Forever

by Natalie J. Case

When my body at long length recovered from the ordeal, they removed me from the spacious and clean clinic where I had first been brought and deposited me relatively unaware in a dank, misbegotten place for society's lost and forgotten. Some of those people there given charge of the inmates were truly caring, and several made attempts to reach through to me, all of which I either didn't hear, or chose to ignore.

  I suppose you might say that I wallowed in my self-pity and grief for my lost love. You might be right. The truth of my actions, of the death of my mother, and her Kindred, Crenoral's final sin, my ultimate loss …all of this contributed to my condition. In some way, I felt as though I were paying some sort of penance for what I was and what I had done. The time came, however, when the need and hunger drew me back, brought me up from that dark, withdrawn place and set me about the reclaiming of my life.

  Instinct brought me up from within as a hand passed too close to my face. My teeth clamped down and I bit, drawing blood, despite the fact that the Change had not come upon me. The taste of it was unexpected and invigorating and it cut through the walls behind which I had withdrawn. My eyes blinked as I realized what had happened, I saw for the first time.

  Even then, I sought some manner of punishment. They kept me isolated for a while, as I spoke the truth about myself and they were afraid I might act out again on what they saw as my delusions. Eventually, my good behavior eased those tensions, and I ceased to talk about who and what I really was. By then, the staff had come and gone and there was no one there who really remembered the circumstances of my arrival, nor were records well kept. I had grown weak, unable to feed on anything more than the occasional rat or snake. Even that did little to warm me. I was hungry, but still unwilling to leave the shelter of the dismal little place.

  It was, by and large, the depository of the ills of society, those sins and misdeeds no proper soul would admit to, nor dispose of neatly, and so, they congregated there, milling about in ugliness, dying slowly, each soul alone in its private hell, chased by demons no one but they could see. Children as young as eight or ten slept curled up in small balls of tender flesh, with faces so dirty and hearts so broken it tore even at my merciless soul. Whores used up by the very life that created them, and tossed aside when no longer suited for their profession. Men and women, begotten in sin and never given the opportunity for life, clung to the shadows and curled up in the dark. Criminals made up a large portion of those held there, the poor, whose crimes had won them the wrath of society, and debtors, unable to pay their way out. Then, there were the others, mental misfits whose only crime was not being able to hide their madness from the world.

  The place reeked of human waste of every manner, and the deeper, subtler smells of mildew and stagnant water. It was perhaps the first true thing I remember upon regaining something of myself there. That, and the unbelievable gloom, a darkness deeper than my native night, and unable to be dispelled with any manner of light. I kept to myself, feeding as I could on rats and mice and devouring the putrid mortal meals provided. I watched the staff, the prisoners, the occasional visitors, hoping for one that would be perfect and suited to my needs. The choices were few and the opportunity never came. I was growing distraught as my hunger grew. Then, I found Moira.

  She had been a prostitute, a used woman. She had withdrawn from the world and the world had disposed of her. She wasn't as old as she looked, all frail and alone. Her eyes were sunken and hollow, as if she could no longer see outside herself, and whatever she saw within was terrifying. I was drawn to her, inexplicably, uncontrollably. She was beautiful, breathtakingly so, underneath all of the dirt and depression. I thought to myself that this was a woman no one would miss, including herself.

  For many long months after her arrival, I sat across the room from her, feeling her pain, her hunger for more than life had unfairly dealt her, her desire to end. It was that, perhaps, which drew me most of all. I needed her badly, and far beyond my own needs were her own. I wanted to ease her suffering, to offer her the comfort of a warm embrace before the end, which she truly sought with all her heart.

  I found my way to her in the common cell we all shared. She sat in a far corner where it was dark and shadowed. I stood before her for a small eternity, looking down as a mother might upon a pouting child. Slowly, I sank to the floor beside her, put an arm around her and gathered her close. All around us people milled about, each held within their own despair and unnoticing of the dark danger in my touch.

