Her: A pulse beat inside my loins. My body was wide-awake with the electric energy of Samuel's hatred for his father, and his father's obvious lack of concern for his son's vehemence. Despite trying to hide our lifestyle from his father, everything about our lives had thoroughly unravelled.
“Positively extraordinary, how you have developed into the kind of man you are… wonderful,” said Sir William. “The majority of my hybrids have met with terrible ends, either through suicide, murder or expiring in prison. Historically speaking penal practices are nothing short of Medieval. Even by modern standards, incarceration is deadly dangerous, if not more. Many developed severe psychological problems like schizophrenia, forcing treatment with anti-psychotic drugs. Some came after me, which regrettably required me to finish them off. Cain and Raven possess a measure of my strength and have thrived. You appear to be of that ilk also, Samuel. I cannot predict the outcome of each son's development. After all, their mothers have come from different races. Women are the reason why the world is miraculous and tolerable. But women are also mercurial and impressionable, sometimes leaving behind a residue that shows itself years later.”
“You're a fucking monster,” remarked Samuel.
“Do not be overly sensitive. I am pleased with you, Samuel, more than I had anticipated. You have shown the capability for happiness in a monogamous marriage, at least in part, when you are not sharing your wife, something I should but do not judge.”
“You do not judge?” he repeated with incredulity. “You HAVE fucking judged us by virtue of your coming here and intruding in our lives! I'd like to slit your fucking throat, cut off your head and spread your body parts to the four corners!”
“Highly dramatic ending, to be drawn and quartered. I have witnessed many such brutal executions in fact… requires a strong stomach to watch. However, I assure you, I have tried every conceivable form of destruction to end my life. You see I was not always the man I am of today. When the change was first thrust upon me I was excited and empowered until the realization hit months later and I was beside myself with self-loathing and despair. I could not accept who I was and I wished for death. I fought in the Crusades as a human, then as a vampire with the Scottish rebels against the English and ironically later with the English to defeat the Spanish armada at Cadiz… war makes liars of us all… in the Boer War, both World wars, and for years as a missionary in South America, until I grew tirelessly bored with wars. Bombs, grenades, mustard gas, any form of lethal poison, being trampled by stampeding horses and marauding armies and still I could not die. It is my fate, son, to live until the end of time. I have yet to make any of my kind, not one, not a man or woman. I took an oath I would not make another of my kind until one of my hybrids conceives. So you see, I am obligated to remain in your lives, like it or not.”
Samuel gripped the knife I had left on the kitchen table with such ferocity that I thought the veins on his neck would explode. All I could do was back up and rest against the counter, waiting for him to speak.
“When is this nightmare going to end?” I asked rhetorically.
Him: My father was the nightmare; the mountain from which I could not descend; the darkest hole out of which I could not climb; the angry mob I could not escape. The sound of his voice I detested. His words I hated. What infuriated me most was that he was telling the truth about his indestructibility. Not once did a shiver crawl up my spine telling me that he was lying. He could not be killed. Only the end of time could relinquish his power or the vastness of space, the absence of oxygen or the planet's final destruction, the only means of eradicating his food source - blood. At that moment, my only defence was to apply logic.
“You risk undermining the human species by creating hybrid breeds. Surely you understand this,” I said, attempting to appeal to a small shred of his humanity.
“It is difficult to sow the seeds of one’s own destruction, even for humans.”
“Scientists in Edinburgh, Scotland performed the first chimeric experiments and fused a sheep together with a goat embryo,” I continued.
“Yes… I followed their trials very closely.”
“The point I'm trying to make,” I said, curtailing the anger in my voice, “is that scientists are playing God and fucking with the biology of species.”
“Hybrid humans have much to give to the human race.”
“How the hell do you figure that?” I asked.
“Their presence accelerates medical research to combat human diseases, to assist in harvesting organs for transplantation into human bodies.”
“The term is referred to as xenotransplantation,” I said.
“Yes, exactly, you do understand…you continue to impress me.”
“It was how you had explained your unique heredity to me,” said Magdalene.
“True enough, babe,” I said, looking at her, standing at the counter. She had a worried look. “You don't have to be here, honey, to listen to my father and me.”
