Dorian's Destiny: Altered (18 page)

Hours later, he awoke
abruptly with a gnawing in his stomach, not felt since first
experiencing the insatiable hunger for blood. Creeping out of her
bedroom as stealthily as his weakened body could manage, he
searched for the sustenance she had hopefully acquired. He walked
gingerly into the tiny kitchenette while his host slept soundly on
the couch. On the refrigerator, he found a note informing him of
her success in attaining his unfortunate necessity like it was an
everyday grocery item. 'Two containers of pork blood on the top
shelf. Thank goodness for the Irish and their unusual sausages.
Enjoy.'

Shaking his head, holding
back laughter at her candidness, he removed one of the containers
of blood. Holding his breathe he brought the container to his lips.
He prepared himself to combat the repeating gags likely to be
induced by the cold crimson liquid. Though the taste was just as
rancid, his ability to complete the process without the urge to
vomit had dramatically improved. Thankful, he engulfed the first
container, refreshed as the life sustaining ichor pulsed through
his veins, revitalizing his feeble shell. He grabbed the second
container, greedy for its rejuvenating powers, intent on devouring
it quickly.

“Feeling better?” The sweet
feminine voice broke through the cloud of indulgence. Slipping from
his startled hand, the container of blood burst open as it crashed
to the floor, decorating the kitchenette with the slippery red
serum. He gawked at her, his face full of shock and embarrassment;
hand still outstretched holding only air.

She raced into the
kitchenette, apologizing profusely. “Sorry. I'm so sorry. I was
just glad to see you up. I didn't mean to startle you.” She
stammered before pausing to study his stiff frame, motionless in
her pint-sized kitchen. He was starkly different from any
portrayals of his kind. “I thought vampires were nimble not
clumsy.”

Snapping out of his stupor, he lowered his
hand. “You apparently render my vampire prowess null and void,” he
joked, shrugging his shoulders.

“Oops, I guess that makes
me your kryptonite.” she smiled, amazed by the contradiction
standing in her apartment.

“What?” He asked, not
understanding a remark.

“Haven't you ever heard of Superman?”

He shook his head, smiling sheepishly. “I've
lived a sheltered life.”

“Okay...well...he's a comic
book superhero that's practically indestructible with super speed
and super strength, among other powers, except for when he's
exposed to a green rock from his home planet. So basically,
kryptonite cancels out his powers making him normal...just like any
other person.”

“Okay, I guess
kryptonite’s effect is a suitable comparison of your effect on
me.”
He wished it could be more accurate
and she could revert him back to normal.

As she made quick work of
the bloody mess covering her refrigerator and floor, an amusing
thought crossed her mind. “You know, you couldn't have found a
better recipient for your dirty little secret, since the sight of
blood doesn't bother me in the least. Our story would be titled
“The Vampire and The Nurse.” It's quite poetic. Isn’t
it?”

Before he could offer to help or respond to
her last comment, she had finished cleaning and offered him a
towel. “You have some blood on your mouth.”

Feeling his face heat up,
he accepted the towel and wiped away his disgrace. “I wish you
hadn't seen me guzzling down blood.”

“Dorian, it's not a big deal,” she smiled,
waiting for him to return the towel.

“It is to me,” he whispered, reluctantly
handing back the damaging evidence.

“Well, it needn't be, and I
hope you realize that soon,” she assured, tossing the soiled towel
in the bathroom hamper before continuing. “Sunset is still a few
hours away, we could sit and talk.”

Okay,” he agreed, happy to
change subjects. He joined her on her couch. Reaching into his
pocket, he pulled out the small golden cross she had given him,
intent on returning the token of faith, believing it useless since
his last unanswered prayer.

Megan stared at her
necklace in his hand, pleased he had kept it with him. Hopeful it
had served its purpose, as made evident with his presence in her
home. She was amazed by how such a small trinket could prove so
invaluable in keeping her grounded in her faith.

After several moments of
silence, with both of them staring at the necklace, he softly
recited Hebrews 11:1, offering the object back to its rightful
owner. “
Now faith is confidence in what we
hope for and assurance about what we do not see
.”

Awestruck by the beautiful verse, his
outstretched hand went unnoticed by her. “That was beautiful. It's
a Bible verse, isn't it?”

“Yes, it's from the New Testament, the Book
of Hebrews. I...”

She cut him off, unable to
contain her amazement. “Wow, a vampire who quotes scripture. Now
that's something you don't see every day.”.

Ignoring her comment, he
finished his sentence with a sense of urgency in his voice. “I
would like to return your necklace.”

She shook her head. “No, please keep
it.”

“It means much more to you than me,” he
insisted, dangling the necklace from his fingers.

“I doubt that, not with you
being able to quote scripture. Besides, it was a gift,” she added
eager to end the exchange.

Frustrated, his first instinct was to fling
the necklace at her face. Angering in a flash was an unfortunate
side effect of his condition, one of many. Instead, he swallowed
his anger and calmly stated, “I appreciate your gift and at first,
I thought I could accept it, but it's not for me.”

“Why?” She asked nervously.

Speaking sternly, he
replied, “Like I told you before, I don't have faith, at least not
in what the necklace represents.”

“Okay, I'll take it back,”
she agreed reluctantly, pulling the necklace free from his fingers.
She held in the tears fighting to break free, a reaction from her
fear she was failing her call.

Seeing tears just below the
surface, knowing his words were the cause, he apologized, “I'm
sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I appreciate the necklace, and I
understand why you gave it to me. Give me a moment to explain and
maybe you will understand why I am returning it.”

“Okay,” she muttered, wiping a tear from her
cheek that had slipped passed her defenses.

He forced a weak smile, attempting to calm
her further. “Considering my upbringing, it was ironic for you to
offer me your necklace and speak about faith during our last
meeting.”

