Author's Note:

I'll be posting Chapter 25 tomorrow.  Thanks for reading!!!

We drove for a long time with only the purring of the car's engine.  I felt empty, like I had poured all my feelings into Paul's grave and there were none left for me. 

I did not even care I was going back to the island and I did not care I would be able to again see the people who I had missed so much when I had thought I would never see them again.

I just looked out the window at an unfamiliar world rushing by me.

"We're going to London and we'll fly from there," Michael informed me, breaking the long silence.

"Fine."  I went back to looking out the window.

There were a few more minutes of silence.  I did not care it was uncomfortable; I wanted it to be unpleasant for Michael.

"So, Paul told you everything?" Michael asked, but it was not a question.  He knew the answer.

"Yes."

More silence.

"Little girl?"

"What?" I muttered.

"Do you hate me now?" he sounded frustrated.

I did not feel sorry for him.  "I don't want to talk to you right now."

"Fine."

Michael continued to drive.  He stopped trying to speak to me.

After some undefined period of driving, we arrived in London.  I did not pay attention to where we were headed.  We arrived at an airport.

"I'll be right back," Michael told me.

"Fine."

I heard Michael swear under his breath as he got out of the car.  I waited.  I stared out the window at nothing until Michael returned.

"Come with me," he said.

"Fine," I said impassively.  I wanted to frustrate him.  The smallest amount of enjoyment was unfolding inside of me, the vindictive pleasure of causing him shallow difficulties.  I wanted him to regret trying to bully me into bending to his will. 

This time I would not let down my guard.  I would not be a pliable fool this time.

Michael opened the trunk and I grabbed my bag.  I followed Michael to a plane.  At one point I might have been slightly impressed at the fact he had access to private planes, but I did not care now.  What were things worth if you were nothing but a selfish monster?  How was he so emotionless and uncaring?

Why the hell had Michael and Paul wasted centuries on meaningless revenge?  What had killing Paul done for Michael?  Nothing.  It did not even seem he had even gotten the briefest feeling of satisfaction.  He acted as if nothing had happened.

This was the side of Michael I had foolishly ignored.  This side of him, where he could coldly gamble with someone's life or even kill someone he once loved without blinking an eye.

I followed Paul's killer onto the plane and took a seat across from him.  I looked out the window while they plane started moving and even while it took to the air.  I looked down at the ground covered in cars and buildings and trees.  It all appeared so tiny and insignificant.

A handsome steward came out and asked, "Do you need anything, Mister Thompson?  Miss?"

"Bring us a meal," Michael instructed.  I did not bother answering.

A few minutes later the man returned with two trays, which were set before us.  Michael began to eat.  I ignored it.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Michael asked with a dark frown.

"I'm not hungry."

Michael did not argue with me.  After a while he fell asleep.  I waited.  I watched the ocean out the window and ran through everything that had happened, over and over.  I still felt nothing like I was empty and flat.

Michael woke up a while later and he immediately got up and left, presumably to talk to the pilot.  I waited and he came back.  He said nothing.  I wondered if he was intentionally not talking to me.  It was fine, because I had no desire to talk to him.

Finally we reached the island and I was grateful; not so much to be back, but just to get out of Michael's immediate vicinity.  I did not want to be anywhere near him anymore.

There was a jeep waiting for us and I threw my bag inside and got into the back seat.  The driver, a man I vaguely recognized, put the car into gear and we started to move.

Michael turned back and looked at me.  "Your things from Paris are waiting in your room."

"Thanks," I said out of habit rather than gratitude.

We arrived at the house and Michael immediately began talking to the driver.  I grabbed my bag and walked into the building.  I went to my room and sure enough, all of the things I had bought with Jack were sitting in the closet. 

I threw my bag down on the bed and threw myself down beside it.  What was I going to do?

I lay without moving for a long time.  It was hard to believe that just that morning I had been planning to go back to North America and never see this island again.  So much had happened.  Death, grief and hollyhock. 

Yet I still felt nothing, beyond dark amusement at my own expense.  It was like I had used all my strong emotions up.  I wondered if there was something wrong with me.  Maybe I was broken.  Maybe I always had been.

My train of thought was broken by a knock at the door.  I ignored it.  I was not in the mood to deal with any member of Michael's band of eccentrics.  The knocking came again and I figured it was probably some new blood donor come at Michael's command to bully me into taking care of myself.

Well, I had news for Michael.  I was not going to drink blood anymore.  It had always felt wrong to me and I much preferred the way I felt after Paul's blood transfusion. 

If Michael did not like it he could send me back home and I could fend for myself.

