Disclaimer: Same as before.
Reminder: This is only a draft, several parts will eventually be gone over and fleshed out a bit more.
TWO
He walked slowly towards the stairs, trying not to wake any who had just retired as the sun rose. But as he stepped onto the first flight he heard someone speak to him.
"Out late again I see,"
He turned and stepped down, watching Alex carefully. She had her arms folded around her chest, and did not seem very happy.
He smiled at her, "Alex, I hope I didn't disturb you."
"I was already awake, waiting for you to finally come back." She took a few steps toward him, staring him down with her icy glare, "It seems that you don't care for any of the rules I have set down for the house. Are you too good for them Jack? Do you think you're better than the rest of us?"
He started to speak but she hushed him with her index finger, "Oh yes, that's right. You do think so don't you? After all, that's why you insist on killing innocent women off the streets, instead of drinking the blood we have right here."
"Those women are not innocent. I am doing the world a favor by riding it of those scum," he hissed angrily.
Her expression did not falter at his tone, "Those scum, Jack, I consider them a lot more decent than you."
He walked up to her quickly and stared down right at her. Alex couldn't help but stare right into his eyes, those hideous black eyes. She supposed that's what happened when your soul was as far gone as Jack's, you lose all the life in you. Those soulless eyes of his were matched only by his hair, black as could be and fringed around his face. She guessed that at one time he had looked very dignified, such as when he been born into this house ninety years ago.
She had still been new herself, ten years was nothing for experience. She had been intrigued by Jack's social background, and was always becoming caught up in his stare. Those eyes, they caught you up and never let go, like a tiger stalking its prey.
But now he was the other leader of this house, supposedly on equal ground with her. But he took this status as high as it would go, having been used to the special treatment of his birthright. He never let any of them forget that Harold had chosen him over some of the elders in the house. Alex, though new herself when chosen, had also been surprised. She didn't know what Harold had seen in Jack. Maybe it was his spirit, but all Alex ever really saw was his attitude, and it was very nasty for the most part.
Harold had confided in her that if anything were to happen to him he wanted her to take his place. He had not had a co-leader for thirty years, and he felt that something would happen to him. He told her that she was different than the rest, and that she could make this never ending life a better one for his people. She had accepted, never thinking that anything could happen to Harold. To her, he was like an idol, something that could never be touched.
How wrong she turned out to be.
Jack brushed away a strand of hair from her face, "Relax Alex, I've been careful. I won't slip up."
"And what if you do?" she asked coldly, "You'll risk exposing all of us. They may not have caught you yet, but if they find anything—people aren't as stupid as you think Jack, someone would suspect."
"Well we'll just worry about that when the time comes." He kissed her forehead softly, "I'm going to bed, I hope you will do the same. You must be exhausted."
Alex watched silently as he climbed the stairs. He had never hidden from anyone how he felt about her, but she only wished he cared enough to do as she asked.
She shook her head and turned down the hall. She wasn't ready just yet.
She sat in the study's armchair for only two hours before the newsboy could be heard up and down the street. Unable to go outside, she hovered near the door and listened. Ever since she had been turned her senses had heightened, and he could be heard as clearly as if he were standing right beside her.
"Killer strikes again! The mysterious Jack the Ripper kills another early this mornin'!"
Alex took a shaky breath and closed her eyes. She slowly slid to the floor with her back against the door, so that she could shut out the world entirely.
Ж
The following week Alex thought of a way to help John overcome his depression. She knew she could never make him stop hating vampires in their entirety, but it was the least she could do to provide him with a marginal source of comfort.
Just after night had fallen Alex found John in the sitting room, staring blankly at the fire. It was not a practical thing; the cold they felt would never be suppressed by any flame, but in order to keep up a subtle appearance, it was helpful to have smoke drifting from their chimney, especially during the harshness of winter.
He looked up briefly as she closed the double doors behind her. His gaze returned to the fire, ignoring her. Alex sighed softly. It was times like these when she remembered how she had felt her first few years. But ten had passed for John, and she feared he would never come to accept it as his new life. True, he accepted the fact that he was undead, but the he refused to fall into a steady pattern of new life. For him this was an interruption of a real life, nothing more.
She perched herself on the armrest and watched the fire also, "How are you feeling?"
He scoffed, "I thought we had no feelings,"
She frowned and looked down at him, "That isn't true, because if it were you wouldn't be so miserable."
"I have every right to be." his eyes stared coldly at the orange flicker that danced over the hearth.
"Yes, you do." She sighed again, "I don't think of this as a blessing either, but fate meant for this to happen to us, and we can at least make the best of it."
He cast Alex a brief look before standing to cross the room. After several minutes he spoke again, "Fifteen, my son would be fifteen now," he said silently, not directing to anyone in particular, much less Alex, "He wouldn't even know me."
Alex couldn't imagine what it would be like to leave a child, one who had been so young at your disappearance. After she had turned she had never spoken to her family again. For all her knowledge they assumed her dead – and in a way they were right.
She didn't think there would be a proper time to bring up her idea, so she threw it out now, "Would you like to see them? To say goodbye?"
