Dark as the Grave

by Peter Dawes

  She smiled, the expression bearing a strange level of fondness to it. “There’s no such things as coincidences,” she said. “Just remember that for now. It belonged to somebody who’s been looking out for you longer than you realize. Try not to let Sabrina get her hands on it, okay?”

  Nodding, I remained silent otherwise and watched Monica consummate her departure. Even after she had disappeared, though, I remained frozen in position, examining the air where she had once stood as if the vapors of her presence yet lingered with riddled answers. I felt confused, hungry, and tired, and the moment I broke my trance to regard the night sky, I weighed my chances of procuring another meal and determined I had no desire to make the attempt.

  So, I strolled back to the coven, opting to drain a few glasses of blood before retiring to my room again. The rays of the sun had not yet touched the horizon as I lay in bed, fingers tracing the pendant around my neck until sleep took me under. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized a battle for my soul had commenced anew, promising to be long and bloody. I could not figure out my posture on the matter yet. I simply knew one thing prevented the sinner in me from swallowing the saint whole.

  Lydia. The same push that sent me barreling over the edge in the first place was the thread tethering me to my humanity. The direction of the wind hinged upon the death grip she had on the scattered remnants of Peter, but then again, a lot had always hinged upon her.

  I simply did not have the eyes to see it yet when I was mortal.

  Part IV

  The Secret

  “For nothing is hidden that will not

  become evident, nor anything secret that will

  not be known and come to light.”

  Luke 8:17

  Chapter 15

  I had never cared for the light. Even while human, I rarely woke early and favored late night walks and odd shifts at the hospital, comforted by the serenity of darkness. Of all the demands becoming a vampire required, surrendering the daytime hours bothered me the least. In some ways, I had already accepted an inevitable fate.

  Lydia often commented on what it did for my pallor, but, then again, she had always been a child of the morning. Superstition dictated the mandate of her life, feeding her fear that some malevolent force laid in wait for her once the sun had set. It made our meeting already an odd coincidence, as Lydia hated being outside so late. Whatever compelled her to leave her apartment that night, it sealed her fate, because being outside is what led her to me.

  The wind had born a chill to it, cold enough to force me deep inside the protection of a warm, wool coat while I strode through North Philadelphia. My feet led me into the confines of a park which had seen better years, littered at times with garbage, drug paraphernalia, and homeless people huddled on the scant amount of park benches which lined the walking path. None of that ever bothered me. I had indentured myself to the city and all its vestiges provided a strange comfort of familiarity – a family, in lieu of the loss of both my parents and, by that point, my aunt and uncle. It stopped me from feeling terminally alone.

  Whether the universe was apt to call my bluff, or saw a moment to insert a touch of kismet, what started as a solitary stroll became violently interrupted. I cannot recall what I might have been thinking, except to say that my eyes had raised heavenward, taking my focus away from my immediate surroundings. When an unexpected force impacted into me from behind, I pitched forward, sprawled out on the ground before I could catch my fall. My face hitting the concrete, I added an extra grunt of offense when my unwitting attacker landed on top of me.

  “Oh God,” a female voice said, her weight lifting from my back almost instantly. I managed to my knees in time to see her stand in my periphery. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking and I –”

  “No, it’s okay,” I said, glancing up as a hand lowered into my line of sight. I took it, accepting the stranger’s help to my feet and quickly looming over her once I straightened to a stand. Something warm trickled from my nose, prompting me to dab at it and wince when touching it produced a burst of pain. When I pulled my hand away, I saw blood coating the tips of my fingers.

  “That doesn’t look okay.” When she spoke again, I looked at her, abandoning the internal debate as to whether I had broken my nose for the moment. As I did, two things about her caught my attention. I saw the emerald green color of her eyes and marveled over how bright they were, seeing fear within them and yet, something strangely inviting. As she peered over her shoulder – looking for what exactly, I could not be sure – I watched as a jagged cut on her neck oozed a thin rivulet of blood. She opened her mouth to continue speaking, but I preempted her by stepping closer.

  “No, what doesn’t look okay is that,” I said, gesturing at her neck. She appeared confused at first, until I closed what little distance lay between us and bent to study her injury better. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Really, don’t bother...” She froze when I was not deterred, nodding assent when I glanced up at her and motioned to move her hair out of the way. A sigh escaped her lips while I brushed the long, brown locks behind her shoulder. “Are you a doctor or something?”

  “Second year intern, actually.” I frowned as I assessed her, straightening my stance once I got an adequate look. “What happened?”

  “It’s a long story.” If the injury bothered her, she gave no indication of this. Her head turned, gaze searching the direction from where she had originated and in that moment, I realized that she had been running from someone. “Listen, we’re not safe here,” she added, as if reading my mind. “I’ll get it looked at, but right now, I’d just like to get out of here. I suggest you do the same.”

  Brow furrowed, I met her gaze when she looked back at me, and though I did not understand her warning, I nodded, walking with her as she started to depart. “Well, then let me take you to the hospital. I can clean that up and you can get out of here. Two birds, one stone.”

