Dawn Awakening

*********

Lucien gave John Mark his space. Time to grieve and sort through Robert and Danielle's deaths. He kept the brothers off John Mark's back, knowing how close to the edge John Mark was. Silently, he crept through the darkness and the pouring rain to exactly where he knew his brother would be. And there he was, as expected. Huddled in the shadowy corner, out of sight from passersby, hidden in the meager shelter of the eaves outside Robbie's windowsill, keeping watch.

John Mark heard Lucien slip up beside him. The fucker did stealth like a stampede of elephants in an A-bomb factory. At least the boss had given him a bit of space instead of ordering him to count the toilet paper rolls in the latrine or some other dumb shit. Annoyed as hell by Lucien's presence, he gripped his fingers into tight fists. "Don't even think about it," he warned under his breath.

Lucien wasn't about to send him trotting off on some stupid assed assignment. Not with Robbie alone and huddled in the dark. She needed him. This was the only place he intended on going. No matter what Lucien ordered him to do, he wasn't moving. He was so over being Lucien's errand boy. Someone else could do it for a change. There were plenty of other brothers to pick on. It didn't always have to be him.

Lucien held up his hands in a gesture of "no worries" and balanced on the rain-slicked peek of the front porch roof. All of the brothers were upset over Robert and Danielle's deaths. And they were all handling it in their own way. But, none of them took it as personally as John Mark did. He hadn't come here to send John Mark out on assignment. Having been "dead", Lucien knew the kind of aftermath death left in its wake. The places loss sent a person's head. He'd only come out to check up on him.

John Mark stared at the figure clad in black leather and narrowed his eyes in unspoken protest. "I made a promise." Robert's dying wish had been for him to take care of Robbie. And he intended on doing it. He'd quit the brotherhood. Go out on his own before he let her down. If he'd been there on time, he might have been able to do something. He could have...saved Robert and Danielle, if he'd gotten there sooner.

Lucien dropped his hands and stood in the rain, pelting down on his scalp till his hair was plastered like a helmet to his head. "I know." Lucien knew all about promises and what they meant. The importance of John Mark giving his word wasn't lost on him. He'd made his share of vows in the past. And there wasn't anything he wouldn't have done to uphold them to the very letter. He also knew a thing or two about the heavy price promises cost. What they took out of your soul to uphold them. Glancing over his shoulder at John Mark, he leapt down from the roof and melted into the darkness.

*********

Kiros was devastated by his sister's report. Kore had been emotional. Even shed a tear or two as she told him the horrifying news. Unexpected, especially from her. As far as he knew, his sister had no heart to speak of.

He made his way to the morgue silently as a whisper. Modern hospitals were a bit of a mystery to him. A place so filled with death and misery. There had always been the dead and the soon to be dead. It was just a matter of time before death came to every person. Seemed like an awful place to be in your last days. A person should die surrounded by those who loved him. Not in this sterile environment, cared for by nameless, faceless strangers.

He had to see it for himself. Look upon the body of his far removed great, great, great, so many greats grandson. The end product of a unholy union between a whore and a version of himself that had, so long ago, been human. Easily he found the place where they kept the dead. All he had to do was follow its stench and there he was.

Carefully, he unzipped the bag that held his grandson's remains and looked down on the pale, lifeless features. A wave of sadness he hadn't expected to feel claimed him and he wiped away a tear from his cold cheek. His grandson didn't know it. But, Kiros could see the resemblance clear as day. He could see himself on his grandson's face, in the sculpted jaw and angular nose, and in the hair color, faded with time, but still so crimson red.

The girl, his great-granddaughter had been here. He could smell her sweet scent intermingled with the stench of death. Kiros could go to her tonight. Indoctrinate her into his eternal family. Death would never come for her. Decay would never mar her beauty. She would never age. She'd be his companion. Wander throughout the mysteries of time at his side. Replace his sister who, for all her beauty, had grown ugly as a crone.

He could wait a little longer. If the passing of the centuries had taught him nothing else, it was the virtue of patience. As one final gift to his grandson, he'd let the girl bury her dead. See them to their rest. Let her have a final moment to mourn, before he showed her the splendor of the world and ushered her into the endless journey she was about to embark upon. She would see him as benevolent and kind, and she would love him for it, for all time.

