Chapter Two

Chapter Two

I remember there was a lot of darkness. It didn’t seem normal, because there was this invisible gleam that seemed alive, waiting for something. It was true blackness, living and breathing, filled with an absolute silence so still that I thought it would break if I tried to move.

     It was like a huge nothing had swallowed me up, and I merely existed, floating in this unending, strange ocean. I don’t know how I came to be there. All I know is that I just suddenly, was. I remember telling Simon that I had no sense of place, of time, of being anyone or anything.

     It felt like an eternity, but I felt a sudden urge to move. It came over a long period of time, my senses growing in awareness of one another and their surroundings. There was the need to wake up, to free myself from this prison that kept me paralyzed. I needed to establish limitations, to know if I could get out of here. I didn’t want to be there anymore. I wanted to be.

     It hurt to wake up. A sharp jolt ripped through me, sending a wave of agony into the space I dreamed in. I strove to make the connection and keep it strong. I pushed harder, relishing the sense of pain that bloomed in my consciousness.

     After that first initial wave, it felt like tiny tendrils snaked throughout my whole body, poking and prodding at my inner and outer extremities. I was impatient and the pain was of no concern to me. I began to feel the suggestion of limbs stir and burn as they strove to return to life. I managed to flex my fingers a few times, but they crumbled, over and over again, each new pain a torture for me to discover. The feeling of my bones breaking and cracking into a million pieces was echoed throughout my body. The blood roared through my veins, adrenaline and causing it to flow twice as fast, burning and freezing with no cease.

     I strained to make my body move in any way possible. It resisted my attempts, screeching at the injustice of the trials I put it through, sending wave after wave of pain coursing over me. It became a wall, and I felt powerless before it, but I was determined to triumph.

     Just when I thought the wall couldn’t get any harder to overcome, I was shot off into darkness again. All feeling left me, and I was suspended into nothingness. I panicked a little. What was going on?

     A dislocated vision rose unbidden before me, encircling me in its choking grasp.

     A quick flash of a pretty girl in a mirror, a girl I didn’t know. A man stood behind her, told her to calm down, everything was going to be alright. A nervous laugh; she wanted to just cry into his shoulder. But it was too late for regrets now…

     …Lights suddenly flooded a large room. Why had they chosen a church? Was this some sort of cosmic irony? She lay with her back to the cold marble, a chill breeze from nowhere making her shiver. Four men were gathered around her now, one in a dark robe that completely hid his face from view. He came forward and lay his hands on her stomach, chanting something unintelligible under his breath. She couldn’t see his eyes…

     …Pain, agony, too much red before her eyes. Running all over her body, something hot and burning that cut to the very marrow of her bones. The pain was so much worse than anything before that moment. Even more so than that one time… It was better that he hadn’t know, had just assumed she’d tried to kill herself again…

     It was the final moment before the darkness claimed her… She had seen him take the blow for her, but it had been futile. The other two men had rushed out with the robed figure between them, guarding against whatever was attacking her, killing her… But he had stayed, had held her hand before she had succumbed, promising that he would send for help soon. The sun was rising, night was only beginning for her…

     All of a sudden, the feeling rushed back, much too fast, and I could feel every little ache and pain. It was all too much, especially when I felt a deep agony in my belly, as if I’d been gored through. My heart was beating too fast, pounding in my ribcage like it was about ready to explode. I gasped like a fish out of water, my hands clawing and scratching at my throat, deep enough to draw blood. I felt it trickle like tiny raindrops, hot and thick like syrup.

     At last, I managed to open my eyes. They came apart so suddenly, as if a great hand had forced me to keep them closed. Pain shot through my skull from the light, as if I had just been shot, and my mouth wrenched itself apart at the seams. An army of screams was unleashed, a multitude that rose one on top of the other, charging and piercing the still, dead air around me. My pain cried out to the heavens, becoming a discordant cacophony that rebounded and echoed until there seemed to be millions of me screaming on end.

     My eyes filled with tears, burning at the blurred luminosity. It scoured away every last vestige of darkness that still clung to the corners of my eyes. I pressed the palms of my hands to my sockets, cursing and continuously screaming at the top of my lungs for darkness to close over me. It was agony, it was torture!

I finally choked on the last scream, my throat twisted in raw pain, my voice hoarse and ruptured as I gave a mangled croak, trying out my voice. I lay still, feeling the press of the cold marble on my backside, although the feeling seemed numb. I felt my chest rise and fall, the breath escaping through my nose, my heart slowing down to a normal rate. I opened my eyes slowly this time, trying to discern shapes in the fudged light that surrounded me.

