by Peter Dawes
I turned, heading back for the estate before I could stop myself. Feet splashed in puddles and by the time I made it back inside, rain drenched me from head to toe, but I was a man on a mission. Weaving around the other vampires, and pushing through the crowded common area, I found Sabrina and waved for her attention.
She turned to look at me, stopping abruptly once she took in my appearance. An eyebrow lifted, but the rest of her expression remained neutral. “My son, did you forget an umbrella?” she asked, drifting away from one of my siblings while offering him a parting nod.
My gaze fell to the other vampire, a swarthy, tall fellow whose name I struggled to remember. As he nodded in response to Sabrina, it finally dawned on me; Louis glanced at me briefly and raised an eyebrow before blending into the rest of the crowd. I waited for him to make it out of earshot, eyes jumping between him and Sabrina before settling on the latter. “No,” I said, before realizing the state I must be in. “I mean, yes, I did, but it doesn’t matter.”
An amused grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. She rested a hand on my shoulder, using her grip to turn us in the direction of the foyer. “My, you are in a fit tonight. Timothy said you’d been acting reclusive lately. I was beginning to worry.” Her touch continued to linger.
“I’ve had a lot on my mind. That’s actually part of why I wanted to talk to you.” I paused, working to posit the question to her as cautiously as possible. “After I was turned, when you took my old clothing… What happened to my personal effects?”
Her fingers might have tremored as we began a sedate stroll from the common area. Lifting her other hand, Sabrina tapped her long nails against her chin. “What happened to your personal effects?” she asked, repeating the question. A shrug provided its punctuation. “Honestly, I have no idea. Your clothing was covered in blood and the rest were just human trivialities.”
Passing another group of vampires, Sabrina waved to them while I frowned. “Does that mean you threw them away?” I asked.
“The clothing, I’m certain, but Timothy may have stored away your other items.” Sabrina stopped walking and turned to face me. “Why do you want them anyway? Is something the matter?”
I thanked heaven for my sunglasses as my eyes shifted away from her scrutiny. “Not exactly, no. I’m just having some issues with my...,” my hand rose, fingers gesturing to my left temple, “memories.”
The eyebrow arched once more “What about them?”
“They’re incomplete. I can remember a few things, but there are gaps.”
“That life is over.” Sabrina stepped closer to me, far closer than she had since the days of my awakening. She reached up, her fingers brushing through my hair and pushing back the damp locks. “You are not a mortal any longer, dear. Why trouble yourself with the recollection of being one of those inferior humans we consume? Let the past lie in the grave.”
“I understand, but it’s important to me.” One of my useless breaths hitched in my throat when her fingertips slid past my cheek, her razor nails dragging across the flesh in a deliberate manner. “I... need to fill these blank spaces in so I can move on. Otherwise, they’ll keep nagging at me.” I attempted a disarming smile. “And we don’t want that, right?”
“You concern me.” One finger coasted past my lips, and then her hand abruptly dropped to her side. She sighed in resignation. “If it will help you put matters to rest, then I will look for your mortal possessions.”
“It would.”
Sabrina eyed me for a few tentative moments before nodding. “Very well,” she said, and without any further words given over to the matter, Sabrina inclined her head to kiss my cheek and walked away. Later that night, Rose knocked on my door, handing over a small bag. I took it into my private quarters and dumped its contents onto my unmade bed, hastily rifling through the items in search of the piece of jewelry I desired.
I saw the keys and wallet. The driver’s license verified my identity and my last place of residence, and there was a small amount of money. Other forms of identification and old receipts were tucked into various pockets in my billfold, but no necklace. Sitting on my bed in an exasperated huff, I threw the wallet across the room and shoved the other items onto the floor without any further thought.
My eyes drifted back to the bed, however, just in time for me to catch sight of something shimmering atop my black sheets. The thin chain attempted to disappear within the folds of bedding before my fingers pinched around it, allowing me to raise it level with my line of sight. Even through my sunglasses, I noticed dried blood streaked across the pendant, staining two hearts with a thorny rose atop.
