I can see you, living inside, behind your broken eyes. Eyes that I remember, eyes I used to know. I look into them now, as I sit across from her, controlling the violent shudder that tried to wrack my body as the revulsion that wracked my mind, but only just. My emotional memory thrashed like a shark in shallow seal-filled waters. A curious breed of contempt, pity, and shame spawned as I listened to her tales of late.

I knew most of what she’d been up to, even without her telling me. I predicted a lot, and as it turned out, I’d been wrong about very little and especially about what had started happening to her in our end. During her stay in the psychiatric ward, I was her rock. I knew her better than anyone, better than herself. I still do. I could see her mistakes and their causes and consequences as clear as day; all enigma to her.

To help someone who says they want it, but who isn’t willing to do the work to change is frighteningly frustrating. I wonder if she will ever be strong enough to face the truth of what she has become, sometimes. I think it would probably send her back to the mental hospital, but someone as deluded as her probably belonged there anyway. No one with a real sense of awareness would admit so casually that she was staying with a man she planned to leave, up until he gave her the ring she thought was coming her way.

I could actually feel the skin of my face grow hot as she said this. Every moral fibre in my being screamed at me to flee, get away from this foul creature that used the orifaces of her body to garner jewellery from ignorant, niave young men. Every moment you stay, I thought, makes a mockery of everything you believed you had all those years. But an overwhelming sense of responsibility refused to let me go. No one else could ever know her the way you do, it said. No one else has the strength to catch her when she falls. No one else knows how terrified she is of being given the solitude in which to discover herself; that rings are only excuses.

**
I would very much like to be in bed right now, I thought. In my own bed, alone, just to sleep. Instead I sat next to Marie, and her terror. True, base, deep-seated fear that, even just briefly contemplated, brought out the ruthless chivallry in me. Which, of course, was why I was not slumbering peacefully.

I was not scared myself. Nervous perhaps; oscillating between bouts of fatigue and fits of apprehensive energy. We waited late into the night for her brother’s return, and especially the salacious and unscrupulous friend that usually came along. Each week they had taken slightly more from Marie, things that could not be regained. Finally, I could stand by no longer. Nearly ten years of various martial arts training waited casually confidant, to be called into action- and drunken louts, even two together, would never put up a good fight.

But still, I was awfully tired. Marie had her own power which she refused to use. I tell her to leave every time I see her. Get out, get her own place. Lord knows she has the money for it- she’s supporting the family as it was. She gave her brother the cash he used to get drunk and come home to help his friend . . .

A bang at the screen door- intoxicated fingers rattled the latch. I stood calmly and took my quarterstaff in hand. I wouldn’t even need the katana to put the fear of God into these little bastards, I thought as satisfaction poured into me. The power I weilded would do good that night. And as it turned out, the week after, and several times the next week. The last time, the police questioned me. Still Marie would not leave. When the friend broke his court-ordered perimeter, I had to be there. I knew what would happen if I didn’t stop him.

***
Victoria did not want a father, she wanted a lover. As well as we got along, and as attractive as she was, I still knew better what she needed. She’d never had a strong male influence in her life. Her highly-developed attachment to me was not so surprising. I filled that need.

I was pretty happy to fill it, in fact. She was a great girl who could really use the support I gave her. Some sort of validation, I think, that she craved. And no matter how she looked to me every once in a while, I knew I could not break her trust. I would not take advantage of my position and use her. Nothing would ever repair that damage once done.

Finally, she found someone. I told myself I was proud.

*****
I woke up in a room that looked vaguely familiar. Sitting up, I tried to place myself, and couldn’t quite get it. My thoughts were so slow, misty. A woman in uniform entered and greeted me familiarly. I’d never seen her before. She suggested I lay back down and clearly expected to be obeyed. She said they’d be able to reduce the dosage if I could stay calm like this.

It took me two days to figure out what had happened, or to remember, one of the two. At least, the nurse told me it was about two days since I’d first really calmed down and started talking lucidly again. I couldn’t tell, I kept slipping in and out of actual time, and this hazy sort of dreamland. Dreams . . . or memory? I was having trouble distinguishing between the two. My notebook helped, once I realized I’d been writing in it from the middle. Maybe to make room for what I am writing now. I realized a few things, apparently, during my . . . breakdown, and wrote a lot. Its stuck with me.

let go walk away stop blaming yourself she made a choice not to choose leave her alone
wake up to yourself what are you becoming
i am not this you are losing who you are can you even remember
don’t want to be lost please don’t let me go
she can’t choose either its not your job to make choices for other people
you are not galahad he was a myth you are becoming a ghost
yourself who am i but the reactions to hers
she likes you she doesn’t need a father she knew that a long time ago its only you who doesn’t get it yet
let something happen
its not all up to you

Order amid Chaos: Kindred is a saga.

