Poienari Fortress
It was his last night.
Nathaniel had realized that fact since just before falling asleep the morning before; the first time he had actually felt the allure to sleep during the day. The last conversation that he hoped he would ever have with Vincent replayed in his mind as he, a brand new vampire, pulled open a large metal door to make good his escape.
He had never been this far before, at least not that he could remember. Perhaps in the time of his youth, he might have been let down this particular corridor and through this door, but he could not recall. Ancient petrified torches were mounted every twenty-five feet but sat dormant. Nathaniel would no longer need to rely upon them, unfortunately. Movement just to his right caught his attention. He turned with a start to see a giant four inch spider crawling along, webbing in a corner eight feet above the stone floor. The sight caused him to hurry along the length of the corridor to the next door. It was not out of arachnophobia, however, but self-preservation. Nathaniel had found himself beginning to wonder just how succulent the spider might taste.
He felt a growing apprehension with each step. Behind him was the world he’d known for a long time, and he was abandoning it without a thought as to the future.
He remembered Vincent’s visit the day before...
“Go away!” Nathaniel commanded Vincent before he even saw him. His newly found senses sharpened, he had felt him get close. It was also surprising that someone who was so unaccustomed to being ordered around had taken it so well.
“I plan to feed long and heavily tonight,” Vincent declared.
It had been an open invitation. One which Nathaniel had found to be in as bad taste as the reason his mother's God had created the infernal monster to begin with.
“And what? You would give me time to attempt an escape?”
“Escape? Where would you go, my son? You are a vampire now. There is no place you can go. Your place is here…with me.”
Nathaniel did not respond. He could feel his anger boiling once again, but what good would it do. He had already attempted to attack Vincent before to no avail.
“I will bring you a meal...”
“Don't bother!” Nathaniel snapped angrily.
“But you have not fed, my son.”
This had been the case and still held true. The only blood that had touched his lips had been Vincent’s. Vincent had warned that a temporary illness would follow while the metamorphosis had its terrible way. Reliving that fateful moment had caused Nathaniel to vomit miserably well past the designated period. The beast had not realized that it had continued not due to the changes taking place, but because Nathaniel abhorred the thought of what Vincent had done. Since the attack, vermin scurrying about the fortress that he had once been afraid of now represented food, and easy pickings as well for even one as clumsy as himself. Those meals would be humiliating and disgusting, but he would not be able to hold back the terrible hunger for much longer.
Even now, he felt himself weaken already.
Nathaniel came to another large metal door. Thick spider webs covered nearly all its frame except the door itself. He took the handle within his right hand and quickly swung it open. It creaked, but he did not concern himself with that, nor did he close it back behind him. Vincent would undoubtedly know of the escape instantly upon his return.
Nathaniel stepped through the doorway and into a great hall that had once hosted large gatherings. He felt cold now, but could not yet detect the reason for it. The room contained tables and chairs, tapestries and rugs; however, everything appeared unkempt or perhaps forgotten, even to an escaped prisoner such as Nathaniel with little experience of such things.
As he neared the next door, the chill grew worse. Nathaniel wrapped his arms about his chest, fighting the cold back as it attempted to chill him into lethargy. The door appeared the same as all of the other doors, but this one proved difficult to open. Perhaps it had to do with his increasing hunger? When he finally managed to pull it open, the cold hit him at once, knocking Nathaniel back a step, unprepared as he was for its stark reality.
The next room was not a room at all but yet another corridor. This one was longer than any he had seen until now. More importantly, at least one section of wall was missing.
Nathaniel found this to be quite unexpected and approached cautiously. Upon close inspection, not only was there a gaping hole on the right side of the corridor, but the top of the corridor had at least two sections missing. Light shone through the missing stones. It was the moon, and it was the most beautiful thing that he had seen in what seemed like a hundred years. Nathaniel went to it quickly, not wishing to waste a single moment building up his courage. He stood directly in the spot and gazed up into its face, allowing the muted light to bathe him.
Soon, Nathaniel realized that by standing at the mouth of the missing wall section, he could see the moon in all of its glory. Moments passed, after which he resolved to continue moving for fear of never seeing the moon again, but it was extremely difficult to move his feet. The moon was full and high in the overhead sky, as if it had been set there only for Nathaniel’s delight. Yet, when he began to finally pull himself away from the light to see what else there might be to see, his concern began to grow anew.
