted his head back in pleasure and moaned, elongating his neck to expand her canvass. With every moan that he uttered, her mouth pressed more firmly into him, more vigorously, more passionately, her hunger for him increasing. Then the pain descended, enveloping him in a rush that was so all consuming and complete that he couldn't fight it. He closed his eyes and submitted.
When Richard eventually opened his eyes, the mysterious woman was stood over him, naked. Naked that is, apart from the blood - his blood. It caked her mouth and formed smudged streaks down her chin and breasts. He attempted to focus, but his head was pounding and he felt sick. A hand stretched out to him as if offering to help him up. It wasn't hers, though.
"Well, hello," the gentleman drawled. "My name is Charles Ferrers. This is Rachel, but I see that you've met."
Richard pushed himself back onto his feet, ignoring the man's hand. The relatively straightforward move set a whole series of new pains into motion. He staggered backwards, into the wall of the club. It offered him some welcome support.
He didn't know how long he had been out, but guessed it couldn't have been long. At least he was alive. He hoped that nothing worse had happened to him than getting stabbed, or whatever else had happened. Maybe he'd ruptured something in his brain or had a stroke. He didn't feel in charge of his own limbs. At least his clothes were in place and it felt like his wallet still bulged in his pocket. Being raped or mugged was not on his bucket list of things he wanted to experience. He was confused; one minute he was being seduced, the next he was lying flat out on his back in an alley.
"I expect you're a little confused, disorientated perhaps?" said the man who had introduced him as Charles Ferrers. He was tall, slim, dressed in black trousers, polo-neck sweater and a black coat. "You've had a blackout, nothing to worry about, it's entirely my fault I'm afraid. Rachel was a little over enthusiastic. I'm trying to let her find her own footing with these things, but I can see that she may need a little more time and direction." He flashed the woman a stern looking.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Richard asked, rubbing his head.
"Dear boy, I assure you that there is nothing to be gained by remembering all the gory details." His eyes widened when at the word 'gory' and it unsettled Richard further. He didn't know what had gone on and what this strange man had to do with it. Blood stained his jeans and he was in pain. And he was feeling something else. What was that? Was it fear?
"What happened? What have you done to me?" Richard shouted. He hadn't felt this invested in anything in quite a long time. He asked the question of both the strangers.
"Nothing you didn't want" the woman retorted grinning.
"Please Rachel, shush", Ferrers replied with a hint of disappointment. He turned his attention back to Richard." The problem we have here is that Rachel has taken quite a shine to you, and I'd very much like her to be happy. She is currently experiencing what we would term as a transition. Her level of self-control isn't quite as I would hope for. Nonetheless, she has good instincts and knows how to apply herself. She will be fine." He smiled at her. "But she would benefit from some company, someone in a similar position for her to relate to, a companion. I must admit that I, too, would enjoy
some fresh blood... figuratively that is."
"What the fuck are you on about?" Richard blurted, swaying slightly from the shock, pain and what he imagined was probably a significant amount of blood loss.
"Now, now, no need for such language, dear boy. Rachel is in my charge and she's going to be with me for a long time. She works for me, but we're also a family. I want my family to be happy and I believe you may be able to facilitate this. Rachel requires a little more than I am in a position to give her. You seem very well equipped for this. We all need a little company on occasion. Loneliness is a terrible thing."
"Look, I don't know what type of weird shit you're into." Richard had no idea where this perverse conversation was going, but he wanted out of this and to quite possibly find a hospital. He had intended to announce his departure, but, when Mr Ferrers extended a not so comforting hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes, the words simply wouldn't come out.
"I'm going to explain everything to you. It will all become clear and then you can either go on your way or decide to join my little family business. After all, I'm sure I can find a use for your financial skills. The card in your wallet says are a stockbroker, how terribly useful."
"You went through my wallet? What the hell is going on here? I think you've picked the wrong guy here."
The veneer of confidence, boredom and bravado had cracked. He'd gone from being seduced to possibly being sucked into the white slave trade, but was still bothered about people invading his privacy. He felt disorientated, his head hurt and he couldn't be sure if he were hallucinating. What had been in that tab? His face crumbled into confusion, then anger, then fear and then defeat as Mr Ferrers extended his arm around his shoulder. The temptress slipped her feet into her strappy shoes and pulled the skimpy dress over her head in silence. Her part in the performance was complete.
"Dear boy, that's the last of your worries," Mr Ferrers cooed at him. Rachel giggled nervously, revealing her blood-stained teeth. Her breathing was heavy and Richard thought she had fangs, but then again, he had once, when high, hallucinated that a large dancing teddy bear was offering him a pot of tea.
"Can I keep him?" she drawled through red lips.
"I think that's up to him." With that, the tall stranger leaned into Richard's ear and explained what was going to happen and the opportunity which was about to present itself before him.
CHAPTER 16
Another weekend visit to Wales came and went, and I returned to my Midlands home and the prospect of my continued isolation from Mickey and the pending horror of Halloween. I wondered if vampires would come out en masse during the celebrations and hunt me down.
It had been weeks since I’d heard from Mickey and I was now resigned to the fact that he had just lost interest in me. If something had happened to him, someone would have been in touch. I knew the smart thing would be to just phone the bar and ask for him, but I couldn’t handle the rejection. I’d have only got myself in a twist over nothing.
Part of me begrudged his ability to move on, the other part happy that he had found a way to. I decided, rather unenthusiastically that I should probably try to do the same. It had been months since the attack in Antwerp, perhaps it was time to put the past behind me and move on.