I got to my feet slowly, feeling nauseous and short of breath. I knelt, my head bent for several long seconds, coaxing my bruised diaphragm to function normally again. Finally my head cleared and I stood. Briefly I looked upon the couple Jarrod had singled out, having realized who the girl was from the start. I waved a hand at her dismissively.

"Just go. Your part in this is long since past," I told her. With that, I spun on me heel and headed for home. The city would have no trouble swallowing Jarrod whole for the time being. I wouldn’t have a chance of catching him in panicked flight. Patience then, until he calmed enough to stop running. I had a fair idea what his next move would be, I only had to wait for him to make it.

I put a hand on my sore stomach. Very fast. Very strong. I wondered exactly how much danger he would be in when he found what he would inevitably seek out.

*****
Demons ran through my head and I ran with them. Stalking city streets so familiar, so remarkably new. Every colour, shadow, scent, sound: all washed over my senses. Like a relentless tide, powerful and comforting in its way. I set my mind to sifting through everything I perceived. To measure it, evaluate it. To know, I could know everything around me. From the uneven click of a one-legged pigeon’s talons, to the pesto on the breath of a businessman. The destination of the train that thundered fifty feet of concrete below me announced by a recorded voice to my ears. The taste of coffee brewing, the wind through the antennae a thousand feet above. The city had no secrets, not from me.

I sifted through it all. Anything to distract me. Anything to block the vision of what had happened only minutes ago. Anything to keep the restless hunger in my gut from growing any sharper.

Oh, how I hated them. A shudder of primal energy rushed through my body as I relived the incredible agony delivered to her by my clenched fist. The power was deeply satisfying. Even her, even she could not match my strength. The blackness growing inside me writhed happily, fed by my hateful joy, my rage, and my hunger.

Stop. A new scent. I focused on it and discerned its direction swiftly. I walked casually that way. Very soon I would find more power, more deserving victims for my wrath. My mouth grew wet as I contemplated bleeding the atrocious life out of their bodies. I smiled.

There were two of them, as I’d known. They walked now just in front of me, oblivious. I turned my hearing into myself, moving silently and carefully. There were still too many people on this part of the streets, but I knew where were enough to know that soon, I would have them alone. In darkness. At my mercy.

Now.

I sprinted the last ten meters, and attacked in fury. A leap brought my on top of the first creature. My arms went around his head and I twisted my body around his. His neck vertebrae were no match for my swinging, airborne body weight. They splintered and his head rotated three-quarters the way around.

I continued my circular momentum and kicked the other vampire in the side. Something like adrenaline was humming through my veins and I laughed. My victim fell and rolled backwards to his feet. He took up a fighting stance and said something I did not answer. He came at me, straight-forward and stupid. I side-stepped under is hooking arm and caught his armpit in my elbow, spinning him around in front of me.

In the same smooth motion, my other arm took hold of his hair and jerked his head to one side. The flesh of his throat was soft, inviting, like a cunt. I sank my teeth in and let the fire pour into me. The flow was so strong it hit the back of my throat in time to his heartbeat. He quivered and fought for a moment, but weakly. Once I opened his veins, the strength went out of him. The sensuous communion overcame him. I felt the rush of his spirit fill my body, arousing a wholly different fire in my belly that, once identified, spawned an overwhelming confusion.

I hesitated, and in that split second, my victim broke free and tore off farther into shadows. I let him go, still reveling in the torrent of pure sensation rushing through my being. I don’t remember taking the first steps, but realized eventually that I was walking. Every point on my skin tingled. My mind swam in liquid pleasure I felt as though I could see washing over my body. A soft red glow emanated from everything I could see. Euphoric as I was, it is no great surprise that the organised group of vampires who’d surrounded me were able to seduce me without even the briefest struggle.

Existance is time. Everything known, everything that is, or is not, is all about timing. What happens doesn’t matter, the only important part is when.

