Chapter Three

The taste of blood far sweeter than I could have ever imagined, it remained on the tip of my tongue as though taking up residence there. The lasting memory of the woman from whom I drank burned upon my soul as an everlasting tribute, the experience without parallel, although, truth be known, I did not have much with which I could compare it. Regardless of how hard I tried, I still did not recall who this man named Peter had been prior to waking.

The fleeting recollection of Lydia remained the sole concept I possessed of who I was, and even that painted a grim picture. I saw myself crying toward the night sky, expressing remorse over the knife wounds I had inflicted, but another piece to the puzzle provided a sharp contrast to my tear-stained repentance. The sight of blood; I remembered slitting the throat of the man in Lydia’s bed and knew I had enjoyed it. My vampire instincts reveled in it, taking hold of it as proof Sabrina was right. I was born to be a killer.

That moment marked the genesis of a dichotomy.

The seed planted did not bear fruit immediately. At first, the gaping, black holes forming my past life were a wide enough berth for the fledgling vampire to roam free. My new condition had me far too enamored to search too long and hard for my long-lost recollections and as such, I merely lived within the moment, with no thought or reservation given over to what I did. Blood seared my conscience nearly from the start.

The morning after my awakening, I returned to my new quarters after a night spent becoming acquainted with the other immortals in the coven. More crimson was spilled and wine and decadence teased me with a hint of nights yet to come. I fell to sleep like clockwork at sunrise and all was black until the reign of dusk.

The very next evening, the siren call of night threw my eyes open and woke the thirst the moment I waded into consciousness. By the time Sabrina entered my room, my fangs ached and slid out of their own volition. My eyes gravitated toward what she held in her hands. The scent of blood became pervasive throughout the room.

“My young one hungers,” Sabrina said the moment she saw my eyes consumed with lust; teeth elongated. She sat beside me, handing over a goblet filled to the brim with that thick, crimson liquid I worshipped and I consumed it with vigor, drinking down each drop as if starved. She watched with bridled enthusiasm.

The smile touching her lips became especially pronounced when I wiped the remnant from my mouth and asked, “Why didn’t you have me feed from a mortal?”

Her eyes danced. In that moment, the sensuality she wore in her very posture spoke to me. It was little wonder she caught my eye as a mortal; she appeared to have the capacity to lure the most jaded eye if only she would use her seductive wiles against them. A simple response drifted past luscious lips. “Because tonight, we are going to teach you how to hunt,” she said. Little did I know that the concept latent in those words would thrill me beyond measure. By the time she led me from my room, entrusting the short-haired vampire present for my awakening – Timothy – with the task of assisting me, the sadistic impulses present during my first feed were buzzing as an undercurrent in my psyche once again.

It should be noted none of this would have been possible without the glasses which found their way onto my face. Before Sabrina presented me to the others, we tested the lights only to find they still burned my eyes with unadulterated agony, something which both surprised and did not surprise Sabrina all at once. When I asked about it, I was told, “This just makes you unique, dear,” before she turned to Rose – the woman and third member of the silent jury – telling her to procure the darkest pair of lenses she could find.

She received no help from Michael in the venture. Truth be known, Michael raised my ire beyond my initial assessment of his condescending manner the more I dealt with him. On my way outside with Timothy to hunt, I passed Michael in the vestibule. We exchanged a look of mutual disdain before severing the gaze. I dismissed it, but only for the time being, in favor of focusing on the task at hand.

The lesson itself was as rudimentary as biting a mortal and the hunt enchanted me just as much. My instincts took hold of being a predator, my ears only distantly hearing Timothy speak of matters such as scent and the harmony of their pulse. The first mortal to cross our path became my next victim and their death was just as insignificant to me as the victim from the previous evening. The thrill of stalking them enamored me far more. So much, in fact, that I pushed my fledgling mortal memories onto the back burner for the time being.

