Forever

by Natalie J. Case

  The choice was taken quite out of my hands, however. It was late into the summer, nearly to the fall. Francis and I were out for our nightly stroll, hand in hand along the cold creek. It had been a mild summer, and the air was cold, but not frigid enough to chase us indoors. The forest was quiet around us, too quiet. Nothing stirred, not even a breeze to ruffle the trees. My stomach tightened as we neared the cottage and I sniffed the air, trying to place the uneasy feeling in my soul. When the odor finally reached me, the distinct smell of an old one, I tried not to panic, but Francis could sense my sudden fear.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  I was looking around frantically, but couldn't see him. I knew he was there, and watching us. “Francis, listen to me. We're only about a hundred feet from the house. You're pointing straight at it. I want you to go as fast as you can and lock yourself in.”

  “Why? What's wrong?”

  “I'll explain it later. Can you make it?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Good, go.” I gave him a little push to get him going, following just two steps behind, trying to watch all around the exposed walk at once. I could almost feel our unwelcome visitor circling us, barely heard him as he made his rush. I pushed Francis to the ground and told him to stay down. The other's hands were already around my shoulder, pulling me backward. I let the Change come over me, turning an angry face to my attacker.

  “I have hunted for you for a long time, Sister.” he said, baring his teeth. “You who kill your own people.” I kicked hard and swiped his feet out from under him, falling on top of him as he went down. We grappled for several long moments, then I raked my nails across his face, drawing long, bloody welts down his cheek. He screamed in rage and tossed me aside. I hit a tree and felt blood on the back of my head. He rose and came toward me, wiping at the scratches. “I am the last of Crenoral's clan. I have come to claim vengeance, and hold you accountable for their deaths.”

  I used the tree behind me for balance as I pulled myself to my feet. “Crenoral is dead, and so are his children. You are but a remnant of what they once were. Leave here now, and I will not kill you as well.” I did not know him, but I had been away from the clan for so long before Jesse and I decimated it, there was no way of knowing how many had joined them in my absence.

  “That is big talk for one in your position. Come, let me show you death.”

  He was strong, far stronger than I, and I knew only moments later that I would more than likely not survive this fight, but that I would take him with me, to protect poor Francis. I could feel the wound at the base of my skull draining slowly, seeping precious blood into my hair and down my neck. His teeth nicked a shoulder as I pulled myself free of him and a long line of blood sprang up there as well. I hissed in anger and pain and tried to direct some of that emotion into my draining physical reserves. I scored another blow across his face, making a matching wound to the first. I was tiring rapidly.

  He fell on me, using his superior strength to great advantage, working me down to my knees, then ever so slowly, down, until I felt the hard, cold ground against my bruised shoulders. I was pinned, his knee on my neck as he raised my scarred wrist to his lips and bit. I bucked beneath him, but he held fast, drinking away my life as I had to countless victims. I fought against him until I could no more, and when he felt my resistance die, he let go of me, leaving me alive to witness what he would do with Francis.

  Francis was sitting still where I had left him, his eyes wild as he tried to hear what was happening. He called my name repeatedly, but I was too weak to respond. I watched the other circle around him, closer and closer, taunting the blind man, and finally sinking to his knees behind him, drawing him closer, and bending to his neck. His eyes closed as the taste filled him, the exquisite taste of goodness and beauty. I had long imagined what ecstasy must be there in Franciss' blood, had craved it, and held to the desire for him that was almost more pleasurable than the deed might have been.

  I closed my eyes, imagining the taste. There was a tiny movement inside of me when Francis whispered my name once more. My eyes fluttered open and looked upon him. The sluggish beating of my heart seemed to echo in the pit of my stomach. The other's eyes were still closed, savoring the sweetness that was Francis. I found myself crawling in painful slowness toward them, pulling strength from within, the strength Jesse must have possessed as he walked out of that tomb. I pulled myself onto my knees and fell on him, driving my teeth into his neck as he pulled away from Francis with surprise. I locked my jaws and dug in, drinking back all that he had stolen from me, and all that was Francis, all that remained. I drank quickly, harshly, leaving nothing but a jagged wound when I at last dropped him, fully satisfied and strong once more.

