Cara's Choice
Part Two
By Andrew Warwick

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This file is free to be distributed, but can not be changed, reproduced or sold in any form, and all content is Copyright © 2009 by Andrew Warwick.

This story is part of the Pure Escapism collection, further stories, as well as regular updates, of which can be found at 

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In which Cara sees the doctor, and the mysterious Edward is revealed.

The van turned off the road and began a descent into the garage that lay beneath a towering, glittering building, atop of which perched a glowing infinity symbol.  Nomad stopped the van, waiting for the bored security guard to inspect them and then wave them through.
Cara knew the building, but who didn’t?  It dominated the skyline of the city, a shimmering beacon of light and home of the powerful, influential Infinity Corporation.  Home of Edward Cavanaugh's business empire.
Nomad parked the van in a mostly deserted garage, only a few cars and bikes left in it this late at night.  Max opened the side door, jumping out.  He offered Cara a hand to assist her out.
She got out without taking it, determined not to let the pain roiling through her to show.
They walked over to an elevator that lead from the garage up into the heights of the tower.  Nomad pressed a button for the elevator, the trio waiting in silence for it to arrive.
Finally, to fill in the silence, Cara spoke up.  "Mister Cavanaugh, what is he like?"
Nomad replied with an amused chuckle, but it was Max who was the one that replied.  "A little eccentric."  That brought another chuckle from Nomad.  "A lot eccentric," Max corrected.  "You will see.  First though, we need to get you checked by a doctor."
The door to the elevator slid open with a soft hiss and they stepped in.  Nomad pressed another button and the elevator whirred, doors sliding shut, beginning steadily to rise a dozen floors before once more it ground to a halt, a chime announcing the destination had been reached.
The floor they had arrived on was dimly lit, most of the lighting turned off for the night.  A thick carpet of dark blue covered the floors, woven into it the same infinity symbol that graced the tower, but in a paler blue. 
Nomad led them off down the corridor.  On one side were large glass windows looking out over the city and the ocean that lay beyond, and on the other, doorways leading into offices.  On the walls between the doors were glass panels, beneath which lay old black and white photos and copies of newspapers dating back through the city's past.
A turn led them down another corridor, leading into the heart of the building towards a room where lights still brightly blazed.  Nomad opened the door, leading the way into what looked like a reception room.  There were chairs around the walls, and small tables on which sat all the latest magazines, and books, while a large flat-screened television was hung on the wall.  It was still on, a game of football playing on it.
Max looked up at it, shaking his head in disgust as he noted the score.  "They have forgotten how to play this year."
"Did they ever know how?" Nomad asked him wryly.
A door at the back of the room opened and a man walked out through it.  He was young, no more than thirty Cara would have guessed, grey-eyed and with long, pale hair that was tied back behind his head.  He wore the white coat of a doctor and was carrying a mobile phone that he was studying.
"Is this my patient?" he enquired.  He had a clipped way of speaking, a hint of an accent that may have been British or may have been something else.  Cara found it hard to pin down.  "Come this way please miss."
Max had taken a seat from where he could watch the match on the television.  "We'll be here when you are done, lass," he told her.
The young doctor held open the door for Cara, smiling at her.  She walked through, entering a doctor's examination room, complete with all the charts and books and couch and even the skeleton.
Noting the expression on Cara's face, the doctor spoke up.  "Mister Cavanaugh likes to see his employees well taken care of.  We don't see a lot of activity in here, but it is useful to have around when the occasion arises.  Please, sit."
Cara gratefully sat down.  While her stomach had settled, the jack-hammering of pain that stabbed through her head still persisted.
"Now then, I understand that you have had somewhat of an eventful night."  Cara simply nodded a reply.  "Took a solid blow to the head?  Any headaches, nausea?"
"Yes."
"Well, we shall soon have you set to right again.  I feel it best that you lay down for the moment young lady."  As if all the shocks and turmoil of the night had suddenly taken their toll, Cara felt exhaustion hit her, her eyelids dipping shut.  She struggled against the sleep that fought to take her as the doctor helped her to an examination couch, where upon she lay down, feeling the aches and pains seep away.
"Sleep now child, sleep," the doctor said softly, resting a hand upon her brow and Cara, as if on command, sunk into the blissful forgetfulness of sleep.

