Big city

It was 11 am and a quiet evening when Shawn walked up to Emory and said these words:
“We've got him.”
Emory blinked. “Who's got who?”
Shawn grinned. “We – Roscoe, Clyde and I – got ourselves a vampire. It's time for a little interrogation. You remember my plan, don't you?”
So, it had actually come to that. Emory swallowed a sigh.
“I remember alright. What do you want of me, though?”
Shawn gazed at him, bewildered.
“Want you to be there, of course. You're my best man, Emory. You are, aren't you?”
Emory shrugged. “I suppose, if you say so..,” he drawled.
Shawn punched his shoulder playfully. “You are. Now, let's go and talk to the old sucker.” And Emory had no other chance but to go along with him.

Shawn lead him to an empty barrack, one they mostly used for extra food supplies and other such stuff, but for the time being it was empty, with only barren caskets and trinkets lying around. Roscoe and Clyde, two big tough chaps, stood in guard. When Shawn and Emory arrived, they drew aside and let them pass.

The room was brightly lit, both by electricity and torches. Emory got an awkward gut feeling about the latter... Oh yes, of course... torture. Vampires quite dreaded fire, since it was one of the most efficient means to put an end to their unlife. But then again, sufficient amount of it could end just about any life. Emory wasn't keen on the idea of burns, either. He'd been scalded once as a kid, and he was really careful around hot items since then.

The vampire, a male specimen with light brown hair and delicate limbs, had been chained to a cement post in the centre of the room. He bore a few bullet wounds, which were rapidly healing, though.

Shawn nodded to him. Green eyes peered back, full of hatred and fear.

“So far we know his name and age, none from his own telling, though. But since he is quite old, we have data. His name is Brandon May, he is about four hundred years old and one of Enoch Morin's best buddies. So... pretty nice catch, don't you think, Emory?”

Shawn just had to brawl... Emory nodded. “Indeed. A wise choice, Shawn. Now, what do you plan to do with him?”
Shawn grinned. “Oh, that's a good one. Well, in case you have forgotten, and it seems to me you actually have, then – I plan to ask him a few simple questions and make sure he answers them truthfully. Because if he doesn't... There are means to kill a vampire, as we all know, but there are also ways to make it very slowly and very painfully.”

Green eyes flickered, but that was about all the response Shawn got. Emory looked at the vampire and found him... young. He knew that he was facing a four hundred years old vampire, but by the looks, this one was younger than Emory. Shawn's own age, more likely, and as Shawn always appeared older and he was damnably tall, then this one was still much of a boy. Delicate, and eerily beautiful. Emory shrugged. A vampire. Don't forget that. One of those who have your blood brother, your chief, your ex-lover. Always your lover, though he will never know. You must have no compassion, so harden your heart, Emory.

Shawn stood in front of the vampire, toying with his gun. A beautiful Hubbard, semi-automatic with the ability to shoot either bullets or small amounts of electric voltage.

“Now. Let's have a little chat, won't we, Brandon? I ask the questions and you tell me the answers, and we get along just fine.”
Silence. Proud glint in those dark eyes.
Shawn had perhaps merely waited for this, to get a reason to shoot. In his current state of mind... Yes, perhaps Emory knew why he had come, though he wasn't sure why he had been summoned. Someone had to hold Shawn back a bit. Just that it was a damn hard ungrateful job. But someone had to do it and Emory was the only one beside Xavier to pull it off.
Shawn fired a shot. Emory flinched as he witnessed the bullet penetrate the vampire's right knee, blood gushing from the wound. The vampire gritted his teeth but managed to maintain silence.

