Chapter 3
Pet Human
I'm in a cage! A cold prison cell inside the place where my grandmother once lived. I still haven't figured out how he lured me down here, but I know I can't get out. He's a murderer and a monster and I have already spent so much time screaming while he watched like I was a bug in a jar. As soon as I calm down and stop screaming and throwing things, he comes close and introduces himself. His words draw me nearer to the glass partition. I can't help but watch his unnatural movements, almost like a hummingbird in stop action, as I listen to his antiquated style of speech.
He doesn't answer my questions, but instead launches into a soliloquy, all the while making sure I'm watching him. He wants an audience, and I can't get away. He paces outside the cell, as if he's giving a great speech and wants to make sure his audience is watching him.
"I am Stefan. I am older than every city in your United States. I have seen the rise and fall of empires and I expect I will still be here when the world breathes it's last. It is all I have had to look forward to for so long. Awaiting the sweet release of nonexistence and an end to my prolonged dissatisfaction with ….life! How laughable that – I have not been alive for centuries! And yet I keep going in a cheap parody of what humans so desperately grasp and cling to. Life.
"It is only by periodically renewing my memory of past events that I am even able to remember what it felt like to be truly alive. Physical pain. Hunger for food. Thirst for water. Sex. Sleep, drunkenness, play, curiosity, friendship, frailty, and love. Yes I remember love, all tied up with everything else human.
"Of course I keep journals; diary's if you will, of the memories, the dreams that cross my mind during periods of unsleeping stillness. Perhaps it is a sound that brings back a fragment of broken memory; the tone of a tinkling bell that reminds me of her laughter. The smell of a brightly blooming blossom tucked into a springtime bouquet that makes me recall her allure. Shadows and mists that cause me to race for pen and paper to capture the ghost before it can escape. To capture the touch of love and relive it, even if it is only a speck of dust in comparison to the reality. A reality I cannot remember with any clarity and detail, yet I know it was marvelous for the marks it has left on my soul.
I pace along with him, and roll my eyes at his melodrama.
"Oh, you doubt I have a soul? Of course I'd thought like you once. How could one who has cheated death and caused death have a soul? But you are human and I can forgive you your short-sightedness. Human enough to believe a soul to be a good thing, a part of everyone which proves they are worthy of redemption. But I know now that the soul exists also for torment. Leftover from my humanity it bears mute witness to what I have become – my soul. It has been impacted by untold and countless horrors and yet it still refuses to disappear and leave me in peace! It whispers, dry and rasping into the quiet echo's of my mind and sends me fleeing to find noise to drown it out.
"Perhaps that is why I still exist; why I am so terrified of destroying myself. It is the fear that I'll be left in purgatory, with the sniveling, gibbering, rantings of my abused, misshapen ….soul. It is fear that causes me to drown myself in books and music. Fear that forces me to delve into the memories of my humanity even as I recognize the futility. Anything to keep the hollow spaces within me from whispering loudly enough to finally steal what little sanity I have left."
I am his captive audience. I watch him pace as he tells me how he's traveled the world and learned most of it's major languages. He smiles and regales me with Latin poetry, then sings me a long forgotten Celtic lullaby in perfect pitch. His lovely tenor voice causes me to catch my breath in wonder even though I don't know the meaning of the words. He is pleased at my reaction and he sings me an aria from an opera I've never seen, in fluent Italian with his voice echoing in the recesses of my dungeon.
He tells me of a visit to China and how he watched the building of the Great Wall, slipping unseen among the people to hide his unique European features. He speaks of Africa, hunting the huge predators in their own hunting grounds. He remembers the taking of the mountain gorillas as their blood was so similar to that of humans. He tells me of visiting Australia when it was still a penal colony and the joys of hunting the human predators exiled there.
I don't know why he hasn't killed me yet; I know he wants to. Not that he wishes I were dead, but the look on his face tells me he thirsts for my blood. Worse, his bright red eyes watch every move I make and I feel more like a hamster in a cage than a human. I listen to his ramblings now as he goes on about how bored he is with his life. I've given up on the screaming and the pounding on the plexi-glass. I think it amuses him somewhat that he was able to construct a prison to hold me, silence me, and keep me from doing bodily harm to myself. Of course I have no doubt that I'm not the first to inhabit his trophy case.
