Ascension (19 page)

I feel my mind tumbling, my sense of time unreal as if reality is stretched out thin.

"Would I what?" I laugh at the world.

"Would you join the witness protection program if I let you go?"

"Oh, you won't let me go, silly," I say, the thought ridiculous, making me giggle. "You'd kill me first." I tilt my throat to the side and laugh at myself. "I'm too valuable to fall into enemy hands." I make an exaggerated face of pain, my tongue lolling out to the side, then go into a fit of hysterics at the sight of him, frowning like a spoil-sport.

He leans over me, his arms on the armrests beside my head. "Is that what you really think of me, Eve? That I'll kill you?"

"Eventually," I say. I open my eyes, look up into his hooded ones. "You’re a killer. That’s what you do.”

I burst out laughing at his frown.

“What do I really think of you? Let's see," I say and smile, closing my eyes again, suppressing a giggle. "I think you have a very nice big thick . . ." I open my eyes and glance up, then convulse in laughter at the sight of his face, "piece of steak in the freezer that I feel like eating!"

"Oh you do, do you?" He smiles finally. "I thought you were a vegetarian."

"You've given me a taste for meat," I say, grinning. "We'd have to heat it up first." I practically roll around on the couch in hysterics. "Get it nice and hot!" Hold my belly. "Not too well done, though," I add, tears in my eyes, "cause I like it all nice and dripping juice!"

"Oh, believe me, it's already dripping," he says, leaning down closer, his face just an inch away from mine, smile now broad.

I scream at that. "Well you better get it out," I laugh so hard I can barely speak, "cause I got the munchies!"

I lie beneath him, his face against my neck, his nose beneath my ear, snuffling me like I'm some kind of exotic flower, the laughter slowly subsides, leaving me in a state of near bliss. It just feels so good, lying there with him on top of me, his weight comforting, his lips on my neck, his hair on my cheek.

"What do you
really
think of me, Eve?" His voice is so soft that I'm not sure if he actually said it. It sounds as if it's distant, as if we're under water.

"You already know."

"Say it."

"Why? Just read me."

"I want to hear you say the words."

I inhale slowly.

"What do I really think of you?" I say, now serious, my eyes still closed, my lids too heavy to open. "I think I could love you, even though you're not Michel," I say, nodding to myself. "And I hate you both. I wish I'd never met either of you."

He doesn't say anything for a while, and I just enjoy the moment, the way it seems to stretch like warm taffy, sweet and soothing.

"And if I said you were free to go? Right now? If I said you could just get up and leave, and I gave you a plane ticket and money to go wherever you wanted, start a new life?"

"Mmm," I say, imagining, shaking my head slowly. "If I could go anywhere?" I think for a moment, my eyes closed. "
Wales
," I say finally. "The Northern coast." I see it in my mind's eye. A rocky coast. "There's a medieval ruin there.
Dolwyddelan
Castle
. Some days, when there's a storm, the clouds roll in off the sea and fill it up." I sigh. "I want to go back and feel the clouds in
Dolwyddelan
Castle
."

I lie still, imagining what clouds would feel like.

"They must feel like fog." I remember fog lying thick on the ground when I lived in
Wales
. I remember a poem from public school I had to memorize and repeat to the class. "The fog," I say, reciting it out loud, "comes on little cat feet. It sits over the harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on."

"Carl Sandburg," Julien says.

"Yes," I say and frown, my mood shifting at the memory. "Mrs. Peacock made me memorize it in Grade Five. I cried when I had to recite it in front of everyone. I hated people looking at me, as if they could see . . . "

"See what?"

"The blood." I shake my head, remembering. "He made me bleed." I swallow. "He took pictures."

"Shh," he says, rubbing my cheek.

I close my eyes and my feelings of bliss vanish as if clouds blown away by the wind at the top of a mountain in
Wales
.

"Time for more," Julien says, sitting up. "You're coming down fast."

I sit up beside him and rub my eyes. "I don't want any more."

