Chapter 25 - In the eyes of others only a reflection of themselves

I have made it to the atrium before I succeed in stopping Alex in her tracks. The rain outside is pouring in a torrent now, thrumming on the cold stone of the square outside.

"Alex, please, wait," I say, reaching her.

"I'm sorry," she says, turning. I have the urge to hold her, but do not, her body language is taught. Everything in her is tense. Normally, on occasions such as these, I have been used to a violent outburst. This time, something is different. Neither of us say a word. Eventually her shoulders relax, she sighs. "I've ruined everything, I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be."

"Yeah, I do, you went to all this effort and then..." she gestures wildly in the direction of the auditorium. "Belinda fucking Weaver again. And it's my fault. I'm sorry."

"You're not making any sense, Alex. How can anything be your fault, especially the line up of the Welsh National Op -"

She rolls her eyes, stopping me in my tracks. "Look, I don't know, but it keeps happening. It's got to be something to do with me, it always bloody is. I don't know, I'm starting to think...oh, I don't know." She saddens.

I start to worry, "Alex, there's nothing here. It's not a sign, or something supernatural, or anything, it's just a coincidence" Please. Let it be a coincidence. "It has got nothing to do with us," I insist, attempting my most convincing of tones while my anxieties rage underneath: Is she looking for a reason for us to be apart, is that it? Subconsciously she has decided to stay with her family, hasn't she? She's looking for an excuse, a reason to break this off without hurting me. Blaming ghosts? Blaming circumstance. It's cowardly. I feel myself getting angry. But no, this isn't like her? "Please, tell me what's happened."

Alex shrugs, "Before the whole 'you-know' with Wheely-pants-Hatch shit, I sort of...well, kinda, oh fuck it, I was having these vision things."

"Vision things?"

"I was seeing shit, alright. Like dreams, visions, whatever."

"I don't think that is entirely normal, Alex, are you sure it wasn't one of Hatch's games?"

She pauses, her lips sliding into a curious pout. Her eyes fold flat as she wonders if I am right. "Nah, it couldn't be. She was trying to warn me about him."

"Who was?" I have a horrible feeling I know the answer.

Alex grits her teeth, knowing what my reaction will be, "Belinda."

I shake my head.

"It was, I swear, she said she got like stuck to me because I possessed her. After a while I couldn't shake her. When I turned human she was gone, but now this! It has to mean something."

"You were imagining it," I insist. "It would simply not be possible for a vampire to..."

"Aye well that's the thing, I get the feeling she wasn't anymore."

"Wasn't what?"

"A vampire, at least not...completely?" Her voice raises slightly at the end, as if she is unsure what she is implying, and whether I will think her insane, or perhaps that I might suddenly find some kind of enlightenment and agree with this crazy theory.

I do nothing.

"Say something," Alex encourages.

"I don't want to."

"Why?"
"Because I don't want this to be our lives anymore. Can we just forget about it? Can we just put this down to coincidence? Can this just be another date that I got spectacularly wrong? Why do we have to..." I pinch the bridge of my nose. I breathe. This is clearly important to Alex, until we put it to rest she will not allow us to be happy. It is a big boulder in the middle of the road to a possible relationship and this is the moment she is asking me to move it out of the way. "What do you mean 'not completely'?" I ask with a sigh.

"I don't know, there was this one 'vision' thingy where she had scary-assed red eyes, full on fairground ride glowing style. That's not a vampire thing is it?"

I had stopped listening. I took a step back. it was like someone had hit me in the stomach.

"Hal?"

I shook my head. "No, not her. It... it doesn't make sense?"

"Hal, you've gone all pale."

I swallow, my mouth has gone dry. My imagination was doing somersaults. "You're imagining it." I insist again, "Bad dreams. The devil was just toying with you."

"He wasn't, anyway, ghosts don't dream. I was dead long enough to know that. I swear on the perfect beard of Robert Downy Junior! It was Belinda. She was fucking haunting me. And there was this one vision where she was with Colette and -"

"COLETTE! How do you -" a realisation dawns, weeks ago Alex had brought her up in conversation. It had seemed so out of place to odd. "Belinda never knew Colette. She couldn't have"

'When, not where,' I hear Belinda in my head now, all those weeks ago, she told me then, before she made me forget. I hadn't listened.

