So, Brooklyn and Emory are happy and content in their life. Rafe is dead and they even have some new neighbours.
But is everything REALLY ok?
[Sequal to abbandoned Eros, Philia & Storge]
His Eyes Said It All
The flat was empty on this summer Saturday. It was mid-June and oven hot. The kitchen was clean, the white cupboards full of food and water, though Brooklyn and Emory ate little of it. The sparkling, tall fridge freezer (that Brook had demanded) contained a selection of soft drinks and fresh fruit and cheese and in the secret compartment at the back (which Emory had installed himself) were frozen packets of blood. Though Brooklyn always found prey easily, Emory had difficultly in the intense heat. The vampire siblings were prepared for almost anything.
If you’d seen this kitchen three years ago, everything would have been different; the cupboards had been half destroyed and burnt, the ceilings blacken by thick smoke. The kitchen table had been severely scorched, bits of the top and chairs missing. The kitchen was destroyed.
This had been Brooklyn’s fault, the older wiser louder vampire doing what she had to in order to save her little brother. Emory had been angry, but wouldn’t you have been? The flat in wrecks, your sister in tears, the vampire world at stake – literally.
Rafe, one of the vampire leaders, had come to execute Brook and her brother, punish them for their terrible deed; accidentally letting a human escape with knowledge of their true identities.
Brooklyn had proceeded in blowing up Rafe, much to her despair. Years ago, before Emory had been turned, Brook and Rafe had been in love. But after Rafe became involved with the Town Leaders, Brooklyn suspected something was dodgy about it and therefore deserted Rafe. She had always regretted it but had insisted it had been for the best.
Brooklyn unlocked the front door slowly, pushing it open gently. She sniffed the air, the faint trace of vampire hung in the air. It could almost have been his scent, Brooklyn thought unhappily, before slamming the door behind her. Brook threw down her purse, now in a bad mood and walked to her bedroom, falling gently onto the bed. It didn’t bounce with her slight weight. Brook rolled onto her stomach and crawled up the bed and rested her head on the pillow. Her anger slowly became sadness.
Brooklyn’s room was pale lilac, her cushions and duvet purple with silver flower embroidery. Her desk and dressing table were the same purple with silver handles. There was a silver shaggy rug in the middle of the lilac carpet. The curtains were lilac and purple tie-dye, from Brooklyn’s childhood.
Brooklyn had quite an extraordinary life. Brooklyn Cynthia Chester was born on Wednesday 2nd June 1965 to 17-year-old Patricia Chester, a working class girl who attracted the wrong attention. However, she turned away from that past and found a husband. They were happy together, raising their pretty blonde daughter. However, when Brooklyn was 24-years-old, her mother had a midlife crisis and became pregnant with her son. Brook, distraught at the idea of not being the favourite child any longer, Brooklyn ran off. Whilst wondering around the slums of the city, Brooklyn came across a vampire and got herself bitten.
Brook never saw her mother again.
17 years later, Brooklyn found the courage to go back to see her family, spying on them, unable to confront them. Her mother seemed to be in very poor health, mentally and physically. Her father was no where to be seen and her half-brother had grown up thin and pale. Brooklyn had to talk to them.
On night, after her half-brother (Brooklyn still had no idea what his name was) had put Patricia to bed, Brooklyn decided to talk to him.
It was a hot summer night and her brother had his bedroom window open. Brooklyn climbed the tree outside the small modern house. The boy was sitting at his desk, reading a science book. Brook jumped onto the windowsill silently and stepped into her half-brother’s room.
The boy looked up, his eyes widening in fear. He saw a tall, pale beauty, her features so familiar he almost recognised her. “W-who are you?”
His voice was higher than you would have thought, for a 17-year-old, barely different from a child’s. Brooklyn studied him closely. He was almost as pale as she, and thin as a stick, with no muscles on him. The boy didn’t like Brooklyn’s silence. He asked her again, quieter and slowly, “Who are you? What are you?”
