Son of Dracula ||Book Two||

Apus

I stared blankly at mother's stone as the memory brought itself to life all around me. If I focused on an object and allowed the images to willingly come, it was never as bad.

Just past the stone, I could see her fighting the strange men that had attacked us. I had never seen mother fight so hard before. I had seen her take down animals or playfight with father, but this was real. I still wonder if in that moment, mother knew what her end fate would be. Her fangs had been out and she had used her fingernails as though they were claws. Right before she killed another one of our intruders, her eyes briefly met mine.

I didn't have the strength to keep watching. I dropped my gaze back into my lap and shut my eyes. I wanted it to disappear. I wanted to be like my brothers, where their memory of the event was different from mine. I'm sure Alistair remembered everything about that night as well, but his had been less traumatic.

An old image of my father appeared, running into the dream-like state that played out in front of me, screaming my mother's name. I could recall their last conversation, how desperate my father sounded. I'm sure if I was the one in his place, I would have done the exact same.

As the past played out before me, I wondered what I had done to deserve this never-ending nightmare. Franklin had long before mentioned that as I grew, these episodes would lessen; that I would be freed of them completely before I reached adulthood. Yet, that was anything but the truth. If anything I had felt like they had gotten worse.

I waited impatiently for the images to fade away, trying to push my focus elsewhere but it was of no use. I only reopened my eyes once the world grew silent, and gave a quick glance to the area past her stone and felt relieved to see only trees, flowers, and darkness. I sighed and finally allowed my body to relax, starting to wonder what life would have been like if I wasn't plagued by that night. "I don't think I'll ever get over you," I whispered to mother's grave, using my hands to wipe my cheeks clean of any tears that had unknowingly fallen.

How could I ever? My mother was unlike anyone I had ever met before. She had gifted our family with such love and kindness and we had been broken in her departure. We were the only ones now that could heal ourselves, but with the disagreements and the vengeance now stuck in our roots there could be no compromise.

In an attempt to keep my mind from drifting back to the past for the third time today, I focused on mother. I could remember a painting of her and father that had hung high in the first room of our old home. They had both been human when it had been painted as it was only weeks after their marriage.

I imagined her again, picturing the fiery hair father had always talked about. I saw the youth in her face, untouched by fear now that she was with father and away from her past. She smiled ear to ear in my imagination with eyes that twinkled like the stars, but looked like spring. I pictured her in a gown of gold, her ring shimmering on her left hand. Her laughter echoed throughout my head and her gaze was trained on my father, who looked as if he was without worry.

"I don't understand why you did what you did. You led a strong life. I'm leading a disappointing one," I spoke softly, hoping that speaking freely would give me the calmness I wanted to return back to my family. "Your life would have been better appreciated than mine."

Truly, it was how I felt.

I couldn't agree with the path my father and brothers were going down, and while they had mostly emotionally recovered from mother's passing, I was still stuck in the past. I felt completely by myself, with only the stars and the ghost of mother to comfort me. Had mother survived instead of me, would they have been happier? Would they have preferred that?

The mental image I had pieced together of mother looked away from father and towards me, but she wouldn't reply. I couldn't get her to, despite how badly I wanted some kind of reply. I wanted to feel as though I was conversing with her again, just like how father did in the early rays of morning when he thought my brothers and I were still sleeping.