Chapters Six and Seven: Full Circle
* I do not own these characters. They belong to a much more talented individual. I am however, more than willing to take credit for characters/scenarios not featured in the books or television series. Not making any money. No copyright infringement intended*
The pretty blonde moaned and moved her hips against him while he drank. To his ears, the only sounds that were important were her ragged breathing and the thunderous pounding of her heart which pumped the blood that slaked his thirst. Except that in the last few months, even that was different somehow. Everything had been different since he had left Toronto, firm in his belief that he had managed to leave a very complicated, and, he considered, painful part of his life behind.
For him, Vancouver represented a fresh start, a clean slate on which to write the latest chapter of the sweeping epic he called his life. If only it had been that simple. If only anything was that simple. Now, even amid the bustling, seething whirlpool of humanity which lived and breathed in this mighty metropolis, Henry Fitzroy, bastard son of Henry VIII, vampire, immortal, invariably found his thoughts drifting to one person. The one person in nearly 500 years who had managed to captivate him, body and soul. The one person whom he loved unconditionally, yet who could not bring herself to be loved in such a manner. Vicki.
For a brief moment, he thought he caught her familiar scent mingled in the soft tresses of the young woman in front of him, but then it was gone. Gone into the night like a whisper lost among a crowd, yet never far from memory. The muted ringing of his cell phone brought him sharply back to reality, and he growled softly at the intrusion. Ignoring it, he decided to indulge his senses, and, he admitted grinning, the senses of his oh-so-willing companion. Releasing his hold on her neck, he stopped, looked into her eyes, flashed her that devilishly charming grin of his, and then reached for the buttons on her blouse. “May I?” He asked politely, ever the gentleman. The blonde, her eyes clouded with passion, smiled dreamily at him and taking both his hands in hers, placed them firmly on her breast. “I’d thought you’d never ask,” she said in a sultry whisper. They kissed, gently at first, then more intently, his hands deftly maneuvering the first few buttons on her blouse. Carefully, so as not to rip it, he jerked the material downwards in one fluid motion, exposing the top of her left breast, and eliciting a passionate groan from the blonde. Still flashing that charming smile, he bent forward, planting gentle kisses on the surface of her soft skin, reveling in her mounting excitement. When the sight of her blood pumping beneath her skin became too much to bear, he drove his fangs into her as hard as he could. The blonde cried out in ecstasy, and pushed his head down with the back of her hand, hungry for more. His phone rang again. Ignoring it, he continued to feed, thankful when the ringing finally ceased. The phone rang again. Furious at being interrupted, he released the blonde, who leaned against the wall panting, and fished it out of his pocket.
“What?!” he growled. There was a brief silence on the other end. Mentally chiding himself, he took a deep breath and replaced the mask of civility. “Fitzroy,” he tried again, hoping that the person on the other end hadn’t been frightened off. “Henry?” Coreen. He was immediately alert. If Coreen was calling his cell phone in the middle of the night, then that meant that something had to be wrong, and that something was most certainly Vicki. Vicki. He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the last time they had spoken. His asking her to come with him, her saying that she couldn’t just run away, that she had to try to make things right with Mike.
The reply had cut through his heart like shards of glass, and he had been forced to leave the room. The mere sight of her only drove the shards in deeper. A week later, he had dropped the envelope off at her office after hours, tucking it into the door frame with a brief note attached: “Call me when you’re ready. Distance is no excuse to stop being friends. Henry.” It had been three months since he had left that note, and still she had not called. After a month, Henry had decided that Vicki must have moved on, and decided to do the same. He would immerse himself in the sights and sounds that Vancouver had to offer, and move on with his life. Which was exactly what he was attempting to do at the moment.
“Coreen what is it? Is it Vicki?” Henry realized that his heart was pounding and his hands felt clammy. “Is she in trouble?” Coreen’s answer did little to allay his fears. “Not more than usual,” she scoffed sarcastically. Henry had to fight to keep control in his voice. “Coreen,” he said softly, trying not to scream in frustration. “Why are you calling me?” Some ancient, primeval corner of Coreen’s brain recognized the predator lurking beneath the veneer of calm civility, and clearing her throat, decided it was best to just stick to the facts. Before someone got hurt. In this case, most likely herself.
