Robert didn't know what to do with himself, at first.
He'd gone to Betty's body, and to his own surprise, he had cried. Then he'd returned to Janet's and done the same. Vaguely, he remembered Pete looking down curiously at Janet's ravaged, flapping throat, then muttering "There's no coming back from that".
Then Pete had just pottered about, waiting for him to get a handle on his emotions. He passed the time reading Janet's books on “The Habits Of Successful People” and chuckling to himself. He smoked. He swept up shattered glass. He closed the curtains in a best attempt to keep out the sun and unwanted onlookers. Every now and again, he'd awkwardly pat Robert's shoulder in an attempt to console him.
The first thing Robert really said was, “Can vampires smoke?”.
Pete looked up from Janet's GRAZIA magazine, where he'd previously been debating whether or not he agreed with this seasons fashion trends (but had been pretending to examine Celebrities bodies).
“Well, it would appear so. I'm guessin' that because it's my lungs, not my stomach, it all still works.”
Robert made a small “Hm,” and nodded to himself.
“I bet you could still smoke all sorts of things, then. Like-”.
Pete cut him off.
“I know this is a fucking stupid question, but are you okay?”.
If Robert had been a well of tears, he was now empty. He felt somehow refreshed.
“You know what,” he said. “I think I am.”
“Okay, good,” replied Pete. “Because we can't stick around for long.”
“I...oh,” said Robert, a little bashfully. “I suppose we're both convicted murderers once they find this place.”
“Right. And I'm not going ta Prison. I've got a whole new life ahead of me," Pete explained. "I've been thinkin, and I think I'm headed down to Scotland again. Or I'll go travelling about England.”
Robert was muttering to himself. “They never came to ask about the body missing from the Morgue. I'm probably already suspect to something. Fuck...”
“Get a grip. This is your life now,” Pete reminded him. “You can put the blame on me, if you like. Say I was a raging psychopath.”
Imagine Pete saying psychopath in a Scottish accent. Go on.
“Or,” he concluded. “You can come with me.”
Robert thought. What was left here for him? He had no wife. He'd live a life shrouded in claims of murder, even if he did convict Pete.
“I've got quite a list of people I wouldn't mind killing,” Pete mused. “I might go on a grand tour of the country, find all those people I couldn't stand. Kill some vampires along the way.”
He didn't want to go back to the quiet life. He'd seen things that weren't supposed to exist. He'd seen two women die.
He needed a vacation.
“I'll come with you.”
“I-what?,” said Pete.
“I'll come with you. Give me an hour maybe to go back to my flat, get some clothes and such, but there's nothing for me here.”
Pete looked at him, dumbfounded. Then he beamed.
“It'll be just like the old days!,” he said, noogying Robert. “Rob and Pete against the world! With vampires!”.
For all the pain of today, Robert couldn't help but smile himself.
He'd driven Betty's car back to his flat and packed quickly. Then he'd showered the mess off him, shaved, and headed back to Janet's.
They decided to take the motorbike, since the car would be too suspicious. The plan was to buy one further along the way.
This would be his life now. Avoiding the police, avoiding vampires, following Pete into whatever chaos he got into. As Pete sung a tuneless rendition of “The Lady Is A Tramp”, and as Robert joined in (changing the lyrics a little), he realised something.
He was really looking forward to it.