We must once again thank our wonderful reviewers. We are very amused some of you wish to track us down and lock us up! We will try to keep the updates coming so this does not need to happen. But we enjoy your speculation both on here and twitter, we greatly appreciate it. There is now a small group of you who know who we are and we thank you lovely guys for keeping our secret :)

Ste watched Walker leave with dread. His hand was still resting on Brendan's chest and Brendan was still holding him in that delicious clinch against the railing.

"What?" said Brendan.

Ste stared at him. What would Brendan do if he knew there was a vampire slayer after him? Ste suspected it wouldn't be all sunshine and flowers. If they confronted each other, it could very well end in one of their deaths. Ste didn't want Brendan hurt but he didn't want to watch him hurt other people either.

"Er… I need to go," he said instead. "I've forgotten … something."

Brendan searched his eyes, confused. "What have you forgotten?"

"Er… nothing important," Ste mumbled, "I'll be right back!"

He extricated himself from Brendan's arms and Brendan let him. If he weren't so worried about Walker, Ste might have noticed how upset the vampire looked; but right now he had pressing things on his mind. He half ran to the stairs and down to the floor of the club. He glanced around, but could see no sign of Walker, so he kept on going. Out of the club and into the darkness.

He'd found Walker before, so ran to that same alley now. It was far from welcoming.

"Walker?" he called at the night around him. "Walker!"

Nothing replied. The night was still. He could hear the club a few streets way and cars in the distance, but there didn't seem to be any signs of life elsewhere.

"Well, if you ain't even gonna listen to me you can do one!" Ste shouted angrily. He knew Walker was close by, brooding or sulking. He would hear even I'd he was being too childish to answer.

Still he was answered by silence. He let out a noise of disgust.

"Brendan didn't do it!" He shouted. "He's innocent, he told me!" He looked around, peering into shadows for a shape he recognised, for a sign of movement but he saw neither.

"Fine!" He shouted, "I'm going! You do what you want!"

He folded his arms and stamped his way out of the alley and back to the club.

He never got around the corner.

The body crashed into him faster than he could have thought possible. It had pressed him against a wall before he could blink.

It pressed him so hard he could barely draw breath.

"If you're not with me, Ste, then you're against me!"

The harsh voice snarled in his ear. A strong hand took a grip on his throat. Bright eyes alive with misery burned into him.

"Wait…" he gasped.

The hand tightened. Ste struggled. He pulled at the hand, kicked at whatever parts he could find. Walker's anger was giving him strength and as Ste tried to stamp on his foot, Walker barely grunted and held even tighter. Ste felt himself begin to run out of air. His struggles weakened, even as he grew more desperate.

And suddenly his was free. He dropped to his knees, coughing and gasping; fingers at his own neck, trying to fight off the phantom hand he still felt at his throat.

"Think you're a big strong man, do ye?!" he heard in an almost playful voice, "attacking a young lad when his guard is down?"

"Bren..." Ste gasped.

"Let's see how you deal with a proper monster, eh?"

"Brendan!" Ste cried, "Stop!"

Brendan hesitated and when he spoke again his voice was strained. "He had a hand around your throat, Steven!"

"He's confused!" Ste tried to explain, "He's not going to hurt me, not really."

"He tried to kill you!" Brendan hissed, "He doesn't deserve to live!"

"But I don't want you to kill him!" Ste shouted. He couldn't let Brendan become a killer. Then he remembered, Brendan was probably already a killer.

But Brendan had heard his words. He loosened his grip on Walkers throat enough to shove the man to his knees in front of Steven.

"Apologise!" Brendan ordered.

Walker sneered and forced a breathy laugh, which didn't surprise Ste. No one had ever really apologised to him before, but he wasn't sure it counted when it was forced.

"I'm not apologising to the whore of a vampire."

Ste frowned, pretty certain that one kiss didn't make him a whore. Brendan, however, grasped Walker's hair, pulled his head back, increasing his grip on the man's throat and stamped on his leg, making the man grunt at the pain and struggle to breath.

"Look what you did! Now you have to apologise twice!"

Walker grunted in pain, but eventually shouted "I'm sorry!"

"Twice!" hissed Brendan.

"Sorry!" Walker hissed back.

Ste nodded awkwardly and Brendan let go of the slayer, who immediately made to roll away. Unsurprisingly, Brendan was faster and clamped a hand down on his shoulder, keeping him on his knees.

"Good, now we're all 'friends' again," Brendan sneered, "you can start by telling me who the fuck you are."

Walker's mouth snapped shut. He did little but glare at Brendan, angrily.

