The Art of Darkness (Part 5)
"Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken." William Shakespeare
It's amazing how even the most vigilant can go soft given the right motivation. I played into him, right into his trap. And all he had left to do in that stairwell, hands caressing me in all the right ways, his lips leaving subtle traces along my skin, all he had to do was snap it shut. And I didn't stand a chance. But that still didn't have me panicking when he moved to kiss my neck. I knew even better than he, I wasn't in danger. At least, not from him. Not to say there wasn't a small part of me that was thinking it. I suppose my conscience had to live somewhere.
Neither of us were ready for that step, I knew that. But, in that moment, in that state, he could have had me any way he wanted and I would be in no place to object. So, imagine my surprise when he was the one to break first, shoving away from me with a huff, turning his back. Even through the layer of his jacket I could see his muscles tense.
“I'm sorry, Amber, I can not– I can not do this.” His breath was ragged. I had never seen him so flustered.
“It’s all right. I’m all right.” I sighed. “Maybe we ought to just take this slow.”
He let out a heavy breath, turning to face me. “You do not understand. This,” he waved his finger in the air, “you and I, it can not be.”
“Why not?”
“Because you and I can not have a normal relationship. Something others take for granted, a touch, a kiss, could very well lead to your death. I can not guarantee otherwise.”
“I know. But, what if it were possible?”
“It isn't.”
“But what if it were? Would you want it?”
He stopped in his tracks, “What are you asking?”
“If you knew that you would do me no harm, that we could do this without putting me at risk, would you want it?”
He paused, “I suppose I do not know. I have never considered the possibility.”
“So, you've never done things like this just because you wanted to?”
“If you mean have I ever kissed or shared a bed with a human outside of hunting, the answer is no. It has always been reserved purely for feeding. I would not know what to do otherwise.”
“Yes, but don't you want to touch me? to kiss me?”
“Since the very first moment I saw you. But it is not merely your skin I desire to touch nor your lips I long to kiss. It is here,” he took his finger tracing down my jaw to the curve of my neck, “the blood rushing through your veins that calls to me. And it is that voice that is more powerful than all the others.”
He had a point, I couldn't deny that. Still, there was a flaw in his argument.
“Then why didn't you give in?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You said it yourself, the night I was attacked I should have been dead. If not by their hands, then by yours. But you didn't. You brought my body, battered and bloody, to the hospital without so much as a taste. I let you drink from me, still I am here. In case you missed it, we just kissed. You were the one that stopped, not me. So tell me, if all of what you have said is true, why am I still breathing?”
He shook his head. “You have no idea in every one of those instances how close I came. When I interrupted that vampire feasting on you, blood spilled on the floor, the other like an addict trying to clean every last drop from the carpet, had I not been concerned about how many others could be behind them. Had I been left alone– Let us say, it could very well have had a different outcome.”
“And what about last time?”
“This last time? When I almost bled you dry? I felt your heart cease, Amber!” He shook his hands in the air, pain in his expression. “You were limp and cold in my hands. My hands! It is only by the rarest of miracles that Mrs. Barnette was able to save your life. Look,” he sighed heavily, “I am grateful for what you have done, the sacrifices you have made for me. But, no matter my desires for you, it simply can not be. We can not risk it. Not to mention those that would come after us if we were discovered.”
“And what about what I want? Does that matter? Why do you get to decide what risks I take?”
“Amber, please, I can not–” He looked defeated, sloughing away his anger long enough to come to me again, clasping my hands, his forehead pressed to mine. “It is not just about the risks you take. I can not live with the thought of what I may do. To take your life, would mean a fate worse than death for me.”
“So your solution is never to touch, never to kiss again? What kind of life is that?”
“It is the only way. Your kind and mine were never meant to be involved in this manner. I am sorry, Amber.”
I backed away, the water brimming around my eyes, the hurt of rejection compounding.
“Amber, please,” he called.
I couldn't face him. I retreated up the staircase, stopping just short of the bedroom, hunched against the wall, unable to halt the tears now streaming down my cheeks. When I heard footsteps in the stairwell, I hardened with the anger I felt, ready to unleash it on him when he arrived. But it wasn't Morvinus.
“Father Andrews.” I hastily rubbed the drips from my face, trying to come to some sort of decent composure.
“Are you all right, Ms. Hollings? There was quite a bit of yelling going on downstairs.”
“You heard that?”
“I'm afraid there were few who didn't.” His face grimaced.
I could feel the rush of blood to my cheeks and I slid down the wall until I sat on the floor, suddenly aware of just what a fool I had been.
“Oh please don't be embarrassed. It's quite alright.” He sighed, coming to a seat beside me, holding out a handkerchief. I politely waved it off. “Pardon me if I'm overstepping my bounds, I couldn’t help but notice you seem to care about him a great deal.”
“Yeah, well, a lot of good it does me if he doesn’t feel the same.”
“Oh I wouldn’t say that. Look, as a priest, I am bound by the sacramental law. I can not break the seal of confession. I can, however, attest to my observations of him since you have come into his life. I have seen a warmth about him that wasn't there before. He has hope for the future, a new thirst, no pun intended, for life. He smiles every time your very name is mentioned. I would say that's very powerful indeed. Now, as a man of God, I'm supposed to say that is God's doing. And perhaps it is so. One way or another, I believe he has much love for you. Otherwise, would he really care to save your life at all?
