Enchanted Dreams (11 page)

"I will tell you everything," I repeated more emphatically.
"At your house."

I had no idea how much he knew. Had he sensed that someone was following him all along? Or had he just discovered me this night? My mind swam with uncertainty as Vincent, still having hold of my arm, nearly dragged me through the streets toward his house. I knew the way by heart, and as we progressed I had to hold myself back so that I wouldn't overtake him and actually lead him there.

His house felt curiously unfamiliar from the inside. It had appeared much brighter when I was looking in from the outside, but I saw now that the lighting was actually calm and soothing. Vincent tossed his coat on a nearby chair and approached me.

I abruptly turned away, looking longingly out one of the windows into the black night. I was assailed with so many sensations and doubts that I suddenly wished I were still only a spectator.

"What are you hiding?" he asked.

"I'm not used to being around…men," I admitted.

He was silent, but he continued to scrutinize me.

"Please," I said impulsively. "This will be easier for me if you look away. I can't think with your eyes boring into me." I could not believe my audacity but it was suddenly more than I could bear to have him staring at me like that.

"You will talk whether I look at you or not!" he exploded, causing me to jump. But seeing my discomfort, he reiterated more civilly, "I have no idea who you are. I would be a fool to just turn my back on you."

"But it's not like I could hurt—or kill—you, is it?" I replied without thinking.

A smile played at his lips, but he appeared to think better of it. "You see," he said, wagging his finger at me. "That's exactly the kind of thing I want
you
to tell me. When you're lurking around out there in the streets, you're not, by chance, calling yourself Buffy, are you?"

My lips gave in to a tight smile in spite of my anxiety. This was the Vincent I had come to know. I suddenly wanted to extend these precious moments with him for as long as I could. I realized in that moment that I had fallen in love with him, and my smile disappeared as I felt a sudden pang of devastating grief.

"I've already told you that my name is Ana."

"And you promised to tell me who you are and why you've been following me," he reminded me.

"I know," I said with a little sigh. "And I will." I smiled again and to my horror, tears came to my eyes, although I quickly blinked them away. "I'm just taking my time because this…this…moment, is…" I tried to think of how to describe what being here with him meant to me, but words failed. "Momentous," I finished feebly.

He appeared somewhat moved, or at least curious, so I continued.

"And," I added, "what I have to tell you is rather difficult to say." I had mulled over many different strategies and approaches, but it wasn't until that moment that I knew what I would do. I had decided to simply tell Vincent the truth—or as much of it as I could—and let the chips fall where they may. I felt a strange conviction that he would understand. Yet when I looked at him, my heart ached. What if he responded to my request with contempt?

"I know what you are," I began nervously. "I mean, I know that you drink…blood." I peered up at him cautiously through the strands of my hair that had fallen over my face and acted as a kind of shield for me. "I know you can't help it," I added quickly when I saw the bitterness in his eyes. "It doesn't matter how long I've been following you. The important thing is why I followed you."

"Why did you?" he asked.

"The night I first saw you—right before I saw you, actually—I was thinking that I wanted to die."

He stared at me, incredulous.

"I had my reasons," I went on. "I'm not depressed or insane, or anything like that. I have my reasons."

Vincent stood but he did not speak. He seemed anxious and uncomfortable. I decided to go on.

"When I saw you, I was distracted from these thoughts. There was something about you that instantly captured my attention. I think it was your energy. You seemed to me like the very essence of life and all that it could be. That's what I saw. I wondered how you came about it. Was it simply good luck or some mystical discovery? I tried to discover your secret as I watched you. And I saw that the other people in the bar noticed it, too. It was almost as if your…vivacity was catching, and everybody wanted it." I paused a moment, caught up in the memory, before continuing.

