Immortal (part) Chapter 1

The road was slick, a frozen blackness on which her tires spun greasily. Headlights illuminated the darkness ahead of her and glinted off of the icy roadway. The poor frozen blades of grass that survived along the roadside sparkled under their icy sheaths as the light reflected off of them. They crackled and moaned as the wind tried to change their position. It was impossible to move much without breaking in this frozen state. No animals were about tonight; it seemed too chilly for them to venture out in hopes of finding food. 1

Inside the car, however, Rachel had it toasty warm. The radio blared away with comforting tunes as her eyes strained against the night. She wanted to hurry up and get home, but the road conditions were seriously impeding her progress. 2

Home, there was a thought. Weren't homes supposed to be welcome sanctuaries full of warmth and love? She shook her head at the thought. Her home was wasn't. She had toyed with the idea of divorce for several years now and she really didn't know why she hadn't already filed. Was it sheer cowardice, fear of the unknown, fear of being alone, or the kids, maybe? She dearly loved her children and she knew her husband did too. A divorce would shatter their little lives and turn them upside down. It would bring heartache and pain to an already less than perfect childhood and she couldn't bring herself to do that to them. They were good kids, despite all the fights they'd witnessed in their lives. It pained her to see the way they acted, mimicking their parent's hateful tones when they fought. She and Ryan had pushed off their hate onto their kids and she truly hated that. Rachel's frustrations with Ryan came out in her tone when she reprimanded her children who didn't deserve the spiteful words she lashed out. She heard it in the tone of her oldest when she scolded her smaller sister. The evil tones that came from her innocent children's mouths were more than a parent should have to bear. But we've brought it on ourselves, she reminded herself, it's all they hear anymore. 3

Rachel and Ryan's relationship was no more than cohabitation. They had nothing in common, save the children. They never held a conversation. It would seem odd to other married couples, but they really never talked to one another anymore. Not even, the gratuitous "Honey, I'm home" or "I'm going to the store, is there anything that you need?" Some days they spoke in passing, but never more than you'd say to a total stranger who opened the door for you. They would never have an honest conversation about the bills, or the kids, or their work, or anything no matter how trivial it might be, not even the weather. They simply resided in the same domicile. By some unspoken agreement, they both did the kids' laundry, but they each did their own clothes and the other expected no less. Ryan would rifle through the laundry pile, picking out his clothes and scatter hers all over the floor. She returned the favor, except she tried to put his back into the basket. Their house was never clean. Rachel felt no need to clean it because it would simply be trashed back out again that same night. She worked more hours than Ryan did, and there was no way he would ever try to clean a toilet. So, the resentment built and built with each passing day. He thought she should do her job and all the work around the house and she thought that he should appreciate her and he didn't. So, therefore, she stubbornly refused to do anything he wanted. She refused to give in and be a slave like her mother was to her father. She had witnessed that unfair trade for too long to become a part of it. 4

The romance had long ago faded into oblivion, never to be rekindled. Rachel felt dead inside because hope had died long ago as well. Love was truly a myth for her and she no longer believed in it. She had a small hope that someday her girls would find true love, but deep down inside she knew they wouldn't. They were already destined to follow in her footsteps as she had followed in her mothers'. Rachel couldn't count the times she'd asked her mother why she stayed with her dad. Her father constantly belittled her mother, telling her that everything she did wasn't good enough or was just plain stupid and wrong. Her mother always shrugged off Rachel's questions and never gave her a straight answer. She just hung her head. 5

Rachel's marriage was quite possibly worse than her mother's and she couldn't bear the fact that her daughter's lives were destined to follow on their unhappy path. If she didn't believe in love and Happy Ever After, how could her children be expected to find it for themselves? It wasn't that Ryan physically abused her; it was more that he neglected her and took her for granted. There were never any warm hugs or loving kisses that she craved so much. She longed for affection, but there was never any to be found. Their marriage bed was as empty as a crypt, and twice as cold. It was a miracle that two children had been borne of this union, seeing as they had sex maybe six times a year on a good year. Rachel counted up this year's lovemaking on two fingers. What a wonderful couple they were! 6

