Chapter 341: Day Three at the Beach - Oren, Part 1
Oren took a seat at the breakfast table and poured himself a glass of crimson liquid. The blood was warm and salty, but it wasn't the same as drinking from a living creature. There was no link to the source, no connection to their memories or feelings. It was sanitized and impersonal, and he preferred it that way.
Etsuko sat primly next to him, wearing a pink flowered kimono. Her long black hair was pulled up into an ornate bun and her almond eyes were politely cast down, though he knew she was watching him. She was always watching. Since they'd come across her in Japan, Etsuko had haunted his steps and now she seemed to think she belonged to him.
He downed half the glass and set it back on the table. Etsuko snatched it up and refilled it. Her eyes met his for a moment and then dropped again. He was sure she meant well, but as far as he was concerned the human could just go back to Japan where she belonged.
A vampire with long black hair took a seat across from them and flashed Oren an abnormally cheerful smile. It was Jorick, his master, the one who'd made him into a vampire. "Good morning."
Next to him, like a blonde shadow, was the ever present human annoyance Katelina. "Good evening," she corrected as someone deposited a plate of food in front of her.
"It's our morning, little one," Jorick said and took a long drink from his glass. "You'll get used to it one of these days." Jorick turned to Oren with a wink. "What do you have planned for this lovely evening?" He motioned to the large glass windows where palm trees swayed against the backdrop of a tropical night.
"Nothing." Oren took another drink and hesitated before he set the glass down. As he'd thought, Etsuko quickly refilled it and bobbed her head in a pseudo bow.
"You should eat your breakfast," Katelina said and motioned to the woman's plate of food. "Before it gets cold."
Etsuko didn't look up. "I can eat when Oren-sama has finished."
Oren shifted uncomfortably and muttered, "It's fine. Eat your breakfast."
"If Oren-sama wishes it." Etsuko bobbed her head again.
Katelina opened her mouth, and Jorick cut her off, "Leave it, little one."
Though Katelina snapped her mouth shut and glared silently, Oren could see what she wanted to say in her mind, "Etsuko isn't his servant."
I never said she was.
They finished their breakfast and Jorick and Katelina left for the beach. Oren stared at the empty decanter and tried to think of something to do. The sand and surf didn't interest him. He'd taken a walk the first night and then spent two hours getting the sand out of his boots and socks. He imagined Etsuko's kimono had been an even bigger hassle, but he had no intention of asking. He was just grateful she hadn't tried to share his room with him.
With nothing concrete in mind, he wandered towards the patio. Etsuko followed, three steps behind, and stopped only when he did. He made an aggravated noise and stared out at the night. The scene was straight from a postcard, but the tropical splendor was already wearisome. What good were lush surroundings when there was nothing to do except sit and think?
A thousand demons whispered to him from the shadows and he struggled with whether to embrace them or push them away. He could see the faces of his murdered wife, Jesslynn, and his children, calling to him for blood, vengeance, and remorse. It had only been months since the Executioners had killed them, one by one. It was too short a time for him to abandon his grief.
Wasn't it?
He took a chair and Etsuko mumbled something about needlework. He waved his reply and she hurried off while he stared into the dark distance. Jorick had advised him to move on and let the past go, but it was hard advice to take. When Jorick's wife had been murdered he'd mourned. And mourned. And mourned. Until even Jesslynn had commented.
"She was such a useless creature. To think he's still pining for her is ridiculous."
"He loved her," Oren had told her, though even he wasn't sure that Jorick's devotion had been that deep and passionate.
"Not that much. He blames himself for her death and so continues this forced regime of mourning from a sense of guilt and duty. He'd be better to let it go and come back to the world. Mourning for eternity is useless."
Oren wondered if Jesslynn would feel the same way now that she was the murdered wife. Would she say that he should let it go? He found that one's opinions changed when they were personally involved.
It wasn't just Jesslynn he missed, but his children. Alexander had been trapped in the body of a five year old child, with a brain that was slowly maturing. Though still childlike until the end, Oren had often seen flashes of adult thoughts in the boy's deep eyes. How much longer would it have been before things got complicated? Before those adult thoughts turned to adult feelings, trapped in the body of a child?
And Tristan. He was only a few months old when Jesslynn turned him. As had happened to so many of their children, Tristan had been sickly with only weeks left to live. Oren understood changing him to save him, but to trap him as a perpetual infant? He'd never learned to speak, or to walk, and there had been moments, when Oren gazed into his tiny face, that he wasn't even sure there was a soul inside, rather just an empty doll that went through the motions.
He shivered at the thought and pushed it away. Despite that he had loved him; he'd loved them both. Alexander with his quick smile, cheerful nature, and accepting personality and Tristen with- with-
Etsuko returned, yards of dark blue cloth in her hands. She bowed quickly. "I hope I have not disturbed Oren-sama."
"No," he murmured, and looked back to the sea. He listened as her chair scraped across the patio and then the silence fell as she bent to her work. He had no idea what she was making. A blanket of some kind? He wasn't sure he cared, but his guilty thoughts hurt, and so he turned back to her. "What is that?"
"This?" she asked and lifted the cloth. "When I am finished I thought to make a kimono for Oren-sama, if it would please him?"
Oren blinked in surprise, lost for words, and tugged on his button up shirt. He couldn't imagine wearing what looked like a blue bathrobe, especially not in front of anyone. But there was a hopefulness in her eyes that made him think of Alexander and his horrible homemade Christmas presents. Year after year the child had presented him with things glued together, usually with homemade paste. One would think after several decades he'd have improved.
"That would be- nice," Oren said finally.
She smiled and bobbed her head. "Thank you, Oren-sama. I am glad you approve." Then she turned back to her work.
