CHAPTER I
“I came to the world without knowing I could be an immortal one day... But everything has a price to pay...” – Vincent Amorrosi
Those who survived from the plagues of death thought they were blessed. They never realized it was more painful than living than those who are already dead.
But I am not dead or living either...I only sympathized and then feed.
July, 1892. Paris.
Paris was the place where the artistic and wonderful world of socialist and politics, courtesan’s men indulges, musical theatres pampered by aristocrats, operas, museums, street whores with bohemian stereotypes writhe into one. The promise land for a wanderers like me, whose dark secrets had no place for the modern world, as if like erecting a paradise to concrete bricks could fathom. Yes. Paris. The vast and colourful streets full of sundry people, their accented dresses and lovely tunes of language...lovely. What a sight to see, what reward to have, a chance of a lifetime. Paris was my new life. Paris is my way of finding lust and independence and... peace.
Peace. Spewed on that thought!
How could I have peace if someone’s here with me was a puppeteer of mine? If it wasn’t for him, I could have been dead three years ago you know.
My mentor.
Peace... with him? I rather call it a living hell.
The truth, I only fled here in Paris with my mentor when my own family thought of me as monster and wanted to kill me. Tragedy really, I would never thought I will be on the far side of the world because of my catastrophic outcome. Everywhere I go there’s death and hell in front of me. Death to my victims while hell waiting from my home. And my hell is here right now, sleeping peacefully on his bed, few feet away from me. Sometimes I wonder if he did really forgotten being a human once, with a soul, with a beating heart. Now as I look at his sleeping form, all I could feel from him was living shell with a goal nothing but to feed his hunger. I am afraid I will end up just like him one day, despising the world and everyone in it.
He made me. I am his creation, given with gifted cunning, beauty and immortality. Though this was beyond any human can take, I’m still furious thinking about it.
Markus. That was his name. The name I will remember for the rest of my life.
Every morning when he sleeps, I stood watching Markus as I was a guardian of his, a protector so to speak. I don’t know why but I must, maybe he made me to. I feel like empty and weak when he’s not around, but when he does I despised him for just looking at his sweet devilish grin. And last night he fuelled my anger even more. He smouldered four of the five family members just two blocks away from our place, leaving a lonely boy as the only survivor. Two weeks in Paris and Markus had already killed more than my finger could count, and I can’t help myself but disgust by his euphoric ways. My blue eyes flared and my blood bursts into fury when he let the boy go, saying the child was not suited to his taste. That was insult for me and he only laughs at me when I punched his face last night. Markus had a thing with people’s fate; flirting with them, gain their trust, and then slay them swiftly or, in circumstances, slowly. It was one of his fortes, one of his likable sports.
And since this morning, I waited for him to be awakened. I waited in vain for him to explain something to me. Why? Why does he have to do that? Why kill them all?
“What are you doing here, Vincent?”
Ah, the master was awakened finally. He was groaning into the pillow. I know he was tired from the last night’s buffet of his, but I’m not going to stand here shouldering all the guilt while he imperiously pondering around with his bed.
“Waiting for you...” I answered.
Cursing, he pulled the pillow away from his face and leaned at his side. When he saw me sitting at the safest part of the room hiding behind the shadows of curtains, he cocked his head slightly. “You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”
“Why would I?”
“Typical, you are.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you want now?”
“Answers?”
“And from what question that would be?”
My eyes fixed with his stare, holding it for a moment. He knew damn well what I’m about to say as I saw slight irritation from his frowned face. “I know you need to feed and it was reasonable for you to do so.” I said. “But what you did last night was beyond rational, Markus. Why kill them all? You can have only one. That is our rule.”
“Rules, you say?” he said, raising one brow. “And when does this rule had been occurred, hmm? Does it arise to you when hunger strikes, principles have no use? Do you ever have an urge to question yourself while feeding? Why to kill? No, I guess not. For the likes us, we must prepare for this kind of judgement. I am surprised for three years you haven’t accustomed to it.” He eased himself up. “Your daily query really hoists my day, my friend. You have no idea how impecunious you are sometimes--" he nodded towards the nightstand, "give me the wine."
“Get it yourself.”
“I don't have time for your ridiculous attitude. Get me the wine now!"
"No."
I saw his lips thinned and a flash of anger blaze into his eyes. Yes, that's what I am, a mere defiant. I don't know why I like to angered him though I'm fully aware he could throw me to the lions anytime. But Markus was an impatient creature. He will never do that to me. So instead of taking my foul obedience seriously, he stood up abruptly and walked towards the nightstand. "Go back to your room," he said, grabbing the bottle. "Whatever question might that be, we can discuss that later."
