Page 11 of Loved to Death

“Keep up with me if you want to hear the story of how I came to be what I am.”

He jogged a few paces and fell in step with her.

“My father was a reverend in Maine. I’m the second eldest of seven children. All girls. When I was sixteen, the winter was harsh and we didn’t have enough food stored. My father was too proud to ask his congregation for help but word went around, and people started to bring us food. Then one night, a mountain man came to our door with a freshly killed buck. It was huge. Enough to feed the entire family for the rest of the winter and beyond. He only asked for one thing in return. My hand in marriage.”

“Why not your older sister?” Thomas asked.

“He asked my father for his oldest eligible daughter but my sister was already engaged. My father made the deal without asking my opinion and married us the following evening in his church. My new husband, Joseph Baker, took me and my satchel of meager belongings up the mountain to his cabin.”

When she paused, Thomas said, “I’m sorry. That must have been terrifying for you.”

“Actually, I was more excited than scared. My father was a harsh man. Getting away from him was a blessing. Or so I thought. When we got home, Joseph built a fire, gave me a meal, and then took my virginity. For the next week, my life was better than I could have imagined. Joseph was always gone when I woke up. I spent my days keeping the cabin tidy. He had several books that I could read to pass the time. He always made sure there was enough wood for the fire and enough food to eat. Then when night fell, he’d arrive home with a recent kill. We’d talk, he’d bed me, and then the routine would start again.”

Polly shook her head. “I was such a little fool. He was cold as death to the touch, he was never there during the daylight hours, and he never ate more than a bite or two of the food I provided. One night while bedding me, he bit my neck and drank until I was dead.”

She glared into the night. “I didn’t bite him the way you bit me, so he must have given me his blood once I’d passed out. Or maybe he put it in my food or drink without me knowing. The next evening, I woke in the cellar next to him. Undead. I suppose I should be grateful for that happy week before he turned me. It gave me memories to cling to during the years that followed. That first night, I woke up confused. Joseph didn’t say anything at first. He just picked me up, carried me to the house, and deposited me in front of our bed while I begged for answers. There was a grizzled old man tied to the bed demanding to be released. Joseph ordered me to smell the man’s neck. Obedient little wife that I was, I did his bidding. Instinct took over.”

“You drank his blood,” Thomas concluded.

“Yes.”

“Killed him.”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“Then Joseph was very pleased. He bedded me next to the dead body when I was still in the throes of passion from the blood. I found my climax and my head had cleared before he’d finished. I was screaming and trying to shove him off me before he found his.”

“Jesus,” Thomas muttered, stomach turning at that mental image.

“Jesus left me that day.” Her cold tone left no room for argument. “And he has never returned.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.

“Pity is useless. I’m no longer that frightened child. Joseph spent the next hour telling me everything he deemed necessary for me to know. I had to drink blood to survive. Sunlight would kill me, I’d age roughly one year for every ten I had lived, and—”

“Wait. What did you just say?”

“I age roughly one year for every ten I live, and you will, too. I became undead at sixteen. Twenty-two years have passed since then, so my body is about eighteen. My husband appeared to be thirty-five when I met him, but he became undead at twenty-three and had lived a total of a hundred and fifty-three years.”

“Impossible!” Thomas didn’t believe that for a moment.

She shrugged. “Time will bear witness to the truth.”

Thomas contemplated her confident statement in silence for a few moments. “What else did he say?”

“That I was bound to him for life, physically, spiritually, and legally. He had married me and then created me in his image, so he owned me in every way possible. He didn’t deem it necessary to tell me how he created me, that animal blood wouldn’t sustain me, how physically strong I’d become, or that as my creator, he could cause me pain when others couldn’t.”

“Pain?” Thomas frowned, recalling yesterday’s slap and arm twisting.

She nodded and stopped walking. She pointed to the trunk of one of the big fir trees. “Punch that tree.”

“What?”

“I’m giving you a demonstration. Something I wish Joseph had done for me. Go on. Punch the tree.”

He stepped to the tree, made a fist, and punched the trunk just hard enough to cause discomfort. But the discomfort didn’t come.

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