There was something else odd too. Perhaps it was because I hadn't been eating or sleeping right, but my skin seemed more pallid than I'd ever seen it. I was coming apart, and I thought, You'd better do something, Richard, my boy, before you really are dead and buried. You look terrible!"
I don't know why, but when I got downstairs I had the oddest feeling that I should check the front porch. When I opened the door, I found an envelope thumb-tacked to it. I pried it off, closed the door and went into the kitchen to make some coffee. As it brewed, I opened the envelope and read the note. It was from Jacob.
Mr. Millay,
Things are turning faster than I had hoped, and you are coming along slower than I'd hoped. There's a rhyme and reason for everything in this world...even the things that don't seem to fit it right. You need to bring yourself back to reality and stop fooling yourself. Your wife, Ronnie, understood. I've spent many years looking after you as best I could and I'm wearing out. There's only so much I can do for you. You have to come into your own soon or it'll be too late. You need to remember yourself. You need to pull yourself together. You need to take control and bring order to your house or all...ALL will be lost.
Jacob Waters
I put the letter back into the envelope and poured myself a cup of coffee. I took one sip and spat it out. It tasted rancid and burned, like a mouthful of moldy potatoes that had been soaked in acid. I could feel my lips start to blister. My stomach started to knot up and I thought I was going to vomit. The cup fell from my hands as I grabbed my stomach. A sharp pain shot through me.
"Christ! I've been poisoned," I said. "The dammed thing's poisoned me." But inside I knew I hadn't been poisoned. Inside, things were beginning to clear, like mud settling back down to the bottom of a pond after it's been disturbed. Maybe it was the letter from Jacob, but I had the feeling that it was everything that had been happening put together. I was starting to see things differently.
I went up to my office, crossed to the window and looked down at the Weeping Willow. I closed my eyes, holding its image in my head. In my mind, it was younger, much younger, more than a sapling, but far from the mature tree it was today.
I held that image, concentrating, forcing myself to recall what it was that was so special about that tree. And I knew there was something special about it, the same way I knew that it – and this house – was familiar to me. That it was somehow part of my past, and all connected.
I remained statue-still, concentrating, trying to pull all the threads together. I guess you could call it daydreaming, for I disappeared into a kaleidoscope of different times and scenes. All of them separate and distinct, yet all of them blended together like some macabre collage.
It was dark and fogy, I was standing on a street corner. Hansoms were clacking along the darkened, cobblestone streets, and the moon had a halo-glow. I stood there in the shadows of an alleyway, watching the carriages and pedestrians pass. The gas street lamps gave off an eerie glow in the fog, splashing their yellow rays down onto the cobblestones and sidewalks.
A man in a top hat and evening clothes passed by me, dodging the carriages as he crossed the street. A woman in a long gown and evening gloves turned down the alley where I was standing, saw me and then went off in the other direction. Across the street, a woman, dirty and disheveled, was selling flowers from a cart. I stood there, watching them all.
As I observed all these people, I had the feeling that I wanted something from them, something important, both to me and them, but I couldn't place what it was. At the same time, I felt that I just wanted to be away from all of them. I was confused and ambivalent, locked in a state of indecision.
Then the scene changed. I was now in the deep woods, and there was someone there with me. A dark figure. We were arguing, although I couldn't make out about what. It was like a slow motion movie and the voices were unintelligible. We argued, then fought. I could see myself choking him. He was kicking and scratching. I saw myself lift him up and slam him against a tree. He screamed. I couldn't hear it, but I could see his mouth open in a terrible, agonized gape.
The scene changed again. I think I was out back of the house I now occupy, and I appeared to be no older than fifteen or sixteen. There was a small willow tree and the stream that runs beside it. Again, I was fighting with someone. But this fight felt much more desperate, as if there were more to lose if I lost the fight. We struggled; at first, neither of us gaining any advantage. Then, suddenly, I saw myself leap up into the air and come down on him hard. There was something in my hand and as I came down on him I pushed it deep into his chest. He let out a chilling cry, this one loud and audible. I was dragging him, screaming and clawing at me, over underneath the willow when the scene changed again.
