The Vampire, Victor Madden

Pt. 1 : A Fixed Point in the Cosmos

My Life for Yours

For the past few days I have been overly...distant. At first I attempted to shrug it off but the longer my melancholy persisted, the more I seemed forced to acknowledge that the explanation for it may not be all that simple.

Today I woke and dressed, thinking to head downstairs and see who was up and about. Peter would probably be lurking in the study, working on his own pieces or editing his brother's journals. Celeste could usually be found on the sun-proofed veranda, painting or lost in her thoughts. But after adjusting my tie and looking towards the bedroom door I realized that I was not in the mood for company. Frowning to myself, I turned inward for a few moments to see if I could figure out why.

When there was no answer easily forthcoming I decided to head to my wing of the estate. I hardly ever had a reason to retreat there but it was a habit to do so for occasions such as this, when I needed to sift through my thoughts.

The walk was not all that long and my movement through the house seemed not to attract any attention. Closing the door to my personal room, I leaned back against it and stared into the dimly lit interior.

First things first. In my mind, I began assessing why I would not want to share my thoughts with Peter or Celeste. I looked at it through every angle I could, testing my thoughts, my feelings, and finally breathed a small sigh of relief. Nothing dire had happened, I still loved them both. Everything was as it should be. So I still had to wonder at the reason for needing silence, especially regarding Peter. Each of us had always commented that we were a source of peace to each other, that we could speak openly and freely about anything. But I knew there would be no tranquil comfort found today. My frown returned as I began assessing why. What had happened that the man I loved would not be able to soothe away?

Something in that question triggered the memory and I heard the conversation all over again... Flynn and his role in everything. The possibility that Peter had more influence over the assassin that he had previously thought. We began discussing the fight that had started on the veranda, the blows that had been exchanged, my perspective of the fight, knowing I was hitting Peter as well as Flynn. And then...

_________________

"Celeste asked to speak to Flynn again late last night and I am still processing what she asked the assassin."

I frowned at Peter in response. "What did she ask?"

He shrugged. "If he was disappointed in the way things turned out. Questions centered around his contentment in his existence, more or less. She seemed both glad Flynn could find something to do and melancholy over the way of things, even when he assured her he knew how things needed to be and accepted them. She said something rather strange in response...but she insinuated Flynn was not behaving like himself."

"Does she think you are influencing him, I suppose?"

He raised an eyebrow. "She may suspect as such although, to be perfectly honest, I am not. Flynn is simply subdued at the moment."

Nodding slowly, I said, "But you have admitted that your affections tend to have an effect on him." I raised an eyebrow back at him. "Actually, at one point I remember you telling me I may have the same ability to bridle Flynn as Celeste does."

Peter nodded. "You can summon him. The matter of my influence over him, however, has been called into question by me after his actions of late. I have never seen another instance when he has contradicted the matters of my heart with such stubbornness."

I winced. "Lover..." Looking at him carefully for a long moment, I averted my gaze to speak, knowing that this was far from a cheerful subject. "Do you forget the timing of it? The night when Flynn was out, when he and I came to blows, was the very next day after I had walked away from you and Celeste to attend to idiotic other matters rather than go out on our hunt. I even told you, after the fact, that I would have expected you to slug me across the jaw for making you feel insignificant." I hesitated a moment before continuing. "The next day, Flynn raged at me. And even after he calmed down a small measure due to the concern with Celeste, his very first blow against me was to slug me across the jaw." I finally looked back to him, my gaze even. "You have more influence over him than you think."

A frown settled onto his face. "Lover, I would never wish to hurt you. My feelings had been wounded, yes. You know as much. but..." His expression turned pained. "Never would I wish any harm to you."

I smiled softly in reassurance. "I know, lover. And I was not trying to accuse you of such a thing. But the point is valid. You were upset with me. Flynn was more unhinged in regard to me when he came out. I am not saying you gave him license to act the way he did. Merely supposing that there was a common root behind it that stretched back to how you were feeling."

