Maggie had been in the hospital for days, maybe even weeks. She had lost count after the first, sometimes slipping into unconsciousness or waking up in a cold sweat, her nightmares reflecting the recent horrible experiences. She heard the doctor say once, Hey, isn't that the cellist that played in the hall the other night? She was dynamite. At this she smiled and came to.

May I go home now?

Yes, we'll take you home.

No, no, that's ok. I'll call a taxi. Pulling on the clothes that had been cleaned for her, the artist got filled out what seemed to be 500 forms and left. It was time to get on with her life and forget all that was bad. Her daydreams came back a few days after she opened her door and turned the light on in her medium sized town house. It wasn't a modest place, because of the elaborate artifacts hanging throughout the place, and the $20,000 piano, which she had scraped and lived off of rice to purchase. Maggie didn't need to do that anymore, of course, because the tour money was enough to support her for 5 years to come. That didn't mean she would quit performing, maybe just put it off for a while like the old days. This aspect made her angry with herself. She was so materialistic sometimes, a spoiled brat where her parents were concerned. Things just fascinated her, well, the things that she considered to be artistic, when someone took time to make strive for perfection. There was a knock at the door and when she answered it, Roger's handsome smile was there to greet her.

Holding the door open, but not moving the lock, she said, Do you realize how long I've been in the hospital? And you dare to show up at my door. I'm not even sure what to think about you, Rog. You used to be my friend, but what happened makes me wonder just what you've been keeping from me. Go back to where you came from, in the depths of hell!

Wait, Margaret. You know you want me to tell you what happened down there, and I don't think you will be content until you hear, because your imagination gets the better of you, more than you know, he said, actually rubbing his hands nervously together as he used to.

You make me seem like an insignificant child, who doesn't know half of what goes on in the world, she said, opening the door and walking into the kitchen. What do you want? Beer? Wine? Personally I prefer the Shirley Temple.

You never did grow up, did you, Margaret? He said, waving his hand in response to the drinks.

Yes, and no, she said.

Don't fool yourself. At no time in your life were you carefree, even as a child, but still, it's an interesting feat.

I think about it all the time, Roger, it's impossible not to. You leave for a whole two years while I am in the prime of my career, and I am left to enjoy it alone. Of course Pat and Sam were there to cheer me on, as does everyone else, but not you. Then there's that thingthat terrible thingthat happened down in that tunnels below the opera house. She broke off, suddenly bursting into tears in a sort of hysterical fit.

He came over to her, not with his old walk, but with a different one that lighter, more careful. He held her in his arms, attempting to console her. I just don't understand, she said.

You will, you will, and then I'll leave you alone. Again you can be aloneand find the life you've always wantedwith someone else.

Maggie looked up at him, the tears of sadness and trauma changing into tears of anger. I thought you had come back to me. We could have picked up where we left off and

Suddenly Roger bared his fangs, letting out a terrible hissing noise and Maggie saw his true nature. You want to pick up where we left off with this? So have I! From the moment I left you and was taken by one near the Opera house, so have I.

It seemed as if a large dark cloud was lifted from her vision while Maggie stared into that terrible, monstrous face. She had known he was one of them, of course, but denial had taken its toll, and she was again in a perilous situation that had no escape. He seemed to be changing his mind.

I'm too strong for you to attempt to stop me, you know.

Ok, Frank. I killed the Nosferatu, and he seemed to be much stronger than you.

He cleared his throat, She, actually, and yes, perhaps, but that's a different story

I have time. Maggie regained her composure and sat in one of the black chairs covered with a purple blanket.

He hesitated for a moment, not expecting her to be so calm and cooperative, if that was in fact what she was up to. I will tell you the whole story later, but first I must begin in the middle. When you stumbled upon the entrance to those tunnels, you stumbled upon something more than an archeological breakthrough, but the lair of a cult of Nosferatu. All that see this place who are not He searched for a word.

Damned? Evil? Immortal? Vampires? Maggie suggested sarcastically, Ok, ok, I get your drift. Now they want to kill me and I have no chance whatsoever of living. THAT story line is excessively old.

You stupid child, still living in your little fantasy world. The Nosferatu stood in the corner, leaning on a wooden cane, her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. This is where Maggie recognized her, even though Samantha was now nearly bald, with a patch of unruly red hair sticking out here and there, Patrick's old girlfriend was still recognizable if you look past her terrible fate.

Without realizing it, Maggie's hands were shaking. She had never known that Sam's mind was so polluted. She looked at the cane. So, the stake at least injured her I'm sorry, Samantha. She now saw the situation at hand; Roger would be killed by Samantha if she didn't share her fate. Do you really fear death, Roger? she said, nearly stammering over every word, attempting one last plea to live her life as it should be lived.

Maggie started to back away from the two, indifference showing on her face that should have been utter and complete terror. When her back hit the wall and a door, she stepped onto the balcony and stood there for a moment, pretending to look out at the beautiful city far bellow. So, this is how her oh so promising life would end. At least it was the death of a romantic, looking over the city until the cement jumps up to meet you in a final battle whose winner was chosen when it began. Rogers' low baritone of a voice suddenly rang out, softly but surely, Come to me Margaret Alvariana McKenzie.

The voice filled Maggie's head. All she could think about was the word, . Her head hurt when she stood still for a moment, yelling at the top of her lungs the word, and grasping her head in pain. The scream was quickly cut off when a strong hand covered her mouth. Maggie was unable to move. Her muscles relaxed as she felt the prick of two needles go into her neck. They seemed to pierce it deeply, but she only felt pain for a moment. Then the insurmountable ecstasy of the embrace filled every muscle of Maggie's body, except for a small voice in her brain that was now asking the question, Why may I not die? Roger bit his wrist and forced it to her mouth. Disgusting sour blood, like fire or torrential rains flooded down her throat. She tried to choke, but he wouldn't let her. The thick liquid coursed through her veins from the liver: Sweet life, wonderful salvation, beautiful ecstasy.

Maggie collapsed, staring up at the stars with a wide-eyed and glassy look as she labored to hold onto the breath of life. She would not give in, even though she knew in her heart there was no possible escape. Even now she could feel the vampiric blood coursing through with a new found power that came with it. Soon it would be over and the change complete. What kind of evil had befallen God to ever create a creature such as this? She closed her eyes, mourning death softly as she plotted that of others. Roger would die after he taught all that was required of her in this new life. Samantha would perish even sooner.