Part I Death, God, the Devil
The ground was so cold and so hard, unyielding and obdurate as marble.' Maybe it is marble', thought Mitchell. He stood rubbing his aching ass, and then sat again, repositioning himself for the hundredth time since he had woken up. He was amazed that he still existed, here or anywhere. (Did this mean there was no proper death?) Could Herrick, Graham and the many other vamps that he had known had been staked be in similar dungeons? Maybe they were adjacent to him and he just couldn't see or hear them.
So this was hell. Really? How could it be Hell, if he could sleep and dream? No nightmares just blissful, serenely joyful dreams. And nowadays he always dreamt of Annie. These dreams were of their happiest times together. All the smiles and the chat they shared had meant the world to him. The dreams were usually at the pink house with George and later at Honolulu Heights, (after he had brought Annie back from purgatory). Together with George and Nina and the soon to be, lil' pup they were a family. Those times had been so precious and so painfully short. So how was this hell? 'Cause (he thanked God) he only had to close his eyes and Annie was there before him. Smiling sweetly or (sometimes) scolding him playfully.
Where was the pain and torture? This hell wasn't what he'd expected at all; of course judgment could still be coming. " Sure, of course". He said it aloud. "Retribution and just rewards." In his dead heart he felt he deserved the very worst that could befall him. This actually, it was like purgatory, well, except it was pitch black and cold. Instead of him going through countless doors to be confronted by his past crimes, his victims came to him. One at a time, they appeared, shining a torch to illuminate their faces. (A torch, he thought, seriously, like bad theater). He would have laughed but this was no laughing matter. This was serious, death itself. There had been around a hundred and twenty so far. Unwell wishers. Most were beautiful young women. These were his victims of choice. In his mind he could still hear Herrick's cloying voice from so long ago. "You lucky bastard" he'd grinned. "They stand in line for that beautiful mug of yours; you don't even have to work for it, do you?" (There were also the random blokes, but not many came around and never, never any children or old people, no matter how hungry he was.) His ethics seemed rubbish now.
Some came in screaming, some crying and others just stared. He realized he had lied to himself as well as Annie when he had said that he remembered all their names and faces. This was only a fraction and he didn't recognize half of them. It seemed mostly he remembered only the stunners or the ones that were more than just a one night stand. A handful still (after all the time that had passed) felt that they were special because he had chosen them and couldn't believe it that they had been just another meal to him. A few of them, he had kidded himself, were special. He had thought at those times that maybe one of them of had been the one that would save him from himself, he now knew there was never any salvation for his brand of malevolence. No crocodile tears from him, his sorrow was real, his tears sincere, as he begged for their forgiveness. They're mercy. Miraculously they all did forgive him before disappearing into the blackness. He didn't understand their willingness to excuse him his trespasses, but, maybe what he had told Lucy about forgiveness was extended to him by these poor souls too.
He wondered why there weren't more of his victims forthcoming, this was after waiting what seemed like weeks months in isolation. The initial throng had abated and then dried up completely. He was now totally alone in the frigid darkness. He recalled what Annie had told him and George about what the time after her death was like before they rented Windsor Terrance. She had been all by herself for over a year, not being seen or heard until they showed up. He had felt so sorry for her then. Now he understood what it felt like. He wondered if he would exist like this for ever. If only he had stayed in jail he would have had Annie with him. (He seriously didn't think the Old Ones would have let them stay imprisoned long but Annie hadn't cared, she believed in justice). She had already forgiven him because he didn't fight the arrest. And if he had been honest with her from the start she might have forgiven him then too. He underestimated Annie's love for him. He couldn't except that someone as good as she could ever really have loved him.
In truth, after his confession to her, she was willing to stay with him for eternity in that cell. That's what he had promised her. She had loved him enough to bind herself to him. She'd defied death's door again and again, for him. Eternity together was what he had wanted for the two of them so badly but he just couldn't leave well enough alone so he had traipsed off after that prick Herrick. It was alll for naught. He'd made so many mistakes. It started on that bloody French battlefield in '17. He thought he was doing the brave thing, the right thing, but in hindsight, most of the men he thought he'd saved that day, (by letting himself be turned) had died weeks later in another fight. And of course, he, John Mitchell had gone on another ninety odd years killing many more than he had tried to save. He shouldn't have denied his death on that day. That would have truly been the noble thing to do.
Again he closed his eyes and immediately went to sleep. This time he dreamt of Annie, George, Nina and the baby. He feared that they could never stand up to Wyndham and the Old Ones. But they would try and he knew that they wouldn't give up. In his dream he knelt before an altar as he had done when he was just a lad and prayed his friends would be spared any further suffering. Funny that the church, the crosses, the prayers didn't make him feel the nausea he was accustomed to. He actually felt some inner peace. When he woke he had the feeling that there was something else that made him think being here must only be a holding cell and not his final punishment. For the first time since he'd become the monster, he felt no hunger. No thirst. He was free of the clawing, the burning desire that had ruled him since, since... forever. The realization that his only longing now was for her. For Annie. So, with eyes shut tight he imagined her. She showed in a luminous blue light. So beautiful, and perfect and even now, even here, he knew that she was still his guardian angel. He couldn't help himself (If anyone was watching, and maybe they were, they'd think him a complete lunatic) with his eyes shut tight; he was broadly smiling in hell.