The Other Side Of Midnight

by Georgia Le Carre

  Rocco

  Outside it has begun to rain. I walk up to her. “That’s enough for tonight, Autumn. It’s time you were in bed.”

  She nods silently and wipes her hands on a rag.

  I take her upstairs to her bedroom. “I’ll run a bath for you,” I say, and go into the bathroom. When I come out she is sitting on the bed looking lost. I walk up to her. “Stand,” I instruct.

  She stands quietly.

  Like a child, she lets me undress her. Then I carry her into the bathroom and lower her into the scented bath water. She leans back against the bath. For a while I let her be, then I begin to wash her. Meticulously, tenderly, with infinite care, as if I am a mother with her newborn baby.

  Her tears mix with the water. “I can’t bear the pain,” she sobs.

  “I know,” I whisper, and lift her out of the water. I stand her on the ground, and dry her body down with a towel. Then I carry her to bed and lay her on it.

  She holds her arms out to me. “Fill me, Rocco. I’m empty. So empty.”

  “You’re not empty, my darling,” I say, as my gaze moves down her creamy stomach to the soft nest of curls. “Open your legs and show me your pussy.”

  Her thighs part to reveal her opening, full of wet swollen flesh.

  “That’s a good girl,” I say, and part her thighs as far as they will go. Then I put my mouth on her sweet heat and make her forget her pain.

  For hours I make love to her and afterwards I give her a small glass of fruit brandy laced with a mild sedative.

  I let her drink it, and watch her fall into an exhausted sleep. I stay on guard next to her until five minutes before her alarm is set to go off. Then I slip away quietly.

  Afterwards, I stand at the window of one of the empty rooms facing the driveway and watch her get into the car with Raoul. I wait until the car goes out of view and is lost to me before I go about my business.

  Chapter 53

  Autumn

  Two days pass.

  Every day I go down the mountain to work at the gallery, then Raoul picks me up and takes me back up to Ze Dem Adelar. I paint, then we eat together, speak of anything other than Sam, then we go to my bed and have the kind of sex that makes me forget the world and Sam. I fall asleep in his arms, and wake up alone. I get ready and another day repeats.

  Once Rocco tried to remind me that we need to talk, but I turn on him like a wild animal and kiss his mouth. He forgets what he wanted to say, or just understands I am not ready. Maybe I won’t ever be ready, because I feel certain now that hearing what he says will mean I will have to give him up and I can’t lose him. I cannot hear the ending of the story of the hawk and pigeon. I know now, I am the pigeon and his family are the hawk.

  I can’t let go of him yet. Not yet. Not when I am so horribly fragile. Sometimes when I am in the middle of making love with Rocco, I think I will break. And I will cry out and he will immediately stop and hold me tight.

  But by the third day, I know I have to steel myself and go back to my caravan. There is food becoming moldy in my fridge, and I am bothered by something else. It is crazy, but I have never dreamed of Sam. I think of her all day so I should dream of her at night. At least once, but I never do. I feel as if she can’t come to me when I am at Rocco’s place.

  After Larry leaves for the night, I go to the back and pull out my painting of the castle. I should finish it, but I have feelings for it. It seems dull and amateurish to me now. I put it back into the narrow space it was resting in and decide to clean the gallery first. That way I won’t have to do it in the morning. After I have cleaned downstairs, I carry the vacuum cleaner upstairs to Larry’s office.

  His office is small and it only takes me a few minutes before I’m done. I switch off the vacuum and in its dying growl, I hear a sound downstairs. It is unmistakable. Glass breaking. I still and listen carefully. Someone is working the lock. The rusty bell tinkles.

  The shuffling of feet… hushed men’s voices… there are men in the gallery! More than one.

  I can lock myself in here, but what if they have heard the vacuum and know I am up here.

  I creep silently to the door, crack it open, and crawl along the short corridor. Then I hang my head over the top of the stairs and… see three men. All dressed in black. Two of them have knives. My heart starts hammering in my chest.

