Judith fled to the kitchen and unlocked the apartment’s other balcony. The glass door creaked as she slid it open. She howled into the windless Chicago night, cursing the bustling city below. Her hands squeezed the railing until the metal collapsed, and she could twist the mangled steel. Chunks broke off and she stood staring at how the weakened metal yielded to her new power – and she hurled them into the darkness. She hurled them at the cars below; cars filled with people still alive, still blissful and oblivious.
Colin, left alone, stared at the room at the end of the hall. The maple door was closed, but behind sat the matriarch; still, silent, warm. Colin desperately desired Bree near him; he craved her silence, wanted to stroke her stone fingers and run his finger though her hair, the tips slipping past her hyaline strands. He ached to feel her, to caress her cheek and sense its warmth on his lips. He needed her to wake; to have her answer his questions; to have her hear his pleas.
Colin approached the door and ran his palm over the smooth surface, tracing the graining, stopping at the brass knob. His fingers snaked loosely around the orb.
Judith moved past him, sighing, “Let that be for one more night.” She slipped down the shadowed hall, moving toward the study.
“Perhaps that is best,” whispered Colin.
He waited until he heard Judith’s feet leave the adjacent hallway to turn the doorknob and flick on the harsh fluorescent lights. His eyes scanned the small room and roamed the settee. They traveled the floor while his hands tossed throw blankets aside, searching for marks of a struggle. He whispered. He begged under his breath and squinted, hoping his eyes were deceiving him.
Colin shouted, “Wesley, she is not here!”
“No, she is not,” a feminine trickle startled him from the room’s entrance. Colin could hear Wesley emerging from the bedroom and bounding toward Bree’s chamber. His footsteps fell heavy on the carpeted floor until they stopped, suddenly, half way down the hall.
Colin turned, Bree’s cashmere throw still in his hands, to see a tussle of auburn hair and soot covered clothes blocking the doorway.
“Aleksandra?” he whispered.
The bottoms of her jeans were singed, so were the cuffs of her Valentino top. But she was unscathed, the fire sparing her. Ash muted her hair’s golden highlights, replacing them, instead, with an aged grey. In that moment, Wesley considered that his beloved could age; that the centuries had come to claim her.
“Wesley,” Judith’s shrill rang loudly from the Study. But, neither man moved from their spots. They watched Aleksandra as if she were a specter about to vanish before their wanting eyes.
“Wesley,” Judith’s voice swelled. “Wesley!”
“You should go to her,” Aleksandra urged. “Both of you go.”
Wesley slowly advanced toward Aleksandra, asking, “How is this possible?” as she slid from the room’s entrance.
She did not shrink from him as his palm graced her cheek, or as he twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. As his hand brushed ash from her shoulder, she did not flinch; her eyes remained fixed on the hallway before her.
“Wesley!” Judith shouted from within the study. “Father!” she continued, her voice growing louder.
“Just go, my love.” Her eyes met his – her stare no longer vacant. “Go.”
Colin entered the room, his eyes and mouth stretching in unison. “Bree!” he exclaimed, a hand rushing to cover his lips.
“Who is that with her?” Judith asked, joining her father along the Study’s rear wall.
Chicago city-light filtered in from the open balcony. Car light bounced off glittering high rises and skyscrapers lit up the night sky with their brilliance. All glorified in the city’s splendor that night, including Bree and the woman in black.
The women stood watching traffic, listening to the thoughts of thousands. They stood embracing each other, holding onto a world long past.
“Veronica,” Wesley said as he entered. He fell to his knees as the veiled woman turned and entered the room.
“The woman in black,” Colin whispered to Judith.
Veronica’s habit slithered across the floor as she walked toward Wesley. The prayer beads knocked against her rosary as each swayed with her steps – weaving their own eternal music with its clinking and clacking. Judith and Colin could not see Veronica’s face; and even Bree had not turned to face them when Veronica left the balcony. The two silently watched as Veronica placed her hand on Wesley’s head, and Aleksandra sauntered in.
