Path of the Vampire forum

Fear spiked in Lancaster’s chest as Aisha brushed her hair to the side and removed her IV, as if he were going to do this right there and then, in the hospital room. He shook his head and leaned forward, taking the girl’s hands within his own. He wasn’t sure how long she would survive without the IV. He didn’t know how hasty he would have to be.

”Alright, yes. I can give you these things. But I’m not going to do it here. You’ll still die, Aisha. You have to understand that. When I do this you’ll suffer the worst kind of pain imaginable. You think you’ve suffered, but this will be worse. Your organs will die, one by one and your heart will eventually stop beating. Completely. You might pass out. But you will wake up. You’ll wake up…” he said. He laughed. The way people like to laugh when they’re afraid or under pressure. He hadn’t even entirely agreed but she was already making preparations. Throwing herself upon the blade of a sword with complete faith that she would be reborn, unscathed.

”We can’t risk a nurse walking in and a doctor thinking they can cure you while you’re… suffering. And when you suddenly recover with no hint of the illness in your system, they’ll want to turn you into a lab rat,” he said. He stood, and released Aisha’s hands. He pushed his fingers through his hair as he swept his gaze around the room. Under the bed there was a suitcase, which Lancaster pulled out. He opened it up and put it at the end of the bed, ready to receive the meagre belongings within the hospital room. He then went to the small cupboard, and from inside he retrieved a set of Aisha’s ordinary day clothes. He brought them over to the bed and laid them out over her lap.

”If you’re strong enough, get dressed. Pack what you want. I can be persuasive… I’ll go out and convince them to let me check you out,” he said. As if this were a hotel and she’d decided to terminate her holiday earlier than expected.

Lancaster didn’t stray too far as Aisha was getting herself ready. Just in case she fell, or passed out. He’d seen her try to move around before when she shouldn’t have. Had seen the way it made her dizzy, the way her body just didn’t want to cooperate. From the hallway he retrieved a stray wheelchair, which he rolled in just as Aisha was approaching, apparently ready to go. Lancaster reached out to take the duffel bag from her, lifting her belongings as if they were mere feathers. The strap looped over his shoulder, he waited for Aisha to sit down before he rolled her toward the exit.

At the front desk, he told a story. A story of a young girl stuck in a hospital room with its cold walls and the smell of disinfectant. A girl who didn’t get many visitors, and whose time on this Earth was limited. Wasn’t she due her own rights? Wasn’t a dying girl allowed to spend her last hours somewhere she wanted to be, rather than somewhere she was forced to be? Out in the fresh air. Didn’t they know it was a beautiful night outside? Raining? Exactly! There’s nothing more beautiful than the rain, the way it forces the trapped sunshine from the pavements and from the earth, to fill the air with such a glorious, indescribable scent? The scent of the sun! Would they really deprive a girl of her last wish to enjoy that sensation?

There were no lies hidden amongst Lancaster’s speech. It was all true enough. She would die, regardless; and he did believe she deserved everything that he described. Soon enough, the magic worked, as if his words were laced with silver, pretty shining things that the nurses could not resist. They nodded. Lancaster convinced them to pretend they hadn’t seen a thing. Would they have noticed, if he had taken her out the back door, somewhere? Pretend that he had done that…

Within ten minutes he had Aisha out on the pavement. In the carpark, he had his van. It was nothing special. It was the van he used for Curlew. Every now and again pianos required moving, and in the end he decided his own van was better than always hiring. It wasn’t a foreboding van; on the side were the words Curlew Musical Supplies, written over the top of a music stave, complete with a treble clef.

”See? Easy,” he said, unable to keep from grinning. This was kind of exciting, breaking someone out of hospital.

There had been no lies in Lancaster’s speech. The man was physically unable to lie, and if he tried too hard, he was overcome with dizzying sickness. It was something he had tested with Pi. She had asked him to tell her that he didn’t love her and he couldn’t. The words physically could not gurgle from his throat. It was as if there were bile there, ready to replace them if he pushed too hard. A couple of years of being completely unable to lie, however, had taught Lancaster a few tricks. A few ways to weave words so they weren’t ever untrue. Which, he assumed, made them all the more effective. People always preferred the truth over lies.

It didn’t take much to get Aisha into the van; Lancaster helped her up into the passenger seat, which was a little higher than the ordinary car seat. But she was light as a feather, and he made sure to give her a hand up. The wheelchair was left in the parking lot. Lancaster would have taken it back, except that he could smell the blood when Aisha coughed. It pushed him to go a little faster; as if she could die at any minute. What if she died while he was wheeling the chair back? What then? At least if he had his eyes on her at all time, he could leap into action. Regardless of place.