Now, if it is spiritual guidance you seek, Ms. Hollings, my door is always open. However, if you require something more specific to your situation, I think this may interest you.”
He handed me a brown leather bound book, a strange symbol etched on the cover, crudely drawn. “What's this?”
“That is one of the few surviving journals of a scientist, Dr. Albrecht Bachmann. I think you'll find you and he have much in common. Now, if you'll excuse me, the hour of mass is upon us.” He rose to a stand, brushing the dust of his cassock. “Good day, Ms. Hollings. I do hope you find what you're looking for.”
“Thank you, Father.”
He gave a polite nod of respect before disappearing back down the stairwell.
Tucking my feet underneath me, I slowly loosened the small cream colored toggle holding the covers together and carefully unfolded the first page. It smelled much like the bedchamber, musty and aged. My favorite kind of book. Towards the top of the page, the first scribbles noted the date.
August 29th, 1825
I have had to abandon my research at the university. I had long feared this day would come, that my delve into the world of vampires would be my undoing. It is with a heavy heart that I have sent my darling girls away with hopes that my sweet Katerina and our precious baby Analise would find a safe harbor in this world. A world that, if people knew the truth, would be far less welcoming. I have imparted all that I can into the pages of this, the last of my journals. I can only pray that through my experiences and my research, to the more noble set of eyes, will bring to light all that I have found and, through the grace of God, destroy this putrid barrier between our worlds. That of vampire and human were one once, I know that now. Perhaps, with time, we may return.
For hours I sat in that hallway, paying no mind to the rumble of thunder outside, nor the echoing of a small congregation’s hymns. Enraptured by his words, I felt that bug again as the questions grew, my own research quickly becoming obsolete with every turn of the page. It wasn't until a shrill shriek rang out from down below that my trance was fractured. I dropped the book on the floor and ran to the landing to see what had happened. My heart sank.
Morvinus lay sprawled on the floor, covered in blood, pooling under his limp form. I ran to him, joined by Father Andrews and a lumpy older woman I assumed was Mrs. Barnette. She was looking over him frantically. “Oh Father–”
“Quick,” he said, lifting Morvinus’ body, “let's get him to the rectory.”
I followed them down the hall, through another doorway into the rectory where Father Andrews laid him down on a narrow bed in the corner of the bedroom. Mrs. Barnette huddled around him, peeling back the layers of blood soaked garments. Coming in closer, I could see his ivory skin, once solid like marble, torn open all across his body, a horrible realization taking place in my mind.
“Those are bites.” I never intended to say it out loud, and, somehow, doing so made it that much more horrific.
“Aye, yes dearie. I'm afraid so,” Mrs. Barnette replied.
“Is he–”
She eyed him closely for several agonizing seconds. I held my breath.
“He lives, praise God. Father, would you be a dear and fetch me some clean towels and a bowl of warm water? I will also require the iron drops.”
“Certainly.” He briefly vanished around the corner, returning with Mrs. Barnette's requested items. She quickly made use of them, turning all her focus on Morvinus. Father Andrews and I stepped aside to give her room.
“Will he survive?” I asked him.
“Healing a vampire is tricky. Luckily, Mrs. Barnette has plenty of experience. I'm sure he'll be fine.” His voice was soothing, but his concern shone through the cracks in his expression.
“What happened?”
“I can’t be sure but I can tell you those bites are that of another vampire. Only our fangs are strong enough to tear through our thick skin. My guess is, those that came after you are one and the same. Probably in retribution or maybe even prejudice. There are many of our kind that do not believe vampires and humans should intermingle romantically. In fact, according to vampiric law, it's strictly forbidden. I only know of one recorded account of such a case.”
I knew then of whom Father Andrews was speaking, “Dr. Bachmann. Katerina was a vampire?”
“Yes.”
“But, I don't understand. They had a child together. How is that possible?”
“That I do not know. He referenced his earlier findings very briefly. I can only assume they are in his other journals. As far as I'm aware, the one I gave you is the only one he kept.”
At that moment, Mrs. Barnette got up from the bedside chair, wiping the blood from her hands with one of the rags.
“That’s about all I can do. The rest is up to God.”
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.
“Pray, dearie. You can pray. If there's one thing I've learned about the lad, he is rather strong willed. I gather if he rises in the morn, he’ll be all right.”
“Thank you.” It came out as barely a whisper. Still, a small nod and half a smile said enough as she lumbered out the door.
Father Andrews put a soft hand on my shoulder. “You should get some rest, Ms. Hollings, I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“No. I want to stay. Please?”
“Very well. I'll go and see if we can make something for dinner for you.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Left alone, I had trouble even approaching the side of the bed. This was my fault. Had I not pushed him, had I not made him angry or been so stubborn about my damn research, he wouldn't be here. Slowly, I sat myself in the nearby chair, spending the majority of the next several hours staring at his bare chest, watching the rise and fall with every breath, holding my own in between. When Father Andrews came by with a bowl of soup, I couldn't bring myself to eat it, too sick with worry.
I realized then, what it all meant. Why I wanted to be around him, to hear his laugh, to see his smile. I didn't know what to call it. Hesitant to call it by its own name. Perhaps it was the thought of losing him that finally made me see it.
I fought my own eyes for as long as I was able, for I dreaded what sleep and the morning may bring. Would he survive? Would I have a chance to tell him what I had found in the journal Father Andrews had lent to me? Or confess how I felt? Fighting as hard as I could, I was no match for the exhaustion, eventually overcome and the world went blank once again.
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