Page 44 of His to Haunt

When he said he was done with me, he meant it. He only wanted to use my body for his art and nothing more.

But I didn’t want to believe that, and I was not done with him. I went to his bed and climbed in like finally, the two Z’s can have their moment. I mean, wasn’t it always leading to this?

But when he came into his room and looked down at me with those eyes, he said we can’t be together like this.

I said, then how? Do I need to drink the blood first?

His eyebrow lifted as he puzzled at me. He didn’t think I knew! Of course, he didn’t. But I’ve been through the gallery and been to those secret places in the basement.

Yes, I know.

This is the reason why they hid the keys. Because I wasn’t born like some of them. I didn’t carry the gene. I could only turn by being turned. But they didn’t want that kind of freedom for me.

I said the word to him: Vampire.

I told him to make me in his image like a God and set me free. His eyes were full of rejection when he commanded me to get dressed and go home. He said turning me is not in the plan, that I’m supposed to be the face of the family, keeping up appearances.

So, it’s all been decided then! My entire life, one big ruse without my knowledge or approval.

This is where I must die and be reborn or die for good. Either way, I’m getting out of this hellish entrapment.

-R

P.S. Found an interesting map.

Blood Tunnels

Black Lace

Leena

Strange coincidence?

The letters written onto the map—O.O.S. Order of the Serpent—match Ritter’s tattoo. The dragon head of the ship is very similar to the head of the ouroboros inked over Ritter’s arm. So, what that is all about?

On the map, the ship has something to do with the so-called blood tunnels, aka vampire tunnels. The tunnels, the port, and the name of the ship were all written in red on the old goldmine map. The red tunnels seem to branch out from the gold tunnels.

So then, another local legend. This town is teeming with them.

I flipped through dozens of reference notes regarding the history and lore to be found in the gallery—Rachel seemed convinced that the answers to her dilemma were to be found there. Like a treasure hunter, she became obsessed with clues and riddles to ancient Egyptian relics and writings. As for the map, whoever wrote in red upon it was clearly into the kind of strange legends that only fed into Rachel’s interest.

I don’t know what to make of it. Clinically speaking, my sister sounds delusional. It’s easy to assume that this weirdenvironment she lived in, with her macabre profession, corrupt family, and local vampire lore, culminated in a mental crisis for her, compounded by her romantic obsession with her own cousin.

She may have felt that she needed to justify her obsession with him by attaching a supernatural reason to it, that she wanted to be turned by him, as she put it. The same way that she justified his rejection. He didn’t reject her because he didn’t want her. He rejected her because she wasn’t a vampire. So, it wasn’t personal as much as practical—in a highly fantastic way, that is.

My phone beeps at 4:45 with a text from Zand.

Please arrive promptly. I must get this piece to the gallery tomorrow morning. I will compensate you for your time.

What I need from him is the missing key to the gallery. I want to see what Rachel saw. Though I’m not convinced, it will help me to understand where she was in her head. When she warned me in her letter that I would learn unbelievable, dark things about her… she was well aware of what a sane person’s reaction would be to what she had divulged. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t delusional. It just means that she was aware that her delusions would not be believable to an outsider. Schizophrenics can act this way. Was my sister on medication?

I decide to finally pull out her laptop, enter the code, and look into her folders and tabs and search history. Maybe there is something about schizophrenia on there.

I look and look. But no, everything has to do with ancient Egypt. Ancient alien theory and vampires. Frustrated, I close her laptop. I have no time for this. I want to learn about my sister and what happened to her, not about history and supernatural legends. I don’t have time for pseudo-science.

I text message Stacy, asking her to please call me when she has some time. I want to ask her if she knows if my sister hadseen a doctor or was on any medication before she disappeared. Schizophrenics are known for hiding their meds. So, where have I not looked in this room?

Ah, her hidden chest!

---