Meal Ticket

As I walk into the gym all eyes look away, no one wants to catch my gaze. They are picking up my fury, the fact I almost take the door off the hinges as I enter is a give away. Heading for the punch bags after dumping my stuff in an available steel locker, shutting the door over, not bothering with a lock--no one dares.

Without putting on any gloves, I start putting the punchbag through its paces to drown out the memories of her words, and thoughts of where she is now. The last words she speaks to me before disappearing, couldn't be further from the truth. She believes them, and she is all who matters to me on this point. The force of my roundhouse sends the bag swinging, before flying from the confines of its restraints and crashes to the floor. In direct contrast to my entrance all eyes are now on me.

"Trav?" A young up and coming mixed martial artist approaches me. I rack my brains trying to remember what he's called, I met him once, about six months ago.

"Yes Jason, what is it?" OK, I cheated and plucked his name from his head. One of the many benefits of being a vampire, mind-reading. I rarely have an interest in what people are thinking if I'm honest, unless they are planning to hurt one of my loved ones. When this happens, their minds are my personal playground.

Jason grins, happy I remember him. Mortals are such simple creatures--not that we are immortal anymore. We do live long lives though and plans are afoot to regain our immortality. At present, we reach maturity and our ageing process all but stops. The next time you think someone is good for their age, this may not be due to Botox.

"How do you kick the bag off its mountings?" Jason stage whispers. "Incredible, teach me. I'm begging you, I don't care what the cost is, I will find the money, please."

I raise an eyebrow, does he think I need money. Stifling a scoff as I remember my elder brother Peter's words of not belittling people, and always being kind and considerate of others feelings. There is a lot you don't, and will never understand about vampires. One thing which is important is, everything you think you know--that's all lies.

"I don't want you to pay me Jason," my smile melts any woman's heart, and I'm a little concerned, apparently my smile is having the same impact on Jason. I'm still in tune with his mind, accidentally of course. My hero, his mind gifts me with Jason's thoughts. I shake my head to snap myself out of the intrusive state.

"Why don't I mentor you buddy?" I suggest. His eyes wrinkle up in disbelief.

"Are you pulling my leg?"

"No, why would I?"

"What everyone says about you is true," my eyebrow comes into play again questioningly. "You're a really nice guy."

My laughter explodes from the pit of my stomach and I double over clutching myself. If they discover who and what I am. A vampire, the defender of a secret order, who has more kills under his belt than anyone else. All bad guys of course.

"What's so funny?" Jason asks astonished at my outburst. Everyone else in the gym glances over and continues to mind their own business upon discovering I'm the source of the noise.

"Come on, you're telling an ex MMA fighter everyone says he's a nice guy, and you don't appreciate the funny side of this?"

"Oh yeah, I guess when you put it that way, yeah," Jason joins me in laughing.

We make plans to train together over the next week, and I begin to learn all about this young man who portrays an image of not having a care in the world. On the inside is a man with troubles. Full of conflicting emotions and responsibilities which he's far too young to fulfil.

Like a lot of talented people, their families and friends start to look at them as a meal ticket, not a person. This adds to the pressure they apply to themselves. Any sportsperson is aware this is considerable without any extra baggage on top.

Our first session of the second week Jason tells me how he wants to learn how to channel the fury like I did with the bag on the first day we made our agreement. I couldn't tell him the woman I love accused me of murder and I needed to get my rage out on an inanimate object. This isn't what he needs to learn, his story is a sad tale. From a broken home, he never met his father, but has it on excellent authority, from his mother, he is not missing anything.

Jason struggled to fit in at school, always popular due to his love of sports. His last fight resulted in his first loss, and he received a knock out blow. I took the rest of the day explaining what the results of a knock out do to a fighter and what they need to do to recover.

"I need to be back in the ring," Jason disagrees with me.

"A fight is the last thing you need, you need weight training to keep your muscle mass. More importantly you need yoga."

"Shut up."

"Seriously, yoga will speed up your recovery, trust me," he does, up to a point.

Days turn to weeks, Jason's training is taking up a considerable amount of my time. Not that I mind, my mentor did the same for me many years ago. This is my way to repay the favour, by paying it forward. Other fighters ask to join our sessions, I decline. Jason needs to perceive my focus on him, and him alone. No one ever supported him, he needs this to build his confidence and to prepare for when he is ready to return to the ring.

