Born of Darkness

by Rita Vetere

  Jasmine quelled her rising panic, and tried to think. She knew it would be pointless to run. If she could sense his presence, she reasoned, he would certainly have no problem tracking her down wherever she went; his powers were greater than hers. She had failed miserably in leaving the pendant behind, and in doing so, had sealed her own fate. He would come for her. And there was nothing she could do except wait, like a sitting duck, for his return.

  Exhausted, she sat down at the kitchen table. With a trembling hand, she tapped out a cigarette from the pack she'd left there yesterday, and lit it. Think. Minutes ticked by as she considered her situation. She had seen with her own eyes what Ahriman had done to Tom, but she knew Ahriman would not kill her. No, he had a different fate in mind for her, one worse than death. He needed her alive. To breed with her.

  In the silent kitchen, she contemplated what her life would soon become. Ahriman would think nothing of subduing her by whatever means he deemed necessary. She would be subjected to his overtures and the accompanying guilt and shame for as long as he decided. There was nothing she could do to prevent it from happening. Her situation was hopeless.

  No, not hopeless, she corrected herself. One last recourse remained. One from which there could be no turning back.

  She lit another smoke, knowing what she had to do. But, oh, she felt loath to carry it out. She smoked the cigarette down to the filter, wracking her brain for another solution, and finding none. A strange numbness penetrated her as she walked to the counter and selected a small knife from the wooden knife-rack. She tested the blade of the knife and found it razor sharp. Aunt Dora always kept her kitchen tools in good working order. Her body seemed to burn both hot and cold as she studied the knife in her hand, contemplating what she was about to do.

  She had no intention of allowing herself to be condemned to the existence Ahriman intended for her. She would take her own life, now, before he could return to stop her. It was the only way.

  Doing her best not to dwell on the act she was about to carry out, she slid to the floor, her back against the cabinet. Tears rolled down her face. She cleared her mind and thought about her mother. Her mother had been a mortal, and Jasmine knew by her own intention that, regardless of what she was, her own heart was also human. Whatever qualities she had inherited from Ahriman, they were not strong enough to eradicate her mortal emotions.

  She set to her task, knowing enough to cut up and down her wrists, not across. As crimson blood welled to the top of the first tentative incision, she had to look away, afraid she would lose her nerve. She steeled herself, and made a second cut beside the first, cutting deeper this time. It hurt. What hurt more, what marked her deep inside, was the knowledge that Ahriman had thought nothing about destroying her. Blood gushed from the wound, running down her arm to her elbow, dripping from there to the floor. She struggled not to pass out, sickened by the sight of her own blood. No turning back now. The third cut was quicker, but lightheadedness followed. Don't pass out. Finish it, she ordered herself. The pool of blood on the floor expanded, and she thought about how red it looked, her blood, as she went about the business of ending her life.

  A kind of peace fell over her then, or perhaps it was just relief at having found a way to extricate herself from a fate she knew she would not be able to live with. Black stars began to blossom in and out of her vision, and she reminded herself to hurry, she was fading fast.

  She switched the knife over to her other hand. Her bad hand was drenched in blood and she struggled to get a grip on the knife's handle.

  Vague awareness of a loud banging noise jarred her from the peaceful feeling that now permeated her. From the back of her consciousness came the thought that someone was pounding on the front door. The thought slipped from her mind as easily as the blood flowed from her body. She focused all of her concentration on making the cut to her other arm, but the sound of approaching footsteps distracted her, and in the next instant she glimpsed a pair of shiny black shoes in the doorway leading to the kitchen.

  "Jasmine! My God, what have you done?"

  She recognized the voice. Her gaze travelled upwards. Christopher. Christopher had returned. She tried to speak, but nothing intelligible came out.

  He caught her as she fell sideways to the floor.

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  Chapter 21

  Jasmine looked around the darkened room through bleary eyes. She was in a hospital. Not dead. I'm not dead. She raised her left arm, and the gauze wrapped around her wrist came into focus. The cuts beneath the bandage hurt like hell. Then she noticed Christopher sitting in a chair in the corner. When he saw she had awakened, he got up quickly and moved to her side.

  "Jasmine."

  She turned away from him. The movement caused her head to throb. “Should've let me die,” she said, her voice emotionless. Thoughts of Ahriman pursued her like a relentless hound. “How long have I been here?” she croaked.

  "Since last night, after I found you. Jasmine. Look at me."

  Last night. And it was night again. Late, judging from the blackness beyond the window and the lack of movement in the hallway outside her room. An entire day had gone by. She struggled to understand. Ahriman. Why had he not returned?

  Christopher continued talking, his voice deep and gentle. “I spoke to the doctor. You've lost a lot of blood, but you're going to be all right. Jasmine ... what happened to make you think you had to do this? Can you tell me?"

  She remained silent, but a single tear rolled down her cheek. She'd never be able to explain it to him, why bother trying?

  "I knew something was wrong after our last call and took the next flight home. Please talk to me, I need to know."

  She looked at him through swollen eyes, her head still throbbing. “I'm already dead, Christopher. If you're smart, you'll get as far away from me as you can. That's what I want you to do."

