THIRST FOR LOVE

 by

 A. L. Ritchardson

 (c) copyright October 2003, Amanda Ritchardson
Cover art by Eliza Black (c) copyright October 2003
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

 

I

  

 If memory serves me, I was twenty-four or twenty-five at the time--so young and innocent. I was downtown having dinner with three of my closest girlfriends. We were enjoying the fresh air and gentle breeze at a little table outside the restaurant. It was a café setup with little iron, glass-top round tables inside a cozy courtyard just off the street. It was nothing fancy but still came across as charming. The few trees shading the tables had some white Christmas tree lights wrapped around them, although it was not dark enough yet to light them.

 I had always loved outdoor cafes like this. They always made me feel so fashionable. When I closed my eyes, I could imagine myself sitting in a café in Paris or in Rome. Not that I had ever been to Paris or Rome. I had never been out of the country.

 I breathed in all the sights and sounds, trying desperately to hold on to the moment. The smell of water was faintly in the air although the river from which it emanated was a few blocks away. It was very early in the evening, but the traffic was picking up steadily, and the collective hum of engines made a crescendo. I peacefully watched the cars passing by as if they were merely images on the other side of plate glass.

 We had planned to eat early, do a little shopping, and catch a movie later. It was a typical girls’ night out--a welcome diversion after the long week’s rigmarole. My companions had been idly chatting for some time while I drifted in and out of the conversation. We were almost done with our meals and only slowly picked at the remaining morsels on our plates.

 My friend Dana had been speaking at length about an incident at work. She was complaining about a coworker who was constantly pestering her and keeping her from getting anything done. Her tirade had gone on long enough, and we were all tiring of it, though we kept up a look of sympathy. The least patient among us could no longer endure it.

 “So, what’s new in your love life? You meet Mr. Right yet?” asked Beth with a curious smile.

 She moved her head as she took a sip of her water, the yellow lemon still bobbing around in the glass. The ice tinkled against the sides of the glass as she tilted it, and one curly gold strand of hair walked around her shoulder and fell next to her cheek. She had directed the question at me, and she did not remove her eyes from mine.

 Beth was a very genuine and good-hearted person, but she acted very immature sometimes, and she usually had men on the brain. I hated when she brought up this sort of thing. I especially loathed the phrase “love life.” How that particular term came into fashion I’ll never know. It implies, conversely, a sort of death for those of us not in hot pursuit of the opposite sex.

 The truth was, I had gone through a series of bad relationships. My mind flashed across the most recent personal history as she said this.

 Beth herself had set me up with Brian. He had lasted for less than a month. He was one of those people who is just too good-looking and too aware of it. First impressions had been very misleading with him. He seemed, for lack of a better description, very nice and considerate. By all accounts, he was a sweetie, but he apparently reserved this façade only for those he was not dating. It rapidly became apparent to me that he was never going to talk about anything except himself. He was so self-absorbed that I don’t think he ever noticed when I stopped listening to him altogether. It was a blessing to me when he left me to go back to his ex-wife, although I tried to look angry for appearances’ sake. I was just so happy to be rid of him.

 Oh, and then of course there was Steven. This one was decent for three months before revealing his true colors. Gradually, he began to systematically take over my life. It started with his telling me what I should wear, then what I ate, which friends I should see, etc. Steven called me constantly, wanting to know where I was every second of the day. He was extremely jealous, and he blew up at me one day when he saw me talking to a male colleague from work. I couldn’t take it any more, and I ended the relationship. He had almost pushed me into a nervous breakdown, and it took a long time before I could walk out of my apartment without worrying that he’d be there stalking me.

 After those last two disasters, I had lost all confidence and simply thrown up my hands to the whole affair. Secretly I still waited for the knight in shining armor, the mysterious seducer, or the old-fashioned soul mate, but I despaired of ever finding him. He probably didn’t exist outside the pages of fiction. Now here she was asking me if I was dating anyone. She put it as a question, but I could read between the lines. She was trying to push me to go out more, get back on the horse and all that.

 “No, nobody yet,” I replied. The line had been repeated so many times I had to feign affect with it and add “yet” to imply a hope that really did not exist.

 My other friends were no closer to finding the proverbial One than I was. Heather had given up on men all together for a while and had come out as a lesbian at one time. We all felt that, in her particular case, it was more out of loneliness and frustration than any real biological inclination. None of us were, therefore, surprised when it turned out to be short-lived. She decided that she didn’t want to go that way either and chocked it all up to experimentation. Dana had been seeing a guy steadily for some time, but she did not seem very happy in the relationship. There wasn’t that spark, and she pretty much just stayed with him because she was comfortable with him. It was Beth who went chasing one guy after another in today’s typical pattern of serial monogamy. At times, it seemed like every week she was declaring that she was in love with someone different. She really enjoyed the lifestyle and couldn’t comprehend our not behaving the same way.

 Heather and Dana now attempted to rescue me with a change in subject. In their haste, they both spoke at once. Their voices overlapped as one made some comment about the weather and one asked what movie we were going to see. This blend just sounded like noise until the brain could pick the two questions apart. However, Beth was not to be deterred, and she ignored the interruption as if it were mere static and pressed the point.

 “Well, I think someone has an interest in you,” she added playfully.

 She said it in a tone of I-know-something-you-don’t-know. This worried me, and I voiced my concern.

 “You’re not going to try to fix me up with someone again, are you? You know what happened the last time . . . ,” I protested with a look of disgust and dread.

 I was stopped from saying more by her leaning closer confidentially. The other two likewise leaned inward, tightening our little circle around the table. She looked past me for a moment and then returned her gaze to me. She proceeded in a secretive whisper, “That guy over there at the other table keeps looking at you.” She ended this with a little giggle like a teenager.

 It was as if I had been teleported back into high school, and I felt really ridiculous, but I had to look. Of course, my first impulse was to turn around right away and gawk. It is just one of those perverse characteristics in human nature that when someone says something like, “Don’t look now,” you automatically do. I had caught my head halfway, however, and pretended to be lazily looking at the passing people, which, up until that moment, I truthfully had been. As casually as I could, I looked around over my shoulder. And there he was.

 He was no longer looking at me at that moment, but woman’s intuition told me that he undeniably had been before. The man was just about my age, although he came across as a few years older. He was a little over six feet tall, judging from his sitting figure. Hmmm--just perfect for my five-seven stature. His hair was a dark brown, almost black, with a few highlights. It was brushed back from his forehead and extended in undulating waves to some unknown point on his back. Normally I found long hair on a man rather repulsive, but this man was one of those elite few who could actually pull it off. The man wore a long-sleeved, wine-colored button-up shirt, rather dark, and black jeans. He had very fair skin. I have to admit, I was quite taken with him. It was an immediate and definite attraction. Although his posture was one of perfect comfort, he looked out of place, either in spite of or because of his beauty. To my surprise, he looked up and met my gaze. The eyes that peered at me were dark brown with strokes of gold--very deep.

 Oh my god, I was staring! I turned around violently and awkwardly, adding new depth to my embarrassment. I don’t think I’ve ever blushed so hard in my life. Facing the table again, I clenched my eyes shut in a cringe of humiliation. As I pried my eyelids open, trying to recompose myself, I saw my friends sitting quite still, looking at me with goofy smiles.

 “He’s handsome,” Beth said, lifting her eyebrows. “We should get him to come over.”

 My heart leapt into my throat, and my skin froze.

 “Don’t you dare,” I said menacingly through clenched teeth.

 It was not an idle threat for, at that very moment, I felt entirely capable of strangling her should she take such a step.

 The trickster in her danced in her glossy eyes, and she seemed to be debating what she would do next. A second glance at my face, however, was enough to dissuade her. As soon as I saw the scales of decision tip in my favor, I tried to break the tension and get things back on track.

 “Come on, let’s go poke around the shops. I heard they just opened up a new bookstore, and I want to check it out.”

 Being quite the bibliophile, this was a very honest desire, but I had no problem appropriating it for my immediate purpose. It worked. That seemed to set things right, and we all got up, dropped the tip on the table, and left. I was happy to escape being watched and felt more at ease as we walked down the street and turned the corner. We now blended in with the other pedestrians who were on their way in and out of the stores.

 Having reached the store in question, Dana and I went inside together while the other two went on to some little shop next door. With cellular speed, we divided again, and Dana and I went towards our prospective areas of interest. The store had that factory-fresh smell, the carpets were spotless, the books in perfect order. I liked the feel of the place. It reminded me of the little bookshop I knew as a kid. It was just a bookstore, not one of those megaplexes with cafes and music and Internet access.

 I directed myself towards my favorite genre, the horror section. Dana was on the other side of the store, looking at magazines I think. The horror section, noted for its darker bindings and covers, was along the wall on shelves that ran from the floor to the ceiling. I danced my eyes across the glossy spines, bending over to read the titles on the lower shelf, then backing up and peeking on tiptoe at the upper ones. At last I saw the book I wanted. Why is it that the thing you always want to buy in a store is the hardest to reach? It’s as if they put all the really good stuff way up high on purpose to tantalize the customers.

 The book I wanted was just such a one, up on one of the high shelves. I stretched up for it, my body pressed against the middle shelves, my fingers straining. It was just out of reach. I looked around for a stepstool or ladder, but I did not see one. Again, I tried to make myself taller to get at it. I pressed and stretched harder, and it was a struggle not to knock anything off of the other shelves as I did this. Suddenly, a hand above me grabbed the book I sought and lowered it into mine.

 “Thank you,” I said off-handedly, thinking it was an employee come to help me.

 “Your welcome,” a deep, masculine voice said.

 I turned with a start to see that it was the man from the restaurant just inches away from me. He looked back at me, and I felt like he was absorbing me with those gorgeous eyes. I smiled awkwardly, and he cocked his head to one side and looked down at the book in my hand.

 “An interesting selection,” he said. “You like to read about vampires?”

 My cheeks tightened as I smiled more broadly. I looked down momentarily and then met his eyes again.

 “Well, I’m certainly a bit of a fan,” I said.

 This said, he ceased making a pretense of being interested in the book and instead did not remove his eyes from mine. For my part, I lost all interest in books too.

 “I saw you back at the restaurant with your friends, and you look like a woman I would like to know better,” he said.

 Damn, that’s straightforward! I smiled. I liked this no-nonsense approach. I had grown so tired of the subtleties and the guessing games. This was very refreshing, and it showed some spine. If this hadn’t gotten to me, the voice certainly would have. It was soft but deep and manly and, yes, very, very sexy. I suppose the line itself was stupid in its simplicity, but it was charming.

 I half smiled. “Oh?” Careful. Don’t act too coy.

 “My name is Tarantin,” he said.

 He reached out his hand, and this routine gesture sort of broke the tension. I shook it in return, pleased to find that he gave a good solid handshake instead of the limp ones so many people give today. It emanated a sense of power, and I liked him even better for this.

 “I do not wish to interrupt your evening with your lady friends, but would you care to have dinner with me some evening?”

 “Lady friends,” I thought. This man spoke so properly. Was he some kind of rich aristocrat that he spoke this way? Or maybe he was a foreigner? Yes, there might have been an accent in there, although it was very faint, and I could not have identified it. The name, what was it? Spanish? French? Italian? It didn’t matter.

 “Yes,” I said after allowing just the right amount of hesitation so as not to appear too anxious. Had it come out too strongly?

 His face seemed to light up with delight at my acquiescence. A long moment passed, and neither of us moved. I blinked, and he blinked.

 “How might I contact you?” he finally asked to terminate the pause.

 This seemed to snap me out of it.

 “Oh!” I said, quickly tearing through my cluttered purse, rummaging for a pen and paper.

 I promptly wrote out my phone number and gave it to him--it was like something from a movie.

 “I look forward to seeing you again,” he said suavely as he turned and walked out.

 My first act was, of course, to tell my friends what had happened. I swooped up Dana on my way out and intercepted Beth and Heather outside where they were poking at some crafts on a table.

 “Now you see, Beth,” I said triumphantly, “I am perfectly capable of handling my own social life.”

 She and the others were, of course, extremely happy for me. For my part, I’m afraid I proved to be very bad company for the rest of that night. From that point on, I was on cloud nine. We went to the movie, but I couldn’t tell you what it was about. All I thought about was this mysterious new man who had walked into my life. Tarantin. It had all been so surreal--unbelievable really!

 When I got home, I went straight to bed. I dreamed about him all that night, and he was a constant distraction to me throughout the next day. I could barely get anything done. He was still foremost in my thoughts when he called two nights later.

 We just hit it off perfectly. He listened to my every word and seemed to absorb and understand all that I had to say. He was incredibly polite, too, opening doors for me, helping me out of the car, etc. I know women supposedly shouldn’t like these services these days, but I was of the old-school mentality, and I loved these attentions. Go ahead, put me on a pedestal!

 One date turned into many until we were seeing each other almost constantly. He always gave me beautiful red roses when he came to pick me up, and my apartment soon became inundated with their rich aroma. Sometimes, I would no sooner get home after leaving him than I’d get a delivery of some small gift. They started out as little trinkets of sorts, but these grew into more serious things.

 One night, while we were chatting over dinner, Tarantin presented me with something exquisite.

 “I have something for you,” he said with a smile and soft eyes.

 He pulled out a long velvet box, opened it, and passed it to me. It was a beautiful necklace! The light caught it so that it sparkled, and its luster was only surpassed by the twinkle in my eye. It was a quarter-moon carved out of opal and bordered all around by small diamonds, and it hung on a delicate gold chain. It must have cost him a fortune!

 Standing up, Tarantin walked over toward me and took the jewelry up out of its resting place.

 “May I?” he asked.

 I nodded, and he slipped the cool chain around my neck, his fingers barely grazing my back as he fastened the clasp and let it go. Glowing, I thanked him profusely in words. What communicated my pleasure and gratitude more than this, however, was that I loved it so much that I hardly ever took it off from that night forth. He was always pleased to see it around my neck.

 I had to admit, I was falling for him. An initial attraction had progressed into infatuation, and infatuation into something more. I flattered myself that I was not blinded in any way. Although I had started out thinking him absolutely flawless, I had discovered his eccentricities. For instance, he was a very finicky eater. He’d order the most exquisite meals--lobster, filet mignon, etc.--but then he’d only nibble a few bites all night. Also, he was, unfortunately, quite the night owl. I had always tended to be more of a morning person, and the hours he kept almost killed me. By the end of every date, I was dreaming of my nice soft pillow. Also, there was something, in retrospect, that didn’t seem quite right about him. The closest it got was a feeling that he was holding something back, something he wanted terribly to disclose. Even with these faults, however, I still thought him the greatest man in the world.

 I could tell that the feeling was mutual. He most definitely had very strong feelings for me, and sometimes he looked at me so longingly I thought he would scoop me up and run away with me like some smitten Greek god snatching up some lovely maiden. It was refreshing to me, however, to find that he never pushed for more from me than a kiss. And what a kisser! His kisses were enough to warm my blood and bring the crimson to my cheeks. Parting from these passionate exchanges left me flushed. Seduced as I was, I doubt I would have denied him anything, but it made our relationship seem more important that I didn’t have to.

 Things were progressing, and at times I felt as if I’d known Tarantin forever, as if I had known him before the birth of my soul. It wasn’t like I was getting to know him for the first time, it felt more like I was getting reacquainted with a long-lost friend. He was great company, both serious and suave at one time, while light and playful the next. He was like a riddle for which I fully understood the question, yet for which I could not provide the answer.

 Finally, Tarantin invited me to come out to his house with him. (He had an apartment in town near me, but he owned a house further upstate on the coast). The attention he was giving me, and the time and expense of it, hinted a great deal to me, and I felt that we shared the same ultimate goal. Therefore, I enthusiastically accepted his offer.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  II

  

 I scheduled my vacation time accordingly, and the day arrived for us to go. He had a car waiting, and my eyes lit up when I saw it. It was a beautiful black Porsche, buffed to a blinding shine.

 “Oooo,” I said--now I really liked his taste.

 My expression of awe, of course, boosted his pride, and he laughed softly at my reaction.

 He opened the door politely for me, and I slipped in. “Slid” would have been a better word, for the seats were of fine, soft black leather. I felt like I was on one of those stylish car commercials. We pulled out onto the road, and it was a smooth, enjoyable ride.

 His house was not terribly far, and my eyes lit up as we came to it. It was two stories tall and quite expansive, but not one of those enormous, overbearing structures. It was rather dainty, in its way, and looked to be very open. The color was something of a cream, and there were windows all over the front of the house. Tarantin opened the door for me to walk inside.

 “Here we are,” he said. “Welcome.”

 Tarantin closed the door behind me and came in, absolutely glowing with satisfaction at my response. “Come on,” he said happily to me, leading me down the hallway.

 We passed quite a few rooms, all quite magnificently decorated, and all with their windows open to embrace the night air. Finally, we came to the end of this hallway, and he indicated the last room. Tarantin motioned for me to go ahead of him, and he came behind to deposit my luggage next to the bed. For the first time, it struck me how effortlessly he had carried my very heavy suitcases, but then I could see he had some muscle.

 “This is your room,” he informed me. “The bathroom is just off to the left here. I’ll just let you get settled and cleaned up now. How does dinner in an hour sound? We’ll get something in?”

 “Fine. That’s great,” I said, unable in my awe to say anything more.

 Tarantin smiled and left.

 I now inspected the room with both hands to my mouth and cheeks. It was a huge bedroom! The floor was covered with a large area rug of brilliant plant greens. Centered against the left wall was an incredible bed. It had four posts, each one intricately carved and rounded, and, together, they led to a canopy top. The entire thing was made of a rich dark wood, and the bed itself was covered in a gorgeous green and beige coverlet. A long, narrow dresser of the same wood stood pushed up against the other wall to my right. A window stood beckoning directly ahead of me, and the view was only slightly obscured by the luscious foliage that undoubtedly grew from directly below. In its totality, the room put me in mind of some exotic resort in the Caribbean--maybe on the beaches of Jamaica. I was out of my mind with pleasure.

 My senses were wrapped in this visual feast, and I didn’t want to blink. The light from the lamp on the dresser and the two wall lights next to the bed cast a gentle yellow glow--nothing harsh--and they blended nicely with the fragrant candles that were lit on the dresser. Tears of wax tumbled over their smooth lids. Had Tarantin had someone come by and prepare the house like this? Of course, he must have.

 I finally got myself moving. I closed the door to the room, gathered up my train case with all my toiletries, and walked into the bathroom that was just off to the left when I entered the room. I found a light switch, and the brilliant lights came to life without hesitation. Of course, this too proved to be a quite becoming room. Everything was so pristine, and a glass bowl housed some sumptuous potpourri that exhaled its heavy scent into the air. The whole room was of seashell-colored marble. The sink was scalloped, and there was a bathtub and a shower. I was really going to enjoy this.

 Keeping in mind that Tarantin had dinner planned, I opted for the shower. Removing my clothes and piling them haphazardly on the sink top, I stepped gingerly into the shower and closed the frosted door behind me. I loved a warm shower, and I just melted under the warm pelts and throbbing massage.

 When I had finished up, I stepped out of the steam and grabbed up the two towels hanging next to me. I quickly wrapped up my hair in one and dried my body with the other. Wrapping the towel around me and tying it at my bosom, I walked over to the mirror over the sink. It had steamed up too badly for me to see--I always took my showers too hot, but they relaxed me--and I had to wipe a portal clear with my hand.

 Undoing the heavy, water-soaked towel from my head, I let my dusty-blonde hair fall down. It was long, though not exceptionally so--just past shoulder length. Looking into the mirror for a moment, staring into my own gray-blue eyes, I had one of those rare moments when I struck myself as very pretty. This wasn’t really vanity. The fact was that most of the time I didn’t give my looks a second thought. However, there were some occasions when it occurred to me that I really was quite good looking.

 I brushed out the frizzled knots in my hair, combed it back to the back of my head, and clipped it up there. Hanging up the towels again, I chanced going out into the room naked without closing the window curtains. For a second, I fancied I saw a strange face looking in at the window, but then I brushed it off as just being my imagination. This left me feeling exposed and a little chilly, however, so I hurried to get dressed.

 I picked out a white, sleeveless shirt and casual blue wrap skirt and put them on. It was a very comfortable outfit, but I knew it also looked nice on me as well. I had just slipped on some sandals when I heard a cautious tapping at the door and opened it to find Tarantin waiting at a respectable distance.

 “Are you hungry?” he asked without any distinct emotion, although I detected a slight sparkle in his eye as he first looked at me.

 “Yes,” I said happily.

 He led me out and down the other hall. The dining room was small in comparison to the other rooms, but it was still quite roomy. A small fireplace, to my surprise, was glowing in the one wall to my left. It was more for atmosphere than for heat, and it just managed to take off the little bit of night chill. A sizable wooden table sat parallel with it. This room was lighted by a dim chandelier, and for some reason reminded me of a castle.

 Tarantin gestured for me to sit as I observed the display upon the table. A variety of food was laid out upon silver platters polished to a blinding shine. There was a duck, some bread, crackers, cheeses, vegetables, and an assortment of colorful fruits. He had really gone all out. Where had he ordered all this stuff?

 I sat down before a fine china plate, and Tarantin poured me a delicious red wine before taking his seat opposite me.

 “Bon appetite,” he said with a small wave of his hand that indicated what was on the table.

 For a brief moment--and hungry as I was, I do mean brief--I sat in wonder, not only at the enticing things before me, but thinking that this and Tarantin had to be too good to be true. I gave in to my growling stomach, however, and quickly began taking a little of everything.

 We exchanged idle chitchat as I let the rich flavors seep down my throat. How Tarantin could merely nibble at his food was beyond me, although he seemed to be taking the greater part of his satiety from the wine. What kind was it, anyhow? I didn’t see a bottle.

 I was imbibing a little too much of it myself. At first, it just loosened my tongue. Things I probably would not have voiced came pouring forth from me with the greatest of ease. Even now I could not tell you where some of it was coming from.

 Thankfully, I was saved from saying too much by more of the same thing that had caused the problem. The drink kept gaining on me until, at last, I found myself growing drowsy and sedated. I fell more silent. Although I forced myself to continue quietly in our little conversation, he seemed to pick up on this, and he finally suggested that I go to bed.

 “If you need anything,” he said, “I’ll be right upstairs.”

 He kissed me lightly and said good night. I returned to my room and changed into my pajamas. Sinking into the warm folds of the pillow, I was overcome by fatigue almost immediately. The last thing I heard before drifting into the abyss was the soft crinkling of feathers under my weight and the caress of Egyptian cotton.

 At first, I slipped into the deepest, most comfortable sleep on the luxurious bed.

 The weight of such slumber lightened slowly throughout the night, however, until, at some point during the early morning, I started to have a most bizarre dream. It must have made quite an impression on me, because I still remember it now, and I don’t always recall my dreams.

 In my dream, or nightmare as it turned out to be, I was terribly agitated and pacing a room, an unfamiliar room. I kept looking at the door to this room, specifically at the doorknob, and was conflicted as to what to do. Somehow, I felt afraid of what was on the other side of that door, but, at the same time, I was driven to open it. At last, I could tolerate no further deliberation, and, with a trembling hand, I went ahead and turned it. My heart froze for a moment as I looked to see if anything was going to jump out at me from the other side, but the passage beyond was dark and empty. Well, as is characteristic of dreams, it took me a long time to pass a short distance, but at last I came to another door. Such is the logic of dreams. At any rate, I now was faced with the same uncertainty as to whether I should open it or no. In some way, I felt certain that I could not go back the way I came, sensing greater horrors in that direction. Faced with this predicament, I again chose to open the door. When I did so, I entered into the very bedroom in which I slept. In my dream, this did not strike me as at all odd. Instead, I made my way to the bed with the intention of crawling into it. Approaching the bed, however, I was very surprised to discover that it was already occupied. I could not see the features of the person therein because he or she was lying on their left side, back to me. This seemed to make me even more reluctant to move, but I had to know who it was who had decided to go to sleep in my bed. Walking slowly around the bed, I kept my eyes averted so that I might look upon the full face of the slumbering person all at once. When I was at last stationed on the other side of the mattress, I took courage and looked. At the exact moment that I looked upon the face and beheld it to be my own, the eyes opened, and I myself awoke with a start.

 I was sitting in the bed, surrounded by sheets doused with sweat. Goosebumps prickled my skin, and a cold chill was upon me. It was with great effort that I calmed myself. The sun, though weak, was shining, and it was obviously morning time. It had only been a dream--one wacky, screwy dream. Slowly easing down my accelerated heartbeat, I realized that there was a salty-sweet flavor in my mouth, one that was familiar but not easy to place. Touching one inquisitive finger to my mouth, I withdrew it to find the tip glazed with deep crimson.

 Stumbling to the bathroom, I hit the light switch on the second try. The room flooded with bright, stinging light, and I had to blink several times before I could see clearly. My lips and front teeth were covered with blood, some fresh and some a dried crust. Rinsing my mouth with the tap water and brushing my teeth with one finger, I uncovered the tiny slit on the inside of my lip that had caused all the mess. It bled more furiously now from my having irritated it.

 The dream must have agitated me enough that I bit my lip in my sleep. I attributed this to a combination of too much alcohol and too much stress--that all-powerful force that makes our bodies do all sorts of strange things. In this instance, it must have been due to my excitement over the visit. I had been so keyed up over the whole thing. Now, of course, I sometimes wonder at the power of the subconscious to interpret information we ourselves are unaware of even receiving.

 Tarantin slept quite late that day, and I thought that the wine must have at last caught up with him too. When he did awake, however, he looked surprisingly refreshed.

 “Did you sleep well? I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long. I’m afraid I am a late riser,” he said.

 “No, no. That’s fine,” I assured. “Yes, I slept very well. That bed is incredibly comfortable.”

 It was a slight omission but not a lie. He was pleased to hear so. I saw no reason to mention my dream.

 “Well, what shall we do today? Would you like me to show you the area and take you into town?” he suggested.

 The offer to see the neighborhood and the little downtown district appealed to me. We headed out in the afternoon, and I enjoyed another ride in his car. As we traveled down the street, my head was on a swivel trying to keep up with all the sights.

 As I had observed upon my arrival, the neighborhood was filled with beautiful houses. Some were grander than Tarantin’s, and some were less so. I wondered who all lived in those mansions and guessed that they must be doctors and lawyers and other such professionals. Taken as a whole, the area was impeccably clean and beautiful, and I felt sure that it was very safe.

 I didn’t really pay attention to directions, but looked around as one always does on a tour. It was like a tour, too. When we got into town, Tarantin started telling me all sorts of little bits of town history. I guessed he must have read the pamphlets at the Chamber of Commerce, the same little brochures that abound in any town, but I was still impressed that he remembered so much.

 When we got to the downtown shops and restaurants, Tarantin parked the car so that we could walk around. We left the car on the side of the narrow street and meandered along the wide sidewalk. Some little band was playing at the park a few blocks away, and the music drifted our way and provided a nice atmosphere.

 As we casually sauntered along, I felt Tarantin slip his hand into mine. I closed my fingers around his and swung both our hands back and forth a little like a pendulum as we walked. I tried to catch glimpses of us in the windows of the stores, and I thought we made a very good couple.

 We must have poked into every shop for four blocks. There was no method or purpose in our wanderings, and we were free to amuse ourselves with the various goods for sale. There were overpriced crafts, tourist junk, fine boutique items, and some very unique odds and ends. Some items made us downright laugh, and one or the other of us was yelling, “Hey, come look at this.” All and all, it was very relaxing to browse around like this, and Tarantin and I enjoyed ourselves.

 All our walking built up an appetite, and we found a little hole-in-the-wall place to eat dinner. I just got a simple plate of pasta, but it was very good. It was just nice to sit down for a while and rest my feet. Fortunately, I had on my most comfortable shoes, or else I would have had a fine blister on my heels.

 After that casual meal, I dragged us back over to a pretzel shop I had spotted before and had kept in the back of my mind. I bought one of those big, hot, fluffy pretzels you see them selling at those little stands on wheels. We went outside with it, and Tarantin offered to find a bench so that I could sit and eat it. I shook my head, however, and told him that I was fine to mosey along while I nibbled on it.

 They had put too much salt on it, as always--a fact that I never liked but which now stung my lip--and I had to knock the sharp little crystals off with my fingers until they were at a reasonable level. Tarantin seemed to think that this was the silliest thing he had ever seen.

 “Why didn’t you just get a plain pretzel to begin with?” he asked.

 “It’s just not the same,” I explained. “The flavor has to get baked into it and soak through. Besides, I still kept a little salt on it.”

 Despite what I felt was a very good explanation, he apparently found this amusing. To prove my point and hush him up, I tore off a small piece between two fingers and thrust it into his mouth. He was intent on poking fun at me, however.

 “Needs more salt,” he said through his full mouth and hardy chuckling.

 It was growing dark. As we distractedly continued walking like this, we got caught up in a crowd heading towards the park. We followed them and discovered that there was some kind of little local festival going on. They started to set off fireworks, and we decided to watch.

 At first, we stationed ourselves too close to where they were launching them, and the ash came cascading down upon us.

 “Ah!” I protested as the singeing debris smote the air around us.

 Tarantin caught me up with his arm over my head, and we rushed away together to a safer distance.

 “You all right?” he asked me.

 I was trying to pick a piece of ash off my eyelash.

 “Here,” he said as he tilted my head and ran his finger over my eye to clear it. “There we go,” he added as he succeeded in removing it.

 “Thank you,” I said softly.

 Tarantin did not change his position but still held my face in his hands. He looked at me searchingly for a moment before bending for a kiss. We held together for a long, lingering moment before separating with a smile. I leaned against him, and we returned our attention to the world around us.

 Now that we were at a more comfortable vantage, we settled to watching the entertainment again. Hand in hand, we watched the greens and whites and reds and golds bursting into the black sky. There was a boom lagging behind every explosion of light, and it made everything vibrate. When I looked over at Tarantin, I saw the colors reflected in the orbs of his dark eyes. He saw me looking at him, and he turned to me and gave a winning smile. I let go of his hand and slipped my arm under his. With a squeeze, I rested my cheek against his shoulder.

 We watched the display until the loud grand finale. Although this was a fairly small affair, the ending was like World War II with its rapid succession of booms and bangs followed by the contrast of silence. Everyone applauded when all was done, and the little bands of people began breaking up.

 It was a nice little show, and I was glad I had gotten to see it. My feet were getting very sore again, though, and I was happy when we walked back to the car. They kept throbbing even after I sat down, and I had to stifle a yawn as we drove back.

 Back at the house, the rest of the night was spent talking. Tarantin spoke about how he had come to own this home. He had moved down from up north when a dispute with a friend had grown hostile and made it advantageous to leave. I thought this sounded a little suspicious, but I assumed that it must have been a break-up with a girlfriend, or something like that, and he just didn’t want to say so to me. At any rate, he had bought up the property and the house and then paid to have the place gutted and redone to his specifications.

 “Well, it certainly is beautiful,” I complimented him.

 “I’m so glad you like it here,” he answered seriously.

 I, for my part, talked about just about every place I’d traveled to in my life. I told him how fantastically vertical I found New York City, how comfortable I had felt in Chicago, how curvy everything was in North Carolina, how dilapidated it was in New Orleans, how boring it was in Arkansas, and so on. He always seemed especially interested in what I had to say. Sometimes, I was sure he knew what I was going to say before I said it, but he never jumped in before I was done.

 When I went to bed in the wee hours of the morning, I’m embarrassed to confess I had an erotic dream. It was the same dream I had before, only this time Tarantin was the main actor. I should actually say that it was both Tarantin and not Tarantin--the face was his, but his long hair was all cut off.

 He turned the knob in his hand very slowly and walked through the door. Something was trying to hold him back, but some greater force was pushing him forward. He was in darkness for a long time, and, when he emerged from it, he was standing in my bedroom looking at the figure on the bed. Walking around to the other side of the bed, he turned and looked down at my sleeping figure. The dream perspective shifted, and, instead of drifting around watching him, I was now looking up at him from where I lay.

