Each Man Kills | Page 7

about someone dear, whom she didn't want to hurt,
and she wanted a breather. I said I would wait up to and through
eternity, if she wished.
Things, went along peacefully then. We would walk for hours together,
walk in complete silence and understanding. My strength seemed to be
returning more day by day. We went far afield in search of material for
her thesis. She would track down the most minute speck of hearsay, to
get authenticity.

One day, in our wanderings, I thoughtlessly let myself be led too near
my resting place. One of the locals mentioned a "place of horror"
nearby and Maria wanted to investigate. I had no choice. We poked
amid the still fustiness of the deserted mausoleum I knew so well. She
thought it odd that the door was unlocked. I said, yes, wasn't it. Then
she saw the box, that gleaming copper box which Eve had so
thoughtfully provided. She stroked it gently, commenting on its beauty,
and before I could prevent it or divert her attention, she had lifted the
heavy lid exposing the disarranged shroud, the remains of one or two
hapless small creatures, the horrible blood-stained satin lining. She
screamed and dropped the lid, somehow pinching her finger. She
hopped on one foot, as one usually does to fight down sudden pain.
Then she was clinging to me, thoroughly frightened.
"What does it mean, Tod?"
I quieted her with the usual platitudes. Then I was kissing that poor,
red little finger. Without warning to myself or her, I nipped it
affectionately. A warm glow spread through me; there was a taste more
delightful than fine old brandy, or vintage wine, and I knew irrevocably
that I was not cured; no, nor ever should be! And I knew, too, that I
wanted Maria--not just as a man longs for the woman he loves--but to
drink of the fountain of her life, that warm, intoxicating fountain,
greedily, joyously. She never knew what went through my mind at that
moment. If I could have killed myself then, I would have, and with no
compunction. But there is more to killing a revenant than that. The
Church knows the procedure. I hurried Maria home as fast as I could
and told her I had to go away for a week on business. She believed me
and said she would miss me. But I didn't go away. That night I fought a
losing battle with myself, and then and every night thereafter, I
returned to her, partook of her and slunk away, loathing myself. I knew
that I must soon kill the one being I loved above all others, kill, too, her
immortal soul, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.
She began to fade visibly. When I "returned" in a week, she was so ill
that a few steps tired her. Her appetite all but vanished. She seemed
genuinely glad to see me. She was beset by nightmares, she said. Could

I help her get some rest? I took her to a physician who sagely
prescribed a change in climate, rest and a diet rich in blood and iron,
gave her a prescription for sedatives, and called it a day.
You know how she looked when you saw her. The day was approaching
when she would have no more blood, when life as you know it would
stop and she would become like me. Somehow I couldn't take her with
me without some warning, but I didn't know how to do it. You see, since
I was an innocent victim myself. I could speak, could warn my intended
victim, because although my soul had all but died, there was still a
spark that evil hadn't touched. I knew she would think it a joke if I told
her about myself without warning.
Then, happily for me, you came along. I knew you would sense
something amiss and I didn't care. I was almost certain of her love, and
I decided to seize the few minutes left me and devil take the hindmost!
When you told her to confront me, you gave me the happiest days of my
life. For this I thank you sincerely. For what I have done and will ask
you to do, forgive me!
Maria asked me directly, as you had known she would. I replied frankly,
sparing her nothing. I told her that the fact that this life had been
wished on me, as it were, gave me some rights, and that I could tell her
how to rid herself of me, if she wished. Then she turned to me, her large,
lovely eyes thoughtful.
"Tod, dearest," she said softly, "I must die some day, really die, so what
difference does it make when? I only know that I