Melabeth Forgive Me, For I Am Sin! (33 page)

He cleared his throat, “How does someone give back forgiveness? If I could give it back, I would have never been forgiven. There’s an old saying, some bury the hatchet leaving the handle sticking out of the ground. God doesn’t leave the handle sticking out, so how do I denounce him? How do I stop believing? Tell me how to return my faith, and take my sins back from God? I will… if it would save Mindy, I will… I would do it for you, if I could.”

I couldn’t look at him, “If you could for me, you would. Are you saying you would go to hell for me?”

He simply said, “Yes.”

He wasn’t lying, and I knew it, and he was right. How could I insure his trip to hell? I had been foolish, no, twisted into thinking that I could send him to hell. I had been wrong about my sister too; there was no way to make her pay for what she had taken from me. I knew that she really hadn’t taken anything from me, but I must have my revenge. In my revenge, there was peace; there just had to be. My heart hurt, and the only way I knew to make it stop, was with my hate.

My father suddenly broke the silence, “Mindy, Mindy are you ok?”

無邪気な

I looked over at my sister; her body lay slack in the chair. Her head hung to one side as her mouth hung open with drool coming down. Blood dripped slowly off the side of her face from where I had hit her. I walked over and lifted
her head and looked into her eyes.

I had hit her harder than I thought; her breathing was erratic along with her heartbeat. I may have given her brain damage. My father was now scooting his chair toward me and my sister.

He said in a broken voice, “No, no, this can’t be happening. Is she…” he never finished his sentence staring at his dying daughter. He burst out in tears and prayers.

I slowly walked away; what have I done? My father broke into my self-pity with, “Untie me, and call an ambulance.”

I replied with no emotion at all, “You won’t need an ambulance, and don’t worry; you’ll be joining her shortly. It’s time to end this.”

“Untie me, so I may hug her,” his plea made my heart ache.

I did untie him. He immediately untied Mindy and took her in his arms. Laying her gently on the ground, he began to pray over her. A tear slid down my cheek; ok I am not this big monster. She is fourteen and my half sister, and has done nothing but been nice to me. She appeared to have stopped breathing. I bent down to eye level with my father and on the other side of my sister. I sat Indian style then gathered myself.

I interrupted my father’s praying, “Ok, here’s the deal; her life for yours.”

My dad stared at me for a second, “You can’t save her… you killed her.”

I had a hard time looking him in the eye, “I can try… my blood has healing powers. She might get a little addicted, but it will pass as long as I don’t feed her anymore.”

Without hesitation he pleaded, “I would gladly give my life for hers. I would give my life for yours for that matter.”

My eyes narrowed, and I stared at my father, “Yeah, right.”

I slit my wrist then put it to my sister’s mouth. My blood flowed into her, and, at first, nothing happened. She lay lifeless as my blood slowly dripped into her mouth. My sister’s eyes came to life as her heartbeat started. Her hand shot to my arm so she could pull my arm to her mouth.

She sucked at my wrist as if it were the nectar of the Gods. I didn’t need her to drink too much; I pulled my arm away with some protest from my sister.

She sat up quickly, looked at me and in a wildly excited voice, “More please.”

I grinned, and then shook my head, “You’ve had enough. Now I will replenish that blood.”

I stood up and moved around my confused sister, then picked my father up off the floor. He didn’t fight me; instead he hugged me. I was too surprised to react; I was frozen.

Then my father softly whispered in my ear, “Thank you, thank you. Please let her go after you kill me. After you kill me, know this; I love you and I forgive you. Somehow, before you meet your end, find God so we can be together in peace, in the kingdom of heaven.”

I replied, as I embraced my father’s hug, “Sorry father, that will never be, for I am going to hell for all the things I have done… and what I’m about to do. Forgive me for I am
Sin
.”

And with that I bit into my father’s neck and began to drain him.

The closest way I could describe drinking blood, was having sex. It was hard to drain my father and enjoy it. I opened my eyes to see my sister staring at me with hate in her eyes. I half realized she was yelling at me to stop. She looked as if she was about to try to stop me but then froze.

The look on her face was enough for me to stop drinking. She was shaking in fear, eyes wide open, mouth slowly opening as if to scream, but no sound came. I came to the understanding that she wasn’t looking at me; there was something behind me.

