Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they own me. Special thanks to Toby Whithouse and BBC3 for the playground. Beta assistance from TJ4ev and Whimsyfox enables (most of) my grammar to pass muster for Hal.
Musical nod to Woven, "My Conditioning", as well as the Doobie Brothers and Verdi. Bring on the mix.
The guard's raspy breath could still be heard through the heavy metal door. He must have fallen in front of it. Morbidly, Alex almost expected to see a trail of blood trickling towards the drain in the room, but there was none. She kept shouting in hopes that someone, anyone, would hear her. If not, then the guard would surely die. If he wasn't dying already. It had been what? Ten minutes? It felt like forever that her mind had been spiraling into dark visions of Hal, covered in blood, leaving trails of corpses in his wake. And of course she didn't have a cocking cell signal down here! She had tried from all four corners of her containment.
She kicked the door again with another anguished shout of "Hal! Damn it, aargh!"
In spite of the context of his words, Hal had been calm and soft-spoken. In hindsight, she knew it was so their conversation wouldn't alert the guard until the moment he had chosen. In hindsight, Alex was furious at Hal - but also at herself. He had played her! He had banked on the distraction of her emotions. She hadn't realised what he was doing until it was far too late. Alex kicked at the iron trim again for no other reason than her own anger. No matter what she did, the shite wouldn't budge. Then she kicked Hal's shoes, punting one right into the corner. It landed with a sad thud. Some stupid part of her was actually worried that he had left without them. Maybe he wouldn't get as far, but it meant he was already too far gone to care. About to punt the second one for good measure, she paused. Outside, the sound of a single set of footsteps was swiftly increasing. Alex pounded on the door, "Help! Please!"
"I hear you there, girlie," Maggie's voice sang out clearly. "Just you hold on."
There was the silken displacement of air as Maggie disappeared. Hopefully for help, or one of the medics or something. Alex crossed her arms and paced, impatient. A short moment later when the ghost returned, Alex immediately shouted, "Have you seen Hal? How many more are hurt? We have to stop him!"
"Just you calm yourself. Everyone's cleared out. And by your asking, I take it handsome ain't in there with you?"
"No, he -"
"He's the one that made a mess of Jim here?"
"Aye. Now please - if you just let me go after him, I -"
"Shh child. First aid was never my forte. Just a tic," Maggie said, and Alex took a deep breath. She waited while the ghost tended to the fallen guard. She heard muffled sounds - a slosh of liquid, the tear of a bandage. After a few moments, Maggie addressed her again. "Stand back, if you please."
Alex took a step away from the door just in time. It swung open forcibly. On the other side of the fallen guard was Maggie Dan standing proudly - with a loo plunger.
"Either that is some sort of magic wand, or you seriously know something I don't."
Maggie glanced down at the plunger and shrugged. "Was the closest thing at hand. Don't do us ghosts a rat's good to try and move these doors. But just 'bout anything else material will. So where's your snacking fella gone off to, eh?"
Alex couldn't believe Maggie was making light of this. She glanced down to where Jim was sprawled across the threshold. A large clump of gauze was peeking clear of the man's collar, next to a half-empty bottle of surgical spirit. "What about him?"
"Jim?" Maggie raised an eyebrow and glanced down. "Well, I'm no expert, but I doubt he'll die from a bite to the shoulder. He'll be none too happy when he wakes up, of course. Must have fainted, which is rather embarrassing in our line of work."
"What? You mean, Hal didn't -"
"No dear. He nipped the poor bastard right good, but he missed the artery by a mile. That's mighty strong restraint your beau's got. Sure wish we could teach it." Maggie set her plunger down, then produced a bottle of paracetamol from a pocket. She squatted to set it on the floor next Jim's head. Alex, dumbfounded, just watched the man's chest rise and fall until Maggie stood. The elderly ghost extended a hand to wave Alex out. Wary and still in utter disbelief, she stepped over the fallen guard. Once Alex was free of the containment cell and standing in the corridor, Maggie asked, "Now, where is he?"
