Unnatural

by Michael Griffo

  Edwige understood the need to ask such questions. She also understood that it was a complete waste of time because she had been asking her own useless questions for years. What if someone comes into your house in the middle of the night and takes your husband from you and your children? What if the last time you see the man that you love, love more than you thought you were capable of loving another being, human or otherwise, he is surrounded by a mob carrying torches, tied to a stake, covered in gasoline, begging for his life? What if you could erase all that from your past? “That will not happen.” Edwige cried. “Not again.”

  She bowed her head and rested it against her son’s, fighting to let go of the image of one man, the first to set her husband on fire. The man who shouted, “Death to all water vamps!” into the cold night air and whose ugly blue eyes filled with sheer joy when her beloved Saxon started to scream, to shriek in absolute agony, and whose voice erupted into cheers of triumph when Saxon’s body was gone and in its place lay black ash and embers. But enough! Enough of the past, enough of the memories. Our future is all that matters. “Come now,” Edwige said. “Let go of me.” Ronan stood up, not as tall as usual, but at least he stood. “I need to get Michael back for you.”

  The first stop she made was at St. Peter’s Dorm. Ciaran was surprised to see them, but relieved to see Ronan. “You and Michael weren’t in class today. Is everything all right?”

  Pushing her way into his room, Edwige sat Ronan down on the bed. “Your brother isn’t in the mood to talk. Stay with him until he’s well enough to leave.”

  Ronan looked like he had been crying. And if Ciaran didn’t know his mother better, he would have suspected the same thing of her. “What’s going on?”

  “I need you to take care of your brother! Can you do that?”

  Sure, Mother, Ciaran thought, I’ll be part of the family now that it’s convenient for you. “I’m sorry, Mother, it’s just such a rare occasion when you need my help.”

  There were those blue eyes again, the eyes that still haunted her. At the moment they contained no joy, they were not lit up by torchlight, nor were they about to shine with the glory of triumph, but they were still as haunting as ever. And Edwige hated them. She didn’t care if they were possessed by the father or by the son, those eyes, thanks to the memories they sparked, would never, ever know her kindness.

  “Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if Ronan wasn’t desperate.”

  When they were alone, Ciaran looked at his brother and knew that whatever was troubling him, whatever made him look so lost and defeated, had to do with Michael. Sitting next to Ronan, Ciaran almost laughed at the irony. The last time they were together, he was begging Ronan to turn him into a vampire and now it seemed that his brother needed a simple human connection. Knowing how it felt to be empty and discarded, Ciaran couldn’t deny Ronan his touch although he wished he could. How he wished he had the strength to exist alone, isolated, separated from everyone and everything. But that was just a pipe dream. So, resigned, he put his arm around his brother and let Ronan rest his head against his shoulder. However, neither brother said anything they would later regret.

  Edwige’s next stop was to a town house in London a mile or so from where she lived, to see a man. “Vaughan.” Edwige beamed. “Your assistant told me you’d be working out of your home today.”

  Surprised, but pleasantly, Vaughan let his favorite new acquaintance into his home. “Edwige, I didn’t expect to see you so soon after the festival.”

  “Quite frankly, neither did I.” Quickly she surveyed his home and ascertained, quite accurately, that she was slightly wealthier than he was. “I’m sorry that I had to attend to a business crisis after the festival and we couldn’t … finalize our relationship.”

  Vaughan was relieved Edwige hadn’t feigned a headache but made up a business crisis to escape spending the night with him. It was much more original. “I must confess I have spent a moment or two thinking about what could have occurred.”

  Edwige was crestfallen. “Just a moment?”

  “Or two.”

  That was better. Despite the urgency of the current matter she needed to attend to, it made her feel better to know she hadn’t lost her feminine charms. “Well, you should be happy to know that it is a personal matter that brings me here. One I believe you can help me with.”

  “I am at your service,” Vaughan said, sitting down on the chocolate-brown leather couch, patting the seat next to him in lieu of a verbal invite. As she walked over to take her seat, Edwige bent down to admire a gorgeous bouquet of white roses in a black marble planter, much too modern for her taste but, from what she could tell, expensive. “Please be careful!”

