The second reason was to find out if I could bypass the keyboard and write with a voice-recognition program instead. (Since all I have at the moment is the voice-recognition on my phone, this became yet another challenge to see if I could actually write a complete story as an e-mail draft on my phone!) I'm uncertain as to how this worked out, as I've always felt the keyboard was part of the process of my writing, and I'm wondering if the story "works" with this method.
And perhaps there's a third reason as well, as I’ve always wondered what Mick's reaction might be to . . . well, you'll see if you continue.
So. . . . here goes! This story is set near the end of the Mortal Cure, between the mirror scene we saw and the fade-out to the funeral scene.
ALL FALL DOWN
The first thing Mick thought of when he woke, with sunlight streaming through the windows onto his face and every bone in his body aching, was the mirror.
Somehow it wasn't enough for him to feel the pain that told him he was human ..... he needed to see it, to see the bruises and cuts on his face, to be absolutely certain they were real. He had dreamed of this moment for so long, he couldn’t help being afraid that he might be dreaming still. He limped to the mirror, stared into it, and finally, with a glance down at his forearm where the cure had entered his body, he lifted a hand to touch one of the deep cuts on his face. The pain made him flinch and pull his hand away instantly, and only then was he sure. This was no dream.
"Still human," he said, in utter wonder, and watched himself as a smile lit up his face. It was so unbelievable, such a miracle; he could have stood there and stared at himself all day. But there were things he had to do today, a place he needed to go, and he wasn't sure how long it was going to take for him to get ready.
He headed upstairs, leaning heavily on the stair rail, feeling a bit silly now about how important it had been for him to examine himself in the mirror. It was perfectly obvious, from the way he felt, that he was still human. His bruises and cracked ribs felt just as bad as they had last night, and his injured knee made it difficult for him to even get up the stairs. When he finally managed to get into the shower, he spent a long time under the hot spray, luxuriating in the ease it gave him from his pain and stiffness.
Out of the shower, despite his fascination with his mortality, he avoided the bathroom mirror and headed for his closet instead, to pick out clothing which would be suitable for a funeral. His joy in being human was sobered by this reminder of where he was headed. As he selected a dark shirt and pants, the memory of Josh dying beneath his hands washed over him, and he felt a tremor go through his body. Josh had been a good man, as much a soldier in the war against crime as any man Mick had ever treated on the battlefield. Mick wished that he could have saved him, but not in the way that Beth had asked for.
Would Beth ever understand? She had come to him last night, and at that time, he'd thought that things were all right between them again. But then Coraline had come. And Beth had disappeared. Beth had said, It's okay, I understand, but Mick was quite sure that she had not. His heart raced painfully as he wondered how Beth would react to his appearance at the funeral. Would she even acknowledge him? Well, it didn't really matter. Mick had to go for Josh's sake, to give him honor and respect. He wouldn't even approach Beth, not unless she herself initiated the contact.
Somberly, Mick headed back down the stairs, neat and tidy but with his jacket tucked under his arm and his shirt not yet buttoned. And in spite of everything, the downstairs mirror beckoned to him again. He laid his jacket down and approached the mirror, his thoughts so different now, centered on the fine line between life and death. Mick was alive, for the first time in fifty years, yet the young and vibrant Josh would be going into his grave today. Mick stared at his reflection, slowly moving his shirt aside to expose his injuries. He lifted his hand to touch his ribs, and flinched as his fingers brushed against the darkening bruises. He thought of what would have happened if Lance had actually staked him last night. His life would have been short indeed. But Coraline had saved him. Saved him twice, once by giving the cure to Mick; once again by giving up the cure, and herself, to Lance. Thinking of what she had done for him, he pushed up his shirt sleeve to look at the bandage on his arm, the bandage that concealed the very source of his new life. He pulled it away, revealing the cut that Coraline had made, wondering what had become of her. With a deep sigh he finally pulled his shirt closed, buttoning it up as he moved away from the mirror. As he reached for his jacket, he heard the faint sound of a knock at the door.
Beth, he thought. Please let it be Beth. He had no idea who it was, and he feIt disoriented and unsteady. It was so strange to have no sense at all of who was standing outside his door. Even when he went to the monitor to look, he couldn't see anyone. Then a figure moved into view, and he realized that the knock had come from his office door. And the person who had knocked on the door was most certainly not Beth. It was a dark-haired young girl he didn't recognize, although there was something vaguely familiar about her. He glanced quickly at his watch. He would need to leave for the funeral within the hour; he didn't have time for a new client. Not to mention the fact that he was not at all sure how well he would be able to do his job as a human. Still, as he looked at the forlorn young girl in his hall, he couldn't bring himself to just ignore her. He went to the door and opened it.