 As I looked up at him, I wanted so badly to touch him, afraid that he would disappear any second if I didn’t get my hands on him. I held out my arms to him, beckoning him. He was suddenly naked, and he crawled into the bed with me, slipping under the sheets. As I felt the sheets move, I realized I was now naked, and he was holding himself over me, his skin just barely hovering above mine. My legs were parted around him, his torso lying between my knees but still not touching me. I could feel the heat coming off of him, and I wondered how long he was going to make me wait. He just looked down at me, and I wanted him so desperately. I craved his touch, but still he just kept looking at me.

 Skittishly, I allowed one hand to pass beneath the covers, and I searched for what I wanted. Instead of what I expected to feel, my hand met his as he surprised me by grabbing it and pulling it up to his lips. He kissed at the fingers even as he shook his head in a silent negative. He continued kissing down my palm to my wrist. Not understanding, I pulled my hand free.

 I raised myself up on my elbows and sought his lips. At last my mouth made contact with his, and my body caught fire. We could not pull our lips apart for a long time. Just as I felt his tongue against my teeth, he suddenly put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me down into the bed. I thought he would finally do something, and I burned for it, but instead his face turned very sad . . . .

 I awoke with a start, breathing hard. I covered my face with one hand as I tried to dispel the dream from my thoughts and subdue my arousal. Embarrassment crept over me as I looked around. I hoped that I had not been making any sounds during this dream. I would die if Tarantin had actually heard me moaning or making other suggestive noises.

 It was late morning by the looks of it, but everything was very quiet. It seemed I was safe. I fell back against the pillow with a loud exhale.

 The whole time I was getting dressed, I was trying hard to forget about the dream. When I went out to Tarantin, I could not help blushing when he first looked at me. He couldn’t possibly have known the cause, but I had the impression that he noticed this and gave a small, concealed smile.

 The next couple of weeks flew by in a blur. I wonder why it is that time passes so quickly when we are having a good time and so slowly when its passage would be most welcome. It is a phenomenon of the human condition, and that is just how it is, I guess. Well, I certainly did have a fantastic time, and my stay sped past.

 If we could have prolonged every one of those moments, we would have. As it was, my vacation time was winding down, and my heart began to sink as I counted off the days. I knew it would pain me to leave, and I tried to prepare myself as best I could, but nothing could fortify me for that last night of my stay.

 That last night, we sat together in front of our plates long after finishing dinner. Though we would have been more comfortable sitting elsewhere, neither one of us wanted to get up and break the moment. Tarantin looked as sad as I felt.

 “I don’t want this moment to end,” I said. “I can’t believe time flew by like this, and now I have to go home tomorrow.”

 I only meant this as a point of commiseration, but Tarantin appeared as if I had jabbed him. A shadow passed over his face, and his expression changed to one I couldn’t read. I had never seen him look like this, and it scared me for reasons I cannot explain. He finally broke the silence. Perhaps it would have been better if he hadn’t.

 “That will not do,” he sighed to himself as much as to me.

 I froze momentarily.

 “I’m sorry?” I asked with frank bewilderment.

 His tone, his whole demeanor had thrown me off. I didn’t know where this was leading. Of course, my mind sped along ordinary tracks, and I sat expectantly waiting to see if he was going to propose to me. I was so naïve! Visions of an engagement and a wedding and an entire lifetime together clouded my mind and my judgment. I was already planning to say, “yes,” before I even really comprehended what was going on.

 “I suppose it is time to drop the pretense,” he added. His words had the power of foreboding, and he gritted his teeth tightly together and bit off the last word.

 I stood up at this point, although I don’t know why. That was not what he was supposed to say. Although on some level I still thought this was that special conversation I had been waiting for, this was not at all going like it should, and it threw me for a loop. Pretense? I did not understand.

 As I searched his face for answers, I instinctively knew something was wrong. I did not conclude this by some conscious calculation. It was just one of those things that the primitive parts of our brain alerts us to from time to time, and it was too strong for me to ignore it.

 What was it? He’s married? He’s gay? He’s dying? What? I tried to figure it out.

 As I looked at his face, it no longer seemed to belong to him. It was contorted by some deep and negative emotion, and he gave the impression of being very disconnected from me. He was on the verge of some serious and irrevocable action. For the first time since I had known this man, he was frightening me. What was going on?

 My rising seemed to catch his attention, and he now focused his glance on me. The stern look that he had adopted during these moments melted a little into something that looked like sympathy, but it was of a sad sort that could mean nothing good.

 “Tarantin, what . . . what . . . .” I couldn’t even complete my question, so utterly baffled was I by this shift in atmosphere.

 “Please don’t be afraid,” he said as he slowly slid back his chair and stood up.

 I nearly tripped over my chair as I shoved it out of the way and started back stepping instinctively. I was so confused. What was happening here? Where was the man I had been so comfortable with just minutes before? Don’t be afraid? Why had he said that?

 Who was this? With a shiver, I suddenly felt that I didn’t know this creature who stood before me--had never seen him before in my life. It was as if I had been going around in a masquerade only to have my partner throw off his guise and show me that I had been duped by some malicious stranger.

 He glided towards me. I took another half step back as he approached closer, but then I resigned to hold my ground. Direct threats are easily identified and avoided, but indirect ones leave a question hanging in the air. I was not aware, or at least not sure, of the danger I was in at that moment. Still wrapped in doubts, I let him come close to my left side, and he whispered ever so gently in my ear.

 “I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you,” he said.

 This did not comfort me at all. On the contrary, it had the opposite effect of sending a liquid shiver through my body. That same primitive instinct in the pit of my stomach told me to run, but his lips already touched my neck where my shoulder curved in. They were so soft, so very soft. Then, I felt the prick of his teeth unexpectedly piercing my skin. I may have screamed, and I certainly tried to push him away and escape, but his arms had already moved up to enclose me. He clasped me firmly around the back, crushing my body up against his.

 I was too afraid to try to hit him now, and then I didn’t want to. Oh my god, the sensations! The sweet throbbing etched itself through my entire body, keeping time with the beating of my heart.

 My body started to relax--or was I just growing faint? I began to let myself roll back and forth with the waves of warmth pulsating from that sensitive kiss. I’d never been as content in all my life. It felt as though he were moving into me deeper and deeper. I actually let out a cry when he parted from me quite as suddenly as he had begun.

 With a mischievous smile, he scooped up my legs and started carrying me. He took me to my room. I was half dazed or maybe stunned. He laid me gently down on the bed as if he were the loving parent tucking in his little child. Bestowing a small peck on my cheek, to my surprise, he turned and left. At some point immediately after this, I must have passed out.

III

  

 When I awoke, it was daylight, and the initial shock had subsided. After the disorientation faded away, I believe a combination of shame and anger hit me with full force. I felt violated.

 My mouth was so dry my tongue felt pasty, and my lips brushed against each other like two sheets of rice paper. I felt very cold, and, sitting up, dizziness swept through my head. I was so weak, but I knew I had to get out of there. Even in all my time being stalked by Steven, I had never felt so scared.

 “All right,” I thought, “just rest a moment until the room stops spinning.”

 I only closed my eyes for a moment to get my equilibrium back, but I apparently fell into a light sleep. I woke up again. Oh my god! How long had I been out? The sun was still shining. It couldn’t have been that long. Okay, don’t pass out again.

 This time, I got up more slowly. I felt absolutely terrible, but I managed to sit up and then slide off the bed onto my feet. I was terribly wobbly, and the tile felt abusively hard under my soles. My purse, where was my purse? I saw it on the top of the dresser and stumbled over to it. I managed to sling it over my shoulder, though it now felt exceedingly heavy. I was moving so slowly, so very slowly. It was such an effort to move, but I knew I had to get out. A terror had me in its grip. I worried that Tarantin would appear at any moment. Tarantin--that man I had loved--now transformed into some terrible monster.

 I opened the door to my room very carefully. Moving my head around just enough to allow one eye unobstructed vision, I peered down the hall. It lay vacant and undisturbed. Opening the door all the way, I slipped out and walked down the hallway, leaning against the wall for support as I went. This hall hadn’t seemed long before, but now it seemed interminable. I tried my best to keep myself alert, and, when I finally reached the door at the front of the house, I took extra care in swinging it quietly open. Only a single hinge betrayed a small groan as I pushed my way through.

 Out in the sunshine, I wanted so desperately to break into a run for the street, but my body was just too drained. I hobbled forward as quickly as I could in my desperation. On bare feet, I drove myself forward, fighting not to fall as I pushed the front of my body faster than my weak legs could keep up. All I could hear was the mighty pounding of my pulse in my temples. It obliterated every other sound in the world.

 The sight of the gate at the end of the drive did nothing to provide relief but raised my anxiety to a new pitch. I had to reach it! It was a long trek, and I was so exhausted. Panting and sweating profusely, I threw my whole heart into it, but my body was failing. Some black hole was pulling my head downward into my feet. I was going to pass out. Oh please no, not now! I have to make it! But I was slipping into that hole, falling or floating, I don’t know which. Did someone catch me? I didn’t know. I was already gone.

 Blackness.

 My name. I heard my name. I forced my eyes open slowly only to see darkness. I had heard the voice from about three feet to the front and left of me. I tried to sit up but was too stiff to do so. It took me a minute to realize I was in bed again. The room was so dark.

 I could see nothing, but I knew I was not alone. The icy adrenaline shot through every vein like tendrils spanning my body. A sharp heat flushed my skin from head to toe, and my heart felt like it would collapse from the strain. My ears were keenly listening for the slightest sound over the thumping of my own pulse. My throat was raw, but I did not even attempt to swallow. I lay waiting. It was as if I lay dying every second only to be transposed back to that moment of terror again and again. I thought I felt some weight shift on the bed beside me, and I heard with my soul more than with my ears the word “rest.” It took no obedience on my part to fall back into unconsciousness.

 The next thing I remember was sunshine poking at my eyelids. Was it the next morning, or had I been out for days? I wasn’t sure. I was again convinced that I needed desperately to find the strength to escape. Escape. Yes, I was indeed a prisoner now, a thought that made me tremble with horror.

 I forced myself up slowly to my feet. I felt a little stronger now, but I knew I needed to eat something. I stumbled into the bathroom. As I slurped up the sink water out of my palm, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked dreadful. My face looked pale and drawn, and there were deep black circles under my eyes. My limbs felt like they were stuffed with sand. I had to get out of there, away from him.

 A sense of déja vu hit me as I once again made my way down the hall. This time, however, I thought to grab the keys to the Porsche--I had seen where Tarantin had kept them in the change tray on the living-room table--before making my way out the door. I went to the car, and, after some difficulty with getting my shaking hand to put the key in the slot, I got in.

 I kept waiting for that terrible moment when Tarantin would grab me, but he didn’t come. I had more trouble getting the key in the ignition as, at this point, my hands were trembling profusely with anxious anticipation. When I did get it in, I grew frantic and mercilessly revved the engine into action. I was not good with stick shift, and the engine emitted a horrible grinding noise and lurched forward under my insistence. I could no longer proceed slowly, however, and I sped down the driveway towards the gate. Had I been riding a horse, I would have been beating the beast’s flanks ferociously in my terror. I was already mashing down the electronic button to open the gate before I was even in range.

 Whirling out of the driveway, I raced along unknown streets, paying no attention to where I was going. I had gone quite some distance when I suddenly, in my agitated mind, realized that I had better ditch the car somewhere, as if it were some portal through which Tarantin could suddenly pass through and get me. I pulled off to the side of a road--I don’t think I was in a very nice section of town now--and started ambling away.

 That walk might as well have been a mountain hike, for it was only by the greatest effort of will that I could push my abused body onward. I could barely walk. Why had I been so stupid as to abandon the car? Luckily, fortune smiled on me after a few blocks, and I discovered a pay phone that was not in use. My eyes were having difficulty focusing, but I managed to slip the coins into the proper slot and called to get a taxi to pick me up. Why I didn’t just call the police, I’ll never know, but what would I have told them anyhow?

 I sat down upon the dirty curbside while I waited. A thick stream of ants was pouring out of one of the cracks in the cement and attacking a semi-dead beetle. The black hulk could only twitch a leg or two in defense, and I felt very bad for it. I took pity on the beetle and, taking up a small stick nearby, I dashed away the gang and slid their victim a few feet away. This made me feel better, although I knew that they would only find him again in a few minutes. At least this little distraction kept me from curling up on the warm concrete and passing out.

 When at last I saw my marked car of transport, my heart leapt. Of course, the taxi did not at first see me and whizzed right on by. However, my frantic waving arrested its attention, and it came to a violent stop by the roadside. With traffic what it was, the driver could have backed up to me, but, not surprisingly, I was forced to stand up and traverse the fifty feet between me and the awaiting vehicle. This angered and terrified me at the same time, so I was able to make this last push. It ate up the last reserves of my energy, and I practically fell into the backseat when I finally made it.

 My driver was an elderly fellow who looked like he would fall asleep at the wheel at any second. He didn’t seem to give me a second look, and I gave him all the cash I had and told him to take me to the farthest hotel possible. He did not question this rare request at all and immediately pulled out into traffic. As we drove away, I alternated between looking over my shoulder to see if I was being followed and glancing suspiciously into the rearview mirror to look at my driver’s eyes.

 A little over an hour later, he dropped me at some sort of economy place, probably because it was the first hotel he’d seen. They accepted my credit card, and I was able to find just enough quarters in my purse to afford a candy bar out of the vending machine. I had gobbled it down before I even got into my room, and I hoped that the sugar would do me some good.

 I was lodged in a small, plain room furnished only with an old bed and two severely torn leather chairs. The room had white walls and a bumpy white ceiling with brown concentric circles, probably water stains. The sheets were the same institutional white, but the spread was a noxious mixture of pastels interrupted by miniature rips in the fabric. Under my feet lay a carpet that might once have been hunter green. A small brass lamp with a crooked shade and dim bulb offered the only light in the room, which, in my emotional state, could never be sufficient come nightfall.

 Drawing the curtains tightly shut, I sat up on the bed and popped on the TV that was bolted to the wall in order to distract myself. This was probably an unwise idea as the blue flickering of the screen had rather a mesmerizing effect. My mind seemed to be in some kind of stupor, and I found I could not think of anything at all. Despite the small nourishment, I felt weaker than ever, and I used the pillows to prop myself up.

 I thought I only dozed for a few minutes, but, when I awoke, I knew someone was in the room. The door stood ajar, letting in a cold, stiff wind, and there was Tarantin--a vampire, for that is what I now understood him to be--standing at the foot of the bed. I jumped to my feet, much more slowly than I would have wished, and backed against the wall. I could not force the scream out of my throat, and only air came out instead of sound. He came silently closer. His face looked grave. My vertebrae were pressed hard against the plane of plaster and paint behind me, but it afforded little protection or reassurance. I was a trapped animal. Fear sent shock through my legs and held me still as a voice broke the silence.

 “Why did you run away from me?” he asked with revolting innocence.

 I dared not answer.

 “Don’t be afraid,” he said in soothing tones.

 I started for the door, but my flight lacked speed or spontaneity. It was too late. I’d missed my chance. With a blur of lightning speed, the vampire brought me to the floor. He pinned me with one arm across my back as support and another covering my arm and chest. It was like some grotesque dance dip. He had immense strength, and I was incapable of breaking the restraint. My breath came out in stops and starts, and I began to tremble. I shook hard with an inner-locked cry.

 “Please don’t,” I said in a near whimper.

 He only tilted his head. I shut my eyes tightly and shook again. Would this horrible moment never end? It seemed to go on forever, and I prayed that I would pass out again.

 “Shh,” sounded the vampire seductively as he tenderly brushed the hair from my eye.

 He gathered up my body in his arms. I felt myself being lifted upwards and moving through the air. He carried me to the bed and lay me down, then walked away from me. For one stupid moment I thought he was going to leave me there, but I was quickly disillusioned. My heart sank as he closed and locked the door. There was a scraping noise and the sound of metal clinking metal as he slid the security chain into place. With two great strides, he returned to me and got onto the bed.

 The length of his body was stretched out over me, and I could feel his warm pressure around me. Having witnessed his approach, I had sealed my eyes in order to block out anything that might follow. I got the feeling that this was not an attitude he found pleasing, and he seemed to think he could arouse me and bring me around.

 One warm hand was upon my left hip, and his lips touched mine in a kiss. I did not return this but answered only with a violent tremble.

 He continued to try to soothe and win me over in this fashion, and, despite my resistance, it was working. A speck of trust was enfolded in the danger, and the result was a confused sort of attraction. The anticipation was torture.

 His expression finally changed, and I realized that he had finally decided that prolonging the moment any longer would be a greater cruelty against me than what he was about to do. His face told me that he was ready to act, although his own emotions appeared to alternate between wanting to enjoy himself and wanting to get it over with. I tried to brace myself.

 Dexterous fingers began to release one button of my blouse after another, and a soft cry escaped my lips. He pulled off my shirt and looked down at my form beneath him. Hesitating momentarily, his hands crawled underneath me and unclasped my bra. He whisked the undergarment off and revealed my bare breasts as I turned rigid--a stricken being. The thin, tender skin was exposed to the chill of the open air, and it folded into two tight points as he pushed his mouth into the swell of my left breast. I kept waiting for him to bite down there, and I began to sob when I realized that my expectation was one of guilty pleasure not pain. He kissed me on the side of the head and brought his face to within inches of mine even as his hand undid my pants and slid them down to entangle my knees. I felt that warm hand push between my naked thighs as his dark eyes stared straight down into mine, studying me. His warm breath was against my very lips, and he spoke softly despite the heat that had arisen in his cheeks.

 “Do not fear,” he soothed as he dashed a solitary tear off my face with one finger.

 A moan escaped from the clenched teeth of my contorted face as he began to move his fingers, working in further as his free arm curved round beneath me. He continued coaxing the nerves towards fulfillment for several minutes. I felt the familiar caress of his lips on my neck. He kissed and licked at the spot as if he was softening it up, but the hand down within me did not skip a single beat. Then I felt it, the thrust of the teeth, the waves of pleasure enveloping my senses.

 My rebellious body pushed upwards to draw him in closer, but he was already pressed against me as much as he could be. I was crushed so hard against him I could feel every fold of his shirt, but under that was the feel of a driving beat that had begun between my legs and now worked its way throughout my entire body. The sensation was exquisite, and I abandoned all resistance to it. The sounds that had been fluttering from my mouth now elongated into a long and unceasing groan as my body moved against him. He continued to pleasure me until my mind was completely lost in the ecstasy.

 I swam in and out of consciousness, and still the vampire drank lustily. I did not even mind when I realized he wasn’t going to stop this time. Just as I felt a fiery burning at my tongue and lips, I thankfully escaped my shame as I slipped off into the blackness.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

 IV

  

 When I awoke, I felt that I had been asleep for a long time. My limbs were very stiff, and I felt rooted to the spot. My head rested on something firm and warm, but I couldn’t lift myself to take in my environment. Eyeing my surroundings from the reclined position, I noted that I was on a bed. This was not the hotel room, however. Instead of a tattered comforter, there was purest white silk. The pearl sheets of this bed were creased by the weight of my body, and they were cool and smooth against my skin. It would have been very easy to lose myself in another luxurious doze, but I had to know where I was. Tarantin surely must have taken me home with him, but this was not my room at the house. This was a different room, an unfamiliar one.

 I would have forsaken my quest for answers, but something intangible but insistent spurred me to look farther. Straining my retinas, I peered past the silk rectangle’s edges to the open room beyond. There were some corner shelves off on the other side of the room, and a large table sat near this. The room was larger and more open than mine had been, and large glass doors along one side were open to a balcony and letting moonlight tumble onto the floor. The natural pigments of the room gave off an aura that countered my disorientation and instinct to panic. However, I could sense something was wrong. Somehow things looked off.

 After a minute of groggy obtuseness, I realized that it was Tarantin’s bed I was on, his chest that I lay upon. He supported me from behind, unmoving for who knows how many hours. His arms enwrapped me with a comforting warm pressure, and my head only rose and fell slightly with his breathing. Disgusted by this disarming intimacy, I shot up quickly, wishing to be free of the touch of this monster. I had been his prey enough not to doubt the peril I was in, and I was surprised that he did not hold on to me but let me go.

 After flying from the bed, I made impact with the floor only to find myself too weak. Everything spun, and spots obscured my sight. To my growing terror, my legs gave out on me, and the vampire caught me in his arms. He laid me back down but continued to hold my torso in his arms and to look down into my eyes.

 “Careful, my sweet,” he said thoughtfully.

 “What have you done?” I inquired with forced concern as I peered up into his unflinching eyes. I felt like crying, but I didn’t.

 He turned his face away from me and seemed to be searching for the right way to tell me, but he finally returned his gaze and answered.

 “Brought you over into my world,” he said, studying me very carefully for my reaction. When I looked at him uncomprehending, he added in a childish cadence, “Made you like me.”

 I understood but did not want to. What? What! No, no. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t possibly be happening, I thought to myself. The only answer I made out loud was a gasp and look of horror on my face.

 On a gut level, I knew, of course, that this was true, but I just couldn’t wrap my mind around this. I had the same feeling of overwhelming disbelief and horror like the person who wakes up from the anesthesia to discover the wrong leg amputated. I was now a vampire? My god, I was now a vampire. The thought made me shudder. He had forced himself on me, had stolen my very being. Worse than this, I had been betrayed, and I had been able to do nothing to fight it.

 He kept stroking his fingers over my face. I loathed the monster, but my hate was being tricked into submission by his play of affection. And so I was disgusted . . . and afraid. It was obvious that he knew this was so--could read it in my face--but he accepted this and the entire situation nonchalantly, as if he had anticipated it already. This lack of concern on his part hurt me more than anything. He did not give me time to dwell on the thought, however.

 Tarantin wrapped his arm around my lower back and lifted me to my feet as my mind was lapped with dizziness again. He half carried me to a table at the other end of the room, and I resented needing his help. He seated me there and left me to get something from the corner of the room. My arms shook with the strain as I desperately tried to keep myself from falling out of the chair.

 A crystal wineglass suddenly appeared before me. He set it on the table directly in front of me, and I looked suspiciously at the deep garnet-red liquid swirling within it.

 “Take some of this,” he ordered in a firm but gentle voice.

 My lip curled a little in repulsion as I shot a critical eye at him. Tarantin came over to my side and kneeled down next to me. He threw an arm around me to hold me steady in my seat, and, with his free hand, he took up the glass and tried to entice me to take a sip. I looked at him in disbelief. Did he think I was just going to submit to him and let him have his way?

 “Come on,” he said, “You’ll like it.”

 It was the tone one uses with a baby, and it was infuriating. I knew what was happening and clenched my jaw in a recalcitrant refusal, but he had apparently already foreseen and planned for this. With a wan smile, Tarantin leaned over and bestowed a warm kiss on my cheek, then put his hand over my eyes, pinched my nose, and jerked my head back quite forcefully, although he seemed careful not to hurt me. He did it so quickly, and I had barely parted my lips in astonishment, but the glass was already at my mouth before I knew it, as must surely have been his intention. My lips immediately sealed together again, but the glass was already butted up against my teeth.

 As the rim of the glass pressed into my lower lip and tilted, I had planned to spit out whatever came--preferably in his face--but the first pangs of hunger gripped and knotted my stomach. I could not force it out any more than most people could bear to brush their teeth with imported water. It was just too fine and delicious. The exquisite contents entered and danced about my tongue and made warm currents down my throat. It was rich and sweet and delectable like a cream, and I enjoyed it as the greatest thing I had ever had. It went down very smoothly.

 When the glass was emptied, he removed his hand, and I glanced at him resentfully.

 “There now,” he said, “That wasn’t so bad.”

 A smile was embedded in his smooth skin, and, for the first time, I noticed his sharp, pearly teeth. I despised this monster, the one before me and the one now within me. The feeling was so powerful it gave me a sick feeling in my stomach.

 After a minute, I realized that I really was feeling sick and not from any emotional turmoil. The drink had gone down all right, but now it was sitting very heavily. A swirling started within my stomach.

 I’m not sure how much time passed--I was drifting on the edge of unconsciousness on and off--but a sickening sensation had definitely and completely seized me. It reminded me of when I had oral surgery years before and had awakened with swollen lips and a gut full of my own blood. I remember thinking I’d rather die than endure that ill and horrible sensation another moment. I had the same feeling now.

 The nausea was not confined to my belly but pervaded my entire body. I was going to throw up. I felt Tarantin’s arms around me--had I been in his arms all along? He had lifted me up and was carrying me somewhere. My stomach and the world were churning at the same rate now, and I knew I’d lose it any second. He set me down on the floor in front of the commode just in time as the first acridness hit my tongue. It felt like liquid fire in my throat, and the sight of all the blood only made me retch it up even more. With one hand, Tarantin was holding my hair back from my face while with the other he rubbed my back soothingly.

 Finally, the pit of me was emptied. The acidity had brought tears to my eyes. I sat back shaking violently, on the verge of collapse. My skin was chilled and clammy, and I took in breath in spurts. Tarantin wiped my lip with a bit of tissue and then dabbed my face lightly with a cold washcloth.

 Very softly, he said, “We’ll try again later,” and I remember thinking to myself, “Please no, not again.”

 He collected me up into his arms again. As I rose upwards with him, I thought I would be ill again, although there was nothing else left. I made a couple of dry gags before letting my head fall against his shoulder. It had barely sunk against him before I swiftly fainted.

 The next night, upon my waking, Tarantin did force more of the drink into me with much the same result. Again I swallowed it all right, again it made me nauseous, again I fell to painful vomiting, and, once again, the night closed with Tarantin holding my hair for me. I felt very sick, as if the victim of some violent influenza that would not go away, or, worse yet, some deadly plague. It struck all other things from my mind and consumed every bit of my waking present. I tried begging him not to make me drink it again. I tried yelling at him and refusing, but he would not listen, and the cycle was repeated. And we continued this routine again and again, night after night, until finally I began to adapt.

 Little by little, in a process that was agonizingly slow, I was able to keep more and more of the drink down until it finally only made me slightly queasy. This sustenance brought revival, and my strength was finally regained enough that I was able to walk again. This was a blessing to me as I now was not dependent on Tarantin for everything anymore, and it enabled me to get myself away from him. This is not to say that I was ready to leave the house--although I did intend to leave him as soon as possible. I was still too weak for that much mobility, but I was strong enough to take the only action I could devise. I simply cut myself off from him.

 I remained silent, seeking out the guest room and clandestinely sleeping behind its locked doors, always apart from him. This only proved successful for a short time, however, and I soon began awakening to discover that Tarantin had somehow gotten into the room and slipped into bed beside me. On seeing this, I would dart out to the floor as fast as if I had uncovered a viper beside me. When it became obvious that he would not leave me be, I stopped sleeping all together.

 He would not catch me again. If he came into a room, I quickly left it. If he tried to touch me, I shrank from him and jumped behind the nearest furniture. When he spoke to me, I ignored him. However, knowing that he would take advantage of any opportunity, I never dared turn my back on him.

 Keeping myself awake during the day was not easy. I could feel the exhaustion come over me at daybreak like a heavy curtain. However, I was determined not to let my guard down, although I began to have doubts as to how long I could defend my position. I was so tired. Why couldn’t he just leave me in peace?

 At times I would wander upstairs to his bedroom and look at him sleeping. I thought about killing him there, but I knew that I could not bring myself to do that. Perhaps it was out of fear, or perchance it was, in retrospect, because I knew that there was a bond between us and that I could grow to care for him again. After all, I felt anger for him not indifference. Of course, I would never have vouchsafed myself that admission then.

 Yes, I was so furious with him that I made sure he knew I wanted nothing to do with him. However, after the passage of a little time, my resolution not to speak with him was challenged and soon broken. Some communication was forced out of me when I realized I had to ask him a question, although I made sure to ask it in such a way as to extinguish any cause for celebration.

 It was a question to which I already knew the answer, could feel in the hollowness of my womb, but it took me some time to get up the courage to ask it. I knew that the confirmation of my dread would be a slap in the face, but I could not let such a thing go unasked. When I finally psyched myself up, I approached Tarantin where he sat quietly one evening. He knew that I was going to say something, and something of gravity, and he waited respectfully for me to speak. I looked him straight in the eye.

 “I can’t have children now, can I?” I asked more as an accusation than a true interrogative.

 This question obviously took him unawares, and his first response was one of silent shock. However, he soon overcame this, and his mannerisms took on the emotion of his response. His head lowered and tilted as he looked at me sorrowfully, sympathetically. I had struck a chord of guilt within him, and he broke off his gaze, unable to look me in the eye. His lips parted, and he drew in breath to speak, but then no sound came out.

 This was all the answer I needed, and I did not wait for any verbal response. My face tightened until it hardened into stone, and, if he looked at it in search of some emotion, he could not have possibly seen any. With a sharp turn on my heel, I simply walked out and folded back into myself.

 I wrapped myself in solitude and kept my defenses up. Tarantin made a few futile attempts to break through my shell--a soft word here, a gentle touch there. These did not work. I rebuffed both. Each time he failed, the look of concern grew on his face.

 Exhaustion was thick in my brain, but my body remained tense, and I continued to fortify myself against vulnerable sleep. Adrenaline and resentment were my allies in the battle.

 The son of a bitch, he had brought me to this. What was I supposed to do now? I thought of the first night he took me, that night when I had been so foolish as to think my wishes of a lifetime were going to be fulfilled.

 “Idiot!” I called myself as I downed the last of the glass.

 As I grumbled thus to myself, I suddenly felt Tarantin close behind me. I was quite startled--I had not been prepared for his approach--and I quickly moved to jump up, but the vampire was far too quick. He grasped my shoulders from behind. I resisted, but, with my knees still bent over the edge of the chair, I had no leverage. He held me gently but firmly, and, slowly, he eased me back into the seat. Neither of us made a sound as he did this. When I was fully back into my chair and showing no signs of attempting flight, he began to motion his fingers in a massage. I was completely dumfounded. It was an unusual gesture but effective in its purpose.

 Tarantin lowered his lips to my right ear. Then he purred softly, “Relax.” He drew the first syllable out in a thick, eloquent tone, sending a chill to my fingertips.

 I tried to resist, but the expert precision of the pale hands was too penetrating. The muscles of my neck began to betray me. The cords underneath the skin began to slacken, and my shoulders lowered obediently. My eyelids slid shut of their own accord as I rocked with the to-and-fro of his hands. It was a steady rhythm, and the exhaustion faded in behind my closed eyes.

 Traitor! I spat the word silently at myself.

 It was only at the last moment that, by that fuel of emotion, I tensed and slid out of the chair. The empty glass in front of me was disturbed. Standing on the table, it wobbled on its wide round foot then tipped over and hit its head on the wood. There was a dink as it struck and rocked back and forth, but it did not crack.

 “Stay away from me,” I growled angrily.

 I had rushed across the room, and I now stared back at him with icy severity. My body was in a defensive stance, partially sideways to him, and my chin was almost over my right shoulder. My jaw was clenched so hard the muscles swelled slightly under each cheek.

 At that moment, the capacity for forgiveness was not within my grasp. I knew that he could sense my hatred. His hands were still clasping the back of the chair, and he leaned forward against it there, looking down into the vacated seat. He took a deep breath, perhaps out of anger or frustration, and then lifted himself up straight and turned to look at me.

 “I know you are angry with me,” he said, not in a pleading or apologetic tone but in a stern fatherly one, “but you cannot survive like this. You need rest, and you need my care and attention.”