He shakes his head and picks up the joint that lies in the dish on the coffee table and lights it. "Here. Smoke the rest."

"What if I don't want to?"

"
Eve
."

I relent and take a hit, sucking in the smoke, holding it in for as long as possible. The buzz I get from before is nice. I like the feeling – as if there's nothing wrong in the world. As if everything's fine, happy, sweet. No troubles. When I'm done with the joint, I turn to him and watch him as he finishes up the end, the ember blazing for a brief moment before dying out completely.

He isn't Julien the vampire anymore – he's Julien the sweet man who smiles a lot and wants to nuzzle my neck – wants to replace his brother in my arms, between my thighs. When he turns back to me after closing up the baggie, I lean in and kiss him, my hand cupping his cheek, my fingers tracing his jaw.

“Sir Julien,” I say, pulling him down to me. He kisses me.

CHAPTER 17

"Revenge is a dish best served cold."

Pierre Choderlos de Laclos

I wake in bed, my head pounding
. Julien must have put me here when I fell asleep. I get up and go to the bathroom and wash my face, brush my teeth for my mouth feels like garbage. Julien opens the door and peeks his head around.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I was stoned last night and have a hangover."

He smiles. "You were. I didn't even get anything out of you because you fell asleep before I could get you into bed and all my plans were ruined."

"You and your brother have so many plans," I say.

"We do. Get dressed," he says, his expression suddenly serious. "We're going somewhere."

"Where?"

"Just get dressed."

I bite back a protest and finish cleaning myself up, dressing in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. When I return to the main area, he's sitting at a counter in the small kitchen, drinking blood. He glances over at me, his expression unreadable under the hunter's face. When he's finished, he comes to me.

"Come." He reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me with him,

"Where are we going?"

"We've got work to do."

We get our coats and leave the warehouse. Down on the street, Vasily's waiting with the car. I don't know what to expect as we drive along the streets. A cold front blew in and the skies are overcast, thick dark clouds blotting out the moonlight. I shiver, burnt out from the events of the previous night.

The car slows as we approach one of the oldest parts of the waterfront, the buildings falling down, ramshackle, rusting into pieces, this section not yet having been reclaimed. I want to ask what's happening, but am reluctant. Julien hasn't said a word to either Vasily or me, nor does he look at me. He just stares out the car window at the passing scenery, his fingers tapping on the door.

The car stops at one huge building made of corrugated metal. Inside, the building is empty and dark except for a floodlight which shines down on a figure sitting in the middle of the space with his back to us, his hands tied, a mound of small objects littered on the floor around him. To the side is a can of gas.

Once we're closer, Julien stops in the shadows, pressing his finger over my lips, motioning for me to stay where I am. He goes to the seated figure – a man dressed in a white shirt and dark pants, greying hair, his head forward.

Julien pulls out a knife and starts to circle the man, waving the knife around so that its blade catches the light and glints like a diamond. I tense, wondering what he's doing.

"Who are you?" the man says, fear in his voice once he sees Julien.

"No, the question is, who are you, or should I say,
what
are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your name,"
Julien
says, edging closer to the man, his knife flashing. "Tell me your name."

"Bob," the man says, his voice breaking. "Bob Thompson."

I gasp and cover my mouth.

"Bob." A deadly serious voice. "Do you know why you're here?"

"No," he says, "I don't."

"You don't?" Julien steps closer, and picks up one of the dark objects off the floor. "Can you tell me what this is?"

The man shakes his head. "I don't know."

"Come on, Bob. Tell us what's inside. Is it a tape? A porno tape maybe? A kiddie porn tape?"

"I said I don't know."

"Well, that's strange. You see, after a few of my associates invited you along for a ride out to
Boston
for a visit, they went to your little den of iniquity and found these on your shelves. So I'm a little confused. Are you sure you don't recognize them?"

Thompson shakes his head. "Some guy gave them to me. I don't know what's in them."