  Suddenly, one of them swivels his head, looks up and sees me. For a second we stare at each other. He has the hard face of a thug. Then he breaks the stare. “Upstairs,” he tells his friends.

  A scream escapes my throat, and I’m on my feet in a flash. I run for the sanctuary of the office. It has a lock. I reach it, slam the door shut and turn the lock with trembling hands. Placing my body against it I debate what to do. Call the police or open the window and try to climb down the pipes.

  But I can already hear the thud of their footsteps running up the stairs. I need to barricade myself first. This door is too flimsy. I make a mad dash to Larry’s desk and push it forward until it rams against the door. The men start trying the door handle, then banging on it. One of the men slams his body against the door.

  I take a frightened step back. Clearly, the desk won’t be enough to hold them back. I look around desperately: the metal filing cabinet. I hurry to it and push it with all my might towards the door. When I am close enough I shove it onto the desk. It falls with a crash. I jam it against the door.

  My body is shaking as I find Larry’s phone under some papers on the floor and call 911.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “Oh no, girlie you don’t want to do that,” one of the men outside says.

  “Spokane gallery has been broken into. There are three men inside. They have knives and they are trying to break down the office door. I am alone. Please send some help quickly,” I plead.

  “What’s your Zip code ma’am?”

  “Uh… I’m not. Wait.” I place a hand to my chest to calm myself down enough to think and speak. “75169. Please hurry. I’m in terrible trouble.”

  The thin wood at the upper half of the door splinters. They push through a rectangular hole. I see a man’s face in it. He has dark hair, hazel eyes, and a wide mouth.

  “Is she alone?” I hear someone ask.

  “Yeah,” he says. His voice is frighteningly emotionless.

  I rush to Larry’s golf bag and take out the golf club with the thickest head. Then I rush to the door and swing it wildly at them. “Don’t come in here. There’s no money or safe in here,” I shout.

  I heard someone swear.

  “Keep breaking the door,” another voice instructs calmly.

  I’m sweating adrenaline, but there is absolutely nothing I can do. My fantasy of climbing out of the window is just that, a fantasy. There are no pipes to climb down. I’ll just break my neck, but I will attempt it if I see the men look like they will make it through the door before the police get here.

  It is nearly ten o’clock at night and there is no one on the street, but I rush to the window, open it, and begin to scream at the top of my lungs. They swear, but they don’t stop their efforts to break through my barricade. In fact, they redouble their efforts. Their unshakeable determination is scary. If they were ordinary robbers they would have left by now. At that moment I know, they have come for me. But the police station is not far and I begin to count the seconds until I hear even their sirens in the distance.

  Suddenly, the pounding stops.

  Then to my astonishment I hear a heavy crash. Then dull thuds. It sounds like someone rolling down the stairs. I stand frozen by the window, still clutching the golf club, and staring at the door in shock. What the hell was happening outside?

  “What-the?” I hear one of them say, before what sounded like a blow follows. A grunt of pain. Thudding, hasty footsteps, more dull thuds, and then two further crashes ensue. It all seems to be happening too quickly, that I almost can’t keep up. Have the police arrived? But I haven't heard a single siren.

  S
uddenly everything goes quiet. I don’t move. I dare not even breathe.

  I listen, as still as death, but there is only utter silence. I don’t even blink.

  What has happened? Who has come in to help me? Could Larry have returned for some reason? But he is too unfit to take on three armed and clearly dangerous men.

  It takes me a few more seconds to once again summon the courage to speak. “Hello,” I call.

  Nothing. I swallow. What if it is a trick to get me to come out of the office? Freezing cold air coming from the open window makes me shiver. I am so terrified I can’t move. I just stand there, heart crashing into my rib bones, until I hear police sirens in the distance. The adrenaline that had kept me alert is still fizzing in my blood, I rush to the door and push the cabinet off the desk, then the desk.

