A/N: Wow, it's not often a single manga volume inspires me so much, but I really enjoyed Nanae Chrono's "Vassalord", volume one. This one shot is based solely on the first volume (the only one released thus far) and therefore its accuracy in the long run is highly doubtful. I am hopeful that those reading this story are familiar with the characters of Rayflo and Charley. If you are a kind soul who wandered in out of curiosity, you should be aware that these two have a complicated vampire master/ vassal relationship. There is a definite bond between the two; and whether you want to call it a vampire blood-lust thing, or a master/ pet thing, or simply refer to it as shonen-ai; it would be very difficult to write them in-character without the bond being prominently present. And I wouldn't want to anyways.
Note the rating. There is no yaoi here, only innuendo. But if the idea of two guys being questionably close gives you the heebie-jeebies, exit now. For the few people that remain, your comments and constructive criticisms are most welcome. Oh, and spoiler alert for volume one.
Disclaimer: Vassalord, its characters and properties belong to Nanae Chrono, MAG Garden Corporation and Tokyopop. Sadly, they aren't mine and I make no claim to them. This fic was written for amusement and not for profit. And without further ado….
Boredom
Charley handed the attending acolyte his identification card before reaching up to unbutton the collar on his long white overcoat. However modern the complex might be, it was still stuffy in here.
"Mr. Charles J. Chrishunds?"
He smiled an affirmation as the younger boy checked his computer.
"Your final lecture is with Father Mitchell; auditorium 'C'."
Charley thanked the boy, accepted back his card and stepped out of line before the disappointment on his face could show. He had been hoping to avoid Father Mitchell during this week-long immersion seminar, but obviously God had other ideas. Sighing to himself, he began making his way to the assigned auditorium, nodding to a few passing mercenaries headed in the opposite direction.
Every two years, freelance mercenaries and vampire hunters like himself had to undergo an intense, week-long "educational" experience to obtain a license enabling them to be hired by the Catholic Church. It was either this, or two days of questioning by the Inquisition. Charley didn't know of anyone who picked the latter. For the most part, he found the conferences to be an enlightening experience; a good chance for a tainted soul like him to reconnect with the Church, be surrounded by like-minded people, and to educate himself in the advances of his chosen profession. Unfortunately, a few of the lecturers took their roles a bit too seriously.
Father Mitchell was one of those who would spend the entire three hours of his allotted time condemning any and all beings with even the slightest touch of darkness in their souls to the eternal abyss. Charley, for reasons not entirely unselfish, liked to believe that those who sought forgiveness would someday be forgiven. What would be the point of existence, otherwise?
He remembered the first time he had been subjected to one the overzealous priest's sermon/ lectures. It had upset him so much that he had ended up reciting practically the entire thing to his master while pacing restlessly back and forth, a cross clutched tightly in one hand. It made him blush to recall how pathetic his behavior had been that evening.
To the man's credit, the normally smart-mouthed vampire had tolerated the entire display without comment. In the end, he had absently scratched his small, wedge-shaped beard with blackened fingernails, an unlit cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. "You know, you shouldn't take this guy so seriously, Chris. Trust me; a man that eager to sentence others to hell probably doesn't have his own halo on too straight, if you know what I mean."
It was one of his master's unique abilities, that he could banish three hours of concentrated guilt just like that. He had taken the man at his word. After all, who would know better than a centuries old vampire about the ins and outs of corrupted souls?
"Mr. Cherry? Fancy meeting you here."
The mercenary blinked and a smile slowly spread across his face as he regarded the petite nun who had hailed him. With a fringe of fine blond hair peeking out from beneath her habit and a pair of large, round glasses perched upon her button nose, the young girl known as Cheryl Shane Kates was a far cry from what one might expect from a vampire hunter. Charley wasn't fooled. Beneath her childlike, adorable exterior was the blood of a true Vjedogonian.
"It's Charley," he corrected mildly, not expecting his effort to do much good. The pint-sized hunter had spent far too much time in the company of certain incorrigible vampires. "So, you're up for your renewal as well?" A sudden thought occurred to him. "Have you attended one of Father Mitchell's lectures before?"
The young nun crinkled her nose, causing the smattering of freckles on her face to congregate briefly. "Oh yes," she laughed. "Don't worry about me. I am what I am, and only God can pass judgment on my soul. I'm so young, they don't take me seriously as a hunter anyways. So basically I can just tune him out."
