The Knight Of The Rose (11 page)

somebody else.”

“Were you the only one killed?”

“Thankfully, yes. But, I had established quite a good l ife for myself; had plenty of money in

the bank, a house, friends—but no will. So, with my brother and only kin supposedly dead, my estate

became ward of the government, and I had to start all over again.” He laughed; I covered my mouth.

“Talk about learning from your mistakes.”

“Well, what good would mistakes be if you didn’t get to learn from th em?” I shrugged, then

looked down at the next headst one in the plot. The name didn’t match the others though; hers was

Deveraux.

“She was my mother—” David answered my th ought, “—my aunt by blood, but mother by

choice.” He stepped away and drew the dried brow n vine hugging the ston e-top away, revealing a

name and an inscription on the bronze plate against the front:

Arietta Mary Deveraux

Beloved Mother and Aunt.

Lies beneath, sent to the earth with child in arms,

Safe for eternity in the embrace of the Lord. 1909.

My skin tightened with little bumps, my gaze fixing on the headstone. “Child?”

“Yes,” David whispered. “She died the second the child was born. It was a littl e girl.” He

focused on his toe as he scuffed up a chunk of grass. “We buried them together.”

“Nineteen-oh-nine? So you were only...” I counted in my head for a second.

“Fourteen,” David said, a tight line forming between his brows as he drew a long, shaky

breath.

“After all these years, you still feel it? You still feel her loss so strongly?”

He bit his lip in and nodded. “There are some things you can never move on from, Ara.”

“So, she died from childbirth—like your mother?”

“No.” The way David said that, his voice laden with detest, made my blood run cold.

“Will you tell me?” I asked cautiously.

David looked up at me quickly.

“Will you tell me what happened?” I asked again, very softly.

Leaving my words alone behind him, he walked over and s unk down on the grass, his back

against her stone—as if he’d sat there a thousand times before. “You look like her,” he said.

“I do?”

He looked up at me and extended his ha nd, his eyes asking for mine; I stood by him and

wrapped my cold fingers around his. “Her hair was long, like yours, but as gold as the sun, and her

eyes—” he closed his, dropping his head as a slight smile lifted his lips, “as blue as the ocean. But

still, nothing as bright as yours.”

When he smiled at me, I sat beside him with my legs crossed and my back on the cold stone.

“She would have loved you—she would have been proud of me to have made such a sweet

girl fall for me.” We bot h smiled. “Ever s ince the day she ca me to ret rieve us from t he

orphanage after my father passed away, she treated Jason and I as if we were her own sons.”

“Why were you in an orphanage?”

“It was only for a few weeks while t hey waited for her to arrive.” He seemed to watch a

memory on the grass between his feet. “She lived in England. It took time for her to arrive. But we

were treated kindly at the orphanage.”

“So, no Oliver Twist scenario?”

David laughed once. “No. Nothing like that.”

“What about your uncle? Why didn’t he come?”

“Set rules. He’s on the council,” David stated.

“Oh.” Of course, silly me.

“Well, in Arthur’s defence, when Ari etta passed, he managed to have many r ules bent in

order to have Jason and I in his charge. It’s never been done before, or again.”

“Whose butt did he kiss?” I joked.

“The King’s.” David stared ahead, his eyes round and lost in some deep, brooding thought.

“So—how did Arietta die?”

He looked sideways at me, then picked up an orange, star-shaped leaf, and twisted it around

in his fingertips. “I knew you couldn’t resist asking me that again.”

“Sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”

“She always wanted chi ldren,” he started; I sa t still, holding my breath in case he should

change his mind about talking it out. “She loved my brother and I, but she wanted a daughter. She

used to play hopscotch with t he little girls on the sidewalk outsid e our house.” Davi d smiled at t he

memory. “The summer after my father’s passing, Arietta was walking down to the market when a

soldier stopped her on the roadsi de. He asked if she wa s okay, and she asked why he would inquire

such an odd questi on to a str anger who showed no s igns of distress. When he said he was just

concerned for her pain—since it must have hurt when s he fell from heaven, she fell completely and

unconditionally in love with him.” David laughed as he recounted.