  She peered up at me without missing a step. Entreating her with my eyes, I had no ulterior motive with the offer and the longer she looked, the more she seemed to realize that. Slowly, she relaxed, nodding as she finally acknowledged the cut on her neck by touching it. “Alright. Thank you, Mr.…”

  “Peter. Please, call me Peter.”

  “Okay, Peter.” She flashed me an amiable smile. “My name’s Lydia.”

  “Glad to meet you, Lydia,” I said, then quickly winced. “I’m sorry. I mean, despite the circumstances…”

  “It’s okay.” Lydia took a deep breath. The shaky way she exhaled it preceded a small burst of confidence in her step, both of us emerging from the park in unison and turning to walk parallel to one of the main roads. I struggled with the urge to ask her more questions, wondering if she knew the person who hurt her; if the police should be called or simply why she looked so scared. It took until we reached a block away from the hospital for her to fully relax and by that time, I decided the answers could wait. Regardless of the reasons why, she needed a chance to feel safe again.

  I did not yet realize she already had me smitten. That later, I would remember the placid smile she granted me once we reached the hospital, or that she trusted me enough to take my hand when I led her into the emergency room and back to the patient beds. I helped her hop up onto one of the cots, telling her that I would be back just as soon as possible, needing to wash up before I tended to her wounds. Later, I would relive the sparkle in her eyes when she nodded.

  For the time being, I excused myself, pulling the curtain shut around her before pacing back into the doctors’ work area. Several colleagues stopped me along the way, asking about my bloody nose, but I dismissed their concerns, focusing more on the heavyset, middle-aged nurse who wandered over to us. “Chloe, could you clean up the girl in Bay Seven and prep a suture kit?” I asked my old friend. “I need to take care of this.”

  She nodded as I gestured at my nose. Once she had wandered off, I finished my departure and spent the next ten minute
s cleaning my face and confirming to myself that while I had taken a nasty spill, my nose was not broken. After thoroughly scrubbing my hands, I returned to where I had left Lydia, in time to see Chloe finish wiping the blood from her neck.

  “It’s a nasty gash,” Chloe confirmed, stepping away from the cot, “But it shouldn’t take too many stitches to close.”

  “That’s what I figured,” I said, glancing first at the nurse before shifting my focus back to Lydia. The tray I had requested sat beside her, and as our eyes met, she seemed to brighten, her posture straightening when I motioned forward to pluck a pair of surgical gloves from the tray. She tilted her head obediently to the side as I glanced at her neck, flashing a grateful smile first before allowing her expression to sober.

  “Your friend tells me you do this Good Samaritan thing often,” she said.

  I shot Chloe a quick look, seeing the way her lips curled, and fought the urge to sigh. Half-grinning, with a sudden flight of nerves dancing in my stomach, I plucked a small packet from the tray and tore it open, pulling an alcohol swab out from inside. “I take it that was her way of wording it,” I said.

  “It was.” I felt Chloe pat me on the shoulder as she disappeared around the other side of the curtain. Lydia glanced at the swaying fabric, but directed her focus back to me while I wiped what little blood had beaded over her cut with the swab. She drew a sharp breath inward from the sting. “I’m really sorry for dragging you into this, Good Samaritan or not.”

  “You don’t have to apologize.” Disposing of the used swab, I turned my attention next to the suture thread and needle. “Feel like talking about what happened?” In the middle of threading the needle, I peered up at her, hoping to communicate that she could trust me.

  This time, when she met my gaze, Lydia hesitated. At first, I wondered if it had something to do with my question, and almost apologized when something about the way she studied me shifted. As I began to realize I had not offended her – and that something else about me had captured her interest – she looked away again. “Some crazy idiot with a knife came at me,” she said. “I kneed him in the groin and ran off before he could get another chance.”

  I perked an eyebrow, shifting focus back to the cut on her neck. As I began to sew it shut, she tensed, but remained still otherwise. “Should we be calling the police?”

  “I’ll file a report when I’m done here. I promise.”

  “Alright.” A comfortable silence settled between us while I continued closing the wound and she sat, obediently still, entertaining whatever thoughts resided in the place where her mind had wandered. Once I had finished, I placed a bandage over her cut and stepped back with pleased satisfaction. “There you are,” I said, removing the surgical gloves. “You might have a little scar, but it should heal nicely.”

  “Will I need to do anything to it?”

  “Just come back in a couple of weeks so we can remove the stitches.”

  “Alright.” She paused before adding, “It’s a date.”

  The way she said it caused me to peer back at her. Tossing the gloves in the trash, I lingered beside the can, studying the way she looked at me while feeling a smile fight its way onto my face. “I can think of much better ways to spend an evening together than removing stitches,” I said. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  She shrugged, releasing a breath in near-staccato. “How would you spend an evening, then?” she asked.

  “Dinner reservations.” I chanced a step closer to her, feeling emboldened. “Maybe a night spent out dancing or something quieter. Like a movie.”

  “Lots of decent movies playing right now.” Lydia bit her lip. “I could be persuaded toward one of those.”

  “You’re tempting me to persuade you.” Despite my better judgment, I paused. What hope had risen within me subsided, beaten back as I offered her a warm smile. “You’ve just been through hell, even if you made it out the other side. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you.”