 I stubbornly held my stance in a facedown. Neither of us budged. I thought I could hear a clock somewhere ticking off the seconds, but then I realized it was my own pulse. Tarantin turned his back on me very slowly, but I flinched as if he had suddenly sprung around violently. This pricked my pride. Without looking back at me, he left the room. I looked at the space he had occupied as if he had left some kind of phantom trace of himself behind him in the air.

 A shiver caught hold of my muscles, and I suddenly felt very cold. My limbs visibly shook, and a vibration went down the length of my spine. I knew he was right. I did need him, though I hated it. It was something I felt. His touch seemed to nourish me somehow, to give me strength. Away from him, I could feel myself withering. How could I admit this though?

 I stood there motionless for several minutes struggling with this. Somewhere deep inside me, I felt some kind of emotional switch get thrown. It brought a sense of resignation to my fate, and I was too exhausted to fight it any longer. I staggered up the stairs to the bedroom. The sun had risen some time ago, and it looked as if Tarantin was already fast asleep in the bed.

 Without removing my eyes from his figure, I walked cautiously around to the far side of the bed. I stopped and waited a few feet away. He was on his right side facing me, and I looked directly down on him. At rest, his face was smooth and innocent--not full of that energetic and seductive power it had in his waking moments. He looked so peaceful.

 As I took another step closer towards the bedside, I discovered that he was not truly asleep. Without ever opening his eyes, he soundlessly lifted the covers with one arm, offering me a space next to him in his arms. His face remained unclouded, and he patiently waited in that position. I hesitated a moment, but the cold was still gnawing at me, and the little cave he made there felt so warm and inviting. I could not resist it any longer, and I went to him and slipped in under the covers with my back to him. The arm and coverlet lowered down onto me.

 Enfolded in his arms, I felt a warmth and comfort so exquisite that it was beyond relief. It was so powerful that it reduced me to silent sobs. Feeling me convulse, no doubt, Tarantin kissed my ear through the film of my hair. He squeezed me more tightly, molding his body around the back of mine, adjusting to every niche. I rediscovered not just sleep but rest.

 The next night, I began a new routine. I made sure I drank plenty, and I walked around the room to get as much exercise as I could. When morning came, I slept by Tarantin’s side. This was my simple pattern, and I stuck to it for weeks until I grew stronger. Tarantin looked upon this as favorable, but he did not realize the motivations behind it. If I ever went to him for his touch, it was only to use him for his strength. In reality, despite these tender moments, I was still determined to leave. I was preparing to escape for good.

 All the time I did this, I tried to convince myself that I felt firm resolve, but really my heart had begun to soften. What spurred me on now was principle and a large dash of stubbornness. I could not forgive Tarantin for what he had done, and it was impossible to live under his roof with my feelings betraying me.

 When the time finally came for me to attempt my liberation, I tried to be especially careful not to give myself away. I’m not sure if he knew my intentions. I think he did not. When we climbed into bed in the early, dark hours one morning, I feigned sleep for a few hours until I was sure he was slumbering deeply. It was just before dawn when I crept quietly out of the bed, took money out of Tarantin’s wallet on the nightstand, and descended the stairs.

 Things could not have gone more smoothly. Tarantin did not come after me, and I did not rush. I was not frightened or desperate, but instead I moved very deliberately. I merely made a phone call and gathered up my belongings out of the guest room. Hauling my luggage out the door and down the driveway, I permitted only one brief glance behind me. Once at the street, I did not have to wait long for my taxi to pick me up. The driver threw my bags in the trunk, I got in, and we started south. I was going home.

 It was quite a lengthy ride, and the sun was already up before I began the trip. The brightness increased as it mounted the sky. My vision became a little fuzzy as even this mild sun was blazing to my sight. Putting on sunglasses cured this, but there was nothing that could be done about the intolerable rays mercilessly bombarding my unprotected epidermis. The solar heat, creeping through the prism of the side windows, was intensely hot on my sensitive skin. I knew from watching Tarantin that I wouldn’t burst into flames or anything, but I did not realize what discomfort the daylight hours would inflict.

 Nothing could have stopped me, however, and, at the first sight of my home, my spirits lifted. I swiftly paid the cabbie and rushed through the door with my things. The familiar sights and smells of my apartment were the most welcome in the world, and I settled in comfortably. I breathed more easily, having now reclaimed sturdy reality, disentangling myself from the vampire life that now seemed only a dream.

 After a whole week passed, I felt like I was more myself again. So far, Tarantin hadn’t showed up to recapture me--a dread that kept nagging at me. He had tracked me once. What if he did it again? I shoved the thought from my mind and tried to get back to my normal life as if nothing had happened. How convincing I was in my denial!

 Of course, the first thing I had to do was let everyone know that I was all right. When I did not return to work for so long and no one heard from me, my friends had been on the verge of filing a missing person’s report on me. The only thing that held them back was the knowledge that I had gone off with my boyfriend. They realized it was a possibility that I had eloped or something of that nature, and they didn’t want to take any serious action until they could be sure. At first, I truly felt bad that I had worried them, but then I remembered that it wasn’t my fault that I hadn’t come back on time.

 I came up with a story of how Tarantin and I had gotten into a terrible argument and broken up.

 “We were having a good time up until the last night. Then, he started talking about my moving in with him. He just assumed I’d quit my job and leave my life here behind to follow him. He didn’t even ask me what I wanted,” I told them.

 “You mean he never even discussed it with you?” they asked.

 “No. He just expected me to go along with his plans. So I got mad, and he got mad. We had a huge argument, and I left.”

 I told them that I had been too upset to return, had been out of my mind, and I apologized for not having at least called them. This was close enough to the truth for me to be very convincing.

 “Aw,” they said sympathetically, “and we thought he was the One, too.”

 “Yea,” I agreed, my voice sounding very distant as I pushed an unwanted thought aside.

 Although they appeared to accept all of this, I think they sensed that I was leaving something out. Perhaps they concluded that Tarantin had mistreated me in some way, but I’m not sure. Maybe they thought I was just afraid of love.

 “It’s okay. I’ll be fine,” I responded. “I just need some time. Once I’m back into my routine, I’ll be fine.”

 I said it as much for my benefit as for theirs. I soon began to avoid them, however. I felt too uneasy with them--their presence and the life they represented cut me too deeply. I was completely winging it on my own now.

 I did not do well solo, however, and there were many difficulties I faced in trying to reclaim my life. I went back to work, but I was too groggy during the day to concentrate, and I hardly got anything done. My insomnia made things more impossible. I could no longer sleep for more than a few hours at night, and I’d just start to dose off as the sun rose.

 Every waking hour, I felt compelled to keep thinking of Tarantin. It was as unavoidable as death, one might say. And during those few hours when I did sleep, he followed me into my dreams.

 I could see him, hear him, smell him, feel him as if he were right there with me. He swept me up in his arms and showered me with kisses.

 “Please come home,” this apparition said.

 Then he carried me away with him, and my heart swelled with such feeling that it woke me with tears. Doubts ran through my mind, and I wanted to rip my heart from its cage and wring out the last pathetic beat with a curse upon my lips. What betrayal! What torture!

 He was like a song that gets stuck in your head, and, no matter what feelings he evoked in me, I could not banish his image from my mind’s eye. He was like an addictive drug. Living without him was painful. What was his attraction? Was it real or just some spell? How could I love such a man--not even a man but some horrible aberration preserved in the balm of life for all eternity? He had stolen my life and my love from me one drop at a time.

 Even this, the very worst of it, was overridden by other concerns. It had never occurred to me to bring any of the bottles of blood--for indeed that is what I now accepted them to be--with me. I had been stupid not to think of it. Despite my best efforts to shove regular food down my throat, I began to weaken and starve. The emptiness grew until cold growls whined at me for sustenance.

 I had gone a long time without it, but how much longer could I last? Another week? A month? I didn’t know. I tried to reassure myself.

 “Fine, if I have to be a vampire, I’ll be a vampire on my own. I’ve certainly read enough about them. I can figure it out.”

 Close encounters with people often excited my appetite, and I knew I merely needed to find a suitable target. Both caution and my conscience advised against this, but my determination pushed me on. I felt confident that I need not murder anyone for food but instead would merely take a little here and there.

 When I came across an old man passed out on the park bench, I knew he would be my best bet. The man was lying down with a bag-enshrouded bottle next to him and rosy color on his nose and cheeks. It was late at night, and there were no people around, so I felt secure in approaching him. With one quick glance over my shoulder, I gently picked up his hand and squatted down to it.

 His hand was callused and rather grimy. All the nails were overhanging little black quarter moons of dirt, and I almost lost my appetite. The smell of him would not by any standards have been sweet, but for some reason I was still attracted towards his skin. He showed no sign of stirring--a fact that made it easier for me to rouse and maintain my courage.

 Lowering my face to his wrist, I was struck suddenly with my hunger. It gnarled inside of me and demanded the liquid that circulated just below the surface. Anxious and unable to wait any longer, I bit down very hard.

 “Ah!” the man screamed.

 “Ah!” I echoed back an octave higher as I flung myself up.

 He was sitting bolt upright and looking at me in horror. I took off running as fast as I could, and I did not dare look back. Fear and shame snapped at my heels with equal ferocity, and I did not stop until I made it home. The little bit of blood on my front teeth was sickeningly sweet and tart.

 I forbade myself from biting anyone else. The detachment of a wine glass removed the element of death from the drink, but such a personal encounter brought me face to face with it. It was undeniably a powerful pull, but its shadow expunged all joy in it.

 I would not go after a human again. Nor could I turn to animals, being too much of a lover of them to sink my teeth into their cute and fuzzy bodies. I tried to think of other ways of getting what I needed. Sources of blood crossed my mind; a blood bank, a hospital, etc. All seemed implausible or beyond my capabilities. It was a hopeless situation, and indeed it appeared that my entire escape had been ill advised.

 Stymied, I still tried to pretend everything was fine. I went out to restaurants and tried to act like a normal person. At least I could be with people while I was out instead of being locked in my apartment alone.

 On one particularly lonely evening, when the hunger was freezing my insides and driving me out of my mind, I ran out. I stopped at the first restaurant I saw, which turned out to be a more expensive one than I should have chosen. I was allowed in without a reservation, it being an unlikely and uneventful hour to dine.

 The waiter directed me to a table in the middle of the room. I would have preferred to sit in a secluded booth. I felt conspicuous, and all eyes were on me in my mind. I looked like I was waiting for someone with the empty seat across from me. I didn’t know why I had come here in the first place, and I wished immediately to leave, but standing up to do so just seemed like such an enormous effort. It was one of those times when you become locked in indecision, and inertia holds you where you are no matter how unhappy you feel. I took a sip of water and set the glass back down.

 “You’re waiting for me,” a voice stated very seriously.

 Out of nowhere, Tarantin came striding up and took the seat across from me nonchalantly. His very presence startled me at a depth I cannot explain, and I drew in a quivering breath. How had he found me here? I tried to convince myself that it was fear that caused my pulse to quicken at his presence. His manner remained light and unconcerned as he sat so silently, looking at me.

 I put pressure on my feet and pushed on the table to slide back. It seemed so very simple; push back my chair, stand up, and walk out.

 “Please,” he said more plaintively. “Won’t you even sit and speak with me? You were able to talk to me once, can’t you confide in me again?”

 He seemed so calm and sure. Even if my mind could have replied, my mouth had dried too much for speech. What could I say? What reply could I make? Nothing could have prepared me for this situation. I could not answer. I suddenly felt chilled. My head seemed to no longer be attached to the rest of my body for I could no longer feel my arms and legs. I had to do something; scream, laugh, cry, yell, something, anything.

 “We have a lot to discuss. There are many things that need saying,” he said, trying to prompt some response from me.

 The waiter trotted over and said something to Tarantin. The world seemed to be on mute, and I couldn’t hear what he said. I didn’t take my eyes off of Tarantin, and his never strayed from mine. He said something to the man, and the waiter wandered off to another table.

 “Leave me alone,” I said in a whisper so faint that it was barely a breath.

 I rose from the table and walked away towards the door. My whole body was trembling, and my shaking legs made it difficult to walk. I thought I would never reach the door, and I was sure I was going to lose it at any moment. Call it a nervous breakdown, call it a panic attack, call it what you will. I just knew that a tension was growing inside.

 The cool blast of air on my face eased me as I flew out the door and across the parking lot. My name was called after me. It was Tarantin. He had followed me out of the restaurant and was walking up fast behind me. Couldn’t I get away? Couldn’t I get away from him? I needed escape more than anything.

 “Wait,” he said as he brought his hands around my shoulders.

 I spun around and staggered back a few steps. I felt like I was losing my mind, and I fought even harder to keep it all in and under control.

 “No,” he said. “No more running, no more hiding.”

 What did he want from me?

 “I’m not running, I’m leaving you,” I said with a bite.

 “It does not work that way with us. I am here, and I am not going away.” Then, after a pause, “You have to face me.”

 I took a hard swallow that sent the lump in my throat down painfully into my chest and tried to get away from him again. He was around in front of me in a flash, and he grabbed my right wrist. His fingers were curled over my pulse.

 “We are bound to one another,” he said.

 “No, we’re not,” I said, my lip quivering under greater distress and anger.

 “Are you lying to me or yourself?” he retorted.

 I broke eye contact and focused on the pavement between us as if it were some great expanse protecting me. The distance between us made the confrontation bearable, though barely so.

 “Let go,” I said under my breath.

 “Face me,” he repeated again, separating the words and emphasizing the last.

 All sorts of emotions were churning within me, and I couldn’t be sure what was going to come out. Still, I forced everything into order and held on. I pulled with my right arm and was disturbed to find that he had no intention of letting go of me.

 “You can’t go back to your former life. You can’t have it. No matter how hard you fight for it, no matter how much you pretend, you cannot have it back. I am your future now. You have a new life with me now, and you need to come home.”

 No. Please no. Why was this happening to me? I needed to get away from him. He was too close, pushing too hard.

 “Let go,” I ordered again more forcefully from between clenched teeth.

 He did not obey, and he stood there silently with me locked in his grasp. I gave a ferocious tug.

 “Let go!”

 This time it came out as a yell. It upset the balance within me, and I felt my throat clasp shut.

 “No,” said Tarantin. “Get angry. Get upset, but I am not going anywhere, not now, not ever.”

 A string of curses ran over my tongue, but my throat was clenched too tightly to give them voice. I would still have been okay if he had not stroked my cheek. Why did he have to touch me? Suddenly there it was, his soft hand on my face. That was it. I lost it. I hit at him ineffectually with my left hand.

 “I hate you!” I screamed.

 I tried to shove him away, but he was as solid as stone and would not budge. He grabbed my left hand in its flight and now held both hands firmly. He drew me toward him even as I tried to free myself. I couldn’t see. My vision warped and blurred, and I could not figure out what was going on.

 “I hate you,” I said quietly.

 “No you don’t,” he said evenly. Then, in a whisper, “That’s what hurts the most.”

 I could now feel the wet upon my cheeks. Damn it. I didn’t want to be the little girl. I wanted to hold strong. I drew in breath and cleared my eyes. He tried to pull me against his chest, but I was spiteful enough to prevent him from getting his arms around me.

 I clenched my jaw tightly. I pulled back from him, and he released me.

 “Wait here,” he commanded as he walked over to his parked car. He opened the passenger door and pulled something out.

 He came back over to me with a serious expression on his face.

 “If you’re going to go, take this with you,” he said.

 I was shocked when he reached out to hand me a bottle of that dreadful elixir. Hesitation held me stationary for a minute, but I reached out and accepted it.

 “You’ll return to me when you’re ready,” he said quietly. “Just don’t wait too long.”

 With that said, he walked back to his car and got in. I watched him go. Although I had gotten my way, it was I who felt defeated. I knew now--knew without doubt. Whether I liked it or not, I needed Tarantin to survive. Perhaps, deep down, I knew I needed him in another way, too.

 I went home, sat down on the end of my bed, and stared at the wall in the repose of void thought. No one came to disturb my state. Tarantin did not arrive to force his way in or whisk me away, and for one blessed night his soul did not steal into mine to haunt my dreams. When I awoke the next evening, it was with the understanding that I was going to have to leave my home for good.

 I fought it off, won a few battles, ignored it for another week, but the war was lost before I had begun. My heart could not be suppressed any longer. I couldn’t hold out. It had become blatantly clear to me that I didn’t fit into the mortal world anymore. So what could hold me here now? Nothing would ever be the same. Soon, I’d see everybody around me die while I lived on and on. Eternity is a very lonely and desolate reality. How could I ever endure it alone?

 I realized that my life was gone. I was a vampire, and I belonged in only one place. I had never hated or loved Tarantin more. I’d think of how much I wanted as well as needed him, and then I’d clench my fists and jerk my mind away.

 I began selling most of my belongings in a garage sale. The rest I boxed up. I remembered my friend, who had moved many times in her life, once telling me that she had cried every time she had to leave a place. That is how I felt now, only I wasn’t just leaving a home or those memories, I was leaving my life.

 I walked around my apartment running my hand along the walls as if to ingrain every sense of it in my mind.

 “Just a place,” I told myself. “Don’t get yourself worked up.”

 Returning to one of the open boxes on the floor, I began packing away my photo albums. As I did, one stray picture slipped out. It was a family photo from long ago. A small group huddled together for the camera, and I looked at the faces staring back at me. I picked my face out of the cluster--I looked so young, so happy. I realized with a sickening feeling that no one else in that photo was still around. Each had departed this world in his own way in what now seemed like rapid succession. It tore at my heart, and I quickly put it back in the box while the bitterness gnawed at my throat. I would hold on to these. I would preserve these as long as I could.

 My apartment and car were sold quickly--perhaps a sign that I was doing the right thing. Resigned to my fate, I said adieu to this period of my life, but it broke my heart. Then, setting my jaw firmly, I set out for my new life.

 I reached the house at nightfall a few days later. When I entered the house, it seemed strangely vacant. Where was he? Dropping an armful of my belongings in the doorway, I walked from room to room, but he wasn’t there. Of all the things I had envisioned for this meeting, Tarantin’s not being there had never occurred to me. Ironically, I felt abandoned. All this time I had been running from him, and now, when I wanted him, he wasn’t there.

 Realizing that I would just have to wait patiently, I walked out onto the deck and looked out on the water. I peered deeply into the inky deep for answers, like some aged oracle looking for divine revelations, not in a handful of some lifeless bones but in the energetic currents and lapping of the water. I stood like that for a very long time, and, with each passing moment, my heart grew to miss Tarantin. As if to punctuate my loneliness, the sky was a murky blue-black, but the moon shone with its full brilliance.

 As I stood there searching, a shadow fell on the ground beside my feet. I turned, and there, as if in response to my prayers, stood Tarantin in all his supernatural beauty. Only briefly holding back, I ran to him and swooped into his arms. I held him tightly, but, just as quickly, I broke free to beyond his reach.

 There was still some anger in me, and I could not give him total satisfaction. I turned my back and moved my hands to my elbows as though in defense against the cold. I bowed my head slightly as my eyes fell to the ground before my feet. This was a matter of seconds, and I almost immediately felt the agile and persuasive aura of the vampire’s presence at my back.

 His left arm enclosed my stomach while his right crossed to enclose my hands in his. He held me tightly to his chest, and I could feel the beat of his heart against the skin of my back, its cadence was calm and reassuring. His voice seeped into my ear.

 “Please don’t run away from me any longer. How could you stay away for so long? I need you. I never intended to hurt you,” he said with the strain of anguish and longing in his voice.

 Controlling my voice as best I could, I asked him, “Where were you?”

 “I realized it was time to go get you,” he said. As if as an afterthought, he added in a more serious tone, “I love you.”

 His last statement struck me breathless. In all the time I had known him, he had never spoken those special words to me. Tears threatened to spill over my eyelids, but I held them back and said nothing.

 “I love you,” he repeated softly as he tenderly stroked his fingers through my hair.

 When my soul could no longer contain it, the words flowed effortlessly from me, “I love you, too,” I said as a few tears finally slipped out of me and fell to the floor. They fell silently.

 I turned around, and Tarantin pulled me in close until my head rested upon the shoulder of his jacket. He pressed my shoulders and cradled the back of my head. I sensed a smile had been imprinted on his face, either of joy or relief. I think I made a sigh, and he shifted back so as to look at me eye to eye.

 “Then come,” he said with only the slightest break in his voice that he cleared quickly, “Come inside, and let’s get you moved into your new home.”

 I started to walk with him, but then I stopped.

 “I won’t run again,” I said with a level voice.

 “I know,” he said confidently, although not in any kind of threatening way. He said it as though he merely understood it as fact.

 And so our life together truly began. Tarantin helped me bring all my possessions into the house. When we were done, we went out for a walk together. We did not speak the entire way, but we walked very close together. It was the start of our quiet little lifestyle, one in which we were learning how to be with each other all over again.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

 V

  

 From then on, evenings with him were usually spent in quiet company. Occasionally, he would leave the house to do something, but this was rare. Although I still was not completely at ease with him again, I liked having him near me. He became a friend or father figure more than anything, and I relied on him heavily. Rather belatedly--it seemed to me--I was going through transitions, and, physically, I was experiencing the same sensations as growth. My body was changing--especially my senses--and I no longer trusted that I had full control over its functions. This was a sobering feeling, and Tarantin’s presence gave me some comfort. He assured me that it would all pass soon, and, if I grew restless, he was always there to calm me with the melodic singsong of his voice.

 I grew to recognize his familiar step, and my mind could follow him through the house. My strength increased with every passing night, and I became reacquainted with myself. A curiosity started to brew within me as to what I was capable of in this new form. Tarantin was not going to let my curiosity go unfulfilled, and he sat me down one night to discuss such things.

 We were seated across from each other in a little tête-à-tête. Neither Tarantin nor I were much for beating around the bush, and we got right down to it.

 “It is important that you separate fact from fiction and know exactly what rules apply,” he said to me. “Ask me any questions you have.”

 I thought for a moment. It seemed a little foolish to me, but I decided to ask about the superstitions first.

 “The sunlight--it isn’t a problem, right?”

 “Sunlight will only cause you discomfort. You are a nocturnal animal now, so you will be lethargic during the daytime.”

 “Garlic?”

 He laughed. “No.”

 “Silver?”

 “No.”

 “Crosses or holy water?”

 “No.”

 “Do we carry diseases?”

 “Not that I am aware of.”

 “Can we turn into bats or mist or anything like that?”

 Tarantin chuckled again. “Now that would be fun! But no.”

 “So what exactly is true?” I asked.

 “We are immortal. Your body will remain exactly as it is now, and you are completely invulnerable with the exception of dismemberment or death by fire. I suppose you have noticed that your senses have grown more acute?”

 “Yes,” I answered. “I feel stronger, too. What about that?”

 “Your muscles have grown stronger.”

 “So could I overpower a mortal man now?” I asked curiously. It would be incredible to be that invincible.

 “With strength only, I am not sure that you could, although you would certainly give him a great deal of trouble. You are still limited by your size. However, you should rely more upon your speed than your strength.”

 “Speed?” I asked.

 I remembered how quickly Tarantin had moved when he took me in the hotel room. Could I do that? Could I move that fast?

 “Yes. I suspect you were very fast before, but now you will find that you are especially agile. Don’t get the idea that you can go out and race against cars though. The rules of nature still apply to you.

 “But what about the blood?” I retorted.

 “I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that. I don’t know why or how it works, I just know that it defines us.”

 I let this sink in a minute. I wondered where Tarantin got our supply. He had never told me, but, thinking about it, I was not inclined to find out. I shoved that question aside and fixed upon another.

 “So, do we have any extrasensory powers or anything?” I asked doubtfully.

 Tarantin pursed his lips together slightly and nodded his head downwards once.

 “We are connected by blood. This consanguinity gives us a sense of each other,” he said in the monotone of an old professor.

 “What, like mind reading or empathic power or something?” I asked incredulously, surprised at having received any kind of affirmative answer at all.

 “No,” he said, unable to suppress a laugh at this, “Nothing that precise. Think of it more as very strong intuition.”

 It seemed like there must be more to it than Tarantin was letting on. My mind jumped back in time.

 “Wait a minute, is that how you tracked me down?” I asked. “When I ran away?”

 I had posed the question with a voice of certainty and a tinge of accusation, but I was still surprised by the frank answer of “yes.”

 “Your body speaks to me,” he said, “I can follow its whispers when I listen carefully for you.”

 I squirmed in my seat, disturbed by the implications.

 “I can always find you,” he added.

 I mulled this over for a moment and then asked, “Does it work both ways? I mean can I always find you too?”

 “Yes,” he said, “Eventually, when you learn to open up and listen, you will feel these little pushes and pulls on the air, very faint.”

 I fell silent. Having him so close, inside my head, scared me. It meant no concealment, no dodges. It was as he had said, no more hiding and no more running away. My change of mood must have been palpable to him for he lightened his tone considerably in his next statement.

 “So you see, we do have some unique talents,” he said. “It should not be a complete disappointment to you.”

 He smiled, but then his face took on a more serious composure.

 “There are so many things you can do, and the only thing that can hold you back is your own fear. You don’t need to be afraid of anything anymore.”

 I looked at him a bit skeptically.

 “You don’t believe me?” he said with mock hurt.

 He took his chin in his hand, and then he looked back up to me.

 “Come on,” he said out of the blue, “Let’s go for a ride. We still have some time before dawn, and there’s something I want to show you.”

 What a strange request! I was very suspicious, though I had no inkling of his intentions. I was pretty sure he was up to something, but I didn’t see any way out of it.

 “All right,” I said.

 I followed Tarantin when he got up and trailed after him like a puppy. We went out the front door, locked it behind us, and walked to the car. He held the door for me, and I got in on the passenger side. Tarantin walked around the outside of the car and then slipped in behind the wheel. I watched his every movement as if I might be provided with some clue. He started up the engine, and off we went.

 As we drove to our mysterious destination, I tried to get him to tell me what he was up to, but he would not do so. He hid behind that dangerous word “surprise.” Abandoning my interrogation, I turned on the radio. The numbers flitted by on the display like a high frequency government code. After blipping past some soporific classical, droning country, and blaring rock, I gave up and contented myself with the silence. I stared at the lines whipping by on the moist pavement.

 When we finally stopped, I looked around to see that we were in a vacant parking lot in front of a four-story building. It looked like a museum or a library--something of that nature--and to this day I’m not sure exactly why he chose that particular place. The building itself was irrelevant. Tarantin led me up to the roof, my still not realizing what he was doing.

 The roof was flat and trimmed by a three-foot cement railing along the edges. Thankfully there was no tar, but the cement tiles beneath my feet occasionally wobbled, and I had to be careful not to trip. What on earth were we doing up here?

 I stayed well into the middle interior and merely craned my neck to look around, not daring to go near the edges. Ever since I was a small child, heights have bothered me. To my growing nervousness, I began to wonder if Tarantin had somehow discovered this particular disinclination. I watched him with a severe eye.

 “So, what exactly did you want to show me?” I asked.

 “That you need not fear any longer,” he coolly advised me as we stood there.

 I looked at him timidly, reluctant to participate in whatever he had in mind. Without hesitation, Tarantin walked to the edge and mounted the cement railing, which was all that had protected him from a disastrous fall. My immediate reaction was fear for his safety--I wanted him to get down--but these concerns were instantly turned to myself as I discovered his arm outstretched and beckoning.

 “No way!” I exclaimed as I hurriedly backed away with my hands up in protest.

 Tarantin, his face almost sad, bounced down and came towards me even as I still backed away and embedded my heals in the ground. Even with the inevitable coming at me, my mind couldn’t help but think for a moment how human he looked. He grabbed me round the waist.

 “Tarantin, no!”

 I let out a muffled scream, but he dragged me along effortlessly. We stopped, and I felt myself ascending as he lifted me up onto the cement railing. He set me up there on my feet and let go. I squeezed my eyes shut and tensed my body as every cell became suffused with terror. Anyone who has any such great fears can surely relate.

 I’m going to fall. I’m going to fall. I’m going to fall, I kept thinking over and over in my head.

 Any other rational thought was superseded by this overriding and all-encompassing concern. My equilibrium might be thrown off at any second, and I could be pitched over the side. I was even too scared to leap in the direction of safety.

 Slowly, I became aware of his cool hand brushing my cheek and hair. For a moment, almost an eternity, I stood motionless and shivered. Only then did I warily open my eyes, first one and then the other. What I beheld as I widened my field of vision was Tarantin’s affectionate gaze locked on mine.

 “I promise I won’t let you fall,” confidently assured my supernatural guardian.

 He reached for me and clasped each of my hands securely in his. I returned the action by clenching onto them with all my might, probably cutting off the circulation. His hands holding mine, he led me forward even as he himself walked backwards. I was too nervous to do anything but look at my footing, the rail below seeming to grow narrower before my very eyes.

 “Trust your own body. You won’t slip,” Tarantin announced as he guided my gaze up to his again with one soft finger under my chin.

 I tried to look down, but he captured my gaze and would not release me. By this time, my body was trembling. I feared that my limbs would fail me. Had I given much thought to what he had told me, perhaps it wouldn’t have been such an ordeal. As it was, I didn’t think about it until later. In hindsight, I believe that all phobias and fears have at least a small root in a fundamental lack of faith in ourselves, faith that we can cope and deal with any situation.

 As it was, I possessed no such faith at the time. Making the mistake of eyeing the void, I was suddenly enveloped in vertigo. As I approached levels of breathing close to hyperventilating, I froze into cold stone, a paralysis even Tarantin could not break. Witnessing this turn for the worse, he seemed to realize that it was a greater obstacle for me than he had thought.

 Prying my fingers from his and moving around me to a firmer position, Tarantin caught me in a strong hold from behind. This was barely noticed by me as I began to shiver involuntarily. Along with every other muscle, my jaw was tensed shut, and I was unable to voice pleas to get me down. Instead, I remained motionless and silent with Tarantin now at my back.

 He was whispering words of comfort with his cheek pressed against the side of my head and his lips fluttering against the curve of my ear. My muscles slackened almost imperceptibly, and a pain fanned out along my spine and legs, a result of prolonged muscle contraction. Sensing this minute relaxation, he persisted in drawing me out of this rigid, statue-like state. When a reasonable amount of flexibility had been restored to my limbs, Tarantin made his move.

 With the toe of his shoe against the heel of mine, he slid my foot forward along the concrete with a slow, forceful push. My reaction, of course, was to let escape a moan and to resist and push back against him. Undeterred, he wrenched my other foot forward from its foundation, making me move in a jerking walk. Another sound escaped my vocal chords--some kind of combination of a sob, gasp, and scream. In response, Tarantin hugged me tighter, assuring me that he wouldn’t let go.

 “It’s all right. You’re doing fine. See, you’re okay,” he soothed tirelessly.

 By this time, I was trembling terribly, but I made a valiant effort to shed some of my fear. I relaxed, then tensed, and tried to relax again. Regaining my wits and self-control, I was better able to deal with the situation. Make no mistake, the icy fear still cleaved to me, but I had separated my emotional and mental state just enough to use some of my faculties.

 “Just don’t let go of me,” I croaked in a near whisper, my voice cracking violently.

 Acquiescing to my request, Tarantin helped me to the end of this rail and around the corner to the next. After doing so, however, he must have deemed me sufficiently prepared, for he warned me that he was going to let me go to walk it by myself. It was as if he were a father teaching his child how to ride a bike. I of course protested, feeling no more confident than when he had first proffered a hand. My negations were acknowledged but vetoed.

 After I had walked the length of it--by what reserves of courage I do not know--Tarantin decided that I had coped enough for one evening. Gracefully assisting me down, he put his arm around my back and rocked me a little as we walked as if to say that it was all right, I’d done a good job. All I can say is that the cushioned leather seat of the black Porsche never felt so good.

 Although he was probably, on a smaller scale, testing me all the time, Tarantin did not do any other such exercises with me again. This was much to my relief. Now educated, as it were, in vampire life and no longer studying under my maker, I was free to simply live and be. I began to enjoy the resources at my disposal.

