Now Comes the Night

by P. G. Forte

  That was the worst of it. No matter how excruciating the physical pain had been, it was nothing in comparison. The shame and humiliation Damian had suffered, the loss of everything he thought he knew, easily eclipsed the rest. His body had healed quickly enough. He was Vampire, after all, the wound barely bled for more than a couple of minutes. But the emotional hurt, the loss of faith and trust, the loss of love, that was with him still.

  And it was that—all that pain, the fear, the abject despair—with which Conrad had threatened Damian the other night. That was the knife he’d held to Damian’s throat to make him leave home, to make him turn tail and run. After everything Damian had done for him…

  “It almost looks intentional,” Paul mused. “You know? The way it’s just in this one area, it looks almost like someone was deliberately trying to obliterate it.”

  Damian closed his eyes as the all-too-familiar waves of bitterness crashed over him. “Sí. I’m sure that was precisely what he intended.” He was barely aware of having spoken the words aloud until he felt Paul stiffen.

  “What did you say?” Paul straightened abruptly. “Oh, fuck, no. You gotta be kidding me, right?” He tugged at Damian’s shoulder, rolling him onto his back so he could look him in the face. “You’re not serious are you? D, did someone do this to you on purpose?”

  Damian sighed. “Did you not hear what I said to you, less than a minute ago? I do not wish to discuss it. How can I make this clear to you? Tell me—how?”

  “Yeah, I know, but… No. Fuck that. I thought you’d been in some kind of accident, or maybe the war or something. But if you were attacked, if someone did this to you…there’s no way we’re not talking about it. Who was it? Tell me, damn it. I swear, if he’s still around I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll track him down and break his goddamn neck.”

  Damian couldn’t help but smile. “Gracias, Pablito, your concern is much appreciated. And it’s very chivalrous of you to wish to defend my honor in this matter, but I assure you there’s no need. It was all such a very long time ago. I’m sure we’ve both gotten over it by now. It’s in the past. It’s finished. And that’s all I wish to say about it.”

  “A long time ago?” Paul stared at him. “Oh, hell, no. Damian…baby, are you saying you were just a kid when it happened?”

  “What?” Damian blinked at him in surprise. “No. Don’t be so silly. Not that long ago.”

  Paul frowned. “No, that’s right. I mean, I guess it couldn’t be, huh? You’d have had to be at least old enough to get tattooed first, right?”

  “Exactly. Now, enough talk. Come here.” Damian pulled him close. A quick bite. A small snack. And, hopefully, an end to all this fruitless conversation… The taste of Paul’s blood brought comfort. Damian’s tense muscles finally relaxed.

  Paul snuggled against him. “I’m sorry you were hurt. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. I just wish you felt like you could talk to me, confide in me. You can, you know. I mean even if…even if someone abused you, if they hurt you in that way too, it’s nothing to be ashamed about. I’d never judge you.”

  Damian pulled back to look at him. “I’m not ashamed of anything.” Except…he was. For years—for decades, really—he could hardly stand to face another of his kind. He was certain that everyone knew what had happened to him, that everyone was judging him, mocking him, keeping a mental tally of all the advantages he no longer had, the prestige, the power, the love, everything he’d thrown away…

  “Well, good.” Paul nodded earnestly. “You shouldn’t be. It’s just…I know that sometimes, when people are abused, they sometimes get to feeling like it was all their fault. Like they did something to cause it.”

  Damian shrugged. “Sometimes it is their fault. Sometimes people do foolish things and bring trouble on themselves.” Like Damian had done, all those years ago. “It’s not always that way, of course, but…”

  “It’s not ever that way!” Paul scowled. “I don’t care what you did, even if it was something really stupid like…I dunno, like getting drunk and shooting off your mouth, or coming out to a room full of bigots. Whatever it was, you did not deserve to be hurt.”

  Damian rolled his eyes. “Ay, Dios mio. And people say I’m melodramatic. Pablito, please. You make me sound like a defenseless victim. A weakling. It’s insulting.”

  “You were a victim. It doesn’t make you weak to admit that. It wasn’t your fault, D. It had nothing to do with you.”

