Chapter 2 – Getting to Know You
I don't know how long I slept, I hadn't looked at my watch before closing my eyes and I suppose it didn't really matter. I woke up sprawled face down across the bed, leading me to believe that I had been out a lot longer then I had planned.
He was standing with his back to me, staring out the western window, a dark shadow as he watched the sun set. I rolled to a sitting position and let my eyes flick over the room I was in, taking in every inescapable nook and cranny.
It was Spartan -- definitely a man's room. No décor, no rugs, no artwork adorning the walls. It was just a room for sleeping and maybe escape. But what would something like him have to escape from?
It must have been inside an old part of the castle because the walls were all of the same rough grey stone as the interior corridors. The well trod floor was a golden wood and I wondered if it was as silky and warm as it appeared, but his presence made me unable to move.
The only furniture in the room was the simple, but massive, bed I had slept in, a tall dresser along the northern wall, and the large desk near the door. A slight marring of the floor just south of the window led me to believe something else had been there, but I didn't know what.
"Did you have a good sleep?" he asked without turning to face me.
I flinched at the sound of his voice, soft and unexpected in the silent room. "Yes, thank you." I said politely.
The rest had done me the good I had hoped it would. I was alert. I felt more or less myself and the dread I had been feeling had eased. I hoped now that the shock had had time to wear off. If it had, I was fairly certain I could hold it at bay and keep a firmer grip on myself.
"I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of procuring you something to eat." He murmured, still not turning. His choice of words odd, almost old.
They surprised me and my question was out of my mouth before I had stopped to think, "Why?"
Slowly, ever so slowly, he finally turned. His dark brows knit in perplexity at my question, "Are you not hungry?"
"Well, yes," I hesitated, unsure if I really wanted to be here, at this conversation again, "but if I am only to die," -- I shuddered at the word – "then why go to the trouble?"
His quiet answer was honest and gave me some hope, "I don't know."
I nodded and saw the bread and cheese sitting on a plate on the desk, my eyes flicking back to him as I did so -- I would have to cross the room to get it. I glanced again at his tall, motionless shape out of the corner of my eye and steeled myself to move.
Somehow, I felt the need to move as purposely as possible. I knew the man in the room with me, could be only loosely termed as a man. What he was exactly, I wasn't sure – uncomfortable thoughts were pricking my brain -- but I felt it would be better if I thought of him as just male, even though his figure was a man's. There was something in the wary way he watched my every move that made me think of a wild animal and I found I wanted to startle him as much as I wanted to startle a panther or a bear. I think the result would have been the same in each case.
I eased from my perch on the edge of the bed and walked as carefully as I could to the desk. I could feel his eyes -- they weren't so very frightening in the darkening room -- watching me as I slid into the desk chair and reached for the loaf, ripping a chunk out.
I sighed as I bit into it. I was quite hungry and if this was to be my last meal, then I couldn't think of a better thing to eat. The bread here far surpassed any that I had ever eaten in the States. It was good and I was surprised that I could think something so unimportant, all things considered. The cheese was mellow and paired well with the bread and for a few moments I felt relatively normal.
Then he came to stand by me; I tensed and felt my instincts screaming at me to run. I held my place and forced myself to be calm and continue eating as if I was unaffected by his nearness, although the bread turned to wet ash in my mouth. He seemed to watch me in fascination this time.
"Is that good?" he asked eying my dinner and I heard mild disgust.
I swallowed with some difficulty – the bread stuck in my constricted throat, "Yes, much better than what I could get at home. Would you like some?"
I knew he would refuse before he did, but couldn't help myself from asking. I didn't want to think about what he did eat and my hand trembled as I held the small portion toward him. He shook his head, eyes narrowing ever so slightly and I withdrew my hand.
"What are you?" I asked, suddenly braver then I knew I had any right to be. I was rested and now fed and so felt marginally better, at least well enough to be curious. Besides, why would he feed me if he was going to kill me soon?
He stared at me for a long while and I had never seen anything like it. He was absolutely motionless, like some marble statue. I waited and in time he settled himself in a chair I had not noticed before. It sat near the bed and he angled it toward me.
