Act Four Chapter Eight - Why

Mitch shuffled on the sofa in his own beach house, trying to find a comfortable position to sit. With his arm in a sling, that was proving more difficult than he expected. He snarled something inaudible under his breath.

Boar looked at him and offered a weak smile. His own clothing was misshapen by the bandages beneath. His normal wounds had long since healed, but the cuts from the hunter’s klaive and the wound from the silver bullet healed as though he were a normal mortal human.  The klaive was in his hands; Boar looked it over from every angle, fascinated by the weapon. “We’ve had our asses kicked before.”

“Not like this.” Grumbled Mitch.

“We won.”

“Did we?” retorted Mitch. “Julia in torpor, Sammy in ICU…”

“She’s expected to make a full recovery.”

Mitch ignored the interruption. “…Geoffrey and Karl both in the hospital. A half dozen of the coven dead. And…” he held the word for a second for emphasis.

“…Sarah dead.” Boar finished for him.

“Do you have any idea what that’s done to him?”

“Of course, I do.” Boar slammed the klaive down onto the coffee table in front of him. It clattered loudly against the wood. “I know better than anyone.” He growled angrily. He let out a long breath and calmed himself, regretting his outburst.

“I’m sorry.” Offered Mitch. “I should have remembered.”

“He will recover…with time. Like I have.”

“Have you?” Mitch offered. “Have you really?”

Boar looked away. “I try not to think about it. It gets easier over time, but I’m not surrounded by things that remind me of Ami. Everywhere Michael goes, everything he sees, everything he hears is a memory of Sarah. I would know. It’s why I had to leave Roanoke and come here. I had to get away.”

“Michael will likely now do the same, and if we go with him, you’ll be going back to all your memories.”

Boar nodded. “The people that did this to us are there. Maybe that’s what fate has in store for both of us: A reckoning.”

---

Michael shot awake with the echoes of Sarah's screaming in his mind. It had been like that every day, every time he'd laid down to sleep. Over and over again, his mind replayed what must have happened to her. The hunters swooping down on her; brutalizing her, tearing her to pieces. All with her pleading for Michael to come. And come he did not.

Michael lifted up the cover his coffin to the near-silence of the underground chamber where he slept. Only near-silence however; he could faintly hear the shuffling of his prisoner nearby. Michael stood up.

“Monster!” snarled the prisoner quietly.

Michael's eyes fell upon the young woman chained to his wall, one of the few hunters they'd captured alive after the attack. “Monster you call me? Why, I wonder?”

“Don't play stupid, vampire. You know why.”

“Because I kill? I do not do so without purpose or reason. You, on the other hand, opened fire into a group of innocent people, heedless of the damage you might cause. You helped kill a half-dozen humans whose only crime was being a part of a wedding ceremony between two beings who loved one another.”

“They were probably...” The woman began, trying to justify herself.

“Be silent!” roared Michael. “You know nothing of what you speak. You murdered six people because you didn't bother to discriminate between the men and the beasts. You didn't care. You think yourself better than me? I wonder.”

Michael stood up. “I had a conversation similar to this once before. With her!” He pointed at the closed coffin across the room. “She has since come around to the truth of what we are and what we could be. Creatures of choice. Of decision. To kill or to let live. I'm curious what she will do when she awakens, starved of blood and finding one of those who put her there chained here before her.”

Michael turned and headed for the trap door. He yanked down on the rope, deploying the stairs that led up into his bedroom above. “Whatever it is,” he said as he began to climb, “it is less than you deserve.”

---

Michael moved mechanically from one task to the next, his anger and rage now replaced by a semi-functional fugue. He’d reopened Nightstyles as he’d promised and the reopening was insanely busy. The place was alive with people, some drinking, some dancing, some hooking up. Michael was thankful for intensity. It kept his mind occupied on things mundane rather than tragic.

He helped Virgil at the bar, pouring drinks and ensuring the line kept pace. For hours he did this. At the bar, never moving from his spot, was an older man, probably in his early 50s. He was unshaven and run-down looking and Michael imagined in his own mind that’s what he would probably look like if his Daeva heritage didn’t constantly keep him a perpetual teenage heartthrob. The man certainly looked like Michael felt.

Still, the man was not the typical Nightstyles customer and Michael noted his odd presence. The man said little, ordering a drink every now and then, smoking a cigarette occasionally, but little more than that. As it got closer to last call, the bar thinned out and Michael decided to learn more about this fellow.

“You look like I feel, mister.” Michael said casually, sitting down on the stool next to him.

“You’re Michael Allens, aren’t you? You run this place.”

“Yes, I’m the owner and manager here.”

“Like you were at the Fox Club before.” The man took a long drink from his bourbon. “My name is Jon Tyler. You knew my daughter.”

