To Be Obscure

| CH. 30

Cleansings. Blessings. Murders.

They were one and the same, weren't they? Especially for a man like me.

Following Victor and Abigail only reminded me of the type of monster I truly was. I'd always known it, of course, but through her eyes, I was the Devil himself—and she loved it.

I wasn't sure exactly when Charlotte made herself scarce, but she couldn't handle listening to my stories retold. The days of my past, the memories I couldn't recall—how I'd round up pagans and tie them to trees. I had forced my blood down their throats and watched them die. If they wouldn't willingly submit to his Lord Almighty, I'd rip their throats clean open.

I was her muscle, her right hand. I'd done more for her than Victor ever could, and by my blood alone, a hundred years brought on fifty of the purest Evergreens.

Those were the men and women I passed by within the halls that I recognized. They looked at me with the utmost respect. I was their savior, the man who granted them eternal life and access into heaven.

If only they'd known the truth, and that I did no such thing. I'd done nothing but slow death the very second my blood touched their lips. They'd die eventually, and it wouldn't be a sad day in heaven when the gates stay closed in their faces.

When Victor took his turn to leave us, we'd already wandered outside into her 'Garden of Eden.' I'd asked him not to leave me with her, but he said he had other plans. He made sure to emphasize the word—plans.

I scowled and inhaled the cool, afternoon air. I hadn't forgotten about what we needed to do.

Abigail circled the trees, her fingers sliding against the dying bark. She looked at me with a smile, one that brought out the creases around her eyes. "John, you haven't the slightest idea how happy I am that you're here."

I clicked my teeth. "I don't?"

The garden connected the manors in an awkward diamond shape, intertwining the backyards with old trees and flowers that had yet to grow. Her manor sat in the center. Beside its back doors were benches made of stone, four to be exact. I made one my home, leaning back against the cold seat as she danced around another tree.

"Don't you remember when you were a boy? How we'd run through the fields?"

Close, but no cigar, Abigail. "Of course," I lied. "Why bring it up?"

She paused. The sunlight hit her face in a way that brought upon some youth; the other side, however, was masked in shadow. "Because you were so young and keen. You listened to me so well, like now." She spun around a tree just once more before crossing the dying grass to stand at my feet. "Do you remember the last thing you ever said to me?"

I lifted my top lip slightly. "Again, why bring it up?"

She smirked and shook her head. "Your humor hasn't changed."

I shrugged and motioned my hand for her to continue. "Please, enlighten me."

Her hand slowly made its way to my face. Her fingers were cold against my skin. "You're right. Why bring it up?"

Because, now, my curiosity had got the best of me.

I brushed her hand away with my hand, my eyes never leaving hers. She seemed calm, normal, and a part of me wished she wasn't. "Because you decided to open the pages." I let my tongue trail over my teeth as I leaned forward, and she stepped back. "So, tell me—what did I say? Two hundred years ago was so long ago."

She let the seconds slip into minutes, wandering the garden to stall her answer. She made comments on the flowers and dying trees, but I didn't listen, as those weren't the answers I wanted to hear. I wanted to hear why she'd tried to kill me; why she submitted Charlotte to such torment.