“I have made you different,” Isabella began.
“How?” the young Nicolae asked again. Isabella hesitated. She needed more time. How could she possibly tell her own descendant who she was and what she had done to him? Unfortunately for Isabella, time was running out. She watched in trepidation as Nicolae’s fingers started to shake and his body started to contort and convulse in agonising pain. He needed to feed.
“What is happening to me?” Nicolae cried out. Isabella ran to get him food. She ran through the woods desperately listening for some sign of life. She heard horses—someone was travelling close by. Isabella approached; she saw a family. As it was a warm evening, they had fallen asleep underneath the stars. Isabella quickly ran around them touching each of their heads in turn, trying to see who had committed acts worthy of being mortally punished. She touched the father’s head first, nothing; he was a poor man but he hadn’t as much as stolen food to keep away his hunger, but when Isabella read the mother, it was quite different.
Leila had watched Istvan from afar, but when she heard he was going to marry someone else, she was devastated. She knew Csaba’s daughter, Ella, a pretty girl, but not good enough for her Istvan. When she heard Ella had been injured and the wedding had been delayed, she decided it was time for her to her tell Istvan how she felt.
Leila approached Istvan cautiously.
“Who’s there?” Istvan asked. He had been drinking constantly since Ella was hurt, trying to block out his own guilt. He blamed himself completely for what happened to her.
“Leila,” she answered softly.
“What are you doing here Leila?” Istvan asked. He was aware of her affection for him.
“I came to keep you company,” Leila said.
“I don’t want any company.”
“You need company…you need to talk to someone.” Istvan looked up at Leila.
“I do?” Istvan said, already exasperated by Leila’s presence.
“You do,” Leila affirmed, undeterred by Istvan’s attitude.
“I don’t feel like talking,” Istvan said through clenched teeth.
“Then I will just sit here with you.”
Istvan sighed but he lacked the energy to tell her to leave him. They sat quietly for a time until Leila caught Istvan looking at her. Istvan leaned in towards her, looking at her face, looking at her untarnished young face; she was looking back at him with only love. Istvan knew then that Leila adored him and as anyone knows, one of the greatest aphrodisiacs there is, is to feel completely adored by someone else. Sometimes even just for a moment this complete idolization can be intoxicating and contagious. Istvan then said something he should have never have uttered.
“Kiss me.”
Leila was overjoyed. She foolishly believed that it was really this easy. She kissed him so passionately that for that exquisite moment Istvan saw himself through her adoring eyes and he returned her affection fleetingly. Leila sat on his lap and Istvan pushed his hand up above the skirt of her dress. He wanted to feel something different than the guilt he felt over Ella. He wanted something or someone to eradicate the feeling, if only for a moment.
The next morning when Istvan awoke he was repulsed by his own actions. He had now betrayed his future wife—this was another cross for him to bear. Leila in turn was overjoyed; she thought that after the events of last night Istvan was sure to marry her instead.
“Good morning,” Leila said a glowing and hopeful smile upon her face.
“Get dressed,” Istvan snapped, taking his own guilt out on Leila.
“I suppose I should, but I just want to lie here a little longer.”
“Get dressed now. This should never have happened.”
“What are you talking about? It was meant to happen,” Leila said, not yet realising the brutal truth of the situation she was in.
“Meant to happen?” Istvan said. His brief infatuation with Leila was completely over. He now could not stand the sight of her; she was just a reminder of his betrayal of Ella.
“You love me,” Leila cried out in desperation.
“Love you? I don’t love you; I love Ella and only Ella. You were just a distraction when I needed it most.”
“Why are you saying these things? You love me!” Leila cried, pounding her fists on Istvan‘s chest. Istvan clutched her wrists to prevent her from striking him any more.
“I am surprised I can even remember your name,” he said, cruelly. He let her go. He had now delivered his final blow.
At this Leila lashed out at him again but Istvan was too strong for her and violently threw her back away from him. She struck the back of her head on the bed post. She was badly hurt but she would receive no sympathy from Istvan.
“Get dressed and get out!” he shouted. Leila quickly got dressed and ran from the room sobbing.
A few months later, Ella’s face had almost healed completely but Istvan’s wounds were still far from healed. He was still as guilt-ridden and morose as he had ever been. As Csaba watched the pair be married, he felt uneasy. Istvan had not been the same since Ella’s injury. Csaba was distracted from these thoughts as he saw a young woman running towards his daughter. He suddenly became frightened as he realised this woman was brandishing a knife.
Leila lunged forward and stabbed Ella through the heart. Ella was dead almost instantly. Istvan quickly took the knife from Leila and slashed Leila across the face with it, but he did not kill her. Overcome with grief he fell to the floor and lifted Ella up his arms, holding her close, not wanting to let her go. Leila, who was still holding her bloody cheek, was enraged and picked up the knife that had fallen to the floor from Istvan’s hand, plunging it into Istvan‘s back. He took a little longer to die but die he did. He slumped down on the ground looking at Ella, not wanting to take his eyes from her. She looked so beautiful so peaceful, that with his last ounce of energy, he placed his hand on her pale white skin and closed his eyes, never to look upon her again. The crowd was numbed by the events they had just witnessed. Leila was icily calm as she stood up and was escorted to prison.
