LiveThroughThis1

Bucharest, Rumania- 1898
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Angelus was lying in the dirt at the bottom of a crypt, wedged between two rotting coffins whose mouldering inhabitants had long since been reduced to bare bones. He could sense the sun was rising above him, but he was safe here. No mortal could have moved the slab above him, even supposing he were to investigate it in this long-abandoned churchyard. The smell of decay would have been smothering, if he breathed, but he didn't care. "I deserve to live in the dirt," he told himself, "I should be among the dead."

"You have a beautiful house you've rented," a voice in his head answered. Angelus knew this voice well, its insidious, smug tones. It was the voice of the Other, the demon that shared his body but no longer controlled it.

"No," he said aloud, "that was bought with blood."

The Other laughed dryly, and Angelus thought this would eventually drive him mad. "You sound like one of them," it said, "don't you understand they are cattle? You deserve the finery, you're better than they are. Their deaths are meaningful only insofar as they feed your thirst."

Angelus clamped his hands over his head. "Stop it," he begged.

The Other changed its tack. "Coward," it said, "weakling. Live like an animal if you want. I won't be kept at bay forever. You have to eat sometime."

And Angelus became aware again of his thirst, the burning that inflamed every blood vessel. "I am the most wretched creature who ever lived," he thought miserably, and he prayed for the oblivion of sleep.

*******

Angelus walked the grim streets of Bucharest, and thought, not for the first time, it was easily the ugliest city in Europe. He could not even remember what had drawn him here, away from the modern conveniences and culture of London. And more the fool, he hadn't realized that what he considered a lack of sophistication in the natives only made them more aware of what he was. Where it would never pass into an Englishman's mind that he was a vampire, the Romanians seemed to recognize it right away. What he at first took as a distrust of foreigners was in fact a loathing for the undead. "More than a century and a half walking the earth," he thought, "and not a day the wiser." And his taking of the Gypsy girl, his arrogance born of ten thousand murders that he could just take what he wanted. Her death had been meaningless at the time, a momentary slaking of his thirst. He had chosen her based only on the pretty red scarf round her waist, a thoughtless act that had brought him to this lowly state. "Idiot," he muttered, then stopped himself.

"I mustn't think this way," he told himself, "the Gypsies were not my downfall. They have released me from slavery to the thirst. They have made me aware, given me a way to stop the killing."

"You are an idiot," the Other berated him, "you think you'll die if you don't kill and feed, but you won't. You'll live in pain, the thirst burning within you. Pain that only gets worse and worse, and never kills you."

Angelus walked on, considering this. He had heard from other vampires that it was possible to survive on the blood of animals. If fact, during long sea voyages it was best to drink from rats, he was told, to avoid suspicion. And Bucharest was full of rats. He slipped into the deep shadows of an alley, using his heightened senses to find one. "This won't be so bad," he thought, diving into a pile of rags after it.

Hours later, still hungry and battered from his fruitless efforts, he concluded that shipboard rats, trapped in enclosed holds and fattened on ship's stores, were far easier prey than the average street rat. His body ached, and the thirst was driving him mad. He walked down another street, and he realized he had spent much time here, before, hunting the cutthroats and whores who resided here like so much human refuse.

"Take one of them," the Other insisted, "they are scum. You'd be doing the world a favor."

"No," Angelus muttered, "I haven't the right to judge that."

The Other laughed, and that was worse than the thirst.

Soon Angelus found himself outside a tavern, keeping to the shadows. There were rough men all around him, the type of man he once was, but he became aware there were vampires, too. Two of them, females dressed like common tramps, glided serenely along the street, hoping to catch some hapless mortal's eye. One glanced at him, and a spark of recognition lit her eyes.

She raised a hand, trying to signal him, but Angelus fled, bolting into an alley beside the tavern.

He was brought up short by a small carriage parked there, waiting for a returning fare. The coachman had fallen deeply asleep beneath his threadbare cloak. His head slumped back, exposing his throat.

