From Russia With Love

From Russia With Love: Chapter 7

Frederik's POV

I wake up the next morning to the birds chirping and soft music playing in the room. When I look around, I see that we have already checked into a hotel; and a ritzy one at that. Rebekka walks over to the bed and kisses my forehead.

'What is it, my love; what are you in need of?'

Rebekka smiles and whispers 'You know what I need; I need my lovebug. I need you, Freddie. Screw what happened last night; none of it matters if you forgive me..'

'At least you're bold enough to try and entice me with sexy aliases. Alright; I forgive you, my Bekkie buttercup. Might I ask one thing though; what's with the music in the background?'

'What; I can't try to please my boyfriend and get on his good side again? Is there a rule against that?'

I shake my head and whisper 'Oh, my dear Rebekka... I am willing to repent you of your sins if that's what it takes to forgive you. Are you still angry?'

'No; are you?'

'No, my dear Rebekka... I am not angry anymore.' After making up, we kiss and hug, things even a human couple would do. Rebekka pulls away abruptly and says 'We should go to breakfast; our allies will be waiting for us. I think Cyrus had some big announcement, too.'

When we get down to the dining hall, a maitre d' ushers us over to a table and we sit down between Cyrus and his son Stanley, who mysteriously has bloodstains on his face already; quite peculiar if you ask me. Cyrus speaks now, breaking me away from my thoughts.

'I would like to announce that Stanley has killed his first enemy, hence the blood on his face. Unfortunately, it was a child of only 156 years; still quite young, but it had to be done. If it hadn't have been for Stanley-'

'If it hadn't have been for Stanley, we'd still be alive!' I recognize the voice as that of the red-haired American vampire who introduced himself as Patrik on the train

'We would all be dead, Patrik! With the amount of training he's probably had, he could have killed up all!' All of a sudden, a young waitress walks over and asks 'Is something wrong, Mr. Harris?' Cyrus responds by waving a hand and replying 'No, no, Brenda; everything is alright. My son was just being a negative Nancy.'

The waitress nods and walks away. Patrik glares at his father and mumbles 'Anna and I are going to sit with our other allies, Father' before grabbing his mate's hand and trudging away.

The rest of the meal was quite uneventful without all of our allies present; we may as well have sat by Syria, or even the candidates from Iran. Halfway through the meal, Cyrus pulls something out of his pocket; the object is a wallet. He opens it and passes it to me, presumably wanting me to look at a picture of his son, and says 'Oh, how I miss my son Thomas... he is still so young...'

'But your wife is at home with him; correct?' Cyrus nods, a sign that he is agreeing. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Stanley shifting his position frequently, as if he's nervous. God only knows what he is thinking about. Rebekka taps me on the shoulder and, when I look over, kisses me. 'You sneaky girl, you' I mutter, before letting her sit on my lap.

Stanley's POV

I shouldn't have murdered that child; he didn't deserve it... Even though he'd begged me to kill him (in Swedish, too; I very nearly know the language by heart) I still feel guilty. What sane person asks you to kill them? I nearly resisted, but the smell was too much; I needed his blood, and I needed it at the exact moment I thirsted for it.

When the woman Father had earlier acknowledged as 'Brenda' returns and asks if I would like a refill on my glass of AB-negative, I must decline. 'No thank you; I need to stay away from blood as long as I can, considering all the bad shit I've done in the past twenty years...'

Patrik spares me a condescending glance and shoves an extra glass of blood in front of me. I can only stare at it and wrinkle my nose in distaste. Not only does it reek of AB-negative, a glass of which I already have in front of me, but it also probably tastes funny, like the other one I drank.

I was always the test mouse for everything my brothers did, no matter the consequence to them. How many times had I actually done something for myself? I can think of nary a time. Isaac's voice from nearly twenty years ago rings in my mind: 'Oh, it's alright, Stanley; we'll let you into the treehouse someday... or not...'

Immediately following that, Isaac had given me tainted blood to drink. I had thrown up for three consecutive hours after ingesting it. Patrik's brow wrinkles in frustration as I continue to stare blankly at the glass of crimson liquid.

As an explanation as to why I am not drinking that which is supposed to be my meal, I reply 'Surely, Patrik, now and then you've looked back on your life and... reflected on your actions? I know Isaac hasn't because he's still an asshole. I feel queasy just looking at that red liquid because so much of it has been shed on my account.'

'I understand, Stanley... It's alright...' He stares at me again; this time it's not a gaze of pity, but one of love. In my peripheral vision, I can see that Isaac is glaring at me - not out of the corner of his own eye, but straight-on.

'I fucking hate you, you twerp... you spineless deathwish of a brother; you are the last person a man would think to trust! Why, if Father wasn't sitting right there, I'd wring your skinny little neck untill all that blood drained out of your system.'

When he gets under my skin, I feel like I want to dig my hands into his eye sockets and yank them out of his skull. I notice Patrik staring and whisper 'Fine; I'll drink some of this blood... but, quite frankly, I won't be pretending not to like it.'

Patrik smiles and whispers 'Good, Stanley...' as I drink the slimy red liquid. If you've never drunk blood in your lifetime, the feeling of it slipping down your throat can be characterised as akin to that of the action of swallowing an eel or a snake, or a slug, perhaps.

As it splashes over your tongue, you feel a sense of being satiated, of being full. But the feeling does not last long, and all of a sudden, all at once, you feel hungry again. Both feelings are inevitable - the bloodlust and the satisfied feeling. It's a cycle. A cycle of hunger; a cycle of pain...

Frederik pokes me on the shoulder and says 'Are you alright, Stanley? you seemed to be, er... in a daze.' Yeah, I'm fine; just dealing with an excessive amount of guilt right now, that's all.