by Joe Stanley
WHILE MY THINGS WERE BEING CARRIED TO MY ROOM, I sat with Lee. I had always known him to be one to get straight to the point, and his condition had not changed that.
“I’m sorry to have neglected our correspondence,” he began. “I have neglected many things as of late. You are a good man, a good friend, to come here on my behalf. I see the worry in your eyes, but I ask you not to pity me as the other two do.”
Before I could reply, he raised a finger and I said nothing. He thought to himself quietly before continuing.
“Everyone pities me,” he observed with a mixture of fatigue and anger in his voice. “But at the same time, I pity them because they do not know or understand. I pray that someday they will, that they will have the treasure that is mine.”
“The Doctor worries for my life, the Reverend frets for my soul. Neither offers anything that matters to me now. Truly, I wonder if this is for my sake or for the failing of power they think they have,” he said with a mischievous smile that carried me back many years.
“They think that I am mad and perhaps I am. When I tell you what I have told them, you may as well. If I am mad, I do not give a damn.
“They tell me she is dead, she is gone. They tell me to let go and to move on. But, I tell you, she is with me still, our bond, our love is strong. When she passed, I was distraught. For a year, despair was all I knew. I pleaded with the Almighty to ease my pain and when that did not come to be, I pleaded for death. Three times He has forsaken me, and I renounce Him.”
I was shocked, for I had always known him to be a man of unswerving faith. But I knew that he grieved and deeply so.
“As our anniversary drew near, my misery grew. I had resolved, since mercy was not forthcoming in any form, that I would take my own life. In that moment, I thought of her and to my heart there came both fear and yet a kind of peace. All I can say is that I knew she was there, even as I know you sit with me now.
“They have tried to convince me otherwise. I listened but I knew they were wrong. For this last year, she has come to me and comforted me in the night. And I tell you now, that I have heard her sweet voice at last. Do not grieve for me when I am gone, for I will be with her. I will stand by her side for all of time.”
I did not know what to say, and shortly he suggested that we retire. I saw that it would be no use to become a third voice against him and as I lay sleepless I resolved to be a good companion regardless of what I wanted.
The night stretched on and the silence only gave voice to the hopelessness in my heart. But through the adjoining wall, where my friend slept, I heard his muffled voice. I did not know if he called for help or merely talked in his sleep, and I eased myself from the bed. I crept softly down the hall, his voice growing more clear.
As I reached his door, I heard him say, “No, my darling, please! Please don’t leave me!”
I was sure he dreamed, a tortuous vision of his lost beloved. Gently opening the door, I looked in and whispered, “Lee, are you awake?”
At this, he turned abruptly away and I knew he was. I also knew he wished to be alone and so I left him.
The following days saw him deteriorate. It seemed as though all our efforts only hastened the dreadful effect. The Doctor, Reverend, and I often met early in the day to discuss the matter as my host slept late. Our councils were gloomy ones, for we felt as though we fought against the setting of the sun.
My friend reached the state where he no longer left his bed and he slept more than he was awake. He refused further treatment, and the Doctor believed his end would come soon. We lamented our collective failure, and could do no more than to keep a vigil late into the night.
We had long since run out of things to say, it seemed we mourned him even before his inevitable passing. We sat and stared at the floor or into the fire, greatly startled by the weak sound of his voice. He stood before us a grim sight, more corpse than living man.
“Gentlemen,” he croaked, “you have all been wrong. This very night she has come to me. I have, at long last, seen her again. I have felt her flesh and held her hand in mine. On the morrow, I will be gone and I bid you farewell.”
With this, he collapsed. In the frenzy that followed, we somehow managed to get him to his bed. The Doctor found his pulse to be faint, his breath rapid and shallow. Then he noticed red spots on the front of his sleeping gown.
When his chest was bared we saw around his heart two tiny, fresh wounds and many older ones. It was the Reverend who whispered the thought we all shared, a single word.
“Vampire.”
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