I sat down at the table dazedly. I looked to Cherise but found the way she was starting at Decklen to be too overwhelming. He in turn was staring at the table we were sitting at and running his hand along the edge. Instead while my mind pieced together what was going on, I took the silent time to examine the room I was in.
We were in a kitchen. The table took up a good amount of space. Simple wooden chairs lined up around the table. A vase full of flowers from the garden stood in the center. I glanced around and saw a few pictures hanging. To my left, was a large glass wall that was currently open and pushed to the side. It left us with a nice breeze and the smell of flowers and herbs. Above, on this wall I could hanging herbs that were drying. Against the wall just below a second mirror was a sink that was filled with potatoes. A gas stove was just a way away from it, with a large pot sitting on top.
I glanced back down at the table and saw a bowl that was covered with fabric was sitting in front of me. Not knowing what else to do, I lifted it and saw warm loaves of bread resting. No being able to stop myself, I broke off a piece and ate it.
The warmness steadied me, and I looked up at my Aunt. I took a breath.
“Okay, say what your saying is real. Why?”
She looked at me, “why what?”
“Why have our kind always hunted his kind.”
But instead of answering me, she looked at Decklen. “How long have you been in this world.”
He didn’t answer immediately, instead he glanced at me. I nodded at him encouragingly. Odd I thought, it took coming to France to learn this bit of information. Decklen turned back to Cherise and spoke so softly, I almost missed it.
“I was born in the year 1750.”
“I correct myself. When did you die?”
“1773.”
He refused to look at me. And I did the math silently.
Decklen had died at twenty-three years old.
Suddenly it was too much for me. My aunt staring at Decklen in mingled fear and disgust, the house that looked like it was pulled right from a Rococo painting, Decklen who wouldn’t look at me, and finding out what he was.
I felt the past week and the twelve-hour flight of jet lag hit me all at once.
“I need to sleep.” I said standing.
“Of course. Let me show you to the room I have prepared for you.” Cherise said standing.
Numbly I rolled my suitcase, and followed her back through the hall and into her foyer. She climbed a spiraling set of stairs and I followed with Decklen trailing behind me. Cherise led me to a set of large oak double doors. She opened it.
A room I was much to tired to appreciate opened up to me. I walked forward but before Decklen could follow, my aunt shut the door in his face.
“He shall not be allowed in here.” She said firmly.
Undeterred Decklen walked through the door and into the room anyway.
“I do not trust you. I will watch over Rheya.” He declared.
My aunt pursed her lips unhappily.
“He lives with me already.” I said collapsing on the bed. “He has for about a year now.”
Annoyed, Cherise left the room. I got under the covers and through eyes heavy with sleep, I watched Decklen make his way over to a love seat in the corner. It was as he leaned back against the cushions, with a balcony right next to him that I realized it.
I was in the same room form my dream not a month before.
I slept.
To this day I don’t know how, or why I slept so peacefully. With everything that had happened, you would have thought I would have been too nervous, or even to worried to sleep. But sleep I did, for fourteen hours.
I woke to bright light coming into the room. At first, I almost didn’t remember where I was. As I stared up at the sheer canopy the memories of the previous night came back with a force. Sighing softly, I felt the warmness of the blankets on me and I stretched quietly before turning over.
Decklen sat on the loveseat, his right leg crossed over his left. He had his right hand propped on the arm rest and he rested his chin on it. He was gazing out at the balcony, at what I wasn’t sure. My copy of Dracula was resting in his left hand forgotten. I silently I sat up and wrapping the blanket around myself I made my way over to his side.
I sat next to my dearest friend in silence.
He broke out of his revelry as I leaned my head onto his shoulder. He smiled and wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close to his side. Something he only did when he was trying to secure himself. As a rule, Decklen didn’t go out of his way to provide body contact. Something he would never fully explain to me.
We didn’t speak as I looked out at what he had been staring at. Through the balcony doors, I saw what had captivated Decklen’s existence. There was a large courtyard out in the garden and just beyond that was the sea.
The Mediterranean I realized.
It was shining brightly with the suns ray’s casting diamonds on it. I stared quietly until Decklen turned to me.
“You slept a long time.” He said lifting my hand and tracing the lines he saw on there. “Are you feeling better?”
I nodded yawning slightly. “I’ve been so tired lately.”
Decklen nodded, “You haven’t been sleeping much lately.” He said.
“I’m okay. I feel loads better now. But you? You’ve been weird too, since before my Aunt.” I said.
“It’s been a weird time.” He said. “We both can agree on that.”
I straightened, “You’re reading Dracula.”
“It’s not bad, it’s actually quite good.” He said smiling softly. It didn’t reach the pain I could see in his eyes.
“Decklen.” I said rising onto my knees. I grasped his face in my hands. He smiled at me softly.
“You look lovely in the morning.” He murmured.
I felt myself start to blush and I let him go. He smiled at me.
“I suppose I can’t keep this from you much longer can I?” He asked me he picked up the corner of blanket that had fallen unknowingly off of my shoulder. He gently placed it back.
“What’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been to France?” I asked.
“I lived in France, until 1770.” He said. “Provence France to be exact.”
I straightened.
“But that’s here, where we are. Was your home far from here? Maybe we can go see it. We can go get some answers.”
“Rheya.” He interrupted.
But I had already realized what he hadn’t said aloud.
“At the gate, you looked shocked. And the table, you were running your hands over it like you carved it. The way you looked out the kitchen doors, and now out the window.”
“I helped my father carve that table, it was something we did for fun.” He murmured.
“This was your home.”
“It was so long ago.” He said softly.
“But how did you end up in America?” I asked.
He didn’t answer immediately, “I never thought I would see this place again.” He murmured looking back out the window.
“You used to live here. But, what does this mean?” I asked, “Are we related?”
Decklen smiled.
“No. My family was killed, and I was the only survivor. I fled from this place, and I never had any children that I am aware of. I made it to America only to live my life on the run for three years before they found me, and killed me. If what I have been thinking is true, then your ancestors where the ones who killed them and later, I.”
I sat stunned. “If that’s true, then I don’t know what to say. Decklen I’m so sorry.”
He smiled at me softly and moved a few strands off of my face. “It was a long time ago. I’ve had apparently over a two hundred and fifty years to come to peace with it, though I don’t remember any of that time. Regardless, I don’t blame you for anything your family may have done to mine. I’m at ease with my death. Besides, my family. They did things that I am not proud of. The death of my sisters was cruel, but my parents I can’t say that they didn’t do anything to make it unjustified.” He said to me.
“Murder, is murder.” I said.
He smiled the only way someone who had grown up in a different world from you could. “It was a much different time.” He said to me.
I didn’t answer as I laid my head back down on his shoulder. I reached out and picked up Dracula. Decklen didn’t resist as it slid from his hand. I laced my hand through his gently.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Your guess, is as good as mine.” He said.
“Decklen.”
“Yes.”
“Your twenty three.”
“When I died yes.”
“Your old.” I said wrinkling my nose.
He laughed at that. For the first time since we’d arrived I thought.
“Being twenty three or two hundred and sixty seven?” He said.
“Both.” I answered.
He laughed again, and I smiled. I felt it shake my head slightly. Glad we could both still smile, I looked around the room and remembered. I sat up frowning.
“What is it?” He asked me.
“This room. This was the one from my dream. Everything is the same. The balcony, the couch, even the painting, the carvings on the wood. Everything I dreamt it all.” I said.
“Odd, of all the rooms.” He said.
“What do you mean?”
“This was my room.” He said, “back when my family was here.”
I stared at him before sitting up. “I think we need some answers. And she’s going to have to give them to us.”