“Please forgive me.” His head bowed beneath the weight of her hand pressing against it.
“Go to her, Aleksandra,” the veiled nun commanded. Aleksandra walked toward the balcony, her steps quiet and deliberate.
“Aleksandra, stop!” Judith pled. “Dawn is rising, we must take shelter!”
Colin and Judith watched Aleksandra walk onto the balcony and clasp Bree’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Orange began to erase the darkness; the black fading to pale blue, as Chicago and its people awoke to a new day.
Soft watercolor purples and blues bled into the Study, reflecting off the marble fireplace, striking the room’s rich woods. The crescendo of color shifted to the desk, bouncing and glinting off the stainless steel. The rising vibrant dawn crept along the carpet, its blanket of color taunting them. Each inch the light traveled along the carpet was a reminder of vulnerability.
The world was awash in Technicolor madness for but a moment.
“It ends now, does it not?” Wesley asked, raising his head to meet Veronica’s cold, lifeless eyes. “That is why you are here – for revenge.” She withdrew her hand and stepped back. “No, there is something far more precious you are seeking – my penance.”
“Father!” Judith ran to the door with Colin following, her shirt in his fist. The two cowered in what little shadow that remained. Her hands gripped the brass knob and turned, but the door would not budge. “Father,” wept Judith. She fell into her father’s chest, his Irish tweed collecting her ruby tears. Colin held her close, shielding her from the imminent light; from the sure pain and death the sunlight would bring.
“Open the door, Veronica,” Wesley pled. “They have nothing to do with this.”
“They stay,” Aleksandra called from the balcony. Judith shrieked as Aleksandra turned, her lips upturned, her face tanned from the dawn’s wickedness. Colin’s hand reached from behind and covered Judith’s mouth, muffling the glass-shaking noise.
“Aleksandra, Bree and Veronica want us to enter the shadow!” Wesley screamed to his wife, who had returned her attention to the creeping sun. “They will kill us!” He howled, staring at Veronica.
“We cannot kill you, Wesley; you are already dead,” Veronica replied.
“But is the shadow not death enough?” he asked.
She knelt, “You know nothing of the shadow, of the void. You walk the earth, Wesley. You bask in its moonlight, swim in its seas. You feed from its humans. You love its people. Do not, for one moment, speak to me of the void.” Then she rose and joined Aleksandra and Bree on the balcony.
“Never speak of the void,” Bree whispered for all to hear.
“Never speak of the void,” Aleksandra echoed, her voice an octave higher than her mother’s, but still as lethal. “The sun will be over those buildings any minute, Aleksandra,” Judith said. She clung to her father, occasionally peeking out from the safety of his chest to see her coming destruction.
“We are far too young to survive this as you appear to have, Bree,” Colin called out. “Please, if you care for us, let us retreat to the safety of darkness.” He waited and tried the doorknob once more, yet it would not turn. Judith’s weeping began anew as she buried her face in the itchy jacket
“You’re going to obliterate them, Bree!” Wesley shouted. “Vengeance, hate, depression – your motives no longer concerns me – just let them go.” He stood and advanced toward the balcony. “I will gladly be your sacrifice, just save them!”
Veronica, in her white
-lined veil and ebony habit, and click-clacking prayer chords dangling from her waste, stepped from the group and walked toward him. She reached deeply into her pocket and withdrew the amulet. Her fingers wiped ash from its front.
Veronica handed the trinket to Wesley. “She is going to save you – all of you.”
Wesley, Judith and Colin watched as Veronica dissipated, leaving a subtle aroma of linseed oil and lavender in the Study.
“What just happened?” Judith asked her father, but he could not reply. His slack-jaw had widened as Veronica left.
“Come,” Aleksandra’s temptress voice called. “Come, Wesley.”
“Wesley, stop!” Judith hollered as she watched the man scuttle to his wife’s side.
“Colin, Judith,” Bree called, turning to them, “come stand at my side.”
“Dad, we will burn!” Judith shouted, clutching onto her father’s sweater as he walked to Bree’s side. “Dad, please do not do this. Please!”
