Clot - Past

My mother is one of the great mysteries of my life. Beautiful, determined and distant and I am my mother’s son. I suppose, in ways I am yet to understand, I share some of my father’s traits as well.

I have always felt my mother’s reluctance to take me to her birthplace. She moved to New York, before I was born, and I was raised as an American.  It would be some time before I discovered my Caribbean roots.

She was a hard working doctor who never pursued the more glamorous positions that were within reach. I knew she was good at her job. She often received flowers and cards from patients and their families, but she kept everyone at a professional distance. She rarely invited anyone to our apartment. I had been to the clinic where she worked only a handful of times. I was kept busy with school, sports and martial arts and told very little of her history until, it seems, she felt I was old enough to understand. But what was there to understand I thought? Our conversations were often strained and I struggled with the belief that her near perpetual depression was somehow my doing.

On the occasions that she did share stories about her home I would learn cursory tidbits about family and of the rich culture, beautiful people, diverse cusine and beautiful beaches. It sounded like an island paradise full of potential, one that would benefit from the services of a willing, educated patriot. Still, I concede that a boy of almost eight is ill equipped to understand the challenges of being a single mother and immigrant, all he knows is the sound resentment he has for the things he doesn’t understand and the instinct to protect his protector.

There is much I remember about my first trip to Trinidad, not least of which was the picture my mother kept at the house on the island of a friend she called Nicholas. He was a tall white man whose skin appeared unaffected by the warm climate. I felt strangely close to him and I could tell that he and my mother shared a deep bond. 

Clot - Morning

After I return from a jog and shower, she is awake, rubbing her stomach and smiling at me in a way that reminds me of promises made.

“Did you get any sleep my darling?” She asks.

“Some.” I say toweling my still damp hair. She makes room on the bed and continues.

“I think this trip will be good for all of us. There is alot unsaid between you and your mother, perhaps you will find time to clear things between you.”

“Perhaps.” I say stroking her hair.

Nayasha is a professor of History at Brooklyn College. She comes from a Jamaican, Irish background and is always working on improving relations between my mother and I. Blood, she always says, is important.

“Does she know how soon we’ll be there?”

“She knows we’re coming, but I thought it would be better to give her our news in person.” I say smiling.

“I know I’m not showing, but I do feel different.” She says rubbing her still flat stomach.

“As do I.” I say looking into her eyes.

“You’ll be a great father Richard, even if you never find out any more about your own.” She says touching my face. “Now get dressed, or not, and I’ll make us some breakfast.” She kisses me softly and disappears into the bathroom, taking my smile with her. I understand that I will lose her if I don’t face my demons. She was right, this trip would be good for us. It could no longer be avoided.

Author's Note

Beginning today and continuing for the next few Friday's fans of this Journal will be treated to excerpts from the 1st chapter of the novel Clot - the story of one tainted by Nicholas' blood...

           Blood. My life has always been marked by it. I have tried to avoid it, but in much the same way you are unable to shake your own shadow, I have had no success.

The beautiful, pregnant, woman asleep at my side has helped me face my demons and has given me more patient support than I have ever felt entitled too.  Still, most times I am confused and angered by my past. I have not made it easy for her. I have managed to find some distraction, if not the professional achievement we all feel driven to before we enter our thirties. This demonstrative sense of purpose and responsibility puts family and society more at ease I suppose. And if you’re one of the fortunate ones, you are left enough time to figure out what you are truly called to be. I just wish I knew what that was.

Nighttime is particularly bothersome for me. Its four thirty and I have been staring at the ceiling for at least an hour. Laying perfectly still, trying not to disturb my wife. I am not preoccupied with thoughts surrounding the birth of our first child or with being a father, though there are concerns. I have just always been restless at night. Lately though, I feel embraced by a faceless darkness. It is the same way I feel every time I return to the islands. The dreams are different now. Sometimes I’m not even asleep when I see the foreboding, faceless figure, beckoning me. My mother is another recent addition, standing at his side, silent and unmoving.

At my side, she stirs and opens her eyes for a moment. She is used to my restlessness. She kisses me on the lips and turns, falling again into a deep sleep. A smooth caramel colored shoulder is exposed and appears lighter against her dark mid-length dreadlocks. 

I want to be happier, to cherish her and this life more. I should. I have become a rather successful sports journalist and occasional broadcaster and I am starting a family with an amazing woman. But, the dreams and strange emotions persist.

Working my body and my mind in these hours is cathartic. At least that’s what I convince myself. The distraction and solitude helps me maintain pretenses and break the near fever I often wake with.

Slide

I would let this fever run its course, I had said to Louis and so I had immersed myself in the dream that was a life with Sophie. Early on in my existence as a vampire I had resented the seemingly divine presence of Eli for the judgment I felt was implied. Now he was a silent, non-judging presence once more and I tried to ignore what I had suspected for some time. Eli was a spirit apparition of my very own construct, a sense of morality held over from my mortal days.

