He lay back in the warm bath, eyes half closed. Tension slipped from him as the delicate hands caressed his chest and shoulders. He moaned softly, pushing into the caress like a cat. Looking up, drowsily, he noticed the room was steamy, full of fogged mirrors and red drapes. The hands stroked him again, his unseen companion pushing him gently down into the water.

Water that was blood red, his hands bone white beneath the surface...red blood flooding from gaping holes in his wrists.

Then the alarm bell rang. The one from the station cells. An emergency! He had to get down there. He struggled up, red rivulets streaming over his body.

***

Michael woke with a start, already half sitting up in the rumpled bed.

Breathing heavily he raked his fingers through his hair. Even so, he couldn't resist checking his wrists for marks, shivering as beads of sweat snaked down his spine.

And the ringing was still there.

Pulling on a pair of jeans he went downstairs, still not quite awake. Confused about what was real and what was dream.

"Fuck off and leave me alone Vaughn!" He shouted at the black shape just visible through the frosted glass.

But it wasn't the humourless ex-soldier; just a harassed delivery driver, dressed in leathers, face covered with a motorcycle helmet.

"Michael Colefield?" His muffled voice was hardly audible. He held out a clipboard and a pen. "Sign here."

"For what?" Michael was unnecessarily aggressive with him but, he reasoned, the guy was probably used to it.

"Don't ask me mate I only deliver 'em." Scowling the courier dropped a flat box into his arms and strode back to his bike.

***

He'd smoked one cigarette down to the filter and was well into a second by the time he decided the box was probably harmless. Even so, he opened it gingerly with the kitchen knife he'd used to cut the string. The lid flopped back with a muted thud. Inside there was nothing more threatening than some clothes and a heavy, gold-trimmed, card requesting 'the pleasure of his company' at the 'Starlight Club Halloween Ball'.

He laughed. Invited to a party? That was a turn up, someone other than his elderly aunt in Brixham remembering his birthday. Kind of ironic really, in his line of work, having a birthday on Halloween. One foot in the shadow before he'd even been asked to make the choice.

He pulled out the clothes. Fancy dress? Well they were certainly fancy, and expensive looking too. He'd been a student last time he'd worn fancy dress on his birthday. Eighteen and wrapped in bog paper as a mummy. It'd seemed like a laugh at the time. Well it had 'till that girl had tipped her drink over him and he was left, blushing, in his pants while his costume dissolved around him.

It'd been a long time since he'd been to a party. Jack's stag night in fact. He'd been stone cold sober that night and it felt like every night since.

"You need to get laid, mate." He could almost hear the words. It'd be Jack's solution. It was his solution to everything.

Or at least talking about it was. Jack was an outrageous flirt and It'd been a while before he realised his randy partner didn't just confine himself to women. Michael remembered when he'd found that out. It'd been a bit of a shock at the time. They'd been investigating a protection racket targeting gay sex clubs. He'd felt uncomfortable, very uncomfortable, so had chosen to interview the manager while Jack talked to the 'dancers' He'd finished the interview only to find Jack adopting a much more hands on approach with one of the boys. He'd dragged his reluctant partner outside.

"What the fuck do you think you were doing?" He shoved Jack against a wall angrily.

"Aw, come on Mike, don't be such a prude. Variety's the spice of life and all that."

"You wouldn't? Would you?" Mike couldn't get his head round it. Jack was into women right?

"Christ! Sometimes you're so straight I think you've got a stick up your arse." The image dissolved the smaller man into fits of giggles. "Don't knock it 'till you've tried it.

And he had thought about it. Long and hard, so to speak, until all he saw in his fantasies was one face, Jack's face. laughing.

Their working relationship had got over it. Jack continued to flirt with everyone, including Mike and Mike played the prudish straight laced copper.

It always came back to Jack. However he thought about it. There was so much unresolved between them; Kirsty for one thing. Looking back Mike realised it'd been a good thing the wedding hadn't gone ahead. It would have changed everything between them. Not between him and Kirsty, but between him and Jack. No more drunken nights out, rolling into some curry house after midnight, sleeping it off on one or other of their couches. Kirsty would have changed all that. Sure he fancied her it was hard not to. She exuded a sort of helpless doe like quality, made you want to play Boy Scout and protect her. But his feelings for Jack were far more complicated. Jack could look after himself, Jack was reliable, solid, a mate who he'd trust with his life. They spent more time together than any married couple. But it was more than that. There was always the feeling that they could have had something more

And there in the car after Jack's stag night, he'd really thought Jack would kiss him. All the feeling so close to the surface threatened to break through. But they'd lost the moment. And now? Well he didn't think the opportunity would be there again not with things being the way they were. All the gloss ripped off his memories by Jack's betrayal.

****

Come eight and he was trying on his costume. On first look he thought it looked a bit daft. Velvet frock coat, patterned waistcoat, dark wool trousers and a frothy shirt. He glanced in the mirror, imagining for one moment that he might not cast a reflection. But there he was, large as life, looking like an extra from that Anne Rice movie.

After smoothing the creases from his trousers he ran his fingers through his hair; finally deciding a tousled look was better than his usual combed down style. With a bit of imagination he could even be considered good looking, dangerous at a pinch. He smouldered at his reflection; all half-closed eyes and pouting lips.

"Wanker!" He grinned at his reflection and went downstairs.

By the time he parked his car at the back of the club all thoughts of self-consciousness had vanished. The whole place looked like a Goth convention. If he felt a bit of a dick, well so did everyone else.

He hadn't known what to expect. The 'Organisation's' annual dinner and dance maybe? But he didn't see any familiar faces and besides he didn't think the 'Priest' would have that sort of sense of humour. Impersonating the 'enemy' whose common name went unspoken just wouldn't be their style.

The club was up-market, glossy for this part of London. Unusually it had no mirrors. The walls were white draped with blood red curtains - just like the ones in his dream. he reassured himself.

But there was a normal bar, serving beer and cocktails - in red and green. He was sure 'they' were here, the leeches. But hell, tonight of all nights they could party too. He didn't give a shit about the job tonight. Not like Vaughn - he'd have been jumping about like a blue-arsed fly trying to spot them.

At midnight the unseen DJ started a slow song and couples slipped away to the dance floor. It was about time he left. Whoever had wanted him here hadn't approached him. He'd danced a few times. Could have pulled if his mind had really been on it. He'd just have one more drink.

He lent against the bar, scanning the crowd with an almost professional interest. Well as close as you could get to it considering his blood alcohol ratio. There were a couple of dealers from his old manor and a pretty young thing he'd danced with earlier. The blonde caught his eye again and gave him an obvious 'come on'. Maybe the evening wouldn't be a total waste of time. Michael picked up his glass ready to make a move.

Then, out of nowhere. a touch on his arm.

Jack, dressed as Lestat to his Louis.

Jack smiling and eyeing him appreciatively.

"Well don't you look the part?" His eyes raked Mike up and down. "Checking out the talent?"

"Aren't you?"

Jack gave him a look that could have melted the ice in his Scotch. "Always."

A wave of longing swept over him. Longing for what had been, what could have been if he'd let it. The world narrowed to the few square feet between them.

Then, as if on impulse, Jack took that one step closer. He pressed closer, his lips at Michael's ear.

"Happy Birthday Mike." Then he was gone, leaving a heavy cream envelope in his ex-partner's hand.

Mike slid his finger under the flap. A card with a North London address and a door key. The back of the card was covered in Jack's familiar scrawl.

"Get a move on, I have to be in bed by dawn."

It was all the invitation he needed.

*********************************************************
*A friend is another self