Wherever Nathaniel was standing he was higher than anything else on the horizon. He took his time as his new eyes struggled to fathom just what it was that existed beyond the dark. Then he realized it was the mountains that he saw before him, and they were shorter than his field of vision. And far below there appeared to be movement. He waited and listened. It was water.
Vincent had spirited him away to some remote location.
Now, perhaps, getting out of the fortress was not the end of his problems, but merely the beginning.
Where would you go, my son? Your place is here…with me.
Nathaniel quickly grabbed the sides of the open maw in the wall and stuck his head out as far as he thought he safely could. The wall seemed to be on the precipice of a sheer cliff. Though he needed to escape right this moment, this hole would not do.
He ran through the corridor to the other side. It was the first time that he felt his legs take flight in as long as he could remember. Memories began to creep back into his head, but he fought them off. This was not the time.
He came upon a doorway, but there was no door to be found. Nathaniel paid it little mind and simply continued on his way. There came a high balcony, overlooking a much larger gathering place than the room before. To the right stood a staircase. He followed it down. Nathaniel had a sense that the fortress had become warm once again, but did not stop to analyze whether it simply had to do with the work of running and being under anxiety to run faster still.
At the bottom of the stairs, Nathaniel ignored the contents of the room and headed for the nearest corridor before him which seemed to beckon to him. He could not remember anything about having ever visited the parts of the fortress that he was seeing now, but he stayed confidently along the current path as though he’d been here countless times. He came to three corridors, each with a closed door at its end. He headed down one and quickly threw open the door there only to find a room with no roof and two missing walls. Once again, he was struck by the cold. He could see the moon and the mountains again, so he turned back without closing the door.
He headed down corridor two, but was frustrated yet again. The room that he found there was intact, but there was no further advancement to be had.
Nathaniel heard ragged breath and spun around before realizing that the breath had been his own. He ran to the final door and flung it open, revealing the outside world. There were more walls but they were far below. Another stairway led the way to them. Above them stood a tree line.
The cold hit him harder this time as he descended the steps, and no matter how hard he fought off its icy fingers, the cold began to slow him. Nathaniel nearly lost his balance three times. Try as he might to concentrate upon each individual stone step, all that he wan
ted to do was take in these first few steps of freedom. Below, he could already see not stone or even brick floor, but dirt.
Unfortunately, there was something else now as well.
A terrible stench, growing far worse with each subsequent step.
Nathaniel jumped the last five steps, his incredibly long hair trailing behind him like the tails of a cloak, and landed smartly upon the ground. He nearly fell again. The ground was slick. Had he remembered the days of his youth, he might have guessed that it had been muddy because of recent rain. There was grass as well, but mostly a disturbing wet earth. Was it the vampire? No. It could not be. Vincent had never smelled anything like this. He kneeled low. No, the grounds seemed to be the source of the odor, though not entirely. There seemed to be other underlying scents here, too.
Nathaniel heard mad laughter. It was nothing like laughing, actually. It sounded horrible and ghastly and took his breath.
And it filled his head with a sudden memory, which sent an awful chill down his spine.
Is this the end? So close to freedom only to be thwarted at the last? No. Vincent's beady, hateful eyes were not about to come climbing out of the darkness; it wasn’t the vampire’s sarcastic giggling which was about to come upon him there in the courtyard.
The madness continued, though Nathaniel could not yet locate its source. He wished that he could so that he might make an end to it. It was far worse than any cold that might chill him.
And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the laughter was gone.
Nathaniel froze. Am I hearing things?
With the full moon seemingly directly above his head and so close that he could almost reach out and grab it, there was very little that could be hidden. Nathaniel stood in what seemed to be the middle of a large courtyard. High outer walls surrounded him on all sides. No other doors were present, nor were there any other stairs save the ones behind.
Laughter erupted and then it was gone again.
Nathaniel simply stood there as he decided upon his next move.
Am I being watched? Am I being played with?
Was this yet another one of Vincent's games? First, his modus operandi had been to frighten and keep him in place; was it now simply to remind him of who the master was?
