Part Two: Release

It seemed strange to Rachel to look at the date. It shouldn't have mattered - time is rarely noticed by vampires, aside from the immediate care to sunset and sunrise. But something about the year stirred a memory in her, and suddenly she realized that it had been five years.

Antonio came up from behind her, slipping strong arms around her waist to distract her from her single-minded stare at the newspaper box. "Rachel, what's got you so fascinated?" he asked in a teasing tone.

"Nothing." She sounded irritated as she pushed out of his embrace, turned around to face him. "Where'd you come from?"

"The shadows, mi amor, just like you taught me." This seemed to irritate her more. She turned again, began to walk away.

"I'll meet you later? At the house?" he called. A hand lifted as she stalked off; no other acknowledgment was made. He sighed, then lifted his head, straightened his jacket, and headed off in the opposite direction.

Ah, Rachel. Are you ever going to let me show you how I feel about you? It had been five years ago - almost to the date, now that he stopped to think about it - that she had made him a vampire. He recalled those first days as exciting, confusing, frightening all at once. The immediate problems of dealing with what he had become - by his own choice, no less. Learning how to willfully take human life, to leave his mortality behind. Then there was Rachel's dependence on her former companion. That, she had to overcome on her own. Too, he had had to deal publicly with his own death.

He had done the best he could, he thought; announcing his retirement from the movie-making world - after all, he'd already had a career that could be easily described as blessed - and his intentions to pursue personal interests. His family, he'd told that he planned to travel the world and learn as much as he could. They had not commented on the changedness of him, his hard white skin, his tough glassy fingernails, the fact that he had only appeared in the house after dark. For that, he was grateful. In a few years, he knew he'd have to fake his own death, but that wasn't something he particularly wanted to dwell on.

And so he had come to Toronto with Rachel. He had talked her into buying a house through a lawyer she contracted. It wasn't that he desperately wanted a house, but she needed a permanent place after all her nomadic wanderings with Jean. And indeed, she settled into it as if she'd lived there forever. They both decorated it. In ways it reminded him of a young couple in their first home. He delighted in bringing a smile to her face with some new trinket or painting or vase.

Somewhere over the years, Antonio had realized that he was deeply in love with Rachel. It hadn't developed suddenly, but was bone-deep and comfortable. It seemed strange that he could love at all in this state, in this lifeless body. But if anything, his emotions were stronger than ever. On a base level, he loved and respected humanity in its infinite varieties. How could he not respect that from which he took life? There were many times he became tempted to drink from someone simply for their natural beauty - as if he could somehow gain their beauty, make it part of him. But mindful of Rachel's injunctions, he kept to those who dealt in crime, the death-dealers and drug-sellers. It was not hard, after all. They were everywhere.

Sometimes he would spend entire nights hunched over a greasy cup of coffee in a twenty-four-hour diner, watching people come and go. Their faces were fascinating - so much more expressive to his unnatural sight. Lovers fought, women gathered in groups to complain about their men, men complained about their women. But even more, laughter and love was shared in these gatherings. And sometimes a lone person would sit with their drink, absorbed in a book or magazine, or creating art, or writing furiously in a notebook. If he concentrated, Antonio could 'read' the thoughts from them, like hearing a tangle of voices in the back of his head. More forced concentration would sort out one voice from the rest, but it was not easy. Rachel had told him his mental powers would develop with time. He fervently hoped so. Part of him chuckled inwardly, thinking of how much use this would have been when he was an actor.

Once in a while he'd be caught staring at the mortals, and he'd have to blur himself, disappear so quickly it would seem he'd never been there in the first place. But the risk was worth it.

Ah, but Rachel. She was unique. Even as a mortal, she must have stood out from her fellows, shining like a star among stars. No wonder Jean had chosen her.

It wasn't any one thing about her. Her silences, her moods; her sudden way of laughing. The way her eyes would flick up to him when he spoke, or follow him around the room when he paced. The blessedly peaceful look upon her face when she slept. Her sudden flares of anger, her equally quick apologies. It was a thousand things. Yet every time he tried to show it some way - just now, for example - he was rebuffed.

Perhaps it was still too soon after Jean's well-timed abandonment of her. He'd been careful not to step into that role of protector, instead letting Rachel take the lead in making decisions. And so they had been here for five years. But he didn't mind. They had an eternity in which to travel.

