FicWad

Patrick followed Pete as he headed for the door with another couple of blood packets in his hand for Spencer.

“That was...” he began.
“It needed saying,” Pete interrupted.
“Pete... I... I’m worried about you. The way you’ve been talking, you sound like you’re giving up,” Patrick said with concern and caution.
“Trick...” Pete paused to think how to phrase his next words. “I know how I sound, but I also know what’s happening to me.”
“What’s happening? What do you mean?” Patrick stopped in his tracks, pulling at Pete’s arm to hold him back.
“You wouldn’t... I can’t explain,” Pete replied evasively.
“Go on, Wentz!” Spencer yelled from within the cage. “Tell him! Or are you too afraid they’ll just finish you off?”
“Pete?” Patrick pressed again, ignoring Spencer’s inflammatory remark, only to be interrupted by increasingly furious hammering on the door.
“I gotta get that before they break it down.”
“Pete!”
“Later Trick,” Pete replied sadly.

Walking briskly to the door, happy to leave the overly inquisitive Patrick behind him, Pete checked the cameras and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Well now,” he narrowed his eyes as he opened the door to the Vampire Coven Leader. “What are you doing here, Saporta?”
“Master Saporta,” came the growled reply.
“Master!” Pete laughed loudly and openly at the suggestion. “Think yourself lucky to get anything civil out of me!”
“You think you’re something special, Wentz, but you’re nothing and, without my help, soon you’ll be less than that!”
“What is it with the vampire community all of a sudden? Everyone seems to be falling over themselves to help me. Got a friendly streak out of nowhere, did you? What’s your angle Saporta?”
“Invite me in and I’ll tell you.”

Pete shook his head and chuckled lightly to himself.

“Do you honestly think I’m that stupid?” Pete glared, suddenly turning a serious expression at the visiting vampire.
“Then come with me, somewhere neutral. You have nothing to fear from me, you know how much I hate Beckett.”
“That means nothing,” Pete snorted. “You’re not exactly alone, even amongst vampires. I don’t know many who do like him, apart from the dumb lapdogs like Brendon that beg his favour.”
“He’s getting too powerful,” Saporta got straight to the point. “I want him finished. I thought you’d managed it, but he’s like a damned cat, too many lives!”
“If you want it that bad then why don’t you do it?” Pete leaned against the door frame and folded his arms.
“I can’t do it alone and neither can you.”
“I’m not alone,” Pete smirked.

Pausing for full effect with the purpose of gaining Pete’s full attention, Saporta continued in a hushed voice.

“You will be,” he smiled maliciously. “Word is you’re hooked on human blood. You might get away without killing for it...”
“How do you know about that?” Pete returned, pushing himself away from the doorframe once more, shaken by his knowledge.
“Everyone knows you drained and turned Patrick. Very little happens in vampire circles without the knowledge of it spreading, you know that. But I also know you’re not killing. Drinking donated blood are you?”
“How do you know?” Pete asked, defiantly.
Saporta laughed. “Don’t be so defensive, Wentz! I can smell it on you, blood, but no adrenaline. Tastes sour, doesn’t it?”
“It’s okay,” Pete mumbled in reply.
“At least admit it to yourself, if not me,” Saporta replied scornfully. “But you know it’s eating away at you. The kill is only half the story, you know that as well as I do. Every drop you drink, either from a packet or a body, diminishes your self control. Before long, you won’t be able to stop yourself killing and soon after that, you won’t even care... and you’re terrified.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Pete hissed angrily in return. “Why are you here? Why now? You could have come with offers to help any time, but no, you come now. Why?”
“Why?” Gabe snapped back. “Why does it matter? You wouldn’t have believed me whenever I came here, would you?”
Pete thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No, and I still don’t believe you.”
“What the hell do you think I’m here for then?” Gabe challenged.
“Well, that’s the real question, isn’t it?” Pete cocked his head at the vampire leader. “Maybe you’re trying to make a peace offering with Beckett? Maybe you’re…”
“Maybe I’m wasting my time?” Saporta sneered and turned to leave.