Yet, still, something gnawed at Nathaniel; something from the deep recesses of memory. It slithered slowly over the mountaintops of his consciousness like the dawn, first appearing only as a lighter darkness and then a light haze before revealing itself—from somewhere deep in his subconscious mind. Although he did not realize that he was doing so, Nathaniel did his best to keep whatever it was at bay.
Ahead, almost as if it had been there all along, a phantom of some manner moved on the ground. He held it in his gaze, afraid to blink for fear of losing it. Whatever it was, it did not seem to realize that he was there with it.
Nathaniel began to inch forward. If it was not Vincent then nothing should be permitted to stand in the way of his escape. The figure became clearer now, as well as its activity. He could hear wet sounds, the tearing and ripping associated with wild dogs as they pulled apart the flesh of their quarry. Something was having dinner.
He just hoped that it wasn’t Vincent.
Slowly, still seemingly undetected, Nathaniel crept forward. If Vincent was there, then this was simply a game or trap. If he wasn’t, then the creature before him was simply mad. Another poor creature such as himself that had been caught up in some terrible drama.
The closer he got, the worse the stench. Nathaniel knew then that this had been the source of the additional odors. Another step or two and the figure turned out to be female. She was making herself a meal out of whatever it was that she had either caught herself or perhaps what Vincent had left for her. She was giggling, clueless to his presence. She was also unclean. Her body smelled as though covered in dry defecation and urine. This creature apparently slept in her own waste and thought nothing of it.
It was here that Nathaniel decided that he could not involve himself in everything. Right now, he simply needed to escape.
Escape this place. Escape Vincent’s clutches. Escape.
With that in mind, he began not to concern himself so much with what was huddled there on the ground, but simply with sidestepping it.
As he slunk past her, the woman turned and faced him, dropping a large section of raw, freshly harvested meat. Glancing down, he could fully see what the animal had been, and wished that he had not. His heart kicked into overdrive as the realization washed over and through him. His breathing became short and quick.
The woman before him was familiar.
Nathaniel screamed.
The woman was his mother.
The high full moon spun suddenly and the courtyard walls loomed, threatening to collapse upon Nathaniel, pinning him there so close to freedom until Vincent could return and escort his beloved son back to his suite. The woman reached out and took him by the arm, pulling him close. It was here, finally, that he finally fell. His arms, shoulders and head slammed hard onto the cold slick ground.
Rough hands were upon his now, clawing, digging their way into his flesh, drawing blood in places, ripping and tearing at the clothing as she threw herself upon him, apparently preparing herself to devour him, too.
“Please, Mother. Stop!” he pleaded with her, raising his hands between them.
The plea was answered with more mad laughter. Nathaniel lost himself in the eyes of the face that stared back, but did not see his reflection there. It wasn’t as if he no longer had one, but rather the person looking back at him saw nothing familiar there.
Nathaniel was transported back to his childhood home in that moment. He could hear his mother praying now. It was a recollection of that last night at his real home; not the suite in the fortress above, or the tiny cell of a room before that, but the modest cottage of his birth. Nathaniel remembered thinking at the time of that fateful attack that his mother had lost her mind then. As it turned out, that was merely the beginning. Now it appeared as if she finally had.
For many years, he had thought his mother dead. He had known his father was dead for he’d stumbled upon his dead body. What had come of his mother he had never really seen with his own eyes. Incredibly, like some great uncaring beast, Vincent had not even allowed his mother that dignity.
Closing his eyes tightly, Nathaniel mustered all of his strength and shoved the mad woman back. She giggled louder as she flew back and then fell over, striking her head hard upon the cold ground. As if it had been the most hilarious thing in her world, the woman began to laugh even more as if the entire performance was just some game to be shared between mother and son; some perverted facsimile of the play they had used to share.
Nathaniel rolled over and climbed to his feet, preparing himself for the next attack. This time, at least, he could see it coming. He stepped to the right and allowed the woman who had once been his mother to fly past and fall harmlessly to the ground. He turned to watch her regain her feet. She giggled more and reversed her attack.
Nathaniel winced and readied himself for what he knew he must do. As the shell of his mother ran to him, he sidestepped her and reached around, catching her in the crook of his right arm. He slowed her and took a position behind her. Her momentum threatened to take her past, but he would not allow it. Being the stronger, it was a simple thing for him to stand her up and hold her there.
