I'm outside on our spacious plot back where I grew up. Looking down I appear to be 30 meters above the ground, doubtful but it seems so. I stare at my hands gripping at rough branches then down at my shirt that's a bit too big for my scrawny body. I'm a kid, probably about ten or eleven years old.
I remember this tree, I used to climb it all the time. I run my palm across the flaky bark. This is all so incredibly real, so familiar.
Mother stares up into the tree, shielding her squinty eyes with one hand. Her worry lines framing a grimace.
"My brave boy, you scare me to death every time you climb that darn pine," she points to the top of my favorite evergreen, "best case you'll tear your good trousers and I don't even want to imagine a fall from that height!"
A man argues with mom, "He'll be fine, Rose. He's a strong climber, let the kid climb."
"His lunch will get stale, Stan."
"Mother knows best," father takes her hand from across the outdoor table to kiss the back of it, "Come down for lunch, Sam."
Mom clutches her shirt, "Please be careful!"
I look out in the distance before climbing down the tree. This was the spot to be to get the very best view. You could see beyond the dirt roads, the patterned fields populated with livestock grazing without care, beyond the frog ridden creek, all the way to the horizon line. You could watch the sunset from this branch as it turned the sky red, shrouding the land in abundant shadows.
The sun was shining high above my head at this time in the day, the rays shone down to rest on my cheeks. It's nice, it's warm.
I lower myself to hang from the branch, loving the view but not as much as I'd love *not* to get scolded for lollygagging.
I stretch a leg between the large gap for the next solid limb. My toes pointed until I have a firm step. I push off, thrusting away with my arms.
My gut sinks a little as I push away with too much vigor. I reflexively grab the trunk for support to balance myself. Mother gasps below.
"Darling," Dad chuckles, "You're getting worked up over nothing, he'll come down without a hitch just as he always does. Didn't you pack a Coke in here somewhere? Won't you help me find it."
The remaining branches are closer together, I speed down the tree hardly looking at my feet. I had scaled this tree a million times.
Almost there, I plop my rear on the fat branch, the bark grabs at my corduroys like velcro. Two more steps to go.
"Feeling adventurous, son? I bet you can jump down from that height," Dad dares me and I grin.
"Stanley! Oh goodness sake," mother flips her head around, hands recoiling from the basket to clutch her necklace, "Sam, don't-!"
Rough bark rips from the tree as I slide off the edge, my stomach does a flip. The wind whistle, lashing through my hair and the holes of my shirt. I've never dropped from this height before. It's scary, but more than that, it's exciting. It's a rush.
I fall on my butt as I crouch to ease the landing. That was fun, I want to do that again!
"Sam, never do that again! You could have broken something," mom speeds over to me, picking me off the ground and dusting off my clothes.
"Rosemary, enough babying him. Sam is tough, he won't be a boy much longer. Let him be."
Mom reluctantly let's go, she can't help but pick some of the debris stuck to my pants.
She brushes the loose hair out of my eyes. Her stress lines begin to fade leaving a thin, young face. Everyone had always said my mother was very beautiful, and they were right.
She flashes a smile of sudden adoration as she looks down into my eyes. Her's are green, just like mine. Her mouth reveals a pleasing smile, but her eyes seem wistful.
I'm worried, "Are you ok, mom? You look a little sad."
Her smile widens with love and pride. I beam up at her. My family's approval has always meant so much to me.
"Yes, I'm alright. I just can't believe how big you're getting, you're growing up!" she sniffs wiping a tear before it falls, "I'm so proud of you, Sam. Soon you will be a fine young man. But I'm having a hard time letting you go."
She hugs me, "You are my treasure. I love you, more than you'll ever know."
I close my eyes, I can smell the perfume she'd always wear for outings and events. Her wispy hair tickles my cheeks the way it does when she sneaks into my room to kiss my forehead at night when she thinks I'm asleep.
'I miss you, mom.'
She pulls away at arms length holding my shoulders. I absorb her features, recalling memories. She'd always over season meals, Dad and I would assure her how delicious they were while choking on pepper. She'd often make little mistakes so her projects were just shy of perfect. But I think that's actually what made them more perfect. And every time she'd catch her mistake she'd tilt her head back, letting loose her free, beautiful laugh. 'I'll get it right, eventually,' she'd always say. I wouldn't change anything about her, even if I could.
'I miss you so very much.'
The sun descends too quickly as I reminisce. It has fallen behind her, she looks like a slender shadow towering over me, now. A feeling of unease pricks my chest and spreads like poison, something isn't right.
