*****
The next day Jack and I went to see an old attorney of his. Joyce Duval was a middle aged attorney with the firm Blanchard, Blanchard, and Reeves. Joyce was the type of attorney, who believed the little she knew the better. She was also gifted in that she could produce for us the necessary documents for what I was about to do.
Jack, is gifting my family enough money to last them a lifetime, and we planned on also having a house built for them. All of this from an unknown relative who had willed me everything. Poor aunt Fabricated Dora who did not know I was missing for the last few years.
I had hopes that they would accept this gift. It was the least we could do for them. Joyce forged the will, and was also given enough money to make the arrangement for the purchase of a hundred acres and the construction of the house. The will and house to be given to my family upon completion of the house to keep it legitimate. Living in New Orleans, you were bound to find a few seedy attorneys. She placed the money into trust to make is seem they had been looking for me for a while in order to receive “my inheritance,” and since I am missing that automatically goes to my family. Of course they will have to go through probate and Joyce is being paid handsomely for her part.
15. HATE ME
S
O IT WAS THAT JACK WITH HIS never ending patience helped me live. He showed me the world. I began to love him more than I could say; more than I could tell him. He often wondered if I could ever leave my human family alone. I knew I had to let go and so did they, but neither one of us could give up. I missed my children. I missed seeing them grow up. I hated not being able to be there for them the way a mother should and so it was on this cool Halloween night that I found myself silently jumping from tree to tree, watching my children go trick or treating. I wanted to be there with them, holding their hands, kissing their cheeks. I was so proud of them. After a while I decided to go back to the house and “hang out.”
As I was waiting their return, I gently lifted Jazz’s window and slipped in. I wondered the small house with the memories flooding me. I sat so quietly in Jazz’s room holding her favorite stuffed teddy bear. Her scent overpoweringly delicious, my mouth watered. There is a reason I have to stay away. It smelled like vanilla and honey. I tore myself away from the scent and went into Max’s room, his scent powdery fresh, like baby talc.
Like the mom that I am, I could not help myself. I picked up the few toys scattered through his room and put them back in the toy box. I folded the few clothes on the dressed and put them away. I looked through his backpack and found a progress report. His teacher mentioned her concern over his antisocial behavior. I guess she did not know what his life was now like. He grades were good overall, he did not seem like he got into trouble. He responded when spoken to, other than that he stayed to himself.
I missed them so much, I wandered the house for a bit longer, looking at the pictures on the wall of how much the kids have grown. Jazz was older now she was a teenager now. I had missed this time. This was the time a daughter needed her mother the most. It was a time of change. When a child is no longer a child. What I noticed about every picture was that their smiles never touched their eyes. They both had the same almond shaped eyes. Max’s hair was almost jet black. My children were my everything. My world revolved around them.
I made my way back to Jazz’s room and curled up on her tiny bed. I was surprised by how much I had lost out on. I was lost in thought; memories from the past, when I first held her in my arms, when she first learned to walk. I remember her first day of school. All of the memories I had of them started flashing through my mind. There faced a blur. it was not until I heard the door knob to her room turn that I knew I had over stayed my welcome. I jumped out of the window before she could see me, before her scent overpowered my senses. I did not have time to close the window. I heard Jazz call for Axel, the fear in her voice. I scanned Axel’s thoughts briefly, he thought someone had broken in. He was calling the police. By then I was running and I left his mind.
I was running away from my past and from them. I did not know where I was going and the thing I knew was to just keep running. I kept running west somewhere. I began to see the thinning of the towns. I think I was somewhere outside of Houston. I could not recall. I was not paying attention to where I was going as I ran.
“Look at Salome, always running away from her problems,” I thought to myself.
While I was running I lost track of time. I was not to entirely sure where I was at this moment when I heard a loud crash. I stopped to listen. The sound of metal bending, glass shattering was enough to catch my attention. I began ran toward the sound. The closer I got to the accident the stronger the smell. I could smell, the warm, salty blood and my mouth watered. My hunger had intensified since I had left Axel’s. I could still smell Jazz’s sweet vanilla and honey scent and it taunted me. The sweet warm aroma filled the air. I knew whoever had spilled that much blood was no longer alive. The blood would be useless. Still out of curiosity I wandered to the scene.
It was a horrific scene I walked in on. I was not prepared for what I saw. I still had not heard the sirens. They must not have been called yet. I had made my way to railroad track. The track rose at a steep incline. If you were driving down this road at night you would not have seen a vehicle on the other side.
I could smell the blood, heavily and it taunted me to no end. I slowly approached the steep incline afraid of what I would see. On the other side of the track was a horrific sight. Had I been human I would have turned around and vomited at the sight of something so horrific. I saw an old golden Buick on top of a mangled Chevy or what was left of it. I could tell the Chevy was new it still had the paper tags on it.
