“It’s not an addiction you have. It is need, pure and simple. You can’t shut it off. It is a part of you, and you have to learn how to live with it, work with it, integrate it into yourself. That is the only way you will learn how to use it and master it.”
A person is a person. No matter how much I want to eat them, I’ll be taking a life, and according to nearly every major religion and moral code, killing is wrong. But what about people who eat meat? Is a cow’s life less valuable than a human’s right to live? Not to the cow.
Okay, now I’m equating people with cows, but I guess the comparison works, because I’m a predator now and people are my food source.
I’m trying to justify killing, and there really is no justification. I shouldn’t be able to talk myself out of the guilt of this. Right here, this is my price to pay for being with Peter.
“What are we going to do with him?” I say, pointing to the guy’s limp body. I can hear the sirens coming, so Peter picks up the body and we haul it further down the road and away from the sirens.
“Let me feed first,” Peter says, and then asks me if I want to come with him. I shake my head and wrap my arms around myself. I don’t want to be away from him, but I can’t watch one more person die today. I know he’s going to kill. I remember hearing this story about a queen who, if one of her guests made a blunder at the table, she’d do the same thing. Someone ate a napkin by accident that was stuck to something, so she ate her napkin, too. Peter was going too eat a napkin for me.
“Don’t,” I say, taking his arm. “Don’t kill someone just to make me feel better. It’s not right. Just take what you need and come back. Please.” He’s gone and I’m left with the body. I should be scared to be in this extremely creepy place alone with a dead body, but I guess I don’t have that kind of fear anymore. Peter is back in less than two minutes, with only a drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. I kiss him and lick it off.
“No killing, I promise.” I nod and we look down at the dead guy again. He’s actually really gross. Dirty and un-showered and his clothes have holes in them, but blood is blood no matter what the packaging is.
Person. He’s a person. Not a juice box. I force myself to look at his wide-open eyes and slack jaw.
“You are about to get your first lesson in hiding the remnants of your meals,” Peter says. He takes me down the grungy street and into an abandoned parking lot. There are a few rusty cars that don’t look like they will ever run. Car carcasses. Just like the man I’d killed. I tell myself over and over that I’ve killed him. I can’t lose that impact, because then I’ll lose myself.
I still don’t look at him as Peter shoves him in the car, leaves and then comes back a moment later with a gas can and some matches, probably pilfered from the dead man’s shed. First we’d killed him, now we were stealing from him.
“Are you sure we’re not going to get caught?”
He blinks and starts dumping gas on the car. It reeks, and I know, from now on, that I will associate death with this smell. Peter empties the can and strikes a match on the box and tosses it. I should have the instinct to duck, but I stay where I am and watch the car blaze up.
“That was really easy.”
Peter and I stand and watch the flames lick the car and I try to ignore the smell of burned flesh. A quote about some people just wanting to watch the world burn flashes through my mind. I don’t want to watch the world burn. I don’t want to kill anyone.
He doesn’t answer, but I know we should leave. Even in this deserted area, the smoke and fire won’t go unnoticed.
“Shall we go to the new house now?” I nod, but hesitate as Peter strips off his shirt. Mine is still covered in blood. That makes me think of Macbeth and I try wiping at the blood on my shirt, but it’s not coming off. Who knew I would have a kinship with Lady Macbeth?
Peter notices my hesitation and touches my face. “What is it?”
“I know I can’t go home, but I need another letter from Mom. Maybe a few.” That wouldn’t fix me, but it would make me feel better. I hoped.
“If you want, you can wait for me at a safe distance and I can get them for you.” I didn’t know how far a distance would be considered safe.
“Hold on.” I get out my phone and message Tex, because I know she’s up. Her hours have turned nocturnal since she got together with Viktor.
I tell her that I’m coming over for a few minutes. I figure if anyone can stop me from killing anyone, it’s Viktor.
Turns out I do need a babysitter.
She messages back that it’s fine and she’ll meet me in her backyard, which is probably wise, since there are humans to feed on in her house, the same as there are in mine.
“Viktor’s going to watch me, so we’re all set.”
“Let’s go,” he says before giving me another kiss, licking the last of the blood from the corners of my lips and we leave the still-blazing car and evidence behind.
Peter
Ava is mostly silent on the way back, lost in her own internal struggle. I wish I could take it from her, but she needs to get through this. Before we land, I giver her my shirt, because it’s absent of blood. I knew she didn’t want to show up in front of her best friend in a blood-covered shirt.
I leave her at Texas’ house in the capable hands of Viktor and fly to her house after she’s told me the combination to the box. I grab three of the letters from the top, but don’t touch anything else. I place them in an envelope I find in a drawer and tuck them against my chest so nothing will happen to them.
When I land at Texas’ house, they are playing a silly game.
“Would you rather . . . live in a pit of live snakes, or have sex with Donald Trump?” Texas says to Ava, who wrinkles her nose and it’s so adorable, I want to swoop her into my arms and take her away. There is nothing like her best friend to help cheer her up.
