She was on one of her twice-weekly duty visits to the parents' house. No, that was wrong. Duty made it sound like a chore and it wasn't, not really. Only these days she looked forward to the weekends more than ever - her Mitchell time.
He'd told her that he was picking her up on Friday and taking her away for the weekend. He had been insistent on the phone; he needed to get out of town for a while. No, he couldn't tell her why, just for her to have a bag packed and be ready to go when he collected her.
The idea of a dirty weekend away obviously didn't bother Mitchell, but Josie was a bit more concerned by what people would think of her. She raided her mother's jewellery box and came away with her mum's wedding ring, rarely worn these days. She had put it aside to be resized and never got around to it. Mum would never notice if Josie borrowed it for a few days.
When he arrived she knew there was something wrong. He was agitated, chain smoking and talking far more than he normally would. "I have cigarettes, a change of clothes and a map of Bristol. Oh, and a toothbrush. Shit, did I remember the toothbrush? Anyway, we're off there for the weekend."
"Bristol? Why Bristol?"
"Because I've got a map of Bristol. Makes sense to go somewhere we've got a map of, right?"
Right. She supposed it made some sort of weird logic on some planet or other.
"Not that we're likely to need it – I have plans in mind for the weekend and they don't involve sightseeing." The wicked smirk on his face gave her a clue, if one were needed.
ooooooooo
"Yes, sir, a double room in the name of...?"
"Mr and Mrs McCartney."
She choked back a laugh, trying to cover it up with a coughing fit, but in the lift she laughed out loud. "You could at least have said 'Mr and Mrs Harrison'. You know George is my favourite."
He grinned. "Lennon is the genius, but I figured they'd guess I was taking the piss if I said Lennon. With my accent McCartney is plausible, at least."
He swept her up and carried her over the threshold. She clung round his neck and he lifted her as easily as a doll, dumping her unceremoniously on the bed. He fell on the bed beside her and for a while they didn't even notice what the rest of the room was like.
ooooooooo
That set the tone for the weekend. They barely moved from the bed except to find food in the restaurant downstairs with Mitchell venturing outside once for cigarettes. He came back with a big block of chocolate and fed it to her chunk by chunk, stealing the occasional bite and grinning at her squeals of outrage.
On Sunday afternoon they just lay and talked, awareness that they had to return to the real world drawing in fast. Once she got him going the tales poured out of him; she was amazed at the places he had been and the things he had seen. He spared her parts of the stories which she knew must have been there; how many people had he killed in Berlin or Marrakesh or Rome?
When eventually he dozed off, the visions he had told her about seemed to be troubling him. She lay next to him, feeling him move restlessly, muttering and moaning. Most of what he said was incoherent, but one name in particular was haunting him. Arthur. Who was Arthur?
She put her hand on his chest, calling his name gently to wake him. He started, his eyes snapping open in an instant – and they were jet black.
She gasped and pulled away from him, halfway out of bed before she knew she had moved. His whole body tensed, his mouth opening to reveal his fangs and a long slow hiss of breath escaping him. She glanced frantically at the door to the room. Could she get there before him? Could she scream loudly enough to get someone to come and rescue her, or would involving someone else only mean another corpse on the floor? Was this the moment she would die?
But then his shoulders relaxed and he covered his face with his hands, his body wracked with silent sobs. Every line of his body showed his anguish. "I'm sorry, Josie. I'm so, so sorry." When he took his hands away his eyes were normal again, though red rimmed with tears, but sadder than she had ever seen them. "I was dreaming – dreadful things. I didn't know it would make me do that."
Trembling still, her breathing uneven and the pounding of her heart starting to slow a little, she slid back between the sheets. She put out a cautious hand to touch his face and he leaned into the caress.
"I'm sorry I scared you. I never meant for you to see me like that."
"I shouldn't have woken you. You were having a nightmare, I think."
"They are coming every time I sleep now, the people I have killed," he said, the dark rings pronounced beneath his eyes. "I used to be able to escape seeing them by sleeping, but now they follow me there. When I'm awake I can see them and smell them. When I'm asleep I am there; I can touch them – taste them. Oh God, Josie, I can taste them." Mitchell shuddered convulsively and covered his face again; his eyes filling with tears once more. "I don't know if it will ever stop. And I don't know anyone who has been clean long enough to tell me if they will ever leave me be. Sooner or later I'll have to feed to stop them tormenting me. What if I wake up from a nightmare and kill you before I know what I'm doing?"
"Maybe if you talk about it to someone. Get it out in the open."
"Sounds like confession. How very Catholic of you."
"Acknowledging them might make them go away. There was one name you were saying over and over in your sleep. Mitchell, who was Arthur?"
He closed his eyes and she waited patiently for him, knowing how hard it would be for him to tell her and hoping that he could trust her enough. He had asked her to help him, but it seemed he had to help himself after all.
"They say you never forget your first time," he said finally, "That's true of vampires too..."
ooooooooo
The watcher was bored with sitting in the car, even with the radio on. He didn't dare take his eyes off the hotel entrance - sure as fate he'd miss them leaving if he did.
When they finally left the hotel, late on Sunday afternoon, he wound down the window and poked the Polaroid camera out. He glanced up quickly. Bright enough to get a decent picture but not so sunny that the glare on the lens might give him away. Good. It was a shame Mitchell wouldn't show up on the photo – that would have really freaked her out. But at least now he could get the bloody picture and get the heck out.
They came out of the hotel hand in hand, smiling and laughing together. Mitchell slipped his arm around Josie's waist and pulled her close for a moment, kissing her briefly. He pulled a cigarette packet from his pocket and offered her one, removing one for himself. A silver cigarette lighter flared briefly and they continued down the steps hand in hand. This was it. A shot of her by the hotel sign would be perfect.
"Come on, Mitchell, bring your bit of skirt a little closer. Come on, Mitchy boy," the watcher murmured, finger poised over the shutter release.
The clunk when he depressed it sounded so loud to him in the car that he could hardly believe they didn't hear it too, but they carried on oblivious to everything but each other. The square of photo paper slid out of the camera and he dropped it on the passenger seat with the other one – the picture of a suburban house that he'd been sent round to take. God knows why. The boss wasn't known for his interest in real estate, as a rule.
The watcher smiled slowly. He had known for years that Mitchell would blow it eventually. Fifty some odd years of living in his shadow – he had waited patiently for his chance to prove to Herrick that he should be his right hand man, not that bloody Mick.
The picture on the film was starting to emerge and he gave a satisfied smile. Oh yes, Herrick would be pleased with that photo, right enough. Seth put it safely away in the glove box and started the engine. Mitchell's little plaything would find out soon what happens when you try to run with vampires.