The Other was screaming inside Angelus' mind. "Take him," it cried, "take him, take him, take him!"

"Shut up," Angelus snapped, and the Other laughed again.

He approached the carriage, and the Other was silent with anticipation. He stopped at the carriage horse and patted its neck, soothing it.

"Oh, no," the Other exclaimed in disgust, but Angelus ignored it, and crouched under the animal's neck. He pressed his mouth to its throat, and felt the blood running beneath the skin. The Other seemed to expand, and Angelus could feel his face begin to change, to take on the aspect of the demon. He bit the horse's throat, and warm blood gushed into his mouth. He drank and drank, the horse's blood filling his throat. There was so much, more than when he fed on humans, but it was less satisfying somehow. He could feel his body being nourished, but there was no pleasure.

"And why should there be," he thought, "I am a cold-blooded killer and a walking corpse. There should never be happiness for me."

The Other, for once, was silent.

Angelus drank carefully, frightened that whatever had happened to him would reverse itself, but it didn't. When he at last felt sated he moved away from the horse. Its eyes stared at him, white with terror. He reached out to comfort it, and it reared away from him, striking out with its hooves.

Angelus only just managed to duck them. Behind him, the coachman came awake with a start and shouted at him angrily. Angelus ran again, hurrying through the dirty streets, shame and fear driving him on.

*******

The days that followed were no easier. Angelus had given up on drinking from horses. He had tried approaching them again, but unlike the first, they seemed to be aware of what he was, and reared and plunged when he came near. The first one had been a stroke of remarkable luck, he realized, luck he could not hope would be repeated.

Stray dogs and cats were a possibility, but he had no more luck with these. They saw him coming somehow, and while the cats would dash off, the dogs seemed to think it their duty to torment him even more, biting him fiercely if he came too close. He only occasionally found a rat stupid or lazy enough to allow itself to be captured, but these offered only a little relief.

One night, in desperation, he had entered a hogyard, crawling on his belly through the filth until he found a sleeping swine that seemed small enough to control while he fed. Through the Other's protests he had driven his fangs into the swine's tough, muscular throat, fighting to keep its hooves from cutting his chest and stomach to ribbons. Around him, the other swine came awake, squealing in terror. He drained the pig while they surged around him. They drove him to his knees, then down on his stomach across his prey's struggling form. A gunshot somewhere in the hogyard caused him to release the creature at last, and he ran, covered in foul mud and the swine's blood.

It was his lot to survive on vermin, he decided.

*******

He almost never walked the streets openly, now. Living like an animal, as the Other put it, had taken its toll. He now appeared as he was, a shambling corpse, dark from the dirt he slept in, the remnants of his clothes mere rags that hung from his emaciated form. He kept to the darkest shadows, hunting only rats. Every living saw him for what he was, it seemed, and drew away in horror.

It was this way he found himself in a rather affluent section of town,
hopeful that the rats in these alleys were slow and soft from the relative wealth discarded by the inhabitants. In addition, he noticed with some gladness, these streets were empty, the residents having no need to brave the darkness and risk in the night. He moved as stealthily as he could, every sense open for some sign of a rat, when he heard a woman's muffled scream nearby.

He moved quickly toward it, and saw her, a fashionably dressed lady held by a bald vampire who had just begun to drink from her. Another blond vampire stood nearly, waiting for his chance to drink, as well.

Angelus charged them, pulling the vampire away from the woman. She spun
away, falling against a wall, and the vampire glared at Angelus. He shouted angrily in Romanian, lashing out with his fists. Angelus managed to duck them, but the blond vampire moved in and grabbed and pinned his arms. The bald one delivered a vicious kick to Angelus's stomach, then punched his face twice.