  His face registered shock at her words, but he didn't let it go. “No,” he said simply. “I don't accept that. I'm not going anywhere. You're going to be all right. You have to be. And I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure you will be. Then, if you still decide you don't want me around, I'll go. But not before."

  Panic bit into her. Ahriman might be on his way back to her at this very minute. “Go away, Christopher,” she cried. “You can't help me. Nobody can."

  He sat back down in the chair next to her bed. He didn't say anything, but he didn't leave, either. Christopher poured some ice water from a jug on the hospital table into a tumbler and lifted her head from the pillow to help her drink. “I'm not going anywhere,” he said softly. “I won't leave you."

  Too exhausted to argue, she sank back into uneasy sleep.

  * * * *

  When she opened her eyes again, morning sunlight poured into the room, and Christopher, still slouched in the chair beside her bed, was asleep. The stitched cuts on her wrist throbbed and a dull ache nagged at her temples, but it was nothing compared to the way she had felt last night. Worry flooded over her again when Ahriman sprang to mind. She immediately focused inward to determine if he was earthbound. She was astounded when she sensed nothing, nothing at all. Unable to fathom Ahriman's reason for staying away, her jangled nerves stretched taught, she tried to think what to do next. She'd been certain Ahriman would waste no time in coming for her.

  She watched as Christopher slowly opened his eyes and sat up.

  "Hey.” He smiled. “You're awake. You look a little better."

  Before she could stop them, the words tumbled out. “I love you, Christopher. So much. No matter what happens."

  A look of relief crossed his face. He got up and leaned over her, kissing her mouth gently. “That's all I need to know. And nothing else is going to happen,” he said, “except that you're going to get better."

  His words elicited a spark of hope, but she quickly extinguished it. Ahriman would return. There was no point in wishing otherwise. She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her by putting a finger gentl
y to her lips.

  "I don't want you to worry about anything right now. Just rest. Whatever happened, we'll make it right. Together. I promise."

  He wrapped his strong arms around her and for a brief moment she felt safe again, the way she had before Ahriman had entered her life.

  When he released her, Jasmine noticed a small frown creased his brow. “The staff psychiatrist I spoke to yesterday said he'll be carrying out an assessment today. To determine whether you might ... you know ... try to hurt yourself again.” He paused. “You wouldn't, right? Do anything like this again, I mean?"

  Not until Ahriman comes back, was the thought that jumped to mind. Now that Christopher mentioned it, Jasmine realized it would suit her purposes better if she was not confined to a hospital when Ahriman returned. “No. I won't,” she said. It was a promise she knew she would not be able to keep, but it was worth it to see the worry lift from Christopher's face.

  Just then, Carla entered the hospital room, looking slightly distracted but perfectly turned out in a sleeveless black cotton shift and red sandals, her silky black hair tied back.

  "Jazzy,” she said, rushing to her bedside. “I've been so worried about you since Christopher called. The hospital told me you couldn't have visitors until this morning, so I came first thing. I hope it's okay I'm here. Do you feel up to company?"

  Company was the last thing she wanted, and there was no way she could ever explain her actions to Carla. Still, Carla was her best friend, and it felt wrong to turn her away. “Sure,” she said in a quiet voice.

  "I'll leave you two to talk for a while,” Christopher said. “I've got to grab a shower and change, anyway. Then I'll be back."

  * * * *

  Christopher smiled warmly at Carla on the way out, but Carla paid no notice. And to think she had thought him so incredibly sexy only a few days ago. A small sigh escaped her, as an image of the dark stranger she'd met last night flitted across her mind. Not even the call from Christopher telling her Jasmine was in trouble had managed to wipe away the erotic sensations still running through her from their encounter.

  She'd spotted the extraordinarily beautiful man just before she left the club and had actually blinked in surprise when she looked into his strange dark eyes. The hungry look he'd given her had rocked her right down to the soles of her feet. And when he'd spoken to her in that beguiling voice of his, she'd practically orgasmed on the spot.

  Her cheeks burned with embarrassment just thinking about the things he'd done to her after she took him home to her apartment, the most incredible sex she'd ever had. Then, yesterday morning, she'd awoken to find him gone. She'd been devastated, until she saw his note, telling her he'd be back in town in a few days and would return. Just the thought of seeing him again made her wet.

  She realized she was staring absently at Jasmine and gave her head a little shake. What was wrong with her? She'd been in a daze all morning. Bringing herself back to the present, she studied her friend. Carla was shocked, of course, to see Jasmine's bandaged wrist and the disheveled state she was in. She still could not believe Jasmine had tried to take her own life. Never in her wildest imaginings would she have thought her friend would do such a thing. It was just too awful. What could have prompted her suicide attempt?

  "What happened Jazzy? Why'd you do this?"

  Jasmine sighed. “I don't know, Carla. I guess I was more depressed about Aunt Dora than I thought."

  Carla studied her friend's face. She'd known Jasmine almost all her life. She'd never been a very good liar.

  "Uh-uh. I want the truth."

  "It's complicated,” Jasmine said, closing her eyes.

