Chapter Text
--- Please note the updated tags - this chapter includes references to the loss of a baby in pregnancy. ---
He is my reflection.
I've survived for seventy years only because the mirror is empty.
I cannot see. Therefore I am not.
Mitchell shows me my face. I exist. I am.
As ever, Ivan asked the important question - am I going to run?
Soldier on or surrender.
And there’s the crux; the conflict Ivan doesn’t understand, not any more. I choose to believe he knew it once upon a time - when he was the preacher on the Welsh hillside having his faith ripped from him in the morning mist. I refuse to accept he was reborn in that moment with his old self already irretrievable. But perhaps this is my delusion. Perhaps all the passion and belief of his human life was the mask. Perhaps the husk which remains, so empty of feeling, was always the real truth buried inside. Perhaps.
Mitchell is raw and bleeding still.
It’s terrifying because he shows me that beneath the smile and the lipstick, so am I.
I can’t watch him soldier on. I can’t watch him surrender either.
I should run.
I can’t help him because I’m lost too.
It hurts. So much.
It turned out that knocking on the warehouse door was infinitely harder than Mitchell expected. So there he stood, exposed and foolish, hovering on the doorstep with a fist left hanging in mid-air.
A quick exhale of breath punched from his lungs as he dropped his head to his chest.
It had all seemed so easy. The omnibus wound its way through the streets of Piccadilly and Soho while he held onto the rail, swaying gently as he weighed up the best way to talk Ivan into giving him a job. He’d hopped down at the bus stop clear in his mind, but now he was on the doorstep it all drained away. Instead his thoughts clouded with Ellie. It wasn’t comfortable any more. If anything, it was a walk along a knife’s edge knowing the blade can cut deep.
She had weaved into his consciousness when he was least able to resist. How exactly this had happened was a mystery. The defences had been built high and thick. He thought he was safe. But despite the barricades his nights were warmed by memories her teasing over his choice of films, laughing at his waltz, and the brush of her fingers against his hand when the rawness bled through. Kindness, laughter, warmth.
There’s danger in drawing closer to the warmth. This was the lesson he’d been so slow to learn, despite the price paid by an angel in a Belgian brothel back at the beginning. But still he yearned.
As always, thoughts of companionship brought Herrick’s voice to mind. “Fools, all of them. Do not be seduced by the false memories, son. Remember who you are now. You are the overman, the ubermensch. You’re free to be who you truly are, the rest are only human - or less.” Sometimes Mitchell fervently wished Herrick wouldn’t read quite so much. The result was never good and was the cause of far too many nights running to the nearest bar to clear his headache with beer.
But maybe with one of his own kind? Someone who understood everything. Someone who could share it all. No need to hide. Where there was no pounding pulse to draw out the monsters. A place where a shared bed would be a refuge instead of a slaughterhouse.
But here on the doorstep he remembered every last word she’d spat at him - “don't ever, ever touch me again. You do not lay a finger on me. If you do I will kill you.”
His fist dropped to his side without a knock.
He should walk away. Herrick was waiting.
What he didn’t expect was to have the door flung open in his face.
The familiar tall frame of the 44 Club’s piano player bowled straight into him at speed. They both stuttered for a moment, strong fingers gripping Mitchell’s elbow as he fought to steady himself on the step.
Taken off guard, Mitchell started to babble. “Fuckin’ hell. Sorry. Maestro. Wasn’t expecting that. Or you. How are you? It’s been a while. I’m meeting Ivan. Why are you here? Anyways. I was thinking, y’know, he’ll need help. Well, there must be things I could -“
“Christ. It’s you!” The shocked brown eyes slipped away from his as the pianist took a pace back and released his arm. “Ivan’s gone out. You should come back later.“
“But he said he’d be here tonight. He’s expecting me.”
“Come on Mitchell, let’s go get a pint. I’m buying.”
“Shit. I’d prepared the whole ‘give me a job’ speech. I’ll forget it all by tomorrow. D’you think he’ll be back soon? I can wait.”
