Operation (35 page)

“Mama—I miss you,” Ishma said as she stepped forward.

“I miss you too.”

“Are you in heaven Mama?”

“Yes Ishma, I am in heaven. But I cannot stay long because I have many things to do. Come and hug me.”     

Ishma leaned into her mother’s arms, feeling the tenderness of a mother’s love wrap around her, holding her tightly. She could feel her mother’s breath on the side of her face, her neck, and then her throat.

“You must be quiet me dear,” her mother whispered. “If you are not quiet, I won’t be able to stay.”

“Yes Mama.”

“Promise me—you’ll be quiet?”

“Yes Mama, I promise.”

Ishma felt a slight pinch on the side of her neck. She almost said something, but remembered she could not speak if she wanted her mother to stay, so she remained quiet. The pinching feeling was only momentary and the discomfort passed quickly, however she felt things changing around her. It felt as if she were floating in the air. She opened her eyes. The image of her mother was gone, and had been replaced by a gray haze engulfing her. She did not feel scared. She couldn’t explain it, but in some way the grayness comforted her.

Her earlier thought had been that she was floating in the air. But now she thought that that wasn’t quite right. It was not like the air, but rather the feeling of being immersed in a warm liquid, a gray liquid. She thought perhaps her mother was taking her to heaven. How long she remained there she did not know. Then it began to change. She started to feel cold—very cold. It was as if someone had opened a door on a cold day and the wind gushed into the warm room and chased it away. No—not chased away, but rather pulled it away. Something was taking her into the cold. She closed her eyes and began to cry. After a few tears she felt things change around her again and she opened her eyes
.

The haze was gone and she could see her mother’s face again, but it looked different, it looked much younger. Ishma also felt—different. She felt small, helpless, in a way she didn’t understand. It was as if she was unable to do anything for herself. She felt the pressure of her mother’s arms and hands under her—but something was wrong. She was not standing anymore; her entire body was being held in her mother’s arms. Ishma knew that this was not possible because she would have to be tiny, like an infant. Her mother looked younger and she was tiny…she was a baby again. She uttered a small cry of shock and disbelief.

“Shhh…,” her mother said, “don’t cry my dear little Ishma—my sweet little girl. Everything is going to be alright. Mama is here and I will take care of you again. We get a second chance to be together. But you must be healthy and strong. You must listen to Mama and you must do as she says.”

Her mother unhooked her blouse exposing her large milky breast to the child. Ishma felt her mothers hands raise her and bring her head close to the breast nipple.

“Drink,” her mother whispered softly. “Drink.”

 Ishma felt the nipple caress her lips and her natural instinct to drink took over. She placed her lips over the nipple, grasped the breast with her small hands, and squeezed as she drank deeply. She felt the liquid flow from the breast and into her mouth. It felt as natural as breathing air. She drank with instinct of a newborn. As she began to settle into the warmth of the liquid nourishment— the breast was suddenly withdrawn.

Without her mothers’ milk, the coldness returned within her. Along with the cold came the strongest need—no not need, compulsion—for more of her mother’s milk. The compulsion overrode everything as she reached out for the breast to satisfy her craving.  But her mother forcefully drew her away from her breast. 

“Enough,” she said. “That is all you can have—for now.”

Ishma struggled in her arms—she wanted more. She had to have more.   

“You can have more later. After you have completed the change I will come to you and finish what I have started.”

Ishma heard the words, but did not comprehend them. She needed more of her mother’s milk. That is all she wanted. The cold was becoming worse and she knew that the only way to make it go away was to have more.

“You must sleep the sleep of death now,” her mother said. “Let the cold come over you and take you. Sleep.”

The words were strange to Ishma and she did not understand what they meant. As she tried to think, and to fight her overpowering desire for more milk, a sudden change happened to her surroundings. Her mother was gone. The grayness that she had bathed in was also gone. The night had returned.