Looking out of my apartment window at the gangs of kids, dressed up as witches and weirdoes, I felt anything but festive. Their Halloween costumes represented nothing more than a reminder of all the bad things I’d seen and experienced. I didn't want to have to stand in my doorway, handing out chocolates and sweets to innocent children and pretend that they don't, that it's all fairy tales, a big joke. I was glad of the comfort of being in a self-contained apartment block. The only access was via an intercom system and I could just ignore them, particularly as I was on the first floor. None of the other residents in my unit had children, so I thought it safe to assume that I couldn't get bothered.
It’s not that I don’t like children or would deny them their fun, but you have to imagine what it was like for me. It wasn't in the least bit fun seeing those young kids running around with fake fangs dripping with corn syrup blood. For me, it was a cruel reminder of what had happened to me. There was a part of me which also feared for those kids, many of them wandering the streets without adult supervision. What would happen to them if they actually bumped into a real, ‘living’ vampire? For all I knew, all the other things could exist as well – werewolves, witches, and mummies, oh my!
I pushed across the deadbolt on my door, closed the curtains and retreated to my bedroom with Charlie. For the first time in ages, I didn't check my computer for emails from Mickey. I was more concerned with putting my head under the covers and pretending the world didn't exist.
My paranoia about vampires had escalated as I had nobody to talk to, nobody to confide in about the events of that summer, nobody to help level my emotions. It hadn’t been too bad when I was back in Wales, happy in the confines of my mother's house, but there was something about being stuck in Coventry which made things worse. Perhaps it was seeing Tracy every day at work which did it. She was a constant reminder, without the benefits of being a confidant. I had considered telling her, but had decided that she'd probably think I had had some psychotic break.
I'd been doing so well, but for the past week or so I'd been feeling increasingly anxious - a terrible sense of foreboding was lurking at the back of mind, trying to get my attention. I was annoyed at myself. I was annoyed at Mickey. Deep down, I was still a little worried about him. All three emotions, running at the same time, did not make for a rational Sophie Morgan.
The sight of the tiny vampires running amok down my road made me feel like the universe was trying to tell me something. I closed the bedroom curtains and crawled under the duvet. I decided to rest my eyes, but it was no good. Don't forget Sophie, they’re out there. As I tossed and turned, my thoughts turned to Mickey. It was no use; I wasn't getting to sleep feeling like that.
One way or another, I had to know what the hell was going on with Mickey and why he had suddenly decided to ignore me. I got my laptop and laid it on my lap on the bed. I'd been regularly checking Sean’s YEARBOOK profile, trawling through the pages for any news. As I clicked on my favourites' button on my internet explorer, I found that I could no longer access it. I refreshed the page - nothing. I clicked again - still nothing. I went to the website's home page and searched for Sean afresh from there. His profile page had disappeared entirely.
That was the final straw, I had to do something. I’d have to phone O'Malley's. It only took a few minutes to find a telephone number for the bar from the internet and punch the numbers into the handset on my phone. I didn’t care how much my phone bill was going to be, I needed answers. My heart was pounding in my chest as I listened to the rhythmic chirruping of the dial tone. It seemed to go on forever.
A strange voice answered, shouting over the noise in the background. The bar sounded packed and I should have realised that this would probably be a busy night for them. Knowing Maggie, I expect she would have thrown on some sort of themed event to maximise the revenue. I imagined the patrons all dressed up as axe murderers and ghouls. She’d be hopping about taking Polaroids of everyone dressed up for her ‘wall of fame’ and I wondered if my gormless face still adorned it. No matter what was going on with me, I was pleased that Maggie was managing to get on with her life. The background noise of the pub gave me hope that everything was okay, everything was normal.
"Sorry, who are you after?" the strange man shouted.
"Mickey, Mickey Kelly."
I heard the man again shout something out to the crowd. .
"No," I remarked, "he works there, Mickey, from behind the bar." Guessing that he must be a new member of staff, I tried to be patient and waited while he put the phone down and checked. There was a long pause before he spoke again.
"I’m sorry miss; he’s gone back to Ireland."
I didn’t wait for him to say anything else. I just put down the phone. I was relieve
d that he was out of there, but couldn’t believe that he wouldn’t have rung to tell me, or return any of the messages.
So, he'd finally had enough and wanted to shake off all this horribleness, and that included me. I couldn’t blame him; didn’t I want to do the same? Wasn't I considering going back to Bethel? Isn’t that exactly what I wanted to do, try to pretend that it had never happened? The difference was that I wasn’t doing anything about it; I was failing miserably to get on with life. The other difference was that I didn’t want to forget Mickey. In fact, I didn’t wish to forget anything at all if it also meant forgetting him. There was a connection there that I couldn’t just dismiss. But he could, he’d discarded me. Pulling the duvet back over my head, I cried myself to sleep. I didn’t even hear the Trick or Treaters that hammered on the doors below.
When I awoke the following morning, my eyes were so puffy that I could hardly see. The lids were red and stung like hell.
For the first time ever, I decided to ring in sick. It wasn’t far from the truth - I looked pretty ill and my head was pounding. Someone was usually in the office by seven thirty, so I rang in and spoke to one of the team leaders, explaining that I had a migraine and wouldn’t be in. After some obligatory questions and probing of my symptoms, plus some tips on what I should take for them, I hung up and plodded into the kitchen.
By the time I’d managed to make a brew, feed the cat and throw out the remnants of the previous night's pizza, I had got a text message from Tracy asking if I was okay. She’d apparently gone into work early today as most of us tried to on a Monday. It gave us some extra time to plough through the glut of job applications that would have been sent in during the weekend. The scope of the recession was as big as the depression I was feeling. I texted Tracy back to say that I’d be okay and that I expected to be in tomorrow. I always thought that if I were ever off work sick, I’d feel guilty, but I was surprised to find that I didn’t.
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