“It’s Mike, Henry. He’s been kidnapped by someone or something. He and Vicki were supposed to meet up this morning at the church on Carlson to hunt for the serial killer that has been torturing his victims. Both he and Vicki seem to think that it might be Mendoza come back as a vampire, but seeing as how Mike was abducted during the day, that seems unlikely.” Henry listened, his eyes still squeezed shut. His brain could only pick out a few details from Coreen’s rambling explanation: Mike. Kidnapped. Church on Carlson. Mendoza.
Strung together in that order, the outcome didn’t look good. Henry fully remembered the night Mendoza had left Vicki for him to feed on. How he, blind with hunger, struggled to subdue her. Mike shoving her out of the way. The frenzied feeding, Vicki begging him to release Mike. After that, everything centered on revenge. Henry had dragged Mendoza away and killed him slowly, savoring the man’s terror along with the blood, and had left him there to rot amongst the debris.
It never occurred to him that perhaps he had inadvertently created a Child. A Child who was now roaming the city alone, untrained, ravenous, unable to control his urges. He clenched his fists, only iron-clad control honed over the centuries preventing him from ripping the contents of his apartment to shreds. “Henry? Are you okay?” Coreen asked, unsure what to make of his silence. Henry took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “I’ll be on the first flight out. Tell Vicki to wait for me. If you have to tie her to a chair, do it. Whoever took Mike is playing a very dangerous game. If it really is Mendoza, then he has already made the first move.” He hung up, not waiting for a response, and turned around to face the blonde, who still leaned against the wall, dazed. She saw him looking at her, and smiling, crooked a finger and beckoned for him to come. “The fun’s just getting’ started,” she crooned reaching for his belt buckle. Henry backed up, letting his eyes go dark. “You’re tired. Go home. Forget you ever met me.” The blonde blinked, grabbed her purse off the couch, and walked out of the apartment. When the door closed and the apartment belonged only to him again, Henry sat down on the couch, one arm thrown over his face. He chuckled. Only in his experience could such a seemingly innocent comment uttered during the heat of passion be so ironic, and so close to the truth.
Chapter Seven
The freezing water hit him like an electric shock, forcing his brain to swim towards consciousness. His mind raced with bits of memory from the past few days: Crowley calling him to say he had been reinstated, the twelve homicide victims laid out in the morgue, Vicki coming back into his life, the church basement…..His mind naturally shied away from this last memory, refusing to acknowledge that the images flashing in his brain had actually happened. That he really was tied up in a dark room, freezing water dripping off of him, completely at the mercy of some madman. If whatever did this to him was even human.
Grunting, he tested his restraints. He chuckled humorlessly when he realized he had been bound with his own belt and handcuffs. His gun and badge were gone. He winced, his exertions causing the lump on the back of his head to scream in protest. He heard a low chuckle coming from the darkness. Someone found his struggles amusing. Not one to give into fear, Mike spat into the darkness: “Oh yeah, that’s real big of you! Hiding in the dark like some B-movie monster reject……!” The fist that slammed into the side of his face felt all-too-human, though surprisingly strong. Mike groaned, fought to stay conscious, and struggled to keep his legs from going out from under him. The voice, mere inches from his face, said pleasantly: “Good. You’re awake. Now we can get down to business.” “Go to hell,” Mike said, in an equally pleasant voice. “You don’t scare me. What are you gonna do? Talk me to death?” He winced, expecting another crushing blow to emerge from the darkness. But instead, the voice continued, ignoring him. “You two make quite a pair. You both have forceful personalities and a strong will. Unfortunately, they will do you little good in the days to come.” Mike listened, eyes scanning the darkness, some part of him recognizing the owner of that voice. “Who are you?!” He screamed, struggling. “Show yourself!”
A low chuckle sounded from somewhere in the room. “As you wish,” the voice said. A match was suddenly struck, and the tiny flame was brought up to illuminate the face of his captor. Mike stared at the face in horror, the realization of what was to come flooding his brain. The face, grinning slyly and looking all the more sinister in the subdued glow of the match, leered at him, eyes ablaze with triumph. The match went out. “Now,” said the voice. “Let’s get back to business shall we?”