by Hall, Ian
My tongue fell suddenly mute, though every nerve in my body recalled the persistent hassling of maids as they brushed and dressed me, scrubbing at my face and pulling at my hair, forever working to tame the unruly little girl that wanted only to run and climb in the open air.
“Society is a rigid place, filled with rules of conduct,” Dr. Fabrini said as if reading my thoughts. “Those rules can be overbearing and, for some, overwhelming, Valérie. Yet, to co-exist peacefully with our fellow humans, we each must learn to follow them.”
The doctor looked me over as if deciphering some hidden code. I hated him for his self-proclaimed insight and knew for the first time since our meeting that Alvise Fabrini stood in mortal danger of getting too close. Getting no response from me, Dr. Fabrini continued to push.
“Have you been told the story of your birth, Valérie?”
I turned away from his question, threading my fingers through an opening in the lattice, restraining the desire to break through it and tear down the walls that separated me from outside.
“Or… should I say- the story of your mother’s death?”
I could not help it. The thin pieces of wood disintegrated in my hands, the latticework shredding as I stood, my hands ripping through the screen, tearing it asunder. I remember panting and trying to catch my breath, the world suddenly spinning around me.
My mother had died giving birth to me.
I began to scream, as loud as I’d protested when first thrown onto the cobbled street. I did not even notice the approach of the muscled orderlies. So intent on my rage, I did not register the first hands on my limbs. Only when their strong grip began forcing me inside the stiff, starched, canvas uniform, did I step back from my fury. But by then it was far too late.
I had killed my mother by sliding from her womb, a murderer at birth.
In a moment of stillness, as they pulled the buckles tight, I glimpsed Dr. Fabrini’s slight figure walking across the lawn towards the house. I tried to call his name, but the opening of my mouth proved the opportunity they needed to gag me, forcing the metal bit between my jaws, locking me silent. A movement at one of the windows caught my attention. I froze, letting them continue to bind me, gazing upon the man in the tall window. The figure looked different from my last image of him, but with a smile and a tear I looked once more upon my father’s distant face. Bound in canvas, my struggles were useless, so I conserved my energy, letting them carry me into my room. I lay still on the floor for hours, then the men came again with the needle, and I fell asleep despite my efforts to resist.
I counted the days of my punishment with much regret, and determined in future to curb my temper, the reason for my return to the canvas device.
I debated at length the trigger of my rage; the mention of my mother, and tried to remove the word from my vocabulary. But I had indeed killed her, and thus had caused father’s detestation of me.
I lay on my side, weeping for my mother’s life, so cruelly torn from her by my arrival on the wet dark cobbles.
I sat as much upright as I could, shuffling against the wall. “I killed my mother,” I said under my breath. I continued the litany for a whole day.
Finally I slumped to the floor of my cell, my tear ducts dry and my throat swollen by continual confession.
On the seventh day, I woke with no restraints or gag.
I rested against the padded wall.
On that morning, I began the work on the woman I am today. I began to work on the rising of my own emotions. From this day forth, my force of will would govern my emotions, and not the opposite.
Tested once more, I determined to pass. I looked up at the tall dark observation windows. My father could be up there. I sat up, and pushed myself back against the wall, watching the door. On cue, it opened, and the two orderlies entered. One carried a tube and a funnel, the other the mug of liquid, a real ceramic mug. Oh how my fantasy drove me to smash it into the orderly’s face, twisting it into the flesh and sinew, then devouring his wound like the choicest feast.
“I will drink by myself, if you please,” I said, holding out my hand for the mug. They left me alone, and I sipped the warm liquid until I had finished every last drop. The door opened again, and Dr. Fabrini stood in the doorway. He extended his hand to me, and I obediently put my wrist into his grasp. The mug lay on the floor behind me.
The morning felt colder than before, and thick dew lay across the grass. I gasped as I struck my foot through the myriad of droplets for the first time. We headed for the gazebo, and I noticed with shame the new wood in its construction.
