Chapter 14
As always, BH belongs to TW.
I hope you enjoy, and as always, any and all reviews are welcome!
After the meeting with Wyndam, Mitchell returned to the room he'd been told was his. Knowing he wasn't going to deal with the reporter until the next night, he fell into bed, beyond knackered. He didn't have the energy to think about Wyndam being his maker, and what it all meant, and instead, slept into the next evening.
Samuel had called this room Mitchell's new quarters, but it was actually a suite. Samuel said it was a small hotel, and Wyndam owned it, using it for himself and other vampires, but Mitchell didn't listen to much more. The room had all the amenities, though - proper king size bed, telly, small refrigerator, desk, adjoining area with comfy chairs, sofa, and a view from three floors up. Even the closet had been stocked for Mitchell. He still didn't know exactly where this place was located, as he had yet to be outside, and the little he'd seen from the window didn't look familiar.
He briefly wondered why he'd never known about this place, but assumed it was another of the secrets Herrick kept from him. Herrick. He could now think of Herrick without feeling the grief and guilt, and it felt good. He didn't know how Wyndam had removed that grief, but he was grateful it was gone.
Refreshed from the sleep, Mitchell showered and dressed, ignoring the suits and ties in the closet. Instead, he opted for the black jeans, black button down shirt, and the new boots, all in his size. There was even a leather jacket for him. It felt good to be properly dressed again. He stuffed the pack of cigarettes and lighter in the jacket pocket, and ate some of the food he found in the fridge. He was feeling hungry, though, and would have to ask Samuel about the new rules on feeding.
Shortly thereafter, someone knocked on Mitchell's door. Opening the door, Mitchell let Samuel in and was closing the door when a hand pushed it open again. Swinging the door wide, a second man came into the room, his face familiar to Mitchell.
"Hello, Mitchell," the man said in a deep voice, his Irish brogue very strong.
"Padraig?" Mitchell exclaimed, and the two hugged. "My God, Padraig! What the hell are you doing here?"
"I heard John Mitchell was back, and I had to come see for myself!"
"Jesus, you look great! How long have you been here?"
"Thanks! Got in a few days ago."
"How long has it been?" Mitchell asked, trying to remember.
"Way too long, Mitchell. You took your time comin' round, I hear!" Padraig teased, his deep blue eyes filled with laughter. The same height as Mitchell, it was odd to think of them as countrymen. Padraig's fair complexion, dark hair, and blue eyes were quite in contrast to Mitchell.
"Yeah," Mitchell laughed. "You know me, always…"
"The hard way!" Padraig finished with a laugh. "Yeah, I know! But, welcome back! That's the important thing!"
"Thanks, mate! What have you been up to? Hey, we need to go out, like the old days!" Mitchell said, eyes bright at the prospect. Padraig nodded enthusiastically.
"Not yet, gentlemen," Samuel interrupted, motioning them over to the desk.
"My keeper," Mitchell whispered, and Padraig smiled sympathetically, and shrugged.
"It was the same for me," he whispered back. "But it's not for long," he said, winking, and moving toward to the desk.
"Really?" Mitchell said, surprised. "Wyndam?"
"No, Thomas."
"The Scot? When?" Mitchell asked, frowning.
"Yeah, he thought it amusing! Early eighties. I'll tell you about it later," Padraig said, nodding toward Samuel.
"In your own time," Samuel said to them impatiently. Padraig rolled his eyes at Mitchell, and they both chuckled.
"This is the problem," Samuel started, showing them a picture of a young woman with short brown hair and brown eyes, her skin a light coffee color. She was pretty. Samuel then proceeded to tell them where they were going, and how this was to be done. Padraig looked at Mitchell and sighed. Mitchell laughed, and nodded.
"Samuel, why don't you just take us to where she is, and Páidí and I will take care of it, ok?" Mitchell said patronizingly.
"Paddy?" Samuel questioned with a laugh.
"No," Padraig told him sharply. "Only Mitchell gets to call me that. You can call me Molloy, or Padraig."
Samuel looked indignant, but shrugged, and had the sense to stay quiet. Handing the folder to Padraig, he gestured to the door.
As they walked down the hall, Mitchell and Padraig looked over the file, and talked about how to get to the woman. The file said the car park she used for her car was the best place, especially as she worked late most nights. The car park was a few blocks from the news agency and was nearly empty by the time she left work.
Once in the car park, Samuel pulled into a spot near the woman's car and waited for her. Padraig slid into the nearby shadows, and Mitchell was on the far side of the park, leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. It reminded Mitchell of the night he and George chased Ivan and Daisy in a similar car park. He smiled at how that felt like several lifetimes ago.
There was very little security. No guards, poor lighting, and the closed circuit cameras wouldn't matter.
There is no security, Mitchell thought with certainty, and somehow knew that Wyndam had taken care of any security concerns. Mitchell wasn't sure how he knew this, but he knew it to be true. He didn't question it. It simply meant they would not be disturbed, and it added to his anticipation.
They had to wait, but eventually, the reporter exited the elevator. As usual, she had worked quite late, and there were few cars left in the park. She had parked in a corner spot, several rows from the elevator, and at the moment, the only car near hers was Samuel's.
While Mitchell watched from the shadows, the woman walked toward her car, dressed in a gray and white pantsuit. Samuel, dressed in his business suit and tie, walked toward her, pretending to text on his mobile. He seemingly bumped into her without seeing her. Apologizing profusely, he grabbed her arm to steady her, and in the process, pulled her briefcase from her hand. As it fell to the ground, he tried to catch it, but succeeded only in spilling most of its contents onto the ground. Mitchell laughed at the cliché of it all, wondering if the woman would see through it.