Angelus felt the aspect of the Other contorting his face and slumped in the blond vampire's arms. He was dropped to the ground. Both were kicking him now, and Angelus was scrambling to get out of their range. He managed to leap into a pile of boxes, picking one up to shield himself. The bald vampire leapt on him just as Angelus raised the broken box above him, and the vampire was impaled on several wooden slats through the force of his downward motion. The Other was screaming in Angelus's head in a mindless rage as the broken box continued towards him, but Angelus was able to keep it from penetrating his body. Above him, the bald vampire burst into a cloud of glittering dust that dissipated almost immediately in the air.

Angelus scrambled to his feet, poising himself for an attack by the blond one, but he had already run off, cursing over his shoulder.

Angelus turned to the woman now, suddenly conscious of his horrifying
appearance, but she was only standing there, peering wide-eyed into the
darkness. It dawned on him suddenly that the alley was too dark for human eyes, and she had seen little of what had transpired. He moved back into the darkest shadows, covering his still grimacing mouth and bared fangs.

The woman said something in Romanian, a question.

"My lady," Angelus answered softly, and she smiled.

"Ah, you are a foreigner, yes?" she said in French, a language he thankfully knew a little.

"Oui," he answered.

"I must thank you, sir," she went on, "I was to meet a gentleman here, a gentleman who never came, when those men attacked me." She touched a gloved hand to her neck, and saw the blood there. "Oh my," she said faintly, "I seem to have been wounded."

The Other seemed to go wild at the sight of the blood, and Angelus found himself trembling trying to ignore its ravings. "Please, my lady," he said, "hurry home, I beg you."

She squinted into the shadows. "Come closer, into the light," she said, "I want to see the angel that has delivered me from the hands of death."

"I cannot," he answered, his voice barely a whisper, "and I cannot protect you long. Run home, before they return."

She stood a moment longer, and Angelus could see she was listening intently, trying to get some clue of him, then gathered herself together and hurried down the street.

Angelus trailed behind her, keeping well away from the light, and they soon came to a small, but trim and pretty, house. She unlocked the door, but didn't enter right away. She turned to where she had just come from and addressed the general vicinity. "I am home," she said, "please reveal yourself."

Angelus said nothing, only stood frozen in the shadows nearby. The woman reached into her purse and drew out a golden coin, which she held before her.

"At least allow me to reward you," she said.

Angelus started towards her, almost against his will. That coin could do him good, he knew, if only to replace his tattered clothes. He approached her cautiously, keeping his head down, but he watched her warily. A look of surprise crossed her face, followed by pity. "You poor thing," she said, "you're but a boy. And starving, by your look. Let me take you to a hotel for a meal, and a bed."

Angelus shook his head. "I cannot," he said, "I'm sorry. Keep your money."

He drew away from her again.

"No," she said firmly, and she placed the coin on the step beneath her feet. "Take it," she said, "and may God add his blessing." Then she stepped in the house and shut the door.

"God's blessing," Angelus thought bitterly, as he snatched the coin from the step and hurried away, "God has turned his back on me."

He crawled into the crypt near sunrise, but for the first time since the Gypsies had cursed him, he slept peacefully.

*******

He rose as soon as the sun set the next night, taking the golden coin. He was able to replace his ruined clothes, which were never meant to take wear in the first place, with sturdy wool trousers and sailcloth shirt. Not enough for boots, so he remained in his decrepit shoes, but he looked presentable enough to pay for a bath at a nearby inn. As he sank into the tepid water, the grave-dirt washing away to leave his skin pale and smooth again, he felt profound gratitude for the circumstance that allowed him to save his mysterious benefactor's life. "Perhaps that is my purpose," he thought, "to destroy other vampires."

"Don't flatter yourself," the Other piped up, making its presence known for the first time since the previous evening's fight.

Angelus sighed, and ducked his head under the water.

*******

When he returned to the crypt near morning, he sensed almost immediately something had changed. The churchyard, overgrown with weeds and scrub, had been trampled flat, as though several people had passed through. The hair on the back of Angelus's neck rose as he approached the crypt, and he saw the slab had been broken into pieces and scattered. The coffins and bones of his anonymous bedfellows had been crushed into splinters. He reached down into the crypt to see if there were some clue as to who had done this, and immediately drew his hand back as searing pain shot through the skin. Holy water had been sprinkled on the earth.