"I don't know."
"Course you do."
Alex shook her head. "I told you! Our link is gone."
"Oh it's shaken up, no doubt about that. But I wouldn't be so sure it's gone. Concentrate. Which way did he go?"
"Out. Up. I don't know," Alex said with frustration as she glanced towards the stairs. Maggie regarded her.
"I gave some thought to your situation. Lucky for you that's why I was popping down here before heading off for the next crisis."
"What crisis? They found the cameras?"
"No, worse dear. It's all been sent off to the news reporters already. We're on a Code Black hoax reenactment operation now. But don't you worry about that," Maggie said good-naturedly. Alex's shock must have been written on her face because Maggie clasped her arms. "You need to concentrate. I don't know what state Mr. Yorke left in, but I doubt that lovely control of his can last. Where did he go, Alex?"
Alex bit her lip and stared back at the old ghost. "Um, thataway, I think?"
"Don't think. Know. You know it in your soul, girl. Because he's still walking out there with part of it. Trust that, and you'll find him."
"Alright, Yoda." Alex barbed, disgruntled, as she pulled away. "But what am I supposed to do if I do find him? He just made it real clear he didn't want my help."
"Course he did - he knows that you'll stop him! The git," Maggie sighed. "Alex, we're doing our damnedest to keep the lid on this whole circus. Don't let Hal be the one who cocks it up."
Alex glanced again towards the stairs at the end of the corridor. Maybe Hal had gone that way, but maybe it was the only way to go. "What was it you were going to tell me?"
Maggie pursed her lips. "Well, it could be a long shot now. It'll probably depend on how much more he's drank by the time you find him."
"What will?"
"I don't have access to the lab - us ghosts set off the equipment, so it's warded. But I had Nave fetch something for me, before everything went haywire." As Maggie spoke, she pulled free a lump of gauze from her sweater.
Alex raised an eyebrow, questioningly. Whatever it was, Maggie was holding it carefully. "Tis the last bit of you m'dear."
Alex was quickly puzzled. "But they torched me. So, what? Ashes?"
"Oh, no - those were tossed." Maggie said it as if it were an everyday occurrence one's mortal remains were thrown out with the rubbish. "We have to keep a record of cases like yours. Samples, in cold storage, for at least a year. If evidence has to be planted later on, you see." Maggie held the gauze out to Alex. Confused, she took it. Unwrapping the soft, white strands, she revealed a chilled vial. "That be your heart's blood. Pure as it comes, and in your case, all that was left."
"What am I supposed to do with it?"
"It's not obvious? Have him drink it. That's your path back."
"You think that will work?"
"I think it's a chance. Now, I really must go. There's no telling now how many folks I'll have to confuddle," Maggie muttered, but Alex just kept staring at the dark vial in her hand. "And girlie?" Maggie asked, and Alex looked up. "Whatever it is that's telling you he went 'thataway'? Trust it."
Maggie Dan was gone before Alex could reply.
Some things never change. The Cafe on the Corner certainly hadn't. Same decor. Same permanent smell of fry up. Same condiment bottles sat at the center of the same tables. So much had changed since Allison had first tracked Tom to here, and yet "here" hadn't changed one bit. They added another chair to the middle table when Allison and Tom joined for breakfast. The young man behind the counter seemed more interested in the game on his phone than them, which was just fine.
Tom told Irving, Christa, and Begley the same thing he had told Gwedore. If but in slightly less words. Covert, Tom was not. But they were quickly past it all when their food order came. So many plates of food that there wasn't an empty spot left. Begley had even ordered pie - a whole one. Everyone had survived the night intact. The change had even healed Christa's twisted ankle. And, if Allison weren't mistaken, there was something brewing between the pale-faced girl and Irving O'Meara. She was thinking of traveling to Ireland with him and his brother. Begley was dishing out spoonfuls of pie when Tom's mobile rang sharply in his pocket. He took a big bite before answering.
