Nights were the worst. Jon had been warned about that. Stay in the sunlight as much as possible, he'd been told. Easier said than done when one worked in the theater. Most of the performances took place in the evening, which left him little choice but to go out at night. Even coming home as soon as a performance was over was dangerous, at best, and more than once he got the feeling he was being watched or followed. Up until now, he wasn't sure if the feeling was justified or simply paranoia.

It was in the middle of a performance one night at the Shanachie when he realized his fears were well founded.

"And wilt thou have me?" Jon as Orlando asked of Brigid who was playing Rosalind.

"Ay, and twenty such," she replied, touching the sleeve of his tunic and smiling up into his face, looking like a woman in the first throes of love.

Jonathan....

Jon winced, a voice interrupting Brigid's line and disrupting his concentration. He wasn't Jonathan right now. He was Orlando, lost in the role and trying to woo his beloved Rosalind.

He recognized the voice and had to stifle a shudder at the sound of it, wondering if he was the only one to hear it. He looked out on the audience, eyes searching the crowd, but was unable to see past the footlights.

He felt Brigid pinch his arm, and he glanced back at her, trying to refocus his mind on the play. He had so few lines, it was an easy role to master. He could recite them in his sleep. What the hell was the matter with him"

"What..." He broke off, the line only half-said when he heard the voice again. You took something from me, Jonathan. Something I loved...

The audience didn't seem to realize anything was wrong, but Brigid pinched him again and whispered his line, prompting him, "What sayest thou?" You took something from me, and now I'm going to take something from you. An eye for an eye.

"What..." Jon mumbled again, unable to make his mouth work the way it was supposed to. "...sayest thou?" he muttered finally, forcing his eyes back at Brigid who did not look like a woman in love anymore, but a woman annoyed.

"Are you not good"" Brigid as Rosalind asked him pointedly, emphasizing the word good.

Come to me, Jonathan, and all will be well. No more pain, no more suffering. It doesn't have to be this way. I can help you.

"I..." Jon mumbled, furrowing his brows.

Brigid threw a helpless glance at the wings where Mataya and the cast were watching what was going on with collective confusion and frustration.

I will have you, Jonathan. It's only a matter of time.

Jon looked out on the audience again, his face turning pale, looking as though he might be ill. He could feel the vampire's presence somewhere close by, but there was nothing he could do about it. And then, she was suddenly gone.

The air seemed to hang heavily a moment, and then it cleared, a collective murmur from the audience as they seemed to try and decide if this was part of the play or if Jonathan Granger had finally cracked.

He felt Brigid elbow him as she swept past him and reached for his hands, which felt a little too cold. Was he ill"

He caught his breath and blinked out of his thoughts, returning suddenly to the present. "I..." he faltered for just a moment before falling back into character. "I hope so," Orlando told Rosalind, drawing her into his arms.

She smiled up at him, but the smile was strained. She could tell something was wrong. Jon was the consummate professional when it came to his work. He rarely, if ever, missed a beat, much less a line. "Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?"

The scene continued as if nothing had gone awry. Jon recited his final line and strode off stage, hands shaking, looking a shade too pale, even with makeup. He knew he was going to have some explaining to do, and he knew it was time to do something about his little problem before it was too late.

((Cross-posted at The Shanachie Theater. My thanks to Mataya and Brigid's players for indulging me and allowing me to write this scene.))