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narcissistic and self-absorbed way, I go through to the bathroom and turn on the shower. While it warms up, I strip off. I've decided to get completely clean, and then go to bed and maybe think about him for a while. Is that sad? Turning down a possible threesome with Shelley and Mr. Fake Vampire, in order to go home alone and fantasize about Mr. Real Vampire? Is this what my life is going to be? Lots of fantasy but precious little reality? Sad or not, it's what I'm doing, so I have a quick, warm shower, and then I wrap a towel around myself and head back to my room. I'm actually looking forward to getting into bed and thinking about Patrick
    When I get back to my room, I notice that the window's open. That's odd, because I know it was closed a few minutes ago. Perhaps it was just pushed shut, and the wind has opened it? Without turning on the light, I go and push it closed, and then I freeze because that's when I realize - without having seen him yet - that he's come to see me. Patrick is somewhere in the room, I can sense it. And this time I didn't hit my head or anything, so either I'm insane or he's real. I delay turning to see him for a moment, wanting to savor this feeling just in case it turns out he's not there at all. Finally, I take a deep breath and turn, but at first I keep my eyes focused on the floor, before looking up.
    And there he is, staring back at me in the gloom. Patrick. He's real.

Patrick
     
    She's beautiful. This is going to make things a thousand times more difficult. But what happens next is ordained by prophecy, and I can't interfere. Prophecy is prophecy. It has to happen this way. I should leave right now. She can’t die tonight. Not like this. She has to die later, after Abigail has arrived.

Sophie
     
    In the dark, I can barely make out the features on his face, but I can see his eyes: brooding, with a hint of great age. And there's something about the way he looks at me, as if he's not afraid to look me in the eye and see deeper, as if he sees what's behind and inside everything. When Patrick looks at me, it's almost as if no-one's ever really looked at me before.
    "I came and looked for you earlier," I say eventually.
    No reply. He just stares at me, as if he's waiting for something.
    "I couldn't find a way back down to where you left me," I continue. "I looked for hours, but I..." I stop talking for a moment. It occurs to me: perhaps he was watching the whole time. "Did you see me?" I ask. "Were you watching me while I was looking for you?"
    Again, no reply.
    I take one step closer to him. I'm so close now, I can hear his slow breathing, which is a complete contrast to my heart-rate, which is pounding. Reaching down, I double-check that the towel is securely fastened.
    "I just wanted to see you," I say. "To thank you again, for saving me. And..." God, it hits me realize how everything I'm saying is so banal and dull. There's something about Patrick that makes me feel completely inconsequential. Looking into his eyes, I can truly believe that he's some kind of thousand-year-old vampire, even though I know that can't possibly be true. I've just never seen someone look so young and so old at the same time.
    "So can't you speak?" I ask. "Or is it that you won't?"
    He tilts his head slightly - just slightly - like an animal. It's cute.
    "I'm sorry if I seemed a bit weird earlier," I say. "It's just that I wasn't really sure if you were real, so..." I take a deep breath. "I'm still not entirely sure what happened," I continue. "To be honest, I feel like bits of dream and bits of reality are all mixed together and I'm having a hard time separating them out. I mean, I did get mugged, right? It's just that I don't seem to be hurt at all."
    Slowly, Patrick starts walking around me. I stay completely still. It's as if he's studying me from every angle. This is how I imagine it'd be to be stalked by some kind of wild animal in the woods; he seems to be sizing me up, almost as if he's trying to work