Nocturne | ONC 2024

Eighteen: Anger

It was only once he was three blocks away from Nikolai's house that Aaron noticed the coat he'd grabbed wasn't his own. In the dark hall it wasn't that surprising; he and Nikolai were of a similar height, and while the vampire was leaner than he was, his coats were always bigger than needed. But the mistake made him irrationally furious, nails biting into his palms and teeth grinding together.

Bastard, he thought. To build him up like that, to have some mawkish last dance before leaving for good, like Aaron wanted that? Like he needed that? More than that, he was furious with himself for going along with it. After the conversation they'd had, how had he not seen what Nikolai was trying to do?

It was so infuriatingly old-fashioned.

Bill had been right. He'd been an idiot to let himself feel anything for Meier, or to kid himself that he could settle for just a fling. He'd known the vampire had no intention of staying long-term, and Meier hadn't exactly hidden that fact, either. It didn't stop him feeling sick. Meier had probably seen how stressed Aaron was, how desperate he'd been for things to get easier, and had carried on like that anyway, as if giving him a flat would fix it. It was almost insulting.

His feet pounded the pavement in furious rhythm, streetlights flashing by. The roads were empty at this time of night, and it was a long way from here to any of the pubs, but he didn't care. His fingers had stumbled over a tight roll of cash in Nikolai's pocket, so whether he came across a bed and breakfast or a pub first, he was spending it.

He considered calling Bill and dismissed the idea in the same breath. He couldn't bear it.

Street after street passed him by, and with each row of houses, each empty road, each shuttered shop, the anger ebbed away, leaving a tight knot of panic in its wake. His father already needed full-time care, and things weren't getting any better. The job got harder with every passing year. He didn't even have the flat to go back to anymore, at least not before he'd had it deep-cleaned three times over by someone who specialised in supernatural messes, which were hard to find at the best of times. He had no idea where his life was going, but he didn't want to think about after. His father was still here, now. He couldn't bear to think about after.

His eyes burned, and so did his legs as he finally ground to a halt under a streetlight on a street he couldn't name. He had no idea how far he'd walked. And for the first time since he'd stormed out of Nikolai's house, he noticed that in coming out without his own coat, he'd come out unarmed.

It was a good job Nikolai was leaving, he thought bitterly, because he would never have done anything so goddamn stupid before.

He fished in his pocket for his phone, and immediately sent Bill his GPS location.

Got a free car? He texted, and scanned the shadows around him for any movement. He set the GPS to auto-update Bill every five minutes, and started walking again, this time looking more carefully for a pub sign or the lights of a hotel.

Are you in trouble, Evans? The text came back almost instantly. Aaron's chest loosened at the contact.

Did something really stupid, Bill, he sent. And then, several stupid things, actually.

Sending someone your way. You armed?

Aaron grimaced at the screen. No. I did say several things.

There was no response to that, but Aaron sensed his supervisor's disapproval even from the silence.

He kept walking, phone in hand, but his legs were tired and he had to slow.

He became distantly aware of being tailed on the next street. It wasn't a physical sense, but in his field that old, primeval part of the human brain was honed sharper than in the average person, and he was so alert by then that he cottoned on to its warning prickle immediately.