He paused on a street corner, aware of mortal eyes on him. Though his sunglasses obscured his preternatural eyes, and shadows darkened his skin - shadows, and the blood of the mortal - he was still unearthly enough to attract attention. A girl, she was, no more than eighteen. Her thoughts were embarrassingly apparent, enough so that any mortal probably could have read them. Something involving him, a bed, and... leather straps?

With a snort, he moved on. Interesting idea, perhaps, but it would be better not to give her any fuel for her fantasies. He headed for the house now, eager to get home, hoping Rachel would be there.

The house was empty when he got there. He had left early that night; Rachel must not have gone so soon after, but she'd probably be back shortly. Laying his keys on the kitchen counter, he paused to glance at a couple of pieces of mail that lay there.

One was just a bill, nothing special. The other was addressed to 'Rachel Whittaker'. No mailing address, no postage; no return address, he noted as he flipped the envelope over. It had already been opened. Antonio felt a twinge of alarm as he drew the letter from the envelope.

A computer-printed letter, unsigned, on fine white paper. Antonio blinked at the message, uncomprehending.

Be careful, Rachel. Your life is in danger from one whom you trust.

Angrily, then, he balled up the paper and flung it at the sink. Mischief, this was - someone playing games. Well, let them play games with him -then they would see.

Inhuman laughter seemed to rattle in the back of his head as he settled down on the couch, flipped on the television, tried to calm down. But for some reason, the memory of Jean's voice, on the night Antonio had become a vampire, wouldn't leave his head.

Rachel came home a few hours later to the sound of gunfire. She discovered Antonio in the den, absorbed in a movie, volume turned up a few too many decibels. It was the end of Desperado, she realized after a moment. Silent, she watched her fledgling watch his own image on the screen, as El Mariachi decimated his longtime enemy - his own brother. Cain and Abel, she thought. But which is which?

As the movie came to a close - Antonio and his beautiful co-star driving off into the sunset together - Rachel made a small sound. He twisted around, smiling as he saw her, and turned off the TV.

"Hey there," he greeted her. "I'm, ah, I'm sorry about before..."

"It's all right," she cut him off. "It wasn't your fault."

"Was it the letter?" he asked. She looked up sharply as she settled into a chair. Then she nodded.

"Mm-hmm," was her response. Quiet for a few more moments, she then sighed. "Whoever they are, they know where we live."

"And who we are," he added. "That rules out most mortals."

She nodded pensively.

"Do you think it could be Jean?" he asked softly.

Rachel shook her head. "I don't think so. It's not like him. He'd rather speak face-to-face. Besides, he doesn't know computers."

"All right," Antonio agreed readily. "How about the other vampires around here?"

Again, she made a negative gesture. "We're on pretty good terms with them. I think if something were to happen, it would have been before now."

In the dim light that bled from the kitchen, he looked at her. Her eyes looked bruised and tired. "Rachel," he said softly, "querida, you're exhausted."

"I'm fine," she said, waving a hand as if fending off a fly.

"You sure?" He cocked an eyebrow at her, gave her his best charming smile. In spite of herself, she smiled in response.

"Well, I am a little tired," she admitted. "And I've fed tonight, so it's not that."

"Perhaps you just need to relax. Come here." He raised an arm from where it rested on the back of the couch, holding it out to her. After a moment's hesitation, she stood and walked over to him, settling down next to him on the couch. His body was comfortable, cool, and almost instinctively she began to relax against him. His arm came around her shoulder, holding her securely.

"There," he murmured. "There, relax. We will just watch some television and be comfortable. All right?"

She nodded quietly in agreement, and he leaned forward to snag the remote and turn the television on. It didn't matter what was on - an old movie, some Clint Eastwood gunfighter thing. All that mattered was that she was in his arms, for once not resisting him. Almost to himself, he hummed absently, a love song he'd learned somewhere. And, fractionally, he felt her tension begin to ease.

They almost fell asleep like that, but Antonio stirred himself as the dawn began to approach. Shutting the television off, he lifted Rachel in his arms, carrying her to her bedroom. He knelt by her bedside, tucking her in, making sure she was comfortable. Even though it was getting close, he couldn't resist touching her face, murmuring a soft endearment. And then he left her, not willing to strain things past the victory he'd won tonight.

