Two weeks later, 1920

I really should have been keeping this up.

Why? No one is going to read it and even if they do, they shall think I'm delusional. Visions and vampires, not exactly plausible.

So I don't forget.

I'm having a conversation with myself. Stop it.

I spent the two weeks where I didn't write listening to Nathaniel and remembering to keep my distance. He told me of Lucien's instruction. If it had been me, I think I might have gotten tired of talking (yes, me, tired of talking), but Nathaniel seemed to enjoy it. I wondered how long it had been since he'd had anyone else to talk to.

What I now know about vampires (or What Nathaniel learned from Lucien hopefully in some semblance of order):

They are very pale, with red eyes. The eye color gets darker the more hungry they are. They drink blood and have a very strong sense of smell, so it is hard for them to be around humans without losing control and killing them. Nathaniel stresses that a lot. They don't die, they don't grow, they don't change. They can't be killed except by other vampires, and their skin is as hard as diamond. Myths debunked: stakes, crosses, holy water, sunlight (though something does happen; all Nathaniel will say is it's "interesting"), coffins, crossing water.

I haven't told Nathaniel about my visions. I'm not quite sure why. Maybe I still don't trust him.

I've seen that family again, the one that includes me and the soldier. Twice. If I have to endure these headaches, at least let me see something new!

---

Three days later, 1920 (I think...)

I didn't think that there was anything that could scare Nathaniel, besides maybe Lucien. I was wrong.

He had told me about the Hunters, the ones who would give up everything to track a single quarry (is quarry singular?) until caught, no matter how long it took.

One of the best is named James. Lucien knew him, or said he knew him, according to Nathaniel. He is in the area.

Nathaniel says he would find me an interesting prey, as I am the still-human consort of a vampire (his word not mine (consort)), and would therefore be protected.

We are leaving.

I should be excited. I never thought I would get out of this place. And here comes Nathaniel like some knight in shining armor (or grimy jumpsuit, whichever you prefer) to take me away from the insanity. It should be heaven.

So why am I scared? I wasn't scared of Nathaniel. Well, actually I was, but not like this. I'm scared because Nathaniel is scared, and he's practically unkillable (is that a word?).

He tries not to show it. He tries not to let me see how much James terrifies him. But I watch him. I watch how is hands clench so tightly that, if they belonged to anyone else, would have drawn blood.

I'm not sure I'll survive this. That never bothered me before, but now I'm afraid for my life.

--

Kathleen stopped, stunned. She flipped over the heavy sheet. Blank. That was it. How was that possible? There was a rattle of a key and the sound of footsteps. She stuffed the pages down her shirt quickly. No one came in. She curled up on her bed until she was sure they were gone. She pulled out the pages, her only companion here. She had found them, slightly crumpled, tucked between the mattress and the springs of her cot. She had read them quickly. She wasn't sure if they were meant to be fiction or if they were told by someone truly mad, but it was a good story.

It just ended. She reread the last line. I'm not sure I'll survive this. That never bothered me before, but now I'm afraid for my life. That was no way to end it. What happened next?

Struck by a new idea she skittered off her bed and checked the mattress again. Nothing. Wait! That definitely felt like paper. She grabbed it as firmly as possible and pulled. It came, slowly, grudgingly, for a few inches. She heard a tearing sound and stopped immediately. It was caught on one of the springs. She crawled out from under the bed and lifted the thin mattress to attack from the top. After a few moments of struggle, she held a tightly folded paper in her hands. Was is more? She unfolded it slowly, hoping it would not tear further.

It was a death certificate. She read the name: Mary Alice Brandon. Date of death: July 18, 1920.

So at least part of it was true. She wanted the rest of the story.

A/N: Second time trying to update this. I had a nice pretty author's note all typed up, and now I have to redo it. Damn.

This is the end of what I think of as 'the first part.' I have no idea what that means in terms of the length of the overall story. Since this is the end of Alice's diary ((tear)) the rest of the chapters will hopefully be longer. My finals end Monday afternoon, but then I have to go to the readthrough for 'Thoroughly Modern Millie.' I will update as soon as I can write the next bit. I'm not sure of what I think of the ending. Opinions...