“I’m sorry Katechka,” he sits up shaking, his voice quivering “I did not mean to hurt you, I just can’t keep the beast inside of me under control.”
“It’s alright Victor; I’m fine. See,” I sit up and pull back my hair to show him that he left no marks behind where he bit me. “You can’t hurt someone who is already dead.”
“Still, I don’t think I should be with you; I may do it again.” He looks down at his lap dejected.
Grabbing hold of his hands, I tilt my head to peer into his face “You are not hurting me, I enjoy the pain, it makes me feel alive. So please, don’t hold back with me, unleash the beast inside you and let it run wild.”
“But I’m scared Kotek,” he looks at me with those puppy eyes, making me shiver “I’m scared of letting the demons loose.”
“Don’t be, they can come play inside my personal hell. Do your worst darling, bring me back to the realm of the living.”
Sitting across from one another, Victor stares at me; a wild intensity fills his eyes. There is a primitive hunger in them as there is in any wild animal, a lion that had locked his sites on a helpless gazelle. Pouncing on top of me he has me pressed tightly against the mattress on the floor; his breathing is heavy and shallow. Ripping my dress off, he continues to glare at me; his pearly white fangs glisten in the dark. Forcing my legs open he plunges inside of me vigorously making me squeal. Snarling with delight at my reaction, Victor rips into my neck with his pointed canines.
He continues to tear into my flesh as his thrusts get faster, more savage. The deep pain and profound pleasure mix together to give me a new dimension of ecstasy. Every fresh bite puncturing my skin, every brutal push of him into me sends waves of undiscovered thrills down my spine. Digging my nails into his back, I willingly give in to the euphoria that is devouring me. This is nothing like it was in life, it is intense, yet genuine, and despite how rough he is, it is still beautiful. After all this time, I still had no issues surrendering entirely to him, combining our inner darkness into one perfect utopia.
Having satisfied his primordial cravings, Victor lays next to me, caressing my naked body in his arms like I was accustomed to. He seems to be feeling better, at least he looked better, more alive. I still can’t get over how fierce he was, not that I minded, he was still Victor for me, even if he was a wild beast with the fire of a thousand suns. And maybe, it did not always have to be so forceful and violent; the old Victor was in there somewhere, perhaps he could come out once he was feeling better.
Situated in the cavern of his arms I closed my eyes so I could pretend we were back home, back in our time, far from death and this cursed city. Wishing to escape the last century and a half, I think of all the times we were together in life, recalling them fondly. I could have fallen asleep in his cold embrace, but unable to sleep I was content with listening to the soft pattering of his heart as he drifted off to a place I could not join him.
As Victor slept silently in our bed, there was something else outside the room keeping us company. I can hear the hellhounds grunting and howling right outside the door, not daring to get near us. Occasionally, there is a scratching sound on the door; the things are taunting me, I can feel it. But why won’t they make a move on us, what is keeping them from bursting into our apartment? Pressing closer to Victor I close my eyes, not daring to imagine the frightful creatures on the other side of the door salivating at the notion of eating our flesh.
What is that verse again; ‘Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good.’? Is it the pure love we hold for one another or the fact that we cling to the good which still remains in us that frightens these vile things which are not of this world. In any case, I was just happy to not be near them, but something about their lingering presence alarmed me, it is us they wanted, I just wish I knew why. I wish I knew why the darkness stalked us, but all I knew is that it had something to do with the connection we shared.
9
Devil’s Confirmation
N
estled in Victor’s arms I stare up at the pealing plaster on the ceiling, praying for daybreak which seems not to come soon enough. When it finally does, the shadows which have haunted us since we got here have retreat; they still cannot force themselves into the light. It has been said it is light that drives out darkness and that darkness cannot extinguish light, and so far, this appears to the case. Shawn did say the Bible contained clues on how to fight evil forces if one knew where to look. Wondering if this had been one of these ways, I turn over on to my side and stare at the shreds of my dress on the floor.
Recalling what happened last night, I feel myself blush as a warm tingle spreads at my core. I’m not worried about my ruined gown; it will fix itself once I get into the kitchen, reappearing on me as if it was never torn off. Still, the electric charge that filled the room last night was profound; I’m surprised its intensity did not send those black mists back to the depth they crawled out from.
Rolling over, I look over at Victor sleeping on his side next to me. His fever had returned, and he seems to be looking weaker than he did last night. Sprinkles of morning light are pouring in through the blanket, covering the worn floor in specks of sunlight. Unwrapping my makeshift bandage on Victor’s leg I look at the cut on his leg; it’s also not looking well. The rag in my hand is soaked through with blood, a warm sticky liquid still oozes from where the glass went in, and worst yet, it’s beginning to show signs of infection.
Lightly I brush off bits of squishy greenish puss with my finger; Victor twitches in his sleep as I clean his wound. He is beginning to perspire visibly, drops of sweat glisten on his brow. I may not be an expert on vampires, but I know the supernatural well enough, this is not normal. We are strange creatures; if we bleed, we don’t bleed for long, and we definitely don’t succumb to infection. If Victor gets any worse, I will have to go see Father McAllister and ask him for help, but right now I had more pressing matters at hand.
