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Chapter 5: And there I leave it
1960
Constanta, Romania
The ancient Dacians led Rolle through the city streets of Constanta, but he kept pace with them as if he knew where they were going. Though the rain was finally abating, it still kept many indoors. However, Saturday meant coins in the pockets of the local workers, and Vodka waiting patiently for them in the pubs.
Rolle's eyes wandered again and again toward one of the many canals near the harbor. Small fishing boats lined the gabion baskets filled with rock that acted as seawalls here. The alleys grew more and more dismal, the businesses more shabby. The women on the street dressed more suggestively and eyed their passing with interest.
When they reached their destination, Stefan graciously held the door for Rolle, nodding knowingly to his brother. Though the rankling smell of sweating fishermen rolled out of the open door with a billowing wave of cigarette smoke, Rolle entered the old pub without thought or hesitation. He only managed to take two steps into the midst of the humanity pressed inside before he stopped dead in his tracks.
For eight years he had the silence of the ocean. For the past week there was only the two voices of his antediluvian hosts. The utter cacophony of at least fifty men made Rolle stagger. He threw his hand out to catch himself, hitting the heavily laden tray of a passing waitress. The tray tipped over the head of one man and into the laps of everyone at the table where he sat.
The roar of surprise and anger on top of the shrieking wrath from the waitress made Rolle flinch. His eyes widened with fear and surprise that had nothing to do with the five men who rose as one to turn on him for his clumsiness. Every eye in the bar captured him in their gaze. The complete focus on him from so many minds shocked him.
Stefan and Vladimir stepped into the pub and moved into the shadows along the wall, watching the events unfold with bright and eager eyes.
Rolle's hands flew to his head as he cried out moments before he was forcefully shoved backward by the calloused hands of an angry vodka-soaked patron. He stumbled backward against the waitress again, who toppled into the laps of two men at the next table.
There was more shouting as helping hands pulled the woman out of the way, and the uproar began. Ten men rose to push and shove at each other, their drunken hostility like a match to dry timber. Rolle tried to shove his way free only to be pulled back into the fray. Fists began to fly. Tables were knocked over. Glass broke on the dark hardwood floor. Shouts from the bartender tried to stop the mayhem. A man was tossed head over heels to land on a table. The solid oak legs refused to buckle and the man became still with pain.
Rolle tried again to escape the clutching hands, this time attempting to climb over the tables to get away, but several hands reached for his legs, tripping him from the tabletop. He landed hard on the floor. Glass shards were crushed into powder under his impenetrable skin. Heavy boots began to land on his chest and head though the owners of the boots cried out in pain when they landed a blow. Above him a knife glinted in a hand and disappeared into soft flesh with a distinct gasp.
The earth began to rumble. Overwhelmed by the singular focus of the mob, Rolle rose with his eyes as hard as flint. The dull roar began to build and pulse. Two men lurched away, vomiting. Moving too fast for a man to see, only Stefan and Vladimir knew exactly what happened next as Rolle lightly smacked three men on their torsos. All three men dropped to the floor without so much as a gasp. A fourth man fell when Rolle touched his head. Blood spilled from both ears before the man hit the floor.
Realizing the massacre they had unwittingly orchestrated in their own city, the elders rushed forward as one, extricating Rolle from the throng. With Stefan on the right and Vladimir on the left, they hooked their hands under Rolle's arms and dragged him backward out of the mass of flailing mortals before any human eye could realize it.
The noise was instantly muted as the door slammed closed behind them and they stood across the street from the pub. The sound of the melee inside the pub caused a passerby to pause in concern before she got too close. She took a half step back, pulling her young son with her. Glass continued to break. Some of the patrons escaped from a back door.
The dull roar from the ground around them had not abated. Rolle's expression was focused and burning. Stefan and Vladimir released him suddenly folded over in pain, dropping to their knees beside Rolle. They looked at each other in shock. Neither elder could ever remember feeling pain like this.
"Ce este acel zgomot?" a tiny voice asked in his native tongue. Across the street, a small boy of six or seven tugged on his mother's skirt.
Rolle's eyes lowered to look at the boy walking slowly back to the other side of the street. His lips twitched once, twice, and the third time, one corner curled up into a faint smile as his eyes softened. He took another two steps toward the boy and went down to one knee.
