by Eldon Murphy
The apartment proved to be nearly as bad off as the exterior door. It wasn't that things weren't clean or tidy, but the peeling paint and shabby furniture bore silent testament to just how down on their luck her family was.
Geoffrey looked around, and then picked one of the two bedrooms at random and carried his charge over to it. The room obviously belonged to a teenage girl. A large picture collage, clearly from some of the more popular fashion magazines, took up most of one wall. The opposite wall had a needlepoint that was apparently done years ago with a little pink teddy bear, the text "seven pounds one ounce," and a date at the very bottom. The tiny desk and its contents drew Geoffrey's gaze next. The large diary stationed prominently in the center of the writing surface seemed to give the only other clue as to the girl's passions. Rather than the pink, frilly thing that Geoffrey would have half expected, it was a somber, hardbound affair with a dark blue binding.
Geoffrey was so tired that his first impulse was to lay the girl down on her bed. As bloody as she was though, all that would have succeeded in doing was staining her comforter.
The floor looked like it was finished with something that would clean up relatively easily, so Geoffrey gently set his charge down and then paused. He needed a plan to clean the girl, but was reluctant to proceed with the most obvious course of action.
The key thing was to make sure that she didn't wake up and find herself covered in blood. If he could put her back in her bed in a clean set of clothing there was a chance that she'd chalk everything up as having been nothing more than a nightmare. It was a small chance, but it represented the only course he could see that didn't end up with her being traumatized for life.
The thought of the girl waking up bloody and shaken from an attempted rape filled Geoffrey with sadness. The vampire wasn't sure how long he sat staring at the girl, but finally the pain in his head and his rapidly increasing exhaustion pulled him back to the present.
Geoffrey reached back down to the girl and then realized that his hands were still covered with blood. The nausea that had been suppressed by the need to get the girl home suddenly came back full force, and Geoffrey nearly ran to the tiny bathroom. He forced himself to not lose it. He couldn't afford to wake her family up.
Geoffrey cleaned his hands as best he could on one of the cleaner parts of his shirt and then decided to investigate the remaining bedroom. It was sound tactical thinking, but he knew it was driven more by his desire to delay what he needed to do next.
Padding over to the mostly-closed door, Geoffrey peered into the room and his heart dropped and tears started to well up in his eyes. Now he knew what would drive someone out into the night against all better judgment and common sense.
The shabby-but-orderly room was slightly larger than the girl's, but crowded as it was with medical equipment, it felt infinitely smaller. Most of the floor space was taken up by a large hospital-style bed. The little bit of room remaining had been divided out among a number of monitors that seemed to be keeping track of everything from blood pressure to heart rate and a number of things in between that Geoffrey had no idea how to interpret.
Lying in the bed, her tiny form nearly swallowed up in its white vastness, was the thinnest woman Geoffrey had ever seen.
As Geoffrey's gaze came to rest on the poor woman, he dropped to his knees. Pain. She was in an incredible amount of pain. There was no way he could know that, no reason he should feel it as his own, but he did. She was being kept heavily sedated, her mind slowly rotting away under the harsh tide of chemicals that were all that sustained her pale shadow life.
His hand held against his head, Geoffrey backed out of the room and pulled the door closed, unconsciously sighing in relief when the pain receded enough to begin thinking again. It had to be just the two of them there. There weren't beds for anyone else. It was possible that someone came by regularly to help care for the mother--the complexity of the machines she was hooked up to certainly would suggest as much--but still, he couldn't imagine the burden the girl must bear.
Secure in the knowledge that nobody was going to investigate any strange sounds, Geoffrey stopped off at the little bathroom and cleaned the blood from his hands and arms. There wasn't anything else left to do. It was time to stop stalling and give the girl back as much of a normal life as he was able.
