Warning: 18+ readers only; this blog is dark and full of terrors!
I don't know how long I stay buried. A week? Ten days? Who knows... I can only hide from my shame until Gravebrook crumbles, and Nathaniel is no more than a dusty corpse in the ground, but that still wouldn't be long enough.
Occasionally, I hear his thoughts penetrate my silent exile. But they're not words, only emotion; hatred, fear, and... the worst of all, love. I hate myself for making him love me and tearing it away from him so savagely, even if out of my control. I hate myself for loving him back. So I'll stay in the soil until I can't feel anymore.
On the nineteenth day, I am awoken from my slumber by an extraordinary force ripping me from the ground. I land hard on the mausoleum roof, fracturing the weakened bones in my chest.
"Oh fuck," I gasp, feeling at my ribs, and they crack under my hands as they heal almost instantly. "What the hell..."
I hear a rustle from the trees overhead, and everything is grey. I've lost all colour vision from lack of blood, but the way the leaves move is mystical enough for me to investigate. I jump off the roof, landing only a little better than before, feeling the frailty of my legs as they hit the ground.
"You need to go to him, right now."
I stop, my eyes darting around, looking for the voice. It's a voice I've not heard in many years. I must be imagining things... have I ever gone this long without drinking? Is this what happens?
But then, like a flashing light in my eyes, I see Nathaniel, beaten and bloody, tied ankles and ropes holding his arms spread out against the altar of the church.
"Go. Now."
I speed towards town, grabbing rats, birds, other small creatures to sustain me, just enough to keep my body crumbling under the pressure of swift movement. The dread that consumes every inch of my body is one I've never felt before, and by the time I arrive at the church doors, my eyes are a river of blood, my skin white as paper with watercolour red streaks, and my bones like brittle twigs inside a fleshy prison. But somehow, from the depths of fear, there's the most incredible surge of power, one unlike anything else I've ever tasted.
Without even touching them, the doors swing open before me, sending a great gust of air up into the ceiling, the pews parting like the red sea. I feel like a match dropped in gasoline as I gaze up at the altar.
All I see is Nathaniel, half unconscious and shaking, bound and blindfolded. I run towards him at a more human speed, any extraordinary power now spent, stumbling before him.
"What happened?" I utter as I clumsily pull the rag from his eyes and untie the ropes from his wrists and ankles, my hands trembling. "Who did this to you?"
Nathaniel looks up at me, but it's as if he doesn't really see me. I hold his face, and I'm stung with what I feel.
Darkness. Nothing. It's as if his soul has already left his body, leaving behind an empty shell.
"Nathaniel..." I shake him gently, tears welling in my eyes. He lets out a whimper.
"Be..." he stutters, the word paining him. "Be careful..."
"Who did this to you?" I ask again, this time with more urgency, bundling him in my arms as I feel him fading even further. "Please."
Nathaniel's lips part, but as he tries to speak blood pours from his mouth. I stare at him in horror as I feel his bones breaking, blood trickling down his chin and over his chest.
A voice behind me. "Kaleb, I'm sorry."
I turn, and Father Clark stands eerily quiet and still.
"What did you do?!" I scream, clutching Nathaniel's lifeless body. No, no, no... This can't be happening.
"You caused this." Father's face is like a boy possessed, his eyes vacant and glazed. "You should have killed me when you had the chance."
I let go of my lover gently, standing slowly. "What are you?"
"Do you remember when I asked the same question? I asked what you were. You should've killed me."
"You never... you never asked me..."
"Don't you remember? You came into my confessional and... you came to kill me."
I stare at him, my face soaked in tears, shaking my head. Everything is black, grey, red.
Nine months ago; the church seemed so inviting, with its warm glow and empty pews. But there was one body in there, one lively, warm, body and it was calling to me like nothing ever had. I faced him, tore him from his wooden box, and ripped into him. He lay in my arms, grasping on to life like no other body had. But he wouldn't die. No. I knew what he was and what he did behind his confessional door. That's what drew me there. I went there to kill him like the others. But I didn't do it. Why didn't I? Why can't I remember how we got to where we went?
"Because I could do something for you. She told me so. And you stayed. And I looked after you."
Father Clarke steps closer, soundlessly, gliding through the air like a ghost.
"Do it now, my darling Kaleb. Kill me, like you always wanted - no, intended to." His voice is almost inhuman as I stare at him, any emotion I once held for him leaving my body.
"Who are you?" I whisper, my body trembling. "You're... you're not Father Clarke."
"Please, Kaleb," he pleads. I can see now, I see his real eyes behind the cloudy orbs that have taken over, his soul shining through, just enough for me to see him. "I'm not who you thought I was. End this now."
I watch white hands come up to his shoulders as if they're no longer mine but some other horrifying creature's. I lean into his throat, hypnotised by the Thirst, and sink my teeth into the dark veins, blood oozing from punctured skin like water from a burst dam. He doesn't struggle as his fluids replenish my body, nourishing me back to life, filling me entirely. It's like my first ever taste of the undead liquor, not knowing when it will end. It seems to last forever, this never-ending blood pouring from his body and spilling from my clumsy lips. But then I feel the delicious illusion slowly reach its limit, heart beating loudly in my ears until it finally stops, and he's dead.
Unlike with other bodies, I place his down gently on the ground, my breathing ragged, my stomach the fullest it's ever been, blood dripping down my chin. I wipe my face with my sleeve, staring at Father Clarke's cold eyes.
"Kaleb..." I turn to Nathaniel, his quiet voice tearing me from my stupor. "There's something -"
Suddenly, the church doors are ripped from their hinges and the chandeliers above burst in a great flash of light and sound. I run at Nathaniel to shelter him from the falling glass, throwing my body over him like a shield.
"How sweet, my little Kaleb protecting his love."
My heart stops.
That voice. That voice I'd tried to forget, the one that has haunted me for over a hundred years. The one that had so viciously chastised me for loving Johann, for running away.
I lift my head, gazing at the figure hovering above the broken pews, wild red hair flowing past the waist, a white dress covered in blood.
"I thought you were dead," I stutter, my chest convulsing like fluttering wings. "I thought..."
"Yes, well, you were wrong," Norra spits. "Much like you are about everything else."
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