I don’t know what I expected, only to say I expected something. But holding it in my hand, and staring at it for several minutes, did nothing to inspire any new imagery. In disgust, I tossed the chain aside, leaving it with the other discarded items.
That morning, however, the dreams continued.
My mother joined in the chorus. A transplanted German, she lived in Great Britain for half her life and developed a strange accent in the process; a confluence of Bavarian and British which stretched across the years to accuse me of my sins. “You let the devil in, Peter,” she said. “And now you’ve become a demon yourself.”
My father regarded me through the sweat of his brow – the man who had instilled in me the work ethic which pushed me through medical school. “Have you forgotten what you were?” he asked. “You used to care for people, Pete. Remember what I told you – if you lose your love for others, then you risk losing your humanity.”
I held my head in both hands, screaming past the sound of all the people – loved ones and friends; colleagues and patients – who knew Dr. Peter Dawes. “Who are you?” they asked. “Where is the Peter we remember?” I spent the next three nights arguing with them, my wandering footsteps leading me throughout Philadelphia as the vampire sought to feed and the mortal died a little more with every human he consumed. The dualism had me so at odds with myself, I agonized over every person I stalked.
When I fed, though, I reveled in the taste again. I wore a wicked smile and drank deep until the demise of one sated the needs of the other. The fledgling vampire did not wish to give his life and yet, mortal and immortal sides could not reconcile. The voices persisted in their mission to silence the blood thirst, and they might have succeeded if not for one thing.
Their sainted doctor was a hypocrite. The immortal gritted his teeth and issued a response. “An impostor,” I said. “No benevolent doctor kills two people in cold blood, one the woman he was going to marry. He had all of you fooled. The man was as much a murderer as the vampire he begged to become.” When the ghosts of my past could not issue a response, my new nature held its ground and planted roots deep.
My erratic behavior did not go unnoticed, though. The coven listened as I carried on inside the confines of my private quarters and watched me lose my grip. I railed and ranted until the walls shook. I fought immortal thirst when the chilling memories kept me indoors, though it drove me mad with hunger in the process. My public outbursts sent my housemates clamoring to Sabrina for relief when it got to be too much.
Peter the vampire was going insane. Something needed to be done.
A little over a week after my awakening, sunset heralded another night of battle. I sat on my bed, fingers tangled in my hair as I shuddered through an escalating craving for blood. The whole manic episode came to a head with a knock at my door. Shooting a quick look at the entryway, I furrowed my brow when a voice followed the gentle tapping. “Dear Peter,” Sabrina said with a hint of annoyance in her voice, “please open the door. I wish to speak with you.”
I stood and walked to the door, dizzy from the effort, but not about to tell Sabrina to enter and see the state of my quarters. When I opened the door, I stood behind the gap, holding it just barely ajar. Sabrina raised an eyebrow at me. “How long will you do this?” she asked. “I’ve been told you continue to torture yourself, and the people around you, and have gr
own quite irritable in the process. This is becoming taxing, Peter. It must stop.”
I was forced to look downward. “I don’t know what to do about it,” I said, my voice a hoarse whisper.
“About what, dear son?”
I shook my head.
Sabrina grabbed my chin, forcing me to look her in the eyes. “Tell me why you have been in such a foul mood lately or I will take those glasses away and leave you to writhe in pain in a well-lit room. First, you go from indulging your brother Timothy’s company to ignoring him outright. Michael has told me you’ve been acting rude to him, too. Then, you ask for your old personal effects, and now, you have become insufferable – locking yourself within your quarters. Carrying on. Being a nuisance.” She paused expectantly, her eyes shooting flames at me. “I demand a response from you.”
I could no longer hold back the words. “Voices, Sabrina. I keep...hearing the voices of people I knew when I was mortal. They’ve been torturing me and I can’t shut them up.”
