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

by Treharne, Helen

  In many respects, I had loved where I lived. My neighbours were friendly, albeit with one wanting to become a vampire. It was quiet and close to the city, but far enough that I felt I hadn’t abandoned my semi – rural roots. Now it was all ruined. I was glad to be leaving. Even without the vampire population, it would never the same again.

  I was relieved it was a Sunday; I would never have made it through the work day. After a hot shower to try and wake me up, I made tea in the biggest pot I could find. My stomach was churning, but I didn’t have it in me to eat anything. I stared at the open fridge for a while, but nothing in there changed my mind. Shutting the door, I returned to the sofa, wrapped in two towels, one covering my body and one in a turban on my head.

  It was proving difficult to get going. The shower had helped a little, but not by much. After my third mug of tea, I shuffled into my bedroom and threw on a tee shirt, baggy jeans and thick woollen socks. I picked up my heaviest boots and tucked them behind the front door in case I had to make a sudden exit at any time. It seemed pointless taking a dryer to my hair, so I let it hang loose and wet around my shoulders. It had grown about three inches in the last three months and looked glossy; perhaps I should get attacked by the supernatural more often I thought, it didn’t seem to be doing much in the way of physical harm.

  Returning to the living room, I sat quietly and listened for the slightest sound from the apartment above me - any hint that Richard was still up there, that he hadn’t disappeared as I’d asked. I sat like that for a long time, taking the briefest of breaks to make myself a drink from the kitchen. Before I knew it, the sun was rising again and a whole day and night had passed. The nightmare had seemingly passed.

  I was halfway through the door of the office, battling with the simultaneous removal of my coat and handbag, when Tracey pulled me to one side.

  "I know you’re not meant to be seeing any more candidates," she blurted out hurriedly," but we’ve got a guy who insists on speaking to you. You’ve been personally recommended to him by a Mr Turner, you’d know who he meant apparently. He's been here a while but was happy to wait for you."

  I was not in a good mood. It had taken me an age to get across town; I was tired, hungry and generally ratty. Tracy could see I wasn’t impressed, but nevertheless thrust the registration paperwork in my direction, pleading in her eyes. I eventually managed to shake off my coat and free up my hands to flick through the form in more detail.

  I wasn’t surprised that she wanted to get this guy registered with us. He was a former company director who would land a whopping fee for whoever placed him. People like him were a rare commodity, and if the right company could be found, he’d be a good inroad to even more business. I usually dealt with the professional end of the market, but he was unusual even for me. I tried to think of contacts I had, in the companies which he'd listed in his resume, but drew a complete blank. I couldn’t recall any of them being called Turner and if it was someone at his kind of level, I'd have definitely remembered it.

  "Okay, okay. Give me a minute and I’ll see him. Is he in an interview room?"

  "Yep, sure is. I’ve put him in the middle one as it’s bigger. Thanks for this Soph, you’re a star. If I can get him placed before you move, I’ll take you out for a slap up meal, my treat."

  I forced a smile. That's if I live that long -my neighbour will probably have ripped out my throat by then. As Tracy skipped back to her desk, I threw my bag and coat onto my chair, grabbed my notebook, pen and a cup of water from the cooler. Straightening out my blouse and skirt, I took a deep breath, composed myself and opened the door.

  I knew who Mr Turner was as soon as I stepped into the room. I’d seen "R Turner" on the letter boxes in the lobby of my apartment building a hundred times or more. R Turner. Richard Turner. Richard.

  My interviewee shot a smile at me, providing a brief glimpse of two discreet fangs as if to assure me that he was only displaying a snippet of what he could offer. His pupils were larger and darker than they should have been, but I could still detect a trace of steely blue around them. Oh dear God, he's a bloody vampire. I wondered if I should just turn my back, walk out and shut the door behind me, but I feared what he might do in retaliation. I stood still for a moment, my mouth suddenly drying out. Deciding that in this case discretion was definitely the better part of valour, I quietly pushed the door to a close. It made a gentle click as it completed its journey.

