“What the hell was that all about?”
“I can explain . . .”
“You won’t explain anything, you fucking sissy. I’m not stupid. I know what I saw. I don’t need anyone to explain anything to me.”
“Well, good,” Bradon spat out suddenly, as he grabbed his clothes from the floor. “Because I’m tired of trying to explain myself to you. I don’t owe you anything. Not a goddammed thing, do you understand me?”
“I will not have my own son talk to me like that.”
“Like what, Dad?” Bradon cried, as he tried to wipe the tears from his eyes before his father noticed them. “Like a human being?”
Victor raised his arm and slapped Bradon across the face with the back of his hand. “Don’t you ever call me that again. Ever. Or next time I won’t stop with a little slap.”
Bradon reeled back from the sting of his father’s blow. “Call you what?”
“A human being. I will not tolerate your petty belittlement and insults. I am not like you and your precious little mother, dammit. I am a vampire. Do you understand me? A vampire. And I’m damned proud to be one, too. I will not be ridiculed or thought less of because of who I am. I am not ashamed of who I am, like you are. Get that through your thick little head, Bradon. I am proud of who I am.”
“So am I, Dad,” Bradon said, as he finished buttoning his jeans. “So am I. I am half vampire, but I am also half human. And I’m proud of that. I am also gay, and I am proud of that too. If you think I’m apologizing for any of that, or making excuses for it, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“That’s ridiculous. No one is proud of being gay.”
“I am, Dad. I am.”
“What’s to be proud of? That you’re a cocksucker? Or that you take it up the ass? Huh? Is that something to be proud of?”
“You disgust me.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I said you disgust me. You think being gay is all about sex. That is a very small part of being gay, Dad. My being gay has more to do with love. Loving myself and loving other men.”
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear any more of this.”
“Well, too bad. Because I’m not finished talking. All of my life I have tried to please you. I never agreed with what you did and who you claimed to be, but I tried to understand you and make you proud. But when I needed you to understand me and appreciate who I am, you turned your back on me. It was perfectly fine for you to go out and fuck every little two-bit whore you could get your hands on. God only knows what diseases you’d have if you were human. But you have the nerve to get freaked out and act all macho and shit with me because I’ve had a couple of somewhat meaningful relationships.”
“You call that meaningful? With his seed dripping from your pinkened lips?”
“It might have been. It could have been. And Josh was certainly meaningful, and could have been the love of my life. But you didn’t prepare me for anything, and I killed him.”
“Good riddance.”
Bradon slapped the back of his hand across his father’s face.
Victor looked up slowly, his eyes red and angry. A low rumble emanated from deep in his throat as he stared at his son.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to . . .”
“Shut up. I want you out of my house. I don’t care where you go or what you do. You’re over twenty-one now, and so your trust fund is available to you. Take it and leave. And don’t ever come back.”
“But, Dad . . .”
“I’m through with you, son. I never want to see you again. Take all of your things with you. And take your mother’s things as well. I want nothing to remind me of either of you. I should have finished what I started a long time ago.”
Tears streamed down Bradon’s face as he stood half naked in the middle of his living room. “What? I don’t understand.”
“Stop crying like a little girl. You’ve acted like a sissy enough for one night. Hell, you’ve acted like a sissy enough for a lifetime.”
Victor turned and walked downstairs. Bradon could hear him rummaging around in his closet. A few moments later, Victor reappeared.
“Here,” he said, as he hurled a thick book across the room at Bradon. “This is yours. Read it and weep. Now your contempt for me can be based on something real. Take it with you when you leave. I don’t ever want to see it or you again. I’m going to bed now, Bradon. I don’t want to see you or any trace of you when I wake up tomorrow evening. Is that clear?”
Bradon watched as his father turned his back on him and walked downstairs to his bedroom. Large, pain-wracked gulps of breath forced themselves out of his chest as he controlled his urge to cry.
Instead, he sat on the couch and opened the book. It was his father’s journal. Bradon slammed the book closed before reading the first page, then gave in to his desire to read it.
She is the most beautiful creature to ever roam the earth. The moonlight dances through her hair as she strolls along the river’s shore. Her eyes sparkle like rare and precious diamonds across the blue night, and pierce my heart with their first glance. Be still my beating heart. Surely nothing good can come from this chance upon an angel.
But then she smiles at me, and my knees and my heart betray me. I try to stop my feet from moving, but they, too, work against me. As I approach her, I feel myself growing weaker with each step. From a few feet away I can smell her scent. Sweet, fragrant, ripe. But strangely, I don’t want to feed on her. I try to picture in my mind how sweet and warm her blood would be in my mouth. Instead, all I can envision is how soft and cool the skin of her neck would be against the warmth of my hungry lips. Hungry not for her blood, but for her love.
Again I think to myself that nothing good can come from this meeting between angel and vampire. Centuries of folklore tell me this encounter will only bring pain and suffering and disaster. But when she reaches down and wraps her cool, thin fingers in my warm, thick hands, my heart drops inside my stomach, and I find myself speechless.