 Upstairs, adjacent to the bedroom, there was a study with a vast array of books. This was one of my favorite spots as it was very relaxing and cozy. It was a sizable, rectangular room, with two floor-to-ceiling, hardwood bookshelves on either side of an ornamental fireplace. The wall to the outside was composed entirely of glass, two very large windows supported by a thin grid of frame. A large, dark-wood door insulated this quiet room from the adjoining bedroom. Another, smaller room budded off from the opposite end of this study and was, to my surprise, filled with all the modern electronic conveniences. A telephone rested on a small, three-legged table. A television set concealed itself behind a teak cabinet, and a sofa was positioned in front of it in the usual manner. There was a small desk against one wall that even supported a computer. I don’t know why this should have surprised me, but, in some ways, I guess I thought of vampires as separate from such modern inventions.

 The house became very familiar to me, and I settled into it very quietly and comfortably. Tarantin and I fell into our little routines, and I found that I had gradually grown very relaxed and trusting in our relationship again. He was always considerate of me, and I rediscovered that human man I had known. It was not a complete recovery of our intimacy, but we were certainly making great strides.

 We both spent a great deal of time together, and time passed quickly. The moon blossomed fully several times with me complacently enjoying our lifestyle. However, one cannot live in such isolation forever, and restlessness eventually dawned. I began to feel a little lonely living the life of a recluse.

 Perhaps Tarantin felt the same way. After all, he was a gregarious sort of person, and I can’t imagine that he could tolerate social isolation for long. However, he may have just picked up on my feelings. I don’t know. Either way, he eventually made a move to expand my horizons.

 On a particularly uneventful evening, I was enjoying a delightful soak in the tub upstairs. I had sealed myself in with the aroma of lavender and vanilla bursting off the froth of my bubble bath. A fine bath will creep its way into your muscles and make you lose all track of time, and this was just such an instance. I had probably been in there for over an hour already, and I had no intention of leaving. Everything necessary for a therapeutic retreat was there; candles on the edge, drink down next to me on the floor, a radio over on the counter. I was alternating between dunking my head beneath the surface and resurfacing to sing along with the music. My little recital was disturbed, however, by a light tapping at the door. It was Tarantin, of course. I was surprised he hadn’t come sooner, as long as I had been in here.

 “Don’t interrupt me,” I said. “I’m steeping,” I added with a small laugh.

 “I should think you would have dissolved by now,” answered the voice at the other side. “Will you be coming out soon?”

 “What’s the hurry?” I asked. “It’s not as though we have plans,” I said with more than a little hint-hint in my voice.

 “That’s exactly what I want to talk to you about. How would you like to have a little get-together?” he asked.

 This question, as you may imagine, came as a complete and utter surprise to me, but I was nonetheless intrigued. I popped up and pulled the plug to the bath in the bat of an eye. There was still a grape cluster of suds on my shoulder as I wrapped the towel around my body and stuck my head around the door almost simultaneously.

 “A get-together?” I asked.

 “Yes,” Tarantin answered casually without preventing his eyes from running down to my attire in a quick glance.

 I interrogated him further by raising my right eyebrow. This made him smile.

 “I believe it is time for you to meet some more of our kind,” he said in answer.

 “More vampires?” I asked as I shifted my hand on the door. This really was curious.

 “Yes,” he said nonchalantly.

 “How many are there?”

 “Oh, I should say somewhere in the vicinity of two dozen,” he answered with his lips pursed and eyes rolled upwards in a calculated guess.

 This struck me as odd that there would be such a concentrated populous in the neighboring areas.

 “Two dozen!”

 “Well,” he said, “not all in one place.” He gave a little chuckle. “They will be coming from all over the world.”

 Now I was very fascinated. Tarantin’s eyes had moved to the bubbles on my shoulder, and he was no longer looking me in the eye.

 “Why would they travel this far for a get-together?” I asked, trying to regain his attention.

 He looked up again. “It is very important for them to meet you,” he answered. “It is both for their own protection and for yours as well that they should know you.”

 “Hmmm,” I said to myself. I guessed they wanted to check me out, so to speak, and make sure that I was not a threat.

 I tried to imagine all the various scenarios in hope of anticipating what could occur. If a meeting of vampires was to be, then I’d just have to prepare myself for it. Come what may, this certainly was going to be interesting.

 As I exited the steamy bathroom, I could hear Tarantin in the other room. He was wasting no time in making all the arrangements. Now only the time’s passage stood between this strange affair and us.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

 VI

  

 Tarantin had been forced to select a date a reasonable distance off to allow for everyone to plan accordingly, but the proposed night seemed to arrive very quickly. It came and was upon us before I knew it, and I found myself waking early to get ready for it. I had learned from Tarantin that this was going to be quite a formal event, and I had prepared accordingly. I made sure that I dressed suitably in order to make a good and respectable impression on the company. Apparently, everyone gathered together so rarely that they liked to make a great deal of it, and I certainly did not want to disappoint them.

 I picked out a lovely sky-blue dress, form-fitting without being slinky, and I curled my hair and pinned it up. I did this in the master bedroom and bath--I had long ago moved all my belongings up there and pretty much taken over the closet--and Tarantin was making himself ready somewhere downstairs, having given up on my ever being finished. Finally done, and looking my most radiant, I went out and started to go down the stairs.

 Tarantin was just on his way up at that very moment, and he looked up at me and froze. I would have reveled in this flattering reaction had I not been gripped by the same feeling as I looked at him. My breath caught in my lungs as I saw that he had cut his hair short, in the modern style. He wore a fine black suit, and he looked incredibly sexy--even more so than usual! I think we both smiled at this point.

 “You’re beautiful,” he said sincerely.

 “And you,” I said, “You cut your hair. You look so good.”

 He came up the rest of the way. Before I knew what I was doing, I was running my fingers through his short hair. This was a rare thing for me to do. I was not one of those people given to much physical affection, not out of coldness but out of natural disinclination. Tarantin, on the other hand, was extremely expressive in everything he did and said, and he was one of those other types who could give out such tenderness with ease and sincerity. I think he understood my own position, however, and simply valued every touch I gave him even more. Indeed, he seemed to cherish this close moment between us.

 When I let fall the last stroke and disbanded the curious care with which I regarded him, he proffered an arm. I took it and let him escort me down. Looking around, I could tell everything was in place and ready. The timing was perfect as the first guests started to arrive.

 The very first of our company to arrive was a distinguished couple from some part of the Orient. They both were quite small, but they carried a great dignity about them. A few innocuous questions were posed to me, and I think they were trying to size me up, although they were not terribly obvious about it if they were. They were very reserved and respectful, and they struck me as very good people.

 A pretty blonde girl with short curly hair was the next to arrive, and she greeted Tarantin warmly with a kiss on each cheek when she saw him. She had the most beautiful features, and she had a certain energy that was contagious. When she was introduced to me, she greeted me as if we were old friends, and I was drawn in by such cheerfulness.

 They began to enter in waves. Another pair came in together. It was impossible to guess the woman’s origin, but I detected Slavic blood in the man. Another man slipped in by himself, and then three more couples entered close together.

 I started to feel like some sort of ambassador at an embassy affair. I could look at every corner of the earth just by looking at their faces. Thankfully, they all spoke impeccable English, although some did so with a British accent while others sounded American or Canadian.

 When the majority had finally collected together, there were about eight couples from what I could tell, and a handful of single vampires. Tarantin supplied all of his supernatural guests with what he called his best vintage. The drink dispensed, the socializing now commenced in earnest.

 I had never liked large crowds, and, with an introverted personality like mine, I found this type of gathering enormously stressful and taxing, especially since I appeared to be the belle of the ball. They all wanted to meet me, the newcomer. They all seemed extremely fond of Tarantin, according him a great deal of respect, and they were genuinely thrilled to meet his new love. I was soon enveloped by people, and Tarantin and I were separated.

 I had to answer the same questions about my person over and over again. Where was I from? What was my ancestry? What family did I have? How did Tarantin and I meet? Etc. My responses became rehearsed lines with the repetition, but I performed my role well. It was a blessing to me, however, when they were finally satisfied. The focus drifted away from me, and little groups began to form and reform.

 My preference had always been to be more of an observer than a participator at large functions. The conversations had settled down to a degree at which I no longer needed to keep up my guard. A simple nod or “uh huh” was sufficient, and my mind began to wander. I opened up my senses past the small cluster of people I was with and listened to the wider room. Bouncing my concentration around from one conversation to the next, it seemed like I could take in the entire proceeding at once.

 “I’ll bet the diving is wonderful around here,” a male was saying. “Tarantin,” he called in a louder voice.

 “Yes?” Tarantin answered in response to his name.

 “How is the diving around here? Are the waters clear?”

 “Well, I’m not entirely sure. I haven’t actually gone diving myself, but I hear there are some nice spots just off-shore,” he answered.

 “I’m afraid I don’t swim,” a female voice chimed in, addressing the first speaker.

 “Really?” he asked her, obviously astonished.

 “I’ve always intended to learn, but then I just put it off. I tell myself I’ll have plenty of time to learn later,” she responded.

 This seemed to tickle the first speaker, and he let out a short laugh. He was cut off by a lower-pitched male voice.

 “I don’t care for the water personally,” this new voice said very seriously. “I remember sailing across the Pacific when I was a young man. I was trapped below deck the entire voyage, ravaged by seasickness. No, you won’t get me out on the water.”

 “Uh huh,” I added to my own little chat circle, not knowing what on earth they were now discussing.

 My mind moved on to another group of voices.

 “Well, I don’t care if I am being old-fashioned,” a high-pitched female was saying.

 There was a bit of an accent there that might have been French, but I could not say for sure. Her tones were too sharp to be called sweet but not quite so biting as to be haughty. Her voice was certainly full of personality, and it held my attention.

 “I don’t like the clothes the women are wearing these days,” she continued. “Everything is far too revealing. Why, I saw one young girl the other night wearing practically nothing at all!”

 “What!” an uninvited male voice intruded from an adjacent group, “And you didn’t point her out to me? I would have appreciated such fine fashion!”

 His tone was one of teasing, and I got the impression that this was her mate.

 “Uh,” she said with playful scorn, “You dirty old man! I don’t believe I was speaking to you.”

 This made me giggle, and I heard that he too was laughing. They had probably played such games with each other for years. He returned to his own group to talk, however, and she addressed the original recipient of her conversation.

 “You see. This is precisely why women should dress more modestly. We were far better off when we left the men guessing instead of flaunting all our goods about town,” she concluded.

 The woman who had listened silently to all of this finally chimed in, “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You know what they say, ‘The pendulum always swings the other way . . . .’”

 My attention was stolen away from that discussion. Another one had come to my ear, and it proved interesting as I slowly gathered that they were discussing me. Their voices were hushed, but I could still make out what they said. I tried not to alert them to the fact that I was now listening.

 “Well, she certainly seems very nice, although she is not at all the kind of woman I would have thought Tarantin would be attracted to,” stated a feminine conversationalist.

 “Oh, I don’t know. They seem well suited to me, and I’ve never seen Tarantin so happy,” added another woman.

 “She seems a little shy to me,” countered the first lady.

 A masculine voice now broke in, “Come now Elsa, you cannot possibly judge the woman from just a few minutes with her. I suspect she is just a bit overwhelmed by all of this.”

 “True, true,” the female voices conceded in unison.

 “Hmmm, that was interesting,” I thought to myself, putting in a vague “Mmmm” and nodding my head to the people around me. They appeared none the wiser to my lack of attention.

 “I’m telling you, there are people who can prophesize,” a member of a male group was saying, “Have you seen those psychics on the television? Well, I called one of them, and you would not believe how much she knew!”

 “I don’t believe it,” one of the listeners said to the other. “This is almost the exact same conversation we had three hundred years ago. Do you remember? He had us all go to some kind of séance, and then he listened to all the nonsense that gypsy woman had to say.”

 “How could I forget?” the second answered ruefully.

 “Now wait just a minute,” the initial man countered. “That woman had the gift of foresight. She told me that misfortune would befall me on a long journey, and it happened.”

 “Sure it happened,” responded the first listener. “A hundred years later! You simply fell off your horse while traveling abroad and embarrassed yourself in front of the very ladies whose distraction caused the mishap in the first place. That hardly speaks to powerful clairvoyance.”

 “You just don’t understand how these things work. She just didn’t know how far into the future she was capable of seeing,” the man retorted.

 The second listener was now laughing too hard to speak, and the first supported the opposition alone.

 “Fine, tell us then. What did this telephone psychic tell you?”

 “That I will live to be very old,” he answered.

 This provoked the man who was already chuckling to laugh even harder.

 The other did not find this so funny, and let out an “Ah!” followed by the slap of his hand hitting his face. “I can’t listen to any more of this,” he added, walking away. The other found this hysterical and continued to laugh without signs of stopping.

 A woman off in the corner to my right was gabbing about her trip here.

 “I don’t care for plane travel very much. My legs always get so cramped, and my neck gets sore if I look out the window the whole flight. By the time I reach my destination, I feel so disoriented I can’t enjoy myself. It just doesn’t seem to agree with my metabolism.”

 I nodded to myself in sympathy for what she had just said. Flying had never really been my preference, and I had the added discomfort of having a knack for the attendants spilling drinks on me. I wondered how far she had come to be here tonight.

 Two men were talking off to my left, and I transferred my attention to them while still nodding at my own group.

 “Politicians will always be politicians,” the first stated. “The nation and the year are irrelevant.”

 “Yes, but the technology, the globalization! It’s changing the way the whole system works,” the second countered.

 I pulled my ear away from this discussion quickly, having heard a thousand variations of the male political-debate conversation before. Looking back to my own group, I realized I had been bluffing my way through their chat long enough.

 “Please excuse me,” I said, quietly departing from the huddle. They all gave polite nods as I went.

 Now that I had tactfully disengaged myself from talking, I permitted myself a momentary respite along one of the walls. The evening was about halfway over, but a few latecomers were still straggling in. As I looked out at the guests, a man at the other side of the room turned and gave me an elated smile as if he’d just heard some gossip about me and was searching out its subject. Carefully, I tried not to let on that I’d seen anything of the sort. Couldn’t I have a moment to re-cooperate?

 To my dismay, it was already too late. He was on his way over to me. He was a robust man with shaggy silver hair and a thick beard and mustache. Despite his bulk, he approached stealthily. I tried to put on an amiable smile and was about to greet him when he grabbed me. He trapped me in a big, teddy-bear hug that pinned my arms at my sides. Tilting back, he pressed me against his big belly and lifted me to my toes with a hearty chuckle. My breath escaped its chambers, and my face became quite contorted, not only from the squeeze but also from my aversion to such touchiness by a total stranger. This was obviously this man’s genuine manner, and I tried not to get angry. I didn’t want to offend him or get on his bad side. Fortunately, the look on my face was exhibited behind his back and without his notice.

 “Welcome! Congratulations!” the giant man rang out as he released me.

 With just as little forewarning as he had arrived, the loony took off through the crowd again. I stood there motionless, completely nonplused. My eyes caught Tarantin facing me from a good ways away to my diagonal left. He was laughing hysterically, harder than I’d ever seen him do so before. Seriously, he was really cracked up. I gritted my teeth against the chagrin, but a blush blossomed under my skin.

 Then the man went for him with a stentorian, “Tarantin!”

 Tarantin stopped laughing, and I picked up the mirth where he had left off. It was my turn to have the last laugh.

 The rest of the company was much more sedate. However, in looking out at the crowd of ageless faces, I began to see one unifying quality in all of them. They were like children. It may have come from their energy, but it was undeniable. These ancient beings had the same spark. They lived totally in the present--perhaps because their future was unending--and they seemed to take pleasure in the little things.

 Among the many guests, I met Tarantin’s makers, Elizabeth and Marcus, in the course of the evening. They had been one of the last to arrive. She was about my height, with a narrow face, a mane of curly brunette hair, and two brilliant green eyes. Although she was thin, she looked healthy and strong, and she emanated great confidence. I could tell she had a sharp mind. Marcus was a fairly large man with short blonde hair and broad shoulders. Although his physique was that of a jock, his mannerisms were very graceful. His voice was warm and cultured, and a quiet intelligence burned behind his blue eyes. Together, they were a very cordial couple, and they welcomed me as family.

 “We’re so happy for you and Tarantin. You seem well suited for one another. Tarantin has needed some freshness in his life,” she said.

 “Yes, you are really lucky to have him and he you. I’m sure you both will be very happy,” her partner chimed in.

 He looked as though he had intended to say more, but something had apparently caught his eye. A shadow passed over his face as he said, “Excuse me a moment. There’s someone with whom I need to speak.”

 After he had left, the female vampire changed her tone to one more personal. Moving one delicate hand to my shoulder, she began to speak to me in subdued tones. I repressed a reflex to back away and reclaim my personal space, and I concentrated on what she had to say to me.

 “How are you feeling, really?” she inquired in a sympathetic voice.

 “I’m doing okay,” I lied slightly.

 “It may be centuries ago, but I still remember what it was like for me in the beginning” she explained. “Don’t you worry; you two will find your balance eventually.”

 “What do you mean?” I asked her, although I think I understood her.

 There were times when I felt like I couldn’t find my niche with Tarantin. He could be too take-charge, too dominant, and I was left uncertain as to what my standing was with him.

 “Take my word for it,” she said, “Everything will work out in its own time.”

 It was a very simple thing to say, but I felt like she was sharing some kind of great inside secret. I just nodded. Looking at her, I realized she had not seen my response, however, and I followed her gaze across the room. Marcus was talking to a male vampire who I hadn’t seen enter the room. Body posture seemed to suggest anger or hostility on the part of Marcus, and the only words I caught seemed to confirm this.

 “What are you doing here?” demanded Marcus.

 I could hear no response. The man to whom he was speaking seemed to have come with a purpose, and he looked around the room intently, giving only the barest recognition that Marcus was speaking to him. Now, I had only just met these people, so I would not have paid attention had Elizabeth not been watching this whole scene so intently. She looked worried, and my curiosity was now aroused.

 This strange man was of average height with a short crop of white-blonde hair on his head. His eyes were a very pale blue, and something in them bothered me. His face was narrowed and drawn taught with the intensity of his searching. Suddenly, Tarantin stepped up behind him.

 “Hello John,” Tarantin said solemnly.

 A burst of shock beset the man’s face, and he spun around violently to face Tarantin. Upon seeing him face-to-face, his countenance seemed to soften a little into something almost sad. He didn’t move, and Tarantin only slowly walked up to him. Tarantin looked very serious, but he slowly and hesitantly took the man into his arms and hugged him. The other appeared to be in shock and didn’t seem to react for a second. His lips were still parted, and he was staring very intently down at the floor as he equally slowly returned the pressure with his own arm. They parted. Whether or not Tarantin had planned for this bit of affection to disarm the other, it did just that. It was as if the man had lost his grasp on his purpose there and stood utterly bewildered.

 Marcus still stood beside the two, and he looked on at the scene without a hint of what he was thinking. When Tarantin took the man--John as he had been called--out of the room, Marcus seemed to be at a loss as to whether or not to follow. He stayed fixed to the spot and apparently made up his mind to wait there. Tarantin glanced over his shoulder at me just before disappearing from view.

 “Who was that?” I finally asked.

 Elizabeth seemed to return to her surroundings.

 “Oh . . . . No one you have to worry about dear,” she said, still sounding half out of it.

 A little irritated by this lack of information and the condescending way in which it had been withheld, I spoke more forcefully.

 “Who is he?”

 This seemed to have the desired effect, and she now looked at me as she spoke. She drew closer to me, once again assuming a posture of confidentiality. I was misled, however, and she disappointed me with her answer.

 “It’s really not my place to tell you. You will have to ask Tarantin about Jonathan. He will tell you. In the meantime, I suggest you stay away from him,” she said.

 She quickly broke off after saying this. Her partner had returned, and this altered the state of the conversation. Although a little flustered at first, he seemed to compose himself quickly, and we soon returned to trivial topics. I could not let the matter drop so quickly, however, and I was still distracted, aware that Tarantin had not come back yet.

 The other vampire was the first one I saw return. He walked out very quickly, apparently very angry. Had they been arguing? It certainly looked as though they had. This strange man walked directly for the door, but then stopped before reaching for the knob. He turned his head and looked right at me. I found this curious that he should have picked me out, seeing as he did not know me. However, I assumed that he recognized me simply by not recognizing me. That is to say, I was the only one there he did not know.

 His face and glare perturbed me a little at first, and then more so when I realized that it had darkened with an emotion of unutterable hatred. I was startled, unable to imagine why I had evoked this feeling in him. Sensing this reaction in me, the man appeared pleased, and he started to turn as if he meant to come up to me.

 At that moment, Elizabeth and Marcus stepped up beside me protectively. Looking at them, he apparently thought better of such a move and opted instead to leave. He made an exaggerated bow and blew a kiss at me with a cynical look, and then, eyeing Marcus and Elizabeth each in turn, he opened the door and walked out.

 The door snapped close with a soft bang, and footsteps were heard. At first, I thought that the steps were those of the exiting man, but then I realized they came from within. They belonged to Tarantin, who finally returned to the room, looking a little worn and distraught.

 Seeing Tarantin, Marcus and Elizabeth took their leave of me and went over to him. The three of them had some intense but hushed discussion amongst themselves, and then the two came back to me and said their good-byes. They left quietly.

 I felt a little deprived, having wanted to glean some more information from those two great sources, if not about what had just happened, then about Tarantin. I thought of going over to Tarantin to get some kind of explanation, but he was already locked in a conversation with the men at the other side of the room. Seeing this, I decided not to interrupt but to simply question him later.

 Returning to the get-together, I prepared myself for the dreaded task ahead. The kind pair had served as a barrier for me against the rest of the strange guests. Now that they were gone, I was forced to mingle. I had been aware all along, however, that Tarantin was keeping a close eye on me, making sure I was all right.

 He eventually came over to me, perhaps deciding that he had let me fend for myself long enough. Trotting behind him was a thin man with curly brunette hair, very good looking. Tarantin himself introduced him to me as Matthew, a very good friend of his. Matthew took my hand and kissed it with antiquated gallantry.

 In speaking to him, I found Matthew to be very warm and friendly, although he had a quiet reserve that echoed professionalism. Something about him struck me as a scientist type. I was to find out that this assessment was not at all incorrect. Matthew had been a physician in life, and he had continued studying over the decades. He was extremely well respected, both for his character and for his knowledge.

 It was very obvious to me that he and Tarantin were extremely close, and they praised one another before me with the greatest zeal.

 “Tarantin here is one of the most dependable men I have ever known. I tell you, I trust him more than anyone. You couldn’t have found a better man,” he was telling me.

 “Don’t let this humble façade fool you,” Tarantin returned, making a sweeping motion with his hand as if displaying the man. “This man has done me more good than I could ever repay.” Tarantin gave him a fraternal pat on the back as he said this.

 “But tell me, Tarantin, where did you find this beauty?” Matthew added, looking at me.

 I blushed with the flattery.

 The two buddies continued carrying on in this fashion. I think perhaps they hadn’t seen each other in a long time. If that were the case, I imagined that they were picking up right where they had left off. I could not watch the two of them without a smile and the occasional giggle at their exaggerated speeches. They genuinely adored one another--that was obvious--but I found their manner of expression rather silly.

 When Tarantin left us to make his rounds as host, I seized upon the opportunity to talk with Matthew alone.

 “So, you have known Tarantin for a long time?” I asked him.

 “Oh yes, a very long time,” he responded. “We’ve gotten in and out of more trouble, he and I,” he added with a hardy chuckle at some recollection.

 I just smiled agreeably, although I was not in on this joke. The thought of Tarantin getting into trouble was intriguing. It certainly didn’t seem to fit his personality, but then I could picture him as being a rather vigorous and adventuresome youth.

 As if reading these thoughts, Matthew spoke up again, “Yes, it was a very long time ago, though, and I should not be saying such things. I’ll only get myself into a quarrel with him if I tell you too much.” Although he said this as an apology, he did not sound sorry. He left it at that.

 I changed the subject. Looking around as a preface to my question, I asked him, “You came here alone?”

 “Yes, yes I did. I’m afraid I have not been so fortunate as Tarantin.” He directed a warm smile towards me as he said this, and I merely nodded.

 Tarantin returned, and I left the two men to themselves. I made my way around the room, mingling with everyone.

 After many hours of trivial chatting, the crowd began to thin out and depart. All night I’d tried to be as nice and sociable as I could manage, but it was exhausting. The act had worked. Everyone seemed to buy the show that I was calm and comfortable. Our guests were generally pleasant enough. They appeared to genuinely like me. It all seemed to happen very quickly, but, at the same time, it also dragged out unendurably. Just when I thought I could tolerate no more, the last of the late night guests said adieu. I left Tarantin and hobbled up the stairs.

 My neck and back ached from stress, and my eyelids were sailing towards half-mast. At least, unlike the parties I was used to, there was no clean up that I had to deal with. I trudged through the bedroom, kicked off my shoes, and sank heavily onto the plush bed. Despite the pain, I laid down on my stomach with my head cocked to one side, ignoring the fact that I was wrinkling my dress. My mind just beginning to wander, Tarantin’s approach startled me.

 The bed sank as his weight was added at my side. No matter how good I might get at theater, I would never fool him for an instant. He knew me too deeply.

 “You made a very good impression on everyone,” he said in complement. “They all sung your praises.”

 His hands slid up my back and around my shoulders. I cringed as his fingers pressed in, but it was a pleasant pain if there ever was such a thing. After a moment, the sharpness subsided.

 “Mmmm,” I sounded, savoring this.

 I knew I had better get up if I was going to have the energy to get undressed and ready for bed, but it felt so good I just couldn’t find the will to do so. I began to feel exceedingly drowsy. As I fought sleep’s drift, my ear caught Tarantin’s sonorous voice, the good humor revived in it.

 “You don’t have to fight it,” he said with a low, sweat laugh. “You can fall asleep.”

 “No,” I said half-intelligibly, “I have to get up. I’m still dressed.”

 This simple statement seemed to give me what I needed to force myself up. I got up and went over to the mirror. I let my hair down and started brushing it out. Tarantin merely sat on the edge of the bed watching me, as if transfixed by every stroke of the brush.

 Doing everything out of order in my fatigue, I next went to the bathroom and washed my face, then came back. I now tried to reach the zipper at the back of my dress. I was just stiff enough that this ached to do, and my fingers sought in vain for the little metal pull. Tarantin came over and very slowly unzipped it for me.

 This act would not have been of any importance, but, after the air hit my back, he just remained standing close behind me, his hand still lingering on the metal stem. Somehow, this spoke volumes of other intentions, and neither of us moved. Uncertainty seemed to paralyze us, and neither of us was brave enough to make the next move. The tension was terrible as I kept waiting for his touch, but it seemed to be forever in coming.

 At this point, wishing to put time back in motion, I’m afraid the devil took me. I broke the tension with the question that had been burning a hole in the back of my mind all night.

 “Who was that John who was here tonight?”

 This seemed to startle him and knock him out of his trance, and he let go and backed away. He sat down on the bed again.

 “John . . . . Yes,” he said in a despondent muse. “It’s complicated. John is a bit of a problem,” he said after long consideration.

 I could not tell if he was lost in thought or if he thought that this explanation was sufficient. When Tarantin didn’t add to this for some time, I jumped in again, intent on getting answers.

 “Why?” I asked. A second thought crossed my mind out of nowhere, and I added, “Did you make him a vampire?”

 A look of surprise displayed itself on Tarantin’s face. “No . . . no I didn’t.” He said this very adamantly, as if he was trying to convince me.

 “Well then, what?” I asked, trying to spur him on.

 Tarantin let out a sustained sigh. For the first time, he struck me as very old, and I wondered just how old he was. I had not asked, although I somehow doubted that he would tell me with any specificity.

 “Do you remember when I told you that I moved down here from the North after some trouble with a friend? Well, that was John. It was when I was living in New York . . . . It was a very long time ago.”

 He stopped and looked at me with a sad smile.

 “Long before you were even born,” he added.

 I waited patiently for him to go on.

 “Such a city--so many people living together,” he resumed. “It must have been fate that, out of all those souls, I crossed paths with this one . . . . I went out for a stroll one evening, just as I had done so many times. I loved being surrounded by so many people. I wondered what sort of lives they led, where they were going, what their dreams were . . . .”

 His voice trailed off, but he regained it again.

 “There aren’t that many of us, you know--at least, not in concentration. I was surprised to detect another vampire in the crowd. He instinctively sensed me, as well, and we locked eyes. I looked over this young blonde man. I did not know him. He looked to be newly transformed. Upon seeing me, I think he was a little frightened. He did not seem to be able to determine what he should do, whether to approach me or flee.

 I motioned for him to come over to me. I introduced myself to him and learned his name. Upon closer inspection, I realized he was very weak, almost sickly. He must have been very newly transformed, and so I inquired after the name of his maker. One of the securities of our kind is that we form a close group, every member knowing every other. That’s why tonight was so important for you, you see? I wanted to connect him with some familiar identity. I was shocked when he refused to say. To this day, he holds his origins a secret, although we all have our suspicions.”

 Tarantin paused again, and, for a moment, I thought he would stop there. I went to the closet, removed my dress, and hung it up. With my ears still open for him to resume his story, I pulled out a silver satin nightgown and pulled it over my head. I felt so much more comfortable, and I returned to him a little more refreshed. This seemed to incite action in him, and he stood up. As he slowly took off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, he continued speaking.

 “He was so angry when I found him,” he said sorrowfully. “I pitied him, thinking it an awful thing that the one who had made him had left him in this way. Certainly he had been left to die. I took him in and treated him as my own. He grew strong, and he learned quickly, and for a time we were quite happy together. I hoped that it would remain that way, but he was always very stubborn, and I knew he had a temper.”

 Tarantin seemed to be lost in his thoughts for a minute. He had finished in his own undressing, and he returned from the closet wearing only black silk pajama pants. After waiting a respectful few minutes, I finally pushed him to continue.

 “So, what happened?” I asked.

 With a long sigh, Tarantin came over, stretched back upon the bed, and continued. He had his hands behind his head, and his elbows jutted out from his ears.

 “He grew cruel. I found out that he had been killing immoderately, doing . . . unspeakable things. He had apparently got it into his head that he was some sort of god free from all consequences. These murders began, naturally, to attract attention and lead back to me. I confronted him and insisted that he stop, but my arguments were useless. He dismissed me as overcautious and continued with his escapades.

 When I felt that I could risk no more, I sent him away. He was furious at me for making him leave. He saw this as tantamount to my forsaking him, and he protested that I was abandoning him. It took all my force and influence to make him go.

 At first, I sent him to Marcus and Elizabeth in Europe, and, between the two of them, they were able to control him for a very long time. Eventually, however, guarding him became too demanding. He caused them too many problems. It really wasn’t fair of me to send him to them. I should have tried harder to take care of him myself.

 They had meant to send him farther east to stay with friends, the burden of controlling him now adopted as a communal responsibility among us. He would have none of it, however. He left them--some decades ago, in fact.

 The wake he left behind him proved destructive in itself, and I, too, eventually had to leave. That is how I came here, and I have lived in peace ever since. I do not know where he has been, and tonight was the first time I’ve laid eyes on him in all this time.

 Somehow he caught wind of our gathering here. I don’t know why I thought he wouldn’t find out about it. You’ve just seen how much importance is placed on these gatherings, and news of a new vampire spreads like fire. I never would have thought he would come here, though. I honestly do not know what he came here looking for tonight, what he wanted. I knew from experience that it would be best to meet him with affection, and I do still care for him.

 I took him aside to speak with him privately. I was trying to keep him from making a scene, although everyone who was present is quite familiar with him. I asked him why he had come, but he only went into a tantrum. He was furious when I told him to leave. We argued, and he stormed out. Marcus and Elizabeth were more concerned than I was, and they left to catch up to him and find out what he was about.”

