His head fell back upon the rim of the tub and he stared up at the ceiling with swollen, accusing eyes. The silence. Always, the only answer…that indifferent, apathetic silence. How, then, are these prayers supposed to retain any dynamic? How, then, are they to avoid the numbness of routine, of empty habit? If only one prayer were to be answered with anything else but that infinite silence…
Evan glanced briefly back upon the thread of his life. Was there anything that he could have done differently? Some alternative path that might not have led to this warm tub and this cold steel?
But that was foolish speculation. Everyone, every single mortal, was forced to choose and choose again, each day. The small, seemingly-insignificant choices carried as much weight and consequence as any others. If one were to look back at all the divergent roads, wouldn’t half those roads be chosen differently now…if they could be? And the deeper question of all: would it have really mattered if they were?
There were regrets, of course. And a man alone with a razor can accuse himself with them all. There had even been a woman. One that mattered above all others. Typically, she had come into his life when a decision had already been made…when the seal had been pressed, and the envelope delivered. Funny he should think of her now.
If he had decided to stay with her, to renounce his decision for the priesthood, would he be any happier today? Would he be watching the play of light as it skipped and balanced like a mercury-life upon the mirror of the blade?
It did no good to ponder on such folly. It did no good to remember how her scent embraced him through the lattice of the confessional when she came into the quietly-shadowed country church where he had started, fresh from her walks along the cliffs above the Irish Sea. Or how she would try to catch her breath, while she whispered that she hadn’t done anything really worth confessing…and oh, he knew that it was true. Just as he knew how he wished the two of them had done something very much worth confessing, together. Just as he also knew that he would have to walk seven miles to the next village after she had gone, to confess to his own desires to the young priest there.
It did no good to recall that one glorious afternoon, when he had been out in the intoxicating sea air himself, secretly hoping to cross paths with her, and she had come up over the hill, the wind snapping against the hem of her skirt, revealing those muscular calves and even a hint or two of her firm, round thighs. The sight of her against the sky and the sea had been like a poem…a sonnet of holy flesh and radiant spirit. They had fallen in stride together, with few words necessary between them, the sighs of the wind more than enough language to bind them to their heart’s desire. A desire that led them to the privacy of a few stunted trees tucked into a windbreak of warm moor-stone and sunshine. A primordial intent that found her breath and her lips and her every cell encouraging her breasts into his trusted hands…and into his mouth. And her hands so summer-eager in his trousers, and the way he lay on his back and watched the clouds spiral into myriad forms before giving way to the formless. He knew a different kind of love in that moment, different than the love of an abstract savior. The idea leapt all bright and fully-painted in his mind that the only religion that mattered, the only one that was authentic in its potential, was the religion he had just that moment discovered as her hands and her lips danced exquisite circles on his body. That thought—that the love between two committed souls was the only religion that could truly save ANY one—suddenly turned from light to darkest, thunderous shadow…and terrified his mortal soul. He had pushed her away against her protests, shaming them both with his actions. They had gathered their things and fled from their Garden…forever.
It did no good to recall seeing her years later in London with her husband and child…and how it had seemed a betrayal. Not by her, but by life, or something like it. He wouldn’t have felt that way at all if he had never had to see her again, if he could have kept his secret memories of her somehow sealed away from everything else. If he could have made them invulnerable to all disappointment. But she had been there, in London, when Ireland was her home. When Ireland should have been, forever, their place.
He had felt strangely uneasy with prayer for a long while afterwards. In his mind, he had given God everything of himself. Was he now allowed to keep a memory, something separate from the sacrifice and hardship of his calling?
It did no good. He had followed the path that had led him here. Even though it had seemed to be one continuous path, he could see now that it had been many. It did no good to question, to wonder, to regret. The end was the inevitable thing. And he had reached his.
His faith had never really been tested. It had just been pressed into service for too long against the grinding-stone of his circumstances. As he brought the paper-thin sliver of steel into contact with his wrist, he understood that that had been the problem all along.
The blade lingered upon the blue thread showing through his pale skin. That was the path he needed to follow now. For once there was no mystery. The direction was clear. He needed only to trace the steel along that blue ribbon of life, and it would take him where he wished to go…someplace new and uncharted. Someplace different than this.
He pressed the blade into his skin and watched the first reaction of blood as it rose like an eager bride to its marriage with the steel. But suddenly he stopped. There was one thing left to do. It would be a mortal sin not to call Isaac and say goodbye.
He must be careful not to arouse Isaac’s suspicions. But he was obligated to give his friend something to look back upon after he was gone. Something that Isaac would later be able to identify as a farewell. There was too much between them for Evan to selfishly remove himself without any acknowledgment of that fact.
He rose from the tub and wrapped a washcloth around his bleeding wrist, then wrapped a robe around his body. He composed a few lines in his head as he made his way to the phone.
“Hello, Isaac. I just wanted to call and let you know that I have appreciated your friendship over the years…”
No, that definitely would get Isaac’s alarms going.
