“When you face your inner fears,” said Jason, tapping his black lacquered fingernails against the glass vinegar bottle, “you either embrace a previously unexplored part of who you really are, or else you completely freak out.” 
       There was a brief pause before Claire spoke.  “And did you ‘freak out’?”
       Jason tried to appear nonchalant but then he grinned broadly.  “Yeah, too right.  The first time was nerve-wracking.  But what a rush!”
       The interviewer paused again before asking, “Have you tried it since?”
       “Several times.”  Jason dunked a folded chip into the jiggling yellow of fried egg.  “Oh, excuse me a minute,” he said, neatly setting down his knife and fork.  With one confident movement he extracted his left canine tooth, followed by his matching right tooth.  He put these safely inside a tobacco tin lined with a plump cushion of red velvet.  A graveyard illumined by a full moon had been carefully painted on the lid. 
       “Did you have those false fangs custom made?”  The interviewer flicked a rapid glance at her tiny tape recorder.  The red indicator light glowed brightly in the soft shadows of the pub-restaurant.
       “Of course.”  Jason speared a thick finger of sausage on his fork then dabbed it in a sticky glob of scarlet ketchup. 
       “Are they sharp?”
       “Too right.  I’ve accidentally stabbed my lip with them a few times,” said Jason, reaching for the mug of steaming cappuccino.  “I’ve got the hang of them now, though.”  He didn’t add that he already regretted the expense. In the light of recent events the false teeth now seemed rather childish.
       “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat, Claire?  I feel awkward feeding my face while you just have water.”
       The interviewer smiled slightly.  She leant back against the varnished dark wood of the tall reproduction settle.  The heavy oblong dining table between them was littered with sticky beer rings and spilled condiments.  Claire carefully avoided brushing the long white sleeves of her silk blouse against the debris of earlier diners.
       “Thank you for asking but I’m fine with this mineral water.” Claire glanced in disgust at the laminated menu jammed upright between a greasy stainless steel sugar bowl and a brown plastic sauce bottle whose nozzle was encrusted with gunk.  The menu was smeared with a splatter of dried strawberry ice-cream. 
     “So,” said Jason, deftly slicing through a disc of black pudding, “what brings you to Southport?”
       “You did.”  Claire smiled faintly, watching the teenager opposite her devour his food with relish.  He seemed ravenous.  She wondered how often Jason ate a decent meal – not that this mediocre fry-up matched her idea of culinary competence.
       “What do you mean?”  Jason looked puzzled and chewed more slowly. 
       “What did David tell you?”  Claire’s manner radiated patience.
       “He just told me to be here; that a reporter or somebody wanted to meet me.”
       She smiled understandingly and asked, “Do you find David intimidating?”
       Jason shrugged then nodded, the tangle of cheap silver amulets around his neck jingling with the movement.  “Yeah, a bit.  I mean, have you seen him?  His fist is the size of my head, you know?”
       Claire’s vague smile faded slightly.  “Has he ever threatened you?  Does he force you to attend his soirees?”
       “No, no.”  Jason shook his head vigorously.  “But we all know who’s in charge, right?  I just meant that David isn’t the kind you cross.”
       Claire’s polite smile returned.  She pushed her small, expensive shoulder bag further beneath her carefully folded woollen jacket.  Her plain black skirt, worn with low-heeled black leather court shoes, certainly provided visual contrast to Jason’s attire.  Plus he was at least two decades younger than Claire. Perhaps most of the other diners would simply assume she was his older sister.
       “Do you work for a newspaper?”  The long, looped chain which hung from Jason’s silver-studded belt rattled as he changed positions on the wooden seat.
       “No; I am an independent researcher.  I’ve travelled here to ask you a few questions, that’s all.”
       “So how did you hear about me?  I mean, it’s not like I’m famous or anything.”  Jason smirked as he used a limp slice of white bread to mop-up the remaining baked-bean juice.  His slim wrists were laden with sliver-thin silver bracelets, strands of plaited cotton and a chunky, complicated watch.  A silver bat ring encircled one finger.  On his right hand, he wore the insignia of David’s private club, its significance recognisable only to other members or associates.
