Chapter 52 #3
His life flashed before me.
Marcus as a simple farm boy, the death of his parents at age fourteen, his inability to maintain their farm, the property being taken away, the loss of his livelihood, Marcus and Rachel’s journey to London, them scouring for food, struggling to survive.
As though I were there with them, I followed Rachel, Marcus, Lilly, and Ted as they trespassed into Blackfriars.
Beneath me, Marcus relented, letting me in, exposing it all, offering himself as an open book.
I rocked against him, exchanging intimacy for knowledge.
I continued to swallow his precious blood, wanting to know every part of him, memorizing his wants, his fears, and devouring his lifelong yearnings, his innermost secrets.
Another visage now of Blackfriars, Marcus’ hope when I’d turned up at their cell door. The rush he’d experienced but suppressed when I’d transformed him.
And I wanted to know more.
I tapped into Marcus’ streaming thoughts, and witnessed him scouring London’s streets, no matter the weather.
His passion in looking for Jacob and exultation at finding him, then taking special care to remember the doctor’s house.
Marcus flying across London, wanting to share the news with me, and his troubled ruminations of how we’d keep Jacob safe, and how best to protect him.
His fear of the others, as dark eyes stared back at him from the shadows outside Belshazzar’s, wayward vampires new to London.
And, finally, his fear of disappointing me, his loyalty and an infatuation with me that verged on obsession.
His fingernails dug into my forearms, holding me against him.
Placing my fingers over the bite, I stemmed the trickle.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked breathlessly.
I wiped my mouth.
“Stay with me tonight.” He clutched my sleeve.
I pulled away and sauntered out of the room. Now, without a shadow of doubt, I knew he posed no threat to us. Sunaria had been wrong but convincing her Marcus and Rachel were our allies still felt like an impossible task.
The following night, I returned to Petherton Road.
I wanted my son.
Standing across the street from the doctor’s house, lingering in the alleyway, I felt overjoyed to be close to Jacob again.
After an hour of keeping watch, waiting for the opportune moment, the door opened and Jacob appeared, dressed in a woolen coat.
The doctor followed him out. Hand in hand, they headed down Petherton Road and took a sharp turn on Flower Avenue.
Feeling envious of the doctor, I wanted to sweep Jacob up into my arms.
Savoring every second, I followed them across town, now and again pulling back so as not to arouse suspicion. Jacob’s English accent was flawless. There remained no evidence of his Spanish beginnings. I wondered if he had any memory of me.
His mentor showed kindness, slowing his pace so that Jacob could keep up with his master’s strides.
After half an hour of walking, they reached a shack, and the doctor disappeared inside.
Jacob paused for a moment and then turned and stared in my direction.
Although I stood out of his line of sight, he did appear to detect me before going inside.
Feeling torn, my resolve wavered. The sky opened up and it began pouring rain.
Perhaps I’d imagined it – my need for my son to know me being so great that my mind believed that he’d sensed my presence.
I turned on my heel and strode the opposite way, unable to go through with it. Strange that we can be right next to the ones we love, and yet they still seem like a million miles away.
I headed home.
Although long gone from my own life, I wanted normalcy for Jacob. Putting my own needs aside, I had to consider his.
My arms ached for him.
Back in Belshazzar’s, standing in the lounge before a roaring fireplace, I lost myself in the orange glow. My clothes were soaked through and clung to my wet skin, making me feel even more miserable.
I finally realized Sunaria was in the room. I wasn’t sure how long she had been standing behind me.
“I’m going to start a trust fund for him,” I said at last.
In silence, Sunaria undressed me, starting with my drenched shirt. A log slipped in the grate and sparks sprayed around it.
Naked now, the warmth of the fire reached my bones. She guided me into the drawing room where a hot bath had been prepared, and I climbed into the tub.
The water rose high, trickling over the edges. With a glazed stare, I examined the marble mantelpiece. Upon it rested a maple clock, the tick tock of time so sure, so perfect, and so irrevocable.
The only noise in the room harassed me with its relentless progression.
Sunaria climbed in with me, lying between my legs, her fine, red negligee floating to the surface and billowing. I rested my head back onto the edge of the tub and stared up at the ceiling.
“You have nothing to forgive yourself for,” Sunaria whispered.
I burst into tears, wishing there were some way to stem the agony I was feeling.