16 February 17--

My darling Emma,

As always, your letters are a sight for these sore-eyes. Daily I look forward to hearing from you and your progress in school. I am glad to hear that you have come to enjoy arithmetic, though I'm sorry that French is still a chore. Undoubtedly a little more practice would do you well, so cheer up, dear sister. I know you have been the smarter of us. How is Ms. Katherine? It must be difficult to be running a boarding school all on her own now that her father is gone, and you say that she has taken in two more girls? It is beyond doubt that the woman is a saint, and you may tell her that I said that.

(Several paragraphs have been omitted because of ridiculous length).

These past few days have been difficult. The work is hard and the hours long, but do not fear for me. There is always enough bread to eat and even on some good days, one of the lads would shoot a deer. We like to roast over the fire, though some fellows prefer it stewed. But those days are far and few between. We are here in this forsaken land to labour, after all.

Enclosed is a ten pence that I won from one of the lads the other day. Now, I can imagine you frowning over that sentence, and I will not stop you from doing so. Gambling is tempting the devil himself and is an activity that no respectable, sensible young man should engage in. I make no excuses for this, my dear Emma, and thus I cannot bear to splurge this on myself. I only ask that you buy yourself something nice with my ill-gotten gains – like a nice pencil, or maybe a pair of stockings – and think of your scoundrel of a brother.

Without a doubt, I miss you greatly, dear Emma. As we work in these dreary woods, I think constantly of you and of the happier memories we had. I'm saving up the best that I can and am awaiting opportunities to go further west. Most men say that it is dangerous out there, thick with savages, unpredictable weather and dangerous creatures. I sadly do not heed them, for I am foolish, young and ambitious. We will find that home we've be looking for out there, Emma. Just think of it! A plot of land, all for ourselves. We could rear cows, sheep, chicken, anything you want! Once I get that land, Emma, I will send for you. But until then, I hope that you can continue your studies in Brighton as long as possible. It's not easy to find a school for girls here in America – at least, from what I've heard. I never had the opportunity to learn how to read and write, so digest those books, my dear Emma, and maybe one day you can teach me. Maybe you could even be a teacher yourself and start a school for girls here! Who can say?

Keep me in your prayers, my dear Emma. The Lord knows I need them.

Affectionately yours,

Jack

"You'd better have not added anything odd in it."

The younger lad holding the pen sent a smirk to his customer. "Aw, don't you worry, Mr. Overland. You can trust me."

'Mr. Overland' drew himself up straight, sniffing doubtfully as the boy began to fold up his letter, slotting it into the envelope, folding in it the ten pence as well.

"If the money goes missing, I'll know about it," Jack warned the boy.

"Of course, Mr. Overland," the lad said, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. There was no way that Jack could make sure that he didn't snitch the money for himself, because he couldn't read nor write, and young Bernie was the only one in the lumber camp was willing to do both for him. Once a return letter from Emma came, the boy could just lie about its contents and there was no way for Jack to know what was really there or not. He could only hope that by giving the boy a little change that he could buy his honesty.

"Address it to the same place as always. Here." He dropped the coins in the boy's hands. "For the postage. You can keep whatever's left."

The young urchin's eyes widened with glee when the metal fell into his hands. "I'll do that, Mister Overland," he told the older boy with a bit too much eagerness. "You have a good evening, sir." Young Bernie then turned on his heel, picking up his lantern on his way out of camp, whistling as he moved into the forest.

"Be careful!" Jack called. "There'd dangerous beasts out there."

The lad paid him no heed, just plunging into the darkness. The older boy just shook his head.

"Overland!" He heard a call from the cluster of tents that had been a distance from the camp fire. The lanky lad turned his head accordingly and found the one calling him was one of his fellow lumberjacks. "We're going to start another game soon. Want to join?"

"Thank you, Wilson," the boy answered politely, for he had learned that it was stupid to be rude to men that were twice his age and strength. "But I think I will turn in early tonight."

"You sure, lad?" The bearded man raised his tin mug of beer to his lips, gulping down some of the liquid before addressing him once again, "Owens bought swig tonight, on the house. Don't you want a taste of it at least?"

"The offer is generous, truly." Jack smiled, before faking a yawn. "But I'm afraid I can barely-" he yawned again, making it larger and more dramatic than his previous "-keep my eyes open."

"Alright. You get some shut eye then, lad." Wilson then returned back into the tent, where rowdy voices emerged from. Jack let out a breath, glad to have escaped that. It wasn't that he minded having a free drink or two, but he knew that he wasn't a very good gambler and if he wanted to save up money, he best be more judicious in how he chose to spend the little he had.

The moon had appeared, but it could barely be seen under the thicket that the campsite was constructed under. Jack had to pick up lantern before heading towards his own camp. As he walked down the beaten dirt-path, he glanced at the tents that had been erected in between the trees and he sighed. He had never intended to come to the New World at all, but after his mother had passed away, there prospects for income in England were worse than ever. Emma had thankfully been taken in by Ms. Katherine – bless her soul – but there were no such equivalent for a lad on the cusps of manhood. Don't get him wrong – there was work back in Hampshire, but the pay was pittance and the work was tough. At least, that's what Jack thought when he had stowed away on that ship that first took him to New England. Now he was here, in an unknown woods with men that he didn't know, working himself to the bone in hopes of finding paradise. A year had gone by and he had celebrated his seventeen birthday alone. The dream home was nowhere in sight, but Jack did not allow himself to doubt. He couldn't afford to, now that he had come this far.

As he moved towards his own allocated tent – shared with another two hairy and non-too fragrant workers – he couldn't help noticing an odd scuffling noise. Jack raised his head, looking out into the forest as far as the lantern would let him. There was nothing in particular that caught his eye, so he dropped his arm, shaking his head at himself as he lifted the flap of the tent.

Then, he heard a cry – a cry that sounded like it was from a child.

The boy immediately dove into the tent, which was fortunately empty, and reached for the first rifle that he could find. He would apologise to the fellow would owned it later, but right now, there were more important things to do.

He dived into the shadowed woods, rifle in one hand and lantern in the other. He wasn't sure what he was looking forward for, so he called, "Bernie! Where are you? Bernie!"