Charley nodded as they proceeded towards the auditorium. It was true; despite the advantages of her heritage the girl was young to pursue such a calling. Whatever success she enjoyed at this age was probably more due to her partnership with the vampire Rayfell than her Vjedogonian blood. But it was also true that Cheryl purposefully used her appearance to foster misconceptions about her abilities. Her glasses, for instance, were for show, much as his own were.
"Here we are," she chirped. "Assigned seats, how typical. Please say hello to master Rayflo for me."
"I'll be sure to do that."
The tall blonde's smile crept larger as they parted ways, recalling how enthusiastic his master had been when they had first become acquainted with Cheryl. "You look so cute," Rayflo had gushed, "Just like Chris when he was that age." It had embarrassed him at the time; he didn't really see any resemblance between them besides the bowl-cut blonde hair, and no man wanted to be compared with a prepubescent girl, but now the memory itself was 'cute'.
Auditorium 'C' was one of the smallest in the Catholic complex. Completely white, the room lacked any ornamentation to distract one's attention. The chairs were plush at least, Charley noted with relief, recalling the hours he had spent perched upon hard wooden pews as a child. They were sparsely occupied; about twenty-five freelance mercenaries in all were in attendance. His own assigned seat was in the row furthest from the pulpit; Cheryl's was two rows in front of him. He took his seat, pulled out his favorite book of Psalms, and tried to mentally prepare himself for the vampire bashing to come. It didn't take long for Father Mitchell to get started.
"Vampires are the foulest of the devil's minions. Their cursed souls are steepedin darkness, never again to enjoy the blessings of God's benevolent light. Woeful are those humans who fall victim to their siren song, for their souls too are condemned for all eternity. There can be no mercy for these unnatural creatures, whose very existence profanes God's divine will…"
Charley hung his head; a crucifix held between his clasped hands as the familiar stirrings of guilt stabbed at his heart.
"These obscene beasts reveal in destruction and despair. They are evil incarnate, happiest when surrounded by blood and death!" The small, thin priest punctuated each point with a fist pounding down on his pulpit. As the balding man went on about the vile activities vampires found pleasure in, Charley couldn't help but wonder what the priest would think if he ever saw Rayflo's small collection of porcelain figurines, impulsively purchased because the vampire found them to be "cute". His burden of guilt eased somewhat.
Yes, he was a tainted soul; yes, he often wondered if he would ever be accepted into God's Kingdom, but that was between him and God. And while vampires certainly could be the beasts of darkness Mitchell described, the fact of the matter was, they weren't all that way. Even now, with a hundred plus years washing the naivety of youth from his eyes, he could not regard his master as a mere monster. Annoying, irrepressible, unabashedly hedonistic, yes; but not pure evil by any stretch of the imagination. Would a monster be capable of showing compassion to an unnamed war orphan, a child abandoned by his own kind? No, despite his many, many shortcomings, Rayflo was more than that. And so was he.
Charley's blue eyes sought out the back of Cheryl's head. And what of the girl? As a Vjedogonian, she was destined to rise as a vampire once her human life expired. Should she be condemned simply for the way she had been born? Perhaps it was because of the desires of his own impure heart, but Charley couldn't see it. He couldn't see the world in terms of simple black and white. He wondered how Cheryl was holding up. She seemed to be at peace with her fate, but for a person of faith to hear over and over again how doomed their own existence was couldn't be easy. He saw a flash of unnatural light reflect off her glasses and frowned. Head down, hands clasped in her lap; after a moment he figured it out. The little imp was texting someone. Charley felt a slight smile emerge on his face. It may have been sinful behavior, but he couldn't quite bring himself to blame the girl. He just hoped it wasn't the foul-mouthed Rayfell on the other end.
"Mr. Chrishunds? Would you care to answer the question?" Father Mitchell's voice had the triumphant tone of a teacher who had caught a student napping.
The hunter jerked guiltily in his seat, hands reaching up to fumble with his glasses. Fortunately for him, being a cyborg meant having a certain amount of instant recall. In his head, he could hear the priest ask what a vampire hunter's greatest fear should be, a question that sounded suspiciously rhetorical in nature. Still, caught completely off guard, the high tech hunter answered with complete honesty.
"Boredom."
"Boredom? You mean complacency, I suppose." The priest sounded somewhat disgruntled that his attempt to catch Charley's inattention had gone awry. "Yes, complacency must certainly be guarded against, but…"
"Excuse me sir. I don't think Mr. ….Chrishunds, was it? … meant complacency. He meant boredom."