There are a number of threads that inform this fact. Some are theoretical, some are fairly personal. Hopefully, I will treat them all in the space I have here to do so. Firstly:

Nothing is ever the same for more than a few seconds. Even within those few seconds there is change, but so imperceptible I am willing to overlook it. Every moment, everywhere, things are happening that will affect everything that comes after. For every person, each new moment will be different from the last- each coloured by the previous. Every individual is an ever-changing continuum, existing as the constantly growing, shifting sum of their experiences.

Those events, thoughts, whatever, they become memory and memory creates identity. Memory of course is entirely dependant on time to exist. Nothing can be remembered unless it happened in the past. Each new memory will give the individual a new facet of being, a new recollection which will influence their actions for the future- and thereby govern in some way the creation of new memories: the growth of their identity is therefor a product of memory.

Of course all this relies on the sequence of the events. One must be ready for particular events for them to have their impact. For the romantics out there: falling in love for the first time carries a far different weight than falling for the second time. After the first love dies, one is reborn a different person, less innocent, a little more pragmatic, perhaps a guarded. Electing to allow someone past the perimeter of your emotions with full familiarity with the potential grief is a very different thing, as compared to niave first-love.

For the less romantic: one who has never had a terrible job cannot appreciate a satisfying one the same way that a pesron who has carried out a menial occupation.

Every experience we suffer prepares us for the next, not because of some cosmic destiny, but because we are adaptive (intelligent?, well sometimes) animals with an elaborate memory. We cannot help it, our past is who we are and we cannot forget who we have been.

To now guide this narrative into more personal waters: I have recently come to know two young women, both of whome have aroused… my curiousity. These two I have met in entirely different circumstances, and as much as I have been trying to avoid this of late, there are as many versions of me as there are people I’ve met (plus my own personal director’s cut version).

The first knows me as the salesperson character I have been locked inside for a couple of years now, in order to feed myself. Though he is friendly, a little quirky, and a snappy dresser, he is not me. He is not passionate about what he’s doing (even though he is good at it), it does not express himself, cannot be me while he is there in that environment. That is unfortunate, because I think that girl might enjoy my company rather more than his.

The second one has met me in my most intensely distilled form, the form you now read. She has quickly become somewhat enamoured with the me that is here, the me I want to be. I like that I am able to find someone who encourages (both explicitly and implicitly) me to be who I need to be, more and more.

Everything comes down to timing. If she hadn’t checked that old account before I pinged her, she would not have read anything. If she’d checked it, but somewhat earlier than she did, she might not have liked what she read. If she had checked too late, I might have escaped that salesman job, and be surroudned physically with people who I can be more ‘myself’ with, and have found something else myself, someone who I connect with as easily as it turns out I do with her. With whom I am unafraid to express what I want, what I don’t know, what I will try, and what I won’t. I hope she appreciates what I am saying. She has found me at a pivotal time in my life. Now I have two things I did not only recently: the freedom to do what I need to be happy; and an unshackled clarity of vision to discern what a few of those things are.

I am who I am now because of the experiences that have led me here. The things that are working smoothly come from that. The things that hesitate come from the same. There are reasons for everything- and a time as well. there will come a moment when I am ready for the realization that I can feel coming, but the moments that have come before tell me not to rush headlong into anything important. Which is why the first girl will probably never know me much better than she does now. My hesitance prevents me leaping across the gap. The second, however, has enough perspective to extend a hand that tempts me more than she knows.

You’re the only one who knows I’m holding back.

Order amid Chaos: Kindred is a saga.

She did not answer.

I think I probably knew all along what I was doing- what had happened -but my mind had not quite decided what to make me feel about it. My physiology quickly made up for lost time, when the sickening scent of a coolling human corpse filled my head. Preternaturally strong, I could smell nothing else. A stale, warm copper taste invaded my awareness, and though I tried to fix stubbornly on the ceiling, my nausea overcame me effortlessly.

I leapt up and darted for the bathroom, flinging myself to my knees before the toilet. Angry, burning gouts of someone else’s blood coughed out of my body. My head swam as I tasted the wretched remains of the dead girl in the other room.

My stomach clutched spasmadocally as I forced what I could of of me. Acid, bile, and blood all swam in a noxious swirl below my face, garnished with my reviling tears. Dead. I killed her. I drank her! Another retch, beginning to dry up now. The first girl I had touched since her, and I killed her. I took what I wanted, fucked her, and bled her dry. She’s gone. Family, friends, the girls she was with tonight (last night?) they’d never see her again. Unilever would need a new project manager.

