Futile Flame

by Sam Stone

  I am bewildered by her. How does this lovely creature ever understand this? Why would she want to? But I daren’t ask her these questions. It seems too intrusive. Though, more than anything, I fear her scorn at my ignorance.

  ‘But look at the state she’s in.’ She points to the cuts and abrasions on her legs, the filth-covered feet. ‘Her friends gave her the drug, but didn’t look after her. She was found dead in a ditch.’

  Put that way I imagine the grief of the girl’s family. I’m beginning to understand a little why Lucrezia is here. I am not after all completely a monster.

  ‘So. Tell me. What have you done that may affect me?’ She asks quickly changing the mood.

  Turning to the sink behind her she begins to scrub the blood from her fingers. I watch with hypnotic fascination. She is meticulous as she cleans her short nails. Once done she tears a strip of blue paper towel from the dispenser above the sink and dries her hands before turning back to the body.

  She pushes the corpse away from her work area towards a wall lined with doors and presses a pedal on the trolley to lower it to floor level. As she opens one of the bottom doors, cold air rushes out of the fridge sending wisps of freezing condensation into the atmosphere. The wheels beneath it collapse under as she presses the trolley into the opening, pushing hard against the lip of the doorframe. The remains slide into the coffin-like space and the door clicks shut, swallowing it like the mouth of some tiny frozen hell.

  I tear my gaze away from the polished steel to find Lucrezia once more washing her hands at the sink in the far corner of the room. I know I have to tell her, but where to begin?

  ‘My shift is over,’ she says. ‘Let’s go talk.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She stares at me, her eyes round. ‘Why are you thanking me?’

  ‘For allowing me your time.’

  ‘Perhaps I should have done that sooner.’

  Chapter 2 – Present

  Suburban Vampire

  I leave my hired car in the hospital car park and climb into Lucrezia’s battered BMW. She is clearly not going for ostentation these days. I want to know why, because I am sure that she, like me, has accumulated much wealth over the years, and money ensures we are always able to hide among the living without fear. Yet here she chooses to live simply. Maybe this is a game for her, like my frequent trips into the ‘real world’ have been. Pretending to be something I am not has always been part of the fun, but not anymore: Lilly has changed everything for me.

  But then, Lucrezia has dabbled in medicine for several years now. In the 1980’s, when I met her in a New York club, she told me she was a haematologist. She’d warned me of the coming AIDS epidemic and the effect it would have on my blood if I drank from an infected victim. However, since my main interest was in virgins, it was hardly likely that I would contract the Human Immunodeficiency virus. Even so, her warning had gone a long way to reinforce my choice of victim, and to ensure that I always checked my food carefully before biting into it.

  We drive out of the hospital grounds and turn swiftly onto the main road heading towards the motorway. Lucrezia presses down hard on the accelerator with the recklessness of an immortal. We are so secure with our infinity, that speeding never holds any fear for us, so I relax in the seat beside her. On the dash is a security pass. It reads Dr Lucy Collins alongside a photograph of Lucrezia.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I ask.

  ‘Not far.’

  We drive two short miles down the motorway and come off at the first exit. I settle down and close my eyes. There is no need to look; I can always find my way here again if I wish. Lucrezia’s aura is radar and always has been. We travel for around twenty minutes, weaving in and out of streets with short bursts of motorway in between.

  We arrive sooner than I expect. I open my eyes as Lucrezia parks the car smoothly on the drive of a suburban house with a dark blue painted front. I scrutinise it with interest. I know that she could have any house in any place; yet, she is in Manchester, the place I first met Lilly. It looks like the sort of house a doctor would have. I almost expect a husband and children waiting behind the double-glazed front door. As we climb from the car, I know that her life will be absent of companionship of any kind.

  She unlocks the door with a key ring, which also sports a tacky disc with a faded picture of the Statue of Liberty on it. It reads ‘so good they named it twice’ in bold red letters. Can it be that she is sentimental about her previous lives?

