Epilogue

With some of the proceeds from the sale of the Ballroom, we bought a large cabin in Maine. Nestled deep in the forest there, it is a welcome haven, an oasis from the death and destruction we underwent those awful few weeks. Our meager needs are easily supplied, a fully-stocked wine cellar and fully-stocked refrigerator, the bags of blood courtesy of Sam. He has promised to come back with the spring thaw to bring another shipment.

Mitch and I are finally at peace, finally happy. We have each other and we have the vastness of the woods to run, wolf and lynx, when we so choose. The beauty of the night seen from animal eyes is beyond description.

Deer and moose live wild here, they sense our difference, and allow us to approach them, even in animal form, allow us to feed on their blood if we so wish.

Mostly we sit by the fire, staring at the dancing flames. There is no need for speech between the two of us now, so completely are we merged, as if Mitch and I were one body, one soul.

If we desire human contact there is a cabin three miles down the road. A lone woman lives there; she too seems to be around only at night. We know she is there, sitting on her porch, watching the night. We can scent her blood, her perfume, the smoke of her cigarette curling in the cold air and somehow through the darkness she can see us.

Always, when we visit, she shakes her head, amazed at the sight of two such incongruent animals running together. “There’s a story there,” she says, pitches her cigarette onto the ground, goes inside and closes the door, leaving us alone in the night once more.