I slumped back, my body an empty, quivering husk of flesh. I was no better than the creature that made me like this. I was the same. So strong. So hungry. So alone.

But strong. Stronger, now, than I used to be. Better. I had the power to just walk away. I stood shakily, and did just that.

*****
Tracking her down was easy. I had only to go where I’d known she’d been all along. I realize now how making a point of forgetting someone is the surest way to remember. She made it even easier though, by stagnating. Tepid waters seldom travel very far.

All her fault. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for what she did. I wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t have blood on my hands- on my breath. I wouldn’t be a monster, and I wouldn’t be alone. If only she hadn’t done what she did.

I stood across the street from her office building where I knew she would soon emerge, just as she had last night, to meet her new other half. Funny how he was still new after a year and a half. Funny how I knew exactly how long it had been. I waited, wrapped comfortably in my malice, staring at the automatic doors until my stabbing gaze bounced off her exiting form.

I walked across the road, my eyes locked on her face. Finally she saw me. That same dark skin. The same ebony hair, shorter now. The same eyes, those trecherous pools of infinite promise, and ultimate emptiness. Her sublimity baited my wrath like a virgin before a dragon.

"Hello," I said.

"Hello," she replied.

I stared at her, tight-lipped.

"What do you want?" she asked. I could taste the tension pouring through her mind. Deep inside, somewhere, once, she was- had been -strong. That was before. Now, she was frightened and wanted to be rid of me as quickly as possible.

The power was intoxicating.

"I was just curious to see how you were getting along," I said. My vision blurred and sharpened. I could see every detail, I felt it all burning through my very being. "And here I find you wallowing in banal mortality- unremarkable in every way, except of course, for the chances you squandered."

I could feel his presence approaching behind me. I saw when her eyes shifted, so I turned and stepped back to keep them both in front of me. I only spoke after scrutinizing him with my fiery eyes.

"Finally," I said. "I finally come face to face with my . . . successor. My-" I scoffed, "replacement. I trust she finds you sufficiently torpid as not to incite any sort of actual passion in her life. Any kind of challenge that might inspire some kind of achievement would really be too hard for her."

I could feel a rage singing through my body, and goaded it on. I felt his anger rising, slow and cumbersome compared to my lethal hate. I levelled my gaze on his eyes, and set my teeth. I’d already envisioned how he would look slumped on the ground after my fist collided with his head.

Faster than their eyes could follow, my right arm hooked out, and stopped mid-flight. A gutteral, furious snarl tore free of my mouth as I whirled to lash out with my left hand at the only one who could have been faster and stronger than me.

My fury must have fuelled my speed because I connected my fist with her perfect stomach, and was halfway down the street by the time she’d regained her feet.

I ran. I ran from her, and him, and her, and what I had done, and what I tried to do. I ran. I had to get away from them, so no one would see what I had become. I ran to get away from myself.

and today I locked eyes with a phantom. Why am I seeing her everywhere? Why can I not stop looking?

This is one of those ‘every strength can be a weakness’ things.

The question is one of confidence. Am I, in fact, truly as confident as I and most people I know believe? What implications does that have?

Essentially the problem I am encoutering lately is a severe lack of confidence. Not a self-esteem issue, but rather a case of indecision and plain old fear informing that doubt. These feelings (with the potential exception of a lesser version of fear) are quite foreign to me.

What people, I believe, refer to as my self confidence, assuredness, or even the arrogance is simply an accellerated decision-making process. When I make the decision to do something, or reach a conclusion or an opinion, it is not as though I haven’t thought about it. In fact, I usually over-think things- ask anyone. The fact of the matter is I tend to do it so fast that people do not believe I’ve done it. (an example of this was a time at work where I quoted a customer a cost for a repair, all too quickly. He openly questioned my authority, if I knew what I was talking about, he got pretty fired up, all because I ’seemed’ to be pulling numbers out of the air. He never considered that I was simply good at my job- which I am)

So I think that’s part of it.