The following nights were spent lavished in blood and lessons. Sabrina summoned me to the common area the next evening and left me in Michael’s care, saying, “Teach your brother the things he needs to know.” Her instructions seemed to leave a poor taste in both our mouths. I thanked heaven for my visual infirmity at that moment, as my sunglasses blocked the annoyed look in my eyes while Sabrina walked away. Michael huffed and motioned for me to follow him toward the opposite end of the room.

“Well, now that you’re a vampire, we must keep you from destroying yourself in neophyte stupidity,” Michael said as we passed several of the others. His manner of speech struck me as odd for the first time, an erudite marriage of British and Irish with a properness present in Timothy’s more American accent as well. I glanced around the room and took stock of the well-tailored suits and handmade dresses surrounding me, making my hand-me-down shirts and slacks pale in comparison. In that instant, I realized I had been reborn into a haven for bloodthirsty sophisticates.

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

My gaze shifted back to Michael, a sarcastic grin accompanying my response. “Loud and clear,” I said. “Keep the idiot from killing himself, right?”

“So long as you understand your station.” Michael perked an eyebrow, regarding me in silence for a moment before looking away and continuing. He did not bother to sit when I did, merely paced around avoiding eye contact as he laid out before me the first of several instructions.

It did not take long for me to discover that most of what mortals know about vampires is absolute nonsense. Certainly, the rumor about feeding on blood revealed itself in all its naked honesty as did another vital tenant which Michael laid out before me in the very first lesson. “When you see the sky lighten, you must seek refuge at once,” he said while leaning against the wall. “Do not question how many minutes you may have. Get inside before the sun has chance to rise.”

“What will happen if I’m caught outside at daytime?” I asked.

Michael huffed. “Well, we shall be certain to sweep up your remnant when the sun sets.”

“What do you mean by ‘remnant’?”

“Dust, dear brother.” Impatience dripped from the term of endearment. “You will be dust and nothing more. There’s a good reason why it’s called a curse.”

I perked an eyebrow, but did not ask him to elaborate any further. Although the word curse manifested itself multiple times, the picture he painted hardly seemed like a curse to me. Yes, stakes through the heart would kill us, as would decapitation. Starving us would weaken us to the point of death and possibly push a neophyte over the edge. The young ones must feed, he said, and I certainly had no qualms with this. I was well on my way to indulging the hunt like an art form. From there, the dismissal of superstitions surfaced; holy water was nothing more than water, crosses were religious iconography, and garlic a mortal delicacy and nothing more. Michael barely touched on the sensual aspects of being immortal, but he had no need of doing so. I discovered it well enough on my own.

The night a tender lover, it whispered tempting prospects in my ear each evening. The moment for which all of immortal kind live soon would follow – cutting past flesh, dining on crimson running from mortal veins. Dark, warm, and satisfying; I indulged it for two blissful weeks of ignorance, becoming more attuned my amplified senses each time I stalked and fed.  My new eyes, sensitive though they were, possessed a level of awareness I was certain they did not have when I was mortal. Tools of a hunter, they could track any moving creature within the darkness and in detail, at that. My sunglasses did nothing to hinder them.

My hearing had become amplified as well, but neither my eyes, nor ears, were what held me hostage the most. No, that honor belonged to my senses of smell and taste. Invigorating, they fueled one to become that much more clever of a killer, so as to savor the consumption of one more blessed soul before discarding it and moving onward. The chase was thrilling, yes. Our limbs moved with strength, agility, and flexibility mortals could only dream of possessing. None of this, however, could surmount the smell of fear and the taste of warm blood as it cascaded down our throats.

Sustaining the disconnect between what I once was and that which I had become gave me no problem at first, but little did I know how fleeting my blissful ignorance was to be. As I stalked a mortal one evening – alone now, having proven myself able to hunt without detection – the cadence of a whisper grew in volume and jarred me straight from the feed with my victim only half-depleted. I heard a voice speak in my head and a name resurfaced like an unwelcome visitor from the grave.

Lydia.

Something other than the vision of her dropping dead at my feet came rushing through the newborn vampire haze and brought me face to face with a creature who looked strangely familiar. In my thoughts, I saw a reflection of the person whose identity she called outward, a tall man with sympathetic blue eyes. That man had been me.

