The Immortal door

by Lyra heart

  “What are they like?” Nolan’s tone was angry, stressed.

  “You see, unlike George, who will always interest me—I suppose he’s the closest thing to a true turn I’ll ever create—the others… Well, I always sensed hatred seething from Lance towards me and I liked it. In fact, I loved it, if truth be told.”

  “How can you say these things?” he asked. Turning someone had been something he believed was sacred, a way to give humans back life from the death that a vampire caused so many of their kind. It was a way to apologize to the species, a spiritual gesture. Religious texts in his dimension spoke of the sacred bond a vampire has with those that they turned. Yet Chloe had forsaken centuries of culture.

  “You think I should feel guilt for these things don’t you my love?” Her tone was playful. “I’ll never regret the way I am! The way I have escaped the rules and constraints that have kept us down. You’ll never change me. Accept that.” Chloe said.

  He loved the dark side of Chloe because it allowed him to justify his own weakness towards the cruel nature of the vampire without the guilt that would penetrate him if he didn’t have Chloe. Without Chloe he would only have himself to blame for feeding on humans and allowing innocent people to die for the blood spell. He would never change her cruel ways, yet he wished immensely that she had respect for the sacred vow of turning a mortal. He felt sick to think of those strangers, being so connected to her.

  “I want to meet all of them, George and these boys, I wish to know them.”

  “Ok, we’ll have a big family get together!” Chloe said sarcastically.

  * * *

  Jasmin sat upon a black leather couch next to the man she loved, her legs lazily upon his lap as she lay on the couch, starring at a gigantic plasma screen. Taking a sip of her rich red wine the movie “Dracula” began. How she loved the film—she remembered the first time she saw it before George entered her life. How different it had appeared then, before it had become connected to a memory of a real creature that constantly lurked at the back of her mind. Marshall watched happily enough, seeming to be in a world of his own. His face was dangerously alluring in the light from the screen. As the movie played Jasmin’s mind wandered off back into the past—the year was 2003, she was fifteen. The images of a tall blond and a bewildered gangly creature burned in her mind.

  When the film ended, another program commenced on the subject of vampires—it appeared to be the theme of the evening on this particular station. The documentary commenced with a young woman talking about the history of the myth of the vampire. Referring to anemic people, and the Victorian times, and how stories of vampires developed from Bram Stoker’s Dracula to Twilight and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. After a series of adverts the documentary gave case’s of people who believed in vampires. Some lived lives drinking blood and sleeping in coffins but they didn’t seem like that woman or George—they didn’t seem evil and real. One case in South London was from a cockney woman with thin greasy hair and an ugly potato face. She talked about a young man who sounded like George and how she once overheard him in her pub talking to a beautiful woman who sounded like the glossy blonde who had claimed to be George’s sister. They were talking about a blood sacrifice. The woman claimed to be psychic, saying that spirit told her at that moment that they were vampires. The documentary was based on British accounts of vampires, but how could they have struck such gold. What irony that it was treated like all the other strange stories, as just another element of a fun cheesy show.

  “What do you think then?” Marshall asked in a warm voice, his tone almost smiling.

  “It’s funny,” she lied.

  The lady had described George and his so called sister, and she knew it. Terror sung within her heart to think of all the people who had encountered the two vampires.

  “Do you believe in vampires then?” He took a sip of his wine casually, propping the glass on the arm of the sofa.

  “No.” She stared at the TV wondering if the documentary would reveal any other set of harrowing memories.

  “But wouldn’t it be cool if they were real?” He put on airs of excitement.

  “They’d be predators, evil things.” She thought of George—he’d been evil before immortality.

  “Oh sure! They’d be dangerous. But can you imagine how great it would be to live forever, young and sexy, like me.” His smile was playful and mischievous.

  Marshall was irresistible—she just wanted to kiss him. She found him so strong and yet innocent and fresh. “Sexy like you eh? Hmm, what about like me?”