  Francis was dead, and there was little left but to mourn his passing. I buried him beside his mother and father, and left the ashes of my ancient enemy to the winds. It was with more than a little sadness that I left that little cottage and the brief contentment I had found there. I could smell the others in the air, perhaps drawn by the scent of death, perhaps searching for me as the other had been. I did not care to be there to find out. Once more, I gathered my belongings and fled my home.

  The world below our mountain had grown, and the young country was building a political turmoil. Friends and families argued vague points of political ambition and freedoms. There was an aroma on the air of impending war, of fear and ultimately, of death. I did not like the smell, or the contagious atmosphere that bred it. I had last heard rumors of such things from the farmer, but had chalked them up to gossip, the human need to speculate the worst of things before analyzing the truth of them. Now, I as I traveled off the mountain, I could see I had misjudged the situation. Already armies were being gathered and the sides had been drawn. War was inevitable, though still a way off.

  The charge in the air set me on edge and left me too close to uncontrolled for my tastes. I had no wish to get caught up in such a terrible conflict as this was to be, brother against brother over the trivial political differences and great sweeping judgments of humanity. I wandered westward, away from the divisions of the young country, into the wilderness that was already beginning to grow more civilized. I had loved the wild, open expanses when I had walked and rode them with Lianna. I hoped to enjoy them again.

  Perhaps two years I wandered alone and unmarred. I slept in caves and caverns and other dark places, and I strolled unhurried beneath the stars. I carried little with me, save a small amount of cash, and a change of clothes, sometimes not even that much. I found it more difficult to find the supplies needed for the formula while wandering that way, and as if in response to that, I felt my hunger, my need for sustenance increasing. Whether it was the physical activity, or the effects of the fresh, nighttime air, I found it needful to supplement my diet with an occasional animal, very often roasting the meat after draining it, and eating voraciously yet again.

  I indulged myself while in the wilds, and yet constrained myself most effectively while in the company of humanity. I would feed well as I approached a populated area, to take the edge off of the temptation, and avoid private meetings for the first day or two. Then, it was as if I had been among them for years. I would trade a small gem or ancient jewel for what money I needed, spend a few days in whatever town I happened to find myself in, then wander off once more.

  It was a calm, carefree moment in my long existence, when I dealt best with who and what I was. I was then, perhaps only then, at peace with the monster and the woman inside of me, giving both their place in the night. My thoughts didn't wander to my past loves, losses, or pain. I did not think of my long gone Jesse or Rebeka, Joshua, or even Francis. Moira and Leonard were far from me, as were those other children I had abandoned into the night. There was only me and the stars, in the wild country as it was meant to be.

  Chapter 18

  I was wandering through San Francisco in the far west, considering a return to my homeland, or perhaps a visit to China or London, when I
caught sight of my reflection in a store window. I stopped, staring in amazement. I had not noticed anything before that moment, but standing there, gazing at my profile, I imagined that I saw a gentle, slight bulge in my belly where there had been none before. My hand slipped there to caress it, touch it, my eyes glued to my reflection. No, I chided myself for my imagination, for even thinking that which I had been thinking. I had been indulging my appetite far too much. I made a mental note to try to control myself more often.

  Weight had never been a problem for me, except perhaps in the regard of not weighing enough, of appearing emaciated, a thing all those of the night are accustomed to. One of my kind must feed exceedingly well to exhibit anything that might appear as obesity. I reasoned that I had been feeding far too well.

