22. A Shocking Revelation
22
A SHOCKING REVELATION
SAYAH
T he flight home had been a quiet one.
Anna slept the whole time, having awakened the morning after the assault feeling as though she had drunk one too many fireball shots. Claire was melancholy and quiet, holding Anna close all the way to the airport and on the plane as well. I said goodbye to Dom at the hotel. He had been supportive of the girls’ silence, knowing words are not enough to quell the awful feelings that being drugged and almost raped dredge up.
The only words Anna had spoken were to thank Dom followed by a hug for saving her.
It wasn’t until I got home and turned on the T.V. that I learned of the three men who had been found dead in a Las Vegas apartment complex.
They offered no details as to the circumstances of the deaths, only that they were suspicious and being investigated as a homicide.
It has to be a coincidence, right?
I try to put it as far back in the corners of my mind as I can, but something isn’t adding up.
“So when’s he coming over?” Gauge asks, wheeling into the kitchen where I’m cooking dinner, jolting me momentarily out of my addled fog.
“Um . . .” I wipe my hands on the dishtowel and fling it over my shoulder, tugging the phone out of my back pocket. “He should be here any minute. Are you excited?”
“Yeah,” he replies giddily. “I’m glad you won’t be alone when I’m not here.”
Gauge has been wanting me to find someone for a long time.
As I stir the spaghetti sauce, my mind goes back to him.
More and more details about Dominic are confusing to me. There’s that feeling that he has something big to tell me about himself and I’m not going to let him leave tonight until I find out what it is. Part of being an empath is that I’m able to read people. I know when they’re angry or sad or have something burning inside them that they need to get out. It’s why I’m always drained after concerts or crowded places. I’m an energy sponge and I soak up other people’s energy like rainwater on grass.
But what can it be?
That’s when the doorbell chimes.
“I’ll get it,” Gauge sings.
“Well, hello there, sir,” I hear Dom’s deep voice billowing into our little house. “I’m Dominic. You must be Master Gauge.”
I walk into the living room to see Dominic shaking Gauge’s little hand. “Nice to meet you too. But I’m not a master.”
Dom laughs and hands him something. “These are for you.”
“What is it?” he asks, peering into the paper bag he hands him.
“Shh,” he says, putting his finger to his pursed lips. He bends down and whispers something to Gauge that makes him giggle.
“And what is it?” I query as Dominic slips out of his shoes.
“It’s our secret,” he says, pulling his hand out from behind his back and handing me a paper bag as well. “This one’s yours.”
I peek into the bag and see candy and scratch tickets. “Thank you,” I say, smiling. “Hungry?”
“Ravenous,” he answers with a smirk.
“All right, dinner is almost ready. You two can help set the table. Gauge, check your blood sugar. Dinner is going to be around seventy-five carbs.”
“Okay Mama,” Gauge says, wheeling over to the coffee table to deposit the paper bag before heading over to the kitchen.
“How long have you had diabetes?” Dominic asks Gauge as he grabs the pile of napkins I hand him.
“I was diagnosed at four, right, Mama?”
“That’s right,” I answer, removing the boiling water from the stove.
“Wow, that’s a long time. How are you doing with it?”
“Pretty good,” Gauge responds, taking the forks from the pile on the counter and putting them on the napkins Dom is setting out.
“He’s good with it. He keeps control of his numbers and his A1C has come down to 7.8. Which probably is Greek to you.” I laugh.
“No, I know quite a bit about it. My dad’s a doctor.”
“Really?” Gauge asks, intrigued. “That’s cool.”
“Pretty cool, huh?” Dominic asks and hands him a napkin to set on the other side of the table. “So, you’re on a pump?”
“Yeah. See,” Gauge says, pulling the pump out from his pocket.
“Way cool,” Dom answers, walking around the table to check it out.
“I can do the site changes all by myself. I’ve done my CGM once, but I usually have Mom do that. That one hurts.”
“I bet. Wow, you are so, so cool. Way cooler than me! I can’t stand needles, I faint.”
Gauge laughs, his chubby cheeks getting rosy. “You do?”
“I do. I’m a big pansy. You are so much stronger than me.”
“I tell him that all the time,” I say, taking the garlic bread out of the oven. “I could not do what he does. He doesn’t flinch when he has to check his blood or change his sites.”
