Avalon Revisited (22 page)

Once far enough from the brothel, down a particularly dark alleyway, I unwrapped my face and walked back into the street at a normal pace, coming out into the light of the gas street lamps. Within the hour, I had reached Baker Street. As I approached Avalon’s, I focused all my attention on the inside of her house, and I felt pain. I heard sobbing. Most of her tenants were asleep, but Avalon wasn’t. She was crying, alone. How could I get in to be with her and comfort her without waking her lodgers? Let her know that it’s over, that I took care of it? Once in, how could I be secure come dawn, which was only a few hours away?

There was a faint flickering light coming from the second story window. Victor’s office. That had to be where Avalon was grieving. I so wanted to be with her, ease her pain. I could, of course, just have leaped up there, but how would I explain that to Avalon? I decided to play it safe, so I gathered up some pebbles from the street and began tossing them against her window.

After about the sixth one, she came to the window and saw me. She opened the balcony doors and stepped outside. Her face was puffy and red, and her voice cracked when she spoke.

“What are you doing here, Arthur? Go home,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“I needed to know you were safe.”

“Just dandy, now please leave me alone.” She began to go back inside.

“Wait.” She did, turning back to me. “It’s done.”

“What’s done?” she said, sounding overtired. She pulled her hands over her sweet face, rubbing her swollen, bloodshot eyes.

“All of it. I got the rest. No more will rise.”

“And Victor?” She looked at me with apprehension through her exhaustion.

“He won’t rise either,” I said, shifting my weight uncomfortably from leg to leg and then looking down at my feet. I didn’t want to give her details. I didn’t want to see the realization on her face when she understood what I had done.

“Where is he?”

“Same place.”

“You left him there?” Her exasperated anger took me by surprise. She had gone from defeated to wrathful in an instant.

“I--” ... didn’t know what to say.

“Bury him, Arthur!” she said, as if it was the obvious course of action. I guess to a human, it was. “He deserves at least that. Show some damned respect.” She went inside and shut the balcony door a little too hard.

I stood there in the street. Like a dimwitted school boy, I waited. Not knowing what to do next. It was as if she believed all this was my fault. It did, of course, start with one of my kills, but that was where my involvement ended. I threw the last few pebbles I had up to her window, urging her to come back outside, but she didn’t. After a moment, I saw the light go out, and I knew that was it for the night. She had been on the verge of giving herself to me, and now this.

Turning to leave, I thought for a moment that I may have lost her for good, and a pitiful cry gurgled up from my core and stuck in my throat. I would do anything to keep her, anything.

Burying Victor was the least I could do for her. For my love.

Ah yes, love. This was truly love. Now I remembered.

The full agony of love filled my being. Not the euphoric feeling of the beginning. Not shouting from the treetops love. The excitement of the chase. The anticipation of possibilities.

That wasn’t love. This was love. This agony. This suffering. This sinking feeling in my chest.

Feeling unable to live without her. Knowing I could not live without her. Knowing I would do anything for her, even if it led to my own ruin, for I was nothing without her. Feeling what she feels. Happy only when she’s happy. Desperation. Pure pathos. I felt nauseous. Sick. Empty and gorged at the same time.

Yes. This was love.

Then, as if on cue, it started to rain. One could always count on London for rain. I listened to it hit the cobblestones, and it played the symphony of my breaking heart. The water filled the crevices between the cobblestones quickly, and the tinny sound of the large drops hitting the newly formed puddles filled my ears, but it did not fill my heart. My dead, shriveled, empty, breaking heart.

Sweet Avalon, had I lost her? Something between us had shifted. Was it just her grief, or had Victor’s death killed our chance at love?

I rushed back to my home and roused Thomas out of bed. Good man, Thomas. He didn’t even question the time or the matter. He just did his duty. Day or night. He drove me back to the scene of Victor’s attack. Victor brought us here for a reason, which means that Lacy’s rooms had to be very close to this alley. But there wasn’t time for that confrontation tonight. Although, he probably had been clipped by all his creations being destroyed. It could be a good time for an attack, especially if he starts the creation process again. But that hopefully would take time. After all, my only concern was Avalon’s well-being.