It grates on me how unfair life can be. How could it take someone like my dad and leave this...this...creature masquerading as human for such a long time? It makes me want to scream, but I'm not going to give it the satisfaction of watching me break down again.
He seems lost in his memories, rambling on and on, without any explanation for what he plans to do with me. I can't stand it any more. "What about Lucian? What have you done with him?" My voice is shrill even to my own ears and I can hear the edge of hysteria in my words. I leap to my feet and slap my hand to the glass to try to interrupt his monologue. "Where have you put his body, you freak! Doesn't his family have a right to know what happened to him?"
His face doesn't change, but I can see my plea has moved him. He steps forward and places his hand on the glass where mine still rests. I can feel the chill through the thickness and I try not to move it away. He looks at me with a slight tilt to his head. I don't back down from his study, instead I conduct my own study as we stand face to face, inches apart. He is beautiful. But he is clearly not human. It's evident in the whiteness of his skin, the redness of his eyes, and the whisper of tiny dark veins barely visible beneath the surface of his skin. He looks like he is carved out of marble; so much so that he could stand naked in a museum and be unnoticed; though he would seem more at home in a graveyard I think.
His hair seems almost out of place on his stature-like form. It's rich and dark and falls past his high collar in thick curls. I remember it as luxuriant to touch. His face is feminine beautiful though masculine in features. Like his very bones are delicate but with his hardened flesh covering them in exquisite detail. His nose is long and straight and his prominent cheekbones steal the attention away from his strong jawline. But it's clearly his eyes that stand out the most. If not for their color then for their intensity. If he had been human they might have been called bedroom eyes; the way they can hold me and convey his intentions more than his words. They are wide and almost boyish beneath his gently arched brows.
Still it is his mouth that I can't help but stare at. His full upper lip with it's almost exaggerated M is matched perfectly with his bottom lip. He surprisingly has no facial hair at all, and I know his teeth are also perfect. I imagine how many lives have passed over those perfect teeth, into that beautiful mouth, and I feel a shiver go down my spine. He smiles slightly, and even though it's barely there I still feel my heart begin to race.
"Why so much concern over the thief, Cara Mia? You already know he is dead. I promise you, you would not like any proof I could give you. Are you calm enough to talk to me, or do I need to come up with something more...engaging we can do together?" His smile makes him beautiful, but his intent makes my pulse race and my stomach roll. He smiles wider, taking note of my obvious unease.
"I'll talk. I just don't know what the point is since you and I both know how this is going to end. I mean, what can I say to you that will make you open the door and let me go? Would it make a difference if I had something wrong with me that would be poison to you? If it matters, then I've got AIDS...and hepatitis...and ….um...sickle cell anemia...yeah all that. And cooties too!"
His smile is more genuine as he laughs softly. He is easily the most handsome man I've ever seen. But he is not a man, and I have to remind myself of that as I look through the glass.
I sit in the chair I've so recently thrown in my attempt to break free. "What do you want me to say?" I cross my legs and my arms. He smiles and asks my name. "My name? All this time and you haven't even figured out my name?" I have to laugh. "My purse is upstairs where I came in. It's got my identification in it; I'm surprised you haven't checked it yet."
He smiles at me. "Some people still respect a person's privacy." His smile grows wider. "I however am far older than you are my dear, so I assume respect should be given to me rather than expected from me. I have seen your identification, your shell pink lipstick, your breath mints, make-up, check-book, airplane tickets, hotel key card, and a receipt for a surprisingly expensive dinner several nights ago. But still I want you to tell me your name, especially since you already seem to know mine."
I watch him as he waits, so still and patient. "I'm Summer. Summer Amelia Browning."
He smiles again. "See, that wasn't so hard. I am Stefan. Stefanos Vasilakis. I am pleased to meet you Summer."
"I wish I could say the same – Stefan." I glare at his amused face through the glass. "Why are you keeping me here?"
"My questions first, mon cher. Where did you come from and why did you break into my home?"
"I didn't break into your home. The door was unlocked, we...I....just wanted to see..."
"...see the killer? See the vampire? See the monster of the manor?" He sounds almost angry as he interrupts me. "Most people are turned away by a locked gate or a high fence, or a no trespassing sign, or even by a mean guard dog, but you came through all the normal deterrents. The locked doors didn't keep you from poking around and looking through my windows. Not to mention your companion seemed to be enthralled by the number of valuables he thought to steal. I confess I left the door open, just to see how far you'd come."
