VIII. Tears of Kohl
New Hades, Fortress Rock, New Hampshire, 1886
The sky was dark by the time Theresa had hastily left Daniel’s estate. She rode through the woods of New Hades on her Morgan, Fritz, scanning the tree trunks and other potential hiding places, paranoid of an ambush. Theresa took a deep breath to calm herself. “If you’re scared, don’t be here in the first place,” she thought, berating herself over her usual ambivalence.
As she approached the edge of the woods near town, Theresa noticed a woman cowering in the thicket of buckthorns next to a small cottage. She could not determine if the woman was hiding or having a medical crisis. Against her better judgement, Theresa dismounted at a seemingly safe distance from the woman and hitched her horse to a nearby rotting fence post. Theresa put her hand in her coat and felt the grip of her small pistol before calling out to the woman, “Miss? Is everything alright?”
The woman kept her head down, “Stay away from me! Please…”
Theresa slowly walked closer, still maintaining what she believed to be a reasonable distance, “Are you hurt? I can help you!”
The woman abruptly glanced up at Theresa.
Her eyes glowed a terrible amber color, as if they were portals directly into hell. Tears of dried blood stained the woman’s pale cheeks. Theresa’s heart pounded as she drew her pistol. The woman abruptly leapt from the brush before Theresa clumsily missed her shot. She launched several feet through the air before latching herself onto Theresa’s shoulders, causing her to drop her pistol on the ground.
“I told you to stay away!” the woman shouted. Theresa struggled trying to fend off the woman from biting her neck. The woman sank her fangs into Theresa’s neck but struggled to fully puncture her artery, as if it were steel wire. Theresa, fighting through the pain, fished her inner coat pocket for her other weapon, the children’s toy wand. Upon feeling the hilt, Theresa drew the wand and plunged it into the woman’s chest.
The woman’s eyes dilated. She released Theresa from her grasp and fell backwards into the dirt. Theresa caught her breath, her head pounding in fury. She wanted to stomp the woman’s skull in, but she resisted her barbaric urge.
Theresa felt the bite mark on her neck. As usual, she survived from that foul-tasting elixir that she consumed. She peered down at the woman who weakly stared back at her. “Theresa?” the woman rasped, as if regaining some sense of humanity. Theresa now vaguely recognized the dying woman as the wife of Leon Stefanski, a former client of Gregor’s.
“Lenora?” Theresa asked mournfully. “I couldn’t help_” Lenora drifted off.
Gregor introduced Theresa to Lenora about a year ago. Lenora had been a typical middle-class woman of Amberwood. She was tad obsessed with fashion trends and slightly critical of Theresa’s use of cosmetics, but Lenora was otherwise an affable yet lonesome person. Prior to meeting Theresa, Lenora had intended on starting a family with Leon. He inexplicably disappeared around the same time that Theresa was shot in the back.
Theresa began to feel remorse as she watched Lenora fade. “I’m so sorry!” she began to sob, as her hatred turned into sorrow.
The remainder of Theresa's ride home was bleak.
Manor Valdemar, Fortress Rock, New Hampshire
Gregor caught a brief glimpse of Theresa after she entered the house through the front door, “Theresa, you are home late. Did everything go well with your brother?” he questioned, before noticing the large spatter of blood on the front of her coat and blouse. Without uttering a word, she rushed past him up the stairs into the master bedroom.
He followed Theresa into the bedroom, gasping to find her retching on the floor like a stressed cat, “I’m sorry, Gregor. I will clean it up,” she apologized with her back turned to him. Normally she would have at least made it to the powder room.
“What did he do to you?” “N-nothing… It’s not my blood, Gregor,” she replied before finally turning around to reveal her black eye makeup trickling down her face from crying. With her limited knowledge of fashion, Theresa had been convinced by Morgana that thick eye makeup was considered elegant, while most people of that time viewed it as the exact opposite. “Oh my,” he replied before taking out a handkerchief in attempt to clean her face.
“Stop it, Gregor! I am not a child!” she scolded him, jerking her head back from his reach. “Would you please tell me what happened, Theresa?” he asked while attempting to maintain a calm and neutral tone, as he was often the more hysterical of the two. Theresa removed the bloody wand from her coat and tossed it onto the floor at Gregor’s feet. “What is this?” he asked after picking the wand up with his handkerchief. It had a sinister aura. “It was the only thing my father left me. I just killed a woman with it…”
Gregor grew faint, “What?” he questioned with a dry throat, hoping for a rational explanation. “One of those… vampire people attacked me on my way home and I stabbed her.” Gregor noticed a puncture wound under Theresa's high collar. “You were bit!” he yelped, before aggressively reaching towards her neck only to have his hand swatted away. “What is with you people? Trying to tear my blouse open?” she shouted before looking up at his somber face. She knew that was not his intent. “I’m sorry… Morgana used to be a bit tactile with me,” she apologized, attempting to wipe the eyeliner from her face but only spreading it more. “I think the vampire was trying to feed, not turn. I’m not really sure how they differentiate.”
He set the bloody wand down on the vanity and sat down on the bed, struggling to become calm again “Do you feel any different? Light sensitivity? Blurred vision? You don’t seem to be crying blood at least.” “I’m healthy, Gregor!" Theresa assured him.
“So… what happened to the body when she died? Did she explode?” “Do not be vile! She was not a whale. I hid her under some Rhamnus alnifolia.” Theresa responded, only to receive a shrug from Gregor. Theresa sat down on the bed next to him, “Alder-leaved buckthorn… a shrub…” she explained further, trying to hold back another torrent of tears. She was not accustomed to this level of emotion. “Ah yes, that’s used as laxative,” Gregor responded, looking up at Theresa’s eyes, now finding that the oozing prostitute makeup enhanced them.
“That woman had a life and dreams,” Theresa droned. “She tried to hurt you,” Gregor emphasized. “She couldn’t help it… It was Lenora Stefanski. That odd woman who kept calling me 'bold' for how I wore my hair.” Gregor finally began to cry. He was not expecting such a terrible fate for that poor woman.
Theresa gently placed her hand on Gregor’s back before he rested his head on her lap sobbing more. "There... there," she replied with her usual stiffness. She remembered promising him that there would be no more of this calamity.
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