“Do not fight it, Judith,” said Aleksandra, her grinning face giving Judith more unrest. “Let us be together.”
“Together where?” Judith fought. “The void?”
“Together,” Bree whispered as the sun breached the buildings and each felt the heat upon their skin. “Let us stand together in the sun.”
THIRTY-NINE
June 12, 2013
5:30 am
Movies and television, they do not adequately capture the daylight’s splendor,” Wesley remarked, breaking the silence.
“They do not, my love.” Aleksandra moved to his side, clutching onto his arm as the four stood on the balcony overlooking Chicago on the cusp of a new day. It was the first glimpse of affection she had shown him since the dreams began plaguing her – and he eagerly embraced it.
The city swelled with life: motorists honking on State Street – their frustrations growing as traffic snarled. A pale, muted world now awakened before them as they stood on the precipice of a new day. Centuries of darkened nights and endless star-filled skies replaced with the vibrancy of cotton clouds and a robin-egg blue sky. The sun breathed a warming breath upon their skin, washing their bodies in a golden glow. They surveyed this new world – a world of color and possibility, with open and wanting eyes.
Sunlight bounced off the high rises and twinkled off the skyscrapers, blinding them. The swirly, etched metal handrails caught the sunlight as the moonlight had always failed to do. Holding them now, in the presence of daylight, welcomingly toasted their hands. They tasted and felt freedom in that moment, standing together on the balcony.
“The void,” spoke Wesley finally. Dawn’s brightness swelled his eyes as he squinted, bloody tears embracing his ageless face. “That is where you’ve been.”
Judith sobbed watching the traffic below. It had not been long since she had been one of the day walkers, navigating the hurried Chicago rush hour, fighting the nine-to-five grind.
“Bree, how is this possible?” Colin asked, squeezing his daughter’s hand.
“How can we be standing in the sun?” asked Judith. “I thought I would never feel its warmth again.”
Bree released Wesley’s hand and stepped into the Study, taking a seat on the sofa. One by one, the four followed. Wesley sat across, perched on the edge of the settee. Colin leaned against the cracked fireplace, his fingers tracing the veined marble. Aleksandra sat in the green armchair, her arms crossed on her lap.
Bree opened her palm; the skin charred, burnt and crinkled beneath the amulet. The portrait remained beneath a heavy layer of soot and skin, both of which she brushed away as the others watched. She held the trinket, twirling it between her fingers, as the three silently waited.
“Sr. Veronica,” Bree replied finally, clutching the amulet in her charred hand.
Wesley clutched his face. “I was hoping,” he tried, but struggled to explain.
“You hoped foolishly, brother.” Bree rose and tossed the amulet into Wesley’s lap. She walked toward the balcony, stopping at the curtains. “The pain I carried these centuries – the pain of leaving her to die without me, Wesley; and you knew. You knew all those years.”
He picked up the amulet and rubbed the image beneath his palm. “I knew you would not forgive me. I could not survive knowing my sister hated me. Living with my guilt, that seemed easier somehow.”
“Has it been easier, my love?” asked Aleksandra. “Has it been easier carrying around the truth of what you did, lying to your sister?”
“Wesley, what is going on?” demanded Judith. “What are you all talking about?”
“Judith,” Aleksandra answered, “there are some actions a vampire must never take.”
“Is that not right, Wesley?” Bree stated.
“I went to her that night – Sr. Veronica,” he began, his face only now rising from his cupped hands. “Just as I told her, she had been dying. She had been calling for you, Bree; searching for you. I waited until the others were gone, then I slipped in under the cover of shadow and twilight. I watched as her breathing slowed; I listened as her heart weakened.”
He rose and walked onto the balcony. The construction crew had begun work across the street; their jackhammers angrily ate at the steel and concrete. Traffic was jammed behind city buses and cement mixers, while frustrated drivers voiced their angst through cracked windows and noisy car horns.
“She called your name, Bree,” he noted, looking toward her. “She said your name and peered into the darkness as if you stood before her. For a moment, I thought you had slipped into the void. I thought were gone from this world.”