The second aspect is my willingness- my need -to defend myself, my opinions, and my ability to do so. That said, if you’re not willing to defend your opinion then, Christ, what’s the point of having one? Is that actually arrogance? I’m not sure. The world I live in has not made it easy for me to be an individual- too many groups expect me to follow their line, and so I’ve had to work pretty hard to remain myself (or to discover who that is, as the case may be). I am digressing anyway.

So people seem to think I am quite a confident person- and if ‘people’ believe a thing, its pretty well as good as true, isn’t it? I myself have grown accustomed to the way decisions have always seemed pretty black and white to me, where I can very quickly weigh up options and a handful of their consequences, and ascertain which is going to be (or at least feel) better. Does being used to the way things are make me confident? What happens when the choices are not so black and white?

Apparently, I get very uncomfortable. I’ve had (and still have even as I write this) a range of issues that are jostling for a decision, an action, or at least an opinion- and I feel under-informed, nervous, and unsure. I can’t tell what is good or bad (even just for me and me alone right now) in these things. I can’t see repercussions with enough clairty to make (what I call) a sensible decision. And I freeze.

Suddenly I smile a little- this writing having served to a degree its primary purpose: to explain myself to me. The most particular dilemma I face now is one that begs for attention and promises a world of pleasure, but also a terrifying risk, is actually no risk to me at all. It is a risk for her (no not my old ’she’, rather a new one). I want to make a decision here. I know what would feel good to me, what I want, but I refuse to use her, to see her as less than an equal. I refuse to take something which I have no ability (at this time in my life) to return. (as an aside, I think this position I now find myself in, these thoughts I’m having tell me a lot about how I positioned myself in my past relationship that’s caused me so much agony. I find myself feeling like if I were to go back into the same patterns I experienced before, that I would be using and taking, rather than… sharing? These be uncharted waters…)

I am consoled, here and now though, to discover that I care about her enough as a person that I feel this way. I am also pleased to find that it is not perhaps a flaw in me which makes this decision difficult- but perhaps a virtue: compassion. Real, live, compassion. At least I’m not lying to her- or myself. Maybe that is enough – we’ll find out eventually.

Order amid Chaos: Kindred is a saga.

Finally, as the sun slipped silently below the horizon, my racing heart began to subside. I closed my eyes, and willed my breathing to steady and slow. Just as I knew it would, the frantic terror left me gradually, as the sunlight left the sky. The night’s tender arms embraced me, and I calmed.

Only moments after I had stepped outside, the nauseating sun had overcome me, and I’d fled into this dank, dark alley for the daylight hours. Revulsion and fear threatened to reclaim me even now, from only the memory of the torturous daylight that burnt my eyes, lit up my body, and stripped me of my… my what? What exactly? I was not sure. I did not have a word for it. But naked was how I felt in the daylight.

Now it was night. Now I was safe. I felt, as I stood and stretched, my body respond. My senses filled me with my surroundings- mostly the rank odour of mould that dominated the alley. Wet soil and garbage that rarely saw even a hint of sunlight. An unpleasant odour, but a safe one. Now I did not need it to be safe.

I strode from my hiding place with a smile on my face. Tonight I would go. I would find- my smile faltered. I would find… power. And my lips curled once more.

*****
I pooled the shiraz on my tongue for several seconds before swallowing. I did this each time I took a sip, relishing the delicious tingle in my mouth. I hadn’t considered ordering a different drink when I’d found my place at the end of the bar. Nothing else even came to mind.

This bar that I came across was what I’d call trendy. Something on the north side, where the successful, rich, and desperately lonely came to do what they thought of as cutting loose. What I saw was group after group of either men or women getting mildly drunk and complaining about how hard it was to meet new people, to people they already knew. They all commiserated with each other, and started all over.

She says "I wish there was a smart guy I could actually talk to you know? About music, or art, or philosophy. I mean, I miss that stuff we did back at uni. Now its only ever work."

Across the room, he says "I read a fantastic book a while ago, someone recommended it to me after reading something I wrote. It was full of some crazy philosophy, I tell you what. Really interesting though."

Running circles around themselves- I watched them work so hard at avoiding each other. Time after time, eyes would finally meet, and one or the other would lose their nerve, or assume there was nothing there to hope for, or find some other excuse to look away. I cocked half a smile, and picked one.

She might have been eighteen, except the real out-of-the-window quality suit she wore was out of any daddy’s price range. She was a project manager working on a six-figure contract for a company I actually knew. I picked her partly for that, partly for her dress sense, and partly because beneath her standard set of pheramones, there was the far stronger scent of a more straightforward secretion. Somewhere deeply shrouded, a piece of her imagination was far from here.