Now I was younger, maybe eight or ten years old. I was standing beside a woman who I knew was my mother. She was telling me something – something very important, but I couldn't understand her. Her mouth was moving, but it was as if she were speaking a foreign language.
I tried to concentrate harder, to bring her voice into focus, if you will. With a great effort, I heard the last part of what she was saying before the scene dissolved. She was bending over me.
"...life will be different. You're very special and you must always...always remember that. Your father and I..."
The scene changed again, despite my efforts to make it stay.
"NO, no, no!" I cried. The sound of my own vice assaulting my ears brought me out of my daydreams. I stood there at the window, watching the moon rise, my hands in my pockets, and tried to make sense of it all. Understanding was so close. I knew it, I could feel it, but it wasn't close enough. Not yet.
"Where are you?" I asked. "Where are you? I need to understand and you have the answers, don't you?"
I kept my gaze on the window pane, hoping she would appear behind me. All night I stood there, waiting for a specter that never came. By four o'clock I was exhausted and could no longer keep my vigil. I retired to my room, falling asleep almost immediately.
9
Again, the dreams came. I was floating above a lake, looking down at a couple sharing their intimacy in the back of an old Chevy convertible. A sensation which I cannot describe came over me. I don't know why, but I felt anger and desire well up in me, over take me like the rushing waters of a flood. I wanted her. No, I needed her. No, I needed something from her. I drew closer, descending from above, my lust for her drawing me closer.
The young man looked up, gazing directly into my face, into my eyes. I expected him to swing at me, to defend himself, but he just kept staring at me. I settled over him, still hovering like some mutant hummingbird. The girl was screaming and trying to re-button her blouse. In a single swift motion, I yanked the boy from the car and snapped his neck. He dropped to the ground, bouncing once off the side of the car and lay motionless.
My heart was empty. I felt nothing. Not rage, not pity, not compassion. I didn't even feel lust anymore. I turned on the girl and grabbed her by her shoulders, lifting her up and slamming her down onto the seat. I tore her blouse open and descended upon her.
The alarm woke me before I could finish. It was a little past noon. I tried to sit up, but found that I was too weak. I felt sick to my stomach, and the sun coming through the blinds was burning my eyes. Forcing myself up, I fought my way to the windows and closed them. I made it back to bed just before I passed out.
I awoke a little after eight that evening. I felt spent, exhausted. The dreams were taking their toll on me. If I didn't get control of them soon, I'd end up in the hospital, I was sure. I was debating whether or not to try another pot of coffee when there was a knock on the door.
Jacob Waters was standing there, one strap hanging loosely as always. I had just gotten the door open wide enough to see him when he placed the palm of his hand on my chest and pushed me backwards.
"Ain't you got no better sense?" he asked,
slamming the door closed behind him. "Damn! What's wrong with you?"
I opened my mouth to ask him what he was talking about, but he waved his hand.
"Just shut up and listen," he bellowed. "First of all, I don't like even being in this house, especially now. But dadblameit, you musta lost yer mind completely. What were you thinking?" He wouldn't look me directly in the eyes, but the anger he was feeling was coming off him like heat waves off a blacktopped road, and there was fear too. I could sense it; I could smell it.
"Jacob," I said. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Why don't you calm down and start from the beginning."
"Start from the beginning?" he asked, puzzled. "How damned much time do you think we have? You best git yerself together, and I mean now." He looked around nervously, like he expected someone to be hiding behind the drapes. "I told ya t'other day, I'm running down...gettin older, whether you or me likes it or not. How much do you want from me? How much do you think I can do and still keep goin? How much more do ya think I can clean up for ya?"
"I still don't-" He cut me off.
