Sanctifying Grace (Resurrection) (7 page)

There was no doubt Wilfred had done the unthinkable and had betrayed Roman’s secret. Was this the only person Wil had told
, or were there others? And what did he hope to gain by it?

His hopes and intentions became clearer in the next letter.

“If what you say is true and you believe this tale beyond all doubts (you say you have proof, undeniable and irrefutable proof, but I will not be wholly convinced until I see this with mine own eyes), then you undeniably will be great.

I will need to consider very carefully your proposal. Living forever is a tempting proposition for any man: never to grow old or weak or forgetful, always to be in the prime of one’s life, but I would need time to reflect, and I would need considerably more information. Have you considered your immortal soul?
”

And further on:

“You say your soul is not at risk and your benefactor is not evil. I am not so sure. I beg you to think, then think again, about what you intend, from what you say your action will be irreversible.”

It occurred to me, briefly, that Roman might be behind these letters, wanting to extend his group of immortal scientists, but when I thought about the situation rationally
, I realised Roman wouldn’t risk putting anything in writing. Not only that, but he would need to check for himself that anyone he approached would be able to be resurrected. If not, then he could enthral them and remove all knowledge of his existence from their memory.

Even if they were ‘suitable’ vampire material
, they might reject his offer and then – I didn’t want to think too closely about what would happen to them, but images of white, blood-drained corpses popped unbidden into my mind. Roman would expend a great deal of time and effort into making sure that his chosen man was the right man. Long distance vetting was not his style.

The final letter, dated three weeks previously, revealed exactly what Wilfred’s intentions were.

“My Darling Willie

You have convinced me! I am loath to say goodbye to all I know and love but my love for you is stronger. My admiration for your intellect knows no bounds and I believe the work we can do together will benefit all of mankind.

We would become great and would spend eternity delving into the secrets of the universe and revealing them to humanity.

When your Roman (and please believe me when I tell you I am trying so desperately hard not to be resentful of your relationship with him because I know you must have deep feelings for him) changes you into a creature of the night, come for me and I will embrace both you and this new life with open arms.

I swear I have told no one, though such a momentous secret is a hard burden to bear when you are so far away. I long to discuss it with someone and my thoughts travel along lonely and often distressing avenues in spite of all the glories that will be ours.

Your beloved

Charles”

Oh my God! It was worse than I thought. Not only had Wilfred spoken the unspeakable to someone who was not vampire
, but he was planning to resurrect this friend of his without any consideration of the consequences or implications.  And also, this Charles, by his own admission, was having trouble keeping the news to himself, that the old wives tales about vampires were not really old wives tales. Sooner or later he would talk.

Roman had to know. I bundled the letters back together, got up off the floor and came face to face with Wilfred.

I hadn’t even heard him come in, and I don’t know how long he had stood watching, but he knew exactly what I had been doing. There was no point in trying to bluff my way out of this. My guilt was obvious. But so was his.

His eyes went to the letters clutched in my hand.

‘Give them to me.’

I held them tighter and my arms went round my back. ‘No.’

‘Give.’

‘No. Roman needs to see them. He should know what you are planning.’

‘Have you read all of them?’

‘No,’ I admitted cautiously, anticipating a trap.

‘Then you possibly have the wrong end of the stick. It is not as it seems.’

‘I have read the last one.’

‘Ah. That is a pity.’

‘For you, not for me.’

‘For you, most definitely. I will not let some woman who has nothing to offer other than a cheap conjuring trick lose me my chance of immortality.’

‘Conjuring trick?’  What on earth was he talking about?

‘You have tricked Mark into believing you are from the future, and appear and disappear in front of his very eyes.’

‘Roman, his name is Roman,’ I pointed out, distractedly.

‘I prefer to call him by his real name. Mark.’

I shrugged, trying to focus my thoughts. ‘It’s no trick.’

‘Of course it is! You cannot truly expect me to believe you have the ability to travel through time. It is preposterous.’

‘As preposterous as vampires being real?’ I countered.

‘Nonsense! You have pulled the wool over Mark’s eyes and fooled him into believing you are from the future.’

I honestly couldn’t understand how he could think himself so superior to a seventeen hundred year old vampire. He obviously had no idea what he was dealing with and I told him so.

‘Mark does not scare me,’ Wil replied huffily. ‘He is reasonable and civilised and I cannot see him harming me or anyone else.’

Roman had obviously gone out of his way to keep his true nature from Wilfred, probably to convince him that being resurrected was a good idea. Boy, was this man in for a shock when I told Roman what he had been up to: Wi
l would see a side to Roman which would bear little resemblance to reason or civility. Thinking about the violence my lover might inflict on his protégé made me aware of the violence that said protégé might inflict on me. Wil’s eyes were a malevolent pale yellow and they glittered balefully. I suspected he was more than capable of ensuring I wouldn’t maintain my hold on those incriminating letters. I needed to keep Wilfred talking for a short while longer, until Roman rose and came to my rescue. Although Wil was not a big man, his strength would be more than a match for mine, and if he chose to take his letters from me by force, then I think he would probably win that particular fight with little difficulty. Once they were destroyed, then it would be a case of my word against Wil’s. The word of his lover against that of his soon-to-be regalato. I wasn't totally sure which side Roman would come down on.

I had to hang on to those letters and keep them safe until Roman could see them. Wilfred, unsurprisingly, had another idea, and not one I had anticipated.

‘If you give them back to me I will let you live,’ he declared.