The phone rang abruptly at sunset, jarring Rachel from her sleep. For several moments she blinked, disoriented, trying to figure out just why they'd had a phone installed in the first place. But there it was ringing, and...

Ah, Antonio must have picked it up. She relaxed against the pillows, comfortable, not ready to wake up yet. Then the sound of loud cursing in Spanish startled her. She was up in moments, darting into the den, where Antonio stood. The phone, ripped out of the wall, was clenched in his hand. A moment later, it bounced off the wall, accompanied by another curse.

"'Tonio!" she shouted. "What's going on?!"

He turned to face her, hair falling into his eyes. A look she'd never seen before was in them - a look of sheer rage. He breathed heavily, attempting to calm down.

"Easy, 'Tonio," she said softly, moving up to him. "Tell me what happened."

"The phone," he replied after a moment. "The voice on the other end. Promising some terrible thing would happen to you. Laughing at me when I said I'd protect you. It got me so mad..." He shoved hair out of his eyes. "I overreacted."

"It's all right. Here, calm down." She took his arm, led him to the couch. "Did you recognize the voice?"

He shook his head again. "I am afraid not. It was barely more than a whisper anyway."

Rachel stroked his cheek, ran a hand through his hair, attempting to smooth the wild dark locks. "Well. It's all right. This someone is obviously trying to get a reaction out of us, and it would be better to not let them see it."

Slowly, Antonio's breathing calmed. Rachel moved away from him as it did, as if her trust from the previous night had dissipated. "We should hunt," she said decisively, and Antonio nodded.

"And then..?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps it would be best to let whoever it is come to us."

He shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I think we should look for them." As she started to protest, he rose from the couch, began pacing around the room. "No, no. It will put them off their guard. They will know we are aware of them, and it will make them cautious. It might even make them stop altogether, if this is meant as a harmless prank."

"It's not a harmless prank," she said thickly.

"Who might it be, then?" he asked, stopping to look at her. "Who in this world knows you? Who in this world wants to see you in mental agony?"

"Jean," she whispered. Antonio nodded. He moved over to her, wanting to protect her seemingly fragile form somehow. But her demons were all on the inside.

"Look, Rachel," he said. "I know you don't want to think about it. I don't blame you. I wouldn't either. But you have to come to terms with it sooner or later. You can't have his memory following you forever."

"I know that," she snapped and backed away from him. "Let's hunt."

Wordlessly, he followed her out.

But there was nothing that night, or the night after that. Though Antonio encouraged Rachel to stay close to him, making themselves visible - to vampire eyes, anyway - and though they frequented haunts where any might come in contact with them, there were no more threatening letters or other forms of communication. The phone remained unplugged, the only line into the house still active being the one to which Rachel's computer was connected.

A week went by, then two. Antonio's nerves were beginning to fray. They had heard nothing more, received no more letters. Yet he could not shake the feeling of being watched wherever he went - and his fledgling powers were too new to penetrate an elder vampire's shields. Rachel, of course, wouldn't be able to detect Jean's presence anyway, owing to the mental blindness so common between maker and childe.

Another week went by. Antonio had taken to frequenting a bar called the RPM Club in hopes that his regular presence would draw out whoever was watching him. It was getting late on this particular Saturday night; late in human terms anyway. At quarter of two in the morning, for him the night was still young. He had fed earlier, taking a pair of heroin sellers, to nourish a more human appearance. His unearthly look was now just 'normal' enough to make him seem simply odd, and with sunglasses on and his hair pulled back, he was hardly given a second look.

As he made his way across the dance floor, feeling the futility of another night's search begin to set in, a sudden flash of mental activity made him look up. There, clear on the other side of the club, was another face as pale as his. It wasn't Rachel. Neither was it Jean. Whoever it was had wanted to attract his attention. Quickly, he made his way towards the other vampire.

Not here. Outside, came the other's voice in his head. Nodding an acknowledgment, he slipped out the front door and to the alley at the side of the building.

The vampire was there, awaiting him. A young girl, he thought at first, then blinked when he realized that it was actually a boy, feminine in face, almost sexless in his slender body and baggy black clothing. Bright blond hair cascaded around the white face. Antonio moved a little further into the shadows, taking off his glasses as he did so. Trust was important here, as was respect.

