Helens-of-Troy by Janine McCaw

Gaspar held Ellie in his arms as her body went limp. He watched her eyelids flutter, trying to re-open from the effects of the drug-like sensation palpating through her veins. He felt no need to slap her this time. He would let her awaken when she was good and ready. Instead, he pushed back her black hair from her shoulders and smelled her neck. The combination of the scent of her hair and the aroma of her skin aroused him.

  “What have I done?” he asked himself. Unfortunately, as fleetingly as the question entered his mind, it left. He was more curious than apologetic.

  His hands started to move up her body, his testosterone wanting to know what lay beneath that sweater she wore. He wanted to reach across her back, and undo her bra, like he had seen many a man do on those soap operas Helena PVR’d. His fingers moved slowly to the middle of her back, his mind a mixture of eagerness and panic. In the end, he did nothing. He knew she had no free will at the moment, and while that was beneficial for killing, it crossed the line for anything so instinctively human. So much for being a monster.

  “What am I doing?” he reflected, and this time his ego allowed him time to ponder the question.

  SHE had told him to try to avoid romantic entanglements. SHE had said there would come a time when he would find women who would offer themselves up freely, both sexually and food wise to him, with no strings attached. Ladies of the night, SHE called them, a new twist on an old moniker. SHE hadn’t said how long it would take before he found such a slut, or how he would recognize the signals from one, but he knew the scenario would not be like the one before him now.

  Ellie began to stir. She let out a steady stream of garbled expletives and random thoughts under her breath before she started to make any sense to Gaspar. “Hate me, why?” she eventually uttered, still somewhat delirious.

  “I don’t hate you, Ellie,” he said, kissing the top of her head lightly. She didn’t seem to notice. He gave her a light squeeze, almost a hug, and tried to get her to sit upright on her own. That failing, he propped her up in the corner of the wall and sat beside her, his arms around her protectively. “I think I feel exactly the opposite.”

  “Then why,” she asked groggily, her head flopping softly onto his shoulder, “are you doing this to me?”

  “Your grandmother,” Gaspar said icily, “killed my mother.”

  “My Nan is not a killer,” Ellie insisted, becoming more alert. “You can’t just go around accusing people of being murderers. You’re one to talk.”

  “How much do you really know about your grandmother, Ellie?” he asked, gently stroking her hair.

  This time, she was aware of Gaspar showing affection. It startled her, but at the same time if felt somewhat reassuring. At least he wasn’t trying to kill her.

  “Not a lot, you’ve got me there,” she admitted, thinking back to the few times she had spent with her Nan. She couldn’t for the life of her remember any moments of Helena being anything but kind. Except for that night in Troy, when Helena had gone after the dog. The dog that turned out to be Gaspar. And maybe that time when she had thrown a plate at Helen when their argument got heated at breakfast. The memories made reconsider her opinion of Helena. “Okay, just suppose my Nan has some anger issues. Wouldn’t they have locked her up if she killed your mother? Especially in front of witnesses?” Ellie asked, finally regaining the strength to sit up on her own. “I mean, she sleeps with the Chief of Police for crying out loud. You’d think he would have dumped her if that happened.”

  “Your grandmother invited my mother to a party where Momsey ultimately met her untimely death,” Gaspar told her.

  “That doesn’t make Nan a killer. A bad hostess maybe, but not a killer.”

  “One degree of separation,” Gaspar shrugged. “There was another man there. A rather well put together man, who reminded me of that Victor guy on the ‘Young and the Restless’. What accent does that actor have, anyway? Sometimes I think it’s Southern, sometimes I think it’s British. Beats me. Helena says he’s really of German descent. Anyway, this man, he did something very evil and I had to stand there and watch helplessly as his actions made my mother explode into a million pieces. Can you imagine that, Ellie? Someone you love not only dying before you, but being physically burst apart like a cheap dollar-store firework? It wasn’t pretty.”

  “You watch the Y&R?” Ellie questioned.

  “Is that all you have to say?” Gaspar asked, clearly hurt. “I just poured my heart out to you.”

  “What do you want me to say? Of course I’m very sorry for your loss, Gaspar. Whoever this man was at Nan’s house, and whatever he did, I’m sure it was an accident.”

  “An accident?”