Chapter 6

John Mark hesitated, his hand balled up into a fist ready to knock on the front door. He inhaled deeply, trapping Robbie's familiar scent in his nostrils. Raising his pulse a few beats. Shaking off his feelings, he concentrated on hers. Alone, she felt utterly abandoned and alone. He could smell the acrid tinge of sorrow intermingled in her scent. He wished there was more that he could do for her. How badly he wanted to erase those negative emotions from her mind. Lift her burden. With time, she would feel better. Settle into a routine and find her place in the world. And he'd be there for her, as he always was, every step of the way. Balancing a coke and the paper bag in his other hand, he inched open the screen door and knocked.

An incessant pounding awakened Robbie. She knew it would be a just a matter of time before the well- meaning townspeople began to stop by. Wearily, she glanced at the mantle clock and focused to see the time. Noon? She hadn't expected the entourage of blue haired old ladies quite so soon. But, then again, this was a small town. And her parents were well known. The gossip clutch probably convened at seven and began baking those god-awful condolence casseroles nobody actually ate by seven-fifteen.

Robbie groaned and pulled the coverlet over her head. Rolling over on the couch, she face planted into the scratchy fabric of the cushy backrest and tried to go back to sleep. Maybe, if she ignored them, they would give up and go away. Leave their casseroles at the door, and her alone. No such luck in that department. The knocking continued, louder and, more insistent and obnoxious than before.

Cursing under her breath, she flung off the covers and stomped to the door, flinging it open wide. Struggling to hide her annoyance behind a smile. It wasn't their fault. As god fearing, law abiding citizens of the town they probably thought it was their civic duty to bombard her with tuna noodle surprise and potato chip casseroles. If they really liked her parents, she might score a shepherd's pie or two. Luckily, the casseroles usually came in disposable tins so she could dump them straight into the trash. She was not eating condolence food. Like she needed a reminder, served up with clumps of cheddar cheese and gummy noodles, to drive home the point that her parents were dead.

She blinked in surprise to see, not a group of blue haired old hens, but... John Mark? A new and improved John Mark that she barely recognized. The changes suited him. He was a grown man now, much taller, probably thirty pounds heavier, none of it fat and every inch of it muscle. Broad, well-developed shoulders stretched a black t-shirt to its capacity. Sleek, long, black hair, gathered casually and tied back in a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. His bronzed skin smooth and clear, free of the acne that had haunted him throughout his teen years. He smiled down at her. Perfectly straight white teeth gleamed from behind full broad lips.

Her sorrow forgotten for the moment, she leaned against the edge of the front door and couldn't help but smile back at him. "Hey." Of course, he'd still be living here. Some people never tried to escape the trap of small town life. It was just...where they belonged. His lack of a life plan didn't matter to her. As long as he was happy, that was the important thing. She was, well she was damned glad to see him.

Stepping back from the door to let him in, Robbie gave a fleeting thought to her appearance. She was still in the same shorts and t-shirt she'd worn last night. They were stiff and stained with muck from along the side of the road. Her hair, coarse and frizzy from the rainwater, had dried, matted into a mass of kinked tangles and unruly curls. No doubt she had dark circles under her eyes and puffy blotches on her face from spending half the night crying. None of that mattered. In front of John Mark, even though she hadn't seen him in years, she could be herself. They were buddies, pals, and there was no pressure. Not from him.

"Hi. I thought you might be hungry." John Mark waggled the bag inches from Robbie's twitching nose. She looked like she'd been run over by a Mack truck. No, scratch that analogy. So not appropriate, this line of thinking, given what happened. She looked like...well she'd just suffered a tragedy and was doing her best to deal with it. Besides, she could answer the door in a gunnysack and she'd be no less beautiful to him.