“Oh, man. Maybe you can teach me how you are so brave. Or lend me some of your bravery.”
Gauge giggles, putting his pump back in his pocket. “You can’t teach bravery, silly. You have to just be brave. It’s easy when that’s all you have.”
Sometimes the words that come out of him amaze me .
I feel the smile spread from ear to ear looking at the way my child and my man are getting on. This is something that I’ve yearned for, for a long time.
I hope that whatever he has to tell me doesn’t change this.
No matter what, I’m not letting him leave the house tonight without telling me, though.
“ T hat was delicious Sayah, thank you,” Dom says when dinner is done, helping me bring the dishes to the sink. “Need some help?”
“No, I’m good here, thanks. I think you have a Mario Kart date with a ten-year-old.” I smile, placing a rinsed dish in the dishwasher.
“All right, holler if you need me.”
He kisses me swiftly on the cheek and retreats.
Within minutes, there is laughter and happy screams coming from the living room. As I grin to myself about how the whole night is going down, I’m debating on how to bring up this thing I want him to tell me.
Is he a secret agent?
I feel silly.
If he is though, that does explain some of his strange behavior. But not all.
Superhero?
Magician?
Witch?
That’s it! He’s a witch like me and that’s how he knew I was and gave me the bracelet. He’s a witch.
But if he is, then why has he not come right out and say it?
So many things swim through my mind, all while putting dishes away, cleaning up dinner, and watching the boys try beating each other in Mario Kart for a few rounds .
It’s still plaguing my mind as I follow behind Gauge while he crawls up the stairs to go to bed.
“It was so nice to meet you,” Gauge calls down to Dom through the banisters as he lands on the top stair. “Sorry for kicking your butt so hard in Mario Kart.”
“Nice to meet you too buddy! And I demand a rematch. Next time I come over, it’s on!”
“Okay, but that’s your butt!”
“Okay, head to bed,” I instruct, helping him up into the wheelchair we keep upstairs for him to get around up here.
“So, what do you think?” I ask Gauge after he has plopped himself into bed, making sure to keep my voice low. The way the house is built, sounds carry.
“I like him, Mama,” Gauge says through a yawn. “He’s good to you.”
“He is good to you ,” I say, booping him on the nose. “And that is all that matters to me.”
“Well, I think you should keep him. He’s nice.”
I sure hope I can.
“Sweet dreams, my love. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mama. Goodnight.”
“Night-night,” I say, turning out the light and closing the door.
As I descend the stairs, I can see Dom sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone.
Nervousness bubbles up inside of me and I don’t know how I’m going to bring this up. I figure I’ll sit down and let it all spill out.
He glances at me as I make my way to the couch and sit next to him.
“Thank you for dinner tonight,” he says. “Your son is truly an amazing little man.”
“Thank you,” I respond. “He’s my whole world.”
“I can see that. You’re a great mom.”
I press my forehead to his and take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “I want you to tell me whatever you’ve been wanting to tell me for some time.”
The way his hazel eyes question mine is perplexing. Like a cross between being utterly terrified and also there’s some relief lingering in the golden flecks of his green irises.
“What?” he asks, backing his head away, and I immediately shake mine.
“Dom.” I pull his chin toward me when he tries to deflect. “You can tell me. I will not judge you, whatever it is. I promise.”
“Sayah, I can’t?—”
“Dom, please. You can tell me.”
“I’m a vampire,” he says bluntly, as though telling me he’s a mechanic.
“Ha!” I blurt out, but it’s automatic. I can’t help it.
I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but that sure as hell wasn’t it.
“Sayah, I’m serious.”
I feel my eyes grow wide.
The words hang in the air like smoke between us, and I freeze. His eyes remain on mine, unmoving, and suddenly a fear larger than life itself rises in the back of my throat like bile. Fear that he’s a psychopath and in my home where my child sleeps.
“Vampire?” I ask dubiously.
Is he a serial killer?
Oh my gods, he’s in my house and the nearest gun is in my car.
I look toward the garage, thinking if I move fast enough I can get to the garage door, slam it in his face, tip over the dog food bin to slow him down, and jump over the handicapped railing to my car to grab my gun.
“Sayah, listen, I know that it’s a lot to take in,” he says, grabbing my hand.
I try to pull it away. “You’re crazy!”
