Bloody Memories

Chapter 2

Once I turned the key I heard a very heavy click. Then a series of smaller clicks from inside the vault. There was a shuddering noise that grew louder and louder and I backed up hurriedly.

A long seam appeared all around the top of the vault. The top then rose up a few inches and slid to the side, stone grating against stone, sounding like thunder. Then it stopped and the lid tipped down, one corner hitting the floor with a crash. Utter silence fell like a blanket.

The lid uncovered a very wide space. There was a wrapped bundle directly in the middle of it. It was lying on a large box covered with a white sheet.

I reached in and picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy considering it's small size. It was wrapped in layers of black silk. I began unwrapping it immediately; finally this mystery would be solved. I saw a flash of silver in the midst of all that black.

Then the silk dropped to the floor and I was holding a metal glove in my hands. It was a beautiful piece of work. Not bulky, like a knight's gauntlet, but slim and delicate. It looked like it was designed for a woman. It was engraved with curlicues and strange runes and shone with an unearthly light under the full moon.

I turned it over in my hands, puzzling what it was made of. My best guess was silver. But why would someone make a glove out of pure silver?

I couldn't resist trying it on. It certainly didn't look dangerous, only beautiful. I slipped my left hand into it. The inside was lined with an incredibly soft material. I didn't feel the joints chafe or pinch at all. It was as if it had been made for me, it fit so perfectly.

I flexed my fingers. They moved freely, if a little slowly. It would take a while to get used to the weight.

Then I caught myself and giggled aloud, breaking the silence and easing the tension that had accumulated in the room. Like I would be wearing this around town like a new bracelet or ring. Whatever it was, jewelry it was not, no matter how lovely.

As I flexed my fingers again something came loose in the fingertips. Claws extended from each tip. I blinked, startled. The claws looked razor sharp, but I was in no way going to test them. I flexed my hand again, till the claws retracted.

The air in the attic felt suddenly colder. This thing was a weapon. I should take it off. I should put it away.

But I hesitated. It was so beautiful, and it looked good on me. It wasn't frightening, just strange. I would see what else was in the vault, I decided. Perhaps Great Aunt Katrina had a whole suit like this in there. As long as the claws didn't come out suddenly, I would be fine.

I looked back down into the Vault. It was bigger and deeper than I thought. A full grown person could lay comfortably inside. That was a rather unsettling thought, even more so after what happened next.

I pulled back the long white sheet and revealed a wooden coffin. I shrieked and stepped back quickly. I covered my mouth and nose against the foul odor that I knew would soon overwhelm me.

But I didn't smell anything.

I uncovered my nose and mouth and sniffed experimentally. Nothing. Just the faintest hint of dust. I cautiously made my way back to the vault and peered inside.

The coffin had to be extremely old. It looked nothing like the ones I had seen on television and in funeral homes. It was made of unfinished boards crudely nailed together. It seemed to shimmer under the moonlight a bit. I looked closer, carefully.

Under a layer of dust, I discovered a thin silver chain was wrapped around the coffin. I looked down the length of the coffin, the silver was there too. It couldn't all be one chain, there was too much of it. But, I didn't see any breaks in it. It was wrapped around so many times that the coffin was encased in a web of silver threads.

Why did Great Aunt Katrina have a coffin up in her attic? I knew for a fact that she was buried in the cemetery outside of town. This wasn't her coffin. So, who's was it? And why was it up here of all places?

I looked up at the glass ceiling above me. I imagined this room during the daytime, the sun beating down into the attic all day long. The Vault in the center of it, absorbing all that sunlight.

Steven's voice rang through my head. 'She said 'That would be too kind.''

I remembered the shadow in Great Aunt Katrina's diary. It had had fangs.

I began shivering.

Maybe I was just being silly. There had to be a reason for the Vault to be up here, it didn't even have to be a good reason. This box didn't have to be a coffin, either. Whatever Great Aunt Katrina had stored up here could stay up here, I decided, at least till the sun was up.

