Dark Diary (29 page)

Who am I?

The man’s body flopped back down onto his back while his s
leeve remained rolled up. It was as if the demon girl was staring me in the face—taunting me with my lost memories
and visions of someone I wasn’t.

Or was?

What the hell?

Where am I?

BUZZ.

I tried to shake off the hysteria flooding my mind, but I couldn’t get the noise to cease.

BUZZ.

I cried out to the darkness and held my head in my hands.
“Stop!”

But the vibration continued.

“Please, stop!” My cries did nothing to dampen the sound.

To make things worse,
he
was back.

“Come to mock me while I’m down, have you?” I pressed
my hands into my temples and closed my eyes.

Matthaya stayed at a distance and watched as my thoughts
tortured me with images I could not remember.

That man—his face—it looked familiar now and a horrible guilt roiled in my stomach. I couldn’t remember him well, but the accursed woman on his arm clawed at my conscience. She was a part of me and I hazily recalled her
life being created with my hands.

I’m not an artist… am I?

Kathryn wasn’t…

But this
Kathera
?

Was she?

Was
I
?

“Who am I?” The words formed at my lips even as I tried to keep them to myself. Taking his chance, I felt Matthaya quickly
appear beside me.

“Come back to me, please,” he said, coaxing me with a quiet voice.

He tried to take my hands into his own, but I hesitated to
let him touch me. My knees scuffed against the concrete
and smudges of blood appeared below them as I pulled away
from Matthaya’s grasp.

“P
lease,” he said again, this time scooting directly in front of me and wrapping his fingers around my wrists. “Look
at me!”

I shook my head and snarled, averting my eyes. The colors
swirled inside me and I saw new images of creatures and monsters on the bodies of people I did not know. Their skin was beneath my fingers—their trust in my hands.

“Kathera!”

The demand in his voice drew my gaze to his and I went dead still.

“Kathera.” He was quieter and more reassuring the second time as he pulled me close to his chest and released my wrists in order to embrace me.

Everything was blurry. I couldn’t struggle anymore against
him; everything about the air was foreign and strange. It frightened me but… I knew he would protect me from it all.

And it felt nice to be protected.

But… the dress?

I was covered in blood-saturated lace—it was disgusting,
but the sight of all the blood didn’t scare me like I would have thought.

Why
didn’t
it scare me?

“Come with me,” Matthaya said. His voice was as soothing and patient as it had ever been.

I struggled to stand and stumbled against him. The buzzing
had cleared from my head, but colorful drawings still danced in and out of my thoughts. I craned my neck around to take another look at my last victim.

“Don’t.” Matthaya tugged at my shoulders and pushed me forward. “It will only make it worse.”

He was right.

But it was too late. The weight of regret had already sunk in.

The face was familiar now and I couldn’t get it out of my mind. That tattoo—the demon girl—I remembered it.

I remembered
drawing it
.

“Matthaya… what have I done?”

“We all have our regrets, Kathera,” he replied. His fingers trailed down my arm and he took my hand. “Let’s go home.”

Home?

Did I have a home?

We walked swiftly through the darkness of the back alleys and we came upon a doorstep I was sure I had seen before.

He unlatched the lock with the turn of a key and opened the door for me.

It was dark inside. A soft reddish glow bounced from the
walls of the main room. The light was inviting and warm and I started to remember the place—his place.

The couch was still where it had been when I had last
rested upon it. I took a seat again and curled my arms around
myself, sinking into the soft cushions.

Matthaya left the room for a few minutes and then returned. He sat down beside me and looked as if he were searching for the right words to say. His thoughts, too, were grief-stricken and unsure. I could feel it in my blood.

He set a small pile of clothes beside me.

“If you want to change…” he began.

I was uncomfortable in the dress and grateful for his thoughtfulness. It wasn’t like me to dress the way I had. I brushed my hands over my bare knees.

“Yes,” I replied, looking down at the soft teal blouse and dark blue jeans he had offered. “Thank you, Matthaya.”

I tried to smile, but it was awkward.

Memories were coming back to me, but I was lost in the contradictions contained in them all.

I knew I loved Matthaya. I just knew it—and remembered
it clearly. I wanted to reach a hand to his face and touch his skin, but attempting to do so felt unnatural and difficult.

The action would have been so simple, and yet…

And then, I recalled how I had once kissed him longingly, but that, too, now seemed alien. What was wrong with me?

“Thank you, Matthaya,” I repeated, this time, mustering the courage to touch his hand.

He leaned closer and pressed his lips lightly against my cheek.

“I know what you’re going through, Kathera.” His elegant
green eyes looked sympathetically into mine. “Try not to think about it right now.”

I felt the corset-style ties at my sides loosen as he wrapped
his fingers around each of the threads and undid them carefully.

“How did you get this on by yourself?” he asked with a faint chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

The truth was, I didn’t remember.

I shrugged.

He cleared his throat.

“I know it’s not really who you are, Kathera, but you do look… beautiful.”

A tiny smile tugged at the edge of my lips. I was too
preoccupied with other thoughts, though, for it to last more than
a moment.

He untied the bow on my lower back and then unclipped
the metal hooks that held it in place. He set the loose strand of ribbon down beside me.

“Will it come back to me?” I asked, hoping the emptiness I was feeling inside would pass.

Matthaya glanced away toward the fire.

