Mitchell plugged in his head phones as he pulled the mop back and forth obediently, bopping his head to the retro music that escaped modern headphones. He had another 8 hours to go and he was glad George had forced him to purchase the comfier pair of boots, rather than the stylish, cool pair Mitchell had much admired. He sighed as a couple of young, trainee nurses wandered by giggling in Mitchell's direction. This was a common occurrence to Mitchell, who blatantly shook it off, much to George's surprise and constant jealously. Maybe, Annie had managed to tame the beast once and for all; George would usually consider this thought with a small chuckle.
He was finally glad when his break came and he unlocked his small locker pulling out the packet of spare cigarettes he had obtained from a college, earlier that week. That's when his version of the voices began.
"I'm going to get her," it cackled, "you won't stop us."
Mitchell stood, searching the clinical room for invisible voices. He tied the previous atmospheric mood to the noises and lowered his head in apprehension.
"Who and what do you want?" he questioned.
"We want her," they replied demonically.
"Who's her?" he asked inquisitively, slamming the blue door back against the cheap, metal locker, angry for being so naïve and thinking that life could finally be normal. How wrong he was.
"Mitchell, what are you doing?" George raced over to him, perplexed at who Mitchell was so furious with.
"Can't you hear anything George?" he searched, leaning defeated against the closed lockers.
"What am I meant to be hearing?" Being a Werewolf meant that George had enhanced senses, but all he could make out at that moment was the commotion of a busy, Welsh hospital.
"Oh, forget it," his vampire friend answered, clearly confused.
"I think you should go home," George, concerned for his friend's well-being, suggested, "you look worse than me when I've been awake all night."
Mitchell rubbed his dark eyes, ready to object to George's opinion, but gave in with a soft sigh and exhausted look. Patting George's back, he collected his belongings and headed to the exit with the knowledge that an apprehensive George would excuse him when needed.
George was growing ever increasingly worried about his friend, he had had lack of sleep due to Gina and other unknown causes, Annie was causing him discomfort and trying to stay on the wagon haunted him meaninglessly everyday. He was surprised Mitchell had coped this long, but unconscious to the voices George presumed that the incident that had just occurred was part of the cracks beginning to form. He had to admit, though he hated to think it, that he was scared for Gina's well being. What if Mitchell suddenly turned again? How would his glorious child bear the brunt of it? How would she look at Mitchell as she grew up? What if Mitchell's actions scarred her? Not physically but mentally. Mitchell would drain the whole family lifeless, George thought, excusing the pun. He pondered how ironic it was that Mitchell did not have to release his fangs to draw life out of a person, presently, Annie could often be quite the example of this.
Mitchell had finally reached home, a few hours after aimlessly pondering around Barry, this time un-distracted by the voices. As he struggled to open the jammed door he suddenly felt a heavy hunger for blood, one he had not felt for weeks. Nothing had caused him to feel this way, he thought he had it under control now the Old Ones seemed to be staying away.
Finally, managing to push through the door, he almost fell into Annie, who had come to inspect what all the noise was about.
"Mitchell?"
He didn't reply, pushing past her, he headed straight for the kitchen. Luckily Annie had been practising her coffee making; he spotted a freshly brewed cup and downed it in one. After, he found his way eagerly to the stairs and rushed up them, heading straight for his silent room.
Annie was left standing on the bottom floor looking puzzled, thank God Nina had taken Gina out for a walk, the commotion would surly have woken her. The next issue she pondered over was weather to find out what was wrong, or ride it out, she knew more about Mitchell's mood swings than the others, yet she still did not know how to deal with them quite as well. Passing up on the opportunity to make him express his feelings, she took herself to the book case; trying to take her mind off of everything she scanned the spines. Not finding anything that could possibly amuse her she gave up and huffed as she unexpectedly spotted a shady, looming figure staring intently at her through the window. Frozen to the spot for a few seconds, she stood in a staring contest with the dark eyed creature.
"Mitchell!" she screamed, finally sensing something wasn't right, "Mitchell, there's someone outside!"
Not receiving a reaction, her dead legs took Annie ungracefully up the thin stair case and she burst, breathing heavy breaths she didn't need, into Mitchell's doorway.
"Mitchell, Mitchell, wake up," she exclaimed, striding over to a half asleep Vampire.
"What's the matter, has something happened?" Mitchell demanded, pulling himself up almost immediately.
"There's someone…" Annie struggled for breath, "outside!" Pointing at the window Mitchell instantly made his way over peering onto the rapidly darkening streets.
"Down there, by the window."
The Vampires confused eyes paced quickly along the front garden, and there, she was right, was an outline of a rather solid person. Mitchell's eyes finished their hunt and switched to black as his fingers gripped the window frame, his senses were working over time as he realised the object of moving mass below was quite clearly a Vampire.
