I followed Michael in a bit of a daze for some undefined period of time. He stopped at a white car and opened the door and practically shoved me inside. He walked around to the other side and jumped in. We were on the road. The soundtrack for our flight was a collection of light hearted Christmas tunes, at least until Michael fumbled with the dash and ejected the cd. He tossed it into the back seat carelessly.

I sat there numbly for a while, but then started noticing small things. My hands and toes were ice cold. I had apparently put on my seat belt, even though I had no recollection of doing so. Michael was driving too fast. Michael was being very silent and it was even more obvious now that the festive music was gone. We were in a car.  The dash was dusty and one of those fragrant trees was hanging from the rear view mirror.

As we drove, I held on to the door as if that would save me.  I considered Michael's car.  It had been parked quite far from my house. Why would he have parked so far away if he had come specifically looking for me? I began to feel suspicious.

I frowned. "Is this even your car?"

"Yes. I borrowed it," he said in a casual voice.

"You stole a car?  We'll go to jail!" I gasped.

"We're not going to get caught, we're not going to jail and even if we were, would you rather die? I can let you out here. I'm sure Paul would be more than happy to do the honors," he said pointedly.

"No," I said. Then I added, "But stealing is wrong."

"Why?" he asked rather sardonically.

"Because it belongs to someone?"

"Why?" he repeated.

"Because they bought and paid for it."

"Really, though, who can own the very atoms that the car is made up of? Ownership is just an illusion," he said with a trace of the sardonic good humor I had just begun to associate with him before Paul had arrived.

"It's still wrong," I said.

"Why?" he repeated, with a grin.

"It just is."

"Right and wrong are illusions, too," he said in a serious voice. "But if it makes your illusionary conscience feel better, we'll be leaving this car in an obvious place. I'll even leave some money to pay for the gas and a rental fee if it calms your silly misgivings."

"Okay," I agreed, because I would not win even if I disagreed. Arguing would be a waste of energy I just could not summon in that moment. I watched the scenery go by out the window. I realized I had not been in anything besides public transit for some time. I wiped down my handholds with my sleeve and I made sure not to touch anything else so I would not leave my fingerprints on it. If someone did figure out it was me in here, I would be sure to say I was forced into it, which was barely less than the truth.

I shot a glance at Michael. He looked serious and was being very tight lipped unless you counted him irritating me with his lax morals. Why should I be surprised he would steal a car on Christmas?  He had violated my right to personal autonomy on an impulse.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Airport."

"Airport?" I repeated dumbly.

"You don't know what an airport is?" he asked sarcastically, deliberately misunderstanding me.
I did not bother answering. I looked out the window again and watched the passing houses. There were gaudy, brightly colored decorations on most of them.

After a few minutes of silence, I could not resist the urge to break it any longer. "Why are we going to the airport?"

"I thought I shook Paul off my trail, but he's too bloody persistent and he knows me too well. We've got to get out of the country."

Out of the country? I could not think of a thing to say in response to that. Even if I did ask, he would no doubt ask me if I would rather die than come along. I wished I could tell him to go on without me, but the memory of Paul apologizing for my death stopped me from arguing. I could still see him with that grim determination in his dark eyes and hear the regret in his tone. "But I don't have a passport."

"That won't be a problem," he said dismissively.

We drove for hours, Michael stopping only for gas. I went into the washroom quickly, keeping my head down and my hat as low on my forehead as it would go in case someone checked gas station security footage while working on the case of the stolen car. I hurried for fear Michael might leave me behind. To my bittersweet relief the car and Michael were still waiting for me outside.

"Hurry up," Michael growled and I complied quickly. We continued on.

At some point I fell asleep. My dreams were unpleasant, full of twisted faces and fearful chases. I kept seeing Paul's face and he told me I was going to die over and over. I begged him not to kill me. It was almost a relief when Michael shook me awake just to tell me to wait in the car. I was disoriented from sleep and had a deep feeling of dread from the nightmares which had plagued me. It was only after Michael was out of sight I recovered enough to feel annoyed he had woke me up to order me to simply wait for him to get back. Did he think I was his dog?

