A special thanks to the following reviewers, who have been there to support and critique me:

iceprincess141414 and Sanriko

Chapter 18: Accidents

"Watch where you're goin'!" a vendor exclaimed hotly as Beaux whammed into his shoulder. A mountain of fruits and a handful of vegetables tumbled unto the crowded city streets while bruising and smashing spectacularly.

"Sorry sir," Beaux apologized hastily. Without a second thought, he dropped to his knees to collect the fallen wares. Beaux's humility must have surprised the salesman, who smirked smugly upon seeing Beaux's expensive pants stained with tomato juice.

"Now lookie here!" the vendor hooted, "What's a nice feller like you doin', helpin' me out?"

Beaux scooped up an apple and wiped its scintillating surface on his sleeve. "It's no problem sir," Beaux murmured, glancing at the man's widening grin.

"Well sir, I thank you! It ain't easy findin' young people with manners! These days, no respect for the old," the man sighed as he leaned against his wooden cart and wiped his crooked nose on his sleeve.

"Perhaps you could tell me the time, sir?" Beaux inquired anxiously.

"Lemme see," the vendor looked up at the sky and squinted, "I say, one or maybe two o'clock."

Beaux nearly tripped in his rush, "Thank you sir. Please-" He shoved a thick pile of bills into the man's sweaty palm "-use this to cover the expenses."

"Hey there!" the vendor called.

Reluctantly, Beaux turned around. He needed to get the Lavoirsier's mansion soon, and quite frankly, he did not have the leisure time to be conversing with strangers.

The man tossed Beaux a ripe tomato and smiled, "Thanks for the help!" He pointed at the tomato as Beaux eyed it with uncertainty. "It's good for you!"

Beaux waved back at the vendor and raced off.

To avoid the suspicion of others, he ducked into the dark allies that connected the whole city. In the privacy of the shadows, Beaux was free from all restraints. He broke into an inhuman sprint and nearly flew across the cobbled streets. It took him five minutes to reach Meliah's home.

Beaux rang the doorbell twice, but he soon resorted to knocking impatiently when no one came to answer him. "Meliah!" he cried frantically. "Please open the door!"

He had half a mind to scale the side of the building (which would have been a simple task, considering he was fully equipped with both super strength and agility) when his hand accidentally slid against the doorknob and the door creaked open. Beaux stepped inside and realized that the door had been unlocked the entire time.

The emptiness of the front hall exuded a palpable essence of negative premonition. Beaux felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end. The air was stagnant like the musty interior of a box that had been left in the attic for several decades. The only light source was the window at the far end of the hall. Even the sunlight felt cold and distant, filtered through the dust and darkness.

Beaux's feet moved automatically towards Meliah's bedroom on the second floor. He glided over the rugs and wooden boards without making a single noise. Only the demanding stares of the men and women within the ebony confines of their picture frames witnessed his movements.

It was subtle but distinct. A ragged panting was gradually filling the length of the corridor with tremor. The gasps were soon accompanied by an occasional moan, which sounded like someone was enduring unbearable torture…or immense pleasure.

The notion forced Beaux to draw back and close his eyes. He was frightened of whatever was there on the other side of the door. Even the mere possibility of intruding on a private, shameful scene seemed to tug at his limbs, dragging him, invisibly, away from the source of the noise. Beaux collapsed on his rear, staring blankly at the door and unable to make a decision.

Meliah was there. He knew it. And so was Andante. The boy's pungent scent was everywhere.

The groans were suddenly louder and more painstakingly emitted. Beaux covered his ears with his hands, gathering his body closer to himself until he was huddled like a ball. Yet the whimpering from the bedroom did not stop. Now, Beaux could feel something else resonating along the wood beneath him. There was a soft, continuous thudding as though someone was knocking on the floor. Beaux's hands dropped limply into his lap, and he was forced to listen to the brouhaha again for 10 seconds... 40 seconds…

Suddenly, Beaux jolted to his feet in surprise as he felt a warm, sticky liquid trickling against his chest. He realized that he had been clutching unto the tomato in his pocket with such brutality that the fruit had exploded, leaving massive scarlet stains all over his white shirt.

Taking advantage of this sudden mobility, Beaux turned to leave. But his body had other intentions. Out of a sudden burst of fury and betrayal, he yanked the door wide open. He tried to tell himself that he was prepared for the horror; a cruel image of Andante and Meliah entwined in each other's arms forced him to wince even before he had caught sight of anyone.

Yet what Beaux saw was beyond any horror he could possibly imagine.

The first thing Beaux recognized was the intoxicating stench of blood. The floor was obscured by a thick pool of crimson, and even the walls were splattered with flecks of the drying liquid – rusty and brown against the otherwise spotless surface. The smell seemed to expand once it passed through his nostrils. His brain was enveloped in a cloud of delicious syrupiness. Cecilia had been right; the boy did smell pretty wonderful. Beaux moved like lightning.