The girl started at the sound of the opening door, and turned to look at him. She was young indeed, wearing no makeup and looking scarcely older than fourteen, but the youthful freshness of her face was marred by grief. Her hair was pulled back in an untidy knot at the back of her head, and her eyes looked haunted. "Mr. St. John?" she said.
He nodded, keeping his expression carefully neutral.
"I know I should have called first," she said in a rush, "but I was afraid you'd just say no."
"Ah.... no to what?"
"I want to hire you." She looked tearful, but determined, and he couldn't help feeling sorry for her.
Still, he stayed cautious. "I'm really not taking on any new clients right now," he said, with a vague gesture at his battered face by way of explanation.
"Please, at least listen to what I have to say," she begged him, and he gave in and gestured her into the apartment, and from there, through to his office.
He made her a cup of coffee, and, suddenly realizing that he could, made one for himself as well. "So how do you think I can help you?" he asked her. "What's happened?"
She stared down at her coffee cup. "My father went missing a few days ago."
"And you want me to try to find him?"
She shook her head, tears spilling over on to her face. "No," she said softly. "The police found him last night. His .... body." She trailed off, looking ill. "He was murdered."
Mick was reminded, sharply and painfully, of what had happened to Josh. He said, "I'm truly sorry to hear that. But since the police are on the case, I'm not sure why you want me to get involved."
"Because the police don't care. They don't care that he's dead. They're not going to make any effort to find out who killed him. It's just wrong! Someone murdered my father, and when I went to the station to talk about it, as soon as they found out my name they looked at me like I was garbage."
Mick, watching her face as she spoke, suddenly felt himself go cold. He didn't need to ask her what her name was. He knew. He'd seen her image before, in a brief flash of vampire vision. A framed photograph had flown through the air, glass shattering, as he'd kicked Tejada's desk over and leaped on top of it. A photograph of this girl.
Almost every other picture in the man's office had been pornographic or psychedelic, but this girl's simple, innocent photographs had stood carefully on his desk, apart from all the rest and in a special place of honor.
"My father wasn't either a criminal," the girl said fiercely. "My mother told me, his business rivals made up those awful stories just to make him look bad. I'm his daughter! If he'd been doing anything wrong, I would have known about it. I would have known! He loved me, he gave me everything, he was a wonderful person. I want you to find the man who killed him, and bring him to justice."
The man who'd killed Tejada. Mick would not have to search far to find that man. He looked away from the girl as his memory surged back to that dark bloody night, to the implacable sense of vengeance which had filled him. It felt so alien now. It was hard to believe he was the same creature who had buried his fangs deep within this girl's father's throat, the same creature who had drained and killed him, listening with satisfaction to the man's fading screams. It felt repugnant to him now. Not the killing; he could not regret that, not even with the man's daughter sitting in front of him. His revulsion was a human response to the method he had used.
The girl was gazing at him, waiting anxiously for his response. Her name, Mick knew from his research of her father, was Nicole. Nicole Tejada. She was older than she looked - she had just turned sixteen. She was the man's only daughter, his only child. And even as a human, Mick could tell that she believed she was speaking the truth about her father.
Still avoiding Nicole's searching stare, he turned to look out the window, wondering how that was possible. How had Tejada managed to conceal so much from his daughter? Tejada had killed so many people, destroyed so many lives, without a thought or a care. He had had Josh murdered; he had come a hair's breadth from killing Beth. How had he made Nicole believe that he was a good man? This girl didn't even have any doubts. She had loved her father, purely and simply loved him. He had somehow managed to put up a wall around her, a wall so tall and secure that she had never been able to see through it to the monster on the other side. She had loved him, but she had never known him at all.
Walls, Mick thought. It was actually not so very difficult to put them up; he had done so himself for most of his life, keeping a solid, impenetrable wall between his vampire self and the human world. He thought of all the human friends he had had over the years, the friends who had never known what he was. He thought of Bobby, who still didn't know, who thought Mick was a normal, decent, aging man. When they'd worked together, Bobby would never have believed that Mick spent so much of his time at a decadent, red-lit mansion, drinking blood from the throats and wrists of young women. Mick's wall had been strong enough to last for decades - and, he realized, he had never taken it down. It was an eternal wall, built to separate his vampire self from everything that was human. That wall still stood between him and Beth, even though she had known what he was for months. He had never dared to pull it down, and he wasn't even sure he knew how.