  “It had everything to do with me,” Damian snapped. He pushed Paul away and sat up. Paul sat on his ankles and gazed back at him, impassively. “I made a choice. It was a bad choice, sí, absolutamente, based on some very bad advice I should have known not to take. And I could not have anticipated the consequences, but all the same…”

  “Damian.” Paul reached for him, but Damian pushed him away.

  “No. I do not need coddling. I told you I didn’t want to talk about the subject, didn’t I? We have an arrangement. We’ve agreed not to pry into each other’s lives. Have you forgotten that already?”

  Paul frowned, not in anger, more in puzzlement. “No, I remember. But…but that was, you know, before.”

  “Before what?” Damian asked feeling more than a little puzzled himself. Then it hit him. “Before this weekend, you mean?” Ah, yes, he should have known that would be a mistake. Another choice gone wrong. He supposed he was entitled to one bad decision every hundred years or so.

  “Well, yeah, that too, but c’mon, that’s not… After what you told me the other night? C’mon, you know what I’m talking about.”

  “No, I really don’t.”

  Paul stared at him for a long moment before dropping his gaze. “Okay, never mind. You wanna keep your distance, keep up the pretense, keep acting like you don’t care. Fine. You do that. I get it, all right? I’m not saying I like it but… I just really hope that someday you’ll feel safe enough to open up and tell me what’s really going on.”

  “Trust me, Pablito, you really don’t want to know. What is it they say? Ignorance is bliss? Knowledge is dangerous? It’s all very true.”

  “What are you talking about?” Paul asked crossly. “Who’s gonna hurt me? You? Are you threatening me, D? Really?”

  “Of course not. I thought you said you knew me?”

  “Well then?”

  “Never mind. I’ve probably said too much as it is. I should leave now.”

  “What? Oh, yeah. Sure. You’re good at that, aren’t you? Fine then! Maybe you should.”

  “Paul…”

  “Oh, just go to hell.”

  “I’m sorry, Pablito,” Damian said as he got out of bed and began looking for his clothes. “But as I told you the other night, there are things I simply cannot share. Either you accept that, or…”

  “Fuck.” Paul sighed. “Okay, fine. You made your point. I just… Don’t go. Please? I want you to stay.”

  “I can’t,” Damian said as he slid into his jeans. “It’s been two days and I…I need to be getting home now anyway.”

  “C’mon, don’t be like that.” Paul sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “What more do you want from me, huh? I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t mean it. You just got me so mad and… What’ve you have going on at home that can’t wait until morning? Just…give me one more night, all right? That’s not too much to ask, is it? Please? The weekend’s not even over yet. Don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not mad. I just need to go back. That’s all.”

  Paul said nothing, but Damian could feel the boy’s eyes tracking his movements, watching him as he dressed. Finally, “Holy fucking hell. It was him, wasn’t it?” Paul’s voice was grim and angry. “He’s the one who hurt you. That’s what this is all about, why you don’t want to tell me what happened, why you think I’m going to get hurt too. It was him.”

  He. Him. That had to be yet another reference to Conrad, didn’t it? Damian cast a quick glance in Paul’s direction, startled by his perception. “I don�
�t know what you mean,” he lied, hoping to allay Paul’s suspicions. He could tell by the thunderous look on Paul’s face that it wasn’t working. Damian’s own expression must have given him away.

  “Yes, you do.” Paul insisted. “Don’t lie to me, D. That’s the real reason why you came here Friday, isn’t it? Why you stayed with me this weekend? Something happened between you two. Something that you still won’t tell me about, damn it! Something that’s got you so upset you’re afraid to go home.”

  “I am not afraid.” The words were automatic. He’d said them so many times in the course of his life. Sometimes, they were even true. Not this time, however. At the moment, he was very much afraid. He was terrified that Paul might lose his head and go after Conrad. The results of that would be disastrous. For all of them. “Trust me, Paul, you don’t understand.”

  “The hell I don’t. He’s abusing you, D, and as long as you keep putting up with it, it’s never going to stop.”

  “No. You’re wrong. That’s not how it is.”

