Vampires Don't Cry: The Collection

by Ian Hall

“Oh yes. He personally commissioned my fellowship here, relocating my entire family from Sicily out of his own funds.”

  I looked up into his eyes. “Does my father ever visit me?”

  Dr. Fabrini smiled. “He watches you, and wonders.”

  I turned to the garden and pretended to take in its details, but I felt consumed by a longing to see Father once again. He still cared for me.

  At last I broke my gaze from the beautiful landscape and took in the full measure of Dr. Fabrini. He looked a young man, yet had the finest brush of gray at the temples. I’d never seen eyes so clear, blue as crystal water. Great patience lay behind them; and curiosity besides.

  “Why would my father have done such a thing?”

  “Your father loves you.” Dr. Fabrini tried to appear humble. “I have a good deal of documented success in matters of healing the mind, Valérie. Your father is a tenacious man; he did his research. And now, here I am.”

  “My mind is not sick,” I sneered.

  He continued as if I’d not spoken, “Most physicians in my field tend to focus on punishment for poor behavior. I believe in reward when appropriate behavior is exhibited.”

  The doctor cupped his hand around my wrist. Immediately, I knew I could break his hand to splinters, crush the bone to powder if I so chose. But, I tucked the knowledge away for another day and allowed him his show of dominance.

  “You have earned your first reward.”

  Through a long, white labyrinth of halls, he led me to a heavy pair of thick, oak doors. For the first time since being dragged in through those doors, they were opened to me and I felt a rush of brisk, clean air in my face. Were it not for Dr. Fabrini’s persistent hold upon me, I would have run out into the open fields and put the asylum at my back forever. Instead, I walked out like a mutt on a tether, knowing my frail muscles would take little catching.

  My bare feet sunk into the sharp blades and I felt a thrill run up my toes and through my body. The air felt moist with the promise of a coming downpour. Above, clouds were gathering and I remembered quite suddenly the sensation of bathing in the fresh rain.

  I remembered Father holding my arm – much the way Dr. Fabrini held me now – as I struggled to leave the dry awning of the porch and rush out into the storm. At last I managed to wriggle free, leaping from the stone steps and into the driving rain. Arms open and face up to the heavens, I spun and rejoiced gloriously. Laughing, Father ran to me, flung me into the air and twirled me about. There we danced together, even as the clouds thundered above. For the first time in all my years away, I knew a longing to be held in the arms of someone who loved me and shame for my inability to love in return.

  Dr. Fabrini tugged at me as the first sprays of droplets coated my face. I wanted nothing more than to stay and dance beneath the purging clouds but I knew my only chance at feeling the grass on my feet again would be to go quietly.

  Slowly, I bent and plucked a single blade from the ground. I clutched it in my palm like a treasure and Dr. Fabrini graciously allowed me my prize.

  Such became our custom over the following stretch of days. Each time I behaved, I was allowed a little further outside and for incrementally longer spans. But, always with Dr. Fabrini at my wrist. All together I collected eighteen blades of grass.

  On the nineteenth such excursion, Dr. Fabrini walked me to a thicket of vegetation that hid an arched footbridge over a narrow creek. For the first time ever, he let go my wrist and motioned for me to cross of my own volition. I could have jumped the creek in a single bound, but still I walked the wooden bridge, pausing to glance over the side at the still and shallow bed.

  “Just there,” he said, pointing to a lattice-encased gazebo on the other side.

  I followed the direction of his finger and entered the obscene structure. A half-circle of benches pushed up against the round walls. Dr. Fabrini sunk onto one as if immersing in a tub of tepid water. He motioned for me to sit upon the opposite bench and I did, the crisscrossing lattice obscuring my view of the nature around.

  “Isn’t it marvelous?” he said with a deep sigh.

  “It feels like a cage,” I replied obstinately.

  Dr. Fabrini smiled sagely. “You have an innate distaste for anything manmade, Valérie.”

  “It’s a cage!” I said again.

  “It’s a place to sit and enjoy the surroundings.”

