Welcome back! I hope everyone had a happy easter!
Okay so this is Hal's moment to explain to Alex and Tom. I haven't embellished that much on his past life other than what he said in his prequel, but I have tried to rationalize what living as a mercenary in the late 15th early 16th century (as he died in 1514) could do to someone. I've fallen back on dear Herrick's words to Mitchell. I'm sure you'll spot which.
Enjoy!
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I own nothing. Being Human is not mine.
Hal tried to straighten his position in the wooden dining chair, straining to ignore the sudden protest of his back where he had been kicked.
'To try and make you understand, you need to know who I was. When I was human before.'
'Hold on.' Said Alex getting up and going through to the freezer. 'I have a feeling this is gonna be a long story and you need ta do something about that nose.'
When she got back she held out a long thin ice-lolly. 'I can at least try not to make this uncomfortable and painful for your face as well.' She said handing it to him. 'Yet.' she muttered as she plonked herself down again.
Hal blinked at her then smiled nervously and placed it across the bridge of his expanded nose. 'Thank you.'
Alex settled back in her chair between Hal and Tom, folding her arms like a barrier.
Hal paused. He ignored the silent waiting of the audience around him. Where to start? Could he get away with just a little? How far would he have to go for them to understand? He looked at them both, some part of him – and he knew which part – didn't like how willing they were to hear all about his life; was he imagining it or did they look like they'd been waiting for this from the very beginning, like vultures ready to pick and dissect his closely guarded secrets? Hal swallowed, he needed to calm down and get through this. Bury all feelings deep and pretend you're telling someone else's story.
'I haven't told many people about my human life.' He began, gently running his free hand slowly up and down his leg, then forcing it to remain still in his lap. 'None of whom are alive today.' His mind flashed to Leo on the floor of the white-washed cellar, staring insolently up at him. 'It's not the done thing among my- among vampires. And whenever I wasn't among them, I would try to not think about any aspect of my past in case it… led elsewhere.'
His mouth seemed dry. Perhaps it was; it had been a while since he'd had any liquids. And blood-loss led to dehydration as the body rallied to replace the cells. He could taste his own blood on his mouth, copper and tangy; sickly unpleasant. He remembered what blood used to taste like.
'I wasn't born to wealth. I was illiterate until I was twenty, and then all I could form were the childish letters of my name. When I died I hadn't learnt many more. I was,' he looked up from his lap and stared straight ahead. 'I was born in a brothel, to one of the women there – I never knew which. Back then, life was by today's standards brutal. To live past 30 was far from assured; very few of those I knew managed such a feat, and none whom I cared for.' He half smiled, 'Including myself.'
'When the last of these tenuous ties were severed by a drunken cut-throat, I was still a boy, but the promise of death instilled a thirst for a different life that drove me to one of the few professions out there. It promised those with talent excitement, reward and adventure – I became a soldier for hire.
'There was immense risk of course, but when death is all around you, it becomes part of life. I wasn't stupid enough to think myself immortal, but I won enough battles to make me arrogant. After all; What is life without risk?' He half smiled to himself, remembering his old and much loved motto.
He cleared his throat, he was getting lost in the story; stick to the facts. 'I was at sea for a while, then Europe, moving to wherever mercenaries were needed, and we were always needed. By the time I died I had been in so many battles and skirmishes that I no longer bothered to recall their names: I could handle a bow and wield a sword on horse or foot. I carried round letters that told of my worth and was paid accordingly.' In any way I wished, in many forms of wealth or pleasure. Hal closed his eyes again. Just tell it like you were reading aloud, stay detached.
Hal swallowed. 'I died on a battlefield thousands of miles from a home I cared nothing for with a life that held no worth. I took the vampire's offer with open eyes because I could not imagine that the tattered remnants of my soul would be welcomed anywhere else.'
Hal paused, his eyes dull.
'By the time I became a vampire, I had already killed more men and women then I bothered to remember. My soul was so tarnished with their blood that I cared for nothing, just the thrill that my talent brought me on the battlefield.' He gave a small laugh. 'I'm sure if I had refused the surgeon's offer to become a vampire, Hell would've been my only destination.'
Hal stopped. He was there, at every battle, at every looting. Grabbing women by their hair, slicing a monk's face, covering a mouth to stifle a scream as the blade went through.
There was silence. 'But it weren't all like that was it? All killin' all the time?' Tom whispered.
Hal shook his head 'No, There were times when I would stop, when I had enough money to live calmly for a while, where I would fall in love for a day, for a month. It was the closest I got to a peaceful and happy life in a brutal world, but it never lasted; somehow I could never make it last. And then there was always a war somewhere to welcome me.'
He looked from Tom to Alex but didn't see them; he was elsewhere, crying at the bed of one of his mothers, laying a stained sheet over a blood soaked face, finding a girl who had fallen by the road and throwing some coins because she had looked so alone, just like him. The look she gave him as he held her tight, laughing with men in a tavern, sleeping in the warm summer sun.
