Enchanted Dreams Part 5

I stopped to look at him. "I filed my teeth down."

"You what?"

I sighed. "I filed my teeth down. You know, with a nail file."

"Let me see."

I took a deep breath and then raised my lips up over my teeth. My two incisors were shaped into two frighteningly pointy fangs, more terrifying even than those of the vampire. I had filed so much of them away that all around the nerves were exposed. That's how I was able to learn to talk while barely moving my lips. The pain when the air hit those nerves was an excellent reminder.

"When did you do that?"

"I did it after I saw you that first night."

"You went home and filed down your teeth?"

"No, I...well, yes, I began filing them down a little at a time. It hurt too much to do it all at once."

"With this in mind?"

"Well, yes, actually, I was hoping it would happen something like it did." I looked at him regretfully. "Does it hurt much?" I asked. "I didn't want to hurt you. That's why I filed them down so much."

He was still too angry to worry about making me feel better, although I could see that I hadn't hurt him as much as might have been expected. I had only used the one incisor, and it was a precise, smooth cut that pierced the artery just right.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, moving once again toward the bathroom so that I could dress.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked suddenly.

"I have leukemia," I replied, a.s.suming he was referring to my terminal illness.

Vincent allowed me to leave there alive.

I trudged home in the dark, feeling sick and tired and miserable, and without any knowledge of what would happen next. I was getting weaker by the minute. Doubts filled my head. Had I ingested enough of Vincent's blood to become a vampire? But I wondered if that even mattered. If what Vincent told me about his own account of what happened was true, then my plan to drink vampire blood may not have been necessary at all, although it was most certainly the thing that got me out of there alive. And perhaps it had provided enough sustenance to get me through. But was I a vampire? And what about my disease? What if being bitten by Vincent didn't rid me of my disease? Would I simply remain sick for a longer, perhaps indefinite period of time? Clearly I had not thought all of this through. The night I first saw Vincent I instantly and thoughtlessly clung to the idea of what he was. But I suddenly felt that, no matter what I did, I would never be like him. And I was more depressed than I had ever been before in my life.

By the time I got home, I might have done away with myself then and there if I had had the strength.

I've been sick all of my life, as I have already indicated, but even so I was not prepared for the incredible pain I would feel in the days that followed. I was certain that I would die, and wished time and again that I had just allowed myself to die that night in Vincent's arms, happy and sated. I wondered about him continually in between the bouts of anguish.

Next came the hunger, and that's when I knew I would live. But I realized once again that I had not really thought through the details of my plan. Where was I supposed to get someone to feed on, for example? And would I actually be able to pull it off? Biting Vincent had been one thing, for I was careful not to actually harm him, but to take a life? Of course, as my hunger grew, this problem vanished. How long, really, can a person fast when sustenance is everywhere around them? I grappled with the idea of leaving the first one alive, to live if he was able. But in the end I could not. Another instinct warned me that this would be compounding the wrong. Perhaps that is what Vincent felt, as well.

I have always been rather pale and drawn, but not in the lawless, youthful way of the vampire. I nearly fell in love with myself in those first weeks. I'm ashamed to admit that I would look at myself in the mirror for hours. Not that I was beautiful, even then. But my skin, without the sickly tinge, was lovely! My drab green eyes suddenly seemed bright and fierce. My lips and cheeks were rosy with health. Oh, to have good health! Are you healthy? Rejoice! I virtually skipped when I walked from the exuberance I felt.

And suddenly, men were approaching me! I never did get used to that. I continued to be reserved and uncertain around them, but now my shyness seemed to make me more desirable. And that suited my needs. But unlike Vincent, I wasn't able to be intimate with them. I found that I always ended up killing them before we were able to consummate it. It would end in a kind of relief for me. It may be a good thing that there aren't more women like me out there, or I think men would be dropping like flies. Perhaps it was the men that I chose. Like Vincent, I felt the need to single out someone who seemed a bit more killable. It is a terrible thing to decide who to kill, and I would have preferred, if I'd had the know-how, to scout around for child molesters or other evil beings but, then again, who am I to judge?

