He can cry. He can cry after all. The realisation hits me like a punch in the solar plexus.
Adam Locke, brought to tears by my appearance.
Speaking of my appearance. "Adam, I need to ask you something."
"Oh, ask away, my friend. Ask away because believe you me, I'll have plenty of questions to counter with once you're done."
I gulp down fear, wondering exactly what information he'll demand. He's willing for our conversation to continue after our reintroductions a n d hi-I'm-still-alives are done. More than willing. Willing to the point of ripping my throat out---again---if I try to walk away tonight.
"You, uh, talked about seeing me? Before now? And I never spoke to you, is that right?"
He laughs, resting his chin on interlocked hands. One balled fist cradled by another. "I saw you. I kept seeing you. Everywhere. Every fucking place I went, there you were." He shoots a glance at me, pure ice and hatred, fighting to overcome the tears. He must have drunk recently, or there wouldn't be enough fluid in his body for the tears to form.
Part of me hates him for that. The fact that he's been able to carry on as normal, even while being haunted by my ghost. My life has been spent running, avoiding, hiding, fearing, looking over my shoulder. His? Who fucking knows. But if I've been haunting him all this time? Good. He deserves it.
" F o r years, Nathan. Years. I couldn't go anywhere without seeing you. Will wouldn't have anything to do with me for so long, then it all faded. A little. Memories. I felt sick the first time I drank blood afterwards. I felt like I was washing you away. The taste of you in my mouth was all I had left."
Christ. I lick my lips, wanting to say something. The generous, positive, altruistic, gentlemanly part of me, the part that's able to maintain a friendship with Alyssa, the part that clings to humanity, wants to comfort him somehow, and my hip twitches, but the step goes untaken. I can't take one step closer to the man who's responsible for this mess, for goodness' sake. I can't forget what he did. I won't let myself.
"I thought, why bother trying to deny what I am? I'd already killed you, so who the hell cared what I did? Nothing mattered anymore. If I wanted something, I took it."
"Adam." I nearly ask what he means by that, but I don't think I want to know. So I remain silent as he reminisces.
"And that was what made the memories fade. Or so I convinced myself. The more I threw myself into being a vampire, the further away you went. Oh, I still saw you occasionally. Every so often."
"How often?" I wonder why it matters.
Possibly it doesn't. But the gentleman in me is overridden by the sadist now, and I want to know how often Adam's guilty conscience swam to the surface and reminded him of what he thought he did.
"At first? Everywhere. Every day. But that was only for a few weeks. Then it was every week. Every month. Every year. After a few decades? I noticed years went by with no sign of you. I thought..."
I can't hold back any longer. I take that step, and my heel clicks against the pavement, echoing.
No traffic shoots past. The whole world has left us alone. I can only pray no one looks out of the window of this block and scoots us away, taking us for party-goers or revellers who have overindulged. Although, if that happens and Adam reverts to type, I bet he'd show his fangs, threaten them with God only knows what.
"I thought you were dead." He looks up at me again with those red-rimmed eyes, still not crying, and I almost admire him for his fortitude.
"I was. But Will..." Uncertainty about whether to bring other people into the conversation makes me hesitate but there's no way to explain what happened without mentioning Will. "He's the one who brought me to life again."
Adam's jaw tenses as he grinds his teeth; he always does that when he's angry. Or should I say always did. Some of his habits may have stayed the same, but I'd be very surprised if he hasn't picked up new mannerisms in the past sixty or seventy years.
He shakes his head slowly, once, twice, then leaps to his feet, fists balled, and my heart leaps in readiness to tackle a fight-ready Adam. "He..."
One word, and he clenches his jaw again, strides over to me, and I jump.
Christ. No, Adam. Not another fight.
"He..." Slowly, he raises his fists, but I'm not scared anymore. He screws his eyes shut and bows his head, looks like a man who wants to punch the nightmare images inside his own mind, rather than the real, flesh-and-blood man before him. "He kept you from me." He opens his eyes again and glares. "Will kept you from me. All this time. He---"
"No." I shake my head, and Adam stares.
"No, he didn't. I did."
The stare morphs into a disbelieving frown.
"Nathan, he brushed me off for years. He told me it was better we didn't communicate for a while, until he'd, how did he put it, dealt with the aftermath of what you've done, Adam. We found each other again---" (I can't help but wonder if "found each other again" is Adam-speak for "I tracked him down like the obsessive character I am.") "---and after a few cursory words, we never spoke of it again. Never spoke of you again, I mean. Phone calls, coded messages." Adam shrugs, hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets.
"I never...There was never any reason to speak about you. I missed you. I fucking missed you, and Will was disgusted with me, or so I believed. And he let me think...you both let me think..."
Lightning-fast, he moves one
