Bloodstained Heart

by Kassandra Lea

  Seamus reached out, prying Tibbit’s left hand free and taking firm hold of it. “It’s as clear as a summer sky, dear Tibs, that you are hurting. Please, tell me what has left you so broken.”

  He shook his head, a muffled sob escaping him.

  “Tibbit,” Seamus put a little more edge in his voice. He ached inside, pained to see the man he loved so wholly consumed by his troubles. “I…” The words rushed up his throat, dying on his tongue as he realized just how close he’d come to blurting out the truth. I love you. The words were there, dancing around his head, always trying to break free when Tibbit came for visits. There was certainly a unique friendship. The veterinarian and the dead guy. “Okay, you know what, I’m just going to say this.”

  Seamus let his gaze stray to the fire.

  “I know what you came up here to do, Tibbit,” he said. “I don’t understand why you would ever want to…to…You were, maybe still are, planning on ending things. That hole, you intend for it to be your grave. Your final resting place. See, that much I can figure out. The why is what’s bothering me. Why would a man who has a job he loves, friends, family, why go in for the big dirt nap early? There’s still so much life left, Tibbit. So much for you to do.”

  Tibbit mumbled, the words inaudible.

  “Tell me, Tibs, what has prompted this sudden turn? And how the hell can I stop it?”

  Much to his surprise Tibbit looked up, eyes shimmering with tears. For a brief moment Seamus thought he might have seen something in them, but in the gloom of the room it was impossible to be certain. “Do you really want to know?” Tibbit whispered.

  Seamus nodded.

  “I have…fallen in love.”

  Of all the things Seamus expected to hear that one never even made the list. He blinked, stunned into temporary silence as he sought for the right response. He thought maybe the vet clinic—a cut Atlas suffered to a paw brought the two of them together three years ago—took a turn for the worse. Or maybe there was some money trouble he didn’t know anything about. The death of someone close. Seamus troubled over the ‘S’ word finding it hard to think of, hating the word nearly as much as the big Z. He didn’t agree with the act, but he also couldn’t even begin to fathom the despair some people felt. To some degree he imagined it might be the same anguish he would feel if Tibbit followed through on his plans.

  “Isn’t love a wonderful thing?” Such a silly thing for him to say, all things considered. Love, or at least something he likened to it, had resulted in his current dead predicament. “Shouldn’t you be happy?”

  The choked laughter that bubbled out of Tibbit surprised Seamus. “Isn’t that what Hollywood and love songs would have you think? I have this feeling,” he said, tapping his fingers against his chest, “it eats away at me day and night. It’s like a vast numbness that somehow aches and it feels as though I’m being devoured. Desperate longing, maybe that is the best way to describe it. Perhaps torture is another way.”

  “So tell the object of your affection how you feel, dear Tibbit, release this burden that consumes you.”

  As Seamus spoke the words he felt something inside of him break, maybe his heart, he couldn’t quite say. What he did know was that the idea of his beloved Tibbit pining for someone else stirred up a whole melting pot of emotions and the steam wafting off was comprised of hurt. Though what did he really expect? He was a dead thing, not something to be loved. Tibbit, on the other hand, overflowed with all the wonders of life, from the pleasant warmth of his skin to the beautiful rhythmic beat of his heart. Seamus tried not to think about the last day he felt the familiar thump-thump in his chest.

  His suggestion seemed to sit wrong with Tibbit if the look on the man’s face was anything to go by. “Why ever would I do that?

  Seamus blinked. “Um, ‘cause that’s how it works? This lady that has you so smitten, she isn’t exactly a mind reader, Tibbit. You have to tell her.”

  “I can’t,” the two words coming out practically in whisper.

  “You can. You are far braver than you think. Just tell her. She would be lucky to call you hers and to wallow in the comfort of your affections.”

  Just don’t come up here and tell me all about it, Seamus thought, for you will leave my heart so broken and I am unsure of my ability to handle such a thing.

