AN: This is the last chapter before the build-up to the climax of the story. And, as you'll be able to see as you read, three days have passed since Nana crossed paths with Kain, and the Bohemians learned of the objectionable cure for Roger. Now, on with the story.

Kain was slumped against the wall in his room inside Belvedere Castle, nursing the blistered burns on the palms of his hands. Curse that old woman! Where'd she ever find that anti-vampire charm? How could she have known to carry it around, when so many mortals believed his kind to be nonexistent? Still, he had some satisfaction that he'd managed to dispose of her before he'd returned to tend to his wounds. A woman that old wouldn't have been able to recover from being blown against the side of a building like that. And his wounds were nearly healed. He should be completely back to full strength by the time All Hallows Eve arrived.

It was a slight inconvenience that Crimson had appeared to have disappeared three nights ago, the same night he'd ran into that accursed woman. Perhaps she'd crossed paths with Crimson earlier that night and destroyed him with the anti-vampire charm. Crimson, being as inexperienced as he was, wouldn't have been able to withstand the attack as well. That was a shame. Crimson had been most promising, but it was no true loss. After all, Kain could handle things just as well without an aid. It wouldn't be completed as quickly, but in the end, it would be done regardless. And that was all that mattered.

Fallen leaves were kicked up by the thin tires as Mark pedaled his bike through Greenwood Cemetery, creating small arcs of reds, browns, and golds, accompanied by a snapping, crinkling sound as the leaves were crushed under the weight of the bicycle. As he rode past the gravestones and mausoleums, he wondered if he was right about finding him here, and hoped he knew him as much as he'd believed. After a short time, he reached his destination. Mark stopped and got off the bike, propping it against the sign posted in front of the stone chapel. Letting out a silent sigh, Mark paused to read the sign.

The Green-Wood Chapel

Open Daily for Rest, Mediation, and Prayer

Open for mediation. Yeah, that sounds like the kind of place he'd be hiding out in, Mark thought, as he turned from the sign and quietly entered the chapel. He was relieved to find no one else was there at the moment. It would be almost impossible to do this if there were any bystanders.

In silence, Mark walked further into the chapel, his footsteps echoing through the deserted building. As he reached the center of the chapel, something caught his eye. Crouching down, he discovered a few dead pigeons, lying in a small pile hidden beneath one of the pews.

"So," Mark called out to the empty chapel. "You've been surviving off pigeons, I see."

"Well, it's not as if anyone would notice if a few pigeons went missing," Roger replied from a shadowy corner, where his face was shrouded by the darkness. "New York's got an endless supply of them." For a long moment, the two stood looking at one another. Finally, Roger broke the silence.

"How'd you know I was here?"

"We've known each other since preschool, Roger. Give me some credit," Mark replied as both boys displayed faint smiles.

"And I suppose you're here to try and talk me into coming back," Roger stated.

"And why not?" Mark challenged. "Roger, come on. It's been three days since you've been home. Three days since you even tried to meet with or talk to us."

"Mark, please. That's enough," Roger hissed, turning away. "You know I can't. You were there in Nana's hospital room. You know there's only that one way to get me back to normal. What about you, Mark? Do you have the backbone to do that? Could you cut out my heart?"

"You know the answer to that," Mark replied.

"Yeah, I do. And I can't see anyone else willing to do it, either." Roger was quiet for a moment. "If you knew I was here, did you tell anyone else?"

"I shouldn't have to be the one to tell them. That should be your job. Roger, just come home, will you? You have to realize we're all worried about you, and want you back."

"And then what?" Roger fired back. "No one's gonna be able to go through with the cure in Nana's book. We've decided that much. So, if that's the only cure, then I'm going to be like this forever. I've already told you how it takes all my self control to keep myself from feeding on you. How do you think I'd feel if I relapsed, just for a moment, and I snap out of it only to find I've killed you, or one of the others? This is the only solution. I have to keep as much distance between myself and everyone else. It's the only way I can make sure I don't turn on anyone."

"What about Mimi?" Mark snapped. "Don't her feelings fit into the equation at all? You must know how much she misses you and wants you back home. Please, Roger. Come home. For her sake, if nothing else." Even though the musician was partially hidden in the shadows, Mark could see Roger's expression shift at the mention of Mimi. For a brief moment, the filmmaker hoped he'd pushed the right chord.

"Mimi deserves more then being forced to live her life married to an undead creature, who only survives by feeding off the living." Roger whispered after a lengthy pause. "She deserves someone who can kiss her without worrying about harming her. Someone who can be by her side in the park, sharing picnics in the sunlight. Someone who can show her how much he loves her. And I can't do any of that. Not anymore."

"Have you forgotten what the two of you promised when you married each other?" Mark cried in frustration and anger. "'For better or for worse,' remember? Don't you think this would qualify?" At that moment, Roger shot out of his hiding place, jetting upward and taking up a different perch up in the chapel steeple. There he sat, with his back facing Mark.

"You never change, do you?!" Mark shouted up at him. "You're always running out the door, when the people who care about you need you the most! Why did I ever think you'd have changed after you came back from Santa Fe?" Roger kept his back to Mark, but he could still hear him storm out of the chapel and ride his bike away from the cemetery. As he sat in silence, Mark's words echoing through his mind, a single tear flowed down his cheek, a sign of the effect the brotherly discourse had had on him.