  “Who? Mr. Good Samaritan?” Lydia chuckled. Folding her hands on her lap, she seemed to relax, a subtle urging in her eyes as she looked at me. “Do you believe in destiny?” she asked.

  “No, not really,” I said. “A lot of things that seem like destiny, but if we’re not the ones in control, then who are?”

  “We’ll all find out someday, I guess.” Her smile spread a little, reaching close to her eyes. “I don’t mind the thought that I ran into you for a reason. Who knows? Maybe the Fates wanted me to find you. Either way, though, you’re a nice guy, Peter. I’d like to see you again.”

  Breaking eye contact, she peered around the immediate area and gestured at the curtain. “Well, somewhere else,” she added.

  I breathed a chuckle, unable to contain my amusement. When she mirrored my expression, a spark seemed to jump between us and despite the onslaught of superstition, I found it endearing about her. “So, when are you available?” I asked, allowing the hopeless romantic within me to guide my steps. Regardless of whether I should have succumbed, I found myself powerless to resist.

  Our conversation focused on schedules until we found the right time and date, when the planets could align between us. Among the things I reflected on later, the peculiar way we met lingered heaviest on my mind, but nothing epitomized Lydia better. Riddles dotted her life, as did private treasures and personal pains she did not share with anyone else. Her eyes never failed to hold me in an aura of wonder, but her lips issued enigmas she would only allude toward before backtracking when it was apparent I did not comprehend what she was saying. One date turned into several, until the night she invited me up into her apartment, leaving no doubt as to her intentions.

  It was the first evening Lydia and I shared ourselves with each other, skin touching as we laughed and rolled under her sheets. I could still see her face as she reached a climax and smell her scent as I buried my nose in the crook of her shoulder, just below the healed cut inflicted on her neck. Her hands held onto my back tightly and a breathy moan punctuated the crescendo of our coupling, our bodies still joined and the euphoria of afterglow taking hold. I kissed her skin and waited several lingering moments before parting from her. She rolled to face me when I settled on my side.

  I remember her looking at me in ‘that way’ again when our eyes met. While the evidence of our intimate union affected the way it surfaced that time, I could not deny its presence. She beheld me as though gazing at something more than her new lover. I kept silent and studied her in return, until she shifted her weight onto her elbow, resting her head in her hand.

  “You’re sure you don’t believe in destiny?” she asked. “Fate. Kismet. Anything like that?”

  Shrugging, I sobered when I realized she was asking me that question with genuine honesty. “I’ve seen a lot of things people have called fate, but I don’t know. Most of them just seemed to be nice coincidences,” I said, reaching to play with a lock of her hair. “Except for you. You defy all explanation.”

  Lydia grinned and leaned in to kiss me again. “You’re being sweet.” Her observation kept her quiet for a moment, until it seemed her heart demanded she clarify. “I mean, it seems like sometimes you stumble across something you know you weren’t supposed to find. But you found it anyway.”

  “You mean, like somebody who warms your soul? Whose eyes could break the deepest spell?”

  “There are very deep spells out there, Peter. Are you sure mine can do that?”

  “I guarantee it.”

  “Then remember my eyes for me.” She laid her head down on my chest and sighed as though releasing a heavy burden. “Because I’m afraid there’s a lot of darkness waiting for you in the road ahead. You have something rare and people will always try to take advantage of that.”

  “Something rare?”

  “A part of yourself you don’t even know exists, but it’s in there. And one day it’ll come out.”

  Her words were a riddle and while I took them as a metaphor at the time, it did not occu
r that I should heed the larger warning which had been issued. It would not be the last time she would caution me against danger, but the skeptic within always thought her fears irrational. They were the things one lover spoke another and I offered them an obligatory smile without taking them to heart.

  A lot of darkness waiting for me, she had said as she laid in my arms.

  She must have been talking about Flynn.

  Chapter 16

  It would have been rational to assume a lot of remorseful brooding followed my evening with Monica. If one were so inclined, they could have believed I spent the subsequent nights wringing my hands, wondering what to do with these mortal gifts, now that they had been brought to the surface. While such a notion is noble, it is also incredibly fool-hearty.

  Nothing could have been further from the truth.

  After an evening spent licking my wounds, I ventured back into the night, bent on subjugating it. Yes, the voices of my victims rang inside my head as I dispatched of them – body after body collecting in a graveyard of my own design – but soon, I found ways of using the information they provided for my own gain. I learned how to read their thoughts before my teeth so much as grazed skin. Once I had determined the best way to seduce them, I lured them into my clutches and ended them. It made me a far more dangerous killer; a master manipulator, drunk on more than just blood. None of the miserable lot knew a vampire-seer had duped them until it was too late.

  This deception would have been even more enjoyable if not for the return of my self-appointed conscience. She found her way to me again late into the month of February, seemingly bent on spoiling my fun. “You mean to tell me you’ve learned how to derive some sort of sick pleasure out of knowing these people before you kill them?” she asked. When I answered only with a smirk, she sighed. “That’s incredibly fucked up, Flynny.”