  “I…I…” The word seemed to trip him up as Tibbit struggled with what he wanted to say. Seamus waited him out, the turmoil he felt inside threatening to leave him shredded pieces on the castle floor. It seemed as though he was doomed to lose Tibbit this night in one fashion or another, a most unbearable thought. Then, in a flash, he was rocked as Tibbit jumped up off the couch, the motion so swift and unexpected that Seamus fell sideways catching his elbow on the couch arm. “You want me to say it?”

  Seamus rubbed at his funny bone, such a stupid name since nobody ever laughed upon whacking it.

  “It’s you,” Tibbit blurted. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  And with those words spoken, two very startling things happened.

  Tibbit tore out of the castle, disturbing Atlas who had been snoozing contentedly before the fire.

  And Seamus felt something rattle in his chest.

  His heart.

  Chapter 3

  Tibbit lay face down on his bed. His utter despair had morphed into some hybrid monster of anguish and embarrassment, though the depression lingered. It was, he had to admit, though unhappily, an interesting place to be. And he would very much like to leave. With a sigh Tibbit rolled onto his back, gaze boring into the ceiling as if he expected it to have all the answers.

  One question bounced around in the recesses of his skull.

  What the hell had he done?

  Just blurted it right out, how he felt. Upon realizing what he’d done he bolted, tucked tail and ran, afraid to face Seamus’s reaction. After all, the whole thing was ridiculous, what logical, rationally thinking person let themselves fall in love with a zombie? People were supposed to mourn the dearly departed, cherished memories and hold them in their hearts. Perhaps part of the problem was that Seamus was dear but definitely not departed.

  Tibbit could recall in vivid detail the first day they met.

  At some point the morning slipped away and the position of the sun pouring through the window suggested a late afternoon hour. Tibbit slipped into his office, closing the door as he sought for a few minutes of peace. Just moments earlier he finished stitching up the Clairborne’s cat, the unfortunate feline having run across the path of the Dexy’s dog. The cuffs of his lab coat sported a few droplets of blood. The lunch he hurriedly wolfed down before the emergency now sat heavy in his stomach.

  Tibbit sank into his office chair, tension tightening his back. Normally he enjoyed his job, quite thoroughly loved helping animals. On days much like this one, however, when a rescue was brought in or negligence on behalf of the owners prompted medical need Tibbit wondered how much more he could take. Seeing an animal suffer always tore at him. How could people be so cruel?

  He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  The phone rang.

  Tibbit let out a muttered curse, then reached for the handset. Oh, the flack he used to get from his friends and colleagues for still using a landline in this day and age, but he hated the idea of giving out his cell number.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this the vet clinic?”

  His reply was not instantaneous, the raspy quality of the voice causing bewilderment. Tibbit cleared his throat. “Um, yes, this is.”

  “Do you make house calls?”

  “Not normally, sorry.”

  “Oh.”

  One word, something in the way it was uttered tugged at his heart. “Is there some reason you wouldn’t be able to come in?”

  There was a pause. “I’m housebound.”

  Tibbit conjured an image of a man in a wheelchair with a cat or small dog curled up on his lap. His gaze slipped to the clock on the wall. If he shifted his next appointment he would
have a bit of time so he inquired about the address, jotting it down on a handy notepad.

  Slipping out of bed Tibbit crossed the room, the carpet soft under his bare feet. At the window he brushed aside the curtain, peering out. Who knew that when he bought the house at the end of the cul-de-sac it would provide him with a view of the castle? Ever since the day he arrived in town he heard stories about the grand mansion and the wine baron—or oil tycoon or watchmaker, nobody could recall exactly how the old money was earned—who built it to make a statement. Fashioned after castles in Scotland and England, the stone fortress certainly had character captured in the fine craftsmanship and little touches of detail.

  It sat above the town on a hill, a winding, pitted road the only substantial access. Through the trees he could see the highest tower stretching toward the sky. His chest ached as he thought of Seamus up there, perhaps sitting in the dying moonlight with Atlas at his side. The massive dog had been responsible for bringing them together.

