 |
|
The Requiem Dracula
A dark cloud covered the cemetery, enveloping all those within it�the living standing quietly, the dead resting quietly, requiring nothing more of this earth. Doubt shadowed the luminous city even as the sun retreated dimly behind the clouds. Marisol de la Cueva, the orphaned child of Don Francisco and Do�a Isabel, engaged to Manuel Cabrera and devoted daughter of the Church, was very unexpectedly but assuredly pronounced dead. And so the people crowded into the cemetery, dark-clothed vultures who exchanged glances and malicious whispers. She had not been ill. The doctor could find no fault with her. Rumors of black intentions would have excited their curiosity, but there had been no sign of struggle, no bruises or scratches on her young skin. It was concluded her heart had given out, the result of pure exhaustion, much of which was suspected to be emotional, and earned her betrothed many stares. Father Torquemada moved his hands in the blessing, beginning to chant the Latin for the soul of the departed. Manuel gazed straight ahead, affecting indifference, ignoring those around him who hardly troubled themselves to lower their voices as they speculated. He had not really loved her, they murmured; it would have been merely a marriage of convenience, and this had broken the poor child�s heart. �In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti�� Mercedes held her head high, undaunted by the malevolence she knew was directed at her family, holding a rosary elegantly between her gloved hands. She was easily the most prominent figure among the mourners, standing directly behind the priest, still fashionable despite the somber color she wore. �Sanctus�Sanctus�Sanctus�� There were roses surrounding the cemetery, blooms of pink and white against a gray sky, bursts of color in a dark setting. Kelantha stood beside me, her face obscured by the netted veil she wore, her hand resting on my arm but her eyes focused steadily on the bier. Near us stood Juan Carlos Torres, his head lowered to catch Graciela�s whispers but his own focus on the slender figure at my side. �Ite, Missa est�� The absence of Archbishop de Vivero was duly noted; the accepted excuse was Cristina�s distress at the sudden loss, as she had not attended the burial either, yet it still fueled the spreading suspicion. The funeral arrangements were hastily made: only yesterday had Marisol been found deceased, and already the Requiem was being said. Perhaps it wasn�t her heart�perhaps there was another cause, a killer equally silent and deadly. They began to speak of plague and disease. After all, the Cabreras� daughter had just returned from some godforsaken area with her foreign husband. Heaven forbid their glorious capital fall to contagion. �Requiescat
in pace.� The Requiem complete, the priest moved away to allow others to pay their final respects�which they did, obediently, despite the fact that they had regarded the deceased as a hateful instrument of sickness only moments before. I took Kelantha�s arm in mine and began to guide her toward the gate�past the roses, away from the mourners. We had nearly gained our liberty when Mercedes� voice rang out, bidding everyone to stay a moment. Approaching her confessor respectfully, she politely but imperiously asked if he would have the goodness to favor them by saying Mass in their home. It did so pain Cristina to miss the ceremony, and she had not yet taken communion. Father Torquemada delayed his answer, replying at length that he regretted it was impossible. �Impossible!� Mercedes repeated, incredulity overtaking her confidence. It was not the answer she expected; her haughty demeanor fell in an instant. �You must not mistake my ability to perform sacraments. Remember, Se�ora Cabrera, I am but a servant to a higher Authority.� �Father, I don�t understand you,� she said falteringly, painstakingly aware that the crowd that had begun to trickle out of the graveyard now drew in around her, observing the scene with idle curiosity. �Communion is for the faithful�well, se�ora, you know as well as I do that the faithful must share the fate of infidels if they choose to harbor them.� His judgment pronounced, he had no further reason to stay, but left his parishioner in her mortification, leaving the effects of his disgusting rebuff behind. Near to me as she was, I felt Kelantha�s own inner horror, the small gasp as the cemetery rapidly emptied, leaving only her parents standing near the fresh grave. She went to them directly, pressing her father�s hand and receiving a slight nod from him in response as he pushed away the remains of his shattered pride. Mercedes would not meet her gaze. Kelantha reached out toward her mother tentatively, hardly daring to touch her but not willing to retract her hand. �Leave me,� Mercedes said sharply, pulling away. And suddenly there was only Kelantha standing at the new tombstone, bearing her own sting of rejection as flower petals on the wind tossed and collected at her feet. I left the gate, closing the distance between us and taking her face in my hands hastily, almost savagely. �There is nothing for you here,� I told her, repeating what she already knew, my repulsion and loathing surpassed only by the need to have her with me, to see the devastatingly blank expression on her face soften. It did not, and my hatred was complete.
This fan fiction is for enjoyment purposes only. You may not reproduce, duplicate, or otherwise quote the written text without written permission.
|