Chapter Eight: Remembrance
Gabriel stood on the dirt path that led into the dense, lush forest. The path was forked and led down two roads. His blue eyes were brimmed with sadness. The wind tugged at his loose hair and unbuttoned shirt. His left foot shuffled uneasily. Which way to go, he asked. He had not set foot into that Victorian house for a long, long time. He imagined vines slithered up the rails of the porch and white-washed columns. It would slip in through the cracks of windows, walls and the doors.
He headed down the left path, still musing about the conditions of his old home. Rose bushes of white lined the path and dressed the bottoms of gnarled tree trunks. He imagined the vast oak desk, gorgeous Monet paintings and the ebony grand piano covered in an inch of dust. Perhaps the dust bunnies will spring forward and attack him. Laughter. Laughter. It was easy to apply the "if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it. Does it make a sound?" to this moment. Words are harder to prove truthful when there are no witnesses.
Streaks of sunlight shot through the thick canopies of the trees. Drops of dew trickled down individual leaves and blades of grass. The path narrowed up ahead and the door of light opened. Gabriel arched an eyebrow at the dark clouds that just happened to roll in.
"Oddly—ominous," he said. He strode quickly across the grass with a pair of lawn gnomes grinning creepily at him. Pointy-hated and eared freaks of mass destruction: 'P.N.A.E.F.O.M.D.' He stood on the stone steps. His fingers dug into his palm and he starred at the door with the stain-glassed oval door.
There was a soft click from the inside and the gold-handled door swung open. He approached the doorway, wiping his shoes on the welcome mat first and then went inside. He scanned the area in front of him. There was no light, but he had nocturnal vision and that served him well. He wandered through the rooms, white sheets were draped over everything, and a single opened window let a breeze it. That stirred the sheets, giving them the impression of life as if ghosts stirred gentled under there.
Whispers. Whispers. Soft laughter chortled in the high-ceiling room. Gabriel swung through the rest of the rooms. He remembered when the house was full of life, lights and gaiety. Those fanciful parties from the 1800s, gloved ladies would flirt shyly behind fans. Tail-coated men would smoke cigars and drink their brandy. Time then was much slower. Things appeared much simpler. Even then, lies still blackened society. However, the lies were more subtle, more hidden, and presented the dark side of humanity? But does each story not?
Bodices. Laces. Floral-scented bodies pressing against his stony form. Soft lips. Tiny wasp waists. Oh, come to bed with us, Monsieur Gabriel. Come with us.
The vampire broke the surface of his memories. I will not three hundred years drag me down or out. That time period is long gone. It will never come back. His hand gripped the smooth railing of the grand staircase. Before he had set one foot on the steps, a pair of candles slowly lit his ascend. The faint plunking of the piano drifted downward towards him.
"So you're still here?" Gabriel asked. "I can't believe no one came to find you." The intensified pain surfaced from his dead, shriveled heart. He half-ran up the stairs, tripping over his feet. His eyes were wide, wild and darted all over. The stairs seemed to spiral around and around and around. The vampire bumbled to the top and dragged himself down a stretched hallway. He pressed his hands against the walls to guide him. The music became louder and louder. He recognized the song. . It was Pachelbel Canon in D. He sighed.
He slowly turned the brass knob and opened the door.
Wide, gray eyes peered sadly at him from across the room. Her waist-length, auburn hair framed her heart-shaped face. Her plump lips trembled and parted to form solemn words. Her pale hands rested on the ivory keys and bare feet touched the brass pedals. She turned her upper body and the chains that shackled her neck, wrists and ankles jingled.
"W-where's my dollie?" she croaked.
"I could not find it," Gabriel murmured. HE strode past the stares of the dolls that lined the walls and ignored the floating, revolving mirror. Gabriel embraced the woman and kissed the top of her head. He tucked a loose of strand of hair behind her ear. Her hand brushed the side of his face and smiled softly.
"What are you doing here? Why are you not cuddling with that blonde-thing?" Her voice dropped to a husky, low tone that was not far from being threatening. Her eyes hardened and gazed at him inquiringly.
"She—she." Gabriel sighed.
"I told you she would run away." She gave him the I-told-you-so look.
"But—"
"Next time, pick a stronger-willed maiden to blood," she chided.
"We cannot unravel the fabrics of time, Rowan," Gabriel murmured. He was sulking like a child.
Rowan struck him on the forehead with two fingers. "You are scolding me for wrong-doing?"
The vampire visible winced and slid the woman over. He took a seat next to her on the bench. He took her hands and folded them back into her lap. His spidery fingers touched the warm black and white keys. His fingers flew smoothly across the keys and played his melody.
"Palace in the Snow composed by Mitsuko," he said. He closed his eyes and immersed himself into the music and the warmth that emitted off of Rowan. Body warmth, not personality wise. Her voice softly hummed the notes to the piece. Gabriel removed his right hand and allowed to Rowan to play the treble staff. The last note hung sweetly in the air.
"Very nice," she commented.
"I know," he answered smugly.
"Silly rabbit, tricks are for kids," Rowan snickered.
He merely gave her a blank look.
"Commercial…cereals…rabbit...Oh never mind!" she said. "You have yet to explain to me why you are here. If you do have my doll…GET OUT!"
An invisible fishing hook yanked at Gabriel's shirt. He shook his head and placed a finger against the hollow of her throat.
"Rowan…he never came back for you…"
The woman shrugged. She answered that it was alright. Loneliness hardens the heart until very few things could pain one anymore.
"That bastard," he spat. Rowan threw her head back and laughed.
"That is nothing to be angry about," she said. There was a disgusted look on his face, it twisted his Adonis façade into something monstrous. His fingers pinched both sides of collar and it broke quite easily. The metal slid off cleanly and landed on the floor with a clunk. He bent over and did the same to the wrists and ankles cuffs.