“Really?” She asked.

He nodded. “Yes. I am the
adopted son of a priest, and before becoming this...,” he spat out
the next word, snarling his upper lip, “thing, I had every
intention of following in my father's footsteps. For the majority
of my life, faith was the most important principle. Being brutally
removed from the life I had chosen, receiving no guidance from the
one I pledged my life to, has caused me to lose faith. I'm not sure
I will ever regain that faith.” He shook his head. “Does that make
any sense at all?”

New tears formed as she
grasped the true extent of his plight. Until now, she hadn't
realized how truly devastating his fate was to him. She knew all
too well how hard it was to forgive, he felt like he was wronged by
God Himself. “Yes, it makes sense but...” She bit her lip, afraid
her next statement might push him away but she felt strongly it was
something he needed to hear. “Please don't be angry with me, but
you're wrong.”

“What do you mean, I'm
wrong?!” He snapped, his anger flaring once more.

Undeterred by the reaction she expected, she
continued. “Well you're essentially blaming God for what happened
to you, when He had nothing to do with it.”

Already doubting the placement of his blame,
he toned down his next remark. “Maybe not, but He ignored me when I
begged for His help.”

She continued her message
with earnest, reassured by his softer tone. “Did He? Just because
you didn't receive the answer you wanted, doesn't mean He ignored
you. We can't only have faith when life is good and toss it aside
when bad things happen. Doing so is not always easy and often we
question ‘why me’, but if we have faith, we must have it always. I
think in this situation, your closeness to God made it easier for
you to cast your blame upon Him, thinking maybe you were more
deserving of an answer than those who haven’t dedicated their lives
to Him. Unfortunately, you should know that's not the way it works.
God does not choose favorites.”

He heard the truth in her
words, but was reluctant to agree.

I was a servant of God.
Did I not deserve to have my prayers answered more than others? Am
I arrogant for believing so?

Glancing through the slits of the blinds
covering the living room window, he noticed the sun had nearly set.
“Sunset is almost over. I should be going.”

“I've upset you, haven't I?” She blurted
nervously. Afraid she had misread him, that her words had alienated
him, she desperately tried to smooth over her mistake. “That wasn't
my intent; I was merely trying to point out a problem so many of us
have. It’s human nature to feel abandoned when we suffer a
loss...”

He cut her off before she
could continue preaching a message he wasn't ready to hear. “I'm
not upset. There is truth in your words and they have given me much
to consider.” He rose from the couch, mind racing, fueled by her
allegations and his own excuses. “Goodbye, Megan.”

“Goodbye.” She responded weakly. “You're
coming back, right?” She asked anxiously.

“Of course, as soon as I
can,” he reassured her. “My salvation will take far more than one
visit.”

She smiled, watching him leave her
apartment, already anxious for his return.

He left Megan more confused than before,
which seemed to be the norm. He wanted to believe she could save
him, but if that salvation required him to regain his faith in a
higher power...well, he wasn't sure that was a price he was willing
to pay.

Dorian crept into the
mansion, hoping to avoid Thomas, at least until he had more time to
recuperate both physically and mentally. He cursed under his breath
when he saw
fire
light filtering out from the study, knowing how unlikely it
would be to pass by undetected. Gritting his teeth, he prepared for
the inevitable as he walked past the open doors of his
sanctuary.

“Dorian,” Thomas called out softly as his
friend's form darkened the door.

He hesitated just outside, contemplating
continuing his journey up to his room. Knowing how pointless that
would be, he reluctantly entered the study. “Hello.”

“Wow, you look like shit,”
Thomas sputtered, spitting out his last sip of Scotch.

“Thanks,” Dorian grumbled,
leaning against the door for support, the ill effects of his
withdrawal still prevalent.

“Just calling it like I see
it,” Thomas sneered. “So what have you been doing for two days that
has you looking like you've been assaulted. I was tempted to send
out an APB and by how you look, I wish I had.”

“Good on,” Dorian huffed,
ignoring the question of his whereabouts.

“I have plenty more,”
Thomas laughed.

“Not now, please,” Dorian
pleaded as he pulled himself off the door. “I'm going to my room to
relax,” He muttered as he turned to exit the study.

“Not so fast!” Thomas
shouted, rising from his chair, ready to give chase if necessary.
When Dorian turned back to him, he continued, his wicked smile
stretching across his mouth. “I've waited two days for our rematch.
Now go get cleaned up. The sight of you like that is depressing me.
Meet me in the dojo in thirty.”

Dorian locked his bedroom
door. Although pointless, the act always made him feel he had some
semblance of privacy. He wished this simple barrier would allow him
the solitude of his room. However, he knew if he were more than a
few minutes late for the fight, Thomas would come retrieve his
tardy friend, destroying the physical representation of his
illusion in the process. Better to simply face the music and get
the fight over with; he could return later, free to ponder his
situation.

The hot water slid over his
body, soothing his aching muscles, and lessening the tension held
within them. The healing water had him once again contemplating
stalling until forcibly removed by an agitated Thomas. Unable to
willfully give Thomas more ammunition to tease him – his wet naked
body – he reluctantly removed himself from the shower, dressed in
his gi, and proceeded to the dojo.

The sight witnessed when he
entered the dojo caused his already low spirits to plummet. Streaks
of black and brown darted across the padded floor. He knew what
they represented, but his mind refused to accept how abruptly and
drastically the changes had occurred. Before his shock took over
completely, the streaks melded into a wickedly grinning
Thomas.

“Finally, I thought I was going to have to
come get you.”

“I'm barely five minutes late.”

I am so screwed. How could
the effects reverse so fast?

“Besides, it took longer for me to get
presentable than you allotted.”