Robbie inhaled deeply, enticed by the scent of fries and cheeseburgers. If there were an eighth wonder of the world, Happy's would be it. People would drive for hours to her little hometown just to get a whiff of the Happy Burger Supreme. And here it was delivered to her door. She paused and wondered if it would be considered too rude if she just snatched the grease saturated bag away his hand and slammed the door in his face. Yeah, probably. Besides, enjoying a meal with an old friend would be the easiest part of the day. There were arrangements...things that she didn't want to deal with. But, had no choice to do that needed to be done.

Unable to resist the yellow, happy face on the side of the bag, smiling sappily at her, she let John Mark in. She wanted to be alone, wallow in her misery and pull the blankets over her head. Let somebody else handle the mess while she took the luxury of wrapping her head around her parent's death. That wasn't going to happen. There wasn't anybody else to do it. Whether she liked it or not, life had to keep on moving forward.

After they settled in at the kitchen table, John Mark divvied out the bag's contents, motioning for Robbie to eat. Intuitively waiting for her to start the conversation, he pushed a fry through a moat of catsup. He didn't press her. They'd talk about whatever she wanted to talk about. When she was ready. Until then, he'd pretend to eat.

"Wow," Robbie said. "It really has been a long time since I've seen you. You look fantastic." She nibbled on the edge of the grease-laden bun and moaned in delight at the flavor combination. The flash of red that splayed across his cheeks was a welcome diversion to the grim details hovering at the edge of her thoughts.

She and John Mark had always been pals, growing up together and going to the same schools. They had been fast and furious playmates until their teen years. Then hormones took over and he developed the world's worst crush on her. He was the first boy she had ever kissed, at the tender age of twelve. He was her date to the senior prom. He was a constant companion. Someone she could count on.

Unfortunately, for all his interest in her, she'd never shared the intent. He was her friend. At one time, her best friend. With all her high school friends scattered to the winds in different directions, her college friends headed to different places in their lives, he was probably her only friend. There were lines you just didn't cross. Ever. Friendship was one of them.

Being with John Mark in her mom's kitchen with him took her back to happier times. The memories a welcome reprieve from the sorrow so deeply embedded in her heart. Sunlight streamed through the red and white checked gingham curtains, flooding the space with warmth and cheerfulness that she just couldn't feel. All she could do was focus on her mom's absence. The eat in kitchen had always been one of her mom's favorite rooms of the house. But, now even with John Mark's enormous bulk of muscle filling up the chair beside her, it felt so damned empty.

"Yeah, I finally got out of puberty hell," he said awkwardly. Rubbing the back of his neck, he shoved the rest of his fries and the uneaten burger toward her. There was nothing worse than pretending to be something you weren't. Just like Robbie was play- acting, dancing around the topic of her parent's death with the skill of a prima ballerina. She was hurting. He was pretending to be human, squinting against the painful bite of the sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows. Pushing fries through catsup. Sucking up pop, that he couldn't drink, through a straw and swallowing nothing. Tearing off bits of the hamburger he couldn't eat. Dodging the big issue of his altered state, because she didn't know. And right now was not the time to tell her.

Robbie appreciated that John Mark had avoided any mention of her parents or the upcoming funeral. Just thinking about it brought a well of tears to her eyes and a crushing emptiness to her chest. She wasn't ready to talk about anything yet.

The rest of their conversation was spent catching up, exchanging stories of her life away at college and his experiences around town. With the meal being complete and being pleasantly full, she stifled a yawn. Funny, she hadn't been the least bit hungry till he showed up and put the food in front of her face. Then, she'd gobbled up every bite, even his leftovers.

"Hey look," John Mark said, rising from the table. "I better let you get some rest while you can." Awkwardly, he rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled his feet. He wasn't sure how to bridge the subject. "You know, if you need anything, just ask."

Robbie thought about her car full to the brim with clothing and the few personal trinkets she owned. She really didn't want to mess with retrieving them right now. But considering her closet was bare except for a few odds and ends she'd left behind. She had no choice. She glanced down at her keys, cringing at having to ask for a favor. He was just being polite in offering.

Smiling, John Mark took the hint. "I got this." He snatched her keys and went to the car, grabbing armloads of clothes and boxes out of the passenger side and back seat. The trunk was full of books. Even with his vampire strength, he was worn out by the time he lugged them up the stairs to her room. How many books did one person need? Hadn't she ever heard of an e-reader? Of course not, she was his little librarian. Instead of hanging out with real people, having an actual life, she hung out with Chaucer and the Bronte sisters.

