"No, Nathan, it's not because you're at work all day. It's because I'd burst into flames if I went out in daylight."
I snorted with laughter. "Come on; couldn't you think of a better excuse than that? A more realistic one?"
"You know, it's our greatest protection, that people don't believe we exist. It does rather cause a few problems when we want to reveal ourselves, though."
"There are more of you?" At last I looked at him, raising my eyebrows in incredulity.
"Of course. You didn't think I was the only one in the world, did you?"
"I'm not even sure you are one of them. No matter how much you'd like to pretend."
"When was the last time you saw a normal man put a knife through his hand?"
"I've seen a lot of things. Things that would make your hair curl. I didn't get my stripes through sitting behind a desk all through the war, you know."
"I'm sure. But that knife blade could have been a bayonet, and I'd have mended just as quickly. All right, maybe not quite that fast; the severity of the wound does have an effect on recovery time, but blade, bullet, you name it. I don't suppose you have a gun?"
"Yes, I do, and no, you're not using it."
"Only on myself."
"No. I dread to think what Mrs. Hudson would think about having to scrub blood and brain matter out of her favourite rugs."
"Oh; not that you're worried about me or anything?"
"You seem like the kind of man who's more than capable of taking care of himself," I shot back, trying and failing not to smirk. I didn't know what it was about Adam, but he had a talent for flirting his way out of difficult situations and conversations. Here we were, talking about him being impossible to kill, and we were joking about getting bloodstains out of the carpeting.
"Besides---" he shrugged, and leaned further back into the sofa "---I wouldn't shoot myself in the head anyway; that would be foolish."
"Oh, quite. Yes. I can see how throwing yourself in front of a car and sticking a knife in your own hand would be far more mature than shooting yourself in the head."
"The brain matter might stain your wallpaper anyway---"
"What?" I'd been thinking the same thing, but in an almost half-hearted way. He spoke like it was a valid option.
"Ha!" Adam burst out laughing. "I can't believe I got you on that one. No, seriously. The brain matter would grow back eventually, but until it did, I would be, for all intents and purposes, a vegetable, and I'd need someone else to look after me until my faculties returned. Day and night. Hopefully through the day, I'd be secreted somewhere I wouldn't come to any harm, because the last thing you need when your brains have been blown out is to get sunburn as well, am I right?"
I merely gaped at him, a reaction which he took for encouragement.
"Nah; I'd try it in a limb. In the stomach, if you wanted a bit of drama. Messy drama, but interesting nonetheless?"
"No. No, thank you. There'll be no shooting in this house. I dread to think what my landlady would---"
"Outside, then? Mind you, if anyone overhears, it could lead to trouble."
"You think?"
"Only kidding. You've seen enough evidence, haven't you? Look." Adam adjusted his posture yet again, leaning forward, arms on his knees, gazing at me intently. "I wasn't breathing after I let myself be run over. You know that. You weren't imagining it. I'm not breathing now. Want to listen?" He made as if to pull his shirt open, but I waved away the notion---reluctantly, I had to admit. "You watched my hand heal itself in minutes. In between retching, of course, but how did you explain that one?"
"I emptied the bucket into the toilet outside and told Mrs. Hudson I'd picked up a touch of food poisoning at work. Anyway, look, Adam, I don't know what I saw, but..."
"Oh, it always goes like this." He threw up his hands and slumped back on the sofa. "I really don't know why the others spend so much time hiding when no one believes me when I do confess. It's like...it's like being...well, you know." He winked at me. "That other thing that we both are that you don't like to talk about." He avoided saying the word but made it pretty damn obvious what he referred to.
And I didn't deny it.
"The others?" I repeated, concentrating on the possibility of Adam having associates.
"Yes, Nathan---others. I've already pointed out that you can't possibly think I'm the only one of my kind in the world. We help each other out occasionally."
"How?"
"Providing places to stay, that kind of thing."
"Where do you live?"
"I don't live at all if you want to be pedantic about it, but I move around. Just now, I'm bunking with a friend of mine, called Will. Exactly the same as me in all respects, if you follow me..."
A wide grin, and against my better judgement, I found myself looking for fangs. Silly of me; I didn't want to believe it, but then again, after everything I'd seen...
"Not that we've ever, well, you know. We're not well-suited. He's very staid. Studious. Bit boring, to be honest. Insists on doing the right thing."
"And you don't?"
"Clearly."
"If you're so unalike, why do you live or stay with this person? William, did you say?"
"Will. You must, if you ever meet, call him Will. He insists on it. Someone called him Billy once, and..." Adam fake-shuddered. At least, I hoped it was fake. "Anyway, we look after our own. We're in the minority, and sometimes, there are clashes of personalities, but he's ultimately loyal. What's the alternative? Seeing me turn to a pile of cigarette ash like Lot's wife, come daylight?"
"Salt."
"Pardon me?"
"The wife of Lot was turned into a pillar of salt, not cigarette ash."
"I'm