People in their small town had no idea of what her life was really like. To outsiders, they were an ordinary family. Rachel had moved to Ryan's home town so that he could get a job. They had been in this God forsaken country for six years and she had not one person that she could really call a friend. That wore on her psyche as much as anything. She had no one to confide in. No one to tell her troubles to, and no one to share her thoughts with. It was a lonely life, living in the midst of people who she cared nothing about and who cared nothing about her. She absolutely hated it. She longed to go home, where at least she could wallow in her misery with her family around her. There was no way Ryan would let her leave the state with the kids. He would fight her tooth and nail to keep them. He loved them, but he would fight her just for spite as well. So she stayed. Unhappy and depressed and longing for some day when she could be happy. 7

Rachel's mind toyed with the idea of just running the car off the road and smashing into a tree and ending it all, but she couldn't do that. Her girls needed her. She was determined to be there for them. She wanted to be a good mother to them, she just didn't know how. They were beautiful angels with curly brown locks that fell past their shoulders and a light from an inward place that shone through their outward flawless beauty. They were gorgeous creatures and she hoped that their lives would turn out so much better than hers. For this reason, if no other, she kept up the charade of a marriage to their father. 8

Once, she had loved Ryan. It was so long ago, it felt like a hazy memory, lost in a dream. She tried to remember a time when she'd been happy with him, but it had been too long ago, so long ago. Once, perhaps, he'd made her laugh, but she couldn't recall. It was all faded and twisted in her memory. They had been through a lot together and it hadn't brought them closer, it had snapped any ties that had once bound them. 9

Suddenly the car skidded on a patch of black ice. Rachel jerked the wheel instinctively, and overcorrected. Too late, she realized that she was on a bridge and the road was even slicker than she had thought. Her Toyota began to slide across the median and she jerked the wheel again, let off of the gas, and did the worst thing she could, she hit the brakes. The car slid around sideways, hit the southbound guard rail and ricocheted back to the right, slammed into a broken guardrail, and plummeted off the bridge into the black air beyond. She felt the car flying for microseconds and had a plummeting feeling in the depths of her stomach before she felt the jarring, bone shattering crunch of the car against the rocks and water below. The car continued its forward motion and flipped over, landing on a crushed cab. 10

Rachel had no idea how long she'd been unconscious, whether it was seconds, minutes, or hours. She couldn't feel her body; all she felt was an icy coldness. She couldn't get her bearings or clear her head, all she felt was mind numbing cold. Finally she realized she was dangling upside down, held in place by the seatbelt. Rachel tried to reach the release, but a fiery pain shot through her arm when she tried to move it. The water from the icy stream invaded her car, but it wasn't deep enough to drown her… yet. As panic invaded her senses, she realized she must get out. She tried to reach the seatbelt catch again, but her shattered arm would not comply. In the dimness of the night, she saw an inky blackness trailing down her arm and as she looked up, she saw the same darkness oozing out of her shirt, running down her face. Blood. The panic struck her, even though she was in shock and couldn't feel the total extent of her injuries, she knew instinctively that they were bad. She had to get out of the car and crawl up the embankment so maybe a passing car would find her and get her to a hospital. But try as she might, she couldn't move. She was trapped. Slowly, she realized she must be on the edge of the stream, because the water wasn't rising in the car, but passing with a steady flow, continuing it's icy passage over her forehead. Rachel screamed. The terrified gargle in her throat, intensified her terror. How in the hell was she going to get out of here? She had to. She had to get out of this car and survive. Agonizing minutes passed. Images of her daughters flashed in front of her, their smiling faces, their loving kisses, their warm hugs. It was this image that allowed her to close her eyes and concentrate on something. Slowly, she felt her life fading, and her last thought was of her little girls. What would become of them? 11

