I never felt so lost and alone.
Zwart had always been by my side out in the unknown when I had no place to go.
I had been turned into a creature hated by everyone, I could not ask for hospitality from anyone, even from people of my own race; the only ones I knew had turned their backs on me just because I had shown a bit of humanity towards a poor girl dragged in that house by deception. I no longer had a place to take refuge in when day came and the girl was dead anyway.
I was a disgrace, both as a man and as a vampire.
I stood for a while on the boulevard in front of the house, shaking and not from the cold: that rejection, so unexpected, really hurt me. That night, my heart hardened in a sharp and irrevocable way. I realized that this phase of rationalizing as a human was gone forever. The world was cruel to me and, in turn, I, too, would have to be ruthless with it: since then, with rare exceptions, I have always followed this credo and this is probably the reason I have reached my current old age. There is a price to pay, of course, there always will be. Mine was solitude and oblivion, the ones I had imposed on myself after committing unspeakable acts for the sake of my survival or in the name of my Clan. Forgetting was the only possible way to move forward. Not thinking, just acting, was even better. Now these pages are reopening a gruesome Pandora’s Box and the real danger is that what I will find will destroy the deepest part of me, call it soul, call it whatever you want, for I'll be unable to go on living with the iniquity of what it used to be. It's a risk I have to take, however, or I'll never know who I was and what I have become.
That night, depressed and in pain, I walked around London looking for a place to hide. Finally, just an hour before dawn, I broke into the house of a poor old man whom I killed in order to feed. I crawled under his bed, within the dust and dirt, falling asleep with my face covered by a blanket while I was still wondering what would become of me in the days to come.
My life as a vampire couldn't start under less favorable omens.
The following evening, when I woke up, I felt a bit better from a physical point of view. At least I slept and fed, even if thirst was there again. Now that I'm much older, I can afford to space my killings out up to eight or ten days, but for a newborn vampire, feeding every night is an imperative which no one cannot escape from. I left my hideout and threw just a quick glance at the old man's body, now stiffened in death with a surprised expression frozen forever on his grayish face, then I went out into the night. It was raining and there wasn't a single soul around, but after a few hours I managed to find a man asleep on the street under a pile of filthy rags. I wouldn't have even noticed him if it wasn't for his smell.
I assaulted and drained him, carefully detaching from him before death seized him. I had learned at least that lesson.
Now what? - I thought soon after that - What can someone of my race do with no friends and no place to go?
An eternal life lead that way seemed unbearable to me. I seriously considered the prospect of greeting the rising sun, but then I recalled a place where I had already found refuge once, when I was lonely and desperate: The Palmer's. Suddenly, I was craving to see Ambrosine and Kristen, and that desire erased all concerns about the suitability of such a decision. I didn't want to think about what would happen if they found out about my new nature and, all the way there taken at supersonic speed, did nothing but foretaste the moment I'd met them again, their joy in discovering I was not dead, but only changed... a bit ... .
When I arrived at the shop window, however, my enthusiasm had its first setback.
Everything looked neglected: the glass was dirty and the entry step looked cluttered with trash, as if no one for months had crossed the threshold. It was summer, not a very busy period for a charcoal seller, but Ambrosine had always been very careful to keep even the outside of the store respectable. I looked up at the windows, full of apprehension, and noticed a light in one of the Palmer's; my flat was in darkness, though. It was easy to pick the lock and go inside. Even without my new powers, I had no difficulty in moving around in the dark in that place that I knew just like the back of my hands: here's the back room with the chair where I had sat so many years ago, full of hunger and hope; here is Roger's log of sales, which in recent years I had compiled myself. God, it seemed ages since the last time I was here and, yet, not even a month had passed. I went to the stairs to head to the upper floor and there, for the first time, I hesitated. What if Ambrosine couldn't withstand the shock of seeing me? What if Kristen screamed calling out the whole neighborhood? I climbed the first step. I forgot it creaked unless you had the foresight to put your foot slightly to the side. I cursed and stood still, then cursed again when Ambrosine's trembling voice asked, "Who's there?"
I felt like turning back and running, but the desire to see her again was too strong. I slicked down my hair, took a long useless breath, and climbed up the stairs.
I was about to knock but the door opened and found, in front of me, my savior. She widened her mouth and her eyes, let the candle fall, and sagged like an empty sack, unconscious. I held her up before she could fall to the ground, lifted her up in my arms, and took her back inside, laying her down on her bed. As I was carrying her, I realized how light she was. She seemed to have been consumed by grief, attributable first to Roger's loss, then to mine. I didn’t keep my promise and that was something I'd regret forever.
Although the light in the room was confined to a solitary candle on the windowsill, I thought it was wise to wear the dark glasses Shibeen had given me. One shock at a time was more than enough for that poor woman. Having done this, I tried to revive her by gently slapping her cheeks and calling out her name. Finally, she gave the first signs of regaining consciousness and opened her eyes, finding me in her vision smiling at her and holding her hand.