The knocking came again and was even more insistent.  Somebody was obviously being paid a lot to take care of me today.  I figured they would be kicking in the door soon. 

I glanced at the window and debated sneaking out for some solitude.  I had considered climbing down before and I was pretty sure I could make it down to the ground uninjured.

More banging.  I glanced at my bag.  I did not want to leave Paul's research notes in such an obvious place if I left.  If I snuck out they might go through my room.

Darn it.  "Just a minute," I called loudly and the banging ceased.  I wrenched the notes out of the bag and I stuck them under the mattress.  I would find a safer spot for them later.  Then I went and opened the door.

"Dylan!" shrieked Tara in the most ear-splitting tone I had ever heard her or any human employ.  "I just found out you were back!  When you didn't answer, I was starting to think you were dead!  Again!"  Then she burst into noisy tears and flung herself onto me.

"I'm fine," I said awkwardly while she soaked my shirt and I marveled at the speed of Tara's information network.

"Oh!  Dylan!  I really thought that I would never see you again!" Tara wailed.  "I heard that you were stolen by a madman!  A monster!  Why, I was so afraid!  Oh, the things you have been through!  Oh, my poor Dylan!"  She grasped me harder and I wondered how much longer I would have to endure it.

Michael had come back and blamed everything on Paul.  The thought irritated me.  Michael was the one who abandoned me to an unknown fate.  "Paul wasn't a madman or a monster," I told her calmly.  I had no reason to go along with Michael's version of the truth.

If Paul was a madman or a monster Michael was too, but I did not think Tara would be receptive to that bit of information.

Tara pushed me back to arms length and looked at me in horror.  "Oh no!  You haven't developed an attachment to your captor, have you?  I've heard of stockhold syndrome or something!"

"Stockholm," I corrected blandly.

"Yeah, that!  That syndrome where you sympathize with your captor and maybe even fall in love with him!  Oh, how could Paris have gone so wrong?  Paris is supposed to be the city of romance!" she howled.

"Oh, Paris was quite enlightening," I said wryly, then laughed at my own joke.  Tara looked at me like I had grown a third eye or sprouted horns or such.  Apparently I was not supposed to be laughing at a time like this and Tara did not even know the half of it.

I hurriedly reassured her, "Don't worry, Paul's dead anyway so you don't need to worry."  It felt weird saying that like it did not matter.

Oddly enough, she did not look reassured, but thankfully she changed the subject and chattered away, as if she were as reluctant to continue as I was. 

I knew she was worried about me, but I only felt a bit annoyed with her concern.  I would probably feel the same as she did if our positions were reversed.  But they were not.  I was the only one who had changed.

Tara was not doing anything wrong.  Life had went on as normal for her, while mine had reversed upon itself.  Everything I had begun to think I knew had turned out to be lies and the truth was new and strange.

Finally, Tara seemed satisfied I was fine physically, although I suspected she held some doubts about my mental condition.  Who could blame her?  After all, I felt the same way. 

Tara promised me she would come visit again and I nodded and smiled because I did not want to hurt her feelings with my apathy.

I was finally getting hungry.  There was a part of me that wanted to pile everything Michael had bought for me in the center of the yard and burn it and then starve myself so I would never have to subsist on his generosity. 

I ruled it out.  Michael was not worth starving myself over.  I would survive and I would figure out what to do, even if the future seemed murky and pointless.

I left the room to go and visit the kitchen.  I walked downstairs and at that exact moment Alicia walked down the hall.  Terrence was with her. 

I had the worst luck in the world.  What were the odds of running into Alicia the first time I stuck my head out of my room?

I sighed, because I was not in the mood for tolerating Alicia's rudeness and it did not take a psychic to know what was coming next.  My patience was already wearing thin and I was pretty sure Alicia would make short work of the remains.

"Why is the drab girl back here again?" Alicia asked in her typical snotty monologue.  I reminded myself the real Alicia was not like that.

"I am very disappointed.  I thought Michael had finally gotten rid of her.  But now she is back again," she continued. 

I could feel my temper building in me.  I reminded myself she was insane and it was Michael's fault she had become this vile doll.  It was him I should be angry with.

"Poor Michael.  For such an intelligent man he is remarkably susceptible to her wiles," Alicia continued and I tried to think of the real Alicia, who I quite liked.  She was a reasonable and—

Alicia cut across my thoughts.  "This drab girl is certainly not worthy of him.  Michael is so—"

I lost my temper.  "Shut up, you petty little bitch," I said loudly enough that she could not pretend I was not there.  The real Alicia would understand if she could remember.

"How dare you speak to me like that?" she screeched, her faux baby voice full of outrage.

