by Liz Strange
He stopped speaking for a few moments and then began again in a pained voice. “This is the poem she wrote:
The clock chimes echo
through the empty corridor.
The young girl sits alone.
She shivers from the dampness,
and the feelings of a lost time
envelop her in their memories.
She is both the times past,
and the times yet to come.
Within the world she is no one,
within herself she is everything.
“At the bottom she asked me to meet her at that spot the next night, and signed her name.”
“That’s a very sad poem.” I was unsure of where this was all going.
“Yes, it was, and I’ll always regret that I never had the chance to ask her what it meant. I have always wondered what influenced her, what things she might have read. She was such a pivotal factor of my life, a presence in it still, and yet I didn’t really know her at all. It took everything in me to bury her image in my mind, and block out the pain I associate with her memory. There is no way now to separate my adoration from her death. She has become this thing where no good can exist without the bad, and it is not something that I can reconcile within myself.
“Anyway, when I passed her the next morning she smiled shyly, and I had a rush of excitement and nervousness. All throughout the day I was a wreck. I accomplished nothing at school. All I could think of was our meeting that night, but there was no way of knowing what lay in store for the two of us.
“I couldn’t eat a bite of dinner, and ended up excusing myself from the table early. The others thought I had gone up to bed, but I slipped out the back door, and waited for her to leave. An hour passed by like an eternity before she appeared. She started on her way home, and I followed along behind her. As we approached the spot where she had left the poem, she looked behind her and called out my name. I stepped out from the foliage where I had been hiding, and we stood on the path just looking at each other. The sun was just starting to set, and the light set her hair afire with colour. She walked to the large rock and sat, waiting for me to join her. I took a seat beside her, our arms just touching.
“The towering trees canopied our spot, and a soft wind rattled through the leaves. I was trembling, and I didn’t want her to know I was nervous. I turned to her, and met her eyes. They were the clearest, lightest colour of hazel I had ever seen. Her skin was an unspoiled, creamy white, with a gentle blush spreading across both cheeks. I raised my hand, and hesitantly ran it down the length of her wheat-coloured hair. It felt like silk . I knew then as I stared into her eyes that the best thing that I could do would be to leave, and never speak to her again. There was no way it could ever amount to anything, but I could not pull myself away. I felt bewitched by her beauty and innocence. So there on that rock, as the day gently slipped into night, we kissed. It was a brief, innocent kiss, so sweet by its very nature and intent. As soon as our lips parted, she jumped up and disappeared down the path toward her home. I sat there for a long time, barely aware of how dark the woods around me were becoming. All too soon I found myself in total darkness. I cursed myself for being ridiculous.”
I flinched as the steering wheel made a crunching noise under his hands. “Giovanni.”
He continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “I was concentrating so hard on trying to find my way back through the darkness that I didn’t hear him approach. Though knowing what I do now, I realise I would have only heard him approach if he wanted me to. He seemed to just appear out of nowhere.
“He was very tall and thin, with a commanding presence. He appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties, though his hair was not the slightest bit grey. It was a very unusual shade of blond, a colour reminding me of lemons. It was very fine and straight, and it fell just below his shoulders. He regarded me with bright green eyes, as steady and dangerous as a fox. I was paralysed under his gaze.
“He was dressed from head to toe in black, which was very striking against the chalk-like colour of his skin. My first thought was that he was ill, and I silently prayed he would not infect me with something terrible, an ironic thought considering what was about to happen. He held back his black cloak with his hands, and it struck me as peculiar that his gloves were made of red velvet. They were the only hint of colour to him, aside from his eyes. He came to me without a word, and brushed those gloves along my face. They were so soft! My thought process completely shut down, so it did not seem strange.
