Part II
By Woolhat's Travelling Mood
Chapter Three
Almost on cue, Mike entered the front door and surveyed the scene before him. He was wearing a black Teddy boy jacket that Davy hadn't seen the like of since the fifties, but as always, it suited Mike. The Prince of darkness was in good spirits today, they had a gig that night, and he now had the power to captivate the audience, whether they were willing or not. He spied Davy suspiciously, before sitting in a nearby armchair, bringing his pale hands up to his chest to twiddle with them menacingly. "And how are you?” He smiled, almost charmingly.
"I've been better," Davy murmured, trying to avoid eye contact in case Mike tried to hypnotize him or something.
"Sorry to hear that. Maybe you have tired blood.” Mike grinned playfully, reaching behind the chair for the newspaper. Davy scowled, but quickly hid it, fear running through his veins at Mike's very words. He had never noticed how dark Mike's features were. His jet-black hair was like coal, his eyes like the dark vastness in space. His whole presence oozed mystery and, more terrifyingly, total control.
Mike flicked through the paper carelessly, before settling down to read about the curious deaths of two teenagers at a party in the area. Occasionally a smirk crossed his face, but he ceased reading, raising his eyes to meet Davy's intense stare. "Something wrong?" He smiled in his old manner, even if it was now more sinister than a grin from Lucifer himself.
Davy was silent. He knew that Mike knew what he was feeling; he didn't need to say anything. Mike shrugged and returned to his paper, glancing up occasionally to meet that stare once again.
"It's funny,” Davy began, "I've met evil people, horrible people. I never thought you'd be one of them."
"Never thought I'd be any more than a loser?” Mike murmured coldly.
"You were never a loser; at least you had a heart. What have you got now? No friends, No job, and no... reflection! Tell me, what have you got?"
"Micky," Mike smiled cunningly, returning to the paper to send Davy's head reeling with comeback lines. But he had none.
"So that's it, is it?” Davy began, improvising completely, "Micky's like you now, is he? Is there no hope?"
"Not quite," Mike smiled, not looking up from the paper, "He isn't fully a vampire, he still has a reflection
you know..."
"Ah, I didn't know that. So, what do you plan to do?” Davy spoke with the slightest hint of sarcasm.
"The failure of every villain.” Mike began mischievously, "Is they always tell everyone their plan, and
I don't want to be a failure." With that he stood and looked into the mirror, smiling when there was nothing to be seen.
Davy pondered, there must be a way to save Micky; he wasn't completely lost.
Chapter Four
The club was smoky and dark, with the smell of cigarettes being the only fragrance, even overpowering the intense smell of scotch. The young black singer was good, very good. She could warble her voice so that it reached the highest notes imaginable, before lowering to a whispering hum once again.
Micky looked about him, worry spread across his face, although he tried desperately to hide it. The occasional young waiter came to help him crash back to earth with the chant 'anything else sir?' but apart from that, he was lost in a realm of fantasy and bewilderment. He occasionally glanced over at his companion, who was stretched out comfortably on the chair across the table. The lacy black shirt clung to his muscles and you could see every movement he made. He puffed happily on a large
cigarette, occasionally blowing smoke circles up into the air, only to watch them sail down into Micky's hair. He wore a broad grin and flashed his pearly teeth, perfectly human on this occasion. Mike smoothed out the cuffs on his shirt before ceremoniously clapping the singer. He smiled at Micky's expression and leant craftily over the table. "Her blood.” He murmured seductively in Micky's ear, "Her blood would taste divine.” He slid back and let out a loud laugh, before taking another swig of his scotch.
Micky tried to laugh with him, but always found that guilt was trying to override him. He glanced back at
the singer and bit his lip. She was beautiful, elegant and above all, young. She would probably have a long, good career ahead of her, unless Mike had his way. Micky sighed slightly, trying not to think of all these emotions that were flooding his brain. One moment he felt hatred for the transformed character before him, the next moment he felt lust.
The shy drummer leant back in his chair and tried to find a reasonable victim to solve his hunger. He tried desperately to be as casual as Mike about the whole affair, but he couldn't. The singer burst into a slow ballad and Micky could almost feel the tears. His tried to focus but his mind always returned to the thoughts of Mike. Micky knew from the start that he hadn't really wanted this to happen. He'd sooner die happy than live-forever in misery. But he had agreed to do it, and he knew perfectly well why - he was in love with Mike. He had had the same feelings for a while, even before Mike's 'transformation', but they had been small and had been discarded as irrational. But as soon as Mike became what he now was, with his luscious eyes devouring Micky's flesh, with his silken skin and raven features, he had become too much to just ignore and Micky found himself giving up everything just for him. He hated the nagging feeling of regret.