  “Well, I’m thinking he wasn’t arrested either. You’re not showing a whole lot of closure here.”

  “I’ve seen this man before, Ellie. In photo albums that my mother had tucked away under her bed. He was my father. The father I never knew.”

  “So, your father killed your mother. I’m sorry to seem so cold-blooded, Gaspar but I’ve kind of had a lot to deal with lately. What does this have to do with my Nan? Why are you so mad at her?”

  “Your grandmother didn’t care. Just like you don’t care. There was no panic from HER when it happened. There were no tears. SHE just began picking up the pieces of my mother as if Marita was confetti thrown at a wedding. SHE used a shovel, as I recall. SHE scooped the remnants of my mother up with a hardware store winter sale item. My mother deserved better.”

  Ellie thought back to that first morning in Troy. She remembered asking her mother how Helena had wrecked her shovel over—Mrs. Harbinger. A look of horror came over Ellie’s face. Could it be true? Was Gaspar telling the truth about her Nan?

  Flashing back to the trip to Troy in Tony’s van, Ellie remembered even her own mother having reservations about Helena. She remembered clearly that her mother referred to Helena as ‘people’ and that Helen was reluctant to call Helena ‘nice’. Maybe it was because of the whole slutty schoolgirl/popstar persona her mother associated with Helena, or maybe it was really something else, something so sinister even Helen didn’t want to talk about it.

  “Believe it, Ellie,” he cautioned. “It’s not just your grandmother. Your mother doesn’t care when people lose their life either. She just pretends to.”

  “You’re a liar.”

  “Am I? Was she terribly broken up about that old guy dying on your porch? Did she lose any sleep over little Brooke? Did she weep with despair when the fat kid was discovered dead as a doornail in the utility fridge?”

  “No,” Ellie whispered, adding her personal recall of the canoeing incident into the mix.

  “What makes you think you’re any different? You can’t fool me. You’re one of them. A LaRose by any other name…”

  “I’m not like them,” Ellie insisted. “I can’t even kill a spider.”

  Gaspar put his finger to her lips. “Shush, Ellie. Don’t speak. Just let me look at you.”

  “What’s wrong?” Ellie asked, turning her head every so slightly away from him.

  “Nothing,” Gaspar whispered, taking her chin in his fingertips and turning her face towards his. “You’re beautiful.” He leaned in closer and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  Her heart began to race. To her surprise, she wasn’t finding the caress the least bit repulsive. A bit of a shocker, but exciting at the same time. “What did you do that for?” she asked breathlessly.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It just felt like the right thing to do. Isn’t that what sixteen year old boys do to fifteen year old girls? Are you mad at me?”

  “Not about that,” Ellie found herself admitting. The kiss had unleashed a flood of new feelings. Oddly, every evil atrocity she knew he had done in the past was suddenly of less significance. Beneath the long dark hair and brooding demeanor lurked a sadly misunderstood guy trying his best to live in a world in which he didn’t belong. A world that chose him, not the other way around. If she were in his position, she probably would
have had to become a feeder herself. What other choice did he really have? It all was so clear to her now.

  “It’s okay, Gaspar,” she said, softly licking her lips with her tongue not knowing whether he was going to try to kiss her again. She waited, feeling the hot flashes of teenage angst passing between them through stolen glances.

  “It wasn’t my choice, Ellie,” he said, as if reading her mind.

  “How can you be so bad, and so beautiful at the same time?” she asked him, touching his face softly. She closed her eyes and explored blindly the soft, cool texture of his skin. It was baby-like, with no sign of stubble forming around his jaw line. Perhaps he too, was waiting for his body to grow into his chronological age. Then again, maybe not. She opened her eyes and inhaled deeply as the face that had earlier represented such evil took on a new guise. Gaspar was cute. Maybe even cuter than Tom, in a Goth-Dude kind of way. She leaned in closer and offered her lips to him.

  He took her head in his hands and kissed her again, longer and harder this time, and she didn’t pull back from him. It was the first time in a long time that he had felt any kind of physical love, and he found himself thinking that perhaps killing her was not the best thing he could do. Not today, anyway.

  “So, you don’t think I’m twelve anymore?”

  “No,” he answered, “I can see that you’re not. I’m sorry I was such an asshole about that. It’s not easy being different, is it Ellie?” he asked sincerely.