"It's me, Ambrosine... I am back, you see. Your Ray's here."
She let go of my hold and rose up on her elbows, staring at me with a feverish look on her emaciated face.
"You... You are not Ray. My Ray is dead. You're not him!" she said in a trembling voice, never taking her eyes away from my face. Was I so very different for humans?
"It's me and I can prove it. Ask me whatever you want."
"What... what was your dog's name? The white, small one. And where is it now?"
I smiled, anticipating her reaction.
"He wasn't white nor small. He was black and huge. His name was Zwart, but you always called him Stuart. He died in summer 1701, at fifteen. I took the carriage and I drove him..."
I couldn't finish my sentence. With a cry, Ambrosine rushed into my arms and hugged me with all the strength she had while at the same time stroking my hair and repeating my name over and over again like a prayer. I returned the hug, hoping she would not notice how cold my skin was and barely restraining my emotion; I didn't want her to see my tears of blood.
"Ray, oh Ray, thank God, I prayed so much... I knew you weren't dead, I felt it... but... but where have you been all this time, what happened? They had talked about a fire in a tavern and a woman even came to show us a... Oh my God, it was terrible, but I knew that it wasn't you. I told Kristen and that woman but she insisted that I was just a poor old woman who had lost her son and..."
She burst into tears again and hugged me tightly again. I had never hated myself as much as at that moment when I realized how much pain I had given to that woman who called me "son" and who had always treated me likewise.
"Forgive me, Ambrosine. Forgive me for having made you worry desperately. I would like to try to explain to you what happened, even though at the end you'll possibly hate me and never want to see me again."
"Why? I could never hate you, Ray. Never. Tell me please; don't cause me to be even more concerned. And, light another candle, I want to see your beautiful face much better. I have dreamt about you for so many times, at night..."
She stroked my cheek and, for the first time, I saw her puzzled face. In her mind, the word "cold" appeared together with a hin
t of concern. Now I had two options: I could lie and tell her I escaped the fire with severe injuries, which had healed thanks to the loving care of an unknown benefactor; in this case, my future relationship with Ambrosine would have been based on continuous deception and lies. On the other hand, I could tell her the truth and hope that she would accept me for who I had become.
Almost trembling with apprehension, I chose the second way, the truth; and, as the night entered its deepest hours, I told my story from the time I had left home that last night until the day before when I had been kicked out by my maker for having been too compassionate. To substantiate my account, I finally took off my glasses and let Ambrosine observe my new eyes. I made her touch my chest in the vain search of a beating heart and showed her my teeth in all their menacing length. Then I waited for the verdict.
She stood silent for a while, with tears running down her cheeks. She kept staring at me with such a painful expression and with so much love that I could not hold her gaze. I put my dark glasses on again with the pretense that they protected me from the intensity of the light. It was getting late, I still wanted to go to Kristen and then I had to look for a place for the night. A part of me, not even a small part, hoped that the good old woman would invite me to stay, but I did not want to delude myself. Who, in his right mind, would peacefully sleep with a vampire under his own roof? I would have never hurt her, I'd rather die a thousand times instead, but she couldn't be sure about that.
"Sorry... Forgive me, Ray, you told me your story and I'm here staring at you as if you were some sort of freak. I'm in despair for what has happened to you, my dear, for the way life has been stolen from you twice, and in such a brutal way. I know I should fear you, reject you, run and take all the crosses I have, but I can't. You're still my Ray and I'm happy that you're still alive, in one way or another.”
She opened her arms and I took refuge in them, struggling not to surrender to the tears.
"Thank you, Ambrosine, you don't know what this means to me, you really have no idea. I'll often come and see you, I promise, but now I want to go to Kristen and have to find a shelter for the night."
She lowered her eyes as if something disturbed her. I was struggling not to read her mind as I found it rude so I couldn't understand the reason of her behavior.
"She left, Ray. She went back to her parents a week after they told us you were dead. You can't blame her, she's young and had the right to start a new life. Of course, now it's all changed... Oh, Lord, I'm not sure she's going to handle this the right way, given her temper. Maybe you should think carefully before going to her...
I had already decided. True, she had the right to rebuild her life. I hadn't been that good as a husband; what was the point in going to her and reopening old wounds that were slowly healing? Thus, even with a broken heart, that night I said goodbye to my wife, wishing that she would find someone who could make her happier than I did myself. I told Ambrosine about my decision, but she didn't agree. She argued that it wasn't fair to hide the truth from Kristen, but I was firm and, in the end, she did not insist.
"Now I have to go. It’s going to be dawn soon and I still don't know where I'm going to sleep. I promise I'll be back soon. Better, I'll come to see you every night."
"Don't be silly! Why should you find another place to live? This is home to you, and the apartment on the side is empty. If you don't mind, I mean, for some reason I don't know..."
I took her hand and I smiled at her: "Nothing would make me happier. I just thought that... you would be scared sharing your house with someone like me."
"You're always my Ray, nothing's going to change it. You can stay here as long as you wish. You'll have to explain to me something about your new, uhm, habits."