"Oi, Alex! We're having brekkies at Cafe on the -" Tom greeted brightly around a mouthful of pie, then abruptly cut off. "Hey, slow down."
Allison paused, fork and knife stilled while Irving and Christa kept laughing with Begley. Worry dropped down Tom's face like a curtain. "What is it?" she insisted even as Tom turned away and covered his ear. Their friends quieted, but Tom suddenly stood.
"We'll be right there. I can -" Tom said, then was obviously cut off again. "A van? You sure?" He nodded even though Alex couldn't see him, then listened to more of what the ghost had to say. Allison watched Tom's face, trying to suss out what exactly had happened. "You really think you can?" he asked Alex, uncertainty clear in his voice. He nodded again. "Yeah, alright. And Rook, he don't know? Cuz he what? Oh... That's no good neither. Alright, yeah. I'll check the woods. You ring back soon as you think -" Tom nodded again, then his mobile beeped as Alex ended the call. He glanced at it, then finally met Allison's imploring gaze.
"Hal's got loose. Alex is going after him. And all o'us from last night is 'bout to be on the telly if Rook don't stop it."
He had forgotten this... he could never forget this. The grey day held prisms of light in the mist on the road. That same mist that lessened visibility for humans was a comforting blanket of discretion for him. The shadows pooled at the edge of the trees were crisp and beckoning. All the colours of the world sat heightened and brightened. It wasn't just the sleek, new auto. The car, the road, the air that smelt of leather - everything was velvet and smooth. His frayed edges were soothed, knitting together into a clear tautness. Blazingly fresh blood coursed through him - all of it combined was more than he had tasted in decades. The feeling of life and alive it brought was all the more heightened by the deeds of leaving.
The comfort was a fallacy.
The cravings weren't far behind him, nipping at the tyres. He couldn't outrun it or have any hope of escape. Not now. The precipice was all the more contrasted having come so deliriously close to death, only to be slammed back.
In the back of his mind it was whispering, underhanded. To fight any longer was futile. This was who he really was. He needed blood to survive. To live. To feel. To not feel.
But Alex, she believed in him, the small, devil's advocate voice argued. She believed in him until he destroyed her faith, that is. How can you argue with the truth?
He knew where he was going, and maybe this time would be the last time. But he had told himself that before. So many times before. Never to see her ghost. No, she had made her peace with death immediately. Years before it had ever happened. On the day she had wed him. He increased pressure on the pedal, urging the sleek car faster. The urging of a familiar game tugged on him. Placing a bet against himself, he coaxed the speedometer to rise. If he could make it there without intervention, then so be it. The distance, which used to take many weary days by carriage or horseback, was such a small thing really in this day and age.
However, if he were to be pulled over by the police, then the massacre would begin. He wouldn't be able to stop himself. The darkness inside welcomed the inevitability and pressed the pedal deeper. The pair of Wellingtons he had stolen from the Department's garage felt heavy, making it even easier to force the pedal. 85… 90... Surely Rook would have reported his car stolen, or have a way to track it. 95… Hal did not care. Let them come.
And if Alex were with them… Hal's bruised heart gave a small flutter of pain. With urgency he opened the window, irritated at the automated speed and missing the immediacy of the Benz's turn crank. The whoosh of wind was cold and loud, filling the cabin with a maelstrom of white noise. To combat it, he fumbled with the stereo until the strange computer monitor at the center console lit up, newscast voices droning away. He smiled at the similarity of taste between his good self and Mr. Dominic Rook. The feeling was short-lived. He had allowed the man to use him. Hal changed the station, scanning until he found something that fit his stormy mood. He cranked the music loud enough to overpower the wind, briefly appeased in a melody vaguely familiar. But once the singer began, Hal's heart sank.
Down around the corner a half a mile from here,
you see them old trains runnin'
and you watch them disappear.