Hidden by the shadows of the bloodstained alley, I gathered up Victor’s corpse and head, wrapping them in a sheet. When I was done, I climbed back into the carriage with the bloody bundle that so recently held life. I had Thomas take me to the Brompton Cemetery. Once there, I put Victor’s wrapped body parts over my shoulder and set out again in the rain. As I sloshed through the overgrown graveyard, lightning struck. A rare sight in London, that. Rain, no.

Lightning and thunder, quite rare. It was as if the earth was showing its sorrow for the loss of this good man. Or perhaps the gods were angry, if there were such things. Unlikely. Not in a world such as this.

As I neared Lord Haldenby’s sepulcher, lightning lit up the grey sky, briefly illuminating a huge, dead tree to the right. Its naked branches reached toward me like death itself, but it couldn’t have me yet.

I took Victor’s remains from the sheet and laid him to rest in Lord Haldenby’s tomb, arranging him for a proper burial. It seemed fitting. I situated the broken lid over him. It didn’t quite seal him in, but it would do for now. I would have a new one made for him tomorrow.

Avalon was right. He was a good man, as far as humans go, and he loved Avalon.

We had that in common.

I saw Victor’s face through the crack. Death. What a frightening prospect. I had obviously seen a lot of death in my time, caused most of what I had seen, but it remains a mystery. This corpse that looked like Victor wasn’t Victor. Victor was gone. Perhaps completely ceased to exist. Perhaps in another state of existence. Perhaps being reborn somewhere. Whatever the truth, he was no longer here. This vessel that contained him was now just necrotic tissue. Lifeless. Still, people felt the need to visit these dead cells and talk to them, pour their heart out to them. Felt the need to honor it with burial.

I don’t understand it. I never did.

All the ceremony had to be more for the living than the dead. A way to cope, perhaps. If there was consciousness after death, that consciousness likely doesn’t care what happens to its former form. It would be like a snake being sentimental about its shed skin. The snake had already moved on.

I could smell dawn approaching. I rushed back to the carriage, and Thomas drove me home at top speed. We arrived just before dawn. Seeing Avalon would have to wait until this evening.

With every cell in my own lifeless form, my entire being and centuries of existence that went along with it, I hoped she would be all right.

Under strict instructions, Cecil sent word to Avalon first thing in the morning that Victor was peacefully resting in Brompton, hoping it would ease her suffering a little.

I slept through most of the next day, albeit restlessly, and I was out the door the moment the sun set. Thomas was waiting at the door. He knew me too well. He drove me over to Avalon’s while I rehearsed what I was going to say. I have never been too good at dealing with the grieving. Watching Catherine suffer Henry’s rejection and the humiliation that followed made me wish I had stayed dead. Still, I hadn’t been able to talk to her, so I couldn’t have said the wrong thing.

This was a completely different situation. What can one say that will ease the pain of loss?

The wrong words would increase suffering, and the right words won’t change the loss itself.

Saying nothing perhaps was worse, as it could be interpreted as indifference. Truly, a difficult situation. Perhaps I’ll just listen, if she’ll let me.

Upon arrival, I stepped out, straightened my coat, and gathered up my courage. This time, as it was a decent hour, I rang her bell.

Unexpectedly, the door was answered by a bright pink-clad Lady Bainbridge. My well-rehearsed speech would have to wait. Fortunately, she wasn’t dressed in chartreuse.

“Well, my, my, my, my, my” she said with a gleam in her eye. “Arthur York. Do come in.”

She put a suggestive lilt on the word “in,” flipped open her fan, and began fanning herself wildly.

I bowed slightly, ignoring the innuendo, took off my hat, and stepped inside. Emily led me to the parlor, which was situated on the first floor, and there, on one end of the sofa, sat Avalon dressed in a pretty black dress, all black. Her face was partially covered by a veil that swept down to her nose from her conservative hat. It was wide brimmed, no whimsical tiny top hat today. This was a house of mourning, and I took care to show that I respected that. Although, it seemed, Emily did not, for she was as ostentatious as ever.

“Do sit down, Arthur,” she said, taking a seat in a chair to the right of Avalon.

