Rising to darkness

by Lucia Guglielminetti

  "Thanks, mijn kind, it was really beautiful. Why are you crying? Did I hurt you?"

  "Not at all. You'll think I'm stupid, I know."

  "That will never happen. Tell me."

  As always, I don't like to read the minds of the people I care about, it seems rude to me. So, sometimes, I have to wait or just remain ignorant.

  "It's the first time somebody wants me to this point, as a part of himself. Thank you, Raistan. It's really a privilege for me. Except that maybe, you do it all the time, I know nothing about your customs, maybe I’m giving too much importance to something that is not so relevant... and I feel stupid. That's why I'm crying."

  "Look at me." I said, taking her face in my hands. "The others don't exist. They're just food. Even if I often drink people’s blood when I have sex with them, I never, never give them mine. That's what I want to do, to show how much I care about you." Before she had time to reply, I cut my wrist with my teeth and offered it to her. Without meaning to, I sensed her fear and confusion.

  "Don't be afraid, it will not turn you, it's not that simple. You'll feel like me for a while: stronger, faster, more clear-headed... Maybe it will help you miss me a little less. I'll be part of you and this is something I’ve done only once, a long time ago."

  "With a human woman?"

  I nodded and felt my mouth stretch in an involuntary smile even though what I felt was more nostalgia and regret.

  "Her name was Aurelia. She was Italian."

  Sophie caressed my shoulder, than she took my wrist and brought it to her mouth, tasting me hesitantly. A sort of hoarse moan escaped from my throat and I was immediately assaulted once again by the desire to have sex. After some sips, I moved my arm away from her, surveyed her expression, and immersed myself for the last time inside her, savoring every moment as much as possible. Unlike Shibeen, she adores the sound of my native language and I never forget to use it during those moments. For me, it is like giving the chance to be the real me, the one that still exists somewhere inside me, to be set free, bringing with it the feelings that enlivened me once: kindness, gentleness, ability to love. Humanity.

  Getting dressed and leaving was very difficult.

  When I got out on the street at two in the morning, I was even more furious with those who had upset my life in a manner so unexpected and I swore to myself to make them pay for it in the most exemplary way. I smoked another cigarette, leaning against the hood of my car, my senses alert to catch any danger. Eventually, I got in my car. The traffic at that hour was almost nonexistent. It took me less than half an hour to reach Place de Tertre in Montmartre.

  What saved me was that the vampires hidden around my house didn't know what car I was using. Although they were doing their best to blend in with the surrounding shadows, I noticed their presence and didn't stop, cursing the additional complications. Vincent was looking for me, just as the humans who had chased me were doing. My show in the tunnel had probably made him furious but I didn't want to find out to what extent, not then. It was another blow to my spirit anyway. I won't be able to count on the Diurnals’ help this time. I can't even be sure that Vincent himself didn't order his vampires to kill me, although I don't think he'll deprive himself of the pleasure of doing it personally. Basically, I broke one of the most sacred vampire laws: the obligation to secrecy. Eventually, someone with a big brain will connect the story of the witnesses and the video to our existence and who knows what will happen. It is not something that the Supreme Master can tolerate, I'm very well aware of it. If I were in his shoes, I would do the same. I do not blame him. I just don't want to give him the chance to put his hands on me.

  I've never felt so alone in my life, dear reader. The Diurnals have been a very important part of me, giving them up would be like erasing more than half of my life. Of course, I can't run away forever... Maybe, when the situation has eased, Vincent would forgive me, provided I can survive that long. Yesterday, my most pressing concern was to find a place to take refuge in anticipation of dawn and to grab some essentials for my journey such as clothes, passports, and contact lenses. I had lost them, but I couldn’t hope to go unnoticed in an airport or go shopping in broad daylight as any mortal. When I found out that even the entrance of my second apartment was being controlled by my former Clan mates, I experienced a moment of desperation and slumped at the wheel with my head on my arms, no longer knowing what to do, exhausted and on the verge of a breakdown. It would have been easier to surrender to Vincent, stop fighting, but the desire to live burns in me like an eternal flame, stronger than any other, even now that I'm dead. It is what commands me, almost always.

