“This insufficient supply of blood for individuals, such as yourself, is also the reason why almost no vampires return; it is the reason why if you chose to make your way into the Tunnels, Brenden, I doubt you will ever return, not unless things change. You see, while it is theoretically possible to come back, before the committee that oversees the Tunnels would allow such a thing, you would have to prove that you had the means to pay for the blood you would need to live out in the world. As there is no method to earn down there, this makes such a thing near impossible. Indeed, no vampire has left the Tunnels since I first arrived here at the school. Few others have either, I am one of a handful.”
A silence fell between the two, as for a time both were lost in thought. Ms Halford found herself revisiting a time she never wished to have to suffer again, while Brenden considered what life he could have if he were to stay. A question began to form on the boy’s lips, but whatever it was, Ms Halford never got to hear it. The break between lessons was over and without warning, a couple of students from Ms Halford’s next class burst into the room. Still distracted by her experiences from many years before, the teacher did not notice as the boy got up out of his seat. When she looked up, he had already gone.
***
The brass clock that sat atop the living room mantelpiece had been edging ever closer to seven for the best part of an eternity, or so it seemed to Mary. Though she had kept on telling herself to stop looking at the time – as she knew that her watching of the slow movement of the hands only drew things out further – she could not help but take one glance after another, each time with her promising that it would be the last. During the hour or so in which she had caught herself in this repetitive cycle of making promises and then breaking them, she had stood almost exclusively next to her telephone table while either smoking a cigarette or biting down on her nicotine stained fingers. She told herself that she needed to be prepared, just in case Packard called early, Amanda turned up before 7, or if she needed to deal with the problem of someone else calling, even though she had hardly received a phone call in years.
Though Mary moaned to herself once in a while about the difficulty of the whole situation – as well as Packard and the school investigator for landing her in such a position – the distraction brought about by Packard’s plan, and the role she had to play in it, also provided a certain amount of relief for her; relief from the troubling questions that emerged whenever there was nothing else to occupy her; questions about who had been attacking her home; questions for which she had no answers. As the clock came to display the time as 6.54 pm, these very questions formed again within Mary’s mind and so she set about again to drive them from her consciousness.
“Oh, why can’t this whole thing just be over and done with,” she said to no one. “Have I not other things to do?”
Mary frowned deeply at the clock and then dropped herself down on the leather seat of the telephone table while folding her arms.
“This just won’t do, I’m just not sure I can go through with all this. It’s too much!”
Mary considered whether she should just phone Packard and tell him that she could not do what his plan required of her. She even wondered if there was still time to leave the house or even just hide away when the school inspector arrived.
“If the bell rings,” Mary mumbled to herself, “then so be it. That woman can just keep on ringing till hell freezes over.”
The bell rang. Mary froze. She told herself she was not ready. While she had been waiting for this event for almost an hour, she had not thought of what she would say. She remained seated and glanced at the clock one more time: the hour hand was creeping up to seven. Soon Packard would phone and she told herself that as it was possible that she might not have answered the door by that point, the plan could fall through. Still, she did not react.
The bell rang again.
“Mary,” shouted Amanda from outside. “Are you there?”
The vampire, still seated at the telephone table, hunched down as if doing so would protect her from the situation unfolding around her. However, a sudden feeling of desperation, sharp as a knife, cut through her fear, forcing her to act. If she hesitated any longer, all could be revealed.
“Sorry, sorry,” said Mary when opening the door, looking just a little dishevelled. “I was busy in the kitchen.”
“No problem. Can I come in? It’s pouring down.”
After closing the door on the miserable day outside and hanging up the school investigator’s dripping raincoat, Mary found herself in the difficult position she had been worried about all day: she was with Amanda with no excuse to put off the conversation, the content of which Packard had yet to supply her with.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” proffered Mary in an attempt to stall any questions.
“No, I think I’m fine. You said that you were busy, so how about we just get to it. Then I can get out of your hair. I
