Rising to darkness

by Lucia Guglielminetti

  Gradually, the servants abandoned us: everybody, including me and my mother, was terrified of the red-faced, swollen giant who had lost control of the slightest transgression. She had become even smaller and thinner, as if suffering was eating her from the inside. The only ones who stayed were Inga, the cook, too old to go anywhere else, and Annika, my nurse, too scared to leave us alone with the stranger whom my father had become. His hostility towards me was clear, even though I've never understood what he had disliked so much in me. During one of his outbursts, he shouted that it would had been better if I had died rather than Lars. I knew he thought like that, but hearing such revulsion from my own father was hard to swallow.

  He never dared to touch me though; Zwart would not allow it and my father knew. He had seen the dog growl at him when he raised his voice at me. I lived only in fear that he would hurt my mother or my dog just to spite me. Even if I wanted to run a million miles away from that house, I persevered for her, to be there if she needed me.

  Unfortunately, the occasion occurred earlier than I feared. It wasn't unusual to hear him shouting or yelling at her, as if she was the one responsible for my brother's death; that day, however, he sounded genuinely threatening and Annika begged me to look into the situation. I was going up the stairs, followed closely by Zwart, when I heard my mother scream. I took the last few steps almost flying and burst into her room as she huddled in a corner while my father towered over her with his walking stick brandished like a cudgel. With a shriek, I threw myself on him, trying to commandeer the stick from his grasp as I was blinded by fury; but, he blew me away and then turned his homicidal attentions towards me. Zwart, who had been barking incessantly, sensed his intentions and attacked him, knocking him to the ground. He screamed and tried to hit the dog while protecting himself from his bites. A voice from inside me told me to let Zwart finish the job, for my sake and for my mother’s, but, in the end, I called him back, thus, saving my father's life.

  He rose from the ground bloody and battered and stared at me for a moment.

  "Should it be the last thing I do, your dog is dead!” he said, then he left the room while I helped my mother to lie down on her bed. I stayed with her, caressing and calming her, until she fell asleep, as she had done with me so many times.

  That night, while I was sitting on a chair with Zwart curled up at my feet, my mother woke up and asked me to move towards her. I sat beside her and caressed her cheek, trying to smile.

  "You must leave, Raistan, tonight. Your father is no longer the person whom I married. That man has died along with your brother on that damn road. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, I would never forgive myself. Open that drawer..." She pointed at her bedside table: inside, among scented handkerchiefs and nightgowns, was a brown leather bag, fastened by laces. I gave it to her and she opened it.

  "Here are twenty-five gold florins. It's not much, I know, but I have been putting them aside for you during these last few months for I feared that this moment would eventually come. Take them and disappear, tonight. Do not go to Amsterdam, your father's relatives could see you and bring you back. Leave Holland and never come back to this miserable place."

  I was crying, shaking my head to try to erase her words. The idea of leaving her at the mercy of that man was unbearable to me. She took my face in her hands and forced me to look at her. It seemed that all her strength was concentrated on this one act of desperation. "Your mother commands you, boy. Obey! "

  "I can't! I can't leave you here with that madman! Come with me, I beg you; we can make a fresh start somewhere else! He will kill you someday! Please, mother, please...”

  I hugged her tightly, crying desperately and knowing that I would not be able to persuade her who had already completely surrendered. Her only hope left was saving at least one of her sons.

  "Do not worry about me, I'll be okay. Eventually your father will recover, and things will be fine again. Of course, no one can bring Lars back to us, but we'll make it. However, you need to go. There is no future here for you, I even heard him talking about some monastery where you would be locked up. Take the money and your dog and leave, now! Please, Raistan ... Please, mijn Engel.”

  She caressed my hair and face, then pushed me towards the door. As I was leaving her room with a broken heart and Zwart, she called me back and smiled at me one final time. "You were the best son a mother could have ever wanted. Thank you. "

  "All thanks to you, mother," I whispered and left my home forever with a heavy heart.

  It's late and I risk missing my date with Sophie. She is a human I met in a club a few weeks ago. I care about her, I like her, she relaxes me, and I would like to see her again, but I'm tired of pretending. I would like her to know what I really am, but I don't know how she would take it. I'm also terribly out of practice when it comes to courtship. I have to prepare myself and have dinner before meeting her so as not to put her in any danger.

  See you later, curious reader.

  3:40 a.m., my apartment

  I am a stupid coward. Not only did I not tell her about my true nature, but I also rejected her advances, something that had never happened to me in these past three hundred years. I mean, females had wanted me and I had pleased them. I always did. Hundreds of them, both humans and vampires, although my serious relationships could only be counted on the fingers of one hand. And what did I gain for my sudden and senseless display of virtuosity?

  She got mad. She didn’t even want me to take her home; she’d rather had taken a taxi. Sometimes I wonder how she could not have noticed that there was something peculiar about me after all the meetings we have had. Now she probably thinks I’m gay: great, just the result I wanted to achieve! She was taking off her clothes, you know! Here, on this damn couch. She couldn’t have been more explicit than that! And what do I do? I don’t kiss her and I don’t even stretch out a hand to caress her. No, I jump up and step back, as if I had seen a ghost. Shit, I must be crazy.

