Author's Note:

Next chapter coming Thursday.  Thanks so much for reading!!!

*  *  *

In spite of my new purpose for remaining on the island, I found precious little to occupy myself over the next few weeks. 

I poked my nose into a few more corners but found nothing of interest. 

Nor did I see Michael.  More than once I thought of going to Elizabeth to find out where he was, but I rejected the idea.  I did not want to deal with her and I felt sure Michael would come to me eventually. 

My, or rather Sarah's pull on him was too great for him to resist forever.  I would deal with him when he came.

So, to occupy myself I slipped back into my old habits.  I spent my time on the beach or reading and I even exercised, although admittedly not enough to please either Bob or Jay.  I also spent some time with Tara and hung around in the kitchen with Pierre.  And all the time I waited.

The one indirect contact I had with Michael was when a blood donor came to my room to offer me his services.  He was a new guy by the name of Oscar and he asked me when I wanted to feed. 

I told him to tell Michael I was not drinking blood any longer; I wanted blood transfusions. 

I believed he would come to argue with me and I was disappointed when I was simply supplied with what I needed without argument or complaint.

It was a few days after the blood donating non-incident that I finally saw Michael.  The island was even more humid than normal that day, so I packed up all my things and walked to the beach.  The walk was hot, but it was worth it when I jumped in the ocean and washed all the stickiness off of myself.

After I got out of the water, I sat in the shade of the trees lining the beach and enjoyed the light breeze coming off the ocean.  I had started a new novel which kept me mildly entertained.

I found myself getting drowsy as I read and soon I predictably fell into a light and dreamless sleep.  It was his voice that finally awoke me.

"Are you alright, little girl?" Michael asked.

"I'm fine," I said, pushing myself upright.

"I thought you might have heat stroke."

"No, I'm fine," I repeated, rubbing my eyes.  "Why were you looking for me?" I asked.  I wanted to know what he wanted from me.

"I was just taking a walk."  Uninvited, Michael sat down in the sand a few feet away from me. 

I looked at him, wondering what his game was this time and how I should deal with him.  It seemed for all my waiting to see Michael I had made no solid plans. 

What was I going to do with him?

While I was thinking frantically, Michael had apparently been going through his own thoughts.  "Why did you leave my hotel that night?"  His voice held accusation.

All of my fuzzy, confused thoughts evaporated as rage filled me.  "Think back, Michael and maybe you'll figure it out."

"Explain."

The idiot!  I could not hold it in.  "I tried to save you and you abandoned me!  You left me there with Paul.  He threatened to kill me if you left!  Why the hell would I stay after that?"

"He was bluffing.  He would have already killed you that first night if he was going to."

"You did not know that," I snapped.

He paused.  "I came back for you and you were gone," he said with a dark frown across his light features. 

He was angry I left with Paul?  I gritted my teeth.

"How should I have known that you would return?  You abandoned me to Paul the first time I met you, too!  After changing me against my will!  And don't pretend otherwise, you though he would kill me that night!"

I inhaled another breath.  "And this time he said plainly he would kill me."

Michael did not look perturbed.  "Clearly he did not."

"He could have while you were running away, saving your own skin!  All you did was lie to me the whole time I've been on the island!  Messing with my mind, barely telling me anything.  You and your damn games!"

"You're being irrational," he pointed out.

"You're the one who is irrational!" I shot back at him. 

I pushed myself up, grabbed my things and stalked down the beach, towards the road.  I realized I was not handling him in the cool and purposeful way I had planned.  Darn it.

"Little girl!  Stop running away!" he was almost beside me.

"Stop calling me little girl!  I'm sick of it!  I'm not your sister!  Your sister is Sarah and Sarah is dead!  She's in that graveyard you started.  She's next to Paul," I snarled.

"Next to Paul?"

"We buried him next to her grave."

"What?"  He looked at me blankly.

Nothing could compare to the outrage of that question.  "He's dead!"

Michael laughed, the same way he always had.  "Of course he's not.  We're gods.  He's immortal."  He looked at me in a condescending way.

"We're immortal, not invulnerable.  Paul is dead because you killed him."

"As I said, you're being irrational," he said in his voice he reserved for children and the most foolish.

Had he really forgotten everything that had happened or was it just another game, or did he believe Paul had somehow survived?  What the hell was going on in that sadistic head of his?