But I didn't know how to close the vault. Perhaps I just needed to turn the key again. It was still protruding from the keyhole. I put my hand to it.

I looked down at the silver glove I was wearing, contemplating whether I should put it back before I closed the lid. I decided against that. At the very least, I could show it to someone and figure out what it was.

Just when I was about to turn the key, a voice slithered into my mind. It was dark and slippery, cutting through all of my thoughts, silencing them. “Let me out.” It hissed.

I froze as an icy sliver of fear slid up my spine. My ears strained in the utter silence, trying to hear what had only been in my head.

I was really scaring myself now. That's what it was. I was too overexcited and it was affecting me. I should go downstairs and get a nice cup of hot chocolate and sit on the couch until I was-

Again my thoughts were cast aside. “Let me out.” The voice said again. There was a pressure in my head now, some weight sharing room in my head with my consciousness, squeezing my own thoughts out.

My hand moved away from the key. “Remove the silver.” The pressure eased some, now that I was being obedient. I lifted my hand, the silver-clad one and touched the silver chain. The claws extended and I dragged them across the chain. It tore away as if it really was thread.

A small, rational part of my brain was sounding off. I could hear it, but it was very far away. It persisted, trying to make me see reason. I began listening more, and stopped tearing the silver.

“Let me out!” The pressure was back again, heavier than before. I clutched at my little spark of reason, and resisted.

The coffin moved then. Just a small shudder, but enough to make me back away. My legs felt leaden, but I managed to move back, towards the stairs.

The coffin shuddered again. I had backed up far enough that I couldn't see it anymore, but I could hear the sides rattle against the vault walls.

I will admit right now that I was scared. Really scared. Anyone else in my position would have been just as scared, maybe even more so. And they would have whimpered in fright just like I did.

Wisps of smoke rose from the vault. The rattling grew louder, desperate. There was a pause, then the sound of impact. The silver chain burst out of the Vault, raining down onto the floor, reduced to nothing but tiny links.

My legs were useless now. They couldn't hold me up. I slumped to the floor, still unable to tear my eyes away from the Vault.

The lid of the coffin was pushed up and out, clattering against the floor. I flinched at the sound. A dry, white hand gripped the side of the Vault. It had long, black claws.

What had happened to the Fight or Flight instinct that was supposed to be inherent in all humans? I was just sitting there, as weak as a kitten.

He pulled himself to a standing position with difficulty. He looked very old. His hair was snow white and his face was etched with deep lines. He wore an old-fashioned black suit that had seen better days. It was torn and ragged and hung off his thin frame. After a second, he stood straight and tall. He turned to face me.

I whimpered again. Anyone would have, if they saw that face. As aged as it was, it was still terrifying. Ghastly white with deep bruises under the eyes, eyes that were the brownish-red of dried blood. His mouth was a thin line, the lines around it showing that he never smiled.

He took a moment, gathering himself. Then he swept both arms behind him grandly, his clawed fingers raking through the air. With the motion the air suddenly became tighter, almost choking. My eyes widened as all the plants around the attic suddenly withered and died in seconds. Even the cacti shriveled up, some turned to dust.

He raised his face to the moon, his eyes closed, and breathed in deeply. He seemed to grow younger then, from a man in his sixties to a man in his forties. His hair was now black with streaks of white at the temples.

He looked back at me and his eyes glowed the red of freshly spilled blood. “That's better.” His expression was ravenous. “But nowhere near as good as blood.”

He lunged at me then, the frailty of age gone. He was fast, too fast. I did all that I could in that brief second and put my hands up protectively. Even though I knew it was useless, it was all I could do.

He flew away from me with such a force that he smacked into the wall on the other side of the room and cracked it. He groaned in pain, smoke rising from his chest. He opened his eyes. They were narrowed in dislike, the glow was gone. “The gauntlet...” He hissed.

