This is the final chapter and set in the 'present', well, as you can see from the date which 'present' it is and the significance of it. Many thanks to all of you who have stuck with this fic and left reviews, all have been appreciated. As always, errors are my own whether intended or (mostly) not. Love to hear your thoughts.

Chapter Fifteen:

Present Day: December 1999.

"Here's a blast from your past" Mitchell looks up at Herrick as a newspaper drops onto the desk in front of him. Automatically he looks down.

"Top of the page, now there's a name I'll bet you haven't heard in an age. Alice Blythe-Pearson. Her mum had quite the thing for you" Herrick's voice lowers to a purr and he lowers himself onto his seat behind his desk and he regards Mitchell. Mitchell looks up through his eyebrows at him.

"I seem to remember it almost cost me a tooth" he mutters back and Herrick shrugs one shoulder in a surprisingly elegant movement. He watches him return his attention to the article in front of him.

Mitchell frowns and his mouth goes dry when he sees the name in print. Over seventy years have passed since that night. He remembers it clearly. He'd been so young then, so filled with the righteous indignation, arrogance and invincibility of youth. At the same time he remembers Lily. She dazzled him with her attention and ever since then he's been cautious with the opposite sex. He's flirted and flattered and taken but he has kept an essential part of himself separate and he succeeded right up until the moment he saw Josie and then he had felt those carefully constructed walls begin to tumble down. She was his first taste of his humanity. After they separated, the very idea of it lurked in the background but was kept hidden, like a caged bird hidden by a heavy blanket. He ignores it but he can feel the holes in that heavy blanket beginning to wear through and he feels the light burning through into him, into whatever soul he has left. It's uncomfortable.

He returns his attention to the article once more and he frowns when he sees the old photograph of the half burned out shell of that country house. The ballroom was completely obliterated as well as the floor above. The half burned corpse of Charlotte Blythe-Pearson had been discovered in her bedroom and it had all been classed as a terribly tragic accident, the result of candles being left unattended and knocked over, igniting the curtains in the ballroom. He remembers the panic, he remembers Lily telling him that there was utter chaos downstairs and as he reads further, it's reported that five other people lost their lives and he wonders whether that was down to the fire or…other means. His eyes skim the rest of the article, of how the three children were brought up by relatives, of how Hugh Blythe-Pearson remarried and moved to America leaving his children behind. The story of the fire followed the children all through their lives and according to the article, Alice never married. He pauses and then looks up at Herrick, his eyes wide. Herrick's smile is slow and very cold.

"Oh you've got to the part about the book I take it?" he enquires and Mitchell slowly nods.

"The Black Eyed Devils, interesting choice for a title don't you think?" he comments and Mitchell stares at him with slightly widened eyes.

"Did you have a witness to your little show of fun and games Mitchell?" he enquires in a smooth voice. Mitchell's eyes drop down once more to the newspaper article and he swallows.

"I didn't know at the time" he admits in a low voice and his head snaps up again at Herrick's sigh of annoyance.

"She saw you, she witnessed what you did and you didn't think to…rectify the situation?" his voice rises and Mitchell frowns.

"She was just a child Herrick, she didn't know what she saw!" he exclaims defensively. Herrick rolls his eyes.

"She saw enough to write a damned book about it you fool!" Herrick argues, his voice rising.

"According to the article, it was published as a work of fiction; it sold moderately well but attracted no real attention" Mitchell points out. He watches Herrick sit forward to rest his elbows on the polished wood of his desk.

"You need to pay her a visit John" he informs him. Mitchell frowns and sits back.

"What's the point Herrick, it says that she's been partially paralysed by a stroke and it's looking touch and go whether she'll survive"

"Then it'll make your task all the more easier then won't it?" Mitchell's eyes widen with horror.

"Why the hell are you doing this?" he exclaims in astonishment.

"Because it will take just one person, one person with enough intelligence and know how to start looking into her story and begin to discover things they really shouldn't be discovering"

"And isn't that what you want? Aren't you always going on about taking control, about us being the ones in control instead of lurking in the shadows?" Herrick frowns at him, not liking this reticence that he's seeing.

"Of course, but not yet and not like this" he hisses irritably and Mitchell understands. Oh he wants the world to know about their existence but only when he's ready and on his terms, typical Herrick.

"Do it yourself" he flings at him, folding his arms.

"I beg your pardon but since when have you been the one in charge of this chapter? I tell you to do something and you do it soldier, no questions asked" Herrick responds quietly. Mitchell glares at him.