"Hello," Rolle greeted the boy quietly.
The child's mother reached down and took the boys hand in her own. "You're English?"
Rolle looked up at her and shook his head.
"American," she said with certainty. At his nod, she smiled nervously. "I'm from Boston."
"Long way from home," Rolle said, still kneeling next to the boy.
The rumbling noise subsided and the Romanian elders slowly got to their feet, watching their charge with intense scrutiny.
"I moved here with my husband," the woman said. "He grew up in Navodari up the coast, but we live here now."
"You met in college," Rolle said with certainty.
"Yes," she said, surprised. "How did you know that?"
Rolle shrugged. "Lucky guess. His parents sent him to the states to learn engineering, I bet."
The woman laughed. "Yes! Exactly."
Rolle looked at the boy again. "This little guy have dual citizenship then?"
The boy's mother sighed. "Yes, but it's been hard to keep things straight. The politics..." She trailed off, not feeling the need to explain the tensions of the various governments involved.
"What was that he was asking you a minute ago?" Rolle asked, still smiling at the boy, who was now feeling brave enough to approach him.
"He wanted to know what that noise was," she said even as she looked around, realizing it was gone now. "It sounded like an earthquake."
The boy returned Rolle's smile and reached out a small hand, touching Rolle's temple and cheek. The tension still trapped in Rolle's body released instantly at the contact.
Across the stree, the two elders watched the intereaction with growing interest.
"Did you see?" Stefen murmured to his brother.
Vladimir stepped closer, their moment of unusual pain already forgotten. "This is very odd, yes?"
"Mami, el are ochi destul de," the child said, leaning in to have a closer look.
The woman nodded and repeated, "He likes your eyes."
Rolle nodded and met the boy's even gaze. "Thank you."
"Tomás, what do you say in English?"
"Ou are velcom," the boy parroted.
A particularly loud crash and startled cries inside the bar suggested that the unconscious forms inside were being identified as more than just unconscious. Sirens began to blare in the distance.
The woman looked at the door of the bar, while Rolle stood and looked down the street toward the town in the direction of the sirens. He glanced back at Stefan and Vladimir who were standing shoulder to shoulder watching him intently.
"You should go before things get worse here," he said quietly.
"It was nice to meet you...?" the woman trailed off, holding out her hand and waiting for Rolle to take it and give his name.
Rolle shook her hand, but said instead, "It was nice meeting you. Go, and be safe."
He turned and walked back to the elders who waited for him. With every step, the curious and playful light in his eyes dimmed, until his face returned to the same blank expressionless stare he had worn for the past week.
He stopped in front of them for only a moment, then without being told he turned and headed back to the old bunker they used as their nest.
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Rolle sent Rachel back to her seat without him. He didn't want to, but he knew Marcus would do nothing to jeopardize his precious rules. He also knew he could not go back their seats with her. After Marcus' words to him earlier, he couldn't give him a reason to take any more interest in her. He had to let Marcus believe that he had heeded his warning. Rolle knew he'd have to get used to the tight collar he was going to have to wear now.
He raised his hand to his nose. He could still smell her in the tiny bathroom, and her taste... her taste... He sucked each finger into his mouth one at a time and closed his eyes with a sigh. Reaching to the sink, he pulled down a handful of paper towels to clean himself up.
He buttoned his shirt and stuffed it back into his pants when he noticed it, the dampness on his left leg. He felt his stomach sink and rubbed at a sudden pain in his head.
Marcus would smell her. He'd smell Rachel's scent all over him and he had no change of clothes. Now that he thought about it, Rolle realized that Marcus would smell his scent on Rachel right now! There was no way to hide what they had done from Marcus. The Volturi knew that it was possible for a vampire to make love to a human without killing them: improbable, sure, but possible. Edward and Bella were proof of that, as well as the Alaskan succubae.
Rolle paused at the mirror looking at himself. Everything was so confusing. Edward had been wracked with so much guilt about losing control during intimacy and hurting Bella, and without a second thought Rolle had sex with Rachel. The reality of it stunned him.
He had sex with Rachel.