  No, that’s not it. I know what the problem really is. The other humans whom I had a relationship with found out what I was gradually. When we finally ended up in bed, they already knew it and were prepared. They expected my cold skin, my fast movements, and the awkward presence of the fangs in my mouth. Sophie, on the other hand, would have only discovered it right then, and I felt I would not have been able to bear her refusal, not after my efforts throughout these weeks of recovering civility, kindness and consideration for her race.

  I'm investing a lot of myself on this affair and I feel vulnerable. I don't like it, so I want to be the one who makes the rules. Until last night I did not even realize that, I thought it was just fun; but, when I saw her getting up from that fucking couch, I understood that there was more. That she was more.

  Her fiery thoughts became ice, just like her eyes. Her face flushed with humiliation as she looked at me flabbergasted. She got dressed, took the cell from her bag, and called the damn taxi.

  "Wait, please, don't go. There are some problems, huge problems, and I have been wanting to tell you about them, but..."

  "You don't owe me any explanations, I think I got it ...” Why did I have to meet a homosexual? I'm lucky, really. Jean Paul first, then him... Enough, I'm done with men for a while. What an asshole not telling me that he was gay! When is this bloody taxi coming?

  "Look, it's not what you think. I’m not gay, I guarantee it, I like you, I like you a lot! Damn it, what can I do to convince you to stay?"

  "There's nothing you can do. I'm not mad at you. Well, just a little bit. I'm just furious at myself because I didn't get it beforehand."

  "There is nothing to get, or better yet, there is, but it’s not what you think!"

  I continued to babble like an idiot, but the taxi arrived and she went away without even saying goodbye. I was so angry that I was not able to stay home: I went out and hunted viciously, chasing a poor vagrant and giving him the illusion of being safe, only to fall upon him and finish him off. However, I did not even feel
better afterwards. Now, when my worst instincts drive me, I see Alice Andrews' face and I feel guilty, wondering what she would think of me if she had seen me during those moments.

  Now I am here, and all I can do is tell you about her. Tomorrow I must resolve this situation. I must talk to her and tell her the truth. The fact is that she should run, not because she thinks that I am gay but because I am a vampire!

  SOPHIE

  (Interlude)

  Now and then I like to frequent clubs where humans gather, both to find victims and to enjoy a little company, albeit indirectly. Usually I order a glass of wine and pretend to sip it for a few hours, observing the people around me and listening to their conversations (thanks to my hypersensitive hearing), and often sneaking inside their minds, as I possess this ability.

  The flow of human thoughts has various trends.

  In some people, it flows in fits and starts, more or less like vivid images, an unpleasant thing to pick up; from others, it radiates like a wave, comparable to a river flowing, and that I like. Other times, it's like music, and I have to be careful not to be enchanted as my eyes are fixated on the person emitting it.

  Sophie's thoughts belong to this species, but they are much more musical in comparison to what I have heard in a long time. The evening when I noticed her, I was in a bar that I hadn't visited for years, surprised to find it almost unchanged; a bistro with soft lights and small round tables inviting you to whisper. I do not like crowds or lights that are too strong; the strangeness of my skin, resembling marble in color and texture, is too evident. My eyes also don’t like the assaults they receive from the rays as they are already irritated by the lenses I wear to hide the vertical pupils which are typical to us.

  I took a seat at a secluded table and ordered a glass of wine from a pretty waitress who, judging by the lazy and lustful thoughts in her mind, would have happily sipped me.

  Do you know vampires can’t handle alcohol? It must have something to do with our sleep metabolism, just a few sips are enough for us to lose our self-control, especially in the younger members of our species. We allow ourselves drinks prepared with blood and a small percentage of alcohol, but we must be careful not to overdo it. The consequences, as I’ve seen over the centuries, could be very unpleasant. And not for us.

  We don't feel the physical need to drink or eat your food, but this doesn't mean we don’t remember its taste and that, sometimes, we don't miss all the dishes we are now obligated to renounce every day, even if the tastes have presently become a little disgusting to us.

  Nonetheless, I was talking about Sophie. There were three reasons why I noticed her almost at once: her thoughts, as I said, were very musical and that night the music was sad; she smelled delicious, and I'm referring to her true scent, the one of her skin, which made me feel like killing and cuddling her at the same time; in addition, she was the only other lonely person in the bistro besides me.

  Before even wondering if it was appropriate, I stood up and approached her table, taking the glass of wine with me. I brought it to my lips and smelled its aroma to protect myself from the intensity of the girl’s scent, fearing that I would lose control and jump on her throat. It was incredible. My senses were reacting like those of a newborn vampire; I had to compose myself at all costs, so I did the simplest thing: I stopped breathing. Breathing, for us, is not necessary; we do it as a habit because the world is very boring without fragrances. The girl, meanwhile, had looked up and was eyeing me quizzically. How could I blame her? I had stood motionlessly by her table for about three minutes and when I say motionless, I mean like a statue, without uttering a single word.

  "Can I help you?" she asked and her thoughts were hoping no.

