If Morning Never Comes - Episode Eleven
In Which: Several Mistakes Are Made
Welcome back to “If Morning Never Comes,” a serial adventure from and proudly published by . If this is your first time, catch up before you begin this chapter:
Episode One | In Which: We Meet the Ashley Family
Episode Two | In Which: Charles Makes A Grisly Discovery
Episode Three | In Which: The Subject of Vampires is Introduced
Episode Four | In Which: Charles Encounters a Fight, a Girl, and an Invitation
Episode Five | In Which: We Arrive at a Mysterious Manor
Episode Six | In Which: Charles Encounters the Raines Family
Episode Seven | In Which: Charles Escapes Disaster
Episode Eight | In Which: Charles Gets In Over His Head
Episode Nine | In Which: We Spend Sunday Afternoon in a Graveyard
Episode Ten | In Which: Charles Gets Some Sunday Advice
Charles closed the bedroom door behind him. He set his lantern on the table and began to undress. His arms were tired and his back was sore from the day’s work, but he felt accomplished. He had finished cutting the grass and enjoyed the evening with Herr Stryker, who thoughtfully sent off a note to his mother explaining his absence. The old German may have been a grump, but Charles was beginning to consider him a friend.
He pulled on a pair of borrowed pajamas, too short but comfortable. He turned down the bedclothes and sat on the stiff mattress. Before settling in, he stretched out, arching his back and raising his arms, feeling the tension and holding it. With a puff of air he blew out the light.
While his body might have been weary, his mind was still turning over the conversation from earlier in the day. Stryker’s assessment of Amelia alternately saddened and angered him. He knew he ought to be offended at the man’s quick judgment of Miss Raines, but he was frustrated that he saw so much sense in it. Clearly, Herr Stryker thought Jenny was a more suitable match for him. So did Charles, in a way. He remembered how he had poured out his heart to the girl at the church that morning. What was there not to like about Genevieve Tarrant?
He tossed in bed as he pondered the question. It was not that there was any reason to dislike Jenny. But he felt his attraction to her lacked fire. He had always expected that when he fell in love it would be passionate and energetic, full of breathless encounters and heart-rending farewells. Jenny felt so – safe. Nothing like he had imagined.
He thought about Stryker’s advice. It had seemed so much clearer in the daylight. Was the man asking him to give up all his dreams of romance? How could he choose a bride like he would choose a new suit at the tailor’s? He had told Jenny just that morning that he wanted more than happiness in his life. He wanted danger and risk. If he gave up on Amelia, was he giving up on the deepest desires of his soul?
The thought of Amelia Raines stirred up nothing but passion in his heart. Even there in the darkness, lying in bed, he sighed and smiled to himself. She was the perfect woman. Her beauty notwithstanding, she was bold and sensual and exciting. He thought of how she had teased him to chase her through the storm. How her hair had gotten wet but still managed to look perfect. How the droplets had dripped down her nose and neck and chest. She was everything he had ever wanted.
He had only met the woman twice, and yet the connection between them was unmistakable. Stryker was wrong. There was no way she could be anything other than in love with him. And now, alone in the middle of the night, he could admit it.
He was in love with her.
Charles took a deep breath and smiled in the dark. It felt good to finally acknowledge it.
He fell asleep, not sure how to proceed with the situation, but determined not to give up on his passion for Amelia. His last thoughts were of her as he finally drifted off.
Sleep came. He did not dream. He slept, but remained lucid, as if he knew he was sleeping. But no visions came to make sense of his conflicted thoughts. There was only blackness. The inside of his own mind. In the night, he felt terribly alone.
“Charles.”
With a gasp, he sat up in bed, looking around the room for the source of the voice. It had been gentle and whispered, but as loud as if someone was in the room. No one was there.
“Hello?” he called.
No one answered. The room was dark as night, he had clearly been asleep for some time. No noises came, save for the moaning of the wind on the moor. Moonlight bathed the window in a cold, white luminescence. The room was unfamiliar to him. He felt a child’s desire to light the lantern.
Again, he thought he heard his name. This time it was quiet, inaudible, like words carried across miles on the wind. He looked to the window. He could see the rolling darkness of the moor. He found himself wishing he had left the overgrowth to block out the sight. Yet even past his quickening heart, he felt drawn to the window. He did not understand it, but suddenly he needed to go and look out. He wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, but he felt as if his will was no longer his. He needed to go and look out that window.