Victor needed blood, human blood if he is to recover and feel better. This meant I had to go get some from a blood bank if I did not wish for him to hunt. Knowing that hunting humans spelled doom for Victor from an unknown threat left me little choice but to go steal some. Shawn had given me a list of a handful of hospitals in the area that had blood storage on site; the closest was not too far from here. I would need to go in and steal it, along with much needed medical supplies, but how?
The closest blood bank was only an eighteen-minute walk from where we lived. Unfortunately, I would have to go in my physical form if I am going to carry what I need. So there lies one of the problems; how do I walk all way there, in broad daylight, without drawing attention to myself? I doubt there are any young women these days walking around in formal dresses from the nineteenth century, so if I’m going to make the trip, I will need a disguise.
Looking over at the wardrobe by the door I recall seeing a coat hanging up amongst a clutter of men’s clothing. I decided to try it on and see if it fits me well enough to cover up my dress. Opening its doors, I pull out a gray jacket; it’s an old winter trench coat left over from World War II. Perhaps something Victor had collected to help him blend in through the years, it was outdated, but it would have to do.
The mothball scented wool fit nicely around me, the man it belonged to was around my size, a bit taller as the coat came all the way down to my ankles. These style clothes were still used today, so I would not look too out of place wearing it. Even if I did, that was the risk I’d be willing to take for Victor. Stealing a glance at him moaning on the bed I open the front door, only to have the scrawny cat rush in. It appears hungry; perhaps it came here in hopes of finding food.
“Tell you what buddy,” I lean over to scratch his ears “If you look after Victor for me while I’m gone I will find you some food. Deal?”
The tabby meows meekly and runs over to Victor, curling up in a ball on top of his chest. Satisfied with leaving the two of them to each other’s company I walk out and shut the door
behind me. Outside the main door, I hear the daily sounds of the city; voices of people and rumbling of cars going by as they go about their routine. Bracing myself, I stepped out of the building into the Moscow cityscape; fresh snow has started to fall to the ground again. An old woman walking past me looks me over, but instead of saying a word she shrugs and walks away shaking her head.
It would appear I was safely dressed the way I was, so I set off down a narrow snow packed street in the direction of the hospital. I keep my gaze down to avoid looking people in the eye, fearing that they will be able to discern my true nature if I did. Strangely enough, today there was not many people on the lonely city streets, winter seemed to keep most of them indoors. Other than a handful of people going home with grocery bags and an occasional car that would roll by, I was alone until I reached my destination.
The Intermedtsentr as it was called is hidden inside an old Soviet-era block building. It looked like every other cream-colored three-story building in the city from Stalin’s time. A simple cement block with square windows and metal doors, no architectural detail to give it character. The only way to distinguish it from the rest of the buildings was is by a large sign-up front which read: Intermedtsentr, Clinica, followed by its phone number. Outside the large white iron door was a smaller sign that read 24/7. I wasn’t going to use the front entrance though; I needed to sneak in through the back door to avoid getting caught up at reception with no business to give them.
If I’m not mistaken there should be a service entrance somewhere behind the building, there always was. Casually I walk back there to see what I can find. Sure enough, there is a door at the back that had been propped open by a cinder block, either they are expecting a delivery, or they left it open so employees can sneak out for a smoke. I stroll over and peek inside, seems like no one is around at the moment.
Slipping through the slit created in the frame I wind up in a deserted hallway, fluorescent lamps flicker periodically above me with a droning hum. I was never one for hospitals, always found them too sterile with the white tiles on the floor and ceiling, and this one was no different. They tried to liven up this place by painting the walls fern green and decorating with forest green benches that looked like they came out of a car, but the place still screamed aseptic. Above each bench, they hung a black and white photo of a fruit or a flower, which was so utterly cliché it made me cringe.
The air around me stinks. There is the usual smell of bleach and medicine the living are accustomed to in a clinic, but there is also a vivid stench of death that loiters around for beings like me to notice. I always find hospitals to be the worst for encountering the smell of death, far too many people die behind these walls, and many won’t live long after leaving this place. Just as I contemplate how life ends behind these doors, one of them swings out, and a woman in blood-stained white scrubs walks out backward.
An icy chill runs down my spine as I watch her roll out a gurney with a person on it, not a living person, this one is covered up by a blood-soaked white sheet. The crisp cover concealing the individual’s identity is splotched in a pattern of crimson flowers, resembling some form of modern art. A man, also covered in blood pushes the body forward, neither he nor the woman pay any attention to me, their faces are solemn and deflated. Like an idiot, I stand and watch them go by, paralyzed by images of my own body covered by a blanket flashing before my eyes. As if by habit, I cross myself, hoping this poor soul did not suffer the same fate I did.
There are a handful of specters floating around me, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I am one of them. They vary in age, from the small children who were far too young to be subjected to this curse, to the very old who seem vexed at having found themselves as specters in a reality they once inhabited. My heart aches for them, I know their confusion and suffering all too well, but I did not come here for them, so I can’t be bothered to try and help them.
