Chapter 21: The Challenge

"By God, I utterly despise this city," Hess exclaimed loudly as he settled himself beside D in the cab. D glanced up at the rear-view mirror and noticed as the driver scowled. At last, D and his human escort had made it to London. They had been traveling together for over a month, and in that time D had observed that Hesselius (though he was brilliant when it came to dealing with vampires) was critically lacking the skills necessary to deal with human beings. D was amazed at how easily the cheerful young man made enemies. Indeed, even Hesselius's 'friend', who finally picked them up in Naples, was actually a bitter rival of his who happened to owe him a considerable amount of money-- a debt which Hess agreed to forgive in exchange for transportation.

"I see they're rebuilding everything everywhere, busy as bees. It's almost a shame that the Blitz didn't clean this place out permanently," Hess said lightly, slamming the door of the cab.

The driver turned around angrily. "Wot's that?" he asked, his burly voice matching his burly physique. "You one of the Jerries?"

"Heavens, no," Hess said, raising his eyebrows. "I just haven't any fondness for fog, or for the stench of streets that have been absorbing piss for nineteen hundred years. Well then, shall we be off?"

Fifteen minutes later the cab pulled up in front of the building, which was obviously damaged from the bomb raids, although not horribly so. D left the scowling driver a generous tip for having to put up with Hesselius's constant chatter. The cab sped away.

D stared passively at the scarred brick walls of the apartment building, the building he had lived in from 1916 until 1925. He remembered the last time he had seen his tiny one-room flat. That was the day he had set out to find her. To save her.

Suddenly he realized that he didn't feel ready to face Samantha after all. It was too soon. What would she say to him? What would he say to her? Meeting her again, apologizing, trying to provide the explanation that he was sure she would demand… it would be a painful task, and he was suddenly reluctant to accomplish it. D knew in his heart that he had to do it, and he was surprised by his own unwillingness.

"Come on man, let's not keep her waiting," Hess said enthusiastically, leading the way to the door with his hands in his pockets. D didn't reply. He stared up at the building for another moment, knowing there was nothing he could do to ease the burden of guilt that he felt, or to erase the impact he had had on Samantha's life. But what could she possibly want from him, after all these years?

D knew there was only one way to find out.

The door to the little apartment had been painted black many years ago. The paint was peeling now. D raised his pale hand and knocked twice. He heard the footsteps approaching softly beyond the door, heard the clink of the lock, and watched as the knob turned.

If she was surprised to see him standing there, she didn't show it. She looked much the same as D remembered-- she was still slender, with the posture of a dancer, although her dress was now conservative, almost old-fashioned-- and her chestnut hair showed a few strands of grey. Her eyes went straight to his, and D was struck by how aged her eyes seemed.

"Hello, D," she said softly, and D didn't recognized her voice. He stared at her, his face expressionless. Samantha smiled, and D watched in amazement as the skin around her mouth and eyes crinkled and creased. But she was still beautiful. She shifted her eyes over to Hess, who returned her smile. "And obviously you're the hunter who finally caught him," she said.

"Amadeus Hesselius. It's a pleasure to be of service, Ms. Rowntree." Hess said with a half a bow.

Samantha gave a single nod of approval. "Please, come in. I've just made some tea." She opened the door all the way and stood aside. As if in a dream, D found himself stepping into the little room. Samantha closed the door and walked towards the stove. "There was only a bed and a chair in here when I moved in," Samantha said, opening the cupboard beside the sink. "As you can see, I've done a little decorating." She took down three teacups and set them on the table, which was just big enough to accommodate the four chairs stationed around it. She looked up at D and smiled again. "I was going to get rid of your dreadful curtains eventually, but before I got around to it, the air raids started, and they ended up being perfect for the blackout."

D didn't say anything. Samantha picked up the teapot. "Won't you sit down?" she asked pleasantly.

"Thank you," Hess said, settling into a chair. D also took a seat as Samantha poured the tea, placed the pot in the center of the table, and sat down herself.