I turned my hands over and looked at them in confusion. The silver glove, I had forgotten about it completely. It seemed to have saved my life. “You're a vampire.” I whispered. Saying it aloud like that made things suddenly so real to me. Horror washed over me in waves. I wish I could have taken it back, had never have spoken.

“Yes.” He rose to his feet. He watched me cautiously, gauging how much of a threat I was. “Who are you? You look like Katrina, but your hair is the wrong color.” He walked back and forth along the wall as he studied me. He was waiting for me to lower my guard, so he could strike.

I resisted the urge to touch my dark brown hair defensively. There was nothing wrong with my hair. Great Aunt Katrina had been a red head though. Maybe the red reminded the vampire of blood or something. “I'm the Caretaker here.” I said firmly. I tried to at least seem like I was in control, though I was shaking on the inside. “Katrina was my great aunt.”

“Was?” The vampire's eyes widened. He stopped his stalking. “Katrina the Hunter is dead?”

I nodded, not taking my eyes off of him. I answered his questions without really thinking about it. I was using valuable mental resources trying to think of a way to escape. The glove would help me if I stayed alert and didn't lower my guard, but it wasn't getting me out of this nightmare.

“How long?” He demanded. I could see that he was angry. Rage twisted his face, making it twice as horrifying.

I flinched again as his words seemed to cut into me. “A month.” I said quietly.

He drew in a deep jagged breath. I could sense something terrible brewing inside of him, his whole body shook. He threw his head back and a howl ripped from his throat. It was long and pained and angry. Panic shot through me and I slid myself backwards, closer to the stairs. I was still too weak to stand.

After an eternity, that dreadful howl ceased. The vampire was standing over me. I hadn't seen him move at all. “Who was it?” He shouted angrily. “Katrina was MINE to slay! WHO KILLED HER?”

I felt that pressure in my head again, so heavy it was painful. I covered my head with my hands, whimpering again. “She wasn't killed. She- she died in her sleep.” I gasped.

That made him even more angry. “In her sleep?! Are you telling me that the most powerful Hunter in the world succumbed to old age!”

I just stared up at him, the pressure in my head was too heavy for me to speak.

Something occurred to him then. The pressure eased, then disappeared entirely. I gasped, nearly collapsing in relief. I braced my hand against the floor to hold myself up.

His anger seemed to be contained for now. He was looking around. “How long was I trapped in there?” His voice rumbled. That rage was barely beneath the surface.

I shook my head. I had no idea.

“Well, what year is it?” He demanded, his anger flaring up briefly before he bottled it up again.

“2009.” I said. I held the silver-clad hand up, expecting retaliation of some kind. My whole body was shaking, but I was determined to protect myself despite my fear.

His eyes widened, bugging out slightly. “No.” He whispered. His hands gripped into fists, his claws digging into his palms. “No. Are you telling me,” His voice was rising again. “I was trapped in that box for 50 years?!”

I looked at him with what I knew was a helpless expression. “Yes?”

His anger seemed to rise up within him. His hands clenched into fists. His body was shaking again. I quailed. With visible effort he managed to keep himself under control. He took a deep breath in slowly, and exhaled.

One random thought floated to the top of my mind. “Vampires can breathe?” It was an inanity. Brought on by fear. If I didn't get out of there, I would be reduced to a babbling moron.

“Of course, why shouldn't we?” He snapped. It was a stupid question, I could tell that by the look on his face, but he had answered automatically.

I cast my mind around for something else to say. Perhaps I could talk my way out of this situation. “How did you know Great Aunt Katrina?” The question flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. That was probably the one question most likely to piss him off again. After all, hadn't she locked him in the Vault in the first place?

Rather than exploding in rage, he became very still. As he looked at him his face grew hard and inscrutable. “She hunted me.” He said in his rumbling thunder voice.

So, no fond memories, as I thought. God dammit.