  “I can sit on the grass and not have to squint my eyes to see my surroundings through pieces of wood, or get splinters in my feet from these chopped-up boards.”

  “Shoes might be helpful to you in that department,” he shrugged, glancing down at my dirty feet.

  “Shoes keep me from feeling the grass.”

  “I see we will never agree on this subject,” he told me resolutely, “but I am quite happy to sit on this bench and enjoy the scenery from here.”

  “Grownups are always happiest when they’re sitting,” I accused. “A bunch of lazy, useless beings that do nothing but get in the way.”

  That seemed to perk the lounging doctor’s interest. “Get in the way of what, Valérie?”

  My tongue fell suddenly mute though every nerve in my body seemed to recall the persistent hassling of maids as they brushed and dressed me, scrubbing at my face and pulling at my hair. Forever working to tame the unruly little girl who wanted only to run and climb in the open air.

  “Society is a rigid place, filled with rules of conduct,” Dr. Fabrini said as if reading my thoughts. “Those rules can be overbearing and, for some, overwhelming, Valérie. Yet, to coexist peacefully with our fellow humans, we each must learn to follow them.”

  The doctor looked me over as if deciphering some hidden code. At that moment I hated him for his self-proclaimed insight, and knew for the first time since our meeting that Alvise Fabrini stood in mortal danger of getting too close.

  Getting no response from me, Dr. Fabrini continued to push. “Have you been told the story of your birth, Valérie?”

  I threaded my fingers through an opening in the lattice, restraining the desire to break through it and tear down the walls that separated me from outside.

  “Or…should I say – the story of your mother’s death?”

  I could not help it. The thin pieces of wood disintegrated in my hands, the latticework shredding as I stood, my hands ripping through the screen, tearing it asunder. My eyes only saw red. I remember panting and trying to catch my breath, the world suddenly spinning around me.

  My mother had died giving birth to me.

  From the depths of my soul I began to scream. I did not even notice the approach of the muscled orderlies. So intent on my rage, I did not register the first hands on my limbs. Only when their strong grip began forcing me inside the stiff, starched, canvas uniform, did I step back from my fury. But by then it was far too late.

  I had killed my mother by sliding from her womb. A murderer at birth.

  In a moment of stillness, as they pulled the buckles tight, I glimpsed Dr. Fabrini’s slight figure walking across the lawn towards the house. I tried to call his name, but the opening of my mouth proved the opportunity they needed to gag me, forcing the metal bit between my jaws, knocking me silent.

  A movement at one of the windows caught my attention. I froze, letting them continue to bind me, gazing upon the man in the tall window. The figure looked different from my last image of him, but with a smile and a tear I looked once more upon my father’s distant face.

  Bound in canvas, my struggles were useless, so I conserved my energy, letting them carry me into my room. I lay still on the floor for hours, then the men came again with the needle, and I fell asleep despite my efforts to resist.

  With my rage diminished, I counted the days of my punishment.

  One, I determined in the future to curb my temper.

  Two, I debated at length the trigger of my rage; the mention of my mother.

  Three, I lay on my side, weeping for my mother’s life, so cruelly torn from her by my arrival.

&n
bsp; Four, I tried to rid myself of the name, “mother”, but to no avail. I had killed her, and my father must have detested me, despite his efforts to love.

  Five, I sat as much upright as I could, shuffling against the wall. “I killed my mother,” I said under my breath, for a whole day.

  Six, I had used up all my tears, and my throat swollen by continual confessions.

  On the seventh day, I woke, yet again with no restraints or gag.

  Being tested once more, I determined to pass. I looked up at the tall, dark observation windows. My father could be up there.

  I sat up and pushed myself back against the wall, watching the door. On cue, it opened, and the two orderlies entered. One carried a tube and a funnel, the other the mug of liquid.

  “I will drink by myself, if you please,” I said, holding out my hand for the mug.

  They left me alone, and I sipped the warm liquid until I had finished it.

  The door opened again, and Dr. Fabrini stood in the doorway. He extended his hand to me, and I rose, and obediently put my wrist into his grasp.