"Don't—I spent years trying to off these and you come along and just—" she started to rambled off and her voice rose several octaves. Gabriel swept the woman off of her seat and swung his leg over the bench to escape. He sighed softly and walked towards the mirror. The gilded glass halted and faced them.
A dark-haired man stared back to them. His eyes twinkled and shimmered like blue topazes. There were wrinkles around his eyes that softened his grand smile with pearly white teeth. He donned a white collar shirt with black buttons and there were minor ruffles on his collars and sleeves. He wore a heavy outer coat with brass buttons and loops. He wore knee-length trousers with high white stockings. His hair was tied back into a miniscule ponytail. He had not bothered with the disgusting powdered wig that seemed to be in fashion those days.
A buxom woman was standing behind him to the right. It was a cobalt blue gown of the seventh century with rectangular neckline and slimming waistline. It was made from a silk dupioni and had Venice lace on the ruffle at the elbow and underskirt. Her hair was piled high, swept to one side and spread out like a feather or a fan. She had a pensive expression with a touch of curiosity.
The man shifted to the right and a frown obscured his smile. He mouthed words that Gabriel could into comprehend. The woman gazed solemnly at Rowan and reached forward with a hand. Rowan mimicked the gesture. Their hands touched cold glass and they sighed simultaneously. They echoed doom.
"Idiot," the man growled. "Look at the mess you have made!"
"I—", Gabriel started.
"There are no excuses! Look at what you have done to that poor girl! You blooded the maiden, let her run and she is reeking havoc upon your unsuspecting city…As your fledging, you assume full responsibilities for whatever your charge does—" the man continued. His body shook with rage and he curled his upper lip back to expose dangerous, sharp canines, incisors and whatever teeth were left to name.
"Find her. Rein her in. Save her, Gabriel. Save both of them," the woman whispered.
"Or else—The Council is not a forgiving state of body. As your modern people put it: 'Don't screw it up!'"
"Sssh! Language, Monsieur!" The woman turned her back and returned to the party. The man followed suit. The sound of laughter and a cello lingered.
"Don't you just adore talking to yourself?" Rowan muttered.
"Yah—was I that rude of a jackass?" Gabriel asked innocently.
"Worse—a black-coated gentlemen," she rolled her eyes to the sky.
"Ah, yes. The Ladies," he grinned. "Oof!" Rowan elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
He carried her out of the bedroom and down the stairs. The candles went out two by two. The parlor door swung open and they walked out together with one set of footprints. A ray of light penetrated through the jolly clouds and shone like a spotlight.
"Hallelujah", he echoed. Wince. A flock of pigeons sprang out of the canopies.
And the camera took in the sunset. New pen…
Rowan bent down to stroke the petals of the tiger lily. She smiled and plucked an arm full to carry with her.
"Are you sure we're not lost?" she looked up at Gabriel who leaned casually against a tree.
"We're just taking a break," he lied.
"We're lost," Rowan sighed. Never trust someone who resembles a porn star. She roes to her feet and stepped into the center of the meadow. Light cascaded down the yolky sun and illuminated her skin. It was chalky white, even paler than Gabriel's. It was not unattractive though. Her face soaked in the rays; she let out a soft "ah" at the wonderful warmth.
Gabriel stood behind her a few feet away. His eyes widened as the light made Rowan's hair glow like a deep, crimson fire. His dark eyes traveled down and could see every detail of her body underneath the flimsy nightgown. His muscles tensed and it felt like his chest was compressed. He stood there, transfixed by beauty. His throat felt itchy and dry, his stony form leaned forward for her…for her. He bolted like a scare deer in headlights.
"Idiot", Rowan muttered. "He should have fed before coming here." She sat down on the mossy forest floor and stared down at her bouquet. Already patches of brown began to touch the petals. They are wilting, she thought.
A silence. No birds, no wind, no sound of breathing. The moss beneath her hardened. The lilies withered into a muddy brown and crumbles into dirt in her arms. The vegetation around her died and the world's smallest violin played. Let us insert evil, maniacal laughter and dark, ominous clouds that are back for a second laugh. A torrent of flames towered over Rowan and glared at her with emerald eyes. She clung to her nightgown and stared into the eyes with frozen horror. The fire tickled at her throat, her hairs; it ate up the flesh of the living, blackens the pure, and leaves an empty husk, she opened her mouth to scream, but her jaw was dislocated and her voice was too dry from agony.
Someone nudged her ribs. Her eyes fluttered open and she gazed at a pair of sapphire eyes. "Oh", she exclaimed softly.
"I can hear the piano playing," Gabriel murmured softly.
"Love scene part deux," Rowan giggled. She wiped the sweat from her brow. Gabriel grabbed her arm and flung her form onto his back. She wrapped arms around his neck and her thighs clamp his ribs.
"I eat couilles for breakfast, you know", Rowan said politely.
"Oh? What do they taste like?" he asked. They were off. A power couple streaked into the forest.
"Like buttuh!" she said mockingly. "I enjoy a fresh pair, ya' know?"
"I will keep that in mind", Gabriel chuckled darkly.
"Yay! It was funny!" she exclaimed triumphantly.
It seemed like hours. The sun had long set and Gabriel got them lost. Again. Rowan continued with her random, raunchy thoughts. Again. They both ended up arguing. Again. Boy, a few centuries, and neither of them have their hard-headedness.
"You filthy, bloody-sucking leech," Rowan would screeched into the vampire's sensitive ear.
"Shuddap, you nubile load of a Kiyohime," Gabriel would retort back with a mock Italian accent.
Sigh. Sigh. Tragedy lost to comedy that lost to romance that to a drama. Let us stir away from here. I pity their futures.