Grave Burden

by P. Anastasia

  I thought he might reach for my skirt next, but instead, I pressed my hands onto his shoulders and we knelt together on the floor.

  The anger and sickness in my mind intensified while my fingers worked fervently to unbutton his shirt even as I recoiled in the dark corners of my consciousness, unable to turn away. Unable to shut my eyes.

  Guilt rattled me as I took hold of the flaps of his shirt and pushed him onto the dirty floor so that I could straddle his waist and caress my hands over his taut, sweaty chest.

  Shame filled me as I came down to kiss him, my naked skin colliding with his. I used one hand to prop myself up, and my other to deftly unclasp his belt.

  No. No. No!

  I revolted in my mind, to no avail. Every ravenous desire of his body and mind manipulated and controlled me. Imprisoned behind a mask of my own free will, I was forced to seduce him.

  I awoke famished, with a whirlwind of anxiety surging through my veins, flooding me with sensations of fear and nearby threats. Pain resonated in my abdomen and I curled into a fetal position, pulling my knees to my belly.

  Why am I hurting?

  Matthaya had assured me numerous times that we couldn’t experience pain, but pain was very much what I was experiencing, yet again. I turned my wrist over to look at the bite mark—still faded purple and bruised. Hairline forks of black and gray radiated beneath the skin. I grimaced, closed my eyes, and tucked my arm back under the blanket.

  “How long do you expect me to allow this to go on?” Matthaya asked.

  He stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame, his vivid green eyes locked on me. I pushed onto my back and fought to sit up, clenching my teeth as the pain intensified.

  “How long, Kathera?” he asked, approaching the bedside and gazing down at me. Patience shaped his face, but anger raged behind the quiet façade.

  “He’ll stop,” I said, keeping my arm hidden from view. “I know he will.” I broke eye contact and didn’t continue; no words could explain why I didn’t want my husband to retaliate.

  In his mind, I was the victim. In mine, it was Derek’s warped sense of justice carrying out the sentence for my crimes. Or, at least, the crimes he perceived I had committed toward him.

  “I will not stand by and watch you be tortured,” he said, kneeling at the edge of the bed. “Please tell me what to do to help you.”

  I didn’t know what he could do.

  He pressed his lips thin. “If you will not tell me, then at least tell me what he’s done to you. You are radiating pain, and you should not be. I can’t seem to reach you while you sleep, but now that you’re awake, I—”

  Glimpses of the nightmare replayed and I tried to snuff out the visions.

  But Matthaya caught them instantly. His brow crinkled as he bit down and growled, a radiant verdant glow sparking in his eyes. “He… raped you!”

  “Only in my mind,” I replied swiftly.

  “How dare you defend him,” he hissed. “How dare you ignore the obscenities he’s forced upon you!”

  “I’m not ignoring his actions,” I whispered, ashamed of my desire to defend him still. “Once he has this out of his system, he’ll stop. He’ll leave me alone. He’ll leave us alone.”

  “He will leave us alone if I kill him.” Matthaya stood forcefully and bared his fangs.

  “No!”

  His eyes glinted toxic green. He stepped closer to me and bent down to eye level. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t defend you? One reason why I shouldn’t put an end to him for what he’s done. Tell me. I. Must. Know.”

  I looked up into his eyes and frowned, the pain slowly dissipating from my abdomen. The bright rage firing in his irises intimidated me.

  He was right to be angry.

  He was right to want to protect me.

  And I was a fool for asking him to not. What Derek was doing to me was wrong, and yet…

  “I’m not proud of how I treated him back then, nor will I ever be free of the guilt of his death and corruption by Ve’tani, but I can’t ignore the truth behind why I stayed with him for so long. I cared about Derek, and I abused his trust by hanging on to you as if all he’d done had meant nothing to me. But that wasn’t true. It wasn’t true at all.

  “I kept telling myself I couldn’t love him, until I believed it. But a few months after you left, there was a moment when we were together and, for one second, I stopped thinking about you and I started thinking about us.

  “Derek granted me sanctuary and freedom from the pain of you walking away from me. He cared for me, and he treated me with so much goodness and respect when I didn’t deserve his kindness.”

  “But you told me you didn’t want to marry him,” Matthaya said.

  “Maybe I didn’t, but I didn’t want him to die, either. Maybe it wasn’t love, but I felt something for him.”

  I eased up from the bed, bracing myself for any sudden pain, but it didn’t strike. Then I looked into Matthaya’s eyes and said, “I know it’s difficult to understand—seeing what he’s become—but I couldn’t live with myself if I let him die a second time.”

  Matthaya shifted his weight and looked off to the side, his mind toiling with the myriad of emotional memories darting through my mind and echoing across his.

  “You feel some gratitude toward him for what he did for you,” he said, “and you are also grappling with the regret of his mortal death. I understand your desire to bargain for his life with your feelings.” He gracefully took my chin between his thumb and index finger and tipped my face up; his fierce, concerned look ensnared me. “But as your husband, it is my obligation to protect you, and to see to it that you are free from unnecessary strife.”

