Edward was lost. The taste of the blood awakened something in him, something beyond love, beyond his understanding. So he didn’t resist when Terence urged him wordlessly toward the boy, guiding his head to the open wounds.
And Edward supped, hungrily drawing in the blood of a dead boy, hungrily taking the life Terence offered.
It wasn’t until after the pair had nearly drained the boy of blood that Terence bit Edward, digging his fangs into the tender flesh of his inner thigh. He filled his mouth with Edward’s own blood and then transferred it into Edward’s hungry mouth, causing Edward to orgasm so powerfully he shuddered, banging his head on the wooden floor, eyes rolled back.
When he opened his eyes and looked up at Terence, he saw with an eerie clarity. It seemed lighter in the room and everything had a sharpness to it, as if he had only seen the world through a gauze caul before this.
Terence kissed his neck gently. “There. Now you’re one of us.”
*
That was all Edward remembered. He did not recall what happened to the boy’s corpse or when Terence took his leave. He knew only that when night fell again, Terence would return for him and nothing would ever be the same.
Perhaps, Edward thought, if he had not blacked out, the course of history might have been altered and the boy would be alive and Edward would not be something that needed to crawl beneath a blood-stained mattress to avoid the nauseating rays of the sun.
Edward curled into a fetal ball beneath his mattress and slept. Finally slept.
Chapter Nineteen
2004
Elise can’t stop screaming, her shrieks ebbing away by degrees as she stares, wide-eyed, at the person who has followed her.
And realizes she knows him.
It’s Edward. He grips her arms in his hands, eyes beseeching. “Please,” he whispers. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you.”
Elise stares at him, heart still thudding. She notices the way he looks away when he promises not to hurt her, staring down at the sidewalk, over to the parked cars on the street, anywhere but into her eyes. Is he lying? Is that why he cannot meet her gaze? Does that mean, when he says he doesn’t want to hurt her, that he means the exact opposite? Elise doesn’t know what to do, and the confusion is so intense, it makes her nauseous. She wants to turn and run. She shrugs out of his grasp and turns her back on him, thinking as she does that it’s a stupid move. If he does want to hurt her, turning away from him will make her perfectly vulnerable.
She breathes in deep, trying to slow the pounding of her heart, trying to prevent the hyperventilation that feels imminent, that horrible sensation where the air disappears. It takes her several moments to calm down. She is certain she was going to be harmed…or murdered. She has read about such things in the Tribune, and heard the same stories, usually repeated in more graphic details, on the streets each night. But slowly, instinctively, she holds on to what she felt the first time she met Edward. He is a lost soul, like her. And her instinct, and her empathy, tell her she is in no danger.
She turns back to him, regard wary. He is smiling, supplicating. This is the quiet one, the one who stays in the background, never offering much. Elise has exchanged glances with him, little more, but has always felt he had more to say to her. Her mother had always told her, half jokingly, “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.”
“What do you want to talk to me about? It’s almost dawn, and I have to be getting home.” Elise feels she will cry, yet—even though there are many reasons for tears—she isn’t sure she can pinpoint even one of those reasons. Her vague confusion finds little comfort from Edward’s gentle stance, his warm gaze, and his smile, all of which should reassure her that he has only her best interests in mind.
“There are some things you should know.”
“Like what?” Even though the fear is beginning to ebb, her heart is still thudding, and the sweat on her skin feels cold in the night air.
“Things about me. Things that could be about you.”
Elise doesn’t know what to say.
“Listen, could we walk over to the lake? I just need to talk to you for a few minutes.”
Elise shivers, in part at the prospect of being on the lakefront, where the air will be even colder, chilled by the wind racing across Lake Michigan, but more by the chance that Edward is lying. A stroll by the lake could be just perfect: quiet and—at this odd time just between night and dawn—empty. Empty enough so her quick startled scream will not be witnessed, will not be heard by someone foolish enough to try and come to her aid. She searches his face for some sign that might inform her, that might reveal whether his intentions are benign or evil, and sees only a little man who appears to be about the same age as she, whose dark eyes are filled with a kind of sadness and caring. She knows these things might all be part of the mask, a trap carefully laid to catch the unwary and the sympathetic (like her, just like her). And yet, at the same time, she wonders what he could possibly have to tell her. Does it have anything to do with the weird proposal she had tonight from Maria?
In an odd way, she trusts all of them. They could have easily have killed her several times over already.
“I see you hesitate.” Edward smiles. “I can’t blame you. But I promise you I won’t harm you.” Again, Elise doesn’t like it that he looks away from her when he mentions harming her. It could be just a coincidence, but maybe not. (She has a quick flash of herself as a little girl and how her mother could always get the truth from her by pointing at her own eyes, and insisting, “Look right here,” whenever she thought Elise might not be telling the truth.) Edward is the only one of the trio she senses has a conscience. Even more than Maria, he seems still to have some humanity clinging to the monster he has become. He looks back up, and his gaze seems genuine, a true connection. Elise lets out a breath.
“There are some things I really need to tell you, things that have to do with what Maria asked you to do.”
