Disclaimer: Moonlight and characters don't belong to me; I'm simply a fan having fun with the characters.
"Dead bodies and gruesome M.O.'s you can deal with, but rats you're afraid of?" Mick queried, not bothering to suppress his laughter.
"Dead rats," Beth corrected indignantly. "And you have to admit, they are a bit unsettling."
"Now what kind of vamp would I be if I admitted that?"
"An honest one," she replied with a sidelong glance.
Mick resisted the urge to snort. My very existence is a lie, he thought. But instead of telling her that, he smiled and said, "There's no such thing as an honest vampire."
Knowing she would want to argue, he deliberately walked a few steps ahead of her and vaulted over a pile of protruding wooden ceiling beams. "Come on." He held out his hand to her.
Beth eyed the haphazard pile warily but she slipped her hand into Mick's and let him guide her as she stepped onto the beams gingerly. It was more stable than it had looked and though the heap shifted slightly beneath her, she had little trouble making her way through. In fact, feeling a little daring—perhaps because she was with Mick—Beth tightened her grip on Mick's hand and jumped off, causing dust to swirl into the air where she landed.
"Whoa! Careful!" Mick exclaimed, mistaking her jump for a stumble. He had instinctively slid his free hand around her upper arm, thumb pressed against her shoulder, fingers splayed below, to steady her.
"I'm fine," Beth assured, squeezing his hand. But she lingered momentarily in the half-circle of his arm before stepping away and striding briskly ahead.
Mick pivoted and scanned the semidarkness before him. "Beth," he called, amused.
She turned. "What?"
He began to walk and gestured to her right. "This way."
She looked at him questioningly.
"Dead end," he explained.
"Oh." She blushed. She crossed the room and fell into step with Mick. "Did you know that from memory? Or is it some vampire thing?"
"A little bit of both," he confessed. "Besides, there's more scent of a… disturbance here."
"Why do you think Shane picked this place? Do you think he remembered it from childhood?"
Mick shrugged. "It opened in 1950," he offered. "By the time Shane was born in '74, the Williamsons were a respected family and business was good."
"So…" Beth calculated the years mentally in her mind. "He would've been thirteen when the bank burned."
"Certainly old enough to remember it." Mick ducked under the hanging framework of what used to be a doorway. "Careful. I don't know if this thing can hold up under impact."
Beth dodged underneath the precariously hanging framework easily. "There are so many rooms," she murmured.
"This is the back; if he didn't set up here, I don't know where he could be…"
They drifted apart, each exploring their side of the hall, peering through charred, half-collapsed doorways. Mick knew instantly, without a doubt, that they had been here. Rather than smelling stale and lifeless, the rooms gave off a sense of being lived in. One sniff and Mick saw blurred images unfolding in his mind. But there was something else, something that troubled him. There was an unmistakable scent that didn't belong—Mick had noticed it almost immediately but he didn't mention it to Beth, in case he was wrong. He continued his search uneasily, hoping to find a logical explanation but the deeper in he wandered, the more convinced he was that he had been right, that there was no mistake. He decided he had to warn Beth, but she cut him off before he could begin.
"Mick, take a look at this!" Her voice was low and urgent. "This is where he must have kept her." She stepped into the small room, eyes fixed on the caved-in but open window. Goosebumps ran up her arms and whether it was from coldness or apprehension, she couldn't say.
Reluctantly, Mick followed her into the room, unsure if he wanted to see more. He gazed around the room and had to repress the urge to shudder. There were toys and stuffed animals strewn all over, some damaged, as if they had been hurled or stepped upon. Empty cans littered one corner while baby blankets of various colors were heaped in another. He was surprised that Beth wasn't more disconcerted; perhaps she would be after she heard what he had to tell her.
Beth had been absorbed in trying to decide if the window had been a route of escape but despite her concentration, she noticed Mick's discomfort. She turned to face him more directly. "What's wrong?"
He looked her straight in the eye. "Beth, Shane is a vamp."