So, I watched her. I sipped my wine, and did not take my eyes of her lithe, svelte figure. Finally one of her friends noticed, and a few glances were thrown my way. When my favorite finally looked herself, I locked my eyes directly on hers for the half-breath she was able to hold my gaze. I turned away then, and immediately asked the bartender for a second wine glass. Carefully and deliberately, I poured out a generous swirl of wine from my carafe. I positioned the second glass just out of my own comfortable reach, and leant back in my chair.

I took another idle sip of my own wine, and turned my head just as the girl approached me. She had a nervous, child-like expression in control of her features. I took her into my eyes.

"I was wondering if you’d care to join me for a glass of this shiraz," I said quietly, almost too quietly.

She nodded though, and I kept my eyes locked on hers, as a fiery rush of adrenaline exploded in my belly. Desire erupted within furiously.

"I want you," I said to her.

"Oh," she paused. "My God!" She hesitated though, already sitting down.

"But I think you should drink that wine first, and tell me your name," I advised. I blinked, and leant back, releasing her just slightly.

"Oh, okay. I’m Michelle," she smiled brightly, and took her new glass in hand.

"Lovely," I smiled and lifted my glass in greeting. "It is a pleasure to meet you, my name is Jarrod." And we drank to the triumph of introductions.

"Does anyone ever call you Shelly, Michelle?" I asked. I let my eyes travel down her body, seeing- practically tasting -the supple ivory flesh shrouded by her woven wool.

"Uhm, no, not really," she replied.

"Great! I’ll be the first then," I smiled. "I am guessing you are something of an executive, perhaps not permanent though, contracted?" She drank rather than sipped her wine, a few drinks before having lubricated her pace. "Managing a lot of people, tight deadlines, big money. Am I right?"

She smiled. Her teeth were a tribute to modern dentistry.

"Yes! I’m contracted as a project manager to Unilever at the moment. How did you know?"

I cocked my lips, and said, "Because everyone here fits the same bio." I laughed a little, and brought my eyes back in line with hers.

"But no, in seriousness: you fit the character. Young, strong, smart, snappy dresser. What else could you be?"

"Well thanks," she couldn’t look away, couldn’t signal her friends that things were going well or badly. "What do you do?"

"I’ve done a little bit of a lot of things. I pay the bills doing web design projects- I’ve got a bit of the PM training myself you know. Lately though, I’ve been getting back into my artistic side. Writing and music mostly, but a bit of sketching and painting here and there." There were stars in her eyes already. "What I want to do in the next year or so, is combine the two. Use the web to bring together people like myself to show their work in a place where it might be appreciated. Its hard to find a webmonkey who’ll enjoy my prose you know?" I smiled and we both laughed.

"No! It’s true, I know exactly what you mean," she took another swallow. I watched her mouth intently. God how I wanted her. I could smell her skin, behind her intoxicating perfume. I could hear every beat of her quickened heart, and I wanted it. "I mean, me, I love music, I like singing," she stopped, suddenly embarassed. I struck.

Leaning forward to whisper in her ear, I said "No no, I imagine you’d have a fine voice. And I want to hear it later, screaming incoherantly, but for now, I’ll settle for a good excuse to let your friends see me whispering into your ear."

I leant back and smiled sweetly.

"Oh Jarrod, you are a funny one," she laughed a little. I stared into her eyes blatantly fantasizing, burning my way into her mind, seeing her in any number of fantastic scenarios of sweat, heat, and skin. I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d tried.

She reached out then, and touched my hand, and forgot whatever it was she was going to say. Instead, she just looked at me. A pressure mounted in my stomach, a liquid heat that filled my entrails with need. Strong, like a gathering storm- patient in the early calm.

"I only live about five minutes from here," she said.

"We could be in a taxi in ninety seconds," I replied.

She drained her wine glass and stood.

*****
Mind blowing euphoria completely paralyzed my rational mind as I took that girl’s body. I remember parts of it: I remember her edging ever closer to me as we travelled; I remember throwing open the door, and feeling her body pressed tightly against mine. I remember the glorious awakening of her spirit as she grabbed my head and kissed my mouth.