The door to the waiting room opened again and Edward walked out, rejoining Max and Nomad.
"How is she," Max asked, and though he displayed no physical concern, there was a hint of apprehension in his voice.
"She will be fine.  No major damage.  I put her into a sleep to let her recover from the ordeal.  We will have to have her moved to somewhere more comfortable for the rest of the night."
"And the Mark?"
"It is gone."  Max gave a relieved sigh at Edward's reply.  Edward looked at him steadily before speaking again.  "You took a great risk out there, Max."
"There was little choice."
Edward's look changed little.  "Take off your shirt.  Show me."  Max seemed to hesitate for a moment, then gave a shrug, removing his coat and throwing it onto a nearby chair.  Jacket and shirt soon followed.  The left side of his chest was a mass of bruises, raking marks running across it, blood-stained and raw.
"Poisoned?" Edward enquired.
"Think so," Max replied.  "Least wise, I can't seem to mend them."
"We shall have to leech them then," Edward told him.  "The girl, what happened exactly?  The report I got was a touch confusing."  He prodded at one of Max's wounds, causing the man to wince.
"Thomas picked the wrong victim.  She is a tough one.  He couldn’t seem to enthrall her properly.  Ow!"
"If only you were that tough," Nomad noted as an aside from where he sat, leafing through one of the waiting room magazines.
"He panicked," Max went on, ignoring Nomad, then laughed.  "Tried to feed on her in an alley."
"An alley?"  Edward sounded both amused and bemused by Max's revelation.
"I know.  Can you believe how bizarrely clichéd that was?  I got there just in time to put an end to it."  He looked down at Edward, whose hand had begun to grow warm as it rested on his wounds.  As he watched, the bruises slowly began to fade away and the cuts knitted back together again.  "What happens with the girl now?"
Edward removed his hand, nodding to himself as he studied Max's mended side.  "That will have to wait until morning, gentlemen, when we can speak with her again.  The choice, as always, will remain with her though."

Of Breakfast and Ophelia.

