A week has passed. Night-time has fallen once again. My coterie have left the maintenance tunnels and are out hunting. I haven't fed this evening, although I did so yesterday, and I have no need to dine again this evening. I haven't gone into the dormitories since Dryad died. I found out what happened only a day or so ago, from some papers on a teachers desk that I was looking through. After I had set the fire alarms off, and had fled, the other people in the dormitory had found Dryad unconscious, and called for help. The ambulance had arrived, but hadn't been able to do anything, and she never woke up.
I'm in my workroom, a large store-room that I had converted into a room where I could work on whatever needed doing at the time. All around the walls were large tables, with bright angle-poise lamps. There was no direct light in the room, so everything that was not in on of the direct beams of light was thrown into sharp contrast. Different tables had different themes - one was obviously a work desk, with paper, pens and various bits of drawing instruments. In one corner was a computer, with the wires taped to go off into the ceiling to patch into the network above. Another had many retorts and Bunsen burners, while yet another was covered with electrical detritus: wires, wire cutters and bits of circuit board that would make any technophile jump up and down with excitement, and repairmen purse their lips and intone "The don't make them like this anymore, you just don't get the parts." I knew this, because most of the parts had been thrown away, which is why I had them.
I walked from table to table, carefully clearing up the previous weeks' work. Bits of wire were put into boxes, tools were placed in the tool box, chemical flasks were cleaned into the large waste bucket that was kept into the corner, and finally the waste bucket was gingerly moved upstairs and emptied, the random chemicals that had been emptied into it throughout my work fizzing and hissing to themselves merrily.
Finally, I walked back to my workroom. A few papers were cleared from my desk, and a fresh sheet of paper found. After a short amount of digging through pockets, a pen was found. For a few minutes I sat there, always aware of the slight presence behind me that I feel as a slight chill, writing a letter. I finished writing it, found an envelope, sealed it and wrote 'Solomon' on the front of the envelope. Inside are instructions about the caern, and contact numbers to do my job for me. I don't like leaving it to someone else, but I have to go and meet someone in London. As I turn to the door, something catches my eye, and I stop motionless.
Dryad is standing on the other side of the room. She stands barefoot, looking sadly at me wearing a tattered white flowing dress.
She stops looking at me for a moment, and glances down at the dress she's wearing. She seems to think for a moment. Her image flickers, and she's wearing the nightie that she was wearing the night when she died. When I killed her.
"No, that's not right either." she says quietly, half to herself.
With another flicker she changes again to a white flowing wedding dress.
"Oh God, not another cliche. I can't think of anything original!" she pauses for a second, and then looks up at me. "Oh, so you can see me now, you bastard! I was starting to wonder if you'd ever notice me."
"What? Notice you?" Suddenly a light dawns. "The chills I've been feeling? That was you? You're a ghost?"
"Duh, I thought you would have worked that out by now."
"But what do you want?" I ask, confused by all this.
"Revenge." she states quietly and simply.
"On me? But it was an accident. I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!"
"And that's meant to be a comfort to me now, is it?" she says coldly, and vanishes from sight, but I feel cold. Pulling my coat around me, I leave the letter for Solomon on my work desk, and hurry upstairs through the tunnels to catch a train to London.
I choose one of the exits in the boarding house, as it's one of the easiest ways of getting out of the tunnels without a short climb. I wait quietly at the top of the stairs, listening for any movement on the other side of the door before opening it. I hadn't been seen yet, but caution usually pays off. Faintly, I hear a piano playing, and it sounds like a medley of the Beautiful South's greatest hits. I smile quietly to myself, open the door and move across the pitch black corridor to the piano room. There is no light on in the room, but the moon shines down into the room, giving a small amount of light to see by.
Little Blue is practising the piano. She appears completely caught up in the music she's playing. As she plays, she doesn't use any of the unnatural speed of the kindred, but prefers to use her natural skills as a pianist, which are quite considerable. Tiring of the pop tunes, she flows effortlessly into Moonlight Sonata without even pausing for a (completely unnecessary) breath.
"Before you even start moaning, I knew you were there when you crossed the corridor, let alone came in the room."
I smiled quietly to myself. At least she was paying attention. I'd often moaned to her about the risks she often took with getting caught, especially without any powers to hide with, like Solomon and I had.
"How did you know it was me, and not some security guard or something?"
"Security guards breathe."
I smiled to myself again, this time considerably more. I pulled a table up and sat down on it, resting my feet on the piano stool. Then suddenly I remembered what I was going to do this evening. I can't leave without telling her.
"Little Blue . . ." I begin, intending to continue, but she catches my trepidation almost immediately.
"What's wrong? Is it the accident?"
The others all knew about the death of the girl. It was impossible to keep it from them, really. I hesitated, trying to frame my words, to be able to say what I wanted to.
"I'm going away." I blurted out. "Just to London, but I need to speak to someone there."
She looks at me with deep sad eyes, as if to ask why she isn't the person to speak to.
"That's OK." she says, after a long pause, "You do what you need to. When will you come back?"
She asks the last fearfully, worried as to what the answer might be. Again, I hesitate, but answer truthfully.
"I don't know. I may not. But I hope to be back in a couple of days."
She has already stopped playing and turned to look at me on the stool, but now she stands, and I do likewise. We hug for a few seconds, holding each other in the moonlight. She is slightly warmer than I, probably having fed recently. It seems odd, with two people holding each other, yet the neither of them feeling the movement of the other's heart or ribcage as they breathe. We break apart after what can't be more than a few seconds. I take a step or so backwards, and say very quietly,
"Thanks."
Then I turn and leave the room. As I go, I hear Little Blue say very quietly, almost to herself.
"Bye."
Then I am gone.
To be Continued...
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