Once again she could hear the sounds of the night; the crickets and the breeze that flowed through the trees around her. She also felt the hard cold ground beneath her. She slowly opened her eyes. The man Josip stood over her, looking at her but not saying anything. The glow she had seen earlier in his eyes had returned, but now it was red—a very deep and bright red. Ishma felt very scared. She tried to stand but couldn’t, she was too weak and so cold.

“What has happened?” she cried to Josip.

He did not answer. He continued to stand over her, just staring down at her.

Crema? Where was Crema?

She was very scared. She didn’t know what exactly had happened to her, but felt that it was wrong—terribly wrong. Had the same thing happened to her sister?

Unable to lift her head off of the ground, she turned her head to one side looking for her sister, and saw Crema lying on the ground only a few feet from her. She looked pale—almost ghostly in the moonlight. The paleness of her face was relieved only by dark splotches around her lips, making them look grotesquely large.

The sight of Crema’s lips caused Ishma to suddenly remember her own dream—if that’s what it had been. She had drunk from her mother’s breast as she had as a child. Had Crema done the same?

Mustering all the strength she could, Ishma raised her right hand toward her own face and touched her lips. Her fingers reacted clumsily, she could feel wetness around her lips, but she had no strength left in her to bring those fingers in front of her face. Instead her arm fell to her side, but into her view. She saw that her fingers were covered with something dark and wet. Like Crema’s face. What had happened to them?

Her fear intensified as her eyes moved back to Crema. She remained still on the ground, not moving at all. Ishma focused her view upon her sister’s small chest. She looked for the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed—but she saw none. She was not breathing.

“No…” she cried in a weak voice. “Crema! Crema!”

She felt tears well in her eyes as she looked to Josip, standing over her still. He had done something to them. He had tricked them into trusting him and he had done something very wrong. All of this was her fault, because she had been having too much fun picking berries and had not paid attention to the disappearing day.

“What have you done?” she cried.

He stood silent, as if he was thinking about something.

Ishma was cold and she wanted to sleep. She felt her eyes closing as her consciousness started to slip away. Yet something told her that if she closed her eyes and went to sleep, she may not wake up—that her life was over.

“Yes,” Josip said. “You are correct.”

“What?” she groaned as she struggled to focus her eyes on him. Everything was beginning to go dark around her.

“You will be dead soon. Your sister already is.”

“Why? Why have you done this?” Her mind refused to believe what he had said even though she knew it to be true. Crema was dead.

“Your father. He has brought this upon you. He killed my friend and I was commanded not to go take my revenge upon him. Instead, I have sought my revenge through you—his children. I have taken your lives, yet given you a part of my own life—my own blood through the memory of your mother’s milk. In time, you will be like me and then you will achieve your own revenge against your father for what he has done. He has caused me to do this—he has caused me to destroy your lives—it will be you that destroy his life in the end —with the loss of your innocence!”

“No…”

“You cannot refuse. It has already begun. Your body is rejecting one life for another. You will sleep the sleep of death and wake in time, reborn to seek revenge. Revenge is such a strong need—it will be refused.”

Ishma closed her eyes. She didn’t want to look at him or hear his voice anymore. He said things she could not understand, nor did she want to. She welcomed her death as she slipped back into the dream of being held tightly in her mothers arms.

Chapter Thirteen

Dimitri felt her memories relinquishing his thoughts as Ishma opened her eyes. He felt sickened by what he has just seen—what Josip had done; stealing his way into the hearts of these two little girls by using the image of their dead mother, and viciously destroying their lives—only caring about his revenge.

“This man was your friend?” Ishma asked, her voice filled with disgust and loathing. 

“At one time he was,” Dimitri offered. “But he changed.”

“Is it true? Did my father kill this other man?” she asked.

“Yes he did. But it was not done without provocation.”

“And what of my father?” she asked.

Dimitri wasn’t sure what he heard in her voice. Was she asking about her father because she missed him? Or was it because Josip had implanted the thought of killing him in her mind so intensely.