“Silence is not an option,” Shawn whispered, stepping close to the... beast, yes, don't go calling him Brandon, not even inside your mind, Emory.
“First question – where is Xavier Ford?”
Silence.
“I know your lot has taken him. What have you done to him? Is he alive? Is he dead? Answer me!”
“I will tell you nothing,” the small vampire replied hoarsely. “You can kill me.”
Shawn snorted.
“I don't think so. Now, let's try this again.”
He aimed at the other leg and shot. The vampire couldn't help but cried out quietly as the bullet hit him and dug deep. Emory bit his lip, though he tried to hold up a cool appearance.
“Where is Xavier,” Shawn repeated. “Tell me, and you can walk out of this place alive... undead. Whatever.”
The vampire was obviously in some pain, but the curve of his lips was proud and filled with disgust tinted with fear. He didn't utter a word, nor a moan.

“Stubborn bastard.” Shawn growled. He shot again, this time putting the bullet through the vampire's right shoulder. Brandon – the vampire, the vampire – gritted his teeth and moaned.

“Where is Xavier,” Shawn asked yet again. “Tell me! What have you done to him?!”
“Shawn...” Emory started. The young man turned to face him. “Yes?”
“Nothing,” Emory withdrew.
“You wanted to say something, say it.”
“Nothing, Shawn. I'm fine, all's fine.”
The guards surely seemed amused by this little shooting at the vampire. By the looks of them, they actually envied Shawn and wished they would have been allowed to join in.
He was far from being fine, but this was merely the beginning. So yeah, Emory didn't have stomach for it, he had to admit to himself. Softy. Just as long as he didn't have to have Shawn witness his sick stomach.

The vampire bled profusely from his wounds, and although his body was trying to do its best to heal, he'd lost a good deal of blood and it wasn't happening very fast. It still hurt.

“You will tell me all I want to know,” Shawn promised the vampire. “But it seems to me, that you like the bullets a little too much, Brandon. So, we'll have to play another game. How about good old electricity? You see, this gun is capable of shooting both bullets and electric voltage.”

“Shawn?”
“What?” Shawn didn't sound very patient.
“What if he doesn't know? And besides... Look, he knows you'll kill him anyway, so why bother and tell?”
Shawn growled.
“What are you, sympathetic to the devil now? They've got Xavier. They've got my mate. Let me remind you this in case you've forgotten. And this bastard knows, because their Master knows everything and he's a friend closeby. Besides, I think the entire bloody nest knows. He'll tell, or he will regret ever being born.”
“Shawn...”
“You can get the hell out of here, if you don't have the stomach for it. You know, if it was up to folks like you, Emory, then we'd all be dead already, and we'd surely never find out what happened to Xavier. You know – I thought you loved him. I really did.”

This bit deep, and hard, digging into Emory's flesh like a bullet. He cared. He bled, perhaps more profusely than Shawn, because he had no outlet and had to keep his composure all the time. He couldn't run around, getting into quarrels and threatening to shoot other Blood Brothers.

“I've said nothing of the sort,” Emory hissed. “Don't you come putting words into my mouth and thoughts into my head, Shawn. You're no psychic.”
His flaming eyes might have persuaded Shawn in his sincerity, because the younger man withdrew.
“OK. Sorry 'bout that. I'm just pissed off that this bloody bastard won't confess.”
He shot a good level of voltage through the vampire's body and listened to the screams. Emory clenched his fists at the sound, but didn't say a thing. He found a box to sit on and attempted to relax.
“Is he alive, tell me,” Shawn implored. “Talk to me, and I let you go. Or else I will throw what's left of you by the morning out to the sun. I've heard the sun makes your cursed blood boil. Nice death, isn't it? Where is Xavier? Is he alive? Where is he? You know. You must tell me!”
His own voice was heavy with pain and frustration more than anger, Emory noticed. Shawn did suffer, just that he kept a good appearance and forwarded his pain into anger. But Emory had heard him cry at night, alone in his tent.

“I don't know,” the vampire whispered. “I know nothing.”
“Liar,” Shawn snapped. “So now it's “I don't know”. Not so very proud any more, are you? You said you're not going to tell us, that's what you said. So you're lying. Brandon, you're lying to us. But you are breaking apart. I can see you are. You will tell. I have all the time it takes. Perhaps I should keep you alive through the day, too. We could put you on a leash and shoot holes into the ceiling. And then we could watch you dodge the rays of sunlight. Trust me, little vampire, I have no mercy for you. Your kind took my mate and our leader. There is nothing I would not do to get him back.”