"I'm ready," Jason tells me one day.

"Huh?"

"To fight again."

"No, not yet. There is so much more you need to learn."

We finish off our yoga session and Jason leaves more subdued than normal, and I vow to do a longer session tomorrow, so we can talk the reasons through. I go to my brothers house for dinner, and my family distract me with another issue where my skills are in need for the sake of The Order. By the time I return to my apartment, exhaustion means I manage a quick shower before flopping on my bed, not bothering with covers in the unseasonably warm weather Whitby is experiencing this week.

The next morning the seagulls cries wake me early, as they soar over the harbour. Too early for the holiday makers and their easy prey of fish and chips, they need to work for their fill the hard way. The bright light which fills my home is a solar panel recharging my batteries, and I am eager to make my way to the gym for an early workout. I reach for my phone, the screen shows a message.

Hey Trav, can't make today. Catch you tomorrow. J. The text reads.

No bother, I hope everything is alright.

The usual faces are at the gym as I throw my things in a locker and head to the weight room. Why are people staring at me. I go for a sneak peek in Tommy's head.

What's he doing here?  I read Tommy thinking.

"Alright Tommy," hoping to prompt an explanation to his thoughts.

"Yeah, thanks. Surprised you're here today Trav," Tommy begins to spill, which resembles him dangling a carrot.

Tell me already.

"Why?"

"Thought you'd be in your boy wonders corner for him," although Tommy's words are vague the meaning behind them is clear.

"Where?" The ferocity of my words force Tommy to take an involuntary step away.

"Hey man, this is nothing to do with me, just what folks tell me y'know?"

"Tell me where he is fighting. Now," my tone is bordering on rude. I kick myself, this is why he was bringing up returning to the ring yesterday, he was broaching the subject with me, wanting to share he had agreed to a fight.

With the information I need I do a quick calculation, if I leave now I should, traffic gods being on my side, arrive before the fight starts. What an idiot, why is he doing this? Although he hasn't technically lied to me he hid the truth which amounts to the same thing.

I arrive at the venue, although devoid of a name, the iconic picture of Robert De Niro in the ring with his shadow as a raging bull, for the film of the same title. Is on prominent display at the entrance.

I pay the man who sits on the fold up wooden chair with a wooden table in front of him. The drawer of a cash register atop, he hands me a pale blue ticket stub, and points to double doors. He needn't bother pointing, the baying of the crowd surrounds my senses. Screaming for blood, I am swept back many years and my first introduction to fighting as a child.

My hand touches the cool glass pane of the right-hand door and I push, the stifling air rushes to greet me along with screams.

What?

People are starting to head towards me, away from the ring. The less sensitive souls are jostling their way closer to the action. I clutch an off-duty accountant, all grey face and grey hair, greyer at what he's witnessing this evening.

"What's going on?" I demand clutching hold of his shoulders too tight.

"He's killed him, I think he's dead," my blood runs to ice.

Oh no!

This could destroy Jason, he's not strong enough to recover from killing someone.

The wails reach me, a man's voice. "My son, my son, he's all I have," I force my way to the ring against the flow of retreating spectators.

Doing a double take as I launch myself over the ropes and to the canvas next to my friend prone, unconscious, unmoving. I detect the odour of death on him.

"Who's gonna compensate me for my loss," I don't need to do any mind jumps to work out what is happening. This is Jason's dad, he's come in his life. A whisper in his ear, some sob story or other of the need for money, and Jason's only way to provide is doing all he is capable of doing, fighting. Died being a meal ticket for the man who never provided him with one solitary meal in his life.

Something snaps and my vow to protect mankind does not extend to this sorry excuse for a human before me. Hands tremble with fury as they grip his throat, A flick of my wrist would snap his neck.

"You need to pray to whatever god you believe in, you never see me again," pushing him up and away from me, releasing my grip at the last moment.

I kneel before Jason, close his eyes and whisper. "Sleep tight, you fought until the end. I'll take care of you now." My head bows as I leave to prepare the funeral of another friend fallen before his time.