The next morning I woke up early and after breakfast Millicent put me right to work.  First she dragged me to town to help her buy a bunch of supplies and then she sent me to and fro on one errand after another in the garden.

The clothing I was wearing was utterly ruined and I was thankful I had put on the ugliest thing that she had brought me.

Millicent set me to digging holes for her new rose bushes.  She was puttering a short distance away and was talking to me about plants.  It was terribly boring, so I pushed the spade into the earth just a little bit more vigorously in an effort to complete my task.

Finally lunch time arrived and Millicent felt she was finished with me for the day.  I was quite relieved.  Apparently the vampire virus did not grant one immunity to backaches and blisters.  After I ate, I walked down to the beach and lay in the sand.

The sun had decided to peak out for a little while, so I basked in it, thinking over all the things I had learned.

I could understand Paul's reluctance for the secret to be out.  Researchers would be interested for various reasons, both medical and aesthetic.

We would probably be turned into lab rats and the ways a symbiotic disease could be abused were seemingly as infinite as human imagination.

I lay there for a while and started to get drowsy listening to the rhythmic waves.  Predictably, because even after everything I was still myself, I fell asleep.

"Are you okay, Dylan?" Paul asked.

I opened my groggy eyes.  "Yeah," I assured him in the raspy voice of the barely conscious.

"I was just checking," Paul told me.  I wondered why he was concerned.  Likely because I looked like his dead fiancé.  How flattering, I though sarcastically.

I shrugged off the bitter thoughts and pushed myself up.  "I just fell asleep in the sun."  I glanced at the again cloudy sky.

"There is precious little sun here," he commented blandly, then squared his shoulders.  "I actually came down to talk with you about something," he said.  "It seems you'll have your passport in two weeks.  It might not be real, but it will be undetectable.  "You'll have no need to worry."

"Thanks," I said.

"Would you like to book a flight?  You don't have to leave, but..." he trailed off.

I was not going to stay so he could feel nostalgic for Sarah.  I was going to go and live my own life.  "Yes, do you have a computer I can use?"

"Of course.  And you'll need money."  He handed me an envelope I had not noticed he was carrying.

I glanced inside and was surprised at the number of bills crammed inside.  "I can't take—"

"It's fine.  Consider it a gift.  One accumulates a surprising amount of money when one lives long enough."

I decided it was fine to accept his generosity so long as I did not become dependent on it.  "Thank you."

"I'm glad I can help you in some small way."

I just smiled vaguely.

He shifted awkwardly, and said, "Well, I'm going back to the house."

I nodded and looked out across the water.

I booked a flight to take me back to North America with Paul's card.  The seat I purchased gave me three weeks to spend in England before I left, so I decided to enjoy myself, because I refused to let the black cloud of deception Michael had hung above me drown me in its deluge.

I continued to help Millicent in the garden.  She, like Tara, had the amazing ability to talk constantly.  Unlike Tara, however, Millicent's conversation was slower and more precise and at times more boring.  Her mind did not make the abrupt stops and turns that Tara's so often did.

Millicent's past was rather interesting.  She had met Paul as a young woman when he had come to England.  He had hired her for taking care of the house and garden and she had continued to do it her entire life with an almost fanatical dedication.  While she never actually said it, I was convinced she had loved Paul most of her life.  It seemed sad to me.  If Paul had been able to set aside his obsession he might have had a good life.

Interestingly, but unsurprisingly considering she had known him so long, Millicent was also aware of Paul's condition.  She knew about his disease and had donated blood for him when she was younger.

She was aware of his goal to kill Michael, although she stressed the reason they hated each other was not her business.  She confessed to me she worried about him whenever he left, because she was afraid he would not return.

I considered the months of confusion that I might have avoided if only Michael had been as open with me as Paul had been with Millicent with some resentment.

When I was not serving as Millicent's helper, I would walk to the nearby village or go and lay on the beach.  I opted not to swim most of the time, because the water was colder than I liked.

I did not spend much time talking to Paul, because he seemed uncomfortable around me, perhaps after barring his soul the way he had.

It did not bother me, because I had no intentions of having contact with him again.  Perhaps our paths might cross again in the many centuries ahead, but I had no intention of seeking him out in the future.

