“It’s a deep scar. It will take time to go away. It might never go away.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “I can say it back to you. I want to say it. I just worry, you know, that now is not the right time.”
Matt raises his head and shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not important.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he says.
It’s after eleven when I knock on Seymour’s door. Chances are I won’t get back to the hospital until after one. That’s fine, I think. It will give Mr. Grey more time to recover. I have no plan to break him out of the hospital. No matter how successful the surgery, he’s going to need to rest a few days if he is to recover. I wish I knew why he is so adamant about staying close to me.
I expect to have a painful scene with Seymour. I know how attached he is to me. His love for me is unconditional, it’s true, but he’s never hidden his attraction to me. I assume hearing Matt and me screwing in the adjoining room must have hurt.
But Seymour surprises me. When I try to bring up the subject, he waves his hand and tells me not to worry about it.
“It was bound to happen,” he says.
“You’re not jealous.”
“Of course I’m jealous. But I’m a realist. Matt’s the closest thing this planet has got to a god. I’m a burned-out writer who smokes two packs a day and never exercises. How can I compete?”
I reach out and brush his hair from his eyes. “You’re amazing.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“Of course you do. I love you.” He takes my hand and kisses it. “Now get Matt in here. We should get started.”
I do as ordered. Matt enters the room a minute later.
“Where do you want to start?“ I ask.
“Where you left off on the plane,” Seymour says, before giving Matt a quick rundown of the points he missed, finishing with how Major Klein put a bag over my head and dragged me beneath the ground to his dungeon. Seymour adds, “Once we’re in a deep trance, we’ll start there.”
“I can tell a lot of what happened during my interrogation without resorting to hypnosis,” I say.
Neither Seymour nor Matt looks impressed.
“No offense,” Seymour says. “But it’s hard to rely on your memory after Major Klein got his hooks into you.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“Because what you told us doesn’t sound real,” Matt explains. “A metal box that emits a high-pitched sound—which only you could hear—that tortured you and then knocked you out? Never mind the weird cuffs that you couldn’t break. No one had stuff like that during the war.”
“All right,” I say, in no mood to argue. “I’ll tell the last part of my story in a trance.”
Seymour and I sit in two chairs facing each other, our knees almost touching. Matt turns the light down low and sits on the corner of the bed, where he can keep an eye on both our faces.
Seymour is a student of hypnosis and I, of course, have my own way of inducing a trance. We stare into each other’s eyes and give a minimum of relaxing suggestions. Soon our eyes are closed and I feel as if we are both enclosed in a bubble that is slowly rising high into the sky. I see stars and intuitively know Seymour sees them as well. But it is not simple intuition—it is our old telepathic bond. To this day I don’t understand why it is so strong, why our minds automatically connect—they just do. The link feels as real as an extra sense.
As if from far off, I hear Seymour speak, in a whisper, and I find his choice of pronouns appropriate—we are locked so tightly together. The only reason we speak at all is for Matt’s benefit.
“We’re surrounded by white light. Like a radiant waterfall, it pours into the tops of our heads, filling all parts of our bodies, before flowing out our feet. The white light continues to flow, in a steady stream, from our feet back to the tops of our heads, forming an impenetrable cocoon that shields us from all negativity. Nothing we see or feel can harm us. It’s as if we are watching a television screen. The controller is in our hands—we are in complete control. Now let our minds journey into the past . . .”
FIFTEEN
The room is a perfect cube, twenty feet on all sides; even the distance to the cement ceiling is the same. A single bright recessed light shines from its center. The walls and the floor are solid concrete. The lone door appears to be made of the same incredibly hard alloy as my wrist and ankle cuffs—both of which have me pinned to a central pole.
Except for the dry odor of concrete, I smell nothing—no blood, no tears, not even a trace of perspiration. I suspect the room has not been used before, that it was probably constructed specifically to hold me.
I have been standing in the center of the room for two weeks.
Without food, water, or blood to drink.
No one has stopped by to visit.
And I hear nothing. Except my heart, my breathing.
I’m in terrible pain. The constant standing has worn out my leg muscles. The cramps in my arms are worse. My wrists are pinned far above my head. I’m stretched so long my toes barely touch the floor. The angle is reminiscent of a crucifixion; my suffering parallels those who have been put to death in that manner. Due to the way gravity drains the blood and lymph fluids downward in the body during crucifixion, a person usually suffocates to death.
But slowly, very slowly.
Every breath is agony.
Every minute feels like an eternity.
I know why they leave me to suffer. They want to break me, and because they know what I am, they figure it will take a great deal of pain to do it. Obviously they want something from me. But what it is I have no idea.
At the end of the fortieth day Major Klein stops by.
He brings with him a woman. Someone I have seen before, long ago, in different clothes and with different hair. Her features were dark before; now she is a blonde. It’s odd but I can’t recall where I met her.
“Hello, Sita. How are we feeling today?” Klein asks cheerfully.
“Wonderful.”
