No Such Thing As Immortality

by Sarah Tranter

Her uneasiness was growing. I couldn’t afford to be overwhelmed again. I stepped back from the car, head still down, and began to walk its length. I had no idea what I looked like and was far from sure my eyes were as I needed them to be. The moon was behind the clouds, but I cursed the light coming from the car with its open gull-wing door. I would have closed it … had I been psychologically strong enough to be shut outside with this torturous creature.

  I concentrated on my movements, stopping … not too close to make restraint impossible? I was either hedging my bets or hoping for a miracle, I just didn’t know.

  Slowly raising my face, I looked at the girl properly for the first time.

  She was quite bewitching, which scrambled my mind further. Her strawberry-blonde hair was loose and hung in long waves; her heart-shaped face held a pair of huge green eyes and I could plainly see a splattering of the lightest of freckles across her small pert nose; her lips were full, perhaps slightly too large for her face, but highly pleasing nonetheless; her complexion was pale, probably paler than usual, due to the pain she was in.

  I imagined it would normally possess a becoming blood-filled blush.

  And then I saw the blood; the scent of which was already bombarding my senses. I was trying not to inhale, but had no control over the periodic gasps for air my body shouldn’t, but seemed to, need. The blood was oozing from a wound to the forehead below her hairline … and I was transfixed. It was taboo. I had made it taboo. But being taboo made it all the more attractive. A primal compulsion rose within me and its strength was beyond—

  ‘DO NOT do this!’ James’ soundless yell rang through my head.

  But I wasn’t myself tonight … or perhaps I was? I could justify this. I needed to eliminate the cause of my pain and anguish and her blood would be the most wonderful bonus; it would be the ultimate comfort. I imagined myself relishing in its warmth, its oh so sweet aroma and, what I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, would be, its exquisite taste. I would devour every last drop and still want more.

  James silently cried, ‘You are better than this – think what it would do to Elizabeth!’

  He was playing his trump card. The mention of my sister caused a momentary hesitation and my gaze dropped to the girl’s eyes. Her look of pained confusion was clear … and I could feel it.

  As our eyes held, she gasped and took a rapid step back. Landing heavily on her damaged foot, she cried out in pain. That terrible sound ricocheted through me. She started to tumble towards the ground.

  And I was there.

  She gasped again when my hands encircled her waist, stopping her fall. The racing beat of her heart was getting louder and louder as it boomed seductively in my head; it was in perfect time with the pulse that was now so visible under the delectably thin, penetrable skin of her throat. She was mine.

  But her eyes … They momentarily intruded into my blissful state of anticipation. How would they look in death? I dropped my hands at lightning speed, even before she was quite steady. It still wasn’t soon enough to stop the shocking warmth they had felt from channelling up through my arms to course through my body.

  The depths of her eyes were fixed on mine. They would haunt me until the end of time.

  It was I that now took a rapid step back, my whole body trembling. Her eyes refused to release me from their penetrating – was it inquisitive? – gaze. And I refused to release my own, knowing her eyes were the only thing saving her from the basest of my instincts.

  Somehow I managed to take another step back.

  And then I was at the open door. I wrenched myself away and dived, probably too fast, into the car. For once I was going to take James’ advice. He handed me my calling-card and pen. I heard his silent voice again, ‘You are doing great. Give her Morley’s details. He’ll sort it.’

  Swallowing hard, I attempted composure, before forcing myself to duck back out of the car. I had no idea whether I could talk, whether my voice would hold steady. There was only one way to find out. Our eyes locked once again.

  ‘I must offer you my sincerest apology.’ It didn’t sound like me. My voice lacked its normal timbre and seemed strained, but I was talking through a jaw now locked on its own accord, and my whole body was trembling. ‘The responsibility for the accident is all mine. These are my particulars …’

  Ever so tentatively, I moved my eyes away and, using the roof of the car as a rest, wrote on the back of the card the name and number of Richard Morley, the solicitor who handles so much of our day-to-day business. My hand was violently shaking and my normally neat script, a scrawl.