I hated it, but I needed it. Like Vincent, I went as long as I could between feedings.

I thought of Vincent all the time. He had become such a huge part of my life. He was the one who gave me life, in a way, for this was the first time I had lived. I wondered morning, noon and night how he was and what he was doing. But I was afraid to approach him. I couldn't bear to see hatred in those dark, beautiful eyes.

Oftentimes, out of habit more than anything else really, I would find myself standing on his street. But I always picked up my step when I pa.s.sed by his house. I could no longer watch him through windows. Sometimes I would wander into a nearby park and sit, for a while, on the swings-something I was never well enough to do as a child. Other times I would walk up and down the side streets, wondering what he was up to. I could almost imagine that I was with him, by just being in the neighborhood where he lived.

"You're alive!"

I whirled around at the sound of his voice one night and suddenly there he was!

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "And you look great! So...healthy." Vincent shook his head in amazement. "So it actually worked, then?"

"Yes." All of a sudden, I couldn't breathe. His eyes s.h.i.+ned on me with pleasure. With pleasure!

"I wondered," he went on. "I've been going crazy wondering, actually, but I had no idea where you lived or even what your last name was."

I finally found my voice. "I know. It was kind of...odd." I couldn't help laughing suddenly. "I was just thinking of you," I told him honestly.

"You don't say."

"Yeah, I, ah...just came from your house, actually." I laughed again. It was so wonderful to see him that I felt as giddy as a teenager.

"No kidding!" He laughed, too, and raised one eyebrow ironically. "Funny, that's the last place I would have looked."

"Are you...I mean, did your...cut...heal up okay?"

"It did! It really wasn't even that bad, you know, just kind of shocking. You're the first girl who's ever done that to me. I never expected you to be so...resourceful."

I laughed again, amazed and so very happy that he was talking to me.

"I know this whole thing started out kind of weird," I began, and then when I saw his expression I quickly amended, "Okay, very weird. Extremely weird. But, you know, we have this...thing in common now, and...I don't know, it might be nice...I mean, it would be nice-for me especially-if I could see you...once in a while. Or a lot." He was smiling again, which encouraged me, so I pressed on brazenly. "A lot would be better than once in a while, but either one will do."

"Well, what are you doing right now?" he asked.

"I already told you. Returning from your house."

We both suddenly burst into laughter. And we laughed throughout the rest of that night. I was surprised and unbelievably happy. For all I knew, I could have been his mortal enemy after what I had done. But it confirmed, too, what I had believed all along actually, which was that Vincent was the sort of man who would really blossom on a second date. Just as I suspected, he did yearn to be known for more than just a few hours. He wanted to be known well and appreciated for his many subtler qualities, and was actually quite demanding in this regard. What great companions we made, in the end!

And as it turns out, there is something I can tell you about vampires that you probably haven't heard before. I only discovered it myself because of my jealous nature, which made it torture for me to be alone while Vincent went out to feed. Of course, feeding did not have to involve a long and lengthy seduction, but it seemed that the two went so well together. And neither did Vincent want me out roaming the streets looking for blood. We wanted to be together. We began seeking a single victim, to share between us. It was never really necessary, after all, to drink more than a few pints during our feedings. But even this presented its difficulties. Should it be a man or a woman?

It all came about because Vincent needed to feed more often than me. He grew weak faster than I did. On this occasion I was not quite hungry enough yet. It never got easier for me to kill, so I had to have that desperate feeling in order to do it. Poor Vincent would nearly starve to death waiting for me. I could see that he was growing visibly weaker, although he still had the strength to make love. I was riding him from on top. This seemed to revive him somewhat, but I could still see the hunger in his eyes.

