Goodnight Sam

Goodnight Sam

 

 

  A Short Story

  from the

  Running in the Dark Series

  by

  Inger Iversen

 

 

 

 

 

  Copyright © 2012 Inger Iversen

 

 

  Cover Art and eBook Formatting by

  AM Design Studios

 

 

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

 

  Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

 

 

 

 

 

  Goodnight Sam

 

  He turns to look at me and smiles, his ice-blue eyes burn into mine as I feign a smile of serenity back at him. And though he knows that it is just my habit, he accepts it. It is part of a rule we made centuries: to fit in as best as possible, and not to hide but to be better predators. Beasts in a world of lambs are all he and I are, and I have come to accept this.

  It is rare to see him smile. After many decades what is left for him to smile about or to look forward to? The life that our kind is sentenced to live isn’t one most—understanding the full truth of it—would ever choose for themselves. But, of course, there are the those particular highlights that might sell you on the idea of this existence:-heightened senses, telepathy and countless other "gifts" which begin to seem quite inconsequential after your second century of immortality.

  So what? I can hear your beating heart for miles and miles and, after the Silver Kiss I can feel your emotions—even control them—for months. And if that’s not enough, I will never grow sick or old or suffer the aliments that accompany aging.

  So what? Of all the enhancements my “situation” has provided me, there is one thing that you and I share: emotions. In my years, I have learned that no matter how long we live, we still feel and experience an array of emotions. Age doesn’t remedy that and; unfortunately there is no cure for it, so we all suffer them alike. Loss, no matter how many times you experience it, still burns hotter than the fires of hell, leaving you hollow and burdened with memories. Hate, no matter how long you carry it, becomes a heavy affliction that weighs you down until it’s all you are and all you have left. But, love, if you are lucky enough to experience, it is something wholly different, and it is what brings Samuel (or Sam, as I know him) and me here tonight to this dock.

  Sam stares at the moon now that he is no longer looking at me. I glance at it myself. Its presence is large and commanding, but he is still all that I can see. The smile is still on his lips, and though I can’t remember the last time I saw one so genuine, I truly believe that this smile is honest and pure, and it saddens me that I cannot give him one in return, and that I myself did not arouse such a smile from him. After tonight, I am also positive that it is the last one that I will see from him, either feigned or genuine.

  This dock, once vibrant and busy, now rests quietly abandoned. The last of the boats having unmoored and made for other ports several years past. The city says that it is neither safe nor up to city code, so it will be demolished and rebuilt in the future.

  Sam has been coming here before the hunt more frequently in the past few months, and though before I wasn’t so worried, I know now that I was a fool to think that his antisocial actions meant nothing. The air is warm and laced with the scent of despair and pain. I shudder at the thought that soon I will roam this place alone. Emptiness fills me, leaving me feeling cold and exposed.

  Sam chuckles and speaks for the first time since we arrived here shortly after dusk.

  “I know it is not the cool breeze from the ocean that chills you.”

  His voice is deep and sweet, just as it has been for the three centuries that I have known him, and as usual, it fills me with a sentiment of peace. He is right about the weather. Though I can feel it, temperatures no longer have any physical effect on me. No longer could a man incite goosebumps from my skin with his warm touch, and long gone are the days when the hot summer months stole gallons of my sweat. The peace that he hopes I feel tonight is long gone as well, and anger fills me at his ignorance.

  We have known each other for so long, but at times it feels as if I am a stranger to him. We have been so close for so long, and our trust in each other has become unbreakable. He has confided in me accounts of his deeds from which even the most steadfast priest would cringe away. He has shared his wants and fears and all those things that no one else knew, depositing the with me along, like a safe, hidden and locked away from the world.

  “No, Sam, it is not the cool air, but your silence that bothers me tonight.”

  My words are short and clipped, reflecting my feelings. Unaffected by my sudden childish attitude, he turns to me and takes my hand into his own. Sam has always believed that touch was the best way to calm even the wildest beast. I had never agreed with this, though curiously, it has always worked for him in regards to calming me, and I am a beast, am I not?

  His hand fits around mine perfectly, just as it always has. I felt that our journey together should continue. A selfish belief that he should endure this existence only to satisfy my need to not be alone. This night would be the end of me, even though I would go on living this so called life. Gently he squeezes my hand then moves it to his lips. The caress is so light and sweet that I can’t repress the shudder of appreciation. As always, my body betrays me. My skin tingles in anticipation and my blood heats in my veins, though I know the kiss is all I will ever receive. Still, my body begs for so much more.

  “Mmm, you flatter me,” is his answer to my body’s reaction to his kiss. “You are so young. An old man such as I should have no sway over your body.”

  His voice is soft and honeyed, though his words are meant to be followed; a lesson of many he tries to teach me. He always said that loving me as anything more than a friend would be a betrayal of my trust in him. I didn’t understand then, nor do I understand that now. I repress the urge to ask him to elaborate.

  “A few hundred years older is nothing, Sam.”

  He doesn’t answer. He continues to stare at the moon , though his eyes are full of emotion. He doesn’t want to leave me, but he no longer wants to feel, to exist in this world that constantly changes while he remains the same. I wish that I could say that he was mistaken to decide this, but I know he is not, and I know that I will make the same choice in a few centuries to come.

  Another cool breeze wafts from the ocean and as we speak the salty air fills my nose. It does not bother me, and I welcome it. I wonder if Sam can still taste the Earth or if time has dulled his senses.

  “You look pale. Have you eaten today?” he asks, examining me more closely now. Distracted by the warmth of his hand on mine, I have to think about my answer. I knew when he directed me to this particular dock that I was going to receive the news. And this was all I could think about. I needed to hunt, but I was not interested. Not at all.

  “No, I have not.”

  I supplied the truth. He always knew when I lied.

  “You must.”

  An order than I would obey later.

  “Later,", I agree.

  The ocean is black but I can still see the fish that travel below its surface. Much like Sam’s sadness, the blackness seems to
swallow everything around it. I feel that I should be angry he is leaving me; it feels so sudden, though I’ve known for years that this night would come .

  Denial. Anger. Pain. Loneliness: my old companions that have beaten me into the ground in the past have returned here in the early morning hours on this dock to take Sam's place.

  “Not even a few more years, Sam?” I ask, though Sam sees it for what it is: me begging, even if I'm not on my hands and knees.

  He doesn’t answer. I have known this man for 300 years, and it still makes me angry when he doesn’t answer my questions. He knows this.

  “I deserve an answer Sam!” I scream , not caring that he will call me a child and tell me that my emotions should be kept under control.

  “You treat me as if I am a child. I am 318 years old! When, old man, will I be considered an adult in your eyes?” I snap, causing Sam to let go of my hand and instantly making me regret my words.

  Emptiness envelopes me again and I hate myself for my inability to express my feelings more properly.

  “I know that you love me,” he says calmly, though something in the words holds enough power to resurrect my heart. I can see the years that he has aged in his soul, though to anyone else he looks no older than a man of thirty. Smooth porcelain skin, crystal sapphire eyes, sharp features that could fool even the smartest heart into surrender. Rare, beautiful and dangerous.

  “I have always known," he assures me. " But you are so incredibly inexperienced at containing your emotions.”

  Sam turns to me and under his stare