“His hands wound into my hair, and he pulled my head back, forcing me to look up into his eyes. He was quite a bit taller than I am, and it strained my neck to look at him like that. We stayed that way for a few moments, and as my heart pounded wildly in my chest he started to lean into me. He moved as though he was about to kiss me, but at the last moment turned away. He licked his lips, and then pressed his cheek against my own, situating his mouth right against my ear. He was whispering, but I didn’t understand. Later I would come to know that he was speaking English, but at that time I only spoke Spanish and a bit of French. I felt myself melt into his embrace, and even though he was a man I was not alarmed or embarrassed. It felt strangely good.
“Then, without warning, I felt a terrible pain in the side of my neck. My knees buckled, but the stranger held me in our awkward embrace with his mouth clamped onto my flesh. The sounds of his feeding were painfully loud in my ear, and I was helpless to protect myself. The world swam in and out of focus, my body growing weaker and weaker from the blood loss. Then I blacked out.
“The next thing I was aware of was finding myself in a strange house. It was dark and I was lying on a pile of straw on the floor, a rough blanket over top of my body. I tried to move, but I was weak, and the attempt just caused my head to swim. I was terribly nauseated and cold. A fire burnt in a hearth not to far from where I lay, but I did not feel its warmth. My throat was dry, and the wound on my neck throbbed terribly.
“Suddenly he was there at my side, his monstrous green eyes glaring down on me. I closed my eyes, praying for death, but I knew I was in the hands of something worse than death. Again, I felt his mouth on my body, this time on my inner arm, and then all too soon the familiar sting of his bite. He drank briefly then I passed out again. This went on for several days, I can’t be sure of how long it was until one night things changed.
“He started to feed, and I could feel my life force draining out of me with every mouthful of blood he swallowed. I saw visions of my mother, and my siblings, and I felt hot tears on my cheeks. Then, just as I felt that I was about to slip over into waiting death he pulled a sharp piece a glass across his wrist. Bright red drops of blood sprang to the surface before he placed the wound to my dry lips. He squeezed, and I felt the liquid spill into my mouth and down my parched throat. There was a terrible buzzing in my ears, and his cold smile loomed over my face. Before I knew what was happening, I felt my mouth press more firmly against his wrist, and I began to drink. Before I was ready he pulled his arm away, and I gave way to the greyness pulling at my consciousness.
“The next evening when I awoke, I was alone. The room was full of the overpowering smell of the wood burning in the fire, and the snapping of the logs that sounded like thunder claps to my sensitive ears. Even though the fire provided the only light in the whole space, I was able to discern every detail of the dingy and sparsely furnished room. I realised I was naked, yet I was not cold. My throat stung with dryness, and I was wild with thirst. Yet I didn’t know then what it was that I was thirsting for.
“I looked about the tiny house for clothing, eventually finding a pair of trousers that were much too long and a worn overcoat. As I was dressing, footsteps sounded outside the house. The door creaked open and the man appeared out of the darkness. We stood looking at each other, and he had the most curious expression on his face, part surprise and part suspicion. I noticed then that he was dragging something along behind him. A strange pounding filled the room, the so
und stabbing agonisingly inside my head. He smiled then pulled his bundle up into his arms.
“I realised then that it was a person he held, a small figure who was dirty, and covered with leaves and twigs as though they had been dragged through the forest. It appeared to be a woman, though she wore a large hooded cape that covered her slight frame. He had obviously incapacitated her somehow, as her body hung limply from his grasp.
“He lowered his mouth to the body’s throat, the face pressed against his chest, masking the features from my view. His green eyes were wary as he watched me from his position over her. Suddenly an aroma made my thirst flare unbearably. My body tensed with need. He came to me so quickly that even my vampire eyes could not discern his movement. The body was thrust into my arms, and my hungry lips found my way to her throat. The blood provoked me and I could not resist. I drank, unable to control the mad frenzy accompanying my thirst, and tore her throat viciously. I drank until the body became a brittle, empty husk in my arms, and yet I needed more. I tossed the body aside, unaware of the level of my new strength. The body flew from my hands to the other side of the room, skidding to a stop at the edge of the fire. Long stands of blond hair spilled out from the hood, the colours of the flames reflected on their pale surface. I looked from the body back to his face and saw that he was laughing. There was no sound, but his body shook visibly. I was disoriented, frightened and repulsed at my own actions. I begged him for answers, but he said nothing.