He turned sharply, arms crossed. He narrowed his eyes and regarded her like a liar, "I thought that was forbidden,"
She nodded, "Well yes, it is. But if you remember, I am a regent of this house, and if I say you can go then by all means, go."
He blinked, "You're serious?"
She smiled, standing herself, "I'll go with you if you'd like."
He gave a quick nod, "I—I'd like that, very much."
Alex headed for the door, "Well then, grab your coat and I'll meet you by the front hall in ten minutes"
Ж
They both had heavy jackets on, with equally heavy pants and boots. Alex herself wore riding breeches, refusing to wear the uncomfortable dresses of English women unless it was necessary. She also wore black riding boots and a long black coat. John dressed himself in tailored pants and a coat similar to hers. If any should take notice of them, they would appear only as civilized human beings merely out for an evening stroll.
The moon tonight was half concealed by dark storm clouds. There was a good chance it would rain before they would return home. Not that it mattered much, they weren't really at risk for disease.
They walked together wordlessly, Alex letting John lead the way. Even though they were several blocks away, she already noticed that his steps were lighter, and his face seemed more cheerful, though he wasn't up to mustering a smile.
He stopped shortly outside a white picket gate, staring silently at the house before him.
Alex looked at John and saw how much it hurt him to see it again. But she knew he wouldn't be happy unless the people he had cared about knew why he had left.
When they stepped up to the front door he turned to speak to her.
She cut him off, "I'll just—wait out here." She smiled weakly. She may be over a hundred years old, but she wasn't stupid. She knew what would happen if she entered that house.
She leaned against the side and listened carefully to the activity within. She heard John's knock echo through the house, someone yelling "I've got it!", and the sound of footsteps coming to the door.
When it opened she could see the light scatter across the flagstones, although she could not see inside.
John was unable to speak, looking at the curious young man that was his son. How nerve-racking it was to come home one day and be hit with the face of your child, who had aged ten years since.
The fifteen year old boy stared suspiciously at the stranger on his doorstep. He wouldn't have recognized him, because he wasn't expecting his father to ever come home. It had been so long, the memory of what his father had looked like was slowly starting to disappear.
John was at a loss for words, finding his mouth dry and unable to speak.
"Is there something I can do for you, sir?" he asked irritably.
John cleared his throat, "I was wondering if your mother was at home, I would like to speak to her."
For a second John thought his son wasn't going to respond, but after a few moments he nodded abruptly and stepped back inside, calling out through the house for his mother.
A kindly looking lady stepped into the hall, drying her hands on a towel.
"Mathew, did you ask who it was?"
She turned and saw the stranger at her door and her hands froze. She stared, dumbfounded at the figure of her late husband. The day had finally come when she had gone mad from depression.
She screamed shrilly and dropped to the floor in a near faint. Mathew gave a shout and ran to help his mother. When John stepped quickly inside the boy brandished an umbrella at him threateningly.
"Stay away!" he shouted, "The police will come, stay away from my mother!"
John tried to explain to the boy who he was, but every time he tried to get a sentence out he was poked sharply with the end of the umbrella.
Finally, John managed to grab hold of the cover and shouted, "Mathew I'm your father!"
The boy paused, staring at the man. His eyes fell to the mantle, which stood behind the stranger. He saw the long ago sketch of his father and mother, before he was born. He could see that this man was indeed the one in the picture. But that wasn't what frightened him, it was the fact that this man who claimed to be his own flesh and blood had not aged a day since the sketch had been drawn.
Mathew stood slowly, and for a moment John thought that his son believed him, but when Mathew suddenly pulled out a butcher knife from the hall drawer he was proved wrong.
Alex was still standing outside when she heard the vase break, and the shouts that came from within.
"Oh dear god," she whispered to herself as she darted inside.
She saw John, lying on the floor and clutching a bloody leg. She could see the boy raising the knife again and grabbed his arm quickly, thrusting it back and away from John.
The boy looked surprised to see this strange woman forcing him up against the wall, one who seemed just as dark and eerie as his "father".
"Don't. Move." She hissed as she let him fall to the floor. Kneeling by John she quickly examined the wound. It wasn't heeling as it should have by now, and this worried her.
She turned to the boy, "What kind of blade is that?" she demanded.
He blinked, "What?"
"The blade! What kind of metal?" she was growing steadily more angry at the boy.
"S-silver," he stuttered, taken aback by her shouts.
She cursed and struggled to help John up, "We have to get you back, now,"
She gave a passing glance at the boy before helping John limp out the door. Even with her help he was finding it difficult to stay focused long enough. He felt his vision start to blur and stumbled upon a stone.
She hoisted him up again, "come on John, stay with me. I need you, don't' you dare let go, not now. Not today." She muttered in his ear, along with countless other things, most of which meant nothing.
She was a block away when she felt him collapse beneath her. She fought to keep him standing but it wasn't enough. He lay on the ground, gasping for air and clutching his bleeding leg.
For a moment Alex didn't know what to do. She had to choose between leaving him here and getting help (risking a neighbor seeing) or staying with him and hoped he didn't die.
She bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood, but she didn't notice. She knelt beside him once again. The last thing John heard before he slipped away was, "I'll be right back, I promise—"
