Out of My Grave

by Stephanie O'Hanlon

  He looked directly at me. “Does death frighten you?”

  I felt my heart begin to speed up. Was this the moment? Was I supposed to say ‘Yes, yes it does’ so he could walk over to me and kill me, suck my blood until I lay cold on the floor so he would get some sort of peace? I wasn’t afraid of death.

  “No, it doesn’t.” I sat up straight, keeping my head high.

  “Why?” He leaned forward, resting his arm on the table in front of him. The light from the fireplace bounced off of his powdered green waistcoat, the color not even coming close to his eyes, though he wore it well.

  “I don’t know. It is just something that has never frightened me. Spiders frighten me. Believe it or not, I am also afraid of butterflies, though I own several paintings of them and most of my jewelry is shaped like them.”

  I had a flash of the necklace I wore the day he found my ring, one of the many I had.

  “You fear an insect you so admire?” He cupped his hands together, his thumbs and index fingers touching.

  I laughed lightly. “Yes. I suppose it is silly. But they are beautiful.”

  He nodded. “So, as long as it is beautiful, you keep it around you, though you may be frightened of it?”

  “I am not scared of you, Vincent.” I shook my head.

  He leaned back, looking to the fire. “You should be.”

  “Why, because you have told me you want to kill me? You have never once made a threatening move towards me. You are actually constantly saving me, why protect me and comfort me if you plan to extinguish my life?”

  His eyes burned with anger. “You are so difficult!”

  I didn’t have a chance to answer, as he was suddenly by my side, looking down to me, his hand on the table. “Does it not disturb you I think these things? You never worry the novelty will wear off and I will indeed extinguish your life?”

  I looked up to him, his cologne wafting off of him in warm bursts from the fireplace. As before it was powerful, I loved how amazing he smelled, but I kept my mind on the subject at hand. I stood up, angered as well. “No! Don’t you think I am just as confused as you are? Why does it not make sense to you we can figure these things out together!”

  My face as mere inches away from his, I could feel his warmth seeping through my gown. I didn’t need to get too close to him to feel it, but the closer I was, the more I enjoyed the intensity of it.

  He stood and stared at me, his emerald embers burning into my own eyes.

  I kept my eyes on his. I knew he could sense how much I enjoyed staring into them. “Is that all you do? Is that your goal in life? To strike fear into others, like that boy? Is that what is so upsetting, that I am not afraid?”

  His eyes tore away from me to the floor, shaking his head. “No, Annalee! You do not understand!”

  I reached forward without thinking and grabbed his hand. His eyes went directly to my hand in his, breathing heavily. It didn’t faze me. I leaned forward. “Then help me to understand.”

  He continued to stand there, breathing heavily, his eyes on our hands, touching. Suddenly, he dropped my hand to walk quickly over to the fireplace as he usually did. This was all familiar.

  I sat down as I got angered, turning in my seat away from him. “You call me difficult.”

  His voice boomed in the room. “And if I was to latch on to you? What then? What am I to do?”

  I quickly turned towards him. “You do whatever is necessary. Vincent, I only get one chance at life—”

  He turned to me. “Exactly! Finally, Annalee! You have one chance at life, you would throw it away?”

  I shook my head. “You did not let me finish. I hate it when people do not let me finish! It is my life, I get one chance at it and I will do with it as I please. If I wish to be careless it is my choice!”

  I stood up from my chair, walking over to him. He stood and stared at me, swallowing hard as he thought on what I said.

  I calmed my voice and looked into his eyes. “I want to be careless. I want to spend my time with you no matter how dangerous you may or may not be. Nothing will convince me otherwise. So, perhaps instead of brooding and getting angered with me you should do the gentlemanly thing and show me a lovely time.”

  His brow furrowed as he kept his eyes to the floor.

  “I do not care if you kill me. It is my choice,” I turned and walked back to the table.

  Chapter Thirteen

  An Engagement

  The weeks went on, three to be exact.

  Every night I had an engagement of some sort with Vincent. We would see a play, his favorite being Macbeth, or possibly go to the symphony. He even took me to see the Paris opera when they were in town. We went to dinner parties held by Deirdre and Peter, though Vincent would stay close to me, not venturing off too far. He wasn’t the mingling type.

  He was a gentleman in their eyes nonetheless. He was being a gentleman as I had asked, seeming to respect the choice I had made. I could tell it was unusual for him to not be in control.

  We also spent time together during the day. Riding around my father’s property, shopping in town, tea at one of the café’s. He enjoyed going to the shops and purchasing things for me—new broaches, necklaces, earrings and gowns. He would surprise me, saying he enjoyed hearing my heart speed up.

  He never laughed, though he smiled when I would make a joke or say something foolish. Every day my longing for him to look at me or touch me grew, though he would never fulfill my need. He would possibly brush my hair away from my shoulder. Perhaps touch my waist. Maybe take my hand, but only for a moment. He made sure there was fabric between us, that there was always a barrier.

  I knew everything was different from when I was with Dale, but I couldn’t help feeling things were eerily familiar. Vincent never touched me, never held me or kissed me. He was interested in what I said or what I wanted to do, and he always sent me a formal invitation and was gentlemanly…just as I had asked.

