Unapologetic Apathy

I was getting soft. Is quit wearing my earpiece and cameras. Even if a vampire was cute and appeared like they cared, they were still a menace to society and should be killed. But I stopped looking for a way out of the deals ages ago.

Its been two months now. It's a regular routine for me to go to Gerard's manor, drop off the blood, and ask a few questions. He gave me answers, but they only ever answered half of my questions. It made me more curious. But now, he lets me stay longer. I usually chill at his house, looking around the first floor. Sometimes he stays in the grand foyer, other times he disappears in the dark and I lose him down a hall. It's frustrating. What else does he have to do all alone in this dark mansion?

I bring him things sometimes. Things I don't want anymore. I don't know what he does with them. They're usually things like books I've read, games, and even a portable movie player. I gave him some movies to watch, but I've never seen him watch any. I don't think he knows how to work it. He acts like my grandpa around modern things like that.

Sam and Ray and Kelsie are getting more annoyed. I've changed. I've become soft. I have become infatuated with the enemy. Sam thinks I've gone crazy. He still hunts his sister.

I believe vampires are killing machines and should be stopped. But I also believe that it's a tradegy to have to kill them. I killed my friend, the one turned into the monster, and I felt like he died to young. But I didn't feel like it was wrong to kill him. I don't think I could kill Gerard. Maybe just pretend I can, for now, so he doesn't try to 'end the deal'. I don't know how he feels about me.

"Hello, Frank," he greeted me one night. I nodded to him an said a greeting. I threw the bag on a side table and flopped on the couch. He don't look at me weirdly at all. He just shrugged and sat beside me. I didn't feel like he was real sometimes, but when the couch cushions compressed beside me when he sat down, I felt his comforting presence. I should be scared. I should be running the other direction and covering my neck.

"I've never seen you drink one of those," I noticed.

"I drink them when I don't drink from you."

"What does it taste like?" I wondered. Out of curiosity.

"You've never cut your lip?" Gerard muttered.

"It probably tastes different by the mouthful," I mumbled back. After a moment of silence, he answered calmly.

"Yours tastes different then most," He said in a pondering tone. "It's clean tasting, excepting your smoking habits. Others don't taste as bright. Usually it's bland and dull when it comes from a bag. Better than nothing, but it's better warm."

"That's disgusting."

"Yiu asked."

I shifted to be more comfortable.

"You said part of the deal is that you'd show me anything and answer my questions truthfully," I started and when he agreed, I continued, "I've never had a proper tour of the place. It's an interesting house you got here." Gerard didn't reply, so I dropped it.

"Okay," he said after a monent of awkward silence. He stood up and I followed him out of the lavish living room.

The room split off into two hallways. One, the dark hallway he keeps disappearing into, the thwr leading to a staircase I've never climbed. In the middle wa the painting of him above the mantle, and some girl with the slashed out face. The entire house was dark, and I stumbled around blindly. Gerard got lost in a shadow again, but suddenly he appeared beside me with a candle in his hand. I jumped, I admit.

The yellow glow lit up his pale face eerily. He held it parallel to his chin about half an arms length away, and he took my arm carefully and led the path.

"You seemed lost," he explained.

"It's dark," I told him.

"Of course," was all he said. I couldn't see his face properly, but I heard the smirk. His string hand held my arm below the elbow, keeping me walking in the right direction. I mumbled something about installing electricity, but he shrugged.

"This room is one kf the studies. This is where I take you if you need medical assistance. The next room over is the water closet. The next is the library." He showed me to a closed door. He squeezed the handle tote double door and pushed it open dramatically, so the heavy door would swing open. Dinly lit by the candle glow, I saw shelves and walls of leather bound books. "Across was my study. It is out of bounds."

"Was?"

"Is," he snapped sternly. I murmured an apology.

"Next we have upstairs. This hallways leads to a staircase to the next floor as well as the other corridor. Both corridors lead back to the kitchen and dining hall through either a hallway or a servants corridor," he told me. I steadily climbed each stair at a time. He seemed to do it with ease, whereas I tripped a few times and stepped on eery squeaking step. He seemed to stay absolutely silent. We it to the top of the curved stairs, and we were on a fancy second floor, decorated with antique furniture and oil portraits.

"Cool," I said quietl.

"Upstairs is the bedrooms, a few other bathrooms. Nothing extroridnary." He quickly spun on his heel and lead me back down the stairs, but I still wanted to soak j the elegant scene. I could hardly see it properly, but it was exactly like a black and white photograph: untouched. Coloured. The windows were boarded up, but it looked like something out of a movie.

Gerard guided me down the other hallway, showing me secret doors that the servants and maids woul use to enter rooms unnoticed. I thought that was really cool, but he wouldn't let me go in them. "The servants corridors are through the walls. That's how I hid them," he explained. I didn't want to go in there anymore.

But it the kitchen and dining area were very elegant and dignified. The table was long, dark wood, with engravings and carvings on the side. It had a thin layer of dust on it. There were a few cobwebs, but other than that, Gerard ha taken care in the place. The kitchen, mostly used by the servants, he said, was large and equipped with a wood stove. Again, al windows were boarded up. I began wondering what actually happened to vampires in the sun. If never seen one, actually. They tended to avoid it. I hoped he wouldn't sparkle.

"That's really all you need to see. There's a cellar downstairs. But that's not nice and you probably won't see that," he said in in long, quick sentence. His stained glass eyes twitched.

"There's something you're hiding from me," I accused. he gave me a grim smile.

"There are plenty of things I'm hiding from you, Frank," he replied.



The tour was interesting. Gerard was definatly harbouring millions of secrets. I needed to find out. The next few days, I came over at the same time, gave him the bag of blood, and engage in small talk in the sitting room, as usual.

One night, Gerard was sitting in the living room, lounged arrogantly on one of the sofas, stretched out with a leg over one arm. He had a stern expression on his face. The look in his eyes was of pure venom. He looked ready to kill. In one hand, he held a black envelope.

Nkt only was the colour of the envelope unusual, but also the amount of blood on Gerard's hands. They were black with it, and it drilled and stained the carpet. Only on his hands. None on his face, like I expected. He acted like he never noticed it. He held the letter and examine it over and over again. The paper inside was white as snow in contrast. He didn't turn his head when I came in: just looked up at me under his forehead angrily.

"Woah, are you-are you okay?" I stammered, almost dropping the bag.

"Perfect. Needed more. You can leave now," he said in a flash, and soon he had leaped gracefully off the couch and was reaching into te bag. He didn't talk to me the rest of the night.


Another time, he met me at the door. I couldn't see past his shoulder well, because of how short I was, but I saw a glimpse of confusing things in his living room. Crucifixes and silver and holy objects. Candles and wooden stakes of all sizes. I didnt know how he got a hold of all this stuff. His collection was bigger than mine. I was about to say something, but he hissed something in another language and slammed the door in my face.

"Gerard! Open up! What the hell are you doing?" I shouted and banged on the hard wood door. He opened it barely a crack and stuck his head out, a look of annoyance flashing across his features.

"What is it Frank? I'm busy," he spat.

"I'm worried about you. What's going on?"

"No you're not." He shut the door and locked it, and I couldn't come back in until the next night.



Te next night, I came as soon as the sun fell. And there he wasn't, normal place, normal time, lounging on the sofa. The room was clean as usual, the windows boarded and the only light coming from a few candles he placed for extra light. Like usual. Except for one thing.

The girl from the painting, sitting right next to him, with a silver blade at his throat.

Notes