  The headlights of his sedan illuminated only a tiny fraction of the massive mansion. The stone was faded, weatherworn, and quickly disappearing behind creeping tendrils of ivy. He parked, but remained in his car listening to the radio play on low. The thick forest cut out the fading daylight leaving him to feel as though he’d just stepped foot into some sort of movie. The vast majority of the windows were dark, the simple faint glow off to the right of the front door the only sign of life. Tibbit stepped out. The castle loomed over him. It would have made a perfect hotel.

  No detailed had been spared. The double oaken doors came complete with carved doorknockers. There was no sign of a doorbell, so he grasped one of the metal rings. It thudded heavily against the wood. Almost instantly the door opened, a wispy figure standing on the other side, the dark blue hoodie he wore appearing two sizes too big, the hood drawn up concealing the majority of his face.

  “Mr. McCallum?”

  “Seamus, please.” Definitely the owner of the raspy voice.

  Tibbit offered his hand for shaking and received a quick cursory grip, the flesh pressed against his cool. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Shanks.”

  “Tibbit.” He was being ushered into the dampness of the mansion interior.

  “It’s my dog,” Seamus was explaining, not bothering to pause for a breath. “I found him a few weeks back. Someone just discarded him on my property. How someone can be so heartless…I’ve done my best to look after him, but I think he’s ill.”

  That was the first time Tibbit step into the great room, a fire turning out to be the source of the glow he saw. Normally people usually turned on their air conditioning or opened their windows on summer nights. Cold winter days were for cuddling up in front of the fireplace. The furnishings were simple, yet cozy, and huddled up in a blanket on the couch was a tiny puppy.

  An itty bitty Atlas.

  That Mastiff’s fur had been badly damaged by mange and he was underweight. Turned out that Seamus lacked proper dog food and had never owned a dog before. So Tibbit took it upon himself to stop out every night after work to tend Atlas. With every visit he learned more about Seamus, though the mystery man always kept to the shadows and Tibbit found he not only wondered what kept Seamus from leaving the house, but also what he looked like under the guise of hoods.

  So he asked.

  Thinking about it now made Tibbit winced. He could have gone about it in a nicer way.

  He stood in the grand foyer clutching a healthier Atlas to his chest, his insides in turmoil. Seamus was a few feet away, hands kneading. Their friendly conversation had taken an unexpected turn, the last words Tibbit spoke heated, a partially veiled threat. It was a cruel thing to do, using Seamus’s love for the puppy as a means of getting the answers he wanted. But he saw no other way, the curiosity was starting to keep him up at nights.

  “You really want to know?” Seamus asked, his voice taking on an odd tone. Did Tibbit detect a note of menace or could it be sorrow?

  He swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Yes.”

  Seamus reached up, fingers gripping the edge of the hood. “Fine.”

  The material fell away to reveal deathly pale skin, purple lips, and gray eyes that drew him in. It was hard to say what he might have expected, perhaps some sort of disfigurement that made Seamus afraid to venture out for fear of ridicule. People could be quite rude, after all. And maybe he was supposed to be repulsed or freaked out by Seamus’s appearance, instead he put down Atlas, the pup racing across the floor to his owner, and closed the distance between them.

  “I’m dead,” Seamus whispered. “Confined to haunt the hells of this place.”

  His heart broke.

  Tibbit turned away and slipped back into bed, hugging his pillow to his chest, the sting of tears in his eyes. After that night he conducted business like usual, spending most evenings up at Seamus’s place, learning not only about the curse but also what lay buried within the man. Seamus may not have been part of the living world, at least not fully, it didn’t stop him from having hopes and dreams, from seeing the silver lining in everything.

  Little by little Tibbit fell for him, swept away on wings of love. Thoughts of Seamus dominated his days. The ache grew worse in the quiet of every night and finally he couldn’t take it anymore. How foolish, thinking if he took his life on the grounds of the castle he might wind up locked into the same curse as Seamus. They would be able to be together.