"I can't fucking explain it," Alex continues, her tone aches with the catharsis of being able to talk about it, "but she was there, her and Colette. They were friends, sort of."

I can not say which is more disturbing; the idea that Alex has some grasp upon moments of my past and the people involved; the suggestion that, if this was true, then back when I was at my most vulnerable those I had trusted were keeping secrets from me; or that Alex had clearly been in some kind of danger and that I, caught up in my own pathetic struggles with sobriety, with shame and caprice, had failed to notice; or the fact that Belinda, had not only achieved the impossible, but had done it under my nose...and what that would mean.

I have to sit down. I sit down, struggling for a nearby bench. "Her eyes were red, you say?"

Alex nods, taking a seat beside me. "Please tell me you know what that was about."

I don't know what to say. "A long time ago, before I left with Leo, Snow summoned me to his villa, in Bolivia. It took me days to travel there. I left my colleagues to Colette's hospitality " I assume Alex knows what I mean. She asks no questions, which leads me to believe I am right. "When I arrived, the usual customs were followed. A little ritual, a little dinner, pleasantries, some hunting." Alex again, does not pry further, I do not tell the story with either shame or elation, but flatly, matter-of-fact. "We had killed a dozen people in the town, before he...Late on the second night he showed me what he had summoned me for. I didn't get a good look. He and Edgar took me down to the cellar. They were like children excited to show off a new toy, I had never seen either of them so elated in hundreds of years. I found it distasteful. They were keeping something. In the cellar."

Alex gulps, "What was it?"

"A woman, barely recognisable under the muck and blood the victims they had fed her, some of her own too I think by the smell of it. I knew that there was something different to her immediately, but could not put my finger on it. I think that was what they had found so insatiable too, the not knowing. Both of them had been alive so long, anything new must have been a tremendous coup. Lord knows what they had done to learn the secret, I never found out, but I can imagine the worst. They said she was 'mostly' vampire, but that the rest... the rest was mostly likely demonic. There had never been a demonic possession of a vampire before. It didn't make sense. It can't have been..."

"It was Belinda? Wasn't it?"

Thinking back, to that face in the darkness. I can picture the way she had looked at me now, it is as clear as a picture. I can see her. I recognise her now.

"When she saw me the demon left her. The red eyes," I explain, "it's a sign of a possession, they cleared. That I had garnered such a reaction from their prize, simply by my presence, was clearly a surprise of both my compatriot and my liege. She had clearly let her guard down, something I presume she had not done while they had been working her. It ... pleased them, that reaction. They told me to stay, to help learn the secrets, and when it was done I could have 'whatever was left'."

"Bastards!" Alex says under her breath. I agree. "I can see why you were up for blowing them up," she says.

Her joke makes me smile. "There was a man named Regus in our number. Annie and Tom met him. He was an historian. He liked to dig around in the paperwork. Snow said he had found something he would show me. Edgar joked, she was the 'future', whatever that was supposed to mean. But I didn't see the 'future', or even 'fun' or 'fate' or anything that they professed might fill the next weeks, should I decide to stay. I saw..." My words fail me as I recall my own cowardice.

Alex takes my hand.

"Hope." I say simply, "As if I was not there to harm her, but to save her. To take her away. This thing, as I could have only considered her then, saw in me something that was not yet there, something only incubating."

"It was her? Wasn't it?" Alex repeats, gently.

"I think it must have been, yes. I ran, Alex. I left her there."

What else had I seen? I saw that there was so much more to her than Snow or Edgar would ever be able to see, or coax from her. I saw a spark, something, among all that evil, that was still so human.

Someone coughs. We look up.

A woman in a breathtaking ballgown stands a few feet away. "I don't mean to disturb, but..."

Alex stands immediately, as do I.