Trying not to feel like a voyeur, Geoffrey returned to the bedroom and stripped off the girl's tank top and shorts. Keeping his eyes averted as much as possible from the pale skin he'd just uncovered, Geoffrey sponged her arms and legs clean, and then set about searching for replacement clothing that looked like it might pass for pajamas. The dresser in the corner finally provided another pair of shorts with the tattered remnants of some kind of logo, and another tank top that looked like it had seen better days.
Once the girl was properly covered, Geoffrey picked her back up and placed her under the covers of her bed, all the while trying not to think about how Venice, with her goddess-like beauty, hadn't kindled even a fraction of the desire he'd just felt.
Seeking some kind of distraction from his wildly spiraling thoughts, Geoffrey looked up at the needlepoint he'd spotted earlier and did the math around her birthday. He would have placed her at sixteen or seventeen, but apparently would have been wrong; she was older than she looked. Geoffrey cleaned the blood off of the floor and then just before turning to leave, he once again spied the girl's diary. Carefully penned on the first page were words that seemed to draw Geoffrey's eyes as if of their own volition.
Abhorred of fate
Forgotten by all
She falls unnoticed
And with her goes
My world
The room suddenly seemed to close in. Geoffrey fled from the apartment, only barely able to remember to lock the door behind him. He'd killed her. Her mother too. Imastious would find out and he'd kill them both to punish Geoffrey.
Chapter 7
Geoffrey knew he was dreaming, but that piece of knowledge faded into unimportance when faced by the power of his dreams.
The girl from the projects was back, dressed in dated clothes and smiling at him. No, he was wrong. This was the first girl, the one he'd thought he was saving.
Geoffrey tried to reach out to her, tried to go to her, but something was restraining him. The smile took on a teasing air that momentarily warmed the room, but Geoffrey's heart was beating so erratically in his chest that he knew something terrible was about to happen.
A tall, dark figure materialized out of thin air and loomed over the girl's shoulder. Unaware of the menacing presence behind her, the girl continued on with some trivial task, while every mote in Geoffrey's body cried out, begging her to run.
A black curtain rippled across the scene, leaving Geoffrey alone. Not just alone. Forsaken. Somehow Geoffrey knew the girl was dead. The sense of complete loss that entailed ripped something vibrant and living from his being, leaving him numb and hollow inside. He should have died with her.
The dream abruptly continued, and Geoffrey found himself staring at the girl he'd saved the night before. The smile she bestowed on Geoffrey was different than that of the first girl. There was too much pain and sorrow in it for anyone to fancy that it would light up a room, but it tugged at Geoffrey's heart in ways he hadn't anticipated.
How could someone who'd seen so little good still be able to smile? How did she continue on day after day?
As Geoffrey completed the thought, blood appeared out of nowhere and covered the girl's face, causing her to look down until she finally realized that it wasn't her own. The look of horror as the girl looked back up at Geoffrey, and then turned and ran away, filled him with such a profound sense of loss that he tried to follow her. He found himself unable to move, and when he looked down he found that his bloody hands were shackled to the floor.
"Wake up, love, the night is a-wasting."
Slightly disoriented, Geoffrey opened his eyes, half expecting to see the girl, but instead finding Venice poised inches above
his face, so that her platinum hair walled them both off from the outside world.
Rusty reflexes that Geoffrey didn't remember ever training kicked in, and his palm shot up towards Venice's throat, only to be deftly blocked by her forearm as she dropped her slight weight down so that she was resting on him.
"Nice try, sweetie, but you're still too slow to pull off something like that."
Geoffrey pushed Venice off and rolled out of bed. "How do you keep getting in here?"
"Still not using that brain, huh?" Venice rolled her eyes while fidgeting with her outfit, as if to remove some imaginary flaw introduced by being flung to the side. "If you stopped to think about it, you would realize that there are any number of ways that I could get into your flat, but the truth of the matter is that you gave me a key before your unfortunate descent into amnesia."
She was lying.
"That is a nice story, but that's all it is. How did you really get in?"
Venice narrowed her eyes slightly, and then flashed a dazzling smile as she stretched out on the bed in a way that allowed her brown halter top to show off her tight stomach.