  Confident that he had made himself clear, the vampire retracted his fangs and his pupils went back to a normal, human size. He had perfect dental work, piercing eyes and a fabulous suit; no wonder Tracy had been so excited, everything about his appearance screamed money.

  I slipped into the chair across from him, protected by nothing more than the narrow desk, my pen and clipboard. He remained silent, watching me compose myself as he sat politely with his manicured hands placed on his crossed knee. He was so tall he couldn’t get them directly under the small table. He sat at an angle, his legs crossed to one side of the desk.

  The vampire had signed the name "Charles Ferrers" in a flourish of black ink on the registration form. He must have brought his own pen, I thought as I looked at my standard issue black Biro.

  He was tall, slender and impeccably dressed. He was at least six foot two and clothed in high quality, navy pinstripe. As he adjusted the cuffs of the jacket, I caught a flash of the yellow silk lining. On its own, it would have been gaudy, but against the dark quality cloth, it was chic. His attire was obviously made to measure, finished with a dazzling white shirt and mother of pearl cufflinks. The tie was silk too- a weave of steel grey and lemon stripes. I bet I could have seen my face reflected in his shoes if I’d have got close enough to look. It was difficult to judge his age, maybe late thirties or early forties. His colouring hinted at blonde although his hair had been cropped so short he was practically bald. It may have been red once. He oozed class and money.

  When he spoke I recognised his voice instantly, it had been him who had managed to call that vampire bitch to heel. It was probably him who was responsible for turning Richard. He sat quietly as if waiting for me to speak.

  "I thought you lot only could come out at night," I eventually asked.

  "Oh my dear girl, that's really quite naive of you," he grinned. "We can, of course, come out in the daylight. In fact, I'm quite fond of it; you see so much more of the world that way. It would take a lot more than a few rays of sunshine to put me off coming to see you my dear, or in fact to kill me, if that's what you're wondering. It's not that we're weaker in daylight, or some other such nonsense which may be racing through your mind, and it’s not that we’re invulnerable at night. We're just about as vulnerable at any time of day. We don't sleep, we don't get drunk, and we don't expose ourselves to danger which we can't handle. No, it's not that we're not vulnerable at night; it’s just that you humans are more so. You practically put yourselves out there on a plate."

  "Oh." Of course, why hadn’t I thought of that? Why hadn’t any of us? Being nocturnal doesn’t mean you can’t operate during the day, just that you function better at night. In their case, it was probably easier to function as a cold-hearted killer when people were asleep, drunk, alone, or in the dark, metaphorically and literally.

  I felt stupid and I didn’t like the feeling. At least I was reasonably confident that he wasn’t going to pull me over the table and rip my throat out anytime soon. There were easily a dozen witnesses in the office and even more if you counted other businesses in the building and shoppers in the precinct outside. He looked out of place as it was, with his impeccably dressed appearance and cool confidence; he would be even more noticeable legging it up the high street with my blood all over him. I asked him what he wanted.

  "Straight to the point... I like it," he remarked, placing his hands on the desk, the digits entwined. His index fingers formed a steeple, which he pointed at me for emphasis as he spoke. "I respect a person who can take charge of the situation, drill down to the key
issues, right down to the heart of the matter, and grab it with their hands."

  He smiled, which was unsettling. I didn’t respond.

  "Very well," he continued," we can discard the niceties and get down to business if you wish."

  "Yes, please." I tried to sound composed.

  "I think it would be fair to say that you’ve placed us all in a very difficult situation Miss Morgan. I appreciate that you must find meeting our kind quite – unsettling. I’m sure you must feel exceedingly vulnerable and indeed, you should." He paused to let his words sink in. "But I think you’d agree that the most important thing now is how you proceed."

  "I don’t see what I’ve done at all." The whole conversation was surreal and nestled amongst my fear was growing an increasing sense of, well, being incensed. "You’re the ones who have been running around attacking me and killing people. With respect, I think I’ve done pretty bloody well to mind my own business."

