Deepest Midnight - Free To Read

Mourning lost love is no way to spend your existence. However, this is what I have done for over two hundred years.

I sit cross-legged on the velvet loveseat, elbows on my knees and chin cupped in my hands. Sitting still is impossible. I’m jittery, something I’ve been a lot lately. Alexandre, my maker and companion, is occupied with his tablet next to me. Through the dimly lit living room, I can barely make out the white scrollwork of the ornate ceiling medallion. Flames roar in the cavernous fireplace, despite the outdoor temperature of ninety-seven degrees. It should be a cozy scene. Instead, I drop my face into my hands and lower my head.

“Go be miserable somewhere else, Millicent,” grumbles Alexandre.

It’s going to be one of those nights. Alexandre pulls me up and hands me my black leather clutch. He steers me toward the darkly stained front door of our antebellum Savannah home. Before opening the door, he bends down to put shoes on my feet, like I’m a child. If he wants me to brood elsewhere, I will. Alexandre values bright and cheerful people. His reason for tolerating my presence for so long is one of life’s many mysteries.

“We have all lost people we love, Mills. We go on. If you can’t ever learn to do the same, what’s the point?”

“Good question, what is the point?”

Alexandre taps me on the nose. “You can choose to be happy again. I’m not sure how much longer I can stand to have you around like this. For tonight, go find something to distract your mind.”

I can’t blame Alexandre for wanting me to disappear. The life of the party tires of the buzz kill. Thankfully, one of the many wonderful things about Savannah is the abundance of mysterious locales, all perfect for sulking. Secluded squares, thick with foliage dripping in Spanish moss, decaying alleyways lined with ancient cobblestone, and hidden stone staircases topped with wrought iron railings--all perfect places to hide away. My stormy mood has long felt at home in this haunted city.

My immortal sister, Annie, says you only get one true love. If her saying is true, then I was out of luck before I ever became immortal. Eternity is a long time when you have no hope of ever finding happiness again. And Alexandre wonders why I’m so melancholy all the time. He seems to have no concept of despair. Grief has this insidious way of winding itself around your heart and never letting go.

I decide the best place for a sulky girl craving diversion is a nice, crowded bar. The muggy June evening is already warming me up. The extremely humid heat has long been a friend to my frigid body temperature.

It’s midnight when my Louboutin’s hit Congress Street. The area is typically urban with businesses lining the paved streets. Loud music, mostly jazz, pours out of clubs and restaurants. Along the sidewalk, cars are parked. In addition, dozens of other cars drive by slowly, hoping against hope to find a spot of their own.

A young, very drunk man is on the prowl. He yells at a pretty young woman crossing the street. “Hey, gorgeous!”

She doesn’t look back but makes it safely across the busy road, into the cocoon of waiting friends. Just another typical Friday night.

I blend into the crowd, another over privileged girl out for a good time. Skinny jeans and a t-shirt help me look like everyone else. It’s hard though, to shake the proper posture of nobility. My black eyes scan the people on the street. It would be so easy to pick one to use to my heart’s content. In the 1700’s, I was almost freakishly tall at 5’9’’, but not anymore. Now my height and slender figure are considered sexy. Maybe in a hundred years, I’ll look like a freak again.

The life on Congress is a good distraction. Maybe a different distraction will do. It has been a while. I’ve noticed several mortals eyeing me up and down. Shamelessly taking in everything with their eyes. No need to be coy in this era.

I spot a tall, dark-haired Goth staring right at me. I take his measure, as I start to walk by.

He steps in front of me. “Maybe I can help you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

He’s handsome, but his eyes have a leering quality which creeps me out. A mashup of lust and maliciousness reminds me of two men I would rather not think of. I’m suddenly overcome with disgust, continuing right past him.

Deciding this isn’t for me, after all, I keep walking. A couple of blocks down, I turn right, heading for River Street. My new destination is the riverfront. The soothing sound of rushing water calms me. Perhaps being alone isn’t the best idea, but my options are limited. This restlessness is making me indecisive, which can be dangerous for mortals crossing my path.

The streets are quiet. Every other step or so, my foot sends a few small, black cockroaches scurrying. Creatures of the night, like myself. In the relative silence, my unhappiness hits me again. Alexandre has told me many times how vampires go through emotional ups and downs, just like humans. He says it passes eventually. According to Alexandre, vampires just feel things more deeply and because we live forever, a depressive episode can last for years. I think he’s being optimistic. In 240 years, I’ve never seen Alexandre sad for long. The hard truth is after this long I feel the sadness will never leave me. Drastic measures may have to be taken at some point.

River Street is my home away from home. Uneven cobblestone underfoot, shops and restaurants to my right, trees and black, smooth water to my left. After walking about halfway down, I notice camera crews. For the last couple of days, I have seen them around. Areas of town are sectioned off with bright industrial lighting, trailers, and curious onlookers. A movie is being filmed but I haven’t been all that interested.

Alexandre, on the other hand, loves movies. He is besotted with the dark-haired beauty starring in this film. His mission is to meet and seduce her, which I’m sure he will. At 6’3”, Alexandre is all male, with a face that could have been chiseled from marble and a perfect, wicked smile. He is blond with baby-blue eyes. His muscular body could very easily sell underwear any day of the week.

He is happy to bounce from one bed to the next, sating his very healthy appetite for female flesh. And why shouldn’t he have his fun? He’s the very copy of a Roman god, and women can’t help but fall over themselves to please him. Annie and I, are seemingly the only two women able to resist his charms.

I reach into my clutch to take out my phone. Someone may as well get lucky tonight. Before I can begin my text, Alexandre is next to me. Being psychically linked to him stinks sometimes. Ok, all the time. If I wasn’t so lazy, I would learn how to shield my thoughts.

I put my phone away. He says, “You know I hate texting.”

“Why are you whispering? Who could possibly hear us?” I ask, in my sweetest southern belle accent. Irritating him is what I do best, although he doesn’t always take the bait.

“Do you see her?” He pauses, looking around. “There she is in the back, next to the man with the copper hair. Don’t you have a thing for gingers, Mills?” He tugs on my arm, pointing with his other hand, as I look up.

Alexandre starts explaining how he is going to approach her. I roll my eyes. He thinks he can just walk up to a world-famous movie star, throw up an eyebrow, and she’ll be stripping naked. The annoying thing is, she probably will. On the last half of my eye roll, I lock eyes with a man who was murdered over two hundred years ago. All the breath leaves my body.