Sloan stepped into the icy water and ripped the door off of it's one remaining hinge, tossing it aside carelessly. He couldn't immediately tell if he was too late or not. The cabin was filled with blood, which stirred the animal within. He reached in to grab her, realized she was belted in, and hit the release button. It was jammed. He ripped the whole thing out and she tumbled downward. Sloan drug her out of the car and carried her to the embankment, looking for a sign of life. Her head lolled uselessly and her eyes were closed, but he saw a trickle of blood dripping from one of the wounds in her neck. He bent to taste her. Ahh, she was so sweet. But the flow was stopping and he knew there was little time. He shook her. No response. He shook her again and pressed his hand into one of her broken arm bones to inflict pain upon her. Her eyes fluttered and a slow moan escaped her lips. 12

"Do you want to live?" he asked. No response. He increased his pressure and bent her broken arm as he whispered in her ear again, "You must tell me if you will accept the life I offer you. Do you want to live and be mine?"13

The utterance was barely more audible than an imperceptible whisper in a tornado, but Sloan heard it, "Yyyyesssss". Sloan bit his own wrist and placed it on her mouth so that his blood fell onto her tongue. The flow was good, but still she did not swallow. 14

"You must drink, Rachel. Swallow. Drink if you want to live." Slowly he felt her throat working to try and swallow the pool of blood that was forming in the back of her mouth. Finally, she succeeded. With the first swallow, Rachel felt a warmness invading her body, a coppery sweet strength that was invading her cells, bringing life to her dying organs. She swallowed again, and felt a little of the haze in her mind dim. Her lips began to clamp onto his wrist and before she knew what was happening, she was sucking the blood directly from his wrist. It felt like liquid life. It was fire to her damaged body, sending strength and vibrance down her broken spine. 15

Sloan ripped her mouth away before she could drink anymore. He knew what must be done, and it would be painful for her. He laid her body out as flat as he could on the frozen ground, put his foot on her stomach below her belly button and grabbed her under the shoulders and pulled. He felt her back give and Rachel managed a weak scream as he tried to correct and align the broken vertebrae as best he could. Her arms were next. He held her at the shoulders and pulled at the wrist to try and straighten her bones. Next, came her beautiful legs. They were bloodied and broken as was the rest of her. He pulled on her legs and tried to force the bones back through the skin to line up with their broken counterparts. Rachel had passed out again. It was just as well, he thought. Sloan wondered if he should slit her skin and muscles to try and put the bones back together. He'd never done this before. He didn't want her to heal ugly. He wouldn't be able to tolerate that. He'd have to kill her if she didn't come back perfect. Sloan decided that, Yes, he must take more care of her healing, so he held her tightly, summoned his power, and let the night take him. Sloan materialized in his kitchen and laid Rachel out on the immense mahogany dining room table. She was still alive, and slowly healing, he saw. He must hurry! Sloan grabbed a carving knife from a drawer and slit her lower leg open to the bone. Blood dripped from the wound he inflicted, but he tried not to notice. Carefully, he pulled and forced the bones together so they would heal straight. When he slit her arms open, it was not so easy. There were multiple breaks and he wasn't sure if he got them all put back together right. He flipped her over and sliced into her back. Minutes were precious now. He had caused her to loose a lot of blood, and she didn't have any to spare. He scraped away at her vertebrae, trying to see if there was any spinal cord damage, and when he couldn't find any, he aligned them as best he could and carefully rolled her over onto her back. Almost too late, he noticed the indentation in her chest. He carved it open as well and discovered a rib had snapped off and was embedded in a lung. He pulled it out and placed it like a sadistic puzzle piece in the empty place where it had broken off.16