  The next evening as I rose from my slumber, I reached instinctively for the bottle of formula by my bed and I drained it. It felt strange, tasted dry and bland. Perhaps I had mixed it a trifle off. I rose from my bed, and almost before my feet had touched the floor, I felt the first wave of nausea, followed quickly by a second, and a third. I found myself retching violently on the floor, coughing as I choked up every drop I had swallowed. It left a curious puddle of red, the sight of which only served to sicken me further. I climbed to my feet rather shakily and moved away from the slowly spreading liquid. I felt rather foolish, but somehow, I simply didn't want it to touch me.

  I was dizzy then, and weak, confused. Never before had I felt this way, never before had I known illness, except that caused by my conscience or poison. I dressed slowly, cautiously, lest the nausea return, and left my small dark apartment. In the fading light of twilight, I made my way to my favorite local restaurant and ordered myself some dinner, nothing heavy; some soup, my favorite wine, cheese, and bread. The queasy feelings began to subside. I thought about the evening, and decided that the formula must have gone bad through the night … and, I needed new equipment. Mine was so old, I could have used my lab for a museum exhibit. I convinced myself of it, and swore I would buy new equipment that very evening.

  I ate slowly, picking around anything that set off the nausea again. There was still nearly a plateful when I rose, tossed some money on the table and left to seek out a store to purchase what I would need. Again, I saw myself as I passed the rows of picture windows, and again, I found my hand cupping itself to the small bulge just above my pelvic area. There was a vague, distant smile on my face I didn't recognize as my own.

  In a store for general merchandise, I spent an hour looking through a catalogue of medical supplies, carefully picking out the new items I would need. I ordered them, paid the man in cash, including a little extra for his time and set out again. I made for home, my weakness and the nausea driving me to rest. I was nearly to the street where my apartment was, above a barbershop, when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young couple, obviously just returning from some trip, a baby asleep in her arms. They drew me. Something about them called out to me and before I knew what I was doing, I was crossing the street to them. My eyes were locked on the face of that sleeping child. I could smell the sweetness of her, could taste the love between the man and the woman and the child, could hear their thoughts about and to each other. As I stepped off the street, an arm's length away from them, the man dropped two bags he was trying to get down off the wagon.

  Instinctively I bent to help them, retrieving one and standing, suddenly face to face with the woman. “Thank you,” she said, so polite, so … human. The man took the bag with a little bow. Her eyes stole to my belly and she smiled. “But, you shouldn't be lifting in your condition.”

  My hand stole back, my breath left me. I must have looked confused. She smiled again. “It does take some getting used to, not being able to do so many things, but it's worth it in the end.”

  The child shifted, opened her beautiful blue eyes. I tried to cover my shock, my fear … my sudden elation. My lungs exploded and my stomach twisted as it dawned within me. I locked onto that child, as if her face would hold me to the earth at that moment. “What a beautiful child,” I said, smiling myself.

  “My pride and joy,” she responded, holding her up where I could see her better. “Would you like to hold her?”

  I nodded. Suddenly it was all I wanted to do, to hold her tiny body, to feel her heart moving in that rapid rhythm of a child full of life. She handed her to me and I brought her to my chest, feeling my heart increase its rhythm to match hers. “Her name is Joy,” her mother said.

  I was insane. I heard my mind whispering it. She looked at me with wide, innocent eyes and I felt something move inside of me. I felt myself flush with some unnamed, unrecognized emotion. It was foreign and embarrassing and what little bit of blood remained in me rose to my pale cheeks. Joy. She was that. I cradled her against me and closed my eyes. She was so warm and soft. My heartbeat entangled around hers and I felt a connection, something vital linking this mortal child and myself.

  Eventually, I sensed a nervousness growing in the mother and father and managed, somehow, to pull myself away, to hand Joy back to her mother and smile softly, almost … maternally. “She is most wonderful.” I said, my ancient accent creeping oddly into my voice. “Please, allow me to gift you and your child.” I fished into my purse, digging for something I kept there for emergencies: a small sapphire, one of the remaining gems from the Family vaults, the size of my small fingernail. It seemed the absolute color of the baby's eyes. I handed it to her. I knew she wouldn't take it immediately. “Please, no arguments. It is old, and I have so many more. Take it, keep it for her. One day, when she is of an age, give it to her and tell her of how she touched my heart.”