“Snakes. Definitely snakes.” Texas nods.
“Good call.”
Ava gives me a kiss and I give her the letters, which she puts in a purse that she’s borrowed from Texas, who has a large collection, but usually only uses one that Ava told me she named Harold.
“Thanks, baby.” Her smile is back and I answer it with my own.
“You’re welcome, baby.” Ava’s hand snakes around my waist and squeezes my bottom.
I do the same to her and we share a smile.
“Jesus, get a room,” Texas grumbles, but she is just as physical with Viktor.
“She who is without sin, cast the first stone,” Ava says, as she slides her hand into my back pocket. I never saw the need for pants with pockets, but I am increasingly pleased with them.
“Okay, so we’ll see you tomorrow,” Ava says, and it’s time for me to show her the house.
“If you guys don’t demolish from all the sex you’re going to have in it,” Texas mutters, but she knows we can all hear her.
“You’re one to talk, Texas Anne.” Texas grumbles at the name, but Ava laughs.
“Hug!” she says, giving Viktor one and then he passes it to Texas and then they do it again.
“I wonder how long it’s going to take before that gets old,” Ava says, after Viktor lets go of her. He’s done more hugging in the past two days than he has done in the last four decades combined. Or at least before he met me.
“It’ll never get old,” Texas says with a grin and then she yawns. “Bedtime for the human. See you tomorrow!” She waves as Viktor throws her over his shoulder and climbs back up to her room.
Ava strips off the shirt she’s wearing and puts it in the bag with the letters and we fly to her new house. Our new house.
Ava
I’m excited about seeing the house, but still feeling bad about earlier. I shouldn’t be happy. I shouldn’t be enjoying this.
“It’s not a crime to be happy, Ava-Claire,” Peter says as we land in the yard, the house covered over with moonlight.
“It should be, for me.” I know I’m being a downer for both of us, so I t
ry to push the maudlin aside, at least for a few minutes.
I have no idea how he got the money for the house, and part of me really doesn’t want to know. Not that he’d be involved in anything criminal.
I think.
The house is just as I remember, but the lawn has been mowed and part of the porch has been painted.
“The work isn’t finished yet, but it will be. Viktor told me all the furniture is here, so we should be able to start with the other structural work this week.” Peter’s trying to distract me, and I’m going to let it work.
“What do you know about construction?” This is a dumb question, because Peter knows everything.
“I read a few books, and it’s not very difficult. The worst part is getting the correct tools, and we don’t need a lot of those because we have the strength.”
I grab his hand and we walk up the porch as the brand new automatic lights flick on.
Welcome home, they say. It’s like the house wraps me up in comfort. It will never judge me, never kick me out. I can always come here, no matter what I’ve done.
The house is as I remember it, but a hell of a lot cleaner and there’s furniture. Beautiful wood furniture with rich finishes that looks like it was made to fit the house. There are rugs to cover up the bare spots on the floors.
Then I see something else. Pictures in silver frames. They’re on every surface, and I move closer to look.
They’re pictures of me, and of Mom and Dad; pictures that I have no idea how he got a hold of, but they’re here and they’re everywhere. Even baby pictures and school pictures and a bunch from the digital camera that Mom took before she passed. Nearly every moment of my human life is documented and right there in front of me.
God, I wish I could cry. I look at Peter, but he’s pretending he doesn’t notice and starts talking about the flooring we’re going to install and how he has wallpaper books for me so I can pick out what colors I want. He apologizes about not letting me pick out the furniture, but I would have sucked at it, honestly. Interior decoration is not something I’m well-versed in, or good at.
Clearly, he has an eye for it, but that’s probably because he’s read a million magazines.
There’s a piano in one corner of the living room and I sit down at it.
“I always wanted to learn how to play,” I say, touching a few of the keys. There are pictures here, too. Pictures I don’t know who took, but I have one guess.
“I had it tuned, so now you can. You can do anything you want. We have forever.”
I plink two keys.
“Thank you, Peter.”
“You are always welcome, Ava-Claire.” We don’t need more words than that, because words aren’t enough. He deserves more than words.
Upstairs, he’s turned one room into a makeshift library.
“The shelves are still on backorder, but they’ll be here soon. Then we can fill it with whatever books you want.” There are a few here already, used books that Peter must have picked up somewhere.
“There is a library close by, if you would like that option as well.”
Peter is normally not much of a talker, but now he’s positively babbling. I can hear excitement in his voice, but maybe that’s because I know him well enough to hear it now.
“This is . . . I don’t have words for this, Peter. I love you so much, and I love this so much. It’s absolutely perfect. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.” I give him a soft kiss, and I know that it’s going to turn into something else. I shouldn’t let these feelings take over, but I need to lose myself in him, if only for a little while.
~^*^~
“You like the house?” Peter says as we lie on the floor of my new library and watch the dust motes float through the air that we stirred up moments ago. This time I had been the one to stop.
“Like isn’t even close to how I feel about this. I adore it, and I adore you, more than words can say. I shouldn’t be allowed to be this happy.”