‘You will what?
’

‘I won’t kill you.’

‘You won’t kill me,’ I repeated stupidly, my mind frozen by the absurdity of the idea. It hadn’t occurred to me this man might wish to solve the problem by killing me.

‘Give them to me and return to whence you came, otherwise I will take them from you by force and then I will have to remove you. Permanently.’

‘I think Roman will have something to say about that,’ I countered. Keep him talking for another few minutes, I thought. That’s all: just another few minutes.

‘
Mark
,’ he emphasised, ‘would never know. He would merely surmise you had disappeared back to your ‘own time.’’ I could almost hear the quotation marks in his voice.

‘He’ll know. He can scent blood a mile off.’

‘I wouldn’t have to spill your blood,’ Wilfred promised. ‘There are other ways to dispatch vermin.’

Vermin! This man’s arrogance was astonishing! I saw his hands flex and release and understood he meant to strangle me.

‘What about my body?’ I asked, desperately trying to stall for time. It was twilight and not yet fully dark, the light flat and two-dimensional. I had known Roman to be up and about in this almost-night before. So where was he now, when I needed him?

I took a step back. The room was rectangular with the door at one end and the bed at the opposite end, with bedside tables to either side. I edged down the one side of the bed, the one furthest away from the door and nearest to the window. I took my eyes away from Wilfred long enough to risk a quick glance outside. The drop was too great for me to seriously consider attempting and the rockery below would cause some major damage if I landed on it.

Wilfred moved closer. He, too, looked out of the window but he wasn’t checking out my possible escape route: he was monitoring the progress of the encroaching night. He was well aware of Roman’s reaction to darkness and must know time was getting shorter by the second. He took another step towards me and I crabbed around the bed.

The lunge, when it came, was sudden
, but I was ready for him. As soon as he moved, I threw my body across the bed, tumbling to the floor on the other side. I leapt to my feet just as he launched himself onto the mattress, catching the back of my blouse with one outstretched hand.

I powered forward, felt the material tear and jerked free of his grasp, running full speed to the door. As I shot through it, I caught the edge of the wood with my fingers and tried to slam it shut behind me but he was too close, and was already half way through the opening.

I squealed in fear, feeling his hand once more tugging at the flapping remnants of the blouse, and I flew across the landing and down the stairs, taking them three at a time, enduring the jarring impact travelling up my legs and into my spine each time my feet slammed into a step.

I would have to turn, doubling back at the bottom of the stairs, to reach the front door, so I took the easy option and ran for the back. All the while
, I could hear his harsh breathing behind me and my skin prickled and my muscles flinched at each thudding footfall.

I had gotten as far as a stretched finger-tip away from the back door when I was caught in a flying tackle. He smashed heavily into me, and I thudded against the wall, making the pots and pans on the dresser rattle.

His hands grasped my throat, the thumbs digging painfully into my neck, and as his grip tightened, the pressure began to build in my head. My lungs screamed for air and my vision started to cloud, going grey at the edges. I flailed at him, thumping a slapping tattoo on his back as I struggled to stay upright, but my legs had abruptly grown weak and I slumped sideways into the dresser, the added weight of my body putting excruciating pressure on my throat.

I reached behind me to take some of my weight on my arms and my fingers skimmed the outline of the bread board and the knife which had been left upon it. I closed my fingers around the handle gratefully, then plunged the blade into his side.

The hands on my neck instantly loosened. Frantic with relief, I drew much-needed oxygen into my burning lungs in huge shuddering gasps, coughing and spluttering.

Wil groaned and clutched at the wound, blood pouring through his fingers and dripping to the floor. He staggered back, face white with shock.

‘You bitch!’ he hissed, backhanding me with his right hand. I staggered with the force of the blow and began to fall, fighting to stay on my feet. I knew once I was on the floor I would be totally at his mercy again, and mercy was not a virtue I could expect from Wil.

I still had the knife in my hand and I used it again, without consideration, my one thought was self-preservation. It was either him or me. I slashed at the only part of him within easy reach – his upper thigh. The serrated edge parted his flesh with ease, cutting through tendon, muscle and gristle. Blood spurted from the wound in steady squirts, more blood than I could believe possible. I knew I had severed a major artery.

He dropped to the floor, hands clamped around his leg just above the wound.

‘Help me,’ he cried, but I did nothing, watching in horror as his life force pulsed out of him, the pressure of his fingers not enough to stem the flow.

My vision blurred and faded once more and I fought to stay conscious. I was still frantically trying to draw breath through my injured throat, and that, combined with the realisation of what I had just done, was pushing me towards oblivion.

I couldn’t faint: I couldn’t. I needed to hold it together long enough to ensure Wilfred was no further threat. Even fatally wounded he could still make a last ditch attempt to kill me; he had nothing left to lose.

He was weakening rapidly. His skin was paler by the second and his breathing was becoming more and more laboured as his body tried to use what little blood still left in it to keep his heart beating. The pool of red, sticky liquid underneath him had grown alarmingly, and the blood was no longer spurting out of the wound but had slowed to a steady trickle. His eyes, previously wide and staring, rolled back in his head and he slipped into unconsciousness.

I turned my face from him so I didn’t have to witness his dying, but I couldn’t escape the blood. It was splashed over the dresser and the wall. I was covered in it, wet and gleaming and viscous, made almost black by the coming night. The smell of it made my stomach heave.

There was a last gasping gurgle as Wilfred took his final breath, then a hideous silence.

I had killed a man.