Purplish blotches appear on my mother's fair skin. The blotches darken and grow more noticeable like holes charing into a newspaper tossed in a fireplace.
"Mom?"
Her cheeks swell unevenly as her eye blackens. Horrid bruises and welts form on her arms, face and neck. My eyes widen in horror. I want to run, tear my gaze away but I can't.
I panic, "Mom! Who did this? What's going on! Say something!"
That deformed smile from her fat lip looks so horrible. Only one eye stares down as the other is swollen shut. Her voice is weak as the bruises only increase in severity, "It's nothing, promise me you won't do anything. Promise me, my treasure."
"Please, mom. You need help. Tell me what I can do? How can I fix this?"
The darker it gets, the worse my mother's condition becomes. She's withering away before my eyes.
I stare up in terror as the sun disappears altogether. There's nothing but the light of our living room fireplace which flickers and distorts my mother's beaten and bruised face all the more.
Her mouth opens wide as she sucks in air with a guttural, elongated gasp. I wince back a shudder from the shrill, raspy sound.
She points straight ahead and I spin around.
We're not outside anymore, were inside our home. It's father, he's *dead*. Dead with open eyes, staring at us from the ground. Blood pools out of his body as it stains the rug, seeping into the cracks of our wood floor.
'No, dad can't be dead. He can't be! It's not possible!'
He looks so cold, not moving at all. Just a frozen with his jaw hanging crooked and loose, eyeballs clouded over. The circle of black liquid continues to creep along the floor.
An awful wailing shriek sends chills up my spine. The pattering of frantic feet stumble away with a thud as my mother collapses to her knees.
"You killed him. You killed him!" she screams past me.
I run over to her side, seeing her cowering by the fireplace. I place my hands on her shoulders, trying to gather her attention and tame her violent fit of shakes.
I'm afraid. Her wide eyes are glued on something behind me in the dim room.
"No! Look what you've done!" She drops to the floor, flinging her frail arm over to cover her head, "You monster! Leave me alone!"
A whimper leaves my trembling lips. I can almost feel a breath on my neck soar from across the room. An undeniable presence standing behind me.
I turn to peer into the dark. To face the horrors at my back. I can't protect my mother or myself from an attacker, I'm just a kid!
The dying fire casts long demented shadows along the room as I spin. It doesn't look like my home, everything seems to move like it's alive and waiting leap out as the embers crack and spew warning of my fate. I snibble in fear. I'm small and powerless.
The monster is going to get me.
My breath catches in my throat. There he is, the monster. A dark, tall figure looming over my father's corpse. He's staring at me, vibrant green eyes piercing. Not eyes like mine, they are ominous like devilish hellfire, they shine out of the darkness. I didn't believe in monsters… They shouldn't exist!
I'm shaking with dread as I clench my fists and shout, "Go away!"
The glowing eyes peer from the pitch of our living room, burning into my soul. Still as a dead, dried up tree. He doesn't move, he doesn't go away.
I scream, squeezing my eyes tight, "Go away, monster! Get away from us."
Tears slip from my eyes. Dad told me the tears don't matter but my actions do, but what can I do?
I need to be strong. For father, for mother.
I clench my teeth, wiping the tears away with my sleeve. I must be brave.
I open my eyes to see the imposing, shadowed figure standing over me.
I gulp as I look up, convulsing with fright but holding my ground. The wretched eyes beam down like a toxic lamp over my head. The black pupils drill into my face like rusty screws.
"Don't come any closer," the words quake through my fake courage, "Don't hurt my mom."
The monster's eyes sway to my side to examine mother. I cry out, throwing my balled hands in the air to pound on him. My tiny fist beat just below his chest.
I throw my fists into him again and again, screaming louder with every hit. It's utterly useless.
He wraps his grip around my small arms, kneeling down as I sob from anger and fear.
"Don't hurt her! Please, don't hurt her anymore," I beg, choking it out through hysterical breaths.
I can't make out his features, he's a cavernous void of shadow with only two horrid eyes floating in a silhouette. The orange firelight seems to miss him outright, his towering body tampering with my sense of sanity.
A deep sorrowful voice comes from the monster, "Why did you do it?"
My tiny lungs struggle to regulate as I look up at him. His eyes are gloomy, I didn't know a monster could feel sadness.
He speaks again when I don't answer, "Why did you kill them, Sam?"
"I didn't kill anyone, you did!"
He shakes his head as he points out in the distance.