"It's been nineteen years," she said in a wistful voice. She smiled softly. "And now here you are. But you're not the same. I can tell. You're even stronger now, aren't you?"

Still D didn't reply. Samantha blinked, and wrapped both of her hands around her teacup. "I sold the house, you know," she said. "Sold most of everything. Geoffrey took some of the furniture, when he got married. I tracked down the people who manage your money-- that's how I found this place-- they told me you were still paying the rent for it. Not a day went by when I didn't hope that maybe today you'd finally come back. But of course that was foolish of me." She sipped her tea, and then looked away. "You were never going to come back."

"That's not true," D said quietly. "I would have come back to you someday."

"Someday? When I was old and dying, perhaps?" she smiled ruefully. "I remember you waited until my grandmother was on her deathbed before you told her who had killed her only daughter. Why didn't you tell her sooner, D?"

D didn't say anything. He actually glanced over at Hesselius, who seemed mesmerized by his cup of tea. For once the blond-haired bastard wasn't jabbering away, and actually seemed determined to stay out of the conversation.

"I know why you didn't tell her," Samantha continued, a faraway look in her eyes. "You wanted to protect her. The truth was so nightmarish, you wanted to spare her from it. You were trying to be kind. Do you remember the day we took the train away from Transylvania?"

"Yes," D replied quietly. How could he forget? Samantha had been a little girl then, just seven years old, and D had held her on his lap while she cried into his coat. Her little brother had been running up and down the aisle with D's wide-brimmed hat on his head, oblivious to his sister's grief.

"I never wanted Geoffrey to know that our father was dead," Samantha stated. "He asked me, but I always avoided answering him. So I understand why you didn't tell us the truth back then. You kept it a secret, out of kindness. I'm not accusing you of anything, you know that, don't you? I posted the reward for you because I needed to see you again, and the lord knows I wasn't blessed with my grandmother's patience."

"How is your brother?" D asked, changing the subject. Samantha reached for a picture frame on the sideboard beside the table, and passed it to D. It was photograph of a handsome young man in an army uniform, with a smiling, dark-haired wife and two round-faced children: a boy in suspenders about three years old, and a baby girl in a frilly dress who looked just big enough to toddle about. The man was holding his son's hand, while the little girl sat on her mother's hip and stared out at the camera. Even in a baby's face, in a black-and-white photo, the resemblance was unmistakable… D's mouth tightened and he blinked a few times. He might have almost smiled. "The baby," he said quietly, unable to tear his eyes away from the round, familiar face. "She has Tasia's eyes."

"They're such beautiful children," Samantha said. "That picture was taken in 1942, in the summer. Just six months before Geoffrey was killed. Not a soul in his battalion survived."

D put down the picture, feeling suddenly cold. He looked up at Samantha, and she held his gaze for a moment before looking away. "Life is funny that way," Samantha said. "Geoffrey never knew his father, and now his children will never know theirs."

"I'd like to visit them," D said without thinking.

Samantha sipped her tea, and then carefully reached out and took the photograph out of D's hands. She replaced it on the sideboard, and turned it so it was out of D's line of sight.

"Please don't," she told him frankly. "They've been through enough. There's no reason for any of them to know that you even exist. You must understand, it would only confuse them. Geoffrey told me never to mention you to his wife."

"Of course." D's voice was soft and even, but for some reason, he felt a dull ache in his heart. He knew that it was only logical that he should stay away from Geoffrey's widow and the two young children. To them, D would be nothing more than an unwelcome shadow from a dark and distant past.

D would spare them from the knowledge of his existence, spare them the reminder of their family's sad history. He would keep his distance from Tasia's grandchildren, and simply let them drift away into the world. In a few more generations, the remnants of the family would spread out, disperse, be diffused by new blood—and Tasia's tragic story would be laid to rest, forgotten forever. Yes, it was better that way.