Elise frowns. Is this little inbred family really so close? Is nothing a secret from the other two?
Edward picks up the reason behind Elise’s frown and admits, “Yes, I was listening. So was Terence. We never thought there would be a fourth among us.” And it’s here she sees his lips form a thin line, watches as his eyebrows move just a fraction of an inch closer together, but it’s enough, enough to see the idea of her joining them makes him angry. Almost as quickly, the look vanishes, replaced by a slight, cockeyed smile Elise is certain is meant to charm her. This quiet one’s thespian skills confuse and chill her.
“But I have no intention…” She stammers. The thought of a life with them doesn’t make sense to her. She hasn’t considered being part of some weird family, she only wants to be with Maria.
“I know. Neither did I. Maria can be very persuasive. You and I have a lot in common. Did you know that?” Edward cocks his head. “So, what do you say? Hear me out?”
Elise looks to the east; Lake Michigan is visible down the block. She won’t ask herself, “Where’s the harm?” because there could be many frightening answers to that question. She will go on faith. She needs to hear what Edward has to say. “All right. I’ll come with you. But only for a little while.”
Edward looks up at the sky; it’s still night, but there is a dullness to it that signals morning’s imminent arrival. “A little while is all I’ve got. C’mon, we’ll go sit on the rocks.”
They sit, the rocks cold and real beneath them. Elise thinks the rocks are about the only real thing about this whole scenario. She turns to look at Edward’s pale profile in the darkness and tries to keep an open mind as he begins to talk.
“They found me in much the same way they found you: a creator, but someone who was lost, whose only connection to the world were the images that we can create with our hands and our minds.” Edward smiles at her. “Like you, I was swept up in their strange beauty and their passion for art. Like you, I feel deeply in love with one of them.” Edward sighs. “Terence c
ast a spell on me and it’s yet to break.” He puts a gentle hand on her shoulder; Elise thinks it feels like marble. “Unlike you, my dear, I was on the cusp of success. I was on the verge of getting serious recognition for my work.” He smiles. “Not that your work isn’t ready for such recognition, but a very influential gallery in Soho wanted to do a show of my work. They were very excited about it.” Edward covers his face with his hands and when he brings them away, Elise sees a tortured mask: a face contorted with grief and loss. “I gave that up. I gave that up not so much for immortal life—whatever that’s worth—but for a chance at love.” He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Love for someone who doesn’t even love me back. Love for someone who probably never loved anyone other than himself his whole long existence.”
Elise hides her own face behind her hands. She wants to cry. She wants to be sick. She wants to envelop Edward in her arms and make the pain he has suffered go away. She wants to turn back time so he has the chance to undo his error. “So you lost your art? You lost your ability to create?”
Edward nodded. “Coming over to them took it away.” Edward stares out at the dark water, eyes shining, lips quivering, until, finally, he breathes in deeply and turns to meet her gaze. “After…I could see better. I could see through the darkness and everything was more alive. There was an aura around people. All that would seem like riches for an artist, but after I crossed over, I couldn’t paint anymore. The inspiration and that indefinable need to create just…died. As I did.”
Edward seems lost in thought as he considers the churning dark water before him. He touches Elise’s face and his eyes shine in the darkness. “Keep your art. That’s what I want to warn you about, Elise. Don’t be like me. I was an artist, and I would gladly give up this hideous, perverse youth to have back just one night of feeling filled with the fire, the need to create, to get lost in the act.”
Elise knows exactly what he means.
“You need to get away from them, from us, before it’s too late. I’d like to tell you that I’m not a monster, but I am. Just because I can feel regret and can still weep doesn’t make that any less true. Keep your art. Don’t become a monster…paint them instead. Get away. It’s simpler than it seems. But you have to go far away; you have to hide.”
“You mean you—they—might harm me?” Elise breathes more quickly and hugs herself. Now, she sees the position she’s put herself in without even trying: to join them, to spend her life hiding from them, fearful of every night-borne noise, every pale stranger, or to hold her ground and be dead within a few days…or even hours.
“Yes. You must not trust us, not even me.” Edward leans forward, his arms outstretched, and Elise whimpers and falls into them. He draws her close and the two stay that way for several moments. Elise feels him shift and feels the cool touch of his lips on her throat.
Sitting up, she pulls away from him, seeks out his eyes, and muffles a scream. His teeth have become a row of tiny, pearlescent fangs. But here’s the strange thing: Edward looks more shocked and frightened than she. And here’s what’s even stranger: when he realizes she sees, the fangs morph into normal teeth, so fast Elise wonders if she has really seen such a thing at all. It would make sense with all the stress of the past few hours she could hallucinate something as terrifying as what she just saw. Or did she? Perhaps that heavy, powerful marijuana they were always forcing on her had something to do with her vision.
Whatever the reason, she no longer wants to be near him. She stands on shaky legs and looks down at him, mouth open to say something, but no words emerge.
Edward says nothing more; there is a line of gray light along the horizon, capping the blackish, churning waters. “I have to go, before it’s too late.” He looks out at the rapidly lightening horizon. “Although maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”
Elise turns her head to run her hand across the rough gray surface of the boulder upon which she sits. When she turns back to Edward to thank him, he’s gone, as if he had never been there in the first place.
