Save Me From The Dark

Chapter Four

I fall silent and wait.

The vampire on the other side of the door is equally quiet, though his quietness is as heavy as it is foreboding.

I don’t know whether to feel proud of myself or apprehensive. I spun him a tale, like he asked, and one that contrary to the life I currently have, is interesting enough for someone like him to find it worth listening to. Now it’s his turn to reveal whether he’s about to honour our shoddily made bargain and remove himself from the premises, or turn me into dinner.

“Have your thoughts about turning changed ever since you left the Dark Country?” he asks.

I blink. It’s an unexpected question, so I don’t have an answer ready. I don’t know what to make of it, even. Is it regular curiosity or... a veiled offer?

Do I still want to become a vampire?

The truth is that I don’t know. What I have here in Britannia suits me just fine. I don’t put a particularly high price on my youthful appearance, at least not enough to make sacrifices to maintain it. I suspect it has something to do with the fact that the woman I picture, whenever I think about what I would prefer to grow into, is not young or classically beautiful.

She’s in her early fifties. She wears glasses and pencil-skirts and has her hair tied into a bun, and thin wrinkles grow around her eyes like cracks on fine china. Her air is strict, professorial, and no-nonsense. I usually picture her sitting in an office crammed full with books, sipping tea and scribbling tirelessly. She doesn’t need beauty because she is well-educated.

Granted, it would be convenient to exist forever. I have often wondered how the world would look like if the great geniuses and innovators from olden days had had more than a single human lifespan to know and create and discover. I don’t fancy myself that important, but there is something undeniably attractive about not having to fear that my work will be interrupted by something as fickle as my own mortality.

“I don’t want to return there,” I say. “I miss my parents, but they won’t be more inclined to respect my wishes now than they were then. They’d just take my choice away, and I wouldn’t be able to stop them.”

“I see.” I don’t like what I hear in his voice; the implication that whatever he sees is unlikely to benefit me hangs there like an angry storm cloud. “So you wish to avoid being turned.”

“Yes. For now.” I swallow and force myself to be brave. “I told you my story. That was all you wanted, right?”

“It’s something I wanted. But far from all.” I hear him get up. My heart soars, leaps, until it becomes clear that he isn’t moving from where he stands, and most definitely isn’t moving towards the front door. I brace myself for the impending break-in. “Your story only proved my point. You are an interesting girl, Susan. I enjoy interesting. So I want to offer you a deal.”

“Is it the kind of deal where I get out of this bathroom alive?”

“If your answer satisfies me, yes.”

I gulp.

“I’m listening.”

“I’d like to be a part of your life from now on.”

He sounds – pardon the pun – dead serious, which is about the only reason why I don’t immediately burst out laughing. Instead, his words make me feel queasy. He doesn’t go into detail about what he means, so I’ll inevitably have to ask for clarification, but I dread the prospect.

My mind busily paints the most uncomfortable possibilities it can come up with. Honestly, hoping that he means it in some warped romantic sense is the best case scenario.