  Ellie nodded in agreement. “All we want is to be accepted, to be treated like adults. I don’t get why that is so hard. I can’t help the way I look.”

  “You’re gorgeous,” Gaspar responded. “I see through it now, the innocence that your naked face portrays. You’re much more mature than you let on.”

  Ellie took his hand in hers. “How strange,” she commented. “A few hours ago, I absolutely hated you, and now…”

  “And now?” Gaspar asked breathlessly.

  “And now I find you—intoxicating,” she smiled. “I didn’t think I’d ever use that word in my life, but really, it’s the only word that fits.”

  “It might be the effect of my saliva, from when I tasted your blood. The potion-like attribute in it makes it slightly easier for …” he paused, not wanting to say ‘easier for those about to die’.

  “I don’t think that’s it,” Ellie said softly, stroking his fingers. His hands were larger than hers, yet somehow delicate. It was almost impossible to believe they had carried out the atrocities that they had.

  “My hunger,” he tried to explain, “isn’t about the feeding, no matter what you think. My hunger is my loneliness. Do you think I like being like this? A freak? I just want to be accepted like everyone else. I hunger for love. Does that really make me any different than you?”

  “What’s it like?”

  “It sucks. Sorry.”

  “No, I mean, what does it feel like. Physically.”

  “It’s kind of hard to explain. Remember the night by the bridge?”

  “My dream?”

  “If you want to call it that. Wasn’t it the wildest dream you ever had? Didn’t you feel and smell things so vividly, even though you were in a trance?”

  Ellie nodded in agreement.

  “That’s what it’s like. Only for me, it’s no dream. I’m awake and everything is totally pumped up. I don’t dream anymore. I rest, but I don’t dream.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “Becoming a vampire?

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  He stood up and walked over to the fountain sprinkler, cupped his hands, stepped on the water release, and gave his face a rinse. This conversation was draining on him, and the water made him feel slightly refreshed.

  “SHE made me the man I am today.”

  “How?” Ellie said, her green eyes showing empathy for him for perhaps the first time. “I thought you had to be a vampire, to change someone into one.”

  “You do,” Gaspar nodded, turning back towards Ellie. “Trust HER to have the local vampire on speed dial.”

  “Just like that?” Ellie asked.

  Gaspar sat back down on the floor beside her. “I’m sorry about the cold floor, Ellie. I just don’t notice these things anymore.”

  “Well, the blanket helps,” Ellie said, offering him a portion of it.

  He smiled weakly and spread part of it across his legs. His left foot was twitched nervously as he began to talk. “You have to understand how upset I was that night, Ellie. I wanted to die. I had no one to turn to. My mother was dead. I couldn’t trust my father. The Chief was busy with my mother’s bits and pieces. The old guy from down the street just kept on strumming his guitar like nothing happened. Betty Lachey was hysterical, and SHE, as I said before, was calm. Dead calm.”

  “It must have been horrible. What did you do?”

  “I went back home into our kitchen and took out a carving knife from the butcher block. At first I just tried to carve my mother’s initials into my arm, a self-inflicted DIY tattoo.” He pulled up his sleeve to show Ellie where he had done exactly that. “Do you like it? I’m surprised I can still make out the letters. Every other trace of what I did that night has vanished.”

  Ellie grimaced. The knife had carved the initials jaggedly into his upper arm. “And then?” she asked apprehensively.

  “I downed a half a bottle of my mother’s pain killers, and took the knife to my wrist,” he said calmly. “Actually sliced might be a better word. It almost did the trick.”

  “You tried to kill yourself?” Ellie whispered in non-belief.

  “I did better than try. I felt my heart stop beating.”

  “Oh my God!” Ellie gasped. “Did Nan find you and get you to a hospital?”

  “No! That Naturo Nan of yours put me into stasis. I must have been like that for a while, because when I woke up the painkillers had worn off and I was dealing with the worst pain I have ever felt in my life. I remember looking at HER, and begging HER to kill me, just to make the pain stop. But SHE just smiled. And then SHE was gone.”

  “I can’t believe my Nan would leave you alone like that.”