Sloan slit his wrist again, this time with the knife and placed it to Rachel's mouth. Instinctively, this time, she knew what to do. Her lips latched on and her sweet tongue created a suction to pull the blood from his body directly into hers. Sloan didn't staunch the flow this time and his eyes beheld the miracle that granted Immortality. The cuts he'd made and the horror her body had suffered in the crash were healing right before his eyes. He watched as his immortal blood spread throughout her broken body, healing everywhere it went. He was glad to see that her leg wounds were sealing up nicely with very little signs of scarring. He didn't think he could live with her if she were disfigured. Sloan also figured that a little blood drinking on her part later, would help to heal her wounds, but he didn't know for sure. He brushed the hair back from her face with his free hand. Already the bruising and swelling seemed to be lessening. He would give her as much of himself as he could to ensure that she had the best possible start, even though he could feel himself weakening with every pull she placed on his artery. Minutes passed, and Sloan felt his legs growing weak. He leaned against the table for stability, and still her mouth demanded more. His head began to swim and he knew he had to pull away from her, but as he tried, her arms came up to hold his wrist firmly to her mouth. That was good, he thought, she can move her arms again. He grabbed his wrist and pulled backward, falling with all his might to rip his wrist from her grasp. He had let her take too much of him. He was weak. He needed to feed and he needed it now. He got up from the floor and gazed at her upon his table. She looked so peaceful and beautiful with just the slightest trickle of blood escaping her lips. Still, she did not move. Her hands had returned to her sides and she lay statuesque on the antique carved mahogany jewel that he'd brought over from Italy decades before. 17

Sloan turned on his heel and strode purposefully out of his house. It took him only minutes to locate suitable prey. Sloan drained the man mercilessly as his horrified girlfriend stood stone still and watched. Then, he slung her over his shoulder and took her back to his home. Sloan was an expert at manipulating the feeble minds of humans. 18

Long ago he had learned to hypnotize them with but a thought, to render them powerless against him. It worked on most, but not all, and some took slightly more effort than others. He had yet to discern exactly why that was, but at this moment he didn't care. All that mattered was that this girl had been easy prey. 19

Rachel still hadn't moved. He could see that her wounds were healing nicely, but he thought she should have come around by now. "Damn," he swore and rolled up his sleeve again. She must have been much worse off than I imagined, he thought as he slit his wrist again and placed it to her mouth. Immediately, her hands came up to grasp his arm and the pull of her mouth on his blood was actually quite powerful. Good, he thought, she will survive. Sloan risked a glance at the girl he'd stood in the corner. She had slumped down and was squatting in the corner with a horrified look on her face. It was as well. He'd need sustenance after he let Rachel feed off of him again. Later, they would hunt together. Sloan turned to Rachel again and gazed down at her face. Already the bruising was gone and her angelic glow was returning. She was truly perfection. Rachel looked so much like his long dead Rebecca it made his cold heart turn. If only she really was Rebecca. Then this life would be bearable. It would be complete. 20

Sloan felt himself getting lightheaded once more and tried to release his arm from her grasp. She had a death grip on it. Good, she was getting stronger. However, he felt his power draining, and with it, his hold on the girl in the corner was lessening. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stir. She was going to run for her life. The movement spurred him into action. He ripped his arm from Rachel and descended on the girl as she screamed. Her scream was cut short as he bit deeply into her throat, trying to rip out her vocal cords as he drank her life's blood greedily. Her girgling sounds lasted only briefly as he soon had her body drained. Her corpse hung limply in his arms and he heard Rachel begin to stir on the table. He tossed the girl aside and went to Rachel's side. Briefly she glanced up at him under a flutter of lashes. Sloan hoped her body had knitted itself back together properly as he picked her up and carried her to the largest of the upstairs bathrooms. He laid her on her back in the magnificent porcelin bathtub and ruthlessly stripped the tattered and torn clothes from her body, leaving her naked on the cold surface. Her body responded with the smallest of goosebumps and he wondered if the transformation would work. Sloan turned, tossed her clothes in the tiny trashcan, and left her there. He had absolutely no desire to be there when the transformation occurred.21

Sloan picked up the dead girl and took her outside. He would have time to dispose of both her and her boyfriend before Rachel had recovered. He strode off into the chilly night, whistling for the first time in a century. 22