He took a step towards me. I scooted backward a few more inches. His expression was one of intense dislike. “You are just a weakling.” He voice was icy. “You are nothing like Katrina, whose blood you share. I detest weak creatures.” He looked up at the sky. “You are not worth my time.”

He jumped then, shooting upwards powerfully. He struck the glass ceiling with both hands. The impact was deafening, but the glass was unbroken. I reached behind me, feeling the opening to the attic stairs just a few more inches behind me.

I didn't take my eyes off of him. He landed on his feet, then jumped up and attacked the glass again. Still, it would not break. It obviously wasn't ordinary glass. I figured since it was also a roof that it was pretty thick, most likely bullet-proof. Didn't they also make a glass nowadays that was supposedly missile proof?

If I was Great Aunt Katrina and I was hiding a vampire up in my attic, I would have installed the missile-proof glass. With the way the rest of the house looked, she might even have been able to afford it.

He landed on his feet again, staring up at the ceiling. He was getting frustrated. “I'm too weak.” He muttered. I wanted to giggle insanely. While he couldn't break the glass, he certainly wasn't weak.

“I need blood.” He said, and immediately turned to me.

I pitched myself backwards quickly. I threw myself down the staircase, not caring how bruised I would be as long as I could move fast enough.

I hit the floor below on my shoulder, which reacted with a snap. It was very disconcerting that I didn't feel any pain in it. But I had no time to worry. I scrambled to my feet, grabbing the bottom of the staircase with my good arm and slamming the whole thing closed as hard as I could.

The staircase, like everything else in the house, was in remarkably good repair. It folded together quickly, slamming closed just as I saw the vampire's face at the opening.

After a second, I heard a deafening crash above me. After another second it came again. He was trying to break it open. Knowing Great Aunt Katrina, the lock was probably a really strong one, but it wouldn't hold up forever.

I had to get away. I headed down the stairs as quickly as I could. My right arm was hanging uselessly from my injured shoulder. It was dislocated. I cradled it to my body with my other arm.

I ran for the front door. It was the kind you used a key to open on both sides. I finally understood now why that was. I would escape and lock the door behind me. Then the vampire would be trapped inside the house. Great Aunt Katrina had surely used the same kind of glass for the windows as she did for the roof. I had to hope she did anyway. None of the windows could be opened at any rate, they had no latches.

I ran through the living and dining areas as quickly as I could, the pounding upstairs driving me to panic. I raced through the kitchen and into the vestibule. I reached the door, almost smacking into it. The highly waxed floor was slippery under my socked feet. I was lucky I hadn't slipped and fallen down the other staircase.

I pulled off the silver glove and dipped my hand into my nightgown's pocket for my keys. They weren't there.

Dread settled into the pit of my stomach and took up residence there. I patted both of my pockets twice. No keys. They were still up I the attic, probably lying next to the Vault.

There was a horrible crash from the floor above me. Terror moved in with Dread, making my stomach tighten uncomfortably. I had seconds at the most, before he was downstairs and he spotted me.

There was another exit that led outside from the basement, Steven had mentioned it when I met him. I dove for the broom closet. I pushed open the hidden door and shut it behind me. I didn't waste any time checking if he was behind me. I knew that he was.

I looked around the basement, trying to find the door that led out. I hadn't seen it the last time I was down here. Truth be told, I had forgotten about it. Now that I needed it, I couldn't find it. It was probably hidden, and I didn't have time to look for it.

I couldn't run around any longer. I was making noise that he could surely hear. I ducked into the little closet, closing it behind me and crouching down on the floor. Just then, he burst through the door in the broom closet. I could hear the pieces of wood clattering on the stone floor.

I listened intently, pressing my ear to the closed door. There was no sound. He was being quiet, moving slowly, trying to hear or smell me out.

I scooted back as far as I could and tried to control my breathing, which had been coming in great, gulping gasps. My back pressed into the trunk behind me.