People, bodies, so many of them. Men and women. A trail of them, bloodied and sprawled all over the ground. Like life-sized dolls littering the surface, disfigured and wrong. Too many.
I shout louder, "That wasn't me! I'd never do that. You did this, you're bad. You're evil!"
He points at my chest with a long bony finger, asking, "Then why are you covered in their blood?"
I look down at my shirt, soaked. Completely drenched in their blood. Head to toe, it's all over me!
I panic, hyperventilating once more. Jerking my hands from his grip, trying to wipe the blood off like a swarm of insects crawling over my skin. It won't come off! It's everywhere.
"I didn't!" I cry, "I didn't do this!"
"You did," he never takes his dreadful eyes off of mine and his grave tone etches into my mind like carving it on a stone tablet, "You're a killer, just like me. We're monsters and everyone you love will die because of you."
"Stop! You're lying!"
"Your father, your mother…"
I see their dead bodies appear on the floor beside me. Their open eyes rolled skyward and their jaws are slacked, gaping, awful.
"I said stop!"
I hear a muffled girl's voice coming from somewhere in the darkness, "Sam?"
The monster hears it too, his unmoving gaze as heartless and cold as a reptile, "Her too, she'll also die because of you."
Ash's body adds to the morbid collection. Her eyes glazed over, puncture wounds on her chest. Her hair is glistening wet and tarred from a slash across her forehead. Neck torn open. Dead. Dead! I can't take anymore.
I scream, "No!"
I grab a fireplace iron from the stand and smack the monster in the face with it. He topples over from the blow. I jump on top of him as his green eyes sear me. I stab him in the chest with the rod. He's still staring.
I rip out the stake and thrust it in again. His gaze unblinking.
I yell like a wild savage plunging and retracting the rod without end. His chest becomes minced meat, chucks flinging into my face but I don't stop stabbing. His sickening eyeballs continue to burn through the gushing blows.
I squeeze eye shut, bellowing, "Stop! Stop it!"
"Sam?"
My eyes fling open to meet a massive pair of wolfish ones staring right in my face, locked and dangerously close.
I leap from the chair. Springing backwards to the closest wall. My palms hit flat on the surface as my clawed nails dig into the drywall. My teeth bare as I snarl, ready to fight.
Ash looks like she's had the jump scare of a lifetime. Her torso leaning away from me, her stiff fingers curled in such an odd way it appears they're about to break off. The whites of her eyes like full moons.
No danger, only Ash and her face looks impossibly whiter. 'Congratulations... You've successfully scared the shit out of her. Get ahold of yourself.' I exhale a ragged breath and I close my eyes to collect myself, feeling my fangs recede, my nails no longer thick and hooked.
Shit, I clawed up the wall. This is why I can't have nice things. Why Cooper *shouldn't* lend me his nice things, damn it.
"Sorry to scare you, Ash," my voice is a little hoarse and I swallow. I look down to examine the harsh lines that I dug into the wall, running my fingers over them. I'll have to repair this later.
I meet her silent stare. She is still shaken but back to her typical porcelain pale rather than ghostly white.
"What the hell was that about? Remind me not to wake you next time," she eyes me cautiously. I don't plan on sleeping any time soon after that hellish dream, anyway.
"Or I'll just throw something at you from across the room," she gives me a timid smile as she tries to lighten things with a half joke, "I almost thought you were going to attack me for a second."
Anguish distorts my features at the thought, a terrible thought. I brush it from my head, that vivid nightmare supplied enough bad thoughts for one evening.
She touches me on the arm and I jerk back slightly, still high-strung from atrocious sleep. I didn't notice her come over to me. Her hands back off an inch, hesitant before placing them upon me again. I look into her heavily concerned face.
She whispers to sooth, "It's alright, Sam. I know you wouldn't hurt me."
She's trying to reassure me, but what if I did attack her upon waking? 'Don't think about that, focus on getting back to a good frame of mind.' It was just a dream, but it's effectively disturbing. Sleep was a mistake, dreaming of them was too real. How many cigarettes do I have left?
She attempts to consol once more, "And even if you did attack me, I'd like to think I'm a bit tougher than I used to be," she smirks quickly before hardening with sincerity again, "You would never do it on purpose."
"It doesn't matter whether it's purposely or accidentally. Hurting you is completely unacceptable," I contend without looking at her, pulling the box of smokes roughly from my jacket to count the remaining eight.
"Wow, that bad, huh?" she eyes the box, "What kind of dream would stress you out this much?"