“Lady Bainbridge,” I said. “What a surprise to see you here.” I sat on the other end of the sofa from Avalon rather than the chair next to Emily, making my intention to speak with Avalon clear. Emily noticed and appeared rather ruffled by it, for she pursed her lips and tightened her jaw.

“Yes. I suppose you came to speak with my niece alone. I do know how you like to be alone with women,” she said cattily, emphasizing the word ‘alone’.

I looked at her sharply, insisting she behave herself.

She didn’t heed the warning.

“You do have a reputation, after all.” She continued to fan herself absentmindedly, but there was nothing absent about her sharp mind and biting wit. “So, Arthur, what do you want with my dear niece on this fine evening?”

“I was concerned. She’s lost a friend,” I said to Emily, although I was now watching Avalon closely. She dabbed under her eyes with a white handkerchief, but she wouldn’t look at me. The sight of me reminds her of Victor’s horrible death, and she can’t bear that.

“I asked you to leave me alone, Arthur,” she said softly.

Before I could respond, Emily let out a vile bark of laughter, making a tense situation even more strained with her rudeness.

“Is that so?” mused Emily, “But you just couldn’t stay away, right Arthur? Your appetite is too strong for that, no?”

So much for being discreet. This woman didn’t care if Avalon knew about her conquests.

“Yes, I told Avalon that she shouldn’t get so close with her tenants. I mean, after all, they were not of her standing, were they? Especially this Victor. Scientist or something? How dreadfully dull.”

Avalon tensed at this, but she seemed to know that the less one engaged Emily, the better.

Only if I had learned that lesson more quickly.

“Avalon, might I have a word alone?” I said, scooting closer to Avalon and reaching out for her hand resting on her lap, but Avalon lifted it to her face, dabbing her eyes again and avoiding my touch. I withdrew, hurt.

“We’re all friends here, Lord York,” Emily said, “I’m sure whatever you have to say I can hear. Isn’t that right, my dear?” The last directed at Avalon. “After all, Lord York and I know each other quite well, don’t we Arthur?”

She giggled. More like a cackle, really.

Avalon looked up at her aunt and then over to me. I kept my face still, betraying nothing. She knew. I could see it in her face. The minimal slight I felt ,mere moments ago when she avoided my touch reflected in her face a thousand times stronger. It was the look of heartbreak. Betrayal.

Now Emily laughed heartily. “Oh my! Was it love?” she said cruelly.

Avalon stood up and stormed from the room.

Emily continued to laugh and fan herself. She seemed pickled pink. I was having none of this. In a blink of her eye, I was upon her. That cut her derisive laughter short. My hand was upon her throat, and I lifted her to meet me, eye to eye. Her eyes were wide with fear, but I could still see the desire deep within, which angered me even more.

“Know that I can snap your neck without effort, woman.” I breathed the words into her face before I dropped her back onto the chair.

And with that, I was gone.

Several weeks went by, and I called on Avalon every day, but she refused to see me. Every evening I brought her fresh cut flowers and letters with proclamations of love, but she still refused. Every day I sent Thomas with more professions, but he was turned away as well.

After each night’s refusal, I kept more of a distance, watching her from afar, determined to ensure her safety and well-being. From the rooftop of the building across from hers, I’d watch through her window until she turned in for the night. She spent much time in Victor’s study, going through his papers and organizing his books. With the help of a feather duster, she dusted all his contraptions from one end of the room to the other, and then started over dusting them again. She would do this for hours until her eyelids began to droop. After she went to sleep, I’d stay until dawn, just in case she’d wake again.

The next night I would return with more flowers and more proclamations of my love. And so the cycle continued.

I wouldn’t give up. I had eternity to turn her around. She had fallen in love with me, and she must love me still! Else she wouldn’t care so much about Emily. Right? I tried to convince myself, but it fell flat. The thought that I had destroyed my only chance for love in over three centuries because of a tryst depressed me.

As the weeks progressed, she dusted less and cried less, seemingly coming to a sort of acceptance, but she still wouldn’t accept my gifts or my company. I stopped going there at night, but I didn’t stop trying. Instead, each morning I sent Thomas with new flowers and a new letter.