Chapter 1: Father

When I wake up, the first thing I feel is searing pain across my head. A never-ending cacophony of nails pounding into my skull. As I try to push the pain out, I notice tubes joining my hand with an IV nearby. I take a moment to sit up painfully. A shot of pain streaks over my chest and I wince.

I’m in a hospital. Alone. As my eyes skim over the plain, white room, they set over him. No, not alone. His snow-white hair covers his eyes and a shadow has formed over his set jaw. He’s disheveled and I doubt that he took a shower in a while. When he’s sleeping, he almost looks…human. Here, on an upholstered armchair, lies a man I never thought I’d see again.

“Dad.” My voice is hoarse and my throat is parched. The man does not stir. I sigh deeply.

“Dad!” He wakes up and before I know it, a barrel is pointed at my face. My hands are raised subconsciously. My pulse starts and I fight to calm myself.

“It seems that I’m not the only sick one here.” Amazing, I manage to joke with a gun pointed at me.

I can catch his piercing blue eyes above the gun. “Nice to see you again.”, I say sarcastically.
His grimace softens and he lowers his hand. “You scared the life out me, son. Don’t you know never to yell at a man with a gun?”

I ignore him. “How did you get it past the staff?”

“I didn’t. Lucky for me I always have a spare.” He grins. I’m caught unawares. I never see him smile. It’s like watching a lion mew.

My father is the one man I most admire and hate. Jacob Amadeus Crome is what one would call, “fearsome beyond belief”. He may not have scales lining his whole figure or jagged teeth protruding from his orifice but anyone with enough sense in their skull would understand that he’s a force to be reckoned with. He is famous needless to say despite his hell invoking glare. He owns a manor in England, bequeathed to him by his late father. He is widowed for my mother died when I was ten. A rare mental illness is what they all told me. I still remember the empty cases of spirits in his study and our daily battles. The last bout was also the last time I saw him. It included his disapproval over Adelaide and my disinheritance. It’s been what? Two years?

“How did I get here? What happened?”

Then I remember. “…Dad, where’s Adelaide?”

He stops smiling and that grim expression returns. He turns toward the window. A storm brews outside. The rain beats against the panes, fighting to enter in. Lightning strikes and for a minute, the lights go out.

“Answer me, dad. Where’s my wife?”

“She’s gone.” His back was still facing me.

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

He shakes his head. “She disappeared.”

The lights come back flickering. I barely notice. Memories come flooding in and I see her face in the arms of that vampire. No, it can’t be. The IV tube holds me back as I try to get out of the bed and I try to keep myself from pulling it out completely.

“Dad, what was that thing?”

He spins and pierces me with his cobalt eyes. Thunder and lightning flood the room but that gaze hold me still. I stare back, daring him to go on.

“What did you see?”

“Would you believe me if I told you?”, I ask.

“I’m open to anything right now.”

I brace myself. It is even more painful to form the words: “I saw him. No, It. A vampire. He had his teeth in her. When he looked at me, I saw blood colored eyes and fangs. She was unconscious. He broke the window and leaped out the building.”

He stands unmoved but his gaze takes on a look of confusion. I start to question myself. Am I mad? Was I just dreaming? I must have been. My own father won’t believe me.

He still faces the rain streaked window. "Did he say anything? What did he look like?"

I fight to remember him amidst the noise in my head."He's uh…Caucasian with black hair. Red eyes. He had a lot of rings. And… " I then remember that snatch of red gleam against the lamplight. " He had this pendant, a bright red one in the shape of a snake."

Dad looks up, panicked. "It’s a cobra.", He whispers.

"What?"

He ignores me. Dad starts pacing around the room. I never saw him this anxious. He starts muttering under his breath. His quick steps are silent in his soft leather boots. “Dad, do you know where she is?”

He ignores me and goes on mumbling.

I yell. “Dad! Talk to me! You know what is going on. Tell me what happened!”

“Is there anything wrong, Mr. Crome?” I turn to see a nurse enter the room. With graying copper hair and grass green eyes, she had a look of motherly affection as she starts to help me back in bed. “Sir, it’s nice to see you awake but you need to get back. Come now, you’ve been sleeping for a whole day and shouldn’t exert yourself.” I didn’t say anything but stare daggers at him. He doesn’t even notice. She spins around and fixates on my father, “And you shouldn’t excite your boy like that.” My dad moves to speak but she cuts him off: “I mean it.” He shuts up. I feel a tinge of satisfaction but it doesn’t last long.

Where is she? If that thing didn’t kill her, where is she?

It takes a second for the news to sink in. Why didn’t I stop him?

As the nurse eases me back into a sitting position, I notice for the first time the various cuts on my arms and legs. Both deep and shallow. The smaller ones are already starting to scab but the deeper ones have gauze on them. My head is still throbbing but less painfully. As I move upwards, I finally notice an ugly scar over my heart where the initial pain emanated.

“What happened to me?” I didn’t realize I said that out loud until my father answered.

“Your neighbor heard noises and found you near a broken window. You had blacked out and fell on the shrapnel. That’s where all those cuts came from. One of the shards though had found its way into your chest. Lucky for you, they called ambulance and kept away the overflow.”

“What were you doing there anyway son?” the nurse asked. I make a move to reply but I catch a hard stare from dad instead. I take a moment, clear my throat and reply though my voice is still gravelly, “I don’t remember. It’s all a haze.”
Is this real?

She looks at me with concern but doesn’t say anything. After a suspicious glance rotating between me and my father she finally replies, “Okay sweetheart, just go back to rest. And when you’re feeling better, there’s a detective who just want to ask you a few questions about that night. Okay?”

I nod, suddenly apprehensive. The thought just occurred to me. What if they think I had something to do with it? That I killed her? And pushed her out the window?

Did I? Did I kill her? No, no stop it! She’s not dead. She’s not dead…

I was so lost in thought that I almost didn’t notice when the nurse left the room and my father immediately went to stuffing my clothes into a backpack. I'm snapped out of my reverie when he unplugs the IV attached to my hand with ease.

“What are you doing?”, I ask

“We’re leaving. Get off the bed.”

I make a move to obey but thought better. If he wants to play games, then so will I.

“No.”

“It’s no time to act like a child, Carden. We have to leave this place.”

“Why?”

“Those people will never believe your story. You’re in hot water now, boy. Neighbors heard screaming. They found you near a broken window with blood on the floor. Adelaide is missing. What will they think?”

He pulls me by the elbow and brings his face next to mine. I'm once again caught in his searing gaze. I try to suppress a gulp but fail. Why am I so afraid of him?

“Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail because of that woman?”

“That woman is my wife and I’m going to find her.” I shove his hand away and move to take the backpack but he pulls it away from my grasp.
“You need me.”

“Why? Why should I need you?” My voice rises, “You never accepted her! You hated her from the moment I brought her to you! Why should I ever trust a man who left me to the streets two years ago? Why?” My face is flushed and my hands start to shake.

I move to snatch the backpack again but he steps back. My rage heightens and I forward to strike him.

He drops the bag and catches my blow. Before I know it, he deftly steps forward and twists my punch around. In less than two seconds, I’m caught with him behind my back, pulling my clenched fist up my spine. I wince at the sudden pain.

He whispers in my ear, a voice so soft, I almost did not hear it, “I’m not your enemy.”

He releases his grasp. As I turn around, refraining to rub my wrist, he sighs in resign. “You need to get out of here and I’m the only one who can help you.”

“Why should I trust you?”, I ask still boiling over with anger.

A few agonizing moments pass before an answer.

“I know where Adelaide is.”