"You had your choice among the women there, but when I saw the one you selected my curiosity was piqued even more." I looked up at him suddenly and was surprised by the attentiveness in his expression as he listened to me. I half expected him to be impatient for me to get to the point. His obvious interest in what I was saying encouraged me. "The woman was…well, you might say that she was the direct opposite of you. It wasn't just her lack of charm or intellect, either. There was a crudeness in her manner that became even more noticeable when she was with you. It was clear that the two of you didn't fit. Before I even realized what I was doing, I had followed you to her house."

"You followed me to her house?" Vincent interjected. "When was this?"

"It was about six weeks ago," I admitted. "She took you to an apartment on the first floor and I was able to see everything through a small opening in a curtain."

He just stared at me in astonishment.

"Afterwards, I followed you here," I went on. "And I've followed you regularly ever since." I once again peeked out at him through my hair.

"So what do you want?" he asked suddenly. "You must want something, right?" He suddenly stopped. "Oh, God," he murmured. "You want me to assist in your suicide."

I took a deep breath and released the words in a rapid gush. "I want one night with you in exchange for my life." I realized, of course, even as I said this, that he could easily take my life whenever and however he chose. But I knew, too, that he would have an aversion to that kind of violence. And yet, perhaps he would feel that a night with me would be even worse.

I had no idea what he was thinking. I had been standing in the darkest corner of the room that I could find while he stood calmly in the very center. He took three steps in my direction and then stopped, as if he were about to speak. But after simply looking at me for few seconds, he abruptly turned and took several steps back. Then he turned again and took another three steps forward. My fear that he would refuse me was growing stronger.

Yet having said my piece, I was all of a sudden remarkably composed. "You seem upset," I observed. "Are you only able to kill women who want to live?"

When I saw his expression, I wished I had not said that. "But why are you upset, then?" I asked.

"I'm not upset," he said. "It's just that you've caught me off guard. I don't know what to think. How do I know this isn't some kind of trick?"

"Why would you think it's a trick?"

"Because people don't usually go around asking vampires to kill them!"

"So you
are
a vampire! That's officially what you are, then?"

He just looked at me, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You would be doing me a favor," I said, trying, oddly enough, to make him feel better.

"You said that first night I captured your interest," he interjected. "Okay, so now you've captured mine. I have more questions I want answers to. There are things I want know, like what your 'reasons' are, for starters. You're the first person who I've ever had the opportunity to discuss this with, so let's just slow down a minute, okay?"

I was surprised and delighted by his words, but I was apprehensive, too. What if I had nothing more of interest to offer? What if this first, strange confession was all there was? Who else had ever shown an interest in me?

But I knew that, within my depths, there was stored up a lifetime's supply of thoughts and sensations and passions, all of which I could now offer up as sustenance to this man who I still thought of as a kindred soul. This realization hit me with joyful excitement, although I remained somewhat uncertain. If only I could have erased our physical differences, it might have been easier to believe. Nevertheless, this was, so far, the most romantic moment of my life, and I embraced it with anticipation. But I wanted to know for certain that Vincent was not, in the end, going to refuse me my request.

"I will happily share with you all that you wish to know," I told him. "But I feel compelled to say that, having seen the women you've brought here before me, I can tell you that I am at least as worthy as they were to suffer their fate." I blurted this out before even considering my words.

"No! You are not as worthy as they!" he argued adamantly. "I can tell you that already, although I have only sampled your worthiness so far. I couldn't wait to quiet their tongues, while I am anxious to hear more from yours. Here, I will pour us some wine and we will sit and drink it together as we talk. You will answer my questions, and perhaps then I will decide whether you are worthy to join those women in the afterlife, after all."

This was not exactly the assurance I was looking for, but I smiled in spite of that. To simply be with him was a pleasure that I would gladly die for. He led me to a small couch and motioned for me to sit. Then he gathered up the wine and glasses and settled himself—a bit too close to me—on the couch. After he poured our wine, he surprised me yet again by picking up my free hand and holding it in his. He still seemed somewhat agitated.

