WUTHERING NIGHTS: A Wuthering Heights Teen Fan Fiction

WUTHERING NIGHTS (chapter eighteen: London)

Chapter Eighteen

London

     Kate whispered in his ear, before he’d disappeared into the night, ‘I’ll pretend to go along with his plan - three months from now. The twenty-eighth like we planned.’

     He kissed her forehead and fled.

      Heath’s disappearance was a mystery. Where a body had lain in the dark only mist seeped through the glass house as the solitary, crying girl was dragged forcibly back to Hareton Hall and then packed off to Switzerland.

     The streets of Soho had been very cold at one am - summer, winter or any other season. It had been two days since he had been shot during his transition (and revived). When he fled Hampstead, after Kate was dragged from him, after she’d whispered the time and date of their wedding, he was speechless. Intent on survival, he disappeared into the Hampstead mist. Heath gorged himself on squirrels and hoped it would tide him over until he could get in to see his specialist, Dr Vincent.

     Driving back to The Hall, Harrison was sure he’d seen the last of Heath. Although he suspected a vampire variation, he was sure he’d imagined, in his near drunken stupor, the events that had occurred in the early hours of that morning. It was, of course, Heath’s eighteenth birthday. As midnight bells rang out, Heath was becoming immortal, shy of sunlight, wary of mirrors and gradually non-existent in photographs. Fearful of dawn and what he might do, the rest would evolve instinctively, over time. He would forge his own path.

     After Kate was sent kicking and screaming to Switzerland, Heath’s fees were withdrawn as Harrison had promised and the school was notified that Heath would not be returning.

      Meanwhile, Heath’s friends from Scotland were in school and he had no local acquaintances in Hampstead or the surrounding boroughs and even if he did, he wanted to get as far away from what he remembered of his childhood, as he could. He had the small amount of money he’d saved from running his school fixtures racket (and winning), as well as the cash Kate had placed in her letter.

     ‘I do remember that,’ Greta laughed and then let the story continue as if telling itself…

     Heath had a small amount of cash plus the money Harrison had given him “what remained of his father’s wish”, as a “do not return gift” - one hundred pounds – an insult. It was a great deal less than he’d actually been owed; and none of the legacy left to him by his adopted father.

    Heath used the money for supplies. He then spent the second night after riding the tube and sleeping rough in St James Park, in a backpacker’s hostel near the West End. He now had real empathy for the homeless and resolved that when he became rich and powerful he would help those less fortunate.

    As Heath was transitioning, his body was changing inside, but he never gave up hope that he would land on his feet. He was almost glad to be free of Harrison and The Hall but it was Kate’s promise of love that kept him going through those cold, desperate nights.

    On the third morning he emptied his pockets and realised just how short of cash he would be, once he’d put down a payment on a room for the week.  He went to stay with the older brother of one of his school team mates but it soon became clear after a few nights that he couldn’t hide his needs from that family and he’d outstayed his welcome.  He slept in the park again but it was freezing. The humanity left in him ensured he still felt very cold.

     By now, he’d managed to see his specialist, who’d commiserated with him and congratulated him on his eighteenth birthday. The tests showed a major change in his chemical make-up and it would take a few days for his medication to settle his imbalance. Heath still saw his own reflection in the mirror, still ate food and continued to try to live as normal a life as possible. He slept in more than he used to, the craving for human blood was stronger. The promise of Kate was enough, and all he survived for.