  In minutes the police are through the front door. Immediately, I unlock the door and run downstairs only to come to a shocked stop. The three men are out cold and in a neat heap in the middle of the gallery floor. I look at the cops in shock.

  “What happened?” one of them asks me.

  I start blurting out what happened.

  “I see security cameras. Can we see the footage?”

  I don’t have access to them so I call Larry. He’s there in less than ten minutes. He rushed up to me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I nod. He takes us all upstairs to the small room next to his office. We gather around him as he takes the tapes back to the moment I carry the vacuum cleaner upstairs, then he forwards to the moment the men come in. We watch in silence as they go upstairs. The camera shows an empty room for a while, then we see a man, dressed all in black with a hooded sweatshirt come in. He must know about the cameras because he keeps his face turned away from it or downcast.

  I inhale sharply. I know that man. One moment he is standing at the door, the next he has streaked up the stairs, but so fast he is a blur.

  Larry gasps.

  “What the fuck?” one of the cops mutters, and they all lean closer in amazement.

  Suddenly one of the intruders comes crashing down the stairs, followed by another, then another. The hooded man comes down the stairs, lifts the men and tosses them all together onto the floor, as effortlessly as if they were rag dolls. His movements are too swift; it is as if the film is on fast forward. Once the men are in an unmoving heap on the floor, he moves to the entrance and stands there silently, his back turned away from the cameras. He is so still it is almost as if he is a statue or a shadow. A few minutes later he slips out of the door. Then the police rush in. It is obvious he had waited to hear the sirens before he left.

  “Do either of you recognize him?” an officer asks.

  I look at Larry.

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. He looks completely sincere so he must not have recognized Rocco.

  The officer looks at me. I shake my head slowly. “No.”

  The officer looks at me suspiciously. “Are you sure? Because it seemed as if he was protecting you.”

  I shake my head again. “No, I’ve never seen him in my life.”

  “Right. We’ll arrest the intruders and take a statement from you in the morning.” He turns to Larry. “We’ll need those tapes too.”

  “Of course,” Larry says.

  After the police leave, Larry asks if I need a lift back.

  I force a smile. “It’s okay. I could do with the fresh air.”

  He screws on a temporary extra lock he had upstairs, and I get into the car Rocco gave me and start to drive. I drive without thinking, purely on instinct. As I park the car, William appears at the doorway.

  He nods at me.

  “Where is he?”

  “In the study,” he says in his formal voice.

  I walk to the study. Every step feels like I am coming closer and closer to the edge of a cliff. I open the study door and Rocco is standing with his back to me. He is looking out of the window. He turns. He is wearing a black shirt and black jeans.

  “I’m ready to hear the truth now. Who are you? And what do you want from me?”

  Chapter 54

  Rocco

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4A5XuMz_Tw

  -Killing Me Softly With His Song-

  “Come in and sit down, Autumn,” I invite softly. My body feels rigid and tense, but it will be a relief to finally get it out.

  She walks forward and sits stiffly at the end of the chair opposite my desk. Her back ramrod straight with dread.

  I remain standing. “Who… or what am I? I am the descendant of an ancient race of immortal beings who can live for many thousands of years. Our kind have lived on earth alongside humans since the beginning of time. It’s a long story, but human history is not as your rulers have taught you. Anyway, our relationship with mankind was peaceful, and we were viewed as benevolent guardians, and with fear. We were called the Shining Ones, and there were many glowing accounts of us in your most ancient texts and could be found in all great libraries, but they are all buried under the sea now.

  “Originally, we were the keepers of knowledge and guardians of humanity. Especially, whenever there are extinction event cataclysms on earth that happen in cycles, every twelve to fourteen thousand years. When one of these catastrophes, which we call EMPOCs, happen, the damage is unimaginable. There is death and destruction everywhere. Everything is obliterated. Huge parts of continents sink into the sea, drowning all its inhabitants and leaving not even a trace of their civilization, while other parts of land full of sea creatures will rise from the ocean. And sometimes the earth burned for days, obliterating everything in its path.

