Page 195 of Eternal Craving

Having not fed, the slight shake in my hands increased, though my appetite had dulled. Within the small chamber, the drama of a troubled past unfolded, evolving over decades, a fantastical story that stirred the same emotions as it left my lips.

Jacob listened.

For the first time in decades, I prayed, begging God not to take him from me.

Yet again breaking my own rule, I trespassed into his thoughts, needing reassurance that this would not be the last time I’d see him. Jacob’s flushed face and fresh tears caused frequent pauses in my dark monologue, but his insistence for me to continue forced me to do so.

As I recounted my past, it revealed a new perspective and other possibilities arose, highlighting better choices that could have been made. Decisions of my youth were just that; I fought off the regret. Years ago, I’d mourned briefly and then moved on, hoping that my future would make up for the past. Taking full responsibility for what I’d become, it had been easier to accept. Trying to explain this to my fresh-faced son, who stared up at me, riveted, offered up a new challenge. I gauged Jacob’s reaction.

He wiped away another tear. “If there’s a way back for you – a cure – I’ll find it.”

I allowed him the solace of believing that was possible.

Jacob stood up. “Sunlight is your enemy?”

I subtly checked his expression, watching for any sign that would indicate he’d try to test the theory and inadvertently put me at risk.

Jacob’s hand brushed over the door and then he pointed to the coffin. “What’s it like sleeping in that?”

“You get used to it.”

“How have you not been driven mad?”

“Does the mad man know that he’s even mad?”

Jacob squinted. “All those times I thought you were working and you were actually asleep.”

And while you slept…

“Your whole life is a lie,” he muttered.

“Smoke and mirrors, that’s all.”

“This is how you justify what you do?”

“You’re not my judge.”

“But God is.”

“I could be pedantic and say that God stood by and watched this being done to me.” God owes me this, at least.

“He doesn’t interfere.”

“How convenient.”

“Do you not fear hell?”

“You and Marcus can have this discussion,” I said. “It bores me.”

“But what of your soul?”

I sighed. “What of it?”

I read the anxiety in his expression. “Are you damned?”

“Perhaps.”

“Aren’t you frightened of dying?”