“Look my friend, if you’re this wound up already a pint will help calm you down. Come on, the Dog and Duck is just -“
The door was about to close behind them when he heard the metallic click of heels on the iron staircase. He shot out an arm to hold it open, in time to fix Ellie’s gaze as she stepped down into the hallway.
“Mitchell,” he felt sharp fingers dig into his elbow again, “the landlord has a corner set aside away from the mirrors. Good ale too. If we go now we can -”
“Wait a minute, I just want to -” Mitchell twisted his arm away and thoughtlessly manhandled the man in front of him to the side by the shoulders. “Just want to…”
As he walked closer he saw Ellie transfixed with a glare in her eyes that screamed her old words in his head: “I will kill you.”
He must have imagined it, because when she eventually released his stare her tight voice was talking to his companion, not him. “Don’t worry, it would be better if you left us for now. I’ll be fine. I can handle this.”
He let their argument wash over him. It was too late to back away. This had already gone on for long enough. If he was going to work with Ivan he and Ellie needed to reach an understanding whether she wanted to or not. Finally the piano player gave in, but before leaving he raised a hand to grip the back of Mitchell’s head.
“Find me.” Before Mitchell could respond, he let go just as abruptly. “I promised you a pint. Remember that.”
She didn’t wave him upstairs to the living quarters, or invite him to follow her. She stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase, her voice echoing around the brick walls as the door shut behind him.
“Why are you here?”
The sound was a chilly as the warehouse walls. Mitchell bridled against the hostility. “Oh I dunno. Let’s think. Why might I be here? To invite you to the Picture House? There’s a triple-bill tonight.”
“This triple-bill Mitchell, are you on it?”
“Am I what?”
“Forget it. I thought I’d made myself clear enough. You know the way out.”
It was the exaggerated sigh she used as she turned to walk away that lit the lingering tinder of anger in Mitchell. He cursed under his breath.
“I was invited, Ellie. I’m here to see Ivan. You could at least offer me a drink.”
“I’m not thirsty. Look, Mitchell, Soho isn’t the place for you.”
“Fine. If you say so. But as I’m here, answer me something. What did I do? Why do I disgust you so much? You’re screwing Ivan for Christ’s sake. Holy Mother of God, I’ve heard plenty about his tastes. Double standards stink, y’know.”
She folded her arms as she faced him square on. “Don’t push it, soldier.”
“And the first night we met you showed me how to improve my killing technique. Before half fucking me against the bathroom wall. So forgive me for thinking I deserve an explanation.”
His gait grew silky as he moved towards her, head cocked to the side as if deciphering a puzzle.
“Oh I’m sorry. Was that too blunt, Ellie? Too uncultured? I’m no Ivan. I can’t wrap it all up in beautiful speeches. I was going to try. I even made notes. But you know what, fuck that. I don’t want to be civilised any more. And I’m not going to pretend there isn’t something going on between us.”
“You have a very high opinion of yourself Sergeant. Let me make this crystal clear so you can get it through your impressively thick skull. There is nothing going on between us. Have you got that now? Would you like me to write it down for you, just to be sure?”
He snorted. “Keep telling yourself that if it helps. Tell Ivan. Tell your piano friend. But don’t ever expect me to play along with your lies.”
“You can leave right now. Or you will be thrown out.”
“Oh I’ll leave, don’t you worry, but not without finishing this. You’re lying, darlin’. I can see it in you. I know it. Inside - here”, he jabbed towards his own chest, “I can feel it. So what changed? What have I done? I can’t put it right if you don’t -”
"Typical bloody man! It's always about you, isn't it. What YOU want. What YOU deserve. What I should give YOU. Or what? What if I don’t want. You get to take it anyway because you think I owe you? One ridiculous fumble and you think I am in your debt! Like a part of me belongs to you!” She raised a hand as she gulped down the fury, talking over his stunned objection.
“Tell me, were you always this self obsessed? What were you like before, I wonder. Did you preen yourself in front of the sheep when you got bored of your tiny little life? Practice your seduction technique on the hillside in the pelting rain?”