"Now you're guessing. I've played enough games, card and otherwise, with you over the years to know when you're bluffing."
Geoffrey shook his head again. "You're the one who's bluffing. You don't really believe that. In fact, you…fear something related to my knowing how you got in."
Venice smiled once again and then shrugged. "You are of course free to believe whatever you want, but we're wasting time. Why don't you join me back down here?"
Rage washed through Geoffrey as he realized once again just how easily he was being manipulated.
Without thinking, the angered young man scooped up his katana from where it was resting on the floor. Before Venice could move, he whipped it out of its sheath and down towards her so that it came to a stop with the point resting against her ribs.
"I'm through with your stupid games. You can tell me what you're hiding, or you can die."
Venice looked back at Geoffrey unconcernedly from beneath dark lashes. "Why, love, I do believe that I've finally managed to make you angry."
Geoffrey's hands started to tremble almost imperceptibly as Venice laughed slightly. "But do you really have it in you to just kill me in cold blood? You keep telling me you're not really a killer--that you've somehow magically changed to a kinder, gentler Geoffrey. Is this really how you want things to go down?"
Geoffrey responded by putting more weight behind his weapon, pushing it ever so slightly into Venice's skin, only to find it abruptly stop as if it had run up against a steel plate.
Venice smiled once again as confusion flashed across Geoffrey's face. "Nice trick, huh?"
Geoffrey pushed harder still, but the weapon remained motionless.
"Imastious is going to be so unhappy that you learned my little secret, but I can hardly be blamed for what happened. Even he expected you to go on whining about how you didn't want to kill anyone for another few weeks. Violence like this is quite unexpected."
Geoffrey tried to pull his katana back, but it moved only a fraction of an inch before a frown of concentration appeared on Venice's face. Once again the weapon felt like it had been encased in concrete.
Venice's countenance once again returned to its familiar, relaxed state as she looked at Geoffrey again. "I suppose I really should reward you for your progress, unexpected as it may be."
Something tore the weapon from Geoffrey's grasp, and then set it carefully on a chair across the room. "You see, we all have our little powers. Mine happens to be a form of telekinesis."
In response to Geoffrey's blank look, Venice gently laughed. "Your noggin shut down again, love? I can move things with my mind."
As Venice rubbed at the small spot of blood Geoffrey's blade had left on her, Geoffrey had a sudden epiphany. "Imastious can read minds, and…"
Venice smiled once again. "There you have it, love, but you didn't learn that from me. Of course Imastious has some telekinetic and pyromancer abilities as well, but he is primarily a mentalist."
Geoffrey almost didn't hear what Venice had just said due to the maelstrom of thoughts flying around his mind. He had to be a mentalist as well. It was the only thing that explained everything that had happened recently.
Venice watched him as he finally looked at her again. "Oh, I do love to see the gears turning away in that beautiful head of yours. In fact, I can almost feel the rebelliousness radiating off of you. Your next thought will no doubt be how you could possibly use this information to break Imastious' hold over you."
Rising from the bed, Venice walked over and ran her hands down Geoffrey's arms. "Since I'm feeling so generous today, I'll give you some freebies. Imastious can read your mind. You'll eventually figure out that you're a mentalist, but he is at least several hundred years older than you. As a result, his powers are much greater than yours. So, even though you're a tough nut to crack, he'll do it on any occasion where he feels there's a need to do so."
Geoffrey shifted, trying to maintain his distance from Venice as she edged ever closer. "Why are you helping me?"
"I told you, I'm feeling generous. That, and I want us to be together like we used to be. I'm doing what's required to show you I'm trustworthy."
Geoffrey nodded as though he believed her, but secretly wasn't convinced. So far Venice had just told him things that he would have eventually figured out on his own. He already knew there was more to his power than just reading minds. In the church he'd done more than just sense that the two women were sad. He'd cushioned them from their sorrow, just like the priest had hinted. Geoffrey wished that he could trust Venice. He needed to know the full range of what he might be capable of, but he knew that trusting her would be a mistake.