  The missing girls had stopped. Vincent reminded me often he needed to keep out of the limelight because of the girl at the playhouse, people seeing him with her. He would venture off during the week outside of town, claiming he had business and go feed in other towns nearby.

  No one really cared about the news in other towns.

  They cared that number of missing girls had decreased—eventually stopped—in our town.

  Those few days he left were always hard. I would get a letter in the morning, then silence until two days later when I would receive a letter in the evening along with Vincent’s carriage requesting my company. I was able to convince my father it would be safer if Vincent’s carriage collected me and he accompany me back. I would always lie and say there was a chaperone in the room. Not that we really needed a chaperone now, did we?

  I noticed those two, perhaps three days, were always something I dreaded. He wasn’t gone for long, sometimes just for a day. It all depended on his appetite, but for however long he was gone, I pined. I would have that deep longing for him and dreaded that letter I would receive on those mornings.

  My father continued to question me. He had yet to meet Vincent, being at work when he came by to get me and being asleep when I was dropped off. I offered to bring Vincent by his office, but my father was much too busy with the university, covering a course for a colleague, the father of one of the missing girls.

  I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation I knew was going to pop up with my father. I could tell he was keener about my relationship with Dale than with Vincent. He didn’t know Vincent, which made him dislike him more.

  On those days Vincent was gone, Deirdre would visit. We would go riding with two escorts and then have tea. It was something that helped keep me occupied, though I would have enjoyed it more if it were Vincent on the opposite horse.

  One morning I received the stupid letter informing me Vincent was leaving.

  Annalee,

  I am going out of town on business as per usual. I will only be gone for the day, this
evening we will attend the symphony as you requested. Please be ready when the carriage arrives, you know how I dislike waiting.

  Vincent.

  I was pleasantly surprised he would be returning in the evening, that was not his usual. I smiled my heart feeling calmed he was gone for just the day. I sent a letter to Deirdre requesting her for tea and riding, just to pass the time.

  She arrived promptly and giggled lightly as we ran into the sitting room. We often took having tea there, or out in the yard, but today we decided to stay in before we went riding.

  Deirdre sat down at the table, smiling as she took her large violet silk hat off. “So, Vincent off to do his business?”

  I smiled as I sat down opposite her, my back to the door into the room. “Yes, of course. But, only for the day, we will be going to the symphony this evening.”

  “Things are going well then?” She watched as I poured out our tea.

  I had told Deirdre of the distance Vincent put between us. We often spoke of the men in our lives, though Peter was a much different subject.

  I shrugged. “Somewhat. He is still a little distant. Sometimes I am worried things won’t work out as I want them to…that maybe things are not as different as I truly want them to be.”

  I didn’t really understand what I wanted with Vincent. I wanted to enjoy him. I wanted to be with him. I didn’t know how to go about achieving that. I was always careful while speaking with Deirdre. I never wanted to let on how different Vincent was, how he was not like any other man.

  “Well, it is sufficiently angering Sean,” she said. “He has only had one dinner party and he was an absolute lout! There is word around town he has moved on from the circle of friends he had, the women he usually frequented. He does not even speak to Dale anymore.”

  “I suppose he served his purpose,” I said sadly. “Once I broke things off with Dale, he lost his tie with me. Dale…strangely I have no heard from him. How is he? Is he…is he all right?”

  “I suppose.” She shrugged, her lovely curls piled atop her head, gleaming in the light. “He is not his usual self also. Obviously down about the situation, about your happiness now that things aren’t as they were.”

  “Now that I spend my time with Vincent?” I looked towards the two armchairs, remembering his concerns for me.

  She frowned. “Well, yes. Sean called Dale a coward, said he did not try hard enough. Sean is definitely not fond of Vincent either.”

  I laughed. “Because I certainly care what Sean thinks about anything? I feel awful about Dale…did I ever tell you of his ability to make me feel horrible? Seems he can still accomplish it.”

  “How did you stay with him so long? How did you put up with the parties and such, you are so different from that, Annalee.”

  I frowned. “You know, I really do not know. I think at some point I was happy…I had to be. It just came to a head. Dale said he was in love with me. I do not know how that is possible when we barely had anything in common.”

  “You and Vincent seem perfectly matched,” she said, smiling. “You both seem to enjoy the same things and he makes you genuinely happy. But also…you have a sadness about you sometimes. When you look at him.”

  I turned away from her, looking back to the armchairs. I did not want her to see the pain on my face. It is surprising how much it can affect you when someone sees what you think you hide so well.

  I could feel her staring at me. My voice came out low and soft. “You seem to know me quite well, Deirdre, very perceptive. I…I cannot explain myself and Vincent. But, you are correct in that I do feel a greater sadness now, spending my time with Vincent, more so than when I spent my time with Dale.”

  “But…why?” She titled her head to the side, a great sadness coming over her.

  I shook my head. “It is hard to explain. Vincent and I…we are…it is hard to explain.”