"I'd rather just forget about it," I suppose it was logical for her to assume I smoked to cope with stress or anxiety. A decent guess, but not exactly.
She purses her lips and squints at me, "We don't even need sleep, do we?"
"Well, that's actually what I wanted to ask you about," I make direct eye contact, eager to talk about anything that won't have me thinking about that dream, "We don't need sleep, but this is the second time you've passed out cold, I couldn't wake you up."
"Really?"
"Yes, really," I step away from the wall, slipping the box back into my pocket.
"The first night was unusual but I figured it was from drugs in that vagrant's blood stream," I furrow my brows, "but now, I know it wasn't from drugs or alcohol. Do you know what is causing you to faint?"
"I fainted..." she looks surprised, "So we aren't at the bar anymore, this didn't look like the bar. Where are we?"
"We're in an apartment complex."
She looks around the barren room as if she should recognize it, then pulls out the watch I lent her. Eyes bugging out when she reads the time, "Holy Mother! Is that the right time?"
"Please, focus Ash. Do you have any ideas of why you passed out."
She puts the watch away, squinting at the ceiling, "Well, I knew that girl was going to do something to me… But-"
"How did you know that?"
Her aloof expression changes suddenly and she shuts her mouth, looking me up and down, unsure and guarded.
I wouldn't pry if it wasn't such a concern. I push her gently on the subject again, "Are you afraid to tell me?"
She glances away nervously, "I… yes, probably. I'm worried you'll think I'm some kind of loon."
I give a dry chuckle, that's very doubtful, "Try me."
She opens her mouth to explain but then closes it into a tight line. She bites her lip looking down.
I walk over to sit on the edge of the mattress, "I won't think you're crazy."
She whirls around to face me, "How are you so sure?"
"Well, let's see," I stare up at the ceiling jutting my hand out, "I know several people over a hundred years old that could pass for twenty, I survive solely on drinking blood and if I really wanted to I could force you to tell me with a simple command. Kind of sets a high bar for 'crazy', doesn't it?"
She pulls her lips to the side, sitting next to me.
"Guess you have a point," she concedes and I nod in agreement.
"I've never told anyone about this so..," she takes a breath, working up the courage to explain.
"Ok, so I've always had a special talent," she gives me a side glance, "Always, like before I turned into… you know, a mystical being," she wiggles her fingers, silly and exaggerated like she's casting a spell.
I raise an eyebrow growing more intrigued, wondering where she's going with this.
"For instance," she continues, "That night you three were following me, I already knew I was going to be followed. I knew I was going to get into trouble before I left the diner."
"If you knew that was going to happen then why didn't you-"
She cuts me off defensively, glaring at the wall, "Because I'm an idiot."
"Wait, let me get this straight. You knew, as in, you foresaw it? Like a vision or premonition?"
"Well," she tilts her head and makes a face, "Not exactly, it was more like a hunch. I just knew that I'd run into danger, like a little warning or a feeling. But it's not that clear...or it wasn't."
She turns to me with a severe look, "But my hunches were never wrong and I'm pretty sure they are stronger than your average person's intuition."
"Alright… So you had a hunch you would faint?"
"That's the thing! Ever since I came back from the dead they are pretty much like visions. They're more clear and striking. And sometimes I can see what happens if I were to change my actions just a little bit, like watching the consequences for my options. It's kind of unbelievable."
My eyebrows raise. This explains so much about her moments of incohesiveness. The times she'd protest on seemingly insignificant decisions, but also brings up a whole host of other questions.
"Although, it's not always clear how to change my future," she turns her head to me, her expression pinched and insecure, "You don't think... I'm crazy? You believe me, right?"
"Of course I believe you, you're not insane. You would have saved me a lot of confusion if you let me in on this earlier, though. I was starting to think you were the most fickle woman on Earth."
She punches me in the arm. It stings a little, I don't think she realizes how strong she is yet. I smirk at her.
"You took that really well," she declares, her glare fades replaced by assured satisfaction, "I didn't expect you to go with it so easily. I'm honestly relieved."
"Well, there's a bloodline that is rumored to 'see the future'," she gives me an astonished look as I go on, "I don't think that applies to you though because you had this 'talent' beforehand, it was likely carried over. You don't seem to share their weakness, either. So, you lucked out."
"Seriously? Are you sure I don't belong to their line? What's their weakness?"
"Cooper told me they are 'cursed with the crazies'." I snort rolling my eyes at his description; whatever the hell that means, "He said their weakness has to do with 'numbers and stuff'," Ash gives me a strange look as I shrug, "His words not mine."
