would have puked.
The psychotic break he had always feared had finally happened. A dark corner of his mind had been reserved for the certainty that he would someday wake to find that he had done something terrible while in the grip of his illness, and here it was at last. A fragmented image of the event surfaced in his thoughts; the memory of the body of Charles Rennick twitching like a marionette as he poured bullets into it.
His therapist had warned him that he might not be ready for something as tense as a cruise. She hadn’t known the half of it.
I’m a murderer.
The world bucked beneath him once more, and this time he did retch, and a thin string of painfully acidic bile trickled from his lips.
For a moment, all he could do was cough and gasp for air as Herb stared at him quizzically.
When the nausea passed, Dan wiped at his mouth with his wrist and scanned the room properly. It looked like he had been placed in a large steel box; he could almost have believed it was another—even larger—shipping container, but for the light spilling through a single narrow window near the ceiling.
“Where am I?”
“We’re still on the trawler.” Herb’s brow furrowed in apparent concern. “What’s wrong with you?”
Dan spat and shook his head, and suddenly, incredibly, a bitter laugh spilled from his mouth. It was the exact question he had always feared, the very reason that he had spent two years locked in his London apartment. The overwhelming certainty that strangers would be able to see straight through him, right to his broken core. To the wrongness . Once, being confronted by that question would have filled him with a paralysing anxiety—maybe even severe enough to induce a full-blown panic attack.
“I’m not normal ,” Dan said through gritted teeth, biting down on the hysteria that wanted to burst from him. “That’s what’s wrong with me. What the fuck’s wrong with you ? Daddy issues?”
Herb’s expression hardened, and Dan’s eyes widened in shock.
Did I really just say that?
“Not anymore,” Herb said sourly. He threw a bundle of material at Dan. “Some fresh clothes. We are leaving soon, so get ready.”
We? Dan thought ominously as he examined the clothes. A heavy sweater and jeans. He looked up at Herb.
“Leave to go where?”
“I live on a…compound of sorts. Thanks to my father’s obsession, it’s probably the safest place we can go until we figure out our next step.”
There it was again. We.
Our.
“Safest?”
“Steel shutters, thick walls. UV lights in the grounds. When the place is on lockdown, it’s practically a fortress. And if there is any information in the texts about people who are able to resist vampires, that’s where we’ll find it. In my father’s library. Best thing we can do is get there fast, and seal ourselves in before we run out of daylight. Hope you’re not afraid of flying.”
“Flying?”
Dan’s mouth asked that last one on autopilot, and he rebuked himself bitterly. He sounded pathetic, timidly batting Herb’s words back as feeble questions. He began to shake his head firmly. The conversation was heading down a path that could only lead to a very bad place. He had to get a grip on it, fast.
“Yeah,” Herb said. “Trawler’s too slow. As soon as we’re close enough, we’ll take the chopper—”
“There is no we ,” Dan interrupted, surprising himself with the authority in his tone. “I’m going home, and then probably to prison, unless you people plan to kill me. Whatever it is you want to do, I want no part of it.”
Herb looked surprised, as though he hadn’t even considered what Dan might want.
“Yeah,” Dan continued, “I was listening in the container. Vampires rising, ancient oaths, Hell on earth and human sacrifice. Insane; every last bit of it. I don’t know who or what you think I am, but I assure you, I’m not it. I just want to go home. ”
Herb blinked.
“You can’t go home,” he said softly.
The psychotic break he had always feared had finally happened. A dark corner of his mind had been reserved for the certainty that he would someday wake to find that he had done something terrible while in the grip of his illness, and here it was at last. A fragmented image of the event surfaced in his thoughts; the memory of the body of Charles Rennick twitching like a marionette as he poured bullets into it.
His therapist had warned him that he might not be ready for something as tense as a cruise. She hadn’t known the half of it.
I’m a murderer.
The world bucked beneath him once more, and this time he did retch, and a thin string of painfully acidic bile trickled from his lips.
For a moment, all he could do was cough and gasp for air as Herb stared at him quizzically.
When the nausea passed, Dan wiped at his mouth with his wrist and scanned the room properly. It looked like he had been placed in a large steel box; he could almost have believed it was another—even larger—shipping container, but for the light spilling through a single narrow window near the ceiling.
“Where am I?”
“We’re still on the trawler.” Herb’s brow furrowed in apparent concern. “What’s wrong with you?”
Dan spat and shook his head, and suddenly, incredibly, a bitter laugh spilled from his mouth. It was the exact question he had always feared, the very reason that he had spent two years locked in his London apartment. The overwhelming certainty that strangers would be able to see straight through him, right to his broken core. To the wrongness . Once, being confronted by that question would have filled him with a paralysing anxiety—maybe even severe enough to induce a full-blown panic attack.
“I’m not normal ,” Dan said through gritted teeth, biting down on the hysteria that wanted to burst from him. “That’s what’s wrong with me. What the fuck’s wrong with you ? Daddy issues?”
Herb’s expression hardened, and Dan’s eyes widened in shock.
Did I really just say that?
“Not anymore,” Herb said sourly. He threw a bundle of material at Dan. “Some fresh clothes. We are leaving soon, so get ready.”
We? Dan thought ominously as he examined the clothes. A heavy sweater and jeans. He looked up at Herb.
“Leave to go where?”
“I live on a…compound of sorts. Thanks to my father’s obsession, it’s probably the safest place we can go until we figure out our next step.”
There it was again. We.
Our.
“Safest?”
“Steel shutters, thick walls. UV lights in the grounds. When the place is on lockdown, it’s practically a fortress. And if there is any information in the texts about people who are able to resist vampires, that’s where we’ll find it. In my father’s library. Best thing we can do is get there fast, and seal ourselves in before we run out of daylight. Hope you’re not afraid of flying.”
“Flying?”
Dan’s mouth asked that last one on autopilot, and he rebuked himself bitterly. He sounded pathetic, timidly batting Herb’s words back as feeble questions. He began to shake his head firmly. The conversation was heading down a path that could only lead to a very bad place. He had to get a grip on it, fast.
“Yeah,” Herb said. “Trawler’s too slow. As soon as we’re close enough, we’ll take the chopper—”
“There is no we ,” Dan interrupted, surprising himself with the authority in his tone. “I’m going home, and then probably to prison, unless you people plan to kill me. Whatever it is you want to do, I want no part of it.”
Herb looked surprised, as though he hadn’t even considered what Dan might want.
“Yeah,” Dan continued, “I was listening in the container. Vampires rising, ancient oaths, Hell on earth and human sacrifice. Insane; every last bit of it. I don’t know who or what you think I am, but I assure you, I’m not it. I just want to go home. ”
Herb blinked.
“You can’t go home,” he said softly.
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