Having this increased sense of power in no way diminishes your desire at times to do as you would like. What I wanted to do was live this fantasy without comment or consequence. Neither of course would be possible.

I cannot confess to knowing any more than you suspect in the ways of demonic beings only that their powers of persuasion and seduction are exceptional. Usually I am aware when such beings are attempting to gain an advantage, but I dropped my guard with this being that would be Sophie.

Because she could feel Sophie’s love for me she wanted me to be happy she said. That’s how it started.

“You are using what you have become to help others.” She would say encouragingly. “You must preserve your strength if you are to continue to protect them.”

She chose her words carefully. The ‘them’ she spoke of with concern was mortals of course, and had she said mortals or humans I might have cringed and perhaps even shaken myself out of my reverie.

I started hunting more frequently to ‘preserve’ my strength and spending less time with my brothers in the resistance to the thirst. She helped me chose appropriate victims, those who were themselves causing harm and distress to their fellow mortals. She taught how to easier identify those whose blood was tainted and convinced me it was still better if they did not continue to draw breath. It was becoming too easy to kill and tonight I killed a man who didn’t appreciate how much attention I was getting from his date. I guess the devil is always whispering in your ear and of late I was listening all too intently…

If It Makes You Happy…

Have you ever made a decision at first thought best for your own personal well-being but then upon further consideration perhaps more damaging than ever considered. Something in you warns of the error being made. This is where I found myself. At night I rested beside something that looked, smelled and acted like my Sophie. We embraced this dream even though we both knew Sophie was long gone.

There was concern among the coven, but only Louis gave voice to the misgivings.

 “Neither of us have the moral latitude to judge anyone.” He began on a cool night two weeks into our new arrangement. “But this thing that you do is of no benefit to either of you.”

“I appreciate your honesty dear friend.” I said with a sad smile. “But I did not get the opportunity to bid her a proper farewell in my previous life so I will let this fever run its course.”

He flashed me a knowing smile and squeezed my shoulder.

“Hold this in your thoughts my friend. We are well aware of our dark nature, yet we hold unto what is left of our humanity and work every day to master our impulses. As much as this entity reminds you of Sophie, it is nothing more than a reflection of your memory. It only mimics Nicholas. It was never human.” He turned to leave. “I wish for you this was true but I ask you not to confuse familiar feelings and want with happiness.”

He had given voice to my own discomfort and feelings that I tried to bury. Still, I wasn’t sure if I was prepared to say goodbye again. My life seemed filled with goodbyes and this time Sophie could stay with me. So what if she was just a reflection, what was I?

Dead Wife, Undead Husband

I spent a month in the wilderness with its protector among his small group of followers, natural and otherwise, and Sophie. The more time spent with this entity, the more of Sophie I saw in her.


Another strange thing was happening to me. I was experiencing long stretches of what I can only describe as peace and soon I found myself thinking of the unthinkable. It was time for me to get back to the society I very much wanted to be part of and protect. I would leave with my own demons under control and ask another demon to join me…

A light in the Dark

I followed this old, mystical, protector of the forest deep into his territory until I felt the presence of more than just the creatures of the forest. He stopped at a dry clearing and looking around I realized that it had the feel of a large room sheltered by leaves and bordered by trees. The air was cool and comfortable when he turned to me and spoke.


“Your body still functions like that of a mortal. More efficiently, but still…” He smiled. “Have you noticed that if you respect the natural law how much easier things become?” He asked.

I smiled, because I had found that things were easier for me when I fought my dark nature to do what was right…what was humane.

A look of concern crossed his face as seemed to be considering what he was about to say very carefully.

“There is someone you should meet.” He paused. “Trust your instincts and your senses.” He said.

It always made me uncomfortable when I felt I was being told what I should do and how I should feel, even if it was genuinely sound advice. There was movement behind him, and while the figure was still in shadow there was a familiar scent and sense in the air. I tensed up remembering when last I had this sense and how badly things had gone.

As the filtered moonlight illuminated her delicate features something deep within me ached. I tried to tell myself, as I had before, that she was not who she seemed to be. Maybe Papa Bois was not a friend.

He stepped aside as she approached me cautiously. She did not smile and I could feel myself relax a little.

I put a hand up and she stopped.

“You are not Sophie.” I said evenly.

She looked genuinely sad, or was it hurt?

“I am more Sophie than anyone or anything else.” She began. “I was given something of her. Told to become her to distract you, to trap you…but her love for you is strong and I guess her will to be her is stronger than my conviction for mischief and evil. I know I’m not Sophie, but she now lives in me and she wants to help you. I want to help you.”

She even sounded like Sophie. If this was a trick, then this would be how it ends with me on my knees being cradled by a demon more comfortable existing as my dead wife…