“Matthaya?”

He looked back to me and over my face for a moment. His
hand came up to my shoulder and he fidgeted with the thin shoulder strap of my dress.

“Why won’t you answer me?”

“It will take time to get accustomed to this new life,” he said. “I want to help you.” He brought his other hand to my other shoulder and cupped the back of my neck. “I want to be a part of you. But, this life has its limitations…”

I FOLDED THE SCARLET DRESS
into a small bundle and tossed it into the fireplace. The lace quickly caught fire and shriveled up into tiny black cords that soon ignited and burned to dust with the rest of the fabric. It had been stunning and the fabric had been intricate and soft, but Kathera was better off without the memories it harbored.

I was done wanting something I couldn’t have and glad to have Kathera back. Being together wouldn’t stop us from feeling the natural emptiness that comes with the disease, but it would help ease some of the pain.

She slept for many days and I didn’t interrupt her—I couldn’t. She needed to recover and her body needed to rest or it would hunger again for the drug I would soon force her to renounce. Hibernation slowed the desire temporarily, but
her consciousness stirred and she would eventually wake with
a violent thirst raging inside.

Until then, I slept, too…

I awoke to the touch of fingers sliding down my temple to my cheek. I opened my eyes to the deep blue gaze of Kathera
leaning over me with a subtle smile.

“Teach me,” she said softly; her stare was earnest and
loving as her lashes fluttered between blinks. “Teach me how to
be…” she stopped and swallowed, “like you.”

I sat up and placed my palm on her cheek. “You don’t want to be like me,” I said with a shake of my head. “And I don’t
want
you to be like me, either.” She closed her eyes. “But I will show you how to cope with what we are so that you will never have to return to what you
were
.”

She nodded and acknowledged my reply with a tightened grasp on my hand. I lifted myself from the armchair and gestured for Kathera to wait where she was. I entered the next room and followed a slim hallway to the basement door. Once downstairs, I pulled open a large wooden storage case and slid a black bottle off one of the wire shelves. I shut the door and returned back up the stairs to where she was waiting patiently for me. The peaceful look on her face made it hard to believe she and I were one and the same.

I lifted a pair of fluted glasses from a wooden rack hanging in the kitchen and set them down on the marble countertop.
The clinking noise drew Kathera’s attention and she walked curiously up beside me. I peeled a thick coating of wax
effortlessly from the top of the bottle and jammed a long metal
coil into the cork. I twisted it down until I was able to depress
the handle and pry it from the bottle.

I poured the thick, deep-red liquid into both glasses, re-corked the bottle, and then turned back around to face Kathera. Drinking it at near room temperature wasn’t my preference, but her eyes were already fixated on the glass in my hand.

“It smells awful,” she said with a downward curl of her lip.

“It is, at first,” I admitted with a shrug. “You’ll get used to it. Then again, it’s more bearable when it’s coming from a living animal and not a bottle.”

“If you say so.” She grimaced as she took the glass from my fingers. “What is it?”

“Pig,” I answered, running a finger along the rim of the glass. They were the only other creatures whose blood could satisfy our cravings.

“It’s better t
han human, I guess.” She shrugged and glanced
down at the glass as if she were still apprehensive about trying it.

She would soon learn that
nothing
could tide us over like
pure human blood
. The younger the victim, the better. But that was a fact I was hesitant to mention.

Leading by example, I brought the flute to my lips and took a sip. It washed down smoothly, leaving a taste in my
mouth reminiscent of a fine metallic aroma with a thick, buttery
undertone. Pig blood was heavier and thicker than human blood and the bottles I acquired had been purified
and filtered to remove some of that thickness, making it more
palatable to us. I’m not sure if any amount of filtering could have made it truly appetizing to a newly-taken, however.

Kathera took a drink from her glass and then closed her eyes in silence.

She wasn’t revolted… nor was she satisfied by it.

“Well?” I asked, tilting my head.

She set the glass back down onto the counter.

One step and she was within inches of my face, her bright
azure eyes meeting mine. She studied me for several moments and then took one of my hands into hers. I set my glass down and took her other hand, too.

“What are you thinking?” she asked in a whispery voice. “Right now, Matthaya? What are you thinking?”

Nothing…

Kathera’s grasp tightened. She moved in closer and kissed
me.

The warmth of her lips had been replaced by the synthetic
feel of exceptionally cool skin.

Our lips parted and she asked her question again, differently.

“What are you feeling, now?” Her eyes searched my face for the answer.

“Remorse,” I replied with an irritated grunt. I wanted to feel and taste her kiss as I had once. But I couldn’t…

I was very much in love with Kathera now, even though the disease forbade it. It’s one drawback of being what we are—one of the many. Hormone and endorphin production
shuts down upon infection. Voluntarily or involuntarily, nearly everything
humans do is driven by one or the other. From an embrace, to dark, primal sexual lust… it all dies in us.

I didn’t miss what I had never really had, but my imagination taunted me every now and then. But to feel so emotionless
toward Kathera’s kiss angered me. I didn’t want to react that way—to appear closed off. But it happened.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Matthaya,” she said, changing the subject at the sight of my discomfort.

“What happened… that night we were
together
?” She fidgeted with her hands and stepped back a few feet. She
rested her palms on the counter just opposite me and leaned
her weight against it. “Did it feel real to you?”