"Not human."
I snorted softly, "That's apparent. So, if you are not human, what are you?"
He smiled -- it didn't reach his eyes, "What do you think I am?"
I shook my head cautiously, "I couldn't begin to guess … well, I could, but I really don't want to … to say it. I know what I have seen, what I think you have inferred, but … it's impossible."
"Is it?"
He was toying with me now; I could feel it and I could hear that undercurrent of amusement in his voice. I sat back in the chair and folded my arms over my chest, careful to keep my eyes and face blank and waited. So did he.
After a long, pregnant pause, he spoke, "You are very stubborn." He seemed pleased to have discovered that about me. It was mildly infuriating.
"But not stupid." I snapped with more bravado than I felt. I knew my life was in his hands and I would probably do well not to annoy him.
He shook his head, "No, not stupid." he agreed. "We are …" he paused and his eyes tightened as he began again. "I am a vampire."
He said it almost defensively as if he were challenging me to deny it or argue it with him. I think my jaw dropped. I t wasn't that it was totally unexpected, I had just hoped so fervently that my speculations were wrong. I glanced down to the floor, nodding. There was nothing else to say.
As I turned those four little words over in my head, I knew it was true and he was not just some crazy wannabe. I had seen him move, heard his oh-so beautiful voice, looked into his eyes and every one of those facts screamed the truth at me. I felt my breath catch as I realized that I had known the truth before I had been ready to admit it, maybe in the seconds that I had first seen Heidi.
"Does that frighten you?" he asked casually, all defensiveness gone.
I had to hold back a manic laugh. Was that a stupid question? I smiled humorlessly and nodded as I looked up, "It terrifies me."
Something flickered in his fiery eyes and I couldn't be sure because of the dim, but I thought it was sorrow or regret. I tried to think of something to change the subject to.
"So … how old are you?" It was weak, but it was the best I could come up with.
His brows lifted, "I am roughly seven hundred years old."
My eyes widened and I nearly choked. He looked remarkably well for a seven hundred year old -- as if I knew what a seven hundred year old person should look like. This was definitely a first.
"I was twenty-six when I was changed. Clement V was Pope." He explained in answer to the thoughts that must have been plain on my face.
"And how does that happen, the change?" I asked, finding my voice only after I had learned that he had once been something normal like twenty-six.
"Very painfully." He murmured and I could hear the echo of the remembered pain in his low voice.
Unable to help myself, the tone of his voice called to my nurturing instincts, I leaned forward slightly, "I'm sorry."
His head cocked to the side, again reminding me of something wild, as he watched me. He seemed unsure as to how to accept my sympathy. "It was not your fault."
"No, but I am sorry it hurt."
And I was. How awful to have to go through something so horrible in order to become something so utterly feared and detested. I wrapped my arms around my chest, hugging myself.
"Why did you come here?" he asked suddenly. There was curiosity in his eyes now.
I fought back the tears that threatened to well up and swallowed the ache in my throat. "It was a present from my parents. I had always wanted to come to Italy and they surprised me with it. Though, I think now, it would have been better to have followed my first instinct and told them to use the money for something important."
"What could be more important then making their daughter happy?" He asked, genuinely confused at my words. He had misunderstood me.
I frowned, "Using it to help my brother or sister through school, an extra house payment, a new car. Right now, making their dead daughter happy should be the least of their worries." I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but still it crept in.
He frowned at my tone. "You are not dead."
I met his eyes and challenged, "Yet."
He didn't argue but changed the subject. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-one. I was attending a school back home and had one year left until graduation."
"And what were you studying?"
I paused as I thought of what my life would have been but for this sad situation. My stomach tightened as I thought of all I would miss: growing old, falling in love, having children, watching them grow. I brought myself back to reality when I saw that he was still patiently waiting for my answer.
"Education. I wanted to be a teacher. I love kids."
"That is good."
I nodded without commenting. Yes, I loved kids, but now would never have any of my own. I stared out the window unwilling to discuss more of the future I would never have and I think he sensed it.
"If you would like to wash up, that door,"— he gestured to a door on the east side of the room –"leads to a private bathroom. You will be undisturbed."