I whistled to see who was there, but in my second sight there was no one. I turned to check… and there was what my sister had been freaking out about.

In a cloud of black smoke that lingered on the pews and only floated a few feet above the floor a hooded figure stood with a black cloak shrouding him. The only visible body parts were his hands; they were white as chalk. Two red eyes poked out of the blackness of his hood. In one of his white hands he held a scythe.

He slowly moved from the back of the church toward us, and as he did, he became more solid. His hands were white because they were made of bone, and now I could see his face; he was a skeleton.

I knew his name, Grim Reaper, the Angel of Death, Nicks.

My sister was standing behind me; she made no noise other than her ragged breathing. My father was on his knees before me, still conscious and holding his neck in the place where I had bitten him. My dad had his back to Death and had not reacted to him yet.

My sister was innocent. He had warned me about hurting the innocent.

Death’s free hand rose into the air, then his boney finger pointed at me. I heard a dark haunting voice, “I have come for you… Melanie Elizabeth Dare. For even you knew she was innocent.”

Death moved forward, lifting the scythe with both arms. The scythe came swinging at me; I was frozen in shock and fear. The blade flew through my body, but it did not cut me. It simply passed through me.

I fell to the floor, for I couldn’t feel from my waist down. It was as if that scythe had cut me in half. I looked down at my body; it was intact. What trickery was this?

He became solid; I could see him in my second sight becoming the shape of a man. The black smoke slid across the floor toward the figure, gathering into him; as the smoke cleared, the black cloak melted away.

And there Nicks stood above me. He looked like he did in the library with his long hair and handlebar mustache. He was wearing a white shirt with black trousers, and a dark red robe, which he wore open in the front. His eyes were beautiful and full of fiery tears, for it matched the look on his face, heartbroken.

Nicks’ voice was full of pain, “How could you? Your own sister. I have stood aside for too long. It has been my duty to free spirits trapped on earth and to help them to death. I have longed for a child, and finally my prayers were granted. I praised God for you, but you have done nothing but kill.

I have tried to teach you, I should have never used the blood of a vampire. I suppose this is my fault as much as yours. I let you chase your vengeance hoping that, when you had killed the men who had wronged you, you would come to your true calling. In your search for vengeance, you started taking the lives of the innocent, and I warned against such actions, but your heart was hard and full of hate.

Now you have come against your father, a good man, a man who has made life changes to atone for what he had done to you. You tortured and killed a fourteen year old girl, not any girl, but your sister. And you even referred to her as innocent as if my warning meant nothing. I know you fed her your blood to bring her back, but you know as well as I, that she will have a price to pay. Your blood doesn’t die; it must be destroyed. Did you even think about what you have done to your sister? No… of course you didn’t; you had no choice; she was dead. What do you have to say for yourself?”

His words burned like red hot pokers. I pushed the pain away and went to that empty place in me; the place where nothing hurt and I cared for no one.  Looking up at my father, I said unapologetically, “He must die; he deserves it for what he has done. I will kill him.”

Nicks slowly shook his head, “Sorry to hear that, but I won’t allow it. I must take responsibly and end this no matter how much it grieves me.” Nicks looked at my father then to my sister. “If you have any last words for Melanie before you go, have them now. Then be off with you, for you are free to go.”

I hissed out, “It doesn’t matter if you let them leave; I will catch up with them again.”

My father stared at Nicks, then at me. In a shaky voice, “Melanie I love you, and I forgive you.”

My sister helped my father to his feet, and then said, “Come on dad, let’s get out of here.” She stopped, then asked Nicks, “Are you going to… is she… you know.”

Nicks nodded his head, “Yes.”

She answered in a small voice, “Thanks for saving us. Melanie, I am so sorry… we could have been sisters. I hope somehow you find a way to forgive our father, for I know I will find a way to forgive you.” I growled at her; she looked at Nicks then back at me, “Bye then Melanie.”

With a menacing voice I replied, “Bye, see you soon.”

I did not believe Nicks was going to kill me.

My sister helped my father out the front door of the church. I looked up at Nicks as tears fell freely from his face, and for the first time, I felt afraid for my life.

I whined to Nicks, “Father, you can’t kill me. Your own daughter, come on now.”

