"Why can't Royal Mail be in strike when I need to sleep" sort of summed up George Sands philosophy as he strolled leisurely to the front door of his home. Once again the man in red, today face hidden behind a large cardboard box, was agitating his i-pad signature thingy. George Sands signed dutifully, legally, whatever, confirmed Swanson J lived at this address and saw off the postman.

Then, in his somnambulist trance, brought the big package in the house TV lounge. The recipient of the box was laying like an invalid, looking at close range to the small print of some sort of over the counter pill box. The result did not seem to meet his standards.

"Ms Pickering, are you sure, really sure that this medication is intended for me, because if I read the patient leaflet, it is supposed to enhance my...erm...my...my strength". Well, not my strength, Miss Christa , please"

The teenage werewolf was thrown into whoops while Tom McNair was trying too much to look shocked by such an unfeminine knowledge of the secret fears of most men.

"I am sure; you have to go to college, now! Mr McNair, please could you drive this...this typical young female of the 21st century who should show more respect to her elders"

The young couple left the house still chuckling at the soldier outrage.

"George? Really, this is not becoming of a well behaved young lady. In my days, they were a lot more demure"

"You must have lived a pretty sheltered life if you want us to believe that in your days girls are simpering misses of long time gone. How old are you?"

(Stupid, stupid, must back pedal quick; 1914 manners are not 2000 social codes).

"The people who cared for us at the orphanage were sort of like in an older era, we were taught to respect womanhood and look at you like a knight looks his lady" (Do not overdo it, now, you look like an idiot, a nice idiot, an idiot none the less)

"What happened really, in Afghanistan?"

(Keep focus, we are discussing pills, let carry on with the pills)." I am reading each leaflet, Nurse Pickering, I may be a soldier, I am not an idiot, nor will I swallow blindly each and every pill under the sun and the moon you present"

Nina heaved a big sigh. The vampire was polite, well behaved; compared to Mitchell, except for a strong portfolio in fine swearing and cussing, this man was coming as close as could ever be this unbelievable thing known as a decent, good vampire. Decent, but stubborn. Nearly every day, she had to explain again why he needed the about 100 tablets a day, rain or shine and for a very long time.

"Have you ever fed?"

The outraged blue eyes were a good enough answer.

"You suffered a severe blood loss and your antics with Wyndham reopened the wounds. We nearly lost you. A mass murderer is one thing, a man who saves 15 people in a bank robbery with hostages; a man who saves the lives of us five despite 3 gunshots wounds is another thing. We owe you big time, Swanson."

"Nothing at all, Miss Nina, I mean, Miss, em, Nurse Pickering. Happy to oblige"

"You cannot get a blood transfusion, hence iron tablets. Loads of iron tablets...For a very long period of time"

"I get the why of the tablets, it is the 100 that is harder to comprehend"

"Vampires do not make blood, right? I have calculated how much you need somewhat empirically. That blood sample, I took two weeks ago, told me your haemoglobin is about 4. If you were alive, you would be about dead or dying. So between this and your size, the fact your are a vampire , and what I know of your specie disgusting feeding habits, I would say 100 tablets is a fair average and drink your daily 3 litres of orange juice. Vitamin C is good for you. Much better than your smoking habit. Upon which, we start early, because tonight is the Night Out"

It was full moon tonight; the expecting nurse was almost in the last throes of a very fast tracked pregnancy. Tonight, she would change in the cellar, while Tom, Christa and George would be heading to the woods in McNair battered old car. The Vintage Volvo was to stay parked safe from any street robber near the B&B. The tall vampire stretched up, holding quickly the chair as he was feeling giddy. Every day giddy, dizzy, you name it. How long was it going to take till he stopped feeling,..., being an invalid.

"Be patient, there is no rush."

"I need a job, the sooner, the better. I must pay my share of the household expenses"

"You stop the nonsense, you saved the household; you even paid for the carpet cleaning."

