Illusions of Soul

I knew that Paul Jr. would be the easiest way in for me. I had some notion that he had a crush, so when I came knocking in the dead of night, it served his fantasies to let me come inside.

And he did.

He let me into his family’s home, into their place of safety, which I promptly took from them.

But first I took Paul. It was of no wrongdoing to him, the way that his father’s attempts had been to me, but I knew it would still offend his Biblical sensibilities to give in, for as long as his Biblical sensibilities were still intact. But they faded quickly, under my hands, and then I whispered the words and my daggers sunk in.

I still didn’t know what they meant then, but I found that I could recite the same words Haydn had recited over me instinctively. Then I drank until death was closing in on Paul. I could feel it as surely as I could feel his desire, and then, when I knew that he was almost gone, I pulled my daggers out and I kissed him. And the energy transmitted back and forth between us. And I felt him grow strong out of me.

Then, he looked up at me, and he was someone else, something else, and I knew that he would follow me as I had longed to follow Haydn. To have such a willing servant, it was powerfully intoxicating.

“Let’s go find your family,” I said to him and he smiled, his lips still smeared with his blood.

I wonder where the boy is now.

Of course, he is no longer a boy.

Or he is forever a boy.

Whichever way you choose to look at it.

I saw his picture on the wall at the house. He looked seventeen.

Is that why this family was chosen? Did someone go door-to-door, searching for the exact family dynamic of an already gone father, subservient mother, seventeen-year-old son, and two small twin daughters?

They must have, because the universe doesn’t happen upon this much coincidence.

My family may not have been worth any extra effort on my part… but Paul’s was.

Perhaps I should have felt that Paul had already gotten his punishment, but that was Haydn’s rescue, not my vengeance. And my need for revenge had suddenly become something irrepressible, due, I’m sure,  in no small part to my new ability to exact it with ease.

And perhaps I should have felt that Paul’s family had no culpability for the actions he committed, but I still blamed them. I blamed them for letting him pretend that he was safe, that he was righteous. I knew them all well and not one of them warned me against his dark side. Not one said, “He’s not what he seems. Don’t trust him.”

The argument could have been made that they weren’t aware of the dark side any more than I was, but it didn’t matter. The justification for their torment was enough for me, because I was now someone who didn’t need one at all.

I did hope that I was wrong, but I knew that I wouldn’t be. When I went searching for more bodies, more death, I knew that I would find it. I knew that, along with the man in the fire and the woman staked to the wall, there would be other victims, more merciless scenarios.

There were.

Two miles from the house I went to visit, there was another house filled with murder. An entire family exterminated through cruel and torturous methods the same night.

I knew that there would be more, because the night that I killed Helen’s parents, I wasn’t finished.

I didn’t return to kill my parents. From what I’ve learned since, it’s the first thing that most vamps do when they’re sired. It seems that there is almost a maniacal urge to punish those people who have reared us.

But I never went back.

Why?

Was it because I didn’t hate them?

No. I did. As much as I don’t like to acknowledge it, even when I was human, I did hate them. I still do.

Was it because I didn’t think that they deserved it?

No. I thought that too.

As gloomy as it may seem… as unfeeling… as ungrateful… as cold… I didn’t return that night to kill my parents, because I simply didn’t care enough to spare them my energy.

Perhaps I was hasty. I could use her warmth tonight. Not just the physical warmth of her body, but the internal warmth. Her soul, her heart. Her blood.

Outside, people emanate heat. Inside, they are on fire. Some of them. Those who allow themselves to be. Others, those who ignore their yearnings, who silence their inner voices, they become as cold as I am.

I went to the house, the one they showed on the news. It was ultra-modern, with all the newest amenities. Yet stepping inside was like walking back in time. I could see Helen’s father lying in the scattered ashes. I could see her mother hanging in the outline on the wall.

I know the scenario absolutely. I did not commit the acts, not this time, but the crime belongs to me.

And now, I think I understand why I am here.

I didn’t return to Helen. I’d lost my appetite.

And my soul.

I didn’t care that I had left her in a house with the bodies of her dead parents. No, not just dead. Decimated. What a pretty picture she was left there to look at.

They were out far on the edge of town. And there would be no agencies coming to the rescue. No children’s services. No police force. Not back then.

Not even neighbors. It would take someone finally noticing that she and her parents were missing for them to think to look.

But Helen wasn’t going to be high on the list of concern. Several people died that night, and more than one person went missing.

My disappearance was thanks to Haydn. As was Paul’s. The rest of the destruction was due solely to me.

She’s sleeping. She has been for hours. On her stomach, sprawled bonelessly across the bed.

She’s content. Relaxed. I’m about to destroy all of that.

Ten thousand dollars are hidden amidst her things. I hope that she finds it before she has too much time to think about money. Money is the world’s greatest, most unnecessary, stressor. There are really far greater things to worry about. She’ll have enough of them without that one trivial concern. I know it’s going to be cold comfort, but it’s all that I can offer.

There is a bruise on the base of her throat. I must have done it by accident. When I put my face close to the skin there, I can smell the blood, but I’ve still never tasted. It’s proof to me that I am stronger than nature. And stronger than I thought.

If she does stir before sunrise, she’ll think I’ve gone out to do my usual nighttime prowl, to return to her with a small feast by morning. When she wakes in the daylight, the food will be here waiting for her. But I’ll be gone.

I hope she doesn’t hate me.

Now I can see it, what Haydn saw. I can see that I deserved to be abanoned.

What I had seen in Paul, the animal just beneath the surface, she saw in me.

She thought that she had created a monster. A common vampire. Those were the traits that I showed to her. And she didn’t want to stand by and watch me become that. It is not what she had sired me to be.

The look from that night lingers in my consciousness. It is my compass now. Before I take a single step, I think of whether it could earn that look of disapproval from her.

While I couldn’t comprehend it at the time, I understand now what she was thinking, and now every time my memory returns me to that night, to that encounter in the doorway, I hear Haydn’s silent question.

What have I done?

You would think that I would hate her, the way that she left me alone in an existence that I didn’t understand.

But I could never hate her.

Never.

Did I really believe that there was a possibility that the fates would forget about me? That they brought me here to be alone in this room with this girl, and for no other reason?

Maybe that’s what I hoped. Secretly.

But fate forgets no one. When there are plans for you, fate is very aware of where you are.

You can’t outrun it.

You can’t hide from it.

You can only deny it if you choose, and deal with those consequences, or you can yield to its wishes and hope you survive what it has called you to do.