His bare feet touched the cold wooden floor. He paused a moment before putting his weight down and standing up. He walked over, one slow step at a time, and peered out. His eyes scanned the horizon. The moorland was blacker even than the sky, which glowed with the light of the bright full moon. It loomed larger in the sky tonight than he had ever seen it before.
But there was nothing else. Charles felt foolish for getting out of bed. Was he a boy, to check for monsters? He tried to chuckle to himself and turn to go, but then he heard it again.
“Charles.”
It was a woman’s voice, whispered, as if in his ear. He whirled back to the window and looked out again.
On the top of a ridge, perhaps a hundred yards from his window, stood a woman. She shone in the night, her white dress reflecting the pale moon. Blonde tresses blew in the nighttime winds. Although he could not see her face, Charles knew in an instant.
It was Amelia Raines.
Charles caught his breath. He pressed his face to the glass. She stood without moving, her white gown fluttering in the breeze. She had come. Hadn’t she? Who else could it be?
“Amelia?” he whispered, wondering.
The white figure seemed to nod across the distance. Charles was aware of his pulse. She raised her arm and reached out to where he stood at the window. She beckoned him, once. Then again.
“Charles.”
It was definitely her voice. Charles was sure now. And whether he was awake or still dreaming, Charles knew what he would do. He hurried to change into his normal clothing: trousers, socks, boots, shirt.
“Charles.” Her voice sounded anxious now.
“I’m coming,” he whispered. He finished buttoning his sleeves and looked at the window. She stood on the hilltop. Waiting for him.
He picked up the lantern, then set it down again. He would have to get out without waking Herr Stryker. He stepped to the door and slowly, slowly twisted the knob. He pulled and the door creaked. He stopped, then tried again. The door creaked again, louder this time, announcing his presence to the sleeping house. For a moment Charles considered going back.
“Charles!” called the voice. She sounded distressed. She needed him. And in that moment, Charles was filled with such a desire to run to the woman waiting for him outside that he could have no more turned back as he could have taken his own life.
Despite the noise of the door and other inconvenient sounds of the night, Charles managed to sneak out of the house undetected. He closed the great door behind him and turned to the countryside.
The night was cold. Despite the warm summer’s day that had preceded, Charles shivered in the moonlight. Dew was beginning to collect on the grass. There was not a star in the sky, only the malevolent moon. Charles turned to the right and came around the corner.
There she stood. On the hill he saw the woman in white and again he was sure it was Miss Raines. His mind did not bother to wonder why she had come, or consider the propriety of what he was doing. He felt drawn to her. She beckoned to him once again. Charles strode across the moor and hurried up the hill. As he crested the slope, he stood face to face with Amelia Raines under a moonlit sky.
If he had found her beautiful before, he was not prepared for the sight that awaited him. She was breathtaking, clad only in a small white dress that fell just past her knees. Her legs and feet were bare, as were her arms, and her neck was unadorned. Her white skin was less than pale, it nearly shone. Her hair was unbound, blowing freely in the moaning winds of the moor. Her black eyes glinted in the light, fixed on Charles’ own as he ascended to her. When he made the top and stepped close, she smiled, her long straight teeth shining against the natural redness of her lips.
“Charles,” she said, just as he had heard it in his sleep. She reached out her arm and took his hand, drawing him in.
He stepped closer, spellbound. He moved to less than an arm’s length of her. Her eyes were nearly at his level, but he somehow felt like he was looking up at her.
“Miss Raines...Amelia,” he said, out of breath but not from the walk. “What are you doing here?”
She stopped smiling, although the points of her teeth could be seen as she kept her mouth slightly open.
“I came for you, Charles.”
“For me?” he managed.
Her hair stirred in the wind. She nodded. Her eyes held a deep secret.
He dropped his chin, unable to abide her gaze. Her feet were small and still on the short grass. She took a hand and raised up his eyes to hers. She took his other hand.
“Charles.”
That one word thrummed in his mind down into his heart. It was the mantra that mesmerized his soul. He would have traded everything if he could but hear her say it again.
“Amelia, I,” he stammered. “I don’t know what to say.”
She whispered, her words one long, trailing sibilant, “Say it, Charles.”
He took a breath, his chest shuddering. He looked away from her eyes again, taking in the full view of her figure. He returned to her face, her eyes slightly squinting, as they did when she gave that smile of hers. That intoxicating, enthralling smirk that pursed her lips with a silent laugh.
“I love you,” said Charles.
With it said, he felt foolish. How could a creature like this find anything appealing about him? Surely she would now laugh in his face and disappear forever, leaving him lonely and desperate on the barren moor.
But she simply said, “Charles.”