The mid-late 20s couple left the house, heading for some cheap Mothercare emporium. More and more Nina was taking a liking of the wounded soldier. As a nurse, she always had a soft spot for her patients. This patient was polite, thankful, trying to do his best to fit in a house which was not his, learning his way in the vampires world, staid fast holding to his refusal to drink blood. Better than an abstinent! Good lad. No binge drinking with the quiet lieutenant. A rota for the shower had quickly been nailed on the bathroom door. After his mid morning nap, he washed the breakfast dishes and mugs; and was seen browsing the internet looking for a cheap but serviceable dishwasher. This un-dead was the death of household chores. You could rely on him. He would be there to sign any receipt for the mail. This was good as Nina had ordered all over the web, vast amounts of iron tablets to avoid detection. The boxes had almost filled the entire bar area!

Only Annie, always about mute when she was sitting close to him, and the Irish soldier, sat at the table. Silence set in. Long silence.

(Sorry, Annie, It is better like that. I really can't take it anymore, love)

"You do not eat, Miss Sawyer?"

"No, thank you, Lieutenant, ghosts do not drink or eat. And no, I do not need to sleep."

"You should, it helps. Read somewhere it releases the tension of psychological burdens..."

"I have no burdens, thank you"

(Great, she has left the room. Whatever I say, it is wrong footing her). Pulling his short hair, he grabbed yesterday newspaper, and opened at the Job offers section. He looked up from the pages.

Annie was there, looking at him, doing this hair mannerism.

(Oops, big oops. Better find a quick answer)

"I apologize, I am not myself lately. My...my boyfriend died a few weeks ago. It is not your fault. I simply resent anyone else, who is...is"

She was gone. He heard his old bedroom door slammed; watched the telly flicker. She was crying; he was hearing her cries, through the walls, through the door, throughout the entire house. She was missing him; she loved him still, just as much he craved for her, for her touch. But that was forbidden. Their love was forbidden. As long as the two lovers were apart, they could live and love each other, never revealing their passion to their soul mate.

(Better focus on a job, mate. Unless you plan to fall in the stairs in your state, pretend you hear nothing. She does not cry for you, she does not beg for your company, she grieves for that son of a bitch Mitchell; who is dead. Staked. Proper dead, Remember; when she looks at you, she sees a pleasant faced older man, with a soldier bearing, a bit on the quiet and sarcastic side. The guy who had found out why the urn was hissing; the plumber, not the lover)

Turning the page, slowly, he started scanning all the ads looking for a night position. Soon, he knew he would feel strong enough to give a phone call without starting to pant, short of breath after three minutes speech.

Ever so slow, he reached the stairs and started the ascension. If he managed to climb to the attic without stopping once, even if it took thirty minutes, he would be celebrating. Nina should be praised about the iron solution. Since a few days, he was less and less out of breath.

(Flowers. What flowers? Flowers to thank Nina, you, dummy. Swanson, you are boring with that Miss Manners attitude! OK. Flowers)

Mitchell was aware he was sharing this body with the real Swanson, a decent if rather nerdy guy. Mind you, the impeccable good breeding of the lieutenant have won him Nina approbation. Annie was out of limits, George was happy to see less bills piling up. Christa loved the older guy's respectful banter. Now Tom was another kettle of fish or offal...

As Mitchell, Tom and he had hit quite nicely; but as John Swanson, it was obvious he was suspected to harbour less than honourable designs regarding Miss Christa. The colder, more antiquated politeness he offered, the more convinced of nefarious intentions he was suspected to hold.

(Tom, enjoy, relax. My girl is a sunny girl with ringlets and curls, who is prone to swallow stupid pills, like me. I mean like Mitchell; like me...me John if you consider the number of tablets or capsules Dr Pickering has ordered)

(Ok, reaching my room, the attic; getting to the bed without staggering or panting like a bear. Shit, someone is at the door)

"Coming! Leave it, Ann...Miss Sawyer, I had but barely started to climb. Commiiinngg!"

Huffing and puffing like an exhausted water pipe, he opened wide the door. He was not afraid of humans; he knew the drill, you get lost when you start to pay attention to the blood pulsating, hence solution: pretend you are deaf. Today, he was very deaf. The person behind the door was either having a heart attack or was as dead as him.