Nicks shook his head, then turned and started walking away. He stopped and turned back to me, “You brought this upon yourself. I love you.”

Anger erupted in me, “YOU CAN’T KILL ME… I swear to you I will have my revenge; do you hear me? My father will not…”

Nicks walked out the front door; as he did, black smoke rose from the cracks in the floor, and in the smoke there were ghosts. They didn’t look like people, more like
Casper's or people with sheets over their heads. I wasn’t afraid because I knew ghosts couldn’t hurt me.

Then they pushed over all the candles… fire would hurt me! I still could not feel my legs and they would not respond.

The old church caught up in flames immediately, and the red flames hurried up the walls. I started to use my arms to pull myself to the doors to escape the flames. The ghosts wrapped themselves around my dead legs.

I clawed deep into the wood floor and pulled with all my strength, only to come up with hands full of splinters. The
flames were now burning up in the ceiling, and the whole church was filled with smoke, but I had no need to breathe.

I had an idea, I would dig myself out, and I would make it out of here. I heard loud noises of wood snapping. The roof came crashing down bringing fire and flames to the floor and to me.

A giant beam landed on my back, as if the spirits weren’t doing a good enough job to hold me down. Then I felt it, the searing pain of the fire, first burning my back and then my legs; I clawed hard, trying to rip the floor apart.

The balcony broke free on one side spilling all its contents before me. The large mirror I had up there landed in front of me. The glass was full of cracks. I could see the fire engulfing my back.

My efforts did me no good for now my body was burning, and I was screaming in pain. I didn’t scream for long, for my face was on fire, and the pain left as fast as it came. As I looked into the mirror, I watched in horror as the fire engulfed me.

Then the world went from bright colors of orange and red, to darkness…

地獄

I had awoken.

I have always wondered if there was a heaven or hell. If there is a hell, I am sure of where I am. Still it felt more like I just came out of a bad dream. My head was hazy, disconnected… I tried to reconnect, but I just couldn’t.

I couldn’t find my hands, arms, feet or legs. I was not breathing, but I was used to that. Still not breathing was one thing, but I couldn’t take in air even if I wanted to, for I had no mouth. There was no sound, not even the smallest of noises. I strained, but heard nothing, like I had no ears as well. If I had eyes, there was nothing to see, for the world was the blackest night.

I could remember once long ago. I had gone caving with my father, and he had turned the lights off. That was the first time I had experienced true darkness, but not the last. The next time I experienced it, I found myself in a coffin. This was different, for there was a complete lack of any feeling. The only sounds were my thoughts as they bounced around inside my head.

For a while it was just me and my thoughts, but it was shortly followed by flashes of light, not flashes of light that I was seeing from my eyes but memories. The longer I sat in this state of nothingness, the clearer my memories became. It wasn’t too long before I was outside sitting in a field, with sun shining brightly around me. The details of the memory were amazing.

It was an older memory from my life before I became a vampire. I was in a field with a group of hippies. Father wasn’t far off talking with some friends while I sat next to my mother; she was braiding my hair. As my mother worked, she was talking about love and life and how we should never hurt another person. She was speaking to me; I had gotten into a fight earlier with one of the other girls, for there was a camp full of hippies, and we all traveled from place to place. I was eight so this would have been 1968.

In the memory, I could clearly see my father heading toward me. He was coming to talk to me about the fight I had just had. This was my old father, before drugs and alcohol turned him into a monster. This was a man full of love, with kind eyes.

This was the man I tried to kill. The drugs had destroyed him, filled him with want and greed. The drugs took his love and left him with nothing but wanting. He wronged me, and I wronged him. How could I have done that? Why did I hurt the father that had found his love again? Was I now the monster? Blood, revenge, and no love left in me.

My father smiled as he sat next to me, “Mel, are you all right?”

I was still angry, “Yes.” My arms were tightly folded across my chest as I answered him.

My mother added, “You need not be so difficult Beth. It’s good to be independent, but do you not see that you can’t hurt others. You must learn how to respect others and love without boundaries.”

“And control your anger,” my father added. “You may be independent like your mother says, but you need others; we all do.”

“Why?” I didn’t feel that I needed anyone.

My mom laughed, and then turned my face so I was looking into her deep blue eyes. “You need me… right?”