“M-my what?”
“No, let me guess. It was the schoolgirls at the village hall hanging on your every word and waiting for a dance. The dangerous boy from over the hill. The one they could catch; the one they could tame. Ah, the love of a good woman, is that what you took? How many did you fuck in the hay for five minutes, then smirk knowingly when they could never look the good Father in the face at Mass again."
Mitchell heard the words but they made no sense. There was no semblance of his life in the scenes laid out before him. The shy, lanky boy who took two years to realise Maire might be dancing with him at the ceilidh because she liked him, and not because Aunt Bernadette had asked her to. But Ellie's rage pinned his feet to the floor, his head barely shaking as she carried on, her voice dropping lower.
"Don't worry, doll. I know all about the dangerous boy from over the hill. You want to finish what you started? Another roll in the hay? Fine. That’s easy. Fucking is easy, you know that. Come here.”
Neither of them moved.
“No?” She untangled her arms and held them open wide. “Changed your mind? You weren’t so hesitant before. But as you please. As always.” She twisted away and started back up the stairs without a backward glance. “The door’s behind you. I’ll tell Ivan he missed you.”
“I only - only -“ Mitchell waited for the clang of the upstairs door slamming shut behind her. Instead the click of heels stopped, and he looked up to see Ellie slumped against the rail, eyes closed. She looked so small folded onto the iron stair with her forehead pressed against the back of her hands. The anger and confusion in his veins hummed gently as his mind tried to weigh up what to do. He could retreat with a slammed door of his own, and tell Herrick that Bristol was exactly where he wanted to be. Or he could rush up the stairs, whispering platitudes, and hope to wake up tomorrow wrapped in her bedsheets.
He did neither.
Instead he sat on the floor, the stone cold beneath him, head rested back against the bricks.
The silence raged on in the space between them.
"You’re still here?” Ellie didn’t open her eyes to check.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m still here because you are. I could ask you the same question, but I don’t expect to get an answer. ”
“Running away isn’t working too well for me at the moment.”
“So you decided to stop running?”
“I suppose I did. Right here on this step. The end of the line.” Her laugh was too shaky to be convincing.
He nodded, although he knew she couldn’t see him acknowledge her.
The minutes of silence stretched out again. Until finally -
“Mitchell. Truth or dare?”
“Excuse me? Oh. Well. Parlour games aren’t my thing, although I can play a mean round of charades if you get me drunk enough. Because it’s you asking I choose truth, of course.”
Her words were crisp and clear holding no anger, no teasing. “What’s the worst thing you’ve seen?”
There wasn’t a second’s hesitation in his reply. “The Somme. Nothing will ever come close to that - not ever again. They call it a battle, but it was… ah, there are no words. You?”
He watched her hands grip the railing so tightly the whites of her knuckles were visible even from where he sat. Her eyes remained clamped shut. “There are so many to choose from over the decades. Ivan’s reputation is well-earned, and I’ve seen war first hand too. But now when I close my eyes - every time I close my eyes - I see your hands on a girl named Alice, your dark curls against the red and white of her skin.”
Mitchell felt the protest rise in his throat; how could this possibly be worse than a hundred things she’d done herself, but Ellie pressed on, eyes still unseeing.
“It’s not so long ago really, the eighteen-fifties. Only seventy years. That’s no more than a blink of the eye. As was I. I was nothing. Born in Oxford 1825, died in Oxford 1853. Except I didn’t. If I had a headstone that would be all it could say about me.
"Mine is such an unremarkable life. I was poor enough to gather wild flowers and sell them for ha’pennies on the steps of theatres and churches. Naive enough to believe the promises of the boy. Foolish enough to think it would be different for me. And desperate enough to follow the stranger to the last cottage in the row because her kind, Christian offer of work in her house despite the sinful condition I could no longer hide would mean I would eat that month, and then at least my baby could thrive.”
Fear slid down his spine at her words. His hands pressed into the stone slabs of the floor as she continued, voice quiet but unwavering.