       “David mentioned you to me,” said Claire.  “How did you first meet him?” 
    “He kind-of found me.  I was working on the fairground.  There’re not many jobs around Southport other than in hotels, nursing homes and shops – and most of those are part-time or seasonal.  Typical seaside, town, you know?  But I got this fairground job and one night last summer, David bought a ride.”
       Jason politely placed his knife and fork side-by-side on his empty plate, handles pointing towards his skin-tight black t-shirt.  The rubbery Inkubus Sukkubus logo was peeling badly.  He pushed the plate to the outer edge of the soiled table then wrapped both hands round the foamy cappuccino.
       Claire prompted, “How did you fall into conversation?”
       “Because of my Goth gear.”
       “You were dressed as you are tonight?”
       “Pretty much, I suppose.”
       “With the make-up?”
       “Yeah.”
       “Does David approve of your cosmetics?”
       “I guess.”  Jason blushed slightly, despite the thick layer of pale foundation which coated his smooth, youthful skin.  The purple-black lipstick had smudged slightly at the corners of Jason’s luscious mouth.  His Egyptian-style eyeliner perfectly emphasised his grey eyes.  “David says the make-up makes me look asexual.”
       “Does that please him?”
       “Yeah, too right!”  Jason laughed dryly.  He gazed at Claire as if she had asked something rather ridiculous.  “How well do you know David?” 
        An odd expression briefly flitted through Claire’s dark eyes.  “I’ve known him for many years.  I know David as well as it is possible to know anyone.  But how did David befriend you?  How did he draw you to him?”
       “Well, after we’d talked about music and stuff, after that night at the fairground I just kept running into him.  I’d be in a bar somewhere and suddenly he’d be next to me.  Or I’d go to a nightclub and he’d be there.  I thought it was just coincidence, but now I know better of course.”
       “David seemed glamorous to you?”
       Jason nodded self-consciously, his dyed black hair sliding around his thin, narrow shoulders.  “He knows so much about all sorts of stuff.  I can listen to him for ages.  And it’s not like he won’t listen to someone else’s opinion, either.  He actually wants to hear your opinion of everything.”
       “And yet his word is law….” 
       "Too right it is!  You’d better believe it.  David is totally in control.  I guess he has to be.”
       Claire patiently folded her hands in her lap.  “How long had you known him before things developed?”
       “About six months.  David began calling round to my flat to talk about Goth music and Hammer films.  He knows loads about Victorian Romantic literature, plus modern stuff – New Age writers and philosophy.  Then he invited me round to his place.”
    “The loft apartment in Liverpool?”
       “You’ve been there?”
       Claire nodded slightly.
       “It’s huge, right?  It made me feel awkward because my place is such a dump.  I felt as if I hardly knew him after all.”
       “I quite understand,” said Claire, emanating charm and empathy.  “Yet David is a faultless host….”
       Jason grinned and nodded enthusiastically, though he began to wonder just how much he ought to reveal.  After all, he didn’t even know why this Claire Somebody wanted to talk to him anyway.
       Claire prompted, “You were invited to attend one of David’s private soirees soon after this?”
       Jason nodded, his eyes suddenly wary.
       “Did you know what was expected of you?”
       “Theoretically,” said Jason slowly.  “You say you’ve been to David’s place.  Can you describe it?”
       A faint chuckle slipped through Claire’s toffee-painted lips.  Her make-up was conventional but impeccable, like her lovingly-groomed honey-toned hair which was held in a prim ponytail by a broad gold slide. 
       “Now you’re testing me – but perhaps this is only fair.”  Claire gave David’s exact address, then said, “The interior is open-plan and very spacious.  Four black leather couches set around a low Japanese table.  White walls; paintings and Romanesque sculptures.  One of those huge home cinemas – oh, and a massive music centre.  I assume you saw the studio spotlights and cameras on tripods?”
       “They weren’t there on my first visit,” said Jason defensively.
       “No?”

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