“Hey, Isaac. I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed our conversation tonight. It’s been my great pleasure to have been your confidante and friend…”
That was still too close. To Hell with the script, he could make it up as he went along. The important thing was just to call him so that he would know later that he had been thought of.
But Isaac wasn’t answering. Neither was his machine. And, according to their old plan, that was definitely something to be concerned about.
All thoughts of suicide vanished as Evan raced around his bedroom for his clothes and shoes. Why hadn’t Isaac engaged his machine if he was going out? Evan knew that he wouldn’t overlook that. He took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. It wasn’t that big a deal, really. But it was. Especially in light of what Isaac had shared with him just a few hours before.
Their system had been in place for some fifteen years. And Isaac had never forgotten. Evan dressed quickly and headed off in the direction of Isaac’s home.
Chapter Nineteen
With his company gone and no work to distract him, Isaac had gone out for some exercise with the neighborhood cats. The full moon made him feel like a lost hunter, alone among the silhouetted ruins of some ancient jungle city. The big, carnivorous cats were everywhere, lurking just beyond the shadows, darting forth with hisses and growls intended to unnerve him.
For most of an hour, he had chased after them with his raised broom. It rested now in the corner of his study like a faithful ally. He had thrown a couple of sturdy logs on the fire and it was blazing anew as he read from Black Elk Speaks.
The circle of light from his chair-side lamp was, aside from the fire, the only brightness in the house. Beyond that circle were shadowed books and dusty furniture. And the watchful eyes of Julian Germain.
Julian had been standing in the shadows for s
ome time. At the moment, his eyes were locked upon the “key” that had given him access to Julian’s home. A key that Julian had intentionally placed into Isaac’s care. A personal and cherished piece of property that allowed the vampire access. In this case, the locket bearing the ashes of Joan of Arc.
While it was true that vampires could only enter private domiciles by invitation, they could pass unobstructed across the threshold of any building where the energies of a “public” were welcome. The only way around the invitation into a private dwelling was to have something of personal worth to a vampire already inside. Julian had anticipated this day. While the gift was a genuine offering, he knew it would come in handy in short order. And so it had.
He was enjoying Isaac’s choice of music. It was Chopin, and it lulled Isaac into slumber. He watched the old man dozing and felt a pang of sympathy. How many nights had he settled beside that fire, alone, dreaming of his Lessa?
Julian had come to finish their business. Enough time had passed for Isaac to have considered all the details and possible meanings of their acquaintance. He should be ripe for the final drama.
Julian stepped forward into the circle of light and cleared his throat. Isaac jerked his head up from his chest and caught his breath.
“Julian?!?”
“Hello again, Isaac. It’s so good to see you.”
The next several minutes passed with Isaac searching among the turbulent vortex of his thoughts for his voice and his composure. Julian moved calmly about the study reading the titles of Isaac’s books, and peering at the photographs on the mantle. He gave the startled old man all the time he needed to consider the implications of Julian’s return. He took a picture of Lessa from the mantle. She was in the middle of a group of young people, smiling. It was then that Isaac broke his reverie.
“Somehow, I knew that I would see you again. But I didn’t expect it to be here, in my home. Why have you come here?”
Julian returned the picture to the shelf.
“Because the incomplete feelings that you have known, I have known as well.”
He sighed deeply and lowered himself onto the divan.
“I assure you that this will, indeed, be our final meeting. I have come to ask you a favor. Now that you have had these past months to consider all that has transpired, I believe you will be in the frame of mind to oblige me. Especially when you have heard the things that I am going to reveal to you.”
Isaac felt an involuntary shiver dance along the notches of his spine as a stone of tension settled upon his stomach. He well knew that he needed to hear all the vampire had to say. And how dearly he dreaded it.
Julian could see the unease drawing at the corners of Isaac’s mouth.
“Some of what I have to tell you will not be easy for you to hear. But, after I have gone, I am certain you will know the same peace I hope to find for myself. Our fates have become…no. Our fates have long been…entwined, Isaac.”
The vampire reached into the folds of his overcoat and produced a plain manila envelope. He laid it carefully on the table between them. Isaac’s universe suddenly seemed to shift orbits, revolving end over end around that envelope.
“When I have gone,” Julian spoke deliberately, “I want you to read the single piece of paper you will find enclosed there. To say that it is a gift from eternity would be an understatement. I am merely the messenger. But the message is one that saved me. And I am most certain it will do the same for you.
“But before you are granted this gift, you will be asked to perform the favor I mentioned. If you refuse this favor, that envelope will remain in my care until you change your mind. The favor is this. You must take my life.”
Isaac felt the air rush from his lungs.
“Dear God, Julian! I can’t possibly oblige you! And you can’t possibly be serious!”
Julian spoke calmly, as though detached from the very words he uttered.
