VROLOK

by Nolene-Patricia Dougan

  “The Twelve Reds,” she whispered.

  “What did you say?” Joseph asked.

  “Nothing. I have to come with you though. I have to see it.”

  “Why? I don’t even want to see it.”

  “I can’t explain it but I have to see it.”

  Isabella walked with Joseph. Their steps were heedful and hesitant. Isabella felt as if this dead French man was haunting her now, pressing her to make good on her promise to him. Joseph entered the prison with a heavy heart. The slaughter had already begun.

  Isabella was for once was not interested in the killing. She climbed up the stairs. She had heard that the King was being held in this prison. She took the keys to the King’s cell and went to talk to him.

  “Who are you?” asked Louis Capet, as he was now known.

  “No one,” Isabella answered.

  “What is going on downstairs?” he asked. Both Isabella and the King heard screams coming from the dungeons below.

  “They are executing some of the prisoners,” Isabella stated. The King wiped sweat from his brow.

  “Am I to be executed?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “They have executed my complete ruin.” This too was a phrase Isabella had heard before.

  “What did you say?”

  “I am ruined and now I am to be executed.”

  “You have only yourself to blame,” Isabella scolded, totally lacking in sympathy. “You and your whole class walked through the streets displaying your extravagance while your country starved. You are now paying for centuries of complacency.” The King sat down, his head in his hands and wept, waiting for the inevitable. Isabella left him and went back downstairs to Joseph.

  “Are you finished?” she asked.

  “I am,” Joseph answered disgusted by what he had just been a part of. Isabella glanced at the floor of the prison; it was red with blood. She was distracted by a man running towards them.

  “We are men of the cloth,” the man shouted. At this Joseph drew out his sword and slashed the man’s neck. He was dead immediately, and blood seeped onto his clothes and his white priest’s collar. Isabella looked at the floor again. Twelve priests lay bleeding. Isabella’s head was filled with memories. She felt as if she was destined to be here—the twelve reds—that phrase echoed in her mind; the twelve dying priests that lay on the floor before her. Another phrase entered her head—‘the great seized’ was Louis Capet, the once king of France.

  “Under murder, murder will perpetrate itself,” Isabella whispered. She had witnessed this for years. This turbulent city was going through constant upheaval and every regime that took over was more bloody than the last.

  “What did you say?” Joseph remarked.

  “Under murder, murder will perpetrate itself. I have to stop it,” Isabella answered.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Isabella looked at Joseph and smiled; she had a new purpose. Mark Nosterdames’s words were finally understood.

  “Do you want to atone, Joseph?” Joseph considered this proposal for just a few moments. He looked at the evidence of the carnage all over the floor and he answered honestly.

  “Yes, more than anything.”

  “I can give you a chance to atone. I am no righter of wrongs, I know that, but it was a dying man’s wish that I would stop this reign of terror, and I will,” Isabella said, determined to make it so.

  “It would take a miracle to stop this madness,” Joseph stated.

  “Then a miracle is what will happen,” Isabella concluded.

  Charlotte Corday watched from a distance as Louis Capet was led to the guillotine. His hair was cut from his head and then he was pushed up the steps. They dropped the blade on Louis’ head and he screamed in agony—the blade had only partially severed the back of his neck. The guillotine like everything else in France in the end had let him down and inflicted more suffering upon him than his crimes called for. The blade was pulled up again and was let fall; this time it was successful. The executioner lifted the head of the former King to show the crowd. At first they were stunned. France had just killed her King, but then the stunned crowd erupted as somewhere someone shouted.

  “Long live the Republic!” An air of celebration once more echoed among the people who were packed into the Place de la Révolution.

  Charlotte could not stay and watch any longer. She did not want to be a part of this anymore. She was a revolutionary and a republican but she had seen too much murder in her short life. She wanted a republic, but not at the cost of needless waste of life.

  She turned and walked away as the crowd cheered. She glared up at Marat; he was smiling while watching this brutality. He was a staunch republican who incited and perpetuated this violence by the writings in his newspaper, The Friend of the People. Charlotte was disgusted at the hellish scene. She showed her disgust visibly and Isabella was there to see it.

  “Charlotte?” Charlotte was startled. No one here knew her. She turned to face the Vampire.

  “How do you know my name?” Charlotte asked.

  “I know many things about you, Charlotte,” Isabella answered. “I feel your hatred towards that man.” Isabella motioned towards Marat.

  “I don’t hate anybody,” Charlotte said.

  “I think you do.”

  “What business is it of yours?” Charlotte sharply enquired.

  “I can help you.”

  “Help me do what?”

  “Create a miracle that will end this carnage.”

  “A miracle?”

  “Yes but that will come later. First, I want to help you do something that I know you want to do.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I want to help you kill Marat.”

  Charlotte knocked on the door; she looked back behind her and saw Isabella and Joseph out of the corner of her eye. “Trust me.” Isabella projected this thought into Charlotte’s mind. Charlotte nodded just as the door was opened.

  “Who are you?” the man who had come to the door asked.

  “My name is Marie Anne Charlotte Corday d’Armont. I am, or at least I was, a Girondonist.” The girl’s remarks had sparked this man’s curiosity; why would a Girondonist be coming to Marat’s door?