The surly man consulted his seating chart. "And what would you know of such things, Miss. Kates?"
The petite nun, cell phone secreted safely into the folds of her robe, smiled coldly at the priest. "I've heard tell that when the old ones get bored; that is when they become a true danger to society at large."
Charley stared with surprise at the back of the human girl's head. So she even knew about that. He wondered if Rayfell had told her, or if she had figured it out on her own. Did she worry about it like he did?
"That is the most preposterous thing I've ever heard! Have you not been listening to my lecture at all? Vampires are soulless beings upon creation; you speak as if they are susceptible to human foibles." The priest cast his fiery glare over his captive audience. "If they grow old, it is because you people are failing in your holy mission! No! The greatest fear a hunter should have is falling prey to a vampire's guiles. Having sympathy for them, humanizing them in your minds; never forget that these creatures are the devil's minions. They absorb his duplicity by suckling at his teat. Their complete eradication should be your only goal! Anything less is a failure of God…"
Charley tuned the irate priest out. Cheryl was right. He had meant boredom. Although he couldn't hold the priest's doubt against him. He wouldn't have answered in that manner had he not witnessed it firsthand, the effects of boredom on a vampire…
"Hm, this one looks promising: Victor Arsland." Charley clicked on the name, bringing up the details of the vampire's crimes. He stared at the laptop's screen in shock, eyes widening as he skimmed down the list.
"Did you say Victor Arsland?" Johnny Rayflo, fresh from the shower, entered the room still toweling off his unruly, shoulder length hair.
Charley's eyes never left the screen. "Are you familiar with him?"
"Met him under social circumstances a couple of times. We never traveled in the same circles though. He's one of those quiet sorts, completely harmless; though I hear he went eccentric about half a decade back. Locked himself away in his mansion with a bunch of cats and orchids. I think he gave most of his money to rainforest conservation too, poor crazy bastard."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"I know! He could have gotten out of that house, had some fun…"
"Victor Arsland: suspected in the deaths of ten grade-school aged children, five nuns and fifteen residents of a retirement community. All victims were Catholic, all bodies required identification through dental records. Does that sound 'harmless' to you?"
Charley couldn't keep the anger out of his tone. His master's skewed sense of humor made him sick sometimes. The shirtless vampire leaned his weight against the back of Charley's chair, reading the computer's screen over his head.
"Wow, so it finally got to him. That's too bad; I hate to see someone go like that."
Well aware that the vampire's sympathy wasn't for the dead humans, Charley's irritation rose. "What 'got' to him? What are you talking about?" he snapped.
He had expected the vampire to be wearing his characteristic teasing smirk. Instead, when he half turned in his seat to regard the man, he was surprised to find Rayflo completely serious.
The vampire gave a lazy shrug. "Boredom"
"That's ridiculous," Charley scoffed.
Somber amber eyes met blue and suddenly the concept didn't seem so farfetched to the vassal.
Rayflo smirked. "All right, Mr. Know-It-All Cherry, you explain it then. A man lives for centuries quietly in the shadows and then, within the course of a month, prominently slaughters thirty people. It's boredom. The guy is tired of living. His existence has become a meaningless drudgery of repetition. He's lived for so long that he's seen history repeat itself and then some." The tall man sighed, running his fingers through his tangle of damp hair. "Killing all those Catholics like that; he's asking the Vatican to come put him out of his misery."
Charley eyed his master a few moments more before turning back to the laptop. "I think I'll just go oblige him."
"Heh, I guess I'll have to go with you then."
"Why bother? You just said that he has a death wish."
"Doesn't mean he's not going to want to go out with a bang. Besides," the vampire stuck his forked tongue out at his vassal as he headed out of the room, "I was starting to feel a little bored myself."
Charley gave a rueful smile to his feet. In the end, they had slain Victor Arsland together. He had put up a good fight, just as Rayflo had predicted, wearing one of his victim's semi-rotted entrails as a hat and cackling gleefully the entire time. Rayflo probably didn't know what a profound effect that memory had on his vassal, even to this day.
"Bored." Hmm, it's been a while. Should I try 'that' again, or would it be too obvious after a conference such as this?
"Amen," twenty-five mercenaries uttered in unison. Father Mitchell's lecture had come blissfully to a close. Well aware that they were under the priest's watchful eye, Charley and Cheryl departed without even exchanging a glance.