"I am not Seth, I'm not the fucking monkey here" he retorts. Herrick sighs.

"And Seth just doesn't have that brand of…charm that you have John. He wishes that he does but it's just not happening. No, it has to be you, it's your mess and you need to clean it up" he sends him a hard look.

"It happened over seventy years ago Herrick"

"So what, I don't like loose ends, of any description" Herrick retorts and Mitchell jumps to his feet, feeling temper boiling through him.

"I won't do it. She's an old lady now, helpless"

"John, don't make me ask you again. Actually I'm not asking at all, it's an order soldier and you have to follow orders or face the consequences" the threat hangs in the room between them.

The cold December wind makes him shiver. All around him humanity is preparing for another festive season. The streets are crammed with Christmas shoppers both excited and fatigued by the forthcoming celebration and the following new Millennium. In times gone by, he revelled in such events; places like this were easy and rich pickings for him and his type. Now his stomach churns, it makes him nauseous. All of these heartbeats, all of these pulses they're a cacophony of temptation. Now he's cold, uninterested. Now he's about to face his past.

Someone bumps into him, makes firm contact against his shoulder and it knocks him back a pace or two. He catches a drift of sweet, old fashioned perfume, violets. It makes him frown as a memory tickles the back of his memory. He turns his head to apologise and he sees her turn her face towards him. Her skin is pale and creamy looking; her eyes are big and blue. His own widen as recognition shocks through him.

Jessie?

He turns more fully but she's disappeared into the heaving seasonal crowd and gone just like that. He frowns as the crowds swarm around him, pushing and jostling at him. He racks his brain. The party that Flynn had shown up at, she had been the 'entertainment', he hadn't stuck around for the refreshments, he'd been outside, listening to Flynn tell his story and missed it. As far as he was concerned, Jessie had died that night.

Or had she? He shakes his head and his gaze sharpens as again he searches the sea of faces around him.

Is he seeing things now? He draws a deep breath into his lungs. He shakes his head slightly and wonders whether he's starting to lose his mind.

He's become adept at keeping to the shadows and the shiny corridors are silent and empty. He expects them to be at this time of night. He won't be picked up on any kind of closed circuit television, of any kind of camera but even that knowledge still makes him careful, still makes him cautious.

Alice Blythe-Pearson is his last human link to a vicious fledgling career. An innocent victim of his carnage, his naked brutality and even now he feels the unwelcome churn of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

He looks down at her.

"The police…they thought that…my father had killed…my mother" Alice's voice is low and halting. Mitchell regards her. Her eyes are cloudy with cataracts. She can't see him, or at least see him clearly; if she could then it would indeed be game over. He watches her.

"Why would they think that? We know it was that awful fire" he tells her and she frowns, her head again turning in his direction.

"We both…know…what truly happened" she reminds him. He leans forward so his mouth is close to her ear.

"You were a child Alice, a baby, what you thought you saw was a machination of your young mind" he tells her in clear, precise tones.

"They argued…at the masquerade, my father said she was…making an exhibition…or herself…with another man" she whispers.

"It was you, wasn't it?"

"How could it have been? Do I sound like an old man Alice? You and the police were mistaken" Mitchell whispers back.

"But…but you sound…"

"I know…but I suppose it's the accent" she frowns again.

"You broke…her neck…I saw you…"

"Alice, please, you're really upsetting me with your accusations, your baseless unfounded accusations" he looks her up and down.

"Why are you…here?" she asks, her voice still barely above a whisper. He looks at her face. He remembers the inquisitive, cheeky little girl, the child who didn't like dresses and ribbons and wanted to climb trees and go exploring like her brothers. His vision suddenly blurs as emotion catches his throat.

"Tying up loose ends, following orders" he whispers back in a choked voice. He lifts a hand.

"Close your eyes"

He leaves as he entered unseen and overlooked. He strides quickly back along the corridor, his shoulders hunched, his head down and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. He's white pale and tears are pouring down his cheeks.

He gasps out a breath as he exits the hospital and he stops and looks up at the navy blue sky. The icy wind whips at the salt on his cheeks and he self-consciously, angrily brushes them away.

No more. He can't do this anymore.

He needs to find a way out of this.

He dreams of Jessie that night and it's the first of many.

He takes a deep breath and looks up at the hotel entrance. He's not sure that this is a good idea but it has to be done. He pushes his hands into his pockets and steps inside.