There was a scuffling sound coming from his right, so he dashed downwards it, pushing past the foliage, hoping against hope that he would reach the lad in time.

"Bernie! Where are you? Ber-"

He stopped short, his voice torn from his throat. Against the orange glow from his dim lantern, he could make out the body of the boy who had been whistling just minutes ago in cheer. Jack darted forward, dropping the lantern onto the ground as he sank to his knees, shifting the boy's limp form. Horror sank in like a rock in the ocean.

Blood - thick, crimson and viscous - dripped from Bernie's neck, soaking into the dirty white torso. His skin was pale, cold and clammy, and his eyes were dropped shut. The blood-stained letter was clasped between his unmoving hands.

It was then that Jack noticed an odd scar on the boy's neck. He picked up the lantern and held it over the dead boy's head. It was two small holes, almost like a puncture mark.

Drip.

Something wet splattered onto Jack's hand. Thinking it was a raindrop, he wiped against his sleeve. It took his a while to realise that he had just added a scarlet mark to his shirt.

Drip.

He looked up and saw a crouched figure hunched in branches above him, licking its lips. Lips wet with blood.

Drip.

He reached for his rifle at once, but the creature in the trees had already reached for him. Jack struggled, scuffled, fought with all of his might, but the creature had him pinned to the ground and it was cackling, screeching, laughing at his weakness.

Drip-drop.

Fresh blood splattered on his cheek as he grappled with the rifle. He fired straight through the creature's body, but it didn't even budge, just laughing screeching, howling like a beast in the moonlight.

Crunch! That was the sound of his arm snapping backwards as the creature pressed onto his elbow, and he screamed. Yet, pain incited fury and Jack, with might that he never knew that he possessed, kicked the creature off, shoving him in the dirt. Clutching his twisted arm, Jack reached for the rifle, only to remember that he couldn't fire it with only one hand.

The creature was back to its feet once again, and Jack was surprised to find that the creature was actually thin, lean, and standing perfectly straight on to feet. As the creature stepped closer towards him nearer the lantern, Jack gasped.

The creature was a human.

Or least, it would have looked like one, if it wasn't currently wiping blood from its mouth.

"S-stay back." Jack tried to crawl back, only to find that his back had hit a tree. He lifted the rifle with his only working hand as warning, though he could only use it like a club.

The creature didn't say anything, merely cocking its head at him, it wide eyes gleaming at him, taunting him.

He heard shouts in the distance. The men at the camp must have heard the gun shots. Good, help was on the way – if he could last long enough through it.

"Y-ou won't get away with this," he told the creature, grinning slightly despite the pain surging up his crooked arm.

The hard features of the creature – boy, it was so human-like that it continued to make his hair-stand – contorted into one of amusement. Then it parted its lips and, to his surprise, began to speak, "Do you know honestly think so?"

Jack's mouth fell open in shock.

And then the creature lunged at him.

~~~0~~~

Jack awoke to the sensation of his skin burning.

"Argggggghhhh!" He sat himself at once, his nostrils met with the scent of burning flesh. The sun, in all of its blazing glory, did not seem the slightest bit repentant about baking him alive. His exposed torso and arms screamed in furious agony as Jack wondered if the universe had decided to help Bunny to take vengeance.

Turning himself onto his stomach, and thus allow the tattered shirt still attached to his back to protect at least his chest, he clutched hazily against the fallen leaves and the broken brambles of the forest floor, trying to crawl himself under the shade. The stinging on his skin eventually subsided and he allowed himself to slump down in relief against the ground when he realised that his clothes were soaked.

In blood.

The memory of the night before rushed into head, making him groan. The reasons for him lying in dirt returned to him. Anna – oh, no, what had happened to her? And Elsa – oh, boy. She must think him a coward, or worse. He doubted that she was ever going to talk to him again. Not to mention, he had left home abruptly and on a bad note. The Guardians were going to mad and worried. He was probably going to be grounded for the rest of his miserable life – undead life. Whatever.

At least the blood was animal blood. Still, nice little mess he had gotten himself into.

It only got worse when he realised that there was an arrow pointing at his face. He didn't even need to guess the kind of wood the arrow was made of – he could feel its effects radiating straight off it. He craned his neck up and found himself staring at a pair of cold blue eyes, outlined by a mop of frizzled red hair.

"To your feet, bloodsucker."

~~~0~~~

20 Feb 17-

My dearest Emma,

Something terrible has happened. Something … I think it is best not to write it down here. All I can say is I have not been feeling well recently. The doctors cannot help me anymore – they have never seen a condition like mine. In fact, they tell me that by the time this letter reaches your hand, I may not be around here any longer.

As my time on this Earth is likely to be short, I only ask you, my darling Emma, to think well of me in the times that pass and study hard. When you come of age enough, marry a good man that can provide for you and keep you safe, the way your poor excuse of a brother never could. I am only sorry that I have nothing of worth to leave to you, and even more I regret that I will never get to see your face again.

I love you, Emma.

With all my affection and remorse,

Your Jack.

"Do you, Jackson Overland, admit your guilt to the murder of Bernard Wilkes?"

He coughed, one short one, then another one that broke into a throaty barrage. His entire body felt like it was on fire and he could barely put a coherent thought together.

"Your honour," he heard a deep voice speaking up. Where was he, anyway? In the corner of his vision, he noted the wooden benches and chairs, and the solemnly-dressed crowd of individuals sitting at him. Was he in a church? A schoolhouse? What was happening? "I do not think the defendant is capable of responding right now."

A courthouse. The courthouse in town – wasn't that quite a travel from the lumber house? How on Earth did he get there? He coughed again, just as fiercely and violently, and felt someone pass him a handkerchief. He nodded his thanks, but he couldn't speak.

"Perhaps we should postpone the trial," he heard the deep voice speaking once again. "Till the defendant is better."

"Your honour, you can't!" an shrill voice rang out. Jack managed to adjust his head in time to see a portly, shrunken-face man stand to his feet, red with anger. "If we allow post-pone the trial, we give this monster-" he shot a glare at Jack, making the boy shrink back – or he would have, if he had the strength for it – "more time to plot his treachery."

