Breaking the Past (completed/revising)

Chapter Ten: What Does it Mean to be Human?

"Not like that," Clayton growled. He swung up his hands to calm his throbbing head. He expected to find Rachael and Dominick, but he laid now on a wooden floor.

Clayton looked at the wood which looked sanded down by hand. He brought up his hands away from his face and pushed himself up to sit. He looked around the measly looking house. There was an old fireplace that stood across from him with wooden cupboards placed to the right. There were a couple of hallways behind him that led to a darkened room. Clayton stood up to face the table where a woman sat weaving.

"Yvonne," Clayton whispered. He took a step forward to try to get a good look of her face.

Slowly he made his way to the chair across from her and sat down, facing her finally after all these years. The more he looked at her, the worse his throat tightened.

Clayton looked outside of the small window to the dark sky, then turned back to his wife. "Y--Yvonne?" His voice cracked.

She did not look up, but her hands started to slow down from the endless weaving. Clayton could hardly remember them, but as he glanced at the intricate design all he could see was droplets of blood that dripped from the wool.

Clayton's heart skipped a beat. He wanted to tell her to run, hide, and don't open the door but words get caught in his throat. Small flames behind Yvonne lit up her face to the point Clayton could see the tears that fell from her eyes.

She could not hear him for this was the last play of memory; not his. Clayton wondered for a second who could it have been, but then came to the conclusion.

"This is the night of her death," he muttered.

Yvonne stopped her weaving after a few minutes and looked towards the door. He could not hear the sound she heard, but he watched as she slowly put her pattern down and waited patiently. Flames danced with her red hair and circled around her blue eyes. She brought up her sleeve and wiped it against her eyes but it hardly hid the redness in her face.

"You can come in," she said.

After the door smashed open and in seconds she was slammed onto the table, unable to escape. Clayton sat lifeless as tears burned down Yvonne's face. He heard her piercing screams. She fought. Clayton's breath shuddered. He could do nothing as life drained away from his wife. Or when she drank the blood that was offered.

The figure let go of her and she fell the ground. Her eyes were open which stared at the room in front of her. Clayton just watched because he knew he couldn't do anything when the figure headed to the room.

"Stop playing this game," he said softly.

The figure stopped walking and turned around. Clayton could not see the face even though the flames flickered in it's direction. It was a man who was tall. Just a pair of pants and shirt. It could have been any demon. "You remember this night clearly then?" he spoke smoothly.

"I only saw the aftermath," Clayton responded. He looked over to his wife on the floor. It was the same position he found her in when the figure attacked him and killed his friend. "I swore I would kill who ever did this."

"Never worked out," the man said. He walked around Yvonne's body and sat in the chair. He picked up her weave and started to work on it. Clayton watched as his finger's worked faster than his wife's. "But after awhile you understood what it was that killed your wife. A vampire who could just as well be lost. "

"Yes," Clayton answered. "Vampires were just a myth before. A tale to tell your children. I know searched, but could never find him. I suppose you know where he is."