"Is this about your dad?" she asked. "About this prejudice you've got against Michael now?"
"Prejudice? Jesus, Claire, you act like he's still really Michael. Well, he's not. He's one of them. I'm done with this crap. If I need to I'll go break some laws and get my ass thrown in jail. Better that than living here, looking at him -- " Shane stopped dead and shut his eyes for a second. "You don't understand. You just don't understand, Claire. You didn't grow up here."
"But I did," Eve said, stepping up closer. "And I don't get your paranoid bullshit either. Michael hasn't hurt anybody! Especially you, you prick. So lay off."
"I am," Shane said. "I'm leaving."
Claire didn't move out of his way. "What about us?"
"You want to go with me?"
She slowly shook her head, and saw the pain in his face for a split-second before it turned hard again.
"Then we've got nothing to talk about. And sorry to break it to you but there's no 'us.' Get it straight, Claire, it's been fun, but you're not really my type -- "
Michael moved. He smacked the box out of Shane's hands, and it flew halfway across the room, skidded across the wood floor the rest of the way, and slammed into the baseboard, where it tipped over and spilled things all over the place.
"Don't," he said, and grabbed Shane by the shoulders and flattened him against the nearest convenient wall. "Don't you disrespect her. Be an ass**le to me, fine. Be an ass**le to Eve if you want to, she can give it right back. But don't you take it out on Claire. I've had enough of your crap, Shane." He stopped and took a breath, but the anger wasn't burning out of him, not yet. "You want to go, get the hell out, but you'd better take a good hard look at yourself, my man. Yeah, your sister died. Your mom died. Your dad's a violent, prejudiced ass**le. Your life has sucked. But you don't get to be the victim anymore. We keep cutting you breaks, and you keep screwing up, and it's enough. I'm not letting you whine anymore about how your life sucks worse than ours."
Shane's face went dead white, then red.
And he socked Michael in the face. It was a solid, painful punch, and Claire winced and covered her mouth in sympathy, moving back.
Michael didn't move. Didn't even react. He just stared into Shane's eyes.
"You're just like your dad," he said. "You want to stake me now? Cut my head off? Bury me out back? That work for you, friend?"
"Yes!" Shane screamed, right in his face, and there was something so frightening in his eyes that Claire couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Michael let him go, walked over, and picked up a couple of things from the pile that had spilled out of the box Shane had been carrying out.
A pointed stake.
A wicked sharp hunting knife.
"You came prepared," he said, and tossed them to Shane, who caught them out of the air. "Go for it."
Eve screamed and threw herself in front of Michael, who gently but firmly moved her out of the way.
"Go on," he said. "We do this now, or we end up doing it later. You want to move out so you can kill me with a clear conscience. Why wait? Come on, man, do it. I won't fight."
Shane turned the knife in his hand, the edge slashing the light with every agitated move. Claire felt frozen, winter-cold, unable to think of anything to say or do. What had happened? How did things get this bad? What --
Shane took a step toward Michael, a sudden long lunge, and Michael didn't move. His eyes -- they weren't cold at all, and they weren't vampire-scary, either. They were human, and they were scared.
For a long breath, nobody moved, and then Michael said, "I know you feel like I betrayed you, but I didn't. This wasn't about you. It was for me, it was so I didn't have to be trapped here anymore. I was dying here. I was buried alive."
Shane's face twisted, as if that hunting knife had slid into his own guts. "Maybe you should have stayed dead." He raised the stake in his right hand.
"Shane, no!" Eve was screaming, trying to get to them, but Michael was holding her off. She turned on him in a fury. "Dammit, stop it! You don't really want to die!"
"No," Michael said. "I don't. He knows I don't."
Shane paused, trembling. Claire watched his face, his eyes, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking. What he was feeling. It was just a face, and she didn't know him at all.
"You were my friend," Shane said. He sounded lost. "You were my best friend. How screwed up is this?"
Michael didn't say anything. He took a step forward, took the knife and stake out of Shane's hands, and pulled him into a hug.
And this time, Shane didn't resist.
"Asshole," Michael sighed, and slapped his back.
"Yeah," Shane muttered, stepped back, and scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Whatever. You started it." He looked around and focused on Claire. "You. You were supposed to be home already."
Crap. She'd hoped they'd forget all about her late arrival, in the explosion of Shane's freakout. But of course, he'd try to find a way to shift attention away, and there she was, a sitting duck.
"Right," Eve said. "Guess you forgot the number to call and tell us you weren't dead in a ditch."
"I'm fine," Claire said.
"Amy wasn't. She was murdered and stuffed in our trash can, so excuse me if I got a little bit worried that you might be dead." Eve crossed her arms, her dark stare getting even more fierce. "I already checked out there for you, before Shane decided to pull this crap."
Oh, man. Somehow, in all of the stress of her afternoon with Myrnin, Claire had forgotten about Amy's death. Of course Eve was angry; not so much angry, really, as plain terrified.