"No!" I screamed and before I knew it, I was grabbing him by the collar. “You son of a bitch!” I screeched to his face. “Why did you let the boy sees you kill his family? We are murderers, we are sinners, I know. But slaying all his family—“
“They’re witness, you imprudent brat!” he squirmed under my hand. “I meant the boy to live, he's too young for me! The boy's mind was corrupt already. I intended to kill only one, but because of you, because of your stupid sympathies, they saw what we did and because of you I have to do something about it! Now let go of me or I swear you will end up sleeping with beggars outside this walls!”
My grip loosens, not because of his taunting, but because I can’t look at him anymore without thinking I want to choke his breath out of him, or hell anything I can use to strangle him.
I turned around and once again sat behind the curtains.
“Go back to your room.” He demanded.
“I can’t put myself to rest...”
“Then do something about it!”
“...I hate you...”
He laughed. “Correct me if I’m wrong, my dear. That’s not what I’ve heard three years ago.”
I pressed my eyes closed and bowed my head for some reason I don't know, as if he trapped me once again. Yes, it’s not the same thing; I don’t know what damnation means when he offered me something I cannot refuse. But I wasn’t thinking imperative that time; he knew I would say yes three years ago. Having a deep blade impaled to my chest wasn’t a good idea to have such decision. I was nearly dying and I am such a coward to face it.
Am I really...?
Am I really...?
I raised my gaze and darted towards the smiling beauty in front of me. I said nothing, I lack of confidence to defy him. I am afraid of those eyes. His eyes that shone the deepest gold that shivered down my spine.
We stared at each other, studying, letting the annoyance to sink in... and then the devil himself smiled again, as if he knew what's on inside my mind already.
“You know fully well you can't kill me, Vincent." He said. "Not in a million years. Hate me more if you like, but you cannot dispose the likes of me."
I know. Lecture no longer needed. But if I have a spare time, I want to try it all over again.
I looked away and moved across the room. I ignored his watchful eyes and sat near the window. The glowing shaft of light from the sun danced through the drapes and then bounced to the marbled floor where the pattern visibly changes into a kaleidoscope. Our room has the aura of dusk; I never saw the true shades of its walls since we set our foot here in Paris. But nevertheless the colourful floorings and the reds of the stained glass helps illuminate what I needed and wanted to see.
“Vincent," he drank the wine impatiently. "If you’re going to drool the whole morning, you might as well do—”
“Amazing, is it not?” I said to him, still staring at the floor. “God’s creations...?”
I felt Markus flinched. My shifting of moods really does wonder him. He could have said yes or no, but he’s not in the mood of answering me.
“Simplest things make me happy.” I said. “Like for instance, watching the dancing lights everyday when dawn had ended. I admired it so much. Why is it so?”
I know Markus would not answer that either. But who can I ask? He was standing there, watching me, sipping his wine, playing with his own thoughts, completely ignoring me. But I am his pupil and he was my teacher, so I demand some answers. I know he can. My real age and the lines of my face have the same like his, however, Markus’ wits and familiarity to the world was no doubt ancient than mine.
“Perhaps I was marveled by the beauty of the sun,” I carried on, “the simplicity and its offering, of which I am aware that those playful innocent lights were harmless, it could kill me...” I halted when I heard his audible sighs, and then I looked at him and studied his face. He was sad, or frowning, I don’t know, but I do know that if I'll continue my words it will made him shiver. We are creatures of the night, he told me that many times, but I needed to ask what's bothering me through all this years. “Markus..." I began, trying to change the mood, "when was the last time the sun gleamed down on you?”
The question was blunt and stupid, I can see in his narrowed eyes. “I don’t know if that’s the most ridiculous question I ever heard coming from someone like you, but my answer is I can’t remember.” He said. “I can’t recall feeling its heat either, never nor can I remember how it rested upon the valley or any slopes, any mountains. Sunrise or sunset had nothing to do with us anymore, there’s only twilight. Now, for the last time, go back to your room.”
“We are damned.” I whispered, hugging myself as if I was cold. “Is that really it?”
“Vincent,” he said and walked across the room. He stood before me and then placed a hand onto my shoulder. “We are damned since the day we’re born. We are puppets, an entertainment for its creator. We're all the same. Do good or evil, all the same. Make a prayer, serve the convent, slit someone’s throat, steals someone's bread, all the same, there’s no difference...”
“Choices, my beloved mentor.” I said. “There are choices to comprehend, must do. I never thought I’ll be an immortal one day... no one can refuse any offer like you did. But I became selfish. You gave me a choice, and I choose to be with you... though there’s a price.”
“Are we going to talk about this all over again?” he asked, irritatingly. “Are you implying that this all my fault? Your family thought of you as the devil in disguise, they don’t know you anymore. People around you don’t know you anymore.”
“I said my choice is to be with you, was it not? Am I not enough? Why do you have to take my family away from me?”
“Are there no sufficient reason passing through that thick skull of yours?” he said, and then grabbed his robe, turned to his heel and walked away.
“The sun is still up," I asked, "where are you going?”
"To the other room," He shouted. "So that I would not tempt myself to smack your head!"