Watching him walk away for a few seconds, Pete chewed his lower lip. He thought back to his time at Beckett’s mansion after he was first turned. Saporta had been there and there had been a war of words and almost fangs between him and Beckett. Pete didn’t know the cause of the problem, but everyone in the whole mansion was aware of the bad feeling between them. It seemed unlikely to him that they had now formed a truce, but he had underestimated Saporta’s greed and lust for power and the depths to which he would sink to gain any power.

“Wait!” he called.

Before turning, Saporta’s mouth spread into a wide grin. He had him! He had peaked his interest. Turning slowly, Saporta cocked his head inquisitively.

“Yes?”
“How can you help?” Pete asked quietly.
“There is only one way to beat the addiction,” Saporta announced.
“How?” Pete whispered.
“If you had simply killed, you wouldn’t feel it quite so keenly and you would, perhaps, be able to control your bloodlust still.”
“What are you getting at?” Pete asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Oh, I think you know, Wentz,” Saporta nodded meaningfully. “I think you’ve know all along and it’s why you won’t tell him.”
“What are you talking about?” Pete asked, barely daring to think the thoughts racing around his mind.
“You’re connected to your original blood source. It never happens. Newborn vampires take their first blood, usually without thinking about it. Then maybe decades later, they turn someone, making their first fledgling vampire. You? Well, you did it all in one hit and your body can’t handle it.”
“What do I do?”
Saporta shook his head. “You? You do nothing because you haven’t got the guts to do what you need to do.”
“What do I do?” Pete repeated, still keeping his voice low but with a sense of urgency to his tone.
“Break the link,” Saporta shrugged.
“Break…?” Pete frowned deeply.
“Kill your fledgling. It’s the only way you’ll survive.”
“No… No! There has to be another way!” Pete argued, his demeanor bordering on panic.
“You know there isn’t.”
“You’re lying!” Pete snapped defiantly.
“Lying?” Saporta snorted. “I have nothing to gain from telling you this, have I? In fact, if you do it, there are fewer of you to kill Beckett! If you do this, I lose out! Get your head out of the sand, Wentz. It’s you or him. Now there’s a decision for you and time is not on your side. The more blood you drink, the more your instincts will take over and soon the decision will be made for you.”

Pete grew pale and silent at the words. Kill himself or kill Patrick – was that really his choice?

Inwardly, Saporta chuckled to himself. Wentz had fallen for his lies – hook line and sinker.

*

Joe stared blankly at the ceiling of his room. He couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t slept properly since Andrea’s death. A few snatches of a light restless sleep here and there, perhaps. But they were filled with disturbing images and thoughts. Despite the fact that he was desperately tired, Joe simply couldn’t find the rest he needed so badly.

“Joe! Joe, help me!”

Joe’s eyes flew open in panic. Had he really heard that? Or maybe he was dreaming whilst awake? Was he so tired he was imagining it?

“Joe! Please help me!”

Now on his feet, Joe darted to the small round window. There was now no doubt in his mind that he had heard Andrea and she was alive! Despite what the doctors had said, despite Joe himself seeing the heart monitor flatlining, he now managed to convince himself that Andrea was calling to him. It was only when he approached the window and finally a coherent thought slowly sank into his exhausted yet hopeful mind, did he realize how impossible it was.

It was impossible, but there she was, standing outside the warehouse staring up at him.

“Andrea?” Joe whispered, unable to believe his own eyes, but unwilling to doubt them. Turning for the briefest of moments to the door, Joe yelled. “Andy!” but by the time he turned back, she was gone.
“What is it?” Andy arrived, skidding to a halt at the door. “What’s wrong?” he asked with concern.
“I… I… I’m sorry,” Joe shook his head, not wanting to reveal what he thought he had seen and make himself appear foolish. “I… I’m sorry, I’m over tired, it’s nothing.”
“You okay, man?” Andy asked unwilling to accept the stammered reply.
“I… yeah… yeah, I’m just tired. Sorry, Andy, I didn’t mean to worry you. I must have been dreaming.”

Joe frowned and lay down once more as Andy nodded and closed the door over once more. It had felt so real.