Page 67 of Fragile Wicked Things
The old man knotted his eyebrows and pursed his lips, considering for a moment if he knew any Dylans. "Dylan. Dylan. I cannot say that I know of them unless you are a relation to…no, no, their family name was not Dylan. Have you family?"
"My parents are dead, long time now, and I ne'er married." I was struck by the ease at which the lies flowed out.
"All alone then. I empathize." He gave his cane one good pound against the dirt floor and held up his left hand. "Welcome, Edward Dylan, to my home. I am George Rochester. The castle is not what it once was, aging right alongside me. Miriam!" he shouted for the servant girl, who stopped scrubbing the pot straight away.
"Yes, sir."
"Set up a chamber for our guest, the warmer one on the east side."
Miriam stood still and looked from me to the old man, perplexed but reluctant to speak.
"Miriam, are you still here?"
"Do you mean Lord Jonathan's room, sir?"
He hesitated for several moments. "I do."
Miriam wiped her hands against a somewhat filthy rag and left.
George Rochester stood, looked in the general direction where I sat, and held out his hand. "I take my leave and shall see you in the morn." He shuffled away, leaning against his cane, and I hurried to him, stepping in front of him.
"Mr. Rochester, sir, I thank you and 'ccept your generous offer. You raise me from the dust by this kindness. With your aid, I shall no' be driven from society and its sympathies."
I reached out to him and offered to be his guide, but he would not hear of it. I stepped aside as he carried on towards the steps, telling me he knew every inch of the castle he used to hide in as a boy and could see more than I ever could.
Later, Miriam returned to take me to my chambers. We traveled up the stone steps, guided by a small candle in her hands. She didn't speak or look at me, but I was mesmerized by her white skin, the blue of the veins in her neck, and the blood flowing through.
When we arrived at the room, I turned to her and asked, "Will Lord Jonathan mind?"
"The Earl's son is dead."
I feigned surprise. "How terrible."
"They found him out yonder, by the gate of the castle, chewed up by a wil' animal 'e waz. He had jus' returned."
"And who is the Earl?"
"Ay, did he not tell yer? George Rochester 'imself, master of this castle and the lands." She droned on and told me about the Earl's family and history, but I heard nothing and continued to stare at her neck, listening to her heart thump against her chest. She looked at me, her hand sprang to her neck. "Is there somethin' there?" she asked, wiping at her neck. Inside the room, Miriam lit the candle by the bed and then left me alone.
I sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the waves break against the rocks outside my window. Yes, Mr. Rochester's kindness would not go unnoticed by me and I determined to become the man I longed to be.
Twenty-One
My time at the Earl's castle was spent laboring to control my hunger and, along with it, the darkness. No longer did I succumb to its power as I once had. No longer did it blind me with pain. I was cared for by the living, by my fellow Man, who welcomed me. I had been without family and the Earl had been without a son.
I grew quite fond of Miriam but for reasons unknown to her and the other servants. Before the hunger became unbearable, I would feed it a little to temper the pain, to keep it from destroying me and those near me. My voice soothed Miriam. My eyes penetrated her. Although she believed all actions were of her own volition, the truth was she acted on my suggestion. Once each month, and without her knowledge, I would feed from Miriam, take her into my arms and whisper in her ear while I tugged at her clothing in search of a vein. Her blood was pure, virginal, the most intoxicating of them all, but she was not enough and I could not take more without ending her life. So, I alternated between Miriam and the servant boy, taking a little nibble here and there from the other female servants. Having tried the middle-aged men, I found they were horrid, the stench of stale ale always in them; the younger men were too strong and as I did not intend to drain them to their last drop of blood, there was no benefit in risking one of them getting the upper hand. Miriam was sweet and almost perfect, and I became drawn to the females, controlled them, and held them under a spell. They would have no memory of my nightly visits to their chambers.
That first night with Miriam, I rapped my fingers on her door, playful, and she let me inside. I recited poetry I had read to the Earl, but it was the hard ones she admired the most.
Give me women, wine, and snuff
Until I cry out "hold, enough!"
You may do so sans objection
Till the day of resurrection;
For bless, my beard, they aye shall be
