Monroe D'etre

I stood there, waiting for an answer. It had been ten years since we'd spoken, or, as it was in actuality, since we'd fought; resulting in my becoming a vampire. I still felt bitter about it, now, as anyone would. Wanting to become a ware-wolf, but becoming a different creature of the night.
Rodrigo Callahan stood, his frame wide and his body well built, but still old. He was as old as time, Rodrigo. You could tell by looking at him – but at a glance he still looked forty or so, the age he had been when he had been made into a vampire himself – but you always age, even as a vampire – but the process is slowed down to a tiny amount. Ten years is worth half a year itself.

I, however, looked like I was a weird age, between ages. I was to be 26 this Thursday, and I wasn't going to spoil this birthday like I have so many others. I would celebrate; or at least that was what Rodrigo had told me to do in his letter – 10 years late. The letter read;



I read the letter aloud many times, trying to figure out Rodrigo's angle. It seemed I couldn't find any angle except the angle of true compassion, unless he was trying to fox me out, to outwit me. To fool me completely to letting him back into my life after all these years that I have been lonely and unable to share my status, feelings, or situation to anybody other than myself. It is true, yes, that I did make many a trustworthy and true friend during my time in Texas – but none that I saw fit to share my situation with.

Ten years may create a bond worthy of any secret – but not one such as this; one that must be treated with the utmost carefulness to ensure the vampire race isn't hunted down and disposed of. It's a rather extreme worry, I must admit – but a worry that is right nonetheless.
It felt strange letting Rodrigo back into my life, as he'd just up and left straight after he'd “initiated” me into this new world, and it is a new world, everything is seen differently through these eyes. I couldn't say I didn't want to become a vampire – I was pretty much indifferent – but at the time the process was unknown to me and somewhat against my will.

I still remember the pieces of glass protruding from my face and neck as I woke up, alone in Rodrigo's house that night. The lamp with it's healthy dimmed glow, shining and reflecting from the glass that lay all around the living room.

I went straight to the bathroom, knowing this place well as my second home for eight years; and found my way to the mirror. Wincing and groaning, I pulled the largest piece from my face, it was deeply shoved into my cheek. I began to bleed uncontrollably, and I placed my hand with a huge amount of pressure onto my cheek, in fear of bleeding to death. Then suddenly, the bleeding stopped. I felt a wave of relief. I removed my hand from my face, only to see the cut back away, retreating, growing smaller and smaller, until it was gone. My face was back to normal. I pulled out the small remaining shards of glass, and again, the cuts disappeared from my face, leaving me clean. I wiped the remaining blood from my face with one of Rodrigo's towels and placed it down on the washing basket. I then knew what I had inevitably become.

Now, ten years later, I fear that Rodrigo and I may have drifted apart, not only in distance of living, but in distance of interests, beliefs and ideas of life. I fear that we may not get along well, but I hope to God we do, because Rodrigo Callahan is the only man I've ever got along with. Even though he's somewhat older than me, we connect in a way deeper than humanly possible.

Then a knock came at the door, but strangely, it came from the back door. I stood up and straightened my jacket, looking upward as I did so, posturing myself. Suddenly I realized, all my life that I had known Rodrigo, he had always used the back door to enter his, and any other, house. It was Rodrigo, or as I'd call him when I was young, Roddy. Rodrigo was at the door. After ten years, he was at the door. I rushed to the door, stopping at it's face, composing myself. I didn't know what to feel, but I felt worried mostly, hoping to be accepted by him. I opened the door cautiously, as if I didn't know it would be Rodrigo.

“Monroe.” He held out his hand sharply towards my stomach, it was stiff and swift.

“Rodrigo.” I thrust my hand towards him with almost equal confidence and might, gripping his and shaking it like a man. It was strange – I didn't feel like a man, since the last time I saw him, I was only sixteen years old. Now I was twenty five, soon to be twenty six. I felt my body stiffen unnaturally in response to seeing Rodrigo for the first time in so long.

“Aren't you going to invite me in, Monroe?” He stood there expectantly. I shook back into reality and made way for him, then closed the door behind him. He stepped forward, marveling and taking in the whole house – or what he could see of it.

“You've done well for yourself, boy.” I smiled, he had accepted me, or at least he liked me at this stage.

“Where is the party?” He asked, standing tall, hands behind his back in a knot, he puffed out his chest, like he always did.

“Well it's only Friday, Rodrigo,” I began, sitting myself on the sofa behind me. “I'm going to have a small get-together on Wednesday.” I looked up at him, he still stood tall and puffed-out, like a male bird trying to impress.

