The Hunt 6

PART SIX:1

My first thought when I look down at my new baby sister is that she’s the ugliest baby I’ve ever seen.  She’s red from head to toe, with too-large eyes that are so dark they are nearly black.  The child has a smattering of dark fine hair on top of her head; her cheeks look droopy like an old lady’s.  She looks like a normal baby, lying in her bassinet.  The mother of the child is asleep in the room, exhausted from childbirth.  The baby fixes her eyes on me and opens her mouth.  She was born with fangs, two small razor points on either side of her mouth.  I wonder briefly if the mother intends to breast feed.  I stare down at the child apathetically, and I lower my hand to touch the baby’s hand.  Instinctually the newborn’s hand curls around my finger, and I can’t help but notice how very soft the baby’s skin is.  I feel the beginnings of fondness stir in my heart.2

“So the serial rapist strikes again,” I mutter in English, still looking at the child.  Sister Francine is standing next to me, gauging my reaction to the child.  She looks at me, curious as to what I’ve just said.  Sister Francine’s English vocabulary is limited to “yes”, “no”, “I’m sorry”, and “this is not a tourist attraction”.   I look at her, and repeat myself in Italian.  I hear a door open on the other side of the room, and a large, dark man enters.  He intimidates me, and that is such an unusual reaction for me that I do not take my eyes off of him as he walks toward us.  He is tall, at least 6’2”, and his hair is shoulder length and wavy, the color of midnight.  He has very broad shoulders, and large hands that look as if they could crush my head like a melon.  His arms are well muscled and he exudes power.  I want to take a step back, but at the same time I do not want to appear weak.  He speaks to be in English, his voice deep, rich, and low.3

“You must be Serafina,” he says.  I feel my eyes narrow at his observation.  “I’ve heard much about you.”4

“Then you have me at a disadvantage,” I say.  “I’m afraid I’ve heard nothing about you.” Here I shoot Sister Francine and angry glare, even though I know full well that she does not understand our conversation.  “Who are you?”  5

“I am the serial rapist, as you so inelegantly put it,” he says.  “I’m the baby’s father.”6

My world begins to spin.  The baby is my sister, and this is the baby’s father, which means that-7

“Yes, Sera, I’m your father, too.”8

I rest my hand against the bassinet as I try to steady myself.  9

“But-”10

“I’m not a rapist,” he says, giving me a hard look.  11

“But-”12

“Your mother only said that because she wanted to believe that.  After she found out what I was…she felt like she had done something wrong, and made up stories to excuse her fornication.”13

His eyes are sad while he says this, but I still don’t trust him.  I sigh.14

“Fine,” I say.  “But why are you just now showing up in my life?”15

“I didn’t know about you.”16

“Bullshit.”17

“What?” he is shocked and taken aback from my tone.18

“You heard me,” I say.  I am shaken inside, but I will not show it to him.  I turn on my heel, and walk calmly from the room.  I go back outside, walk through the courtyard and exit through the same gate that the nuns had refused me entry at only an hour ago.  I keep walking, until I am past the grass where I landed earlier and walking into the tree line of the surrounding forest.  I am so tired that I don’t walk far.  Yawning, I slump against a tree trunk.  My face is wet, and as I wipe away the moisture I realize I am crying.  What’s so special about this baby that my father stuck around?  I am annoyed at myself for crying, and I feel ridiculous.  Geez, I haven’t cried like this in nearly a century, but that’s a long story for another time.  I am blaming my emotional state on my exhaustion. I certainly didn’t need this after flying for seven hours.  I hear footsteps coming my way, and I am afraid it is my father, but they are too light for such a large man.  I look up and see Sister Francine coming towards me.19

It is easy for others to forget how old I am; considering I stopped aging once I reached maturity, which apparently was around the age of 20.  Sister Francine has a very motherly look on her face as she crouches next to me, and I, forgetting my age myself, bury my face in her habit and silently cry.  She lets her hand rub my back comfortingly.  Sister Francine has always been very kind to me, and in a way, I view her almost as a mother figure.  My tears stop, but now I am so exhausted I can barely move, and remain leaning limply on Sister Francine.20

“It’s understandable that you are upset,” she says quietly.  “But listen to me, and I will tell you the story of your birth, as your father has told me.  It may change your perspective a bit. Won’t you listen?”21

“Not right now, Sister Francine,” I say.  “I’m too tired, too weary.”22

She pats my back, and stands.  I lean back against the tree trunk.  I am having trouble keeping my eyes open.  Sister Francine reaches her hand out, and I grasp it so she can help me to stand.  I lean on her all the way back to the convent, where she shows me to a bed in a small room.  I don’t even bother pulling my hair down, and I collapse on the thin mattress and pull the blankets up over myself.  23

“G’night, Francine,” I mumble.  My eyes are closed, but I feel her pat the top of my head.24

“Good night, Sera,” she says.  “I will talk to you again once you awake.”25

I do not hear her leave, and I awake again at twilight.  I’ve been dreaming of Kristophe, and as I lie in bed my thoughts drift to the first time I saw him.  He was a vision, dancing with an uninspiring mortal he was probably planning on feeding from later.  He may as well have been dancing by himself; all eyes were on him.  It was then that I decided that I wanted him.  I wondered how these events would affect my hunt, what with Matteo showing up after pissing off the mafia, and with having a new baby sister.  Not to mention my father, of all people, coming into my life.  I wanted to go back to sleep; to not have to deal with all this crap, but I got out of bed anyway.  My head was sensitive due to sleeping with my hair pinned up, and I knew that before the night was over I’d likely have a pounding headache.  Sighing resolutely, I went to find Sister Francine.26