  “What do you want here?”

  “I want to see Marat.”

  “Why?” asked Marat’s servant.

  “I have in my possession a list of all the names of all the Girondonists in Paris.” The servant was very aware that his master would want this list. Marat was persecuting Girondinists; they were too moderate for his liking.

  “Wait here.” The man shut the door and within a few minutes returned. “Come in.”

  Marat was wearing a dressing gown, which was obscuring a horrific skin condition. He was a fat, pallid, middle-aged man. His house was filled with treasures stolen from guillotined aristocrats. He was living a very opulent lifestyle, a lifestyle that Charlotte had been brought up to resent. He would be easy to kill, Charlotte thought.

  “You are interrupting my bath,” Marat remarked.

  “I am sorry, sir.”

  “Don’t be sorry, just be quick. What information have you got for me?”

  “I have a list of all the Girondinists in Paris.”

  “And why have you decided to give me this information?”

  “I feel it is my duty. The Girondinists are too constrained and violence is the only answer we have to kill all those that oppose the bloody revolution.”

  “I am not sure I am convinced,” Marat answered.

  “I do not know what I can do to convince you.”

  “You can’t do anything to convince me but I will take the list anyway.” Charlotte was getting anxious and impatient. She reached into her bag, took out the list of fictitious names and handed the pages to Marat. Marat scanned the list and rang a bell summoning his servant. The servant scurried into the room and Marat asked him to run his bath. Charlotte did not know what to do; she couldn’t leave b
efore she had the opportunity to kill him. The servant bowed and Charlotte went to follow him out the door. Marat started to speak.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “I was leaving,” Charlotte answered.

  “No, you are not. Do you not have confidence in your convictions? You stay until I have had a chance to look over this list properly.” Marat got into his bath and examined the list. “This looks genuine.”

  “That is because it is.” Charlotte was hesitating. To kill a man…even this man… was proving difficult. A thought, not her own, entered her head. “Have courage—do it now!” Charlotte felt around in her skirts and pulled out a knife. She lunged forward and pushed the knife into Marat’s chest. Marat gasped for air and reached out for his bell. He only managed to knock the bell over. Charlotte leaned in close to him and whispered.

  “Death is too good for you, how does it feel? I hope it is a painful end to a painful life.” Marat looked into Charlotte’s cold harsh eyes in shock as he watched his own blood pour into his bath water. In seconds he was dead. Marat’s servant ran to get soldiers to arrest Charlotte. Charlotte calmly sat down and waited for them to return. The soldiers burst into the room and arrested Charlotte. Charlotte made no attempt to resist arrest and walked silently away with them. She looked to all observers proud at what she had done.

  A month earlier, a few days after Isabella had first approached Charlotte, she decided to confront her again. Charlotte had not been as enthusiastic about killing Marat as Isabella had hoped. Isabella decided to stage an arrest so that Charlotte would be forced to listen to her.

  Charlotte was awakened in the middle of the night by soldiers banging on the downstairs door.

  “Open up in the name of the Republic!” It was the shout that every one in Paris feared hearing in the early hours of the morning. Charlotte was frightened. She knew what these shouts probably meant; she would be tried quickly and then sent to the guillotine. The soldiers were getting louder; they were starting to break through the door. Charlotte was frightened but she was courageous too, and she would face her fear.

  She went downstairs and opened the door, letting the men into her house, men whom she believed had been sent to begin her hasty walk to the grave. The troops pushed their way in and dragged her out into the street. They walked a few steps and then one of the soldiers went over to a woman in a long black cloak. All Charlotte could see of her was a few locks of raven hair curling around the hood of her cloak and just a glimpse of her white skin. Isabella smiled at the soldier who had approached her and then pulled down her hood so that Charlotte could see and recognise her. Charlotte did recognise her immediately. Isabella approached the bewildered Charlotte.

  “You have great influence to have republican guards in your employ,” Charlotte said.

  “I have great influence but not in the way you believe,” Isabella stated.

  “You have had me arrested! Why?”

  “I haven’t. I just arranged this, so that you would listen to me.” Charlotte looked over at the soldiers; they were laughing and joking with Joseph. She no longer felt threatened by these men.

  “Who are they?” Charlotte asked.

  “Irish,” said Isabella.

  “Never trust an Irish man to stay loyal; it is not in our nature,” Joseph chipped in. Charlotte laughed in nervous relief.

  “I thought I was dead,” Charlotte said.

  “You still may be. I have to talk to you. Walk with me.”

  “What do you want from me?” Charlotte asked.

  “I have a plan to end the cycle of murder; I know you want that, Charlotte.”

  “How?”

  “Nothing less than a miracle will do it.”

  Charlotte just stared blankly at Isabella, having no comprehension of Isabella’s elaborate plan.

  “You will kill Marat and you will not resist arrest and you will go to the guillotine,” Isabella said.

  “I have told you I can’t do it. I am young…I do not want to die.”

  “You will not.”

  “How will I not if I am going to go to the guillotine?”

  “The blade will bounce off the back of your neck. It will not even break your skin.”