 Tarantin grew silent and contemplative. I wondered if there was something more to the relationship, something he was holding back from me, but I decided not to press him any further. He looked drained, as if these recollections were pulling at his nerves.

 Kneeling next to his outstretched body on the bed, I motioned for him to roll over so I could return the favor. He rolled onto his stomach, and I straddled his back, one knee on either side of his hips, so that I could better reach his broad shoulders. I had always been lauded as giving good massages, having good strong hands. Tarantin was obviously enjoying it very much, and he let out a groan that was almost embarrassing. This seemed to bring him back to his good humor, and I kind of liked the closeness that this brought.

 He lay very quiet and still for a while, but then he surprised me by suddenly flipping over. His body twirled around beneath me, and I now sat atop him looking into his eyes. His hands were on my knees, and this put me in an extremely suggestive position. I was overcome with a blush as a shiver went through me. I suddenly wished that the nightgown did not cling so tightly to my skin. I was naked if not for its thin veil.

 He looked up at me intensely for several minutes, and I returned his gaze. The clear brown eyes seemed even more beautiful now that his hair was trimmed and they were hooded by bangs. A whole gamut of feelings went through me.

 He sat up, pulling me with him, still over his lap, and his hands moved farther up my thighs, slipping under the hem of my gown. Leaning forward, he kissed me on the lips. Momentarily tempted by my own desire, I remained motionless for some seconds. When he went for my lips again, a feeling of electric frenzy passed under my skin, and, temporarily lost in the feeling, I gave in. Our lips still locked, I ran my hand up the side of his face.

 The appetite below gave way to the one above as I ran my lips down his neck. Tarantin encircled his arms up and around my waist, pulling me to him more tightly. I settled to kissing him there, my tongue pressing against the skin. His scent grew stronger, and my mouth filled with the salty taste rising out of his pores. When I allowed my closed teeth to graze the spot, I felt him shiver beneath me. His hands came around and flew up from my stomach to my shoulders, the satin folded over his fingers, and I thought he would pull the gown up and off. My head was still bent against his neck, however, and he instead let the cloth fall down around his arms as he reached inside for the swell of my bosom.

 This excited me more, and the anticipation reached such a fevered pitch that I thought it would drive me mad. I imagine it is something like the frenzy the heroine addict feels just before the needle drives home. Had it merely been the sex that I yearned for, I probably would not have stopped myself, but my jaws ached even more strongly for satisfaction, and such a powerful hunger startled me. I had a sensation of losing control. It was acute like vertigo, and I knew that I was being drawn in by him. He was like some black hole eating me up and obliterating me.

 A vision of our making love rose before my mind with all its ramifications, and I knew I would lose myself in it too completely--and that scared me. My soul was torn with a sudden conflict that rose within me. It pushed both cravings aside and left me suspended in inaction.

 He fell to kissing me even more passionately, but I now only half returned the caresses as I grappled for control of myself. Despite his unwavering attentions, he must have suddenly caught hold of those same doubts. Even though he had instigated this move, he must not have been prepared for his own reaction. Noting my own reluctance, he suddenly hesitated. It was only for an instant, but it was enough for my battling heart to decide to err on the side of caution.

 I removed myself to his side, disappointing us both in some way. I sat breathing rather heavily with my back to him, waiting for my heart to calm itself. When I glanced back at him over my left shoulder, I saw that he had his eyes closed and was biting his lower lip lightly, his brow slightly furrowed. I continued to look at him, at the face that had come alive, flushed with heat. When he opened his eyes, it was only to look at me briefly. I crawled under the covers and lay down with my back to him. It took a long time for metabolisms to subdue, but he did not pursue the issue, and we both finally went to sleep feeling a little estranged.

 I slept soundly until the next evening when I found, to my surprise, Tarantin stretched out beside me tracing figure eights on my back with his elegant fingertips. I had not expected to receive his touch again so soon, and it made me shiver, though I wasn’t cold or unnerved. I think he was trying to reconnect with me in some way, almost as if reconciling for the outcome of the previous night. It was marvelously successful, making me feel so safe and secure I didn’t ever want to get up. The little looped path slowed and stopped, however.

 I slowly slid off the bed and wandered through the small doorway halfway to the other side of the room. I entered the immaculate master bathroom and moved to the gilded faucet. Scooping up the cool, clear water, I let it slide down my face in silken sheets. The routine of it lifted my spirits instantly. Drying my face with a few dabs of the fluffy cotton towel, I rose to find my own face looking back at me from the mirror.

 “Killer party,” I joked to my reflection who answered with a similar chuckle.

 I returned to the bed. I stretched out on my left side and leaned on my elbow staring at Tarantin, my posture mirroring his. I had meant this to be cutesy, and I looked at him with a half smile and just stared. Apparently this worked, because he returned an amused smile.

 “Do you want to go out somewhere tonight?” he asked.

 I looked at him questioningly. Was this like when he wanted to show me something?

 “No ulterior motives, I promise,” he said in answer to my suspicions. “This is just for fun--wherever you want to go.”

 I thought for a moment, and then answered confidently.

 “Take me dancing,” I said.

 Tarantin looked surprised and delighted.

 As if in answer to his doubts, I responded, “Yes, I love dancing. You just didn’t know that.”

 It was the absolute truth, though I was more of the type to pop on the stereo and dance around the living room than take to a crowded dance hall.

 “In fact,” I added, “there are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

 Tarantin just nodded for an instant before speaking.

 “All right, I shall take you dancing,” he said, using a lower sounding “a” for “dancing” with exaggerated and mock suavity. Now he was being flirty.

 After getting ready, we both went out to the car. As I waited at the passenger side, Tarantin walked over, unlocked the door, and handed me the keys.

 “Do you mind driving?” he asked innocently.

 “No,” I responded ever so slowly through my shock, “but I don’t know where we’re going.”

 “Don’t worry; I’ll guide you,” he said as he swung lightly into the passenger seat.

 Having no choice, I walked around and climbed into the driver’s seat. He’d never let me drive before, and I was a little flabbergasted. Turning on the car, I looked over at Tarantin with a crooked smile of fascination, wondering what had brought this about. He merely stared forward, patiently waiting. When we started moving, however, my peripheral vision caught a wide smile from Tarantin as he sneaked a quick glance at me. He knew he was messing with me.

 Tarantin took me to a club, a very lively place. As we merged into the crowd that was bouncing around on the dance floor, I felt a little uneasy. I had a sensation akin to being watched, perhaps thinking that we would be singled out as different from the humans around us. This subsided soon, however, and we had a great time. I think I might have gone a little wild, releasing any of the stress that might have still been pent-up inside of me. I just let go, and I felt light as a feather.

 I was impressed by the ease with which Tarantin could dance. I don’t know why. I knew he just had a knack for embracing everything as his own. Whether we were dancing apart or together, we just seemed to fall into sync. I had always been a respectable dancer but not truly good at it. This was different, though. His wasn’t a lead I had to be on my guard to follow, each move just seemed to fit into the next.

 “You are a good dancer,” he said to me while simultaneously spinning me.

 “Sure, I’ve got rhythm,” I joked in the broken cadence of that song.

 We both had so much fun. If anyone had looked closely at us, they would have seen sparks. It was like we were dating again, before I knew anything about vampires. Once again, I could look at him as that attractive young man whose approach made my heart race with anticipation.

 When they played a nice, slow, romantic dance, I pulled in close to Tarantin. He had my hand in his, and his arm was wrapped around to my lower back. I rested my head against his chest and closed my eyes. I was lost in space and time, lost to all the problems of the world. Perhaps I closed my eyes because I thought if I opened them I’d be disenchanted.

 The spell remained intact all the way home, and my head was still spinning as we walked through the door.

 “See, you don’t have to avoid people. You can live with them,” Tarantin was saying to me as if in answer to a silent argument.

 I marveled at how he could do that so easily, creep into my head and make everything seem so simple. I cast off the thought as Tarantin snapped on the lights and the room came to life in front of us.

 “How about a drink?” Tarantin asked cheerily.

 “Sure,” I succinctly replied, “Thanks.”

 I followed him up the stairs. He grabbed up a bottle and began filling two glasses. As I waited, he surprised me by turning on the radio.

 “Shall we continue our dance?” he asked as he held out a glass for me.

 I smiled and took it. “Yes.”

 Draping one arm across Tarantin’s shoulder, I began to dance slowly with him, occasionally breaking the rhythm with a sip from my glass. I knew he was trying very hard to give me a nice, normal night, and I appreciated it. Although I did not say anything out loud, I think he heard the “thank you” of my thoughts.

 Together, we moved like a human couple. Everything was slowing down, like in a dream. As I finished my glass, Tarantin was all ready to refill it. He did this once or twice more, each drink making me feel more and more placid. Accordingly, I sank deeper and deeper into his chest until it eventually dawned on me that I was getting intoxicated. He must have spiked it with something, though I wasn’t sure with what. No wonder I was getting so mellow! I looked at Tarantin who had likewise loosened up. It didn’t matter. I sunk into his arms and let the drink carry me where it may.

 At some point, Tarantin must have scooped me up and carried me to the bed. By now I was thoroughly drunk and getting silly. I began to feel like a piece of fruit in a gelatin mold, cut off from the outside world but deeply immersed in the immediate one. Or maybe I just felt wobbly and stuck. I don’t know.

 “Those are the damnedest desserts, aren’t they?” I said out loud.

 Tarantin only paid the slightest attention to the remark. It must have appeared to him to have come out of nowhere, but he merely glanced at my face for a second. He was surveying me trying to figure out the best thing to do next.

 “Kind of like eating a jellyfish. Limp on land . . . ,” I slurred in monologue.

 Tarantin had apparently opted to attempt to undress me for that is exactly what he now commenced to do.

 “I wonder how one would do in water?”

 My thoughts were, of course, getting positively ridiculous. However, they seemed to contain logic and profundity at the time as my brain deteriorated under the influence. Even so, I began to laugh. Perhaps it was the thought of flinging a gelatin mold into the sea, or maybe I was just ticklish as Tarantin began removing my clothes.

 I started to giggle a little. Then, it escalated into a chuckle. At last, I was laughing my hardest, flopping around more than I already had been and giving Tarantin an even greater challenge.

 He was good-natured about it, though. I heard his low laughter compliment mine as he looked at me. More than mirth, however, a joyous fascination molded his expression as he looked at me keeled over hysterical on the bed. My laughter finally subsided. My chest hurt from it, but an occasional chuckle or two still jabbed at my ribs. Glimpsing the wonderment on his face, I stared back with matched curiosity.

 “What?” I drawled out with mocked defensiveness.

 “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you really laugh,” he answered with a little sweetness in his voice.

 I couldn’t take my glossy little eyes off him for a minute. I felt good tonight. For the first time in a long time, I felt really good. I shrugged my shoulders, and, after a second, Tarantin returned a short laugh and tucked an arm around me to haul me up to the pillow. This made me laugh again, but he put his finger over my lips.

 “Sshh,” he commanded, and a long silent moment passed between us.

  

 He removed his finger and replaced it with his lips as he bent over me. Then he lowered himself down onto the bed with one of his knees between mine. I became aware that he had divested me of every last article, and I now lay naked beneath his body. My skin was on fire from the embrace of his lips, but his body remained suspended above mine without the slightest touch. And then it came; his fingers moving down my face, down my neck, along my collarbone, over my chest. They were so soft it felt as if he were caressing me with a long plume. This time, I brought my hands up round his broad shoulders and pulled him to me.

 He seemed so evanescent, as if he might dissipate into the air like a phantom at any moment. His hands moved to my shoulders and pushed me back into the pillow. He leaned back and kneeled upright over me and began to undue his shirt. It did not make a sound as it was discarded to the floor. Then my eyes became fixated at his waist as he pulled aside the leather to unfasten his belt. My heart pounded beneath my ribs, and I felt conflicted with emotions of fear and an overwhelming desire for him. Everything was soundless like a silent movie as he pulled the zipper slowly down. He pulled off the cloth and revealed himself entirely before grabbing up the sheets and placing himself between them and me.

 My breath was forceful now, and the exhales came with a fluttering sensation in my chest. The palpating heat surged off of his body and seemed to fill the air around me.

 I waited for him to touch me. His lips made contact first, and I slid my fingers up through the short threads of his hair as they moved softly down my neck. I could feel little bits of his skin hitting mine; my chest, my hip, my thigh. His head moved lower yet, and still my hands followed. He kissed his way straight down to my navel before veering off toward my left hip. I closed my eyes and bit at my lower lip ever so slightly.

 Curling one arm around my left thigh, he slid my leg up and turned his face toward my knee. This he kissed on the inside before moving down inch by inch. As he got down farther, I could feel the hot, wet touch of his tongue against my skin, and I could not believe what was happening to me. A burning had arisen from deep within, but a sense of embarrassment tinged the situation with eroticism as I waited expectantly to see how far he was going to go. When he had tasted of every bit of me up to the juncture, his warm, wet mouth opened wide around the most sensitive part of my inner thigh. I felt his teeth slip inside through the skin, and my entire body jumped. It was absolute pleasure coursing through my veins with a rhythmic cadence that pounded ever more rapidly. I opened my eyes.

 Tarantin lay beside me fast asleep and unaware. I blinked hard twice with disorientation a moment before I realized that I had been dreaming. My heart still beat furiously along with my breath, and my body was still warm as if by the touch of him. However, I cast my mind back and heard that shush he had given me with his finger on my lips.

 “Go to sleep now,” he had said.

 And what an obedient little thing I had been, too! I barely remembered the bed sinking down under his familiar weight. I had dropped off so quickly that the real world had blended seamlessly into my dreams. Too bad it didn’t work so well in reverse.

 I now stared intently at his sleeping face and found no sign of his having stirred. I started to reach a cautious hand towards him, but then retracted it back and let out a frustrated sigh. I turned over on my side with my back to him and tried to calm down and drift off into a more peaceful sleep. Unfortunately, the only words that kept repeating in my head were, “Damn it.”

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

 VII

  

 A week later, I was glancing through Tarantin’s collection, unable to decide on any one book. Skimming titles and inside covers, nothing seemed to appeal. Tarantin, in the meanwhile, had already procured his literature for the night and was steadfastly indulging in it. He sat in one of the broad armchairs behind and to the right of me. Behind him, I could see the driving rain on the other side of the windows. It was a terrible thunderstorm, and the lightning occasionally lit up the room like a flashbulb. I would have preferred to go out, but it would just have been too much of a mess to try to get anywhere.

 The high-pitched ring of the telephone broke the silence between thunderclaps. I was glad to hear it. The silence between Tarantin and me had started to seem stagnant and interminable. Still, I was a little bewildered, having never before heard an incoming phone call.

 Tarantin had traversed the floor to the adjoining room and had lifted the receiver before I had time to give it more than a superficial pondering. I returned my attentions to my literary quest, attempting to politely refrain from eavesdropping--which is hard to do with vampire ears. The first word out of Tarantin’s mouth, however, served to override this respect.

 “John?” Tarantin said doubtfully, as if not believing his ears. There was a long pause, then, “What is it that you want?”

 I wondered what the other party was saying. Tarantin glanced over at me briefly and then turned back. Fortunately, I’d been staring at the bookshelf at the time. Not that I was still engrossed in the search. I just happened to be staring in that direction as I tried to figure out what the call was about.

 “Why not speak with me tonight?” Tarantin asked suspiciously.

 Again, there was a long pause as the other carried the conversation.

 “I don’t much like this, but if you are going to be insistent . . . ,” Tarantin continued but cut off. There was another pause, then, “Very well. I will meet with you tomorrow night. Midnight . . . . What? Where?”

 Tarantin looked at me again, and this time I looked up and back at him. He looked a little worried or perhaps just exasperated. Was I creating a problem for him?

 “No, I don’t want you to come here. I will meet with you . . . . All right . . . . Good-bye.”

 He finally hung up and came back into the room. I tactfully turned my interest back to the literary hunt, allowing him to breach the subject when he wished.

 “How much of that did you get?” he asked immediately. He looked weary.

 “You have to go somewhere tomorrow at midnight to meet John,” I answered frankly with a hint of sympathy.

 “I have to go,” he said almost apologetically.

 I just nodded.

 Tarantin continued to look vexed by this for the rest of the night. When we went to bed in the morning, I could feel him tossing and turning next to me. I had never seen him like this. He was usually so calm.

 When he rolled over onto his right side, I turned onto my left so I could look at him. Our faces were very close together.

 “You’re worried about this meeting with John?” I asked, although it was obvious that this was the case.

 He took a long time before answering.

 “Yes.”

 “What exactly are you worried is going to happen?” I questioned.

 “Hmmm,” he sounded as a long sigh. “I am afraid to have him back in my life. I was starting to feel like everything was perfect, and I don’t want him to ruin that.”

 “You think he will try to ruin things for you?”

 “He might,” Tarantin answered.

 He looked as if he was going to say more, but then he remained quiet.

 “Still, how exactly do you think he is going to do that?” I asked warily.

 Tarantin exhaled exasperatedly, although not because of me.

 “Oh, I don’t know. He’ll probably just yell and curse and throw a fine tantrum with me. If he carries it any further, I’ll subdue him,” Tarantin paused here, then added under his breath, “Still . . . .”

 His eyes were hazed over a little bit as he rolled something over in his mind.

 “What?” I asked.

 “It’s nothing. I’m sorry I’ve bothered you with all this. It really isn’t anything you have to worry about. Let’s not give it another thought.”

 I let Tarantin get away with this statement even though I knew it was he who wanted to change the subject. This whole situation was a sore point for him, and I didn’t think I should ask him anything else about it. It really wasn’t any of my business. I just felt bad for him.

 I snuggled up closer to him, and we wound our hands and arms together between us. He gave me a small kiss on the lips, and then we both rolled onto our backs, still shoulder to shoulder. Although we were looking up to the ceiling, we were talking to one another. After a long silence, I spoke first.

 “Tarantin?” I said.

 “Yes?”

 “Do you think we’ll still be like this in a hundred years?” I asked.

 “Like what?”

 “I don’t know,” I said. “Together?”

 “Of course,” he said confidently.

 “You don’t think you’ll get bored with me?” I asked.

 He laughed. “Never! I think you shall always keep me on my toes!”

 I soaked this in for a second and then opened my mouth again.

 “Well, what if we were a mortal couple, would you want me then?” I was feeling him out.

 This made him give another soft laugh. He answered in a serious tone, but it was obviously sarcastic, “Oh, well, no. Not then. You’d be unbearable company then.”

 I gave his shoulder a slap, but he only laughed harder.

 “Of course I’d still want you!”

 A long pause ensued, and I snuggled down deeper into the pillow and pushed myself even closer towards him. Now the side of my head was resting up against the side of his.

 “Do you ever miss your mortal life?” I asked out of nowhere.

 “I suppose I sometimes do,” he answered. “I don’t think about it all that much, but every now and then I remember people I wish I could see again.”

 I gave a nod, although it came out a little awkward the way I was lying. My mind’s eye raced along the images of my friends’ faces. Then, it turned further back towards those of my family.

 “I guess it’s no different from remembering the people we lose in a mortal lifetime,” I suggested hopefully.

 “No, it isn’t, but a longer lifetime leaves a longer trail of people behind you.” His voice had dropped down to a sad one at this.

 “Tarantin?” I asked again as a preface to another question.

 “Yes?”

 “What do you think the world will be like in a hundred years from now?” I questioned.

 His hand reached for mine and closed over it. He lifted it up and looked at it in front of his face. He ran his fingers along each one of mine and then dropped the whole hand within his between us.

 “Only time will tell . . . . But whatever it is, we will face it together,” he answered lovingly.

 I turned onto my side again and snuggled up against his chest. He wrapped his arm around me. Both of us feeling better, we drifted off like that.

 When I awoke the next night, I was alone in bed. A pillow had taken the place of Tarantin, and I discovered that my arms were wrapped around it. Finding this cold, inanimate object where his warm body should have been startled and disoriented me. I bolted up into a sitting position and looked around worriedly until I heard Tarantin shout from the closet.

 “I’m still here,” he called out. “I’m just getting dressed.”

 He came out fully clothed and started to head towards the stairs. I popped out of bed and quickly threw on a robe. I could still hear him moving around downstairs when I ran down. As I went, I snuck a look out the window.

 Tarantin was heading out very early--the sky still held pale light. Wherever he was meeting John, it had to be pretty far away. I thought this kind of strange, but I trusted that Tarantin knew what was going on. I didn’t want to ask too many questions or get involved, thinking it a sticky personal situation that Tarantin alone could deal with. He now stood at the door, waiting for me to come down and say good-bye.

 My heart was pounding quite a bit. I didn’t want to tell him, but I had a bad feeling, although I did not really know why. I creased my brow slightly.

 “Tarantin, I know that you know this man and that you can take care of yourself, but please . . . be careful.”

 He looked at me sympathetically and raised his cool hand to smooth out my brow.

 “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said with a smile to reassure me, although he was obviously worried.

 He kissed me on the cheek and left.

 After he had gone, the house felt like it had tripled in size. It was so dreadfully quiet, and I realized how lonely it was. I exhaled loudly just to break the silence. With all those rooms, I did not feel comfortable leaving the house wide open. It was pretty windy outside, so it seemed that closing it up would be a good idea all around. I walked around closing and latching all the windows downstairs, and then I headed upstairs. After a minute or two of deliberation, I decided to leave the door open to the balcony so that I could still enjoy some natural ventilation.

 Having done this, I now moved to go get cleaned up. I went into the bathroom, and, getting the water to just the right temperature, I lathered up and washed my face. Since Tarantin wasn’t here, I decided to go for comfort over looks. I simply brushed my hair and threw on an old cover-up dress. It was one of those straight-cut type deals with openings at the neck and arms, nothing more.

 Walking across the bedroom and through the study, I made my way to the television and plopped down in front of it. I wanted the sound of the thing to dispel the quiet and distract me until Tarantin’s return. Irritation hit me when I turned it on to discover that the wind must have knocked it out, and it now displayed only static and snow. Disappointed, I turned it off again and went into the study. I snuggled down into an armchair to read.

 Although the particular piece I was reading had fallen prey to that trite introduction of, “It was a dark and stormy night,” I found that it improved into tolerably good entertainment. I was just becoming immersed in the plotline, my mind melding with the fictitious world, when my attention was brought abruptly to reality. I thought I heard a small tapping sound. Now that my full attention was concentrating on it, the sound did not repeat. Looking out the window, I saw that the wind had grown rather strong, and so I just ignored this, thinking it just one of the trees scratching against the house.

 All right, where was I? Oh yes, the villain had just been introduced, and the heroine was, of course, playing right into his hands. It was one of those moments of dramatic irony when the reader knows more than the characters. I wanted so terribly to warn her, even though I knew that everything would turn out all right in the end.

 The tap, tap, tapping came again more loudly, and I looked up again, now very irritated by the noise. The sound did not stop this time, however, and I slowly realized it came from the front door. Fear struck my heart. Who would be knocking at the door? Even under other circumstances I would have been startled by such an occurrence. I was not used to visitors coming here to the house, especially at this hour. Having already been put on edge by Tarantin’s own anxiety and now his absence, I was more than a little nervous.

 Heart pounding, I descended the stairs very slowly and cautiously, somehow hoping that the person on the other side might go away and leave me in peace if I just moved slowly enough. I went to the door, thankful that I had closed up the house and that no one could look in, and I looked out the peephole. There was no one there. Now I was really frightened! I listened with all my concentration, but I could hear no unusual sounds. Perhaps I had taken my time in getting there enough that whoever it was had in fact given up, or had I just been mistaken in the first place? Was it just my imagination?

 Still on alert, I tried to shrug it off as I mounted the stairs again. By the time I had reached the landing, my mind had already transferred back to my book, and I merely mumbled to myself about the interruption. I crossed the bedroom and went to open the door to the study. It did not strike me until I was actually reaching out my hand to open it. Why was the study door closed? Hadn’t I left it open when I went down to check?

 The impact of this revelation took a minute to register with me. I had once had my apartment broken into years ago and had arrived home to discover the door unlocked. At that time, I had felt the same kind of disbelief and incomprehension that now engulfed me. On that occasion, the thief had taken off long before I got there, and I merely had to deal with the violation of my property. This was something entirely different now as my senses caught the first scent of danger.

 For the first time, I became aware that I was no longer alone in the house. The hairs on my body bristled, and my veins flushed with ice water, then heat, as I realized that I was not even alone in the room. A presence hung back in the shadows. I was afraid to turn around, frozen before the door to the study.

 “Hello, my little pet,” came the unfamiliar voice as the figure stepped forward. I looked around to see John standing there, still half in the shadows. “Did I startle you?”

 His entire demeanor was one of hatred boiling beneath the surface. I could not utter a syllable, being too petrified to think.

 “Oh, you are beautiful, aren’t you,” he said.

 I tried to push off the panic enough so that I could attempt some action. Although I had never met this man before, Tarantin had told me enough and I had sensed enough for me to know that this man had nothing good in store for me. To ask him what he wanted might have only set events in play, so I kept my mouth shut. I backed up against the study door, and, doing my best to conceal the attempt with my hand behind my back, I turned the knob. If I could just open the door, maybe I could jump in before he got to me. My heart sank as I discovered it spun around ineffectually and would not open.

 “Tut tut tut,” he said, waving his finger and taking one large step forward, the same malice underlying his voice, “Trying to leave so soon? But we have all night. You’re dear Tarantin won’t be back for hours.”

 My nerves twisted in a tighter knot. I was terrified, looking left and right for some way to escape. He was standing between the stairs and me so that I could not run that way. My eyes caught the open door to the balcony. Could I jump from the balcony? The idea of flying out off the second story was no comfort, but it was less frightening than the alternative. Maybe I could get to the water and escape that way?

 Without giving it further thought, I darted for the balcony as fast as I could. My muscles had sprinted into action, and I clung to the belief that I could make it. In my hurry, I never even saw him get in front of me.

 All I heard was the loud crack of my skull as his fist slammed into the side of my head. I struck the floor so hard it knocked my breath away, and I lay writhing, my lungs temporarily paralyzed by the shock. When I was finally able to draw breath, I parted my eyelids timidly. My head was panging with piercing pain. I’d never been hit by a man in my life, and I had no idea a person could stand such a blow without being killed.

 His fist had caught me on the right side of my face, and the eye on that side watered so badly with the sting that I was half-blinded. I tasted blood, and for a second I was worried that one of my teeth had been knocked out. Rolling my tongue along the row, however, I discovered that everything was still in place, and that the gum of my right cheek had merely been split by the impact between his fist and my molars.

 All this was done in only a moment, and I rolled over on my back. As my eyes regained focus, I found myself looking up at his angular face illuminated with a blotchy sallow light. His eyes glowed with rage as he looked down on me. My assailant looked down at his hand, and, upon beholding blood on one of his knuckles--probably the one that had collided with my jaw--he clenched his teeth and glared at me with even more hostility, as if it had been I who had dealt him an insulting blow.

 Frantic now, I pushed out my legs and dug my heels into the floor, trying to scramble backwards on the floor. I got out from under him and put a little distance between us, but this was little comfort. He followed me slowly, each footstep thundering in my ears like earthquakes. I got to my feet clumsily, and I was crying so badly I could hardly see.

 “Me they regret,” he said, now yelling, “They try to keep me on a short leash. But not you, little girl. No, you’re the new favorite. They just adore you!”

 Every word he uttered caused my head considerable pain, and I actually winced as he spoke. He kept coming closer, and I continued backing up. The blow had been so bad, I was too scared to run and risk another one. It had made the situation all too real. All I could do was bawl in fear as I awaited his next move.

 “Tarantin, he thinks he can just get rid of me! I’ll show him! And you, you little bitch, I’ll show you something too!”

 I could not jump away quickly enough to escape his hand. He had me in his grasp, and he groped at me roughly.

 “No!” I screamed, a horrible awareness dawning on me.

 His touch made my skin crawl. When he tried to tear open my dress, I cried and tried to shove him off. This only seemed to anger him, and his hand moved up to my head.

 “Come here!” he yelled in a guttural snarl.

 He grabbed me by my hair and pulled my head sideways so hard I heard the vertebrae popping. A sharp pain simultaneously shot through my scalp and neck. Before I could even think, he bit my neck. I screamed and cried and pounded against him, but he only bit in harder. It felt like he was tearing a chunk out of me, like some lion at the jugular, and I couldn’t breath. I felt like venom was spurting from his loathsome fangs and slithering into my body, and the sensation of his teeth inside me shot through every nerve. It was not just pain but violation. He had forced himself into my body unwelcome, and the horror of it was something beyond terror or shame or pain. It was worse than death. He was breaking me down into nothing, and the defilement was worse than I could bear. That alone would have been torture enough had the feeling not also been of a special sort that harkened back to one more familiar that stabbed deeply at my heart.

 He kept tearing at me until he had his satisfaction. Finally, he let go of me. I could still feel him inside me even as I dropped down to the floor and jarred down onto my knees with a whelp. My hand covering my neck where he had taken me, I strained to get back up to my feet, afraid that he would kick me if I stayed on the floor. My knees quaked under my own weight. I was just so relieved to be free from his loathsome grip that I did not realize that this was only the beginning.

 “Your blood reeks of him,” he said in disdain as he ran his tongue over his lips.

 A glimmer caught one of my bloodshot eyes as I realized too late what was happening. He had pulled out a knife from somewhere, and now, with clawed hand, he swung it at me. I jumped back, but it sliced across my forearms. It stung like fire as it caught me, and I screamed and caught the wounds with my hands. They were quickly filled with the spurt of warm liquid.

 “Did that hurt, sweetie?” said the devil in ridicule. “So sorry,” he mocked as he retracted the weapon and lifted it up for another strike.

 He kept coming. All I could see was the steel flashing through the air so fast--now here, now there--biting into my flesh without pause. The ripping sound of tearing fabric preceded each new infliction as what was left of my dress was torn apart as badly as myself, its tatters flying off around me. The sharp edge kept catching my skin as I kept trying to back up and away. The pain was unbearable. My left eye went blind as my eyelid was sliced in half. I tried to keep my arms up to protect my face, but they grew heavier and heavier.

 He must have sliced open every inch of me before I finally hit the floor with a terrible thud. The back of my head hit the tile beneath me with a ringing crack that left me stunned. At this point, I expected to go into shock or pass out, but no such mercy would befall me.

 Would that I had passed out or at the very least been stricken completely blind. He now took to out and out stabbing me as I writhed weakly on the floor. I was impaled by one strike, and I could feel the acids leaking out from my stomach and devouring my insides. I started to retch but could not. Another one found its way up under my rib cage and into my lung. I couldn’t even drag myself away, the floor was too slick with my blood.

 Seconds passed like months in the depth of my agony. Just when I thought that the pain had reached its threshold, another wound would send me shrieking. I was now tucked into a fetal position, trying in vain to ward off further injury. One particular jab in the back hit bone, and I felt something physically snap inside me.

 I kept trying to hold on, thinking that at any moment someone would show up to rescue me; Tarantin, the police, anybody. With the last bit of hope dying in me, I saw in my mind’s eye an image of myself closing up the house. No one was going to hear me, no one was going to come. I was going to die.

 He continued torturing me until there was no bloodless inch left, my entire body dyed in crimson. My strength had ebbed away, and I no longer tried to defend myself or move. I felt the sharp edge of the knife start to slide back and forth into my neck as if he were slicing a ham. The hot blood had flooded up from my chest, and my mouth and nose were oozing it. He was going to take my head, and he was not going to do it quickly.