"Oh, I think you do. You see, Bob, a few of my men took a look. They say you were in them with little girls. Doing all sorts of very
very
bad things. Now do you recognize them?"

"What do you want from me?"

"I want the truth, Bob. The absolute honest-to-God unblemished truth. You see, that's my mission in life – to get to the truth, every dirty filthy ugly bit of it. I want it all. Do you think a pervert can do that if it'll save your neck?"

Thompson doesn't respond, whimpering, his head down. Julien circles around, closer now, his knife touching Thompson on the neck.

"That's what you are, Bob
.
A pervert."

Julien comes over to me where I stand frozen with horror. He pulls me over to stand in front of Thompson, one arm around me from behind, squeezing me.

"Do you recognize her?"

Thompson looks at me but shakes his head.

"No?" Julien's voice is quiet, and I realize that the more quiet his voice, the deadlier his intent. "You don't recognize sweet little Eve? Look at her – the pretty hazel eyes, the lovely soft lips, the long black hair, the ballerina body? How could you ever forget that?"

"Whatever she told you was a lie."

Julien lets go of me and goes back to Thompson. "You're calling Eve a liar? Oh, come now, Bob. You know and I know that's a lie. My men tell me there are tapes in that pile, at least one of them with a girl in a tutu, a little girl with shiny black hair, with such pretty hazel eyes. Why, she looks like a fucking angel, doesn't she?" Julien's voice is close to breaking. He runs the knife under Thompson’s neck, pressing it against his jugular. "Isn't that right?"

"I don't know what's there."

"Now, Bob," Julien says. "I'm going to be honest with you. Eve's already told me everything. Every ugly little detail. I want you to tell me, too, just so I know you're telling the truth. So that you and I both know what kind of animal you really are. Remember, I already know what you did. If I catch you telling a lie, something's going to get cut off, and I can assure you it will hurt."

I cover my face and turn away, unable to stand there any longer. Julien returns and holds me. "Shh," he says and strokes my head. "Just a little longer, and it will all be over."

He lets go of me and approaches Thompson once again. He bends forward and flashes the knife in the man's face.

"When did you first touch Eve in a bad way? You better tell the truth. Remember, Eve told me everything. If you lie, I'll get mad, and believe me, you don't want to see me mad." Thompson panics. He glances around as if looking for someone to help him.

"Answer me, Bob. I'm waiting."

Thompson's face is red, his mouth slobbering.

"I don't know, I don't know – maybe eleven. I'm sick. I need help."

"Oh, yes, you are sick.
Very
sick. But don't worry, I'm going
to
help you." He comes back to me. "You're a disease, Bob. And I'm the cure. Look at her. She's a fucking angel, and because you're such a dirty pervert and hurt her, she's all messed up. Twelve years later and she's still getting fucked by you in her mind. Now that's not fair, is it?"

Thompson’s weeping, perhaps knowing there’s no way out for him.

"Answer me!"

"No!" Thompson cries.

"And all the other little girls," Julien says, his knife ripping Thompson’s pants in the crotch. "How many of them are fucked up because of you?

"I don't know," Thompson says. "Don't hurt me, please God don't hurt me!"

"Oh, God's got nothing to do with this now. God isn't going come and help you, Bob. He didn't come to help me, or Eve and he's not coming to help you. I'm the only one here, Bob. I'm your god now and it's just you and me."

I cover my face with my hands.

"Look at her!" Julien says, twisting Thompson's neck towards
m
e. "I love her, and she needs pain to block out the memories of you! What do you think, Bob, should I hurt you?"

"No, no," he gasps, barely able to speak through the blubbering. "Please don't hurt me."

"Did Eve ask you not to hurt her?"

"I'm sorry," he cries.

Julien holds the knife under Thompson's chin. "Well Bob, it's too late for sorry now. You see, I'm here to do an exorcism. I'm here to cast the devil out. In fact, why shouldn't Eve be the one to do it? Here," he says and puts the knife in my hand, closing my fingers around it, his voice almost a whisper. "Take it. Do what I said you want to do and cut the bastard's heart out."