In that moment I wanted to be everything to him. I wanted to fulfill all of his needs, even the hunger. At the mere thought of it, my blood began to flow a little faster. I was suddenly aware of it, coursing through my veins. A new thrill filled me over what I was thinking. I squeezed him from deep within me, closing in all around his hardness, as the excitement continued to build in me. Vincent became more excited, too, and that strange, fiery light came into his eyes. I felt a rush of adrenaline as I slid my hair to one side, exposing the pulsing artery in my neck to him. There was a look of surprise on his face as I lowered my neck to his lips. I brushed it back and forth over his opened mouth, and I heard the faint hiss of his sharp intake of breath. I kept on, simultaneously moving up and down on his erection as I brushed my neck over his lips, again and again. Finally, he could no longer resist, and with a low groan he grasped hold of my head and buried his fangs in my neck, causing me to cry out. But even as he drank his fill, my hips continued to move up and down on him, and I shuddered violently as my o.r.g.a.s.m shot through me. He took what he needed and then jerked his head to one side, gasping for air as he released himself inside me.

I had no idea what effect my vampire blood would have on him. I would have to wait to find out. In a maneuver so quick I hardly knew what was happening, he threw me beneath him and took me again-solely lovemaking this time-with a wild abandon that I had not seen in him since our very first night together.

Later, while I looked on nervously, he paced the floor. He was wild with energy and excitement. Every now and again he would stop and look at me.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he'd ask.

"For the hundredth time, I feel fine," I a.s.sured him. "I'm no more affected than if I'd given blood."

"Amazing!" he reiterated again. For all my bravado, I was excited, too. If we could exist like this, feeding off each other every few days, it would negate the need to kill.

"But what about you?" I asked. "Do you think it will suffice?"

"Suffice? Suffice?" he nearly yelled. "I feel like a G.o.d!" He threw his arms out and let out a yell. Mostly, I think, he was as happy as I was at the prospect of never again having to kill.

And as it turns out, vampires fare even better on vampire blood than human blood.

Oh, and becoming a vampire does cure leukemia.

Expecting.

Emilie stared in disbelief at the clear, indisputable blue mark on the indicator. Anxiety gripped her insides, and she was a.s.sailed by the pungent taste of metal as another wave of nausea rushed through her. Beads of perspiration coated her upper lip. She closed her eyes a moment to wait for the nausea to pa.s.s.

Seeing the result-she had known it all along, really, and feared it from the very first-so conclusively displayed in the little plastic window instantly transformed her fear into a concrete, vigorous horror so powerful that it struck her like a physical blow. The implications jarred her to the core, shattering her reserve and opening a whole new dimension of potential terror. Her life suddenly yawned out before her in a vast expanse of dread and uncertainty. She knew now that there was no stopping the terrors that awaited.

But in spite of this, there was, at least, no doubt over what to do. There was only one thing she could do. That was the princ.i.p.al horror, really, that what she must do was the only certainty she had at the moment. Intensifying that princ.i.p.al horror was all the years of striving for this end, only to have no choice in the matter now. And of course, there was the horror of not really knowing for sure (although she knew). And all of this was compounded by the biggest horror of all, which was the unbearable waiting. She could feel her anxiety growing as rapidly as it was growing. With each day that pa.s.sed while she waited in secret, she felt she was losing a little more control, and this left Emilie feeling more and more helpless and afraid.

It had been only six days since the event, but Emilie felt as if she had suffered the trauma of six years.

In the meantime, her feelings for David had completely changed. A wide gulf had developed between them, in spite of the short time elapsed. It had begun with a kind of shattering fracture at the time of the incident and expanded with each and every moment Emilie spent trying to hide it from him. Her efforts to keep it hidden seemed to push David further and further away, just as his attempts at discovery increased her own need for secrecy. This was not something a person could speak about freely with anyone, but with David in particular, it was impossible! Emilie knew this because she had been just like David once. But now, the man who had up until six days ago been her soul mate, had become someone she couldn't relate to at all. He was foreign to her. The characteristics she had formerly admired in him now seemed terribly annoying.