Isabella had found her years later sleeping quietly with the man who had helped her escape. He loved her, but she was not capable of loving him back and had become a bitter and miserable woman with an unsightly scar on her face to be a constant reminder of Istvan‘s harsh rejection. Isabella thought that her crimes were monstrous enough and she carried her back to Nicolae for him to kill her and feed.
Nicolae did not hesitate. He was in too much pain and he bit down hard into Leila’s flesh. After Nicolae had finished he was still somewhat disoriented and Isabella took him to where she was staying, leaving Leila for dead.
Nicolae slept all that night and all through the next day. Isabella watched and waited for Nicolae to open his eyes again. He awoke with a jolt.
“How are you feeling?” Isabella asked.
“I had an awful dream; I dreamt I was a Vampire.”
Isabella shuddered. “You are,” she said coldly.
“I can‘t be.”
“You are a Vampire.”
Again Nicolae’s body started to convulse; he was hungry for the second time since his death. The pain suddenly made him remember the events of the previous night. He remembered with complete distaste.
“What sort of creature are you?” Nicolae asked.
“I have told you I am a Vrolok and now, so are you,” Isabella said, and went to take his hand, but Nicolae wrenched it away from her. His actions brought too many painful memories back to Isabella. Nicolae’s convulsions were getting worse. He needed to feed and quickly.
“What’s happening to me? What is this pain?” Nicolae screamed at Isabella.
“You need to feed,” Isabella answered him.
“Feed on what?”
“You know already…blood.” These words issued out of Isabella’s mouth like a death sentence. Nicolae was appalled to realise that he had been brought up to hate and despise the creature he was now forced to become. His pain was intensif
ying until he could stand it no longer.
“I have to kill someone to make this stop?” he stated through his anguish.
“Yes, but I have discovered that there are ways you can kill and keep your conscience clear,” Isabella tried to reassure him.
“I don’t need a creature like you telling me how to keep my conscious clear.” Nicolae struggled to his feet and ran from Isabella. However, Isabella was too fast for him. She grabbed his arm but he shrugged her off and threw her back, causing her to fall. Isabella lay where she fell, watching Nicolae as he ran out of her house. Isabella dragged herself up; she knew she had to follow him. She found him sitting by a dead body which he had obviously killed. “I couldn’t stand the pain anymore,” he whispered.
“I know, I understand.” Isabella again tried to put her hands on his shoulders to comfort him. And again Nicolae shrank back away from her as if her slightest touch was completely repugnant to him.
“Don’t touch me… why did you do this to me?”
“It was an accident, I thought I was dead; I thought you were my husband for just an instant and then the pain started and I had to feed. Just the way you had to.”
“Why didn’t you just let me die?”
“I couldn’t watch you die again.”
“But I am not your husband; I am not your Nicolae.”
“You look so like him I couldn’t watch even a remnant of him die again.” Nicolae walked away from Isabella and watched the flickering lights of the village below.
“So who are you to me?”
“A distant ancestor, just like Nicolae.”
“At least we are keeping it in the family,” Nicolae said sarcastically.
Isabella smiled through her torment. There was a silence between the two of them. Isabella hoped by his last comment that he was not totally lost to her and saw her as something more than just a Vrolok.
Nicolae turned back towards the body and said, “Is this what my life is going to be from now on, waiting until the pain starts and then killing someone to suppress it?”
“It doesn’t have to be. I can see if people are decent—I only kill those that deserve to be killed.”
“What about me—did I deserve to be killed?”
“No, it was just a slip, a moment of madness.”
“You should have let me die,”
“I told you I couldn’t. Do you have any children?” Isabella asked.
“No, not yet. And now, not ever.”
Isabella was pleased that he did not have children and a wife of his own waiting for him to come home. She felt a little bit better at least knowing this.
“Can I go and see my mother and father just to tell them I am all right?” he asked.
“But you are not all right,” Isabella answered.
“I would like to see them one last time.”
“You are under no obligation to me. You can do what you want,” Isabella said. “I cannot stop you. Be warned though, your mother and father will not look at you the same way. Believe me, they are better off thinking you are dead.” There was a brief silence between the pair.
“So where will I live?” Nicolae began again.
“Wherever you want to live. I am going to England next week. If you want to, you can come with me.”
“I will… what else can I do but go with you?”
“If you go with me I can teach you how to only punish the guilty.”
“I don’t want you to teach me anything. I am staying with you until I can think of somewhere else to go.”
Isabella had had enough of this conversation. “I will leave you to sleep now. You will not get any sleep in the light. It is best to find a place where you can sleep in total darkness; light will be a constant irritation to you.”