Mike didn't seem to care much whether Micky accepted or not. He showed no real affection; just an ordinary level of friendship and Micky felt his heart break every time Mike bypassed a strategically planned moment for allowing his true feelings to be known. Micky twiddled with his fingers and looked down at the silver tray on the table. He saw his unruly curls being highlighted by the different gels on the lights that were showing the singer's despair, at least in the song anyway. He tried to clean himself up, not looking away from his reflection, before suddenly realizing what was missing. Mike draped dreamily over the tray, his head propped in his hand, but he was still nowhere to be seen in the shiny new silver. Micky looked closer and knew that something was wrong.
It took him a while before he could grasp Mike's attention and make eye contact. He glared, almost angrily at the prince and beckoned him closer so his words could be heard. "Michael," He murmured, knowing that the use of his proper name would make Mike's ears prick up with intrigue. The monarch blinked as an answer, still weary from two days without sleep. "I...” Micky began but then realized that he didn't know what to say, "Mike...why aren't I like you?” He whispered innocently.
Mike glanced at him, wore an 'I don't know what you're talking about' expression for a fleeting moment
before sighing and deciding on a different approach. He stood carefully, throwing a few notes onto the table, before taking Micky's hand, and leading him through the dark to the door. The cold night air hit Micky full force and he had to take a deep breath before he could concentrate on what was happening. Mike was silent and seemed drunk, even though Micky knew that was an impossibility, vampires don't get drunk. Mike had a cheap old motorcycle that he had done up himself and it roared pleasurably as Mike straddled it, pulling Micky on behind him. "We need a place to talk.” He whispered in Micky's ear, so quiet, yet drowning out all other noise.
Micky hadn't a clue where he was. He had traveled the whole journey with his eyes closed, more through pain and a stinging sensation than fear. Mike took to the bends in the road as if he was riding a wild stallion, leaping over the hurdles of manholes and litter. Micky snuggled closer to Mike's back for warmth, but found none. He wasn't cold, but needed security, and couldn't find it.
The journey seemed to last forever and Micky felt so alone. He couldn't turn to anyone, there was only Mike, and he was the very person Micky was trying to escape from. He wanted the old Mike, the caring Mike who was always concerned about everyone. He didn't want the Prince of darkness. Micky felt the motorbike beneath him slow and begin to purr lovingly as they gradually stopped. Micky was hesitant to open his eyes and was pleased to see that everything was remotely normal when he did. Mike stood smugly before him, straightening up his shirt. "No-one will disturb us here," he smiled, taking Micky's hand and leading him towards the building before them. In the dark Micky couldn't make out what it was at first. An apartment block? A school? What was it? But as they sneaked through the large wooden doors, Micky took a deep breath. He clutched at Mike's arm as the vampire casually lit a few surrounding candles and the church was lit.
Micky eyed the statues of all the holy figures. The Virgin Mary seemed to frown at him in dismay and the statue of Jesus seemed to turn away from Mike. Mike smiled and lay down on the altar, yawning
rudely. "Why are we HERE?” Micky queried nervously, hating the hundreds of eyes watching him.
"Safest place to talk," Mike smiled, closing his eyes dreamily.
"Gives me the creeps," Micky muttered before finding a bench to perch on.
The church was musty and it creaked occasionally in a menacing manner. Micky looked at the crucifix and flinched. He had so many questions floating round his head, had he been conned? Was he a vampire or not? Why hadn't Mike explained? Mike was peaceful in the surroundings, glaring at several holy remnants with the odd look of disgust as if they had tricked him, and his situation with evil was all their fault. He seemed to think that they had neglected him; religion had turned its back, so he had gone to evil for comfort, and was pleased when he found it.
There was silence for a moment, both believing that the other would begin speaking first. Mike seemed to be asleep now, sighing gently. Micky felt a strange fear as he gazed at the scene before him. Mike was sprawled almost helplessly across the altar, a large stain glass window of Christ glaring down at him. Evil and good had met once again, and for once, they seemed equal. Mike's powers of the dead were useless in here and Micky realized that this gesture was for his benefit. Not only were good and evil equal, but so were he and Mike. Micky stood and crept closer to inspect his best friend. Mike looked like a renaissance painting, his skin, and features perfect. There was no change of shade in his face, no distinguishing marks, or blemishes, just perfection. Micky didn't realize that he was once again lost in his own fantasies and slowly stretched out a hand. He made a smooth contact with Mike's face and ran it gently down past his ear. Micky closed his eyes at the feel of Mike's skin and he completely forgot about where they were or why, he just wanted to feel Mike there always. When he opened his eyes again, his black pupils met those of Mike's and the Texan rose wearily yet carefully.
