Wednesday: 

Tom kept up his usual cheerful demeanor for Mike an Jono at school the next day.  The news of the murder was in the Daily Mail, but this time there was no picture of the victim, so his classmates weren’t looking at him as if he were a ghost.

“So give us the dish on Chris’s new bird,” Jono insisted as they sat at the fountain for their dinner break.

“You did suss her out, right?”  Mike prodded Tom in the rib with one elbow.

Tom nodded.  Even if he felt horribly exposed in the open, he would be confident and secure for his friends.  “She was over for supper last night.  It wasn’t a date, though.  She, Chris and some other exchange students were working on a group project.  History.  She seemed nice enough, but I didn’t have a chance to suss out her sense of humor.”

Jono hummed thoughtfully.  “What are you doing on Friday night?”

Mike frowned.  “I thought we were going down to the pub on Saturday night.”

Jono rolled his eyes.  “I meant Chris and Genevieve will probably go on a date and we should crash it.”

“Really?  That sounds like fun.”  Mike considered his sausage roll.  “Will Chris tell you if he’s going out?”

Jono grinned wickedly.  “Tom’s an actor.  I’m sure he can work something.”

“Actually...”  Tom crumpled the wax paper his meat pie had been wrapped in.  “Chris and Genevieve aren’t going on a date on Friday night.  See, Genevieve and her friends play this game, and they’ve invited me to play with them.  They play on Friday nights.  I reckoned I’d have a better chance of sussing her out without Chris around.”

“That’s absolutely brill.”  Mike beamed.  Guilt flooded Tom - he was manipulating his friends.

“We’ll meet at the pub Saturday night still,” Tom said.

Jono nodded.  “Definitely.  Strategy meeting.”

Mike leaned close and lowered his voice.  “Are any of Chris’s other new friends worth a fancy?”

Tom started.  “What?  Oh - no!  No.  Two of them are already a couple.  And the other girl - she’s a bit.  Odd.”

“Odd.”  Mike heaved a disappointed sigh.

“Well, come on.”  Jono stood up.  “Dinner’s almost over.  We’re not supposed to walk about alone, remember?  So I can’t just leave you two slow-pokes here.”

Tom nodded.  “Yeah.  Let’s go.  Eat and walk, Mike.  You can do it.”

Mike affected a dopey, stupid smile, and Tom forced a laugh.

* * *

Tom waved goodbye to his friends and started out the front gate.  He planned on cycling down to the police station to speak with DCI Roland.  It was foolhardy to go alone, but he would be fine.  Tom went to unlock his bike when a voice called out to him.

“Hey Tom!  Chris called us, so we’re giving you a life.”  Lawrence lifted one hand in greeting.  He and Elizabetta stood beside Lawrence’s car that was parked on the other side of the street.

“Erm - what about my bike?” Tom asked.  No.  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.  What if Lawrence and his friends were part of it?

“We’ll drop you off back here so you can take it home,” Elizabetta said.

Tom adopted a wide-eyed, earnest expression.  Somehow he was sure Lawrence could see through him.  The other boy’s wild-bright eyes were sharp with knowing.  “Really, you don’t have to do this.  It’s quite decent of you, but I can manage on my own.”

Lawrence shrugged and unlocked his car.  “We’re doing this for Genevieve and Chris.  He told us about the stalker, about how you’re not supposed to go around alone.”

Stalker?  Silently, Tom thanked the powers-that-be for Chris’s quick wits and actor-sharp ability to lie.  

“Genevieve didn’t really saw it, but we figured it’d make Chris feel better.”  Elizabetta held open the passenger door.

Tom bit his lip and nodded.  “All right.  Thanks.”

Once in the car, Elizabetta and Lawrence were silent save asking Tom for directions.

To cover his nervousness, Tom began to babble.  “So, er, where are Meg and Genevieve now?”

“At your place working on the history project of doom,” Elizabetta said.

Tom nodded.  “Right.”

At the police station, Lawrence and Elizabetta waited at the car.  Tom climbed the steps and headed to the front desk.

No one looked at him.

He cleared his throat.

The desk sergeant, a girl in her twenties, noticed him and smiled politely.  “What can I do for you, luvv?”

“I’m here to see DCI Roland,” Tom said.

“His door is first on the left.”  The girl pointed toward a sea of cubicles crowded with uniformed bobbies.  As Tom headed toward them, daunted, the girl winked.  “You look lovely on screen, by the way.”

“Thanks.”  He blushed, then lifted his head and strode toward the cubicles as if he had every right to be there.

The shiny brass nameplate was vaguely intimidating.  Detective Chief Inspector Geoffrey Roland.  Tom kept his cool  and knocked.  The drawn blinds didn’t lessen his sense of unease.

“Enter.”

Tom stepped into the office and closed the door behind him carefully.  “You wished to see me, sir?”