  “Oh! That’s even better.” He touched her leg, rubbing it gently, tickling her feet in a playful manner. “Can you imagine how amazing it would be if I was a vampire and I found you, my beautiful goddess, and made you spend eternity with me as my queen?”

  Forever with him would be everything she desired, she saw her soul being with him always, till death and beyond. “I don’t think I’d like to be a bloody monster killing for all eternity. But, the beautiful goddess bit, being your queen, that sounds amazing.”

  “I think we should find a vampire and convince them to make us immortal. What do you say?” he joked, warmly, kissing her on the neck roughly.

  “Can we stop talking about this? Let’s go to bed.”

  The conversation was irritating her. Yet, the desires she had always had for the fiction had never left her and it had been a guilty pleasure on lonely nights. She wanted to stop watching this program. She was intoxicated, tired and needing the comfort of her Marshall to help her forget things.

  Taking her by the hand he turned the TV off. Taking her up the stairs and up to one of the bedrooms in the large apartment, he laid her down on black satin sheets. It was there, undressed to the point of her red lacy underwear, kissing and touching Marshall’s toned skin, when she saw the eyes of a friendly face she knew so well—the corporeal image of Max. His ice blue eyes and blond hair illustrated just how much he resembled his best friend in some respects, yet so much finer and handsome. She felt a shiver run down her body at the sight of a phantom, yet every inch of his being radiated only good intentions.

  Jasmin looked at the illusion of Max with fascination. Had she gone mad? Jasmin noted how Marshall showed no signs of seeing the ghost.

  “Are you alright, you seem shaken up?” he said as he kissed her shoulder.

  “I’m fine. I just think I drank a little too much,” she replied, losing herself in his touch.

  Marshall attempted to remove her bra.

  “Not tonight. I don’t feel so good all of a sudden.” Jasmin inched herself further away from her lover.

  “What’s up?” He sounded upset.

  “Just not tonight, I’m going to sleep now.” She suddenly didn’t want him to touch her, not while Max watched. She just wanted to go to sleep—she hoped that Max would follow her into her dreams so that she could learn what he was doing here.

  “But I have hardly been with you all week,” Marshall protested.

  “Not tonight.”

  Jasmin closed her eyes, feeling miles apart from Marshall in the bed as she tried to force herself to fall asleep. What dangers would Max reveal? At this thought she fought back tears at the notion of how finding George in her life as a young girl had taken away so much innocence and left her hollow with only a secret she felt heavy in her heart. She sensed Max could feel her pain—he cherished her.

  17

  The next morning Marshall woke to his mobile ringing. Opening the call he heard Chloe’s voice bark down the other end. He hadn’t thought about her since talking to Elizabeth, he had not even contemplated her fate regarding her sentence with the House. Her voice was on loudspeaker and he only just realized people weren’t supposed to call him George. What if Jasmin was to hear? He quickly turned the volume down and raised the phone to his ear.

  “What do you want?” he groaned.

  “I need to see you, Nolan wants to meet you!” she explained.

  “I’m busy,” he said, removin
g his phone from his ear to turn it off.

  “No! George wait!” she exclaimed in a yelp.

  Jasmin opened up her warm hazel eyes noting the familiar words. Confused, her eyes fluttered for a moment before she closed them again. Marshall’s heart skipped a beat.

  “All right, when?” he uttered quietly.

  “Tonight?” Chloe’s voice was strangely tense and trembling.

  “Ok, see you at nine?”

  “Make it six,” Chloe demanded.

  “Six,” he agreed without protest and hung up.

  Later that day Marshall arrived back at the old haunt in North London. He felt as though he was entering old times as he waited outside of the flat. Chloe answered the door in a floral dress.

  “Hey, Georgie.” Her eyes shone with a light Marshall had never seen before.

  “Long time since we’ve done this… And the name’s not George anymore,” Marshall said.

  “I can’t begin to agree.” She looked at him for a moment in the way a proud mother might look at her adult child. Deep down, he still belonged to her.