Alex fidgeted and Hal switched back, aware suddenly of where he was and who he was with. He blinked and rubbed his dry eyes. When he looked around again he saw that Tom and Alex were still there, but they had moved away from him, not physically, but he knew it. Had they thought his human life one full of dancing, love letters, soft furnishing and books, perhaps a rural gentleman's son? Closeted from the world, who chewed hay during harvest and laughed with the work hands in the summer or reading the bible while lounging in a window-seat.
He frowned, his stomach lurched with a sudden pang of jealousy and rage, but he had to carry on.
'When one becomes a vampire, it doesn't replace the personality, it takes specific aspects and magnifies. I knew quite a few who said 'liberates'. It removes the need for restraint and makes you care about nothing but the pursuit blood. It releases, I believe the best term would be the 'id'.' He looked around at blank faces. 'It's Freud's word for the part of every personality that acts purely on base desire. You want something; you take it without a thought or care for consequences.'
He swallowed, he hoped that they understood. 'When I was human, killing people became my life, it was what I knew. But it's wasn't all me. I dreamed of a life in the country with a wife and children…' Hal faltered, Was that true? Was he just saying this for them? Had he thought of a future like that, had he ever dare to imagine any future beyond the next day, month, year? He couldn't remember anymore.
Alex and Tom waited, did he want to say more? Was there anymore? He didn't know where else to go.
'So,' said Alex, her brows knitted together. 'What you're saying is you became a psychopathic, schizophrenic vampire who killed entire postcodes because that's what you were like as a human?'
Hal looked at her pure horror engraved on his face. That wasn't what he said – was it?
Alex was in a tight ball of concentrated energy right now and Tom had placed both hands on his knees as if ready to jump up.
'No, wait.' Hal said, holding up his hand and dropping the melted ice-pop. 'That's not what I said. Please,' he was panicking, he could feel his chest hammering – Jesus, how could he think while that noise was going on in his head? 'I didn't do those things because I wanted to; I did them because I had to. I'm not proud of it please, can't you see how hard this is for me? You and Tom keep saying 'Remember when you were human, you were human once, be again.' Well that's what I remember, that's all I knew to be, I don't want to be like that, but...' He stopped, his eyes were moist, he blinked away tears of frustration, anger, sorrow, desperation. 'But I can't be your Hal, I can't be the perfect boyfriend like you want Alex, and I don't want to be who I was before, that's not me.' He looked at them both. 'I can't sit in night after night hugging on the sofa, but neither do I want to go out there reducing people to bloody pulps. I just need to find the middle, wherever that is.'
They had stopped looking hostile and confused, they now looked – did he dare say it even in his head – like they were starting to understand?
'So who are ya then?' Asked Tom.
'The kinda guy who likes to get into fights.' Muttered Alex.
It was like a gut punch to him. Hal almost curled into a ball, how could he expect them to understand. He had hoped at least Tom would know what it was like; but it seemed they both couldn't see past the monster he had been. 'This is exasperating!' He shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair and stood up, the chair scraping back. 'I can't do this. Not now.' He turned to look at them. They looked scared, Tom got slowly to his feet and Alex was pushing herself up slowly, stepping up and away from him.
'What are you gonna do Hal?' Said Tom widening his stance, turning himself side on. Strained shoulder, bruised wrist, damaged ribs. Disable in ten, unconscious in twenty… Hal closed his eyes, pushed the thoughts down. 'I'm going… to have a shower.' He said in slow, measured tones. 'And then I'm going to go to bed alone.' He looked at Alex. 'And then tomorrow, maybe we can try this again. We've all have a lot to process tonight.'
'Fine,' Said Alex. She raised her hand and pointed at Hal. 'But don't think this is over.'
He looked hard at them both. So much he could say. If it was one thing he knew; it was people, and he could shatter their carefully placed façades of self-righteous arrogance.
Not tonight though, he owed them one night to forget themselves and focus on him. 'No Alex it's not.' Not over for any of us.
I'm not a psychology expert or anything, so I may have done this wrong, but this is how I see Hal as he was then, and now. I mean come on - if the human mind can get used to anything over time, don't you think killing people for a living for years would leave an in print?
Back then many men travelled around looking for wars, life was hard; you could expect to be killed by the person sleeping next to you for a few coins. Trust was a luxury few had, and definitely not someone like Hal. When the Devil takes Hal back to when he was killed in his 'dream', we see a Hal who has lived for 500 years, not the Hal of then - the fact he talks with an upper-class accent is give away enough!
I believe he was like any thug would be now, someone who would do what they had to do. Let's face it; if you live like that for long enough, wouldn't you start liking what you do?
Again, my own views. Others may have different interpretations.