“Peter Dawes, I love you.”

The first time my full mortal name surfaced and it occurred with a woman clinging to the final spark of life, my arms wrapped around her with my fangs still deep inside her neck. I pulled away and took several deep breaths, having no need of the air, but plenty of need for steadying my thoughts. The dam of recollection had yet to burst, but water sprang from a hole and threatened to bring down the remaining infrastructure.

Who was Peter Dawes?

This proved to be the most dangerous question I could possibly ask myself, threatening to shatter the new life I embraced. I finished the woman and discarded her lifeless body, but my steps back to the coven house were uncertain, my mind tracing over the question again and again. Images of me screaming into the night sky resurfaced and the guilt – the horrible, wracking guilt – which held me in its unrelenting throes the night I died replayed as though I’d lost all control of my mental faculties. Who was Peter Dawes? Whomever he had been, he did not revel in death nearly as much as I did.

In fact, he seemed to loathe it. To the point of inconsolable madness.

My rest that morning was unsettled for the first time in my short, immortal life. I tossed and turned, seeing dualistic pictures play out of my mortal self murdering two people and subsequently losing his mind. This Peter seemed closer to the Peter who first woke, petrified over the change that had taken place within him. He cowered in the corner of my mind, until I woke and the instincts of a vampire silenced his voice and brought temptation back to my doorstep.

That evening, my brethren knew something was the matter with me. I became short with each one and especially with Michael when his attitude flared once more. “What is it, Peter? Having a difficult evening?” spilled forth from his lips with taunting sarcasm. I ignored it that evening, but the taunts only continued.

Especially when the memories began to escalate.

Searching for my identity only wound the clock backward, playing memories as though watching a movie on rewind. The more I sought myself, the more I realized what I found buried deep inside was no vampire. Peter Dawes not only loved the woman he sent into the abyss of death, he protected life itself with determination. A cast of characters manifested themselves inside my psyche, looking for something other than this pale-faced creature when they dove into the recesses of my soul.

They sought someone benevolent; someone with a passion for life and a vitality for what he did. Sitting alone in my room with bloody sweat running down my forehead, words flew forth from my lips as though I was possessed. “Doctor. . . Dr. Peter Dawes. Resident. Emergency room physician. Temple University Hospital.” I shook and shivered, looking at my hands and seeing the pallor of death upon me. I imagined the red which stained my hands after I murdered Lydia. The blood of other victims joined her, others whose names I did not know. The ones I killed to sustain my immortal life.

Death, death; all around me was death. “What have I become?” I muttered to myself, clutching onto my own body as a frightful cold descended into my bones. I searched memory after memory, trying to determine how I started down this path in the first place, but my initial attempts were all in vain.

It was not until I remembered Sabrina that I received the answer to my question.

***

The man who would become a killer found immortality in the most unlikely of places.

As my mortal memories resurfaced, I started to recall a coffeeshop, filling the mental image with context as random details surfaced. Things such as the crowds I used to see, when human beings were more than prey to me, materialized, as well as the thoughts I entertained when I found myself contemplating the state of my life. This is how she found me, my eyes distant while I mused with sadness over my relationship with Lydia.

It was all the timing in the world a vampiress needed to lure her latest conquest.

Lydia and I had been together for over two years and although I could not recall everything about our years together at first, I did know that things changed by the time my dark dance with immortality began. My girlfriend and I once knew such closeness with one another and yet, it all seemed to be slipping away, given over to the distance of busy lives spent immersed in differing pursuits. I brooded over the sands of time, noting their pace outran my quest for happiness.

Sabrina sat across from me and startled me away from my thoughts.

I looked up at her, jumping at the sudden appearance of the woman who would become my red-headed coven mistress. Her lips pursed together and her hands knitted on her lap. She crossed her legs and regarded me with interest.

I raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her. “Can I help you?” I asked.