"Shit, Sorry!" Alex splutters. The woman, Belinda's mother, who has clearly left the stage for reasons benownst only to herself, blushes. Alex stutters, "Fuck, sorry, shouldn't swear. Hi." Alex continues.

I hold out my hand, "We seem to have ruined your performance, Lady Highcastle, please accept my apologies, a domestic dispute is all."

She takes my hand, it is warm, clammy for one so seemingly poised. "Not at all. I just thought I would pop out, check there was nothing I could do to assist, Mr..."

"Yorke."

She pulls her hand from mine suddenly. Her elegant features crease a little before she again smiles, as if nothing is wrong, and holds her hand out to Alex.

"And from the name this charming chap was screaming into the auditorium, I take it you are Alex? Alex..."

"Mi-Miller," says Alex, grabbing Lady Highcastle's hand and, not knowing whether to bow or curtsy or something else, does a collection of all three which leaves her squatting in a very strange position.

A breathless Tom suddenly appears. I holds up one finger to catch his breath, not as fit as he was when he had wolf blood in him, and we wait. When done, he stands, "What the bloody hell is going on?" he spits, nodding at Belinda's mother, clearly unaware of who she is. "Hello."

"It's alright, Tom."

Lady Highcastle turns to stare at him.

"Tom McNair," he introduces himself, straightening himself in his smart tuxedo, which is now a little askew. He holds out his hand, which she takes. He shakes her hand a little exuberantly. Seeing our audience clearly for the first time, his saucer-like eyes widen in horror, star-struck.

She opens her mouth to speak, but stops. Lifting her fingers to her lips, she takes a short step backwards.

Alex intervenes, "Perhaps we should just go?" she says, and nudges me, "Tom what happened to your date?"

Tom shrugs, sputtering out the words without taking his eyes from Lady Highcastle, "She don't like dogs. We fell out."

"Best to go then?" I agree.

Lady Highcastle opens her mouth to speak a second time, clearly there is something on her mind.

"Really, Ma'm, you needn't trouble yourself. Best we let you return to your performance, really, we've troubled you too much."

"We should go, tonight," Alex says.

"What?"

"To my family, we're all here, let's just go straight there. Get it over and done with."

"You don't mean..."

"You were amazing like!" Tom chirps suddenly at Lady Highcastle with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. I really never pegged him as an Opera fan. He is blushing, I've seen him only ever like this once, with the late, lamentable Larry. "Absolutely...I mean...'ow'd you get those notes like 'cause they were right beautiful. Do you practice? You should go on X-Factor, they would totally make you famous and everything. You could sing for the Queen. I've a card here somewhere. Do you need an Agent, only... Can I have your autograph?" He grabs for the programme in my hand which I have twisted horrible in my worries. He cracks and twists it open, flattening it on his knee. "Hal? You got a pen, mate?"

"Hal?" Lady Highcastle asks, looking at me strangely, "You call yourself, Hal?"

Tom answers for me in a fanatical blur, "I know, it's a well daft name ain't it, but he seems to like it. We call him other stuff sometimes, don't we 'Lex, but he don't know that. What were it short of again?" He shoves the programme in her hand, "Like it's Henry, ain't it. Posh people are weird, I mean 'ow'd you get 'Hal' from 'Henry' like, only got one letter the same. Makes no sense. Pen!" He finds one in his back pocket. For a moment he seems confused as to how it had got there, so am I, but he disregards the confusion and hands it to the lady. "But anyway. It's Tom. Short for Thomas like, Big Tee, little Oh, little Em. Space." He spells. Reading over Lady Highcastle's shoulder, "And McNair, Big Em, little Cee, Big En, and then air like -"

"Yes, I think I have it," Lady Highcastle interrupts, politely, "You really are very kind Mr McNair, thank you. And Mr Yorke, Ms Miller." She nods, and continues to write as someone else appears from backstage to fetch her. "Please don't trouble yourself about any disturbance."

"Ma'm, would you mind, you're required on stage."

"Yes, yes of course, everything is okay here, isn't it?"

"Fine." Alex blushes.