  The door opens without a sinister creak, so there is nothing predictable or corny about this vampire’s residence. As we enter the hallway, which is quite long with a staircase to the left, I’m shocked by the magnolia blandness of the décor. It lacks imagination – though it looks clean.

  There are some Art Deco influences present. Black curved chandeliers hang from the ceiling, but the whole effect is minimalist right down to the taupe pattern-less carpet. This is a far cry from the life I live with Lilly.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ Lucrezia asks.

  The normality of her home, her manners, are so strange to me, that I experience a slight sense of unreality. I realise then that I am in shock: stunned by her nearness and this sudden change in her attitude and lifestyle.

  ‘Am I supposed to reply, “Yes please, a coffee would be good”?’

  ‘If you want coffee, I can get it for you.’

  ‘No. I don’t need anything.’

  She leads me into the lounge, a smallish room, sparse, with an uncomfortable upright three-piece suite of brown leather on a cream carpet. I fight back a snigger. Clearly she’s trying too hard to appear bland.

  ‘So, what do you want to know?’ she asks.

  I tear my eyes from the pale blown vinyl paper. For a minute I can’t focus on her words, can’t remember why I’m here.

  ‘How did all this happen?’ I say, although it is as if I am merely asking a mundane question, like, ‘How are you?’

  ‘Ah.’

  She falls silent and I wait, patience always my virtue.

  ‘I have an uncharacteristic urge to... talk.’ She crumples onto one of the sofas.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘There are things that happened, things I haven’t thought of for years. Perhaps, never wanted to think about. And certainly never wanted to speak of.’

  Her hands cover her face, then swoop up into her hair, making her appearance manic and almost desperate as she tugs briefly at her blonde locks.

  ‘What is it specifically that you need to know?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m not sure. Could you start at the beginning?’

  ‘No. That’s too... raw, although I’m sure that sounds insane to you.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. I understand that feeling perfectly.’

  She falls silent again, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, her thumbnail pressed between her teeth. She looks like a small and frightened child and my heart opens to her in a way I’d never expected. I feel an affinity and I am on the cusp of learning why.

  ‘I’ll start with Caesare.’

  ‘Your brother?’

  ‘Someone did their homework!’

  ‘Lucrezia, your entire family history is in public libraries all over the world. I obviously came across them at some point.’

  Her eyes pierce my casual words with disbelief.

  ‘Ok. I looked you up. They made a television series about you and your family – maybe you saw it?’

  ‘I don’t watch television.’

  ‘Probably just as well – they didn’t make any of you look good.’ I realise my mistake as she frowns.

  ‘Don’t let’s be distracted. You were saying?’ I say quickly.

  ‘I think I’ll start in the middle,’ she decides and then changes her mind. ‘No, I won’t. It has to begin in the library at St Peter’s.’

  ‘Is this the beginning, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Typical woman, contrary even in immortality! How alike she and Lilly are.<
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  Chapter 3 – Lucrezia’s Story

  Seducer

  ‘Luci. Where are you going in such a hurry?’

  I stopped in the corridor and turned to find my brother Caesare leaning in the open doorway to the library.

  ‘Have you seen Father?’

  ‘No.’

  I looked closely at Caesare; his eyes looked strange, as though he had the beginnings of a fever.

  ‘Come in here a moment.’

  ‘Oh Caesare. I’m in no mood for your teasing today. I need to see Father!’

  ‘Come,’ he smiled. ‘I have something to show you.’

  ‘All right, but only for a moment. I really do need to...’

  I entered the library, lifting up my pale blue skirt as I stepped over the threshold.

  I had searched the halls of the Vatican for my Father; walked down the huge corridor, its many doors beckoning me in, but all barred from me by politics. By then Father was known as Pope Alexander VI, but his birth name was Borgia, and he ruled Rome as though he were a modern Caesar, all in the name of God. Even so, to us he was still Father, and our family lived in the Palazzo Maria del Portico, which was attached to St Peter’s. We had our own private door to walk in and out of the Vatican whenever we wished and more importantly, Father could visit his mistress Guila Farnese. In those days a Pope could have lovers, though discretion was still important. Father was powerful. No one questioned him. They knew from experience that those who dared risked their lives and those of their entire family.