"What is it?" he asked softly after a moment.

"You are in danger," the boy murmured, a faint French accent to his words. He couldn't have been more than sixteen when he was taken, Antonio mused; probably from Quebec or thereabouts.

"Fifteen," the boy said, a faint smile edging the corner of his mouth. "Sorry."

Antonio blinked, then, realizing he had been caught up in his musing. "I should be the one apologizing. Here you are trying to help me and I don't even listen."

"It's all right." The vampire smiled a little more fully now. His pale green eyes almost danced. "I can't stay. If he knows I've been talking to you -- but don't worry. He can't read me."

"He?" Alarm sprang up in Antonio, and he moved forward, taking a step towards the boy, then another. "Is it--"

"Don't say his name!" This in a hiss. "He's got a particular gift for that. Don't even think about him." The vampire's eyes relaxed from their narrowed look of concern, then. "I don't know what he's doing, or where he is right now. But you should look out for yourself - and for her."

And then he was gone. Antonio blinked for a moment at the spot where the boy had been. "Thank you," he murmured softly to the air, and thought he felt a caress of welcome in his mind. His thoughts immediately turned to Rachel. Had the boy been a benefactor or trouble? The sooner he found Rachel, the sooner he'd know.

Rachel was not to be found in any of her usual haunts. As he did about once per night, he cursed the silence that separated the two of them. Should he go back to the house, he wondered, or would he have better luck finding her in the city?

The house, he thought. She'd have to come back there eventually. With all speed, he ran for the place, grateful for the hour; there was little traffic on the road to see him, or for him to run into.

He slowed as he reached the driveway. The lights were on in the house; not unusual, Rachel liked the light. But the front door was open and that was definitely unusual. He moved cautiously onto the front porch. No, the door had not just been opened, it had been torn open; splinters of wood stood out from the jamb. Antonio's senses kicked over into high gear. Wishing he had a gun - what good would a gun do against an immortal being, 'Tonio?! - he stepped carefully into the house, being as quiet as he could.

No sound at first. Then, a muffled sob, feminine in sound. Preternatural hearing located the source in the den. Antonio concentrated on stealth, shielding his mind the way Rachel had taught him. You don't sense me, I'm not here, nothing to see, nothing to hear. Reaching the entrance from kitchen to den, he peered around the molding, brown eyes searching.

The television had been knocked over and gave off sparks from its shattered screen. The back of the couch faced him, so Antonio couldn't see past it, but a whimper immediately gave him to know that Rachel cowered on it. And standing over her, face livid with lines of rage, was Jean.

Antonio's first impulse was to leap at him, screaming. But no, this was an elder vampire, with at least two hundred years' worth of strength and cunning. Antonio couldn't hope to defeat him by brute force.

At that moment, a thin shaft of thought slivered into Antonio's mind, nearly causing him to yelp. He turned around to see the yellow-haired boy from the club.

My name is Victor, the boy told him. Now look, I can distract him. If you can get to Rachel, get her away-

Antonio shook his head. No. We cannot keep running from him.

Victor seemed to sigh without making a sound, then nodded. Suddenly, he was up and into the room. Jean whirled, long coat flaring around him. He laughed, then, when he saw the boy.

"Come to see your sister defeated, did you?" the elder snarled. Victor almost seemed to wince, his eyes snapping.

"I came to stop you," he informed Jean darkly. "She's been hurt enough. Let her be."

Jean's eyes had gone quite black, Antonio noticed distantly as he slipped away from the entrance, meaning to move through the kitchen and around the house to the den's other entrance. He could hear every word of Jean's quite clearly - not only was the elder shouting, but mentally projecting as well. Good thing the house was set well apart from its neighbors. As it was, the humans nearby would be having bad dreams for a week.

"She's been hurt enough? Ah, Victor, how little you know! Have I not told you time and again that she is the one who stabbed me in the heart, Made her own little fledgling, abandoned me to die?" Jean's contempt and anger were palpable. "When I was a young vampire, such actions as these would have had her killed. As it is, I cannot even take my own revenge, let alone call an inquest? No. I will be revenged!"