He gritted his teeth, hand near the dial and about to change it. But it was too late. The memory of her was with him fully. Unfolding with each chord of the guitar-heavy song, an unseasonably sunny morning with the isle stretched out ahead of them. Before everything, before this emptiness, was Alex singing. The warmth of her smile had filled the car.
Without love, where would you be now, without lo-ooo-oo-ove?
He really did love her, which was all the more reason to reach his destination. It was the only way she would be free of the burden of him. Leo had given him the entire span of his life. The serendipity of the song was not an intervention. Hal changed the channel again.
The cheered harmonies of the Beatles cut with abrasive optimism. He never had been fond of their simple melodies. Leo and Pearl had loved to debate him on it. Not enough soul, he had said. Everything had been easier, for a time. They had established their rhythms and routines with each other. Their time together was not without its hardships, but those hardships were domestic in nature. Solvable. Comfortable. Leo and Pearl had been good to him. Good for him. Christ, he missed them. Hal turned the radio dial away from music, back to the safety of the news.
"- South Wales, police are investigating a bomb threat yesterday at the Barry Island Pleasure Park. Closed for the season, it is unclear the motive. No suspects have been-"
Hal turned the dial again. Radio 3 was at the final swells of Verdi's Manzoni Requiem. Finally, something fitting for his oscillating mood. It was only a matter of time now before the truth was broadcast. Vampires finally out in the open, and feared, just as Snow had wanted. And so the pieces fell; Eve, the prophecy, himself. He could see the path of destruction for his kind with the Archive's secrets exposed. Public demands for justice. Supernaturals as the hunted. A modern day Inquisition.
He wanted no part of it.
And not because he feared justice - he welcomed it. Which was why he had to do what he set out to. He was nearly to the turnoff. He was nearly there. He knew where he was going, and maybe this time would finally be the last time.
From car to car, Alex had been following her sense of 'thataway' for hours now. Hal-bloody-Yorke and his goddamned self-loathing shite! She had followed the feeling first to Rook's office, then the Archive's underground garage, then out and past the woods where she had called Tom. At first the trail seemed so obviously to be heading east, except right before where the M4 turned to continue over the Severn bridge, the feeling veered. She teleported to stand on the side of the motorway. After a whole lot of trial and error - the process was like dowsing for water with a broken stick - and she was on the path again, albeit more than an hour later. She tried not to wonder how many people Hal could kill in an hour. She thought for certain he would return to the vampires. To the dark leader of London he had once been. But apparently, there was another agenda at play. The tugging sense of 'thataway' remained steadfastly to the north. All she could do was follow. And wonder - where the bloody hell was he going?
She had tried to rent-a-ghost directly to him, like she used to be able to, but couldn't get a clear enough read. So she had figured out how to do the next best thing. Motor hopping brought her forward all the faster, but Alex quickly felt worn thin. The alternative however, felt creepily voyeuristic. The cab of an auto was a surprisingly intimate place if the occupant didn't know she was there. The young man singing falsetto to Lily Allen was certainly amusing, although she couldn't tolerate his enthusiasm for long. At the last car she had wanted to rest. Each jump felt more strained, fatigued. But then the couple had started arguing, so Alex continued on to leap into the next auto ahead.
The northern route was winding - first motorways, then roads through increasingly smaller townships. Eventually, after her sense of Hal had bypassed Birmingham and righted north yet again, Alex found rest with a middle-aged woman driving alone. Radio 4 droned on as they went through clusters of shops barely passing as towns, causing Alex to intensely miss Hal. This was immediately followed by the crushing hurt and seething anger that she had tried to shove aside ever since she took off to find him. She had been running for hours, hell-bent on just getting to him. The sooner she could reach him, the more lives she could save. She accepted it. Confronting Hal wouldn't be easy or pretty. Thus far, her only plan consisted of the element of surprise. She would pummel into him and teleport his murderous arse right back to the Archive. They would lock him down and detox him - alone, this time. He wouldn't be able to trick her again. But God, she missed him. Or rather, who he had been yesterday. Before everything went so horrendously wrong.