--
Nearly three days later, Charley drove back to Rayflo's mansion. He had timed it deliberately so his arrival was after sunset. Sunlight didn't bother him, but his master was susceptible to its power. He ditched the car outside the large property, sneaking carefully past the security cameras that constantly watched the perimeter fence line. Creeping towards the mansion, he hoped his master wasn't throwing one of his wild parties this evening. Rayflo enjoyed his role as rich, playboy socialite a bit too much for Charley's comfort. Besides, a party would mean that he'd have to cancel his plan, something he didn't want to do after all his preparation. But he could see the mansion was mostly dark and quiet as he approached.
It took the better part of an hour of skulking to discover his master's location. Rayflo was standing on a large third floor balcony, one that overlooked the south garden and Jacuzzi pool. His master had his head back, apparently stargazing. A light breeze played with the errant raven strands of the vampire's hair; a thin line of smoke rose from the cigarette in his hand. The scene was so peaceful that Charley almost called the whole thing off, right there.
But no. With a frown, the hunter mentally prepared himself. Then he cautiously made his way to a better position, before the vampire could sense his presence.
"Hmm?" Johnny Rayflo felt the vibrations of his muted cell phone. Checking the caller-I.D., a natural grin came to the vampire's face as he flipped it open. "Hey Cherry, what's up?"
"This," answered a voice behind him.
The vassal's silver blade emerged suddenly from his chest; the cross-shaped hilt rested against his lower back. Rayflo flipped the cell phone closed; never losing his grin as he glanced over his shoulder at his vassal.
"Must have been one hell of a conference. Welcome home, Cherry."
The blonde vampire hunter scowled. He had deliberately missed the heart by a handbreadth; still, he wished his master would show a bit more concern for the two feet of blessed silver protruding from his chest. "It's Charley," he corrected, but the vampire's form was already becoming indistinct. The hole in his chest blackened and enlarged and seconds later a cloud of bats swirled in circles where the man once stood. Charley had been expecting this though.
As the colony of bats rose into the night, making their getaway, a small slot in his mechanized forearm slid out of the way. The hunter quickly calculated the trajectory, aiming his newest weapon at the escaping bats. The recoil as the weapon launched a kiwi-sized projectile at his master made the cyborg's arm numb all the way up to his shoulder. There was a muffled explosion as the projectile reached its target. A fine mesh net of silver threads and an accompanying mist engulfed the cloud of bats. Ensnared, the chiropterans fell three stories to the ground.
Charley didn't have time to admire the effectiveness of his new weapon. The small amount of blood his master had lost to the sword had already summoned the vampire's servants. This too was typical. The vampire hadn't taken an active role in their battles since the very beginning…
Charley couldn't understand why his master had yet to sense his nervousness. He was so edgy, his hands would have been sweating, had they yet been made of flesh and blood. Part of his mind still argued that he was being silly and over reactive. The vampire rarely meant the things he said; he seemed to adjust well to new technology and to the passage of time, and he had already survived for centuries without the presence of his day-walking vassal. But Charley had been quietly preparing for weeks.
"I've been thinking about redecorating this room," the vampire mentioned idly. "A skylight might be nice; maybe a walk-out balcony to match the other side. What do you think, Che…?"
The vampire blinked in surprise and stared the large hypodermic protruding from his arm. "Okay, no skylight."
"That's holy water." Charley tensely informed his master. "And this sword has been gilded with the silver of a melted cross." He managed to keep his hands from shaking as he gripped the blade with both hands.
Rayflo's amber eyes narrowed dangerously. "What's this all about?"
The vassal's only answer was a sudden strike.
The maids' arms had already taken on the form of weapons. One possessed a flail, the other, a mace. Charley smirked. Against these black market automatons, he could fight without holding anything back. His sword sang as he put his advanced speed to play; dodging and slicing, reveling in the unrestricted use of his skills.
It had been a mistake.
Rayflo was usually so nonchalant about everything that he had never expected… but maybe he should have.
Charley struggled to regain his vision. His body refused to move; his eyes failed to function properly. The smell of his own blood surrounded him, making him both hungry and sick. The battle, such as it was, couldn't have lasted more than a minute. As the veil slowly lifted from his eyes, he realized that his master had knocked him clean through two walls. But the physical pain he felt was nothing in comparison to the hurt he saw in the amber eyes watching over him.
