She could see he was restless.

'Maybe you should go out for a bit. Take a walk.' She suggested. She sat on the sofa reading drafts of chapters of her thesis. The table was covered with papers. She bit the end of her red pencil and watched him. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but thought better of it.

'Maybe I will.' He said, and grabbed his coat. Without another word he left.


He knew he had to tell her about Bristol, but he didn't know how. They were practically living together now, and he liked it. Loved her company. Most of his clothes were in her flat, and he hardly ever visited his bedsit. But he knew it wasn't going to last, and that made him sad.

Outside it was cold. The icy wind cleared his head. He decided to go to a nearby park. The park was silent. There were hardly any people. It was too cold. He watched an old couple walking their dog. The woman waved. He pulled up the collar of his coat, hands deep in his pockets. He wished he wouldn't feel the hunger, but he did.

He saw a young couple sitting on a bench. They were snogging. He was about fifty yards away from them, and could hear their heartbeats loud and clear. There were no other people in sight. He preferred a single prey, but he could handle two easily. He walked passed them and watched them from between a couple of trees.

They were whispering, but he could hear every word they said, as loud as if they were screaming in his ears. He could smell her perfume and his after shave lotion. He concentrated on their heartbeats, until their voices were drowned by the beat of the blood pumping round.

They've done nothing wrong. They're still young. They don't deserve to die. Not now, not by you, the voice of his conscience nagged. It was quite weak. The hunger came first.

He was ready for the kill, and had forgotten all about his conscience, when suddenly his phone rang. He wanted to turn it off, but found that he couldn't. He cursed himself. Why the hell had he chosen a special ringtone for her number? One he couldn't possibly ignore?

The couple had heard his phone ring. They watched him from their bench. Mildly interested, not a bit scared. He leant against a tree and answered.

'Mitchell, do you think you could bring me some milk? Two pints, semi-skinned?' She sounded very close, and he already felt the blood rush subsiding.

'Okay. Do you need anything else?' he replied.

'No, that's all. Are you alright?' Lily asked.

'Absolutely. Couldn't be better.' He lied, and ended the call. Milk, he thought. Blood. Milk. He started shaking, as the flow of adrenaline ceased. Suddenly he felt sick. He had to hold on to the tree to steady himself.

'Are you alright?' he heard someone say. It was the boy from the couple. He was standing quite close, a look of concern on his face.

'Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks.' He said.


He didn't look fine, Lily thought. He put the milk in the fridge and lit a cigarette. His hands were shaking. She sat down next to him.

'God, you're cold.' She said, rubbing his arm.

He didn't look at her. In no time he finished one cigarette and lit another. She could see there was sweat on his brow. She tried to read his mind, but his face was a blank. An angry blank. He might just as well wear a mask.

She didn't understand, but didn't think she really wanted to know.

'I've still got some work to do. I better get started.' She said, and tried to sound cheerful, but failed miserably.

'Yeah.' He said, avoiding her gaze.

She got her books and returned to her computer.

She found it difficult to concentrate. She had no idea what was wrong, and quite frankly, it scared her. Was it something she had done? Or did he have issues she hadn't even scratched the surface of? She hoped not. She was sick of things being complicated. Declan's death had been complicated, and so had living alone. I deserve something positive, she thought. Please don't be an addict, or depressed. I'm just not up to it. I'm enough of a mess myself.

Suddenly she was tired. She opened a folder of childhood photographs. Declan and Lily, their parents George and Frances, still young and relatively carefree. She watched herself on a beach, up to her head buried under the sand. It had been a hot day and she had been thirsty.

She couldn't free herself, and Declan didn't want to help her out. In the end her dad had saved her. That evening she had been ill with sunburn. She watched herself stroking their cat, Thomas. That was before he'd run away. Declan had been jealous of her, she remembered, because Thomas favoured her.

A hand on her shoulder. Less cold than about an hour ago.

'I'm going to bed. I'm knackered.' He whispered in her hair and kissed her ear.

'I'll join you in a minute.' She said, glad things seemed to have returned to normal. She closed the photo folder and did a spell check on the two paragraphs she had written. When she opened her bedroom door he was fast asleep, taking up most of the space with his long limbs. She curled up next to him and closed her eyes.


She had a nightmare. Her screams woke him. She moved her hands frantically. He couldn't understand what she was saying. He pulled her close and tried to wake her up. She clawed at his face.

'Declan, you have to help me! Don't leave me here on my own. Mummy says you've got to help me.'

He called her name. 'You're having a bad dream.'

She shivered as she opened her eyes.

'You had a nightmare.' He said.

'I used to have nightmares every night. I don't have them anymore. Not often, anyway.'

'You were dreaming about Declan.' He said.

'Did I? What did I do?'

'You asked him to help you.'

She frowned. 'Him help me? That's a first. Usually I find him covered in blood, and he asks me to help him. Are you sure you heard it right?'