“Motherfucker.” Snarled Michael in his mind, his rage returning and displacing his melancholy for a moment. “As if I don’t have enough on my heart right now, I get this nice reminder of another love I buried.” The anger was very brief, washed away again by a flood of sorrow. Michael choked back tears.

“Yeah. I knew Leigh very well.” He admitted, his voice shaky.

“I didn’t know what to expect when I met you. The only other time I’ve seen you was in the tape, where you were recorded…”

Michael nodded an acknowledgment. Jon continued. “I thought you might just be another monster, taking advantage of my little girl. I’m sorry. I see now you loved her.”

“I did.”

“Who killed her? Do you know?”

Michael nodded affirmative. “It may as well have been me.” He sobbed. “My enemies. They keep coming, but they never get me. They only get the ones I love. Kris, Leigh, and now Sarah. All gone. All my fault.” Michael cradled his head in his arms and cried.

Jon looked at Michael with a mix of anger and sympathy, not quite sure what to make of the young man in front of him. This was far from the response he expected, to have Michael  suddenly explode in grief and misery like that. Michael sat back up and looked intensely at Jon with tear reddened eyes.

“You’re the last, aren’t you?” Michael asked Jon. “The only one that demon in Roanoke didn’t send, and yet you’re here. You’ve found me. Do your worst, Mr. Tyler. Strike true. Rid the world of me and make it a better place.”

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

Michael nodded again. “An abomination. A monster. I’m all these things. And yet, I dared to hope that there was something in me still that someone could love. Kris, Leigh, Sarah, they dared too. And look what it cost them. Finish me off. Put me out of my misery.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“And why not?” snarled Michael. “My kind killed your daughter, slaughtered her like an animal. Your brother too.”

“You’re not like them. I can see that.”

“But I will be from now on.” Growled Michael menacingly. He took to his feet and marched off, leaving Jon Tyler at the bar.

Michael marched upstairs and into his office. The chair at the desk was turned away, which Michael knew meant it was occupied. Sure enough, Max turned the chair around. He was holding a newspaper emblazoned with the headline “Wedding Massacre! Bride, six others, killed.” Michael frowned. The paper was a few days old, released the day after the hunter assault, which meant Max was not reading it for his own edification, but to taunt Michael.

Max had a smirk on his ugly face, a look of great satisfaction that confirmed Michael’s suspicions as to his motives.. Max set the paper down and stood up. “It’s hard to believe how naive you really are, Michael Allens. To think I was once afraid of you. Did you honestly think it would work? It’s all so disgustingly sentimental: two monsters getting married. Two predators thinking they could make...” He didn’t get to finish his thought before Michael charged him. Moving with the blinding speed his vampire abilities granted him, he snatched Max by the neck and slammed him hard against the back wall of the office.

So enraged was he that Michael only barely noticed the two other figures in the room who now moved almost in unison to intercept him. Each grabbed him by his arms and tried to pull him off the Prince.

“Is that fear I see now behind you eyes?” snarled Michael in rage, ignoring the others to focus entirely on Max. He cadenced his next words with deliberate intensity. “Do not mistake my few remaining virtues for weakness, Maximilian. You sit your throne this night because I chose to honor my word of loyalty to you, but it was me that Ernie groomed to be Prince. In your sloth, you have since surrendered your only advantage over me, so do not forget that you still sit upon your throne ONLY by my leave.”

“Michael, don’t! Not over this.” said a voice, familiar yet alien, as if Michael had not heard it in quite some time.

Michael let Max go and stepped back, forcing his rage back under control. He looked to his left and his right, finding first Francois and then a surprise.

“Solomon?”

The big nomadic Gangrel nodded. Michael growled. “You pick a fine time to show up. After the blood’s been split and the dead buried.”

“I go where I will, when I will. You know that.”

“If you’d been here, things would have been different.” Michael’s emotions shifted and his voice with them. “If you’d have been here, maybe...”

“You don’t know that.” said Solomon sympathetically. “Neither do I.”

“You lost a lover. I lost a childe.” added Francois. “Solomon might not have made the difference for either of us.”

“But he might now.” said Max. “The Djinn will think twice before attacking us with all three of you here and still alive.”

“And what makes you think I’ll fight for you?” snapped Michael.

“Because no matter how much you hate me, you also know I’m not the one that killed her.” Max spat back. “Yeah, let’s see how eager you are to elevate the one who did.”

“I’ve just come from Roanoke.” admitted Solomon.

“Is that where you’ve been all this time?” asked Francois.

“No, I went out to Chicago, St. Louis, down to New Orleans. As I said, I go where I will when I will. But what news I can bring of those places means little to you. My news of my brief visit to Roanoke is all that matters.” Solomon gestured towards the conference table where the council had their meetings. “Come, I’ve a tale to tell.”