Turning to head down the hallway, I come face to face with a man, no, a ghost of a man. His long, dark hair is snarled and pressed to the side of his head, still dripping wet. His dark eyes are filled with turmoil. In his bushy beard linger a few dead leaves and sticks, giving him the appearance of some long-forgotten mountain man. I look down and notice he is completely naked, his penis is poking out slightly from his unruly pubic hair.
Now, I have seen naked men aside from Victor; you tend to happen upon such things as a ghost, but this was the first nude ghost I encountered. Poor sap, he must have died with no clothe on, how unfortunate for him. I can’t even imagine the shame of having to spend all eternity in what God gave you. Judging by the way he looks he must not have been dead that long, probably only a few months old, just a baby by our standards. The man must realize I am staring at him as he reaches out for me, trying to connect with the physical world.
“Basement?” I ask him flatly, not giving a second thought to him trying to reach me.
The stranger looks at me with wide eyes. Obviously, he was not expecting me to address him, up until now no physical being was able to see him. Silently he points his long, emaciated finger down to the end of the hall. In the distance, I can make out a green door with a sign above it which reads “restricted” in flashing red letters. Smiling politely at him, I thank him with a nod of my head and sprint down the hall. The man follows behind, apparently not willing to let the first person to see him go. I feel sorry for him; I remember what it was like being a young ghost, trying to figure it all out. I stop at the door and turn to face him again.
“I’m dead, just like you are.” I try to break it to him gently as he stands before me looking like a newborn child. “It gets better, the being dead part, you’ll figure it out.”
With a friendly smile, I let the man go, heading through the door, down a flight of concrete stairs. I lied to him; it doesn’t get any better, you just get used to it as time wears on. But the man upstairs doesn’t need the truth; he isn’t ready for it, he just needed comfort. Eventually, he will learn how to live with his new form in this new reality he has found himself stuck in, until then he can at least take comfort in knowing not all is lost.
Running through a set of metal double doors, I wind up in the basement, everything here is lined with yellow tiles. The lights on the walls barely illuminate the tunnel ahead of me; I can sense mysterious creatures hiding in the unlit niches. Dipping my head down I briskly walk in the only direction I can, scanning the doors as I walk, reading the signs at a glance. I stop by a set of double doors that indicate this is the medical supply room. Checking over my shoulders to make sure no one is coming, I quietly slip inside a large empty room filled with shelves.
The room is dark, there are no lights on, and I don’t dare give myself away by flicking the switch. Yet, I am terrified of what can appear in the darkness at a moment’s notice. These creatures have power in the dark, and I dare not encounter them again. I know my luck is bound to run out eventually, but giving into fear was not an option at this time. Pushing all thoughts of wicked creatures aside, I start my search for what I’ll need. The shelves line the floor like an organized maze, each one containing bins that are carefully labeled with what is inside.
I stumble between them, running my fingers on their labels, looking for what I need. Slowly I gather the sutures, cotton balls, iodine, and some gauze as I walk through the labyrinth of boxes and freezers. Having brought no bag, I just shove my stolen goods into the pocket of my military grade coat. Having finished gathering what I need to fix Victor’s leg, I get ready to leave, when the room I’m in grows pitch black. The temperature drops at least thirty degrees, I’m freezing, and I can see vapor from my mouth as I exhale.
“Serva me, servabo te…” a malicious gruff voice whispers in my ear, it’s breath forms frost on the bins in front of me. “…extra ecclesiam nulla salus.”
Something about this voice is frightfully familiar, my pulse quickens from simply hearing it, and I begin to tremble from fear. Finding my courage, I clench my fists and whirl around to
face the thing hanging behind me. In the oblivion of the room, I can still make out a black mist, swirling about without a shape. Two large Prussian blue flames the size of dinner plates flicker in its center. The vague outline forms tentacles of smoke that begin to wrap themselves around my body, crushing me with their weight. Caught in its clutches I recognize this power almost immediately, this is the ancient creature which was lingering in the basement last night, and now it has come for me.
“Non serviam.” I spit out one of the only Latin phrases I know.
As I finish uttering the phrase, my body erupts into amber flames as if some unseen force had poured gasoline over the small flicker that’s been smoldering at my core. The tentacles retract with a fierce screech, dropping me down to the floor. A warm light enshrines me in its cocoon as the crucifix around my neck glows a hot white. With a guttural groan, the beast exhales, blasting me with an Arctic gale as it retreats into the shadows it came from, taking the darkness with it.
Shaken, I sit on the floor waiting for it to return and finish me off, but it never does. Realizing I’m safe, I get up and run for the doors that lead out to the lit hall. Pausing to look through a small square window to make sure I am alone, I push through the doors and try to catch my breath. Resting my hand on the wall I scrutinize the shadows around me, wondering when the creature will return for me. My imagination begins to run away on me with all the possibilities this creature could come back to claim me.
Toska (Dark World Saga Book 1) Page 12