Sabrina lifted a hand and used it to cradle her head as her elbow leaned against the arm of the chair. She was vivacious, yet mature and distinguished at the same time. I noticed the long nails that jutted from her fingers as an afterthought. “I’ve never seen such a young man appear as though he was holding the weight of the world on his shoulders,” she said. “You have me curious.”

I shook my head. “Life,” I said, spitting out the best summary of my thoughts I could fashion. “I’m just thinking about life, that’s all.”

“That’s a pretty weighty subject, Mr. . .”

“Dawes, but please call me Peter.”

“Peter,” she said, allowing my name to roll off of her tongue as if tasting it first to see if it agreed with her. She nodded. “My name is Sabrina, Peter. A pleasure to meet you.”

I nodded in return and reached forward. “Likewise.” We exchanged a handshake over the table before sitting back in our seats once more. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before,” I said in the effort to strike up conversation.

“I take it that means you’re a regular,” she said, an amused glint remaining in her eyes as they plunged deeply into mine.

I did not mind the scrutiny, although I am certain I should have. “I’m a doctor at the hospital just up the street. I come here often.”

“Ah, a doctor.” Sabrina looked at my hands and allowed her gaze to remain on them as she spoke. “Steady, strong hands.” Her eyes lifted back toward mine. “And eyes that see a bit of death, I’m sure.”

I frowned at the thought. “More than you can begin to imagine.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Beyond the operating table?”

I glanced at her, then looked away. “Mostly at the hospital, though I’ve seen it elsewhere. My parents were killed in a car accident.” I paused, reliving the traumatic experience without knowing why I was disclosing this to a complete stranger. “I was in the car, too; barely injured, but for a broken leg. They might have survived as well, but… .”

When I trailed off, I detected the slightest hint of excitement emanating from Sabrina. She spoke before I could acknowledge it. “What happened?”

I looked back at her. “I didn’t know how to help them. It took an hour for the police to arrive and I was too young to be able to do anything for them. That’s why I became a doctor. I wanted to help people.”

“Have you succeeded, Peter?”

“I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“Have you helped others avoid death?”

I frowned, my gaze drifting toward my hands. “That’s the one thing about death, I’ve discovered. Even when you try to avoid it, it comes looking for you anyway.”

“That it does, dear. The question is hardly whether it comes, but what it finds when it reaches you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She chuckled. “Some cower in fear at its presence and buckle when it looks for them, but others overcome it, Peter. They scoff at it and subjugate it, rather than allowing it to take possession of them. I rather prefer that attitude, don’t you?”

“No one can subjugate death, Sabrina. It happens to all of us.” I paused as a peculiar thought entered my mind. “Now, if only there was some way to avoid it altogether. I think I like that option much better.”

Sabrina grinned and allowed my comment to linger before offering her thoughts in return. With that simple confession, I am certain I sealed my fate.

We had several discussions after the fact which always came back around to the macabre. What sorts of things I witnessed in the emergency room; the people who arrived beyond help, the people who were brought back from the brink. The constant stream of death and near misses I was forced to gaze upon each and every night. Her words poisoned my thoughts the longer I spoke with her, until the evening she came right out and asked if I had ever treated puncture wounds.

I laughed and took a sip of my coffee. “Like knife wounds?”

“No, no, my dear,” she said. She raised a daring eyebrow at me. “I mean something like vampire bites.”

The statement nearly caused me to choke on my beverage. “Vampire bites? That’s absolutely insane. You have got to be joking with me.”

Sabrina laughed, cupping her hand over her mouth in the process. “Oh Peter, let’s say for the sake of argument that I’m not.” Composing herself, she cleared her throat and challenged me with her gaze, the corner of her mouth still curled upward in an amused grin. “Have you ever treated anything like that?”

“No, Sabrina. I’ve never treated vampire bites.”

Her smirk only broadened. “You find the idea incredulous, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” I scoffed. “Vampires are monsters in horror movies. They don’t exist.”

“You are certain of this?”