Antonio felt revulsion seeping through him as he approached the den from the other side. He fought it down for the time being. Jean had taken the events of that fateful night of five years ago, twisted them in his mind until they resembled the truth so little as to be completely irrelevant. His mind could not be changed. Apparently, he had given the Dark Gift to Victor in the attempt to have a new companion, but the fact that Victor had tried to warn Antonio was news enough. Jean was like a mad beast, not fit to live.

Antonio was behind Jean now, and saw his position register in Victor's eyes. Without so much as a flicker of remorse, Victor moved closer to his maker. "I understand, Jean. But I will not let you go through this alone, do you hear me?"

A long pause; the moment stretched out. Then Jean nodded.

During all this, Rachel had not made a sound. Antonio watched her worriedly. She was watching Jean with wary eyes, her gaze not once leaving his face. If only he could reassure her somehow, let him know he was here--

That was all it took; his concern for her slipped out from his mental shields. Jean was turning, a roar of rage escaping him. Moving in a sudden blur, Victor leaped to his maker's back, clinging leechlike. Antonio jumped out of the shadows of the hallway at the same moment. The element of surprise lost, all he could do was pray.

Hands clamped around his neck and squeezed. Flailing, Antonio managed to latch on to Jean's neck at the same time, digging his fingernails into cold hard flesh. This was foolish, a death-wish. Jean's skin was impenetrable. Antonio's, however, was not, and he could feel the edges of the sharp fingernails starting to break the skin.

"Well. It seems we are at an impasse here, fledgling." Negligently, he shrugged Victor off his back. The boy fell with a thud, springing to his feet instantly. Antonio managed to spare a glance for him, a negative shake of the head. His eyes flicked back to Jean's. The elder held him at arm's length, a look of impassiveness on his face. But his eyes, so light as to be almost white, gave Antonio a cold chill. "What should I do with you?" Jean mused in a thoughtful tone of voice. "You're not worth the blood in your veins. What Rachel saw in you I cannot fathom."

Jean made to flick Antonio aside as he had done with Victor. But Antonio clung fiercely to the elder's neck. This got a reaction. A flare of anger, and when Jean released him for a moment, Antonio pushed forward, forcing Jean to fall back. He was screaming incoherently in French. Antonio shouted back at him, equally enraged, in his native language.

Rachel appeared suddenly, having fled into the kitchen momentarily. "Get away from him!" she was shouting, though at the moment it was difficult to tell who this was directed at. Then Victor dived into the mess, grabbing something from Rachel's hand as he did so. It was a knife, and suddenly there was blood all over the floor. Antonio pulled back, narrowly avoiding the knife as it plunged repeatedly into Jean's neck, driven by Victor's hand. The boy's face was streaked with crimson tears.

Antonio's limbs shook as he drew himself to his feet. Jean was still animated, moving - what in the world could finish him?

"Fire," Rachel breathed in the same instant, as if somehow she could read his thoughts. Antonio glanced at the broken television, but it was useless, not even sparking now. Candles - in the bedroom --

Better still, flammable sheets and curtains. Desperately, he gathered the things in a hurry. Jean's wounds would heal if he wasn't quick enough--

"Rachel, get out of here!" he yelled as he ran back into the den, dumping the sheets in a heap. "Now!"

She was staring at Jean in a sort of fascinated horror. By now, so much blood had been drained from the body that a huge circle of crimson had formed in the carpeting around him. Victor had collapsed on the body, sobbing.

"Rachel!" Antonio shouted again. This time, she jumped, registering the sound of her name. Dazedly, she moved forward and grabbed at Victor. "Come on, we have to go."

"No, I won't leave him!" the boy cried. Rachel's jaw set.

"It's too late for that now. He would have killed you!"

Reluctantly, the boy allowed himself to be taken, though he was little more than a limp rag in Rachel's arms. She backed slowly from the house, watching as Antonio lit match after match, tossing them onto the sheets and curtains. He grabbed a newspaper, wrapped it into a cone, lit it from the now burning sheets. He looked like a dark demon as he moved from window to window, catching curtains, upholstery, anything that would go. Finally, he threw the torch onto Jean's body. It caught like lightning, the blood boiling from the carpet. Turning, he caught sight of Rachel, still standing in the door. She couldn't tear her eyes from the sight of him. Flames dancing in his dark eyes, he was an avenging angel.

"What are you waiting for?!" he shouted. "GO!"