  I got away, then I stopped the car again some yards further down and forced myself to think. It was time to make some calls. The first one was to Chen, an old friend of mine in the Clan. He's a little vampire I saved a long time ago and, since then, he's been calling me "my Lord" which has always caused me some embarrassment.

  "Chen, man, what's going on? It's me. There are vampires everywhere, I can't go back home!"

  On the other side of the line, there was a moment of puzzled silence, then his voice came to me muffled, almost in a whisper.

  "My Lord, they're all crazy here, they want you dead... You have to go as far as you can. Vincent is out of his mind. If they get you, they will crucify you, he swore it."

  "I understand. Thanks for having been a friend, Chen. I've never told you, but I'm telling you now."

  "Wait, my Lord... Raistan. I want to help, tell me what I can do for you. There must be something..."

  There would have been a million things, but I couldn’t risk endangering him. In the Clan, everybody knows about our centuries-old friendship.

  "I have to get by alone, Chen. You could tell Vincent that I called you and told you that I'm sorry, that I was just fighting for my life. I didn't want to endanger the safety of our Clan or of our race. It won’t make any difference, I know, but you could try... Will you do it for me?"

  Even through the phone, I could hear him swallow: Vincent terrorizes anyone.

  "I'll do it for you, my Lord, then I'll call you as soon as I can to let you know what happened. Be careful, though. Were they lycans?"

  "Humans. I must find out what they want, but Vincent has made everything more difficult. Goodbye, Chen. Don't call this number, but the other. Will you remember?"

  "Of course. Stay strong, my Lord, ok?"

  "Your Lord is tired, Chen. See you..."

  I hung up and turned the cell off. I was pretty sure it was under control so I'd better use it as little as possible and never mention people or places I wanted to remain a secret.

  Crucifixion: this is the punishment that awaits me if they catch me. I witnessed one many years ago: nothing that makes you want to be the protagonist. Better not think about it. My plane is about to land. I don't know when I'll be able to write something again but I will as soon as I have the chance. Wish me luck in the meantime; right now, the lycans are the only ones who aren’t giving me any problems.

  May 12

  For now, I'm still alive.

  I had two hectic days and worked hard to find an explanation for the ambush without making great strides. I have set in motion the whole network of contacts I have woven over these years among humans, vampires, and even lycans; but, I'm afraid I must wait for them to contact me. It is frustrating. It puts me in a position of subordination to which I'm not accustomed. The night I left Sophie, I had another call to make: I had to get in touch with my personal Santa Claus, a Corsican named Philippe whom I've known for ten years and who can procure anything I ask for. I just have to pay for it. He's a man in his fifties with grey hair and the air of an accountant, inconspicuous. His only peculiarity, at least in my eyes, is his total aversion to vampires. A true phobia started who knows when and why in the past. I find it funny so I always act with him like one of those pesky cats that seem to prefer the knees of the people who hate them most. I always do the vampire - growl, dart here and there, and draw his
attention straight to my eyes and fangs - when I'm in his presence for the perverse pleasure of terrorizing him. I prefer to keep my human subordinates under pressure. They work in a more efficient way and are too afraid to betray me, knowing how horrific the consequences would be. Upon hearing my voice on the phone at three in the morning, he held his breath as always.

  "I want you in half an hour at the usual place. Don't be late," I told him, then I hung up without even giving him time to reply. I could see him catapulted out of bed, cursing and swearing at me. There is no doubt that he hates me, but I don't care. He's efficient, and that's enough for me. After half an hour, I was at the meeting place, an old abandoned warehouse on the southern outskirts of the city. I could see a faint light coming from under the door, a sign that my slave was already there and was waiting for me with his usual enthusiasm. Reading his mind is like going down in a dark place full of fear, resentment, and disgust. Not a nice place, believe me. When I entered, letting the door slide with a great creaking of its hinges, I heard him holding his breath and turned to look at him. As usual, he had retreated in the area farthest from the entrance. I wasn't in the mood to play games and found his attitude more irritating than usual. After all this time, he ought to know that I would not harm him, instead he acts as if I was going to jump at his throat at any moment.