The one time I did seek Paul out while I was staying at his home, I asked him to teach me how to give myself a blood transfusion.  He explained it was better to have someone else do it for me, but showed me how to do so.

I could already see that the results were far better and more efficient than drinking blood.  I resolved to find someone to give me infusions.

Alex flashed through my mind and I wondered if I could find where he lived in the States.

I rejected the idea, because he was too connected to Michael.

It was exactly one week before I was set to leave Europe when Paul came to me.  I had finished with my work for the day and was sitting on the deck reading a trashy novel from the eighties that I had found in the attic while helping Millicent clean.  I looked up at him when he appeared.  He seemed as uncomfortable as ever.

"Would you like to come with me to see the graves?"

I knew immediately to which graves he referred because his story had been running through my head since I had first heard it.  I found myself intrigued, even curious to see the graves that had so affected my life.

"I understand if you don't want to," he said tentatively.

I could not help smiling at his hesitation.  "No, I'd like to."

"Would you be ready to go now?" he asked.

"Let me just grab a couple of things," I said and charged into the house.  I was still dirty from after helping Millicent so I changed and I threw a bit of money into a purse that I had rescued from its abandonment in the attic.  I tossed the book in, too.

"I'm ready to go," I announced when I came out the door.

We walked to the car that had brought me to Paul's house.  While I had not properly looked at it at the time, it was a modest yet luxurious vehicle.  I noted with a touch of amusement it could best be described as understated, just like Paul.  He was handsome but not showy.

I was smiling as I got into the car, until I smacked my head on the door.

"Ouch!" I yelped.

"Are you okay?" Paul asked in a concerned sort of voice.  He was already sitting in the driver's seat.

"I'll be fine," I said, clutching my head and sitting down.  Once I closed the door and put on my seatbelt, Paul shifted the car into gear and we drove out on to the road.

The side of my head still hurt.  "I must be the clumsiest person on the planet," I whined.

"Have you always been clumsy?" he asked.

I decided not to take offence; after all, I had said it first.  "Never as bad as the last few years."

"It's probably because of the change in your muscles.  Your brain had learned the way your body worked slowly over the years as you grew, but then it was changed abruptly.  You'll probably get more coordinated over time."

I tried thinking back, but I was not sure.  "Maybe.  I hope so."

"It'll take years before your mind fully grows into it."

It was a nice thought.  I might yet grow out of being the clumsiest pseudo vampire in the world.

We drove for a while and eventually I realized I was once again lost.  I pulled the map out of the glove compartment and occupied myself by trying to find our location.  I was pleased when I figured out roughly were we were.  If only Michael could see me now.  I was irritated and embarrassed with myself for thinking about him again.

After a while, Paul broke the silence.  "I was thinking about that night in Paris."

I remembered screwing up Paul's plans.  I wondered if he was angry at me about it.  While I did not approve of murder, it was probably frustrating for him.  "Sorry," I said, but I only half meant it.

A half smile passed over his features.  "It's not the first time he's escaped me.  It was the first trap I tried to spring on him, however."

"I still don't know why you want to kill him so badly," I commented.  I had mixed feelings.  Michael had done a lot of bad things but I could not quite wish him dead.

"Truthfully, I don't," Paul said.

"You don't?" I repeated incredulously.  "You sure try to frequently for someone you don't want to kill."

He smiled again.  "I know it is my responsibility and that I must.  Perhaps it is even my purpose for remaining in the world.  I wish Michael could again become the friend I once loved so much and who is forever lost to me.  I truly miss him."

I did not know what to say, but I could understand his feelings.

He continued, "I've been hunting Michael so long now that I can't even imagine anything beyond that.  Michael's game is my life; my only real goal is to win and end the game.  I suspect Michael is the same. He thinks of it like chess.  In his mind he is the white king and I am, no doubt, the black.  He collects pieces to use against me; he takes pawns and turns them into more useful pieces."

"So I'm just a pawn?" I asked, half amused and half sad.

"That Michael turned into a queen."

"Well, that's so flattering," I said flatly.

"But I doubt Michael is sure what color of piece you are now.  Perhaps you are not white, perhaps you are black, or grey, or perhaps blood red."  He smiled at his whimsy.

I did not feel like a queen.  My options and my movements were too restricted.  I could only go forward.

I still felt like a chess piece, but it was too bad there was not a court jester doppelganger on the board.