 My killer swung his body around violently, and the weapon was suddenly retracted. A sudden grunt came from him, and the entire attack abruptly ceased. The will to survive deserted me, and I mercifully slipped away into oblivion.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

 VIII

  

 Images flashed on and off in brilliant rays of coloration. I had the sense that I’d been out for a long time. As my nerves switched on again, I felt a warm liquid around my naked body. The crisp scent of various herbs flowed and circulated in the air and poured into my lungs with every inward breath. I was in a wide, steaming bathtub filled with dirty, bloodstained water. My throat was raw, and pain racked my abused body. I could feel the hot water scalding every wound as if it was some maggot burrowing its way deeper and deeper into the tissues. It was unendurable.

 I thought a voice reached out to me from the great void beyond--an echo of sorts--but I wasn’t sure. I became aware of warm arms carefully propping up my head and shoulders above the liquid plane, but I was drifting again, drifting from the terrors that skulked at the boundaries of waking reality. My mind sank through the intoxicating lap of aromas, through the velvet cushion of liquid, and submerged into the sanctuary of the warm water.

 My senses flooded back to me in increments, as if I was under the influence of a powerful drug. The pain was something tangible to which I could anchor myself. My chest ached as if a vice were gripping my lungs and trachea. The fog cleared a little more, but my senses were still broken. The harder I tried to pull in the air, the tighter the vice gripped. Crying would make it even worse, but each agonizing breath pushed me to it. Something was on my hand. It was tightening on my hand just like the pain gripping and constricting my chest. Fingers. A hand. I squeezed back. I couldn’t breathe. Oh god, I couldn’t breathe!

 I jerked my head to one side as if this would dispel the feeling. There was an unexpected pop, and something raced under the skin in my neck. It was as if some nerve ending had decided to sprint a few inches--a terrible sensation. This was accompanied by a brilliant flash of light, like lightening in my head. It brought the darkness.

 Centuries later. Very stiff. Testing the waters, I felt for the pain--it was now a throb in every fiber. The pain was not wet anymore, though. It was dry and rusted like my joints. The darkness receded as my mind clawed its way out of the void, and I finally managed to liberate my consciousness.

 When awakening again, I ascertained myself to be wrapped in soft cloth with nothing on to inhibit its caress against my pores. To enforce this warmth, I had been tucked under the blanket of the bed with my head resting comfortably in the nook of Tarantin’s encircling arm. He was calmly reclined with a book propped in one hand. A dainty lamp cast tepid light from the small bedside table. His bangs rested in curving ribbons, framing his finely carved facial features. The whole situation was one of both security and protection but vulnerability at the same time.

 At first, I felt very dazed and disoriented. My left eye was blurry. It hurt to blink, and I had trouble focusing. My head was pounding, and I heard a rushing sound in my ears like the ocean in a conch shell. While this served as a distraction momentarily, I felt the talons of the residual pain and fear creeping over me despite the fortifications I tried to place against it.

 My worst fears came true as, with a violent rush of visions, the horrible incident revisited me unbidden. For almost all intents and purposes, I had been raped of blood and murdered! I tried to bolt up, but my body would not obey.

 “Get him off me!” I screamed as loudly as I could. “Get him off me. Get him off me!”

 I let out another scream, but it was cut off by a sudden, involuntary gasp of breath. My body was wracked with pain, and the air burned my lungs within my chest like a smoldering coal. Tarantin was already reacting.

 Tossing his book hastily to the side, Tarantin crossed me with his arm and, against my frantic resistance, held me closely with as little pressure on my skin as he could manage. As he restrained me in such manner, a terrible wail came from deep in my chest and escaped to the air with a long and terrible sound. I sucked in breath again, and then I made no further move save for the convulsive heaving of my rib cage as I let go a loud, agonized sob. Tears streamed down my cheeks in rivulets from my tightly sealed eyes. I had never hurt so much in my life.

 Tarantin lowered himself further on his side and hugged me more tightly with his face close to mine. All I could do was cling pitifully to him with all my might. When my eyes ran dry, I continued to look wildly about and to make anguished moans, so appalled and traumatized that I could not even think straight. The horrible sounds that came from me were the involuntary expression of my mangled soul, and I could not stop them from coming. Tarantin, distraught and frustrated that he could not bring me peace, continued to kiss my cheek emphatically and press it to his own, wiping away the tears with his thumb and attempting to subdue me with tender shushes as best he could.

 He held me like that all the next day, and he was still awake and counseling to me when I finally drifted off into a light sleep. The next night, I awoke late and found him passed out still clutching me. Such suffering was upon me that I could not will myself to move, and thus I stayed where I was.

 Several nights, I don’t know how many, passed in this way. I did not remove myself from bed or even adjust my position. In some way, I thought that my pain or even myself would disappear if I just remained still long enough. Alternately, I would stare out at some fixed point in the air in front of me, then doze, and then awaken only to resume my cataleptic state. Although I am certain Tarantin was there and probably trying to coax me out of myself, I did not actually take notice of his presence.

 Now, in hindsight, I realize that I was in hell. There were no devils with pitchforks and flames, but they would have been more welcome than the chaos and pain. I wasn’t exactly aware of the passage of time, but I was vaguely aware that it was a long time before there was any change. When a change did come, however, it did so without warning.

 I broke the cycle one night when I awoke with some better level of consciousness. For no reason, I just awoke with this better control. Tarantin was snuggled up next to me, and I could tell from the slow rhythmic rise and fall of his chest that he was fast asleep. I was in no distress whatsoever, as though I had spent every awful emotion I had and could feel no more. I was empty. All I felt now was an overwhelming numbness.

 Half dazed, and in that state, I carefully slipped out from under his arms without disturbing him. I climbed out of the bed and slowly walked to the bathroom. I took those slow, deliberate strides that one with a fever takes, being mindful that he might fall at any moment.

 It had been a robe that had been wrapped around me that first night and in which I had been lying in for who knows how long. I could see clearly again, and, viewing my reflection in the mirror, I now carefully opened this. Some blood had soaked through the cloth and dried, so it was not easy to get it off, and I irritated new bleeding as I did so.

 Dropping it to the floor, I looked at my body and discovered that it was covered in a net of deep pink and purple lines as well as a few red ones. At first, I thought they were just indentations--the impressions or creases in your skin you sometimes wake up with after sleeping on your stomach. However, these lines were much more severe and covered not only my stomach, breasts, and chest, but also went on to cover my face, thighs, and part of my back. With a sticky feeling in my gut, I realized that these were not mere imprints but cuts and scars. My skin was still very sore, and I now understood why, looking at the quilt of havoc displayed upon me. Would I always be tattooed like this?

 A wave of nausea swept me up, and I started to sway on my feet. I caught myself with my right hand up against the wall but was immediately rewarded with a searing pain in that shoulder. Twisting around as best I could, I examined the shoulder in the mirror. Although its wound was one of the deeper ones, I could see nothing special about it. Doubting anything could be done anyway, I thought no more about it and staggered off to get dressed. The feeling of nothingness within me had returned and nestled in my breast.

 I put on some shorts and a loose T-shirt, these being the most comfortable things I could find, and emerged from the closet. The tile was cool and hard against the soles of my naked feet, but I felt as if I were floating just off the floor. There was a definite feeling of disconnection. Looking around at everything as if I had never been here before, I noticed that the floor had thankfully been cleaned of all evidence of the attack. I went out on the balcony. I looked out across the waves, but I could still not connect with any solid feeling. A cool breeze came to me, however, and soothed my face with its caress. My hair fluttered around my face in response.

 As I stood absorbed in this way, Tarantin suddenly came rushing out behind me with a look of distress. He must have awoken and been startled when I wasn’t in the bed next to him. Bursting upon me, he let out a sigh of relief when he saw me there. For my part, I accepted his sudden appearance apathetically, looking at him for only an instant before nonchalantly turning back to the view.

 “Oh thank goodness,” he said, every word exuding relief.

 He came up next to me.

 “Are you all right?” Doubt and concern were apparent in his voice.

 I looked at him very calmly. It took me a long time to answer him because it proved an immense effort to form the word first in my brain then in my mouth.

 “Fine,” I said in a near whisper, finally getting it out. My voice was a little hoarse.

 Poised in a state of disbelief, Tarantin did not at first give any reaction to this. He looked as though he wanted to take my arm but was afraid to touch my battered body. One hand reached for me, then drew back, and then finally came to me. He did at last take my elbow and attempted to lead me back inside.

 “Well, come back in and lie down,” he said timidly.

 “I do not want to stay in bed any longer,” I answered almost inaudibly, although it was almost not worth the effort to speak.

 This seemed to surprise him immensely, but he seemed to be in such a state of desperate worry that he could not bear to let me remain as I was.

 “Sit down, at least, then,” he pleaded.

 He was looking at me concernedly, as if I was going to crumble at any moment. I allowed him to lead me back inside and help me into a chair. I still felt very strange, very detached from the world. I leaned my head back and just sat there peacefully. Tarantin sat down in a chair next to me, appearing to be still on alert. He watched me very attentively. After a few minutes, a question arose in my head, and I willed myself to ask it. When I drew breath for this, Tarantin jumped a little.

 “Where is he?” I asked, referring to my attacker.

 I said it with no emotion, and indeed I felt absolutely nothing as I waited for a response. Tarantin seemed wary to answer this question, however, as if it were some kind of land mine that would blow up in his face if he wasn’t careful.

 Cautiously, he answered, “Don’t worry. I took care of it. You’re perfectly safe.”

 Again, I accepted this apathetically, and, after ascertaining that some danger had been averted, Tarantin left me to go get dressed. He seemed loathe to let me out of his sight for a second, and I think he kept darting glances around the corner out of the closet to make sure I was still all right. I was content to sit there, and I did not move from that position all night. Tarantin returned and sat there with me, just watching me, and at some point brought me something to drink. I did drink it down, happy to moisten my lips, but otherwise did not care.

 His vigilance did not let up for a second over the next several weeks. The flat and lifeless depression that had originally beset me still held me in its grasp, although I sometimes felt it easing up now and then. This had taken its toll on Tarantin, who now seemed worn and miserable. I don’t know if he called them for support, whether they had heard about what had occurred or if they had simply sensed something wrong with their son, but Elizabeth and Marcus arrived to stay with us.

 I had not gone downstairs since that dreadful night, and I now confined myself to the bedroom, the balcony, or the study. No activity occupied me, but instead I continued to wander rather aimlessly about. The balcony was my favorite location now as it placed me outside.

 At any rate, I heard them come in through the door downstairs, and then I heard them carry on an earnest conversation with subdued voices.

 “How is she?” Elizabeth was asking.

 Before an answer could follow, Marcus was adding, “Will she at least take nourishment?”

 Tarantin’s voice was now barely audibly answering, “She will drink if I put a glass in her hand.” There was a stagnant pause, and then he added, “If you ask her, she will tell you she is fine, but she isn’t.”

 “She’s speaking then?” Elizabeth asked with great surprise.

 “Yes,” Tarantin answered, “has been since very early after the attack.”

 “Well that is something,” Marcus interjected.

 “She asked me about John,” Tarantin added sorrowfully. A marked silence followed.

 “What did you tell her?” Marcus asked cautiously.

 “Only that I had taken care of it. I was able to clean up and dispose of everything before she could see it.” His voice grew very distant with dreadful recollection. “It was everywhere.” He gulped down a lump in his throat. “Even on the ceiling.” His voice quivered with disgust, and he sounded beaten.

 “Oh Tarantin.” It was Elizabeth who finally broke with heart-felt sympathy the chain of superficial comments that had thus far dominated their side of the conversation. “I’m so sorry. I know you cared for John, but you mustn’t blame yourself for any of this. There is no way you could have foreseen what happened.”

 “If I hadn’t come back when I did . . . ,” Tarantin’s voice was strained tight, and his voice and thoughts trailed off and dropped. He was apparently grappling with his emotions.

 A moment passed quietly, and then Marcus broke in again, resuming his point as if there had been no interruption.

 “How did she take it when you told her that? About having taken care of it?”

 “She just grew very quiet,” Tarantin answered, now more composed. “She hasn’t initiated any conversation since then, and I can only get one-word replies when I try to draw her out. Most of the time, she just stares into the air. I think she hears me, but I don’t know where her mind goes . . . . I don’t know how to bring her back.” The last sentiment was stated with pain.

 “Hmmm,” Marcus said as if carefully musing over this.

 More followed, but they hushed their speaking to an even lower volume. Listening to their quiet voices required concentration on my part, and I did so out of a feeling that was similar but not quite as powerful as curiosity.

 “You look exhausted, Tarantin,” Elizabeth was saying sympathetically.

 An interim of silence ensued, or perhaps it was just conversation too low for my ear to catch. Whatever the case, the next voice I discerned was Elizabeth’s again.

 “Why don’t I go up and see her,” she said. “You just stay here, Tarantin. Let us take care of her for a while and give you some rest. You are not looking well.”

 I heard further murmurs from Tarantin and then footsteps. The heavier ones of the men seemed to be moving off down the hallway downstairs, but a lighter step was ascending the staircase towards me.

 Forgetting about their conversation as quickly as it had attracted my attention, I turned back towards the sea. It was still early evening, and the sun was mellow. The air was mostly gray, the last bit of yellow being sapped out of it by the approaching night. I was standing out on the balcony, hands resting peacefully on the cement railing as I slowly inhaled and exhaled the salty air. It must have been the onset of wintertime because the air was crisp and chilled.

 It was the time of year I had always been fond of. The shadows lengthened, and the first nip came into the air. Everything was just on the brink of change, and it had never failed to invoke a sort of spiritual feeling in me. I think it was a sense of connectedness with nature, and I fancied the ancient worshipers with their Earth Mothers got the same kind of high. Not everyone could partake of this sensation. For those used to the pomp of clearly demarcated seasons, these shades were all but imperceptible. I had been born and reared in this clime, however, and none of its beautiful subtleties were lost on me. Yes, I loved Southern winters.

 I inhaled deeply again, as if I could drink up this moment through every pore. I was feeling something, the first and only thing in a while. If I could just cage it beneath my ribs and hold it there, maybe I could come back . . . .

 Despite such cold, I was barefoot and still wearing summer clothes. My toes had lost feeling, but I was not shivering. I liked the coolness as it relieved the ache that still hadn’t left my body in places. My skin was still a patchwork of cuts and scars, although not nearly so deep and colored as before. I heard a feminine voice call my name from behind me and then felt a light hand on my back. I turned casually.

 Elizabeth was standing next to me. Her head was slightly cocked to one side, and she seemed to be inspecting my features with her eyes. Those eyes turned soft and glossy with some emotion, and she raised her right hand to my face. She traced one of the scars at my temple and then cupped my cheek with her palm. The shadow of my own spirit had not lifted itself from me, and I regarded her as though through a fog. The complacent countenance behind the desecrated face seemed to surprise her.

 “How are you?” she asked me in the softest voice.

 She looked at me intensely, searching for the slightest change of expression that might give her a hint. My face remained deadpan, however.

 “Fine,” I answered meekly. It was the only answer I gave to such inquiries.

 Elizabeth remained motionless for some time, still studying me intently. At last, she appeared to give up, and she instead shifted her glance upwards from my eyes. Turning her head more to the side, she pulled in her lips and pressed them together. Pinching my hair between her thumb and fingers, she pulled a lock behind my shoulder and let it go.

 “Come on,” she said to me as she took my hand.

 I allowed her to lead me inside. She sat me down on the corner of the bed and then left me for a moment. As I watched her come back, I noticed a hairbrush in her hand. Standing behind me, she began to work at the ends of my hair. I had completely neglected my person all this time, and my head had become a nest of knots. These she now attacked skillfully, being very careful not to pull too hard. This was no easy feat, and it took a considerable amount of time just to loosen the hair enough to get a stroke through it.

 As she attended me in this fashion, I began to feel the deadness lift from me ever so slightly, leaving me with something that was more of a stillness than anything else. Thus relieved a bit, I was able to enjoy the smooth running of her cool hands through my hair and the soft scratching of the bristles on my scalp. It was very pleasant.

 My hair at last became manageable, and she was able to draw it back away from my face. Laying the brush aside, she expertly braided it into a single cord running down the back of my neck. Thus finished, she took my face in her hands from behind and ran them back over my ears as an affectionate announcement that she was done. I had to admit that this made me feel much better, and I exerted the effort to give a small smile when she came around to look at me. I could not support this for more than a flash, however, and it faded as quickly as it appeared.

 This success only seemed to spur her on, and she seemed to decide upon giving me an out-and-out makeover. She led me to the bathroom sink and washed my face for me. Next, she insisted upon going through my wardrobe and selecting something else for me to wear. When she came back to me--I was sitting down on the edge of the bed again--she carried with her some slacks and a sweater. I cringed when I saw these stiff materials and thought of them rubbing at my skin.

 “I can’t,” I said softly in answer.

 Elizabeth seemed a little confused by this response for a moment, but then she appeared to understand. She came out again with some black sweat pants--very soft material--and a light button-up blouse. I nodded.

 Dressing had become very unpleasant for me, and Elizabeth helped me now to take off the clothes I was wearing. She was taken off guard for a moment when she observed the condition of my body, but she concealed her own horror very quickly. Searching out some lingerie from one of the dresser drawers, she brought it over to me and helped me get it on. This felt novel to me now--I hadn’t worn any undergarments in all this time because I had feared it would scrape at my skin. I was surprised to find that these articles did not irritate me in the least.

 Before adding any more apparel, she perfumed me with some bottle she found somewhere in the bathroom. The scent tickled my nose, and some of the pungent alcohol burnt my sores, but I only gave a brief cringe. Putting this aside, she helped me on with the pants and buttoned up the blouse for me. It was a long-sleeve shirt, but she aided me in rolling up the sleeves so that they no longer made as much contact with my arms. I refused to put on closed shoes, but she prevailed in getting some casual sandals on me.

 I don’t know what made her think of it or how she even knew about it, but she went to my jewel box on the dresser and selected the opal necklace Tarantin had given me. Coming around behind me, she slipped the quarter-moon before my face and down to my collar and secured the clasp in back. All was quiet inside me, although one would have thought I would have been surprised by the necklace’s appearance after having abandoned it for such a long time.

 Elizabeth now stood back and surveyed her work, and she smiled triumphantly with her success. I went to the mirror to see what exactly she had done. It was certainly a vast improvement over what I must have looked like before, but I was disappointed when I saw the ugly scars still there upon my face and arms. I should have realized that nothing she had done was going to clean them away, but I think I may have even given a small frown.

 Although this all had felt good to some degree, it had sapped a great deal of my energy. I felt very tired. Elizabeth, however, did not want to lose her momentum.

 “Why don’t we go down and join the men?” she suggested eagerly.

 I gave no reply and merely looked at her passively. I think perhaps she was trying to elicit some kind of emotional response, but, if so, her quest was a futile one.

 “It would make Tarantin feel better if you came down. He’s been awfully worried about you, you know,” she added, raising one eyebrow a few millimeters.

 It was a funny sort of inhibition, and, for a moment, I thought that I could not proceed. Elizabeth continued her coaxing, however, and I finally took the first step.

 All my energy felt drained away, but I forced myself to continue forward. I was not entirely confident in my balance or strength, and I was a little shaky as I went. Elizabeth was not physically guiding me in any way, but I reached out for her hand to steady myself. She took it and helped me down the rest of the way. As we came around the corner, a chilly wind was wafting in through the open doors of the living room.

 The room was empty, but we could hear Tarantin and Marcus talking outside on the deck.

 “This is quite cold for this part of the state, isn’t it?” Marcus was asking.

 “Yes, I suppose it is a little cooler than usual but not exceptionally so. It is winter time,” Tarantin answered.

 It was the mild chatting that men who are close to one another make, the kind that speaks more in the silences than in the pointlessness of the actual words. Their voices were growing louder as they came back towards the living room.

 “Yes, yes,” Marcus was agreeing.

 The two figures entered the room. Tarantin froze into solid marble as he saw me, and his mouth hung agape in astonishment. Marcus seemed similarly stunned, although for different reasons, but he exchanged a nod and knowing smile with Elizabeth. I suspect it was a communication of approval or approbation. My own face, however, remained expressionless as usual.

 After a long duration of this strange scene, Tarantin at last appeared to break into animation once again. Although appearing rather weary, a smile of happiness and hope engraved itself in his features. He looked like he was on the brink of tears, and he came up and took my hands.

 “You came down,” he said joyously. It seemed he still could not believe his eyes.

 I could not return his glee and could no longer remain standing for that matter. Pulling my hands free from his, I sought out the nearest chair and lowered myself into it with one quivering arm, my hand on the wooden arm of the chair. As I did this, Tarantin at first tried to rush forward and help me, but, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elizabeth raise a hand and shake her head. He stopped mid-action and hung back.

 Very slowly, they all took a seat, all eyes still plastered on me. I was a little out of breath and very tired, and I alternately opened my eyes and then closed them in long, sustained blinks. What I really wanted to do was to go lie down, but I was also too tired to actually get up and do so. I remained where I was, therefore, and tried to stay as alert as I could.

 As I recomposed myself, I saw that Marcus was now looking down at the floor. Elizabeth, to the left of him on the sofa, was staring with a slight smile at Tarantin, who in turn was sitting in a chair opposite mine on the other side of the coffee table. Tarantin was looking up and down from my eyes to the necklace hanging about my neck. I could not accurately pinpoint his expression and could not tell if he was touched or bewildered.

 Marcus took the initiative in breaking the tension.

 “How are you, my dear?” he asked of me.

 In the same weak voice I had answered such questions, I told him that I was all right. He only nodded, there being nothing else he could really say.

 Elizabeth was the one who finally got the conversation moving, and a quiet little discourse began. I added nothing to the talk, and my mind wandered very quickly away. Fatigue was setting into my muscles, but I did not want to ask for help in getting back up the stairs. The same force that made it so difficult for me to come down now, ironically, seemed to make it impossible to return.

 Their voices were soft and constant like a hum. I had spent everything I had in my interaction with Elizabeth and my descent down to here, and my head very soon started to bob. As I heard, without listening, the words they said, their voices began to warp. I knew I would not be able to stay awake for much longer.

 When I finally started to doze where I sat, Tarantin was the first to notice. I lifted my head groggily when I heard his voice, unsure of how much time had passed. He asked me, probably for the second time judging by the repetitious inflection of his words, if I wanted to go lie down. He had already stood up to come towards me, and I gave a little nod.

 “I’ll take her,” Elizabeth interjected before he could take a step. “Sit, sit,” she ordered him.

 He hesitantly obeyed and slowly retook his seat. His entire demeanor was one of concern, and his eyes followed me closely as we left the room. I saw Marcus give him a comforting little pat on the hand, but Tarantin did not acknowledge it in any way.

 I managed to get up the stairs largely without her help, but I was very glad when we finally reached the top. She helped me off with my shoes as I fell back into the pillows of the bed. My struggle over, I barely felt the brush of her hand on my forehead as I drifted off to sleep. For the first time in a long time, I dreamt.

 It was a weird, distorted nightmare. John was there. He had found me and trapped me while I slept. His mouth was on my skin, and I could feel his breath, but try as I may I could not scream. My throat was so dry I could not make a sound . . . . No, it was not John. It was Tarantin. He looked at me, and suddenly there was no one there. He was gone, and I wasn’t in the bedroom. I was in the bathroom. I was in the bathroom because my neck was bleeding, and I had to make it stop before I died. I looked down into the bathtub, and on the floor of it were two small bodies. They looked like babies. One was curled up in a fetal position, its thumb up to its mouth and its eyes not even formed. The mouth was moving as if it was speaking, but no words came out. It looked half dead. Next to it was the other small body, but it wasn’t really a baby. It was the same size, but it was wrinkled like an old man, and the eyes were fully wide open. This one looked at me. Its heart was cut open within its chest, and it bled some kind of yellowish oil. Both of them were grotesque, and they scared me. I did not like how much mess they were making in the tub, and I wanted to clean it up and get rid of them. I reached for the faucet and turned on the water.

 I awoke. It was very early morning, and it was still dark. The sun was still a few hours away from rising. I still lay on top of the bed, fully clothed and unmoved from the position I had initially assumed. I looked around me to make sure. I was alone. I’m not sure what possessed me, perhaps a certain faint unease, but I got up and walked straight across the room and into the study. It was as if I was still moving in a dream world, and I probably was only semi-conscious for that matter.

 Tarantin was sitting in one of the chairs. It seemed odd that he should be in there at that hour. Was he trying to escape me?

 He stood up when I entered. I had definitely surprised him with my entry and the decisiveness with which I had entered. He stood waiting expectantly for me to speak. I disappointed this hope, however, and quietly slipped my arms around him and hugged him lightly. His arms came down around me as he exhaled.

 I don’t know why I did this. It was not out of affection or an intention to comfort him, although I now wish I could say that it was. I just know I wanted something from him, something he probably couldn’t give.

 His clothes, his arms, his chest, everything was so soft, like falling into a bed of feathers. I rubbed my cheek against his shoulder like a feline, as if I could extract more comfort from him that way. It seemed to work, and I could have stayed like that forever.

 While he had at first seemed touched by this seeming show of affection, I think it disheartened him to see my eyes still misty, looking out from afar. The emotions he had hoped were behind this did not exist. He separated from me a little hurt. He searched my face for what he wanted to see there, as if for something he had lost. It was a terrible look. Had I been capable of crying or laughing or anything, I would have to alleviate the sorrow in his face and to rekindle the spirit whose corpse occupied my body, but, try as I may, I could not make the tears come or seize upon a single feeling to offer him.

 Thinking better of it, or feeling a little twinge of guilt, Tarantin pulled me down into the chair with him. He no longer looked at me but stared forward in thoughtful silence. I curled up on his lap and rested my head against his shoulder. He wrapped his left arm around me, and I rested my left hand lightly over his heart. The skin beneath my palm was warm through the cloth, and his chest rose and fell with his breathing. Underneath that, I thought I could feel the rhythmic beating of his heart.

 When the next night came, I discovered that Elizabeth had every intention of continuing her attentions to me. She insisted that I go for a walk with Marcus and Tarantin and herself. The very thought of it was exhausting to me, but she had a very commanding way about her that left no room for protest.

 “We’ll just take a small stroll outside. We won’t stray too far from the house so that Marcus or Tarantin can carry you home if you become too fatigued. It will be good for you to take some exercise. We need to build your strength,” she said.

 I did not outwardly respond to this, but I allowed myself to be led by the hand down the stairs to where the men were waiting to go. Tarantin was, by the looks of it, still in rather depressed spirits, but Elizabeth tried her best to make her up-beat attitude contagious. Though Marcus was not nearly so vocal or obvious as she was, I think he lent a silent strength to all those around him.

 We made our way out the door and headed on down the driveway. By the time we reached the street, the three of them had fanned out protectively around me, watching in case I should begin to fade or fall. My limbs still felt like they contained a potent fever, and the bones within them felt brittle. I concentrated on putting each foot forward with the care of a tightrope walker. Marcus was walking along to my left, and Elizabeth had interposed herself between Tarantin and myself on my right.

 They all looked relatively fresh and comfortable as they tried to idly chat, but my brow had already sprouted drops of perspiration. We had only traveled a few blocks, but my knees kept trying to buckle and give out on me, and I was keenly aware of every crack and bump in the way that might catch my sandal tip and send me flying. The space around us and, more specifically, the distance from the house seemed to stretch out. I cast a few glances behind me and despaired of ever getting back. When what willpower of inertia I had was spent, I simply stopped in my tracks.

 Although they had all apparently been making an effort not to appear too vigilant, they were instantly aware of my stopping and only took a half step past me. I was now swaying on my feet and was quite certain I was too weak to be able to walk back again. Leaving no room for anyone else to intercede, Marcus instantly picked me up with as much ease as if I were a bag of sugar.

 “I’ll take her back. You two go ahead with your walk,” he said in an even tone.

 Elizabeth had already turned and was pulling at Tarantin’s arm, and he gave a simple nod and followed her lead. At this, Marcus adjusted his arms under my knees and around my back just once before making his way back towards the house.

 “You okay there?” he asked me as we went.

 “Yes,” I nodded meekly. I was just so comfortable now that I was off of my feet that I did not mind being carried about in this way.

 Half a block before reaching the driveway we sought, a neighbor came along walking a pair of little dachshunds. He, of course, noticed us at once and appeared concerned.

 “Is she all right?” he asked worriedly.

 Without missing a beat or doing anything to alert suspicion or further inquiry, Marcus answered, “She just felt a little dizzy, that’s all. I’m taking her home.”

 This seemed to be an adequate response for the man, and he passed us without another word. He probably did not really want to get involved. I sometimes wonder if he even noticed the scars on my face, and, if so, what he thought about them.

 We soon reached the house, and Marcus brought me through the door and set me down on the sofa.

 “Would you like to stay in here, or do you want to sit outside?” he asked.

 I merely blinked.

 “I could bring you a blanket so that you would not catch cold out on the deck,” he added, as if this factor would make the decision for me and trigger a response.

 Although I was only tired, not sleepy, my mind felt lethargic, and I forgot the question before I could determine my answer. Marcus pulled his lips tight and gave a little nod as if he realized this, and he made the decision for me.

 “Why don’t we go ahead and do that,” he said.

 He left me to grab a couple of chairs that he hauled out to the deck. I watched him as he re-entered and went down the hallway only to return seconds later with a blanket in his hands. In what seemed like a single move, he scooped me up, wrapped the blanket around me, and carried me out. He gently lowered me into my seat and took the chair next to me for himself.

 I had not known Marcus long, but he had a way about him that lured people into a sense of ease. He demonstrated his quiet style as he sat with me for the first several minutes without speaking a single word at all. It was just a nice comfortable silence that both implied that great speech was to come and that, paradoxically, nothing really needed to be spoken at all. When he was finally ready to talk, he prefaced his words with a satisfied sigh.

 “It’s a beautiful night,” he said, nonchalantly looking up at the night sky.

 I let my own eyes wander upward and beheld an entire array of stars. Only a few clouds here and there obstructed the view, but even they did not remain long. The cool breeze that occasionally came cutting through was pushing their puffy bodies away to some distant land.

 “Before all of these electric lights, the stars were always bright and clear,” he continued. “Now it’s so rare to find even the brightest one visible.” There was a moment of silence before he added, in a mutter to himself, “What a shame.”

 I wondered if the last statement was really part of the same train of thought. He seemed lost in his thoughts, and I was not, of course, a threat of interruption. I had sunken cozily into my chair and had regained my breath and strength with this needed rest. Cool air flowed into my nostrils and down to my lungs with a refreshing sting like spearmint.

 “You know,” he said, now looking at me, “they say the universe is constantly changing and expanding. But, to me, it still looks the same. I don’t think it has really changed that much.”

 This seemed like rather a stupid statement, but I think I got the point. Without moving my head, I shifted my eyes sideways to look at him. He parted his lips to speak again, but he was prevented from doing so. Just then, Tarantin and Elizabeth came out from behind us.

 “Well hello! How was the rest of your walk?” Marcus asked enthusiastically as he spun around to greet them.

 “Very pleasant, thank you,” Elizabeth responded cheerily.

 She tenderly ran her hand down from the top of my head to my shoulder as she came up behind me.

 “And how is our young lady?” she questioned.

 When I gave no response, Marcus answered for me, “Oh, fine, fine. We have just been enjoying this nice weather. I was just commenting on the stars.”

 Elizabeth returned no sound at this, but I suspect she was nodding her head.

 “Tarantin,” she finally said, “Why don’t you bring us something to drink. It will no doubt restore her strength, and I’m rather hungry myself.”

 By the sound of Tarantin’s soft tread receding back into the house, I could tell he was obeying her. The steps grew louder as he came back out, and glasses were passed all around. Marcus had already proffered his seat to Elizabeth, and Tarantin now brought a replacement for him and a chair for himself. We all sat together and sipped at our glasses.

 The evening walk became an exercise routine that they strictly enforced with me, and I grew capable of traveling farther and farther. It seemed my body was able to repair rather quickly, and my mind was too, although at a much slower pace.