  ‘… call and all necessary arrangements to rectify matters will be made.’

  I re-met the gaze I knew to still be trained on me. I held the card out at full stretch, positioned between the tips of my two longest fingers. I left it to the girl to hobble forward the necessary paces. She had to use the car for support and her progress was clearly painful. I found myself wincing. But I had to remain rooted to the spot.

  She cautiously took the card and I snatched my arm back. ‘Nathaniel Gray,’ she said quietly, reading out loud my name, printed in an elegant typeface upon the front of the card. Her voice was no longer in screaming-mode and sounded soft and melodic, albeit pained. For a bewildered moment, I thought I had handed her someone else’s calling-card. But no, that was my name … it just didn’t sound like my own when said through her lips.

  ‘Again, please accept my sincerest apologies,’ I managed to choke out, before turning away to re-enter the car. I could do this. I could do this.

  Her voice, both indignant and fragile, cried out, ‘You can’t just leave me here!’

  I spoke the words that sounded in my head. ‘We will organise a car and driver to collect you and take you wherever you need to go.’

  ‘London? I’m on my way home to London!’ she cried incredulously. ‘If you hadn’t noticed, this is deepest, darkest, absolutely never to be visited again, Derbyshire!’

  ‘The car will take you wherever you need.’

  I made it into the driver’s seat. I was nearly there but needed to be far away.

  With a note of finality, reaching for the key in the ignition, I said, ‘You may wish to get your head seen to.’

  And then vrroooom. It wasn’t the car firing up. My body was burning as red-hot fury scorched through me. There wasn’t the tiniest part of me that didn’t seem to be consumed.

  ‘I should get my head seen to! Just who do you think you are, Nathaniel Gray? You nearly kill me, you break my foot, you’re preparing to drive off into the night, leaving me alone – and you think I should get my head seen to? You—’

  Startled, I turned to look at her. She had tried to stamp her foot and forgotten the impracticalities of that action with a fracture and tears now streamed down her face. The feeling of emotional hurt just ploughed in on top of the rage, and this time the physical pain did nothing to lessen it: I was sinking.

  Her hands, swiping away the tears, were in the process of revealing blood; it was dark, she couldn’t be sure, but a couple more swipes were confirming the discovery. I felt the dawning, and heard in the softest whisper, ‘Ah! My head seen to … That’s why it’s hurting … Hurting … lots.’

  And then she was gone.

  Her emotions drained from me like plugs had been pulled from the soles of my feet … and with them, the savage thirst for her blood.

  I watched her legs buckle and she was falling. I was there, under her, breaking her fall before she hit the tarmac.

  Her warm, soft, painfully fragile body was still cradled in my arms when James joined me.

  ‘Nate – what the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  I met his bewildered eyes and answered, in a choked, deathly quiet hiss, ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

  Chapter Two

  The Aftermath

  ‘We have a situation Freddie and need you to sort the cars … You wouldn’t believe me … You’ll see for yourself when you get here.’ James snapped his mobile sh
ut and returned his attention to me. ‘You have to let me take her, Nate.’

  My grip on the girl tightened.

  ‘I agree she needs to go to a hospital, and you don’t need to remind me she’s bleeding, but you are in no fit state to do this. I mean … Jesus! You are so not yourself! Her torture may have stopped, but your eyes … Your eyes look like a wounded puppy dog’s!’

  There was no wonder. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop the flashback.

  Another dark road and I was cradling in my arms another fragile human girl – my beloved sister. Her twenty-three-year-old body had been drained of blood and she was barely breathing. ‘Elizabeth? Elizabeth? Wake up – they are gone. You can wake up now, sweetheart.’ The human terror and the pain … and I was feeling it.

  ‘Nate? Nate – Bloody hell! Stop it! Stop it now!’

  James had intruded upon my personal agonies then, too. ‘Nathaniel – is that you? Does she live?’ But his voice had sounded very different. Back then it had been …

  … human, groggy, pained …

  ‘Nate? Nate!’