"Yeah, yeah. You still don't know what I'm talkin about. We'll ya better start rememberin and fast. Things are comin to a head, I can feel it. And what you done...Christ!...what the hell were you thinkin?"
I grabbed him by the shoulder, dragged him into the study and pushed him down in a chair. The minute I'd touched him, I could see the fear swim across his face.
"Now you listen to me, Jacob Waters. I don't know what you're talking about. And as far as I know, I didn't do anything today except sleep. I was starting to think that I was losing my mind, but I'm thinking now that you're the one on the edge."
He pushed himself up out of the chair and pointed a bony finger at me. "You listen to me," he said, emphatically. "I don't know what happened to you. I don't know how you lost your mind or your memories or whatever. But I do know that if you don't git em back soon there's gonna be hell t'pay. And that ain't no spression." Again, he looked around and I could see his discomfort in his face.
"I gotta git outta here," he went on. "You gotta figure things out." He turned and went to the front door. As he pulled it open and stepped outside, he shot me a quick look over his shoulder. "Start out back. Start where it all ended. Start at the prison." He hurried off the porch before I could say anything, got in his truck and took off.
I stood there watching his taillights fade into the darkness of the night. As soon as the door latched, a booming laughter filtered through the house and I knew who it was. More than that, I knew where he was.
When I got upstairs to my office, my enemy, the dark figure in my dreams, and the one I had thrown out the other night, was standing in the middle of the room. It was a faceless shadow of a man. Solid but not solid.
"Who the hell are you and what do you want?" I asked it. "No more games!"
It just laughed, a thunderous bellow of a laugh.
"Enough!" I cried.
"You poor pathetic thing," it said, maliciously. "I told your mother you'd be trouble. I told her that you were nothing more than an experiment gone wrong." It laughed again. "Did you really think you could defeat me? Did you really think that curs-ed tree could hold me forever?"
My memory was clearing as my rage took hold of me. The floodgates burst open and everything flowed in.
"I killed you," I yelled. "I killed you for what you did to my mother."
He laughed again. "You didn't kill anybody. Even that you couldn't do right. Did you really think you were stronger than me? My experience spans millenniums. I shall be free...soon. And my retribution will be swift and merciless. Just like it was for your mother."
"What did you do to my mother? Where is she?"
"Did you think you could come back here after all these years and undo what's been done?" He laughed again. "My powers are growing again, and I shall soon be free."
"Never. You will never be free. I will finish what I began two hundred years ago. I will finish you forever," I yelled.
This time there was no laughter. The shadow-shape in front of me dissipated. I knew everything now. I remembered everything now. I flew down the steps, out into the back yard and pushed through the bushes that led to the stone building in the back. Inside, I knew I was too late. I knew I was more years than I wanted to think about too late, but I had to try.
I grabbed hold of one of the corner stones, my nails digging into the cement joints as easily as if they were made of sand. I ripped out one stone after another, tossing them into the woods. Behind me, I could hear the rumbling begin. It was like thunder and the whole ground shook.
Lifting myself into the air, I could see over the bushes. The Weeping Willow was beginning to crack. Its bark was flaking off in great chunks and the trunk was twisting itself into a spiral. Large plugs of grass and dirt sprang upward into the air. I did not have much time.
With a snarl of anger and determination, I grabbed a corner of the stone roof and pulled upward as hard as I could. As I lifted the roof, the odor of death and decay came wafting out. I swung it to the side. The grating sound of stone sliding across stone echoed through the darkness, competing with the thunderous sound of what was happening behind me.
Inside the building I found her remains. No more than a skeleton now. My mother had been imprisoned here when I had been too young and too weak to help her. My rage boiled over.
I flew over the bushes and settled on the ground beneath the willow. Great spans of earth were being uprooted as the thing that had been my father struggled to free itself.