“I’m sorry” I glanced back at the house where father had stood just a week before, but the window stood empty.
Dr. Fabrini took no notice of my apology, but turned to me, and grabbed my other wrist. Slowly he pressured me so sit with him on the wet grass. The two orderlies followed behind me, pressing their hands on my arms and shoulders, pushing me into the grass I loved. When I seemed sufficiently restrained, Dr. Fabrini smiled. “What provoked you? What sent you back to this imprisonment?”
“I killed my mother.” My admission of guilt slipped through my lips like the slickest poison.
He blanched visibly. “Valérie, that is simply not true.” Panting heavily, I looked at him through narrow puzzled eyes, defying him to contradict me, but he continued to shake his head. “Valérie dear, you did not kill your mother.”
His words were an icy smack upon tender flesh. Were it not for the orderlies bearing down on my shoulders, I would have carved a trench through Dr. Fabrini’s throat then and there. After so much meditation, so much soul-searching to come to terms with the truth he had the gall to inflict hope.
“Of course I did,” I rebutted with as much restraint my building anger would allow.
His crystal blue eyes remained calm as a reflecting pool, “Who has told you this? Your father assures me he has not mentioned the incident.”
“I heard the whispers between the chamber maids. They called me a demon.”
“The gossip of bored women, entertaining themselves with torrid tales, Valérie,” he shook his head sorrowfully. “Did your father ever mention it?”
“Father never spoke of it; not that I recall.”
“Between the servants’ loose tongues and your father’s clamped jaw it is no wonder you were left to draw truth from such bitter lies.”
“What do you know about it?”
Dr. Fabrini’s gaze tightened, his brows lowering over his eyes like a gathering storm, “Tell me first what you have heard; word for word if you can.”
Word for word; the maids’ story came back to me like a recurring nightmare: “Heavily pregnant, Mother took walks every day. One morning, still weeks away from delivering me, the servants heard screaming from out in the garden. By the time they found her, her belly had been ripped open, intestines spilled and her womb split asunder. They say I clawed my way out of her, ripping through her stomach, tearing her apart from the inside, her belly torn to shreds like a carcass devoured by crows.”
Dr. Fabrini smiled, making a mockery of my tale. “And it was you, her unborn babe, who did this?” I nodded and his smile grew wider. “An unborn babe with no teeth in your tiny head, not yet ready to taste her first breath, the nails on your tiny fingers still soft, who managed such a monstrous act?” Despite my continued nodding of assent, his head now shook slowly from side to side. “You Valérie, with no nails stronger than those blades of grass you collect? This is what you’ve heard and believed, Valérie?”
“It’s what they believe!” I made to leap to my feet but the orderlies pressed their combined weight down on me. “It’s what Father believes as well. Why else would he have never said differently?”
“Your father failed you in that, my dear girl, and I have no compunction about saying it. He allowed grief over his lost wife to better his judgment and cloud his perception of the events.”
A sting of tears flooded my eyes, “So, Father does despise me.”
&n
bsp; “He does not despise, Valérie, he fears you. And he is ashamed of himself for that fear.”
“It’s me he’s ashamed of.”
I hung my head and allowed the sobs to come freely. Dr. Fabrini let go my wrists and pulled me to his shoulder, stroking my hair and rocking me the way my mother might have done had she lived to hold me in her arms. “My dearest Valérie,” He crooned into my ear, his breath puffing against the side of my head. “You imagine the exact opposite of what actually happened.”
I felt my strength rise, and tensed my muscles for my bursting free of human hands. Then I heard a voice, albeit a very distant one.
The truth illuminates.
The words tumbled into my head like thunder, cooling my rage instantly. I searched the surrounding garden for the source of the words. I looked over Dr. Fabrini’s shoulder to the nearby hedgerows, to the dark distant forest, but to my chagrin, I could trace nothing. Dr. Fabrini still talked to me, his soothing words soaking into my psyche, forcing me from my search. Perhaps the words had come from him.