"Thank you." I felt my face redden -- a thing that hardly ever happened to me, in anticipation of my next question. "Do you, by chance, think, I could get a change of clothing? Mine are still at the hostel I was staying at."
I watched as his eyes wandered over me and tried to keep from blushing darker at such close inspection. I looked down at what I was currently dressed in. I was a mess.
My shirt was stained from my tears and both it and my jeans were wrinkled from having been slept in. I think I had been wearing them for twenty-four hours by now. And I think I was beginning to smell pretty gamey, too. My hair was a tangled mess and I am sure my face was swollen from crying. My cheeks felt stiff when I spoke and my eyes burned when I blinked.
"I think that can be arranged. If you feel comfortable," he rose more quickly then I thought possible and I gasped before I had a chance to stifle it. His eyes flicked to mine, "Sorry, I forgot that you are not accustomed to my movements."
He moved to the dresser at a more human speed and pulled out a folded piece of cloth, "As I was saying, if you feel comfortable, you may wear this after your shower until I have a chance to get you a new set of clothing."
He approached me slowly and laid the cloth, which turned out to be a man's t-shirt, on the arm of the chair in which I sat. "Everything you need should be in the bathroom."
I took the shirt and got up. He was standing far too close for me to feel really comfortable in being so exposed. I don't know why sitting helped dispel that feeling, but it did. I felt there was too much of me available to his sight when I was standing, it was unnerving. He saw my hesitation and took a step back to allow me room.
"Thanks." I said with a small smile as I passed him and crossed to the bathroom.
It was a relief to be shut away from his too direct stare and I leaned back on the door for a moment, just catching the breath I felt I hadn't taken since entering this accursed place.
I took my time cleaning up. The bathroom was as sparse as the bedroom. It was strictly there to be useful – as most men's things were. I found everything I needed easily enough and stood under the hot water until I was lobster red and wrinkly.
As I watched the water and soap swirl down the drain, I had the sudden silly wish to be a soap bubble; to just go down through the drains and eventually to the sea and be free. I no longer had any delusions of freedom. I knew I was caught and not going anywhere, except maybe to a grave.
I shook off my depressive thoughts as I stepped out of the shower and dried off. It wasn't helpful and only muddled my thinking. If I wanted to get out of this, I would have to be able to think and I didn't want to waste all my time with sleeping through the stress. I towel dried my hair and found a comb to run through it. Then I sighed and picked up the shirt.
It was an inoffensive piece of cloth, softer really then anything I had ever owned and it smelled so fabulous I could hardly break the contact with my nose long enough to slip it over my head, but the fact that I would be wearing something that belonged to a vampire next to my skin caused me to involuntarily shudder and I almost climbed back into my old clothes. It was nice of him to offer and I really didn't want to offend him, so I pulled it on and unhappily noted it fell only to mid-thigh.
I hoped it wouldn't take too long to get an extra set of clothing, at this point, I'd take a muumuu as long as it covered me. I tucked a strand of damp hair behind my ear and took a deep breath as I opened the door and left the relative safety of the bathroom.
The room was empty and I let out the breath I was holding. I didn't dare try the door. I didn't care if he locked me in or not, there was no way I was going to creep around while who knew how many vampires roamed the place. I was quite content to stay in the small room out of sight and hopefully out of mind. I laid my dirty clothes down on the desk chair and went to look out the window.
It was dark out now, but it was a velvet dark, so I knew it could not late yet. The stars were shimmering and a gentle breeze blew, playing with strands of damp hair and bringing with it the scent of flowers from a garden somewhere beneath me. I leaned further out, wondering what was planted there and if I could tell from the height I was at when something yanked me roughly back from the window.
My startled shriek was muffled against something rather cold and hard and for a moment I was afraid I was going to be crushed to death. Then he set me back from him, so he could see my face, but he did not relinquish his hold on my shoulders.
"What were you doing?" he demanded.
It was suddenly very difficult to breathe with him only inches from me, looking me straight in the eyes, his luscious scent invading my head, melting any will I might have had. I fought to hold onto the reason I had gone to the window in the first place, the reason I had leaned out.
