On the Far Side of Darkness (22 page)

The next instant I’m at his throat, pulling the life from him. It’s a delightful sensation. I can taste all of him. His madness, his dread, his soul pass over my tongue and fill me with ecstasy. I revel in what I am and the power it grants me.

Soon, I let the empty vessel go. The pimp’s corpse falls in a heap. A sound comes from behind me, a gasping pule. For a moment, I smile as I consider what I can do to play with the person who makes that noise.

Then I remember who that person is and how much she means to me. The monster flees before that warm emotion like an animal running from a flame. I take a second, make sure all of what I am is hidden from sight. I become the man, not the monster. Buttoning up my jacket I hide the small, bloody spot where I’ve been injured.

When I turn to look at her I find Diane has her face away from me. Her chest heaves, her skin glistens with a clammy moisture. She pulls at her ropes very hard.

“Diane,” I say, “it’s just me.”

A chant comes quietly from her lips. “No, no, no, no…”

I do something I rarely do. My power reaches out, takes hold of her emotions, and stills them. Calm is fed to her rather than the usual passion. Her breathing slows and her head turns towards me.

For an instant there’s a grateful smile, her eyes are warm. Memory returns and that expression vanishes. Her face becomes wary and fearful while her mouth thins in an uncertain line.

“It’s just me,” I repeat. “Now come on. We’ve got to leave.” She nods, saying nothing.

I pull off the tube wrapped around her arm and button the sleeve closed. My actions are smooth for sudden moves are sure to restart her panic. Turning to her feet, keeping my left hand hidden, I extend a single claw and slice through her ropes. Her arms are free in another moment.

The instant she’s loose my love wraps me in her embrace, holds me tight, shaking. I withdraw my claw and return the gesture. I smile, hoping her reaction shows this isn’t the end for us.

Abruptly Diane goes stiff and lets me go. I release her and stand. Her face is again confused and fearful.

“We’ve got to go,” I tell her. “We can’t be found here.”

She nods and tries to stand. Her legs won’t hold her up though. I catch her and pick her up. She clings again, stiffens, relaxes. The battle inside must be fierce.

“Don’t look down,” I tell her as I step over the body in the doorway. It makes a tiny rattle telling us the last of life has fled from it. I avoid stepping in the small pool of blood that’s formed. No need to leave much evidence of my presence.

It’s a quick trip down the stairs. As we go I heal the damage the bullet has done. “Can you walk?” I ask at the bottom as I let go of her legs.

They’re shaky, but leaning against me, Daine can stand. I open the door, guide us out and close it again. Sirens are sounding, coming this direction.

Domino’s waiting at the foot of the steps. The man I left here is gone. The vampiric mime licks his lips, swiping a small red spot away. He gestures, showing me which way to go. That’s followed by pointing at the building behind me and slapping his chest.

“
D’accord
,” I tell him. “
Merci beaucoup
.”

I walk Diane in the direction he indicated. She staggers frequently. That’s good. We’ll look like a man escorting his inebriated girlfriend home. No one seeing us will connect us to the carnage we’ve left behind.

As we reach the corner I look back. Domino stands on the opposite side of the street from the house Diane was in. His hands move through a short series of complex movements and he points emphatically at the window of the room where the bodies I’ve made lie. That window shatters as a gout of flame erupts outwards and glass tinkles to the sidewalk. He repeats his action and the first floor starts to burn.

A sudden gust of fear sweeps through me making my eyes widen in shock. This display of Domino’s real power is terrifying. My imagination couldn’t encompass what he is really capable of. I hurry myself and Diane away from him, hoping he’ll not notice us.

Five minutes walk brings us to a busy street and I flag down a cab. Diane moves to the far corner when I place her in it. She looks out the window through most of the trip. Occasionally, she glances at me, smiles for an instant. Then her features blank and she turns away again.

I keep to my side of the cab, knowing I can’t help in this battle. The feeling I hate the most, being helpless, makes me grit my teeth and dig my fingers into my thighs. I watch my love though in the hope that she’ll make a decision soon.

We stop in front of her hotel and exit the cab. As it pulls away we face each other. She’s no longer pale and shaking but her face is sad and confused.

“So now you know,” I say to her.

“Now I know,” she echoes.

“It’s a lot to take, isn’t it?”

Diane nods.

“And I can’t help, can I?” I continue.

She shakes a negative.

“I’ll wait until I can,” I tell her. “I’ll be at
Le Fin
until you either come or you go.”

“All right,” she assents.

“
Bon nuit
.”

“Good night, Georges.”

I turn and walk away, not looking back. Like Orpheus, I fear if I turn around I’ll lose her forever.

Exploration

It’s been four nights now. I’ve waited. She hasn’t come to me.

Nor has she left yet. My nightly conversation with the desk clerk on the phone is always the same.

“
Bonsoir
,” I say, “is
Mademoiselle
Patterson still staying there?”

“
Oui, Monsieur
. Shall I ring her room?”

“
Non, merci
.” And I hang up.

So I have some hope. Not a lot but some.

Foolish perhaps, but I have my back to the street. For once, I don’t want to observe humanity as it goes about its nightly business. When I see people happy makes me sad as I fear my happiness won’t come to pass, and seeing them sad reminds of how melancholy I feel.

Thus it’s a surprise when I hear, “
Bonsoir, mon chérie. Comment-allez vous?
” in that lovely drawl.

Two and a half centuries of control go by the wayside. I stand and face her, unable to keep a broad smile off my face. Hers has the same expression.