He had no idea where the urge came from. Sixty-six years of abstinence... No. Sixty-six years of devotion, grieving Gillian's death, and his entire consciousness was consumed with a need for Rachel's body in an instant. Once the reality of her around him, hot and wet, had hit him, all he could remember was the last night he'd had Gillian. The memory of her loving arms crushed him, but it was too late and his body's need — long denied — was too great.
It was Rachel, holding him tenderly in her body. It was Rachel's hands holding his face, trying to rub away the pain with her thumbs. It was Rachel who wanted him like this, wanted him raw and undone. It was Rachel who saw him as he was, and was unafraid of the chasm she had seen in him. For a moment, she stood at the edge of the cliff with him and did not turn away. Instead, she slipped her fingers into his.
Rolle took a long slow breath, more confused than ever. He boarded this plane with only one purpose: to do whatever he needed to in order to keep the Volturi away from the Cullens. He had closed his eyes and put his feet on the bleak path that would protect Edward and Bella at all cost. He had nothing to lose. He had nothing, after all. If he had to remain a demon in hell, he may as well be a demon with purpose.
He never expected a hand to reach out from the dark and rest gently on his shoulder. Who would want to save a demon?
Rolle looked at the bathroom door, suddenly aware of exactly how angry Marcus would be. He would do nothing, but he'd be unable to hide the anger in his face. Rachel would wonder why Marcus was obviously mad. She'd cower under his glare, anxious for Rolle to get back.
Rolle left the bathroom at a measured pace. Marcus would not be able to deal with the emotional overload. He'd spent too much time avoiding feeling anything at all. He was already taxed when they got onto the plane simply by having to deal with the trouble of having Rolle around. He wouldn't be able to maintain that heightened emotional level and knowing Rolle had disobeyed him and had sex with the human woman. It would only remind him of his own lost mate and the crushing tedium of simply existing without her would return.
By the time Rolle got back to his seat, he found Marcus' anger gone and replaced with his usual malaise. Rolle also knew that Marcus had already made up his mind. He had also decided to leave Rolle behind in Paris after his insubordination. Marcus would go on alone to Italy to talk to his brothers first. He'd save his energy for that conversation.
Rolle clicked his seatbelt into place. Rachel was talking to her seatmate, trying to hide her nervousness about their dirty little non-secret. Her heart thumped when she realized Rolle was back in his seat.
Rolle knew if he ignored her, as he should for her own safety, that she would feel hurt and cheap. She was adult enough to know it wasn't like that, but a thin vein of insecurity ran through her. The time they spent together would make that line of vulnerability run close to her insecurity. Rolle didn't want her to feel slighted by his avoidance, because her tender gesture had meant something to him, that she had reached out to him to give him the gift of herself, her intimacy when he had thought himself past all kindnesses.
When Rolle was certain that Marcus had decided his course of action, he glanced at Rachel. She noticed his attention immediately and bit her lips to keep from smiling. Her heart began to race, but with Marcus right beside him Rolle could do nothing to ease the giddy shyness she suddenly felt. He couldn't stop his eyes from following the lines of her body, though, and realized too late that he was only making matters worse when a wave of her arousal drifted toward them on the dry metallic processed air of the plane's ventilation.
Marcus stiffened beside him and his hand clenched the arm of his seat, cracking the plastic as the plane touched down. He wasn't affected by Rachel's physical responses, but he grew more and more furious with Rolle because of them. A low growl and a louder grinding of teeth was hidden in the roar of the jets being thrown into reverse.
Rolle sat caught between the two of them: one wanting his attention, and the other wanting him to ignore the one wanting his attention. Marcus had to win. His crushing grip on Rolle's wrist ensured he would.
The plane taxied to the gate and the entire human population rose as a single unit. It became quickly obvious that Marcus' intention was to keep Rolle on the plane until they were the last to leave.
Rolle glanced at Rachel who kept shooting furtive looks at him. She would be hoping that he'd follow her off the plane, but she also wouldn't expect him to. As she slung her purse and luggage straps over her shoulder, she smiled meekly at him. Marcus' grip began to crush Rolle's arm. He could only give her a polite smile and nod.
"It was nice to meet you," she returned with equal politeness before she shuffled along with the others down the aisle.
Rolle sat and watched her leave until she disappeared through the outer hatch and never complained about the grip mangling his arm.