“Well, he sounds charming…” I grinned woefully. “In a corny kind of way.”

“He was charming, and kind—he treated Jason and I as if we were his own sons. Victor

Stronghold was his name, and soon, became Arietta’s. And we were happy.” He nodded. “Victor

took us fishing and camping, taught us how to play baseball and showed us maps of the world. But

happiness was short-lived. They had tried for so long to have a child, and wh en the days of wait ing

for the stork to arrive became years—we all lost hope.

“I was thirteen when uncle Arthur came to visit. He and my aunt Arietta became close. Victor

was called away to duty in t he Navy for six months, and—” David scratched his brow, “—when he

returned, Arietta was pregnant.”

“So it was your uncle’s baby?” I asked, my eyes wide.

“Yes. Victor was devastated and humiliated. He left town for a few months, but returned later

and begged her to stay with him—despite her indiscretions.”

“He must have really loved her?”

“Apparently. But she refused—repeatedly. I remember them fi ghting about it …at night…

while Jason would cower beside me, frightened Victor would hurt our Aunt.

“One night we heard her scream out “I’m marrying him, Victor”, and we both knew what that

meant.

“I remember holding my breath when the house fell silent, breathing again only once Victor’s

car started up in the street. Then, we went back to sleep. And life went on.”

“Wait. So, just to be clear. Arthur was a vampire then?”

He nodded. “He was. He planned to change Arietta after the child was born.”

“Wow.”

David plucked the dry edges of the leaf in hand and flicked the debris onto the wi nd. “The

doctor predicted the child would arri ve in the spring, but the snow ha d started to melt, and the days

turn warm, and still, noth ing happened. I stayed ho me from school for more th an fortnight to watch

over her until, one day, she packed my lunch and sent me out the door—told me she would be

fine.” His shoulders dropped and he rested the back of his head against the stone. “I remember it all

like it was yesterday. So many thi ngs aligned to allow tragedy to upturn ou r lives that day. Uncle

Arthur was running errands on the other side of the Port—a day’s travel by foot—and Jason and I

would not be home until sunset, at the earliest.”

“So…” After more than a minute’s silence, my curiosity would not rest any longer. “What

happened then?”

“I—” He rolled his head up to look at me. “I j ust don’t know if I can talk about this, Ara. I t’s

too…” I watched his flat palm smooth circles over the left side of his chest. “It’s too painful.”

Looking down at my shoes, I nodded. “That’s fine.”

“But, I—” He sat up more a nd reached for my face. “I could show you—if you would let

me.”

“Show me?”

“I can share memories,” he said, his voice trickling with hope. “I can show you my memory.

It’s…it won’t be very clear, since I haven’t mastered this technique yet, but it will save me the

lengthy monologue.” His lip quirked up on one side.

“Okay.” I nodded and grabbed his hand, rolling my cheek against it.

“Okay. Close your eyes.” He shuffled closer and rested his other hand on my cheek. “Try not

to fight it when you see memories that don’t belong to you—just watch—like a movie.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

A faint image, li ke a photo taken on a sunny

day, then placed in a dark room at a

perpendicular angle, appeared on the backs of my eyelids. I dre w a d eep breath and watched the

slanted image, kind of squinting a little, even with my eyes closed.

“Sorry. I’m not too good at this.” David’s breath brus hed softly against my ear. “Does it

hurt?”

“No. Is it supposed to?”

“No. But it can.”

“I’m fine,” I said and settled back internally to watch the movie.

Warm sun licked t he lush, pale green grass at the feet of a boy walking down a d irt road

toward a circle of houses. The sky hugged the ground, blue as far as the eye could see, undisturbed

by cities or cars—only picket fen ces and distant hills where the tan roads seem ed to snake inward

and disappear.

