Inside the car was silent. All I could hear was the rumble of the road beneath the wheels. The hum of the engine came through as a vibration in the seats. There was the intermittent clicking of the turn signal, and Michael’s steady presence beside me. The faint smell of leather conditioner permeated the small space, almost overpowering.
Lush green and golden amber steaked past, the turning trees dotting the landscape. Herds of cattle and sheep could be seen here and there, scattered among the rolling hills of the highlands. Fog still clung to the very lowest valley dips. Sunlight caught on the larch trees, turning gold. In the distance sat adorable farmhouses with smoke curling from the chimneys.
The sky was a piercing blue, with lazy clouds drifting high above. We hadn’t been at Stojan’s home long, but it was long enough for the sun to change its angle as we descended from the higher elevation. Fences passed by in a steady rhythm, punctuated by the sound of gravel hitting the undercarriage. But the noise of the road was nothing compared to Stojan’s overlapping voice in my head. As we drove toward Zürich, all I could think about was that question he had posed before we left.
If truth destroys us, is ignorance still mercy? It echoed in my head, a chant that wouldn’t quit repeating in its matter-of-fact tone. As if he felt he had won something by getting that last theoretical in.
I knew I always wanted the truth, no matter how hard it was to hear. There was always the chance to heal any hurts later. I’d rather hurt and heal than not know something. You can’t fix a thing if you don’t know it’s broke, my dad would remind me from time to time, and knowledge was definitely something I’d rather fix than leave broken. I wondered whether pity was the same as mercy; whether ignorance was a prison or a kindness.
But other thoughts came up, like those victims from the Sirens of Spring. Was it better to keep them in ignorance of what really happened? Stojan had talked about altering their memories. That just seemed so invasive and wrong. And he’d said it so blasé I at first wondered if I’d misheard him.
I only ever used mind reading when I was hunting scum in the city. And I hadn’t found any proper use for hypnosis seeing as the only people around me besides other vampires were my coworkers, and I wasn’t about to use my position as manager like that. But was there utility in mind reading at work? Most definitely. Were there times that hypnosis could come in handy? Absolutely.
My own memories of the white room poked out of the box I had shoved them in. Those were some memories I could do without. Vampires couldn’t be hypnotized though. But what if I could be? What version of me would be left behind? Could I have still been alive?
Was what I was doing any better than him though? I was lying about who I was every day to my coworkers when I went to work like normal. I still felt guilty around Kelly for hypnotizing him for the small moment that I had. The mundanity of emails and coffee contrasted with the thirst and heightened senses lurking just beneath my skin. Would anyone at work even believe me if I said what I was?
And my parents… they had no idea that I was dead. Undead…whatever. They still had no idea that their only child had been murdered. Would knowing that I’m a vampire change anything for them? I honestly didn’t know. I wanted to think that nothing would change after telling them. Was holding back my honesty mercy or manipulation in this case? Who were my lies really protecting – them, or myself?
My stomach twisted, and tension in my shoulders started a headache. I recalled the feeling of Stojan brushing against my mind, like static against my brain. I shivered at the memory. Someone picked up my hand, squeezing it gently. My eyes followed the arm up to Michael’s face. He looked just as conflicted as I did. He gave me a small smile of encouragement, but the light behind it was dimmer than usual.
He turned to the front, breaking the silence with, “At least he didn’t try to lobotomize us.” His attempt at humor fell flatly, the most reaction a small huff through Antun’s nose. Maybe he hadn’t been mentally touched, but I had, and I still felt oily from it.
Antun quietly replied, “Don’t be so sure. Sometimes erasure doesn’t need a touch – only permission.” And that was frightening. To think, a vampire could literally change a person’s mind, and they might never know if they freely gave permission in their thoughts. I wondered how explicit that permission had to be, or if vampires could trick a person into giving permission.
Syla’s eyes didn’t leave the view from her window as she said, “What he’s doing isn’t peace. It’s pruning.”
I couldn’t help but agree with her. “The thing I keep getting hung up on is how would someone decide who to, I hate to say it, merely alter memories for and who…” I trailed off, not wanting to finish my sentence.
“Who to kill?” Antun provided anyway. “Yeah, and he talked about more than just the Sirens of Spring victims. He also mentioned keeping track of other vampires, of the newly turned vampires.” He looked in the rearview mirror Michael and I, then looked at Syla. “I think he probably killed several of them to keep us all hidden. He’s very likely killed many, many people over the years for the sake of keeping the supernatural world hidden from mortals.”
Stojan had seen truth and exposure as a contagion – an infection requiring sterilization. Even after 500 years, he held the belief that it was better for the vampire world to remain hidden from the mortals, no matter the cost.
The thing I hated to admit was that I could empathize with part of that. I’d hidden my nature from my family; I’d defended my own silence as protection for them. I didn’t ever want to feel what Michael felt that first Thanksgiving after he was turned. When he had become thirsty and needed to go to the slaughterhouse for blood so he wouldn’t turn on them.
But if people knew what we were, would they still let us exist? We required fresh blood on a regular basis to survive, something people had provided for many vampires for a long time. And I wouldn’t blame anyone if they were distrustful of vampires, given the gifts we had – more especially because of the powers of hypnosis and mind reading. Would we even be seen as living, or human? Or would we be hunted down until we were dead for good?
A realization hit me like a thousand volts to my heart: according to the journal and what we’d been able to piece together, we determined that vampires still had reincarnation energy, that it simply lay dormant due to being undead. But that meant vampires could reincarnate too. Death wasn’t the end for them.
Most of them, but not me.
Nikola had stolen my reincarnation energy. I shouldn’t have been able to be turned, yet at the last second I was. But the fact remained that I no longer had reincarnation energy. I didn’t get a second chance. This was it for me. An empty, gnawing feeling started in my chest and settled like a black hole in my stomach, sucking the light from my future.
I understood him better than I thought I realized with creeping self-recognition. And I hated that I could. Not that I hated myself, just that I had the ability to understand such an extreme way of thinking.
Michael tugged on my hand to get my attention. “What’s wrong?” he mouthed.
This man. My heart would have stuttered if it still beat. “I’ll tell you all later,” I whispered to him, not wanting to have this conversation in the car.
Countryside gave way to suburbs, which gave way to the greater city of Zürich. We dropped the rental car back off at the agency and walked through the city, taking the long way to our hotel. Altstadt – Zürich’s medieval center – was a gorgeous, well-preserved district. The cobblestone lanes and cafés were full of charm, the sound of the river close by. Medieval churches towered above cramped houses, and open squares full of life to appear after tight corridors.
We eventually ended up back at the hotel, everyone suffering from jetlag and needing a rest. I was just as tired as everyone else, yet my earlier realization kept me awake. It was late at night when I gave up and walked out on the balcony. The view over the river was gorgeous, the church towers lit up and reflected in the river.
I sat on the chair provided on the balcony, wrapped in my jacket against the coming autumn. I looked back at the glass door, my reflection half shrouded in shadow. I whispered to no one, “If ignorance is mercy… then what does that make the truth?” The truth I’d unfortunately uncovered during the car ride – that this was my final life and I had no other chances – still felt like a black hole inside me, sucking away the light. The question hung in the dark, waiting unanswered.