  If only.

  A sob burbled out of Tibbit.

  He was never going back to the castle.

  Chapter 4

  Seamus stood on the high most balcony of the mansion, staring out over the pond, his back to the town that shunned him. The weight of Tibbit’s gun was uncomfortable in his hand. That was perhaps the one good thing about his friend leaving so quickly, he’d left behind the offending weapon.

  Seamus gave it his best effort, throwing the gun, watching it sail through the air. It sank into the smooth water with a splash, lost, out of reach forever. Where it belonged, unable to do harm to a man who meant the world to him.

  I love you.

  Even just thinking of those words, flashing back on that moment, filled Seamus with a warmth he had not felt in so very long. And his heart…He pressed a hand to his chest hoping to feel it beat again. It had been still for decades. Nothing stirred.

  Seamus gave the lightening horizon one last glance before slinking back into the darkness of his home. Like a shadow Atlas followed him. As he walked the halls Seamus ran his fingers over the stone, a swirling mess building inside of his chest. It had certainly turned into a crazy night, to go from finding Tibbit in such despair to learning the secret he held locked inside, Seamus felt like he’d been sucked into a whirlwind and spit back out.

  What did he do now?

  Tibbit should have stayed, should have given him a chance to speak, to react. There were so many things he wanted to say, and he kept playing it out in his mind, the different scenarios and how things might have gone. Had Tibbit run, he wondered, out of embarrassment? Fear of rejection? That quickly shifted to another troubling thought, loving him had driven Tibbit to consider the worse; talk about an unpleasant realization.

  Self-loathing simmered just under the surface. Seamus stalked into his bedroom, the only other furnished room in the castle, and directly over to the mirror. He grimaced as his reflection, surprised anyone possessed the ability to fall in love with him. The hem of his shirt in hand he pulled the fabric up to reveal more grave-pale chest. It looked like a particularly nasty bruise, nothing more, but it was part of the magic leading to his undead existence.

  Anger quickly gave ‘way to sorrow as he traced fingertips over the mark. The symbol was alien, the slash of the lines, the circle they crossed over, and he longed to be rid of it.

  “A mistake. A horrible misunderstanding,” his voice broke.

  He slid to the floor, Atlas promptly at his side. Seamus took hold of the dog and buried his face in Atlas’s fur. His mind flooded with images of
the past, decades ago when the little town below had been even smaller and less populated. The castle stood high on the hill, a fixture, and a place known for its opulent parties. Oh, how he loved to entertain and dance with the ladies and generally have a good time. He shared his wealth, was generous with his staff, and privately worried if they talked about him behind his back. He was, after all, a bachelor in his thirties, a man of wealth without a beautiful lady on his arm and he knew without a doubt that rumors were bound to start circulating at some point.

  Truth be told Seamus preferred men to women when it came to bedroom antics and the only other person who knew was his best friend, the daughter of a judge. An innocent friendship that left him forever doomed.

  Bridgette Dempsey used to joke about the woman who kept her family’s house, suggesting the buxom woman might dabble in unmentionable dark practices. How quickly it stopped being funny after a late summer party at the judge’s manor. Seamus had slipped away with Bridgette, the poor girl heartbroken over the arrangement of her marriage to a much older man. She believed firmly in love and wanted nothing more than to marry the son of a local merchant.

  Seamus had taken her in his arms, there under the twinkling blanket of stars, offering her what comfort he could. He understood, perhaps better than most, how she felt.

  At the time it seemed innocent, a moment between friends.

  If only he knew what waited for him later in the night.

  Seamus returned home shortly before midnight, tired, ready to fall into bed. But someone was waiting in his house, the fire crackling in the very room in which he would confront Tibbit decades later.

  “Hey,” he protested loudly as someone grabbed him roughly from behind. Seamus tried to wiggle free, his arms pulled painfully back by strong hands. The more he fought the tighter his captor held.