But she dodges when I reach for her. The smile retreats but doesn’t vanish. Diane seats herself at my table. I return to my chair. We stare at each other for long moments.

“We do have a lot to discuss, don’t we?” Diane finally observes.

“We do, but I must show you some things first.” I rise again and extend my hand.

She stands as well, and takes my proffered palm. There’s a small tremble as we touch.

I find I can’t guess at the emotions causing it. Strange, to be out of my depth after so many years.

“It’s time to show you some of my existence,” I tell her. “You’ll understand later, after we talk.”

Diane’s hand never stops shaking as we walk to the curb.

I hail a cab and the two of us enter it. The driver turns to look at me when I inform him of our destination. “At this time of night?” he asks.

“Yes. Don’t worry. We’ll be quite safe.”

He shrugs and starts driving.

The trip is three quarters of an hour. We end up in an area mostly commercial at the edge of the city, and not high end commercial either. It’s dark and less than clean. Many warehouses fill this area and our destination is one of them. The driver stops in front of it and I pass the fare as well as a good tip to him. “Wait,” I tell him, “we’ll be about thirty minutes. Then you can take us back.”  He agrees. The set of his shoulders shows he’s uncomfortable with it though.

I escort Diane to the personnel entrance of the warehouse. The building seems old and dilapidated. But only if you don’t look closely.

The windows aren’t standard glass. Instead they’re a nearly unbreakable plastic. What appears to be dirt is actually paint, spread to camouflage the strength of them. The frames are the most modern steel. They can’t be seen but laser, contact and integrity sensors are set to alert a security force if attempts are made to breach the building.

The door we come to also seems less than it is. The card reader next to it looks barely functional. I pull out my wallet, draw a rectangle of plastic from it and run it through the device. The door opens in a puff and cool air wafts from the interior of the building.

I escort Diane inside, close the door and turn on the lights. She gasps at what is revealed.

It’s very clean inside and well lit, the very opposite of the exterior. The storage area is divided up with many Plexiglas cubes of varying sizes. These areas are sealed and the doors have keypad locks.

Diane walks over to the nearest. It contains many canvases, stacked carefully. She leans close to examine the only one that can be seen. “Is that a Guagin?” she asks.

“Yes. One of his earlier works. I have several. There’s also some Van Goghs, a few Lautrecs and some Picassos as well. In addition there are some by people no one’s ever heard of outside of the art world. But things can change.”

I indicate another cubicle. “More modern works there. Pollock and that sort of thing.

“Come,” I ask her, extending my hand. “There’s more to see.” She takes it and I lead her on another tour.

“Comic books?” she asks with a giggle when I point out the storage compartment for those.

“You’d be surprised how much those appreciate over time. Like the baseball cards over there,” I tell her, pointing at the boxes that contain them.

She giggles again. Her smile fades and she looks at me, confusion showing in her eyes and doubt shaping her mouth.

I show her all the art I’ve collected; vinyl records, first editions of books, rare editions of which some are older than I, even some films.

“This is how you make yourself rich,” she notes as we come to the entrance again.

“Yes. I’m taking advantage of my immortality.”

“Why not stocks, or something similar?”

“Too short term and too volatile. I don’t understand much about business. I do have some brokers running mutual funds and that for me, but my real wealth comes from here. I find some
noveau riché
who wants to display their wealth, or some wealthy collector who
has
to have something, or a corporation that wants the prestige of a particular artist hanging in their boardroom and I supply it to them.”

“You don’t sound like you think much of the people you sell to,” Diane remarks.

“Not especially. Wealth and glory are such fleeting, unimportant things. Love is rare, special and much more satisfying.” I squeeze her hand and smile.

She smiles back, and this time it doesn’t fade. My soul lifts. I haven’t driven her away.

Yet.

We return to the cab and I direct him to an intersection closer to the heart of the city. It isn’t our next destination although it’s close enough to walk. There’s something I want to pick up first as I always do when I visit that spot.

He lets us off and I pay him, tipping nicely once again. It’s a habit I can’t break. My father taught me to reward people well. They do better work when compensated properly, and having their good work acknowledged makes them happy.

There’s a young lady selling flowers at the corner. She’s here most every night. The raven haired woman has a son, her husband disappeared from their lives and she has few skills. So she sits here, offering beauty for those who can buy. She’s a pretty woman and could make more money selling that beauty. The flower vendor’s wise enough to know that’s too hard a life and not something she wants her son to see.

I buy a white rose and a red rose from her, paying as if I’d bought a dozen of each. She doesn’t protest as it’s not the first time and knows I won’t pay less. The young lady gives me a grateful smile. I return it to her. Kindness keeps the monster chained.

The white rose I give to Diane. It’s a symbol of the hope for our future. She colors, gives me her sweet smile, sniffs it. I’ve never seen her more beautiful.

Then I take her hand once more to lead her to our next destination. Soon we’re standing in front of a small church. It’s an old one, built before The Terror. The grounds were once larger but The Church sold parcels of it off long ago. So the four and five story office buildings surrounding it press close. I lead Diane into the shadow of one of these buildings.

There’s some light that drifts in from the street. Diane’s fair skin and her rose shine in it. I check around for people that might observe my next actions. I find none.

The roof is a little farther than I can jump. But I’ve made this trip before. I let go of Diane’s hand and tell her, “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

I jump to the gargoyle about halfway up, pause a second, and leap the rest of the way. A gasp sounds from below. I clamber to the top of the roof and crouch. Moving to the cross at the front of the church I place the red rose on it.