Venice continued while he was still thinking.
"As strong as Imastious is, he can only read your surface thoughts easily. As you become more disciplined, even that will become harder for him. That is part of the reason he tortured you the other night--it brought your mental defenses down to a point where he could penetrate them relatively easily."
Venice once again stepped closer, and this time there wasn't any room left for Geoffrey to back away. "This matters because as much effort as is involved in breaking into your mind, Imastious is only going to do so as long as he has reason not to trust you."
Geoffrey tried to ignore the warm breath that was caressing his neck. "Make the kill, toe the line, and you'll be able, for the most part, to keep your secrets."
The thought of killing again disturbed Geoffrey, more than he'd thought it would after having done so more than once already. This would be different though. It would be cold-blooded, with no excuses. No hunger, no imperiled teenager, just him taking a life prematurely.
With a mental effort that was so strong it almost pained him, Geoffrey turned away from Venice and pointed to the door. "If what you are telling me is true, I need some time to think."
Venice pouted as she stepped closer to Geoffrey. The pout turned to a frown as he pushed her away. "You have my thanks, now continue to earn my trust by respecting my wishes and letting me be for now."
Venice stood motionless for several seconds, and then shrugged and flashed him a smile that came very close to changing Geoffrey's mind. "That's the most reasonable you've been in ages, love. I'll comply with your desires for now."
**
Geoffrey had been fortunate. Imastious hadn't chosen to visit him in the two days since he'd talked to Venice, but more and more he worried that he'd return home and find the old vampire there waiting for him. If he hadn't killed the target by then, it was virtually certain that Imastious would invade his mind again and learn about the girl. Once that happened, it was only a matter of time until Imastious tracked her down and killed her.
Geoffrey had nearly come to peace with the idea until he realized that Imastious wouldn't offer the girl a quick, clean death. Imastious would torture her; he'd leave her broken and bleeding.
More than likely she'd beg for death for hours, maybe even days before he'd finally allow her to die.
Killing, even once, for Imastious would set Geoffrey on a dark path. It was undeniable, but that fact seemed unable to drown out the profound sense of loss Geoffrey felt when he thought of the girl suffering as he'd suffered for so many hours. He'd seen the daily struggle the girl had to wage just to get by. In light of that, it was hard to argue that all lives were equally important. Could a life like hers really be said to be of no more value than that of the drug dealer Imastious wanted him to kill?
Geoffrey knew his logic was darkly seductive. A part of him knew his whirling, almost feverish mind wasn't thinking clearly--that the old priest would poke holes in his reasoning--but most of him didn't care. Geoffrey had already decided that the girl's life was more important than the lives of the three rapists that he'd cut down to save her. Even the priest wouldn't have been able to argue with that decision. If it had been okay to kill to save her life once, wouldn't the girl's life be more important than the life of Geoffrey's current target?
His mind still clouded with conflicting thoughts, Geoffrey turned down a side street and tried to avoid looking anyone in the eyes.
He must not have always been the monster Venice kept describing. Why had he taken that first step that ultimately led to him becoming a remorseless assassin? Had he once walked down a crowded street just before sundown as he was doing now, his mind full of the same kinds of justifications?
Would it be possible to do what would be necessary to save the girl and not lose whatever guttering pieces of his soul he still had left? Was he even doing this to save her, or was he just trying to save himself from another round of torture?
Geoffrey's feet, free from the interference of his conscious mind, had once again deposited him before the priest's church. For several moments Geoffrey debated the idea of going inside. He knew that the priest would disapprove of what Geoffrey wanted to do. Whatever counsel the priest was able to offer might make Geoffrey feel somewhat better, but the guilt would return quickly. Ultimately the advice he'd receive would offer nothing but pain in the short term and the slightest glimmer of hope in the long term. If Geoffrey was really destined to go through eternity suffering, at the very least he should be able to pick the pain on his own terms.