The boy whistled and waved to his neighbour s as he passed, but in his green eyes, the depth

of his worries flared. He walked with an edge to his step, half hurrying, half skipping as if to pretend

he felt no concern.

But, as he looked to the last house, the open front door seemed to stop his heart.

Silence seized the sound of children laughing and shouting playful commands at each other.

Two breaths passed before the thump of his knapsack hitting the ground beside a new spring

blossom brought it all back.

The movie played in slow motion, making the distance between the picket gate and the porch

steps seem like a hundred yards as he ran, his heels kicking up clouds of dust behind him.

He stopped dead by t he open door, and the world gr ew grey, shadowing out the warmth as

the silence faded under the deep thumping of his heart. “Aunty?” he called cautiously, completely

expecting to h ear her call back. He slowly walked forward, each foot tracing the st ep of the o ne

before. “Arietta?” His tiny hand pushed the door; it creaked and waved in the strong breeze.

I watched the image from behind the boy—the scene of a raw pine staircase in front of him, a

door to the left, leading nowhere important, a bright light filtering in through doors of a room behind

the stairs, and as he stepped past t

he front door, a hall table laying on its side, with an

accomplishment of scattered blue pottery and six red roses layi ng snapped, crumpled and smudged

into the hardwood floors.

He held his breath, this boy with gold-brown hair and fair skin, and as he toed the edge of the

table, shifting it away, the sight of curled fingers, tipped red with blood, forced him to his knees.

Wordless, frozen, tears welled into his eyes but became imprisoned by a breath of fear as his

gaze traced the thin white arm, laying outstretched—reaching.

There lay Arietta, slightly hidden by the gate of the stairs, her fragile, slender body twisted

awkwardly, as if s he had fallen from something impossibly high and landed without bones in her

body. Stringy tendrils mocked what was once hair of gold, and as the boy r eached forward and

stroked it from her cheek , he turned her twisted neck toward him and let out a shallow, empty cry,

falling back on his heels to cover his own mouth.

A face unrecognisably human: eyes swollen shut, a deep voi d where the other half of her

skull should be, her lip torn up to her nose, and several teeth missing.

My heart, which had been steady the whole time, suddenly began to beat faster.

Shaking, the boy rose to his knees again and, swiping tears away from his youthful cheeks,

lifted the bodice of her dress and fell heavily upon the lump protruding from her blackened belly. He

felt helplessly around the dome of ski n, searching for the feel of life within, and whi le his body

shook with the fear of truth, he turned his head to see words inscribed on the wall beside him.

The memory didn’t show the words, but only the feeling that followed, and I knew that they

were a passage from the bible, condemning infidelity.

The boy, David, covered t he belly of his aunt and s at up s uddenly, his ears pricked, his

shoulders tense and his eyes wide. Then, he launched to his feet and extended his hand toward the

door. “Jason. Don’t come in!”

A boy, an exact copy of David, s topped dead in the doorway—his boisterous smile slipping

away from his lips at the sight of his blood-covered brother.

“Get uncle, Jason. Get uncle!” David yel led his command down the street, but Jason was

already gone—swift and graceful, he tore down the street, his lanky limbs blurri ng with speed until

he disappeared from David’s sight.

David turned back t o the body of his aunt a nd fell to his knees, weep ing. “I’m so s orry,

Aunty. I should...I should have b een here—” His body began to submit to grief, but then he froze as

the deathly figure beneath him groaned. “Aunty!” He sat up and held his breath. “Aunty!”

“Da-v-id—” She moved her hand to reach for him, her soft gaze suddenly slipping past him

to a white look of terror, t hen, like a tidal wave preparing itself for slaughter, the silence drew in

around them, then cracked apart like a shattering vile of terror when the woman clutched her hands

to her belly and rolled upward, screeching for all the pain Hell could summon.

“Aunty? What can I do?” The boy’s red face streaked with tears, and his voice trembled with