The pair left for England a week later. Nicolae wanted to find a place where he could exist were no one knew him. Nicolae was civil to Isabella, even polite on occasion, but whenever she would come near him, he would flinch away from her. He did not despise her but he did despise what she was and what he had become. He understood that she was not completely to blame for her own situation, but still, he could not forgive her.
It was hard for Isabella to remember he was not the husband who died so many decades before. He was so like Nicolae, not just in his appearance, but his character as well. He was incapable of hating, or she at least hoped he was. Isabella convinced herself that this person would react the same way that Nicolae would have eventually reacted to her. It was like a second chance for her to make her peace with her husband.
They travelled through England together. Isabella taught him as much as she could, but she soon realised he was not as powerful as she was. He was not as strong; he did not have the skill that Isabella had. Also, any exposure to sunlight burnt his skin. She wondered whether it could be that the powers decreased from Vampire to Vampire. If so, then how strong must Vlad be?
England was not the same place she had left fifty years before. It was not as opulent and extravagant as she remembered. The country had been plunged into civil war and witch trials were rife. Isabella was still sickened by these trials and the persecution of women who were just slightly different from everyone else. But at least they were not burning these girls here. They were getting hanged, which was slightly more humane to Isabella’s mind than burning. But a lot of people were dying and Isabella was determined to stop as much of it as she could. The killing of innocents was totally abhorrent to her now.
Meanwhile, Nicolae was growing to like the kill, perhaps a little too much, but Isabella was never one to judge another Vampire. She felt she did not have the right to do so.
They had been in England for a few years and had decided to settle in the south of the country. One morning, when Isabella wandered a little further than she usually would, she happened upon one of the public hangings. An eighty-year-old man was condemned. He was standing on the scaffold and he turned towards the crowd and shouted at the top of his voice, but he couldn’t be heard over the shouts of the unsympathetic mob. Isabella wanted to hear this man’s final words as only she could.
“My name is John Lowes and I am the Vicar of Brandeston. I am innocent of these crimes of which I have been accused. I know my words will not save me but I demand a Christian burial. I commit my body to the ground in sure and certain hope of the resurrection of eternal life.” As these last words left his lips he was pushed off the scaffold and struggled until his neck broke.
Isabella could not stop this, for there were too many people around, but she could not stomach it either. She turned and walked away from the jeering crowd.
“You don’t want to watch this display of modern justice?” An unfamiliar voice was addressing Isabella.
“Is this justice?” Isabella responded.
“It seems to be and that is the real tragedy of this civilised world.”
“Do something about it then,” Isabella responded, challenging the young man.
“Oh no, I value my neck. I do not want it stretched at the hands of Mathew Hopkins.”
“Mathew Hopkins?” Isabella enquired.
“The Witch Finder General. His quest is finding these revolting witches out. He’s hanged three score of them in one shire, some only for not being drowned.”
“Really,” Isabella said nonchalantly, not wanting to let this man know she was in fact very interested in what he was saying.
“He is a man who deserves to suffer like those he has accused.”
“He may some day,” Isabella answered. “What is your name?”
“Samuel Butler,” Samuel answered.
“Have the courage of your convictions, Samuel. Mr Hopkins is not long for this world.” Isabella left. Samuel Butler never saw her again.
Isabella went home and told Nicolae about what she had seen that day and her plan for Mathew Hopkins.
“Can I help you?” Nicolae asked.
“Help me what?”
“Help you kill him.”
Isabella wa
s pleased that he wanted to help; in the years they had been together he had stayed by her side but had not let her touch him. He talked to her on occasion but that was the only interaction the pair had.
“Of course,” she replied. She stood and full of hope rested her hand on his arm, but Nicolae batted it away. Isabella left to go to her room; she could not stand this much longer. She turned back towards him and said.
“If I disgust you so much, you should leave.” Isabella banged the door behind her.
Mathew Hopkins had made a fortune, but he knew it was coming to an end. The last few times his service had been called for there had not been the complete compliance that there once had been. In these ever-changing times a resistance had now developed within the communities he frequented. Theologians like John Gaule and Bishop Hutchinson were now starting to condemn the witch trials publicly. More people were standing up for themselves; it used to be that they could extract a confession out of a suspected witch just by looking at her, but now there was defiance in people’s faces. They were not confessing so readily and witnesses were not as easily manipulated.
Mathew, who had earned enough money through the trials to last him the rest of his days, was quite happy to give it up. He knew things were changing; it was inevitable that this would not last, but there was another reason that he was now compelled to stop. During the last few witch trials, Hopkins had sensed a presence that he did not like. He had seen a woman in the crowds, the same face several times, and she scared him. The first time he saw her he was determined to accuse her of witchery, but just before he did, she looked over at him, smiled and shook her head. From that instant Mathew knew that to accuse this woman would cause him great harm. He was now starting to see this woman everywhere. Yet when he tried to approach her, he would always be distracted by a noise or something that would interrupt his line of vision and when he looked back she would be gone before he could speak to her. This made up Mathew’s mind for him; he would not do this work anymore.
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