I just hold the knife in my hand, shaking my head, the tears rolling down my face.

"Don't," Thompson says. "Please don't."

"I can't," I say, barely able to speak.

"Didn't he hurt you, Eve? Didn't he make you hate yourself? Didn't he make it so that you can't get through a week without cutting yourself?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't he deserve to be punished? Doesn't he deserve to be stopped?"

"Yes," I say, but shake my head. "I can't."

"No, of course you can't. You're not a killer." Julien takes the knife back from me. "But I am."

He grabs Thompson's neck and twists it to the side, then bites down. I cry out, covering my face but watch through my fingers. Thompson groans, a strangled cry escaping his lips as Julien drinks his blood, almost ripping Thompson's neck apart. A moment passes before Julien stands up, his mouth and chin covered in blood. He wipes his mouth on a sleeve and then reaches down to feel Thompson's neck for a pulse. Then he turns to Vasily, who stands off to the side of the room in shadows. "Throw me your gun."

Vasily complies, and Julien catches the weapon and shoots Thompson point blank in the forehead, the force of the bullet rocking his head back. Then Julien kicks the body over onto the pile of tapes. He takes the can of gas and spreads it over everything, throws a lit match on the pile. Flames shoot up, igniting the gasoline, the fire licking at Thompson's body.

Julien takes me by the arm, leading me out of the building and to the car where Vasily stands at the ready. We drive back to the warehouse in silence, Julien just holding my hand in his, and he's released something in my brain so that I'm numb, feeling nothing.

I stand in the bedroom by the window overlooking the waterfront. Outside, the city lights across the river sparkle like a thousand crystals of yellow and white. A wind picks up and blows the stoplight on the street below back and forth. Through an open windowpane, I can hear it creak as it rocks in the wind – a lonely sound that arouses in me such a feeling of regret and sadness.

The streets in the surrounding area are bare; no traffic passes by. I realize I don't even know what time it is – I'd forgotten my watch at my apartment and haven't thought to look for it in the boxes Julien brought over.

Julien comes in, the open door throwing a sliver of light from the hall, briefly illuminating the hardwood floor. He closes it behind him and the room is once again in darkness and comes to my side.

"I'm sorry, Eve," he says. "That was difficult for you."

I feel numb, but I nod.

"Did you have permission to kill him?"

Julien shakes his head. "No," he says. "But he needed to die."

"I thought you only killed within the terms of the Treaty."

"I'm beyond that now," he says and sighs.

"What does that mean?"

He shakes his head. "Need to know, Eve."

Frustration fills me. How can I know whether to submit if I can't know what I'm submitting to?

"I don't know if I can do this," I say when he leans against the windowsill, looking out across the skyline. "I feel so conflicted, so guilty, like being with you is wrong. Like it's a betrayal of my mother."

He says nothing, just runs his hand down from my shoulder to my hand, which he squeezes and that small show of caring makes my heart soften to him.

"It's like the world I grew up believing in doesn't really exist," I say. "It's all just a façade, and underneath is this really horrible world where monsters run things in collusion with bad humans. I always believed we lived with a system of justice. That our laws were what kept us from barbarism and arbitrary power. Without that system," I struggle to express myself. "Then, life becomes so insecure, dangerous, meaningless except for brute survival of the strongest."

"It's always been that way," he says, turning to face me and I can hear frustration in his voice. "Those laws are just meant to assuage your fears, keep you in line so that you live your lives out without causing those in power any problems. That's the truth."

"I realize that now," I say. "There is no meaning, no reason – for anything. No universal rights. Rights are what the strong say they are. Your life and my life? Accidents. Eyeblinks in the life of the universe. Random collisions between molecules. Nothing more. Your vampire mutation? Just a random accident of random radiation and cellular biomechanics. In the long run, nature doesn't care and will probably weed it out as unfit. The universe doesn't care. Life has no meaning and all that matters is power."