She came alive- more alive -in that moment. I could taste her excitement, her passion in the air, her lips, on her skin. Every inch of her body told a different tale of need. Basic, animal need. She wanted me. Her body even more than her mind needed the passion. Her muscles screamed to me in ecstasy as they tightened hard and fell lax spasmadocially under my touch.

I do not remember exactly what we did, only how it felt. My head was a raging mess of pure overwhelming sensation. Everything I had ever felt before paled in comparison to what I felt that night. She returned my fire well, unexpectedly taking control away from me once or twice. Her long under-used sexuality awakened to its full potential and extracting her own satisfaction from me, several times.

I too came more than once that night. But each time only brought me more hunger, more lust. Instead of the release of pressure, every orgasm- mine or hers -redoubled my thirst.

Suddenly her taste filled my mouth, as I pinned her to the soft, compliant mattress. I fucked her harder and harder, and felt her body stiffen, freeze beneath me. Her fingertips were poised. They stood on the back of my neck as she flowed into me.

Finally my lust ebbed. Finally I regained my senses. Finally I rolled to the side.

"Jesus Christ Shelly," I said through a breathless smile. "That was incredible!" I stared at the ceiling for a few moments.

Michelle never answered.

Order amid Chaos: Kindred is a saga.

-Serai, please, come now.-

I came awake with a start, already sitting up by the time I was conscious. Dreaming, I very rarely dreampt. That was not a dream, I realized. No, it was a message, a desperate cry.

"Jarrod!" I hissed. Three more days had passed, and again I was weak with hunger, but suddenly hope coursed through my veins- an entirely irresistable force.

My bedside clock read just past twelve a.m. as I leapt out of sheets that still smelled of him. I had hardly moved, again, since he’d left me for the second time. Now, though, now he needed me, and I would come.

I practically flew out the door, with my own long coat whipping out behind me. As I’d aged, my body became stronger and faster, and so when I ran, sprinted, I moved very quickly indeed. I was beyond driven as I tore up the tiny roads that snaked through the mass of real estate clinging to the harbour’s edge. No more than two minutes could have passed by the time I reached the massive stone pylon of the harbour bridge.

I shut my eyes and reached outward, upward with my other senses. There. Yes. He was here. So familiar, so strong a presence. I glanced up the hill to the long ramps in the distance, then looked up. No, I thought not. Scaling the pylon took less time than I would have predicted.

Moments later, I stood atop the stone tower, contending with a stiff breeze. It was a long jump, a very long jump in fact, with a very narrow staircase on which to land, on the main arch of the bridge. I only thought about that much, much later.

I was sweating, finally, as I reached the summit of the structure. The wind was bitterly cold, but my fiery body felt none of it. I could see him: the tall, spare frame next to one of the neormous flag poles. The view was spectacular at this height.

I came to a stop a few yards behind him, as I caught my breath and tried to decide what to say.

"It has been a long time, Serai," said the figure. My racing heart skipped a beat as confusion writ itself across my face. Not Jarrod.

He turned around.

"Lucius," I said, no tone I could generate could have expressed my utter bewilderment. "My God, Lucius!" Genuine happiness slipped carefully into me; I hadn’t seen my maker in close to one hundred and fifty years.

"My God. I… thought you were someone else," I said, smiling a little. Lucius’ tone quickly changed that.

"I know, Serai. I know who you thought I was." Lucius was old, powerful. His dark skin and chiselled features were usually such a welcome sight, so comfortable, but not now. His displeasure was palpable in the air between us. Doubt creapt through me. "You have finally become a maker yourself," there was no question in his voice. To affirm would have felt foolishly superfluous. "Far later than some, and still you were not ready." Lucius paced on the metal platform, I was rooted in place. Fear wriggled unpleasantly in my belly.

"I find you here, now, desperate, starving- and alone," he said. "Where is he?" A great weight settled over my shoulders like a leaden cape as his terrible eyes locked on mine. They seemed to force the words out of me.

"I don’t know."

"Indeed." He said, "Odd, that, when I feel as though I could reach out and touch your desire for him, that you are not by his side this very moment."

"He he left, I… didn’t know… " I stutterred, feeling stupid, childish before my old mentor. Ashamed, frightened. Feelings that I had not felt in a long time. Stupid.