He stands just inside the entrance and he squints a little as his eyes struggle to get used to the dim lighting. She said that she'll be here for two and he knows it's a couple of minutes past that. It's never a good idea to keep them waiting and he knows he's cutting it fine.

"Can I help you?" he turns when he hears the voice at his shoulder and he swings around and sees the suited maître d' or whatever title he goes by these days.

"Ummm…Eleanor Brennan?" he enquires hopefully and by the way his expression clears, he knows who he's talking about.

"Right this way sir" he informs him and Mitchell follows him.

Eleanor is seated alone at a small table beside a large window that gives her a view of gardens that stretch out for as far as the eye can see. She turns her head away from the view and she watches them both approach the table. The maître d pulls out a chair for Mitchell and then with a nod at Eleanor, he departs. Mitchell remains still for a moment and the two vampires regard each other. There is no welcome on Eleanor's face and to be honest, he isn't expecting to see any.

"Eleanor" he begins in a neutral tone and she nods just the once.

"John" she answers. His hand touches the back of the chair the maître d' has pulled out.

"Can I sit down?" he asks.

"You're asking me? Do what you like John, you're the one who asked for this meeting" her voice is ice cold.

"And yet here you are" he replies and her eyes narrow. They glare at each other.

"I don't have to be" she reminds him. He sighs roughly and lowers himself slowly into the seat.

"I wish I could say the years have been kind to you John…Mitchell" she sneers at him. He stares at her. He looks down at his hands, wrapped in fingerless army green coloured gloves. He sees grubby fingernails chewed to the quick, grimy around the edges and he knows that she has a point.

"Unlike you Eleanor, you don't seem to have changed an inch" he replies quietly. He looks up at her and he sees the flare of disappointment in her eyes.

"What? Were you expecting anger, arrogance or worse? I called this meeting as you've reminded me, why would I do that and then insult you?" he straightens very slightly.

"I've changed Eleanor, I'm not the same person I was back then" he admits.

"Somehow I find that very difficult to believe" she retorts.

"Why? Don't you believe people…vampires have the ability to change, to become better people?" his voice lowers as he glances around himself. A few of the tables are occupied by other diners but nobody takes any notice of them.

"Not you. You made your reputation as an especially barbaric example of our kind, Wyndham called you big bad John and I heard the name stuck" she hisses at him.

"That was then" he replies, looking away.

"And now?" his gaze flicks back to her face. Her skin is still porcelain pale and unlined; her hair is that same light blonde but longer now. It brushes past her shoulders.

"Now I remember all their faces, their names. I remember if they fought against their…fate or accepted. I even remember how they tasted" he admits in a quiet voice.

"You never forget Mitchell, it's part of the curse of our existence. You remember every single detail, you just find different ways of coping with it all, trying to forget" she tells him.

"I know and I… don't. It's just that now the colours are…brighter, everything is more…three dimensional" he confirms.

"You have nightmares, sometimes you think you see them when you're awake, your…victims" she guesses and she smiles cruelly at his look of shock.

"That's your humanity Mitchell, that's your humanity emerging to remind you of what you once were. Do you ever see Lily?" He freezes and then eventually he nods.

"I keep seeing her everywhere I turn…but they're just girls who look like her…and Jessie…I keep thinking I see Jessie" he murmurs

"Jessie…who is Jessie?" he looks up at her.

"From Edmund's party, she was the…entertainment" he reminds her

"Oh" her voice trails off and Mitchell looks at her more fully.

"But why?" he blurts out in surprise. Eleanor shrugs.

"That's for you to find out for yourself, I'm not about to become your advisor. You have someone for that, but oh… wait, you can't tell him what you've admitted to me now can you?" he sees the satisfaction in her eyes.

"Are you going to tell me why you called this meeting? I haven't set eyes on you for over seventy years and while I have hated you with every fibre of my being, I am curious to know what we're doing here" she reminds him. She sees how he frowns.

"I wanted to talk…about Lily" his voice is slow and halting. Her eyes widen with surprise.

"Why?" she demands, struggling to keep her voice, her emotions under control. Mitchell watches her; even the sound of her name has her struggling. He swallows and he wishes that he had a drink in front of him. He wants to feel the familiar numbness that alcohol temporarily affords him from time to time. He shrugs.

"Because what I did to her…it was wrong" his words falter and feel foreign in his mouth. He frowns fiercely.

"Yes…it was" she confirms. He glances up at her.

"She used me and I…reacted badly and I'm…sorry" His apology sounds weak and inadequate; he looks back down at his hands.

"Edgar said you were mercurial" His head snaps up.