Emory could see terror rising in those big dark green eyes. He wasn't surprised. Shawn was intimidating as it was, and now the vampire was even more convinced that the young man was desperate.
He only wished that the vampire would break and tell. The sooner, the better. For all of them. Before he would get sick and throw up. Before Shawn would turn into a monster... It was hard to stay on the seat. It felt too hot and too cold, sweat trickling down Emory's temples. Fortunately, Shawn was too busy with the vampire to pay notice.

“Give me a torch.”
Please don't, Emory felt like saying. And no, it wasn't about the vampire, it was about Shawn doing something like this. He was only eighteen, still so innocent, and this would alter him, it would turn him into something... someone, and it would be irreversible, just like the embrace of the vampires. He wished he could have explained this to Shawn, somehow make him understand, but he was wise enough to see that Shawn wouldn't listen. Not in this condition, and perhaps never. Shawn would see it as his weakness, and look no further. Shawn was too fearless to be afraid for his own soul.

Emory didn't move. Shawn shrugged and turned to the amused guards.

“Gimme a torch, Roscoe.” Roscoe went for the torch, but Clyde was closer and more eager, so he pulled one out of the socket and handed it over to Shawn, looking like a playful pup with a new toy. Emory shuddered. This was past his limits, or at least very close to it. There were things that just shouldn't be done. Like torturing. Combat, hunting and killing vampires was something else. It had pride in it, and they had a chance to fight back, so it was... equal. Fair. There was no fairness in this here. Brandon had no chance to fight back and he was bleeding like a pig. Perhaps this was what Shawn thought he was. A toy pig. The worst was that he could too well understand how Shawn must have felt. He was raving, too. He wasn't sure that if driven as desperate as Shawn must have been, he would have done any differently. His mind rattled, he felt torn, pulled, going mad.

“Thanks man,” Shawn told Roscoe. He stepped up to the vampire. He was much taller, though they were of the same age – well, would have been.. With vampires, the ageing just stopped when they were turned. Their bodies changed a little, becoming eerier, finally turning marble like. They weren't humans any more, rather like porcelain dolls. Brandon looked like a broken doll.

“Now, I'm going to ask this again,” Shawn said, with very small and eerie voice. “Where is Xavier? Where is Michael? What has your lot done to them? Simple questions. Just answer.”
Emory almost expected Shawn to say “please”, by the sound of his voice, but he knew that Shawn would never plead a vampire. He'd rather torture them.
“I am not going to tell you anything!” the vampire shouted. “Kill me, if you will.” And yet he didn't want to die, Emory saw that, and he was scared. There was so much pain.

Shawn lowered the torch, allowing the tongues of flame lap over Brandon's hip and side. It ate up the satin of the vampire's blouse and then scorched his skin. He screeched, his voice penetrating Emory's ears. Even Shawn appeared drawn back for a moment or two. Emory knew that Shawn was not evil by nature. And yet he could be. He was desperate, very desperate.

Desperate times called desperate measures, Emory tried to convince himself. He believed in it, and yet he was nauseated by the smell of burning flesh and more by the idea that Shawn was doing this. It seemed to him Shawn would be tainted by all this. Something broken in him, something that Xavier had loved. Loved. He wasn't dead.
But the sad fact was that Emory didn't know, and he hated this vampire for not telling them. Then again – would he have told his captors anything? He hoped not, but under torture. He wasn't really sure. He was greatly confused, for certain.

The torch dance continued, and the screams became more and more desperate. At first, they were a little aggressive, but soon enough, it was only pain and no answers. Brandon's silence fuelled Shawn's anger. Roscoe and Clyde were keen on the show, their eyes big and reflecting the flames. Shawn was... well, he no longer seemed to pay any attention to his surroundings, as if in a peculiar trance.