I felt my angry face crack under my mother’s gaze. Her look was full of love and deep kindness, “Yes, but I don’t need Willow.”

“Willow again,” my father shook his head. “You two need to learn to get along.”

“I second that,” my mom added the last part with a hug.

The memory faded away, and the next scene was much darker. I was twelve and it was 1972. It was only a few months before my mother overdosed on drugs. The house was dark, and the only light came from the glow of the TV. I wasn’t watching it; I lay on the couch trying to sleep. The wind howled outside as it battered against the side of the house. The house would fill with light about every five minutes, followed by a crash of thunder.

I was trying to sleep; my room was too scary from the shadows coming in through the window. My mom and dad were fighting; not even the storm would drown out the yelling. The house went black as the power went out. The sudden loss of light had quieted my parents down; now the storm seemed even louder as it was the dominant sound.

Followed by a loud crack of thunder was my mother falling into the living room. My father was right behind her. She screamed at him, “Why didn’t you pay the power bill? You useless son-of-a-bitch.”

My dad yelled back, “Power outage, it’s a power outage. Storm… there’s a storm.”

I sat up just in time, for my father dropped onto the couch. My mom was in the kitchen looking for a flashlight. She was unable to find one, so she stumbled into the dark living room. I scooted over as she sat on the couch; now I was in-between my parents. I started to get up, but they both yelled at the same time, “Where are you going?”

“Sorry,” I said, as I sat back down.

My father reached up and felt my face, “Oh, it’s Mel.”

My mom yelled, “What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

I started to explain, “Well…”

She screamed, “GET BACK INTO YOUR ROOM.” She slapped the back of my head.

With that, I ran back to my room with tears in my eyes. They were both high, and I knew it. I felt so alone, as I sat upon my bed pulling my knees to my chest. I pulled my blanket over my head as the storm crashed, my parents yelled, and the darkness overwhelmed me.

I became aware of a noise. The memory faded as the noise began. First the noise came and went like a passing car. Then the volume was loud, then quiet, but the noise had very little change in rhythm. It sounded like a drum, thump, thump, thump, and the sound bounced around in my head. After a while, the sound slowly became louder. It was hard to think with the constant noise, but what else could I do? It was either the memories or the beating of the drum.

The next set of memories was me killing my first boyfriend, Chris. At the time I told myself it was the only way to stop him. He had become such a monster and I was afraid of him raping me again. Even at fourteen I knew I had other choices. I did it to protect my dad, but why? He did not deserve my protection. I could have called the police and not killed him. I would have ended up back with my grandparents. My father would have most likely killed himself on drugs. That’s why I did it… I believed that it was my job to watch over and save my father. Even at the expense of my own life, I regret that line of thinking.

More memories came to mind, such as awakening in the coffin and digging my way out. The first day of my life as a vampire was truly magical, but marred with the ugly memories
of my death. I can remember killing my second person; in this memory I did it because I was hungry. He was sitting in front of his TV drinking a beer; he never saw me coming. I didn’t do it with hate or revenge; I was not covering for another. I simply wanted to eat, and I have no idea whether or not he was good or bad. I didn’t feel as bad for this kill; I was a tiger, killing for survival.

Like the switching of the channel, I recalled hitchhiking and being picked up by two men. They ended up being monsters themselves. They had murdered Carrie and countless other girls. Killing them filled me with pride. Later Alice and I became good at this, the predator, of predators. It was truly justice; they got what they had coming to them. In turn we stopped them from hurting others and fed our needs.

When the memories surfaced of me and David killing men from The Order, I was filled with regret. After killing Aaron Reite, I had learned that not all members were evil men that needed justice. Some of them were just the opposite, trying to serve and protect others. They understood that if they didn’t deal with evil magic users that humans would turn against them. I had learned this, but I did not change my course of action. I hunted them down and killed them; I helped David murder countless men and women.

The night that David helped me kill Jason Black, I watched him kill an entire bar of innocent people. I did nothing to stop it. In fact, I helped, all for my revenge. The memory was harsh, watching the people fall upon the floor and scream in pain, their bodies bent as they died from the poison gases only to rise again as zombies. I didn’t try to save them; I didn’t even care. In fact the only thing that upset me that night was David being mean to me. I couldn’t stand these memories; I hated thinking about my own selfishness. My hate could not devour enough people.