But it was a wall built to separate vampires from humans. And he was human now.
"Please," Nicole said at last, breaking into his silence. "I need your help. I have money..... I could make it worth your while..... "
"I'm sorry," Mick answered. "I honestly don't think a private detective can help you with this. Even if the police do think that your father was a criminal, they'll still do everything they can to find the man who killed him. They don't like killers on the loose, of any sort. They'll do their jobs." He felt a twinge of fear saying this, knowing it was true.
"Couldn't you at least recommend someone else, if you're not willing to take it on?" the girl asked.
The last thing Mick needed was a good private investigator looking into this case. And the last thing Nicole needed was to have a good private investigator confirm to her just how much of a monster her father had actually been. "No," he said gently. "I recommend that you let the police do their jobs. They will, you know." Unfortunately. Carl was likely to look into it himself, and there had been a frightening number of witnesses, even though most of them were unlikely to be willing to testify.
Nicole stared at him, wavering, as if wondering whether to believe him or not. "I'm sorry I wasted your time," she said stiffly, and she put down her coffee cup and headed for the door.
"Wait," Mick said impulsively, and she paused unwillingly, glancing back at him. "Look, I - I'm sorry about your father. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love." And strangely, he really was sorry about her father. The role of father had been by far the least part of Tejada's being, but apparently one small fragment of a decent man had dwelt within him. Or Nicole could never have loved him as she had.
Nicole's hard gaze softened, just a little; she murmured "Thank you," and turned back to walk out the door.
Would she accept his advice, and let the police handle things? Or would she seek out another investigator? Either way, Mick would have to be extremely cautious and prepared, and suddenly he didn't feel like being either. He wanted only to tear down his eternal wall, to stand side by side with Beth with no barrier between them. Human to human.
Except that it wasn't going to last. He'd be a vampire again all too soon, which meant the wall would have to stay.
Or would it?
With everything that had happened, with all that Beth had experienced at his side, why should he need to keep a wall between them? Beth was no Nicole; she was not an innocent who needed protection from the truth. Mick was no Tejada, either; he had been a monster once, long ago, but he was not one any longer.
If Nicole ever found out what her father had really been, and believed the truth, would she still love him, or would she feel betrayed by him forever? Mick couldn't even guess.
And if Mick ever told Beth all the horrors of his own past, what would she feel? Would he lose her, would it frighten her away? Or would such honesty between them bring them closer to each other? He thought of her, of the way she had so easily accepted the vampire, of the way she'd always trusted him whether she'd had any reason to do so or not. There were things he was afraid to tell her ... but somewhere in his heart, he knew she would never run from him. She would always be there for him, deep in her own heart, even after what had happened in Griffith Park. She would even understand, one day, why he hadn't been able to do what she'd asked for.
All that was for later, not today. But he would go to her today. He wouldn't just wait to see if she might come to him. He must at the very least tell her what had happened last night. And if she was ready to listen, perhaps that wall between them might just start to crumble.
He longed to see Beth, to share with her all the amazing highs and lows he'd experienced in this last night. He longed to be there for her in her dark time of mourning, to give her comfort and support. He longed to be human and mortal beside her, without a wall between them.
And maybe, even after he turned back, even when the wall returned to cast its shadow over them .... maybe he could find a way for the vampire to stay beside her.
Mick downed the last of his coffee, marveling at the exquisite taste of it, and hurried to grab a quick bite from some of the leftovers in the refrigerator. It was time to go. Time to reflect on the past, to mourn a fine, brave man who could have been his friend. Time to move on to the future, to find all the joy that life had to offer. He put on his jacket, straightened his collar, and glanced one more time into the mirror.
A miracle had happened already, reflected in the cuts and bruises so evident upon his face. Perhaps another one could happen, in time. With Beth.
Maybe his wall was already starting to fall down.
He turned away from the mirror, and went out into the day.
-
Your writing style is seen very clearly here. The voice-recognition program does not seem to have interfered with your voice. 
I really like how you mentioned the police investigation of Tejada's death, and all of the potential witnesses. 
Thanks for this look at human Mick. 
well, it is something of a miracle that a phone could do this at all, but there were an lot of things it couldn't work out, like quotation marks, semicolons, the name Tejada, and, weirdly, the name Mick. So there was a lot of fixing to do, and often I'd have to change the wording I had planned because the program couldn't figure out what I'd planned to write. Don't know how it would work with a real voice program like Dragon. Hopefully at least somewhat better!