“Where am I supposed to be?” she asked. “I belong by your side!”
“I know, honey, I know.” I got up from the table and went to her, touching her to remind her that I would not leave. I turned back to my father.
“Scientists are dangerous fools, thinking they have the right to use their power to write a new evolutionary chapter of existence. When biological evolution begins to outpace God's evolution, I can't help believing the devil is alive and well.”
“The devil…hmmm…no, I cannot say I have met him. Maybe I am he.”
“Smug, fucking bastard! Where…where does it end?” I asked.
“When… not where…when is the ultimate and only question. All those long forgotten years ago, I had asked the wrong question. I should have asked when my particular evolution ends. Petrabella knew. She knew when it was time to end.”
“Who is Petrabella?” I asked.
“Lady Petrabella was the beginning of my evolution.”
“You and your evolution have no conscience,” I declared.
“Evolution is not propelled by conscience. Evolution evolves at a faster rate each decade, improving and altering its original self and changing into something that is, well, far better, for lack of an appropriate explanation. That is the inevitability of all life… to move forward.”
“It doesn't have to be,” I said.
“It is, like it or not. The subject of evolution is the same as comprehending the meaning of life, which is an old argument between science and theology… both have been at odds with each other since the beginning, I should know, I was there.”
“There, where?” I asked.
“The beginning. I was born in the 11th century, 1079, long after the Dark Ages had ended, thankfully… terrible times, the Dark Ages, the ruling system had collapsed taking with it cooperative governing, schools, libraries, a common currency and language. Well, I was there in the beginning before science grew wings and challenged the power of the church. We need both facets of thinking, science and theology, because neither can explain the universe completely. We cannot live without either and together both separate the great mystery that explains faith and reason. Faith suggests there can be no reason and reason implies there can be no faith. Both co-exist to provide balance in the Universe.”
“I'll tell you this…your long years of life have taught you nothing but how to rationalize efficiently.”
He laughed heartily, rising from the table, to pat my shoulder.
“Rationalizing is a form of reflection, Samuel… each of us is a master.”
“Explain what you mean,” I asked.
“The anthropological difference between animals and humans is simple… an animal will know and learn what is best for itself, whereas a human will question why something is best for himself. You call it rationalizing. I call it reflective thinking.”
“Bullshit… it gives you free reign to behave in any manner you wish.”
“And to whom are you accountable?” he asked.
“To Magdalene,” I answered. “Is that not obvious?”
“Curious,” said my father. “I hoped you would have said you are accountable to a greater power in the Universe, your version of what or whom God is, depending on your beliefs…your faith.”
“Reason versus faith,” I thought aloud.
“Faith and reason,” interposed my father. “It is the reason why Miguel Cervantes wrote Don Quixote, some say the greatest antidote to chivalry ever penned.”
“Can’t say I’ve read it,” I answered.
“You should… there is a fine line between being a mad man and a dreamer.”
“Is that what you call yourself, a dreamer?”
“I dream large, Samuel, very large. Your dream has remained self-contained between you and your wife and your outrageous sexual escapades. Granted it is self-satisfying and fulfilling in its own limited way, but the human species, or in your case a half human species, are not only on this planet to exist. It is your duty to evolve.”
“Says fucking you!” I sat back to continue my futile battle of logic and wits with my ancient father. Magdalene came up behind me and placed her hands on my shoulder, which helped me to calm down. She reached over my shoulder and wiped up the excess beer spilled on the table. My father smiled at her as the thought came into my head, penetrating likes a nail through steel: I possess the same weaknesses. I inherited my weaknesses from him. My hearing. Would not a loud, shrieking, piercing, noise incapacitate him long enough to restrain him? Then again, I would be affected by the same noise.
My father belonged on our rack, belonged trapped on the table. I would turn the handle and watch as his power was held at bay. We could escape.
Her: I tried hard to keep my two cents out of their conversation. It was long overdue, Samuel's time to dialogue with his father. I didn't want to intercede and lay waste to any progress they might make. It became clear to me that Samuel would not forgive him for the past, for creating his unique identity, something he could not switch back. I leaped into their conversation, despite my desire to stay out.