  "That would be a matter of opinion. I am prepared to admit that it isn’t common practice for us to be so public with us..." he paused to search for the right word, "practices. We’ve done well at keeping ourselves from the limelight for many hundreds of years, feeding when necessary and clearing up our own messes. It’s rare that our activities are detected, at least by anyone who is in a position to tell."

  I knew my shudder was visible. He smiled at me again. His politeness was more unsettling than the words leaving his mouth. He continued speaking nonetheless.

  "This may all seem uncivilised to you, but really, what is the difference between me relieving my hunger, and perhaps even the suffering of some poor unfortunate soul who is frankly better off dead, than you eating a chicken that’s been cooped up and starved in a cage? Of course, that happens so infrequently it's not something you should worry about. So, what if one of your kind takes pleasure in allowing one of mine to feed on them, to experience what can be a beautiful exchange, what business is it of yours? If those two parties decide consent to the experience and move on the better for it, what concern is it of yours?"

  "I didn’t consent," I replied. "People are dead who didn’t ask for it, people who had families and people who loved them."

  "Yes, that is unfortunate," he replied, adjusting his cufflinks. "Regrettably, some of our newer recruits do have some issues with self-control. It’s rare, but it does happen. Sadly, restraint isn’t always a gift that our way of life provides them with. It takes time and commitment to acquire."

  "Gift? You think this is a gift, the ability to kill without remorse, the desire to murder and maim? I’m really sorry, but I don’t know what you think you are going to get out of this. I don’t know why the hell you are here. If you want me to keep all this to myself, I’m inclined to. But it won’t be for your benefit, it’s so I don’t get carried away by the men in white coats. But if you push me, I will. I’m not going to let innocent people get murdered because you’re bloody peckish."

  I was hot and agitated. I looked out through the glass walls to see if anyone was looking. The receptionist was watching me over her computer screen. I smiled at her and she settled back down to her work.

  "Right, what the hell is it that you want exactly Mr Ferrers?"

  "Please my dear, call me Charles." He cocked his head slightly to one side as if studying me for a moment. He returned to his previous position before answering. "Frankly, I want nothing more from you than your discretion. It serves neither of us to publicise our private lives. I will make sure that my children remain in line and observe the code of practice which we have carefully crafted for centuries. We will cause you no further trouble, and you will cause no further trouble for us."

  "And what if I don’t? What if I decided to tell the police about you and what you’ve been doing?"

  "That wouldn’t be the best for you my dear. I'm assuming from your awareness of our kind, and your tone, that you’ve met those of us who at best could be called feral." The disdain in his voice was palpable and I couldn't tell if he knew about my experience in Antwerp or if he was just fishing for information. Richard could have told him anything about me- neighbours talk after all. Maybe this vampire even knows vampires over there, I wondered. Perhaps they'll come looking for me.

  "That’s no way to talk about your family," I snorted sarcastically.

  "You can’t always pick your family. Some are created without proper training and care. They are left to their own devices and it’s up to the rest of us to clean up their mess and put them out of their misery. Thankfully, it doesn't happen very often."

  "I thought you were responsible for that poor sod who was killed on my doorstep, are you telling me that's beneath you?" I met his steely gaze with difficulty and tried not to flinch away. I couldn’t be sure whether he knew about Antwerp, but the thought that he might, terrified me.

  "Not me, but yes, it was one of my children. You may recall meeting her the other evening? Terribly sorry about that. I would have to admit that she did try to kill you, but the important thing that you remember is that she didn't. But that doesn’t matter now," he continued, "I’m prepared to chalk that up to some sort of childlike misadventure on both your parts. If you don’t bother us again, we won’t bother you."

  He stood up, signalling the end of our parlay, buttoned his suit jacket and softly placed his hand on the door handle. He was slim and imposing, perhaps a foot taller than me, maybe more. Turning back, he looked at me and smiled again. If it had been from anyone else, it would have seemed friendly. I pushed my chair back from the table and stood up.

  "Do we have an understanding?" He enquired.