The blond young woman was looking at a very tall personable young man. Late 20s, possibly early 30s. Another bloody vampire, this town was bursting with vampires. She, too, was a vampire, do not rub it, OK!

"Who are you?"

Her hand almost reached her police ID; darn, she was dead and a human police woman might be frightening if you are human. As a very young vampire, he was going probably to throw her in the street.

(Thanks Swanson. My pleasure) Years of military training had left a trace. Mitchell (sorry, Swanson) remained emotionless as he was facing this policewoman of Hell. A vampire, what the fuck; then he remembered that somehow in the car before they reached the beach, Herrick had told him how he had turned the young inspector.

"Quality recruitment, Mitchell. If she is good enough to get you arrested, she is good enough to be recruited. No way, I let the Old Ones head, hehe, neck hunt this girl"

She was as good looking as ever; and Swanson was quite satisfied too. (What the fuck, are you doing?). She stood up trying to stand as tall as she could, but the man was way taller (I like my women small, Mitchell, live with it). Under a rather short crop of curly chestnut hair, a pair of humorous bluer than blue eyes was looking down at her. Just a hint of freckles, a rather indeterminate nose, fashionable stubble, firm lips, and a chin "a la Johnny Depp". This man was born to break hearts. Well? He would not. Firstly, because technically her heart had stopped beating since a few weeks, secondly she knew the type. He knew he was easy on the eyes and she was meaning business. Totally mismatched.

"Miss? Mrs?"

"Stop pretending, we both know what we are. So either you let me in, or I shall make so many nuisances in front of your house that..."

The soldier pulled her in.

"Who are you and where is this lovely Nina, you know the girl who has turned her home into a hostel for vampires? I must thank her personally for allowing me to have a soul shattering experience. A little nip would be de rigueur, I think. And where is that bastard Mitchell?"

He pushed her rather unceremoniously in the front room and sat in the nearest armchair. This was going to need a lot of balls to juggle with.

"You look thirsty; when was the last time you fed. Not that I approve of the Hunger. Pretty disgusting habit, like snuffing tobacco. Do you snuff?"

Mitchell knew Nancy particular methods of cross-questioning suspects. This was new for Swanson. New and...fascinating, riveting. The idiot was looking at the vampire woman like a man who has been in the desert for weeks end and finally finds water. If he had been a cartoon, his character would have already seized the girl and smack kisses all over her. That's the problem with those silent types. They look shy, lift the lid, and it is Sexo Inferno. Not that he minded the older man his fantasies. After all, he had plenty of his own about Annie.

(Let's both smile, pat the nearest cushion, pillow what have you).

"Please sit. These days, I am a bit anaemic"

Nancy sat, the male vampire tone was forceful and no man had ever dared to look at her with those eyes, shy, quiet, polite and forceful. An interesting combination.

"Drink"

"I have decided to abstain from the beginning"

"Is it feasible?"

"Some coven had done it in Bristol, I think"

"I can't believe that guy Mitchell. One day, he is VA poster boy, next day the bloody fucking shitty..."

"Erm, erm, Miss, those lips are too lovely to have them soiled by swearing!"

(Swanson, stop flirting. Ask what she is doing here, please, focus Man).

"He is dead... and he was a ...complicated man"

"Which leaves Nina to provide some fascinating answers as why she was harbouring two vampires"

Nancy was now wrinkling her delicate nose.

"Are you aware this house is positively whiffing, it smells like...like an overcrowded kennel?"

"That would be because 4 werewolves live in there...with me and Miss Sawyer. Let me introduce you two. Miss Sawyer, ghost, our friend, master chef and Queen of the Tea Mug. Miss ..."

" Nancy Reid, I know you"

"?"

" I was leaving you messages"

"So, you are accomplice to my murder? What sort of people are you in this house. You live with a mass murderer, probably another killer. Well, all vampires are killers. Myself, I had to munch. The accomplice of a police officer murder; you have some friends of yours bursting in and killing more policemen, you have crappy Nina telling lies. I am getting angry. Someone will to have to pay dear, capital and loads of interests!"