“Good, very good.” He has brought with him a small folding table, which he sets up not far from my pole. He has also brought a black bag, the contents of which he places on top of the table: his metal box with the three dials; a jagged-edged knife; a plastic spray bottle filled with a sickly yellow fluid; another spray bottle filled with water; a box of wooden matches; and a hammer.
He smiles when he sees me studying the items.
“I hope these tools don’t frighten you,” he says, gesturing to his toys.
“As you’ve probably guessed, Herr Klein, I don’t frighten easily.”
He nods. “Of course, it says so in your file. But still, you are not so different as you think. You are very old, strong, you need blood to survive. But none of that makes you a monster, at least not to us. You are human, too. Look at you. You are pretty, you have a sharp mind, an alluring figure. Why, I bet you are closer to being a person than those filthy Jews we’re exterminating two hundred feet above your head.”
It’s true I haven’t been able to hear their screams, but I have sensed them: the pain of thousands dying. That’s why the room feels like hell, and why Major Klein looks like a devil.
I sense no exaggeration in his words. Two hundred feet is a great distance to tunnel into the earth. Have they done all this for me? They must want something very important.
“Most of the Jews I know are wonderful people,” I reply. “While most of the Nazis I know are scum.”
He smiles again, quickly, but this time it’s forced.
“Fräulein Sita insults us again. I’m surprised. I thought my little demonstration in the Levines’ flat would have taught you better.”
I shrug as best I can for a person who can hardly move. “You’re going to torture me no matter what I say. I may as well speak the truth.”
He nods and moves closer, while his partner stays at a distance. Major Klein may act like a robot but she’s i
n a class by herself. The way she stares, her dark eyes so vacant, I’d swear there is no one at home.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Klein says. “There’s no reason for you to suffer anymore. All we require is for you to talk. And when you’re done talking, you’ll be set free. Does that sound fair?”
“What do you want me to talk about?”
“A few things from your past.”
“Go on.”
Klein nods pleasantly and turns away, strolling around the room. “Before we get into specifics, it’s important you know how detailed our file on you is. We know you were born around 3000 B.C., and that at the age of twenty you were transformed into a vampire. Yaksha, the greatest of all vampires, created you.”
“Where did you get this information?” I ask, stunned.
“Later, all that can be explained. Particularly if you choose to join us, which I think you will. For now let me present you with a few more facts. At the age of a hundred you met a teacher by the name of Krishna. He lived in the forest of Vrindavana with the five Pandava brothers: Arjuna, Bhima, Yudhisthira, Nakula, and Sahadeva—all of who were married to the same woman, Draupadi. True?”
“I see you’ve been reading the Mahabharata,” I reply.
“I’m asking if it’s true that you met these people?”
“Maybe.”
Klein stops and stares. His face goes blank and he says two words. “Frau Cia.”
Picking up the hammer, the woman walks toward me. I fight against the cuffs to no avail. Without blinking, she raises the hammer and strikes my left kneecap. The pain is incredible; it rockets up my leg into my brain. She raises the hammer again and breaks my right kneecap.
“All right, damn you, I met them all!” I cry.
“Thank you, Sita,” Klein says as he resumes his stroll around the room. “See how easy it is to make us happy? All you have to do is talk. Just tell the truth. Now, the reason I bring up the Pandavas is because of the important role they play in the Mahabharata. And you are right, I have read the book, many times, in its original Sanskrit. The Führer has as well—he has made a life study of the book.”
“I know he has read the Vedas,” I whisper, my body slowly trying to absorb the shock of the two blows. In my mind, the mystery surrounding the woman keeps growing. She has phenomenal strength. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was a vampire. But she can’t be—I can tell by the sound of her heartbeat. The beat is strong but not as rhythmic as mine. I add, “That’s where he got the swastika.”
“True. It’s a sacred symbol in India.”
“Not the way your Führer uses it.”
Klein halts. “I don’t understand?”
“He inverted it and tilted it on its side. It’s like what the satanists do when they hang the cross upside down.”
Klein smiles broadly. “Are you implying that we’re satanists?”
“I’m just making an observation.”
“An interesting one at that.” Klein resumes his stroll. “Where were we? Oh, yes, the Pandava brothers, the heroes of the Battle of Kurukshetra. When you get down to it, that’s what the Mahabharata is all about. ‘The war to end all wars.’ Did they really use that phrase in those days?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Ironic, don’t you think? Of course you know who the Pandavas fought?”
“Their cousins, the Kauravas.”
“Very good. Did you have any personal contact with the Kauravas?”
“Very little.”
“Please, Sita, be precise.”
“I stood with the Kauravas on the first day of the battle.”
“Why didn’t you stand with the Pandavas?”
“I was afraid I might run into Yaksha.”
“You were avoiding him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story.”
“We have time. Nothing but time.”
“Yaksha had promised Krishna he would destroy all the vampires. I knew he had been hunting them.”
“You were afraid for your life, then?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you go to the battle in the first place?”