"Mr. Gibson." The judge, complete with white wig covering his head, frowned at the shrill-sounding middle-aged fellow. "As Mr. Leister had pointed out, the defendant is clearly unwell. He is in no shape to be 'plotting treachery', as you see."

The portly man snorted. "Don't be deceived, your honour. This weakness is just a farce – a deception that our monster has adopted to deceived us all."

Jack, whose blood was scorching more than ever, now boiled with rage. How dare this disgusting man disparage him like he was – he was –

The young man didn't know how he managed to get to his feet, since he couldn't even feel them, but he did, clutching against the table as he hollered, rasping with rage, "I am innocent!"

"Hah! He speaks after all!" the nasty prosecutor snarled contemptuously. "As you can see, your honour, the monster is more than fit to stand trial. His sickness is but a lie."

Jack could his entire face flush with heat, even as the rest of his body shuddered in cold. "Oh, you shut your mouth, you filthy-"

"Mr. Overland, calm yourself lest I hold you in contempt," the judge snapped sharply, but Jack hadn't noticed him speaking.

"-lousy-excuse of a-" an unexpected coughing fit then interrupted him, making him clutch his chest. The strength that had come to him left as suddenly as it came, and his buckling knees would have sent him collapsing onto the ground if someone had not caught him in time.

"Save your strength, Mr. Overland," a kindly voice. It was Dr. Laurens, who was the one who had treated him after the men at the camp had found him. Though he hadn't needed to, the doctor had followed him back to town and treated him in even after his transfer to prison. Dr. Laurens helped him back to his chair and Jack weakly allowed himself to recline. His eyes, now reddened and teary, fixed itself upon the prosecutor with hate and scorn.

"Forgive me if it isn't my place, Your Honour," the horrid Mr. Gibson spoke up once again, adjusting his frilly collar with an air of arrogance and self-righteousness. He stepped into the centre of the court room, turning about to face the jury. "You know the stories that have been coming from Salem," he said, stroking his oily beard. "Stories of dark creatures who have parade as respectable folk by day, but in the dark of the night, they become monsters. Child-eaters. Demon-worshippers. Blood drinkers."

A noticeable shiver spread around the room, with murmurs breaking out between pockets of people, forcing the judge to slam down the mallet several times to call the session back to order. Adjusting the ocular lens sitting on his nose, he peered down at towards the boy seated behind the table. "Are you, Jack Overland, guilty to the murder of Bernard Wilkes?"

The boy summoned all the strength he could straighten himself up his chair, barely able to focus his vision. Finally, just barely audible – "No."

"The creature lies, your Honour!" the whiny prosecutor declared, sparking an uproar behind. The judge began slamming the gavel down over and over, and each slam matched the hot throbbing that pressed against his skull.

"Mister Gibson!" He heard the judge shouting, "Do not let your preconceived notions and unproven accusations…"

Jack could hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest and he was panting. The noise flooding around him did not help matters at all. He hunched himself forward, groaning as sweat ran rivulets down his pale forehead. The only person to notice his struggle was the good doctor, who had leapt to his feet and grabbed his shoulder, asking him questions that Jack could not answer.

The boy coughed into the handkerchief he had been given, staining it red with his blood until he no longer had strength to hold it up to his mouth, until…

…until he realised he could no longer feel him heart thumping inside him.

When the defendant had suddenly slipped off his chair, slumped on the ground and unmoving like a marionette that had been released from its strings. Dr. Leister was the first to move. He placed against the unmoving chest of young man for a moment, before solemnly rising to his feet, declaring, "Mr. Overland is dead."