It makes me sick to my stomach to think of Lucian. "I wouldn't have let him take anything."
"Oh please, you cannot be so naive as to think that he wouldn't have come back with friends and a truck. My sweet, he was using you. I didn't even need to see his face to know that he clearly meant you harm. You should be more careful about the company you keep."
"Hmmm, be more careful about the company I keep? I'll be sure to remember that." I look him in the eye, with my sarcastic reply. "Listen, I didn't come here to steal from you. I tried to reach you several other ways but I got no response. I've sent letters, made phone calls and I've even tried to go through your security company, but nothing worked. I've come too far to give up."
"And just what is it you wanted from me anyway? Are you trying to commit suicide by vampire? Trying to satisfy your curiosity over my existence? Want to get a good scary story to tell your friends?" His rich voice mocks me.
"No!" I'm angry and frustrated with how this is going. "I didn't want to see you at all. I wanted to see the house. Yours just happened to be the name on the deed. I wanted...no, I needed to see this place. I've come all the way from California; you know, in the United States, just to see this place. I've been dreaming about it for so long, and I just had to see it for myself."
I think I surprise him. At least he doesn't interrupt me to make a condescending comment or judgment on me. His brows draw together just a bit as he faces me. "So, Summer from California, you've come all the way to Romania just to see a house? I'm sure there are better tourist destinations than my home. Not to mention you seem to have an idea that I am not your average homeowner."
"I did a little digging and some research. The same name has owned the house since 1910. Even if the owner lives to be a ripe old age of 100 that still leaves an infant buying the house in 1910." I stand, suddenly nervous. "I asked around the town about this place and people were strangely reluctant to tell me anything. At least those with proper jobs and titles. But some people weren't as reserved and they told me stories. Stories of vampires, and monsters, and things that steal children and haunt the night. I've told a few ghost stories in my youth and I recognize the formula. But I heard them again and again, along with warnings not to come near this place."
"So Summer, why did you not take their advice? What is so important about this house that you risked your well-being to see it?" He isn't laughing, he seems genuinely curious.
"It's my diaries. Well, they were written by my great-grandmother, and she lived in this house. I've got no family and no living relatives that I know about, so I came here. I really don't know what I expected. I didn't even dare hope that I would find some long lost cousin living here, or even stored memorabilia or records. I just wanted to see the place where she was so happy. Her name was Amelia and I've always felt close to her even though she died when I was eight. She wrote about the attic where she spent her rainy days playing school. She told how she and her best friend ran through a circle of rooms playing tag. She balanced on the garden wall and had a tree swing in the back yard. Oh, and she talked about the secret passages. She wrote about three she knew of and how she could spy on her sister when her beau's came calling." I don't mean to tell him so much and I try to calm my excitement over her childhood stories.
"I really thought the house was unoccupied, or one of those where the owner travels extensively and rarely actually lives in the house. I only planned to peek in a few windows and possibly slide a note under the door to ask permission to visit. You came as a complete surprise. It didn't take me long to understand the stories are true. It also doesn't take a genius to see that you won't just let me leave after what you did to Lucian. I thought if I distracted you it would give him time to get away. I really don't have a death wish."
"Oh my precious, you lie!"
I have to wonder if he can read my mind. Still he is watching me with a coldly amused smile. "I didn't lie; I don't want to die, but I know more than most people that it's always a possibility. None of us are guaranteed a long life...well, except for you that is. I'm an only child and I've lost my parents and my grandparents. I'm alone in the world." I don't want to sound so melodramatic, but it makes me sad just thinking about how true my words are. Being alone scares me worse than he does.
"I just wish you'd have let me choose who you...who you killed. You could have taken me and let Lucian go; I'm sure he's bound to have more family than I do. He'll be missed, but I won't." I hope he can't read my mind as I think about how painful it is that I won't be missed. Everyone who ever loved me is dead, and sometimes I really do think about joining them. I feel almost depressed as I give him too much information about me. I should be telling him that I've got tons of friends and family who will be coming to look for me if I don't make it back. But there's just something about the way he listens impassively that has me opening up. "So, have I earned any answers to my questions?" I look into his bright red stare.