His master's physical form was shrouded in darkness, a shapeless black fire that seemed to devour the area around it. Even the glowing amber eyes disappeared, once the vampire knew the vassal was conscious. Despite being unable to see the man's body, Charley got the distinctive impression that Rayflo's back was turned to him.
It had been a mistake.
And it was about to get worse.
Cleanly removing the mace-wielding maid's arm with a single slice, Charley whirled and fired his rocket-hand through the other maid's chest. Retracting the hand drew her body to him and he tucked a small grenade down her shirt before pushing her off the balcony. Dodging the second maid, whose remaining arm had taken the form of a sword, the hunter grinned as the grenade's explosion shook the entire house, throwing his opponent off balance for a moment.
It was the only opening he needed.
Thrusting his sword straight into her midsection, he got a good look at her soulless eyes before a sudden, unexpected surge of electricity ripped through his body. His mechanized parts instantly shut down; his biological elements screamed in agony. The attack seemed to last forever, but in actuality was over in less than a minute. The automaton removed his sword from her chest and his body fell limply to the balcony's floor.
"So what's this all about, Chris?" Rayflo's voice echoed eerily out from the center of the black flames.
"Has a lack of fresh blood finally driven you mad? Do you resent me for stealing your precious purity from you?"
The darkness could hide the vampire's body, but not the bitter anguish in his voice. "Is it about power? Let me guess, you've heard the legend that a vassal who slays his master gains his power. Heh. It's true, you know. Is that what you want?"
Stupid. It was all so very stupid. And so very, very wrong. Charley opened his mouth to speak, but only managed to blow a bloody bubble from his lips. Grimacing, he began struggling to extradite himself from the pile of debris that sat on top of his prone body.
The black flames danced silently before him.
"Surprised?" The vampire crouched down in front of his vassal's motionless head, looking immensely satisfied with himself. "You mentioned that my maids inspired you; I thought it only fair if I repaid you the compliment."
Charley glared at the irrepressible fiend. It was the only thing he could do until his regenerative powers healed what the maid's electric shock had damaged. His cyborg parts were double-grounded; they would probably come back online in a minute or two. Until then he was helpless.
Despite the grin, the man was irked at him, Charley realized as he watched a small tic below the vampire's left eye. Then the smell hit him. He had chosen garlic as the least caustic of fluids that adversely affected vampires, but he hadn't taken the pungent scent into account. His master was wet, evidence that he had already unsuccessfully attempted to wash the substance off. Worse was the fact that the smell was obviously stuck to the man's skin. His actual clothes had been left behind when he had transformed into bats; he now squatted in a pair of what Charley assumed to be manifested sweatpants. His sharp blue eyes met his master's amber ones; he wasn't going to apologize, especially since he had taken the vampire's physical welfare into consideration when he had chosen garlic as opposed to holy water or mercury.
Then he noticed it: the puncture wound in Rayflo's chest had not entirely healed. Even as he watched, a trickle of blood escaped, tracing down the vampire's rock-hard abdominal muscles as it made its way towards his waistline. Charley was suddenly very, very hungry. He could feel his teeth start to grow as he stared; he imagined that he could smell the blood over the reek of garlic. The crimson droplets captivated his attention, until the vampire's finger captured the fluid.
Holding the blood-coated finger before him, Rayflo gave a victory smirk. "Hungry, Cherry? What's it been now, two weeks? You must be starving. Well, that's just too bad. Not a drop for you until I stop smelling like a refugee from an Italian eatery." The vampire stuck his bloodied finger into his own mouth, sucking it clean. Then he stuck his forked tongue out at his seething, immobile vassal before rising to leave. He reached the house, half turning to call over his shoulder, "That was a pretty neat trick with the net, though. It took me completely by surprise."
And then he was gone.
The man formerly known as Christopher Michel had never feared the dark. And he didn't fear his master, not even now. What he did fear was this sudden rift his misinterpreted attack had caused. He couldn't stand the idea of his master thinking so ill of him; it drove him to his unsteady feet.
Staggering towards the black flames, Charley unhesitatingly stuck his hand inside. His ability to sense other vampires was poor, but he knew his master well. The hand unerringly latched on to the vampire's unruly hair, the only way to insure the man would actually listen to his words, and pulled him out of his hiding place. The darkness evaporated; only Rayflo remained.
"No," he wheezed into the vampire's ear.
Every breath hurt. Every word was a struggle. But he had to do it. He had to undo the damage he had done.