The courthouse erupted into an uproar once again.

~~~0~~~

He was made to wear a blindfold, and his hands were tied in front of him with what smelt and felt suspiciously like a wreath of garlic. His captor had nothing to say to him other than telling him to move forward and that if he tried any funny business, she would skewer him like a kebab. With the garlic clouding his senses and making his skin itch unbearably, Jack had no choice to comply.

It was perhaps a good fifteen minutes before she finally told him to stop. He felt his garlic hand-cuffs being removed, much to his relief as he began to scratch his hand.

"Hey, I didn't say that you move!" He felt the arrow tip poking him in the back.

"Fine, fine." Jack let his arms drop next to him. He did however start twitching his nose rapidly, hoping that he could somehow wiggle off his blindfold. It was an unsuccessful endeavour, but he did get a good whiff of the place and while it did smell rich in wood, it also had a hint of spice, old-blood, dust and … minted glossy paper?

He felt the arrow tip against his back relax, then started hearing muttered chants. He could hear her circling him as she repeated the muttered words, and he was starting to get a little impatient. Bursting out – "Are you done?"

"Shut up!" She hissed, poking him with the arrow. Ow! She had no idea how much that hurt, had she? Or she did know and she was a savage, unfeeling beast. "You're breaking my concentration."

Jack let out a low grumble, but he let her finish up all her chanting and eventually she did say, "Okay. You can take off the blindfold."

He ripped it with more force than he really needed and found himself in a candle-lit cabin. Leaves and dirt littered the creaky floorboards. Shelves were full of books and frosted glass vials. The spices he had smelled must have come from the earthenware pots that sat on the table, labelled in cursive writing - 'Nightshade', 'Wolfsbane', 'Blood-root' were some. His eyes then darted to his captor, who stood with bow in hand; smallish, teenaged, but proud, and very, very redheaded.

"You're a witch." It wasn't a question.

Though short, she did try to look down at him. "You're very astute. Funny. I used to think bloodsuckers were stupid."

"The correct term is 'vampire', thank you. Bloodsuckers makes us sound like leeches and why-" he pulled against his feet, which somehow seemed glued to the floor "-can't I move from this spot?"

"Because I hexed you." She nodded to his feet and then he looked down. Around him was a mandala-like circle drawn in chalk, with various symbols patterned around it. Small candles also sat on the pointed ends of the strange circle. Noting his wide eyes and the way he dropped his jaw, she sighed and shook her head. "I take it back. Leeches are stupid."

"Now you're calling us leeches. Great." He rolled his eyes as he tried fervently to swing himself off the ground, but for all his supposedly inhuman strength did not manage to. He then lifted his head towards the witch, who was toying idly with her bow as she watched him. "Why am I here?"

"Because I want to ask you some questions. Cooperate, and I might not kill you." She let out a contemptuous sniff at him as she eyed his bloodstained clothes. "Even if I would be doing a service to society."

"Yeah, like you can make me do anyth-" he broke off what he spotted an chemistry textbook lying on the table next to a stack of dusty leather volumes. His eyes then fell to the foot of the table, where a school bag sat, strewn a rather disordered manner. A school jumper also hung off the rickety chair, with the school crest just in line with his vision. "Hey, you go to Burgess High?"

"What? How did-" she raised her bow at him, flabbergasted and furious "-so you're a psychic too, hey? Well, keep our of my head, you de-"

"I'm not reading your mind." He then noted a keychain hanging off the bag and tilted his head to get a better to look at the name written on it. "Merrr-ride-ah? What kind of name is?"

"It's Meh-reh-da, and I told you to stop it." She fitted the arrow on the bow, as crossed a road junction.

"I'm not reading your mind! I can't read minds!" Jack protested, waving his hands uselessly in the air. "It's not my fault you leave your stuff lying in the open like that." He jerked his chin towards the mountains of school stuff that she had left lying around.

The witch followed the direction of his gesture, the indignance draining out of her face. She even looked a little sheepish. "Oh."

"Actually, come to think about it, I think I recognise you." He squinted at her. "Were you at the bake-sale yesterday?"

"Noooo," she drawled out in a way that clearly indicated that she was lying.

"You asked me if we sold enhancements with our brownies," Jack recounted, giving her a critical look.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're a terrible liar."

"Shut up, bloodsucking leech!" 'Mer-reh-da' – or Merida, by how it was spelt on the keychain – stomped her foot at him, face red with anger. Lowering her bow, she marched over to the shelf of spices, picking up one of earthenware pots and opening it up. From it, she scooped a small bit of powder into her hand, clenching it tight. Replacing its lid, she walked over straight up to him and without warning, blew the rust-coloured dust into his face.

"What the-" he coughed, unintentionally inhaling the particular "-what the heck are you-"

"Grounded leaves of the Moon Tree." The witch then gazed intently forward at him as she proceeded to wipe the remnant of the powder onto her pants. It then occurred to him how odd it was for a teenager high schooler to be wearing a tank top, pants and a medieval cape. It was just – well – weird. "Where you were last night?"

"On a date," he found the words tumbling out against his will. But though Jack tried to hold back, details came pouring out. "It's Valentine's Day."

"With whom?"

"Elsa Arendelle." He hoped that she didn't happen to know the blonde.

"Where?"

"At the cinema." How were the words coming out of his mouth? What was in that powder?

"Is that the only place you went on your date?"

He bit his tongue, but that didn't keep his mouth from chatting. She must have hoaxed him with that blasted powder. This was why Bunny had always warned him against witches. They were always a problem. "I sent her back to her home."

"Where?"

This was a breach of privacy, but of course, nothing was right about this picture. He was being interrogated by a witch who also happened to a teenager and a schoolmate! Hello, universe! How was this right? "Fjord Avenue."

The name of the drive made the witch's sapphire eyes widen with interest – hmm, blue eyes, strange feature for a witch. She immediately hopped over to the table, picking up the school bag and ruffling through it. She then produced the town newspaper – The Burgess Bugle - and held it out in front of him. "Do you have anything to do with this?"

His instinct was deny it, because he was a Guardian and he knew better than to call attention to himself unnecessarily, but then he read the title, 'BRUTAL ATTACK ON HIGH SCHOOL GIRL NEAR HOME.'

It was accompanied a picture of the Arendelle house, with the sheriff's car and an ambulance parked by it. In the corner of the picture, he could see the back of Elsa's blonde head. She was still garbed in the dress she had been wearing during their date and his stomach knotted itself up as it occurred to him how it was thoroughly soaked in blood. A shawl had been placed over her shoulders and it hit that had he stayed with her, he would have had the opportunity place his own jacket – the one that he had ripped to shreds – over her shoulders. That had been the precise reason he had worn the coat in the first place. But no, he had run from the scene and in her eyes, it must have looked like cowardice.

That wasn't the part that bothered him the most though – no. Elsa had shared to him once a secret that she didn't even tell her sister, and it pained him to know that she must have been reliving the helplessness and anguish that she had felt upon witness her parents' death. The news article gave no information about Anna's condition, but Jack hoped against hope that she had survived. If she hadn't, if she didn't, he didn't know if Elsa could take it. It was unmistakeable how much the girl he so admired loved her sister.

The powder compelled him to admit, "Yes."

"So you were there?" Merida's brow shot up alarmingly high.

"I didn't see the attack happen, but I arrived soon after it did with Elsa." Inwardly, Jack cursed himself. With his heightened senses, he should have felt, heard or smelt something amiss before the scream emerged from Anna's lips. He should have felt the danger tingling in the air, maybe caught Anna's rapid heartbeat, or heard the cruel sneer of the attack, but he didn't. He had been so enraptured by his date that his attention to anything else had been cut off. If only – if only – he could, for Elsa's sake, he could –

"Were you responsible?"

For not preventing it? Yes. For doing it, however – "No."

"Really?" The witch turned the newspaper towards herself, casting him a sceptical glance before beginning to read out, "Despite the amount of blood at the scene, the victim had been found to have sustained only a small injury on her neck – two puncture marks at her artery. This has led some to call the still-at-large assailant as 'Dracula', with how the markings had been reminiscent the mythical blood-drinker." She halted them, gazing pointedly at Jack.

The words were ringing in Jack's head. Two puncture marks. Two puncture marks.

There were no other vampires in Burgess. The Guardians had searched the town thoroughly before settling here, in part for security and in part out of courtesy. Some vampires were fiercely territorial about their 'feeding grounds' and the last thing the Guardians wanted to do was settle somewhere where they would have eventually face off their blood-sucking brethren due to difference in diet. That could only mean one thing.

One of the Guardians must have tried to come after him last night, after his fight with Tooth, and somehow along the way lost it - the way he had lost it with the various animals he had sucked dry in the forest the night before.

It was really his fault after all.

"I need to go home," Jack gasped at last, more to himself than to her. When he noted her expression of askance, he repeated, louder now, "I need to get home. Now."

The witch looked at him in surprise, but made no move to set do as he requested.

"Listen to me," he was pleading, but times were desperate. If she were an older wiser witch, she would know better than to turn a death ear. But this witch was clearly young, by appearance and simply by the way she carried herself, and she wasn't aware of the urgency.

Licking his lips, Jack started to explain, "Human blood is incredibly addictive to vampires – incredibly addictive. If the vampire behind this is someone that I know, he – or she-" guilt shot through his system. If it was Tooth, he would blame himself "- hasn't tasted human blood for a long time, and leaving that person alone is going to start a killing spree. If you want to save this town- " he leaned forward to grab her hands, making her yelp in surprise and regret that she stood too near him "-then set me free."