"But you had so much to say for yourself before!" sneered Brendan, "do I have to persuade you to start again?" he leant over and breathed into Simon's ear. "What if I ask really nicely?"

Ste had had enough. He wanted to watch Brendan torture someone even less than he wanted to see him kill. "His name's Simon Walker and he's a vampire slayer."

Brendan showed no fear or dread at the words, though Ste was pretty sure they were the same as those Walker had used. Nor did he resort to violence. Instead he sneered. "A vampire slayer?"

Ste glanced nervously at Walker's face that seemed to grow angrier as Brendan spoke.

"That's what he told me..." Ste muttered.

"What, has he told you that's some sort of legendary title? Passed from father to son, mother to daughter with grand reverence and the ceremonial drinking of yak piss?" Brendan scoffed, like the idea was somehow more ridiculous than there being real live vampires wondering the streets. "There's no such thing as a vampire slayer. He's just some nutter with a fetish or a chip on his shoulder."

And with those words, Brendan shoved Walker forward as though he meant less than nothing to him. Walker grunted as he hit the floor and scrambled round to face the vampire, face like a snarling wildcat.

"I can still kill you!" he shouted and lunged at Brendan, who side stepped easily and shoved him back against the wall.

"You know," the vampire said conversationally, "if you try to kill either of us again, I will have to tear you apart."

"It'll be worth the risk!" shouted Walker and Ste ran forward before Brendan could do the worst.

"Stop!" he shouted, grabbing Brendan's arm, trying to pull him bodily away from Walker. Brendan was too strong, he barely moved away but he did listen, so Ste tried to explain. "He thinks you killed his brother."

Brendan glanced at Ste, then turned a colder gaze back on Walker.

"Is that what you told him?" he growled. "I don't know anyone called Walker. Who's your brother?"

"His name was Cam!" snarled Walker.

Brendan thought for a moment and then shrugged. "Never heard of him," he said, and Ste felt that though it was insensitive, it wasn't a lie.

That thoughtlessness enraged Walker. He let out a wordless cry and fought Brendan once more. The attack lasted less than five seconds before he slumped back in misery. Every angle in his body showed submission, head bowed and shoulders drooped. Ste knew it was forced - a way to survive until he could try again.

"I never killed your brother," said Brendan, "but if I see you around here again, you might not be so lucky."

He manhandled Walker towards the entrance of the alley, then shoved him away just enough to make the man stumble.

"Get gone!" Brendan snapped and Walker glared at them once more before he obeyed at a jog; leaving Ste and Brendan alone.

Brendan watched the spot Walker had disappeared. Maybe he was worried about the man returning.

"So, why did you interrupt us to go find him?"

Brendan's words were cold, almost nasty. They sent a chill through Ste.

"I didn't…" he tried, but Brendan interrupted.

"What, you expect me to believe 'you forgot something'?" Brendan jeered, "Don't lie to me, Steven."

"I…" Ste started, feeling lost. "He …"

What should he say? Should he deny it? Claim he'd never seen the man before? No, he didn't want to lie to Brendan, not really.

Brendan turned towards him, and leant against a wall, giving Ste an expectant look. Then he folded his arms. He was closing off, shutting Ste out. Ste couldn't handle that.

"He stopped me on me way home, said he was a vampire slayer and he was after you."

Brendan put his head on one side, "And you forgot to mention this because…?"

"Well, I didn't believe 'im, did I?" Ste snapped, angry at himself for letting this happen and for ever agreeing to spy for Walker. "I just thought he was mental! Because I'm not the only one who didn't mention everything, am I Brendan?"

Brendan snorted, "You knew what I was before tonight!"

"No…"

"All that stuff at the police station."

"You freaked me out! I didn't know what to think then!"

"So what did he want from you Steven?"

Ste hesitated. He could still lie. He'd told Walker where to go every other time.

"He wanted me to spy on you," Ste mumbled, ashamed.

Brendan's eye contact grew harsh and cold. "And what did you tell him?" He asked, without emotion.

Ste had the lie on his lips, ready to tell it, to save whatever this was between them. But somehow he couldn't get it out.

After a moment Brendan turned and walked away.


DI Trent was going over this case. Three deaths, numerous disappearances and in a village as small as Hollyoaks they already had good reason to link them. It was how little time between the murders that worried Trent the most. Some sort of serial killer was terrorising the village.

Except this one had broken the normal serial killer pattern of grannies or young women. This one was targeting young men.

The doctor was the oldest so far. A man in his thirties. But there seemed to be more than one modus operandi at work. The doctor and Will Savage had both been mutilated. Their bodies were torn apart and the blood somehow drained of blood. They still hadn't really figured out how that had been done. The other MO's were different. Some of them were just missing persons: young men in their twenties, often of similar slim build. And now Macca. A completely different death, except not really. He matched the young, slim type of the missing persons and his blood had been drained (like the deaths). He suggested the link more than any of the others.