This sense of disillusionment was magnified during intimacy. It had become torture for Emilie to endure her husband's touch. Guilt-ridden and terrified of exposure, she forced herself to go through the motions because, although they had been married for eight years, they were still in the habit of making love nearly every night. But it was exhaustive for her and extremely difficult. Worst of all, s.e.x with David triggered memories that she spent every waking hour trying to erase, for with the memories came strange yearnings that still mortified her. Those yearnings, above all, she must rid herself of. They were disturbing and offensive-as disturbing and offensive as the overpowering taste of metal that accompanied them.

But in spite of her best efforts to forget-or perhaps because of them-the memories reemerged in Emilie's dreams. The dreams she could not control, and sleeping became a kind of torment. They were always the same, so that for all their perverse peculiarity they were inevitably becoming more and more familiar-and perhaps even a bit more acceptable-to her.

Sometimes the dreams were fleeting and distant and at other times a single detail seemed to encompa.s.s an entire night. The images in particular were vivid and moved her greatly. Her body would shudder and jerk from the force of them. All of her senses, deadened as they were throughout her stilted days, seemed to suddenly come alive once she drifted into unconsciousness, so that to simply close her eyes could sometimes cause the hairs to rise up all along her sensitive flesh, and instigate the taste buds at the back of her tongue to rise up and alert her to the pungent taste of metal.

As the dreams crept over her-or into her, as it seemed more like to Emilie-she would at first feel fear. But with each consecutive dream the fear would become steadily surpa.s.sed by an unwelcome yet overpowering sense of longing and expectation. It was as if the dreams were answering a call that Emilie herself had sent out. The darkness would suddenly become infused with a light so intense that Emilie could actually feel the heat of it warming her skin. Her heart would skitter wildly in response to the rush of adrenaline that flooded her system in preparation of what was to come. Soon the adrenaline had its effect and, temporarily sedated, Emilie would wait breathlessly for what was to follow. She knew that no matter how many times she relived it, each and every detail would still have the power to shock her. She could never be fully prepared for the creeping, slithering, clinging feel of them, weighty and slick as they moved sluggishly over her. The intrusiveness of their touch, so all at once eerie and repulsive, caused all of her senses to come startlingly alert. Unable to do more than to simply lie back and observe in those first frozen moments, she would be trapped in a sea of sensation that thrust her to and fro, s.h.i.+fting through shock, fear, agitation and arousal.

In her dreams, just as during the actual event itself, Emilie's vision was always impaired by intensely bright light. But even so, she could still make out their tall, gray shapes looming over her, and particularly the s.h.i.+ny, black orbs from which they appeared to observe her. She would stare up into those dark depths-into seeming nothingness-uncomprehendingly, mildly aware that something was being communicated to her but grasping little more than that it was having a paralyzing effect on her.

Their silent communication was not the only influence with which they were capable of subduing her. They also, in their slow, pervasive way, steadily enveloped her within their tentacles-so many tentacles-all of them contracting and pulsing as they enclosed themselves around her limbs in an effort to hold her. The tentacles, which appeared to be shapeless ma.s.ses at first, were actually powerful and vigorous instruments beneath their oily surface, able to hold and subdue her with the same unyielding force of a boa constrictor. And just as with the boa, any movement at all would cause the tentacle to constrict. Emilie could not keep herself from shuddering in response when the tentacles tightened around her, even though she knew it would cause them to tighten even more. A kind of panic would build up in her-not born of fear but of frustration-and at last she would attempt to grasp hold of them. She felt that they were closing in on her but she couldn't actually reach them. When the frustration became too much for her, she would begin to struggle and thrash about in her effort to hold them. But in her panic she would feel herself getting farther and farther away from them. Even the light seemed to slowly get dimmer. Then she would cry out for them to come back. She would scream and struggle and grasp at them until she jerked herself right out of her dream and beyond their reach. She would awaken with a jolt, and in the next instant find David close beside her, shus.h.i.+ng her and pulling her close in an attempt to comfort her. Trembling violently, Emilie would shrink away from his touch with revulsion. His warmth, his caress, his soothing voice-even the comfort he offered-to Emilie, seemed alien.