Still I remained in the car, trusting Michael would indeed return. From where I sat I could see a large building. There was a high mesh fence with lights running for a long distance behind it. I did not really figure out where we were until I saw a plane taking off. I tried to read the signs but I couldn't make out the letters through the darkness since we were parked too far from the building.

I almost got up to leave the vehicle and walk closer to the building to find out exactly where I was. I did not even know what state we were in any longer. I waited obediently, because I was afraid Michael would leave if he found I was gone when he returned.

If he left without me, I did not know what I would do. I would have to find some way back to my home, but Paul might be there. He knew where to find me. He would figure out where I went to school and where I worked if he wanted to.

I could go somewhere else and hide, but I had an uncanny sense that he was capable of finding me wherever I ran. Paul had let me live before, probably convinced I would die on my own. Now it seemed like he wanted to finish the task.

I felt certain Paul would regretfully kill me because for some unfathomable reason he deemed it necessary. Michael was another enigma; I did not know any of his motives or plans. I knew it was not wise to follow him. "But what else can I do?" I muttered forlornly.

Another wrinkle of my problem was I had no understanding of the nature of what I now was. I would have probably died if Michael had not come back, not understanding I needed blood. Maybe someone would have found me passed out and taken me to a hospital. Would they have figured out what was wrong with me? Was my nature changed? Was I even human any longer?

No matter what Michael claimed, neither of us could possibly be gods. I might have been more likely to believe him if he had suggested something of a more hellish nature.

Although I had considered vampires and had even asked him in my fear at our initial meeting, I had never truly believed they could exist and I still did not, I assured myself. The thought of consuming blood still revolted me, but my fear of dying whisked much of my disgust away. It was an unpleasantly unchangeable fact that I had been feeling perfectly fine since shortly after he had bullied me into drinking blood.

So, I was not a god and I was absolutely, completely not a vampire, but I was also not completely certain that I was a normal human either. I decided then and there I would do what I had to do to survive. If that meant following the unpredictable Michael for now, then I would follow him.

The difference was imperceptibly minute but at the same time enormous. This time I was deciding to follow, not being dragged along by Michael's stupid, mocking whims.

If I truly wanted to, I could summon the courage to get up and walk out of that vehicle, just like I had walked away from my father. Instead, I sat there and waited. I was going to go with Michael, for as long as it was prudent to do so. Michael owed me.

Michael returned, much like a monster jumping out of the darkness in a horror movie. He opened the car door and said, "Follow me."

I nodded, then did as he bid. While we walked, I asked, "So where are we?"

"You don't know?" he responded, sounding amused and surprised.

"I wasn't paying attention," I said, feeling mildly annoyed.

"Aren't we trusting?" His tone dripped mockery. It seemed as if he wanted me to punch him in his stupid attractive face.

I scowled, not looking at him. "No, it is just that I have no sense of direction. I could get lost in an unfamiliar shoebox. With a map." Might as well admit it and set the bar really low. He would notice soon enough anyway with his unfailing capacity at finding and mocking my weak spots.

He chuckled. I ignored him. I had no intention of being there merely for his entertainment, though that seemed to be the main reason he had brought me along. He seemed to find me comical when he was not being weirdly quiet. The thought made me scowl. I was starting to believe he really might have attacked me to relieve his boredom.

We did not go through the main doors, but rather walked around the building to a side entrance. Michael told me to remain close to him. He told me to sit in a chair and then sat beside me. I glanced through magazines while I waited.

Two long hours later, Michael got up and went over to speak to someone. He then returned and told me to come with him. I followed him again and soon we were outside. He led me until we reached a plane. He went up the stairs and I followed, feeling a bit like an insignificant shadow.