  I was being shaken and finally focused back to the present. James looked at me aghast. I had been too preoccupied to keep him out of my head.

  ‘You couldn’t stop or control that?’ he choked out, before recovering some control of himself.

  I slowly shook my head and looked down at the girl now in my arms. The fears for her health— No … my fears for her health. My guilt. My shame. Her torture had stopped, but for the first time in nearly two centuries, I had no control over what I was feeling. I was completely unable to quash or dampen the terrifying sensations spiralling unchecked through me.

  ‘Jesus … Nate …!’

  There was panic in James’ voice. But I couldn’t let myself contemplate the full implications of what I was currently experiencing. It had to be temporary … a blip … it had to be … because if it wasn’t …?

  ‘You need to get back to Ridings – NOW! You’re right – it’s got to be temporary. But you need to be away from this girl. It must be her!’

  I clutched her even tighter.

  Now crouching down beside me, he spoke gently. I couldn’t recall him ever having used that tone with me in this existence. ‘Nate, look into my head. I’m no threat to her. I’m in control. You … you … Too much is going on with you right now and we can’t risk— I’m going to take her to the hospital and you are going home – now!’

  I knew he was talking sense; an unusual occurrence in itself. But why was letting her go so hard? She would be safe with James. I could see that in his head, whereas … I couldn’t make any sense at all out of my own.

  Somehow, I let James gently pull the girl from me. As he stood there, holding her in his arms, I had an overwhelming urge to snatch her back – and tear him to pieces. But he was gone. She was gone.

  I was only vaguely aware of the whoosh of air as Frederick arrived. I was evidently still sat in the road. I was meant to be going home.

  ‘Nate?’ I finally looked up, but quickly looked away at the horror so visible on his face.

  ‘I am well,’ I said, as calmly as I could. ‘Thank you for your assistance in … sorting matters.’

  ‘Do you want to talk?’ he asked silently.

  I shook my head and took to the air.

  The sun was rising. Not an issue in itself but only now was I flying over the outer reaches of my estate. I had clearly flown aimlessly throughout the night. My focus had been on purging, desperate, futile attempts at purging, because nothing had shifted the emotions – my emotions – now raging so painfully and unchecked through me.

  As I flew over some of the eleven thousand acres of landscaped parks, lakes, woods and moors, I picked up the anxious voices of Elizabeth and Madeleine a few miles away. They must have cut their shopping trip to London short. And rather than sounding from their own estate properties, they were in the main house. And Frederick was there, too; he had evidently done what needed to be done.

  But there was no James.

  I pictured him standing there with the bewitching girl in his arms … and wanted to tear him to shreds all over again.

  He should be back. I ranged out, but he was not at his farmstead to the north. There was nothing. He was evidently too far away for me to get into his head. Retrieving my phone, I pressed speed-dial: voicemail. Damn it – where was he?

  I immediately lowered a veil over my thoughts. The others had sensed my presence and I couldn’t allow them into my head. It was not a good place to be and my little sister was worried enough.

  ‘Nathaniel? Nate? Speak to me, please …’

  I ignored Elizabeth’s desperate, silent plea. I couldn’t provide her with the reassurance she needed, not whilst I was incapable of reassuring myself. I blocked her out. I blocked them all out.

  The implications had begun to sink in and … terror. That’s what I was now feeling for Christ’s sake! My terror. And I shouldn’t be feeling it. I shouldn’t have to feel a damned thing. Emotion was a struggle enough when human, and now I lacked even the physiology to deal with it.

  I frantically tried to dispel the latest of the torturous flashbacks that had plagued me all night. I managed to make it to the main house, entering through the open window at the top of my tower, before crash-landing to the floor.

  No, please, not this one …

  Slumped on the wide elm floorboards, I was again that twelve-year-old mortal boy, discovering his mother on her deathbed.

  ‘Mama? Mama? Wake up, Mama. I beg of you!’ I sobbed and frantically shook her. She had to wake up. She had to. I needed her. My baby sister needed her. I was on her bed, trying to pry her eyelids open. My tears falling all over her face. ‘Mama? Mama? Please, Mama. Please!’

