chosehumanity | A Pink Corner House, Bristol, Saturday Evening-ish

Mitchell	It was exactly twenty-two hours since Mitchell had called in the help of Jack and his vampire detective, and they had had absolutely shit all for luck. It was exactly twenty-two hours since, and Mitchell was barging up to the door trying to figure out why someone could possibly be knocking on his door at this hour, since they hadn't ordered pizza-- which was, of course, exactly thirty seconds before he opened the door and came face-to-face with someone familiar. "Carl," he said, and found he wasn't surprised, really. "Get in, c'mon." The vampire stepped past him nervously, and into the hall.
Jack	It was exactly twenty-two hours since Sebastien and Jack started their investigation, and they'd gotten exactly nothing -- except that a few of Carl's neighbors now thought that, besides whatever had gone on with Dan, he also had very well-dressed bill collectors after him. Sorry, Carl. "Is someone here?" Jack called down the stairs. He was feeling too tired to make the supreme effort of walking down himself.
Mitchell	"Look who just turned up," Mitchell called, shutting the door behind Carl. He was smiling; Carl just looked equal parts apprehensive and quietly devastated. "Jack, meet Carl. Carl, Jack. He's a friend."
Jack	"He came?" Jack actually sounded surprised as he bounded down to offer his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. We've been hoping you'd turn up." Which sounded less creepy than 'I got to know all of your neighbors and poked through your rubbish bins,' yes.
Carl	The smile on Carl's face was weaker than weak, though he did take Jack's hand. "It's good to meet you," he said. "I wondered if you were looking for me, Mitchell. I just-- didn't have anywhere else..."
Mitchell	"It's fine," Mitchell said, ushering him further into the house, towards the back. "It's fine. Just tell us what happened, all right?"
Jack	Jack stepped back, though his curiosity was clear. "I'm glad to see you're all right," he said, as gently as he could manage. "Is there anything I could get you?" It was hard, balancing how much he wanted to know with the fact that, technically speaking, Carl was a stranger and a fellow guest. He doubted attacking him with questions would be appreciated.
Mitchell	"We'll get him a seat," Mitchell said, once Carl proved mostly unresponsive. He snagged a chair along the way and put it down there, at the back. "Could you fetch Sebastien, please?"
Jack	Jack wasn't particularly happy about the suggestion -- he never liked missing anything -- but it wasn't a surprise. Carl seemed like he could use a moment with Mitchell to collect himself. And besides, tracking Sebastien down now might save telling the story twice. He murmured "Of course" and went off to hunt for his guardian.
Mitchell	Mitchell pulled up a chair of his own, and sat down. "So tell me what happened," he said. The shadow of George had appeared in the hall a heartbeat after Jack had left, but Mitchell ignored him. For now. "When I saw Dan turn up at hospital--"
Carl	Carl stared down at his hands. That said enough, he felt, but-- "I killed him, Mitchell."
Sneaky Goth Detectives	Jack and Sebastien both heard that from the top of the stairs, and froze. //I don't think we would help just now,// Jack said in a dry whisper. He'd switched to Czech for privacy. //Are you surprised?// Sebastien shook his head, as he was sure Jack knew he would. //Disappointed, though. Should we meet him anyhow?// //We can take some time. I don't suppose they'd believe you had a headache,// Jack said. He didn't trust himself to be polite to Carl just then, but that didn't mean a disappearing act would go unnoticed. //I doubt they'll be that interested, given the current distractions// Sebastien remonstrated. //Count to fifty. Then we'll go down.// A pause. //Loudly.// One vampire detective, one general sneak; was it any wonder they both tended to walk quietly? //Loudly,// Jack agreed, beginning to count to himself.
Carl	"Afterwards, I..." Carl hadn't heard the noise upstairs, or if he had, he chose not to notice. He was too buried in his own memories, staring at the floor; nearly incapable of recounting the whole experience. "I called the police from a phone box," he said, "I didn't... want him left alone, it was quiet in the flat, you see, and-- and he hated the quiet."
Mitchell	Mitchell tried not to let his own thoughts run away from him. "And then?" he asked, keeping his voice level, steady. George crept up closer.
Carl	"I'd been having these dreams," Carl said, his eyes still firmly pointed at the floor. "And they frightened me. When it happened... he didn't even... look frightened. Just... disappointed." He jerked his head up and stared Mitchell in the face. "You think you're free of it, but it finds you, all those years without it. It's like a bill that has to be paid--"
Mitchell	"Look," Mitchell said, stopping him mid-sentence. "We'll figure this out, yeah? You're staying here for the night." He wasn't sure how much of Carl talking about this he'd be able to stomach before his own conscience got the better of him.