"Wyndham did?" his tone sharpens. Eleanor just nods.

"It's because of him that you're still alive today, be thankful for that and never ever forget it" her tone becomes sharp once more. She looks down at the fine china tea cup that has so far been ignored in front of her. She then raises her head and looks at him. Her gaze is hard, unforgiving.

"You know, I have hated you for such a long time. I blamed you for what happened to her and don't get me wrong, I still do, I still hate you and I still blame you but I've had time to think and understand and I suppose accept. Part of the blame must lie with me, for making her the girl she was. She was flighty, she was grasping and yes, she was a whore and I made her all of those, or at least I formed all of those characteristics. I suppose they were always there, it was something about her that I must've recognised in that tavern. I remember seeing her, her beauty and just…recognising her. I didn't want her to become just another ordinary soul, I wanted her to be extraordinary and she was" she sighs shakily.

"She saw that in you too. She saw you at a party and she just had to have you and I couldn't stop her, I suppose she recognised the extraordinary in you and she wouldn't listen to me, so yes, you were her rebellion I suppose" her eyes glimmer with unshed tears.

"But she was special and you took that away from me" she whispers somewhat angrily. She looks down once more and Mitchell watches her struggle to compose herself. The next time that she looks at him, all traces of emotion are gone.

"You're having doubts about what you are. You've always had them and thirty years ago I heard that you broke away from Herrick for a woman, a human this time" she offers him a tiny smile.

"How do you know about that?" he asks her.

"I've made it my mission to know about you John, about your beginnings, about your existence and I'll make it my mission to know about your end" she promises and Mitchell regards her steadily. He does not doubt that she will.

"What you are is a twenty four hour seven days a week entity, there's no stepping back from it, there's no deciding not to be what you are, you just are. You could never succeed at being anything else" she lets the derision in her voice bleed through and she watches it hit its target.

"I hear on the grapevine that you're heading onto the Continent, any special reason?" Mitchell shrugs.

"A change of scenery I suppose" he mutters.

"Or Herrick has upset someone somewhere and needs to make a quick getaway. You must visit Vienna, beautiful city" she makes a show of looking at her watch.

"Was that everything John? Your apology is noted, however I think I'll reserve judgement as to whether I wish to accept it" Mitchell gets to his feet. He hovers for a moment and pushes his hands into his jacket pocket.

"Thank you Eleanor" he begins in a halting tone "for agreeing to see me" Eleanor slowly, imperiously nods. His eyes flick up to her face and then he turns. Eleanor remains standing as she watches him leave. She waits. Then she turns her head.

"Did you hear all of that Jessica?" she asks.

Jessie slowly replaces her tea cup onto its saucer and she rises to her feet. She turns to look at Eleanor and she smiles. It sends beams of warmth into her blue eyes.

"Every word Eleanor" she confirms. Eleanor smiles fondly at her and the younger vampire moves closer to her sire.

"Edgar said that I wasn't to seek any physical retribution on John for what he did to my darling Lily but he didn't say anything about his mind now did he?" Jessie shakes her head.

"No he didn't" she agrees. Eleanor returns her attention to the exit.

She had rescued Jessica from Edmund's party. She'd come across her semi-comatose in a guest bedroom and had been enchanted by her beauty, her exquisite doll like features and thick black hair. She herself had been invited to take first blood and of course, being an Old One, no one would dare tell her how much was too much and she'd drained her to the point of death, reviving her in her new status a little later on and of course after everything that had happened with Lily, she'd been a blessing in disguise, a boon companion.

She has moulded her into what she is now and while she is no Lily, she's a very close second. Eleanor transformed her initial confusion about John into a cold single minded hatred. She has planned this, oh it almost came unstuck thirty years ago with his sojourn with the human girl but that didn't last for long, with humans it never really did.

It's been a carefully planned affair. She has bided her time and played her cards stealthily. She made sure that Seth saw her in public because everyone knows that Seth can't keep a secret even if his undead existence depended on it. The only question was who would he tell first, Herrick or Mitchell? If she had been a betting woman then she would've said Mitchell and it would seem that she was correct. Two days had passed by before she received his request to meet.

Everything is in place.

"Are you sure he saw you the other evening?" Eleanor enquires and Jessie smiles slowly, knowingly.

"Oh I know he did, I made sure of it though I made sure he only got a glimpse. He's not sure who or what he saw" she confirms. Eleanor feels the satisfaction well inside of her.

"Good girl" she murmurs approvingly.

She'll have her revenge one way or another.

END.