By the time Paul pulled off the main road, the sun had come out and was casting its rays at us.  We then drove down a long, tree lined gravel drive.  Only a few splotches of sunlight filtered through the trees and the whole drive was rendered in a surreal green glow.

Finally we reached a clearing at the end and Paul pulled over to the side of the drive.  We got out of the car and walked forward. 

The clearing was roughly square shaped and was surrounded by an intricate wrought iron fence that was about half my height.  It had upside down hearts intermittently placed at intervals and crosses woven in throughout.  Paul walked towards the gate at the front of the graveyard and unlatched the gate.  It swung open.

There were stones for headstones scattered in roughly straight rows throughout.  Flowers in many vibrant colors grew all around the graves.

"I've expanded it since that first time I saw it," Paul commented.  "If it gets bigger I'll have to cut back the trees and replace the fence.  Not that anyone really comes here anyway.  The hollyhocks are Millicent's contribution, although even she doesn't know who lies here."

I assumed by hollyhock he meant the flowers growing everywhere.  "It's very peaceful," I said, mostly to fill the silence.

He shrugged, "It's all I can do for them."  Paul began walking.  I followed him, almost without thinking.

Paul gestured to the first unmarked grave.  "This one was a young girl about your age.  Very much your opposite.  She was nothing like Sarah, except her eyes were the same startling blue."

It was strange to be so abruptly reminded the calm and resigned man next to me was a murderer.  I was standing in a serial killer's bone yard.  I still did not feel afraid, but I could nearly feel his sadness and regret seeping into me.  It was odd to feel so sorry for a killer.  It was only his regret that redeemed him at all.

I continued to follow Paul around the graveyard, while he spoke of each person who lay in the unmarked graves.  I almost wished I had not come to this place of grief, but I still followed Paul as though compelled by a curiosity I could not control.  After a short time Paul led me to a gravestone that had a hollyhock chiseled into the granite.

"This is where my little flower girl lays," he explained and I was not surprised her grave stood out among the rest.  Paul continued to lead.

Finally we reached the grave I had truly come here to see.  This was where the catalyst for the disruption of my life and so many others lay.  I was unique only insofar as I had survived long enough to see it.

This grave was the nearly the same as all the other headstones and was weather worn, but it still bore the faintest etching of her name.

"This is her?" I asked, a little breathless.

"Yes.  This is my Sarah."  There was so much pain in his words I thought he might shatter.  I could feel he had loved her across all these endless seasons and generations and centuries.  I imagined the pain he felt every time he looked at me.

Yet this was also the reason why he called me Dylan so easily, because for him, unlike Michael, there was no one in the world who could replace her.  There was no one who was her equal no matter how much they looked like her, or sounded like her, or acted like her.

Michael continued to play their game; he continued to torture Paul, because he never felt his revenge was complete.

Michael was right that he could never truly get revenge, because Paul had already inflicted the most painful wound on himself.  Paul had already killed the person he loved the most in existence.  What more could Michael do to punish him now?

I felt so many things in that moment I could hardly sort them out.  There was the terrible tragedy of Michael's and Paul's existence.  There was the deep sadness for all of the needless victims who lay beneath the earth.

And there was ever a darkly pathetic craving in my mind, both simple and as inexplicable.

I was jealous.  I knew I should not feel that way, yet I could not banish the feeling from my heart.  I was jealous of a long dead woman because she had people who had so centered their existences on her that they still felt the ripples of her life centuries later.  There was something about her that caught their hearts and held them, something that made her the most important being in their existence.

I, who had only ever occupied second place, could only wonder and envy at such devotion.

Would anyone even remember me if I was gone?

I continued to follow Paul, using all my will to keep my churning feelings from leaking out.

Paul was stood silent vigil for a long moment.  "Are you ready to leave?" he finally asked.

"Yes."  We began to walk back to the car.

I took one last look behind me at the graves as we walked towards the gate.  I wondered if I would ever see them again.  Everything was silent and still but for the flowers moving in the summer breeze.

Then, a loud crack rent the silence in two.  It was as if time slowed down.  Birds shrieked and flew out of the trees around us.  Paul staggered beside me, then squared his shoulders.

"Paul!" I gasped as I turned towards him.  His upper arm was bleeding.  "What happened?"

"Michael is here."