I warn myself not to fall for this beautiful young human girl. But when she asks me to walk her home, I wrap my arms around her to warm her and follow her lead. At her house, she stops at the front steps and leans up to kiss me.
Soft are her lips, and sweet is her tongue. My heart has never raced so. Her kiss is like a cool summer breeze after a long, hot and humid evening storm.
“Good night, Victor,” she whispers to me, and wipes the remaining traces of her sweet taste from my thirsty lips. “I hope to see you again.”
I watch as she ascends the stairs and disappears behind the heavy wooden door. I know at once that I am lost to her soul, to her will. Despite everything I know about the consequences of this union, my heart tells me I must follow it. I must see her again. I must love her. I must give myself to her.
As the light in what must be her bedroom dims to darkness, I push my body from her steps. Goodnight, sweet Rachel. You will definitely see me again.
Bradon wiped the tears from his eyes as he read more and more of the familiar story. It had been a long time since he and Victor had sat around the kitchen table talking and remembering Bradon’s mother. It was obvious from Victor’s writing that he was madly in love with Rachel. The depth of his emotions was a little disconcerting for Bradon to read. It was all so different from the detached and grieving tales he had grown up hearing. Bradon’s heart ached for his father, and for the loss he’d suffered.
He read on, page after page, lost in the love story of his mother and father.
I am happy beyond words, beyond expression, beyond belief. My beloved Rachel is nurturing our first child. I never thought it possible for me to love any more than I have loved Rachel over the past couple of years, but right now, as I ponder being a father, I am overwhelmed with love for my wife and my unborn child.
We are alone in this happiness, however. Rachel’s family wishes nothing to do with her or with our family. They believe me to be evil and not nearly good enough for their little g
irl. This even without the benefit of knowing I am a vampire. We both thought it best not to enlighten them with that information. Apparently we were right in our decision. And Mother and Father are no better about any of this. It’s easy for them thousands of miles away, on another continent, to think that my relationship with Rachel is doomed for failure. They wish not to meet her, to have anything to do with her or me while I insist on loving and living with a mere mortal. If only I could convince them, to show them, that Rachel is no mere mortal, but an angel from heaven. First, though, I’d have to convince them of heaven, and that is not likely. Instead, they prefer to disown me and my love.
That is fine with me. Together Rachel and I will grow in our love for one another. When our child is born, we will be a complete family. Ready to face the world, with all of its fear and hatred and prejudice. Ready to triumph in a mean and nasty world. Because we love. And above all else, love conquers all.
Bradon took a deep breath and swallowed hard as he read this last entry. To see his father write so eloquently of love and triumph and prejudice was more than he was able to process, especially after the fight they’d just had. How could Victor write of love and triumph over prejudice?
The time has finally come. My son was born into this world early this evening. I cried a river of tears as our eyes locked for the first time. My son, with his little fingers reaching out to me, and his tiny eyes blinking innocently at me, welcomed me with open arms and an open heart. He is the most beautiful son in all the world. In him I see all the hopes, all the dreams, all the possibilities of the union of his mother and me.
I am a little afraid. I have no experience with children who are half vampire and half human. Will my son grow up to be human, and reject his father? Will he grow strong and healthy, with the need to feed on warm, human blood? If so, what will he feel toward me? Will he hate me for bringing him into this world with this need?
Bradon shut the book, and paced around the room for a few moments. It was difficult for him to read about his father’s concerns of fear and rejection. How could he be so hypocritical? How could he fear something he so easily doled out to his own son? How could he believe his father had ever worried about being rejected when he was able to reject his own son so effortlessly?
Bradon walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine. He debated whether or not he should continue reading or stop before he found himself so lost in love for his father that he went begging to him for forgiveness, promising never to desire or feed on another man.
He looked into the living room from the kitchen. The book was lying on the coffee table, beckoning him to read on. He walked into the living room, propped his legs on the coffee table, and picked up the book. He took another sip of wine and read on.
Be still my heart. Do not think with your heart, but with your mind. Do not let the pain of your heart overrule the wisdom of your mind. Rachel loves you with all her soul. She is only a little afraid, and does not mean to hurt you. You must believe this.
I try to believe this, but it is not easy. This evening I woke to find Rachel crying on the sofa. She says she is confused and doesn’t know what to do. I sit beside her and wrap my arms around her. I ask her what she is crying for. She tells me her son is not a vampire.
What is this nonsense, I ask. Of course he is a vampire. And he is human. He is the very best of both worlds.
No, Rachel tells me, Bradon is not a vampire. This afternoon she became so distraught over worrying about this that she could not stop herself from taking our son outside, into the deadly, burning sunlight. Rachel was so overcome with worry and fear that Bradon would burn and die, that she brought a knife with her so that she could kill herself when her son ignited before her eyes.
But Bradon did not ignite. He did not burn. When Rachel slid the blanket back from his face, Bradon relished in the warmth of the sunlight and giggled with delight.
“He is not a vampire, Victor,” my sweet and lovely wife tells me. “He is a human boy. He has human needs. I don’t want him to grow up different than other kids. Not if he doesn’t have to.”
