FicWad

Ryan remained seated in the dungeon cell next to Spencer. He hadn’t moved from the spot since he had found him. Even hearing the terrified screams far above, the crackle of the flames and the torturous screaming of snapping wood and twisting metal – none of this could distract him from his silent vigil. His master needed him and he would help in whatever way he could.

Venturing out only to find food, the cell was now strewn with dead bodies, but no amount of human blood poured down his virtually dead throat seemed to have made a difference. Spencer never moved, never even seemed to swallow, the blood just found its own way. Ryan was oblivious to so many vampire truths, kept ignorant by Spencer himself, and yet, he was still faithful to his master, still willing to make whatever sacrifice was necessary. The time had come, he realised, to make the final sacrifice.

Cutting a deep gash in his wrist, he held his arm over Spencer’s mouth and watched the blood flow steadily past his open lips. It could have been the blood loss making him imagine it, but Ryan felt sure after a few minutes that he had seen the tiniest flicker of movement. He gasped in surprise as Spencer’s hands swung up and gripped his arm tightly before pulling the open wound close to his lips, his eyes wide yet staring unseeing at the dungeon ceiling.

“Yes!” Ryan cried out, elated by the reaction. Screwing up his face in pain as Spencer extended his fangs into his arm to drain him even faster, now that the wound was beginning to heal, Ryan held firm, not even trying to pull away. “Drink, master, save yourself.”

Ryan’s voice was fading as Spencer pulled the last few remaining drops from his arm. Pushing himself upright, not caring for a moment that he had drunk the last drop of blood from his faithful servant, Spencer looked around, finally realising where he was. Beckett’s dungeons, where he had been handed down the worst punishment a vampire could suffer. Beckett thought he was dead, or at least, as good as. But was his resurrection only to be short lived? Would Beckett not punish and condemn him to an eternity of virtual death all over again? Had Ryan given up his existence in vain? He sensed almost immediately that something was different; still hanging in the air, noticeable only to the perceptive senses of a vampire, was the scent of the fire that had consumed the mansion. Momentarily, Spencer allowed himself a sly smile at the possibility that Beckett had suffered, possibly even died in the fire, but somehow he knew he had survived. The thought of it only broadened his smile further. Revenge filled his thoughts and gladdened his dark heart. Yes, Beckett and, if he were still alive, Brendon, would feel the backlash of his vengeance. He would make them suffer as he had done: slowly, painfully and unlike him, it would be eternal. For them, there wasn’t enough suffering in the world.

*

Pete heaved a deep sigh as he heard the door open. He could tell from they sound of their feet that it was Joe and Andy. He wasn’t ready for them. He had barely even got his own head around the fact that Patrick had just floored him. His head was swirling with thoughts, none of which he wanted to discuss or even, in some cases, acknowledge. He was having a hard time coming to terms with all of this and it was just proving a little easier to deal with if he blamed someone else. So far, it had been Patrick. How much of the blame could he shift now? Well, that was easy to answer; the man who had convinced him to turn Patrick had just entered the room. Yes, it was entirely his fault. Briefly he wondered exactly what the problem was. He had to admit that he didn’t know, but he did know that it was Andy’s fault. Totally and entirely Andy’s fault.

“What?” he asked with an aggravated tone to his voice.
“You tell us,” Joe replied flatly.

Pete leaned forward on the table, his fingers interlaced, his eyes staring almost blankly at the wall ahead. His shoulders rose and fell dramatically, indicating to all that he was not in the best of moods. They could hear his breathing as loud as an irritable sigh. If they knew what was good for them, they would leave him alone. As it turned out, they didn’t. Pete squeezed his eyes shut tightly as Andy said the one thing he really didn’t want to hear.

“So, what’s your problem with Trick?”

Raising a partially clenched fist up to his mouth, Pete considered his options. He could answer them or he could simply disappear. He was more than capable of moving so fast that they wouldn’t see him leave, but what would it achieve? He opted for his first thought. He would answer them, but they would wish he hadn’t.

“I don’t have a problem with Trick,” he turned dark angry eyes. “I have a problem with you.”

Pete would have been the first to admit that he knew he was lying, that is, if he had known what the truth actually was. He was angry, there was no doubt about it and he had partly hit upon the real problem when he admitted that Patrick’s lack of enmity towards him had thoroughly confused him.

“With us?” Andy asked calmly but with a slight edge to his tone.
“No!” Pete finally turned and appeared suddenly only inches from Andy’s face. “Just you!”

Joe’s eyes widened as he saw the open hostility in Pete’s demeanour and that Andy’s reaction was to mirror it with an aggressive stance. They were both ready to fight and it was stupid, it was unnecessary, it was pathetic!

“No, it isn’t!” Pete argued, leaving Joe to wonder briefly if he’d said the words out loud. “He knows exactly what my problem is!”
“Oh, I know what your problem is, all right!” Andy bristled. “And it’s got nothing to do with Patrick! It hasn’t even got anything to do with being a vampire!”