"All is well, again, very sorry," I say. "It really is a spectacular show, and so good to have had the opportunity to hear you."

"Amazin'" Tom blushes, as she hands him back his pen. "Totally...just...Amazin'" He runs out of words. And takes the programme from her with pride.

"It's always so lovely to meet an aficionado," Lady Highcastle says as if reading from a script.

She looks at each of us in turn. Tom first, then Alex, then I. So sincere. So kind. So...All I can see are the two blue eyes in the darkness now, they look at me with hope, for salvation, for something more than I can give. I close the door, I run. I leave her there. After all she has done for me.

"Lady Highcastle?" the stagehand encourages flatly. He opens the door to the auditorium. It is then we realise that there is nothing coming from within except utter silence. The entire performance has been waiting for her.

"Are you sure you won't come back inside," the soprano asks, "I'm sure you will enjoy the rest of the show. And you are welcome, after, if you wish to come to my dressing room, to have a glass of wine. Whatever it is that has caused this kerfuffle you have my word we can sort it all out I'm sure. I'm quite good at these things you know?" She seems almost hopeful, desperate, for us to comply with this strange request.

"No," Alex says, "Really, I...I need to see my family, it's sort of important. If that's alright?" She sounds almost as if she is asking for permission.

"Very well," Lady Highcastle smiles, she nods, "It sounds like a plan."

Tom scratches his head, the way he used to do, as if something is puzzling him and he doesn't know how to say place it, "Sorry, again, have we met like, somewhere before? Only I can't help but think -"

Lady Highcastle shakes her head, "I really can't place that we have, Mr McNair," she smiles, "But, if we have, I'm sure it will come to you." Those words feel so specifically placed. I recall the vision I had of Belinda the night before our scrap with the devil. I have considered it an hallucination. Now, given Alex's assertions, I wonder if it was really Belinda, and not some fiction.

"Goodnight gentleman, Ms Miller." Lady Highcastle concludes, as she wafts away. The stagehand ushers her back into the auditorium and closes the door behind her. Before I turn I see her smile, nod in Alex's general direction and raise her eyebrows. I wonder what that could possibly mean for a moment, then disregard it.

Tom opens the programme hungrily to search out the autograph as we solemnly head to the door and look out into the rain. Alex takes my hand as we step outside. We have a long drive ahead of us, and at the end I am honestly no longer sure whether Alex will stay or go. If I were her, I would run a mile.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"I'm sure," Alex says. "Once I've seen them, everything will be easier."

"I have a horrible feeling that it won't be, Alex."

She sighs, "Can you pretend, for just one second, that I'm right? Maybe?" I smile.

"I'll try."

I turn back to Tom to hurry him along. Inside the atrium he is struggling to find the page upon which he has received his scrawled prize. Hearing me whistle he rolls up the paper, tucks it in his back pocket, slips his jacket off and runs outside to catch us all under the canopy of his rented lapels, "That was so, cool! She called me an Office-nado, that's good innit?" he exclaims. I nod. "Right, which way to the car Mr Yorke, I'm starving! Kebab anyone?"

As we walk, I turn back, looking through the rain at the great hall behind us, gleaming in the night. I think of that woman in among all those people, singing her heart out. Her voice filling that vast room, bouncing off the ear drums of all those people. But I cannot help but think that there is something she was trying to say, to us, and that through all the words and moments between us just now, she was shouting at the top of her lungs, projecting into the ceiling of that very building. Yet, for all my listening, I did not hear it, because it was not something that could be heard. It was not something she could say out loud.

Like those two eyes in the darkness all those years ago. She never said a word, Belinda, not one word, but she spoke to me then, in that second. It just took me a while to work out what it was she said, with that one look, there in the darkness.

'Hello, babes,' that's what she had said, and 'don't worry, I've got you, it'll all be okay.'

It wasn't hope for herself, that was what I got wrong, I think, back then. Was this what she meant, when she saw me head into the bar the night Natasha died? 'It'll come to you' she said. And it has.

She had hope that moment she saw me in the doorway. But that hope, she had, was for me.