I hesitate. “To see Krishna.”
“No other reason?”
“No.”
“Did you get to see him? Talk to him?”
“I saw him that day, from a distance. He played the role of Arjuna’s charioteer and rode out into the center of the field before the battle.”
“Why did Krishna do this?”
“You’ve studied the Mahabharata. You must know why. Arjuna was upset on the eve of battle. He didn’t want to fight and kill so many of his friends and relatives.”
“The Kauravas were his friends?”
“They were related but they were enemies. The point is that Krishna took time with Arjuna to explain that the war was just and that he should fight. Their dialogue formed the core of the Bhagavad Gita, India’s most sacred book.”
“Were you able to hear Krishna and Arjuna speak from where you were standing?”
“No.”
“Why not? With your vampire ears, you should have heard everything they said.”
“I thought so too. Krishna—he must have done something to shield their dialogue.”
Klein comes near, and I fear he is going to call on Frau Cia again. He speaks in my ear. “Did he talk about exotic weapons?”
“I told you, I couldn’t hear them.”
Klein backs off a step, standing behind me. “Did you fight with the Kauravas that day?”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“When the fighting started, I left the field and hid in the trees.”
“That doesn’t sound like you, Sita, to run from a fight.”
“It wasn’t my fight. The Pandavas and Kauravas were fighting over land. Who would control the country. I had no interest in who won. I knew I would be leaving India soon.”
“Why?”
“I told you, to get away from Yaksha.”
“Because you were afraid of him?”
“Yes.”
Klein moves in front. “How many days did the Battle of Kurukshetra last?”
“Four days.”
“In the Mahabharata it says it lasted longer. Two weeks.”
“Distortions crept into the book over time. It lasted four days.”
“What did you do during the battle?”
“I just told you.”
“No. After Krishna spoke to Arjuna you said you retired to the woods. What did you do there?”
“Nothing.”
“You hid in the woods for four days and did nothing?”
“I stayed in the area on the off chance I might see Krishna again.”
Klein comes close and speaks in a sympathetic tone. “He must have meant a great deal to you. To go to all that trouble just to glimpse him in the distance. To risk running into Yaksha.”
I shrug. “Like I said, I was leaving India. I thought it would be my last chance to see him.”
“Not what one would expect from a monster.”
He hasn’t asked a question so I choose not to answer.
Klein points a finger at me. “Let’s be honest with each other, Sita. You have a big heart. You love deeply. How else could you be so devoted to Krishna?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“It doesn’t matter, you haven’t changed. You’re a fool in love. Look at the way you watched over the Levines the past two years. Two filthy Jews and you felt obligated to protect them. What devotion!”
He stops, waiting. But he hasn’t asked a question. I wait.
“Have you nothing to say?” he demands.
He knows I want to ask if they are still alive.
“What is your question?” I say.
“I’m trying to get you to admit something. Why is it so painful for you? I said it at the start. You may be a vampire but you are still human. Indeed, you are more human th
an most of humanity.”
“Why is that trait so important to you?” I ask.
“It means you can join us! You can be one of us. You can help us win this war and reclaim the world.”
He shakes with the energy of his pronouncement, his marble eyes bulging from his waxen face. Blood fills his cheeks but it’s strange how lifeless it makes him appear. His thick lips twitch.
“You’re insane,” I say, even though I know what it will get me.
This time he doesn’t say her name, merely gestures with his hand. Frau Cia picks up the bottle of light yellow liquid and the box of matches and walks toward me. At the last instant, just before she sprays it on my hands, I smell the fluid and know what it is.
Gasoline.
Frau Cia sprays so much that it drips down my bare arms and stains my rolled-up sleeves. She lights a match and I blow it out. She doesn’t mind. Taking a step behind me, she lights another one and touches it to my fingers.
My arms transform into torches.
Burn, burn forever, that is what the Christians say happens to all those who reject Jesus Christ. The threat is powerful; it has steered western civilization for two thousand years. It is also clever. Who could imagine a hell worse than eternal flames?
I can’t imagine it. Nor can I stand it.
But I do not beg for mercy. Not from him. Never.
Still, the pain defeats me. It causes me to black out.
I regain consciousness a minute or two later. I am still on fire but Frau Cia is spraying water on my hands. It takes many squirts to put out the flames and by then my skin has blackened and begun to peel. The lumps of flesh drip in my hair, in my face, in my eyes. I hang my head and close my eyes and try not to feel the pain.
Klein steps beside me. “I have to go now, Sita. But when I return you will tell me everything you did during the four days of the battle. You will remember everything you saw. Everyone you spoke to. Understand?”
“I suppose,” I whisper.
I tell myself it is not the same as saying yes.
“Good girl.” He pats me on the back and turns for the door. But he stops before leaving, Frau Cia by his side. He sniffs the air and frowns. “I hate to say this but you smell no different than a stinking Jew when it burns. I’m disappointed.”
Thirst No. 5 Page 22