I could not make out what the Chevy was because it was so mangled I was sure its occupants were dead. The only thing I could think of was that the old Buick flew over the railroad track and landed on top of the Chevy. I approached the wreckage. The driver of the Buick was bloodied but from the warmth of his body he was not going to die. I was not too sure of the passenger. I don’t think she wore a seat belt. The upper half of her body rested on top of the hood of the car. Her lower half was still inside the car. She had gone through the windshield and was not fully ejected. I was unsure if she had been torn in two. Her eyes were open wide, pieces of her face and skin had been peeled off of her, revealing the muscle underneath. Her face, neck and arms torn to shreds by the sharp edges of the broken glass. She looked like a crumpled rag doll.
I could smell the booze on these two. The man turned in my direction. I don’t know if he truly saw me or was just dazed. He still looked as though he was in shock and could not comprehend what had just occurred. I began to hear the sirens; the sound was faint. They must be on their way, I thought to myself. I crouched down a bit to check on the occupants of the other vehicle. I heard a low moan of pain and then the scream. I could see a woman lying in an awkward position across the front seat. She was slowly moving. I began to smell gasoline. The sirens were still some ways away.
I did not know how much longer until their arrival. My mouth was watering at the delicious smell of blood. I licked my lips. I was trying desperately to control myself. I could feel the hungry burn deep inside. I would not take these lives. I had to fight myself to resist the urge. The woman’s scream shattered my thoughts. I went around the wreckage to see if I could pull the woman out. The door on the passenger side was smashed like an accordion, but there was just enough room to try to pull the her through the window if I did not give in to my nature.
I approached the window, at this point I was still unnoticed. I reached my arm into the Chevy, and ran my hand over the woman’s head. Her hair was matted with blood. I withdrew my blood-soaked hand and inhaled the scent. I closed my eyes to fight my true nature. When I opened them again I was composed. The woman had felt my hand on her head and tried to lift her head. Her frightened brown eyes looked at me. I could see her tears. Her face was badly cut, her lip was severely split, her nose was b
roken, I could see the cartilage.
“Can you move,” I gently asked.
“Yes,” at this she panicked. She began to scream for help. There was something off about her pleas. She feared me. She was desperate. I told her I would not harm her. She looked at me and relaxed. Fear still written on her damaged face. I gently slithered my upper body into the vehicle and held onto the bottom of the vehicle with my feet to balance myself. I put my arms under her and gently pulled her out. She yelled out in pain. I noticed her leg was hanging limply. It must have dislocated. I saw more blood. I tried not speak anymore and I held my breath. My mouth was watering from the hunger. I carried the woman in my arms and set her on the side. She looked around her as though she was unsure of something, her eyes looked wild; frightened, lost.
“Amber,” she said, quietly at first, as though she was unsure of herself. Her voice suddenly rose several octaves as she panicked and she began to yell for Amber. I looked in the vehicle, again, in the back of the mangled mess, I could make out a lifeless body. The long blond locks colored by her own blood. She looked so angelic. So peaceful and yet the blood still flowed in her. I could hear her heart begin to stutter. The body lay there broken and unrecognizable. There was so much blood everywhere. This girl would not live to see the sun rise. I sighed in despair.
I looked at the woman and shook my head. She began to cry and scream.
“No! Not my baby! God, Not my baby! Please, not my baby!” she cried. Her cries tore at my very core.
I held the woman in my arms and I felt her body sag against mine. I could feel her despair. Her pain was a pain that I understood all too well. She would give anything and everything to save her child. I saw the fear and understanding cross her eyes and still she tried to fight me off. I held her as she cried and screamed. I held her back. I wanted to protect the woman from seeing her child. No mother should ever have to see their child this way.
I wanted to comfort her but I did not dare do so. Still I held my breath. I did not want to reveal myself to the woman but as a mother I could not leave her. I let go of the woman and I thought to give her one last moment with her child. I reached into the small opening of the back of the vehicle. The woman on the hood was gone, her heart beat no more. The man began to speak. I heard him ask for help getting out. He was still intoxicated. I gave him a quick once over. It did not look as though he was seriously hurt. I took a breath, most of the blood on him belonged to the woman on the hood.
I went back to what I was doing. The sound of the sirens was getting closer. I had about two minutes’ tops. I needed to rush this. I did not have any time to be gentle. I pulled the destroyed door off the hinge and I pulled out the tan leather passenger seat in order to get the girl out. It would have taken the fire department about thirty minutes with the jaws of life, maybe longer with this tangled mess. I saw the mangled body of the girl. I hesitated for a second and I pulled her out of the mangled wreckage. I slowly carried her. I cradled her in my arms to her mother. The girl was broken beyond salvation. I laid the girl in her mother’s arms. The woman cried at the sight. The girls head was bleeding heavily. Her mother was trying to hold her broken skull together. I could see the brain matter seeping out. The pressure on her brain was too much for her. I could still hear her heart, slowing, stuttering.
The mother’s screams shattered the otherwise silent night. The sirens were only blocks away. I could see the flashing lights approaching. It was just an ambulance. They were not prepared for this. I could hear the paramedics thoughts. They were young, and new to this line of work. I could hear one of the them get on the radio asking for another bus, I could hear another siren approaching, maybe a police car.
I turned my attention back to the mother, her tears and screams were one that I was familiar with. It was a gut wrenching pain, one that time can never ease. She turned to me suddenly and begged me to help her daughter. I could not.