Roland pointed to the seat opposite his desk.  “Have a seat.”

Tom obeyed, folding his hands in his lap so Roland wouldn’t see them shake.  “You had a question for me.”  There - it didn’t sound like a question.  It sounded like he was calm.

Roland slid a piece of paper across the desk.  “This was found on the second victim’s body, once again on the other side of a picture of you.”

Tom picked up the note and scanned it.  “Right.”  He glanced briefly at the other side.  It was undoubtedly a picture of him, but he couldn’t remember having it taken.  After all the film publicity, however, there were many pictures of him he couldn’t remember having had taken.  “This is also a reference to the Vampire Masquerade game.  It’s part of the game mechanics and denotes the dice numbers one must roll so one’s character can successfully perform a certain action.  The number after the DC is the difficulty check, which is the minimum number one must roll on a die for a success.  The dice pool number is how many dice one can roll - the more dice in the dice pool, the more chance for success.”

Roland’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “DC eight?  Dice only go up to six.”

“Ordinary dice, yes,” Tom said.  “Vampire uses special dice that have ten sides.”  He wondered how he would explain all this knowledge.

“I see.”  Roland drummed his fingertips on thoughtfully on his desk.  “The ‘gaming’ subculture tends to be underground and rather...selective as to who is allowed to play.  And your lady friend...how did you meet her?”

“My elder brother Chris - his girlfriend and her friends play, and they invited me to play with them.”  That was the truth.  “They wanted another bloke to play and reckoned an actor would fancy a spin.  I haven’t played a game yet, but they taught me how.”

“I see.”  Again with that thoughtful tone doctors so patients couldn’t tell if they were just fine or only had a week to live.

Someone knocked at the door.

“Enter,” Roland said without taking his eyes off of Tom.

The bobbie who had accompanied Roland to Tom’s house on Monday stepped into the office.  He carried three books with him.  “Those manuals you asked for are here, sir.”

Tom recognized one of them - it was the same as the manual Lawrence used to help Tom build his character.

“Thank you, Douglas,” Roland said.  “You may leave them on my desk.”

The bobbie obeyed and slipped out of the office.

“It wasn’t easy to procure these,” Roland said, still holding Tom’s gaze.  “I assume you’re familiar with them.”

Tom reached out and laid a hand on the cover of the green book.  “Just this one.”

“I see.”

Tom gritted his teeth silently.  He was starting to dislike that phrase very much.

“Do you know any gamer-type person who wishes you harm?” Roland asked.

“No.  None of my friends are gamers.  And I hadn’t met Chris’s friends till yesterday, really.”

Roland raised his eyebrows.  “I see.”

Tom wondered if he ought to tell Roland about Meg and how her “Shinsengumi” took only the best.  She was so strange and whimsical.  There was something very sinister about that tiny, corpse-like doll of a girl.  Tom decided against telling Roland.  She was delicate, frail, even if she dressed like a samurai boy.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

Roland shook his head.  “No.  Thank you for coming to see me.  I have my men on this case, and new information is invaluable.  Continue being cautious and tell me straight away if anyone strange approaches you.”

“Will do, sir.”  Tome stood up.  “Good day.”

“Do you need a lift home?”

“Thanks, but no.  I caught a lift with a friend.”  Tom ducked out of the office and hurried down the front steps.  Lawrence unlocked the car and started the engine.

“Everything all right?” Elizabetta asked.

Tom nodded and smiled.  “Just fine.  One of the inspectors wanted to speak with me is all.”

“Well, we have to hurry back,” Lawrence said.  “Meg’s been on edge all day.”

Elizabetta made a sympathetic noise.

Tom wondered what on earth she was on edge about.

Lawrence dropped Tom of back at the school and made sure Tom was on his bike before driving away.  Tom rode his bike up the hill, letting his thoughts churn slowly.  He was completely alone for the first time all day, and he let his calm facade fade.  Now that there was no one for whom he felt he must pretend, he let the cold terror settle over him.  Someone was roaming Birmingham, someone who wanted him dead.  Him and every unfortunate boy who looked like him.  Innocent boys were being murdered because some psychopath was obsessed with him.

He could die any day now.

Other people were going to die, and he was powerless to stop it.

Two boys killed in two days.  There couldn’t be that many boys in Birmingham who looked that much like him - the killer would have to come for him sooner or later.  His mother was terrified.  Tom had to be strong for her and his brothers.  For Mike and Jono.  For the students in his form who cast him sidelong glances, waiting for his seat to be empty and his picture - his real picture - to be on the front page of the Daily Mail alongside a headline for murder.

Maybe Meg was involved with the murders.  Maybe all of those kids were.  Maybe Genevieve was just dating Chris so the others could keep tabs on Tom.

His frantic thoughts picked up speed.  Tom was the only one who knew all this, the only one who could do anything, the police had nothing --

His world flipped upside down.  Metal screeched.  The wind was knocked out of his lungs.  Pain lanced up his arm.