The rest of the passengers scuffled by them. They were not quite the last off, but Rolle knew that Marcus had waited long enough even though he did nothing to rush his decision. He knew as soon as they got off the jet way, Marcus would tell him of his decision. So he was not surprised when Marcus pushed him toward the rows of empty chairs away from the humans.
"You will wait here in Paris until you are sent for," he said, shoving a cell phone into Rolle's hand. "I will go ahead to Volterra and discuss your actions concerning Demetri. There may be consequences," he warned Rolle with stern significance in his voice.
Rolle knew there would be no consequences, and Marcus was lying to him, but he played along. "All right."
Marcus slapped Rolle's boarding pass into his chest and walked away, leaving him there without another word.
Rolle instantly knew where he had to be, and where he could not be.
He couldn't go to her hotel. She hadn't told him where she was staying in Paris. If he showed up there, he knew her first reaction would be elated surprise and arousal, followed briefly by curiosity about what he was doing there when he'd told her he wasn't staying in Paris but rather going straight to Italy. Then all that would disappear and he would be the scary stalker guy who followed her to her hotel.
No, he couldn't go to her hotel. He'd have to be someplace she could feel they accidentally ran into each other. It would be easier to deal with hurt and anger, than fear and paranoia.
Rolle knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. She'd register at her hotel and try to get some sleep, but she'd be too wound up. She'd try to finish working, but wouldn't be able to focus so she'd go out into the city and try to wear herself out. She'd walk along the river toward one of the two landmarks: the arch or the tower.
The answer came to him and he smiled, shoving the ticket into his pocket and headed out of the terminal.
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1960
Constanta, Romania
All three vampires could easily see in the oppressive darkness. There was simply no way to avoid the worst areas of the road. The car lurched through potholes a foot deep, climbing out with deep growls from the old Mercedes engine.
The drive was long, but the conversation was the same. "I am not convinced this is the best way to proceed," Stefan cautioned using their old tongue to keep the nature of their conversation from Rolle who rode in the back seat pensive and sullen.
"It was the hostility," Vladimir repeated for the tenth time since the incident in the pub. "I am certain of it. Consider, my brother, Ehran attacked him. The mob attacked him. It was the child that provided the key."
Though Rolle himself had been coldly placid since the incident, the Romanians had methodically examined and debated the consequences of that night for the past four days. They went back and forth over what they had seen happen and what they guessed was the cause.
Rolle had inadvertently started a fight. The mob attacked him and he attacked back. In less than a blink of the eye, he had killed four humans, though the news reported five deaths. After making inquiries the Romanian elders received copies of the final report from the medical examiner office. One man died of repeated stabbings from a knife. His killer was already in custody.
The police were currently trying to link the murderer to the other deaths, but were running into considerable issues. Though there were no outward signs of attack at first, early examination of the bodies had revealed deep bruising on the torsos that were later identified as 'catastrophic organ damage of unknown cause.' Simply put, wherever Rolle had touched them, their organs had burst. The man Rolle tapped on the head had his brain explode in his skull. The resultant injuries of these attacks were so completely different than Rolle's attack on Ehran. Both elders agreed that it was the nature of the material being effected. Ehran was a vampire, his body unyielding as stone, but mortals were very yielding and rather squishy.
The long and ominous silhouette of the psychiatric gulag slowly slid into view on the desolate plain. No trees grew here. Nothing broke the horizon except the four lonely buildings behind a nine-foot fence. The grass was tall, brown and dormant from the summer heat.
A single guard unlocked the gate and pulled it back to allow the car in. As they pulled past, the guard's face was illuminated in the floodlight and bright red eyes crinkled into a knowing smile as the vampire skirted a bow toward them. The dark shadow of the actual guard lay folded and broken nearby.
One building was set apart from the others. It was less like an infirmary and more like a house. A sign listed two names of the doctors in resident there. The two largest buildings were long simple cement blockhouses with four wings sticking perpendicular from the main hub of each hospital unit. The last building, and obviously the oldest in the compound, was broad and flat on the edges and taller in the center. This building was made of stone and appeared to have been a jail at some point in its life. The windows were set with thick iron bars. Their car slid up the drive and stopped in front of that building. Heavy worn stone stairs lead to the main door. A large sign was stenciled above the large porch: "Zonă Periculoasă Pacientului."