Gradually D became aware of the ticking of a clock somewhere on the wall behind him. No one had said anything for several minutes. "Samantha," D said at last. "About what happened that night, when I… stopped protecting you from the truth… I'm sorry." His voice was so soft it was barely audible.

"You're sorry?" Samantha repeated. Suddenly she laughed, sounding more like the girl D remembered. "Oh, D, that isn't what I want from you! Oh, no. That isn't why you're here at all. What do you think you've got to be sorry for? You didn't do anything wrong. It isn't your fault that you're half vampire. It isn't your fault that I fell in love with you. And you made the right choice by running away that night, D."

She leaned forward and put her elbows on the table, and though she was smiling, D saw that there were tears in her brandy-brown eyes. "I needed to see you again for two reasons," she said carefully, fighting to keep her voice calm. "First of all, I want to thank you for what you did, and for what you didn't do." She blinked quickly, grimacing as she tried in vain to repress her emotions. Hesitantly she reached for D's hand, and covered it with her own. "I understand why you left me," she said. "It was the only option I gave you. I'm the one… who should say I'm sorry."

"Don't…" D whispered.

"I mean it, D. I'm sorry for what I almost caused you to do. But the other reason I needed to see you is much more important."

She took a deep breath, and stared straight into his eyes.

"I want revenge."

D was startled by the intensity in her voice and expression. Reflexively he drew his hand away from hers across the table. Samantha sat back in her chair, fully in control of her emotions once again. She smiled coldly, and wiped away her tears. "Most people in the world are not as moral as you, D," she said evenly. "You've seen for yourself how men succumb to even the slightest temptation."

D glanced over at Hess with a frown, and then returned his full attention to Samantha.

"But you're not like them," Samantha went on. "You're the most virtuous man I've ever known. That's why you may not understand why this is so important to me. Perhaps my soul already belongs to the devil because of it, but I've got a hatred burning inside me that only the ice of revenge will cure."

"Hatred?" D asked, taken aback. "You said that I made the right choice… but you still hate me for it?"

Her eyes flashed with the passionate light that D remembered so well. "No, D," she said. "I could never hate you. Like I said, none of it was your fault. I hate the one who is ultimately responsible for the wretchedness of our lives, both mine and yours. I've spent years upon years now doing my research. I'm not going to make excuses for myself, and you're free to tell me that I'm crazy, but I'll never be satisfied until your father is dead."

"God in heaven!" Hesselius exclaimed, forgetting that he had resolved to let D and the woman sort this business out themselves. "Are you out of your mind? You're talking about the King of the Vampires. The original bloodsucker himself, the one they call their 'Great Ancestor'! Forgive my rudeness, but you're just plain ignorant if you think that HE has done anything to you that he hasn't done to a hundred thousand other humans over the centuries."

"Every life he's taken or ruined is just one more reason why he should die." Samantha lowered her chin and looked up at D. "He's the one I hate. I want him dead," she repeated softly. "…And I want you to kill him."

There was desperation in her eyes, but also unwavering strength.

"Will you do it?" She asked breathlessly. D knew what he was looking at: it was the conviction of mortality, challenging him. She was like a doomed insect, clinging to a twig in a violent sea: she would never relinquish her hold on her desire for revenge. And she was daring the immortal in front of her to take action on her behalf.

D's mind raced back to another time when had faced a similar challenge. He recalled the image of a man on his knees in a dark prison cell, a broken man who had lost his beautiful wife and abandoned his sanity and even his children-- a man with nothing left but the desire for violence and destruction. What will you do to change the world? Samantha's father had asked D. What madness will you undertake?

Those words had haunted D ever since. Actually attempting to kill the Vampire King… that was madness. Samantha was waiting for his answer.

D locked eyes with her, and nodded his head.

A/N: Yay, we finally get around to the original point of this whole story! You all know what's going to happen, of course, but hopefully you'll stick around to read it anyway. Oh, and if you're confused about this chapter at all, go reread chapt. 8!