I decided I did not care why he was talking nonsense.  "Paul is dead!" 

I would not allow him to deny it.

"What is this obsession with Paul?" he asked, looking at me closely.  "Have you fallen in love with him now?  Are you planning to run off with him?"

"He's not running anywhere.  He's dead!"

Michael sighed, as if I was the crazy one in the conversation.  What was going on?

I ignored Michael for most of the walk back, absorbed in my own confused thoughts. 

What was Michael's plan now?  There was no way he could have forgotten something so significant.  Was he in denial? 

He killed a man he had known for centuries and was now pretending Paul was still alive.

Then I understood.  I remembered Paul talking about the way the memory worked when it was stretched over centuries, trails in the snow. 

For so long, Michael had trod down the trails of his hatred for Paul and his desire for revenge for Sarah's death. 

Michael had done it so long, played the game for so long, he could no longer even comprehend the idea of Paul not being there.  Any other possible trails were completely lost under his one obsessive impulse.

Was Michael still dangerous?  Did he still need to be "taken care of"?  Would he keep trying to play the game, drawing more innocent victims into his web of cruelty simply to hurt Paul; to hurt a man who was already dead and could no longer feel the pain? 

I wanted to believe Michael would come to understand  he had won.  If the game was over Michael probably would not hurt anyone else. 

It was ridiculous fantasy.  I knew that nothing was ever so simple with Michael.

I did not want to think about my own reasons I did not want to hurt Michael. The idea that after everything he had put me through I could still be attached to him was simply ludicrous. 

I could not still be so foolish.  Could I?

I did not want the answer to my own question, so instead I asked Michael, "What happened the day you found me with Paul?"

"You were there.  Why do you need me to tell you?" he asked, looking at me specifically.

"Humor me," I said as sweetly as I could manage.

"You were at the graveyard with Paul.  We fought and I took you back to the island."

"That's all you remember?" I asked again as we neared the buildings of the  house.

"What do you want from me?  There were hollyhocks on the graves.  They never used to be there.  I pushed you out of the way and you hit your head.  Is that why you were crying?  Is that why you are still angry at me?  I didn't intend for you to hit your head."

He shook his head in disbelief and looked away.

I felt plenty of disbelief of my own and I simply said, "Don't you think that's enough reason to be angry?"

"You've always held grudges, ever since we were children," he commented as I walked into the house and down the hall towards my room.

I was tired and I had no idea to proceed.  Paul's confidence in my ability to take care of everything seemed overrated. 

Perhaps it had been sheer desperation. 

I should stab Michael through the heart with a piece of metal and be done with it.  Yet, in spite of everything I knew about Michael and all the evil things he had done, I could not even bring myself to truly contemplate it.

Perhaps what Paul had been suggesting was I stay by Michael's side and keep him from hurting anyone, or was that just my mind trying to take the easy way out? 

Easy way?  I had no ability to manage him, even if I wanted to.  Killing him was probably more plausible.

I might even succeed.  He would not think the little girl with the face of Sarah could possibly try to harm him.

My mind circled in pointless directions, always arriving back at the point where I did not know what to do. 

Finally, I went and lay down on my bed, frustrated.

I fell asleep and my dreams were dark and confusing.

"Hey, little girl.  Wake up!" Michael said.

I jerked awake to find Michael in my room, standing over me. 

I was viscerally reminded of the night he had broken into my room and the thought did nothing to calm the racing in my heart.

"What are you doing here?" I snapped.  I glanced at the clock on the wall.  It was around midnight.

Michael frowned down at me.  "I want to talk to you.  Come with me."

My first thought was to tell him where he could go.  Then I felt curiosity rising up inside me.  "What about?" I asked, feeling a bit suspicious.

"There's something bothering me."

"Oh.  That's too bad," I said sarcastically.  I hoped a lot of things were bothering him.

I closed my eyes and rolled over so my back was turned to him.  I was not going to play his games anymore.  He could be clear about his purpose or leave.

"Little girl!"

"Didn't I tell you not to call me that?  I'm not your bloody sister."

I heard him make an unintelligible growl, but I did not bother looking at his expression.  "Very well.  I'll talk to you here." 

He sat down on my bed.

"Hey!  What do you think you're doing?" I asked, jumping up.

"So you'll come with me then?" he asked innocently.

"No!"