 They probably stayed with us for a couple of weeks, and, all together, I think they did me a great deal of good. The improvements were not obvious or earth shattering, but they were nevertheless there. I was now trying very hard to communicate. It was as if they, especially Elizabeth, had planted the seeds for growth, and it was only a matter of time. To this day, I am indebted to them for that.

 Whether my progress was the signal that their work was done or they had simply predetermined the length of their stay, the day of their departure at last arrived. It was late afternoon, and the sun was still up, although it looked much lazier than it had earlier. After their luggage had been taken out, they came back inside only to say farewell. Tarantin stood next to the open door, and I was about five feet away from him inside. They came over to me first.

 Without a word, they each in turn took my hands and kissed me on the cheek. I tried to say something, but it was still so very hard. I made an effort to focus as if this was something very important.

 “Good-bye.”

 Did I speak it or just think it? I wasn’t sure. They did not respond. I must not have said it out loud. This often happened to me now. I tried again.

 “Good-bye.”

 All three of them looked at me. I don’t know if they were surprised that I had spoken or surprised that I comprehended that they were leaving. Either way, I had certainly arrested their attention. Elizabeth alone came back over to me. She put her hand on my cheek tenderly.

 “Good-bye dear,” she said in a motherly tone.

 Then they both walked over to Tarantin. Marcus patted him on the back and gave him a quick hug as he left. As Elizabeth kissed him good-bye, she whispered to him.

 “She’ll be all right. She’s stronger than you think.”

 She surely must have known I could hear this, but she directed it confidentially at Tarantin. It seemed as though she was trying to communicate much more than the mere words she spoke, but he did not appear very comforted. His face betrayed only doubtful hope, nothing more.

 And then they were gone, and Tarantin and I were left alone together again. The silence seemed deafening. We maintained our positions for several seconds before moving again, and I half wondered if he was afraid or just depressed to be left alone with me.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

 IX

  

 After they were gone, I seemed at a bit of a loss as to what I should do with myself. I did not continue the attention to my person that Elizabeth had shown me, but neither did I entirely regress. My thoughts were becoming clearer every night, and my scars continued to heal. The stillness still held me fast, but I now wanted more than ever to break it. I wanted to reclaim myself. Perhaps the knowledge that Tarantin had abandoned all hope and stopped believing in me spurred me on. I was no longer waiting to be rescued by him or by anybody else. I knew that if I wanted to find salvation, I would have to do it by myself. My chance for this came even sooner than I could have hoped.

 One night, although loath to do so, Tarantin finally left me alone at the house. He obviously felt very bad about it, and it took him over an hour to get up the nerve to leave. He kept apologizing to me the entire time.

 “I’m sorry to leave you. You know I wouldn’t unless it was absolutely necessary. I won’t be gone for very long . . . .”

 I’m not sure if he was trying to comfort me or comfort himself. I was not upset. In fact, I thought I would enjoy some solitude. He was useless to me there, and maybe it would give me a chance to figure some things out.

 After this prolonged good-bye, Tarantin finally left. I remained standing in the middle of the bedroom, facing the open door to the balcony just as he had left me. I don’t know what was special about that night, but I felt something stirring within me. I had felt physically, if not emotionally, agitated all night. This restlessness came without warning, and it was building towards some kind of action. When I did react, it was on an impulse, and it was barely preceded by the fragmented thought. “If I had only reached the water . . . .”

 As I stood where I was, I began to breathe harder and harder, as if I was getting worked up about something. The muscles in my arms and legs tensed more and more tightly, and the energy was building forward. A course was laid out in front of me.

 A furious yell rose to my lips, and I just started running. I ran across the room and through the door. I ran straight across the balcony, my foot touching the top of the railing with a final shove. As I free fell through the air, I felt no fear, but a sense of elation. I did not throw myself out as far as I had anticipated, and the deck below rose up to meet my approaching feet. I hit with a hard, but not crushing, impact. My legs were still moving even as I touched down, and I lurched forward across the deck and over the railing there as well.

 There was a moment when time seemed to solidify. I was free of all contact and all connections, trapped in the air away from the land but above the waves. This couldn’t have lasted more than a millisecond, but in that instant everything came clear. Free!

 When at last I plunged into the water, I fell deep into its embracing darkness. My hair and clothes fluttered upwards as I sank. I don’t know if some part of me wanted to drift out to sea and die, or if I just craved the weightlessness, but I did not at first attempt to swim to the surface. The water was very warm compared to the air, and I felt as if it were some healing balm all around me. Suspended in the depths, I remained so still I could hear my heart beating.

 In this state, I simply was. I lived and I felt, and my spirit seemed to stretch out in every direction with the water. It wasn’t nothingness or even stillness. It was peace, all-encompassing peace. It was everything.

 I wanted it to hold me, to tuck me into its folds like some precious pearl and never let me go, but some impetus from within spurred me upwards. When I breached the surface for air, I felt like it was the first breath I had ever taken. It was wonderfully cold and fresh, and it tasted sweet on my tongue. Both lungs inflated with it and only slowly let it out.

 I let myself float on my back, and, despite the weight of my saturated clothes, I swam out to deeper water. Once I was about a hundred feet away, I could look back and see the house in its entirety. I had never seen the place from this angle before, and it looked like something new. I just stared at it curiously, wondering who these people were who lived inside it and what life they lived, this woman and man. It was a nice perspective.

 If I could have remained where I was for all time, I think I would have, but the air was chilled. The cold started to seep into my bones. Knowing that I had accomplished what I had set out to do, I finally made my way back. I was impressed by the ease with which I was able to climb the sea wall and drag myself over onto the deck. Trailing water along behind me, I made my way into the house.

 As I entered, I became aware of that evil darkness returning to me. It took the form of a lurking shadow on the peripheries of my vision. It had a powerful presence that was not to be so easily destroyed. I had, temporarily at least, knocked it out and liberated myself from its enslavement. Now I had a fighting chance, and I only needed to keep it off. I was unsure as to how to vanquish it, but I took comfort in my restoration.

 I stripped off my sodden clothes and threw them into the bathtub. The air made me shiver as I walked over to the closet naked, so I hastened to put on something dry. The fuzzy folds of a sweatshirt and the armor of jeans eased my chill, and I exited with a smile. Glancing at the open portal of the doors to the balcony, I gave a little nod.

 On an impulse, I turned back towards the room. I popped on the radio and sent its sound blasting through the room. Then I did what I had always done when I was a young child in a strange mood. I walked to the center of the room, lay down on my back on the floor, flat with my hands enfolded neatly over my stomach, and I stared peacefully up at the ceiling until, in my mind’s eye, I could invert the world. I pictured my feet walking on the ceiling until I made it the floor and the floor to the ceiling. I smiled slightly as I thought about being careful not to trip on the ceiling fan as I walked.

 I am not sure how many hours I spent in this way, but it was a comfort to me to hang onto that upside-down perception as long as possible. Unfortunately, during that time, Tarantin returned and found me in this position. The radio was silenced, and, I suppose he thought that I had fallen, he rushed over to me and asked if I was all right. I responded that I was, but I felt that his question had been impertinent, and I was irritated that he had interrupted me.

 Irritated? Yes, I was irritated. What did he think he was doing, running over to me like that? For the first time, I became aware that his constant attention was starting to bother me. He wasn’t really helping me at all, but he was keeping up appearances with his meddling. I no longer needed Tarantin constantly treating me like an invalid, and it was starting to frustrate me. Changes needed to be made.

 As the weeks passed, I was gaining my strength back, both emotionally and physically. Most of my wounds were completely healed, and, after that unpredictable episode, I seemed to have been restored to more or less myself again. With this recovery, the initial irritation matured into anger. Looking back on all that had passed, I was furious over what had been done to me, furious that I had been helpless to prevent it. I was tired of being weak and having no control over what happened to me, and Tarantin, with his constant nursing, was a very easy target for my anger. After all, he had made me a vampire without my consent. He was the reason this fiend had attacked me. He left me that night . . . . Deep down, I knew he had suffered punishment enough for these things, but I still heaped the blame on him. He himself took on a great deal of guilt, and he tried to make it up to me with every attentive gesture.

 One night, things reached a turning point. I was cold, and I decided I wanted to close up the house. I voiced as much to Tarantin, who immediately dropped what he was doing to go down and close up everything. He had taken to seeing to my every whim with such promptness. I had only been thinking out loud, and I hated being fawned on like this. I had told him again and again to back off, but he wouldn’t or couldn’t do so.

 While he was downstairs, I decided to close the windows upstairs myself. Reaching up to slide the window down, the familiar sharp pain shot through my shoulder. It was a wound that never seemed to get better, and I screeched when it assaulted me like that. I immediately wished I hadn’t because Tarantin had already come back up into the room.

 With one arm around me and his hand on my elbow, he led me over to a seat as if I were an elderly person. He directed me down into it, and it was immediately apparent that his intention was to examine me. I think he had suspected for some time that I was concealing an injury.

 “Where is the pain?” he asked in a very solemn tone of voice.

 “It’s nothing,” I said, trying to deter him.

 I started to protest and get up, but he pushed me back down.

 “Sit still,” he said.

 This authoritarian voice surprised me and made me uncomfortable. I did not like it, but I obeyed. Having pulled up my shirt to reveal my back, he was now looking very carefully at the skin. He finally located the injury with his hand. A press of his finger made me wince.

 “There is something stuck in there,” he said. “The skin has healed over it, but you can’t heal properly with that in there.”

 He covered me back up again and walked back around to face me. His look was one that resembled resignation, and this did not bode well. I was suspicious.

 “What are you going to do?”

 His face melted into sympathy. “We have to get it out.”

 I was tensed, ready for flight.

 “We have to cut it out,” he elaborated.

 I was waiting for the dreadful moment. Vampires did not just go to the hospital or anything. I knew what he was going to say, had been terrified of it all along. That’s why I had kept my injury a secret from him. “Anesthetic?” My brain formed the word before my mouth did, and Tarantin was already shaking his head “no.”

 “No, no, no!” I said jumping up and startling him with my forcefulness. “Just leave it alone! It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt that much.”

 “We have to . . . .”

 “No!” I yelled back petulantly.

 “Okay. All right,” he said in a calm, professional voice.

 Apparently, he thought I was on the verge of hysterics. This enraged me more.

 “Don’t do that! Don’t you dare do that! Stop treating me like I’m this fragile thing you have to coddle!”

 He seemed surprised. He remained still, a pitiful expression on his face, until I could no longer bear to look at him and left. I stomped off, anticipating in my mind what his next move would be. I knew him well enough to realize what he would probably do next. He would use force against me, I was sure.

 Several weeks passed without incident. Tarantin and I had a few superficial conversations, but we otherwise acted like total strangers. However, despite his silence, I knew that he had not let the issue drop. I was on the alert.

 It had become strikingly clear. Instead of viewing me as a woman in a weak moment, Tarantin had come to regard my debility as a master status. To him, I was the porcelain doll with the hairline crack, the delicate ship in the bottle. What disgusted me most was that I had played my role admirably until now. Well, no more.

 When he did try something, I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Oh no, I was fed up with feeling weak. I was going to fight and fight hard. He’d win, yes, but he wouldn’t treat me like a child anymore. It was high time for me to divest myself of my woolly cloak.

 When Matthew showed up, I knew the time had arrived.

 Tarantin had not mentioned his visiting. He just showed up one night. I, of course, liked Matthew, and I greeted him nicely when he came. He entered with two light pieces of luggage and set them down just within the door in time to catch Tarantin’s hand in a hardy shake.

 “Matthew,” Tarantin said, “So good to see you.”

 “Well, I certainly did not expect we’d be getting together so soon, but you know I never miss an opportunity to visit,” was his cordial response.

 Matthew seemed to suddenly become aware of my presence, and he hastened to come over to me and clasp my hand. Upon beholding my countenance, his first words were just like everyone else’s.

 “And how are you doing?” he asked. “Feeling stronger?”

 “I am doing much better now, thank you,” I answered positively.

 “Well, you look remarkably well,” he complemented me as he came in away from the door and took a seat.

 I supposed he must have envisioned something terrible from Tarantin’s description. I suspect word had traveled through the vampire ranks about my attack. Was the whole world worried about me?

 To my surprise, he did not dwell on this point for long.

 “How was your journey?” Tarantin asked to stimulate conversation.

 So the game was in play, and it was a battle of nerve. I kept my eye on the two of them every waking moment, and I maintained a light sleep throughout the day. I had to be prepared, I told myself. Soon. All would come to a head soon.

 Patience was a great ally for them, and several nights passed uneventfully. This, of course, ate away at me as each hour I anticipated the fateful moment. It is a credit to their characters that they could bide their time in this manner. They made a magnificent show of simply catching up on old times, but something in the air kept up my conviction that things were coming to a climax.

 During this time, Matthew and Tarantin generally conversed between themselves while I hung on the outskirts of such socializing. They had been doing so for the better part of the evening, when Matthew decided to come over to me. We were all in the living room, the two men in chairs and me daydreaming, or rather nightdreaming, on the sofa. Matthew sat down beside me now.

 “Would you mind talking with me?” he asked gently.

 This question seemed very silly. I was extremely surprised to be addressed so, and I glanced over at Tarantin as if to gain his permission. His expression was completely unreadable, however, and I cursed myself for having looked to him. I did not actually say anything, but my facial expression communicated for Matthew to continue.

 “You really are looking much better,” he said with emphasis.

 I just nodded without really thinking about his words or tone. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tarantin looking at us with his closed hand up in front of his mouth. He was now cut off from the conversation, but he was paying rapt attention.

 “I came to see you, you know? Do you remember me coming to look at you?” he asked.

 This confused me a great deal. “What? When?”

 “Not long after your . . . ,” he searched for a soft word but could not find one, “attack. I did not think you were conscious of my presence, but I wasn’t sure,” he answered.

 I was very surprised to hear this. So Matthew had come to examine me? I tried to think back, but that time period seemed so sketchy and jumbled. A lot could have happened during that time, and I would not have been aware of it. I wondered why Tarantin hadn’t told me this.

 “Would it upset you to talk about it?” he requested carefully.

 “Why?” I asked suspiciously, still very bewildered. I shot another quick glance at Tarantin, but he gave no interruption.

 Matthew now seemed to be considering the question very seriously, but his answer was brief. “I’m simply a little curious. You were unresponsive for a very long time.”

 I guess the probing mind of the scientist was salivating behind the polite exterior. He was probably just interested in the psychology of it, although I might be being unfair to him. Maybe he was actually thinking of my benefit.

 “Hmmm,” I answered evasively, looking around as if my thoughts were floating about me and just needed to be pinned down.

 “All right,” I conceded at last.

 He had asked it as a serious question, and I had no problem with trying to describe my thoughts, although I had never done so and was unsure if I could.

 “What exactly do you want to know?” I asked.

 “For instance, what were you thinking all that time?” he clarified.

 “Well,” I said, “it’s kind of a jumble of flashes in my head. I mean, I wasn’t really conscious of the passage of time, so I can only tell you what bits and pieces I remember. Is that all right?” I asked.

 It occurred to me that I was stalling. I knew what he was asking. He was asking me to talk about it, to simply talk, and I was putting it off. I can’t say that I was too afraid or too upset, I just couldn’t seem to get myself started.

 “That would be fine,” Matthew assured me.

 I should be able to do this. I need to do this, I told myself.

 I collected myself momentarily before beginning. Matthew waited patiently, but Tarantin almost leaned forward in his eagerness to hear this. I kept my eyes on the former and began.

 “At first, it was just blackness . . . . I had no thoughts. My senses carried nothing to me.”

 He had asked an honest question, and I wanted to give as accurate an answer as possible. It was a hard concept to synthesize, however, and I did not especially like the way this sounded.

 “After a long time,” I continued haltingly, “I could think again, and the numbness took over. That in turn evolved into stillness and clearer thoughts, but I was still having trouble.”

 “In what way?” Matthew asked to clarify.

 “Um . . . I knew what it was that I wanted to say, but I couldn’t get it out of my mouth. Sometimes I even thought I was successful, but then I’d see that no one had heard, and I had only thought the words.”

 I thought this came out sounding pretty stupid, but I could tell that this was very intriguing to him. He nodded his head absentmindedly as he listened. Perhaps he already had a hypothesis of his own about what I went through, and my information was just one more piece of the puzzle. This appeared to be his only question for the moment.

 “Finally, I came to the state in which you see me now.”

 What more could I say? I could not conceive of what to add to this, and I stopped, hoping that this might be adequate. Realizing that I was going to let this last statement ride, Matthew began to question me in pursuit of more.

 “Did you feel frightened?” he asked.

 “I did not feel,” I answered directly with a mournful smile. “The nothingness is only terrifying after you get out of it. At the time, I felt absolutely nothing, cared about nothing.”

 Tarantin shifted in his seat, but he continued to stare at me with the most intense curiosity. A sensation resembling a fever chill passed over me. This was all I could answer, and he realized it. Talking about it depressed me, and Matthew quickly appeared eager to keep my spirits up.

 “Well, at least you are back,” he said reassuringly.

 I daunted him with my sudden frown.

 “I am not all the way back yet,” I said matter-of-factly.

 No, that was not true.

 I restated, “Or rather, if I am back, I now realize I have farther I need to go.”

 Tarantin’s hand dropped away from his face, but he did not make a sound. My words had left Matthew at a loss as to what to say, so, seeing that his friend was not going to bail him out, I saved him with a smile. When he spoke again, his tone was entirely altered.

 He stood up now and retook his original seat. Without missing a beat, he fell back into the same kind of talk he had been having before. Tarantin completed the other side of this with a similar transformation of mood, and they acted as if I had never said a word.

 They played this masquerade for the next several nights without the slightest slip. For a while, I even questioned if our conversation had ever taken place at all. However, there was no reason to doubt my wits now that my mind was sharp again, so I tried to keep up my confidence and acuity. Perhaps their plan had, in fact, been to keep me off-balance, but, whatever the case, I was caught off guard again when Matthew approached me alone one night.

 For a change, I was sitting in one of the spare bedrooms downstairs. I had wanted to be alone with my thoughts, and I felt certain Tarantin would not actively seek me out here. He was presently elsewhere in the house, in the dining room I believe.

 Matthew tapped at the frame of the door quietly, it was open, and asked to come in. I was sitting silently on the end of the bed, and I turned and invited him. He entered fairly slowly and grabbed up the back of a chair in his hand. He pulled it up close to the bed and sat so that he could look at me face to face.

 “Tarantin tells me you have an injured shoulder,” he said as if this was late-breaking news. “He is very worried about you.”

 I was slightly taken aback by this sudden directness, but I regained myself quickly.

 “Tarantin worries about me a great deal,” I said with a bit of an edge.

 Matthew seemed to brush this remark aside.

 “Would you permit me to look at it?” he requested without changing his inflection.

 “Only if you promise that is all you will do,” I answered after considering carefully. I did not want to be tricked.

 “I give you my word,” he said.

 Upon first meeting Matthew, I had summed him up to be a man of integrity, so this was good enough for me. I trusted him and exposed the shoulder as he drew near to me. He studied the small dark spot underneath the skin very carefully and ran his thumb over it a few times as if he could feel what lay beneath.

 “It looks to be a fragment of metal,” he declared at last. His voice was that of the doctor.

 I nodded in agreement. Of course, I had long ago figured out that the knifepoint had broken off and embedded itself there.

 “It looks as though your other wounds have healed nicely,” he continued, “but this is not going to go away until the shard has been removed.”

 He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I remained silent. My lack of agreement at this statement appeared to perturb him a little.

 “It must surely hurt a great deal. I should think you would want it removed,” he said more kindly, although in a tone of reasoning with a child.

 My disagreement on this point seemed something inconceivable to him. I realized that Tarantin had sent him in to convince me, to make me see reason as they saw it. He was now acting out of a duty to Tarantin. Poor Matthew had been put into the middle of a situation he did not fully understand.

 “This is not about an injury,” I explained, no longer feeling disarmed.

 I was now addressing him as Tarantin’s envoy, and I spoke in a loud, clear, confident voice.

 “This is an issue between Tarantin and me . . . . I stand by my position. Leave it be.”

 Perhaps he read some resentment there in my voice. He lifted himself to his feet and walked to the door. While still standing within the frame on the point of departing, he turned halfway to face me. His voice melted into gentleness and sympathy for the first time since he had approached me.

 “He really loves you, you know?” he said, thinking that this would sway me. Or maybe he was just acting out of empathy for his friend.

 “Yes, but he doesn’t respect me,” I answered matter-of-factly.

 I surprised myself by saying this, but it came forth from me so quickly I didn’t have time to think about it. It rang so true. Matthew’s face grew despondent. Unless I am mistaken, his head nodded a little at this as he left.

 It seems that Matthew’s little talk with me was merely the calm before the storm. The night finally came. It was a moment I had run over and over again in my mind and in my dreams, but nothing could have prepared me for it. The reality of it still came as a surprise.

 I was sitting in the study next to the fireplace, curled up in an armchair just letting my mind wander. Tarantin and Matthew came walking through the door, engaged in conversation. Immediately I sensed something was amiss. It may have been instinct that told me so, or maybe the conversation sounded too forced. Whatever the case, I knew that the dreaded moment was descending upon me.

 Matthew was carrying something in his hand that he now placed on the large wooden table. I noticed now that the table had been cleared of its usual miscellaneous articles. I wasn’t sure when they could have done this, but I chided myself for having missed this. I watched his every action very carefully and saw a sponge and bowl of water. Behind these, he set something metallic. I realized that it was a scalpel.

 They moved rapidly towards me, knowing now that I was on to them. They were already five feet away when I leapt back behind the chair and grabbed up the poker from the fireplace. I now wielded it like a baseball bat. Tarantin must have assumed I would not use it. For a moment, I wasn’t even sure if I could. Then I thought of an eternity resting on the actions of this single night, and I stoked my own anger.

 He and Matthew were undaunted and came around opposite sides of the chair towards me. They moved in sync like a pack of wolves hunting down a caribou, and their coordination gave me cause for concern. I backed up closer to the wall. It was a mistake for them to corner me there. Now that my back was protected and trapped, I grew fiercer. I drew on all the rage I had stored inside me.

 “We have to take it out . . . ,” Tarantin was saying as he reached a hand towards me.

 “Go to hell!” I screamed as I swung the poker with all my might.

 It struck his hand, flinging it away and tearing the skin. He yelped, and utter shock consumed his face. I don’t know which stung worse, my insult or the poker. Either way, despite the sick feeling the impact had given me, I reveled at having elicited some genuine emotional reaction. No more talking down to me. Oh no, now you’ll take me seriously. I had been transformed into a wild animal. I had had enough!

 After witnessing such unanticipated violence, Matthew now seemed unable to determine what level of participation he should have in this fiasco. He stood vacillating, much to my advantage. Meanwhile, Tarantin recovered from his shock and started towards me again, his face stern and severe. The initial swing had, of course, hurt my shoulder, but I drew on this pain as a source of strength.

 I did not hesitate before taking another swing, this time aiming at his head. This he avoided by jumping aside in one swift bound. The first strike had been effective mostly in its spontaneity. Now that Tarantin knew what I was willing to do, the tide turned in his favor.

 Both men were off towards my right now. Tarantin was approximately four feet away, and Matthew was another two or three feet behind and beside him. I knew that my strongest moment was before I struck. It was a moment when I could hold the situation as a standoff. Once I made the swing, fate took over, and I was vulnerable. Therefore, I remained motionless for a minute, holding Tarantin at bay with the menace of my weapon. He was poised, waiting to spring at an instant. He did not look at me but kept his focus on the poker. I went for the attack and immediately regretted it.

 He caught the third swing in his palm and tore the poker from my hand. The friction burned my hand as it was whipped away, and there was a clang as the metal hit the floor. Unarmed, I didn’t waste a millisecond but took off sprinting towards the door with all my speed. I heard furniture being bumped behind me as both men darted after me.

 I was very fast and actually got my hand on the knob before Tarantin grabbed me from behind. His right arm was around my stomach, and his left reached across in front of my face as he grabbed on to my right arm. I still clung to the knob, knowing that releasing it would signal my downfall, but he was tugging at me to let go of it.

 When he finally overpowered me, and my hand slipped off, I let out a ferocious growl, “No!”

 I jumped up and down, thrashing wildly about to try to break loose. Furniture was upended, and items flew everywhere. This gave him a struggle, but he was still successfully dragging me backwards toward the table.

 “Let me go!” I howled as I kicked at his shins as hard as I could.

 He grunted a little as my heel struck bone, but his grip around me did not falter. At least he was breathing hard with exertion at this point.

 “Damn it, let me go!” I screamed again.

 “Calm down,” he said back forcefully. I detected a hint of anger in his voice.

 Matthew, deciding to get into the fray, grabbed up my legs, and the two hoisted me up onto the table. I squirmed as much as I could, making it a feat for them to get me into position. Between the two of them, however, they finally succeeded. I was on my stomach with Tarantin on top of me. He had pinned my left wrist down with his left hand, and his right leg was kneeling down across the back of both of my legs. Matthew was at the other side of the table holding my right arm out straight with his left hand. He was trying to grab the scalpel with his right.

 I struggled with all my strength, not giving them a moment’s rest, growling and yelling as I did. With a hard jerk and twist, accompanied by an unpleasant popping sensation, I managed to pull my left wrist in an inch. For a joyous moment, I thought I might actually get it free, but then Tarantin just tightened his grip until it caused me pain.

 “Ow,” I shouted in protest, but he dared not ease up.

 Matthew seemed startled by what was taking place.

 “Hold her tightly,” he said to Tarantin with a little tremor in his voice.

 “If I hold her any more tightly, I’ll break something,” Tarantin answered back through clenched teeth. He was certainly angry now.

 He was right, of course. As it was, my wrist was throbbing. He knew he had me secure and that I couldn’t possibly break free. Perhaps feeling a little ashamed at his own aggression, Tarantin let go an exasperated exhalation. He seemed to be trying to get himself in check, and I sensed that he was calming down now that he had me constrained. I was still making small, ineffectual struggles when I felt his right hand on my head. I froze when I felt this. It wasn’t for restraint but for comfort. I ceased struggling, utterly defeated.

 “Please stop,” I requested meekly, my voice almost cracking.

 My head was resting on my right cheek so that I was facing more towards Tarantin. My hair had tumbled over my face, and Tarantin now brushed it back behind my ear with his hand.

 “It will be all right,” he said, not in that condescending tone but in a voice of love and comfort.

 I could feel them lifting off my shirt on one side. It was a concerted effort, at no time leaving me free of restraint. I could feel Matthew’s hand on my shoulder, and I swore that I could sense the scalpel coming down through the air towards me.

 “No, no,” I whined.

 When the scalpel did start to cut in, it was worse than anything my dread had prepared me for. I screamed and screamed. The pain seemed to go on forever as the blade sunk in deeper and deeper.

 “Uh,” I heard Matthew say in disgust, his professional composure a bit rattled, “It’s gone into the bone.”

 An awful sort of grinding sensation followed.

 “Stop, stop!” I screeched, my voice shrill.

 “It’s almost over. It just has to be pulled out,” Tarantin said.

 I fell to quiet sobbing. At last, it ceased. I felt a warm sponge wiping my skin, and then my wrist was freed. I was left with a throbbing throughout my body. I lay face down on the table, my body still in spasms from my cries and shudders. Matthew’s footsteps proceeded out of the room, followed by the sound of the door closing.

 Tarantin had his hand on my back, and he had leaned over down to me. His face was next to mine. I slowly sat up and looked at him. His face followed mine, and it displayed great worry. I thumped my palm against my heart as if that action could communicate to him what was in there, and I continued to cry until I was completely drained. When I stopped, he remained utterly still, and I returned his gaze. I crawled over to him a little awkwardly, and, stumbling, I brought my body up against his. As he enfolded me, it felt very natural to fall into his hug. We stayed that way for a very long time, in each other’s arms.

 Our touch never broke when we went to bed, and we were curled tightly against one another throughout the day. Upon awakening the next evening, our first endeavor was to seek out our poor guest and put him at his ease. Matthew had been extremely respectful in leaving us by ourselves, but we could no longer impose upon him.

 We found him sitting quietly in the living room, his body bent over a notebook on which he was furiously scratching down notes. He was so focused on what he was doing that he gave a little jump when we snuck up on him. Looking up to face us, he immediately sprung to his feet. We both stood facing him, and he intently studied Tarantin’s face and then mine. Both of us felt sympathetic towards him and apologized for having placed him in such an awkward position.

 Tarantin quietly reconnected with him with the simple gesture of shaking hands. The shake conveyed thanks on Tarantin’s part, and it settled everything comfortably with them. Matthew seemed apprehensive as to my reaction to him, but I quickly made it clear to him that I was grateful to him for everything and bore no ill will towards his actions. He appeared greatly relieved by this.

 His stay with us was not extended long past this. No doubt he had plenty of things to do that he needed to return to, and it was not a good or comfortable time to be paying us a visit, especially after all that had transpired. Out of a sense of duty, he re-examined my shoulder and declared that it was healing nicely and that there was nothing more he could do. He gave us both grand good-byes as he left, and we all parted on good terms, looking forward to a reunion under more normal circumstances. And as the door closed behind him, a new chapter of my life began.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

 X

  

 They say that everything happens for a reason, and this seemed to hold true for me. Looking back with a more objective eye, I understood that all of the misfortunes that had befallen me had occurred in order to get me to this point. I felt that, despite everything that had happened--maybe because of everything that had happened--Tarantin and I had come to a better understanding with each other. As a result, our relationship was irrevocably changed. I knew that, whatever else might come to pass, whatever obstacles might rise up to greet us, Tarantin would treat me as I deserved, as his equal. We were making a fresh start.

 I now began to go off on my own sometimes, leaving Tarantin with the vague declaration that I was “going out.” He was unhappy when I left him, but he didn’t try to stop me or follow me, and I always rewarded him with enthusiastic descriptions of what I’d seen and done. I took long walks along the shore, wandered around downtown, and generally indulged in whatever independent thought occurred to me. I was a free woman, and I did as I pleased, reinventing myself as I went.

 For a while, I toyed with the idea of getting a night job. I cluttered the table with the little snippets of newspaper advertisements, and I poured over each with a critical eye. My inclination for this was not very strong, however, and I soon abandoned the quest and sent the clippings sliding into the wastebasket. Nothing had appealed very greatly to me, so I thought it would be best to merely keep this line open as an option for later.

 I was still in want of something to do, however, so I floundered around a bit and experimented with various pastimes. Gardening was not my thing, and my thumb proved the kiss of death to anything I touched. I even managed to kill a cactus by dehydrating it to death, if you can believe that. Next, my attention turned to knitting, but my skill here proved analogous to my knack at horticulture. I created great amorphous knots of yarn. Undeterred, I shifted my attention to painting. Although I had a decent hand, it was, unfortunately, far too frustrating for me not to be able to transfer to canvas with perfection the beautiful images that arose in my head.

 Fortunately, an intent pursuit will not go unrewarded forever, and I finally found a hobby I could enjoy. With great interest, I took up photography. I discovered that it gave me pleasure to capture images on film, immortalizing a series of moments. To my joy, I had some talent at this, as well, and, if nothing else, it passed the time.

 Consumed by my pursuits, the time did pass quickly. Seasons came and went, and another fall arrived at our doorstep. While my activities made me very happy, I discovered that I felt like something was missing in my life. It was not something that I could clearly put my finger on at the time, but I knew I needed to fill some void. It was only very slowly that I began to find ways to do this and to realize exactly what it was.

 The day was in late October, and I was especially excited, although I couldn’t tell you exactly why. Tarantin and I had awoken extraordinarily early, perhaps the time change had thrown off our systems, I joked. There was still strong but cool sunlight outside.