“I’m your sister.” Brooklyn whispered, overcome with happiness of finally meeting her brother. The boy looked startled, scared.
“That’s impossible.” He murmured. He mumbled a couple of calculations to himself. “That’s impossible. You should be 41. But you’re not. You’re young.”
“Boy, it’s me. It’s Brooklyn. It’s your sister.” Brooklyn sighed. “What’s your name, brother?”
“Emory. My name is Emory.” The boy said, running a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. Brooklyn smiled.
“Emory: that’s a beautiful name. Mother would pick something like that.” she muttered happily to herself. Emory began rumbling through his drawers. Brooklyn looked around the room. It was plain blue, clothes covering the floor around his messy bed, stacks of science and math books around the bed and desk. It was a small room, only a couple of meters across.
Emory pulled a dark wooden box from his drawer and placed it on his desk, thrusting his book aside. He opened the box with a key and took out the content. It contained photographs, some colour and some greyscale. Brooklyn walked noiselessly to the desk, crouching down to view the photos.
Emory was flicking though them and finally pulled out a baby scan. The body and head were visible, one hand waving slightly. Emory smiled, holding it up for Brooklyn. She took it and studied it.
“This is you.” Emory murmured, “The first picture I ever saw of you. Mum never let it go.”
Emory handed Brooklyn other pictures of her; her first day of school, her first fancy dress party, and holidays. Brooklyn looked at them all, her mind remembering all of those times. Emory watched her with interest. He’d always wanted to meet the sister his parents never mentioned. He’d had to find the photos and confront his parents. They’d not been too happy about it.
Brooklyn finished with these quickly and grabbed excitedly at the others, all of her parents and brother. Emory had been a small boy with wispy white hair that had become dark as he aged but always remained a beautiful blonde. His eyes were as green as the grass outside the house and Brooklyn regretted ever leaving him in the first place
This was one of Brooklyn’s favourite memories. She discovered her father had died in a car accident and that her mother had gone mad. Just after Emory and Brooklyn met, they put their mother in a home and brought their flat together. Shortly after that Brooklyn bite Emory, much to his horror and they started their new life together.
Brooklyn stopped reminiscing when she caught a amazingly familiar scent, not her or her brother. She began scrambling around her room trying to find it. Brook soon found herself where she started – her bed. She pulled back the covers and ripped away the pillows. The note was in the centre of bed, underneath the sheets. Brooklyn opened it quickly.
It contained four words, but what an impact they had on Brooklyn, she sat down on her messed up bed; hands shaking; eyes wide with shock.
‘I still want you.’
Brooklyn’s breathe rushed. He was alive. And even after everything she’d done, he still wanted her? Brook was confused and scared and desperate to find him, her Rafe. She folded up the paper and held it to her chest, saying a little prayer to whatever god the vampires had.
The front door banged open and closed once again. Brooklyn looked up expectantly but it was Emory’s soft voice that called out. “Brook, are you here?”
Brooklyn gulped and shoved the note into her jumper pocket, smiled and exited the room.
“Brooklyn, are you ok?” Emory asked, sucking blood slowly out of a warmed up packet of blood through an opaque straw quietly. Brook nodded, the note in her pocket starting to feel a like million tonnes of gold. Emory didn’t look entirely convinced, “Sure?”
“Yes. Emory you worry too much.” Brook answered, taking some freshly baked cookies out from the oven. This was something she never did.
“Who are you going to give the cookies too?” Emory enquired suspiciously.
“There are a new family downstairs. I thought we could make some friends. I heard they’ve got kids.” Brooklyn answered blandly as she set the pastries down on the clean kitchen table and began to collect decorations from the cupboards.
“Mm.” Emory mumbled, a little worried about his big sister’s aspirations. He shrugged it off. Emory then smiled his pearly white smile that stretched across his whole face. “Whatever, sister. Just don’t go doing anything you shouldn’t.”