Robbie welcomed the favor and that she didn't have to sacrifice her pride by asking him aloud. He made short work of unpacking the car and lugging its contents up to her room. It was a truly nice gesture on his part, and very appreciated. Just having her things in the house, especially her beloved books, made her feel the slightest bit normal again.

When John Mark was finished, he stood in front of Robbie. Annnndddd wasn't this uncomfortable. He dropped her keys on the kitchen table unsure of how to proceed. Robbie needed this. He needed this in the worst way imaginable. It was such an innocent thing, if not for the underlying motive behind it. An excuse to touch her, hold her. His arms gently encircled her shoulders and pulled her close, gently squeezing her in a hug. "Don't be a stranger," he said, gently kissing the top of her head so lightly she didn't even notice it.

Robbie couldn't help herself. She melted against John Mark's chest, soaking up every bit of strength and warmth he offered in the shelter of his arms around her body. Somehow, just being held in the warmth of an embrace, the gentleness of human contact, made her feel better. Oh sure, there were other feelings swarming beneath the surface. But, she quickly squashed them like a bug. This was her friend. John Mark. And thinking about him in any other way besides a friend was wrong. "I won't."

Robbie clung to the back of his t-shirt, clutching the hem tightly in her fists as if she were afraid to let him go. God, he didn't ever want her to. Ever. He rested his cheek against the softness of her hair and folded her up as tightly as he could into his arms, crushing their bodies together. Even though she didn't shed them, containing them behind closed eyes, he could smell the saltiness of her tears in the air. Gently, he stroked her hair, cooing softly under his breath to calm her. Rocking her in his arms, he let her hold on to him, bury her face in his chest and just breathe for as long as she needed to.

Embarrassed by how long she'd stayed locked in John Mark's arms. By how desperately she'd needed the hug, Robbie broke free. She could still feel the softness of his cotton t-shirt against her cheek. Smell the sharp, clean scent of his skin: woodsy like pine and spicy like cloves, in her nostrils. She walked him to the door and rested her head on the jamb. He took her fingers, dwarfed by his big hand, and gave them a gentle squeeze as he left.

Safely behind the closed door, Robbie sank to her knees on the floor, resting her back against the wooden door. Curled up into a ball, her chin resting on her folded knees and her arms wrapped protectively over her face, she sobbed until there was nothing left in her but emptiness. Just her, alone, in this empty house, with an empty heart filled with so many memories, tugging at her, threatening to pull her under.

Chapter 7

The ceremonial fire burned brightly into the night sky. The Great Father led his Sons in the familiar tongue of chants as old as time. The group was assembled high up on the bluffs on a wide expanse of flat earth. A holy place of life and of death, where the dead were sent on their journeys on pyres and the Sons, of pain and blood, were born.

The spirit of their goddess, Kokumthena, the Grandmother, was strong on this flat plane of earth. Her voice whispered amongst the tall summer grass and in winter shouted in a gale off the sheer surfaces of the bluffs, was a cold puff of breath on the frost, and a triumphant song of new life in the spring. And it was here, with the moon fat and high on the velvet night, that Robert and Danielle were celebrated, in both their lives and in their deaths.

John Mark's voice cried out the loudest, honoring the memory of Robbie's parents in a deep, melodic tenor. When the chanting ceased the brothers, both human and vampire, joined hands, dancing wildly around the orange glow of the fire. Their footsteps and the wild gyrations of their bodies, their voices sang as one, telling the story of the lodge and his people. Celebrating life and death in a harmonious union of body and song.

Sometimes, words alone aren't enough to tell a story. This was one of those times. John Mark would miss verbally sparring with Robert, especially about Robbie. It was laughable really, the way the Old Man's neck would redden and his jaw would tick whenever John Mark hinted at any interest in Robbie beyond friendship. Sometimes, mainly to goad the Old Man and just because he wanted him to know that yeah, he was interested in her way beyond the bounds of old childhood chums, he mentioned her on purpose.