~~~0~~~

22 May 17--

My darling Emma,

It's been a while since you've heard from me. In fact, it is a miracle that I can write you anything at all.

The most peculiar thing has happened. I wish I could explain it, but I do not know how. My comprehension on the matter itself is weak. All I can say is that I have never felt so…so…ALIVE…

When he had awoken, he had found himself buried under a sheet of ice. Indeed, a rather thick sheet of ice, for the cold season had come and frozen the lake over.

Did he mention that he was in that very frozen lake?

His legs had been tied to a giant stone at the time, which had undoubtedly dragged him to the bottom of said lake. He had however easily snapped the rope that bound him to his weight and swam immediately to the surface. It did not occur to him until much later how strange it was that he had survived under water for so long and at such freezing temperatures. It hadn't really hit him either when his body collided against the icy-surface, it should have really hurt, but it didn't. Instead, the ice above him cracked, splitting apart and letting him leapt out of the waters, out of the ice. He coughed the water out of his lungs, allowing himself to lie awhile on the ice, with the shards of splintered ice surrounding his head like a crown. He gazed up in the cold night sky and saw the moon shining down on him. It was almost comforting, except that he didn't know what he was doing here.

Eventually, he managed to pull himself to his feet, and then he noticed something when he glanced down at his reflection on the ice.

His hair was pure white.

Jack ran his hand threw his fair locks, aghast that such an odd change had occurred to him. He continued toying it with it as he made his way off the ice lake, his bare feet taking him to the solid ground instead. He then saw the sign by the lake, which read, 'Witch's Pond.'

He had heard of this place. The men at the lumber camp had told him what it had been used for, but he had thought they had been joking. Surely there were no such things as witches, and surely the people of this small settlement didn't really throw people into lakes.

Apparently, he thought wrong.

He glanced down to his uncovered feet, where one of his feet still had a circle of rope around it. He knelt down and pulled at it. To his surprise, it fell off without resistance. Blinking in wonder, he straightened himself back to his feet.

It then occurred to him that despite him being soaked to the skin on a cold, winter's night, he wasn't shivering. He didn't even feel cold.

He was however famished.

He had questions, of course. He had remembered blacking out at the court trial. So they must have finished it up, declared him guilty and decided to execute him by tossing him into a cursed lake. He was surprising indifferent to the whole chain of events, with the only matter really bothering him was the fact that he was still alive.

He was really, really hunger. He needed something to bite – something to drink ...

Oh, he must be thirsty. Hmm. Funny. He never had trouble differentiating hunger from thirst before.

He didn't know why, but he could see a cottage, deep in the woods. It was very far away, but for some reason, he could sense it, and even he could even tell the number of people in it. An old man, an old woman, a middle-aged man and…a cat. Funny how specifically he knew all those people to be there.

He began trudging in the direction of the cottage, hoping that the family would take pity on him and give him something to eat and drink.