  She turned vacant eyes to me and almost robbed me of my resolution. I gently pressed her head to rest on my shoulder, and lifted her arm, stroking her hair with my free hand. My heart was racing with anticipation and I had to force myself to go slowly, lest I bring attention to our little corner. Her arm was slack and pliant, her pulse slow and faint in the veins there at her wrist. I closed my eyes and let the Change come over me, pulling the wrist closer and lowering my face to hide. She made no sound as I bit deeply and drank harshly of her.

  The taste was so scintillating after so long and the rush of returning strength and vigor was dizzying. I was near to finishing her when she raised her head from my shoulder, her eyes showing a spark of life that had not been there before. I found myself releasing her, covering the wound with my hand, trying to hide what I had done. She looked at me as if she could see through to my soul and brushed my face with her free hand. I knew I had to finish the job, but found I could not. She smiled gently and I came undone, crying as her arms folded around me.

  I fled from the corner, knowing I would cause those around me to scream and flutter and that I would be restrained. Anything, I thought, anything to be away from her, from those eyes, that touch. Time passed, and I searched for another victim whom I could kill without question, but again, no opportunity presented itself.

  The hunger was only stronger for having tasted of her, and I would prowl the cell by night, craving more, needing more. Finally, I once again acquiesced to it, and determined this time to finish my work.

  I found her, as before, in the corner of the common cell, not quite as lifeless as before, yet listlessly awaiting me. As I came to sit beside her, she leaned toward me, as if for comfort, her head on my chest as my breathing became light and quick. The pulse in that wrist beat faster than before, calling to me. I could feel the Change come, quickly, nearly uncontrolled. I drank swiftly, lest I lose my resolve once more. I drank deep, listening to the rapid fluttering of her heart and the hypnotic rhythm of her breathing. I pulled her to the very brink of death, reveling in the warmth and comfort of my returning strength.

  I was nearly done with my work, holding her head lest she look up at me and destroy me again. I had only to take those final reserves and she would be no more. As I drew breath and prepared to end her life, approaching voices caused me to pause and glance around me. I had taken too long. The day's meal was being served, guards entering the room and separating us into groups easier to handle. I had no desire to be caught there with blood on my lips and a lifeless body in my arms. Gently, I lifted her off of me, settling her against the wall, as she had been when I arrived. She looked up at me with sleepy eyes, and I knew I could never finish this which I had started.

  It was worse after that, the aching inside of me, the needing … the wanting, like some addiction to a drug. I could hold off from her for days, sometimes weeks before my need and the hunger got the better of me. Always, she was there, waiting for me in our dark corner, offering up her life for the taking, and for all my desire to end her torment, I found I could not.

  She grew more and more lovely as the months passed, and yet it did not occur to me what I had done, what I was doing with each taking. The youth returned to her face, the shine to her hair. Still, she sat alone in the darkness, the strength still lacking, her soul still shadowed by her past. More than a year passed from the day I first took from her until it finally became clear to me that I had done the unthinkable, created that which I had once set out to destroy.

  I finally saw it in he
r one late evening, while sitting dully by the cell door and preparing my plans for escape. She sat, as always, in our dark corner, her eyes bright and set upon me. A guard had noticed her, a brute of a man, not given to the finer points of courtly behavior. She never looked at him, but when he bent to kiss her, his hands on those private places a woman guards, she bit him, clung to his neck, not truly drinking of him, but he drew back with alarm and had her removed from the cell.

  I knew then that I had to remove us from the asylum before she too came to understand herself and begin the rest of her transformation. I chose a stormy night, when even the dullest of souls would keep themselves inside. Most of the others in our common cell were sleeping, and it took a moment to get the attention of the guard. I had never used my body to entice a lover, and it seemed strange to me. He must not have thought it strange though, entering the cell and following me to the quiet shadows where Moira waited. I let the Change come full upon me as I kissed his neck, pulling him deeper into the shadows. I drank deeply, silencing him, then called for Moira. She seemed eager, maybe too much so, as she knelt beside me and did as I told her.