"I shall answer your questions if you like. But you may not like my answers. And you must continue to answer mine as well." I can't believe I'm negotiating with a vampire. Especially when I know he has the power to compel me to tell him all he would want to know about me. And how devastating that power is.
"Fine. Why are you keeping me here? Am I your next meal?" I feel like challenging him, plus I want to get an idea of what I am up against right from the start. I know he doesn't want to kill me, but I still don't understand why. I am afraid of him, but I know if I give in to my fear I'll find myself screaming and cowering in a corner, absolutely useless. Even in movies that kind of reaction always makes me angry.
He looks at me with a slightly amused grin. "I am keeping you here because I can. You should be pleased I have not killed you. This is taking more restraint than I expected. I still have not decided when I will feed on you. I want to very much, but I told you I would try to restrain myself. I need you to answer some questions for me."
"Why would I answer your questions if it's only going to speed up my execution date? It seems it's in my own best interest to keep you guessing as long as I can." He looks amused at my answer.
"Or you can remain silent and make me angry enough to get it done and over with. Do not play with me il mio caro. I am keeping you here because...your behavior is so different from what I am used to seeing in a human. Truly you signed your death warrant when you came here. I want to know why you did not fight, why you did not plead for your life or at least scream. In fifteen hundred years I have seen all manner of reactions when humans are faced with their own death, but yours was among the strangest." He looks confused. "You are a puzzle and I would have it solved."
His words scare me more than his presence. He doesn't think of me as having any value. I'm only a puzzle, a distraction, a meal, a tiny blip on his forever horizon. I am simply a cheeseburger that walks and talks. It's only a matter of time before he takes a bite. Why does that thought send a delicious shiver through my body? I hate that there is a part of me that wants what he wants. A part of me that is afraid of being alone and facing a painful drawn out death. I choose to live. But sitting so close to one who would kill me, I also feel somewhat resigned.
"How long have you lived here Stefan?" I ask him a simple question before he can ask me the more complicated ones.
"The information you have found is correct; it has been one hundred years. We probably should be moving on, but we have grown complacent here, it is comfortable. There is much to pack if we leave, and it is difficult to find a place for us that will suit our unique needs. You are the first real problem that has arisen in many years. There is a certain amount of security that comes from being known as a fiend and yet leaving no proof of such. Your visit complicates my life as your companion was local and as you pointed out, he will be missed. " He seems so conscious of his own problems which are tiny compared with mine or what happened to Lucian.
"I complicate your life? How can you say that? I am more than something here to complicate your life! I am a woman – a living flesh and blood human being! I've been a daughter, a student, a friend, a nurse, a companion, and...and...I deserve better than this! Complication? You've got that backward Stefan, it is you who are complicating my life. Since clearly between the two of us I am the only one here who still has a life!"
He laughs. "Touche' mon ami! Still I need to decide what to do with you before your absence draws too much attention. I know you have paid for another week at your hotel so they should not consider you missing until then. But I have reason to want this matter finished more expediently. My housemate will return and he definitely will not be as amused by you as I am. If I do not figure out what I want to know, your options will be seriously limited."
"What do you normally do with the bodies of your victims? I mean you had to do something with Lucian. Care to share where I will wind up when you're finished with me?" I stare him down as calmly as I can in light of what he just shared.
"Normally there are no bodies to worry about. I am not in the habit of entertaining guests in my my own home," he looks disdainful. I look pointedly at the stain on the floor of my cell and he gets the message and smiles wickedly. "I see you have noticed the remnants of my last guest. That has been quite some time ago; when I still felt that I could change the political climate of our country by influencing a wayward politician. He refused to see reason I am sorry to say." His smile says he is not sorry. "I still have trouble learning not to interfere." He looks at the stain with his eyebrows drawn together.
"But as to your question. The thief has been buried several miles away in the woods. As for you...ah mon bel, how can I think of disposing of your corpse while you look at me with those eyes?" He begins to pace outside my cell. "I haven't fed on anyone as young and desirable as you are for decades." He looks at me with his piercing red eyes and I can feel the naked desire he doesn't try to hide from me.
