I followed Michael in a bit of a daze for some undefined period of time. He stopped at a white car and opened the door and practically shoved me inside. He walked around to the other side and jumped in. We were on the road. The soundtrack for our flight was a collection of light hearted Christmas tunes, at least until Michael fumbled with the dash and ejected the cd. He tossed it into the back seat carelessly.
I sat there numbly for a while, but then started noticing small things. My hands and toes were ice cold. I had apparently put on my seat belt, even though I had no recollection of doing so. Michael was driving too fast. Michael was being very silent and it was even more obvious now that the festive music was gone. We were in a car. The dash was dusty and one of those fragrant trees was hanging from the rear view mirror.
As we drove, I held on to the door as if that would save me. I considered Michael's car. It had been parked quite far from my house. Why would he have parked so far away if he had come specifically looking for me? I began to feel suspicious.
I frowned. "Is this even your car?"
"Yes. I borrowed it," he said in a casual voice.
"You stole a car? We'll go to jail!" I gasped.
"We're not going to get caught, we're not going to jail and even if we were, would you rather die? I can let you out here. I'm sure Paul would be more than happy to do the honors," he said pointedly.
"No," I said. Then I added, "But stealing is wrong."
"Why?" he asked rather sardonically.
"Because it belongs to someone?"
"Why?" he repeated.
"Because they bought and paid for it."
"Really, though, who can own the very atoms that the car is made up of? Ownership is just an illusion," he said with a trace of the sardonic good humor I had just begun to associate with him before Paul had arrived.
"It's still wrong," I said.
"Why?" he repeated, with a grin.
"It just is."
"Right and wrong are illusions, too," he said in a serious voice. "But if it makes your illusionary conscience feel better, we'll be leaving this car in an obvious place. I'll even leave some money to pay for the gas and a rental fee if it calms your silly misgivings."
"Okay," I agreed, because I would not win even if I disagreed. Arguing would be a waste of energy I just could not summon in that moment. I watched the scenery go by out the window. I realized I had not been in anything besides public transit for some time. I wiped down my handholds with my sleeve and I made sure not to touch anything else so I would not leave my fingerprints on it. If someone did figure out it was me in here, I would be sure to say I was forced into it, which was barely less than the truth.
I shot a glance at Michael. He looked serious and was being very tight lipped unless you counted him irritating me with his lax morals. Why should I be surprised he would steal a car on Christmas? He had violated my right to personal autonomy on an impulse.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Airport."
"Airport?" I repeated dumbly.
"You don't know what an
airport is?" he asked sarcastically, deliberately misunderstanding me.
I did not bother answering. I looked out the window again and watched the
passing houses. There were gaudy, brightly colored decorations on most of them.
After a few minutes of silence, I could not resist the urge to break it any longer. "Why are we going to the airport?"
"I thought I shook Paul off my trail, but he's too bloody persistent and he knows me too well. We've got to get out of the country."
Out of the country? I could not think of a thing to say in response to that. Even if I did ask, he would no doubt ask me if I would rather die than come along. I wished I could tell him to go on without me, but the memory of Paul apologizing for my death stopped me from arguing. I could still see him with that grim determination in his dark eyes and hear the regret in his tone. "But I don't have a passport."
"That won't be a problem," he said dismissively.
We drove for hours, Michael stopping only for gas. I went into the washroom quickly, keeping my head down and my hat as low on my forehead as it would go in case someone checked gas station security footage while working on the case of the stolen car. I hurried for fear Michael might leave me behind. To my bittersweet relief the car and Michael were still waiting for me outside.
"Hurry up," Michael growled and I complied quickly. We continued on.
At some point I fell asleep. My dreams were unpleasant, full of twisted faces and fearful chases. I kept seeing Paul's face and he told me I was going to die over and over. I begged him not to kill me. It was almost a relief when Michael shook me awake just to tell me to wait in the car. I was disoriented from sleep and had a deep feeling of dread from the nightmares which had plagued me. It was only after Michael was out of sight I recovered enough to feel annoyed he had woke me up to order me to simply wait for him to get back. Did he think I was his dog?
Still I remained in the car, trusting Michael would indeed return. From where I sat I could see a large building. There was a high mesh fence with lights running for a long distance behind it. I did not really figure out where we were until I saw a plane taking off. I tried to read the signs but I couldn't make out the letters through the darkness since we were parked too far from the building.
I almost got up to leave the vehicle and walk closer to the building to find out exactly where I was. I did not even know what state we were in any longer. I waited obediently, because I was afraid Michael would leave if he found I was gone when he returned.
If he left without me, I did not know what I would do. I would have to find some way back to my home, but Paul might be there. He knew where to find me. He would figure out where I went to school and where I worked if he wanted to.
I could go somewhere else and hide, but I had an uncanny sense that he was capable of finding me wherever I ran. Paul had let me live before, probably convinced I would die on my own. Now it seemed like he wanted to finish the task.
I felt certain Paul would regretfully kill me because for some unfathomable reason he deemed it necessary. Michael was another enigma; I did not know any of his motives or plans. I knew it was not wise to follow him. "But what else can I do?" I muttered forlornly.
Another wrinkle of my problem was I had no understanding of the nature of what I now was. I would have probably died if Michael had not come back, not understanding I needed blood. Maybe someone would have found me passed out and taken me to a hospital. Would they have figured out what was wrong with me? Was my nature changed? Was I even human any longer?
No matter what Michael claimed, neither of us could possibly be gods. I might have been more likely to believe him if he had suggested something of a more hellish nature.
Although I had considered vampires and had even asked him in my fear at our initial meeting, I had never truly believed they could exist and I still did not, I assured myself. The thought of consuming blood still revolted me, but my fear of dying whisked much of my disgust away. It was an unpleasantly unchangeable fact that I had been feeling perfectly fine since shortly after he had bullied me into drinking blood.
So, I was not a god and I was absolutely, completely not a vampire, but I was also not completely certain that I was a normal human either. I decided then and there I would do what I had to do to survive. If that meant following the unpredictable Michael for now, then I would follow him.
The difference was imperceptibly minute but at the same time enormous. This time I was deciding to follow, not being dragged along by Michael's stupid, mocking whims.
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