The memories of her dreams made her afraid. But ignoring them left her emotionally dest.i.tute. What did anything matter?

During her waking hours, Emilie began brooding continually over what she had to do, even as she continued to do nothing. She worried over the right time to act. It seemed to her that whatever it was inside her was growing at an unusually rapid pace. There were times when she believed she could actually feel it getting larger. What if the right time, by human standards, was too late?

Terrifying thoughts and images troubled her day and night. But she was reluctant to contact a doctor. What if he discovered the truth about what was inside her? What would happen to her then?

The days ticked by slowly in a haze of mortification and dread. Emilie continued to withdraw into herself in an attempt to avoid confrontation. At all costs, she must hide the fact that anything was amiss. But in spite of her efforts, she had the sense that she was standing out like a sore thumb. Her silence seemed stilted and awkward. Her attempts at conversation seemed forced and contrived. She felt that action and inaction alike came out like a scream for help.

"What the h.e.l.l's going on with you?" Ironically, it was her mother, the person she had always been the most distant from-the person who Emilie always felt knew her the least-who first noticed that something was wrong.

"What do you mean?" Emilie asked, feeling a disconcerting mixture of alarm and hope. In that instant, the thought of someone sharing her secret seemed all at once comforting and terrifying.

But then, in the next instant, the hope dissolved and there was only alarm. She knew she could never let her mother know about this. And yet, she wondered what it was the woman perceived.

"You're like a vampire lately," her mother went on. "Even more than usual. All secretive and spooky. You never were the most forthcoming of my children, but lately it's like you're hiding a deep, dark secret. Is he abusing you?"

"Mother...no! G.o.d, why do you always jump to conclusions like that? You know perfectly well that David doesn't abuse me." Emilie was immediately annoyed-which was a relief in her present state of mind. She realized then that she would rather almost anyone discover her secret other than her mother, who would never listen to reason because she preferred to make the most ridiculous a.s.sumptions.

"Well, that's a matter of opinion," her mother continued, undaunted. "Ever since you married him you've become more and more introverted and withdrawn. You've been living like hermits! And now, since you got back from the cruise, you've been like a different person altogether. Each time he gets you all to himself, it seems like he destroys another little piece of you."

"I live how I want, Mother. I wish you would give that a rest!" An old resentment flared up in her and Emilie suddenly had the urge to defend David. She imagined, just for kicks, blurting out the truth to her mother, if only to prove her wrong for once. That would set her back for a few minutes.

"Well, what is it, then? Even your sisters have noticed that something's not right with you."

So! Her sisters had discussed her with their mother! It must be obvious that something was wrong with Emilie for them to have gone to their mother. She felt the panic attack welling up inside her.

"I have to go, Mother." Emilie hung up the phone without waiting for her to reply.

Emilie suddenly felt as if she were encased in a gla.s.s tomb, visible to the world around her but unbearably isolated from it. She longed for support but was terrified of exposure. Anyway, she knew that support would not be forthcoming in her case. To begin with, she would never be believed. The truth about what happened would be neither heard nor comprehended. People were not inclined toward the truth because they were adverse to listening. Anything that startled, frightened or disgusted was rejected almost immediately and subst.i.tuted with conclusions-scathing, condescending, ostracizing conclusions that built a wall around the source of truth in an effort to protect others from what they feared most. Emilie would get little opportunity to explain anything before everyone would be lost to their conclusions about her, without a thought for what actually had happened.

But in the meantime, her situation was getting worse. There was something she couldn't explain growing inside her! She was suddenly in a full panic. She swallowed two of her little blue pills and then concentrated on her breathing while she waited for them to take effect.