Peter looked thoughtful for a long moment before saying, "It simply does not sit right with me thinking any residual hurt I might have harbored could have inspired such a reaction with him."

"I can see why it wouldn't," I said, nodding. "Still, consider it in recent days. You and I have been very happy and content, and Flynn has been...different. Not out of character, but more pensive, I suppose, than he normally is."

His brow furrowed. "I had not paused to consider this, truth be known." Peter frowned again and while I didn't specifically know his thoughts they were obviously troubling him. His eyes closed and clenched shut as he managed his next words. "Better I find a way to separate us, then, instead of risking something dire transpiring."

I frowned and moved closer to him, taking his hands in mine. This was an old topic, finding a way to detach Flynn from Peter in a physical sense beyond the psychological and minor physiological separation they currently existed with. Peter knew most of my concerns about such a course of action, but the mention using it as a solution to the current dilemma raised the need to repeat the larger ones. "Lover, you don't even know that such a thing would work or what it would do to you. If you and Flynn are linked through your feelings that way it might not even be related to you occupying the same body. But..." I considered Peter's last words carefully. "What would you be afraid of happening?"

He sighed and clutched my hands. "I do not know, lover. Anything. If he could hit you like that..." Peter shook his head as though to chase away the thought, then looked away from me. "Lover, you are all that matters to me. I cannot stand the thought of my hands being the ones inflicting any harm to you."

I tugged on his hands to get him to look back at me. Peter's head turned, the frown on his face clearly defined. I said, "Lover, you did not hit me. He did. Flynn did. Even if there was a root behind it, Flynn is not you. I know that." I sighed. "Truth be told my larger issue with all of that was hitting Flynn back, knowing that it was your body that I was inflicting the damage to. I felt each and every blow I delivered like it was visited back on me. Seeing you fall to the ground..." The memory flashed through my mind and I swallowed hard.  "So you are not the only one with such concerns, my poet. I know them well. But I am still not convinced that letting Flynn free is a wise idea, regardless of the motivation."

Peter nodded reluctantly. "I hold no grievance to you about that. This is why I told you to defend yourself when you spoke to the assassin last. Regardless of whose body this is, if he intends you any harm, then you do whatever you must... Please promise me this, Victor. Regardless of what that means."

In my mind I began wording a reassuring reply that I would never let the assassin harm me just to avoid inflicting pain on the body they share. But something in that train of thought my my blood freeze. Whatever you must...regardless of what that means... A horrifying notion occurred to me and I am not usually one given to bouts of paranoia. What if, by some god-forsaken turn of events... What if I was faced with the choice of killing the assassin as the only way to defend my own life?

I couldn't do it. I prayed my years of practice in keeping my thoughts from being revealed in my expression was enough to not alert Peter to the sudden shift in my demeanor. How could I tell him this? That I could not bear to kill Flynn even to save my own life because it would also mean the death of my lover?

And then the thought that followed. When had Peter's life become more important than my own? In four centuries no one, not my King, not my Child, not any of my mortal lovers, not even Celeste had ever meant such a thing to me. Certainly, in some of those cases I knew I could make the decision to lay down my life for them and would do so willingly. But it was always a choice that I had to consciously make. Here, now, I was faced with the reality that there was no decision to be made. My love for him had taken that away from me. I would rather die than even consider the possibility of taking his life. And that...bothered me.

Is he worth it?

A quick assessment and I answered the question.

He is worth everything.

As my thoughts came around to that realization, I prayed again that I had not revealed anything in my expression. How could I tell him? How could I explain that even though I knew my death at Flynn's hands would devastate him, that I couldn't bear to trade his life for mine?

But I had to respond.

I nodded slowly, considered my words carefully, and took a moment to assure that my voice would be steady as I spoke them.  "I promise you I will defend myself, lover."