The four of them sat down together at the table. Solomon began. “As I entered the hermitages near Roanoke, I began to hear the rumors, the same as you’ve no doubt heard yourself. Mathias no longer ruled. He was dead or in torpor and that The Djinn now ruled in his stead, a raven-haired assassin by his side. I was curious, so I drove into Roanoke about a month past now. I went to the old cathedral where we held audience with Mathias and there I learned the truth.

“It was much as the rumors have said. There is no sign of Mathias. No word of him. The Djinn sat upon his throne and was holding court as Prince that night. Precisely what happened to bring this about is unknown to me. The only one who knows the truth is The Djinn’s raven-haired apprentice and she said nothing to me.”

“Rebecca.” snarled Michael.

“Yes,” confirmed Solomon. “If there was any doubt to her survival, it is now gone. I have seen her with my own eyes. But she is not as you remember her. The Djinn must have spared her from Mathias’ justice in much the same way that Ernie and I rescued you. He has made her into something entirely different than the mortal girl you once knew: a weapon.”

“To what end, I wonder.” mused Max.

“That’s is not hard to guess.” said Francois. “If she is an assassin, she serves the same role for The Djinn as he did for his sire.”

“And we can also guess who her first target was.” added Michael.

“I find that difficult to believe.” retorted Max. “The Djinn was devoted to our sire. Bound to him.”

“No longer.” countered Solomon. “Something broke that bond. His disobedience in saving Rebecca is proof of that.”

“Rebecca was likewise bound to me,” added Michael. “so whatever means he’s found, he’s passed it on.”

“Yes, all this leads credence to a theory I’ve been rattling around in my brain since I left. This plan has been a long time coming. The Djinn needed an apprentice...”

“Something Mathias did deny him constantly.” said Max.

“Yes.” agreed Solomon. “Enough to fuel resentment, I am certain. Michael’s premature embrace of his old girlfriend must have given The Djinn’s plan the shot in the arm it needed. You may find it hard to believe, Max, but I do think The Djinn betrayed Mathias and used Rebecca to unseat him.”

“So you’re saying Mathias is gone for good?” asked Francois.

“He is out of power. That much is certain. Whether he is dead, in torpor, or exiled is unknown to me.”

“Exiled?” said Max. “Now that’s a terrifying thought.”

“What about Deborah?” asked Michael. “If Mathias is in exile, would he have left her behind?”

Solomon nodded in understanding. “When you and Rebecca were put on trial, Mathias revealed to the world a previously unknown weakness: an obsession with Deborah Means. If he was exiled, would he have left without her? I doubt it.”

“So?”

“I have seen Deborah as well. She was there, at court, always within arms reach of Rebecca. There was never a moment when I could speak with her alone, but one thing is clear. She  is free from whatever dungeon Mathias condemned her to.”

“So, have you any speculations about what The Djinn’s next move will be?” asked Max.

“Not really. My gut tells me he’s more interested in consolidating his gains than in conquering another territory. But, I also know that Rebecca was constantly at The Djinn’s side while I was there and Deborah was constantly at hers. He could be grooming either of them to take over Roanoke after he departs.”

Michael laughed bitterly. “Wouldn’t that be irony? We come here to rally the troops to rescue her, only to have The Djinn, of all people, give her everything she wanted.”

“If The Djinn has all that he wanted, why then the Reign of Terror?” asked Francois.

“The what?” asked Solomon.

“It’s what we’ve taken to calling the plague of mortal hunters that descended upon us over the past six weeks or so.” explained Max. "Francois coined the term after a piece of his own history, I believe."

“Ah, I did not know it had a name.” said Solomon.

“It was bad enough to earn one. Seven sent to Final Death.” said Francois.

  

“Including Sarah.” added Michael bitterly.

Max grunted as if annoyed. “So, The Djinn frees Deborah to take the throne she’s always wanted, while he grooms Rebecca to lead his attack on our Tidewater. There is one other fact that we have to enter as evidence, one that cannot be denied.” He pointed a bony finger at Michael. “You were the focal point. They were all after you.”

“Because Rebecca told them to.”

“Yes, that points things back to The Djinn, doesn’t it? Try as we might to uncover another foe who might be responsible for all this, making it some sort of false flag attack, the evidence is  conclusive in my opinion.” said Francois. “The Djinn is planning to attack Tidewater.”

“That, at least, makes sense to me.” said Max. “My brother, as we could properly call him, has no love for me. He always hated me for my betrayal of our sire, but now he has also betrayed Mathias. There is no short supply of hypocrisy among Kindred, but this new found ambition in The Djinn points to a greater prize than just a single hermitage city. He is coming here and he must be stopped.”

“So, the original plan.” said Michael. “Rally what ‘troops’ we have and return to Roanoke in force.” He glared hard at Max. “Why would I do it for you? Why would I surrender all that I’ve accomplished here to run off to another city?”

“Because the only thing you cared about in this city is gone.” said Max coldly. “You won’t do it for me, I know that. But you will do it for Sarah, who is ash in a jar thanks to The Djinn’s orders.”

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