Water has never been my best love. The sound of chopping waves has always enticed me to jump down to the tomb of death not to the solace of tranquility.
The darkness that encircles you whilst being caught in a drift of icy water is blinding. Your senses are on fire and your hearing is impeccable. You hear those around you as they struggle to save you, yet you hear the sighs as they are unable to reach you.
It had almost ended my life when I was younger and it had given me a dose of fear that one's existence could be easily carried away in a tide of death in the form of rapid life; water.
What other way is there to describe the emotions and thoughts that created themselves within me at this moment, the moment in which this stranger and I had fallen to the depths of an unforgiving body of water. My one and only saving grace is that I no longer need to breathe, and if only my brain would understand this then perhaps I would not be struggling as much as I currently am.
The darkness of the night is fascinating, almost eerie as I feel myself bobbing up and down in the cold, summer water. The stars wish to show, but the city pollution is too much. The hill that contains the road on which we were just on, nurtures a quiet crowd of watchers witnessing our demise.
The stranger appears beside me, well, beside my line of sight; how I desire to be able to touch the bottom.
"You need to calm down," he says simply, much like a ghost in the water. When I make no effort to restore my demeanor he latches onto my waist and I stop short. "Come."
When a beautiful man tells me to come I would usually follow, but this particular man simply pulls me through the water, and I am very happy to say, out of sight of our vampire reapers. Within minutes we are on one side of the lake, I guess vampires are fast swimmers.
"Not all of us are like that," he says as he pulls me out of the water and onto dry land—semi-dry if you count the hundreds of droplets that are falling from our drenched bodies. "We can't all swim."
I cock my head to the side to question him not feeling confident enough to talk.
"Every vampire is different; I am guessing that that cooped up lady told you about the diverse species of us out there."
I nod and control my facial muscles; if I was on the brink of another death, why was I so giddy?
"But you weren't though," he answers my silent question, "You are all ready dead, unable to die due to unnatural reasons anymore."
"I have to get used to that." I murmur, my voice hoarse.
He stares at me then, keeping me locked with his searching stare. He has three freckles on his left cheek and a scar running through his right eyebrow. His lips are a forever crimson red and his hair is immaculate; impossibly tamed and dry. He grabs one of my pale hands and kisses it gently, the touch of crimson bringing life to my pallor. "I'm pleased to meet you, though it is not our first time. You have always been a marvelously intriguing woman. I am Patrick."
I am left stock still as I take in every inch of his face, his hands, his voice; his name. "I am Carol Ann." I explain, though I am sure it is unnecessary.
"I know." He answers to my introduction. "But right now Carol Ann, we must flee."
I am taken aback by his verbal usage of words and I hold his hand further. "Why do you talk in such a way? You were speaking differently before."
"You must understand, I am centuries old, I am still trying to function as a modern person, though I don't meet many people who walk out of my life alive."
I flinch and let go of his hand. "About what you were saying that not all vampires can swim, what makes you any different?"
The light of the moon appears stronger from where we are standing than before and I can see the physical change in Patrick's face as he glances over at me, a mixture of frustration, worry, and recognition. "I am a different species all together. Not all vampires can swim because they were not taught such a tedious task, but it was born naturally in me.” A few moments of silence passes between us. “You really don't remember me?"
"Well, I was told that my mind has been erased in the past, so any possibility that someone that I meet that may know me all ready could have the distinct surprise of realizing that I don't remember them." I say in a rush and his face changes over to amusement.
"If you could remember me, you would remember everything."
His remark puzzles me and stare at him for an answer.
"We have known each other for years. In fact, something happened to you many years ago that you were hidden from."
"Are you saying my parents are fiction and they weren't murdered?"
"Oh, they were real and yes they were murdered, but not by whom you believe it to be. I think some facts may have gotten rattled in your mind from outside sources."
I slump onto a nearby rock as I feel the sense of longing for something out of my grasp.
Something just isn't right.
"I know," he answers my thoughts again, "And we are going to find out who exactly did this to you and why they erased every memory of me from your head."