  The morning felt colder than before, and thick dew lay across the grass. I gasped as I stuck my foot through the myriad of droplets for the first time. We headed for the gazebo, and I noticed with shame, the new wood in its construction.

  “I’m sorry.” I looked back at the house, where Father had stood just a week before, but the window stood empty.

  Dr. Fabrini took no notice of my apology, but turned to me and grabbed my other wrist. Slowly he pressurized me so sit with him on the wet grass. The two orderlies stood behind me, pressing their hands on my arms and shoulders.

  When I seemed sufficiently restrained, Dr. Fabrini smiled. “Valérie, you did not kill your mother.”

  His words were an icy smack upon tender flesh. Were it not for the orderlies bearing down on my shoulders, I would have carved a trench through Dr. Fabrini’s throat then and there. After so much meditation, so much soul-searching, to come to terms with the truth he had the gall to inflict hope.

  “Of course I did,” I rebutted with as much restraint my building anger would allow.

  Those crystal blue eyes remained calm as a reflecting pool. “Who has told you this? Your father assures me he has not mentioned the incident.”

  “I heard the whispers between the chambermaids…they called me demon.”

  “The gossip of bored women, entertaining themselves with torrid tales, Valérie,” he shook his head sorrowfully. “And your father?”

  “Father never spoke of it; not that I recall.”

  “Between the servants’ loose tongues and your father’s clamped jaw, it is no wonder you were left to draw truth from such bitter lies.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  Dr. Fabrini’s gaze tightened, his eyes turning a fierce gray like a gathering storm. “Tell me first what you have heard – word for word, if you can.”

  Word for word; the story came back to me like a recurring nightmare. “Heavily pregnant, Mother took walks every day. One morning, still weeks away from delivering me, the servants heard screaming from out in the garden. By the time the servants found her, her belly had been ripped open, intestines spilled, and her womb split asunder. They say I clawed my way out of her, ripping through her stomach, tearing her apart from the inside, torn to shreds like a carcass devoured by carrion birds.”

  “And it was you – her unborn babe, no teeth in your tiny head, not yet ready to taste her first breath – who managed such a monstrous act? You, with no nails stronger than those blades of grass you collect? This is what you’ve heard and believed, Valérie?”

  “It’s what they believe!” I made to leap to my feet but the orderlies pressed their combined weight down on me. “It’s what Father believes as well. Why else would he have never said differently?”

  “Your father failed you in that, my dear girl, and I have no compunction about saying it. He allowed grief over his lost wife to better his judgment and cloud his perception of the events.”

  A sting of tears flooded my eyes. “So, Father does despise me…”

  “He does not despise, Valérie – he fears you. And he is ashamed of himself for that fear.”

  “It’s me he’s ashamed of.”

  I hung my head and allowed the sobs to come freely. Dr. Fabrini let go my wrists and pulled me to his shoulder, stroking my hair and rocking me the way my mother might have done had she lived to hold me in her arms.

  “My dearest Valérie,” he crooned into my ear, his breath puffing against the side of my head. “You imagine the exact opposite of what actually happened.”

  I felt my strength rise, and tensed my muscles for my bursting free of human hands. Then I heard a voice, albeit a very distant one.

  The truth illuminates.

  My rage instantly cooled, my concentration channeled elsewhere, searching the surrounding garden for the source of the words. I looked over Dr. Fabrini’s shoulder from the distant forest to the nearby hedgerows, but to my chagrin, I could trace nothing, but Dr. Fabrini still talked to me, his soothing words wafting into my psyche, forcing me from my search. Perhaps the words had come from him.

  “…they found you in the alley behind the house. Gallons of blood surrounded you, but there you were, your cord bitten through, lying in the damp cobbles. A wonder you were alive. They could only identify you as the child of Constance Berthier by this…”

  Dr. Fabrini produced a glittering object from the deep pocket of his white coat. Dangling from a long, gilded chain hung an ivory pendant, surrounded by a shiny gold border. Embossed within the oval, lay the delicate silhouette of a woman’s face. I spread my hands and the good doctor placed the fine object within them. He then pushed at a tiny clasp with his thumb and, delightfully, the oval separated into two halves. Behind thin glass on either side lay a small, fading photo. The man, though his face looked smooth and eyes youthful, I recognized instantly. The woman I had never before seen, but I knew her just as surely.