And maybe he hadn’t.
Wearily, Elise stands. The sky is now purple, bruised-looking, and flecked with orange. She must find her way back.
Chapter Twenty
2004
Elise’s walk home is quiet. It’s still too early for the swarm of rush hour traffic on Sheridan Road, still too early for almost anyone to be out, except people like her, who come alive at night. She passes a Loyola coed, stumbling back to the dorm after a night where she probably did something she will regret, at least until the next time. She doesn’t look up at Elise as she passes, keeping her eyes downcast, a curtain of blonde hiding her face. There is a homeless man asleep in the doorway of a bank, still clutching a bottle sheathed in a brown paper sack, the front of his grimy pants stained dark. A young man hurries down a cross street, intent on getting somewhere. He is wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket and tight Levis, his hair close cropped. Elise wonders if his energy and hurry is chemically induced and what awaits him at the end of his journey.
At Morse, she turns off Sheridan, and walks to Greenview, where she will continue north to her apartment. Something has changed. Her breathing and pace seem easier, her step lighter. She has passed a test, one whose true nature will only be revealed after reflection. But she feels relieved that a chapter has come to a close. She is sad for Edward, trapped in a kind of hell, one in which he will never do what made him Edward ever again. But she is also glad he shared his story with her, making her final decision that much easier. She can now go on.
She can begin turning her life around. It may take a while to find a job that doesn’t require keeping late night hours and spreading her legs for men who have enough money to employ her for a half hour, five minutes. But she’s young and, unlike her sisters of the night, has not been plying her trade that long. They are trapped. Elise knows what it means to be trapped, because she has just avoided being ensnared—close call. Avoiding one trap has allowed her to recognize another: the kind of life she has chosen for herself was never one she planned on making permanent. But she supposes every woman who got into the rent game had the same thought, at first. And many of them never found their way back.
She will find her way back. She had allowed despair to make a home in her psyche; had allowed bad experiences in relationships to sour her outlook on love. She had let these things take away her hope.
No more.
She has only a few more blocks to go (three, maybe four) when she hears the footsteps behind. She grins and shakes her head. “Not again,” she whispers to herself, glancing up at the milky white sky, its illumination full on for this day. She knows Edward is sleeping somewhere dark and wonders if he dreams anymore, or if even that bit of inspiration has deserted him.
She doesn’t want to appear nervous or paranoid, so she doesn’t glance over her shoulder. She tells herself that someone else is just following the same path as she, someone who is headed to Jarvis Avenue, or Fargo, or Howard Street, to start their day in some dead-end job.
Yet she wishes the quickening pace behind her would turn off the avenue, duck into an apartment building or a house, head for the el. She swallows hard, mouth dry, as the footsteps speed up and get closer.
You’re being silly, she thinks, lightning won’t strike twice. No one is following you again. Besides, it’s daylight now, things are picking up. Who would be stupid enough to try anything with her now?
The steps have almost reached her and Elise feels a prickling sensation run up her back, like cold fingers.
“Can I ask you a question?” A gruff voice comes from behind.
Elise keeps walking, putting a little more speed in her step, already casting her gaze about for somewhere safe to run, for a stranger or a group of strangers coming her way.
“I said, can I ask you a question. Come on!”
Elise freezes and breathes in deep. She turns.
A young black man wearing a hooded sweatshirt and baggy jeans is standing in the middle
of the sidewalk. He’s smoking a little plastic-filtered cigar and appears nervous, shifting his weight rapidly from one foot to the other. His hood is pulled up, hiding his face in fleece and shadow.
Elise closes her eyes and thinks she’d be better off just to answer him; he is probably only going to hit her up for money for the train. Once they conclude their business, she can be on her way. And she will sleep for hours and hours. “What is it?”
“I don’t got any money. I just need $1.75 for the train, or even a transfer, if you got one.”
Just get rid of him, Elise thinks, digging in her pockets for change, for an errant dollar bill. She is both glad and sorry she didn’t bring her bag with her.
All she comes up with is a quarter, a nickel, and three pennies. She holds it out to him. “Sorry, this is all I’ve got.”
He slaps her hand and the change goes clattering to the ground.
“Bitch,” he whispers. “Fuckin’ white bitch.”
She turns to run, but before she takes even a step, he is upon her, one arm pulling tightly around her waist and cutting off her air, the other arm up by her face, a hand clasped over her mouth. “We just gonna see if this is how much you got,” he whispers. The low, soft voice is more terrifying than if he were shouting.
Elise struggles, pushes against him as he drags her toward an apartment building parking garage. Her screams are muffled under his hand, but this doesn’t stop her from trying, searing her throat with her terror and her desire for help. She kicks at him, but this only makes him laugh.
He has her in the garage in a matter of seconds. They both pause, panting. Once safe in the shadows, he flings her hard to the ground, her head slamming down on the concrete. She sees stars. She bites down on her tongue as she makes impact with the concrete and tastes her own blood.
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