Peter looked relieved as he gazed into my eyes. His hand reached up and touched my cheek. "Thank you, my lover. You are what matters most to me."

His words caused my mask to break and a pained expression flickered across my face as I echoed the sentiment. "And you are what matters most to me."

Did he hear the subtext beneath that statement? Did he know I had purposely avoiding promising more than defending myself? Did he know that I had just been rocked to my very core from coming face to face with the remnants of my mortality? We moved on to speak of other things and I breathed a sigh of relief. I would visit the topic again when I had the chance, to sort out my reaction...
___________________________

And so here I was. Visiting the topic and finding that nothing had changed. The only way I could even bring myself to consider killing Flynn while he was still in Peter's body was to spare my lover the torment of knowing that it was his hand that killed me.

But what of my torment? My anguish? Could I put myself through it, to spare him?

Heavens help me, I didn't think I could.

Walking away from the door, I sat down on the edge of my bed. My head sank into my hands as I propped my elbows on my knees and it was all I could do just to maintain my composure. What was wrong with me? My mind was completely absorbed in impossible fantasies of dueling with Flynn, coming to the point of no return, each of us was poised, blade over each other's hearts. Our eyes would lock and I would know that it was the end. They would be Flynn's eyes...mirror images of Peter's but with more than a hint of arrogance in them. And I would hesitate, knowing that to plunge the sword in would kill Peter just as surely as it would kill Flynn.

I could almost feel his blade enter my chest and pierce my heart. My eyes closed, trying to block out the horrifying scene, but my mind seemed determined to finish it out. I watched my fingers begin to crumble to dust, the blade dropping from my slackened grip, my eyes still locked on Flynn's as I tried to get through to Peter to say goodbye. My last words would be inadequate, I knew, but what else could I say? "I love you, always. Forgive me."

Images flashed through my mind. Memories of passion, whispered words of love and devotion, the simple happiness we shared... and then they turned into pictures of things that had never gotten a chance to happen. Trips around the world, hunts in strange countries, poems written, songs composed, everything that I knew we would have done except for the fluke turn of events that caused this scene to come to pass. And that was how I would die. Crumbling to dust at the hands of the assassin. Desperately sending all the hope and love and strength I could manage through our blood bond to reach out to Peter. Begging. Forgive me. Forgive me.

"Forgive me." My voice cracked as I spoke the words aloud. There was a dampness on my cheeks that I knew had to be tears but I couldn't recall when I had started crying.

What is wrong with me?

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that it bled. I didn't care and bit down harder. I stood suddenly, needing to jar myself out of the depression, to stop myself from the self-loathing, the pity, cursing my weakness, and to get my mind back to itself. Walking across the room, I unfastened the cuff buttons on my right arm and rolled up the sleeve as I stood before the window. Knowing what it would do to me, I didn't care, welcomed it. I stepped to one side of the curtains, shoved them aside, and held my arm out in the direct sunlight.

To say it hurt would be an understatement. I felt the hairs on my arm singe, the upper layer of skin begin to peel, and then the tips of my fingers began to flake. I watched my flesh char and turn black and still I kept my arm in the rays of light. Finally, just as the bones from my knuckles began to show through, I yanked my arm back and let the curtains fall shut again.

The pain hit me full force then. My knees went weak and I suddenly found myself holding onto the wall with my good hand. Panting, hissing, growling, I cradled my seared arm against my chest and ignored the ash flaking off. Clenching my eyes shut, I embraced the agony, focusing on it to the loss of everything else. I tried to get back to the bed but I could only manage one staggering step before realizing I was going to collapse. I turned and leaned my back against the wall, injured arm still held tight against my body, and let my knees go out from under me. I slid down and sat, fighting a wave of blackness that was creeping up on my vision.

My last thought before I passed out was that I was going to have to come up with an explanation for my hand...

Shifting Sands - Pt. 3 : Forgive Me

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