Tom blinked up at the sky, dazed.

Voices surrounded him.

“Tom!”  “Are you all right?”  “What happened?”  “He fell, you moron.”

Shane appeared above him.  “Tom!”

Tom blinked again,  and Shane pulled the fallen bike off of him.

“Up you get, bruv.”  Someone grasped him by the arms - more pain - and hauled him upright.  Brisk hands dusted him off.

“Are you all right?” Genevieve asked again.

Tom nodded, still dazed.

“He was probably thumped on the head,” Chris’s voice said from somewhere behind him.

Genevieve said, “We should probably get him inside.”

Tom allowed his brothers to drag him into the house.

“Lay him down on the sofa.”  Genevieve tugged off his satchel and blazer.  “Meg, c’mere and get him comfortable.”

Tom could only make a small noise of protest when quick hands loosed his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt.  Those cool hands brushed the hair off his forehead and lowered him onto the sofa, tucking a pillow beneath his head.  Someone tugged his shoes off and settled a blanket over him.

“Keep him awake in case he has a concussion,” Genevieve ordered. 

“Tom, how many fingers am I holding up?”  A slender hand moved into his field of vision, displaying three fingers.

“Three,” he said.

“He can see just fine,” a girl said.

“Where’s Shane?” Chris demanded.

“He’s taking the bike out back,” Lawrence said.

“Shouldn’t you call your mother?” Elizabetta asked.

Chris cursed.  “Right.  Help me find her number.  It’s somewhere in this mess.”

Tom’s head spun.  He had to tell them.  Had to tell somebody what was going on.  HE reached out, and his fingertips brushed the soft silk of someone’s sleeve.  He tugged.

A face suddenly loomed over him, a face framed by jet-black hair and set with empty black sockets instead of eyes, the scarred face of a corpse.

Tom screamed.

“What’s wrong?” Chris asked.  He sounded panicked.

“I think I just startled him,” the face said, and Tom recognized her voice.

It was just Meg.

He tugged on her sleeve again.

“Are you all right?” she asked, and her voice was surprisingly gentle.

“I have to tell you,” Tom said.

Rough, callused fingers stroked his hair.  “Tell me what?”

And then Tom realized he couldn’t tell her.  What if she was part of it?  He shook his head.

“It’s all right,” she said.  “Chris, I think he’s - hallucinating a bit.”

“I haven’t found Mum’s number yet!”

“I found it!” Genevieve cried.

Tom decided he wanted to sleep.  He was tired.  He closed his eyes, but a hand shook his shoulder.

“No,” Meg said.  “Tom, stay awake.  Tom, look at me and keep listening to my voice.”

He blinked at her.

She began to sing in a low, husky voice.

He tried to grasp the words, to understand.  He ignored her sloe-black eyes, her scarred face, and fixed his gaze on her rosy pink mouth, focusing on the sweet, nonsensical sounds that spilled from her lips.

“Aishiteta to nageku niwa...”

In the background he could hear Chris babbling their mum over the phone.

Elizabetta asked, “Should you really be singing him that song?”

Those rough fingers carded through Tom’s hair again.  “The silly boy is keeping himself awake trying to understand me,” Meg said.

“Mum’s coming home now,” Chris said.

“We’ll wait till she gets here, then take off,” Lawrence said.

“Yeah.  You should stay with your mom,” Elizabetta added.  “We’ll finish up back at the dorms.”

Tom tugged on the sleeve in his grip.  “Sing!”

Meg laughed.  “All right, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Tom tried to scowl at her, but then she was singing again and it was all right.

“What happened?  Where’s Tom?”  Elaine Phillips’ voice entered the din.

“He took a spill off his bike,” Shane said.  “Hit his head.

Tom frowned when the voice stopped singing, but then his mum was stroking his hair and talking to him.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Chris,” Genevieve said.

Elaine fussed over her youngest for a bit, then declared him concussion-free.  

“You rest until supper, dear,” she said, patting him on the shoulder.

Tom nodded and closed his eyes.

* * *

The first one had had the eyes, perfect eyes burning with fierce brilliance and mercurial brightness.  The fighting spirit true to Clan Brujah had shone in those eyes.  The second one had had the perfect skin, flawless and pale and soft to the touch, an embodiment of shallow Toreador beauty.  The third would have the perfect body, the animal strength of the Camarilla’s rare but brutal enforcers.

Only certain ones could solve the puzzle, see the pattern, but those hunting him were proud and prejudiced and would never seek help of that sort.  Without it, of course, they could not find him and stop him.

That was fine by him.  After all, he had a message to send, and if he were stopped no one would receive it.

He glanced up at the picture on the wall and smiled sadly.

He would avenge that boy’s stolen innocence.

Tomorrow night, then, he would leave the third link in the chain.