Cara floated on the edge of sleep, warm and comfortable beyond imagining.  Sunlight danced across her face and she snuggled into the large bed upon which she dozed, the mattress oh so soft.
It was not her bed.
He eyes came open, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling, trying to assemble from the jigsaw of her thoughts, still half addled by sleep, the turn of events that had led her here.
Max.  Nomad.  Edward.  Thomas.  Vampires.
It all came flooding back in, the events of the previous night.
She sat up, looking around the room in which she found herself.  The sun streamed in through windows looking out over the city and the ocean, the morning sky a deep, radiant blue, all trace of the clouds and rains of the previous night gone.  The room bespoke wealth, from the expensive yet tasteful furnishing to the locale.
The door to the room swung open.
A petite young woman with long blond hair and an irrepressible smile entered, pushing before her a trolley from which delicious aromas arose, reminding Cara just how hungry she was.
"Good morning," the woman greeted cheerfully.  Her eyes, Cara noticed, were amongst the most stunning she had seen, like crystals of frozen blue ice, yet rich with warmth.
"Where am I?" Cara asked, stretching to work the sleep out of her system.
"The Tower, miss.  Master Cavanaugh seems to spend more time here than at his mansion."
"This is his room?"
The woman gave an easy laugh.  "Heavens no miss.  He has his own rooms.  He likes to keep his guests close though, so there are a number of guest rooms here.  Veritable hotel at times we have here."  She helped Cara sit up properly, sliding comfortable pillows behind her, then slid a table over the bed.
"Master Cavanaugh thought you may wish to have something to eat, so he sent something up."
"You have a cook at hand too?"
The woman laughed again, a pleasant, friendly laugh.  "Not at this time of morning.  Master Cavanaugh whipped something up for you himself - a man of many talents is our Master Cavanaugh."
"He did this?"
"He doesn't sleep a lot, despite what we say to him.  Gives him something to do in the mornings, it does."
The woman hummed to herself as trays were removed from the trolley and placed on the table before Cara.  There was toast, golden brown in colour, with fresh butter and an assortment of jams, honey and vegemite to choose from.  There was apple juice and orange juice and a pot of tea, brewed Cara noticed, in the old fashioned way, with tealeaves steeping in the bottom of the pot.  A plate with a fry up was uncovered, loaded down with crisp bacon, sausages bursting at the seams, eggs fried to perfection and onion, mushroom and tomato as well.
Cara stared at it all, uncertain as to where to begin and when she had last eaten so well.
"Dig in, miss," the woman urged.
"It is too much," Cara told her.
"Master Cavanaugh wasn't sure what you would like exactly.  I am afraid he may have gone a little overboard."
Cara poured herself a large glass of still chilled orange juice.  "How did I get in here?"
"We brought you in.  Well, when I say we, I mean me.  Master Cavanaugh is an old fashioned true gentleman.  He considered it to be inappropriate to be in your room while you were asleep."
"You did?"  Cara said in amazement, looking at the tiny woman.  She wasn't large herself, but found it amazing that the woman could have brought her in unaided without waking her.
Tinkling laughter arose as the woman busied herself with the curtains.  "I know what you are thinking, how could a tiny thing like me get you in here.  I have raised three strapping lads and am stronger than I appear." Cara was again amazed.  The woman did not appear much older than Cara herself, perhaps in her late twenties at most, so to have raised three sons seemed almost unbelievable.  She picked up a piece of toast, beginning to spread butter and vegemite thick across it.
"What is your name?" she enquired in between bites of the toast, the sharp taste of the vegemite reviving her.
"Ophelia, miss."
"As in from Hamlet?"
"That would be the one, poor sad dear that she was.  Not at all like me.  Enjoy your meal miss.  There are fresh towels and clean clothes in the bathroom if you want them. If you need anything else, let us know."
"I really should thank Mister Cavanaugh for all this."
"No rush, miss.  Take your time.  Finish your breakfast, enjoy a hot shower.  Master Cavanaugh will be ready when you are."
"Thank you Ophelia."
"You are welcome miss."  She stopped for a moment, tapping a finger to her lips thoughtfully, studying Cara as if sizing her up.  "Michael was enquiring after you, wanting to know how you were."
"Michael?"  It wasn't a name she could place.
"Max."  She gave a sly smile.  "He is a good man, that one."
Cara's eyes widened slightly.  "Ophelia!" she protested.
Ophelia's laughter followed her as she left the room, leaving Cara alone with her breakfast.

In which Cara is offered her first Choice.

Cara emerged from the guest room, feeling thoroughly relaxed.  A full meal and a long, steaming shower had seemingly washed away many of the troubles that had been plaguing her, or, at least, the thoughts of them.  There were, as ever, new ones, the perplexing issue of vampires being foremost amongst them.
She emerged out into a veritable Garden of Eden.  Her room opened out onto a balcony, bright sunlight streaming through a glass roof overhead, the roof curving around to the far wall, providing a panoramic view of the city and the ocean.
Below the balcony was spread a vast garden, rich with colour and plants, vines climbing up trees and small streams gurgling amongst it all.  Birds were singing from the trees, while stone paved walkways wove through the gardens, their paths interspersed with benches, at one of which Cara could see two people seated in discussion.
There was a rustle of papers from beside her door, and the bald and bearded Nomad rose from a chair that had been placed there, folding up a newspaper he had been reading.  During the events of the night before, Cara had not truly appreciated the hulking size of the man, though, for all his rough looks, he had a mellow smile.
"Morning."
"Good morning," she replied, turning back to look once more at the fabulous garden.  "Is this for real?"
Nomad laughed, tucking the paper under his arm, stepping to the edge of the balcony and leaning on the railings.  "Mister Cavanaugh, as we mentioned, is rather eccentric.  He likes his guests, and staff, to feel relaxed.  This place gets rather busy at lunch time.  There are times I am surprised that any work gets done here at all."
Cara recalled from the previous evening Max saying that this man was the proprietor of Wanderers.  "I am not keeping you from your work am I?"
He grinned good-naturedly at Cara.  "My people can run the shop just fine when I am not there.  Probably better actually.  We felt it better for a friendly face to greet you. Well, familiar at least."
"Ophelia was friendly enough for the both of you."
"Ah, the irrepressible Mrs Ophelia.  It is best not to take what she says all together too seriously."  A brow rose at Cara's reaction to the comment, her head lowering slightly and a brief, faint blush touching her cheeks.  "I can probably half guess what she said, but that is neither here nor there.  I am here to escort you to see Mister Cavanaugh when you are ready to do so."
Cara raised her head again, setting her shoulders.  "I am.  I need to find out exactly what is going on here."