The inside of the plane it did not look like any commercial airplane I had seen on television. There were only a few seats. He motioned for me to sit down in one. He sat across from me and tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

"Is this a private plane?" I asked, feeling like I was stupid for even asking.

"Yes," he agreed, not moving.

"Is it yours?" I wondered.

He opened his eyes and looked at me. I was struck by how deep and serious they appeared. It rather unnerved me. He asked, "Isn't it a little late to be asking questions?"

"What?"

"You're pretty dull, little girl."

"Dull?" I repeated; feeling irritated he had resumed calling me that condescending name.

"Upstairs, I mean." He leaned forward and tapped the top of my head as if I needed actions to understand his point.

"Are you suggesting that I'm stupid?" I snapped.

"No," he said. I tried to remain calm. "Just a tad slow."

"Slow?" I had been putting up with his mockingly ridiculous attitude quietly the entire day and I had had enough of it. I scowled.

"Relax. I'm just giving you a hard time."

I sat there quietly, reminding myself of all the good reasons not to attempt to throttle him. The most prudent of them being he was much stronger than I and I would fail even if I tried. It made me want to punch him all the more, just to prove I could. He would probably laugh at my pathetic attempt. I could practically hear his irritating, mocking laughter.

Instead of doing anything, I sat quietly. He had returned to his original position and closed his eyes.

A voluptuous black haired woman wearing a uniform came through a door and said, "Mr. Thompson, we'll be taking off in one minute."

"Very good," he agreed, not even opening his eyes. She looked at him for a moment with a smile and then returned through the door through which she had arrived.

About a minute later, I felt the plane begin to move. While I was not terribly afraid, the idea of flying made me slightly uneasy. I tried to focus on something else. My eyes roved around the part of the interior I could see without craning my neck. It was rather nondescript. Even if the plane was private, it seemed bare of any ostentatious luxury. I wondered how it was that Michael the car thief had access to a private plane.

I glanced over at him. His eyes were shut and his breathing was deep and even. I realized he had fallen asleep. I supposed it was only natural. He had lived the same experiences as me, at least since he broke into my home. He actually looked surprisingly innocent when he was sleeping. It was obviously because his obnoxious, aggravating and arrogant personality was not showing.

As much as I had been trying to ignore it, he really was attractive. Were his face and form influencing my decisions? Surely not. Even if I could be influenced so easily, whenever he opened his wretched mouth that horrid personality of his spewed out and ruined any effect his good looks might have had.

I wondered if there was maybe more to him than he was showing me. "Maybe I am slow upstairs," I muttered under my breath. Where did I think I was? In some messed up romance novel?

I was on a plane with a dangerous virtual stranger because another dangerous stranger wanted to kill me. I was with Michael not because of his dubious physical attributes, but because I was not going to die without a fight. I was using Michael; he was just a useful tool for my survival. Furthermore, he deserved it. I needed to remember that. I could not forget that the only reason the dangerous Paul wanted to kill me was completely and entirely Michael's fault. Really, it was practically his duty to get me away from there, I reminded myself. Michael owed me, even if he was not inclined to admit it.

Since I was very nearly a kidnap victim. There was no need to get myself feeling all sympathetic over my former abductor. Only an idiot would fall into that trap. I was no idiot.

I sincerely hope, whispered that self critical voice in the back of my mind.

It was not until I woke up I realized I had even fallen asleep in the first place. My neck was cramped from the poor position it had been in while I slept. I shrugged my shoulders, trying to loosen them up. I noticed Michael was watching me.

"What?" I asked testily.

"Nothing," he said, but continued to look in my direction. It was making me considerably uncomfortable. I ignored him, figuring if I complained he would probably just continue in order to bother me more.

I tried to occupy myself with not looking at him, but it was hard. There was not much to see in the aircraft and I had never learned to be good at being idle. I wracked my brain for some bit of conversation, something to sidetrack him from disconcerting me. Then I realized I had no idea what our plans actually were.