"Stupid calf," the Other told him angrily, "did you think they'd let you kill one of your own kind and stroll off without retribution."

"They're not my own kind," he fired back, but he knew his feelings on this made no difference. He still needed blood, holy water still burned him, and sunlight meant certain death. He looked around the churchyard despairingly. No doubt they had made the entire site hostile to him, and dawn was coming fast. He fled into the forest, and in desperation buried himself in the loamy soil below a thick stand of trees. He hoped the thick shade and the thin layer above him would be protection enough. "So much for my bath," he thought bleakly, and the Other laughed at him, mocking and cruel.

*******

They were watching him, that was obvious, forcing him to live in fear, a hunted animal. Only because his weaknesses were their weaknesses did he even survive from day to day. Each evening when he left his resting place they would come and destroy it, forcing him to find somewhere else. If he tried to hunt they would find him, chasing him through the streets, calling and taunting him.

Night after night it went on, and at last they caught him. He was trapped in a blind alley, with six of them advancing on him. He looked from face to face. They were stocky, Slavic vampires, very possibly they had been companions in life. The blond one he had saved the woman from seemed to be their leader.

"So, we have found you at last," he said in French, as he drew a sharp wooden stake from his cloak.

Angelus backed up until he came against the wall. The blond vampire pounced on him, pressing up against him and brandishing the stake in his face. "You have betrayed us," he went on menacingly, "and for that you must pay."

Angelus closed his eyes. "So much for your noble purpose," the Other said sneeringly, hateful to the end.

The blond vampire poked him in the throat with the stake. "Open your eyes," he snapped, "do you think death comes that quickly for the likes of you." He gestured to two of the others, who came forward and each took one of Angelus's arms. A female vampire joined the blond and handed him a small glass vial of what Angelus presumed to be holy water, and Angelus's heart leapt.

"These are fledglings," he thought wildly, "too arrogant to be cautious." And as the blond vampire approached him, Angelus kicked the holy water out of his hands. It flew off and crashed harmlessly on the cobblestones. He dropped down low, rolling the vampires at his arms over his shoulders. From this crouch, he launched himself at the blond vampire, taking the stake easily and knocking him to the ground. His momentum carried him on the female vampire, and he drove the stake deep into her breast. She screamed, exploding into dust.

He kept moving, running through the streets. The others came behind him, howling with rage. He ran and ran, coming to the house where he had left the woman what seemed like a lifetime before. He pounded on the door, shouting, "My lady," over and over.

She opened the door, her face a mask of fear and surprise.

"Forgive me," Angelus said , "but I must beg you to help me."

She looked into the hallway behind her, fearfully. "I have a guest," she said.

"Please," Angelus begged, "invite me in, for my life's sake."

She turned back to him. "What is it?" she said.

"I haven't time," he cried, "death is coming for me. For the love of God, invite me in."

She hesitated, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Invite me in," Angelus said a third time, his voice barely a whisper now, "I saved your life. Save mine."

She stepped back. "Come in, child," she said faintly.

He leapt across the threshold, slamming the door shut behind him.

The woman led him silently to a parlour where the last embers were dying in the fireplace.

"Will you be okay here?" she asked, and Angelus nodded. "I have a guest, as I told you," she went on, her voice low. "He will be gone with the morning, but it would be best if he were not to find you here. My business with him..."

Angelus nodded again, understanding dawning at last. "I need...," he faltered, unsure how to explain. "Have you a room without windows," he asked, his eyes lowered shamefully, "a room where I will be undisturbed
until sundown tomorrow night?"

The woman was silent for a long moment, until Angelus glanced at her uncomfortably. "Even a closet," he said, realizing how strange and pathetic he sounded.

At last she nodded, and led him to a small pantry, full of linens and china and glass. He stepped inside, into the darkness. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely audible.