"Well, we can talk in your bed.  I don't mind."  He grinned at me.

"No.  Fine.  I'll go with you."  I cast a dark look at his stupid, still handsome face.

"That's better," he said, with a self satisfied smirk.  I longed to throw something at him. 

Instead I got up.

"Wear shoes," he told me.  I did not think it would be wise to ignore his directive, so I did as he asked.  If he said I needed shoes, I would probably regret defying him.  Let him think I was obeying like a stupid sheep.

I pulled on some flip flops, the flimsiest obedience I could wear.  I followed him in my tank top and pajama parts. 

To my surprise he did not head outside, rather he went to the stairs that led down into the basement hallways.

I followed him, but I felt uneasy and my nervousness grew as we went deeper.  When we reached the bottom, Michael started walking down the passages.  He went past the library and the gym and continued on.

We were nearly out of the part of the tunnels I knew. 

"Where are you taking me, Michael?" I asked.  My voice came out more sharply than I intended, probably because of my stretched nerves. 

The lights in the hallways were creepy.  They looked dim and unnatural and they left strange shadows between them.  It did not matter that I could still see.

These tunnels no longer scared me when I was cheerfully coming down to get more books, or less than cheerfully coming down to exercise. 

Yet, there was something about the deserted and increasingly unfamiliar hallways, late at night and with murky purpose that raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

"What?  Are you afraid?" he asked, peering at me.  I averted my eyes, quite against my will.

"No," I said, unconvincingly.

"You don't need to be afraid, little girl.  You're with me."  His words did make me feel better, even though I knew I was being a fool. 

He was a liar and a murderer and if he had a conscience it was barely detectable.  I knew, every neuron in my brain screamed I knew better.  Yet it did not change the way his words had made me feel.

I reminded myself not to be lulled by his magnetic energy.  "Where are you taking me?" I asked again.

Michael paused until I thought he would brush off my question again.

"Somewhere calming, so I can clear my head.  Something is wrong, and I can't..."  Michael trailed off.  "Something is off.  Something."

He continued walking and I walked with him.

We walked in the underground halls for a long time.  I had no idea they were so extensive, because I had generally avoided the parts I did not know. 

We walked straight in one direction and then climbed a flight of stairs and walked down another hall.  For a long time there was not even a door to mark the passing distance. 

Even the lights were spaced out farther.  I was thankful for my nocturnal vision.

There was a door on the right side of the hall.  "It leads outside," he mentioned as we passed it by.

Finally we reached a door at the very end of the hall and Michael pushed it open.  "This spot is peaceful.  It clears my mind.  I rest here, I think here.  I needed to bring you here, I believe."

As I walked through the door, I found myself in a natural looking cave.  The cave ceiling was high enough Michael and I could easily walk in it.  I could smell the sea air.

Then we turned a corner and I could see the sky.

The cave looked out over the ocean.  I walked closer to the edge and looked down.  We were several stories up and there were wave beaten jagged rocks sticking up at the edge of the water. 

"Where are we?" I asked.  It was a wildly beautiful scene and I was suddenly glad I had followed Michael here, in spite of my better judgment.

"We're on the directly opposite side from your beach.  No one has a reason to come here.  This is the uncivilized side of the island."

I nodded and crept forward a bit farther to look.

My foot slipped and I was careening forward into empty space.

I screamed and I felt Michael's hand grab my wrist and yank me backwards.  I landed on my butt and I rubbed my arm gingerly.

"I think you pulled my arm out of its socket," I complained.  My heart still pounding frantically. 

I had almost ended up squished on the rocks.  I doubted even the vampire virus could save me from that.

"I suppose you would have preferred to fall to your death," he grumbled as he crouched down and looked at my arm. 

"This'll hurt," he told me as he popped it back into place.  I did not make a sound, even though he was right.

I stayed were I was sitting and rubbed my arm.  I had no intentions of going near that cliff edge again.

"You are the clumsiest person I ever met, little girl."

"I'm not Sarah."

"That's not the point."  He frowned.  "I didn't bring you here to talk about that."

Well, at least now we were back to the point of our odd little journey.  "Why did you, then?"

"It's something, I feel like something is missing," he said, looking out towards the sky.

I scowled at him.  "And how am I supposed to help you with that?"

"Something is different.  I feel..."  Michael rubbed his forehead.