The sudden, horrifying realization I had absolutely no idea where we were going hit me. The thought I could be as remiss as to not even find out our destination before setting foot on it filled me with disgust and shame at my own idiocy. For a few moments, I thought I would throw up.

I tried to calm down. I forcibly reminded myself I could not change the past; I had to take control of the present instead. I asked as calmly as I could manage, "So, where are we going?" I was mortified to hear my voice squeak pathetically at the end of the question.

Michael laughed uproariously. I scowled. "You are hilarious, little girl!" he said between laughs. "I swear I haven't met anyone this amusing in many decades."

"So glad to be of service," I responded in a dull monotone. What was I? His new court jester? It only made him laugh harder.

"You have no idea how bored I've been. Even Paul's games have been growing tiresome. I was right to introduce a new face into the mix."

I had the strongest urge to slap him. "How dare you treat my life as if it were just a toy for you to play with?" I snapped, unable to hide my anger. "I want to know right now where we are going and what you have planned!"

He shrugged and the urge to inflict some sort of pain on him was stronger than ever. I had never met anyone who could take me to the edge of my patience with a few words like this man could.

"I never thought of your life as a toy," he said, making my violent train of thought fly off the rails.

"I couldn't tell," I muttered. Actions speak louder than words.  Moreover, his words usually were as bad as his actions.

"We're going to a small island I own. Your body needs time to recuperate and accept the changes without interference."

"And where is that?" I asked; not to be dissuaded from my quest for information.

"Well, that's privileged information, I'm afraid. If you really want to leave, I'll fly you off the island when you're ready to go. Think of it as a retreat."

"A retreat?" I could feel myself warming up to the idea like a complete idiot, but I was sure there was still some hidden ulterior motive to Michael's plan. I figured I might as well find out the downside before I was to get my hopes up. "What's the catch?"

"The catch?" Michael repeated, looking extremely innocent. Suspiciously innocent, to my mind. However, I did not press the issue, because there was nothing I could do while flying above the ocean.

"Is this actually your plane?" I asked suddenly.

"Yes, but I only use it when I have to. I prefer to drive," he explained.

"Stolen cars?"

He laughed at my question.  "No, I would usually drive my own, but Paul's catching up to me again." He sighed as if it were a great bother.

"You don't like flying?"

"I didn't say that, little girl." I wondered briefly if he was afraid of flying. Probably not. He seemed to be the type who was not afraid of anything. Was not life a mere game to one who believed himself an immortal god? He had to have some weakness, though. If I figured out what they were could I exploit it?

"So, how did you manage to find a pilot on Christmas?"

"Oh, there are humans who will do pretty much anything if you give them enough money."

"Oh. How long until we land?" I wondered.

"Oh, probably no more than an hour," Michael estimated. At the same moment the black haired woman came back into the enclosure.

"Is there anything you need, Mr. Thompson?" asked the stewardess. I was clearly beneath her notice, while she fawned over Michael. I suppose it made sense as he was the one paying her enough money to fly out on Boxing Day.

"How long until we land?" he asked, repeating my query.

"Let me just go and check," she said, simpering. Michael watched her walk away. I noticed she swung her hips from side to side far more than was strictly necessary. She returned only a few moments later.

"The captain says it will be an hour and a half, Mr. Thompson," she said.

"I must not have slept as long as I thought," Michael said musingly. Then he turned to me. "Are you hungry?"

My stomach growled before I could even answer him. He looked over at the swaying stewardess and asked her to bring us something to eat. She brought back a couple of meals on trays and I devoured mine, hardly able to help myself. The food was better than I had imagined airplane fare would be.

Shortly after we were finished the stewardess cleared away our trays. Some time after that she returned and informed us we would be landing in fifteen minutes. I turned my attention back to the great expanse of water outside the window and waited.