Trying to think of happy thoughts, I couldn’t, not with that drum banging in my ear. If I could have screamed I would have. The noise just kept on banging over and over again, with no end. In this endless black world the memories could not be held back.

I found myself on the Atlantic Sun. This curse of nightmares is where I first met Peter Lionheart traveling with Alex. Once again my revenge consumed me, as I battled to kill Alex. It was my need to kill him that led to such craziness. It was hard to deny that the fire that was later created may not have happened if I hadn’t been so gung ho about killing Alex. And how many people died on that ship? I don’t know, but I do know of two children and their mother… I do know that their deaths are partly my fault. I knew that I did not directly kill them, and Alex was the one who started the fire, but I was not innocent.

It was also my fault the book escaped. I don’t know what that book was, or what it did, but I knew it was bad. How many people might die because of that?

If I had eyes, I would cry.

The pounding noise continued as the memory I most dreaded came to my head. It was the fresh memory and I knew without a doubt the most condemning. After I had kidnapped my sister, I had held her for a few days while my father looked for her. Why did I do this? So that he could suffer and learn to hate God. During this time with my sister I spent a lot of time talking with her. Mostly it was her asking questions about me. I told her everything; I covered my entire life… well at least a good overview.

Before I tricked my father and brought him to the church. I had let my sister out of the cage; we walked around the church as she asked me questions.

“Alice sounds crazy,” my sister added as I finished another story about her.

I defended Alice, “She is crazy, but there is so much more to her. In many ways she is my sister and my only friend… now that Carrie is dead, or gone.”

“I would have liked to meet Carrie, but I probably would have been too scared. I have never seen a ghost before.”

My heart hurt for Carrie, “You would have liked her. I am sure that Carrie would have liked you as well.”

Mindy saw my feelings and exploited them. She asked, “What do you plan to do with father?”

Lost in my thoughts of Carrie, I half answered her, “Kill him, and finish my revenge.”

“I know what he did was awful; I don’t deny that, but what will your revenge do for you?”

She had my full attention now, “What will it do for me? It will give me peace, and I will finally be able to go forward in life. I am so close to being free from the pain.”

My sister was careful with her words. She cleared her throat, “I would like nothing better for you than to find your peace. Earlier you were telling me about your friend David. His family was murdered too; did you not kill the man who did it?”

“Yes,” I responded. Wondering what she was trying to say.

“Did the death of that man give David peace? Did it help with the pain of losing his family?”

“I don’t know!” But I did. I knew that it had not helped him one bit. He was so angry that he declared war against The Order.

My sister asked me another question, “What is justice? I mean what is it to you?”

“When others suffer for the crimes… is there another?”

Mindy shrugged her shoulders, “Perhaps.”

“I’ll bite, and do, what is this other justice?”

Mindy giggled a little, “Nice pun?”

I smiled, “Thanks.”

Sensing that she had only a short time to explain her version of justice, Mindy explained. “Tim burned Bill’s house down because of jealousy. Bill was full of anger and revenge so he burned Tim’s house down. He was soon to find out that Tim did not care about his house or his belongings. Bill was still angry, so he burned Tim’s family. Tim loved his wife and two children, so, of course, he looked for revenge. Bill had no family.

Tim captured Bill and killed him slowly. Later, Tim was put to death for murder. So you see that revenge is hard, for it is impossible to make someone else feel the same pain you have or did. On the other hand, if Bill would have called the police and had Tim arrested for burning his house, he would have saved his family even though Tim’s arrest would have had done nothing for Bill’s losses.  Justice would have been served.

What I am trying to say is that justice is not to pay back the victim, but rather to stop the villain from creating more victims. In society we try to rehabilitate criminals, not make them pay back their victims. True justice, even killing a man, is to stop them from committing more crimes.”

I shook my head at her, “Then how does the victim find peace? How do I move on?”

“Forgiveness,” she stated.

I was almost yelling, “What, forgiveness from God?”

“That’s what God does, but you need to forgive the trespasses of others. You must forgive, so you can move on. Nothing can take back what they took from you. You had your justice with the other men; they can’t hurt anyone else, but father is not a bad man. He is changed; he has suffered. Most importantly, he has learned his lesson.”