“Fair enough, but I must give you your present beforehand. You'll need it for then.” I sat stiffly, awaiting the reveal. What could it be? “I'm hoping you'll like it, Monroe, it's been waiting for someone, well, more specifically, me – but I've never really taken liking to it, myself.” This confused me. I didn't know what he was talking about, as was the situation most of the time when Rodrigo was explaining things. But when the point became clear, everything else was crystal.

“Do you remember when my aunt Margaret died when you were nine?” I lowered my eyebrows and narrowed my eyes, trying to figure out his point.

“I do.” I said plainly. He paced about like a man with no ideas.

“Well, she left me a glorious house, in Little Winter,” his gaze stayed on me as he paced. “I'd like it to be yours. We'll move everything to there by Wednesday.” My jaw dropped, my mouth wide open unwillingly. I sat there, staring at him. He was giving me a house? A whole, huge, house? Was he crazy? I didn't know if he was crazy, and I certainly didn't know if I wanted the house at all.
He could tell I was wrestling with my thoughts,

“It's Victorian. Black beaming and white painted, a lovely sized property, fifty acres of land around, it's got two barns and a utility shed. It's perfect for you.” He beamed a smile at me, showing his fabulously white teeth. The very same teeth that bit me all those years ago. Could I trust this? Could I take this mansion of a home? I had to check it out first.

“I'll take a look at it.” I looked around awkwardly, seeing his expression sadden a notch. I knew that he was ever hopeful that I'd like the house, because he didn't, which put him at a loose end.

“I'm sure you'll love it.” I nodded, walking casually into the kitchen. He followed suit, like a lost lamb. I turned to him and brushed my unruly curls from my face.

“What would you like for dinner?” I asked; he stood there, obviously confused.

“Vampires don't eat.” He raised his eyebrows in question. “Surely you haven't forgotten?” I looked up at him, perplexed. Vampires do eat. In a way.

“We can't digest food properly. Have you been eating!?” I shook my head no, he looked down on me, the light casting a shadow over his dark brow.

“Only socially.” I said, hoping he would let this go, and just ignore it.

“We don't eat. We feed. Remember that.” I brushed back my curls with my hand, walking over to the back door and opening it.

“After you.” I said, holding the door open. He smiled and nodded in my direction. We'd go on a hunt. Only a small hunt, for a quick feed. Nothing too extreme – not to cause a fuss or panic in the streets.

“Where to?” He asked, walking alongside me through the driveway. “We'll go to Mulberry Park,” I began, as we continued down the street towards the park, it was nearby and very quiet this time of night. “It has lots of homeless.” he stopped, shaking his head in disgust. “Are you insane, Monroe?” He asked animatedly. I stopped, too, looking at him with confusion.

Rodrigo wrapped his hands around me, I clung to his jacket as we dashed off into the sky. The clouds were like fluffy dust, looking thick and impenetrable, but were, in actuality, thick bouts of white nothingness. The stars were faintly out tonight, far above the clouds we rushed through.

Suddenly, we were on the ground in a forest-like part of the East Side. I leaned on my knees and bent over, breathing in deeply until the dizziness passed my system. It had been years since I'd done that with Rodrigo.

“There's one for you,” he said in my ear, pointing inconspicuously at a young woman, looking about my age, rummaging through her purse. I glanced around, realizing we were in East Side Park. My glance returned to the young woman, long reddish hair, thick-rimmed glasses and a bulky beige coat. The chill got to me, I shivered slightly, my teeth chattering. I saw her as only meat, only a fresh meal; but my instinct told me to check first. Part of me was telling myself to steady up, approach swiftly and just take all that she had to give – but I had to be sure she wasn't an innocent.

“What do you think, hmm?” He asked, his eyes fixated on the redhead. His eyes sparkled with hunger, my stomach groaned with it. I needed to feed, desperately. The hunger began to transform me, I couldn't wait any longer, it churned inside of me as I watched the young woman clutter about in her purse.

“Something bad,” I began, choking out my words. “probably a light robbery?” I said, almost inaudibly. He nodded to confirm, I straightened myself and stood up straight. Narrowing my eyes, I flitted over swiftly, standing beside the woman, as she screamed, I reached for her shoulder, my grip hard and my nails sharp. I pulled her near, she continued to scream against me, writhing around in my grip. I gazed at her neck, her arteries filled with fresh, pumping blood. I thought for a moment, trying to work out the wrong that she had done.

My mind flashed about, searching her mind, her very memory, for the something that would seal her fate. A robbery. Not just a plain robbery, a robbery that ended in the death of an elderly woman by this woman's own hand – with an ornament. I thought for a moment, trying to hold back my hunger for a moment, to search for further mistakes. Nothing. My hunger consumed me, I leant in and sliced her neck with my teeth cleanly, the blood instantly filling my mouth. I sucked in, taking in everything I could get from this woman. Soon, she became floppy and useless, dead in my arms. I held her firmly by the shoulders, licked the small wound, and let her drop to the floor. She fell lightly, she wasn't a heavy woman, her position was subtle, as if she was sleeping. The contents of her handbag were spilled not far from the bag itself, so I left it as it was. I turned around, Rodrigo's hand placed on my shoulder in a friendly grip.