The towns had been thinning out into open countryside the further she travelled. Past fields and plots of land and occasional signs for this or that winery, the view out the window was naught but verdant green smeared hazy by the steady rain. They continued around traffic circles and over rivers, with only a small turn off-course before her sense of Hal, and thankfully the car she was in, continued north. She began to wonder if Hal was on his way to Scotland to start his rampage. Or, if the vague sense she thought she was following was a load of crock. What if Maggie Dan had been wrong? What if Alex was just on a wild chase, following a meandering path home? Could Hal actually be still back in Wales, locked in and feasting on some bingo hall? She shuddered at the idea that a vampire could actually do something like that. And subsequently, she wondered just how many catastrophic gas leaks were actual accidents, and not a cover-up for something monstrous.
"In South Wales," the news report interrupted her thoughts. "Police are investigating a bomb threat yesterday at the Barry Island Pleasure Park. Closed for the season, it is unclear the motive. No suspects have been reported." Good, she thought. That meant they still didn't know what to make of the rest of it. Alex hoped against all hope that the Department's "hoax" was convincing. However they did it, she didn't care. "In other news today, a young woman was killed in a vindictive plot. She was hiding, but now she's not." Static scritched across the report. "Alexxx…" a voice whispered through the static. She whipped her attention to the woman driving - who hadn't changed her demeanour in the slightest. Alex shook her head. Maybe she had just misheard…
"Alex was loved by something dark, Alex…"
Nope. That was definitely coming from the radio. "Protected by something gone…" the voice skeezed and taunted, sending a shiver clear up her spine. "A soul is out of the shadow. A soul is out to be caught..."
Blind panic, sudden and completely irrational, took hold. She wasn't being blocked by Hal anymore against the men with sticks and rope! Remembering everything that Annie, and Hal, had told her about the agents of the other-side being all "bluff and blunder", she stretched her arm forward, between the seats, to reach for the controls. The driver remained oblivious. But then it felt like she had suddenly fallen, a misplaced step. The vague sense of 'thataway' she had been following since this morning, was no longer ahead of her, but behind.
She had passed him.
She clung to that sense of Hal - a lifeline away from the heckling voice on the radio.
With a tug of self, she teleported out of the car to stand alone on the side of the small roadway. The 'thataway' was still behind her, so Alex started walking.
Eventually, she spied the lane. Barely that, it was merely a rutted pair of muddy tracks that wound up the hill and beyond, out of sight. Alex swallowed, then glanced back towards the road. Rain pelted against the pavement without the interruption of another car. She checked that strange internal compass she had been following yet again. What the bloody hell was he doing out here? An afternoon constitutional? Somehow, Alex doubted that Hal had stolen a car and come all this way to merely go on a hike. Somehow, that thought made everything worse. With a quick forward projection, Alex teleported to where the lane crested the top of the hill.
Beyond where she stood was a valley veiled by rain. In the distance, a swathe of woods hugged the curve of river. She could feel the emptiness of it. The openness. There wasn't a village, homestead or settlement in sight. Vaguely, Alex realised they must have driven into the National Park - the big one that was southeast of Manchester. She couldn't remember the name of it, then wondered why she was trying so hard to. Her family had only ever been as far south as the Lake District before their Barry holiday. She shielded her eyes from the rain, even though she needn't have, and scanned the valley. The lane continued a substantial way downwards, towards the river. And far as she could tell, there wasn't even the hint of an auto on it.
She teleported again halfway down, checked her internal compass, then jumped another few hundred feet forward. Her head had started to hurt, which she tried not to think too much on. The detachment to the world she had felt ever since last night seemed worsened out here - wherever here was. But she had to keep going. The tracks did appear freshly turned, the mud clearly marking strong, patterned treads. Alex teleported again. And again. The feeling, just ahead, just out of reach, did not lessen or fade. At this point, all she could do was follow it.