“So, you become the coven terror.” Sabrina forced the door open and grabbed my hand. “Come. We will converse in the common area. You need to remove yourself from this room.”
After several nights’ worth of wrestling, I had no resolve with which to fight her. I acquiesced to the coaxing, even when I spied a group of onlookers watching from the hallway, snickering at me. We rounded a corner and made it to the stairs, stopping when a familiar face paused on his way up and smiled at us. The expression looked strained, especially when directed toward me.
“Brother,” Timothy said, affecting an air from the very first word. “Glad to see you out and about.” His gaze jumped over to Sabrina, relaxing marginally when their eyes met. “I thought I might see you for a chat, Mistress.”
His emphasis on the word ‘chat’ piqued my curiosity. Sabrina smiled, but in a bitter manner. “You can join us. I was just taking your brother to the common area for some fresh air.” Our maker surged ahead of both of us, leaving Timothy and me on the top of the stairs, staring dumbly at her back as she started to descend. Timothy shot a glance at me, both eyebrows lifting, and started downward. I followed, working as quickly as possible to catch up.
Sabrina broke the silence. “Now, what is all this nonsense about voices?”
I sighed, suddenly self-conscious with Timothy now a part of the discussion. “As I said, they were people I knew when I was human. They keep bothering me whenever I try to hunt, telling me how ‘good’ I used to be and how contrary I’m behaving now.”
She shook her head. “I told you at your awakening that this would not be easy and, in some regard, I think I took too much for granted when I saw you embrace this new life you were given. Your memories have not been kind. I had no idea they would cause this much pain.”
“If only it wasn’t so constant, but it’s every time I try to feed or sleep.” I frowned. “I feel like it’s going to rip me in two.”
Timothy raised an eyebrow, jumping into the discussion. “Rip you in two?”
“Into this bleeding-heart mortal that listens to the voices and the immortal that still enjoys the kill.”
Sabrina nodded, but said no more. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the three of us turned toward the crowded common area. I suppressed the urge to groan; while the sight of Sabrina spurred bows of respect from my brethren, when they looked at me, they froze. Some even sneered at me in disdain. Averting my gaze, I decided it might be best if I avoided eye contact altogether.
I indulged one glance upward, however, when I sensed someone studying me from across the room. My gaze countered Michael’s dare, but only for a moment. Sabrina paused by a couch, mercifully directing my attention back to her as she and Timothy sat side-by-side on the plush piece of furniture. I settled for an armchair across from them.
Sabrina folded her hands on her lap after crossing her legs. “I fear you are on the path to self-destruction,” she said, “And this would be a pity, not only to us, but for the vampire collective as a whole, if we were to lose a being such as you.”
“What? A brooding, neophyte vampire?” I asked as I dropped, defeated, into the chair.
“You don’t know all ends to this matter.” Sabrina paused, glancing at Timothy as if asking him a silent question before nodding to herself and folding her hands atop her lap. “I didn’t plan on telling you this for some time, but you could use some motivation. Child, there is more to your identity than even you know.”
I scoffed. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Your eyes. You’ve dealt with this handicap, but have not asked either of us why they are this way since the first night you woke.”
“You mean you know the reason for this?” My gaze jumped between Timothy and Sabrina.
Timothy glanced apprehensively at our maker before looking at me again. “Yes, or, at least what the Mistress suspects is the case,” he said. “It’s difficult to know for certain that one matter has caused the other.”
“I have no idea what you’re –”
“You have the Second Sight,” Sabrina said, interrupting. “Gifts which have yet to emerge. Your infirmity is the sign of something greater.”
I pointed at my sunglasses. “Gifts? You call this a gift? All I see is a curse.”
“Only because you choose to look at it that way.”
“Is there any other way to see it?” My frown deepened. “If it tortures us so much to be vampires then how do we endure an eternity of it?”