"I feed instead on the throw away people of the world. There are so many places where they are stored, and no one cares to dig too deeply to find out why they died. Hospitals, prisons, nursing homes, shelters, bars, mental facilities, even the streets...all are places where I can find sustenance. This modern age has made it easy for one like me. I do not need to feed nearly as often as I did in my earlier years. Twice a month is usually sufficient. It gives me time to find those who are ready to die. Nursing homes are my favorite. I can speak with them and they enjoy my company. I am often the only visitor they will have even though I visit several times before I decide to take them. Most welcome me and there is a peace in the ending." He stops talking and looks into the distance as if remembering.
"It makes it feel almost noble in a way. I know there really is no noble way to commit murder, but it does help my soul a small measure."
"So how is your soul going to feel when you drink my blood?" I am blunt and I can see he is startled.
"My dear you have no idea how little I want to kill you. What you know is against our laws. This is not supposed to happen. I mean a certain amount of latitude is permitted, so long as there are no witnesses. If any of my kind were to find out about you...let's just say there have been very few cases where it has ended well. The Volturi demand obedience." He utters his last statement with such bitter contempt, I am glad I am not associated with whatever is Volturi.
"What's that? Volturi? Is that some kind of vampire legal system?" The look on his face tells me he doesn't want to talk about who or what is Volturi. But still he answers me.
"To most of my kind the Volturi are the leaders, the rulers, and the executioners. Most think they are necessary if not pleasant to deal with. But there are many of us who know them for what they truly are; power hungry monsters who want to subjugate all of us to their will. For them it is about power and control, and they have no limits on how they will gain it. I have seen it first hand and it has made me thirst for their destruction above all others. It is one of the few memories I can still recall after all these centuries. The black heartedness of the Volturi has cost me more than you can imagine."
"So, there's someone out there making the rules for your kind? Just how many of you are there? When you say 'we,' just who are you talking about?" I have a thousand questions I want answers to, but he seems like he's about to sink into a silent depression.
"Calm down il mio tesoro. I will answer your questions. There is no need for me to keep it from you...you already know too much." He seems like he doesn't know where to start. I try to remember all of his earlier ramblings to see if he told me the answers to my questions and I just didn't hear them. "I am afraid I have already doomed you if it is found out all that you know about us. There is no way to lie to the Volturi; Aro can read your mind with a touch. As far as the we I spoke of...that would be my housemate and friend, Vladmir."
"You've got to be kidding me. You mean your living with Vladmir Dracula just like the books? There's no way anyone would believe me even if I told them." I feel like laughing, but his dark look tells me he doesn't see the humor..
"Did I call him Dracula? Popular fiction has made our existence even more challenging than the inquisition or witch hunts. It seems anyone who can hold a pen has to take a clumsy stab at fictionalizing our existence and history. Sometimes this works in our favor and people deny what is right before their eyes, but other times it brings strange fans and hunters to our door. My friend's name is Vladmir, and he is older than I am. As to what you speak of, you would have to ask him. He is currently away trying to track down more of our kind. They have fled after a confrontation with the Volturi, and Vladmir thinks it may soon be time to challenge them more directly."
I have no idea what he's talking about, and I take my seat and try to pretend I'm interested in what he's saying. From what I can gather, I may or may not be in Dracula's basement.
"I can see this is going to take a while. I need to go out since I have some things I need to look into, and I guess I should find you something suitable to eat. When I return, you can eat and then we can finish our talk." He seems calmer, and I wonder why he's stalling. I don't know if he's talking about fattening me up for later, or feeding his pet, but at least it sounds like I'll have a little more time.
He smiles then, and he's beautiful to look at. "So Summer, we already know what I like to eat, would you care to tell me what you prefer?"
I smile back as I answer him. "I'm a true California girl. I'm a lacto-ovo vegetarian, but only if the eggs are not fertilized, and are laid by free range chickens and the milk is hormone free. I also prefer organic food, and locally grown produce." I laugh out loud at the absurdity. "But since I'm not in California, I'll just say I prefer fruits and vegetables, cheese and bread...oh and nuts. I never eat meat or anything made with the actual animal, like broth or fat."
He laughs at what I've said. "I will be back soon. Please, for your own good try not to hurt yourself while I am gone." He disappears, moving so fast I barely see him though I hear his footsteps through the cellar. I hate being alone in a strange place like this, but it gives me a chance to try to figure a way out. Of course I try to pry open the door. I even use the frame of the cot to batter it, but it's no use. I'm trapped.