Emory felt the same. It was very strange. Very. He couldn't leave, he couldn't move, he wasn't able to say anything, even his thinking was slow and slurred. He could but watch and listen.
However, when the screaming suddenly stopped, he snapped out of it, whatever “it” was. Shawn muttered something. Expletives. Brandon hung limp, the air was full of nauseating sweet smell of roasted human... well yeah, human flesh. Roscoe had puke dribbling down his face and Clyde actually looked pale. It seemed Emory hadn't been the only one with little stomach to it.

Shawn, too, was pale, and grunted through gritted teeth:
“He didn't say a damn thing. Not a damn thing.” And then he just closed his mouth and walked out. Just like that, without giving any commands. Nothing. Emory felt the urge to follow him, but something told him that just about now, Shawn would be better off alone. He, too, had things to chew. Like what he had just done. And for what – for nothing, no results, apparently.

“Are we gonna guard him all night long,” Clyde asked. “I've got... well, you know, stuff to do.”
By the looks of him, he just wanted to get the hell out of here.
Roscoe nodded. “Yeah. Me too. I've got a date.” Emory didn't know anyone willing to date Roscoe, unless the girl was sedated. Roscoe had... manners. And about two brain cells, but he made a good cannon meat, so they kept him. Besides, he was excellent for all sorts of intimidation.

“You can leave,” Emory replied absently.
“You sure?” That might have been Clyde asking.
Emory nodded. “Aye. Does he look he'd be going anywhere?”
He noticed that both Roscoe and Clyde appeared repulsed looking at the vampire. Clyde shrugged. “I suppose not. You coming, too, Emory?”

“I'll stay a little while,” Emory responded. He had no plan yet, nothing, and yet it was already in him. “I'll put out the torches. We don't want to burn this place down, do we?” There were many empty boxes scattered around the warehouse, so the threat was actually real. Or real enough to fool the two simpletons. Once again, Emory wasn't sure why he was saying these things. He just did. Something was happening with him. He was calm, but like in a new sort of a trance.

“Okay then.” Clyde had little else to say. First of all, he wasn't suspicious about Emory and secondly – wait a second, why should they be suspecting you? He didn't know, but he was relieved to see them go and shut the door. He waited until they were gone and then he walked up to the vampire. He was about to say something, and then he stopped. He returned to his previous seat. Half an hour passed without a single thought, and the vampire still unconscious.

Peculiarly, nobody came to the warehouse, as if the vampire and Emory along with him had been forgotten. Wherever Shawn had gone, he didn't return.
Hours crept closer to the daybreak. Emory rose. Once again, he approached the vampire, as he had done numerous times during the last couple of hours.

“Hey...”
There was no answer. Light brown hair hung moist, smelling of petrol and ashes. One cheek had been scorched as well.
“Listen...”
Nothing.
“Brandon? Wake up.”
Still nothing.
“Please? Oh god dammit...”
Eyes flickered. They were huge. “I will tell you nothing,” the vampire whispered. “Kill me.” He was actually pleading Emory.
“No,” Emory responded hoarsely.
He witnessed himself taking the keys to the shackles and unlocking the chains. It was weird, as if he had a doppelganger and he was witnessing what his alter ego was doing. But it was still him. He had already betrayed the Blood Brothers, by doing this little thing. Did it even matter? Xavier would judge me. But I know not what I am doing. I just do.

“What are you doing,” the vampire asked him, bewildered.
“Helping you escape, what does it look like,” Emory hissed. All of a sudden, he felt angry about the whole situation. He wanted to hit this vampire for getting caught and Shawn for dragging him into this mess. Most of all, he wished to beat the living daylights out of Xavier.

Green eyes blinked. “Why?” Brandon asked. His voice was frail. “I don't believe you. This is a trick.”
Emory growled. “I don't give a shit what you believe, vampire. But you are free now, so go.”
The collar around the vampire's neck gave in, and accidentally it was also the one keeping Brandon up and standing – or hanging, more likely. He fell to the floor and Emory heard a muffled cry.