“No, please, listen to me,” he pleads as I slip out of his grip and quickly stand. “I’m not going to hurt you, please believe me.”
“Vampires don’t exist!”
Even though I’m terrified, there’s a lingering softness in his eyes that comforts me. I remember reading about vampires in my grandmother’s grimoires .
They can exist, can’t they?
Maybe he’s telling me the truth; it makes all that strange shit that has been happening make more sense.
I mean, I’m a witch who practices real magick.
“Sayah, please. Look,” he says, standing with me as the jangling tension of an impending battle rages on in my mind.
His eyes change to a cat-eye shape and the irises drain of all hazel leaving only the color of white with black rims remaining. His skin goes pale, his touch grows cold, and the incisors shoot out from his gums.
Even though I should be scared, I’m not.
He is stunningly beautiful.
The angles of his face sharpen, as though I am watching someone live photo-shop their picture. The subtle wrinkles by his eyes iron out, his hair smoothes where it was rustled, and every facet of his being becomes perfect, not one flaw visible.
The energy in the room shifts, and I can feel that he’s fearing my reaction to this more than he’s afraid I’ll fear him.
“See?” he says as his fangs melt away and his eyes return to normal. His voice is controlled, steady; his green eyes still fixed on mine. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I finally utter, and though everything within me tells me I should be terrified, I’m not. It all melts off the minute he shows me his true self.
“Sayah,” he says almost in tears. He looks to me for my approval which disarms me.
“I need a minute,” I say, trying to process the new information. His eyes are smoldering and there’s a subtle fracture in them, spilling nothing but fear of losing me because of what he just told me.
I walk away from him, and he doesn’t follow me. Over at the window, I gaze out and up to the sky, as though the stars hold the answers. I think about the last few weeks with him, all those crazy and unexplainable things.
Can he read my thoughts ?
He remains still on the couch, head in his hands, silent and contemplative.
I turn back to the stars.
Thoughts slice into my mind all at once. The fact that we’ve never met up during the day and how sometimes he moves so fast I can barely see him. The night of our first date is still shrouded in mystery. He has, a few times, talked as though he’s a lot older than he says he is. There’s a haunting mystery about him, a tortured look in his eyes at times that I can feel the sorrow undulating around him. Times when I swear he seems to reach into my mind and pluck thoughts right out of it. And most recently, Vegas. The gash that seemingly vanished. Those men. That blood. The agonized look in his eyes after we got back to the hotel room. And my senses are always telling me there’s something he’s burning to tell me, a secret so deep that he fears it will change the way I feel about him.
Dominic Sangravelli is a vampire.
A very old one at that.
I have no idea how old he is, but I’m guessing somewhere in the 18 th century.
That’s just a guess, but one that I’d likely bet on.
His soul tells me so.
And I do believe he still has a soul.
It’s drenched all over him that he doesn’t enjoy being a vampire; he doesn’t like killing and only does it when he must, taking the lives of those who would do other people wrong. His sufferings unmitigated by promise of any alleviation soaks him like rainwater.
That sort of makes sense to me. I’ve always been a bully to the bullies, and will defend the people that others mock and ridicule. I can only imagine that if I had been a vampire, I would be the same way.
Wait!
Dom can’t be a vampire!
This is the real world and things like that don’t exist.
My mind wanders back to the three men in Vegas who died.
Is this really happening? Mama, what do I do ?
There is light in the dark, I hear on a whisper. I don’t know if it’s my mother’s voice or my own, but all I know is that I’m not afraid of him.
I turn around and walk back up to him.
“Did you kill those men in Vegas?”
“Yes,” he replies solemnly, his face contorting into guilt and shame. “But I only kill people who deserve it. I don’t kill innocent people.” The admission is soaked in rage and filled with sorrow.
“I know you won’t hurt me,” I say finally. “But I need to know your story. All of it. I need to know that you’re safe to be around. You just met my son, my world. I have to know if you’re safe.”
He nods and stands. “What do you want to ask me?” he asks, and there seems to be a lightness about him now. His handsome features have softened somehow, as though a huge and heavy weight had rewired the expressions on his face and is finally returning to normal.
“I want to know your story. The whole story.”
He takes a deep breath as though borrowing the strength from the air, embracing the tale he’s about to tell.