"I'm so sorry! Are you ok?" Samuel exclaimed, kneeling down to pick everything up. "I can be so clumsy!"
"No, that's alright. I've got it," the woman said, stooping to collect her papers.
"This texting thing can be dangerous even if you're not driving!" Samuel laughed, smiling broadly at her.
"Yes," she laughed, "it can be!"
They finished collecting her papers and putting them back in the briefcase. As they stood up, Padraig quietly moved in behind her and grabbed her, covering her mouth with his hand. She tried to fight, but was no match for his strength, and he quickly dragged her into the shadows against the park wall. Samuel made sure her purse and briefcase were in hand before he followed Padraig.
Watching it all, Mitchell pushed away from the wall and stubbed out the remainder of his cigarette. He could hear her pounding heartbeat and smell her fear, and it made his mouth water. He was hungry.
As he approached them, Mitchell saw that Samuel had tied the woman's hands behind her back, and still had a hand over her mouth. He saw her nod, and Samuel removed his hand, warning her not to scream. Instead of screaming, she was trying to talk her way out of the situation. Her eyes were wide, but she wasn't crying. She was trying to tell them to just take her money, and her car, and she wouldn't call the police. Samuel and Padraig stood on either side of her, Padraig leaning against the wall, and neither of them answered her.
As he walked closer to them, Mitchell noticed that the woman's hair had grown as compared to the photo, and it fell in soft curls to her shoulders. She looked a bit like Annie. Even her laugh had been full and sweet like Annie's. A sudden jab of pain filled him, and he stopped for a moment, shaking his head. Just as suddenly, it was gone.
When she saw him walking toward her, she stopped talking and took a quick breath.
Good, you should be afraid, he thought, taking in her heartbeat and the rush of adrenaline flowing through her. Despite the two men looming over her, she tried to appear calm. No tears, no babbling, just watching as Mitchell approached her. He wanted her to be afraid. Slowing his pace, he lowered his head, his look menacing.
There you are, he thought, hearing her heart race. He tried not to grin.
"What do you want?" she finally asked, breathless. He didn't answer, just kept slowly walking toward her. He did not stop until he was close enough to look down into her eyes. He was rewarded with her involuntary step backward, her back now against the wall.
"Just to have a talk," he told her, grinning now. She tried to hold his gaze, but glanced away after a few moments.
"Abou…about what?" she stumbled over the words.
"You've been sticking your nose into somewhere it doesn't belong," he told her quietly, shaking his head. "That's a veeery bad thing."
"I don't know what…" her voice trailed off, and she flinched as Mitchell reached to smooth a strand of her hair. It really did remind him of Annie's hair.
"Yes, you do," Mitchell told her absently, picking up one of her curls, rubbing it between his fingers, feeling it's softness.
"Okay, okay…whatever it is, I'll stop," she bargained. "I'll…I'll destroy my notes…delete everything. Please, just let me go." He didn't answer her.
"Your boss already told you to do that, but unfortunately, for you, you didn't listen," he told her softly.
"Seriously, it's gone," she continued. "You're right, my boss told me…so it's over…story is dead…it's done…right now…" her voice trailed off. "Please don't hurt me," she whispered.
Mitchell shrugged, still looking at her hair. He was starting to admire her courage, and moved in closer to her. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and looking into her eyes, he saw her fear. Her eyes were pretty, the softest brown, and a beautiful shape, like Annie's. Looking at her face, he saw where her dimple would be in a smile, and wanted to see it. His fingers moved from her hair to trace the curve of the dimple. His other hand came up and cupped her face, and he took in every part of her face. She was so like Annie! Annie had sounded so upset yesterday, he could imagine the tears in her eyes. This one now had tears in her eyes, too, and didn't move, barely took a breath, just stared at him. He held her face in both hands, and looked at her mouth, the beautiful lips full and inviting…like Annie's. He slowly leaned in, his intention clear. She gasped, and tried to pull away. His eyes flickered back to hers again, and he gave a slight shake of his head.
"Sshhhh, it's ok," he whispered, looking into her eyes, gently stroking her cheek. He saw her eyes relax, some of the fear gone. He looked back to her mouth, tracing it with his finger.
"Annie," he whispered, and lowering his head, he kissed her, softly.
Pain exploded inside his head and he jerked away from her, crying out, doubled over, hands clutching his head.
"Mitchell!" Padraig yelled, grabbing Mitchell by the shoulders. "What is it? Mitchell!"
Samuel did not move, and neither did the woman.
"What the hell!" Mitchell yelled, palms of his hands now pressed against his eyes. The pain lessened a bit, and he looked at Padraig.
"Are you ok?" Padraig asked again. Mitchell nodded, and slowly straightened up, but felt far from alright.
"What the hell happened?" Padraig asked him. Mitchell just shook his head, pressing his hands to his temples.
Get this over with, whispered in his mind.
Looking back at the woman, Mitchell's head ached, and he was tired. She was still pressed up against the wall, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, watching him.
Just kill her.
He wanted to feed, and he wanted a drink, not necessarily in that order. He stepped in front of her, close again, and focused on what he had to do.
"No, please, don't," she whispered tearfully, understanding something had changed.
"Too late," he whispered, eyes flashing black.
Grabbing her head with both hands, he twisted viciously before she could scream. He smiled as he heard her neck break, and the ache in his head faded.
"Samuel, clean this up, okay?" he said, walking away from her body, not waiting for an answer.
Looking at Padraig, he nodded toward the elevator. "Let's go find a drink."
ooooooo