  Before Edwige could even breathe in the roses’ fragrant aroma, Vaughan stood and brought the planter to the other side of the room, placing it on top of the granite kitchen countertop that separated the two rooms. “I’m sorry, roses are so delicate, you know,” he explained. “And they were a gift.”

  Lying, Edwige replied, “I understand.”

  Much less relaxed than he was a minute ago, Vaughan sat on the opposite side of the couch and crossed his legs like a proper English gentleman. And like a proper English gentleman, he concealed his emotion behind a courteous tone of voice. “I assume this visit has something to do with our children.”

  “You assume correctly,” Edwige replied in the same tone. “It seems they’ve had a misunderstanding.”

  Vaughan held back a sigh of relief and merely said, “Why, that’s too bad.” Unfortunately for Vaughan, Edwige had had a rough morning, so her allotted time period for remaining pleasant had already run out.

  “We both know you don’t mean that. And inside that little brain of yours, you’re celebrating or doing whatever a man does when he thinks he’s won a battle, but I can assure you that this battle is far from over.” Edwige took a quick breath to continue before Vaughan could interrupt. “You see, my son and your son are destined to be together, so it behooves us all to give them a little push so they can find their way back to each other.” It didn’t matter how many breaths she took this time because Vaughan was speechless. “Now, have you heard from Michael lately?”

  After a moment he found his voice. “I can’t say that I have. I’ve been meaning to call him. I have some news for him.”

  “News?”

  “From back home, Nebraska,” Vaughan replied. “But I must circle back to your comment about destiny. I hardly think, well, in fact I know, our teenaged sons are not, not at all each other’s destiny.”

  Knowing when to make an exit is one of a woman’s best traits, so having done what she came here to do—plant a seed; hope Vaughan takes action so he can lead her to Michael—Edwige collected her things and began to leave. “Vaughan, your thoughts are immaterial because they are the thoughts of a wise and successful man, not those of a teenaged boy. When teenagers are distraught, they tend to ignore their studies. And I know that a man as successful and driven as yourself has his son’s future all planned out.”

  When Vaughan stood up, he was over a foot taller than Edwige. Looking down at her, he didn’t know if he wanted to crush her or ravish her right there on his couch. “You’re right, I do have his future planned out,” he said. “Meticulously.”

  “Then tell Michael to speak to Ronan to clear up their misunderstanding so they can both get their minds back on their schoolwork and have the bright, promising futures their parents have worked so hard to set in motion.”

  Vaughan was on the verge of being just as forthright and telling Edwige that he had no intention of advising his son to make up with hers, not when it looked like he may have come to his senses. Instead he chose a craftier tactic. “I will do that. I know how difficult and confusing relationships can be at that age.”

  “At any age,” Edwige said, adding a coquettish laugh to, hopefully, soften her harsh approach.

  Standing in the doorway, her mission complete, Edwige was overwhelmed with a feeling of distrust for this m
an. Then again, she didn’t trust any man, so she couldn’t put too much credence in that feeling. And even though he was quite handsome and would probably make an enjoyable and enthusiastic playmate, there was something about him that made her regret the fact that their families would, in one way or another, forever be linked. “Please ring me once you speak with Michael,” Edwige said. “I do so want to put this matter in the past.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more.” But since Vaughan had learned in business to never fully shut a door, he gave Edwige a kiss on her lips that left her the way he had planned, and the way she hardly ever found herself, speechless.