  His thumb pressed against my chin. “I will put this aside, for now. Only because you have begged me to, and because I respect your wishes, though they do not bring me any comfort. But, if he touches you again—in your mind or otherwise—I will end him.”

  The thought of Matthaya tearing Derek apart roused an ache in my heart I could not quell.

  “Kathera?” His voice softened and he released my chin to stroke the back of his hand across my cheek. “You must consider my feelings, too. I have suffered trying to save those whom I cared about, and the past nips at my heels even today.”

  Losing Kathryn when he was younger had left a deep scar in his soul, as did losing Eddy to a premature end.

  Derek, too, was a scar—a tattoo on my soul, and a burden I’d carry forever.

  I lifted a hand toward my collar bone and I clasped onto the cross pendant hanging from my neck. “We all have old wounds,” I said. “I never meant to reopen yours, nor have I ever wished to see you in pain.” I dropped the gold charm back against my skin. “I’m sorry, Matthaya.”

  “What’s done is done. Do not apologize for the past. I am not the Sire Ve’tani is, and I will not attempt to control you. You are mine, but you are not my property.”

  I smiled at him and reached up to swipe his hair away from his brow. He quickly grabbed my hand and stopped it where it was, then proceeded to slowly bring it down to his cheek, where he pressed my palm against his skin and closed his eyes.

  “I would not wish this life upon anyone,” he said, his eyes remaining shut. “Not you. Not Derek.”

  A shred of ache rippled through me, resonating from him, even as his face did not show it. “Please know that this is how I feel,” he added, resting some weight against my cupped hand.

  I began to wonder if Matthaya’s desire to end Derek’s life was not crafted from vengeance, but mercy.

  Kathera had asked me not to pursue Derek for his deeds against her, but I’d be damned if I’d allow him to continue torturing her.

  The brief glimpse of what he’d done to her drained every last ounce of patience from me. It didn’t matter that it was only in her mind. It mattered that he had forced himself on her and marred her physical body with phantom pain she should not have been able to experience.
<
br />   My clenched fist began to draw blood.

  I relaxed my tightly curled fingers so as to not alert Kathera of my ruminating.

  I told her I would leave it alone. For now.

  She was in her study, reading a book, and I remained in the living room in an attempt to hide my culminating anger. I had told her I would let it go, but the truth was that I could not.

  The man claiming to have loved the woman I married dared to burrow into her mind and strip her of her most intimate, sacred possession. Whether physical or psychological, the abuse and trauma did occur.

  How had he changed so drastically from the man she knew before? I’d seen a hint of darkness in his eyes the day I decided to leave Kathera with him. At the time, I’d thought it was rivalry and past experiences fueling that fire, but now I began to consider the fact that he may have been hiding a greater evil all along.

  But that could also be an unfair assumption.

  Even I have done horrible things because of the disease and the way it corrupted my mind in the beginning stages. And we all harbor our tragedies when we die. We all fume with regret and anger. Even sorrow.

  Derek didn’t know where or how to focus his stagnate feelings, and Ve’tani’s ill intentions likely weren’t helping the situation. She could have taken him far from here and allowed him to flourish in a new place, free of his past.

  But she did not.

  I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind of it all.

  Someone’s watchful gaze had fallen upon me. I looked up at Kathryn’s painting—at the subtle grin which once comforted me, and at the inquisitive, almost judgmental expression staring back.

  Did I see disappointment in her face now? Or was my guilty conscience playing tricks on me?

  I glanced at the gold cufflink on my sleeve; Eddy had helped me procure her painting. In less than five years of working together, he had helped me locate what I couldn’t find in nearly two hundred on my own. Without him and his connections, I may have been searching for another century or more.

  There were times before then when I would find myself in utter dismay, doubting the possibility that I would ever actually find the rare artifact of my past. But when doubt clouded my perception, I busied myself with other things—with living a life around others, even as I despised human company. My condition did not allow me to make friends easily (or to keep them for long), and the needs of vampirism complicated that with my constant thirst for human blood.

  Kathera had begun researching the origins on my emerald ring and the dragon emblems around the setting. Working at the antiquities shop had taught me about the antiques trade, but I would need someone with knowledge of the very early 17th century to help me learn more about the ring I’d been carrying since childhood.

  I glanced over at Kathera’s laptop. She was upstairs getting ready to leave for the shop and had left her notes on the kitchen counter.

  She’d been doing a lot of research between working with clients and resting her mind, and had a notebook full of things she’d discovered. I went over to her workspace and flipped open the cover of the notebook. Between scribbled website addresses and the names of people of interest were tiny doodles—characteristic of her style of note-taking.

  I skimmed a few pages and then came across a list of names and phone numbers where one name had been underlined several times and starred heavily.

  “Dr. Eleanor Henson,” it read, followed by a phone number with an area code very different from ours.

  A quick internet search informed me that Dr. Henson was a professor of history, had a doctorate in historical studies with a focus on pre-18th century Ireland, and that she had written several books on the British Occupation.

  Kathera must have done a great deal of research to have found an expert in such a specific vein of history.

  I spun my emerald ring around my finger and wondered if she had reached out to the doctor yet.

  “You can call her, if you’d like,” Kathera spoke, descending from the stairwell.