“You are the tortured one, child.” Sabrina reciprocated my frown. “You’re the one allowing these visitors from your past to dictate what your life is worth. Now, you see ill where you should find delight.”
I sighed. “Delight in what?”
Sabrina inched forward in her seat, her body angling toward me. When she reached for my hand, I peered into her eyes again, clutching onto the comfort extended. “Do you not recall it?” she asked. “The way it felt when you fed from your first victim? Have you not experienced it since then when you have killed? When you last relished the blood of the feed and allowed yourself to experience it as only immortals can?”
Timothy smirked. “I know I’ve seen him savor it since then,” he said.
Shaking my head, I avoided eye contact with them both. “I don’t know if I ever will again. I can’t kill without being reminded this isn’t who I used to be.”
“You’re looking at immortality like a mortal with that sort of reasoning. You are not one any longer. You are something far better. A higher being. And you, with gifts precious few creatures possess. Bonded to immortal form, they could make you a formidable vampire someday, but only if you allow yourself to become what you are destined to be.”
“What does that even mean? I think you’re creating a story to make me feel better. I don’t have any special talents.”
“I speak the truth.”
“Then explain this second sight bullshit to me.”
Sabrina sighed when I glanced back up at her. “I am going to have to ask you trust me when I say this, but I don’t know what it’ll look like for you. All I can say for certain is that you’ll recognize it when it happens. Until then, you must stop cowering. Doing that will prevent you from evolving into the creature you were meant to become.”
“Evolving?” With a huff, I pointed around the room as I spoke. “I look at the others and don’t see evolution. I see a group of lazy, decadent people who probably hate me. And the sad thing is, I care about that part the least.”
“Now, look who’s sounding like Michael,” Timothy said with a chuckle. “Let me tell you, this sort of thing is why he doesn’t have many friends here.”
Sabrina smacked his arm, saying, “Be nice, Timothy.” After shooting him a glare, she directed her focus back to me. “You are part of a coven. Everything you fire at your brethren will be returned tenfold. They see your inability to assimilate and think you spiteful, Peter.”
Cringing away, I all but spat, “I hate the way you say my name.”
Timothy blinked. Sabrina hesitated before replying. “What of it?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s the way the voices in my dreams say it, but either way, it’s bothering me. I don’t know who the hell I am now, but they’re all right about one thing. I’m not Peter any longer.”
While I expected her to issue another maxim, Sabrina surprised me with her reaction. Her impish orbs of brown danced with amusement, ruby lips curling in a wicked smile. “Well then, dark son,” she said, “If you dislike the name and want to distance yourself from this Peter who troubles you, why don’t you change it?”
“Change my name?” A sardonic chuckle rose from my chest. “If I change it, then Michael won’t be able to call me Peter the Blind anymore.”
Sabrina laughed and I could not help but succumb to a quick grin. “Now, you’re sounding just as bad as Timothy.”
Timothy affected a look of offense, but gave himself over to the mirthful laughter. “I am not that bad,” he insisted.
“Oh yes, you are. For two people with history, you both harbor such disdain for each other,” Sabrina said. She freed her hand from my grasp, a finger lifted to point at me. “And you. I have never seen two vampires in the same coven so at odds when he should be your mentor. Again, you fail to take note of your attitude, though. What you dish to him will be returned.”
“I don’t dish anything to him.”
“A proper amount of respect might be nice. He is my second-in-command, after all.”
“Maybe when he shows me a little respect, first.”
Sabrina groaned. “You men will be the death of me.” An eyebrow arched, her disposition turning serious again. “Even Timothy would agree there’s much Michael could teach you. You two could become fast friends.”
Timothy snorted and I rolled my eyes. “When hell freezes over,” I said, turning my head toward where I had last seen Michael. He was conspicuously absent. The frown returned to my face as I attempted to return to the point of our conversation. “So, what am I failing to do, then?”