I told her about our need to sleep in a light-shaded place, I advised her never to open my trunk during the day - Shibeen told me about that infamous instinct that leads us to attack those who disturb our sleep - and I warned her that every night I would have to go in search of food. I saw her going pale for a moment, but she recovered quickly and smiled at me.
"Tomorrow, first thing, I'll reopen the store. It's been closed for at least two weeks.... I couldn't make it alone. I will call Robert, the boy, to come help me every day. Oh, Ray, I'm so glad you're back! I felt so alone ... I had wished to die so many times lately; all I wanted was to join Roger and you in Heaven. "
I avoided telling her that I would have to forget heaven forever.
I do not know where individuals like me ended up after death, but I don't imagine that it would be a very friendly place. I would prefer to delay the visit as much as possible, even if, during my lifetime, I had reached such peaks of physical and mental suffering that I had already wished to die many times.
Back to more concrete issues, I asked her if I could use the trunk they had in their room at the foot of the bed; it was a sturdy oak and definitely big enough to contain me. At first, she didn't take in why I needed it and I had to explain; the color drained from her again, but she nodded and said nothing, hurrying to empty it.
What a woman, my Ambrosine. It is hard to find someone with such an open mind, able to accept within just a few hours a reality like the one I had revealed to her while still keeping a smile on her face.
Only children are able to do this, lucky them.
"How will we manage to take it in your apartment? It's very heavy," she said.
I didn't even give her time to finish her sentence when I lifted the bulky trunk up as if it was just an empty box. The problem was passing with it through the doors. Cursing in my language as not to stun Ambrosine with the swearing, I turned it, rolled it over, lifted it, pushed it, pulled it, and kicked it until, somehow, I managed to cross the two thresholds and place it on the floor of what had been my and Kristen’s bedroom.
It was time to take shelter in it. I said goodnight to Ambrosine who had followed me there, renewed my gratitude and my recommendations to her, and made arrangements to see her the next day at sunset. She looked at me for a moment and I saw tears in her eyes, held back with difficulty, but she also gave me a smile and motioned to me with her hand, then I closed the lid and fell asleep serenely.
That trunk is the same one in which I sleep nowadays. It has always followed me in my journeys and every night at bedtime I remember where it comes from and I acknowledge the wonderful people who owned it before me.
3 - PLEASANT HABITS
From that evening, a pleasant routine started, giving me a peace of mind and allowing me to concentrate on my new condition. Every day at sunset, Ambrosine woke me up by banging two blows on the lid of the trunk; I found a jug of hot water to wash and the fireplace burning in winter. I didn't suffer from the cold anymore, I could have gone out naked in the middle of a blizzard and nothing would have happened, but I didn't want to take those little pleasures away from her, nor make her think about how much I had changed.
I used to spend some hours with her as she had dinner, reading something to her in the first hours of the evening until she went to bed. Then I went hunting, something I was getting more and more skilled at, and spent the rest of the night wandering around or staying at home reading, lying on my bed just like an ordinary human. Ambrosine seemed to have revived and the outside of the shop looked proper again.
For some time, I insisted that she hire a clerk to replace her in the shop. She was over sixty years old, quite an old age during those times, and I did not want her to fatigue working all day. She finally gave in and began the search for the right person, using the sign hanging on the door. She'd wanted me to help her interview candidates, but I thought it wise not to give a large number of people the chance to examine me. Her judgment had to be good enough since it had always given excellent results.
It's no coincidence they had hired me.
4 - ENEMIES
When everything seemed to be going well, something happened that would forever mark my future: I had my first close encounter with two members of the opposing spe
cies, werewolves.
In the short period spent with my maker, I learned that they didn't need the full moon to transform, although it was during those nights that their strength was at its greatest. Their transformation occur quickly and leave their intellectual abilities intact, namely, they can still remain quite intelligent if, of course, they possessed such a gift as humans. The physical characteristics helping us to distinguish them from ordinary people, apart from their smell, were not many: usually they were taller than average and very muscular, usually male, often with yellowish eyes, but that was not a strict rule. My archenemy Greylord's eyes, for instance, are as blue as the sky.
I had the chance to see him well when he caught me and almost killed me in 1840, and I remember those eyes, believe me.
There are only two guarantees: one, silver kills them, it doesn't just hurt them. My weapons are made of this material, including Doimar, the long dagger I used to take with me all the time hidden in my coat or boots.
The second one is that their bites are poisonous to us even if their poison is slow to act. Even the scratches from their claws are injurious. They cause very painful wounds which take months to heal and leave horrible scars, as Sophie had witnessed after seeing my battered chest.
The night of my first meeting, though, I was unarmed and I didn't even have the slightest interest of being so.
Lycans were the last of my concerns when I had encountered them.
I have already had dinner and was heading to the most elegant areas of the city to walk undisturbed. Here, the air was more breathable, streets wider and cleaner, houses more pleasant to admire.
It was a winter evening and the fog made confused and nebulous outlines of things.
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