  “SHE didn’t. Not for long. My concept of time is a bit shaky because I was drifting in and out of consciousness, but in a little while there was a man hovering over my body. At first I thought it might be that Tom guy, but I realized that this man’s hair was longer and more strawberry colored than gel-boy’s. When he talked to me, he sounded messed up. He spoke Latin with an Irish accent. He was leaning over me like he wanted to kiss me, and I remember thinking, ‘how am I supposed to stop this’? But instead, he sank his teeth into my shoulder, and he began to feed off me. Just like you read in novels. The blood began to leave my body and enter his. I kept thinking, ‘this can’t be real.’”

  “Freaky,” Ellie commented, enthralled in his story. “SHE was telling him to slow down. “Ciaran,” SHE said, “watch what you’re doing. You need to get a better sense of Gaspar’s life force before you finish turning him.” But this Ciaran guy, he kept saying it was too late for that. I was too far gone. He told HER he had to work quickly to save my life. Save my life. That’s a joke.”

  “How long did it take? Did he drink all of your blood?”

  “I’m not sure. I know I felt pleasure and pain for what seemed like an eternity, then he was gone. I haven’t seen him since. He didn’t even stick around to teach me anything. I woke up in your grandmother’s office, no longer who I once was.”

  “Was SHE there? I mean, was she there…when you woke up?”

  “Yes. Hovering over me like a pathetic nursemaid. SHE was crying and blubbering out excuse after excuse. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen HER a total train wreck.”

  “See, she didn’t really abandon you.”

  “Not then.”

  “Then there must be some good in her.”

  “There’s good and bad in everyone, Ellie. It’s the balance of the two that determines which side of the fence you?
??re on.” He shrugged. “I’ve found that need overshadows will on that trait. It’s too late for me to be one of those vampires who quietly blend into society, although SHE assures me they are out there.”

  “It’s never too late, Gaspar.”

  “Yeah, it is. As the months go by, I need more and more blood. Different kinds of blood. A varied menu as recommended by the national food guide. I guess I can shape-shift back to a wolf and start attacking pigs and cattle, but I think even the dumbest human will eventually catch on.”

  “Maybe I could get a part-time job at the animal hospital. I need money anyway. I could bring you the animals that, you know…” Her voice trailed off sadly.

  “Maybe you could be a farmer,” Gaspar said without a hint of sarcasm. “But not today, not tomorrow, and certainly not forever. Thanks anyway, Ellie.”

  “Maybe,” Ellie hesitated. “Maybe you could feed from me. You kind of did before, right? You had a taste of my blood. It didn’t make you go berserk or anything.”

  “If I had more it would,” he explained. “You’re too old for me,” he laughed sarcastically.

  “You said yourself it was a matter of time before my age wouldn’t bother you. Maybe I’m like an anti-depressant and you have to take a little everyday before it begins to work. We could try it. You never know, it might become—normal for us.”

  “But what if I couldn’t control myself and I went too far?”

  “I guess that gives ‘going too far’ a whole new meaning,” Ellie pondered.

  “I don’t know enough about how this whole things works to know for certain,” he admitted. “Would you be willing to risk your life? Would you risk becoming like me?”

  Ellie was silent.

  “Well, at least you’re honest,” Gaspar offered.

  “Maybe we could run away and find him,” Ellie offered. “The man who turned you. He must have it figured out.”

  “You’d do that for me?” Gaspar asked. “You’d leave your safe little world to journey with me to the unknown?”

  “Well, a girl’s got to leave home sometime,” Ellie shrugged. “If you could hang on until the summer, that might be easier.”

  “But what do I do with you until then?” he asked.

  “You learn to trust,” Ellie shrugged. “Without trust, there is no relationship.”

  “Should I be updating my faceplant page?” he smirked, kissing her softly on the forehead.

  “I think we still have to leave it as ‘it’s complicated’,” Ellie smiled.

  Gaspar’s ears perked up. “I think I heard something outside. I’ll be back in a minute,” he said to her. “Don’t go anywhere,” he smirked.

  Ellie waited for him to leave the washroom, and then quickly pulled the cell phone from her pocket.

  “Come on, come on,” she said, as she frantically texted a message. She barely had time to push send to the last number entered before Gaspar was back in the room.

  “What was it?” Ellie asked nervously, sliding the phone back into her jeans.

  “Things that go bump in the night,” he replied.