  “Really? It’s not? Then tell me how it’s different. Tell me what I’m missing. He hurt you and you’re still with him—isn’t that true? You think it was your fault—he probably told you it was your fault. And now you’re going back to him again. But you don’t have to do that. You have choices. You can stay here. With me.”

  Damian shook his head. “No, I can’t.”

  “Sure you can. Why not? I’ll take care of you. It will be just like this weekend, only better.”

  “They’re my family. They need me.” And he needed them, more than he could ever explain.

  “So what are you saying—you’re only staying with him because of the kids? Why? Does he hurt them too? Is that what you’re afraid of?”

  Damian sighed. “No. Of course not.”

  The idea that Conrad might hurt one of the twins was laughable, totally ludicrous. Why, Julie had had Conrad wrapped around her finger, practically from her very first smile. And, for all his supposed strictness, for all his deadly strength, it had always been transparently obvious that her “grandfather” would have given into Julie’s every whim, given her anything she asked for, if Damian hadn’t been on hand to intervene. As it was, he’d had his work cut out for him, making sure the girl didn’t grow up too spoiled.

  With Marc…things were a little different. It seemed often that Conrad held the boy to a different standard than he did his sister, but he was no less devoted to him for all of that. Damian had long suspected that the cause of the trouble was that Conrad identified entirely too much with Marc. It was almost as though Conrad viewed the boy as a younger version of himself. Albeit a version that he considered to be a huge improvement on the original, one with all the flaws erased, the faults ironed out, the evil expunged.

  And, once again, were it not for Damian, Conrad would have likely spoiled Marc too. Either that, or driven the poor boy to his death, trying to live up to his sire’s high expectations for him.

  Far from hurting them, Damian had often thought that Conrad tried to shield the children from too much. In fact, now that Damian stopped to consider the matter calmly, he wondered why he’d been so surprised by the way in which Conrad had reacted to Marc’s collapse. Naturally he’d panicked! Why had Damian not foreseen such an event? How could he ever have expected Conrad to do anything else? It was perfectly in keeping with his character.

  Even his ordering Damian from the house, when viewed from that perspective, made a certain kind of sense. Maybe it was all about protecting Marc, not about punishing Damian at all. Perhaps Damian had only made things worse for himself by staying away this long.

  “I need to get home.” Damian rose once more from the bed and resumed dressing.

  “I knew it.” Paul punched the mattress angrily. “You are afraid, aren’t you? You’re worried about what might have happened while you were gone, what he might have done to them. Admit it.”

  Damian shook his head. “It’s no such thing. They’re my family. I need to get back to them. That’s all.”

  “Bullshit. Look at you—racing around trying to get dressed. Why not just call them, D, if everything’s so damn peachy? Why not spend another night with me and go home in the morning? What could you possibly need to do so bad that it can’t wait until then?”

  “It’s been a wonderful weekend, Paul, but it’s over now. So let’s not ruin it with silly, overdramatic scenes.”

  “What do you mean ‘over’?” Paul’s face paled. “You’re not… You’re not planning on disappearing on me again, are you?”

  Damian sighed. “This obsession of yours is becoming quite tiresome. No! I am not planning on disappearing. Why would you think that? Have I done anything to suggest it? Relax, chico. I’m sure we’ll see one another again very soon.”

  “When?”

  Damian stopped for a moment to think about it. Even if it hadn’t been what Conrad intended, these past two nights had comprised one of the most enjoyable weekends Damian could remember having spent in quite some time. Why should he not do it again? Why should he not make a habit of it? Who would it hurt? He shrugged. “Perhaps I could arrange to spend next weekend with you again, if you have no objections.”

  “Of course I don’t.” Paul got off the bed once more and came to stand in front of Damian. He eyed him earnestly. “Do you mean it? For sure?”

  Smiling, Damian cupped his cheek. “I would not have said it if I didn’t mean it. I do care for you, Paul, I hope you know that. You mean a lot to me. I would not be here with you now if it were otherwise.”

  “You mean a lot to me too.” Paul reached for Damian and pulled him close. “That’s why I can’t help worrying about you,” he said as he buried his face in Damian’s neck. “Especially now that I know what you’re going back to, what he’s capable of. Promise me you’ll be safe, that you’ll call me if anything happens.”