“I flew across the room in a rage, still violent with thirst. I kicked at the body in disgust, the force of the contact throwing it up into the air. It landed back on the wooden floor with a sickening sound, like the snapping of dry kindling. The hood fell back, revealing for the first time the face of the person whose life I took. For a few seconds my brain refused to comprehend what I was seeing.
“The face that I had looked at a hundred times, a face I dreamt about and lusted after, lay battered and drained of life at my feet. It was Seraphine.
“‘What have I done?’ I screamed in horror, and still the man said nothing. He just eyed me and smiled that terrible smile of his. I fell to my knees and pulled her wasted body into my arms. Her skin was dry and brittle, stretched taut across her small form. Her face, once so beautiful, was now withered and sickly grey. Her head flopped back over my arm, and the dancing firelight exposed the mess I made of her throat while feeding. The meat of her neck was grotesquely colourless, and the damage I had inflicted exposed tendons, and even a flash of her spine. But it was the sight of her lifeless eyes that bothered me the most. Their glorious, sparkling colour that had reminded me of Heaven had gone. I pulled her tightly to my body, so I would not have to look at her eyes, and felt more helpless than I had ever felt in my life.”
As he spoke, I saw the entire encounter play out in my mind. I could feel his hunger, hear the pounding of her heart and smell the blood in the air. Having just experienced my own first awakening, and knowing the overwhelming and uncontrollable thirst accompanying it, I had nothing but empathy for what he had gone through. The situation had obviously been set up to transpire as it did, for what purpose I could not comprehend. Perhaps the stranger enjoyed inflicting torment not only on his human victims, but on other vampires as well. Just seeing that man’s cold eyes in Giovanni’s memories was enough to fill me with dread and revulsion. Having him come upon Giovanni without warning like he had, only made the situation worse. There was no choice, and no chance to adjust to what he had become. Giovanni would have had no way to understand what happened to him, let alone have been able to control his actions without guidance.
“Can you even comprehend the tragedy of it? It was just a silly crush. Selfish, immature lust and it cost her her life! It was bad enough that I would have eventually broken her heart when the relationship ended, if it ever had the chance to begin at all, but in my thoughtlessness I led him directly to her.”
“Giovanni, it’s not your fault. There is no way you could have known that something like that would have happened. How could anyone have known?”
My love’s grief was too real, and his guilt would not be erased. Something about that girl’s death had burnt itself into his very being, and he would carry it with him to the end of his existence.
Somehow the silence that followed was even more terrible than the story he had shared. I was bombarded with nightmarish images, and Giovanni’s anger and guilt washed over me. I felt a touch of my own shame as the image of the girl’s death triggered my own insistent thirst. I squirmed in my seat, teeth clenched, knowing I would not be able to contain myself for too long.
“You need to feed,” he said without looking at me.
“Yes.”
Without another word he took the next off-ramp, bringing us to a small town, the streets all but deserted at this late hour. We drove until we were on the farthest edges of town, where the streets turned to narrow roads, and dirt laneways. Giovanni pulled the car to the side of the road near a farmhouse set about an acre back from the property’s edge. We both exited the car silently.
“Can you hear them?” he asked as we moved up the driveway with blinding speed.
“No, I can only hear the wind… and no wait. I hear a heartbeat. Two heartbeats.” The sound was faint, but my body reacted instantly to the possibility of blood. In a violent burst I reached for the door, but Giovanni’s hand caught mine in his iron grip. His eyes burnt into mine. “Careful. Keep the element of surprise.”
With the merest whisper of sound, Giovanni snapped off the handle from the door, and pulled the lock open. The door opened inward with a soft groan. Swiftly we made our way through into a long hallway. The walls were lined with family pictures, of several children in various stages of growth, as well as group and wedding photos, and several shots of family members with a number of different horses. Their eyes watched in judgment as we made our way into the home to steal their loved ones from them. Giovanni took my hand and yanked me around a corner to the staircase.