“…they found you in the alley behind the house. Gallons of blood surrounded you, but there you were, your cord bitten through, lying in the damp cobbles. A wonder you were alive. They could only identify you as the child of Constance Berthier by this…” Dr. Fabrini produced a glittering object from the deep pocket of his white coat. Dangling from a long, gilded chain hung an ivory pendant, surrounded by a shiny gold border. Embossed within the oval, lay the delicate silhouette of a woman’s face. I spread my hands and the good doctor placed the fine object within them. He pushed at a tiny clasp and the oval separated into two halves. Behind thin glass on either side lay a small, fading photo. The man, though his face looked smooth and eyes youthful, I recognized. The woman I had never before seen but I knew her just as surely.
With the tip of my small finger, I traced the outline of each face as if the tactile connection could bring them to me in that garden. As I took in my mother’s countenance, the whisper from the trees thundered all around me.
The truth illuminates!
I looked to Dr. Fabrini, clearly he had not spoken nor seemed to have even heard the mysterious expression. At that moment I knew the voice spoke to me alone. Just the thought of the voice brought me comfort, same as the lovely locket as I placed it around my neck, claiming it as my own. It proved such a grander prize than any blade of grass, and I would not be deprived of it by any means.
“What of my mother?” I asked.
“Gone, my dear; the locket was all that remained of her… besides a newborn daughter, of course.” His hands smoothed my face. “Her body was never found, Valérie. But you did not kill her. Another hand is responsible for that cruel deed.”
I doubted his words but not the sincerity behind them. I could hear father’s voice in Dr. Fabrini’s, and I knew it to be true.
The truth illuminates, Valérie!
This time the words, hurled so loud, startled me. The nearby trees were bare of anything resembling a human figure, but my caller lay out there, bidding me to come. Overwhelmingly, I knew a driving need to answer the plea. I shot upright so quickly, I threw off my two orderlies, throwing them back onto the wet grass. They quickly regained their former positions, holding me tighter than before. I’d seemingly won a contest, and they knew I could best them. But my struggle against the orderlies had broken Dr. Fabrini’s trust.
He leveled a disappointed glare at me, and presented his palm. Instinctually, I clutched the locket.
“We do not reward such behavior, Valérie. Give me the locket; it will be returned to you in due time if you prove so deserving.”
“This is mine.” I said in a measured, yet warning tone.
His demand became sterner, “The locket, Valérie.”
My voice hardened to match, “This is MINE.”
I suddenly felt the injection in my shoulder. I raged against it, throwing my captors to the ground, and took a few steps towards freedom and my unseen ally. Then I stumbled, hindered by the strong drug coursing through my system. I felt the hard contact of stone against my chin, and surged against the bonds, instantly lost in pain and suffering.
In my addled brain I heard conversations of “Uncle”, “Doctor”, and “America”. I have no idea how long I stayed this way.
Lessons Learned
Theresa Scholes, 1958, Cookeville, Pennsylvania
Nothing, it seemed, was too difficult to explain to my folks. It’s not that they were particularly dense; they were just more accepting than questioning. I had been a good daughter the first nineteen years of my life and they didn’t expect me to change now. But of course, I did change. I had vampire hormones racing through my veins, and with Valérie’s help I had the means and knowledge to quell them. I acted circumspect, of course, nothing too boisterous, nothing too risky. Every week or so, in my Desoto soft top, I drove to Rutherford to feed. Sometimes I made it all the way to the suburbs of Philadelphia. I found pickings easy amongst the drunks, who I followed to their homes and took every advantage over them.
I learned to feed and flee, leaving no trace of my crimes.
Valérie Lidowitz became my firm friend, and taught me all about the vampire life; about my superhuman strength and speed, the ability to climb, and the breathing-on-the-face thing. From a non-athletic girl, who had never even been placed in any school team at anything, having such abilities actually felt kinda cool.
