Turned By Him

Looking up into Tom’s green eyes, Eliza witnessed inhuman tears. Eliza had not looked in a mirror for several hours. As she watched the black fluid drip from Toms tear ducts however, Eliza understood. He was visibly inhuman to her eyes. He hadn’t been before. When she saw him now his skin seemed to glow without light. His green eyes seemed deep and far away inside his expressions. Even Tom’s figure, thin but muscular, was out of place in a world full of those so noticeably weak. Tom led her to the door, behind which there was a spiral staircase down to what he had called their “club house.” As they descended the staircase, Eliza ran her hand along the cold stone. This was her life now: underground.

The subterranean apartment was several thousand square feet sprawling over several sublevels. Tom gave Eliza a tour of the grounds as he explained what was there. “This is where many of us live,” Tom explained. “We all do our part to preserve our secret and provide for the coven. Behind here,” Tom said as he gestured to a set of wooden double doors, “is where we sleep, if you can call it that.”

“Vampires don’t sleep,” Eliza asked inquisitively. She was disappointed, she felt exhausted. It seemed unreal that she wouldn’t be able to close her eyes and sleep.

“We can sleep,” Tom corrected. “When we do however, it is not for a night.”

“A day?” Eliza asked the question knowing the answer.

“When we sleep, we sleep for a long time.” As he conducted the tour, Tom pointed out several artifacts which were kept on the wall. “This,” he said setting his hands on a glass display case “is something Mirana saved over 100 years ago.” In the case was an American flag. The red, white and blue clearly faded, Old Glory sported several holes and singes clearly made by fire. “She salvaged it from the New York draft riots in 1864.” Tom seemed lost in his admiration for the relic. “The draft riots, like you’ll find much of history, is something which most humans forget in exchange for more contemporary drama.”

Eliza shook her head. “I know about the riots. I, just a few days ago, was desperately trying to finish my thesis on the American Civil War.”

Tom looked impressed. With a slight nod of his head, he continued to lead her through the brick halls and stone buttresses which made up Novum Sanguinem. “This,” he said casually waving his hand as he passed, “is where we share things.” The room which he gestured to contained shelves, trunks and wardrobes all with tags, sleeves and other stray ends hanging from them. Tom led Eliza to the underground garage. “Here is where we keep some of our favorite resources.” He turned the lights on to reveal a large garage filled with cars. Most of them were not flashy. Civics, Accords and several motorcycles filled the spaces. A few however, stood out to Eliza. Against the farthest wall a mat black Chevy Impala sat in pristine condition and to her right was her red Cobalt. “Amber,” Eliza said shocked.

“We didn’t want you building up a bunch of parking tickets,” Tom said with a grin.

A nagging sense of grief hit Eliza at the sight of her car. “I’ll never have that life again,” Eliza said. “It’s your car now.” Eliza knew that the car was likely still stained with the foul concoction which had leaked from her the night she was infected. The car, which once symbolized Eliza’s independence and the overcoming of the grief cause by the loss of her father, was little more to her now than bad memories.

Noticing her discomfort, Tom invited Eliza to follow him out of the garage. He led her back to the room she had been in earlier that day. Though it was now dark outside, the room seemed the same as it had at midday. The windowless room with modest lighting kept the traffic of time away. Eliza and Tom took seats facing one another. “So,” Tom said rather awkwardly, “ask away.”

Eliza looked at her guide. He had made every effort to help her through the past couple of days and he remained a stranger to her. She knew that he wanted her to ask about the life of a vampire. Tom wanted Eliza to know the day to day for the undead infected with magika. She didn’t ask those questions. She didn’t seek out Tom that he would teach her how to live. “Who was your first kill?”

Eliza’s question clearly startled Tom. He shook his head. “Not an acceptable question,” he replied. Eliza considered protesting but Tom continued. “I swear I will never lie to you. I do not swear however, that I will tell you everything. If you want hard truths, Mirana is the one to ask. I can feel what you feel. I can hurt when you hurt and I can spare you from any feeling at all, should I choose to.” Tom’s words resounded in the empty room. Eliza was beginning to notice that Tom was always serious. “And as a word of advice, when it comes to any vampire, I wouldn’t ask their firsts kill, so few truly had any choice in the matter.”

“I don’t understand,” Eliza said. “You said that I had a choice.”

Tom nodded. “But did you really?”

Eliza knew what he meant. She had begun to feel better since meeting with Tom. She knew, both from her calmness and the familiar touch of his mind, that he was controlling her emotions, suppressing the pain and grief which still raked through her every thought. “So you can lie, you’re just promising not to?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders, “I have not but my word.”

Eliza considered how good Tom had been to her. How he had found her in the morning and tried to speak with her. She remembered the look on his face then. He looked as he had when he pulled her from the confession booth which she had left several fist sized holes in. She appreciated all he had done for her. “Well, what do you do then?” Eliza was at a loss for questions; though calmer now, she had little in the way of clear thoughts.