  When she had finished her first meal, the last months came to life in her eyes, and finally, she knew. “I shall live now?” she asked.

  I had never before heard her speak. She had a deep, musky voice that lilted lightly and filled the room though she barely spoke above a whisper. I nodded slowly, one hand brushing her cheek. “Yes, love, I believe you shall. But, come, we mustn't wait long.”

  I took her by the hand and led her out into the wild night. The flashes of lightning showed me the way back to the cemetery where they had found me that horrid day after Jesse had left me. I pried open the door of the tomb where I had spent that awful day and night, where all my worldly possessions remained. The leather bag lay untouched in the dark, cob-webbed corner where I had left it, its pieces covering the bottles and trinkets I had carried with me. My formula was, of course, gone, long since turned to dust, but my meager equipment was whole, and still hidden in the bottom of that bag was a little bit of money and jewels to see us through the next months. A hundred years had passed since I had last stood in that tomb and for a moment it felt as if none of it had happened.

  “What is this place?” she asked, looking around her in awe.

  Spiders crawled away from us as we moved. There was an old ache in my heart and I imagined I could still hear the echo of Jesse's final words to me. There was also the tinge of guilt at my final lie to him, that I still lived. “It is a place to protect us, Moira, nothing more.”

  “Tell me of him.” I was taken by surprise, but she came to me, taking my hand in her own and I saw an echo of my own face in her eyes. It had long been my observation that those gifts given to mortal man become enhanced when immortality graces them, strengthened, changed of course, but still there. Obviously she had been something of an empathic soul, which could have done her well in her former line of work. Now, those empathic skills were blossoming into near prescience.

  “He was a mortal when I first knew him, as you were. He died here, in this tomb.”

  “How did he die?” We sank as one to the floor, wrapped in each other's arms. If I closed my eyes I could see him walk across that floor to that door and the death that awaited him beyond it.

  “He was changed, made the same as you. He could not adjust to it.”

  “He took his own life,” she said. “He left you, in the daylight.” She held me as I felt the hurt return. “I shall not leave you.”

  It was like the promise of a small child, spoken to ease a pain, but with no real conviction to back it. I took it for what it was, accepting her acknowledgment of our shared course, and trying to remember my duty now to her which exceeded that of my dead and gone Jesse. “Nor I, you. Rest now. The sun will be up soon, and when it is gone we will have a long journey ahead of us.”

  We spent the remainder of the night and all the next day in that tomb, Moira in my arms and Jesse haunting my dreams. The next night we journeyed away from the sleepy little village where we might be seen, and to the south. By night we walked, by day we hid. She fed ravenously on anything we encountered; deer, rabbits, even a stray goat that happened across our path. There was precious little living in the country we walked, and almost no humanity to speak of. I knew she wasn't getting enough, and I knew she had to feed well. She was like the young ones I had hunted with in my youth, so empty and in need. I altered our route then, and we made for the cities of Europe. Eventually I aimed to take us north to the places I had never seen. It was Rome however, on the cold streets of the city that we would meet Leonard. Moira adjusted well to hunting in the teeming pools of Rome's lower classes. She seemed, of her own free will, to be drawn to those who needed the release of death, those sick beyond the ability of medicine to aid them, those whose crimes exceeded the ability of mankind to punish. I was like a mothering hen, haunting her steps, watching over her, ready, at a moment's notice to jump in to save her. She had little need of my saving, however. Her former profession served her well, bringing exactly the right instincts for this new life I had inadvertently given her.

  I was watching Moira stalking her dinner when I first spotted Leonard, stalking the same man. Even I could read the sickness that had drawn her, an illness of the mind that turned him to prey on women and children to service his baser needs. She reached him first, flirting a little and drawing him into the alley. Leonard followed them, and I was only slightly behind him, ready to defend my child if I was needed. Moira already had the man in her arms, her lips red with his blood when we arrived. She simply looked up and offered Leonard the man's arm, which he took. When they had finished, they turned to me. I nodded greeting to the young man, and reached for Moira's hand.

