Judas and the Vampires by Aiden James Read Free Book Online Page A

I’d be in a world of terrible despair for eventually having to leave Beatrice, when she aged and I did not. Things have ended badly every time I’ve hung on too long, and it’s not usually me who has the initial urge to leave. Most of the time it’s been the person I love who has insisted on getting away from me, as if I’m some unnatural demon in the flesh—an unacceptable anomaly and cruel joke by nature.
    The pain of such separation has damned near been unbearable. Imagine my fear of what this could mean if Beatrice rejected me, my only true love? The very fires of hell would be a comfort in comparison to what that would mean for me.
    I staged a fiery car crash near Birmingham, England back in September 1957, using a purchased cadaver. This was long before forensic medicine would have uncovered my ruse. I watched from afar as the woman and son I loved more than anything grieved terribly. And I grieved too.... I just thought foolishly another man would enter their lives as a husband and father, and they would eventually forget about me.
    It never happened...at least not in time to make a difference in their lives. Even when I tried to prod potential suitors into Beatrice’s path, or befriend my son, it didn’t work. Believe it or not, it’s worked many times before in centuries past. Just not this time.
    Damn soul mates!
    Anyway, I would’ve banished myself to a permanent absence if Alistair had stayed on the right path. But after he and his mother immigrated to the United States in 1968, he started down a path to personal ruin, where booze, drugs, and unscrupulous friends and fast women threatened to destroy a promising career in academics. By 1983, my beloved son was on the verge of being thrown out onto the streets. Despite the risks to both him and me emotionally, I reintroduced myself at that point into his life. At first he saw me only as a benevolent stranger. But I eventually presented enough clues to where he was forced to consider the impossible. The friend who appeared to be a few years younger than him was in reality his father—a man supposedly dead for nearly thirty years.
    He wanted so badly to tell his mother about me, but after an ongoing argument that lasted the better part of one full summer, he finally saw how damaging this knowledge could be to her. By then she had remarried, and although Alistair convinced me that she didn’t love the man, it seemed incredibly cruel—and rude—for me to pop back into her world and say, “Hey, sweetie, I’m home!”
    So, my son and I have spent the past twenty-eight years rebuilding our bond with each other, and skirting around her. Often times, I’ve felt as if she knew I was near—especially back in the days when I would watch her as she worked in her favorite garden. I’d catch her looking around herself and smiling—even though no one else was around. After her second husband passed in 1992, I have made an even greater effort to be near.
    You’re probably wondering if I’ve ever accosted her before the onset of Alzheimer’s. Surely you can picture the perpetually young man walking up to the elderly lady in public. I did that just once, at a grocery store in Clemson, South Carolina, where Alistair was finishing his doctoral work. She glanced at me, and our eyes met for a moment. But when I smiled, a look of recognition suddenly came over her, and I realized immediately this was all I ever wanted. At the same time, the shocked and sad expression upon her face let me know I could never do this again. I’ve always hoped that she chalked it up to old age and shrugged off the incident. Since Alistair has never mentioned it, I believe she’s never told him.
    But, back to the present…Beatrice shifted in her bed, ever so slightly once I sat down. I’d like to believe she still senses when I’m near, as I’ve gotten this response before when I’ve sat down close to her while she sleeps. When conscious, even though her mind is fragmented, she