“Listen to me carefully now, Isaac. When I have told you what I am here to tell you, you too will see the inevitability in all this. The situation may seem distasteful, but it is the perfect summary to everything we have journeyed toward. This is not my decision, or even yours. The contents of that envelope are proof that this has all been a working process…that there has been a plan to all of it…and that our faith is never wasted. I say again, this is our passage to true and lasting peace. But there is some work yet to be done before we can rest.”
Julian rose and began to pace. Isaac knew him well enough by now to know that he paced when he had the full measure of ideas and dreams to consider.
“Here is the summation of the story—our story—as I know it. You will recall that, throughout my six-hundred-year history, I have preyed primarily on the disadvantaged and dying. If you look at the parallel history of mankind, you will see clearly that I have had ample opportunity to sate my hunger. What I mean is, there have been times and places where I could linger for months and years at a time, and the machines of human slaughter would keep me fed. It was almost enough that I could survive as more a scavenger than a predator, really.
“Wherever there was widespread death and destruction, I and those like me could be found…like stray dogs around a landfill. The plagues of Europe. The famines of Africa. Let’s not even talk of the incessant wars that your kind find so enthralling. And how we came to the Second World War…the SECOND one. As though the first one shouldn’t have been more than enough to convince us of our own psychosis. No, the second one produced even more unbridled, lustful carnage than the bloody first. It served up to those like me the fattest part of history’s hog…the Holocaust.”
Now Isaac rose from his chair and he, too, began to pace. The two of them moved around the room like tragic characters performing the final act of some Greek tragedy.
“It was all too easy, too convenient not to take advantage of. My work was all but done for me. I needed only to step in at the last moment, just before the final breath was drawn, and feed at my leisure. Other than avoiding the daylight, and the unlikely curiosity of the rest of the walking dead, there was no fear of reprisal…no one was going to conduct an autopsy of the bloodless victims already emaciated and dying. As a predator, my conscience was quite clear. None of this gruesome disposal of sentient beings was my doing. This horror fell squarely on the shoulders of the HUMAN beings. For once, I could feed without the slightest twinge of guilt.”
“You know the score, Isaac. Dozens of your people perished each night from starvation, disease, suicide, or sheer loss of will. This isn’t even considering the gas chambers or the point-blank bullets behind the ear. I would simply enter the camps each night, choose the weakest of all the weak ones, and end the nightmare of those places for him or her forever. Who knows, Isaac, you and I may have passed in the night long before that dark park in Atlanta drew our paths together again.”
Isaac was standing in the corner of the room, his face concealed in the shadows. But Julian could guess at the painful distortions wearing at and eroding his features, like the flood of Noah moving over the landscape of his heart.
“Stop trembling, Isaac. And listen to what miracles are possible in this tired drama you know as life…
“In the terrible winter of 1944 and ’45, my feeding ground was the largest and most despicable of the death camps…the camp you knew as intimately as I did. Auschwitz. Near the end of that camp’s existence, in the days before it was liberated by the Russian Army, a strange and portentous thing occurred.
“It was about ten p.m. I was in the woods bordering the village of Birkenau. Isaac…please, gather yourself. I came upon the bodies of five men and three women…it’s all right. Patience, my friend. Bear with me for just a while longer. The eight of them had been shot sometime during the day…”
Isaac was sobbing openly now. Julian could see his shoulders quaking from across the room.
“Steady now, Isaac. One of t
he women was still alive…but barely. She was unable to speak and she had lost a great deal of blood. I knew that she would perish very soon. Normally, I would have considered feeding on her to hasten the end to her suffering. But I knew, I sensed, that this was a different encounter.
“I held her in my arms. Her long, dark hair fell across my lap where her head lay. She looked into my eyes with a warmth and tenderness that I have never forgotten. There was an understanding there…”
Now Julian’s voice broke as well, despite his willing against it. That was more than Isaac could bear. He threw himself back into his chair and covered his ears.
“That picture there, on the mantle, does your wife no justice. Next to my Clara, Lessa was the single most noble creature I have ever encountered. I am eternally grateful that I was able to give her some final contact that was not brutal, that was not evil. Not evil, Isaac. Do you understand me? That last look in Lessa’s eyes was one of peace…and gratitude.”
Julian pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at his eyes, then offered it to Isaac.
“Before she died, she took my hand and placed it over the breast pocket of her shirt. I reached into that pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Without that piece of paper I would never have known you, all these years later, for who you are. And this situation we have found ourselves in the midst of would have been just another in a long line of bizarre circumstances for me. As it stands, that piece of paper, and all that has happened since that day, is proof enough for me that your wife awaits you…and that the eternal love you and I have spent our lives in search of is no longer a thing to be doubted or guessed at.”
Just then the phone began to ring, and ring incessantly. Isaac rose and turned on the overhead light in the room. But Julian grabbed his wrist before he could get to the receiver. Isaac spun and looked into Julian’s face, stunned by how much the vampire had aged during the past few months. Something vital had gone from his demeanor. There was only resignation to a less than joyous fate. He was ready to die.
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