“Hell was in that house. I had been procured for specialist tastes, you see. He sat in the corner dressed in finery so very out of place next to the cold ash in the fireplace. He was soft and young and rich, I thought, but his hands were calloused from toil when they touched me, just as mine were.”
Mitchell flinched as her eyes opened to gaze directly into his own, but he didn’t turn away.
“From this point I think you can tell the story better than I. What does it feel like Mitchell? Tell me. Which heartbeat do you chase down first? Mother or child? How high does it take you? You know. But I can tell you what real hell is. It’s to wake. At least you spared Alice that.”
His mouth was too dry respond. But what could he say.
“There is another hell, though, a new one designed especially for her. William Herrick has seen to that. She’ll lose her name, her identity. Instead she’ll forever be called The Victim in the moving picture sensation. Congratulations Mitchell, you made her immortal. ”
“Oh Christ.”
“I understand why you took her. I really do. I realise you didn’t know what was planned - or why. And I’m guessing you haven’t been allowed to see the… the film yet. Herrick isn’t foolish enough to let that happen until he’s circulated plenty of copies so there’s nothing you or even Ivan can do about it. But it makes no difference. Not to me. Just as he knew it wouldn’t. You are now my nightmare.”
“Your Somme.”
“My Somme. I’m so sorry, Mitchell.”
“Ellie… please… I… I’m…”
“It’s alright. There’s no point in trying to say it, doll. Not any more.”
He nodded. It was over.
“Can I ask…?”
“Yes, you can ask. What is it?”
“He recruited you. Did you stay with him? And - and - your baby…? What -?”
“I didn’t stay with him. He kept me with him - which isn’t the same at all. He became bored soon enough. One morning he walked out of the cottage door and simply never returned. I hear of him all the time; there are always whispers. He disappeared from view for decades, but he’s back now. He’s in Berlin, I believe. My baby died with me, of course. It couldn’t wake with me. Too long without any sustenance from my dead body. Or maybe it was too pure to survive the traces of vampire blood, unlike me.”
“God I’m so sorry Ellie, so sorry. What happened to you, to you both?” Mitchell’s question was so quiet in the still hall that Ellie thought she’d imagined it rather than heard it.
“Later I woke with the scar on my belly already healing. He wouldn’t tell me whether my child had been a girl or a boy. He’s a sadist, you see. He has plenty of experience of torture in all its forms, so he was trying something new. Two weeks later he stroked my belly and smiled - ‘you are unscarred my love’, he said. He called me beautiful. He pinned my arms down and kissed me there, on my stomach. That was the night before he left. And he was right. I am completely unscarred.”
“Why is he still out there? I’d stake him. Ivan would. You could.”
“Power, Mitchell. Rules. And the Old Ones are protected. Anyway this world of ours is full of stories like mine. Or yours. All of them nightmares. All of them insignificant. As I said, my life is unremarkable in everything except my recruitment on the whim of a vampire who was curious about what would happen. Nothing more.”
“I wish it hadn’t happened, Ellie, any of this. You know that don’t you?”
“I do. In another life, doll. Perhaps we could have found each other in another life.”
He climbed the spiral staircase then. Step by step. Cautious - as if I was a butterfly that would flit away. He stopped two steps below me, silent and waiting for permission. My palms ached from gripping the iron railings, and stung as I released them and pulled myself up with arthritic care. I am embarrassed to say I stumbled rather than walked to close the gap between us. His fingers were calloused as they wrapped my shoulders and stroked my arms. This made me shiver. He misunderstood - of course he would - and held me tighter, drawing my head to his shoulder and whispering kind words into my hair.
He is still kind. I wish he wasn’t, because kindness will shred him, inch by wretched inch.
Perhaps I should soldier on. I could stay and teach him. Teach him how to kill what is inside.
And today, Mitchell, the lesson is how to kill mercy. That's beginners' level. In no time we'll have you up to speed, and then I'll teach you how to kill hope. That's a tricky one. It has a habit of only playing dead. But I'll let you into a secret - it really doesn't spring eternal.
I cried all my tears many years ago.
But this hurts. So much.