As it turned out, the family did manage to help him out. They provided him plenty to eat and drink, but doubtfully in the way that they expected to. He left their house before dawn, his mind still in a haze and his clothes drenched blood. He was still thirsty though, and from what the family had told him, they had some neighbours living living in the north. Maybe he could pay those neighbours a visit and see if they could help fix the appetite that he had worked up overnight.

~~~0~~~

"Oh my gosh." The witch stared at the mansion. She was still wearing the tank top and the pants, though fortunately she had the sense to lose the cape. Her quiver was not looped over her back, but to her waist, and her bow was still in her hand. He noted that before she let him go that she had slipped a can of garlic powder in her belt and tied a wild rose to her throat. "You guys are the rich people who live on Lake Road."

"Yes." Jack had not wanted her to show her his home – he hardly knew anything about her, after al, and it was unwise to allow a witch to know the location of his safe haven – but she hadn't given him much choice on the matter, with how his hands had once again been bound in the wreath of garlic and the Mountain Ash arrow that she was pointing at his back. "Now can you please take this off me?"

She removed his binds and Jack massaged his wrists gratefully. He then swallowed as he took a step towards his home, but paused when he noticed that she hadn't followed him. "Don't you want to come in?"

"A house full of bloodsuckers?" The witch called Merida cocked a brow at him. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Jack shrugged. He had no idea why she had followed him anyway.

Summoning all the courage he could muster, he went down the driveway, up the porch and turned the knob. It was unlocked, so he let himself right in. He didn't make it past the entrance hallway before he was abruptly yanked up forward by his collar.

The one responsible was growling at him, rage contorting his already ugly (at least in Jack's opinion) features as he hollered into his hypersensitive ears, "I hope you're happy, you worthless twat!"

And then his body picked up and flung into the wall. Jack let out a yell, more of surprise than pain though, and he let out an ungraceful 'ommphf!' when he landed on the floor. Unsurprisingly, the wall had earned a large crack, and the floorboards had snapped from the impact of his weight, but Bunny hadn't seemed to notice the wreckage he had just inflicted, leaping forward to the boy to pick him up again.

"You imbecilic moron!" He was tossed down the corridor, this time colliding with a Ming Dynasty vase. "You vapid viper!" Up he was before he could protest, and he was slammed straight up in the ceiling, making bits of the it fall off. "You indescribably intolerable piece of excrem-"

"Bunny!" A loud holler came down from the corridor, and Jack, lying on the ground in the debris, allowed himself to let out a breath he had been holding. As he sat himself up, brushing off the dust that had crumbled onto his clothes and hair. Bunny was still mad with rage, by his expression, but the large Russian vampire was fortunately strong enough to hold him back against the wall. "Calm down."

"You calm down!" was the incensed holler. "You think that I'm about to him get away with this? He destroyed it for us here, North! He's ruined everything because of his stupid teenaged hormones!"

"Ruined it?" Jack shot back, incredulous. He got to his feet, still shaking the dust off his clothes as he approached Bunny, as dangerous as it was. "Look, I might have overestimated my self-control, but I didn't-"

"Oh, you didn't, did you?" The older vampire's eyes glittered dangerously at him. "Don't lie to us, Jack. What you did to that poor girl – you'll be lucky if she doesn't die!"

All this accusatory talk was making his insides boil. "I'm NOT lying! I wasn't the one who attacked the girl. I-"

"I told you, Jack." The voice was quiet, but despite the clamour, he heard it anyway. He saw Tooth standing at the walkway that led to the kitchen. Though her expression was placid, there was a grimness in tone that told him how truly furious she was. "I warned you that your emotions could lead to hurting people you cared about. But you didn't listen, did you?" A sharp, humorless laugh escaped her lips. "No, you just went it your own way."

Sandy, who had silently manoeuvred himself around the more emotionally-wraught members of his family, appeared next to Jack's side and proffered to him a glass of blood tea. Jack sincerely felt that it wasn't the right time to being eating anything, but Sandy signed at him, "Just drink it. It'll make you feel better."

So Jack took a long sip of it, sucking up all the liquid with a single breath, then handed the empty glass back to the very impressed Sandy. By then, Bunny had composed himself somewhat and North released him, but the former still held a dark glare towards Jack. As for Tooth, she was leaning against the door frame that led to the kitchen, just staring at him.

The white-haired boy finally began, "I wasn't the one who attacked Anna."

"But it happened along Fjord Avenue," Bunny protested, scowling more fiercely than ever. "That's your girl's house, isn't it? I recognised it, because I drove her back the other night."

"She probably cared about you, and you betrayed her," Tooth intoned darkly in the background.

"I was out with Elsa! Anna's her sister!" Jack yelled, gritting his teeth together before he'd be tempted throw in some swear words. Forcing himself to exhale instead, he said in a more level voice, "I was out with Elsa the whole night. When we got nearer the house, Anna, Elsa's sister, was already bleeding on the ground. Elsa went to help her sister and I did what you guys told to do-" he twisted his hands together, feeling surprisingly nervous "-I ran. This -" he gestured to his blood-stained dress shirt "-is all animal blood. I swear."

The Guardians exchanged glances with one another, as if holding a silent discussion about the truthfulness of his claims. Finally, North, the de facto leader, spoke, "We believe you, Jack."

"But if you're not responsible the attack on the girl," Tooth put in, "-and we aren't either, then..."

She left it hanging, because there was only one plausible suspect to the crime.

Eventually, it was Sandy who said it through the gestures of his hands, "It seems that there are other vampires in Burgess."

~~~0~~~

My darling Em-

My dearest-

My beloved-

Dear… Emma,

I cannot bring myself to call yourself mine any longer. Indeed, if you knew of what I have done – what I have become – you would not call me your brother either…

It seemed that there were other vampires in London.

"This feels wrong."

"In what way?" one of his companions asked him, emptying the wine down his throat. Jack blanched at the thought that such pricy item be wasted so frivolous on one who could not, or would not, savour it.

He had come across the duo after returning to England. Unlike the time when he had stowed himself away on the ship, he had been able to pay for an actual ticket, thanks to coin he had plundered from his deceased prey. He had felt guilty about it, since all his life he had been taught the evils of thievery. But he had also been taught not to kill.

Upon his return, Jack had managed to rent himself a respectable apartment in London, under the name 'Jack Frost'. With the bit of money in his pocket, he had purchased himself new clothes, complete with cane and hat. In the eyes of those around him, he appeared to be a respectable fellow of respectable income. This led to a number of the city's well-to-dos to invite him for their dinner parties, where they proceeded to politely interrogate him and his source of wealth. Never had he lied so much as he did in those few weeks after returning to London, so by the end of the day, the latest gossip of the idle rich was about the mysterious young man with white hair, who though shy, was a delightful character from America, who had come into a bit of money from lumber business and was travelling around England.

It wasn't too bad, but after the third week of his stay, the mad hunger that had consumed him since his untimely death had begun its gradual return. As he swallowed the fine, human sustenance his hosts had offered, he found his gaze falling longingly at their necks and too often he had missed whatever was being said to him because his ears had been filled the sounds of their beating heart. He had been confounded about how to solve his problem, until he discovered that there were others like him. They even had a name for themselves.

Nosferatu, which meant 'unclean spirit. Otherwise known as 'vampires'.

"She's a mother, for goodness sake," he hissed at his two companions. "She has two children to look after!"

He wasn't sure what was the nature of their relationship to one another – siblings, lover, heck – they might even be parent and child. In fact, they were not the kind of people he would like to keep his company at all, but he was hungry, and the two of them promised that they had a foolproof way to quench his thirst.

Apparently, their idea of 'foolproof' involved targeting impoverished widows, or any poor soul the world didn't care about.

"You appear rather tensed, Mr. Frost." The female of the pair smiled at him, drawing nearer to him as she found him fascinating. Delilah was a very pleasant looking young woman - beautiful, some might say, but increasingly Jack suspected there must be something about vampirism that made one more attractive. When he had managed to get a good, sober look at his altered appearance, he realised that it had improved drastically. It was no wonder the upper class throng had been so eager to be acquainted with him, especially the unmarried daughters. Now though, he had a feeling that the pleasing appearances served a far more sinister purpose.

"It's not right," he insisted in a low voice, just as Mrs. Bennett came shuffling back, smiling in delight at her unexpected aristocratic guests.

"I'm sorry that that this isn't much, good sirs and madam," she beamed at that while balancing to dishes in her hand. One held a pie, and the other a load of bread, and the guilt that had been rap in his heard became stronger and harder. "But this visit was so unexpected. Why! I never would have guessed-"

"Oh, please, Mrs. Bennett," the female vampire let out a little laugh, waving her silk gloved hand at the older woman. "You are too kind to indulge us."