“You must understand,” he explained, “I was weak.”
“She will never leave the void, then?” asked Bree.
“No,” Wesley replied. “She cannot. Her heart was not strong enough. Veronica’s heart stopped when I started turning her. Somehow, though, she was caught in between worlds – trapped in the void.”
“She can slip between our worlds,” he explained. “And that isn’t meant to happen.”
Bree’s footsteps were light upon the carpet as they watched her walk back to the sofa. Her tanned hands rested comfortably on the silky, leather cushions. Her khaki skin now a rich match with the mahogany sofa.
Wesley strolled to the couch, handing the amulet to Bree and returning to his seat on the settee. He slowly ran his gangly fingers through his hair, feeling each slippery strand.
“Why is she with us now?” he questioned her. “Why was she with you?”
“She saved me,” Bree answered. “She saved you, and Colin, and Judith. And Aleksandra,” Bree whispered, motioning to her daughter who had not moved from the chair.
“The Women in Black,” Colin sighed.
“And that?” He gestured to the amulet. “Is that why you went into the sun?”
“Yes,” answered Bree.
“Aksel,” Judith sighed.
“Aksel was foolish,” Bree spoke.
“Bree,” Colin started.
“We have entered into a new world, Colin,” noted Aleksandra. “Open your eyes.”
“Aksel said it was a good luck charm,” Bree’s haunting voice began, “and a weapon. He knew its power. Veronica knew, too.”
“Immortality,” Judith uttered; her voice was barely above a whisper.
“That is why Francesco seeks it,” guessed Colin.
“Except, he is not who the archivist thinks he is,” spat Bree. “And the archivist needs to be warned.”
“No,” whispered Aleksandra, the others turning to her. “He is like us.”
St. Peter’s Square glistened beneath the noontime sun, the timeless marbles, and ancient architecture a reminder of Bree’s past. Touristy throngs packed the square, eager for a papal glimpse. They patiently waited for tours and solemnly prayed in the Mediterranean heat, a hodgepodge of languages messily mixing. Sweat mixed with incense, and incense mixed with desperation.
Bree’s feet found the newly lain marble on the private balcony slippery beneath her feet. The door w
as closed to the summer heat, and the massive maroon curtains drawn. Bree was thankful the archivist’s chambers were hidden from the crowd, shaded from prying eyes and the noisy, unceasing pilgrimages. Unlike the sun’s revealing brightness, the night’s shadow protected her, comforted her. It loved her unconditionally – as a mother loves a child.
The heat toasted her skin, the tiny hairs prickling from the warmth as her hand extended and reached for the brass handle. The sizzle of warm metal against her skin surprised her still; the sensation rushed to her tanned face and tickled her cheeks. The genteel Mediterranean wind that blew against her face – carrying with it the fresh aroma of olive trees and salty waters – thawed her weary bones. The night winds, no matter how warm they had been, could not accomplish what the day wind did in that moment.
The door opened outward, creaking as it did. Bree entered, brushing aside the curtains. The meager altar was set as it had been before she entered the sun: the linen, crisp, the cross, gilded and jeweled. He sat within, hunched over a desk, studiously writing. His mind was elsewhere, lost and troubled.
Atrocities had occurred while she slept, while she healed.
Jasmine and lavender drugged the air and filled her nose. Bree did not have to take her eyes off the altar to know Veronica was behind her. She felt a hand fall upon her shoulder, smoothing the fabric beneath its fingers. Veronica’s long sleeve brushed against Bree’s neck, the rough cotton scratching her newly bronzed flesh.
“You know what you must do now,” Veronica whispered, her lips gracing Bree’s ear lobe.
“Yes,” Bree replied as Veronica faded into the surrounding daylight. Her sweet aroma lingered.
“Father,” Bree called from the foyer, startling the man. Agile despite his graying years, the archivist leapt to his feet, pushing the chair to the floor. He swiftly crossed the room, his feet carrying him effortlessly to Bree’s side.
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