She moved closer to him, her feet quietly rustling the grass. Charles could feel her dress fluttering at his knees. She moved her hands back, putting his around her waist as she approached.
“I know, Charles. I know that you’ve been thinking about me. Dreaming about me.”
Charles felt his hands begin to tremble. He was exhilarated. But at the same time, he began to feel afraid. A hoarse shout came from the back of his mind, warning him. He ignored it and stilled his hands.
Amelia continued, putting her hands flat on Charles’ chest. Her nails were painted crimson. “I’ve seen how you look at me, Charles. And I,” she slid a hand up to his neck, moving behind it, cradling his head. “I have been desiring you as well.”
Charles closed his eyes as he chilled at her touch. Her hands were cold, with no warmth in them. He felt her nails brush against the short hairs on his neck. His arms were around her waist. He gently pulled her closer. She allowed him.
“I knew,” he said. “I knew this was real.”
“Nothing is more real than this, Charles.”
He felt he ought to say something more, but he couldn’t.
She spoke again, “Do you remember what you said to me? That day in the rain?”
How could Charles have forgotten? He had thought of nothing else since that day. He nodded.
“We could run away together, Charles. Spend eternity together.” Her voice was desperate, barely above a whisper, “You can save me, Charles. If you’ll have me.”
Charles breathed in, the scent of her hair blown by the winds. Again it was the same strange smell of her home, yet sweeter. So sweet. Intoxicatingly sweet. Far, far too sweet. He felt his mind relax and his body begin to still.
She stood up on her toes and leaned to murmur in his ear, “Will you have me Charles?”
He could barely breathe. “Yes.”
She pulled back and held her face within inches of his.
“Will you give yourself to me? Forever?”
Charles leaned closer. “Yes.”
She opened her mouth, her lower jaw set slightly forward Her eyes roamed over his face. Her lips were full and soft. She pressed them into his.
This was no little joke between mischievous youths. This was a kiss. Charles felt every fiber of his being give in to the woman. Her lips were cold.
They pulled apart. Charles gasped. He lifted a hand and ran it through her golden hair.
“I love you,” he said again.
She let the moment linger. Charles again felt a rush of fear, like alarm bells in his head. Some primal instinct screamed at him to run. He pushed it down again.
“They’ll kill us for this,” she said.
Charles exhaled, “I don’t care.”
Amelia Raines stared at him with her eyes black as night, no longer reflecting the light of the moon. She looked proud, triumphant, entertained. She smiled with her perfect white teeth stretching across her flawless face. Charles noticed once again the unusual length and keenness of her incisors in particular. Every part of her was beautiful.
She stepped towards him again, more aggressive this time. She put both hands under his neck and pulled him close.
“Then your heart,” she exhaled over his waiting mouth, “is mine.”
She pressed her mouth against his and kissed him. She kissed him again, and again, and again. Her mouth was open and closed, her hands touching and feeling him as if she could never get enough. Charles lost himself in the sensations. He no longer noticed the light of the moon or the howling winds or the cold touch of the woman in his arms. All that there was, was Amelia Raines. She was in his mind and in his soul. In his blood.
She pulled away from his mouth and kissed him on the chin. And again. Her breathing was loud and fast and rasping now. Charles felt himself drifting. He couldn’t think anymore. His arms dropped to his side. His eyes were open, but he noticed little. Her lips were under his chin now. She kissed his neck, moving to the base of his throat. He felt himself begin to stagger. She caught him in her arms, holding him. He was unable to realize the strength she must have had to do that. His head lolled back and he saw her.
In the haze, he thought he heard her speak, “All will be well now, my love.”
She took a last deep breath and opened her mouth wide, wider than he would have thought possible. Her long, long teeth dazzled his eyes in the moonlight. His vision clouded; he was beginning to dream. Amelia raised her head in preparation. Then a loud, harsh call echoed across the moor.
Amelia stopped with a jerk and snapped her head in the direction of the sound, mouth still open. Charles heard her scream, higher in pitch and more animalistic in tone than any he had ever heard. Barely conscious, his heart filled with panic.
He felt his head drop to the earth, and a sound of rushing air filled his ears. There was an explosion. And another. He used what was left of his strength to turn his head towards the sound. He saw a white streak of lightning and a dark shape. Flashes of fire, then the two shapes collided. A shriek in the night that penetrated into his brain. He must get up. He must.
The night grew still. The world grew dark. Charles Ashley lost his grip on the waking world. The last thing he remembered was a figure bending over his helpless form.
That was a close one. Herr Stryker I presume.
Things are bout to get SPICY