"Yes of course he ran. He is terrified. His mind is on fire with the blood. You did not give him an easy birth. A most dangerous choice, most dangerous indeed." I had let myself forget my guilt for the last few minutes, for what I had done to Jarrod. I had allowed myself to be enveloped by hope. Lucius brought it all back. I did not have to voice anything around him- he knew.

"Mortals are not all as weak as we grow accustomed to believe. A very dangerous thing can be created when a strong mortal is given the blood- especially the way you did. When the passions are inflamed, mortal or immortal, the rules change. There will be those who will have a fear of him. A desire for what he could provide."

Lucius’ words were slick with ice, and fear shuddered my body.

"Can you not feel it, Serai?" An echo haunted me. "I can feel it. I can feel what you have done. You will, and not too soon, I expect," Lucius sighed, and drew closer too me. I needed him to stop, to let me go, I couldn’t bear his disapproval.

"Serai, what has become of you?" His eyes looked softly into mine, and he made it even worse. "This, you, this desperate, fearful creature is not the woman I remember. What happened to your fire?"

He reached out then, and put his warm hand against my cheek gently. His tone grew harder again, but his touch remained tender.

"You owe that boy something, Serai. The maker’s bond is sacred. You can do better than this, as I did for you- as I am doing this very moment, so you must do for your new kindred. Your blood is stronger than this. I remember, I gave it to you."

I struggle to explain the feeling that overcame me that night. Something like a hardening in my gut, but not a withdrawing. A strengthening of resolve. A sudden realization where I’d been aimless. Lucius was always right. I was better and stronger than that. I suddenly knew what I was doing was useless. I had to find Jarrod, I had to give him something he could use, to make up for what I’d taken. To protect him, to guide him, and to show him what he could be.

The wild fury of shame, fear, and guilt was calmed, and I could see clearly again. I looked up at Lucius, and nodded.

"I remember," I said, and cocked a half smile at him.

Lucius left me then, slipping down into shadow, back to his home, I thought. I remained high atop the bridge scanning the city for a long time. I wanted to run, to move, to search street by street, but I knew I would not find him in desperation. So, I sat, closed my eyes, and reached out for him.

I would not fail.

I shook hands with a ghost today, an old memory I didn’t recognize because I thought he was long buried and forgotten. This shade from my past returned to me- the oldest skeleton I have in this hemisphere -more full of life than he was the last time I saw him.

One must understand something about me to fully appreciate this event. For the first time in my life, (each and every day- now) I have a continuous history which reaches back farther than four years. The first fifteen or so years of my life were quite perfectly subdivided into neat little blocks of discreet, irreconcilable blocks of time. To cut the pretension: I moved across the country, then the globe, at 4 year intervals.

That does funny things to a life. I have no roots, not like most people, I have no ‘old friends’ that I’ve grown up with. No one that knows me now knew me as a kid. My experiences aren’t shared.

My apparition from today was my first Australian peer. I owe him a lot for how I am today (as we all do our adolescent friends, one way or the other). Over the years that we shared as very close friends, we helped each other decide who and what we did and did not want to be. A few years back, he demonstrated to me a few things I realized I didn’t want to be, and we grew apart. But only slightly. Only so far that we didn’t ever see each other – but the degree of seperation was minute.

Things have evolved again, and he has come around to being more like what I remember, one of those pretty all-around “good guys.”

What this has helped me to realize is that I am on the right course myself. I spent lunch telling him what I was up to- and it felt good. I think I gained some of his admiration and approval, which felt better than I would have predicted; but more importantly, I gained a little of my own respect. There weren’t any “one day…” or “I wish…” or “I didn’t get the chance to…” in my little story.

Further to this, I have been handed a presant from my past: the presant is the present. Because presently, I have an old friend, where yesterday all I had was the old memory of a good friend. So I have the opportunity to claim a history- albeit an imperfect one (in more sinister ways than I have actually revealed here), but one of my own. One that is real, one that makes me a little more real.

Even more importantly, I know now that my present is right. I am where I should be, and very soon, will be in an even better place. Perhaps that place will be further enriched by this re-acquaintence. I did it only recently, by reclaiming the friendship of a crystalline guitarist who I thought had become a casualty of the catastrophe that was my life eight months ago- and I think I should do it again. She was not my whole life- just because she is over does not mean everything that ever happened before January 2005 is also dead and buried.

Her eulogy was not mine.

Perhaps my dear reader understands me, or at least my fascination with memory, fractionally better now.