  Carla waited, but Jasmine said nothing more.

  "Does this have anything to do with Christopher?” she asked. Jasmine, who never remained interested in any man for more than a couple of days, had fallen hard for him, she knew. It was all she could think of that might have driven her to such desperate action. Even though Jasmine had been devastated by Dora's death, Carla had not noticed any of the warning signals afterward that might indicate she was contemplating taking her own life.

  "No,” Jasmine said quickly. “It's nothing to do with him."

  "What, then?” Carla asked, seeing the look of despair that had crept into Jasmine's eyes. “Please tell me. I want to help if I can."

  Jasmine turned away and didn't answer.

  "All right,” Carla said, finally. “Maybe you can't talk about it yet. But when you're ready, I'm here, okay?” she said, patting her friend's hand gently.

  Jasmine turned back to her. “You're a good friend, Carla,” she said in a small voice. “Don't worry about me. I'll be all right."

  But Carla found she was worried. Very worried.

  * * * *

  Later that day, Jasmine sat across from Dr. Harold Stronik, the staff psychiatrist, a tall, balding man in his late fifties, and did her best to answer in a calm manner the questions he posed, which were many. He made notes of each answer she gave. Jasmine noticed the man made very little eye contact with her during the assessment, and thought it strange that a psychiatrist would appear so disinterested. His whole demeanor was cold and clinical, and something about the man made her feel decidedly uncomfortable. Jasmine couldn't wait for the assessment to be over. In response to his last question, she said, “Aunt Dora was the only family I had left. I guess after she died, it hit me how alone I really was."

  He put down his pen, removed his spectacles and rubbed his tired-looking eyes. After putting his glasses back on, he finally looked directly at her and said, “Ms. Fairchild, the depressed feelings we experience after a serious loss may last for some time. Everyone is different. In your case, I'm going to prescribe an anti-depressant, short-term, just a few months. If you agree, then I believe I can approve you for discharge."

  That was easy. “Okay, doctor,” she said, relieved he'd bought her explanation. “I'm sure I'll be all right. Thank you."

  He nodded, but something about the strange way he was looking at her made her uncomfortable all over again. “Is there anything else?” she asked.

  "No, Miss Fairchild. Nothing,” he said, finally, although he continued to stare at her as if she'd just landed from outer space. “Best of luck to you."

  * * * *

  On the following morning, Jasmine sat on the corner of her hospital bed, waiting for Christopher to pick her up. She was no closer to understanding why Ahriman had not returned. Was it possible she had somehow managed to stop him when she'd unleashed her fury at him? She decided it was highly unlikely. Ahriman was too strong a being for her to have caused him irreparable damage. Perhaps some act of God or fate had occurred that had prevented Ahriman from re-entering the mortal world. She just did not know, although she prayed that was the case. All she knew for certain was that Ahriman was not earthbound, and Christopher's love had saved her from taking her own life.

  Earlier, she'd arrived at a decision. She would not take drastic action again unless she absolutely had to. She would remain on constant alert for Ahriman's arrival. If she sensed his approach and Christopher was around, she'd arrange to leave on some pretext, and then finish the job she had started a few days ago. In the meantime, she would give Christopher as much of her love as she could for however long she had left. She knew she was living on borrowed time, but they loved each other, and nothing else mattered to her anymore.

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  Chapter 22

  When Jasmine arrived home with Christopher, she found the house spotless. Every trace of the dismal events had been wiped clean. Christopher had also gone to the trouble of placing fresh flowers in each room to welcome her home.

  She went upstairs to change and, as she slowly undressed, her thoughts focused on the awful events that had transpired over the course of the past week. Just days ago, she'd believed herself to be human and had been looking forward to a happy life with Christopher. She sighed. Her life had never been filled with much joy, and it did not look as if she woul
d be breaking with tradition anytime soon. Now she knew she was a Cambion, one targeted by Ahriman in order to advance his plan to breed, and she wondered if she'd done the right thing by allowing Christopher to remain in her life.

  As if in answer to her thoughts, she turned to see Christopher standing in the doorway. He walked over to her and hugged her to him. She leaned against him, grateful for comfort, and he brushed her hair to one side, nuzzling her neck.

  She had never needed love as badly as she did at that moment. “Make love to me,” she whispered.

  He said nothing at first, and then, “I thought I'd lost you."

  She lifted her face to his, wanting and needing him more than ever, and kissed him hungrily. Seconds later, they found themselves in bed, where they spent the next several hours making up for lost time.

  * * * *

  That evening, Jasmine padded around downstairs in her bathrobe, searching for a cigarette. Finding none, she began to rummage through her purse, where she usually kept an emergency stash, removing the contents of her handbag onto the coffee table in the living room. Christopher picked up a slip of paper from the floor. It was the prescription Dr. Stronik had written up for her.

  "What's this for?'

  "Oh. Dr. Stronik prescribed an anti-depressant for me, but I don't think I'm going to fill it. I'll be fine without it.” She located a half-full pack of smokes at the bottom of her bag and lit one.

  "Jasmine."

  "Um-hmm?” she took a drag of the cigarette.