Gideon sat in his study, his fingers running along the soft leather cover of the journal. When leaving the restaurant he had the fullest intention to return the lost item. To use the book as an excuse to introduce himself, but as he followed her home he just couldn't find the right window of opportunity to approach. He listened as she sang a quite melancholy song to herself, he found himself smiling at her indifference to those crossing her path and giving her quizzical looks; her own enjoyment of the song more important than the opinion of strangers. She stopped a few times on her path to admire the trees and grass fields that ran along her path home. There was something about her, a quiet confidence in her graceful steps, the bounce of her curls as she leapt over a puddle.
Once or twice as she drew closer to her home, she paused and turned looking for something. He had hunted enough to see some humans sense they were being stalked, but she lacked one thing, that shiver of fear that always followed the pause. Rather, she seemed sad and defeated not fearing a beast closing in on her.
Once she reached her apartment building, she paused, inhaled deeply, squared her shoulders and entered the three-story apartment building. She looked as though her deepest fears wait inside. He waited as the only part of the building with no sign of life quietly light up one room at a time. What did she fear, if she lived alone? He simply couldn't return the journal, he had to know more.
He opened the book and began
"I've decided to begin keeping this dream journal, I should have done this years ago, if anything to keep my sanity. I fear now that time will erase my memories, my dreams fading as my day to day life will soon force what must be a fantasy from my mind. As I grow older already the first few encounters have already begun to fade.
Soon I will have to face reality and let my childish dreams fade away. I've deiced I want to remember in detail all that I dream, for only this will keep him close to me to my heart. I wonder if my dying breath will carry his name? At my passing will I then learn if he was ever real or will his ghost hunt me to my grave? Is all this just the fevered dreams of an over active imagination? I fear the answers. I fear all the options.
He came to me the first time when I was just a child, I think I was 10. He would gather me on his lap and tell me stories of his life, his impossibly long life. His words were tender and kind. I felt protected in his embrace, the loneliness as the words fell from his lips. He came and went from in this fashion for months. How we found each other at night in my dreams I will never know. I do know that as the sun would rise and he would leave me, I could still feel him, his touch so real to me.
I was eleven the first time he fed from me. He did not want it, I could tell but he was so weak and hungry. I couldn't take the feeling emanating of off him and invading my body. Being so young, there was no way for me to absorb or deflect the overwhelming and painful sensations. I begged him to let me help. He denied me for such a long time before he finally gave into my pleading and his need.
'You don't know what your asking,' he said quietly.
'I don't care! I can see you are fading away, you will be too weak to visit me. Please, please don't leave me alone, not when I can save you.' I begged standing before him tears flowing down my face. 'Just tell me what I need to do.'
'Lisbeth,' he reached out and lifted my chin so I was looking in his eyes, 'I won't leave you.'
'Promise?' I asked looking into his eyes trying to determine if he was being honest.
'I promise.' He answered still holding my chin whipping a tear from my check with his thumb. He pulled me into an embrace, kissing the top of my head. He pulled me to his lap, resting my head on his shoulder, rocking me softly, and calming me instantly. 'This may hurt, but only for a moment' he whispers barley registering as I was so calm, floating peacefully. He pulled my wrist up to his mouth, I cried out as a deep and full pain shot thru my arm. 'Calm now little bird, just breath' his thought came thru my mind. I breathed and the pain slowly faded as he drew from me. If his hunger had leaked into my consciousness, his relief hit me like a tsunami. I could feel as if years of pain were draining from him as he drank. The feeling of running my fingers in his hair, as he cradled my captured hand in his, draining me ounce by ounce.
Those early days were the hardest. My parents had never truly noticed my existence, so they did not register my paleness and lethargy. They simply assumed I wanted to get out of school. It took months of his feeding before the first marks appeared. I awoke one morning to find blood on my bed; the brown flakes caked to my skin. This did not frighten me, only gave me hope. This did not frighten me, only gave me hope. Hope that I would see him outside my dreams. I clung to this hope for many years. Hell I still hope quietly that I will find him one day at my door.
I remember when I was first told the bloody Mary story, the legend that says if you say her name the mirror to call her to reality. I would spend many a night staring into my mirror lit only by a candle, "Aidan, Aidan, Aidan," but still only in my dreams did he appear."