Micky felt himself grow hot with embarrassment and fear and he made a meager attempt to back away. Too late, Mike nimbly had Micky's wrists clamped in one hand, and he dragged Micky back until their noses were touching. Micky was terrified but tried to hide it. What was Mike going to do? Kill him? Hurt him? Micky's eyes tried desperately to search Mike's soul for a clue, but couldn't find anything.
"Did I say you could stop?" Mike trailed off, leaning in for a kiss. Micky melted immediately, and once Mike had dropped his grip, wrapped his arms around Mike's shoulders. The kiss became more complicated and Micky was helpless under his own burning passion. Suddenly there was a strong gust of wind and Micky pulled back. Mike was still there, licking his lips thoughtfully, enjoying the taste he found. Micky gazed round nervously and found that everything was the same.
"They want you to stop.” Mike smiled, pointing at the dismal tapestries. Micky followed his fingers and centered on the ancient characters that were scorning Mike and praying for Micky's safety.
"How are you doing that?” Micky whispered in Mike's ear, frightened that the creatures would hear them.
"I'm not," Mike smiled, "Don't worry, they can't hurt us, they just think you're in danger – they don't understand."
And with that he leant in for yet another kiss. This time Micky resisted, even though he still kept his arms tightly around Mike's shoulders. "They scare me," He mumbled honestly, clinging on to his creator.
"Just ignore them, besides, we need to talk," Mike swiveled round so that his feet dangled helplessly over the altar ledge.
"Yes we do.” Micky tried to take the upper hand, knowing that Mike was being suspiciously submissive.
"I suppose I should explain.” Mike drawled, looking up at the beautiful carved ceiling, "You see Mick, you're not a proper vampire...yet.” Mike added a few dramatic pauses for effect. "Vampirism is a strange game - it's stupid really, but it has its own rules, and rituals. I know it sounds like some strange Disney film with silly spells and what not. I suppose they do that so that not any old idiot can become
one. We wouldn't want that, would we?"
Micky shook his head to Mike's ramblings, wishing that he would get to the point. "So what do I have to do?” Micky used his new-found reflexes to pounce on an unsuspecting Mike.
"Are you sure you want it? Immortality? The thirst for blood? You can change back at this stage, but not when you become a full vampire..."
"Yes! Jeez...I want it...please Mike.” Micky pleaded, his head feeling like it would explode with curiosity.
Mike took a deep sigh and looked at the several scowls he was receiving from the statues, which seemed to be begging for Micky's innocence. Micky noticed them too, and was strangely drawn to them. They seemed to care, but so did Mike, if he didn't, what was that kiss about?
"Mike.” He began, "I want it, but...I want to know why you have done this to me in the first place. Why? Why not just kill me? What are you feeling in there?” He asked, prodding Mike's cold chest.
"I..." Mike was finding the whole situation had just taken a turn for the worst for him. "I did it because...because I was lonely. I couldn't face going on forever without someone. You were that someone. I know it was selfish, but...I needed you," Mike hung his head slightly at how stupid he sounded, how soft, and helpless. He felt a calm hand run through his hair and he looked up to find a familiar Micky grin.
"If that's the way you feel.” Micky smiled, ignoring all warnings, "Then tell me what I have to do."
Mike smiled and swept Micky up in his arms, burying his face in Micky's curls. Micky looked over Mike's shoulder at the Virgin Mary and swore he saw tears of sadness in her eyes, but he didn't care, he had Mike.
"Now listen," Mike pushed Micky at arms length and studied him, "This is the difficult part, and only you can do it, not me. There is one more thing you have to do to become...complete."
"Tell me," Micky moaned erotically,
"You have to drink the blood of a virgin of twenty-one years old."
Micky's eyes opened wide and he looked at Mike quizzically.
"I know it's stupid," The prince looked to the floor, "It's just the way it's done, that's what all this stuff is based on. I suppose the early vampires were sex obsessed, I dunno."
His musing prompted an innocent child-like giggle from Micky, which brought a smile to Mike's face.
"But," Micky suddenly stopped laughing, "Where am I gonna find one of those? It's 1967! Some people are calling it the summer of love, where am I gonna find one of those? How do I know?"
"Micky, Micky," Mike soothed him, "You're right, they are quite rare, but I already know where to find one."
"Where?!"
"Shit this is hard," Mike felt a rising guilt, "You have to be so sure Mick, or you'll never forgive yourself..."
"Why Mike?” Micky gulped, "W...who is it?"
Mike swallowed hard and looked Micky straight in the eye, building up the courage to whisper, "Peter."
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