“He is dead,” said Dimitri.

“How did he die?” Ishma asked quickly.

“Killing the creature that made you,” Dimitri said not even using Josip’s name any longer because he was ashamed by what Josip had done. He felt the need to explain the rest of the story to give Ishma perspective. 

“Your father—as well as the rest of us—never knew what Josip had done. We all thought you were just…dead. When your father found your bodies, he went to the military forces seeking help. They came to investigate, leaving us no choice but to kill them to hide our presence. We didn’t know it, but before we could get them all, they stole your bodies. Josip did not tell us what he had done.”

“How did my father kill him?”

“You remember the collars you wore?”

“Yes.”

“The elixir was made by your father.”

“I remember him making it at home. He said it was to ward off the evil spirits that inhabited the countryside.”

“He never told you about…our kind?”

“No. I think he wanted to, but he was waiting for something. He just kept making the elixir.”

“Your father and the elixir,” Dimitri said, continuing the story. “The elixir is deadly to vampires but not to normal humans. Your father knew this and used it to his advantage. He came along with us to this country, promising the military he would teach them the elixir recipe. But his true desire was to figure out a way to get his revenge upon Josip.”

“He knew he would be watched closely; it couldn’t be an outright assault on Josip. So he searched for another way. He discovered that the elixir, when ingested by a human, would not hurt them. He began consuming large amounts of it until it saturated his body, creating a deadly dosage in his bloodstream. When he thought it was enough, he goaded Josip into attacking him.”

“Josip attacked, thinking he would easily kill your father. Josip ingested the elixir-rich blood and died. But not before delivering a death blow to your father. They died virtually within minutes of each other.”
   

Ishma remained silent.

“After that,” Dimitri continued, “we later escaped our captivity. We never had any indication that you existed, or we would have moved sooner to obtain your freedom.”

“Do they hunt for you?” she asked.

“No. The military believes we are dead. We have lived our lives in peace since then.”

“But how did we get here—to this country?”

“I do not know. As I said, your bodies were taken from where they lie near the ruins. We thought that the military assisted in your burial. A human, involved with our escape, may have had a hand in this—may have somehow known what had happened to you and had you sent somewhere else instead of being buried. But he never told us anything about it.”

“It’s like a horrible nightmare,” Ishma said. “Will it ever end?”

Dimitri heard her question, but did not know how to answer it. Should he tell her that she would never die? Never know the pain of growing old? Should he tell her that before he told her of the other realities of her new life?  That she will never see the light of day again? That she would never grow into a woman, but remain a teenager forever? Never know love? Never become a mother of her own children? Instead, he approached the subject with a question.

“Do you understand what you are?” asked Dimitri.

“A monster,” she said simply. “I saw the way our captors stared at my sister and me. They loathed us. They don’t think we are human, but rather an abomination of some kind…and I agree.” 

“No,” Dimitri said firmly. “You are not a monster, unless you choose to be one. Josip chose to be a monster—I do not.”

“I hate him,” she said fervently. “He stole my life! He made me into this…evil creature. This thing that people fear—this thing—that is only good for killing. They made me kill those soldiers. They said they wanted to see what I could do. If I didn’t listen and do as I was told, they said they would kill my Crema. And they say I am the monster…”

“I cannot deny what Josip did to you and what the military made you do—no one can. However, you can choose not to be like him, or them, if that is what you want. But you must decide what you shall do with your hatred.”

“I must kill to live.”

“Just as you did before,” Dimitri offered.

She looked at him surprised. “I did not kill before.”

“Maybe you didn’t directly, but humans kill all the time to live.”

“What?”

 “Do they not kill animals and eat them?” asked Dimitri.

“Yes, but—”

“But what? It is true. Not even the humans would deny it. We do not have to kill in order to survive. We can live on the blood of cattle instead of killing them for their meat. We are different—yes. But we are also better in many ways—we can’t be hurt easily and we will live for a very long time. We can explore the wonders of the world—there is so much to see.”