“Not your first feed, I suspect?” I nodded no, walking alongside him; he stood tall and proud. Proud of me. “No spillages.” he noted, looking me in the eyes. “None whatsoever.” we pressed on, walking swiftly back to the apartment.

As we walked towards the door, I could feel the burning stare of his eyes on me, still watching every move I took.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The plane ride was swift, nothing too long or drawn out for me, I had only been on three plane rides in my life, this being the third. We'd changed the times to visit to the end of November, after my birthday.

We drove in Rodrigo's car through the town called Winterpoki, to the small left-turn off through to Little Winter. There, the house stood proudly, old and Victorian indeed, on this patch of land, alone and huge. It wasn't a house, far from it; it was a mansion. Callahan Mansion, it was called – but Rodrigo had had it changed to D'etre Mansion before we had arrived.

“It's all yours, Monroe.” I stood there, mouth wide like it had been when I'd first been given the news. I was shocked, but still burning with happiness – I had a mansion, and I was finally out of Brooklyn.

Snow fell heavily on top of us, and pulling my jacket further around me, I shut the car door; marveling at the house's beauty. It was amazing that it was still standing tall, it's Victorian presence making me feel the past within it as we drew closer.

I pushed the door open, all my things, among other priceless ornaments and furniture, Etc, sat in each room. The hallway that I first lay eyes on, seemed to draw out forever, the staircase winding upwards so far it seemed to touch the sky; and the engravings on each piece of furniture, from the banisters to the fireplaces, were beautiful and hand-crafted. Picturesque paintings filled the walls through the hall, the wallpaper just as pretty. The paintings were of Rodrigo Callahan's ancestors, from decades ago.

I looked up at Rodrigo, smiling gratefully as I dragged my bags of clothing into the hall, shutting the door behind us. “This is marvelous...” I was still captured in the house, its beauty was beyond comprehension to me then, so old, yet so amazing, hand-made and authentic, to the very detail.

“It is indeed, Monroe, but I'm afraid I cannot share it with you tonight,” My heart dropped, my stomach ached – not out of hunger – out of hurt. I frowned slightly, looking up at him in question.

“Why ever not?” I asked.

“I have some business to attend to in New York,” He lowered his eyebrows and patted my shoulder, turning and opening the door again. “I'll call you when I'm back in Winterpoki.” he walked out and began to trudge through t he snow, flying about everywhere in all directions, all over Rodrigo. I sighed out, sad that he had to leave so suddenly, right as we'd arrived. I shut the door, wiping the snow that had been let in from my hair, dampening it.

I found my way to my room, opened all the drawers and wardrobes, and sat down on my new bed. It all seemed very sudden and generous. I couldn't keep thinking about how easy this had come, I had to unpack my clothing.

I reached for my case, unclasping the locks and lifting the lid of the first one.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I grabbed a towel from the airing closet and rushed to the bathroom, finding all my bath salts and wash products all intact, all placed perfectly. I removed my towel and placed it on the hook, slipping into the freshly-run, hot bath. I took a deep breath and let it out, letting all of this sink in, looking at all of the beautiful embellishments and engravings on the bathtub itself, lined with silver.

I caressed it gently with my finger, tracing it all along the side, trying to follow the pattern. I removed my finger and reached for my soap, scrubbing my body all over, happy to wash away Brooklyn and all of it's impurities. It may be a little colder here, very rural, and far from the hustle and bustle of city life – but it had a small town, a big house, and plenty of opportunity for me. I guessed I would take the house – or rather, the mansion – and call it my own, thanking Callahan greatly. I stepped out of the bath and out of my deep thought, wrapping the towel around my body and unlocking the bathroom door. I turned and unplugged the bath-plug, letting the water drain.

My room was spacious and perfect, everything I had ever wanted or needed, right here, in my possession. I laid down on the bed and rested my head on the pillow, closing my eyes to rest for a moment, to fully take everything in.

“Mr. D'etre?” She said, making me open my eyes and sit bolt upright to stare at her. She stood in the doorway, confident and quite tall – not as tall as me, though, by any stretch of the imagination.

“Who, may I ask, is asking?” I said, looking her up and down once more.

“The maid,” she sighed outward, as if to say she'd got this many a time. I sat up, pulling my towel tighter around myself, as not to show too much skin to the young lady before me. “The maid.” she said uncomfortably, fidgeting with a large set of keys in her hands.

“Maid?” I asked, looking perplexedly at her face. I wasn't as shocked as I maybe should have been that I had a maid.