I thrust my hand down into the shaking ground, just under one of the willow's thickest roots. My aim was perfect. I grabbed the thing by its jacket and yanked it upward in one motion. It let out an ear-splitting cry, its bony hands clutching and pulling at my wrist. Its breath was foul and its flesh hung from the bone like dripping cottage cheese. There was no hair left on its head.
In a burst of energy, it drove me backwards. We sailed through the air, bouncing off tree trunks and through bushes and branches. We held each other tightly. I could feel its razor sharp fingernails digging into my neck as we tumbled to the ground.
It snarled at me, baring its yellow, rotten and pointed teeth, hissing and spitting its anger. As its grip tightened, I could feel the flow of blood running down my neck. Pushing myself upward with all my strength, we lifted off and shot straight up through the overhanging branches. The wail it uttered would have frozen any mortal's blood. It kicked and screamed as we drifted closer and closer to the little stream that ran alongside the willow.
"No," it hissed. "You can't. It's not possible."
"What's not possible?" I asked, dragging it closer to the water. "That I'm truly stronger than you? What did you think, father? That I would never come into my own? You made me, remember. I was the product of your lust for a human woman. So here I am, grown...and angrier and stronger than I was when I first buried you beneath that tree. The Willow Tree that my mother had loved so much. Your time has come."
"No. You cannot destroy me," it bellowed. "We are the same. We belong to the night; we are kindred."
"No, father. We are not the same. I have my mother's compassion. But none of it is for you. It is time I finished what I started."
As I plunged him into the running water, I pushed down on the stake that I had buried in his chest two hundred years ago. A piercing wail rose up and then died away beneath the water. His flesh and bone began to decay and the water around him started to boil. I could feel it burning my arm, but I would not let go. Not until what remained of him had dissolved completely. Not until it was finished forever.
10
When the thing I held beneath the water, my father, was completely gone, I moved over to the bank, just watching the water calm itself. When I turned, she was there, standing behind me. A translucent shape dressed in white. She was as beautiful as I remembere
d her.
"I can be free, now," she said. "I knew you would come back."
"Mother-" I began, but she silenced me.
"I don't have much time. Listen to me, my son. Jacob is my brother. He has been your guardian for all these centuries, but he's growing weak. When you gave up your life as a vampire for your wife, Ronnie, you weakened him and yourself. You must correct that. You must be what you are. Give him your strength and protect him as he has protected you."
I wanted to hold her, to embrace her once more, but she faded. Standing there alone in the woods, I knew three things for sure. My mother was gone for good, as was my father; Jacob would once again be strong, and the dream I'd had about the couple in the car was not a dream. I had fed. After thirty-nine years...I had fed again, and would continue to do so.
PART II
THE PROGENY
11
I have aged. By human standards – but a moment in time. To all around me, Richard Anthony Millay looks to be in his forties. I am two hundred and sixty-three years old. It's been forty-seven years since I'd come into my own – come back to myself. Forty-seven years since I'd freed my mother and destroyed my father for imprisoning her. Forty-seven years since I'd embraced my heritage. I am a vampire – the product of a union that was never meant to be – the union between vampire and mortal. Because of that, I struggle. I have my mother's human compassion and my father's lust for blood. When I take a life, I can feel remorse – yet, I must feed.
As the years have passed, my duality has thinned. I feel less and less for my human victims. I am losing what was my mother's gift to me. Soon, I will be no more than my father was – a remorseless killing machine with a single purpose. Survival.
There was a time, not so long ago, when I enjoyed the life of a human. I walked in sunlight and had a wife, Ronnie, whom I loved very dearly. Now, I cannot love. Emotion is dying within me and I cannot stop it. I may still venture into the light of day, but only for a limited time. I fear that, soon, all that was human in me will be dead forever. I can feel those cells dying. When they're gone – when there's nothing left of my mother inside me – I will remain forever within the realm of the undead. I will become my father's legacy – a hunter of mortals confined to darkness and shadow.
Sundown Rising Page 4