"I dare because it's true, you petty little bitch," I repeated with cool satisfaction.  It felt terribly good.

Alicia lunged towards me and I moved to block her hands from scratching my face, but Terrence caught her around the waist and pulled her away.

"Terrence!  Let me go!" she whined.

"Come on, Alicia.  You're probably hungry."

"Terrence!  Don't interfere."  I heard her chastising him through her tears as he lifted her over his shoulder and carried straight back down the hall and out the front door.

I was glad Terrence had removed her, because I probably would have felt bad later about punching her in the face.  I went out the back and walked to the kitchen.

Pierre was there when I got to the kitchen and I felt relief well up inside of me.  I was glad to see him.  He glanced over his shoulder at me.

"Glad you're safe," he said and he continued moving around.

He was definitely getting me something to eat.  I went and sat in my customary spot and waited patiently. 

I was surprised at how nice it felt to be here, when such a short time later I had wondered if I would ever feel anything again.

Pierre put down some awesome pizza in front of me and I dug in.  He sat in the other chair and ate a slice as well. 

It felt like I had been gone for much longer than the mere days that had actually passed.  So much had happened. It was comforting, sitting silently and eating with Pierre.

When I was finished, I thanked Pierre and I left.  I went back to my room, but I felt restless. 

I decided to go down to the beach.  I put on my bathing suit in case I decided to swim and I put some clean shorts and a tank top over top.  I slipped on sandals and I grabbed a water bottle and filled it up to carry with me.

During the time I walked down the road, I continued to run through everything in my head.  Even though I was trying not to think about it, it seemed like my mind was determined to make me deal with all the unpleasantness. 

I gave up and ran through everything, over and over and over.

I reached the beach and I kicked my sandals off to the side of the road.  There was no reason to carry them with me.  They would be there when I got back, or they would not.  Who cared?

I took a big swig of water and then started walking down the beach.  I kicked sand up into the air at random.  It was satisfying to see it spray up into the air.

By this time, the sun was on its way down and had painted the sky with brilliant pinks and oranges and reds. 

The red reminded me of Paul's blood pooling on the earth.

Then it hit me; I had seen someone die.  Paul had died.  He was dead.  It was permanent.

I sank down into the sand.  For centuries, Paul's life had been a constant in the world and I had seen the end of him, in front of my eyes.  I had failed to stop them.  I felt horrible, hot guilt I had not been able to save him.  I had failed to help him and he was dead.

He and Michael had played the game for so long, but the game was over.  Paul was dead. 

It was the completion of the endless game, where Paul hunted Michael and Michael teased Paul and escaped.  Why had it gone on so long?  What was different?

It was me.  I was the new addition to the game and I had unwittingly made everything more serious.  If Michael had never changed me, the game probably would have continued forever.  But the stakes had changed.

If I had run that night in Paris, Michael would have been dead.  Paul would have stuck that needle into Michael's vein and Michael would have died.  Paul would have been slowly starving himself of blood, until finally he died from asphyxiation. 

Or what if I had simply left the library an hour earlier that first night?  I would have been somewhere else, happily ignorant of everything that was unfolding to some strangers somewhere.

Why had I come back?  I was not afraid of Michael anymore.  Had I returned because this island was the one place that made me feel like I was home, because it was the one place where I felt I was accepted for myself?

But it did not feel right anymore, perhaps the feeling of home had forever been soured because of Michael's duplicity.

Or was there a deeper reason?  Had I inherited Paul's quest?  Was I now the black king?

I heard Paul's last words, as clearly as if he were alive and standing beside me.  "Dylan, I trust you to take care of everything."

Had he been asking me to finish Michael?

Could I do it?

I did not know if I was capable.  I did not know if I even wanted to.  I did not know if it was right to do so in spite of everything Michael had done.  Who was I to be his judge and executioner?  How would I even manage if I should?

What I did know even in the midst of my apathy was that the future was stretched out before me, long, tiresome and meaningless.  With the curse of indefinite life hanging about my head, what was I to do?  Could I step into the game in Paul's place?

I grasped onto the one certainty that was left to me.  I had two choices remaining.

The first choice would be so easy.  I could run away from the painful things and try to lose myself in the wide world.  I could spend my life hiding without certainty, always running from the truth. 

The second choice was harder and almost certainly more painful.  I could stay and I would hurt and I might even lose my life.  I would have to confront the raw and painful things that were so much bigger than I was.  But when it was over, it would be complete.  I could hope for closure and freedom one day.

It seemed there was no choice.  I could not turn away.  I would not allow Michael to force me to run forever. 

It was time to take control of everything.  I would figure out the rest when the time came.