  Minutes later, while he waited for Michael to pick up his phone, Vaughan wondered why women always thought they were in control. Men have the real power, well, men like him, who knew how to use it properly. After the recording, Vaughan left a message for his son. “Michael, this is your father. I’m sorry about the other night. I guess I’m still learning how to do this parent thing properly.” Vaughan breathed in deeply, the fragrance of the roses enveloping him. He touched a petal, so soft, so smooth. “I hate leaving this information on a message, but your grandmother died the other day. Please ring me and I can give you all the details.” Was there anything he forgot to say? “I, um, I hope all is well with you.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t. Long after the fog had lifted, Michael still couldn’t find the strength to move. He lay shivering on the ground, bothered by the cold but grateful that the sun had set because, even with the sunglasses, his eyes were still irritated by its light. He wished he had never come to this place. The pain of Two W and his home life were nothing compared to what he was going through now. He was physically and emotionally exhausted. And he couldn’t believe that it was all because of Ronan, the person he thought was going to be his savior.

  When he opened his eyes, he realized that his hand was moving; he was lazily drawing in the dirt. Round and round and round his finger went, creating a circle in the earth. He knew it was a well, that thing Ronan talked about, that thing that was so vital to his existence, that thing he wished he had never heard about. No, no, no! He rubbed at the dirt furiously, making the circle disappear, and begged God to do the same thing to him. Just open up the ground and swallow him whole. Because if he couldn’t go on living in His image, then he didn’t want to go on living at all. But the ground didn’t open and he wasn’t swallowed up by the dirt, maybe because even unnatural things were created in God’s image.

  A hybrid vampire! The idea was absurd. It couldn’t possibly be true, and yet he believed it, he believed that Ronan was telling him the truth and he was no longer human. When he thought of the implications, the real consequences, he clutched the dirt and screamed in fear, but there was no sound. He opened his mouth, but the sob, the terror, strangled his throat. His body shook uncontrollably.

  And when he felt the hand on his shoulder, he actually jumped.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Nakano said. “I’m here to help you.”

  chapter 21

  Somewhere down there was The Well.

  Thirty thousand feet below, beneath the Atlantic Ocean, was this well that Ronan had spoken about. This mysterious place that was supposed to grant him eternal life, untold power, and the chance to be an equal to his immortal partner. Michael had no idea if it really existed; he didn’t know anything any longer. His life, once again, was a mystery just when it was starting to be under his control. Just when his life was starting to mirror his dreams. Just when his life was about to begin, it ended.

  He looked out the window of the plane and it was like looking into a crystal ball to see his future—he saw nothing but darkness. He couldn’t believe he was flying back to Weeping Water and he couldn’t believe he was sitting next to Nakano. Nothing was right, nothing was the way he wanted it to be. And it was all Ronan’s fault.

  “Michael! Thank God you’re all right.” There was relief in Ronan’s voice that was unmistakable, but it wasn’t enough to make Michael want to look at him. “Please don’t leave. There’s so much more I need to explain to you, so much more we need to do.” Pleading wouldn’t make him look up either.

  Snapping his suitcase shut, Michael looked out the window. He thought he heard a meadowlark singing, he thought he heard the familiar song he loved so much. But no, there was no lilting sound, nothing, only silence. “My grandmother died,” he said quietly. “I’m going back home for the funeral.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Ronan said, moving in front of the door so Michael had no choice but to pause and let Ronan take one last look at him. His heart ached knowing that he caused the pain on Michael’s face, he was the reason his skin looked so ashen, his eyes so bleak. “I’ll go with you,” Ronan said. “I’d love to see where you grew up.”

  “He already has a traveling companion.”

  Startled, Ronan didn’t even know there was someone in the bathroom. This is only because Michael is scared. He’s angry with me right now and he needs some space away from me, but that will change. In time, he’ll know I acted out of love and I did what I did so our love could only grow and never die. “Michael.” He didn’t respond, but he did finally look at Ronan. “You won’t be away very long, will you?”

  Will I ever be able to look at you again without anger and resentment and confusion? Michael wondered. “Only a day or two.”

  “Good,” Ronan replied. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  If Michael had anything more to say, Ronan wasn’t going to hear it because Nakano ushered him out the door. “C’mon, mate, we’ve got a plane to catch. And it’s not every day I get to fly first class, thank you very much, Father Howard.”

  Just before Nakano left the room, Ronan grabbed his arm, his fingers pressing deeply into his thin bicep, and he used every ounce of restraint he had not to cry in front of his rival. “You take good care of him, Kano, you protect him.”