  “The bible tells one story of a people who were devastated by a great flood, but there have been many other such cataclysms that have befallen earth. During this time, all technology is lost, and the trauma and shock is so all encompassing the survivors collectively suffer a mind wipe of sorts. They walk around in a daze and it has always been our kind who guided them in the rebuilding of their destroyed cities. We brought seeds that we had saved in underground vaults and taught them agriculture.

  “If you’ve ever wondered why archeologists sometimes dig up artifacts that carbon date back to hundreds and thousands of years, but those items show signs of being cut by laser machinery or made by some other historically impossible technology and advances, it is because the real history of the earth has been deliberately hidden from you. Humankind has attained greater heights during other cycles of civilization.”

  She stares at me, her face white and incredulous. Her body frozen in shock.

  “During the golden age of Egypt, my descendants took a wrong turn. The same way the fall of humankind was caused by Eve being tempted into eating the forbidden fruit, one of us was seduced by the dark magic of the powerful priesthood of that age. She let one drop of human blood fall on her tongue, and all of us lost the ability to fly. We fell into the sin of craving blood above all else. And there we have remained ever since.”

  Autumn’s eyes widen with shock as she gasps furiously, “No. This cannot be true.” She shakes her head in disbelief and puts her hands over her ears. “No, this is a sick, sick joke. Vampires do not exist.”

  “It’s not a joke,” I say calmly. “In your heart, you know it is true. You saw me lift your car. You just didn’t want to believe your own eyes so you blocked the memory. You wanted to pretend to yourself for a little longer. There is no more pretending, Autumn.”

  She closes her eyes, then reopens them. All the light in them is gone. She looks at me dully. “You’re a vampire.”

  Shame fills my body, but I don’t look away from her. I am what I am and she is what she is. Nothing will change that. “When we fell, we became the exact opposite of what we had once been. Our skin that was illuminated and glowing with white light was taken away from us, and sunlight became deadly to us. Even the weakest ray of sun can seriously burn our skin. Physically, we were still beautiful, but we had become creatures of the night. Predators, who had to hide our true nat
ures from humanity.

  “Blood lust is something no human can ever understand. Yes, there are humans who become Satanists and they drink blood at ceremonies, and they probably quite enjoy the wickedness of it all, but it is not like that for us. The only way you can even begin to understand how it feels, is if you try to imagine you are starving.

  “You haven’t eaten for days, then someone puts a wonderful, favorite hot meal in front of you. You can see it, and smell it. It is right in front of you, but your hands and feet are tied and your mouth is taped shut. As I stand here now I can hear the blood rushing in your veins and I can smell it. Smoky sweet and seductively innocent. You had onions at lunch. And the adrenaline from your encounter with those intruders is still flowing in your blood. Adrenaline is like a drug. A drug far, far more addictive than the purest heroin.

  “Do you want to drink my blood?” she asks, her voice shaking with horror.

  “Yes, I want to,” I admit brutally. “And I cannot stop the blood lust, just like you cannot stop your heart from beating, or your kidneys from doing what they are supposed to do. You see, our greatest punishment is not that we lost our light, or we have to slink and slither by night and can never feel the wonderful warmth of the sun again. It is having to endure the curse of this relentless clawing thirst for blood, day and night... for eternity.”

  She shakes her head in rejection at my words. “No. No. Oh, my God, no. I cannot believe this. This is just so incredible, so unbelievable. And to think I laughed when I read Interview With A Vampire at the absurdity of vampires going around killing humans every night. As if they wouldn’t be found out. And here you are telling me you and your family are going about doing just that.”

  “You were right to laugh, because that is not how it is done. We couldn’t, as you put it, go around killing humans every night, or we would have quickly aroused suspicion, become known to the communities that we blended into, and eventually destroyed. The solution was obvious. We had to have our own supply. Like the Massai tribes who drink the blood of the cattle without killing them.”