Steven Hay had almost looked like a link. He'd found the three bodies (at least part of them) which was suspicious. What were the chances of that happening if he wasn't involved somehow?

But he couldn't be. He had a water tight alibi.

Trent sat up in his chair. What had Ste Hay's water tight alibi actually been again? He couldn't actually remember.

"Hey," he called to his colleague, Mary, as she grabbed her coat on her way out, "What was Ste Hay's alibi again?"

"I don't know!" she snapped, "you conducted the interview!"

Trent tried to remember. He couldn't even remember the interview. He remembered the lad's face, looking young and worried but after that...

"Who else was there, Mary?" he asked, frowning. He wasn't going to admit his lack of memory, but he could forget which junior colleague had accompanied him; they would probably just think he was being a dick.

"No one," said Mary, voice hostile as she was now halfway out the door, "you didn't even have his brief yet. You were so cocky that you could get him to confess. That worked well, didn't it?"

Trent frowned. He had been cocky, but he'd have brought in someone else to check the alibi and why didn't he at least wait for the lawyer before he let him go?

"Mary?" he called as she started off down the corridor. He heard her sigh before she came back. "Where is the paper work from Hay's arrest?"

Mary let out a noise not dissimilar to a child stropping. She walked to a filing cabinet, fished out a file and dropped it onto Trent's desk.

He didn't thank her. He grabbed it and found the right papers.

"This isn't even finished!" he cried. Mary rolled her eyes and walked off and he understood why. He'd wanted full credit for catching the killer, so he'd taken full responsibility for the arrest and questioning. He had no one to blame but himself. But this was not like him.

There was something wrong here. Something had happened. Mary escaped and he didn't care. He rubbed his eyes.

"Think, Trent!" he muttered to himself. What had happened that had distracted him from all this? Why couldn't he remember why he'd let Hay go? Why couldn't he even remember the alibi?

Then he saw him. Dark eyes, dark hair, pale skin. He'd strolled into the interview room and Trent had no idea who he was. And why hadn't he remembered something so important?

This was important though. This was the break in the case, Trent was sure of it. Hay had something to do with it. Why else was someone doing a Derren Brown, making him forget important things like that?

He was going to arrest Hay and this time he wasn't going to let anyone else mess with it. He'd have to send himself reminders just in case they tried it again. He couldn't see it working twice, but he didn't know how it worked.

He got his phone out, set himself a reminder twice a day for the foreseeable future; until he cancelled it himself when he got the scally sent down and whoever this weirdo was too for obstructing the course of justice.

Then he went to arrest Steven Hay.

He knew where the bastard lived, it was the place Savage's head had been found. He knew there were kids there too, but that couldn't be helped. Hay had bought the kids into this when he'd dumped a human head in his own bin.

It was dark now. Maybe once Hay was in prison where he belonged, he could go back to normal hours. See the sunshine every now and again. Maybe he could finally ask that girl out. Dark haired, beautiful and spectacularly mouthy Sinead.

He pulled his jacket around him. It was cold tonight. And somehow darker than usual. He looked up. One of the street lights had gone out, that was all. He picked up his pace.

"D. I. Trent?" said a voice beside him.

He jumped a mile. He was certain there hadn't been a soul there a moment before. He put his hand on his chest.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed, willing his heart and breathing to go down again.

"Not exactly," said the voice, with a playful edge this time.

"Er, can I help you?" Trent asked, keen to get on.

"Well it would be nice if you could, but I don't think you will."

With that cryptic reply a shadow stepped out of the darkness.

"Well?" prompted Trent, "what do you want?"

The shadow took a moment to answer. "Now, that's a complicated question. It has many facets, some of them deeper than you could ever understand."

Trent rolled his eyes, "I meant from me!" he snapped. "I've got somewhere to be."

"Not any more, I'm afraid," said the shadow.

Trent had heard threats before. He knew how to deal with them.

He folded his arms. "Are you threatening an officer of the law?" he asked in his best policeman voice.

The shadow put its head on one side, observing him with amusement. "No," he said.

"Good," said Trent slightly confused by how the word (which should have been stepping back from a confrontation) clashed with the assertive tone it was spoken in.

"It was a statement of fact," said the shadow, and he stepped forward. The light fell on a pale face. A face that Trent recognised.

Trent's jaw dropped. "You're… you're alive?"

The man smiled. "Not exactly," he said.

Trent didn't have long to wonder about those words. He was dead before he could understand them.