  “I am Leonard Leros,” he responded with a courtly little bow. He was young, and I could tell Moira was taken with him instantly. He was only an inch or two taller than myself, his face partially hidden behind a thick black mustache and beard. His eyes were a deep blue, filled with flecks of light that made them sparkle when he laughed, which was often. He was a man filled with ease and grace, and a natural joy that seemed to somehow belay his true nature.

  Moira offered him her free hand, which he took, and together we left that alley, the three of us. We walked awhile, eventually coming to a place where we could sit and rest. “Where are you from, Leonard?” I asked, watching Moira flirt with him, her eyes flitting to his, then away as a small smile played on her lips.

  “Originally, I am from a small county not far from here, but I've traveled a bit.” He set his hat beside me and ran one white hand through thick black locks of hair.

  “And, your Sire?” I asked, more curious than anything.

  “Ah … Elizabeth … she was … beautiful. I knew her as a mortal, pursued her vigorously. Then, she disappeared, and when she returned, it was she who pursued me.”

  “So, you came willingly?” I meant it not as an accusation, for I know how hard an invitation it can be to resist, particularly if there is love involved.

  “Don't we all?” he asked, his brows knotting together.

  “No, I'm afraid not. You must not have known many of our kind. They often bring those they want by force or without asking. Such it is with Moira, I'm afraid.” I patted her hand, but she seemed completely enthralled with him and didn't even take notice. “Not by force, mind you, but against her will nonetheless.”

  “No,” she said, much to my surprise. “Not, exactly. I would have said yes, if you asked.” I looked at her, but she looked away, suddenly shy. “You gave me a second chance to mean something. I never did before.”

  “Ah, but you do now.” He kissed her hand, touched her face. “You are the very meaning of this night.”

  It cut at me to see them together, hurt me more deeply than I could have guessed. Yet, it was so completely natural for them, as if they had been destined from before their births. Instantly we were companions, sharing our daytime hiding and our nighttim
e prowling. We traveled Europe, the three of us together, exploring all that the night world had to offer. We seldom met others of our kind, and those we did left us to our own lives, mostly passing without even acknowledging our presence. If Leonard knew of my past sins, he said nothing, accepting me into his life as a mortal does his wife's mother.

  Chapter 8

  I taught them all I knew of the places we visited, as if I were their teacher, as well as showing them the more practical things that go with our longevity and dark nature. The world was growing increasingly dependent upon religion, as sickness and famine spread. That made our lives more difficult, more for them than for me. The night was a place of great superstition and fear, hunting was scarce even in the cities. They had to learn to hunt early, just as the sun was gone, to be invisible to the eyes of man until their prey was all but in their hands.

  I was reminded of Crenoral as I floated with them, coaching as we went. “Moira, see how Leonard avoids the light, without appearing to avoid it? It makes it appear that the shadows follow him and not the other way around.” We were in Greece, dancing in the shadows of ruins nearly as old as myself. “Come, watch. I will walk among them.” Together they perched on a rotting wall and I slipped into the stream of humanity that passed by us in the evening. No one chanced to even look up, taking no notice of the wraith that passed them. When I returned, Moira smiled.

  “You have had many more years to practice that,” she said, taking her hand from Leonard's. “But, I think I might understand it now.” She mimicked my every move as she did the same, moving into the closing marketplace to pluck an apple from a stall and return to us unnoticed.

  “What think you, Leonard?” I asked, taking the apple and biting into it. “How did she do?”

  “Beautifully, as always,” he responded, kissing her hand. “But, you brushed too closely to that one man.” He pointed at a young man who was looking puzzled at the faces of those around him. “He nearly saw you.”