The woman closed the door and left him, and he could hear her somewhere else in the house, conversing in low tones with a man. He could not make out what they said, but he heard her laugh lightly, and then they were silent. He sat on the floor, his back against the wall, and tried to sleep. The Other, thank whatever God there was, said nothing.

*******

He dozed off and on throughout the day. His benefactor's "guest" left at dawn, but she herself did not rise until much later in the morning. He heard another man visiting at midday, and a third later in the afternoon. His new friend, it seemed, may not have been a lady in the strictest sense.

When he didn't doze, he thought, considering his situation. He had to leave Bucharest, that was certain. The vampires here knew him and had pledged to kill him. And voluntarily out of the loop, as he was, he didn't know how widespread this was. Yugoslavian vampires could know. It could have spread all over Europe.

And for the first time in his long life, he was dependent on the kindness of someone he barely knew, and a mortal woman, at that. When he left her, he would have to survive on his wits.

"Oh yes, my great wits," he thought bitterly. It would be laughable, if it weren't so pathetic. His meeting with the vampire Darla all that time ago had kept him from an early pauper's grave, a death by misadventure or from drink. And she had picked him, he thought miserably, precisely because he was weak and stupid. Not unattractive, to be fair, but easy to control.

But getting out of Bucharest, and probably all of Rumania, that was the first thing.

He rose at sunset and tried the pantry door. To his surprise, it was locked. "Angelus the intellect triumphs again," he thought angrily. Of course she would have locked him in, he should have realized. He rapped on the inside of the door. "My lady," he called, trying to sound harmless, "I am awake. I thank you for your hospitality, but I'm afraid I must go."

He heard her approach, and turn the key in the lock. The door swung open and he started to exit, smiling warmly, he hoped. He looked at her and felt a sudden lurching pain seize his body. She held a large crucifix before her. He scrambled back into the pantry. The Other had come awake in his brain and was howling with rage and pain. He backed up as far as he could, crouching down and covering his head, almost against his will.

"Please, my lady," he cried, "I beg you..."

"So, it's true," she said, "you are of the devil."

Angelus could not deny it, so he only said, "I have done no harm to you, my lady, and I will not, I swear. On whatever is precious to me, I swear."

She lowered the crucifix and backed away. "That is true," she agreed warily.

Angelus rose slowly to his feet, watching the hand that held the crucifix as though it were a poisonous serpent. "I'm so sorry," he said weakly, knowing he could never adequately apologize for what he was.

"Those other men who attacked me," she said, "they were of the devil, too." It was not a question.

"Yes," Angelus agreed, "but I have slain them both." He gave a short, mad laugh. "But there are others."

She nodded, understanding. "You are in danger, then."

"Yes," he answered, "they will kill me if they catch me."

A look of horror crossed the woman's face, so Angelus quickly explained. "They cannot enter here," he said quickly, "not without an invitation. As I could not."

"Come to the parlour," she said, backing away from him, leading him without really turning her back.

"What are you going to do," she asked when they were sitting in the parlour.

"I have to get out of the country," Angelus said. He glanced uncomfortably around the room. "I honestly don't know how," he went on, "or even where I'll go. I could return to England." He lowered his face into his hands, close to tears. "I have no one," he said, "everyone who might have cared for me is dead. I shall die like a dog in the streets of this wretched city."

The woman rose and crossed to him. "Enough of this," she said. "I am not a sentimentalist, and I cannot promise to help you in any way, even at the risk of my life."

"I didn't expect..." Angelus began, but she cut him off.

"You saved me once, though," she continued, "and for that I am grateful. But I am not a wealthy woman, as you might have guessed. Could I afford to leave Bucharest, I would have gone myself. But there may be a way. It will be difficult, but I suspect you will endure."

She moved to a sideboard and picked up a book there. "An English gentleman friend of mine brought me this book," she said, "recently published in England. I think it may suggest a plan to help you."