A young woman, Miss Everson by name as Cara found out from Nomad, sat at a desk in the reception room leading into Edward's office.  She gave Nomad a smile and a brief nod as they entered, waving them on through without a word said.  They were obviously expected.
Edward's office provided Cara with another surprise.  It was, for most intents and purposes, like stepping back into time, the modernity of the city outside barely penetrating the walls and windows of the room.
A large antique wooden desk sat dominating the room, complete with inkpots and quills, though there were some trapping there that reflecting current times, in the semblance of a phone and a computer.  The man seated behind the desk was in a comfortable, though old, leather chair, his fingers steepled before his face.  He was the doctor from the night before Cara saw, wearing a suit, tasteful and elegant, his look the very model of corporate grooming.  It took Cara but a moment to put it all together, to realise this man was the mysterious, and obviously multi-talented, Edward Cavanaugh.
A second man stood at the windows, looking out through them.  She saw, when he turned around at their entrance, that it was Max, face all serious.   If he would but comb his hair and smile a bit more, Cara decided, he wouldn’t brush up too bad at all.  Then, irritably, she shoved that thought away.  That was Ophelia's doing, making comments.
"Please, sit, young lady," Edward said, gesturing to a pair of chairs on the other side of the desk from himself.  Cara took a seat in one, while Nomad eased his frame into the other.  Max remained standing near the window, expressions remaining far to stern in Cara's opinion.
There was an odd silence in the room, broken only by the quiet ticking of a grandfather clock.  Old black and white photos hung on walls around the room, interspaced between large bookshelves, filled with old books with faded covers and titles in many languages that Cara could not recognise.  There was a strange feel to the room, almost as if time itself had slowed, paused, stopped.
"I have seen the movies, read the books," Cara said by means of breaking the silence.  "This is the part where you ask if I believe in fairy tales, in ghost stories."  Nomad laughed and even Edward grinned at the statement, though Max curiously showed no emotion.
"Some do have a hard time coming to terms with it," Edward admitted.
"I know what I saw last night, even if it does seem surreal looking back at it, but I am also not sceptical enough to try and convince myself it never happened."
"Took me a bit longer to admit it to myself," Nomad told her.  "I was a hard core sceptic and in the end it took some pretty drastic evidence to finally bring me to my senses."
"What now?" she asked.  "You have shown me a great kindness, but it is obvious that I can't go on pretending like none of this has happened."
Edward lowered his hands to the desk, studying Cara with curiosity and a touch of not so much amusement as delight.  "Remarkable," he said, then went on.  "You are correct.  You know things now that few others are aware of, or, at least are not certain of.  As such, you have a choice before you."
"This is to be the whole red pill, blue pill scenario, isn’t it?"
"Remarkable," Edward said again, smiling.  Nomad was chuckling.  "In essence, yes, through there are no physical pills.  We can help you to forget, to return to a normal life as if none of this had ever happened."
"Or?"
"Or you can continue to remember and your life goes on down a new and different path.  This choice though is yours and yours alone.  We can not make it for you."

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