I shake my head, "Sorry, I'm not very knowledgeable on this one. I personally don't know anyone from that line. Or if I do, they keep it to themselves. But I do know it's a split line and the Oracle side is rarer than the Seer side."
"You lost me at split line."
"So, if a vampire from a split bloodline turns you, you have a chance of getting a different set of 'gifts' or 'talents' than your maker. However, you usually share the same weaknesses."
Which means if Ash *is* from the Divination's line her maker is going to be a real pain in the ass to get the jump on. Either Seer or Oracle is going to be next to impossible… Great. Ash doesn't seem to be 'cursed with the crazies', though. So, perhaps I still have the element of surprise on my side.
"That's so complicated! How many lines are there?"
"Five? Seven, if you count split lines separately. Those are the ones I know about, anyway. But we're getting off base. I want to get to the root of what's causing you to black out because it leaves you too vulnerable," I can't be with her all the time and I'd hate for something to happen when she's out cold like that, "So did you see anything in your vision, get any clues?"
I notice a small smile lingering on her lips as she stares at me, it quickly disappears when she looks down to ponder on a possible trigger, "Hmm, I honestly thought that girl was going to be on something. But you drank from her too and you weren't affected, so I guess not," she glares at the floor and mutters, "but she did taste funny."
"Wait, what?"
She flips her head to face me, "What, what?"
"Did you say she tasted funny?"
"Yeah, she smelled kind of weird, too. I mean, she smelled good but also like something wasn't supposed to be there. I thought maybe drugs made her taste that way. Didn't you taste it too?"
I stare at her blankly for a moment and shake my head slowly. She drops her jaw dumbfounded, "You're kidding me, you didn't notice it? Something was definitely off about her blood, it was very distinct."
"Tell me something, Ash. Remember the night we met and you had that homeless guy in the alley?"
She nods, wrinkling her nose, "Yeah, I remember him."
"Did he also taste funny? Like the same kind of funny the girl did?"
Her eyes light up, catching on and answering my question. Ok, good. We're actually getting somewhere.
"Yes he did… And I fell asleep that night too... but I think he really was on something because I felt super strange before I passed out."
"Has anyone else had that funny taste?"
"Nope, just the two of them."
"...You didn't happen to identify what that taste might be, did you?"
She frowns annoyed, "I feel like I should know, but can't put my finger on it."
"Well, it's a start," I get off the bed, feeling a bit more assured though still curious about the why's of her peculiar mishaps, "Just don't drink from anyone else that has that same scent for now."
She nods, seeming to be lost in thought. Likely thinking about the reasons behind it as well.
I glance around the empty room with a sigh, "So, how long were we out for? What time is it?"
"About half past three. In the A.M. I hope."
Well shit, sleeping kills a lot of time. I'll avoid it during active hours next time, that is, if I ever decide to sleep again. Ever.
"Well let's head out before it gets too late. Unless you want to stay here for another sixteen hours."
She climbs off the bed, bending over for her shoes as she complains, "I don't even know where 'here' is and I can hear hearts beating through the wall."
Yep, we're definitely leaving. I peek out the door just on the off chance we did sleep the morning away.
Safe, no sunlight creeping through the curtainless windows.
I wait for Ash to slip her tennis shoes on. We leave the room as a roaring thunder crash shakes the complex, rattling the window panes.
Ash squeaks, grabbing my hand and wrapping around my arm, startled by the authoritative thunder. I fail to hold back a laugh as I glance down at her clinging to my arm.
She looks around a little embarrassed then makes an angry face, "What the hell, thunder? It's not even rain-," she stops, hearing the belated drops hit shingles and glass as if cued by her ire.
She mutters something about the 'stupid thunder' as she unknots her grip from my arm, but she doesn't remove the hand from mine. She keeps it there delicately, leaving the decision to me whether to take my hand back. I should pull away, but don't have the heart to.
I interlock my fingers with hers feeling a hidden melancholy knowing I shouldn't let her get so close to me. Melancholic, but also a small bliss as her fingers curl in response. Her simple touch is unlike any other.
I'm not the person she's painted me to be. Ash doesn't understand, she's too naive to consider the unforgivable things I've done. And once she discovers it, she'll recoil from my touch rather than seek it out.
I'm not altruistic, I'm not kind, I'm not a good person. But I want her, even though I shouldn't. And it proves the kind of wretched person that I am.