*******

They decided together it would be safest to move Angelus out of Europe
completely, to the Americas, and the next day, while he lay entombed in her pantry, she made the arrangements. When Angelus came forth at sunset, he found things ready to go.

"You will go west," she explained, "across the border into Yugoslavia, and on to the city of Dubrovnik. A ship there will take you through the
Mediterranean, across the Atlantic to New York, America." She looked at him. "The trip will be hard," she said, "but I think you will be safe."

Angelus could barely speak from gratitude. "My lady," he said softly,
reaching to take her hand.

She snatched her hand out off his reach, jumping to her feet. Her eyes had grown wide with fear.

Angelus's heart sank. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I did not mean..."

"It's your hands," she said weakly, "they are cold. I couldn't stop myself."

Angelus lowered his eyes, ashamed. "Don't," he said. "I deserve it."

*******

He withdrew to an upstairs room that overlooked the street, opening the window to see if there were any other vampires about. It didn't seem as though there were, when he suddenly heard a familiar voice, and around the corner came his former companions.

Drusilla looked radiant, as usual, but a little sad. She was accompanied by her newest fledgling. Angelus searched his memory: William was his name.

"Wherever has our Angelus gone," Drusilla said in her mad sing-song way. "Alone we are, alone in a land of strangers."

William looked up at the house, and Angelus ducked further behind the
drapes, hoping he hadn't been seen. "I heard he was seen entering here," he told Dru, and sniffed the air. "There is no death in this house, and I can't imagine he would trick his way in for nothing."

"You might be surprised," the Other commented bitterly in Angelus's mind.

"I thought you'd died," Angelus muttered.

"Don't you just wish," the Other answered smugly.

William was shaking his head in confusion. "We may have to face the hard facts, Dru," he said, "our mentor may have finally met his untimely demise." He took Drusilla's hand tenderly. "We may be alone in the world."

"But whatever shall we do," Drusilla wailed. "How shall we get along without him?"

William stroked her face gently, turning her to him. "Dru..." he whispered, "I could never tell you, not when Angelus had your heart."

Drusilla's eyes widened with pleased surprise. "Whatever do you mean, pet," she prompted.

"I'll take care of you," William said solemnly, "I want to take care of you forever. I worship you, I adore you. I would kill every man, woman, and child in this city this very night if I thought it would make you smile."

The thought of mass murder aside, Angelus was touched by the young vampire's devotion.

"Oh, William," Drusilla cooed, sinking into his arms. They kissed passionately, wandering off at last, arm in arm.

*******

Near dawn, Angelus met his benefactor in her front hallway. The long, narrow pine box she had purchased the previous day lay on the floor, its lid propped up alongside. Several layers of dense, black fabric lined it.

"Are you prepared?" the woman said.

Angelus nodded. "I don't know how to thank you," he said, "I do not even know your name."

"It's safer for me if you do not," she said, and this cut into Angelus like a knifeblade.

"Always the romantic fool," the Other sneered, "can't you see how she abhors you."

Angelus could say nothing, so he climbed into the box wordlessly and wrapped the cloth tightly around himself. The box was narrow, too narrow to even put his hands at his sides, so he crossed them on his breast. "Like a corpse," he thought, the irony not lost on him. He heard the lid being slid into place above him, and the banging as she nailed it down. A thousand childhood nightmares flooded into Angelus's mind.

"Are you alright," she asked when she had finished, her voice muffled.

"Yes," Angelus answered. "I can't thank you en..."

"Please," she cut him off, "they will be here soon. God speed, my guardian angel."

*******

A short time later he heard her open the door and speak to someone in
Romanian. He could only understand the words "books," "brother," and
"America" before he felt the box lifted roughly and dropped onto something that sounded wooden. He started moving, and realized he was being conveyed on a cart over the cobblestone streets.

"Farewell, Bucharest," he thought, "and may my shadow never again darken your streets."

The Other was silent. Angelus, it seemed, was refusing to hear it for now.

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