"It's not about that. It's not."
He couldn't tell Rayflo why. Stubborn pride prevented it. That, and the fact that knowledge of his motivation would negate the effect Charley had been hoping his attacks would have. If he survived today, that is.
He slackened his grip on Rayflo's hair, leaning his battered body against the much stronger man in order to hold himself upright. "You'll just have to figure it out for yourself, the reason why," he whispered. He knew he was unworthy, but in his mind he begged God to allow the vampire to believe him. His consciousness faded and he began to fall…
Even to this day, Charley took it as an affirmation of his faith, that his master had taken him at his word that day. Rayflo had never again taken a personal role in their little bouts, and he never asked the reason why. The vampire probably chalked it up as one of his day-walking vassal's many idiosyncrasies. Or perhaps he assumed it was just Charley's way of improving his skills as a hunter.
Which was sort of true; he had gotten a lot better since he first began these little attacks. It was far easier to try out new tactics and upgrades on a foe that didn't seriously want him dead. But that wasn't his primary motivation.
Charley wasn't going to tell him. Rayflo would just laugh if he found out, and he did quite enough of that without being handed extra ammunition.
Of course, nowadays Charley always made sure that after each attack his master had no reason to suspect him of dark motivations. He never said 'I'm sorry' with his words; it would be a lie to do so. He wasn't sorry; his attacks did serve a purpose, however foolish and self-serving that purpose might be. Actions spoke louder than words anyways, and there were far superior ways of reassuring the vampire than by simply repeating the same phrase over and over. And despite his master's rather unflattering nickname for him, Charley felt he had improved his skills at apologizing as well.
He sighed as the pain in his body began to subside. His other vampyric powers were limited by his refusal to partake in human blood, but his healing ability functioned just fine. Even his cyborg parts seemed to feed off of it; rare was the occasion that he required anything more than an infusion of blood to keep going.
Slowly pushing himself to a sitting position, he eyed the maid suspiciously before rising to his feet. The automaton ignored him. Already fully recovered from their battle, she and her counterpart were busily cleaning up the damage he had caused. Charley made a mental footnote: one day, he was going to find out exactly what kind of amalgamation of vampyric power and robotics made Rayflo's black market servants tick. His stomach whined piteously, reminding him that he had more important things to take care of right now.
--
Even with his lack of ability to sense other vampires, Charley had no problem finding his master in the large mansion. He just followed his nose. The stench of garlic was everywhere, but strongest in the master bedroom and adjoining bath. Charley cracked open a few windows; he could hear the shower going and wondered if the hot steam wasn't exasperating the problem. His stomach growled a bit more aggressively. In retrospect, covering his one and only food source with garlic probably hadn't been the best of ideas.
With a sigh, the blood-deprived vassal rummaged in one of the nightstands, pulling out three of the strongest smelling massage oils he could find. If the shower couldn't get rid of the smell, maybe he could help cover it up? And maybe, just maybe, Rayflo would relent if he gave it a good effort.
Charley stared at the ajar bathroom door for a moment. There were times when Rayflo irritated him to no end. The man had so many flaws that Charley couldn't keep track of them all. He was unabashedly hedonistic, had a distinct lack of devout behavior and sometimes it seemed as if embarrassing his vassal was his favorite hobby. But he was also kind, generous and extremely tolerant. Charley idly wondered if his master had figured it out yet.
Power? How absurd. I was never interested in that. True power comes from God, anyways.
Blood? You share that freely, even though it must sometimes be an inconvenience to you.
Revenge? Do you really think me so childish as to blame you for my own decision? You would have let me journey to God's side, if that had been my choice. I was the one who was weak. You never once forced your will upon me. Even now, as I follow a path that must seem ludicrous to you, you stand back and allow me that freedom.
No.
It's because I can see it in your eyes, sometimes, the burden of your years. It's because you spoke of it so matter-of-factly back then, and it scares me every time you say the word, no matter how insincere you're being. It's because I never, ever want to see your name on top of an execution order, or have you turn into one of those vampires who begs me to kill them.
It's because I'm pathetic.
And weak.
Charley removed his functionless glasses and set them on the nightstand. He pulled off his cross, kissing it before placing it beside the glasses. He closed his eyes, fingertips lingering on the symbol of his faith a moment longer. Then he gathered up the scented oils and proceeded to the adjoining master bath, to where Rayflo was.
Forgive me.
Forgive me.
The end