I turned to it at once. Great Aunt Katrina had been a Hunter. The vampire had said so, that she had hunted him. This was probably her equipment. I opened the trunk hurriedly, tossing her clothes aside. I pulled out the smaller case, the one that contained the silver gun.

Not many people know this about me, surely none of my family did, but I knew how to use a gun. I was far from an expert, and I didn't own one myself though. In fact, I disliked them in general. My first boyfriend had been into guns, and he felt strongly that I should know how to protect myself.

Well, I certainly needed to protect myself now.

I opened the case, looking at the pieces in dismay, could I assemble it in time? I had only ever watched other people do it, and I only had one useful arm.

Panic drove me to try. I fumbled with the pieces. They were well made and slid together easily, despite my ineptitude. Finally only the clip was left. I checked it.

There was only one bullet in it. It shone silver under the weak overhead light.

My heart dropped through the floor. I loaded the clip anyway, I wasn't going down without a fight.

I jumped as he grabbed the doorknob. He ripped the door off the hinges, throwing it behind him. I was crouched on the floor in front of him, gun pointed at him. Surprisingly, my hand was steady. My eyes were narrowed in concentration.

His eyes widened, he was taken aback. “Katrina?” He gasped.

I pulled the trigger.

The silver bullet pierced him dead center of his chest. I couldn't have missed at that close range. He was thrown backwards, landing on the floor heavily. Smoke rose up from his chest. His body twitched uncontrollably as he clawed at the wound, trying to remove the bullet.

I got up quickly, running past his prone form. I sprinted for the stairs. I was halfway up when I glanced back, making sure he wasn't getting up.

He was still writhing in pain. He had his jaw clenched shut so he wouldn't dry out. He kept clawing at his chest. But he could not grasp it, it burned him too much. He was going to die.

I couldn't help it. I felt sorry for him. I made a decision then and ran upstairs into the kitchen. I began opening the drawers, until I found a knife that wasn't made of silver. I was praying the whole time that I was not making a mistake.

I took a deep, steadying breath and ran back down the stairs. He was still squirming. I hurried over and knelt beside him, placing the silver gun and glove behind me in easy reach. Pain had made his eyes wide and crazed. His fangs showed as he gritted his teeth.

I didn't think he could see me through the pain. I pushed his hands aside. He fought back, clawing my hand. I put the silver glove back on and tried again. This time when he touched me, the silver burned and his hands fell to his sides. He lay still, but every muscle was tensed.

I could see the wound through his shredded shirt. I waved my hand, clearing the smoke that was still wisping up from it. It looked pretty back, as if the bullet I had shot him with had been searing hot. “This is going to hurt.” I said grimly.

The hole was wide and I saw the end of the silver end clearly. I used the kitchen knife to dig the bullet out. The vampire hissed, his body jerking. I wasn't gentle, focusing on getting the bullet out as quick as possible.

As soon as it was out, his body relaxed. He lay absolutely still.

I looked at the small lump of silver in the palm of my hand. It was amazing how something so small had hurt him so much.

He turned his eyes to me. They were dark and hazy. “You're weak, and foolish.” He rasped.

“You owe me your life, such as it is.” I told him firmly. I reached behind me.

“Do not attempt to apply human rules and boundaries to me.” He said darkly. “I will not hesitate to kill you.” He made to sit up.

I pointed the silver gun at his head. The clip was empty, but he couldn't know that. I kept my gaze steady.

He gave me a long look. His face was lined again, but his hair still had some black in it. He turned away from me, onto his side. “Leave me alone.”

That was gratitude for you. He had attacked me first. I had only been defending myself. I didn't have to save him, but I did.

I got to my feet. I kept my eyes on him as I backed up to the stairs. For all I know, his weakness could be a bluff.

He didn't move. It occurred to me that he must have a lot of pride. He saw me as tiny and weak, but I had saved him. It must have been quite a blow to his ego.

I left him where he lay and hurried up the stairs. It was late, but I didn't care. I ran to the nearest phone.

I was calling Great Aunt Katrina's lawyer.