by Aiden James
“Well, you just made it in time, William!”
Larisa Jones stood by the nurse station, just down the hall from Beatrice’s room. She beamed when she saw the bouquet I carried and shook her head knowingly.
“Boy, if you’re bringing those for your grandmother, I can only imagine the kind of things you do for a girlfriend!”
“Grandma’s favorites and a get well card,” I said, sheepishly, shrugging my shoulders.
Really, I hate the imagery that pops in my head when Nurse Jones looks at me as she did right then. It makes me feel like some juvenile pervert preying on the elderly. If she only knew the truth.
It’s one of those moments when I try to flash my focus to fifty years from now, when in all likelihood the Nursing Home and the people working there will be long gone. Of course, that likely meant all of those closest to me would have long disappeared, as well. Keep in mind that I also like this lady named Larisa. She always makes me smile.
“Beatrice is going to love the flowers when she sees them, but she’s probably still resting, William,” said Larisa. “She’s had a good day, though, and seemed a little more coherent for a little while after your dad visited her this morning.”
“He told me that she seems a little better,” I said. “I hope she continues to get better....”
I couldn’t finish my words, as the thought of her imminent passing seized my heart and soul like nothing else—other than my boy’s near-death encounters when we were in Iran.
“You better get on in there, William.” She glanced at her wristwatch and then at the clock across from the nurse station. “I’ll go ahead and allow you to stay in there for forty-five minutes or so, since I know you like to read to her.”
She walked down the corridor with me to my wife’s room and then gently opened the door. I told her ‘thank you’, and slid into the room. I thought Larisa might close the door behind me right away, but she snuck into the room and quietly pulled out a vase and filled it with water from a water pitcher on the nightstand closest to my wife. Afterward, she tiptoed out, offering me a shy but warm smile as she closed the door behind her.
I held the card that contained my latest love letter to my wife as I watched her breathe. So frail...though not as near death’s door as she had been when I last saw her, a little over a week before. Her breathing was more rhythmic than I remembered—which is always a key thing in determining how close the elderly are to moving on from this world and into the next.
That’s good…. I may have a few more weeks...maybe even a couple of months with her....
“Hello, my love.... I have returned to you as I promised,” I whispered sweetly.
I brought the chair I favor over to her bedside, and pulled it up as close to her as possible. Then I read the contents of my letter to her, telling her again how much I regretted ever leaving her so long ago, and how I also regretted not revealing myself to her when she was still of sound mind and body. I finished my discourse with a promise always to love her, as the only woman who ever touched my soul, and that I would always protect and care for Alistair, our beloved son.
Of course, she said nothing, although her breathing deepened a few times during my reading of the last love letter I ever intended to write to her. My closure and maybe the very thing her soul needed to cross over to the other side—to finally break the heaviest tie to those on earth. Alistair had made his peace months before, so it was really just me hanging on to the fantasy that Beatrice might somehow recover and stay with us a few more years.
Since I still had about twenty minutes left, I picked up Pride and Prejudice and began reading where I last left off. It’s a novel I never tire of, and I’ve come to believe that’s the case because it has always been one of her favorites. When it was time to leave, I set the book down on her dresser and placed the card holding my letter on the side of the nightstand closest to her head. Honestly, I didn’t care if anyone read it and discovered that the young man visiting her was her husband—or, at least believed he is her husband.
Sometimes a change of scenery brings a fresh perspective to problems at home. I guess this was my way of letting her go. I fully expected a deluge of tears to engulf me all the way back home to my townhouse. And then I’d deal with my grief for as many weeks, months, and years as it would take.
“I will always love you, Beatrice,” I whispered after bending down close to her ear. “You will always be the one....”
Unlike the last time I did this, I didn’t detect movement behind her eyelids. She seemed to be sleeping soundly. A moment between dreams, perhaps? I would’ve liked to think she was resting in the Lord’s bosom, the thing so many theologians and clergy talk about. At least if she did pass this way, she’d be at her best. The sunken darkness around her eyes had lifted.
As a parting gesture, I reached for her left hand. I noticed her fingers were wrapped around something small and glass-like. Something that glowed.
I gasped.
I couldn’t help myself, and though alarmed at first, the realization and myriad possibilities of what this could mean flooded my awareness. Even the army of liver spots on her hand had faded since Alistair placed the crystal in it that morning.
“Hello, William,” said Beatrice.
Her voice was still weak...but not shaky. Was she even awake—at least fully awake? Hard to say for sure, especially since less than a minute after she spoke she snored softly. But when she said my name, it came with a sense of knowing. It reminded me of how it used to be when we were in Scotland, and she had something dear to her heart to discuss...or had a bone to pick with me.
I reclaimed my chair and brought it up to her bedside. I don’t know what I’ll tell Nurse Larisa when she returns to kick me out of here. In the meantime, I intend to stay put and wait for my wife—the love of my life—to fully awaken.