  I wanted to go to the police, I wanted them to swoop down and pick all these vile creatures up and hold them to account. But I knew that they’d get to me first. They knew where I lived and where I worked. They’d hurt me before I even called for help. And who would believe me anyway?

  Judging from Mr Ferrers’ appearance and demeanour, vamps could be walking about all over the place; they could be in the police, government, hospitals. And what about Richard and his obvious collaboration? There were clearly people who sympathised.

  He’d implied that some people were willingly donating blood or did he mean something else. And what else was there, something about putting people out of their misery? Okay, if he meant wiping out the homeless or the unwanted, he was practically talking genocide, but what about people who were suffering from illness and wanted to go quickly? Is that what he meant?

  Hell, this was a lot to take in. I didn’t know the answers. Maybe he was right; maybe I should just leave it all alone. If they left me alone, maybe I’d move on eventually.

  "I guess," I replied, defeated.

  "I thought so."

  I followed him out of the glass box to the reception area, where Tracy was waiting. She beamed at me and rushed across the room shake my Ferrer's hand.

  "So nice to meet you, Mr Ferrers", she declared enthusiastically. She took his hand and shook it vigorously. He looked amused, if not a little stunned. "As Sophie has probably explained, she’ll be leaving us shortly, but I’ll be handling your case. I’m confident that with your skills and experience, we‘ll be able to secure you a new opportunity quickly."

  He had paused before he spoke which unsettled her, so she grinned at him some more.

  "Sophie didn’t mention that," he replied with warmth to his voice which seemed at odds with his true nature, "but thank you so much for telling me. I do believe that there will indeed be a perfect opportunity for me to exploit at the right time." His words sent a chill down my spine.

  Tracy took that as a positive sign, said her goodbyes and bounced back to the main office. It was a small open plan area, surrounded by glass walls so I could see the cheery beat in her step. I remembered when I used to have that.

  The moment of wistfulness came to an abrupt halt as Ferrers took my hand in his and shook it. His skin was soft, but his hold firm. He held my hand in his for a little longer than was comfortable, both physically and ps
ychologically.

  "You’re different from most people Miss Morgan," he whispered, audible only to me. "As I've said, it really is quite intriguing. Soon I will figure out why and when I do, I may want to talk to you again. "

  "Surely you wouldn’t go back on your word. I thought we had an understanding. You don’t kill me and I don’t kill you," I whispered. Why, I don’t know. There was nobody at reception, but we.

  "Kill you?" he replied dryly. "That’s not what I mean at all."

  Before I had time to ask him what he meant, the door had shut behind him. He had vanished before I even made it to the stairwell.

  I was shaking as I returned to my desk, and I must have looked really ill as everyone huddled around me and asked if I was okay. Tracy rushed over with a glass of water and someone else brought me a bin, I don’t remember who, but someone must have as I was cradling one in my lap. My attempts to assure everyone about my well-being were quickly dismissed when I projectile vomited, missing the bin entirely and covering a large part of my desk.

  Tracy was kind enough to drive my car home for me and helped me up the stairs into my flat. I spent the entire journey thanking her, over and over again, genuinely grateful for her assistance, but also drowning in embarrassment. I drew the line at her offer to help me undress and shower. I just needed to get some sleep. I wasn’t sure how, now I knew that I vampires could walk about in daylight, I wasn't sure if I’d ever be able to close my eyes or feel safe again. Nowhere, not time, would be safe.

  After thanking her again for getting me home and offering to book and pay for a taxi back to work, Tracy left me to recover on my own. She didn’t take my money or the taxi.

  Once she’d left I had a hot shower, popped some bread into the toaster and set up my laptop on my small dining table. I wanted to see if Richard and his "friends" had been up to anything they shouldn’t have - any incident which may seem insignificant to someone else might strike a chord with me. As I ate my dried toast and started on a fresh mug of tea, I remembered the posters I had seen for missing cats in the high street. Perhaps Richard had been right and he had chowed down on a dog for his first kill. I punched a few keywords into a search engine: 'cat… dog… missing…killed…pet', and a string of names for nearby suburbs and towns.