  The woman had tears in her eyes as her hand closed around my gift. I discovered I did also. I touched that tiny cheek one more time and hurried away, not looking back, lest I be drawn further into their lives. I knew that one gem was worth perhaps more than that family would see in a lifetime, a gift without measure. It had meant little to me, but now I knew it would mean so much more.

  I hurried home, trying desperately not to think, not to acknowledge what had begun on that night, what I had discovered in those few short hours. I was filled with apprehension, and unbelievable delight. I had not thought it possible … all these years, and a handful of relationships … no, not possible at all. Of course, neither had I believed myself capable of creating the monster, until Moira. Still, it had been two years since Francis's death, and another fifteen since Joshua. It couldn't be. I was losing my mind. My sanity was finally gone, torn away by the long years in the night and the deaths of so many I had held so dear.

  I stood before my mirror and touched my belly. It seemed hard, round. There was simply no denying the change in my weight, in my body. I stripped out of my clothes and returned to the mirror naked. My pale flesh fairly gleamed in the firelight, my black hair contrasting sharply, making my skin all the more pale. I had not truly looked at myself in many years.

  I was not one concerned with appearance as much as my mortal sisters. Occasionally I was concerned about the odd white coloring of my skin, enough to attempt to shade it with powders and such cosmetics as the world had to offer at a given time. My hair I allowed to grow long and straight, cutting it only when it became unmanageable. It was black, dark as midnight and filled with the shine of the stars. My face is long and narrow, my dark eyes set wide apart. That night they shined brightly back at me from the face of the mirror.

  I let my gaze wander to the slim, but deceptively strong shoulders and arms, the smallish, but pert and still very young looking breasts, down the soft skin to where that little pouch began. My hands caressed it repeatedly, as if trying somehow to feel what lay beneath the surface, to know it completely by a touch. I was still there, staring into that mirrored reflection of the truth as the distant sun began its rise. Reluctantly, I pulled a nightgown over my head and set about preparing to retire for the day.

  I may have lain quietly in my black draped queen size bed, but I doubt I closed my eyes
all day, except to savor the feeling growing within me, the delicious, unbelievable clarity and joy that welled up each time I let my mind wander to the prospect. Eventually, near on to nightfall, I began to think about the years ahead of me. A child … the long pregnancy, the most-assuredly difficult delivery. I tried to remember everything my mother may have ever said to me regarding my own birthing. There was precious little to remember. I determined at that moment that this child would have the best childhood I could give it, the most carefree and loving home, the best teachers and books. I wanted to instill the still unborn creature with a love of life and discipline, a moral obligation to the world around us. This, at long last, would be my reparation. A child, grown of my years of wisdom and raised in absolute love and tolerance to help the world to reach a place of lasting peace.

  I had no idea what manner of child this might be, but I had hopes that it would bear all the human traits of its father and myself, with little or no appearance of the other that I was. I set about making plans for the arrival, though I hadn't any knowledge of how long a wait I might have, or how many years it would take to bring this to fruition. I consolidated bank accounts, drew up plans and sent them on to an agent of mine in London. He would arrange what I asked for, while I journeyed to meet him. I set about my travel arrangements, a private carriage east and north, to the port city called New York where I would board a ship bound for France. From there I would journey by hired coach, several weeks to a place not far from that of my birth, half way up a mountainside where caves hid my personal treasures from the world.

  I had need also of a personal servant, a maid, preferably a midwife of strong personal will, who would not frighten easily at the truth of what I was. I began the search for her immediately, wanting her with me as I underwent this journey. I found my way to various doctors, midwives and mothers, asking discreet questions in an attempt to discern the time of the arrival. I determined that I was close onto what humans would consider the fourth month of gestation, Four months, in two years' time. That would give me two and a half years, give or take a month or two.