Excerpt: The Vampire's Son

Vincent hardly focused his attention on the road, speaking directly to Michael when he did. 'Did you have any particular reason for leaving the safe house?'
'Is that what you call that place?'
'You were perfectly safe there, and it was a house of sorts, so yes, that is precisisely what I call it. Do you have an argument against that?'
Michael took a deep breath, trying to fight down all the feelings that were battling to the surface, anger being right up there at the top. 'You haven't told me how I ended up there in the first place.'
Vincent only sighed. 'You're suffereing from amnesia. I wouldn't want to force the recollection on you for fear to your sanity.'
Michael looked down at his hands, trying to pieace together what had happened that night. The police must have wanted him for a reason. Dimes certainly looked at him like he was some kind of monster. He fumbled in his pockets for his cigarettes.
'You don't smoke in my car,' Vincent said without taking his eyes off the road.
Michael replaced them slowly. He thought better of defying a man who he didn't know. Although he had the air and grace of a man who just had to be defied, he also had something in his expression that said he might easily rip out a man's throat without thinking twice about it. It was not the first time he'd thought it, because the prospect of this man being something to do with the Mafia crossed his mind. He certainly dressed like something plucked straight out of the Godfather, down to the indigo pinstripe in his tailored suit.
Vincent drummed his fingers idly on the steering wheel. He drove without music. The silences between talking seemed very long.
'How did you know where I was?' Michael asked, once he couldn't take the quiet any more.
'You're a creature of habit,' Vincent said. 'I knew you'd go home first. I went to check you hadn't done anything foolish. You didn't lock your apartment door.' He was sure he had. 'I listened to your messages.' Talk about invasive. Vincent turned his head slightly. 'You should be thankful I did. I got you out of there, remember.'
It wasn't posed as a question, and Michael didn't respond, continuing to stare out the window.
'Why did that officer lock me up?' he asked, which was a question to the ether as much as something that just needed an answer. He didnt expect an answer.
'You frightened him,' Vincent replied.
'Why? Who did he think I was?'
Vincent glanced at him briefly. 'I'm not sure I understand the question.'
'He had to have a reason to lock me up,' Michael reasoned, largely with himself, since Vincent didn't seem to acknowledge him speaking. 'You can't just go around throwing people in cells. It's not like I was drunk and disorderly. I'd only just got there. I was there because he'd asked me to go.'
'And you don't find that slightly odd?' Vincent asked. He drew the car up to a stop at a set of lights. 'He asked you to visit the station only to lock you up as soon as you arrived?'
He was right; it didn't make much sense. 'Why would they do that?'
The lights changed and they headed off again. 'It was a trap.' There was no hint of jest or jibe to his tone, and it wasn't even a question. He just knew.
'How do you know?'
'The man who left the message on your machine was not the man who locked you up. Dimes just wanted to get you to him.'
'But... why? Why was I in a safe house? Why did the police want to talk to me? What does any of this have to do with my mother?'
Vincent smiled, keeping focused on the road ahead. 'That's a fair number of questions.'
'They all need answers,' he replied, watching the streets pass by at swift speed as the car headed through the city. Another unfamiliar area. How well did he even know the city he'd lived for twenty years? 'Tell me.'
Vincent checked for something the rear-view mirror. Maybe he thought the answers were back there somewhere. Michael slid down in the seat, whatever was going on inside him was leaving a light-headed dizzyness that was ever-present when he kept his eyes open. So he closed them. That wasn't much better, though, since the other senses were still running riot.
'Please,' Michael said, keeping his eyes shut. 'Let's start from the beginning. Just tell me what happened to me.'
He heard Vincent sigh, and the car slowed a little. 'I think you should put that to the end of your list of questions. You're not ready to hear that yet.'
'I'm open to suggestion,' he said. When he opened his eyes, the streets were no longer moving outsided the passenger window. The engine continued to tick over, but Vincent had stopped the car. He was also looking right at him. Despite the fierceness to the man's stare, Michael dared to maintain eye contact. 'I can hear whatever you have to tell me.'
Vincent opened his door. 'Get out of the car.'