  It felt like hours before I was able to slowly unfurl my arms from around my chest. I was never meant to have to go there again. After my mother’s death I had been most commonly described as cold, aloof, detached. Only Elizabeth, and occasionally James, had ever managed to get under my defences. But now, in a form in which I shouldn’t have to feel, a form designed to house a more extreme version of my mortal personality, I wanted to weep. But that ability was no longer mine.

  I took a deep shaky breath, hoping for comfort. But instead, there was more uncontrolled, non-expellable emotion. In amongst the vying horrors, one was currently screaming louder than the rest.

  Worry.

  Worry for the girl. Worry … for Rowan Locke.

  I had gathered her name from James’ head after he had taken her from me. He had found her driving licence: Rowan Locke. Born: April 29th, 1977. Address: Flat 3, 212 Barclay Road, Hammersmith, London. A deep growl resonated from my throat. He thought she looked pretty in the photograph. I should have shredded him.

  And where the hell was he?

  I braved tuning in to the others. I knew I would be the topic of conversation, but perhaps James had reported in? They appeared to be in conference in the drawing room. At least they knew better than to disturb me in my tower.

  ‘How the blazes can a vampire crash a car?’ Frederick was not beating about the bush, as was typical. I would never have matched his brash personality to my genteel little sister’s. But the strength of their one-hundred-and-sixty-five-year marriage had proved me wrong.

  ‘That’s a very good question …’ Madeleine murmured. ‘In four hundred years, I’ve seen nothing like it …’ It was the first time I had ever heard her worried. ‘I would suggest, however, that crashing the car is presently the least of Nate’s concerns. If he’s feeling again …?’

  ‘But he can’t be!’ Frederick roared. ‘I know what I saw – but it’s a defining power, for fuck’s sake! It’s second only to immortality! We CONTROL whatever extent we choose to feel. How else could we remain sane over the years?’ It was an argument he regularly used with Elizabeth, who only utilised the power reluctantly – why, I had never understood – but as a result, she remained the most human of us all.

  ‘B
ut out of all of us … why Nate?’ Oh, Elizabeth, sweetheart. She continued in an unsteady voice, ‘He’s always needed to protect himself. He uses the power too much … I mean, we all know that. Sometimes I haven’t even known if my brother has been behind that cold shell … but … Oh, my God! Without it?’

  This was too much. I was barely holding it together as it was. I abruptly tuned out and snatched the phone from my pocket. Calling James’ number again, I sank to the Persian rug in the centre of the room. Waiting for connection, I lay back and looked up through my tower’s glass roof. This room doubled as an observatory, and in this position I was used to viewing the night sky, spotting planets and constellations invisible to even the most powerful of human-invented telescopes, but today, the sun was overhead. I checked my, now antique, Rolex wrist-watch … nearly ten hours had passed since he had taken her from me. And it felt like an eternity. Where the hell was he?

  Straight to voicemail. What if something had gone wrong? Had her condition worsened? Her heartbeat had been strong but … what if he had lost control? It was with a roar that I leapt up and hurled my phone across the room. It smashed into the wall above the fireplace, narrowly missing Starry Night – or at least my version of Starry Night. The version Vincent had painted not from memory and as seen through the bars of an asylum window but whilst under the night sky as we discussed religion, death and immortality. The Elizabethan stone wall held, but the phone turned to crumbs and dust.

  Focusing for a moment on Starry Night over Saint-Remy, I realised I was viewing it differently. I had thought I understood it, had been in receipt of the necessary insight. That I had understood him that night. But now I was seeing new logic to the brush strokes … I forced myself to look away. Was I on the edge of madness? Such fresh illumination of that which had been viewed pretty much daily over the past one-hundred-and-twenty-three years, provided little reassurance.

  There was no question my secret masterpiece had been an obsession of mine. And until last night, I had considered obsessive tendencies to be my kind’s only weakness. But nothing was as it was. Until last night, I had not considered myself … a monster.