"Nathan?"
I shake myself, sit up straight, then gave in, letting myself slump against the chairback. "It's a basement flat with blackout blinds."
"Anything get in at all?"
"Very little. I use lamps at night. Not overheads." I can take one-hundred-watt bulbs; I just choose not to. I prefer to read by lamplight.
The television or computer screen often provides an accompanying ambient glow.
"Good, good. Look, you know what I'm going to ask, right?"
"You want somewhere to stay."
Will makes a sound like the beginning of a word then swallows whatever he was about to say.
"I know. I remember," I assure him. Trying to tell him I'll keep my promise, but not in so many words. Never let it be said that Sergeant Nathan Stephenson isn't a man of honour. Decades ago, I made Will keep a promise, assured him I owed him one.
Bit of a devil's bargain. I've been dancing around the possibility of him letting it go, never calling it in, but I should have realised it was too much to hope for.
"Nathan." There's a pause, and I know he's steadying himself to say something further. I can't imagine what would be worse than this. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
"Why can't you take this newborn you're so concerned about to a safe house?" I demand, silently adding, like you did with me.
"Because..."
There are people who look after newborn vampires. Get all their paperwork sorted; death certificates and so on. Like a Citizens' Advice Bureau for the undead.
"It's what you did with me," I point out, probably cruelly, as of course Will would remember.
Back in my day, safe houses were far more basic than they are now. We weren't legal then.
Acknowledgement was the best we could hope for, but with that brought the inevitable persecution. It was all done underground. Sometimes literally, as a way of avoiding sunlight. Legality didn't bring much acceptance when it came; not straight away, that is.
"I know."
"You could have stayed with me."
"Nathan, you know I couldn't."
He's right. I'm just being selfish. Selfish and angry and resentful. There was no way Will could have hung around to baby me until I got used to being dead.
"You told me to go. You told me."
"All right. I know I did. I remember as well as you. Look." Rubbing my forehead, I lean forward again. If I were still human, I'd have a headache right now. Actually, I probably would have been dead for decades, but that's just wishful thinking at this point. "I don't...I can't..."
"You're not backing out?"
"No. No. I'm not."
"Then may we come?"
I could cry. Even the "we" fails to pique my interest beyond a vague acknowledgement that he said such a word, that he'll be bringing a companion with him.
"Yes." In that single word, the previous seven decades fall away. It's all been leading up to this moment, a favour called in after all this time.
"Yes, you may."
I refuse to give Will my address, instead asking him how long it'll be before he and his companion show up. I don't ask for any names, and he volunteers none. The only thing I'm worried about is Will not copying down my contact details.
I insist on him putting nothing in writing, still paranoid about such information falling into the wrong hands. I give him nothing more than the name of the town in which I live and a promise to narrow down his search parameters later. Once he's in the vicinity, he can call, and I'll give him more details. Only after he's assured me there's no one on his trail.
There's impatience in his voice, a lack of understanding as to why my paranoia's lasted all this time, but he goes along with it. Yes, I owe him this favour, but it's a massive one, and he knows he needs to tread carefully to ensure my compliance.
He tells me it'll be a few days---or rather, nights---before they arrive, so until then, I'm on edge. Alyssa knows something's up, but I say nothing. She's completely innocent of my past, and I don't know what I'm going to tell her about the period of time Will and Company are here. She doesn't need to know they exist because then she'll start asking how we met, and I want to keep her separate from all that.
I make my excuses, all of which clang like blue notes against my ears, but Alyssa accepts them, or pretends to. She's a better actress than I am a liar.
Three nights after the phone call, I'm trying to concentrate on Dracula---no self-respecting vampire fails to read it every so often---but I can't keep myself on the armchair. I can't stop fiddling with the pages of the book. I can't help but look at the clock every ten seconds. My mobile rings, and of course, it's Will, asking for more detailed directions. I make him promise it's just him and whatshisname, those two alone. No one tailing them, no one acting like an undead shadow.
"For Christ's sake, Nathan." He speaks through gritted teeth; I can tell that much even over the phone. Impatience, yes, but no doubt concern for his companion too. "Just give me the damn address."
"Pardon?"
"Please?"
Good manners are all I require. That, and acceptance of my concerns. I have my reasons.
"We'll be there in about half an hour," he tells me, and the phone goes dead in my hand without so much as a good night and thank you.
So much for good manners.
"Good God." There's no sound in the room apart from the ticking of the clock and the fading echo of my expression of amazement. This is really happening. I'm going to see Will after oh-so-many years.
I've lived for a century, give or take, but the half hour leading up to that knock on