  That morning I needed to see him urgently. He had announced the night before that I was to be married. At first the announcement did not concern me; Father had already made two previous matches. He did this to gain political advantage, not that I understood this. Even so, I always felt safe in the knowledge that he would change his mind again as politics dictated. However, his inclusion of a wedding date troubled me. He’d never allowed things to go that far before. As with the previous arrangements I had not met my fiancé. Father kept me safely away from contact with any men and I was always chaperoned in public.

  The Vatican library was very impressive. I rarely visited it in those days, but was always pleased by the high and ornately decorated ceilings. The walls were covered with beautiful leather -bound books of all kinds. I’d often wanted to wander among them but was rarely allowed. I loved the shape of the room which was curved and seemed to frame the broad desk that stood in the middle. Two tapestry-covered sofas stood either side of a large, white marble fireplace, a comforting feature. And before the fire was an exquisite Persian rug, thick and plush with stunning and vibrant coloured patterns, depicting hunting warriors and square figures, feeding square animals.

  ‘So, why do you need Father in such a hurry?’ Behind me Caesare closed the door.

  ‘The marriage. I’m concerned.’

  ‘Ah. I am also,’ he replied, walking past me to the desk.

  ‘You are?’

  I studied his broad shoulders as he moved back to Father’s desk. I wondered whether he was merely teasing me again. He had never taken the slightest interest in Father’s dealings with me before, other than maybe to agree with his comments. For a long time Caesare stood by the desk gazing down at an open book with barely any acknowledgement that I was there. I watched his expression. My brother was an attractive man. His features were elegant and his long pale blond hair, the same colour as mine, was tied back with a leather thong at the nape of his neck. I had given him that thong myself for his 16th birthday and was pleased to see he still wore it. He was dressed elegantly as always in black breeches and velvet cream coloured surcoat. He was tall, and unlike Father, he was slender. The long fingers of one hand rested on the desk beside the book as he gazed down intently at the page, while his other hand stroked the colourful image. I was intrigued. He was mesmerised. I could vaguely make out patterns and shapes on the page from my position near the main door. I took a step towards him then halted, feeling strangely uncomfortable about intruding.

  ‘What do you want to show me?’ Apprehension caused the hairs to stand up on my arms and neck as he turned his attention back towards me.

  His eyes were strange. Heated in a way I couldn’t understand. They shone with a mysterious excitement. He walked towards me, stopped, looked into my eyes and I quickly looked down. They were too intense. Then he walked around me and turned the lock in the library door. I shivered.

  ‘This,’ his voice was cheerful, but forced.

  He took my hand and led me back towards the study desk. Here lay a vast and exquisite book. It was open somewhere in the middle and even close up I still could not make sense of the images until Caesare twisted it around to face me, waving me forward, so that I could see the picture he had been looking at. The illustration was beautiful. A man and woman, embracing. Exotic colourful clothing dripped from the top half of their bodies. The woman’s legs were wrapped around the man as he kneeled between her thighs. Her breasts were bare. I gasped.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  Excitement mingled with shock as I involuntarily stepped forward.

  ‘It’s a very special book. One that Father paid a small fortune for.’

  ‘They are half naked.’

  ‘Yes.’

  I found myself drawn to the image. Scrutinized it carefully, observed the stiff rod that protruded from the man and seemed to pierce the woman.

  ‘Is he hurting her?’

  ‘No. It’s pleasurable.’

  ‘Oh.’

  I was fifteen. Caesare lifted my skirt.

  ‘Let me show you. There’s a small space, here...’ His voice, matter of fact, implied knowledge of things that I should know, things I had suspected but was unsure of. His fingers fumbled inside my underwear, pulled them down around my knees as his hand deftly pushed between my legs, making me open a little as he kneeled down at my feet. I stumbled, hand resting on his shoulder to stop myself falling. His touch made me afraid though I didn’t understand why.