When she finally did stumble upon the sleek, silver Lexus parked just off the lane, it struck Alex as completely out of place. Rook's car. Hal had stolen Rook's car. The fact that it was spattered with mud and muck from traversing the single lane country road that was barely a road, only enhanced the feeling of wrongness. Hal, who was so careful, so fastidious. Cautiously, she stepped around the empty car. Just beyond it, the barest of trails led into the woods. Thataway.
The trail led through dense underbrush. Instead of teleporting any further, Alex concentrated on walking in silence. I am a being without her body. I am a ghost. She embraced the hard fact of it, because she hoped that it would help. Hal would hear her coming, otherwise.
Eventually, just when she had begun to be lulled into the quiet peace of the walk, the trail opened into a clearing where the brush lessened. Alex paused at the edge, her heart in her throat. Just in front of her were the traces of an old, moss-covered foundation of stone, only partially obscured by tufts of grass and heather. It had been mostly kept clear of the press of the wild. A rise of the remains of a hearth made it clear the ruin was once a large house. On the far side of it, across the clearing from Alex, was Hal.
He was sat upon a stone, at the edge of a whole spiral of stones, with his hands in his lap like a meditation. His torn and bloodied shirt was plastered to his skin - the rain had drenched him through. All around the spiral of rocks, were upturned clumps of soil, as if he had done a bit of gardening. His gaze was cast outwards, towards the largest tree, seemingly unaware of her presence. Resting lightly, his fingers were curled over something. When she recognised what it was, her heart shattered. She had been so convinced, so certain Hal would return to the vampires. She was a fool.
This had happened before. The realisation of it all was a plummeting freefall. She had been blind. Hal had practically told her directly. He had said goodbye. Alex had been too shocked and angry that he had tricked her to see it.
The last time Hal was chaired, he had begged Tom to end him. And it was with more pleading conviction than anything that had come previously. He had pleaded, repeatedly, that it wasn't going to work. That Tom should just stake him now, and get it over with. To save them all from the inevitable. That's when Tom had nonchalantly taped Hal's mouth shut. Alex hadn't known Hal very well yet, so had assumed he was merely being melodramatic. They had peace for three blissfully quiet days, until Tom couldn't take the guilt over gagging his friend. Thankfully, Hal hadn't asked them again.
She stood at the edge of the woods, lost in a freefall of hindsight. Hal had been welcoming his death practically since she had met him. He'd nearly used himself to blow up the Old Ones. And afterwards, his conviction in the belief that he shouldn't still be here had been strong. He had insisted he should have ended along with them. Then there had been London, and how he had set himself up for potential capture just to secure Tom's future. His pained words in the church, bleeding out, "Alex, let me go." And that small moment, right before she had ripped Rook's bolt clear from his chest. Acceptance. Hal had been prepared to die. This entire time.
The stake he was holding had to have been from the Department. It was too clean to have been Tom's. Which meant it had an iron core, and Alex wouldn't be able to poltergeist it. Nor would she probably be able to teleport Hal as she had planned. Not as long as he was holding it. There was no way around it. She, Alex Millar, was going to have to talk him down from the ledge.
* In the case of a body drained of blood, a pathologist may still obtain a clean blood sample directly from the heart. The sample will be viable for forensic work if kept in a vacutainer tube and refrigerated up to one year. (I'm as surprised as you are that this is enough of a thing for me to even be able to research.)
* Messa da Requiem by Verdi was composed in memory of Alessandro Manzoni, an Italian poet and novelist whom Verdi admired. Earlier in its introduction, the work was at one time called the Manzoni Requiem. I chose the piece intentionally, as one of the more optimistic Requiems that I know. The text reads, "Save me, Lord from eternal death," The final Libera Me movement swells in what feels like insurmountable drama, and yet it is carried up into resolution on a clear soprano solo... that just dies away, ending somewhere between resignation and the ultimate uncertainty about what lies ahead.