Henrietta, my cat, took a dislike to me though, avoiding me most of the time, and hissing when we got real close. I just let her, I mean, she was getting old, almost ten, and it didn’t bother me that much.
But, of course, things had to change, and it happened one Saturday morning, bright and early. I awoke to Valérie tapping loudly on my window. I hurriedly let her in, never having seen her so frantic. “Amos is losing his mind, and you’re one of the targets!”
“He doesn’t even know me.” I hissed, shushing her with my hands. My parents were asleep down the hallway.
“Oh, he does, and he’s calling all the un-beholden’s in. He needs to find some new way to make you subservient to him, and it’s not going to be pretty. His men are rounding them up as I speak. You’ve got to get out of here, your folks too.”
“You’re talking crazy.”
“Look, you were vampire-beholden to Jason, and now he’s gone, which means that you could skip town, get out of this if you wanted to. There are no vampire ties to stop you.”
“So I get out of town for a few days, let it all die down.”
Valérie shook me by the shoulders. “You’re not getting it, dearie. I just left Amos’ side. His men are on their way to grab you and your folks.” Her eyes bore into my own, and I saw glimpses into a century of sadness.
“What do they want with mom and dad?”
“Amos will pounce on your folks to keep you in line; just for fun. Just for kicks.” She opened drawers and began to pull clothes onto the bed.
From my only dealing with Amos Blanche, I’s already tasted his bad side, and faced with him or Valérie, I knew who to trust. “So what do I do?”
“You wake your parents and you run.”
But of course, I was too late. We couldn’t rouse them in time, and when I started giving them reasons to hurry, they baulked at every word. When the vampires arrived at the door, despite my wailings, dad went to the window to see for himself.
“Don’t go outside Dad, and don’t invite them in!” I roared from behind.
But like I said earlier, it wasn’t that they were retarded. It wasn’t that they were unintelligent, I mean, dad held a good job.
“They’re bashing my car!” he wailed.
“We have to ignore them!” I pulled him from the window.
Then one of them smashed the windshield of dad’s car, and out he went to deal with them. They vanished, both the guys and dad, gone in an instant. Valérie held me back, keeping out of sight of the door. Then Mom started this high pitched scream that just went on and on. It rose an
d fell like a police siren, but a bit louder. Despite our warnings she ran into the garden, looking for dad.
Vanished.
Valérie let me go. “Too late, dearie,” She said.
“So what happens now?”
“You go to see Amos if you want any chance of seeing them alive again.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
“And, Theresa?”
“Yes?”
“You be as subservient as you can be. You assure Amos that you’re his right hand girl. You kiss his ass till you can’t pucker anymore; that’s what it’s going to take.”
~ ~ ~
Amos looked benevolent, dressed in a neat double breasted pinstripe suit, and wide yellow tie. He sat behind a desk, leaning back on a huge green leather armchair that seemed to swallow his deceptively fragile-looking frame.
“So you realize how difficult this is?” Amos said, squirming in his chair. I nodded meekly, remembering Valérie’s words. I was suppliant, eager to please, anything Amos wanted me to be.
“Yes, sir,” mom and dad sat in a large sofa at the side of the room. Both were drugged asleep, leaning together, thankfully unaware of the conversation. An older lady sat at another desk, her head down, her eyes fixed on the notebooks. Valérie had been dismissed.
“But I feel I need more.”
“More?”
“Yes, something extra; some further measure. I need leverage on Jason’s sluts. I need you to remember that I can ruin you at any time.” A grin slid over his face like a cloud obscuring the sun. “Ah, yes, the very thing.” He stood, and rounded the table, leaning against the desk, then motioned me nearer. My shoes felt like they had been lead-filled, my movements sluggish, but I edged closer. He relaxed against the desk, sliding his body downward slightly. “Unbutton me.”
From the look in his eyes, I knew he didn’t mean his suit or shirt. I struggled for a moment, then with a last look over the room at my unconscious parents, I leant down to touch his trousers.
“Perhaps better if you knelt? Don’t you think?”