  Damian hugged him tight. “I promise. But don’t worry so much. Everything will be fine.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The house was empty when Damian returned. That was a disappointment, but not really a surprise. It was early, after all. No doubt Conrad had merely taken the children out for dinner. The pile of empty cardboard boxes stacked in the foyer, on the other hand—that was a surprise, as was the condition of the kitchen.

  The floor appeared to have been hastily swept, but a suspicious-looking residue still lingered around the baseboards and two of the cabinet doors hung crookedly on their hinges. Every scrap of food had disappeared, except for half a dozen bags of blood in the otherwise empty refrigerator, and a like number in the freezer. Most of his cookware had gone missing as well. His cookbooks, his baking sheets, his favorite cast iron skillet—what had been done with them? And what had happened here? He shivered in trepidation. Maybe leaving was an even bigger mistake than he’d realized?

  He was so deep in thought as he inspected the damage, that he almost missed the sound of someone entering the room behind him. He froze as the familiar cadence of Conrad’s heartbeat belatedly reached his ears.

  “You’re back.” Conrad’s voice was so carefully modulated it left Damian to guess at his mood. He didn’t sound noticeably angry and Damian’s heart skipped a beat in relief. Was it possible Conrad was actually pleased to have him back, or was that merely wishful thinking?

  Taking care to keep his own voice equally neutral in tone, Damian asked, “I hope that meets with your approval? You didn’t specify how long I need stay gone.” What if he’d been wrong? What if he had not stayed away long enough? What if Conrad didn’t want him back at all?

  I won’t beg, damn it. He would not beg. If Conrad couldn’t see the wisdom in allowing Damian back into his house, well then… Well, then Damian would just have to convince him otherwise. He’d have to point out all the reasons why Conrad needed him. Calmly. Rationally. He would not beg. Not this time. He’d done nothing wrong this time.

  “Yes, well…” Conrad paused to clear his throat. “I, uh… I’m sorry for tha
t. I didn’t exactly plan for any of it to happen, you know. It was just that, at the time, I was very concerned about Marc’s health and… I might not have been thinking all that clearly. I was angry.”

  Damian nodded. “Sí. So you said.” Was that supposed to be an apology? Had Damian’s ears deceived him, or had Conrad just tried to apologize for his behavior? It was not completely without precedent, he supposed. Conrad had occasionally expressed remorse in the past, though it had been quite awhile since the last time. Centuries, actually, if Damian was not mistaken. And it wasn’t very much of an apology either. “And what about now? Are you still angry?”

  Conrad chuckled. “No, I believe two days was more than sufficient for me to recover my temper. But, all the same…there can be no more of this, Damian. I can’t allow it. I can’t risk this sort of thing happening ever again.”

  “No more of what?” Damian asked, finally turning to face Conrad in nervous trepidation. What had Conrad made up his mind about this time? The list of possibilities was as endless as it was potentially terrifying.

  Conrad waved a hand to encompass the kitchen. “All this…this cooking and eating, this pretending to be human. It’s dangerous. And, as I’ve already told the twins, I must insist that it end. Immediately. We may be forced to do such things when we are out in public, but I will not have it here. Not in this house. Not any longer. The twins are old enough now and they’ve had more than enough experience. They don’t need any more practice.”

  “Very well. If that’s your decision.” Damian didn’t dare argue. He shrugged in an indifferent manner, as though the subject held no interest for him. Then he turned away again, not wanting Conrad to see his disappointment. What did he have to be disappointed about, after all? It was a small enough price to pay, or so he tried to tell himself. A very small price. It was just that it hadn’t all been about practice. It hadn’t all been about the twins. Cooking had brought Damian a great deal of joy and he was going to miss it. Not nearly as much as he’d miss his family, if that were to be taken from him. But, no, he couldn’t even bear to think about that. He had to remember what was important. He had to keep things in perspective. It was just… a little hard to do that, at present. He was too upset, too emotional. He needed to calm himself. Perhaps a change of subject would help? “I couldn’t help but notice all the boxes in the foyer. What are they for?”