  Marshall entered the house and found himself startled by how normal Nolan looked with Chloe. To his surprise Jay and Lance were also sitting there. Jay looked terrible, dirty skin and hair un-kept—he reeked of booze. Lance looked well as he always did. To Marshall’s confused surprise they too had grown older.

  “Nolan wanted to meet you all,” Chloe chirped.

  Marshall noted how Nolan’s dark eyes scanned them, his face void of expression.

  “Well, isn’t this a warm and fuzzy moment?” Chloe said nervously. “So you wanted to meet the kids, eh? Here they are!”

  The men all exchanged uneasy glances. Marshall could sense that Nolan was looking at them with disgust, disdain at these things Chloe had given eternal life to.

  “So you’re the guy all the fuss was about?” Marshall used the same flippancy as Chloe had regarded Jasmin with upon first meeting her.

  Nolan looked at Marshall as if he was dirt on his shoe.

  Chloe answered for him, “Yup, worth all the fuss. Unlike some people…”

  It occurred to Marshall that Chloe still believed Jasmin to be dead.

  “So, how do you like life on Earth?” Marshall added dryly.

  “He’s not from an alien planet, Georgie….I mean Marshall. It’s the same world. Just a different dimension.”

  Nolan looked at Chloe. It was obvious he had been drinking as his gaze slowly shifted, eyes narrowed, to Jay. “Am I really to ask, you what you do or just guess?” he said coldly.

  “Nothing, I’m a drifter,” Jay said quietly.

  “And you?” Nolan addressed Lance.

  “Should I tell you about my life being turned by your girl? How under her will I lost my soul? Or should I tell you about how I now work in a call centre? What is it you want to hear?” Lance aggressively met Nolan’s stare.

  “You should be grateful!” Nolan snapped.

  “I’m not. Not one bit!” Lance replied sharply.

  “Are you grateful?” Nolan looked directly at Marshall with eyes like a panther.

  “Yes, she gave me salvation,” Marshall replied. “If it wasn’t for Chloe I can’t imagine what my life would be like.”

  Nolan was at a loss for words. He stared at Marshall, a small approving smile tugging at his mouth. It was obvious to Marshall that Nolan detested Jay and Lance, seeing them as nobodies and a waste of the gift. But he had earned a modicum of Nolan’s respect.

  As the clock struck eleven, Marshall and Chloe stood by the arch way of the door just before he left.

  “I’ll see you again…Georgie?” Chloe asked.

  He did not acknowledge her use of his old name. “Soon.” Marshall replied curtly.

  “It’s been a while,” she said with a strange hint of something he couldn’t quite identify but tasted of loneliness. “Would be good to spend more time with you. Don’t fall away from me.”

  Marshall didn’t trust her sudden motherly compassion.

  * * *

  Jasmin had dreamt of Max as she slept that night. In her dream, she had watched Max die by George’s hands. Max took her on a horrifying journey, letting her experience what it felt like to be strangled, feeling the life escape from her body. She saw his spirit watch then from a distance, scared and confused, half aware he was no longer in his body and half bemused unable to comprehend that he had just died. He watched his best friend look at his lifeless body, lying on the bed, eyes open looking at the ceiling. Max allowed Jasmin to experience what it was like to realize he was dead and the terror of not having a body. Jasmin watched as George wrecked Max’s room, smashing CDs, throwing clothes out of the wardrobe before halting to stare at the mess, the violence.

  In the dream George spat at Max’s corpse, rage red on his cheeks, “I fucking loved that girl! You brought this on yourself!”

  When Jasmin awoke, Max was sitting at the end of her bed. Sunlight streamed through the windows. Looking at the time on the clock and the empty space beside her it was evident that Marshall had gone to work. She should have been at work three hours ago. Yet, the concept of phoning in sick seemed much more appealing.

  “Do you talk?” Jasmin asked. She realized she thought of this strange phantom that lingered in her dreams as a friend.

  He looked at her with a warm expression that hardly seemed to move. “I talk.” His voice was in her mind, his lips unmoving.