In the middle of the room was Andante, using every last bit of his strength to pound against the floor. Beaux's astonishment temporarily muted his desire to feed. The thudding that he had heard earlier was a cry for help.

Beaux nearly exclaimed in terror when he saw that every inch of Andante's flesh was torn open, scratched, or bitten as though he had been ravaged by a wild animal. The odd angle and form of Andante's long legs clearly indicated that they were broken, if not completely fragmented.

Deftly, Beaux knelt down and carefully pulled Andante's head into his lap. He inhaled stridently. Three long strips of skin had been peeled from Andante's one-handsome face right across his left eye. Judging from mottled blood along the rim of the eyelid, Beaux realized that the eye had been gorged from its socket.

Oh God! Meliah! Beaux thought. He whirled fervently in place, and gave a fleeting sigh of relief when he saw the fluffy pink dress peeping out from the bed. She was unconscious, but otherwise unharmed.

But this image was even more troubling. Meliah was completely unscathed, and yet Andante…

"Help," Andante's spluttering interrupted Beaux's presentiments, "Help." Andante's voice, which was usually so stunning, was now choked with eruptions of blood and spittle.

Beaux grabbed Andante's head between his pale hands and whispered encouragement, "I'm right here."

Andante clutched unto Beaux's wrist, nearly cutting off his circulation. "It hurts," he moaned.

"Who did this?" Beaux asked breathlessly. He knew the answer the moment Andante squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled aggressively. "Oh no-"

"Please," Andante panted, "It wasn't her fault. She's been possessed-"

"Shhh!" Beaux hissed. Andante was having great difficulty speaking, and Beaux saw why. Besides suffering an unbelievable loss of blood, Andante had a deep wound that punctured his lung. The flesh around the gaping hole was exhibiting a gross array of yellow and green hues in between the red.

The boy will not survive, Beaux concluded solemnly. Andante's labored breaths only served to affirm his predictions.

But for some strange reason, Beaux could not find the hate and resentment he had harbored only hours before. In his heart, there was only the mawkish sympathy and sorrow that a sibling would display for the passing of his beloved brother. An unexpected tear crept from his eyes, and Beaux nearly jumped in surprise when the droplet fell unto Andante's face. Whether Andante was chuckling or choking, he could not discern.

"Are you sorry?" Andante asked quietly.

Beaux was caught off guard by his question. Andante sounded jocular – not in the least bit spiteful. There was even a small, warped smile on his pale lips.

No! Beaux wanted to spit. No! Why on earth would I feel the least bit sorry for you?

But the words did not come…simply because they were not there. Beaux was sorry. No, he was beyond apologetic or remorseful. There was something at the back of his mind that kept blaming him. You killed Andante!

When he had consciously plotted the murder of Meliah's lover, he had felt confident if not excited about the impending doom of that silly boy. But now…now that it was a reality, Beaux realized that he would have never been able to kill him – never. Cecilia knew this. Vincent knew this. It was simply not in his nature.

"Yes," Beaux answered sincerely, "I am."

Andante's laughs became coughs. He wheezed heavily until he was motionless on the floor. His closed eyes and peaceful expression juxtaposed the morbid gashes that bared the soft innards. "You know what?" Andante asked. Exposing the raw tendons in his neck, he nodded to himself as Beaux waited patiently for the answer. "I truly love Meliah. And even though it kills me, no pun intended, to have to see her with someone else, I'm glad it's you."

Beaux could not answer. He could think of nothing to say that would have been appropriate.

He does not know, Beaux sighed in his head. I've killed him! My selfishness and ignorance… What am I supposed to say now? "Thank you"? "You're welcome"?

When Beaux finally edged closer to Andante to murmur his condolences, a wave of putrid odor smacked him squarely in the face. He's dead.

A dead man's blood does not smell the same to a vampire. Immediately, the vitality that had once made the delicacy so desirable evaporates in a fraction of a second, and all that is left is sick, unpalatable juices.

Beaux had to back off, even if it meant abandoning Andante's body on the floor. The smell was unbearable.

But the corpse, so disrespectfully cast aside, only poked at Beaux's unsteady conscience. So he took a deep breath of fresh air before winding his arms under Andante. The body almost appeared to fall apart at the seams. The skin was so fragilely flayed and twisted. Pulling the body unto the sofa, which was instantly soiled beyond repair, Beaux crumpled.

A strangled sob escaped his throat, and Beaux sat there with his head pressed against the floor and palms turned upward as in prayer. Everything was so cold…

"My goodness!" a high voice pierced the stagnant air like shattering glass. Beaux's eyes darted toward the bed, where Meliah sat nonplussed, looking directly at Andante's carcass and then at Beaux's red-stained shirt.