  ‘What are you... ? I don’t think you should do that, Caesare.’

  ‘Haven’t you ever noticed this? Right here?’

  My knees went weak.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘See. It’s nice isn’t it? Now, just let me...’

  Half pain, half pleasure paralysed me then.

  ‘Don’t,’ I gasped.

  All the time I wanted to demand he stop, but could not force the words from my lips as his finger continued to induce a pulsing warmth inside me that made me feel wet and hot.

  ‘Yes. You like it don’t you?’ His voice sounded thick and husky.

  I shuddered and trembled against him. Wanting him to stop but hoping he wouldn’t, until this mystery was complete, this pleasure fulfilled. A wave curled up from my loins, stretching out, spreading through my small breasts as I fell onto his hand, spasms clenching inside me and my first orgasm poured over his fingers. My knees gave out. Caesare caught me and lay me beneath him, withdrawing his hand as the last pulses rocked through my body.

  ‘Oh. Luci...’ he moaned, pressing his lower body against mine.

  He pushed my legs apart as he fumbled with his breeches. I felt insensible. Lay helpless beneath him and only when I felt him press hard against me did I react and pull away.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Giving you some more pleasure.’

  ‘No, Caesare. Stop it! It hurts. Don’t.’

  His lips pressed down on mine, silencing me as he positioned himself more securely between my thighs. I felt trapped, unable to move as he held my flailing arms down above my head. For a moment he held my hands one handed as he reached down, but it wasn’t his fingers I felt this time. I squirmed, trying to break free, twisting my head away from his lips.

  ‘Caesare, Stop it!’

  But then it was too late as he ground his pelvis into mine and an agonising pain shot through my loins. I felt something rip. I thought he was tearing me up inside. I tried to scream but his lips found mine again,
forcing them apart and my cries were muffled and lost inside his mouth. I struggled against him, biting his lip until he yelped and cuffed me against the side of my head. I was numbed, shocked into stillness. The pain in my head and body receded until I lay like a broken doll beneath him. His heavy breath matched his pace. I lay, dazed, afraid and unable to fight as I was raped and corrupted in the library of St Peter’s. The agonising pain left me numb and cold as my virgin blood leaked onto the back of my skirt.

  When he cried my name against my bruised lips I knew I could never tell anyone that my brother had defiled me. It was my fault. I let him touch me. I let him give me pleasure. I’d willingly looked at Father’s book, even though I’d realised immediately that it was corrupt. I’d encouraged him. He was a man and I’d been warned of male lust.

  ‘Luci.’

  I didn’t move.

  ‘Luci. Get up. Straighten your clothes and then go back to the house and clean yourself.’ Caesare kneeled above me, worry furrowing his brow as he stared into my dulled eyes.

  ‘Caesare...’

  ‘Come on. Before Father returns.’

  ‘I wanted to see Father.’

  ‘Yes. I know. But not now, not like this.’

  I let him pull me to my feet. I caught sight of my dishevelled state in the mirror across the wall behind the desk. My previously coiffured hair was tumbling down at the back and my lips were red and swollen from the way my brother had kissed me. My clothing was creased. It was all evidence that I was shameless, a whore.

  I picked up my dress and ran to the door, numbly pulling on the handle but it wouldn’t open. Caesare stopped my frantic movement with one hand, calmly turning the key.

  ‘Back to the house and go to your room. You need to lie down and sleep. Then you’ll be fine, Luci,’ he told me as he ran his hands through his hair.

  ‘You...’

  I stared at him, he looked calm, unruffled. Somehow he had fastened his breeches and there was no external evidence that he had sinned with me. Nothing at all showed on his clothing or his expression. As I pulled open the door he stopped me again. Yanking me into his embrace Caesare held me to him. Afraid to refuse I stood in his arms until eventually he let go.