  "I have a list, nothing complicated. I want everything for tomorrow night at seven o’clock, not a minute later. I have a plane to catch."

  I reached out to give it to him and he hesitated as usual, then he grabbed it from my hand with a rapid movement, as if he was afraid that I would bite. He gave it a quick glance, trying to focus on the characters through his swollen eyelids.

  "Colored contact lenses, brown... two pairs of black jeans size 44... five black t-shirts... socks... (amazing, I have to go shopping...) two French passports... cell... tablet... sneakers size 13 1/2... (you're in deep shit, eh, you son of a bitch...)"

  The thought escaped him before he could control it: dripping with sheer satisfaction and spiteful joy. Sensing it drove my inner temperature up of at least a couple of degrees. "What did you say?" I snarled, a few inches from his nose, making him do an awkward step backward. Under his jacket fastened hastily, he was still wearing his pajamas.

  "Nothing, sir, I swear, I didn't say anything. Please don't have fits like this, you know that I cannot stand it... (I'm too old for this shit, I'm going to retire, I don't want to have anything to do with these lunatics, I'm done.)” he squeaked, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his forehead.

  "You'll retire when I say you can. And, take care of reining in that little brain of yours, if you don't want to find it scattered on the walls."

  He knew I could read minds, but having proof in a manner so explicit perturbed him beyond measure. He had to steady himself against the closest wall so as not to faint, his face turning grey. All I needed was for him to have a heart attack, then I'd really be in deep shit. There is nobody faster than Philippe in procuring the goods.

  "Do you have what you need to take the passport pictures?"

  "Yes, of course, sir. By the way, short hair suits you."

  "Why? Didn't you like the way I wore it before?"

  Just a little game to have fun, come on...

  (What am I supposed to say now? What does he want me to say?) "No, I mean, yes, it suited you too, of course, but..."

  With a quick leap, I climbed a column of some abandoned empty crates. Usually I like to loom over people like I was a vulture as I was doing right then. His belief that I was creepy, psychotic, and repellent was building strength inside him even though he was trying with all his heart not to let any of those unflattering thoughts leak out.

  "Will you please take a seat over there? I brought the spotlight too; it will take only a minute."

  I reached his "over there," a shadowed corner of the warehouse, in a fraction of a second. I saw him wince and take out his handkerchief again while he trotted to reach me. His hands were trembling so much that I wondered how he was going to take a proper picture but, luckily, he had brought an easel.

  "Why don't you like me, Philippe? Don't lie to me, in any case, I'd know. We've known each other for ten years, I've always paid you handsomely and I've never hurt you. Why is it that every time we meet you are so perturbed?"

  The sport of the day seemed to be "Hate Raistan" and I was beginning to have enough. He looked at me with his mouth open in utter confusion. It was the first time that I addressed him as a person and not as a mere supplier.

  "You terrify me, sir, there's nothing in the world that terrifies me as much as you, not even cancer. The fact that you seem to enjoy it doesn't help matters..." His eyes widened and he brought a hand to his mouth in fear that he said something offensive, but I surprised him with a laugh and that relaxed him a little bit.

  "Yes, it's true. I'm a very spiteful son of a bitch, my friend. But, as long as you continue to behave yourself, you will have nothing to fear."

  "All right, sir, thank you. Will you sit for the picture?"

  He pointed me to a lopsided chair, then he messed around with the camera for a few minutes, cursing and giving me anxious glances every few seconds. He, then, took two pictures and turned the display screen back to me so that I could choose my favorite one. I looked like an ordinary young man, though a little pale.

  "Remember to give me a bit of color... I look like a vampire."

  Another astonished expression.

  "Relax Phil, it was just a joke. If we're done here, we can meet again tomorrow at seven. Is ten thousand good for you?"

  "Very good, sir, thank you. I'll be punctual, don't worry."