"You feel what?" I prompted, interested even though I was still angry with him.

"Empty."  Michael looked out at the sky.  I watched him.

I shrugged.  It was not a smart move because it hurt my arm.  "Maybe you feel that way because Paul is dead."

"Paul can't be dead."

"He is, whether you want to believe the truth or not."

He sneered at me.  "Then how did he die?"

"You knocked him onto that metal fence surrounding the graveyard and he was impaled.  You watched me try to save him and did nothing while he bled out."  I said it steadily and slowly, emphasizing each word.  I was tired of saying it, but I was going to say it until he understood it.

"He really is dead, isn't he?" 

Finally.

I nodded.

"Damn it!" Michael roared, leaping to his feet with unnerving speed.

"How can he be dead?  He wanted nothing more than to destroy me!  Why would he die before he finished!?  Paul was all duty; he would not leave his task uncompleted."  He paced around the cave, his movements agitated.

I did not bother to answer him; there was nothing I could say I had not already said.

"If Paul is dead, then why the hell am I not satisfied?  Why am I not fulfilled?"  Michael's words were like a howl and they sounded full of pain and perhaps even a hint of terror.

He paced some more, becoming increasingly agitated and I followed him with my eyes, wary, but not fearful. 

Even my pounding heart was more of an aftereffect of my almost accident and not because of his actions.

My resemblance was my shield.

"Then where is my peace?  How has Paul stolen this from me?  Even from the grave he stalks me and binds me and captures me in his snare!  Can I never escape?" he asked me, sinking down against the wall beside me.

"I don't know," was my inane response.

"Damn him.  He stole my sister—"

I cut him off.  "Paul did not steal her.  She loved him and chose him."

"He turned her and she went mad.  He even killed her.  Paul was a monster."

I would not let that rest.  I did not care if he got angry.  "Paul was no more a monster than you, Michael.  He changed one person.  How many lives have you destroyed?" I challenged.

"Paul killed most of them."

"Most of them would have died without Paul's intervention," I pointed out coolly.

"We'll never know since he didn't give them a chance."

"So you're both evil?" I asked.

Michael laughed, but it was painful to my ears.

When he finally stopped, I continued.  "When Sarah was dying, if Paul had not changed her, you would have done it."

"If it was not for Paul, she would not have been riding recklessly like that."

I snorted.  "And you would have watched her grow old and die?  I bet you would have tried to change her anyway!" I accused.

"Maybe.  But maybe the results would have been different."

"No.  They would not.  Her genetics were wrong for the change."

"She was my sister."

"Clearly she didn't inherit the same affinity for thriving as a blood sucking monster as you."

Michael sank back against the stone wall, as though defeated.  "It's strange when you say these things with that face.  You're so much like her, but Paul probably already told you that."

I nodded.  It made me oddly angry when he said Paul's name so casually.

"When it's dark like this, I can't see that your eyes are the wrong color," he told me.

I scowled at him.  "I'm still not your sister even if my eyes were blue.  I'll never be Sarah.  And I don't want to be.  I'm Dylan.  I can't replace her."

He nodded.  "I know that.  You're too clumsy and rude to be her.  I know that.  Most of the time."

I ignored his hypocritical comment on my rudeness and told him flatly, "Your relationship with your sister is creepy, Michael.  I want no part of it."

"What's creepy about it?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised by the comment.

I laughed at the puzzled look on his face.  "You've been obsessed with her for centuries and you have to ask what's creepy about that?"

He shrugged.  "She was the sweetest and most wonderful person I've ever known.  Until Paul destroyed her."

"We've already talked about that."

"He killed her."

"She asked him to," I told him.

"She would never do that."

"She did.  She did not want to hurt anyone else.  She did not want to kill again.  She was sweet and wonderful and she preferred to die than hurt anyone else."  I met his eyes as I spoke.

He turned his head away from me and sat quietly for a long moment.

Finally, Michael spoke.  "I want to be alone." 

He leaned his head back against the wall of the cave and closed his eyes.

I left, although it irritated me to be dismissed so suddenly after he had abruptly dragged me there in the first place.

I still felt as if I had accomplished something.  I had said a lot of what was on my mind.  I had forced Michael to face a small piece of reality.

I would see if anything came of it the next time Michael decided to show himself.  I returned to my room and fell asleep quickly.