Brooklyn raised her eyebrows at this sarcastically. “Me? What do you take me for brother?”
Emory left the room shaking his head, settling himself down in the front room for an afternoon of studying. Brooklyn finished decorating the cookies quickly and popped them into a clear plastic jar and attached a ribbon to the neck, making it look as friendly and sweet as possible.
Brooklyn sat down and looked at the jar of cookies. She sighed, recalling the days when she could eat normal food not just blood. 17 years it had been, 17 years since she had drunk water, eaten bread, done anything remotely human. All that was gone now, flushed away anger and jealousy. Brook glared at the jar, tempted to smash it in frustration. Instead she stood up and walked unresponsively into the front room.
Emory sat at the computer, typing up what looked like a science paper. Brook sighed loudly and put her hands on her hips. Emory looked round at her then continued typing
“Emory, I need the computer.” Brooklyn demanded coldly. Emory didn’t stop typing or make any acknowledgement of her statement.
After a few seconds he spoke softly but firmly, “You see this is why you need to buy yourself a laptop.”
“Just get off. I’ll be two minutes. Watch some TV or something.” Brooklyn replied irately. Emory sighed, saving his work and sliding off the black leather swivel seat, settling down on the sofa, also black leather. Brook sat down and minimised Emory’s work, opening the internet up and searching for flights to Egypt.
“I made some cookies for your kids.” Brooklyn smiled, handing over the jar she’s prepared earlier. The woman in her late thirties smiled, taking the jar from Brook carefully. She was tall also, with coffee coloured hair and a wide smile, though her lips were thin. She was not slim but not chunky either, more of an average size for a woman of her age. Two toddlers ran around her feet, interested in the newcomer. “Hey kids.”
The children chirped a hello before snatching the jar of cookies and running back inside. The mother smiled at Brook, “Aw, bless ‘em, eh. You’ll be popping them out soon, I’ll bet.”
“No, kids aren’t for me.” Brooklyn lied. Of course she wanted children, but vampires couldn’t; it was a fact.
“Oh yeah?” the mother said astounded, smiled widely. Obviously a social person, enjoying the company of others, maybe even liked being the centre of attention, Brooklyn thought. One of the children tugged at his mother’s trousers, mumbling something only his mother could recognise. He tugged once again at her trousers and the mother sighed, “Well, I’ll guess I’ll be seeing you. Who were you again?”
“Brooklyn Chester – I live upstairs with my younger brother. I’ll see you around.” Brooklyn answered smiling. As the woman closed the door Brooklyn, put her hands into her skinny jean pockets and walked down the shaky metal stairs quickly. Her passport was in her back pocket. Brooklyn tapped it, just to make sure.
Entering the travel agents, Brooklyn began to bite her lip (an old habit from her former life). She walked to the nearest desk and a kind looking lady of her late forties asked her what she needed. Quickly, Brooklyn was handed her tickets and 100 Egyptian Pounds. After this, Brooklyn got a taxi for Heathrow Airport in which she took her plane to Egypt.
The flight to Cairo was almost five hours long. Brooklyn folded and unfolded, read and reread, and smiled and sniffed at her note. Nobody spoke to her, all scared of the pale girl with pale blue eyes that pierced anything they touched. The British passengers and Egyptian alike were intrigued by the beautiful young woman.
The flight ended quickly and as soon as Brook was out of the airport, she began running, fast as a cheetah, stealthy as a scorpion and enraged as a charging rhino. She chased past the town; buildings and faces a blur in her speed. Brooklyn’s black converse dug into the sand as Brooklyn reached the outskirts of town in minutes.
She found herself running up and down sand dunes, in circles even. Brook screamed out in frustration. Why wasn’t Rafe here? She knew he’d be. This was his home, where he was born. She plodded herself down on a mountain of sand, looking out across a desert and a farm.
To her left was sand, golden grains that sparkled slightly in the intense heat. They made smooth patterns, ripples in the gentle wind. Brooklyn absentmindedly made a swirl with her finger in the sand as she looked across the empty land. All so quiet, all so still: magical. Brooklyn wished life could be calm as this.
