As it dawned on me that I had actually been responsible for another person's death, I became aware of a lack of remorse, an absence of guilt. I knew that I was supposed to feel these; I had watched enough TV, seen loads of movies. In all of these lay the underlying theme of guilt and torment when the good guy kills another person. There and then, I felt nothing apart from mild surprise, and growing irritation at all the people in the room who had come to disturb my peace.
Anne had noticed my unfettered wrists and unsecured hands by then, and she started barking orders. Her minions dropped everything, and that included the corpse that had been slung between two of them, and swarmed towards me. I watched with detached interest as they held my arms down against the armrests again, and drove another set of nails through my palms and into the wood below. This time I felt the pain, but I gritted my teeth. Two nails in each hand. Two clusters of agony shooting up my arms and into my neck, carrying their distress signals to my brain. I shut my eyes, trying to control the urge to scream.
When I opened them again Anne was standing in that doorway, a faintly smug expression on her face.
Bitch.
I shut my eyes again, and focused on the impulses that shrieked their way from where those brutal nails gripped my hands. And there it was. So quick. So easy. It was like turning on a light switch.
I sensed the flickering currents flowing up my nerves. I saw them. I felt them.
I reached out and stopped them.
And just like that, my pain was gone.
Angus
"My name is Hugo," the new vampire said as he walked towards us. He'd transferred one of the shotguns to his other hand, so both were now loosely gripped in his left hand, and he extended his right in greeting. I reached out and shook it.
"Angus," I said by way of introduction. "This is Fergus, my brother, and Oliver."
Hugo nodded and shook hands with each of them in turn.
"I need your help." He spoke in a low voice, his words unhurried. His resemblance to Mark was uncanny. I could almost have believed that it was Mark that stood before us, requesting assistance.
"You're Mark's father," I said. It was a statement more than a question. "And Rebecca's."
Tact has never been one of my strong points. Fortunately, Hugo remained unfazed.
"Yes. I've been in Finland for the past three months, and returned yesterday. I spoke to one of my contacts in Jack's network. Turns out a lot has happened in my absence."