"Please, madam," the male of the vampire, Victor, imitated the cordial manners of his counterpart, making Jack feel sick inside at how false this entire act was, "do not worry yourself on our account. In fact, do sit with us. We would like to speak with you."

"Oh." Mrs. Bennett's cheeks turned pink with surprise. In her youth, Jack suspected, she might have been quite a lovely woman. "Well, alright then." Straightening out her best apron – which itself had a patch on one corner, the woman sat herself down with her esteemed guest, though keeping herself a distance from them and bowing her head slightly. "What could I help you with, madam?"

His two companions began chatting lightly with the woman, inquiring about her life, her husband and her children. From an outsiders' view, they were the surest example of gentility and kindness, showing such amicability to a woman certainly below their station. Mrs. Bennett seemed very pleased about the generosity of attention she received from her guests and with how civilised his fellow vampires were, Jack hoped that the plot had been forgotten.

He had hoped too soon, for without warning, Victor leapt out of his seat, latching himself to the neck of his humble hostess. The victim screamed, of course, but she rapidly silenced when the female vampire launched her self forward and covered her mouth with her claw-like hands. Jack couldn't bring himself to look at them feasting so delightfully, so he averted his gaze and tried to distract himself from the sweet scent that filled his nostrils.

The sounds of struggling mixed with slurping filled the tensed air, accompanied by chortles of delight. The white-haired boy clenched his fist and jaw, summoning all of his willpower to not look – to not even consider the act. His resolve was slipping, and his body was crying for sustenance, so he spat out, "This is wrong."

The slurping sounds stopped, and though he didn't look their way, he could feel the eyes of the vampirific pair burning onto him. Victor then inquired, "Pardon?"

"We shouldn't taken advantage of her courtesy like that," Jack explained, tightening his fist harder than before. He could hear the blood dripping on the floor and resisting was actually hurting him. He grit his teeth and tried to think of something – anything that would take him far away from the pull. "It was wrong."

"So you think we're wrong," the female of the duo interjected. Jack couldn't help but turn to her when she spoke, and he saw the blood dripping down the side of cheek. She wiped it off with inside of her sleeve, where it wouldn't be seen at first notice. She narrowed her eyes at it him. "So you think it's wrong to survive?"

"Yes, no, well,-" he fumbled over himself, emotions in turmoil and oh, that smell, "-you could at least try not to enjoy it so much." He allowed himself only a fleeting glance at poor Mrs. Bennett, whose best apron was now drenched with her own blood. Blood sucking with never a clean activity.

"Not enjoy it?" Th male of the duo repeated with disgust. "My good fellow, would you rob a poor man the joy of drinking his soup after a hard day's work?"

"Or a lady from savouring her tea?" Delilah put in.

"No, but those activities don't involve hurting anyone," Jack protested.

"Oh, Mr. Frost, you are a naïve one!" The female vampire let out a shrill little laugh while exchanging knowing looks with her companion. "You honestly think that it's possible to do anything without hurting anyone?"

"For one to enjoy, another must suffer," intoned Victor, the way the reverend would read holy texts. "After all, do you think the poor man had earned his soup fairly? No, he would have robbed his friend so that he could afford it!"

"And the lady could only drink her fine tea because her husband had sold a dozen slaves to Americas!" his companion supplied with gusto.

"In the end, my good fellow, there is no true fairness." The male vampire wiped his fangs with a napkin, in a way that could almost be proper had his collar not been stained with the blood of his victims. "If you want to win, someone has to lose."

"I don't want to win," Jack muttered, twisting his hands together. "I just want-" he stopped himself. It was a desire to close to his heart – his now-unbeating heart – for him to share with this callous, amoral duo.

"Suit yourself, Mr. Frost," Deliliah said, leaning back towards the deceased victim, her fangs protruding out further as she prepared to resume her feasting. She paused however, adding, "Of course, even if you stop yourself now, was stopping you from feeding on the next blood-bag that comes your way?"

All his morals – all the good things his poor mother had instilled him – stirred a fuss in the back of his head, but their cries were deafened by the cold logic that had been presented to him, and the animalistic hunger that was boiling inside of him.

And then –

"Mama?"

The girl at the doorway was dressed in shabby white-gown. She was not very pretty, at best six years old. She was a short, scrappy thing. Though her hair was blond and her eyes were blue, she reminded him distinctly of Emma.

She took one look at the scene before her, and opened her mouth to scream.

Delilah however was too quick for that, lifting a hand before the girl. "Now, now, don't cry."

The girl's mouth was still open, but scream she did. Jack's eyes widened, confused. How was she doing this?

"Your poor mama is very ill," the woman – if a creature like her could be called one – went on, shaking her head sadly. "Would you like to see her?"

The girl had closed her mouth by now, and nodded.

"Come, then," she beckoned the child, smiling so sweetly that ill-intent could barely be seen. But Jack could see the greed gleaming in her eyes. "I won't bite."

When the child started moving towards Delilah, something inside him snapped and before Jack knew it, he flying across the table towards the evil temptress.

At the end of the night, Jack learned that even a vampire could not kill a vampire. He did however manage to hurt the duo quite badly, such that they fled snarling and cursing at him.