“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes, but something caused me to stop, a strange premonition which had been making its presence more and more known within my consciousness. For as long as I could remember, there had always been a melancholy darkness shrouding my demeanor, but before I met Sabrina, I had not sensed it nearly so pronounced. Those days, however, it had started affecting the way I looked at everything and treated those surrounding me.

My temper started to surface a bit more readily. I had become more distracted. My normally-keen focus upon my work was given over to strange daydreams and notions, many of them chillingly horrific. Just as soon as they would surface I would shake them away, but in that moment, sitting in the coffee shop, I sensed the chill in my soul attempt to wrap its bony fingers around me once more.

“Think of it, dear Peter.” Sabrina’s voice drifted to me as though through a dream. “A being elevated beyond death. Fanciful notion or not, you have to admit it’s a tempting prospect.”

I perked an eyebrow at the notion. Was it a tempting prospect? My thoughts returned to what I had been mulling on earlier and painted a frown on my face. “Yes, you’re right,” I said. “Perhaps being a vampire wouldn’t be such a terrible thing.”

Sabrina studied me intently. “What troubles you, Peter? Once again, I see the weight of the world on those shoulders of yours.”

“Immortality,” I said, my gaze distant as I stared across the room. Thoughts of Lydia wove with whatever strange premonition had me in its throes. All at once, it caved in on me; her distance and our periods of separation. The surety I thought I had with her which was being replaced by two busy schedules and two ships passing in the night. Lydia’s own strange behavior with me lately. The suspicious nature of it all. I shook my head. “Just when you feel as though you have something reliable – something permanent – it starts slipping away from you. I wish I could be immortal and not have to worry about it. Worry about… time.”

“Immortality can be as much of a curse as it is a blessing, dear Peter.”

I scoffed and looked at her again. “I don’t see how that could be a curse, Sabrina. Everybody wants to live forever.”

“Not many people are able to handle the responsibility of being something permanent, though… Being something more than human.” She leaned forward in her chair, her eyes grabbing hold of mine in an unrelenting grip. “Mortals long for death without realizing it. Could you handle eternity, dear Peter? Would you accept it if it came to you?”

My voice sounded queerly subdued as I spoke again. “I only want the things in my life to stop changing with the wind.”

Sabrina’s voice lowered as well. “Things like your girl?”

“Yes, Lydia.” I closed my eyes. “We used to be inseparable, but she has not felt close to me lately. With each passing week, it seems as though we’re drifting apart and… .”

I opened my eyes in time to see Sabrina perk an eyebrow at me. “And what, Peter? Wanting different things, as often happens between two people? She in search of her own pursuits and you in search of permanence?”

I was unable to respond, but Sabrina continued as she turned her head askew to size me up. I felt her drift closer to me without moving at all. A shiver ran down my spine. “What do you desire, dear confused one? Permanence, or the fickle love of someone who could cast you away at a moment’s notice? Which would you seek more if the option to be immortal were valid?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered, slack-jawed, as if in a trance.

“What if I could grant it to you? Here and now, on a silver platter. What would you ask for?”

“Immortality,” I droned. “I want to be sure about something for once in my life.”

Sabrina’s voice descended into whisper. “Then ask me for it.”

My eyes drifted shut as I spoke. “Give me immortality, Sabrina.”

“Open your eyes and claim it, dear child. Find your surety.”

My lids shot open. I stood and excused myself, mind swimming, compelled to do something other than sit there. I had called Lydia on the phone earlier. She broke off a date with me in favor of some inane excuse I could no longer recall, but somehow the discussion of what was lasting and what was transient gave me the inclination to head for Lydia’s and clear the air once and for all. I do not know why it had to be right then, however, and could barely recognize the anger and annoyance bubbling up inside of me.

Anger and annoyance which would place a butcher knife in my hands.

I was never to look upon the world with mortal eyes again after that night. For, as Sabrina watched me walk away, she had her own set of plans and was poised and ready to exact them. She found a searching, lost young man and rescued a murderer.

Now, Sabrina would make a trained killer out of me, in more ways than one.

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