Lancaster didn’t know how to decipher the girl’s excitement. In his opinion, this was not something to be excited about. But each to their own, right? Sia had been similar, though when the turning took place, he knew she had questioned her decision. The process could be… well, harrowing.

”It’s on the other side of the river,” he said, talking about Lancaster’s. ”But it’s still kind of… well it’s not going to take long. Ten minutes, maybe. Sit tight…” he said. Soon enough they were out on the street; the traffic wasn’t bad. It was manageable. The stereo played music from a guy called Hamilton Leithauser, the song 5am. Lancaster liked him because he was part Blues, part pop – but he had soul. Lancaster only liked music with some kind of soul. It didn’t matter what genre it was, so long as he knew what they were feeling.

”How are you feeling? Doing okay? Do you have … any more questions?” he asked, filling the silence while they wound through the streets, headed toward the bridge.

Had they ever really discussed what was wrong with her? The particulars of the disease that was eating up her body? Lancaster couldn’t recall, in that moment, with too much else on his mind – and the fact that she really didn’t look well. The way she leaned against the glass, the way her breath was barely there, barely able to fill her small lungs.

It wasn’t true, in the end. That she was perfectly fine. It was a lie of epic proportions, and as she reached out to grasp his coat, Lancaster was forced to swerve off the road. There was a high pitched and prolonged beep of a horn; another car that he had nearly collided with. High beams lit up the cabin of the van momentarily before they descended back into darkness, and Lancaster pulled over onto the side of the road, safe and unscathed.

”Okay, Aisha,” he said, unclicking his own seatbelt so he had a better hold on the situation.

”Looks like we’re doing this right here,” he said. It wouldn’t matter. It would be unprecedented, but he doubted any of the cars passing would have a long enough view inside to know what was going on. And even if someone were watching, who cared? Really? They were just a couple of really strange people doing something equally strange in the front of a car.

He lifted his wrist to his lips and ripped a deep gash into the vein. There would be no more talking about this. No more asking if she was sure. No more talking about the consequences. He had taken her away from the hospital and the calm and the care. And now he had to save her.

”You gotta drink this,” he said, almost crawling up onto his seat, as if he wanted to rip his own arm off to give it to her. He passed it over as best he could, his fingers curled and the blood bubbled neatly to the surface, sliding over his wrist and dripping onto the upholstery, onto Aisha’s clothing.

Othella had done this. This would work. It had to.

There were plenty of hours left in the night, and though it wasn’t the most comfortable setting, Lancaster knew that they could stay here, if they had to. He couldn’t drive properly with the girl clinging to his jacket like she was, and he didn’t want her further jostled by the movement of the van over speedbumps or potholes. If it came too close to sunrise then he would have to move, but they had plenty of time. For now, he could wait.

It was a relief when she took the blood without objection. She had been prepared, which was a good thing. It wasn’t something that she would balk at. Still, Lancaster grimaced when she pulled away, that innocent face of hers marred by the blood; it covered her lips, smeared her chin. Lancaster pulled a hankie from his pocket – he didn’t know why he still carried one. Habit, maybe? He reached over and mopped the blood from Aisha’s face – whether she noticed or not was a mystery. She was curled up like she was being repeatedly kicked in the gut. Which was fair. That was how this felt – or so he recalled, that’s how he had felt before he had passed out.

Finally, she was cognizant enough to ask her first question, and Lancaster laughed. It wasn’t really a situation wherein one should laugh, but he did. The sound was low, and hopefully somewhat comforting. ”No, Aisha. You aren’t dead. Far from it,” he said. He’d never liked it, the way people referred to vampires as ‘dead’. Lancaster didn’t often feel dead. And he knew, now, what death felt like. This was not it. Even a barrage of physical pain was far better than real death. Far preferable.

When she looked up at him, Lancaster frowned. Something had happened to her eyes – it was strange. It hadn’t happened before. But there was a long road ahead, and the last thing Aisha had to worry about was the colour of her eyes.

”I’ll take you home. Okay? Are you alright if I drive? I’ll take you home, and I’ll … call Roxette. She’s my thrall. With her, I can show you what it’s like to take blood from a human. Or I can get you some blood bags – but you’ll be thirsty. That’s what that is. Don’t let it scare you…” he said, reassuringly. He let her keep his arm, if she wanted it, even as he reached for the keys in the ignition.