  “That‘s ridiculous. Believe me, I will not be placing my head underneath the guillotine blade for you or anyone else. And if I ever look up at the steel rushing down at me, I will expect it to end my life!”

  Isabella smiled. “Life does not have to be such a fragile thing that can end by the slice of a sharp blade. Joseph! It is time to show this woman the power of immortality.”

  Joseph held his sword aloft as he was about to strike. Charlotte stunned, stepped back thinking that the sword was about to strike her. The sword plunged down through the air and struck not Charlotte but Isabella. Joseph was thrust back as the sword struck Isabella’s neck without making a mark on her.

  Joseph found himself sitting on the dusty street; his arm had been hurt by the demonstration. He dusted himself off and stood, his sword was still lying on the ground. Charlotte ran over to it and picked it up, believing that she had just seen some sort of trick. But the sword was authentic and sharp, as Charlotte soon realised when she cut her fingers on the blade.

  “I want you to take that sword and try and kill me,” Said Isabella.

  Charlotte looked at Isabella in amazement. She had no idea what sort of creature she was.

  “Try and kill me Charlotte, if you don‘t believe your own eyes,” Isabella said, with such conviction that Charlotte felt compelled to try to kill Isabella. She plunged the sword into Isabella’s chest. This time the blade went right through. Charlotte, still holding the hilt of the sword, let it go. Isabella clasped her hands around the hilt and pulled it out of her chest. Isabella stared intensely at Charlotte. Charlotte watched in complete amazement as the open wound healed before her eyes.

  “How is this possible?” Charlotte asked.

  “You know Rousseau’s writings?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “He wrote that if there is in the world one attested story it is that of the Vampires and he wrote that after he met me. I am a Vampire, an immortal. I can give you this gift that I possess. You can live forever and you need not be afraid when they lead you up the steps of the guillotine.”

  “How can I become like you?”

  “You have to die,” Isabella said; she was not going to lie to Charlotte.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” Isabella touched Charlotte on the temples. Memories flowed into Charlotte’s mind. And when Isabella took her hands from Charlotte’s head, she knew she could trust this woman. She held out her wrist for Isabella to kill her and she willingly became a Vampire.

  Weeks later, Charlotte was getting taken in the cart to the guillotine. She was not nervous and had every confidence in Isabella and her newfound immortality. She stood proud, her head held high; she had killed a tyrant and the world was better place for him having left it. She had not seen Isabella since the night Marat died and she was pleased to see her in the crowd. Isabella nodded reassurance.

  Joseph who was now always at Isabella’s side asked, “Will this work?”

  “Of course it will,” Isabella said in complete confidence.

  “It seems a great risk.”

  “No, believe me, it is not. When they can’t kill her they will see it as a sign that Marat should have died and this will all end… I wouldn’t worry. There is more chance of you dying today than Charlotte.”

  “If you are sure.”

  “I am.” Isabella was keeping a watchful eye on Charlotte, keeping eye contact with her to reassure her that everything would be all right. Charlotte’s hair was cut from her head and she was led up onto the platform, her hands bound, still a proud look of defiance across her face. A priest stood at the side of the guillotine and was offering redemption in the form of prayer. Charlotte turned to face the crowd and shouted.

  “I killed one man in order to save thousands!”

/>   Isabella was proud of Charlotte; everything was going exactly to plan. Isabella looked at Charlotte’s supposed executioners that were standing on the platform with her. Isabella saw a woman on the platform with the priest; she thought it strange to see a woman there. She had been at many of these executions and had never seen a woman take part. She could not see her face, for the sun was too bright. Isabella watched as the woman handed the priest a bottle of something and he was sprinkling the contents onto Charlotte‘s neck. As the liquid hit Charlotte’s skin she screamed out in pain.

  Isabella knew something was wrong; she drew a cloud overhead to blot out the sun so that she could see. Isabella was horrified to discover this woman standing on the platform was Leila. Isabella panicked She ran to the platform trying to signal to Charlotte that something was wrong. Charlotte did not see Isabella. The Dhampir’s blood was eating into the flesh on her neck and she was placed under the guillotine. Her eyes were wide open as the blade plummeted towards her throat. In those last few moments Charlotte knew she was going to die, that the plan had failed. Isabella ran to the platform and up the steps but she was too late. That feeling that had surged through her when Nicolae and Vincente had died blasted through her again. Isabella now longed again for that peaceful feeling. The guards took Isabella away and lead her to prison, thinking she was some sort of insurrectionist trying to stop the execution, and they threw her in jail. She was so grandly dressed that she was soon condemned as an aristocrat.

  Isabella’s execution day came quickly but not quickly enough for Isabella. She now again longed for death and fully expected to see Leila on the platform; she was not disappointed. Isabella looked at her, willing her to do it. Leila gave the blood to the priest and again and he sprinkled some of the liquid onto Isabella’s neck. It seared her skin; Isabella felt it eat at her flesh. She didn’t care anymore. She let the soldiers place her in the guillotine without resistance and waited for the blade to come down and slice through her neck. Isabella closed her eyes. She felt the rush of air as the blade fell towards her. It was finally over, or so she thought.