Pete wasted no time in reacting. Barely interested in hearing him out, Pete slammed his hands into Andy’s chest, propelling him back against the closed door with painful force. Momentarily dazed, Andy shook his head clear of his blurred thoughts and vision before staggering to his feet. So, Pete wanted to play dirty? He could do that too. Pulling a stake from a stylised holster behind his back, Andy propelled it into Pete’s left thigh, causing him to collapse as it weakened him. Quickly pulling the stake from his leg, Pete grimaced as his hand sizzled with pain.

“What the fuck is that?” Pete demanded glancing at his blistered fingers. “Stakes soaked in Holy Water?”
“I’m ready for you this time!” Andy growled back.
“Ready for me?” Pete laughed as he launched himself high into the air, landing behind Andy ready to deliver a crushing blow.

Andy ducked low, spinning on his right foot he swept his left across Pete’s legs, knocking him flat on his back.

“Yeah,” he gloated. “I’m ready for you!”

Up on his feet in a fluid, effortless movement, Pete seized Andy’s throat and pushed him back against the far wall, squeezing to prevent him breathing, the action of being knocked back against the wall drove what little air he had out of his lungs.

“Now you tell me why I shouldn’t hate you! This is all your fault! You made me do it!”
“He understands!” Andy choked out.
“I know!” Pete screamed. “And that makes it a hundred times worse! If he can’t hate me, I can at least hate you!”

Sensing a slight distraction in him, Andy raised his right hand and shoved a second stake into his side, being careful to keep it low and far from his heart. Releasing his grip on Andy, Pete sank once more to his knees allowing Andy to kick him backwards to the floor as the Holy Water soaked stake weakened him further. Trying to push himself up, Pete fell back down as something pointed was jabbed into his chest. Above him, Joe stood with a long taser baton pushed against him, his finger on the switch, poised to press it.

“You know I can kill you faster than you can press that button, don’t you?”

Pete had meant it merely as an angry threat, something to help him recover some of his lost ground. He hadn’t seriously meant to threaten to kill either of them, but it was not a chance Joe was willing to take. For the third time, and again without warning, Pete was hit by a powerful jolt from the augmented taser baton. Grimacing in agony and arching his back as the powerful current surged through him, Pete finally crumpled as Joe pulled away the weapon.

“Kill you?” Andy repeated shaken by the words.
“I don’t think he meant it,” Joe shook his head.
“Really?” Andy arched an eyebrow. “Is that why you toasted him again?”
Joe shrugged. “He’s really messed up, Andy; you heard him. We need to get them on our terms, not theirs. It’s too easy for them to fight us. We can’t let this go on or we’ll all suffer for it.”
“So,” Andy rolled his shoulders, trying to stretch out the newly formed pain between his shoulder blades. “Back in the cage?”
“It’s all we’ve got,” Joe replied with a resigned smile.
“Okay, but what about Patrick?”
Joe frowned deeply. “Good point. Where is Patrick?”

*

Patrick frowned as the three Dandies separated, each going into different buildings. The office district held no difficulties for vampires. None of the buildings were dwellings. Yes, all of them were owned and people used them almost daily, many saw some people stay so late that they seemed to be there more than their own homes, but no one actually lived there. As such, if they chose to, vampires could enter freely. Even guarded buildings were no deterrent to these three and their abilities with mind control, or in Mike’s case, a delight in killing for killing’s sake. But it left Patrick with a dilemma – who to follow?

Stepping from the shadows, he decided that there really was only one alternative. If he truly wanted to know what was going on, he had to follow the one with the answers. William Beckett had entered the tall glass building and had been able to follow his progress beyond the lobby thanks to the wide expanse of windows that made up the first floor. He knew that Beckett was now out of sight, which meant that it was safe for him to enter. Even the guard seemed to remain very still as if under his control still and Patrick hoped that he would be able to enter the building unseen because of it. He need not have worried, as the guard offered no flicker of movement as he passed by the desk, following the direction that Beckett had taken.

Beyond the large double doors was a vast conference room with a large stage area. Facing the stage where two blocks of row upon row of simple, yet comfortable looking theatre-style seats. Patrick felt very isolated, unsure why Beckett would come in here, let alone where he had subsequently gone, he felt visible, uncomfortable and… watched.

Patrick’s eyes scoured the room as he edged his way inside. He seemed alone but his senses told him otherwise. The feeling of being watched began to intensify and he was overtaken by the urge to retreat. They knew he was there; this was not a battle he could win. Turning quickly, he looked up sharply as he saw Mike Carden grinning down at him, barely inches away.

“Bad decision!” Mike mocked as Patrick took a step back and bumped into Brendon, who seized his arms.

Struggling in his grip, Patrick grew ever weaker as Mike landed blow after blow. Finally, Brendon pulled his head back before rushing once more toward the doors and slamming Patrick’s forehead repeatedly against the thick teak panels.
Slumping in his grip, Brendon allowed him to slip to the floor. Blood from various gashes clouded his vision as it leaked, unhindered into his eyes. But through the haze, Patrick made out the shape of a pair of long slender legs standing next to him.

“Trust me, my dear, Patrick, you and your friends will suffer dearly for what you did to me. Very dearly.”

It was the last thing he heard before slipping into unconsciousness, sent there by a vicious kick to the back of the head delivered by Brendon, all too eager to get his own revenge.