  "I never do." I nodded to him and dashed out of the warehouse. I waited for him to leave and went back inside again; maybe the problem of where to spend the day had been solved. I picked up the lid of one of the crates on which I was perched before, explored the bottom and sides of it, and deemed it fit to host me, even if I had to crouch in it. I was already foretasting the fright Philippe would receive the following evening when I'd jump out of it in a theatrical manner, as indeed I did. If he didn't die of a stroke then, he wouldn’t die at all, but it was really funny. He had found all the things that I had asked for and had arranged them in a nice grey metal suitcase. I handled him the envelope with the money but he didn't even stop to count it. The only thing he wanted was to get out before some other pranks came to mind.

  "I hope everything is to your liking, sir. Have a good trip. Uhm..."

  "What is it, Philippe?"

  "I saw the video on the Web and I read the newspapers..."

  "And?"

  "For the first time, I envied you, sir. It must be amazing to know to be invincible."

  "If I were, Philippe, I wouldn't have spent my entire day in a box that smelled like mildew. What do you think? See you next time, my friend. At least, I hope."

  I picked up my luggage and went out, heading for my rented car. My flight was leaving at 8:30 pm from Charles De Gaulle, I had just enough time to make myself presentable and anonymous and to buy a ticket; and then, I'd have left France behind, at least for a while. Up to a minute before boarding, I feared that Vincent had sent someone to intercept me even there, and I was surprised to the contrary. Perhaps he thought that a battle among vampires in one of the terminals in a main European airport wasn't exactly what you mean by "keeping a low profile," his obsession. That was lucky for me. On the plane, I was able to relax a little bit and even wrote the pages you've just read, then I closed my eyes for a few minutes pretending to have dozed off as any human on a red eye. Once we had landed, I let the hostess “wake” me up. She was giving off rather lustful thoughts about the treatment she would have reserved only for me and I could have taken advantage of it if it were not for the thought of Sophie that stopped me. I thanked her with my best smile and felt her eyes glued to my back or, rather, on my ass until I descended the plane steps.

  It was windy and rainy in London.


  Looking around at the baggage claim area, I realized that I was the only one wearing just a t-shirt and I thought I’d better pull the trench Philippe had bought for me out of my suitcase, more than anything else so as not to draw attention. My arms are really, really white and muscular and I never know whether people - especially women - look at them for their color or shape. I should have asked Philippe to buy long sleeved t-shirts like those I usually wear. I caught a cab and took it straight to my London apartment in SoHo. Before going in, I went around the block to see if I could find any sentinels. I didn’t find anything to worry about with any of my senses. Finally, I could take refuge in a place of my own, among my things, with a comfortable coffin to sleep in.

  I'm very proud of my London nest. I wish I could spend more time there as it's my favorite, but I'm a creature of habit: after all, I spent most of my life as a vampire in Paris and that's the place, more than any other, I call home. What I like most about my apartment in London is the open space, the almost total absence of partitions apart from the bathrooms. It's a huge attic with bleached wooden floors, comfortable black and grey sofas and armchairs, many modern paintings, and rugs. Grey, black and white are the dominant colors, enlivened strategically with small touches of red. Its only flaw, if looked at from a human point of view, is the poor lighting: the windows on the roof are quite small. However, for someone like me who lives at night, it's not a big problem. The artificial lighting that I had installed made up for it.

  Once inside, I got rid of my clothes and slipped in the shower: soothing, for I still smell the pungent stench of mold from my last refuge. My hair had already grown back up to touch my shoulders but, with the tool Sophie left me, I could cut it again to the level of the previous evening. It was better to remain anonymous for a while. After the shower, wearing some old sporty pants I found in my wardrobe closet, I turned on the TV to see the news about the events of the night before: the morning papers reported nothing but and even BBC news felt compelled to deal with it through a piece that lasted a few minutes. They showed the French woman, the one who tried to help me; they also aired the YouTube video. In any case, any idiot would have concluded that the ghostly fellow ripping off twenty inches of iron from his own leg could not be human. The word 'vampire' was never pronounced, though. They only speculated that the abnormal behavior could have been due to drug abuse, something that was able to cancel the perception of pain; but, I did not feel very heartened. It was only a matter of time.