"The … uh … room was empty … and I … uh … wanted to look outside."
It came out a bit garbled as I couldn't exactly remember how to form coherent sentences. This was the reason I should never look him in the face ... or allow him near enough to smell. I wanted to close my eyes and block the expression of fury on his handsome face, but I couldn't. The room spun a bit and I sagged against his hands unable to keep my feet.
He said nothing, but sat me on the bed and stepped back. With the distance, I remembered to breathe and the room stopped spinning. I also remembered why I had been at the window. I shook my head to clear it and fixed my eyes firmly on the floor.
"When I came out of the bathroom, the room was empty. I wasn't about to try my luck and go wandering around the place, so I went to look out the window. I could smell the flowers from the garden, and I thought I could tell what they were, but I didn't realize how high up we were."
My explanation came out as one long rush of words. My heart had yet to slow down and it was painfully deafening as it pounded in my ears. The memory of his scent, coupled with the sudden scare, made it impossible to relax even with the distance he had created.
He sat still listening to my heart as it calmed; the steady sound seemed to help him calm as well. "You weren't trying to get out?" He asked carefully.
My surprise at his words caused me to look up and I laughed – hard.
"Get out?" I asked not bothering to rein in my hysteria. "That way? Are you nuts? You would have had to scrape me up with a snow shovel. I know my time is short, but really, a suicide attempt? And that way?"
He glowered at me and I laughed harder. I wasn't sure why it struck me as hilarious. Maybe it was that he thought me more brave or stupid than I was, or maybe it was the fact that he seemed genuinely upset with the thought that I might try and end my own life, when he was just going to take it himself. Perhaps, he was just upset at the thought of so much blood going to waste.
That thought sobered me and my heart started racing again. I was going to have to get a grip on my thoughts.
He sat up, alarmed at the rapid pace of my heart, "What's wrong?"
I waved it away, "Just out of curiosity, why would you care if I killed myself at all? Was it the … blood?" I felt sick just saying the word.
His voice was harsh and he glared at me, "No."
My heart calmed at his response, "Then why?"
"It's suicide." He was matter of fact, sure of his answer.
"Suicide?" I asked again in disbelief. Could vampires have morals -- enough to condemn a human who wanted to kill herself to escape one of them? It sounded ridiculous.
His eyes narrowed at my incredulous tone, "I am not without a few ethics, Sarah."
It startled me that he would choose to say my name at that moment. It was if he was emphasizing the fact that he knew me. Like before it rolled off his tongue so beautifully, my breath caught in my chest.
"I have to admit that does surprise me." I breathed hoping to hear more of his philosophy, for more then one reason.
"Why do you think you are still alive?" he hissed, suddenly looking like the vampire he was.
I cringed then recovered.
"Okay, thank you. You're parents were saints to teach you the Judeo-Christian philosophy of 'thou shalt not kill'."
It was sarcastic and hurtful and spiteful. I knew it as I said it, but I was frustrated and angry and tired of being frightened.
"Go to sleep, Sarah." He ordered.
I bit back my retort, though it must have showed in my eyes as I glared at him.
"For heaven's sake, woman, will you try my patience further?" his voice was the loudest I had heard it and the half snarl – which is really bizarre to hear coming from a human mouth, was strange and intensely terrifying.
I rocked back a few inches, almost as if he had slapped me and sat, I am sure with my glazed deer-in-the-headlights look. My heart stuttered and I shivered, instantly drenched in a cold sweat.
He sighed and lowered his head, breaking eye contact, "I'm sorry, Sarah. Please, go to sleep. No more questions tonight."
I nodded and eased myself back, curling into my fetal position as I had done before. I clamped my eyes shut and prayed that sleep would find me soon. Unfortunately, I had slept too long during the day and I was too wired to even pretend to think calm thoughts. The pounding of my heart and my ragged breathing gave me away.
Soon though, I heard the first soft strains of Beethoven's, Moonlight Sonata, filling the air. I turned my attention to that and reached greedily for it. I remembered having learned long that Beethoven wrote this particular composition for a woman he loved. That thought comforted me enough that I was able to find the darkness and allow it to overtake me.