Rolle automatically climbed out of the car, but stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he turned to face the building. The car door was left open behind him. His eyes went wide as he stared at the building less than twenty feet away. At three in the morning, only a single yellowed light illuminated the door into the asylum. The windows were dark, the doors shut, and the patients inside all asleep.
Rolle stared at the building as if were a creature from hell vomited from the depths of the ninth circle. His breathing became shallow and quick.
Vladimir gave a smug knowing look to his brother and took Rolle by the elbow. "Come my young friend. You obviously need to feed. We've not seen you have a drop since you've been our guest. Perhaps these will be more to your taste."
Rolle's feet moved with a heavy sucking motion as if he were being pulled through mud by the vampire elder. They ascended the stairs slowly and only with more encouragement by Vladimir. The stones were worn in the middle, grooved by the years of use. Rolle's breathing grew more erratic as the door loomed before them. The latch creaked and snapped back before the door swung wide open without a sound from the old iron hinges. Rolle's eyes shot up and down the hall, already searching for a way to escape with his first step through the arch. His steps were now nervous and short, itching to leave as quickly as possible.
The mental processes of the men and women in this building, even asleep, were crazed and focused on the demons of their many psychoses. Their diseased minds were amplified now in their nightmares. Vladimir had brought him to the ward for the violently insane.
"No, I..." Rolle muttered. "This is...." He gasped and weakly tried to pull his arm back. "I have to... Please, this is...." His steps became more forced; his voice was louder each time he tried to speak. He was visibly agitated now as Vladimir urged him down the hall. Rolle's eyes shot back and forth from door to door.
"We'll simply pick one for you, shall we?" Vladimir encouraged politely, now dragging a reluctant and struggling Rolle down the hall.
"There's too much!" Rolle hissed, practically jumping to get away. His entire body was alive with action, and all of it was focused on leaving this place.
"Not at all," Vladimir dismissed with magnanimous generosity. "You are our guest!"
"Perhaps we should heed the boy," Stefan said trying to discourage Vladimir from this course of action.
"Just there," Vladimir said to both of them, showing they were close to the door he desired, the one resident that he felt would answer all questions. He could not know it was not a single mind creating Rolle's distress, but the concentration of the entire ward.
"Stop," Rolle insisted. "Please, stop, I can't... Too many. It's..."
Vladimir tightened his grip on Rolle's arm, dragging him now.
"Stop. Stop. STOP!" Rolle suddenly shouted. The rumbling noise that had accompanied his previous attacks roared instantaneously, without the slow crescendo they had noticed before, at the same moment Rolle wrenched his arm free.
Vladimir's grip on his arm vanished into swirling dust. Rolle stared at the dust and his mouth fell open in shock as a single reality slammed into him with the force of a runaway train: the man on the beach, Ehran, was not destroyed by the two ancient vampires at all. It was him. He had done it. He had killed Ehran. He had somehow murdered that man.
A scream of rage and pain split the air at the same instant his footsteps pounded down the hall in flight. Tendrils of dust curled in the vacuum created by his panicked escape. The inmates woke and added their screams to the uproar.
Stefan looked down at his brother. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
They had waited so long for their chance. They thought they had finally found the one thing that would begin to tip the stars in their favor against the Volturi, and yet Vladimir lay stunned on the old hardwood floor with Stefan's wide burgundy eyes staring down at him in disbelief.
The antediluvian looked down at his body. His left arm and shoulder were gone as well as half of his torso where they had been attached.
Their experiment had gone horribly, horribly wrong. Now, Rolle was escaping from them, but neither of the elders felt inclined to try to stop him.
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A/N: As always, my thanks to my previewers: Irishgirl, Milalencar, and LolaShoes. And George!
Ce este acel zgomot?
[What is that noise?]
Mami, ochii lui sunt atât de diferite
[Mommy, his eyes are so different]
Gulag
The government agency that administered the penal labor camps of the Soviet Union. The term is infamous for its association with remote places where prisoners were kept and sometimes disappeared.
Zonă Periculoasă Pacientului
Dangerous Patient Zone
Antediluvian
of or belonging to the period before the Flood. Gen. 7, 8.; a very old or old-fashioned person or thing.
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