  If I could, I would have blushed up to the roots of my hair, as I felt stupid and embarrassed. I opened my mouth without knowing what to say and I murmured, "Excuse me; Jean Paul is just a fool." Then I turned away and went back to my table, furious with myself for that reaction worthy of a teenager having his first crush. Come on, I'm over three hundred years old! I've killed more people than a plague and even more werewolves. Humans are just food to me. How could any girl unsettle me that way! I wanted to leave the bar to find some derelict to vent on when I saw her coming towards me, a frown on her pretty face.

  "Do... do you know Jean Paul?" she asked.

  I tried to acquire some information about the guy directly from her brain, and I discovered that he had just left her and that she was dejected. I stood up and moved quickly to reposition the chair across mine. Well, actually too quickly: at one moment, I was sitting in front of her and then, a moment later, I was right behind her. She didn't even have time to document my move. She was startled and looked at me alarmed, unsure whether to accept my invitation or run for the hills; I smiled at her in my most reassuring way and raised my eyebrows quizzically. I hadn’t been breathing for at least ten minutes, and the temptation to inhale her smell again was still very strong, but I forced myself not to. Anything could have happened.

  She finally sat down, holding her bag against her chest like a shield, and I got back to my seat with as much a humanly gait as possible.

  "Please, let me introduce myself. My name's Raistan Van Hoeck, I am Dutch, and I'm on holiday here. I saw you at that table, all alone, and I couldn't resist approaching you. I don't know Jean Paul, but you are wearing a bracelet with his name on it and you seem so sad. He's not here, so I just put two and two together."

  "You didn't bother me, you just... surprised me. You were standing there like a statue, staring at me... I beg your pardon but your eyes are weird... and then you came out with that remark! My name's Sophie, by the way, nice to meet you."

  She stretched out her hand to shake mine, but I hesitated for a moment and she noticed it. Our skin is cold, you know, and touching us is shocking for many people, so I always try to avoid physical contact unless I’m hunting. Yet, I could not possibly be that rude, so I returned her handshake quickly as I read the word “cold” in her thoughts. We were both silent, embarrassed. She looked down and I stared at her with curiosity, looking for something to say in order to postpone the inevitable of her leaving. Finally, as it often happens in such circumstances, we spoke at the same time and then laughed. I always have to be careful when I laugh so not to display my long canines; but it's a conditioned reflex and rarely do I indulge in a laugh with my mouth open. The rest of my teeth, though, is normal, even attractive. I asked her to continue talking and she surprised me, telling me about herself and the infamous Jean Paul. Then she blushed and shyly looked away in a manner I was beginning to appreciate. "Excuse me, we just met and I couldn’t find anything better to say but to annoy you with the chronicles of my misfortunes ..."

  I assured her that I was not bored at all and asked her to leave the bar with me for a walk. I saw her hesitate again. A part of me found her reluctance wise, but then she agreed. It was a very special night for me. We walked aimlessly for hours, talking about this and that. Actually, she talked and I listened. I was out of practice in the art of human conversation and I was afraid that she would judge me unsympathetic and unpleasant. In reality, I was astounded at my luck to walk around the city in the company of a human being just like an ordinary person, and I couldn't stop myself from looking at her incessantly to make sure that she wasn't merely a figment of my imagination.

  "You don't talk much, do you?" she observed.

  I looked down, embarrassed, and shrugged my shoulders.

  "I know. I'm sorry."

  How could I explain to her that, apart from the very short interlude with that family, I haven't spoken with a human being for quite some time? That my only association with the members of her species was aimed at my feeding?

  "You don't have to be sorry. It's very relaxing. Usually people can’t help talking about themselves and dumbfound you with endless chatter. Just like what I'm doing right now myself. It seems like you're very interested in what people say and this is satisfactory.

  "Than
k you."

  "Thank you to you" she said, giving me a wonderful smile.

  She suddenly noticed that I was looking behind me with some frequency: a safety measure I employ due to my enemies who may be lurking at any corner. I am talking about werewolves, of course, and look what happened the last time I had let my guard down.

  "Are you worried about something?" she asked.

  "No, I’m not. It’s just that sometimes I feel as if someone is following me. Silly, isn't it?"

  "Not silly, but strange. Do you think someone would be eager to pick a fight with a guy who looks like the way you look?"

  I stopped and scrutinized her, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why? How do I look like?"

  She stared at me for a moment with a little smile, trying to figure out whether I was kidding or not.

  "You do know that you are about six-foot seven, dressed all in black with huge shoulders and disturbing eyes, right? Do you really think there would be many people eager to pick a fight with someone like you? Apart from some lunatic, I mean."

  "Then what are you doing here with me if I'm so scary?"

  "Well, I have no intention of mugging you, that’s for sure!"

  She made me laugh and the awkwardness was gone.

  "I want to tell you a secret about my eyes: I wear colored contact lenses."

  "Ohh, such vanity! What's wrong with your natural color?"

  "Uhm... I'm almost an albino, I guess you noticed that. My eyes have a reddish hue that makes me look like... like a vampire. I can't stand them."