“Get up,” he insisted.
The small vampire laughed at him, and coughed. “No. I cannot.”
“Why?!”
Another little fit of laughter. “Because I am almost dead, that's why. I won't be going anywhere. It is finished. By dawn I will be dead. You will have killed me. Emory.”
Emory flinched.
“I never touched you!”
The vampire grinned. “You watched. You... let it happen.”
“What should I have done? I couldn't stop him. I tried.”
“Tried,” the vampire echoed. It was too weak to be mockery.
“You could have told him!” Emory insisted.
“Controversially to your lot, we have a code of honour,” the vampire replied wearily. “I would much rather die than betray my kindred.”
“We have it, too,” Emory hissed. “We do!”
“Really,” Brandon smirked. “Where is it? Since when do the Blood Brothers deal with... torture?”
Emory bit his lip.
“You tortured Xavier, too!”
“How do you know...?”
“I think...” He was hoping it wasn't true.
“Carry me home,” Brandon whispered. “Give me a little of your blood and carry me home, so I could die amongst my kindred, and I will tell you what I know of Xavier Ford...”
Emory's eyes flared. “You... would do that?”
“Yes,” the vampire muttered.
“But... wait a minute. You said you would rather die than betray your kindred!”
“It does not matter... Help me, and I will tell you. I can see into you, Emory. You love him more than the one called Shawn. I will tell you of his fate.”
It didn't sound good, but Emory was hooked nonetheless. He was being lured, and he let it happen, to ease his conscience. And dammit, the vampire should be thankful to him, instead of being so... so noble and arrogant, knowing just the right buttons to push.

“You promise?”
Brandon laughed. “Would you believe a vampire's promise?”
“I don't know...” He was desperate, too.
“Then you just have to trust me, Emory. Now, let some of your blood flow into my mouth, and then we can make it to the Old House.”
Emory nodded fervently. He took a knife and dug it deeply into the flesh just below his elbow. Wrist might have been better, but here the sleeve would cover it. Blood dripped on the floor.

“Don't... let it go waste,” the vampire insisted. But his voice was already fading. Emory jerked and lowered his arm to touch Brandon's lips. It felt like electricity. He drank. He swallowed the blood, but it was of little sustenance. He knew he was beyond repair. Perhaps if he reached Enoch soon enough, the blood of his Master could... But most likely he could but die in his arms. It would still be a good death, then.

Finally the blood flow ceased a little. Some of it was still on the floor, and some on Brandon's face, since he hadn't been very good at catching all of it. But by the looks of it, Emory didn't care.

Blood still dribbled down on the floor, and then Emory rose, pulling the vampire along with him. Brandon put an arm around him. Emory shuddered at the touch. Brandon was so... cold. So dead. And still dying. He was a hard weight upon his own body.

It was night outside when they exited the building, Emory looking around carefully, dragging the vampire along, since Brandon's legs gave in all the time. Emory could only hear his own breathing and the midnight hum of the camp. It scared him. He felt as if Brandon was already dead and he was dragging along a corpse of the man he had killed.

They managed to slip out of the camp unnoticed. After all, the Blood Brothers had quite some means of security, but Emory knew to avoid some and others were directed towards those trying to break their way INTO the camp, not out of it.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the Old House, Emory was panting. He'd kept looking at Brandon, to check if the vampire still lived, and each time Brandon had assured him that yes, he was still around.

“Let go,” the vampire whispered. “I will go on alone. Unless you wish to be... captured.”
Emory nodded.
“Will you make it?”
Brandon smirked. “Why should you care?”
Emory said nothing.
Brandon struggled free and managed to stand up. Perhaps he could walk those dozen of steps, before the first line of cameras caught him. He would have to.
Emory even forgot to ask about Xavier, so by the time he recalled what it had all been about, Brandon was already couple of steps ahead.

“Brandon!”
The vampire looked over his shoulder. “Aye?”
“You promised...”
“So I did,” Brandon replied. “Very well then. Know this, Emory of Blood Brothers – your leader and beloved, Xavier Ford, is dead.”