  Nakano pried Ronan’s fingers off of his arm and smiled, unmoved by the quiver in Ronan’s voice. “Don’t worry, Ro, I’ll do a much better job than you did.”

  That had been this afternoon. Now flying through the night toward his past, Michael had no idea if he had made the right decision to leave Ronan behind. There were so many unanswered questions, so many words swirling inside his head, banging against his brain. He wanted to strangle Ronan, punch him, grab his neck and pull him closer so he could kiss him. No! Not that. No more kisses. How could he even think of wanting to do that?

  Michael looked over to the boy sitting next to him, stretched out and reclining in his seat, a blanket tucked under his chin, wearing silver satin eyeshades like some experienced world traveler. Well, he’s a lot more experienced than I am. And he’s a vampire too. Not the same kind as Ronan, or so he said, just your regular run-of-the-mill vampire, which was not exactly how he described himself after he took Michael out of The Forest and brought him to an abandoned house with a cold cement floor. The place felt familiar, but Michael couldn’t remember ever being there before.

  “ Ronan is different, part of a minority among our people, and not a particularly celebrated group, if you really want to know the truth,” Nakano explained. “For right now, you’re just like him.”

  “What do you mean for right now?” Michael asked, suddenly aware that he was ravenously hungry.

  “Well, we can get into all of that later,” Nakano cautiously replied, “but just know you have a choice how you’d like to spend your eternity.”

  “A choice,” Michael spat. “All my choices have been taken away!”

  That’s right, Nakano had silently urged, keep getting angry; get ticked off at what Ronan did to you. However, when he spoke, it was in a much more empathetic voice. “That’s not entirely true. You can choose to live among a band of half-breed renegades or alongside the people who really control all the power.”

  So not only were there vampires, but there were different types of vampires? Michael was wrong. The earth had opened up and he was swallowed whol
e and had fallen into some alternate reality. He couldn’t think straight. It wasn’t so much the gibberish coming out of Nakano’s mouth, it was his own body. It was throbbing. He had never been so hungry in all his life.

  Nakano recognized the signs. “But all that can wait. I have the feeling that right now you’re hungry.”

  It was at that moment that Michael realized what his fangs were for. They were for feeding, taking blood from another human being, and the thought of it made him nauseous. He rolled over onto his side clutching himself; he felt the steel bars that supported the thin mattress of the cot he was lying on press into his shoulder and he remembered being in the closet with Ronan, feeling the shelf press into his back as Ronan held his face and kissed him. The faint taste of raspberry still clung to his lips. But now he craved another taste, and the thought of it was making him sick.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nakano roll up his sleeve to expose a pale, thin forearm accented with dark blue veins. Michael could feel his head throb and his mouth tingle. He could feel his fangs descend against his will and rest against his lips. The smell of blood consumed him. Two days ago he wouldn’t have known what blood smelled like, but today he recognized the aroma, the thick scent. A mix of ripe berries and cold metal flooded his senses. He was disgusted and aroused at the same time. All he wanted to do was plunge his fangs into Nakano’s arm to see if the blood tasted as magnificent as it smelled.

  “Aim for a vein,” Nakano instructed. “That’ll make it easier for you to drink.”

  Nakano helped Michael sit up on the cot and he sat behind him, straddling his legs around him the way Ronan had once done. He placed his bare arm underneath Michael’s nose, and Michael thought he would faint. “Go ahead,” Nakano said. “I taste pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

  As if he were watching himself in a dream, Michael saw his hands grip Nakano’s arm, one hand wrapped around his wrist, the other clutching his elbow. The veins in Nakano’s arm throbbed as it was brought closer to Michael’s waiting mouth as if the arm was just as eager to be bitten as Michael was to feed. All he had to do was open his mouth and bite down, and the hunger would be quenched, the pain that had spread through his entire body would cease. It was unconscionable what he was thinking of doing, biting into the flesh of another human being, but he was about to do it. And he would have if Nakano had not spoken. “Just imagine that it’s Ronan.”