Will she deliver a long-overdue tongue lashing for faking my death and leaving her and Alistair to fend for themselves so many decades ago? Or, will this be a reconciliation that is equally suffered for?
Maddening questions, both of them.
Just like me, everyone will have to wait for what’s next.
The End
To be continued in:
Reign of Coins
(The Judas Chronicles, Book Two)
Available now.
***A sample is provided at the end of this collection***
The Vampires’ Last Lover
Dying of the Dark Vampires, Book One
Chapter 1
Consider this a diary of sorts. I’m not an English major, so forgive the occasional grammatical errors. I haven’t got time to take a class to further hone my writing. They’ve told me that it all could end very soon...unless the experiment to save my blood earlier this morning works. If it does, then we can outlast the ‘others’. But, in case it doesn’t, I’m writing as much as I can about what has happened during the past ten days and what it all means to the survival of our world.
To get it down on paper…this warning for others.
For, in the event this experiment doesn’t work, they’ll soon be coming for everyone else. They’ll feed enough to remain immortal, and many of you will die. Ridiculous, I know. But, what I’m telling you is the truth. You may have already seen the beginnings of what I’ll soon reveal on the latest television news reports.
Throughout my nineteen years on earth—my entire life—they’ve watched me. They’ve studied and hunted me and other females in my family, feeding at will. I found out just this week that it’s been going on for many centuries.
Hidden voyeurs in the shadows. All quiet…all hungry.
All vampire.
My name is Txema, which is pronounced ‘Chema’. Txema Ybarra. I grew up in Richmond, Virginia. Part of a proud Basque lineage, although my immediate family is like most American families of immigrant descent. My father and brothers cheer for the Redskins, and only my mother still adheres to the tenets of our Roman Catholic heritage. I grew up in an affluent ne
ighborhood, where I enjoyed all the benefits of a privileged education. This later afforded me the opportunity to attend college on a full-ride athletic scholarship. But, I want to be a veterinarian. Or, at least I wanted to be a veterinarian.
It’s what brought me to Tennessee, where I enrolled at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. It was to be the start of my medical career, while playing basketball for the legendary Pat Summit.
But, I will never do either one.
A fall down a stairwell in September that resulted in a partial tear to the ligaments in my right ankle took care of my freshman basketball aspirations. My present circumstances have ensured that a pursuit of a veterinarian career—or any other—won’t happen either.
Ironically, that accident may have set everything in motion that has happened since. I met my boyfriend, Peter Worley, while lounging in the lobby of Massey Hall. Tall, dark, and great looking, he had caught my eye at orientation, and we shared the same biology lab. But, we never had a chance to talk beyond basic pleasantries until he saw me struggling to balance my laptop while trying to stand up holding my crutches. I’ve seen other girls glare with envy, and he could have his pick, I’m sure. He’s not intimidated by the fact that I’m as tall as he, at six foot-two. He says he likes my smile and the way my hazel eyes shimmer when I’m laughing, and how my dark hair hangs in curled waves upon my shoulders. I think it’s more my other curves and the fact I lack nothing up top…although I’d like to believe what he tells me. At least he would have that in common with the vampire boys that soon came to call on me.
Am I in love? No…not yet, although Peter and I seemed destined for something special between us. On up until my cast was removed from my left foot, a few days before Halloween, we spent almost every waking moment together. They say initial passion can smother you if you’re not careful. At times, it has seemed too much. But when apart, I’ve often thought of nothing else but being with him. His smile, and the way his deep brown eyes turn brighter when he tells me that he loves me, has made it nearly impossible for me to complete my studies with the steadfast focus I’ve always had for my schoolwork.
Maybe it’s the fact we’ve only known each other for just a few months. Regardless, I’ve not been able to commit myself to him, fully. Yet, I cherish his touch, and how the Ralph Lauren cologne mingles with his skin when I’ve kissed his chest. He is like a drug I can’t get enough of. But, each time he says he loves me something inside me tightens up. I’ve sensed lately how my hesitation to commit really bothers him. He is patient. But it’s hard for such a catch to remain that way when other girls would give him anything he asked for. My soul is not ready.
This torment upon my heart…this desire to be close to him along with the need for distance was the main conflict in my life, until the night of my nineteenth birthday, just a little over a week ago. Tuesday, November 9th. While getting ready for a dinner and movie date with Peter, a sudden chill entered my dorm room. My roommate, Tyreen Davenport, had already left that night to be with her man, Johnny Ayers. Being on the fourth floor gives us both a sense of security. On that night, however, it felt as if a window was open, and the cold Smoky Mountain air had been allowed to rush in. Yet, the window was closed, and when I turned to look at the door to my room, it remained shut.
A young man stood in front of it, staring intently at me. The man’s paleness and presence immediately announced he wasn’t from around here. As it turned out, he wasn’t even from this world.
Chapter 2
“You are getting ready to go out tonight?” he asked. His husky voice was almost musical in its timbre, and the accent European, the richness genteel. Long golden hair partially covered his eyes, which glowed iridescent around constricted pupils. “Beware, and be forewarned, Txema. Those who want to end your life have come. They are outside…waiting.”
