Turnling

By the time I got to the bathroom and put a towel* to my wounds, my brain caught up with me and I realised some very important details. For one, although my heart was racing from fright, I wasn't really feeling light headed. Secondly, the amount of blood on my neck didn't seem to have increased any. Perhaps I wasn't bleeding any more?

I was afraid to be making a huge mistake when I stood in front of the mirror and gently pulled the towel away from my wounds. Most of the wet blood had taken in to the towel, leaving the wounds almost clean for my inspection. They were closed and very slowly, but perceptively, turning into scars!

My eyes were wide as I observed this, paralysed until they had completely scarred. The shock finally left me and I stumbled backwards onto the toilet, were I sat catching my breath. I was shaking and my heart was beating fast as if I had just run a marathon. I had dreamt again of being bitten and again my wounds had reopened, but this time they had still been bleeding when I woke up. This didn't seem like just the working of the dream, a fact that was rapidly freaking me out. It didn't seem natural, or even plausible, but where would I go for help?! Doctors would think I was puncturing myself or being a victim of someone else's abuse. Best case scenario I'd be given drugs I didn't need. Or at least I thought I didn't need.

Suddenly I heard the sound of a vase crashing on the floor, followed by a resounding “Shit!”.

I froze, listening. There was someone in the house! Oh my fucking god there was someone in the freaking house! What if the dreams weren't what triggered the wounds? What if the wounds triggered the dreams?! What if someone was puncturing my neck while I slept?! What if it was the person skulking around my house?! ...At least that would prove I wasn't insane.

I exited the bathroom quietly, one of the bars from the towel rack firmly in my hand. It wasn't the best weapon ever, but it was metal and a good hit with it would hurt. If there was ever anything to learn from RPGs** was that anything would do in a tight spot.

Brandishing my weapon, I moved as quietly as possible towards where I had heard the crash, despite the sudden silence that had settled. Whomever it was realised they had screwed up.

I could see the broken vase now, shattered in pieces on the tiled floor just beyond the living room carpet, in the corridor. I carefully looked around, swallowing dry as I approached the tiny, scattered remains of the moderately expensive vase. I could see an odd shadow being cast on the wall, almost as if...

I looked up at the ceiling and there I found, with the shiniest blood red eyes I had ever seen, Viktor, supporting himself up against the ceiling of the tight corridor with both hands and feet. We stared at each other.

As I stood there, mouth slightly open, metal bar brandished in mock sword-fighting style, I realised how ridiculous he looked, hanging there. He seemed to have noticed the same because he frowned and let himself drop, landing gracefully on his feet in front of me. I brandished my metal bar a little higher.

“I-I … what are YOU doing in my house?! Did you break in?!” I finally found my voice just as my courage began to run out and I started inching backwards into the living room. Viktor hadn't moved and was still watching me with an annoyed expression, clearly I wasn't supposed to have found him. Duh.

“You have good instincts. For a human.” his voice sounded a lot less friendlier than I remembered from the plane now. Wait. For a human?! “What's that supposed to mean?!”

“Calm yourself, your voice is cracking.” He smiled now, amused, and my eyes immediately snapped to the pair of fangs he sported. Fangs that still had traces of blood in them.

Suddenly the mantra 'Vampires aren't real' started playing in my mind, however hard it was to believe that when the man had red eyes and fangs. I could only hope those were both false.

Viktor must have noticed my staring for his smile disappeared. Instead, he locked eyes with me and stared. A sense of calm spread over me and I suddenly felt silly for feeling endangered. My metal bar lowered and fell to the carpeted floor.

“I think it would be a good idea for you to lie down, Gareth.” D'aww he knew my name! ...wait, how did he know my name? Why was that important anyway? I needed to lie down.

Viktor's eyes hadn't left mine yet when I barely felt the couch hitting the back of my knees. I didn't resist the gentle pressure and flopped down on it, sitting and then lying down with encouragement from the owner of those blood red pools of calm in which I seemed to be drowning. My body melted down on the couch, relaxing, and visual contact was finally broken when I closed my eyes, falling asleep once more.

It was the warm rays of the sun coming in through the window that woke me up, the sudden brightness making me close my eyes again and roll to my left, a costly move as the couch ended and I rolled myself face first onto the floor, cursing as I felt the pain and got up, wobbly.

I had had the strangest dream during the night. I had dreamt that Viktor was a vampire and had come to my house looking a lot like he was the cause of my neck wounds. Poor guy, he was being made to be the villain of my life due to these dreams.

I was musing this while heading towards the kitchen, smiling at the silliness of it all when I stepped on something crunchy. Looking down I saw the remains of the vase that had been broken in my dream. It seemed to be very real though...wait. That hadn't been a dream at all, had it?! Shit. Shit shit shit shit...wait, did I cut myself? I checked my foot.

Fortunately, even though I had stepped on it barefoot it didn't seem like the pieces had cut the skin. But if the vase was really broken... that meant I hadn't dreamed, which meant Viktor HAD been in my house, which meant I was being stalked by a freak who thought he was a vampire!

I felt relieved. Strange, I know. But I had seen Viktor out in daylight, at the airport, like a normal person. Therefore, he couldn't be a real vampire. Just an idiot. An idiot I could call the cops on! I'm not insane!

Just before I could start jumping around in joy, the phone rang. Oh, yes...the funeral. There went my joy...

When I picked up the call I wasn't surprised to hear my mother's voice from the other side. Although I gave her nothing more than an uninterested “Yeah?”, she gave me the time and place of my father's funeral. My guts clenched horribly and I felt anxiety, that terrible, almost overwhelming urge to just run away. I fought it with a few shaking deep breaths. “I'll be there.” and hung up.