He however learned that rage was an emotion that blinded, and the rage of a vampire was far worst than any kind seen by a human. He spent the rest of night sobbing over the unmoving body of the little girl, whose neck was marked by his very own teeth.

~~~0~~~

"Stay in the car."

"But-"

"North's right, Jack. It's a hospital. You're still not ready for this."

The only hospital in Burgess was an hour's drive from their place, and they had gone down to place as soon as Jack changed out his bloodied shirt. Apparently, he had woken up in the forest in the morning, so after the whole debacle of being kidnapped by the witch (he hadn't mentioned her to the Guardians yet. No point worrying over nothing) and discussing (or really, arguing) with his family, it was mid-afternoon when they had arrived.

'They had arrived' didn't mean that they arrived at the hospital. Oh, no. They had stopped on the open, empty, forest flanked road about half-mile from the hospital, parked the car on the side and decided to walk the rest of the journey. They also decided to dump Jack in that car, because they knew that he didn't know how to drive it. They took all the umbrella for their walk and confiscated his hoodie, so there was no way he could follow after them without burning himself in the hot blazing sun.

"What about you? You're the one always saying that that walking amongst bleeding people is walking into the fiery hell of temptation," Jack retorted, folding his arms. He didn't care if it made him look like a petulant child – they were already treating him like one.

Bunny's lips pressed themselves together in a thin line. "Only North and Sandy would venture inside. Tooth and I will wait outside the hospital just in case."

"Just in case what?"

"In case we need to remove her from the place," Tooth put in quietly as she raised her umbrella over head. Since the time of his return, Jack had noticed that the usually cheerful young woman was surprisingly sombre. Her complexion, which had never seemed all that pale before, appeared so white that it was starting to clash with her viridescent hair. Mistaking him staring at her for being accusatory, she strove to defend herself, "It's a little early to say, but it's best to be prepared. If she has been turned, she'll be a threat to the other patients."

"Do not worry, Jack." North thumped his encouraging on the back. "If we see your lady-love, we will strive to defend you."

"Or at least, tell her that you have caught a terrible flu-bug which is why you can't visit," Sandy signed with a smile.

Jack winced. Yeah, Elsa would never buy it. She probably thought of him as a coward for running, and she would think him a coward all the more for not coming to visit.

"I've even prepared a present and a healing card!" North produced the said items from seemingly out of nowhere, beaming with pride at his creations. "Look, I even tied a bow on it. I will tell them you sent them, eh, Jack?"

"A 'healing' card?" Bunny glanced at North's gifts critically. "You mean a 'Get-well-soon' card."

"'Get-well' is the same as 'heal', no?" the bigger man defended.

"Yes, but the way you use it is different."

"I don't understand."

"No, of course you don't. I can't believe you've stayed decades in English-speaking countries and you still-"

So the argument exploded between the two men as they started their walk towards the hospital. Tooth followed quietly behind, not even giving Jack a glance when he waved at her. Sandy however did give Jack a sympathetic look before turning on his heel and following the rest of his companions.

And so Jack was left alone. In a car.

In the middle of nowhere.

His phone was also out of battery, because he had managed to charge it since last night. That left him with nothing to entertain him.

He removed the vacuum flask sitting in the cup-holder and twisted the lid open. There was a straw-like contraption attached to it, which he used to drink the blood tea inside. Sandy had prepared it for him, reckoning that he might still be dehydrated and hungry from fasting the night before. The little man never seemed ruffled by anything, so Jack found it hard to imagine that at some point in his life he too had been controlled by the feral ferocity of a vampire's appetite.

The boy leaned back into his leather seat and began twiddling his thumbs. It got old fast.

He opted for plopping himself down on the leather sheets, laying himself almost vertically over the backseat of the car. He noted that someone had left their notebook there. There was no name written on it and the pages were blank, so he didn't know who it belonged to, but it was entertainment. He grabbed the pen that he knew Bunnymund kept near the driver's seat and flicked the pen cap off. He then flipped the page open to empty one.

He could have doodled, or played tic-tac-toe with himself, but he didn't think of such activities at all. Instead, he found himself drafting out a letter that he could never send.

Dear Elsa,

I'm sorry for running away yesterday, and you were also right to note that I have been keeping something from you. My family would hate it if this letter would really end up in your hands. But the fact remains that I am, in fact, an immortal haemovore.

What's an immortal haemovore? Well, for one, a haemovore is a blood-eater, in the sense that my body can only process blood. And immortal? Yeah…I've looked like this for the last three hundred years. We have a huge age gap.

Here's an awkward pause, because if any time calls for one, it would be this time.

Also, the sun makes my skin burn – literally. Garlic makes me feel like dying and I don't have a reflection when I pass the mirror.

So… basically, I'm a vampire. Surprise!

And if you read this, you would probably try to kill me. Only to discover that you can't, because, well, I'm a vampire.

Ta-da! Feel free to hate me!

Yours ever,

Jack

He stared at it for a moment, before ripping off the binder and crunching it up in his fist, tossing it onto the floor of the car.

If the Guardians had their way, he would probably never get to see her again. In their defence, he didn't honestly want to confront her after his 'cowardly' act. But not bothering to visit her sister at the hospital? Elsa would take that very badly. He could tell that she loved Anna a great deal, and he didn't have the decency to come down to show concern, it was unlikely that she would ever deem him worth her time.

"I don't do flings." And she certainly wasn't going to with a jerk like him.

Perhaps one day in the future, he would have thought best that things had turned out this way – that had quit while they're ahead. The fleeting infatuations would pass and they would continue their lives. Their lives that would diverge and never meet again.

But - last night.

All his life, and his undead equivalent of a life, he had never had felt so alive as he had when he kissed her under the moonlight. It was better than the time when he first held a twenty-dollar bill, or when he received the first letter from Emma, or even when he sucked the life out of other poor souls. It was beyond the sweetness of cherries, yet as deep as an ocean, filled promises and hopes of good things to come.

But perhaps such good things were not meant for cursed creatures like vampires.

He heard the glass of the car window crack open suddenly and he sat up, surprised to find a small hole in the glass, with splinters lined all around it. He then noticed an arrow – or maybe, a very short arrow – sticking out of the passenger seat in front of him. He reached over to it, only to have to drop it immediately. Now, his hand started smarting in pain, a mark on his palm left where the wood had touched him.

Mountain ash.

He swung his head back towards the crack, and then it when he saw the figure, hidden by the shade of the trees, holding up a crossbow and pointing it towards him.

~~0~~

As you can tell, this chapter, unlike the previous, is missing a certain something that other chapters before had. That certain something should return in the next chapter…maybe. This chapter is more letter-themed.

I reckon at this time I should mention that I do not intend to support/promote the occult in this story. This, like Micheal Jackson's Thriller Music Video, is meant mainly to be a ...THRILLER! THRILLER NIGHT! Da-da-da-da-da….

And a kinda of romance/family drama. And hopefully a tribute to classic Gothic Horror stories. This might end up a bit like the The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen if I'm not careful (which my knowledge consists the movie I watched when I was a kid.)

I'm insane for writing all this. My exams are in two weeks. I'm so dead.

Reviews would be nice. Hope you guys enjoy this.