The Heartbreaking Half-Life of Harper Marwick, Page 2

  “We may have been friends, but his confidence in me was limited. I think he sought to protect you by keeping you ignorant of the guilty party.”

  Returning my gaze to the sidewalk beneath our feet, I shook my head. “Why did all of this happen?”

  “If you are seeking a motive, I am afraid you will never know the answer unless the murderer makes himself known.”

  1839 – Journal Entry

  Being a Study of the Aftermath of Immortality

  The Slayers denied Miss Marwick the opportunity to see her daughter. As long as the child exists, I believe Miss Marwick will find her adjustment to immortality rife with mental and emotional privation. This confirms my hypothesis on the effect of mortal attachments on the unliving. Miss Marwick is, perhaps, my greatest experiment.

  In time I believe I will learn the kind of toll long-term psychological suffering has on an immortal. I need only watch and wait, and ensure timely “chance” meetings in order to facilitate my research.

  Act Three

  “So if I had wanted a glimpse of your face during the past year, all I needed to do was come here.”

  I turned at the sound of the voice, even though I’d heard his boots rustling through the grass many moments before he spoke. “What are you doing here?”

  Frederick stopped a few feet away from me and smiled. “You really do make a beautiful widow, Harper.”

  “Do not call me by that name.”

  “Why not? You called me Frederick for many years. In fact, the three of us were such a happy trio, were we not?” His gaze slid to the mound of dirt before my husband’s gravestone and he said, “Of course, it seems Andrew got what he wanted more often than I.”

  I took a step back toward the marker, gripping the flowers in my gloved hands. “Why are you here this evening?”

  “You came to see your parents and your daughter the other night. The former repudiated you, while the latter was denied you. I thought you might appreciate some information about your dear little one.”

  “What is there to inform me of on that count?” I turned back to the grave and knelt to place the flowers on it, knocking aside the other night’s bouquet. “They will raise her to be a Slayer, to never know her own mother. I will never set eyes on my own child again in the rest of my existence. I will never know if she is happy or sad, if she is safe or in some sort of pain. She is lost to me.”

  In another moment, I sank down further to sit in the grass, and wrapped my arms around my knees.

  “She is as lost to me as a great many things I will never see again – the sun or the creatures that frolic in it. Did you know that Dr. Dunham collects butterflies?” I peeked at Frederick from beneath my top hat. “Dead specimens, pinned to a board and placed beneath glass for all eternity. That’s the only way I will ever see such things, you know – by the light of a gas lamp, in the shadow of darkness, or imprisoned under glass.”

  “You sound lonely.” He sat next to me and traced his fingers along my hairline. I flinched away from his touch. “You don’t need to stay that way.”

  I raised my eyes to his. “What do you mean?”

  “Change me,” he whispered. “Let me be like this with you forever.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “You don’t want that.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? What do I care for a mortal life? We humans are nothing compared to immortals.”

  He leaned over me and I looked up at him, wide-eyed. “You would be disgraced, Frederick, like me. Is that really what you want?”

  “If you changed me, we could run away together. The so-called honor your parents prattle on about is nothing when they renounce their own daughter, all due to something she could not control. I knew, though. I knew of Andrew’s plan, should something happen to him.”

  “You… knew?” I pushed out from beneath him and rose to my feet.

  “Yes. Though he tried to hide it, I found out his contingency plan. Should he ever die, Dr. Dunham was to offer you all the protection possible, at his discretion, of course. He did not need to change you, but I’m not surprised he did. Even with the Slayers hunting them, a vampire is unlikely to have harm befall them. One is safer as a vampire, than they are as a mortal.”

  My fists tightened in the fabric of my skirt as he continued.

  “I don’t want to be human, let alone a Slayer. It is an utterly pathetic existence, living only to protect others, and for what? Just to die in the normal course of things if immortals do not kill us in the line of duty. I don’t want to wither and die. I want to be young forever, powerful, and for nothing to stand in my way.” He stood, facing me. “You are my friend. You should change me, because you care about me.”

  “That’s not how it works,” I answered, wrinkling my nose at him. “Besides, none of the coteries accept pledges. They have very specific policies concerning the conversion of mortals to immortals.”

  “So now it’s not Andrew that stands in the way of me having everything I want, but Dr. Dunham and his ridiculous rules.”

  “It is vampire law!” I cried. “Andrew has nothing to do with this.”

  “If it weren’t for Andrew’s death, you wouldn’t even be this powerful creature. You should be thanking me!”

  “Thanking you? For depriving me of my life? For taking my family away from me?” I screamed. I stepped toward him, intent on getting the revenge I knew was my due.

  “No!”

  My head whipped in the direction of the voice and I saw Annabelle Crawley striding toward me with two other Slayers.

  “What he has confessed to is punishable by the Slayer Code. Leave him to us.”

  “If you ever cared for me, change me!” Frederick shouted, still staring at me, his blue eyes wild.

  “Why would I reward you for taking everything away from me?” I retorted. “If you ever cared for me, you would not have killed my husband.”

  Though he struggled, the other Slayers apprehended him without incident and removed him from the cemetery. I tried to compose myself before I looked at Annabelle.

  “Have my parents changed their minds?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, a note of sadness in her voice, “but their decree is absolute.”

  After a moment, I nodded. “Watch over my daughter for me, please.”

  My former friend simply turned on her heel and departed, leaving me alone in that dark cemetery.

  Leaving me alone with my poor husband, of whom nothing but a body six feet beneath the dirt remained.

  Leaving me alone with the reminder that I had a daughter I would never know.

  Leaving me alone to journey through this wretched existence I no longer had any compulsion to continue.

  I glanced toward the cemetery gate – the gate that I had to walk through to return to the Mayfair Coterie and all they would expect of me. For a moment I considered the wildly implausible notion that I could simply leave all of this behind and become a nomad, journeying from one continent to the next.

  Yet there was nothing for me outside London.

  Here, at least, there was the possibility that someday I may see my daughter once more. Her prejudices toward vampires would be so ingrained, she would not accept me, were I to approach her. But perhaps I could at least get a glimpse of her from time to time. Possibly I could know her fate in life, whether or not she was happy, whether or not she retained even a hint of memory of the one who had brought her into this world.

  I lowered my head and sighed.

  Then I turned and walked through that gate, and accepted that half-life, where I would remain frozen and unchanging, much like Dr. Dunham’s dead butterflies.

  1853 - Journal Entry

  Being a Study of the Aftermath of Immortality

  My information tells me Miss Alexandra Spencer’s introduction to Slayer Society is tomorrow night. Though the treaty between the Mayfair Coterie and Aldgate Council remains tenuous at best, I will atten
d the soiree as a show of good faith.

  Naturally, I bring Miss Marwick as my companion for the evening. She does not know what event we are attending, and has not shown any interest in the outside world for more than half a decade. This is the first documented case of depression in an immortal – most intriguing – and my fellows at the Medical Society find my journals fascinating.

  I am curious to see what effect this next experiment has on her persistent melancholy state.

  About the Author

  Wendy is the weird, but really nice voice of InWhichMother.com. She is also a genealogist, gamer, furry, Pagan, and one of the authors of "Steampunk for Simpletons."

  A college town New Englander turned one-horse town Nebraskan, she raises a cup of Dunkies to life among cornfields and coyotes. She is still pleasantly surprised that amber waves of grain exist, and has declared the Midwestern prairies "wicked cool."