“Please help her. Save her,” her pleas were desperate. I understood her anguish, but this is not the life I would have wanted for my child. Yet, I too, would want someone to save my daughter. I could not imagine the pain of losing a child to death, the way this woman was feeling right now. I lost my family to a different kind of death and this was not something I would do for anyone.
She continued to plead with me save her daughter. I could read her mind clearly, the vision of me tearing the door off the hinge was a replay, she gathered I was not entirely normal. Her eyes pled with me, her faced distorted in anguish. I avoided the look of her eyes, the memory of me ripping the door off.
It was a silent battle between the two of us. I was not ready to do this to another person much less a child. What mother would want this for their child? I quietly asked myself.
“Please, you don’t know what it is that you ask,” I told her.
“Please, you have to save her, she is all I have,” she begged me. She grabbed my cold hand and gasped. Realization dawned on her. I was something other worldly. No one should be this cold on a warm night. I heard her thoughts and her fear. She had no explanation for what I was and she firmly believed her God had sent me to save her daughter.
“I am sorry. I cannot do this to either of you. You do not want to live your life wondering if she lived or not,” I tried to gently explain it to her.
I knew that desperation makes people unreasonable. I could not do this. I did not know how, much less the mechanics of it.
“Save her,” I heard the mother’s silent whisper.
I caved. I would have wanted someone to have saved my daughter if I had been this woman. The paramedics have been on the scene for a few minutes. They did not see us. They were focused on the man and his partner at the moment. They were busy assessing the situation. They too knew it was bad. They called for backup and a chopper. From their thoughts I gathered that the nearest trauma unit was about an hour drive toward Houston. I heard them call for a bag. I could hear their fallen voices. They had never seen something in their entire lives. This was something that they would carry with them. This day would haunt them for the rest of their lives.
I lifted the girl in my arms and gently cradled her like a baby. I took off into the woods before the paramedics turned to the other side of the vehicle. I pitied the girl’s mother. She would no longer see her only child. I entered the girls fractured mind and I saw her memories. They were fragmented, slowly becoming darker. The girl was still in her teens and excited about prom. I glimpsed the prom dress. I saw sadness, another child lost. A lost brother, sick. Soon her mind went black. She was slipping away.
The stutter of the girls’ heart was growing; she was slowly dying in my arms. I did not think I could make it to New Orleans for Jack to save her. I was half way back to Orange, I could feel her warmth begin to fade, her heart fluttered slowly. I would not make it to Jack. I stopped in the middle of the swampy bayou, and looked at the girl. I did not know if I could change her myself. I recalled my last human memory. I hesitated and slowly I bit into her neck, I did not know how much blood she had left in her. I did not want to take what was left. I took a few drops of her blood and then tore into my wrist. As my wrist bleed from the wound, I could see it was beginning to heal, quickly. I tore at my wrist again, and put it to her lips. I saw my blood spill out of her still lips, suddenly her heart stopped and did not start back up. In this new state of being I was unsure if cardio pulmonary resuscitation would work. I may end up fracturing her body further. I noticed her belly was distended. This meant that she had internal bleeding from somewhere in her abdomen. She was bleeding profusely. I did not dare try CPR on her for fear of causing more damage to her.
I screamed in agony. I held the girl in my arms, I cradled her and still I tried to force my blood into her. I grieved for the girl. I grieved for my own children. My tears fell down my face when I could no longer contain my own pain. I could not come to grips with my own immortality. I feared for my family’s imminent death and I grieved. I grieved in a way in which I was never allowed to do
.
I fled into my own mind. My own personal madness and so it was how Jack found me with the girl. I hated myself, and I deserved the hatred my family may feel towards me. I hated the mother of this child. I hated her for forcing me to realize my own children’s mortality. I hated her for wanting this life for her daughter. I wanted Jack to hate me for all I have done. I wanted him to hate me for loving me. I wanted to hate him for making me the monster I am, despite his honest intentions.
16. LITHIUM
I
DID NOT KNOW THAT A VAMPIRE could become catatonic, but I had done so. My mind had finally broken. It was shattered beyond repair. “How could I fix this?” I thought to myself. I would see my own children die while I remained eternal. I would miss them growing up, getting married and having children. I was missing everything.
Suddenly I realized life was not passing me by. My life had stalled and would not start back up again. It was like being stuck in an elevator and you did not know if you would ever get out of it or if it would move again. Every second, every heartbeat brought my family closer to death and here I was stuck. Never moving forward. The thought saddened me.
I don’t know how long I slept, or whatever this is. I had broken and I wanted to desperately escape the reality of what my life had become. I was a monster. Every once in while I would stray from this suspended state. I could hear Jack, he worried over me. Once, I thought he must have regretted making me. Just when I thought the words, I felt his hand on mine and I saw not regret but love. He worried about his decision and he did not regret it. He was waiting for me to find myself. He was waiting for me to find my way out. Out of all of the vampires he had ever met in his existence, I am the one who struggles the most with what I have become. I am the one who had lost the most.
Evanescere: Origins Page 11