  I turned toward her.

  “We’ve been corresponding via email, but hoping to arrange a way to sit and talk in person.”

  “In person?” From what I’d briefly learned about the doctor, she was a professor at a university in British Columbia. She lived nearly on the other side of the continent.

  Kathera stepped down off the final stair and walked over to me. “Yes. I sent photos of your ring to her, as well as Kathryn’s painting, and she said she’d be willing to fly down here to authenticate them and have a conversation with us.”

  Apprehension began to flood my body. “That painting is authentic.”

  “I hadn’t mentioned any of this yet,” Kathera added, “because I knew it might be difficult for you. But, if you want to speak with her yourself, first, maybe that would ease your mind.”

  “I won’t allow a stranger to touch Kathryn’s painting.” I looked down at my hand. “Or my ring.” I had learned much about authenticating artifacts while working at the antiquities shop before I’d met Eddy. “How do you know she’ll be able to tell anything else by seeing these in person?”

  “I don’t, but she has a list of accolades that indicate she’s our best chance. Considering she offered to pay her own way here just to take a look must mean something.”

  Or that my pieces were invaluable.

  “Speak with her, please,” Kathera added. “I know you’re not trusting of new people, but I feel like she may be able to help you—us—learn more about who we are.”

  “Then let her come.”

  Kathera seemed surprised by my response and gazed at me inquisitively.

  “You trust that she can help us, so I trust that you are right,” I said. “Have her make arrangements. We can change things around the house so that it will not seem out of place, and it should be fine.”

  “Are you sure you’re comfortable with that?”

  “I will be,” I replied. “Offer to pay for her trip and lodging, as well. I understand it will be a lengthy flight for her.”

  Kathera smiled. “Thank you, Matthaya. That means a lot to me.”

  “I know.”

  “Good evening, Kieran,” I said, tipping my head to him as I entered the shop.

  “Hey.” He lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave.

  In an effort to keep myself busy and my mind occupied, I had asked Kieran to book a few extra appointments for the week.

  “Uh, hey, I got a question,” he said, putting down his phone and lifting a sticky note from the desk.

  “Yes?” I popped behind the reception desk with him.

  “Some guy called and wanted to know if you consider apprenticeships. I said I didn’t think so, but he asked me to check with you anyway. Said he could forward you his portfolio, if that would help.”

  “I don’t,” I replied, shaking my head. “You said the right thing. I’m not interested in hiring any other tattoo artists right now.”

  “Oh, he didn’t mean tattoos.”

  “He didn’t?”

  “He’s working on graphic novels. Says he’s been heavily inspired by your art and wanted to know if you’d consider critiquing or redlining his work, or mentoring him via email. He’s also interested in getting a tattoo from you.”

  Since I was trying to keep things low-key, I really didn’t want anyone else hanging around the place. Having Kieran there was enough of a liability.

  Derek had given me a chance and I’d have gone nowhere without that opportunity.

  But I didn’t have time to teach someone.

  “Tell him I’m not accepting apprenticeships right now, and apologize on my behalf.”

  Kieran seemed disappointed with my answer, but then he shrugged and nodded. “Got it. You’re the boss.” He turned to his computer and started typing an email.

  “As for the tattoo. Please ask him to send me more details on design, size, location—the usual. We can set up a consultation
if it seems like a good fit.”

  “Will do.” Kieran saluted with two fingers and his eyes didn’t leave the computer screen.

  Kieran was usually quiet, something I liked about him. I didn’t know if it was his nature, or if he was intimidated by me for any number of reasons. He had a good head on his shoulders, though, and there was an air about him that Matthaya and I agreed made him trustworthy.

  I think he’d perked up at the thought of having an apprentice around the shop because he wanted someone else to talk to. Part-time work with only one artist did make the place eerily quiet, at times.

  But that was the way I liked it.

  I headed to my studio to prepare my equipment and look over my schedule of appointments. Kieran had texted me a list with some clients coming in for consultations, as well as another two who had already pre-paid for work.

  I opened the autoclave and removed blue-tinted pouches from metal trays inside. A quick go-over confirmed they had been properly disinfected—the plastic pouches had changed color from blue to clear, and indicator strips on the sides of each had changed from white to dark blue.

  I set everything to the side on a safe, sterilized area of my workstation, and glanced at my ink cabinet.

  As if he’d somehow known what I was thinking, Kieran poked his head around the corner and said, “I already placed orders for black and red. Should be in tomorrow, they told me. Blue looks good and we have plenty of white and everything else.”

  I grinned at him. “You’re fantastic,” I said. “Thank you for being one step ahead.”

  “I wanna keep my job,” he replied with a smirk. “And you’re welcome.”

  He swiveled around in his chair and moved back to the computer.

  Two consultations and a mini skull tattoo later, I had begun work on a flash tribal dragon for a male client.

  Derek had designed many of the flash tattoos in the shop. Over the years, I had contributed several, too—mostly macabre creatures mixed in with goddess-like figures with antlers and/or wings—complex original pieces popular with collectors. It had been months since I’d inked one of Derek’s designs, but I decided I had to let go of the past and move on. This was a start.