I don't recall much of what happened next. It felt like I was dreaming, much more than in my actual dreams. None of it felt real. It truly felt like it wasn't happening to me, that I was merely spectating someone else's grief. I remember I cried silently and that I couldn't tear my eyes away from the coffin as it descended onto the freshly dug grave.

I also remember I didn't stay to watch the actual burying. I ran as fast as I could in my black suit and dress shoes which nearly caused me to slip in the muddy parts of the cemetery. No one actually followed me, or if they did they either gave up or lost me.

I ended up sitting on a park bench not too far from the cemetery, but far enough away that I couldn't even see its walls. I couldn't handle it. My heart was racing, my breath was ragged and my shirt clung to me from the sweat. The suit jacket now sat by my side on the bench. I was leaning over, my elbows supported by my knees, hands supporting my head. My head was pounding from the exertion.

“Gareth.” I knew that voice. Just what I needed. Taking a deep breath I lifted my head, slowly, a shadow covering my vision before the blurriness of heat and tears cleared and I could see details. Viktor, as I suspected, stood there in front of me, dressed as formally as I was. Had he been at the cemetery?

“W-who are you? What do you want from me?” I asked, but my voice couldn't carry the anger I felt at him, couldn't convey how he was driving me insane, how unfair it was that I had lost my father.

Viktor didn't seem phased, but he did sit down next to me, right ankle over his left knee, hands folded over his stomach. He seemed to be patiently waiting for something, but he certainly wasn't answering my questions. An exasperated sigh left me as I leaned back on the bench, slacking.

For minutes we just sat there, me calming down, him waiting until I calmed down, the silence between us not at all that uncomfortable. Strangely, quite the contrary. Viktor seemed to watch people passing by. I couldn't tell, he had his sunglasses on. He could be sleeping for all I knew.

He must have noticed me staring because he turned his head towards me and smiled, this time not showing his teeth, for good reason. I frowned.

“So...?” I tried starting, but he got up instead and offered me his hand. I wasn't entirely sure why I took it or why I began to follow him once he released mine. I knew it was stupid, following your stalker and...neck...punctu..er... around, but I couldn't quite care.

Fortunately, I didn't have to worry. Viktor merely lead me to a quiet coffee shop down the street and bought me a cup of coffee and a muffin. Strangely (or not since I had already established he wasn't supernatural) he ordered a slice of cake and latte for himself and didn't even let me reach for my wallet. His treat, apparently, and I couldn't seem to mind.

“You were in my house.” I tried again, peering up at him. Viktor grimaced and took off his sunglasses, surprising me when I saw his eyes were brown now.

“I was.” he replied simply and took a piece out of his cake slice, eating it just like a normal person.

“...and you made these?” I pointed at my wounds, eyes narrowing. This was actually too easy of a confession. He nodded. “Why?”

This made him feel obviously uncomfortable as he put down his fork and took a sip of his latte, moving a little in his chair. “Tell me.” I pressed on, growing impatient.

“You truly do not know? I had assumed you, who read so much about us, would have got the right conclusion.” he sounded almost disappointed. I frowned, feeling my pride hurt by the implication.

“You're not a vampire. Not a real one anyway.” I was careful to keep my voice down. No need for anyone to overhear this conversation. He smiled at me again, this time showing teeth. The fangs were obviously there, but not as noticeable as they had been the night before. If I hadn't been looking for them, I wouldn't have noticed anything odd at all.

“If it makes you feel better.” he mocked me with his condescending tone and I glared at him, taking a bite out of my muffin. Once I had swallowed, I put it down and continued “I should go to the police.”

“You should not.” He was serious now and looked at me as if he was trying to solve a puzzle, that look of intense focus. “Your father's death wasn't an accident.”

This had me raising my eyebrows at him. Not an accident? What the hell did he mean by that?! How couldn't it have been an accident? My mother had specifically said it was an accident and while she was a bitch, she didn't have a reason to lie about it! ...did she?

My thoughts must have been mirrored in my face, because Viktor looked at me knowingly and nodded. “I can tell you more, but in a safer location.”

Okay. Now I got it. This had nothing to do with my father, he had been trying to gain my trust to get me somewhere alone. And then BAM, I'd be kidnapped, or worse, and end up as a sacrificial lamb in some satanic vampire cult thingy. No thank you. I laughed at him.

“Hell no. Forget it buddy. Thanks for the food.” I said sarcastically and got up from my seat, eager to leave there. Fortunately for me, Viktor didn't follow.

The rest of my day was uneventful. I managed to dodge family and get the house all to myself. I also spent the better part of the afternoon making sure everything was tightly locked, from doors to the freaking doggy door on the back door, and that no keys were left outside in “secret” places. I was determined not to be assaulted that night.

Actually, I should have gone to the police but my pride wouldn't let me. Viktor didn't look that tough, I could take him on. No need to bother anyone.

That night I went to sleep feeling safe from all the precautions I had taken but also oddly relaxed and relieved. My father's funeral was done, that was no longer weighing on my conscience. I could start healing and moving on. Maybe I'd rent the house, or something, and move back to Portugal.

Dad had left everything to me, right? That meant the house and quite a beefy bank account from all the family properties my father had inherited and sold or rented. Actually, now that I thought of it, I could probably live on the income of the rented properties alone, and quite comfortably at that. Ha, my mother and aunts must have been pretty fucking mad at that! All that money and luxury left to the geeky brat who left the country! Bwahahahah!

It was with that happy thought that I fell asleep, completely oblivious to what it all actually meant.

*I realise putting a towel on a wound is a bad idea as it just soaks up more of the blood. Gareth doesn't.
**Role Playing Games