To Brook’s right was a small farm, amazingly placed. The crops were arranged neatly in fields with bright green hedges acting as fences. It was a pretty sight, the trees getting smaller and smaller as they attempted to climb the sand dune Brook was sitting on.
It was all quite picturesque in a boiling hot and deserted kind of way. Brooklyn rubbed at her eyes, sourly. Vampires couldn’t physically cry. It came more as an itch. Vampire weren’t meant to cry. Vampire should be strong and elegant and sophisticated. Brooklyn didn’t feel like any of those.
A muscular hand rested on Brook’s shoulder. She looked up at it. The hand was as pale as stone and hard as marble. Brooklyn knew whose hand it was.
“Rafe!” she gasped jumping up without delay and throwing herself at him. Rafe’s powerful arms wrapped themselves around Brook, one hand rested on the back of her head, the other around her waist. Brooklyn sniffed Rafe, reminding herself of his smell, “Oh Rafe, I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok Brooklyn.” Rafe answered; his voice was husky with a slight Egyptian accent, though it was mostly southern British sounding. His eyes were pale amber and large with long black lashes. His jaw was wide and his smile bright. Rafe was also quite tall about 6”3 and extremely muscular. He had the body of a 30 year old, although he was quite a lot older. Rafe let Brooklyn go from the all awaited embrace, revealing himself to be dressed in a pair of white baggy trousers and a loose white shirt, most of the buttons undone.
“I’m sorry I hurt you so many times. I’m sorry I left you and I’m sorry I tried to kill you and I’m just so sorry.” Brooklyn sobbed hysterically. Rafe clutched her hand and brought it to his mouth. His fangs were away and he kissed her hand tenderly.
“I understand why you left. You thought the council was evil, wrong.” Rafe smiled soothingly, gorgeously. Even with his vampire paleness, there was a hint of olive toned skin.
“I was wrong.” Brooklyn insisted, still slightly hysterical. She took his other hand and kissed it. The kissing of hands is the vampire symbol of eternal love. “You just want to protect us. I understand that now.”
Rafe cupped Brook’s face his in hands. “I love you Brook.”
“I love you too.” Brooklyn smiled. Rafe pulled her towards him, intending to kiss her. However, their embrace was cut short.
“What the hell is he doing undead?” an outraged Emory bellowed. Brooklyn whipped her head away from Rafe and took a couple of steps towards her brother. “And what the hell were you doing?”
“Emory…” Brooklyn began to explain but words failed her. Emory raised an eyebrow.
“Brook I thought you were the rough, tough, action girl here, not Mrs Soppy!” Emory roared. He yanked his finger up, pointing at Rafe with revulsion. “I thought you blow him up?”
“Um, I did Em. Obviously, he survived.” Brooklyn was lost for words. She didn’t know how to alleviate Emory, she’d never needed too. Emory didn’t get angry. Emory was the calm one, the sensible one. Why was it suddenly the other way around?
“I can’t believe you’ve run back to him! After everything he did!” Emory continued to yell. Brooklyn didn’t know what to do. She knew Rafe had psychic powers, the ability to change opinions and the like. Brooklyn looked at him in despair. However, this made Emory angrier. “Rafe, STOP MAKING ME FEEL CALM!”
“Emory, please.” Brooklyn rushed forward clasping Emory’s hands. Emory glared at his sister. Brooklyn gave him a pleading look, “Please forgive me. I love you both.”
Emory sighed, bringing Brooklyn into a hug. He kissed her check and smiled at her. Brooklyn sensed something wrong. “Em?”
“I’m sorry sister. I can’t stay with him. Goodbye Brooklyn.” Emory turned and ran. Brooklyn shook her head sharply and tried to follow him. Rafe grabbed her hand, holding her back.
“Nothing’s going to stop him. Brook. He’s a vampire.”