Staring at him, incredulous, my heart raced faster than I ever recalled before that moment. Not even while driving for a game-winning layup.
“Who are you?” I demanded. “And, how in the hell did you get in here??”
“I am Garvan de Sang,” he replied while stepping casually toward me. Dressed in dark jeans and a burgundy sweater, his riding boots were muted by the plush carpet. His ashen skin looked garishly death-like beneath my room’s fluorescent light. It was as if every inch of his skin was covered in pancake makeup.
I instinctively retreated to my dresser. I kept a Tazer gun there that was given to me for protection by my older brother, the day I moved into my dorm room this past August. But before I touched the drawer’s handle, my visitor appeared next to me, somehow traveling silently across the room in the blink of an eye. I gasped in surprise while chills traveled up and down my spine. I considered the absurdity of what I had just witnessed, and for a moment wondered if this was some kind of waking dream that I’d fallen into. But, my breaths rising into the air provided a frigid dose of reality. I could feel Garvan’s iciness siphon the heat from my very essence as his penetrating gaze studied me.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, gently pushing my fingers away from the dresser. The coolness in his touch deepened, embracing my entire being. I couldn’t move. “We won’t hurt you, Txema.”
“Who’s we?” I demanded, surprised by the anger easily coming through despite my unease. I thought of every clothes accessory I had available to me that could be turned into a weapon. Perhaps my shoes, or the file in my makeup purse? “And, how do you know my name?”
He started to answer me, but suddenly jerked his head toward my door, as if he heard someone lurking outside my room in the hallway. It could’ve been anyone. After all, when does a dorm floor ‘rest’, anyway? The look on his face reflected intense concentration. I also strained to listen, unable to hear much beyond my own nervous breaths.
Now, I can certainly understand if everyone out there is wondering why I didn’t simply scream for help. Really, in retrospect, I should have. It wasn’t like this man named Garvan didn’t frighten me. But something else…. Something in my heart told me, absurdly, to trust this stranger. At least for the moment. So insane, and yet I felt so compelled to trust this pasty man whose frozen touch both repulsed and exhilarated me.
He remained focused on the door, which gave me a chance to study him more. Despite such paleness, he was actually quite good looking. Not much older than me, his strong brow gave his eyes a glowering look that belied his delicate features. His profile revealed gorgeous cheekbones and a sleek nose that accentuated supple lips, tinted blue. If not for his powerful build that stretched the fabric of his cashmere sweater and tight-fitted jeans, I suppose most people would assume Garvan was a far cry from the nocturnal warrior that I later learned he is.
“Your man…Peter? He is coming,” he said, turning again to face me, the glow in his eyes brighter, as if on fire. “Is he always this punctual, to be so early?”
True, Peter was never one to be late for anything, and as such would often show up fifteen minutes early for our dates. Normally, I would be in the finishing touches of my makeup, which sometimes irritated him. But, tonight could prove even more interesting if he arrived and my uninvited guest decided to extend his visit.
“Yes, he is,” I agreed, feeling increasingly frantic about what to do. Should I do the normal person thing and scream my head off? Or, should I follow the crazy feeling that told me instead I should try to hide this man? Where could I do that in a cramped dormitory room? And if I couldn’t, what lame excuse would come pouring out of my mouth when I sought to explain his unwanted presence to my boyfriend? If things turned violent, I seriously doubted Peter’s athleticism would save him against Garvan’s unusual speed and quickness. “You should leave…leave now!”
“And I will, before he gets here,” said Garvan, chuckling as he regarded my panicked expression. His fiery eyes so clearly revealed his arrogant amusement. “But, not before you promise to stay here all night. You must make sure you do. If he decides he can’t abide by this, then he leaves alone. Am I clea
r?”
His face flushed as he said this. It was as if whatever blood he carried in his veins suddenly rushed to his cheeks, sending also a surge of anger that further ignited his eyes. I could scarcely concentrate enough to formulate an answer, shaking my head to avert the spell of his words infecting my thoughts.
“I-I don’t know if I can promise that,” I told him, feeling defiance rise against a hostile takeover of my will. “It’s my birthday, and we’ve been planning tonight’s dinner date since last week. Peter’s gone to a great deal of trouble—“
“We are out of time!” he interrupted me, glancing at the door again. “So, you leave me no choice.”
In the instant that followed, he suddenly disappeared. At least, it seemed like he did. I felt something warm on the left side of my neck. The warmth soon became painful, two pinpricks that felt as if little knives were digging into my jugular vein. Then I heard the window’s latch unclick and click shut again in rapid succession.
Surprised, I gasped and reached up to where my neck throbbed, like a little girl who just got stung by a wasp or venomous spider. Wetness grazed my fingers. When I brought my shaking hand before my eyes, there was blood. It dripped down my fingers.
Just then, Peter’s familiar knock rapped upon my door.