"I will be joining those women in the afterlife with or without your assistance, I'm afraid," I began in my shy, matter-of-fact way. "I found out that first day I saw you, although I had been sick for a while—nearly my whole life, really. I left the doctor's office and went straight to that little pub where you were."

"I don't remember it," he interjected. "Where was it? Who were you with?" I was surprised by his interest in these minute details. They didn't interest me. "It was some little pub over on…I can't even remember the street. I was sitting alone and I'm sure you never even saw me. You were surrounded by people—women, mostly—and ended up with a very beautiful, although, as I mentioned earlier, rather horrible—if you'll forgive me saying so—woman."

"Oh, that tells me nothing!" he complained with exasperation. "That could have been any of the nights I went out."

I laughed. It was true. I was surprised that he so readily admitted it. "Well, it was your terrible taste in women that caught my attention and prompted me to follow you in the first place."

"That's the other thing," he continued. "How did you follow me? Did you simply walk out the door behind me, as easy as you please?" He seemed genuinely bewildered by this but I couldn't tell whether it was that I would dare to do such a thing to begin with, or that I had managed to do it without him detecting me.

"I just kind of followed you. I don't know. There were often other people on the street as well. It wasn't that hard. I was careful never to get too close." I tried to read his face. Having watched him for so many weeks now, I could often guess what he was thinking by his expressions. On this night, however, I was discovering expressions I hadn't seen before. I looked him over leisurely, trying to decipher the meaning behind this particular expression. I decided it was skepticism.

"So do you mean to say," he began thoughtfully, "that you've been following me all this time—and in quite a clandestine manner, I might add—in the hopes that I would discover you, bring you here and finish you off?" He looked incredulously around the room while he said this, as if he were expecting Ashton Kutcher to suddenly pop through one of the doorways and shout, "You've been punked!"

"Look at me," I said in my most earnest tone. "Do I appear to be anything other than what I've been telling you I am?" He really looked at me then, and in spite of it being my idea that he do so, I blanched. I did not really want him to look at me so closely. And I was suddenly struck by my own duplicity and filled with shame. But I forced these feelings aside and pressed on. "I happen to know that you haven't fed in five days," I told him. "Knowing how weak you must be, I don't understand your reluctance. I must be at least as 'contemptible,' as you put it, as those other women were." But in truth, I was flattered by his apparent reluctance, even though it was counter to my purpose.

Vincent, meanwhile, was still examining me closely with narrowed eyes. He appeared to be weighing my words against what he was observing. I tried to remain as calm and impassive as possible, but it was difficult, and I had a sudden urge to escape—an impossibility at this point. Yet I could still feel that inexplicable kinship with him, too, and I tried to focus on that. Aside from his overpowering good looks and charm, he was actually very easy to talk to, and I found myself wanting to confide in him. But his nearness was overwhelming. Feeling rather trapped and claustrophobic, I wriggled my hand, which had all this time been securely confined in his, out from within his grasp. He allowed me this little freedom with an amused look. I couldn't bear the silence any longer, so I continued to speak what was on my mind.

"I've never had a lover," I confessed. "I don't even know how to attract a man in that way." I shrugged my shoulders as if I wasn't concerned over this, although that was another little deception. "And it is not likely that I will get the chance now." I looked into his eyes, so warm and kind and unbearably beautiful. "Being with you would be…it would be the best night of my life, with a…tolerable ending."

The silence after this little speech from me went on for far too long. I was becoming desperately anxious. When he at last scooted closer to me on the snug little sofa, I think my heart actually stopped for an instant. I'm sure my expression was utterly piteous as I stared up at him with my heart on my sleeve. I felt as if I was waiting for him to strike.

Vincent smiled.

"Would you care for more wine?" he asked politely. I looked down at my glass in surprise. I had not even realized that had I finished mine.

"Yes…please."

He calmly poured the wine. I noticed that he had finished his, as well. I had no idea what would happen next. But as I waited I knew that I had never felt so excited or alive.