He did as he was instructed. Vincent locked the doors and headed across the street, with Michael following a few steps behind. 'Where are we going?'
Vincent didn't miss a step, walking along the sidewalk. 'I think it will be easier to simply hit you with the whole truth, and let you see for yourself.'
Michael clutched at his aching head. Something was still not right in there. In fact, just about everything within himself felt plain wrong. His skin itched, that dry grate in his throat hadn't gone away. His legs ached like he hadn't used them in months, and everything was so damn bright, if another car drove by with their full beams in his eyes, he might have to throw something at them.
'No,' Michael said, steeling himself, standing up as straight as he could. His stomach churned, forcing him to wrap one arm around it, lessening the height adventage he had over the raven-haired man.
'No?' Vincent repeated with a smirk, turning on his heel.
'I've had enough of this little game you think you're playing,' he snapped. 'There's something wrong with me, and you--' He pointed a vicious finger at him. '--know exactly what it is.' The smile on Vincent's face only grew wider with every word, showing off those perfect pearly whites. 'You think this is funny?'
'Oh, yes. Incredibly. And one day, maybe weeks, months or years from now, you'll find this memory a fair source of entertainment, as well. Now are you going to come with me or not?'
'I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what is wrong with me.'
'Well, you seem fairly resolute. And might I just say, you don't look at all ridiculous at the moment.'
Michael made a sound that came out as something in between a groan and a growl. One of Vincent's immaculately shaped brows arced against his alabaster skin, the grin threatening to break out into a full-blown laughing fit at any second. He made a visibly conscious effort to settle himself down.
'Forgive me,' he said. 'It's been a while since I've had the responsibility of a minor.'
'I'm twenty three.'
'Which is still very minor.'
Michael let his shoulders drop. 'Just tell me what happened, or I'm walking away from all this right now.'
Vincent tutted. 'Hmm, well we wouldn't want that. Who knows what trouble you'd cause before you got yourself killed.' He went quiet for a few seconds. He seemed to be weighing up the options. Michael had to lean against the nearest wall for support, the pain in his entire body was making it difficult to stand at all. After a short while of what seemed to be self-assurance on Vincent's part, he sighed, opened his arms and said, 'You're a vampire, Michael.'
There was a very long few seconds of complete silence, save for the sweep of wind moving the last few pages of a tabloid newspaper across from one side of the street to the other. Vincent clapped his hands together, snapping Michael's attention back to him. 'Ah, I see what you mean. It does make everything easier once it's been said.' He tilted his head to one side, worry lines creasing his marble-smooth skin. 'You don't seem relieved.'
That was just about as much as he could take. His legs couldn't support him anymore, crumbling beneath him as he slid down the wall and ended up half immersed in a puddle of the day's rainfall.
'...a what?'
'Vampire,' Vincent said, his tone perfectly calm, if with only a slight hint of mocking still present. 'You have heard of vampires before, haven't you? Give me some indication of how much I have to teach you.'
'Yeah, in movies and books!' Michael yelled, hitting his hand against the wall when he tried to gesticulate. 'In fiction! They're not real!'
'Do you see now why it would've been easier to show you rather than tell you?' Vincent asked, moving closer to help him up.
Michael leapt back as far as his body would get him, which wasn't anywhere near far enough. 'Show me? Show me? How in the fuck did you intend to show me?! Kill someone? Make me drink their blood?'
'That was the idea, yes. I'm struggling to find a more poinant way to get the point across. If you have any suggestions, I'd be happy to hear them.'
Michael started to laugh. He struggled for a breath, his heart felt about ready to explode. Vincent made a move for him again, and he couldn't do anything but let him take him by the arm and haul him to his feet. He tried to say something but all that came out of his mouth was this babbled, desperate laugh. Vincent kept a hold of Michael's bicep, which was about the only thing keeping him standing. He didn't so much put one leg in front of the other as much as drag them around before they collapsed beneath the weight of his body.
'Let's get you fed,' Vincent said, guiding him through the empty streets. 'It will be easier once you've eaten, I guarantee it.'