A whirl of activity later and the messy haired chef produced a plate and set it unceremoniously on the table before me. Down dropped a fork and I picked it up, too. He sat down opposite me and resumed the slouching pose he was in when I had arrived.
I decided to ignore what he was doing. The omelet looked good and he had even added a couple of slices of orange on the side and some leafy green garnish. I took a bite.
It was absolute heaven, fluffy like the clouds and full of all the flavor I could possibly ask for. I was extremely hungry, so my perception of the deliciousness of the omelet may have been slightly exagerated. Regardless, I started shoveling it into my mouth. After months of existing on café fare, sandwiches and my own substandard cooking, I wished the omelet would never end. I should simply stay on this island and put up with Michael so I could eat surely face's cooking forever. Who cared about the rest of the world anyway? Like books, one should apparently never judge a cook by his ornery face.
"It's fantastic," I told him gratefully between bites.
The mussed haired chef predictably shrugged. I continued eating.
When I regrettably came to the end of my meal I cleaned up after myself. I fully intended to get on and stay on the good side of this master of culinary arts. I said goodbye to him as nicely as I could manage, considering the still unpleasant expression on his face. If he cared, there was no sign.
As I walked away I found myself wondering if he was a normal human or if he was another vampire gone mad. If so, he had probably been a great human chef before Michael had turned him and altered his mind. At least the part of his brain that had remained could make a fine omelet. I was quite sure that Alicia was helpful to no one.
I wondered again if the strangeness of all these people was something which would catch up with me later. Michael had said I would already have begun to lose my mind if I was going to, but I was not sure I trusted his assessment.
Perhaps I had changed already in ways I could not see. Michael had not known me before he had ripped away my normalcy. How would he know if the change had affected my mind? I tried to remember what I had been like before that terrifying night. I still felt quite the same, but I could not change it if I was not. I resolved not to waste time worrying about it.
There were plenty of other things to worry about that I might be able to change.
Like my clothes. I was filthy. Maybe that was why I kept being insulted and ignored. I probably should not have been critiquing the chef's appearance when my own hair felt weighed down and gross.
I also really needed some clothes. I had already slept in my clothes once even before Michael had broken in to my apartment. What had it been now, two days? I really was not sure. My sense of time seemed skewed. So much had changed, and had we switched time zones? I was not sure. I pushed aside the terrifying fact I was not even certain what side of the planet I was on. I could not deal with that right now.
Regardless, I had also worn these clothes as we ran away from Paul, travelled by car then plane and finally slept in them again a second time. I stunk, no doubt. Perhaps that was why the messy haired chef had looked so displeased and my presence.
I found myself annoyed at Michael all over again. Did Michael really expect me to go without at least an extra change of clothing? Furthermore, what about my apartment and all my things at home? I had already paid next month's rent so I did not have to worry for a while, but how long did Michael actually plan to keep me here?
And, where was Michael anyway? For all I knew he had left the island. My mind could not help but produce a picture of his sardonic face as he flew away and left me stranded, the newest piece in his collection. I felt panic at the thought.
I forced myself to relax. I could have stayed behind and dealt with Paul myself, but I chose to tag along with Michael. I could not change that now. I could only make the best of it. I groaned as I walked back into the building I had slept in and made my way successfully to my room. It seemed to be as deserted as when I had left.
After a very long hour of doing nothing but obsessing over the millions of questions running through my mind, I heard a knock at my door. I leapt up and opened it, hoping it was Michael there to answer my many questions. Paradoxically, both to my disappointment and relief another unfamiliar young man stood in the hallway outside my door. He looked like he was about my age and had brown hair and a kind expression that made me instantly feel I could relax around him.
"Hi, I'm Alex. Mister Thompson sent me," he told me. His voice also put me at ease, quite against my will. I was sure if Michael sent him there was going to be something I did not like coming up.
"Hi, I'm Dylan," I told him, although he obviously already knew. "What did Michael want?" I hoped it was to bring me information or clothing.
"He thought you might need some sustenance."
"Sustenance? Food? I already ate. Oh..." I trailed off stupidly as I realized what he was talking about. Trust that dictatorial vampire to be pestering me about drinking blood already. "Uh, no thank you. I'm not interested." I tried to shut the door, but Alex's foot was in my way. I wondered if I was strong enough to shove him out the door. Probably not, he looked sturdy.
"Mister Thompson said that would be your response. He asked me to remind you that you will die of suffocation if you do not. He also said to explain to you I am here of my own free will and am being paid a very large sum to be here doing this job."
That was also what he might say if Michael was holding his family hostage to force his cooperation, I thought with narrowed eyes. No, Alex looked way too relaxed and content for that. Michael was obviously paying him enough to be happy to donate his blood. The whole business was nothing but a disgusting biohazard anyway.
Alex continued reciting what Michael had told him to say. "He also said to tell you I am tested free of disease and even if I was not you cannot catch anything from me regardless. Mister Thompson also said that I am not to allow you to drink from a cup because you are not an invalid or an infant."
I was a little bit annoyed that Michael had already anticipated all of my objections. I started, trying to be diplomatic, "But I don't feel like I need any blood yet, Alex."
"Mister Thompson said you might also say that. He said that you need to drink more frequently while gathering your strength, but you can choose to wait until later in the day."
A reprieve, even if it was temporary. I would take it. "That sounds better," I agreed, pasting a fake smile over my building ire that Michael had pushed me into another corner. And he did not even have the decency to do it himself! "Does Mr. Thompson have anything else to say?" I asked with sweet sarcasm.
Alex answered completely seriously. "I don't believe so. What time would you like me to return?"
"Never?"
He ignored my response with a sympathetic smile. "How does seven o'clock sound?"
"Fine," I agreed, feeling sulky.
"I'll meet you here at seven then," he said as he began to leave.
"Wait, where is Michael?" I asked him.
He shook his head, "I'm afraid I have no idea. I only saw Mister Thompson when he called me to his office earlier, but he left when I did."
I hated to ask, but I hated how filthy I was even more. "If you see him, can you ask him where I can get some clothing?" How I hated Michael in that moment for bringing me to this point.
He glanced over me and I could not help but cringe. My father would be dismayed at my current appearance. My mother would have probably fainted, so great would be her horror at how unkempt one of her offspring looked. I may not have been her personal pet project, but my parents were united in keeping up appearances if nothing else. Not that I cared what they thought, I reminded myself sternly.
Alex nodded and said, "Yes, I'll do that for you, if I see him."
"Thanks," I said through my teeth. Then with a quick friendly wave, he was gone.
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