  I sighed, feeling defeated. I wanted to tell her what I felt, how things were, what Vincent was. But, I had promised him I would never tell. Surely Deirdre wouldn’t believe me. She would think I was mad, telling tall tales. Or would she?

  I smiled at her as we changed the subject.

  * * * *

  That evening, Vincent promptly arrived and we left for the night.

  I always enjoyed the symphony, it was the time when I would get to know his past. I was able to ask him questions. It was only at the symphony we played this game. I usually asked him questions to do with vampires, travelling, art, literature, things he also found interesting. Then he would ask me about human emotions, about my past with Sean and Dale, who was virtually non-existent around town as I had heard from Deirdre.

  I smiled, my sadness from earlier being wiped away the minute I saw Vincent’s face that evening. “My turn. Where did you go after America?”

  “Well,” he began, smiling, “after the one who made me was burned at the stake during the witch trials, I took the fortune he left to me and ran away to Europe…first Italy, then Spain, then Paris. I could only stay there for a certain length of time. People often start to wonder why you don’t age.”

  He looked down to the orchestra, which was warming up.

  I kept my eyes on him. “So you have been to Paris?”

  I remembered Dale asking me if I wanted to visit there. Was I as excited to see it then as I was now I knew Vincent had lived there?

  He nodded. “Yes. I spent almost twenty years there, during the Ancien Regime, keeping as low as I could from view. I had to leave due to the ugliness of the Revolution. I was not keen on having a meeting with Madame Guillotine. England seems to be where most of the aristocracy has fled to, so I just followed suit, especially with the talks of a new republic. I feel sorry for the king, though I suppose he is not much of one these days.”

  “How long will you stay here?” My eyes went down to the silk fan in my hands.

  He sighed. “I don’t know. For as long as I can. I do not really plan these things out, Annalee. It is not easy sneaking off to feed, though I have been able to spread it out. I love how people do not ask questions when you say you have business elsewhere. It saves me a lot of trouble.”

  I frowned, looking at the orchestra as they began to play.

  It was always on the nights we went to the symphony or saw a play that we would have dinner at Vincent’s home. It was always the same.

  I would dine alone and he would stare at me. Then we would argue about our situation, about how I wanted to spend time with him, that was my choice, and he returned the same feelings but at the same time couldn’t understand his own turmoil. While he struggled with his thoughts, I silently struggled with my feelings for him, which were growing to a point where I couldn’t stand to be away from him. Everyone could see it, why couldn’t he? I had to admit it to myself…I loved Vincent.

  It was becoming unbearable that he didn’t touch me or show me affection. It seemed he could only hold his gentlemanly composure when we were out in the open. In the comforts of his own home we were stuck repeating our arguments, the same points being brought up, the same angst and aggravation. It was as if those feelings were locked in that tiny dining room. He was never angered with me while we were riding, or in town, or even when we were out for the evening. Just at his home.

  That night I sat at the table silently and didn’t touch my food. His countenance was painted with concern. The carriage ride was quiet. I was unable to keep myself upbeat, the symphony for some reason reminding me of earlier in the day…

  “Is there something wrong?” He sat forward, his hand resting on the table.

  “I am not hungry.” I slowly turned to the fire. I felt the burn behind my eyes, an urge to cry.

  Earlier in the day I had come across some news I should have been happy about, and I was up until a point. The thought of the argument that was no doubt on its way into our evening made me fill with unhappiness. It was the first time I wanted to go home.

  His eyes moved about the room. “What’s wrong?”

 
; I didn’t look over to him. I kept my eyes on the fire.

  I suppose it should start…

  “Today…Deirdre told me about her plans for her wedding. It seems Peter has proposed.”

  His brow furrowed. “And this makes you upset? I thought Deirdre was your dear friend?”

  I swallowed as I continued to stare. “It does not upset me.”

  “Annalee, then what is wrong? You cannot fool me.” His voice was surprisingly concerned.

  I turned to him. “It occurred to me…you will never propose to me, will you?”

  He sat back slowly, silently in his chair.

  “You do not touch me, you do not hold me, you try your best not to look into my eyes as well.” I felt the tears in my eyes building.

  His gaze fell to the floor.

  “You hate me so much because I care for you,” I sobbed, beginning to cry. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I tried to hold back the sobs.

  I had cried myself to sleep many nights thinking about how he felt about me, how he would one moment make me feel absolutely beautiful and only had eyes for me. The next moment he would treat me as if I meant nothing. He never insulted me, never hit me, he would just make it seem as if I was the one hurting him, just because I cared.

  “Stop.” He kept his eyes to the floor, containing his anger.

  I stood up angrily. “No! This is not fair, Vincent! You have no idea!”

  He looked up to me. “It is not fair? I think it is you who has no idea, Annalee! You cannot possibly be aware of what you are saying!”

  I could feel my frustration pulling on me. I felt as if I was going to break any minute.

  “You are trying to tell me I do not know what I feel? Have you ever ached for anyone? Needed them so much you could not bear to be away from them? For your thoughts to be away from them?” I stopped, my face creased in pain thinking about it, the things I had experienced.

  I swallowed and took a deep breath, turning to the fire.