“Why?” I snuggle further into his shoulder.
“Because I killed five people today. I’m a murderer. If I were still human, I’d be in jail.”
“But you’re not human.”
“So that makes it better?” His arms tighten around me and I know that the pressure would have broken my bones before.
“I just keep thinking about Mom and what she would have thought of me. I know moms are supposed to love you no matter what, and I know that she still would have, but I can’t imagine the look in her eyes.” I don’t want to imagine it.
“I took lives, Peter. I killed someone else’s mother and sister and brother and son. I thought . . . before I thought it would be easier, or something. You always seemed so in control, and I know you told me those stories about killing all those people, but it’s different when you’re the one actually doing the killing.”
He’s silent for a long time, and I can feel him thinking, trying to find the right thing to say.
“You loved me when I didn’t deserve it. Loved me when I said I would kill you. My body count is mountains compared to yours, yet you love me even now. Why?”
Why did I love him?
“I love you because I felt like I was dying and you taught me how to live again. When everything happened with Mom, sometimes . . . sometimes I wanted to die too. I never did anything about it, but I thought about it. You know, how I would do it. Take pills, or something. And then there was you, and it was like you were the only bright spot in my life at that time, and I needed you.” I’ve never told him this, but he probably knew it anyway.
“You were my light in the darkness. I needed you, too. I used to wonder how you could love me, or if I was just imagining it.” I pick my head up off his chest and watch his mouth move as he speaks and brush his hair out of his eyes. He’s much better about wearing it back because he knows I like it.
“You’re silly,” I say, because that’s the only response I can think of. Against all odds, he has made m feel better.
“Claire loved you. Pure and good. Believe it and hold onto it.”
Sounds simple enough. She did.
“I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“She isn’t,” Peter says, almost interrupting me. “She’s everywhere. She’s all around you. Can’t you feel it?” Yes. In this house, I could.
Peter
We spent the rest of the night touring and talking and making love, causing some new repairs to be needed. Perhaps some reinforcements, or steel beams. I should have taken her outside where things are less breakable, but I couldn’t think beyond getting my hands and lips on her, and being inside her.
As soon as the sun rises we go outside and bask in it, lying amongst the overgrown grass in the backyard that waves in the lazy morning breeze. She picks a few flowers and starts weaving them into a crown and then puts it on my head.
“There you go,” she says, pushing my hair out of my eyes.
“Where’s yours?” She smiles and picks some more flowers and weaves herself a crown as well.
“Mom and I used to do this all the time when I was a kid. She’d make necklaces and bracelets and we even once made earrings. I’d prance around and she’d call me her garden girl.” She puts the crown on her head and picks a few more flowers.
“You miss her,” I say, and we both know it’s true.
“I miss her so much that I feel like I can’t breathe, and then I remember I don’t breathe anymore and somehow that makes it worse.” She keeps weaving flowers, making one long chain.
“Anyway, let’s not talk about sad things. Let’s talk about . . . France. I know you had a rough time there, but I was thinking maybe we could go sometime. I’ve never been out of the United States before.”
“We can go anywhere you want. I have already seen the world, but I haven’t seen it with you, so it will be completely new.”
“A whole new world. Oh God, now I’ve got the song from Aladdin stuck in my head again.” She hums it, but I am unfamiliar with the tune
.
She stops singing and turns to me. “You’ve never seen a Disney cartoon, have you?”
“I do not believe so.” I don’t think she ever brought one out when we watched movies at her house.
“Well, we’ll have to do a marathon at some point. You did buy a television, right?”
“It is in the cabinet in the living room. I had Viktor hook it up.”
“Cool. Maybe we can do that while Tex is here. I want to watch Viktor’s face as Tex tries to convince him to sing and waltz with her like the prince in Sleeping Beauty.”
I know the story of Sleeping Beauty, but not the Disney version. I am curious about it, and if Ava likes it, I am determined to like it.
“Tell me a story,” she says as the sun drenches us.
“I didn’t bring a book with me. I will go get one.” I start to stand, but she stops me.
“No, I want you to tell me one you made up. You’ve read so many things you must be able to come up with something original.”
I lay back down next to her.
“Once upon a time . . .” I start, which makes her smile just like I wanted it to. I go on to tell a story about a princess, throwing in several different stories I’d read from Norse and Greek and Chinese mythology. I also add a dragon, because that seems like something she would like, and she does.
As I tell the story, the flower chain gets longer and longer.
“And they all lived happily ever after,” I say, because that is how every story should end.
Ava smiles and gives me a kiss, draping the chain across my body.
“Thanks, baby.”
“You’re welcome, my love.”
“Ooohh, I like it when you call me that.”
“I hoped you would.”
She sits up and shades her eyes out of habit.
“What time is it?” I reach for the phone that she brings with her everywhere in case of an emergency call.
“Nearly ten.”
“It feels so much later, but probably because I didn’t sleep. It’s going to be so weird never to feel tired again.”
“You might, though. If you do not have enough blood, you can become lethargic, and that is almost the same thing.”