  With the tip of my small finger, I traced the outline of each face as if the tactile connection could bring them to me in that garden. As I took in my mother’s countenance, the whisper from the trees thundered all around me.

  The truth illuminates!

  I looked to Dr. Fabrini, clearly he had not spoken nor seemed to have even heard the mysterious expression. At that moment I knew the voice spoke for me alone and did not question that fact. Just the thought brought me odd comfort; same as the lovely locket as I placed it around my neck, claiming it as my own. It proved such a grander prize than any blade of grass, and I would not be deprived of it by any means.

  “What of my mother?” I asked.

  “Gone, my dear; the locket was all that remained of her…besides a newborn daughter, of course.” His hands smoothed my face. “Her body was never found, Valérie. But you did not kill her. Another claims that cruel deed.”

  I doubted his words but not the sincerity behind them. I could hear Father’s voice in Dr. Fabrini’s, and I knew it to be true.

  The truth illuminates, Valérie!

  This time the words, hurled so loud into my head, startled me. The nearby trees were bare of anything resembling a human figure, but my caller lay out there, bidding me to come. Overwhelmingly, I knew a driving need to answer the plea.

  I shot upright so quickly, I threw off my two orderlies, throwing them back onto the wet grass. They quickly regained their former positions, but neither held me quite as tight as before. I’d seemingly won a contest, and they knew I could best them. But my struggle against the orderlies had broken Dr. Fabrini’s trust.

  He leveled a disappointed glare at me and presented his palm. Instinctually, I clutched the locket.

  “We do not reward such behavior, Valérie. Give me the locket; it will be returned to you in due time if you prove so deserving.”

  “This is mine,” I said in a measured, yet warning tone.

  His demand became sterner. “The locket, Valérie.”
/>   My voice hardened to match. “This is MINE.”

  I suddenly felt the injection in my shoulder. I raged against it, throwing my human chains asunder, and took a few steps towards freedom, and my unseen ally. Then I stumbled, hindered by the strong drug coursing through my system. I felt the hard contact of stone against my chin, and surged against the bonds, instantly lost in pain and suffering.

  In my addled brain I heard conversations of ‘Uncle’, ‘Doctor, and ‘America’. I have no idea how long I stayed this way.

  When I eventually came to my senses, the padded walls of my room had changed to bare wooden planking. I knew that Italy lay far behind me, the air smelled full of salt, and the floor beneath my bed rose and fell rhythmically.

  I tried to sit up, but of course, I lay bound by stiff canvas and leather again. I looked down my body and became instantly alarmed by the bosom presented to me, mere inches from my eyes. I shimmied within my bonds and felt the strange lumps of flesh strain against the hard canvas.

  I had breasts.

  But when had I grown them?

  As I slowly shook the last vestiges of the drugs from my body, waves of despair swept over me. I knew that years had passed since my days in the garden with Dr. Fabrini. I thought of the lost times, and my savior within the woods. Long forgotten, way back in my distant past.

  As I took in the details of my new world, I wondered exactly how long I had lost.

  The door opened and my eyes darted to the opening, my head held by the cloying mask. To my surprise, a woman entered. She stood dressed in black from hat to toe. Stiff black dress, no color at all.

  “Ah, you’re awake.”

  I nodded as much as I could, knowing my speech would be hampered by the bit drawn through my mouth.

  “My name is Sarah, and I am your nurse.” She walked over to the bed and leant over me. A cold look passed over her face. “If I unfasten the mask, and you misbehave, I will whip you. Understand?”

  Again I nodded. I had no doubt of her conviction to carry out her threat.

  Carefully she unbuckled the mask, and to my surprise, removed it completely. The old one had been part of the restraint; this new mask sat separate from the canvas suit.