“How could you?” Nathaniel whispered, staring directly above. He was not speaking to the full moon which simply bathed him in light. He looked past it. “How could you?”
Grimacing one last time, the woman’s former son squeezed her neck as tightly as he could, bracing the left side of her head with his other hand, and gave it a quick twist, snapping it.
This was no vampire, just a shadow of the most wonderful person that Nathaniel had ever known in the entire world. He had spent a great deal of those early days in Poienari Fortress crying out for her, hoping that she could save him. He’d kno
wn she was no match for the strength of a vampire, but it was all that a young child could do—plead for his mother.
As he stood in the sudden silence of the courtyard, surrounded by walls nine feet thick and made of brick and lime mortar, and filled with rubble, it was to that woman that his thoughts turned to. Not the one who was currently sliding limply out of his arms, but the one who would never have been able to advance on the fortress and save her little boy—nonetheless, the woman who would have tried to anyway.
Nathaniel held the shell of his mother for a while before allowing her to fall. When he finally did, the pain was overwhelming. He quickly ran for the nearest wall and threw himself upon it, mounting it with ease. Part of the new vampire wished as he ran along the width of the brick and rubble that he would find that sheer cliff once again on the other side, where he could simply throw himself to his death. Yet, at the same instant, he knew that it would never be as easy as that. No, this escape was no end, but merely a beginning. On the other side of that wall was nothing but the world; Romanian earth. Beyond that, he would have to see for himself. It appeared as if he would have plenty of time.
4:59 a.m.
“He is the great beast,” Nathaniel said. “There is nothing that he is incapable of.”
Vincent appeared to survey the young dead woman within his grasp as if admiring his handiwork. With a sigh, he tossed her aside and began to slap his hands together as if intending to clean them. Nathaniel knew that no amount of cleaning could remove the stains that had become encrusted there. Between them in the center of the glass was a thin area which allowed the visitor the ability to converse with the person on the other side.
“Name calling,” Vincent said. “Just call me father and let us be done with it, once and for all.”
“Father?” Michael asked.
“Certainly,” Vincent answered, never taking his eyes off of his alleged son. “Did he not tell you? I am his father. I have raised him since he was a boy!”
Nathaniel's knew that his face seemed emotionless to those assembled. Vincent had hoped to enrage him, but it was not working. For the past few days, Nathaniel had gone about as if in a daze. He had thought only of Barbara and, in doing so, allowed a great many things to take place essentially under his very nose. His was a nose, a pair of eyes, and a fantastic sense of hearing which should have interacted flawlessly with one another to ensure that he never got caught by surprise. However, that proved not to be the case. Thankfully, now, his senses had returned, and he was not going to allow anything to distract him again.
So it was that he did not allow himself to become riled.
“I am not your son,” he said calmly.
“Oh, no?” Vincent said. He seemed a little bit surprised that Nathaniel was still holding his temper. He moved toward the last door that stood between them. “Who are you then?”
“I am the son of a mother and father that you murdered. You are nothing to me.”
“Wait,” Vincent said, as if shocked by the statement. “I thought that you were the one who killed your mother. Broke her neck, I recall.”
Barbara, Michael and Mark all glanced Nathaniel’s direction, waiting to see what he might do. He could feel their eyes on him, too.
“Vincent,” Nathaniel began, measuring the words carefully. He approached the large glass window, choosing a spot directly before his long-time adversary, stopping just short of pressing his nose against the glass. “I am ready for you now. You shall not rile me as easily as you did in those early days in Poienari Fortress. These past days I have been equally blinded by the woman that you have been terrorizing, along with her family. You will not find me so blinded again.” The voice grew more booming with each word uttered in the darkened building. “And they are all here, securely under my charge. Husband, children, all.”
By the look of him, Vincent was beginning to lose control himself, not Nathaniel as he had initially intended. “You are weak, my son!” he sneered. “I have fed.” He glanced toward everyone in the room beyond. “I have fed very well.” Vincent glanced back toward Nathaniel. “Have you?”
Nathaniel stared at Vincent and smiled suddenly, completely out of character.
“The hour is getting late, father! Are you coming in here to get me or are you not?”
With that, Vincent roared. The vampire took a step back and began to attack the door that separated them. Again and again, he kicked at the door. It was strong, but soon the metal door and doorframe began to squeal and groan with the assault, slowly giving way.