Talking to her mother caused her thoughts to turn to David. Everyone had come to the conclusion that he was controlling, simply because Emilie had become more reclusive since she met him. What n.o.body seemed to realize was that Emilie was the one who had instigated that isolation. She simply hadn't wanted to be with anyone but David since falling in love with him. She had needed only him. He was like an extension of herself, they were so much alike. They understood each other perfectly. No matter how many hours they had spent together, it was never too much. Indeed, it didn't seem long enough. They could talk for hours on end without ever running out of things to say. It was a delight to find someone so much like her and to feel so understood. She used to believe she could tell David anything. But since the cruise, he seemed different, changed. Yet she knew that she was the one who had changed. But what did it matter? She could no longer relate to him in the same way she had before. How could she? There was this huge thing between them now that they could never talk about. David would never be able to sympathize with her in this. She knew this because she would not have been able to sympathize with him if the situation were reversed.

Given how close they had been, David could not fail to notice the change in Emilie. He was, of course, being patient and understanding, which she would have found comforting before but now only made her feel more caged in and agitated. He tiptoed carefully around her, advancing only with the meekest of gestures, offered up like tender little peace offerings. So far he had not confronted her directly or pushed her for answers. But she could tell that he was becoming frustrated.

The conclusions he had drawn, when at last David confronted her, surprised Emilie. It was the same day her mother had confronted her, just later that afternoon.

"Just what happened between you and the bartender on the s.h.i.+p?" he asked.

Emilie stared at him, speechless. She struggled to remember any of the bartenders on the cruise and failed.

"I woke up and found you missing from our bed that night," he explained patiently. It almost seemed as if he had already had the conversation several times in his head. He spoke with an odd calm, Emilie thought, as she watched him. "It must have been about two in the morning," he continued. "I went out to look for you and finally found you in the lounge with the bartender. You were sitting in a booth in the back and you were all over him." He spoke completely without anger. It struck Emilie like a rehea.r.s.ed speech. Yet she felt it cost him quite a lot to pull it off. She was particularly shocked that he hadn't mentioned it before this. A strange feeling of unreality came over her. She felt like a character in a play.

"You're mistaken, David," she told him truthfully, mimicking the same calm tone that he was using. "I never spoke to any bartender on that cruise s.h.i.+p, other than to order a drink. And I certainly wasn't 'all over' anyone."

"Are you telling me I don't know my own wife when I see her?" he asked, his voice rising the tiniest little bit.

"What I'm telling you is that I never left our cabin in the middle of the night to meet a bartender or anyone else on board that s.h.i.+p. Maybe you only dreamed you saw me." She spoke the words with conviction but the hairs were rising up along her neck. What exactly had happened that night? She only remembered the one incident, but how had she managed to get into the bright room to begin with? Where was she? She had originally a.s.sumed that she had been taken from their cabin in her sleep. She had come up with that scenario through a series of deductions that seemed to her the only possibility.

"Then where were you that night?" he demanded.

"What night?" she asked.

"The night you disappeared from our bed. The night that changed everything between us!"

"What do you mean?" she asked, blus.h.i.+ng slightly. She wondered if he actually knew something that could enlighten her as well.

"You know perfectly well what I mean," he said, allowing his frustration to show at last. "I'll be honest. I figured you had a little fling that you regretted afterwards. I suppose that's why you've been so strange lately. I thought I'd give you a little time to get over it, but frankly my patience is running a little thin here, Emilie."

She stared at him, aghast. "A little fling?" she repeated, truly astounded now by his composure. For an instant, she felt the old stirrings of admiration and love for him. His love for her was humbling. She was thoughtful for a moment, genuinely touched. "So you thought I had an affair and you said nothing?"

"The first time I got up and found you in the bar, around one-thirty, I figured you were just having a good time, so I left you alone. I went back to bed. I actually managed somehow to fall back asleep. But when I woke up again around five and you still weren't there, I got a little concerned. I went back up to the lounge but neither you nor the bartender were anywhere to be found. But then around five forty-five, about the time I got back to our cabin, you were there in bed, asleep. I don't know..." He paused a minute, apparently too choked up to continue. Emilie waited breathlessly for him to recover. He looked at her when he had composed himself again. "It was so out of character for you, I decided to just leave it alone." After this both of them were silent. In a while, he added, "It wasn't really us. That whole vacation...I just figured we could put whatever it was behind us and get back to normal, but that doesn't seem to be happening."