  “Why are you in my dreams?” She asked.

  “You need me to watch over you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Something really bad it’s going to happen,” he said quietly, without emotion.

  “What’s going to happen? And why did you show me that last night? Why did you show me your death, Max?”

  “You need to see what he is capable of.”

  “George?” she mused.

  “Yes, George, my best friend.” His tone was sad. “I remember, I was so worried he was going to kill you if you rejected him—you were so young. Younger than I was when he killed me.”

  “What’s it like, being a ghost?”

  “I’m still nineteen,” he replied. “It’s still the past. Time moves, changes, develops, but I stay the same. I know I can move on. It’s just… I’m not ready, there’s too much to deal with here right now.”

  “So, what’s going to happen to me?” she asked cautiously.

  “It doesn’t have to happen Jasmin.” He seemed reluctant to tell her more.

  “So I’m not doomed, it’s not fait?” Jasmin enquired.

  “It’s not fate,” Max assured her.

  “So, I have nothing to fear?”

  “You have so much to fear Jasmin. So much—things I can’t even understand, bad stuff.”

  Max was scaring her immensely. “What?” She paused, feeling like a frightened child in a dark room. “What’s going to happen?”

  “It’s dark… Vast pools of darkness surrounding…” He trailed off. “I will try to keep you safe.”

  “But what’s going to happen” she insisted, frightened, bridging on anger.

  Max appeared to grow tired as if the energy it took to converse with her was draining him. He smiled, and then faded until he vanished from the room. Jasmin felt uneasy—what dangers lay ahead of her were all hazy and unknown. Although she was thankful for the warning, it was sad to think of Max lingering on Earth when surely Heaven awaited him.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until later that day that Max reappeared to Marshall as he was about to take a shower. Still dressed and looking in the mirror, he turned round to see Max looking at him.

  “You again?” Marshall said with a hint of annoyance.

  Max stared at Marshall. “Yeah, back from the grave.”

  “Well, I would say I’m glad to be reunited with my best friend, but then I’d be lying.”

  The ghost sighed. “Why did you do it?”

  What a question. Why did Marshall kill Max? He hadn’t planned
it. It had been an act of impulse, madness, but not a deed he regretted. “I don’t know?” Marshall mused, looking at his own reflection in the mirror. “You had the one thing I loved. Maybe that’s why?”

  “I can’t imagine what goes on in your head? I wasn’t even in love with Lora!” Max replied.

  Anger flared in Marshall’s mind. He spun around to look at Max. “Well, I was! You should leave now! What good are you doing hanging around, haunting my house and my girlfriend? Go to Hell!”

  “Can’t do that.” Max replied.

  “Can’t or wont?” Marshall sneered.

  “Can’t and won’t! You’re the one that should be burning in Hell for everything that you’ve done over these years. The things I’ve seen you do make me sick!”

  “Get out of my house! I don’t have time for you!” Marshall shouted.

  “What would your mum and dad say if they see you now, eh?”

  “Get out!” His first swung into the mirror. The glass shattered, shards slicing his hand. Beneath the blood his flesh began to rapidly repair itself. “If my mum and dad were here, guess what I’d do to them Max? I’d kill them! Just like I killed you!”

  “I believe you,” Max said, undeterred. “I know what your capable of. That’s why I’m here. I know your going to hurt her.”

  “Jasmin? I wouldn’t touch her!” Marshall was genuinely shocked.

  “You say that now, but psychopaths like you don’t know what they’re capable of. You think you love her so you’ll never hurt her. But one day something will happen. You’ll snap and before you know it, she’ll be dead,” Max said.

  Marshall didn’t believe this. But, he knew deep down that didn’t love him! She loved “Marshall”, the character he had created just for her.

  Max faded out of sight.

  Leaving the smashed shards in the bathroom, George found his laptop and commenced writing an email to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth, he’s haunting me! Max has appeared in front of me twice now, once when Jasmin was there in bed. She has seen him with her own eyes, as well. I have to get rid of him. I’ll need your help. — George