She stepped back, nearly fell over the doorstep, then turned and ran from the house. A hundred feet away, she turned, setting Victor down. The young vampire stumbled, but maintained his ground.

"Antonio!" she shouted. Fire crackled and danced in the windows, but of Antonio there was no sign. Then, suddenly, he came racing from the front door. The panicked look in his eyes was there for a reason; even as Rachel turned to join in his flight, there was a pained roar of outrage.

Burned, blackened, beyond recognition, Jean was still alive. Some horrible animation forced the limbs of the body into movement, gave it all the strength and speed it had gained over the centuries of undead life. Rachel felt the hands close on her head, and screamed.

She had to do it; she was the strongest of them. Something in her was dimly aware of this, made her turn in those crisped hands, force him back. Every nerve was steel, every sense afire. His mental battering meant nothing to her, and now she was grateful for the telepathic blindness between them. His voice was unusable, throat scored beyond recognition. Every step she took pushed him further back towards the burning house.

"You'll never understand," she whispered. "For that alone, I am sorry. For everything else, you will never be forgiven. Do you hear me? Never. I damn you and your misbegotten soul for the rest of eternity!"

His initial fury was weakening as hers built, and almost casually she pushed his hands off of her. She didn't even recoil as she lifted the black body in her hands, but a noise of something - rage, anger, despair perhaps - began to rise from her throat as she pitched Jean, or what was left of him, into the inferno that the house had become. Then, slowly, she turned and walked away.

She didn't even seem to notice when the windows blew out, but the blast of air exploding out threw her forward, and she stumbled to her knees.

Antonio moved quickly to her side. "Rachel?" he murmured, and reached out to touch her shoulder. She flinched for a moment, then fell into his arms, crying helplessly. The soft tread of footsteps announced Victor's approach. The boy's face was still smudged with red and black, his hair flying free around his face.

"I have a place we can stay, if you want it," he offered softly. Antonio nodded.

"We should go soon, before we are seen."

Quietly, Rachel got to her feet. Their retreat was swift and silent.

Victor's hideaway was a basement apartment in downtown Toronto, shabby but clean, with no windows or outside illumination. It was a dark little sanctuary that bore no sign of Jean's presence, for which Antonio was grateful.

"You two can have the bed," Victor offered. Rachel nodded gratefully and promptly lay down on it. Antonio drew the boy aside for a moment.

"Thank you for your help tonight," he murmured. "We'd all be dead, if not for you."

The boy shrugged. "It had to be done. Jean was like a rabid animal. He wouldn't think clearly at all, always going on about his dreams of revenge. I don't regret it." Something about his eyes said otherwise, but his mental shields were drawn tight. Antonio put an arm around the boy's shoulders, drawing him in for a fraternal hug.

"Whatever the case may be, the nightmare is over. Please accept my gratitude."

Victor nodded, awkwardly, and pulled away. "I'm going to take a shower and I'll be on the couch if you need anything."

Antonio nodded as well, releasing the boy. He then turned back to the small bed, where Rachel had curled up, knees drawn to her chest. Taking a moment to kick off his shoes, he lay down on the bed beside her, one hand stroking her shoulders, her hair, her side, reassuring her of his presence.

"It is over," he murmured repeatedly. "It is done."

And after a time, she slowly uncurled, relaxed her stiff limbs. "Is it?" she said quietly. "Is it really?"

His lips tightened. "For now," he amended. That seemed to be enough for her, as she turned to nestle against his side.

"Te quiero, Antonio," she mumbled softly into his skin. "Why did it take me so long to realize?"

In spite of his startlement, he managed to keep somewhat calm. "Almost dying does that to a person."

"I wouldn't have cared about it," she whispered. "If it wasn't for knowing that I never would have said that to you."

"So now you have," he replied. "Any regrets?"

She shook her head, looked up at him, wiping her face with one hand. "None. You?"

He couldn't restrain a smile as he brushed her hair back. "None. I love you, also."

So now we travel the night together, Antonio and I. And Victor, who has attached himself like a little brother. He is endlessly curious, bringing a sense of delight to our dreary existence. The world goes on without the spectre of Jean to haunt us. And for the first time in my entire life -mortal and immortal - I feel a sense of happiness.

FINIS

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this page last updated on 18 january 2003