On the second floor we found several closed doors, but our heightened senses told us there was life only behind one of them. Two heartbeats in that room sounded in the gentle rhythms of sleep. Giovanni placed a chaste kiss on my cheek, but there was no enjoyment in his face. The memories he had unleashed earlier were still holding him in their cocoon of anguish.
In the room, we found an older couple asleep on a large bed, tucked under a large window overlooking the back pasture on their property. The curtains were open slightly, and the soft glow of moonlight washed over their unsuspecting forms. The man was turned away from his wife, an arm dangling over the edge of the bed. The night was chillingly quiet.
Suddenly, Giovanni was on the woman, his body pressed tightly to hers— a lover’s embrace. His hand snaked behind her head and thrust her up toward him, and her eyes flew open in fear. Her mouth opened in an almost comical “O” of surprise, but she did not scream. I heard his guttural snarl as he bit into her flesh. The smell of her blood immediately spurred me on.
I seized her husband in my hands and clamped my mouth onto his throat. Hot, gorgeous, delicious blood filled my waiting mouth. I drank greedily, and his body rocked with death throes in my arms. He did not have the time to utter a single word, and barely struggled against my assault. I closed my eyes as I drank, and all I could see was Seraphine’s face. His heart slowed, as did the blood, then both stopped. When I was done, I laid the man back down onto the bed. His eyes remained closed, and he looked almost peaceful. If not for the gaping wound on his neck he would have appeared to be asleep. I turned his head the other way, effectively hiding the damage and the blood staining the collar of his faded flannel pyjamas.
Giovanni was gone when I became aware of the surroundings and myself. While caught up in the frenzy of feeding, I discovered I was essentially cut off from my other senses. I didn’t hear anything but the victim’s heart, and I could smell nothing but their blood. I understood how easy it might be for a person to gain an advantage for the few mi
nutes when a new vampire was lost to his feeding. It might be enough time to strike an attack, and ultimately destroy one of us.
I used my mind to try feel out where Giovanni had gone, but encountered only a blank wall. I felt a deep terror at being blocked from our connection. Was his anger masking him me? It seemed as if the joyous things, and the arousals and excitement came more clearly to me than did fear and anger. The dark thoughts punctured my brain, sometimes too quickly or too violently to make sense. They did little but rattle and unnerve me.
I looked back at the bed, and realised Giovanni had left the woman’s body hanging haphazardly over the side. I pushed her onto her back and pulled the covers into place. The spot where Giovanni had fed was discernable only by two tiny marks on the side of her neck. In the darkness there was no redness, and like her husband she seemed merely asleep. I left them in the bed, side by side, given over to their final slumber.
As I rose to leave, I caught a glimpse of the woman’s face out of the corner of my eye, and immediately turned back. As I stood there her features began to shift and the grey hair became darker and longer. The skin filled out and took on a more youthful appearance. The stranger’s face was replaced by one I knew all too well. I gasped, and leapt to the bedside. I took the lifeless hand in my own, staring down into the face of my mother. I was frozen with horror, sick desperate guilt burning inside me.
“Rachel, what’s going on?” Giovanni called to me over my wails.
I lifted my head from where I laid it against my mother’s chest, and looked into his eyes, which were wide with alarm. “It’s my mother… my mother… ” I sobbed.
His gaze left my face and travelled to the body on the bed. He frowned, dark brows knitting together before he spoke. “No, it’s not. Your mother is fine. This is a stranger.”
I looked back at the bed. He was right, it was still the body of an old woman, and not my mother. I felt silly, and yet still deeply disturbed. The hand I held was not one of a fifty-six-year-old woman, but the gnarled hand of a woman well into her seventies or more. Giovanni pulled my hand away from the body and all but dragged me out of the room. I took one last furtive glance, relieved to see the bodies of two dead strangers lying in the silent room.