“Don’t be silly,” I tell my wife as she sobs against my chest. “Our son is the best of the both of us. He is different from other kids, but that difference makes him very special. He will know the human love and understanding of his human mother, and the knowledge and wisdom of his centuries-old vampire father. Bradon will be unique. He will be special. He will be loved.”
Rachel says that she supposes I am right, but I sense that something is different. When I hug her, she doesn’t return the embrace, but tightens up in response to my welcoming arms. When I kiss her, she opens her mouth to me, but does not return the kiss as she usually does. When I try to make love with her, she claims she is tired and has a headache.
Something is very different. Something is wrong. My heart is broken and beats erratically and painfully in my chest.
Bradon read and reread that last section three times. He’d stopped crying minutes before, and now was alert and anxious to learn more about himself. What was this about him not being a vampire? Was it really possible that his mother had exposed him to deadly sunlight? If so, what did that mean? He obviously didn’t die or wasn’t even hurt from it. All his life his father had been adamant about warning him against the sun and the light of day. Hundreds of times he’d been told of the consequences of being reckless and getting caught in the bright light of death. Daylight was a vampire’s kryptonite.
So why had he never been told about this particular part of the story?
My life is over.
How can she ever have thought of leaving me. Even worse, how can she ever have thought about taking my only child away from me?
Oh, but to have this burden lifted from me! I am cursed to live in eternal living hell. The memory of what I have done will live with me for the rest of my eternal life. I should have listened to the wisdom of my fathers. I should have known it would never work. I should never have put myself or my son at the risk of betrayal.
Now my dear sweet Rachel is dead. Dead at my very own hands. Surely it is just, though. I could not have let her leave my home, my city, my life. I could not let her steal my son from me, never to see him again. I could not allow her to deny Bradon his destiny.
The pain is unbearable. How will I ever tell my son that I killed his mother? That in a feigned moment of passion, I bit her neck and drained the life from her. That I did not stop at the crucial moment of possible conversion, but drank until her blood was cold and thick in my mouth? How can I ever tell my son that I buried his mother in our own backyard and wept the entire time I dug her grave?
No, I will not. Bradon will never know the truth. In his eyes his mother was a true saint. A woman who loved him with all his heart, and who loved me equally. She was not the mother who wanted to flee with him in the safety of daylight, to deprive him of his father. She was not the mother who intentionally put him at risk of death and tried to deprive him of his vampire heritage. She was not the mother who betrayed him by denying who he is at the heart of his very soul.
Better that she is dead, even if it is at my own hands. As for my son, he will be told every day of the most beautiful love story ever. He will grow up believing his mother loved him more than life itself, and gave the ultimate sacrifice of her own life upon his birth, so that he might live eternally. My son will know that he is a vampire. That he was born of a human mother that loved him very much, and who sacrificed her life so that he might live his to its fullest potential. My son will grow to embrace his vampirism, and will know that his father loves him more than anything else in the world. So much that he, too, offered the ultimate sacrifice for his son. The sacrifice of the one woman who he truly loved, the one woman who stole his heart.
I pray every evening that Rachel’s soul forgives me. I pray that Bradon never knows the horrible truth of the madness that overcame his angel of a mother. I pray that he grows up strong and rich in his vampire tradition.
As for me, I live daily with the pain and the loss of my beloved. I would give my own life for things to have worked out better than they did. But I am firm in my resolve that I have done what is right and true. What is in the best interest of my blessed son. I cannot think of myself anymore, but must be strong in my pursuit of Bradon’s best interest.
Good night, my sweet Rachel.
Bradon rubbed his eyes and shook his head, hoping that when his head cleared a little, the words on the pages of his father’s journal would be different; that they would not spell out the most painful of denials, but instead a familiar beautiful love story.
But they did not, and when he’d shaken his head to the point of pain, the same stabbing truth was scattered across the pages. In his father’s own jerky handwriting was the horrible reality that his father had murdered his mother. And not only killed her, but drained her life from her in the one manner that was the most demeaning and in violation of the one stipulation she put on their love.
Bradon was not a vampire. Or at least he was not predisposed to be. His mother had discovered this truth, and had been prepared to save Bradon from an eternal life of pain and bloody killings and feedings. She’d planned on packing up a few valuable possessions and leaving with her newborn son in the safety of daylight, to establish a life for both of them. A life free of vampires and blood and death. A life free of Victor.
What would his life be like now had his mother succeeded? Would he be a normal human young man? Would he be completely free of his need of warm human blood? Would he have developed into a normal, straight young man with a desire to marry and have children? Would he more easily accept his homosexuality and be more well-adjusted?
This he would never know, because his father had robbed him of the opportunity ever to discover his own real self. His father had murdered his mother in a bloody and cowardly manner. His father had lied to him his entire life, and raised him to believe horrible things about himself that might not be true. His father had insisted he was a vampire, and had forced the life of a vampire onto him. But more importantly, his father had taken from him the one person who really knew and understood and loved Bradon.
Masters of Midnight: Erotic Tales of the Vampire Page 23