It took a few moments, and then everything became clear and defined to me all at once. My head began to ache, but I refused to close my eyes and wait for the pain to pass. The light adjusted in my sight, and the vague, indiscernible shapes turned into arched ceilings that seemed to stretch into infinity, carved like a bud in bloom. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, burning strongly without a flicker.

When I turned my head to the side, there was a cross centered in a border of marble that shone, framed with gold inlay pounded with the scenes from the Stations of the Cross. On the right, near the back of the altar, a life-like statue of Mary stood with her head thrust heavenward, while a still Joseph worked at a carpenter’s bench to the left.  My memory was stirred a bit at the sight, and I found my thoughts echoing those that I had heard in the visions; Why a church?

I sat up, carefully so that I wouldn’t upset myself. Dots formed in front of my eyes from the sudden blood rush, briefly clouding my vision. I felt woozy and dizzy, but after a few minutes the worst of it subsided. How long had I laid here? Why was I even here in the first place? Some vague notion of being changed…

I raised a hand to brush a strand of hair behind my ear, but stopped when I noticed something odd about my hand. It was… Strange, how my skin appeared so dark. When I flexed a bit, my skin cracked unpleasantly. Okay, that didn’t seem normal. On a whim, I brought the stuff to my mouth and tasted it. There was a copper taste that grew in my mouth as I pondered, trying to figure out what it was. It slowly warmed and liquefied, running down to the back of my throat.

Still thinking, I removed my finger from my mouth and proceeded to concentrate on getting my legs to move. It took a bit of jerking around before I was able to get my deadened limbs to drop over the edge of what was probably the altar. I maneuvered myself and slid off the side, settling my weight onto my legs. I stumbled, almost collapsing, and grabbed the ledge for support, managing to lower myself to the darkened floor. I flinched and gasped aloud as sensation began to flow back into my legs, and felt a most unpleasant urge to itch. I began to absently scratch a leg, then glanced down and screamed.

I was covered in a strange brown-black guck that clung like a second skin. I screamed, because I figured out what it was. Blood. I was covered in it.. My hands were flexing in irritation and fear because I was possessed with a growing, burning need to itch at the stuff. I rose awkwardly, ignoring the pain my legs, backing away and spinning in a dizzying circle to look at this nightmare scene.

The altar of cold, white marble, with twisted black veins that I had been lying on, was covered in dried blood. It was as if the stone had just bled all over me. Where I had been was marked with a white patch, leaving the marble exposed. A few feet from the altar was a rough circle drawn in blood, and blood was everywhere. The blood covered me too, caked on like mud. I could feel it in my hair, along my arms and legs, and, worst of all, my face.

The awful part about it all was that I wasn’t dreaming any of it up. It was real.

I started to run, blind to everything else around me, my direction uncertain and undecided. My stomach reeled with barely pent up nausea, as I ran down rows and rows of empty pews.

I collided with a pair of heavy wooden doors that had been barred from without, but, instead of stopping, I broke the barrier, numb to the wood slivers embedded in my skin. I darted through a locked door marked with a woman’s restroom sign, almost knocking it off its hinges, the lights snapping on with a flick of the switch. I then turned all the faucets as far as they would go. I ripped off my clothes and dropped them onto the floor, watching them soaked as the water began to flow.

I broke open the paper towel dispenser and ripped off the whole roll maniacally, soaking them in the water. Then I began to scrub, covering my naked body with soap and working at the blood with an obsessive singlemindedness. The blood had gone and stained my whole body, turning my skin into old rust. I don’t know how long I was at it. When I stopped working on my body, I dunked my hair into a sink instead. I wanted all of the blood gone.

Scrape, scrub, rinse, repeat. Even when it seemed was gone, I still saw it there. I continued to wash until my skin turned red and broke open in raw sores, burning and crying out for me to stop.

But I wouldn’t listen.

* * *

Simon slowly removed his shades as he studied me intently. It took him a while to gather his thoughts before he spoke. “There was no one else with you when you woke up? At all?”

I gazed at him with confusion, not understanding the implications. My knees were tucked up to my chin, my arms wrapped around them to keep them from slipping. “Was there supposed to be someone?” I asked. “I don’t think I noticed anyone. And if there had been, they probably would have come when they heard me.”

Simon looked away, cursing under his breath. “Damn it. I thought Terrant was sent over… I’m going to have to report this to the Elders.” He shook his head. With a worn sigh, he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Never mind then.”

Tilting my head, I considered his words. “So, is this a practical joke or something?” I asked. He could probably tell me what was going on, and then I could get out of this place.