“I realize I'm taking you two off topic… is that why you expressed interest in my dream book because of your fascination with living large?”
“Living large?” repeated Sir William.
“Creating a new hybrid race is probably the largest anyone could live.”
“I understood the term to mean living well off, homes, money, and cars and of course women.”
“For me, dreaming… dreaming that big is a form of living large. That idea had to have come from somewhere. Did you dream it before you became what you are?” I continued to have difficulty saying the word aloud, even with Samuel next to me.
“Corpus Callosum,” offered Sir William.
“Corpus Callosum?” repeated Samuel.
“The Latin name of the fibrous tissues connecting the left and right hemispheres of female and male brains. Females possess a finer network of connections to both hemispheres, hence their ability to intuitively grasp the world, without having to have it explained or diagramed, which is often the case with many dull-witted men.”
“You dreamed of this happening to you,” I said. “This life of being immortal of creating a new breed of humans…holy cow! That's one whopper of a dream.”
“Your wife is a special woman, Samuel, very special. I would still very much like to read through your dream book, Maggie,” he said to me.
“The last time I did that, leave the kitchen to get my book, I overheard something I shouldn't have heard and look where it got me… into trouble.”
“Very well then,” said Sir William. “I look forward to the day when I get to analyze your dreams,” he finished.
“What would that tell you about her?” said Samuel.
“The symbolism generally points in the direction of how she feels about herself and should not be misconstrued as an interpretation of events around her, although another discourse of thought is that dreaming is a connection to the Higher Self, the subconscious and can often provide a prescient quality, foretelling what is to come. Dreams are as much a part of being human as they are for animals or half human species. The Ancient peoples believed that dreams were visions. To dream is to realize and externalize your desires.”
“So you dreamt your dream to create a new race and now what?” I asked.
“That is for me to understand,” he replied.
“I bet I can figure it out,” I said, full of brash confidence. I felt like I was on a roll, having figured out the link of dreaming and his diabolical dream to create. “You want to find a way of killing yourself through the usage of hybrid species.”
“Your imagination is a gift, Magdalene. I look forward to reading your novel when it is complete. Have you told Samuel about it yet, this first book you want to write about the extraordinary adventures of a lustful couple and the discovery that the husband is a hybrid vampire?”
“Bastard!” I snapped. Samuel just looked at me with a look that said his father is fucking right. Before I could explain, Samuel's cell phone rang. He answered it quickly, pulling the cell phone out of his belt loop, sliding open the lock and then keying in his code. I leaned in to him but couldn't recognize the number.
Him: Sandrine was calling. I had told her that I would visit soon, the last day of the third day of her period. It had completely been erased from my mind. The last thing I needed was to deal with Sandrine. Quicksand is a school of piranha with desire pooling into a circle of teeth, devouring and gnashing, consuming every inch of flesh, until you disappear and all trace of being becomes one with the quicksand.
“Wrong number,” I said, looking to Magdalene with pride. “You're ready to write a novel? That's my girl… ambitious, so creative. You can portray my father any way you like!” I looked back at him with insolence.
“For a man of your age, you are childish, flippant and rude,” he observed.
“Not rude enough for you to leave,” I said. I finished my beer, tilting back my head; suds dribbled and I swallowed. I slammed the bottle on the table with a dramatic bang and as rude as I could muster, I belched loudly. My father only smiled.
“I did you a favour, son, giving you a prolonged life. The world today is obsessed with youth, beauty and longevity and I gave all three to you on a silver platter.”
Her: Samuel tried to speak. His words came out muffled, broken and shattered. First the consonants disappeared, then the vowels, until only silence remained. He sat motionless with his eyes open and his mouth partially agape. He was a static photograph. I came up around him and looked at his face, shaking him.
“Samuel! Samuel! Samuel! What's wrong? Why won't you speak? Why won't you move?”
He looked straight ahead at his father.
Sir William rose, looking seriously at me, speaking calmly, and moving towards me. “He cannot speak a word, dear Magdalene.”
“What did you do to him?” I asked. “Jesus Christ!”