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
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
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