He stood up and folded his arms, looking grim. “I guess I have a few things to explain to you then.” He gave a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders and came right out with the sentence that changed my life. “You’re a vampire now. A Nightwalker.” He paused, leaning in close to stare me straight in the eye. “Do you get it?”

I slowly began to nod, not really hearing what he was saying because I’d been too entranced by his beguiling eyes. I shook my head to break the trance. “What?” I asked, dazed. Shock settled in over whatever pleasant, neutral feeling I’d had.

“I- Are you serious?” I stared at him. “Do you seriously believe that crap?” He remained silent. There was nothing in his expression to say otherwise.

“Do you think this is funny? Because it’s not!” I continued to rail, but Simon looked away, and I caught a hint of sadness in his eyes. He was serious. “That is the most preposterous thing I have ever heard! Me? A vampire?! Get real!” I barked out a short, scornful laugh, then started pacing madly out in the aisle.

What he said couldn’t be true. Was he absolutely convinced this was real?! A guy like him? But he acted like he really put stock into the whole idea. Ridiculous!

“Huh!” I said, shaking my head, all the while trying to deny the part that was growing louder, that begged me to believe he told the truth.

He arose suddenly from his relaxed pose to grab my arm, completely taking me by surprise, but my outrage died at the look in his eyes. I bent as pulled me back into the pew and sat me back down. He glared, but faltered and sighed instead.

“Look,” he said heavily, “you are a vampire, whether you accept the fact or not. The proof is here, if you need it.” He pulled up the sleeve of my sweatshirt, revealing a symbol carved into my skin that I hadn’t noticed before. The mark was a unique one:

†

I gasped when he touched it, for, immediately, I felt an aching in my teeth. I ran a tentative finger along them, but exclaimed in shock when refute every fiber of my being said the proof was there. Everything Simon said was true.

“No,” I whispered in horror. I watched spellbound as Simon brought out a small switchblade and held it in front of my face. I moaned. My reflection showed a face that might be pretty under a softer light; high cheekbones, pale skin that looked sickly, almond shaped eyes, nothing extraordinary. My pupils, though, were a dark red. They dilated and became almost black holes, intent on trapping me. They were… I don’t want to say… Hungry. I shivered, daring myself to look at the teeth that I knew protruded.

There they were. My eye teeth had extended to the sides of my mouth, looking strangely canine, keen and dangerous, ready to sink into some weak neck, to get closer to the pulsing blood… the blood I suddenly craved…

“NO!!!” I shouted, wrenching the knife out of Simon’s grasp and chucking it as hard as I could, farther than any normal person could ever throw. I thought I was normal, yet here was proof that defied my logic. I could see the knife as if someone had hit a slow motion button. It sailed in concentric circles, flying and sinking up to the hilt into the wall. I shuddered, looking at my hands; unsure of whom I was for the first time that night.

It certainly wasn’t the last time I would question myself.

Simon laid a hand on my shoulder. “It’s true,” he whispered, his voice low and sorrowful. “And you know it.” But that seemed too harsh. His gaze softened when he saw the fear and confusion I wrestled with. His eyes seemed to become unfocused as he reached out with a delicate touch to wipe a stray tear from my cheek.

“Angeline,” he breathed. I shivered, but it was more from unexpected desire welling up inside me than from fear or anxiety. I compulsively embraced him, feeling his warmth, taking in his scent of leather and motorcycles. He responded in turn, lost somewhere I couldn’t seem to reach. All of a sudden, he stiffened and withdrew from me, pulling my arms from him as if afraid. I darted to my corner of the pew, settling hard against it.

I watched him for a few moments, the longing I felt overcoming me in a wave that wrenched at my heart. My mouth held a bitter taste, causing me to spit out, “What’s wrong with me?!” I fell silent, burying my face in my arms. “This has to do with Angeline, doesn’t it?” I mumbled after a moment, not wanting to look at him.

I heard Simon move behind me, feeling a sharp wrench as my face came out into the open. I was caught unprepared for his onslaught of anger and sorrow.

 “You don’t know?” he whispered, incredulous. “You really haven’t figured it out yet?” He flung my face to the side, turning around so his back was to me.

I waited in silence. I was confused again. Somehow, my anger towards his rejection hadn’t been justified. This was something else entirely. What, I didn’t know.

He laughed drily. “No, you have no idea.” I could hear the unshed tears he must have been holding back. This caused an unexpected pang of guilt. What was I putting him through?

“Angeline… She’s you. You stole her body. And now she’s gone.”

* * *