 I had been flitting from one activity to another indoors without finding contentment in any one, and, as I looked out the window, I realized what a beautiful day it was. I had not enjoyed a day in some time, and I did not want to waste this one. Bouncing down the stairs, I came upon Tarantin sitting on the living-room couch.

 His brow was furrowed as he looked over a thick letter he had received in the mail, probably financial statements. I was filled with restless energy, and I walked right up to him, dropped down on the couch next to him, and threw my legs over his so that I was half sitting on his lap. There I waited silently to talk to him.

 Tarantin had not looked up at me when I came in and did this, but, still intently reading, he put his hand on my left shin and gave both my legs a shake to let me know he was aware of me. Impatiently, I tapped out a cadence on my lap with my hands. Apparently coming to the end of a line, he finally looked at me and let the letter drop on the coffee table. Both of his hands crossed over my legs and rested upon my knees as his eyes met mine. I continued my drumming and playfully moved my hands up so that I was now patting out my beat on his shoulder. One last harder beat punctuated the fact that I wished to speak.

 “I’m bored. Let’s go do something,” I said bluntly, not leaving any room for debate.

 I swung off my legs, grabbed his hands, and pulled him up and after me. Tarantin did not object or fight me but followed along. This pleased me greatly since I never knew when he would be in a mood for spontaneity or not. He still trailed after me as I grabbed up the car keys and tromped off to the car.

 I started her up and zipped down the driveway. Out on the road, I enjoyed the speed and continued along faster than I probably should have. Fortunately, there were no police around, and nobody impeded me. We were already heading along in the right direction before I had fully formed a destination in my mind.

 Having no particular idea in mind save enjoying the day, I drove us over to the park. Tarantin seemed to think this was a refreshing idea, and he smiled when I parked the car. We walked out onto the expansive green lawn. It was a nice field, surrounded on all sides by shady oaks, and I brought us right out into the middle of it. Although it was sunny, my hyperactivity counteracted the natural fuzziness, and I did not mind in the least.

 We walked along at a snail’s pace. Our bodies were pressed together so closely that we looked like we were in a three-legged race, and we staggered and swayed accordingly. I wrapped myself around Tarantin’s arm like a strangler vine and leaned my head against his shoulder. He glanced down at me and smiled and then inhaled a deep breath, showing that he too was enjoying the fresh air of this little outing. As I have said, I was feeling playful, maybe a little crazed, a state of mind that was so very welcome after the more somber events that had passed in my life, and I was acting very freely with him.

 With a mischievous smile, I unwrapped myself from him and shot in for a quick kiss on his lips. This evidently took him by surprise, and his face assumed that dumb expression of temporary incomprehension. I gave him a little push and walked off faster ahead of him. I must have disarmed him more than I knew because he paused for a moment before making pursuit. But then I heard the soft crunching of the grass underneath his feet as he made chase and strode after me.

 I meant to feign indifference and not look back, but I was laughing all the time as I picked up the pace. I glanced over my shoulder to see him smiling as he closed the distance and came up to my side again. For a long moment, no sound passed his lips, but he sidled towards me until his shoulder was against mine. Without warning, he turned and grabbed me up in a gigantic hug that brought me to my toes.

 “Got you!” he said.

 I giggled childishly as those two arms sprang around me.

 “So you have,” I said.

 He did not let go, and my heart grew heavy under his stare. His head lowered, and his lips sought my mouth. As if we were the only ones in the world, he captured me in an intense kiss. He played it out for a long time like some sweet fermata of a song only he knew. My pulse raced, but I did not entirely feel the things I should have. Instead, I felt like I was suddenly being swallowed up, and I could not breathe. Something akin to dizziness made me grasp at his sleeve for balance, and I felt like I wanted to cry, although I wasn’t sure why.

 I looked around us and gave his arm a playful tap. Modesty was the best excuse I could concoct for the horrible expression that must have leapt onto my features. I do not know if he accepted this or not, but his face remained clear, and he went along with it. We resumed our walk, and I entwined myself around his arm as before.

 The air seemed to lighten again, and I started to look around at the other people in the park. At one end, there was a large cluster of elderly men and women doing Tai Chi in the shade of the trees. Their wrinkled limbs moved slowly as if caught in some thick sap, and all worked in unison through the various forms. They appeared very distant, as if they belonged to an entirely different atmosphere from those around them.

 When something bumped my thigh, I turned my head sharply. Two little boys with sticks in their hands went shooting past us. They were evidently fencing with the fallen branches, and I could see where the bark had snapped off under their blows. I followed the sight and sound of these little duelers as they sped off into the distance. They blasted past another little cluster of people who caught my attention. My head popped up from Tarantin’s shoulder when I saw the two ahead of us. It was a family.

 A blanket had been laid out upon the grass to provide a nice picnicking spot. A little girl, who could not have been more than three or four years old, was standing at one corner of this blanket. She was a tiny little thing, and she wore a yellow dress with the various grass stains and dirt smudges that she had recently acquired. Her mother was kneeling down behind her, helping her to hold on to a spool of string. They were flying a kite together, something I had not seen since I was a kid and didn’t think people did anymore.

 The mom seemed to be dividing her attention between this activity with her daughter and the doings of her sons who had evidently forsaken their sparring for the adventure of tree climbing. The boys were attempting to climb one of the oaks, but they kept losing their footholds a few feet off the ground. As they persisted in trying to climb higher, their mother appeared to grow tenser and tenser. She was keeping a careful and concerned watch on them lest they should hurt themselves.

 It was a fairly typical scene for a weekday at the park, and I don’t know why it arrested my attention so. All of them held my gaze like a magnet, and my head filled for a moment with all sorts of impossible fancies, things that could have been, things that never were. I waited for the sadness to fly into my breast, but it only seeped slowly through the seams.

 Without realizing it, I had stopped walking while I observed them. Tarantin was standing still beside me, and he was looking at me, although he had seen what I was staring at. He slipped his arm out from my grasp, brought it up around my shoulders, and pulled me tightly to him. A small kiss on my cheek was added to this before he said anything.

 “You would have made a good mother,” he said very seriously, slightly sadly.

 This gave only the slightest pang as I continued wondering for a moment what a child of ours might look like. No, this image was an instrument of torture, and I would not hurt myself with it anymore.

 “The world is full of possibilities,” I said with a sure but cold voice.

 I believed those words. It was something I had struggled with for a long time, but acceptance came in the saying. There was no sense in dwelling on that which could not be. We all find our immortality in different ways, and I was keenly aware that I had made a unique trade. In my case, I was within myself my own immortality, an unending link in the chain of ancestors that made up my blood.

 My eyes returned to Tarantin’s. He was looking at me curiously, a little surprised by my response.

 “Tarantin?” I said.

 “Yes?” he answered responsively after a pause.

 “I’ve hidden away from the world long enough. I want a normal life again. I want us to go out and be with people.”

 Tarantin did not respond to me for a very long time. I examined his expression, but I could not tell if he hadn’t heard me or if he was just processing what I had said.

 “Can we do that?” I asked.

 “Yes,” he finally answered.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

 XI

  

 Holidays came and went, and with them came a rekindling of childhood memories. Perhaps it was silly of me, but I began to insist upon our observing them in some fashion. Tarantin was always willing to give in to me when he thought it would make me happy, and he went along with me on this.

 At Christmas, it was a pine tree and twinkling lights. Tarantin laughed ironically at me when I dragged us up to the edge of the high roof to decorate. New Years brought champagne and a party with the neighbors at our invitation, my idea. Although I regretfully could no longer savor the taste of the bubbly as I once had done, it was a successful gathering, and I enjoyed socializing. I learned names to go along with the faces I had seen coming and going up and down the street. It made me feel like I was a part of things again.

 Although originally he had gone along with my activities to please me, Tarantin began to warm up to this new attitude, gaining momentum until he himself was making suggestions and planning all sorts of future celebrations. Really, he had always been the gregarious one, and there was an appeal there that he could not deny.

 For the first time, I felt a marvelous sense of continuity between my old life and my new one as if these events were the links in a chain that connected the beginning to the present. This comforted me, but I still wanted more.

 I began to seek other connections, and I resumed some old friendships. After some apologies for having broken with them for so long, I succeeded in convincing my three best girlfriends to come up to visit me for the weekend. I really wanted to see them again.

 I was a little anxious about the reunion, but the warm greeting I received put me at ease at once. They were very excited to see me, and they were so relieved to find me looking well. As they arrived, each one ran up to give me a big hug. I could not believe how wonderful they all looked.

 After bursting out our greetings just outside the door for several minutes, I finally led them inside and gave them the grand tour of the place. The house, though it had grown so very comfortable for me, put them in awe, a fact that boosted my pride. Tarantin was similarly happy at their response, and he greeted them cordially when they came in and made them feel welcome. When the initial excitement of the reunion settled down, he did not intrude, however, but left us to our girlish chatter.

 Somehow, I had thought that the whole world would have changed in my absence from it, but I found very little had been altered in their lives. Dana was still steadily going with her guy, but she was thinking about dating other people. Heather got a promotion at work and bought a new apartment. Beth continued to pursue every male on the planet, but she was starting to get serious with one man in particular.

 Of course, from what they had seen, they all thought the world of my Tarantin. None could resist commenting on his new hairstyle, and they were touched when I told them that I suspected he had cut it short to please me. They were thoroughly impressed with my “catch” and said that they hoped to find someone just like him someday. I only gave an ironic smile at this.

 Besides the obvious things they did not know about dear Tarantin, they could not grasp that we had our ups and downs just like ordinary couples. We had our arguments, too, but such a picture defied the sedate images they had of us together. They could not accept such a thing.

 “I just want you to remember,” Beth said, “I was the first one to pick him out for you.”

 I gave her a smile to which she winked in her carefree way. That was Beth for you, eternal optimist and matchmaker.

 I enjoyed their company very much, and it felt good to be connected with them again. They all invited me to go down to see them, and all three offered me a place to stay should I make the journey south. It was like a salve to my heart to see how much they still cared for me and wanted me as a friend. When they left, I assured them that I would accept the offer, although I did not know when.

 The completion of their visit seemed to mark the final piece in the reconstruction of my life. Well, actually there was one piece left, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to attempt the final one. Like a tower of building blocks, I was afraid that the last one would make or break everything I had worked so hard to do. Perhaps my energetic embrace of a new life had really only been a sort of mania to fend off the deeper issues I did not want to face.

 Tarantin had watched all the new developments with interest, and, for the first time, when he looked at me, I started catching something in his eyes that I had not seen for a very long time, desire. This should have brought us closer together, but, instead, it rose like a viper between us, and I feared its strike. I wish I could say that I had completely gotten over everything that had happened, but the truth is that it still lingered with me and made me uneasy with this emotion. This was that last piece, and, again and again, I shrunk from it like a coward.

 As may be expected, Tarantin began to make romantic advances. These I regarded, as I’ve said, as the possibility of impending doom, and I rebuffed them as gently as possible. He was sensitive to my feelings, and he took these denials commendably, but they were still frustrating and hurtful for him. With each one, the tension seemed to grow, and I knew we would eventually reach a breaking point. Although the status quo endured much longer that I would have thought, the break did eventually come.

 One night, now summertime, I put on my bathing suit with the intention of finding a nice spot along the beach to go for a solitary swim. With a cover-up thrown over me and a towel draped over one arm, it was obvious where I was going. I was almost to the door when Tarantin saw me going out and asked if he could come with me. He had never before asked to join me when I was going out on my own, so I could not refuse him now. I told him that he could, and he got ready and walked out beside me.

 We made our way in complete silence, navigating the narrow sandy shore by the light of the moon. When I saw a spot that was clear of seaweed and oyster shells, I dropped my towel on the sand and stripped down to my suit. Tarantin did the same and slowly followed me into the water. The weather had been hot for a long time, and the water held in the heat from the daytime. It was like bathwater as I slipped down into it.

 “Mmmm,” I said out loud with satisfaction.

 The water was so calm it almost looked like a mirror, and the stillness was gentle and sweet. My sinking into it had only created the faintest of ripples. The toasty balm seeped into every pore and gave me a pleasant shiver of satisfaction. My hair swayed back and forth heavily beneath my head as I lounged in it, and I could not help but slide my eyes shut.

 The sound of water being pushed aside signaled Tarantin’s wading out to me, and I waited patiently for him to arrive. The pressure of the water changed beside me, and I opened my eyes to see him there. I began to paddle out to deeper water, and he followed me for a little swim. When we reached the boundary of my comfort zone from the shore, I stopped and dunked under the surface toe first to see how deep we were. I discovered that I had to go down several feet to touch bottom, but the sand was as smooth as silk between my toes.

 Face to face, we treaded water here for a few minutes. I could not help but note a peculiar look in his eye, more of a soft glossiness than a twinkle. No doubt I had aroused some feeling in him, for he looked at me with the most intent interest. I found this slightly disconcerting, and I let out a deep sigh to break the spell. This proved successful, and he averted his gaze as we lazily swam our way to where we could stand once again.

 The atmosphere made me relax, and I rolled back onto my back and let myself float with only my face poking above the surface. Tarantin came over and put his arms under my back for support. Very slowly, he began to twirl around with me in his arms, and I smiled and let my hand trail out as he did this. Looking up into his face, I saw a smile playing there as well.

 With a gentle squirm, I bade him set me down. He let me go, and I sunk my feet into the soft bottom. I hunched over and sat back so that my shoulders still remained beneath the surface, although we were still in fairly shallow water. Tarantin likewise lowered himself into the warmth, still looking at me. I felt a little nervous as I watched him.

 Half swimming and half walking, he began to move around me in concentric circles, coming closer and closer. I watched this with my head cocked, put more at ease by this bit of playfulness. We still hadn’t spoken a single word.

 When he spiraled in and reached me, he took my right hand and pulled it around to spin me. I followed accordingly, moving through the water in slow motion. At the extremity of the spin, his hand stopped me from floating away, and he pulled me back in. I turned as he did this so that I came in against his chest with my arm across my chest and my hand in his. When I tried to move forward again, I was detained by his solid arm, he held onto me.

 Although he would not release me, he allowed me to twirl around within his arms and turn to look at him. His eyes were locked on mine, and I could hear his breathing. We sunk lower into the water so that our chins were just above the surface, and he moved his hands down around my lower back to hold me to him. He was looking at me very intensely, and I knew what that look meant.

 I could see it all too clearly in his mind as if it had already happened in the past.

 His hand moved up to pull at the knot of my top. I could feel his fingers on my back as he worked it, and then the change in pressure as it was released. He lifted the whole piece over my head and set it adrift, and I could feel the warm currents of the water licking at my exposed breasts. He was excited now, and he worked his mouth down until his lips touched one pink center. I could feel the friction of wet cloth against skin as his hands slid my bottom slowly down off the tips of my toes. He moved his hands over my buttocks and pulled me even closer towards him, forcing my legs wide around him. I could feel the warm water creep in. His hand disappeared beneath the opaque water as he probed the mysteries that lay hidden beneath. Pushing his suit down out of his way, he brought his own organ to join with me. I let out a gasp as he slid it in.

 Our wet skin above the surface was chilled by the night air, but below the skin was now hot. He began to move, and little waves circled around our conjoined bodies along with the motion, ripples moving out into the unknown future beyond. The sensation was building, we could see it in each other’s eyes. The eyes couldn’t lie. I could not hold onto it all with him looking so closely. Every thrust now turned into intolerable pain, and I writhed under his touch. He pushed all the harder. If I didn’t stop him, if I didn’t turn him away, he would find out. He was in my head.

 “No!” I screamed.

 “No!” I yelled at him, turning my head to give him my cheek as he put his head forward to kiss my lips.

 Even though nothing had actually yet happened, I felt the pain as if he had already done all and fulfilled my greatest dread. My face cringed and reddened as I foresaw this future with the utmost horror.

 “No,” I repeated again less loudly.

 My eyes were looking straight down into the water so that they did not have to see him. With my hands, I gently pushed off away from him, my gaze still averted. He let me go.

 When I gathered the courage to look up, his face told me that I had hurt him worse than if I had slapped him. This was not the first time I had disengaged myself from this type of attention, and I knew what message was sent, even though it was not at all what I meant by it. The pain in his face morphed into anger.

 “You come to me for my touch, but should I actually lay a finger on you, you turn your back on me,” he accused heatedly. “Do you have any idea how that tortures me?”

 My face grew hot, and my eyes stung at the lids. More than anything, I did not want to break down and cry. I had to hold it together. My throat clenched and grew sour with the tension, but I drew spite from out of its heat.

 “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I spat back sarcastically, growing defensive. “If my touch tortures you so much, I promise never to lay a finger on you again!”

 “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he retorted peevishly.

 “And I know it?” I responded with a guffaw, running with the aggression as it distanced me from the fear and pain. “You didn’t consult me when you made me a vampire and brought me into your life. You have no rights to me! You just act and do whatever you want, and you expect me to fall in with your plans!”

 It had come out of left field and was not very fair or true, but my anger made it real to me at the time. It had its effect as well. His nostrils flared slightly, and he spoke with the intent to sting me.

 “My mistake,” he said contemptuously.

 Those two words fell on my ears like a left and right hook. It was a painful blow, and I fell silent, my own fury smoldering back into the hurt. I’m sure when he spoke those words he had not imagined the interpretations that they inspired in me, and my crestfallen face affected him greatly. When he opened his mouth again, his voice had softened a little.

 “Why do you keep rejecting me?” he asked accusingly, although he was struggling hard not to let his anger rise up and show in his voice again, “Have I treated you so badly?”

 This last question made me jump, and I could not look at him.

 “No,” I whispered as if I were being reprimanded.

 “Then why? Will you at least tell me why?” he added.

 I could not answer this. I could not tell him. My throat was constricted, but I looked at him sadly. When he could tell that I was not going to give a response, he returned to the shore and walked off. I was left alone in the water. Fortunately, the moisture on my face camouflaged the tears.

 Many will think that I was just being a tease, but no such cruel intentions resided in my breast. What he did not understand was that the feeling was not one-sided. There were times when I wanted him so badly I could hardly contain it, but the idea of deeper intimacy frightened me terribly. There were too many things that I wanted kept to myself, especially about that depraved and appalling night. We had never discussed that night, so he did not know. If he knew all that had happened, would he still want me? I knew that, if I were to be with him, he would find these things. What would he do then? What would I do? One man had vanquished me by hatred Could not another do it by love? It would mean risking too much.

 I realized, of course, that he deserved an answer. I needed to discuss my fears with him and to make him understand, no matter what the risk. I needed to be able to confide in him again, to talk to him with the ease with which I had been able to before. I could bare anything except his being angry with me.

 “Whatever you do, Tarantin,” I said silently in my mind, “just don’t leave me here all alone.” A quieter thought whispered, “I don’t want eternity without you.”

 It took me several nights to screw up enough courage to have that difficult talk with him. It was better that way, though. He had cooled down again by then. I waited until a night when he seemed especially quiet and finally approached him.

 He sat at the table upstairs having a peaceful drink, and I went over very quietly and took the chair opposite him. I looked across at him for a long moment, and he looked back at me.

 “Tarantin, I need to talk to you.”

 He did not respond at all, but his eyes told me that he was waiting patiently for me to speak. I took a deep breath, but my voice was very soft when I spoke.

 “There are things that hurt me, and may hurt you, that I need to say. I’m not sure how to tell you or even if I can, but I have to try . . . . I have to try, even though some of it I don’t even want you to know,” I said.

 His voice made me jump when it came out clear and strong. “You are everything to me. You don’t have to hide anything,” he assured me with an especially longing glance.

 “I know you say that,” I answered him rather harshly, although his warm tone had made me feel better, “but there are so many things you don’t understand.”

 I remained quiet for a time, but my thoughts began to open slowly like the gates to a loch, and I needed to pour out the horrible things I had seen and felt. Unwinding thought from thought, I began to talk to him.

 I talked to him about all that had happened that night with John, what he had done to me, the things I have already said here. When I did this, my hand involuntarily stole up to my neck, and my body shivered.

 “Don’t you understand? It took me so long just to feel clean of him, to get him out of my head. Now that I have, I’m scared . . . . I can’t go through that again. I can’t . . . have that feeling again,” I confided.

 I looked up at him. The palm of my hand was wrapped around my neck underneath my ear. It was partially a reflex, and it was partly to make him understand without my having to say what I did not want to say. He remained silent.

 “It could come back again,” I added in a near whisper.

 It was one of those things that you don’t understand until you say it out loud. Tarantin now understood, his face told me as much, and there was silence between us.

 “From me?” he at last asked, hesitantly, sadly.

 My head lowered, and my hand dropped away from my face. I now looked down at my hands in my lap. They seemed to belong to someone else. A tear fell out of me and landed on them. My response was almost inaudible.

 “Yes,” I whispered.

 He lowered his head as well, no longer looking at me. He may have been feeling a little guilty, although I certainly had not said this to make him feel bad. I forced my chin up and continued.

 I tearfully told him everything that had oppressed me for so long, leaving out nothing. His lips pursed slightly during some of it, but he made no sound or reaction to interrupt. My words started to gain momentum.

 I went on to tell him about the peace I had finally found, how I had fought my way back, and how I dared not jeopardize the happiness I had finally achieved. I shared my thoughts about everything that had ever happened to me since I had known him, and, when I was done, I told him how sorry I was for hurting him.

 “I swear to you, I am not trying to hurt you, but I don’t know what I feel anymore. I don’t know what to do anymore,” I concluded.

 He took in all I had to say, painful as it was, without saying a word. His face was rigid, as if he could barely support himself under the weight of such revelations. I, for my part, felt a relief in finally sharing my burden. I had no more to say of myself, but questions remained.

 I made a hollow sigh and stood up. I walked around the end of the table to stand next to his sitting figure.

 “There is something I need to know,” I said.

 His eyes, though averted, still declared that I had his entire attention. I tried to lighten my tone.

 “Why on earth did you pick me?” I finally asked. “Why, out of everyone in the world, did you choose me?”

 His eyes snapped up to meet mine when I said this, and his face lightened a little. This was a question he wanted to answer. He stood up and reached his hand towards me. It stroked through my hair and cupped my cheek.

 “Why not you?” he asked in a near whisper, his eyes looking over me closely. “Because you’re beautiful, because you’re sweet, because you’re sensitive, because you think too much . . . . Why not you?”

 His tone was that of “take your pick,” and it did not fail to warm me. He appeared to think a moment, and then he gave a soft smile as if recollecting a pleasant memory. He allowed a dramatic pause and appeared gratified by the rapt attention I was now paying to his words.

 “I know your heart. All your life you have been patiently waiting for something great to happen to you. Now it has. It just wasn’t in a way you could have possibly imagined.”

 This rang true and touched a very deep chord within me. I held my breath as I waited for more, and he appeared amused by the power he was exercising over me.

 He smiled warmly. “I told you when I first met you that you were a woman I wanted to know better.”

 I smiled rather bashfully at this. I felt gratified, and my heart swelled within my breast. I moved closer to him.

 “I do love you,” I said as I slid my arms around his neck.

 My cheek rubbed against his as I did this, and it was nice and warm. He could at least enjoy this much affection from me. Loosening my hold, I planted a kiss on his cheek.

 I had meant for this to be all, but I then, without reason, aimed for his lips. He kissed me back and moved his hand up to touch my back. I was startled, not by this move or by him, but by my own brashness and the emotions that had acted as the catalyst. I stiffened and half turned away from him.

 Oh how I wanted him, but . . . but . . . . I don’t know what held me back anymore. I was hopelessly confused by the whirlwind that had been my existence with him. What was my role in this world? What was I supposed to do? What was I to this man, this vampire who chose me out of the multitude? Some little voice inside of me confessed the wishes of my heart.

 “What? What is it?” Tarantin asked. He had sunk back down into his chair, but he had been studying me carefully during this time, not angry, but searching my face for answers.

 “Tarantin, why didn’t you just ask me?” I questioned rather loudly. I had not intended this question, but it popped out.

 “What ? If you wanted to become a vampire?” He gave a little bitter laugh.

 “How on earth could I have asked you a question like that? First of all, you would have thought I was insane. Or, if you actually believed me, what kind of decision would that have been?”

 I wasn’t entirely sure if that is what I had meant by the question. I think I looked as if I was pouting, and I did not answer him. My eyes lowered to the floor, and I hugged myself with my hands on the back of my arms. I rocked back on my heels and gave a little sigh as I thought over what he had said.

 I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and looked at Tarantin again. Without warning, his face had suddenly lit up just as someone’s does when they’ve suddenly remembered something. For a moment, his mouth hung open as if he was letting out a long “Oh!” but no sound came out. Had it been his manner, I think he would have slapped himself on the forehead.

 “But of course,” he muttered to himself.

 “What?” I asked.

 I studied him closely as I waited for an answer, but he was looking out into space and talking to himself. He seemed inspired by whatever revelation had just come to him, and he glowed with the excitement of his unspoken idea. He grinned widely at himself as if enjoying some discovery.

 After a moment, he looked up at me as if he had just remembered I was there, and I in my turn looked at him questioningly.

 “Could it really be that simple?” he asked, not so much of me as of my face.

 His gaze was one of silent marvel, and the corners of his lips curled up as he searched me for confirmation of something. He must have found the verification he sought, but he shook his head a little in amazement as if he could not believe it.

 “I should have known. You silly girl, for all your eccentricities and your modern spirit, you’re nothing but an old-fashioned romantic,” he said in a tone that spoke not of disapproval but simply of incredulous fact. “I don’t know how I could have missed it,” he added almost apologetically, although still talking to himself as much as to me.

 With a sly smile, he stood up, leaned towards me, and planted a light kiss on my cheek. He gave me no explanation but wasted no time in leaving the room at a brisk pace. I ran after him.

 “Where are you going?” I called after him, quite taken aback by this mysterious exit.

 “To rectify a mistake,” he called back over his shoulder.

 Before I could even blink, he ran downstairs and out the front door. I heard the engine start up outside, the wheels rolling down the driveway, and then his accelerating down the street.

 What could he possibly be talking about? Where was he going? I hadn’t a clue. I reran the conversation in my head in search for answers, but I could extrapolate nothing. Tarantin was acting so strangely I could not imagine what he was up to.

 I paced the room until he returned hours later. He still radiated happiness, as if he had finally triumphed in some long ordeal. I was standing in the bedroom, and I turned when he entered. My mouth half opened as I began to ask him where he had been, but he approached me quickly where I stood, and, without a single word of explanation, pulled me to him and gave me a long passionate kiss.

 As he did this, his hand blindly sought out mine, and I felt something slip up the finger of my left hand. When his lips let go, I looked down to see a ring neatly sitting there. It was a diamond ring, and it felt as perfect as it looked. I looked at him with astonishment as he backed up a little.

 “That’s what you thought I was going to say that night, wasn’t it?” he asked me confidently, still grinning.

 I stared at him dumbly, uncomprehending. I was stunned.

 “What?”

 “That night, before you were going to leave me. You looked at me so anxiously, but I didn’t realize what it meant. I didn’t ask you. You wanted me to, but I didn’t ask you.”

 Tarantin had come alive with excitement and energy, but I still could not shake all the shackles of shock. The only reaction I could venture was the tears that welled up from some indescribable emotion and sat unmoving in the corners of my eyes. He waited for me to say something, but I couldn’t. All I could do was remain transfixed in that state. He took half a step closer.

 “Now I’m asking you,” he said, lowering his voice.

 He moved in closer yet so that his lips were now barely parted from mine. I could feel his warm breath. He took up my left hand again and pulled it up against his heart. We looked at one another eye to eye.

 “Mine forever?” he asked.

 That same pleasant but indescribable feeling made me give an airy gasp. A tight knot in my chest that I had never even known was there suddenly loosened, and I felt like I could completely breathe for the first time. This fulfilled that hopeless romantic within me in a way I had never dared dream.

 “Yes,” I said, still starry-eyed.

 Still holding it in his own, Tarantin raised my hand to his lips. Kissing the palm and wrist tenderly, his moist lips clung ever so gently to the skin before lifting. I blushed a vivacious rouge for an instant as he glanced up at me from my fingertips, his dark eyes piercing me. He waited like that. He was asking me.

 I no longer felt any hesitation, and I took his hand in mine and pulled it towards me. He seemed overtaken with emotion, and his skin was full of color. Walking backwards, still looking at him, I did not let go of his warm hand, and I led him with me to the bed.

 We kissed unreservedly. The feel of his tongue on my skin sent a tickle through me that echoed the incredible surge of chemicals that now rushed through my veins. I worked my fingers excitedly down the buttons of his shirt until I could push it back off his shoulders. I ran the palms of my hands across the smooth hard surface of his naked chest. He slipped my blouse up over my head, and piece-by-piece our clothing was slowly discarded. I ran my eyes over his body.

 I pulled him after me as we tumbled onto the mattress. His hands and lips slid over every inch of my skin, and I blushed a deeper crimson under his touch. I could feel his warm hand slide down between my thighs. I gasped when he moved his fingers into the personal folds that hid between. Waiting an indulgent moment for me to relax, Tarantin opted for the sensual, intimate curve of my neck and shoulder and caressed me there, sending my skin up in goose bumps as every hair follicle was stimulated. I could feel the sharp protrusion of my hard, razor-sharp teeth aching in my gums.

 Holding me with one hand between my shoulder blades and the other very low on my bare hip, Tarantin’s every touch aroused both a chill and a rush of heat--a sensation that was both of the familiar sort and of one that was entirely new. Our unmasked flesh was pressed tightly together, and I saw us very clearly for what we were, lovers. There were no hang-ups, no obstacles. We were meant to be together.

 Tarantin’s warm hands slid round my thighs, and he parted my legs to receive him. I sought his kiss, and, as I felt him enter, I could not prevent a fluttering exhale from escaping my parted lips. My heart already his, Tarantin now worshipped my body as a man knows how.

 His eyes never left mine. They searched my face for every nuance of reaction, like a sculptor flushing out the hidden intricacies of his clay. He began to move inside me, and I let out a sound that was almost a cry. The rhythm continued, and a deep sensation began to build. Tarantin was skilled in his art and did not rush but prolonged every moment. He seemed to find the source of the feeling and tilled the spot to make it grow.

 His head moved down past my ear, and he parted his lips for the deeper kiss. He gently pierced the skin with a prick of his teeth, and an explosion of intense heat and pleasure emanated from that source and resounded with the rhythm of our motion. A ripple surged through my flesh, and I shivered with my delight.

 I conducted my head in equal configuration towards his own naked skin. Unskilled, I tried to bite down as gently as I could. His body jumped when I broke the surface, and he let out a sustained groan. As the heat surged into me, I felt myself pulled into another world of rapture. My mind pounded with the cadence of his heartbeat, and I could hear the distant rush of his breath cascading against my shoulder. We became inseparably locked together, building to an unendurable ecstasy.

 All time was suspended as minutes turned into lifetimes of pleasure. The tempo increased until I thought I could not endure it another second while at the same time wishing it would never stop, that Tarantin would never stop. He ran his hands along my side and over my breasts, then down to my hips. Our bodies were so slick with our sweat that our skins slid against one another, but that too only worked to accentuate the growing passion. The sensation was acute, and it kept building to an impossible height. We withdrew our mouths from one another’s salted skin and took in shuddering breaths. Tarantin’s whole body tensed until he was taut against me, and I felt an eruption of aching pleasure in our conjoined flesh.

 As the fragile climax was breached, we were both trembling as we looked into each other’s eyes. I had been right to believe I would lose myself completely with him, but it was not something to fear. I could not have conceived of the incredible release of being cut adrift.

 The waves carried me away into the depths.

 And what had finally broken down the walls? A ring. What can I say? I’m an old-fashioned kind of girl. It was what I needed to see, his words what I needed to hear, to know with certainty.

 A ring constantly begins and ends and begins again, and thus, in fact, is never-ending. It is a symbol of forever, of eternity. I find it very appropriate to my own unending story.

 The End

  

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