Chapter 32: XXXII:

“Hey hey, it’s alright. You’re alright.”

“No!” she cried. “I bit someone!”

Oliver nodded his head sagely, “That’s a very common thing to do.”

“Common? Who cares if it’s common! That’s not the point, Oliver.” Why didn’t he understand? He’s seen how she lives, how her family lives. A rough snort escaped her lips, “I’m not built for common. I don’t even hunt. No animal and certainly no human.”

The hand that had been gently patting her shoulder stopped. “I don’t understand.”

But she barely heard him over her own misery, “I was just so weak.” Estella rasped. “Did I kill him? Do you know?” She would never forgive herself if she did.

“No, you didn’t. You left him in such fine shape that he’s leading the search party, which is why we need to get you out of the area. Maybe you could get by if you didn’t have someone to identify you, but your sketch is all over the place.”

That only threw Estella into a deeper pit of despair and pain. The last thing she ever wanted was attention.

Oliver pried her hands off of her eyes, “Now, now. You aren’t the first vampire caught by humans. Let’s just get some water and some blood in you. Unfortunately, there’s not going to be any clean way to get the latter. I’ll just have to bring someone and then—” He was handing her a glass of water but Estella couldn’t see passed what he was saying, the way he looked so unbothered by what he’d said.

“Bring someone?! No. Absolutely not.” She can’t believe he’d even say such a thing. “A nice rabbit would do nicely, thank you very much.” She pushed him away from her, slightly disgusted by his suggestion. He’s seen how she lives, knows what her family stands for.

Oliver backed away from her. He opened his mouth as if to speak but thought better of it and mumbled a quick “Right, of course” before disappearing out the door again.

He wasn’t gone long, however, before appearing again this time holding a rabbit by its hind feet.

After he helped her sit up and she was holding the little creature in her hands, Estella felt a horrible, sick twist of deja vu. Back when her family tried to teach her to hunt, and she could barely follow a scent trail (okay, maybe couldn’t follow one), someone had the idea that she should bite into a pre-caught deer and the fresh blood would get her hunting senses going.

It had been absolutely gut wrenching. Not only was she a terrible vampire, but the sight of the deer, panicked and afraid, made her sick. She tried to tell herself that it was really no different than butchering their cows or sheep. It was the fur, she told herself later, that made the act so much worse.

But really it was the bite itself. Her teeth weren’t sharp like her family’s. There was something elegant to a vampire bite, their teeth slice right through the flesh. Her bite wasn’t smooth or quick. She had to tear, had to rent her way past the fur and the flesh and the texture of the blood through all of that overrode any pleasure in the meal.

At least Oliver was kind enough to have killed the rabbit for her. Bile burned her throat though at the sight of its twisted neck.

This time, her teeth cut through the skin much easier but the fur pressed against her tongue, flavoring the earthy blood with an unpleasant musk. She dropped the carcass to the side in disgust. She would need more, one rabbit wasn’t enough in her state but it was a start.

Oliver helped her with the water and did his best to rearrange the blankets she had kicked around in his absence. It was then that sleep reclaimed her.

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When she woke up, Estella was alone and there was another dead rodent on her chest. Lagomorph, Matthieu patiently corrected from her mental recesses.

Getting the message, she repeated the same unpleasant meal from earlier. Wherever Oliver went, he hadn’t been gone long. The animal was still warm.

Feeling slightly better than earlier, Estella braved sitting up and leaning her back against the wall. Her torso protested loudly but not enough to bully her to the ground again. She was able to see outside thi way. The ground was overgrown as expected, small trees sprung up through the tall grass. A discolored dilapidated outbuilding had its roof caved it from age and fallen branches.

So it is abandoned, Estella thought. The state of the room she’s in told her as much but it’s the lawn that really sent the message: this home belongs to nature and ghosts now.

She wondered where she was. France? Belgium? She vaguely remembered the policeman’s voice. The States? How much time had passed? Her eyes caught on the rolled up newspaper beneath the stool. It was just out of reach but that didn’t stop her from trying for it, the wound at her side screaming.

“Can’t leave you alone for a moment, I see.”

Estella sat up straight then fell right back to the floor in pain.

Gentle hands met her shoulders, easing her back into a sitting position. “What were you reaching for?”

“The newspaper. I thought it might tell me where I am.”

Oliver jerked back from her slightly, “You don’t know?” He was now holding out a loaf of bread to her, seemingly drawn from thin air.

She shook her head and he turned to grab the paper but hesitated right before touching it and abandoning the idea all together. “You can read it later. Why don’t you eat first? I stole that bread right off someone’s windowsill and here—” he produced from a bag she only just noticed some fruit. “Pilfered from a store.”

He didn’t finish his sentence before she was shoving the loaf of bread into her mouth, tearing into it with his teeth. Around a mouthful of bread she asked, “But where am I?”

“You’re in Jersey.”

“I’m in England?”

“No. New Jersey. The state south of New York.”

“Oh. That’s—that’s. Well that’s interesting. I never left Georgia before moving to France. It’s weird to be back without—” Without my grandparents. Without Jacques. She coughed to cover up the sudden tightness in her throat. “Did I ever tell you that? I don’t remember.”

Oliver, who had been watching her up to that moment, looked away. “No, you never told me.”

“Did you ever travel outside of Connecticut? Before your change, I mean.”

His eyes were wide when he responded, “Only to the seaside.”

Estella nodded and laid back down, closing her eyes, content with their exchange of information. Oliver insisted on tending to her and she let him: checking her wound and bandages, which needed replaced. Secretly, too, she enjoyed it. She was used to being cared for and now that they’re no longer at Saint-Tourre she didn’t have to be so restrictive about their relationship.

Saint-Tourre…

Her hand flew out and gripped his forearm. “Your family,” she said.

Oliver looked at her confused. She shook his arm, “Your family. Are they alright? Did you make it through the trial alright? No, of course not! Why would you be here alone if it did? I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” The pitch of her voice rose with each apology. She tried to suppress the awful tightness in her throat but the Beckers were so nice, so good, and she had failed them. “I really thought—”

His hands wrapped tight around her wrists, forcing her to look at him. “They’re alright.” He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. “Everyone’s okay.”

Relief washed through her, overwhelmed her for a moment. She basked in it. But other thoughts crept forward, questioning her moment of glory.

“Oliver?”

“Hm?” Non-committal. Had he been like that all evening? No, she was certain. He’d answered her questions. But what was it?

“Would you read the newspaper to me?” Jacques was an avid newspaper reader. He had subscriptions from multiple countries. Half read papers piled his offices. Sometimes he would read an interesting one to her and when he was working, she would read one to him.

“Maybe later, after you’ve rested.”

“I have rested.” Holding out her hand she demanded, “I’ll read it. Hand it to me.”

Oliver protested again but that only hardened her resolve. Whatever unease she’s feeling, somehow that newspaper will make it better. Or at least it’ll make her feel closer to her family.

He relented and passed her the roll. It was a copy of the New York Times and there, right at the top, was the date: August 28th, 1939.