Stolen Heartbeats

September, 1956 -

“Ok, take a seat. Make yourself at home… " The doctor checks the planner lying on the wooden desk. “…Miss Davis, is that right?” A name tag adorns her vest, “Dr. Wallace” it reads.

“Yes.” Lauren sits upright, hands fidgeting. “I mean… no. I’d rather you called me Mrs Davis. I am married, you see.” A nervous laugh escapes her painted lips.

“Very well, then. Tell me, Mrs Davis, what brings you here?” The doctor shoots the question before she is even properly seated. It catches her patient by surprise, she can see it by the twitch of her mouth. A pause. Lauren looks around, not sure what to answer. After all, she doesn’t know herself what she had sought the week before when she made the appointment. She had dialed the number impulsively, half wishing they’d never answer her call, as her agitated son, shrieked in her arms and angrily pulled at the telephone's wire. “The sooner the better.” she had added, exhausted.

Now it all seems absurd. The doctor studies her silently, seemingly not disturbed by the long, awkward silence. She waits, not taking her eyes off Lauren.

“Uhh…” Lauren forces the words up the lump in her throat. “I guess I simply needed someone to talk to.” Her cheeks burn as she delivers the lame excuse. “I’m sorry….It’s my first time doing anything like this.” She adds quickly.

Again, excuses.

The doctor smiles. “Well, if what you need is someone to talk to you’re lucky… that is exactly what I’m here for. And don’t worry. I get that it can feel a bit scary at first but you don’t have to share anything you’re not comfortable sharing. At least not right away.” She playfully winks, as if they were sharing a joke, but Lauren tenses at the comment. “We’ll proceed according to your wishes, I promise. Shall we start?”

***

Dr. Wallace died two centuries ago.

It happened on a stormy night. Her screams were lost in the hollow wind that shook the moors as she tried desperately to keep the blood from streaming down her neck. But it would not stop, not until she remained empty on the wet cobblestones. Empty, yet breathing still.

***

“I think that’s always been one of my biggest problems. I’m too much of a perfectionist… it’s exhausting…” Lauren laughs dryly as she makes the statement. She’s been blabbering for the last 10 minutes, first starting slowly and unsure, talking about her dog and her family, shifting to what she loves to cook, because why not? Then Dr. Wallace points out the knife she’s mentioned, a gift from her father, and inquires whether it holds a special memory, or how about she simply tells her about him? That is enough for Lauren to dive back into her childhood and completely lose track of time. Dr. Wallace drinks in the words as they flow, doesn’t skip a beat as they gain speed and jump from one matter to another… all the way down to that damned sailboat that seven years old Lauren simply couldn’t draw right and the unstoppable tears that had followed. When her father had asked about it, she was too ashamed to show him the disastrous drawing and brushed off the matter, swallowing back her sobs. The patient laughs at the memory, it’s funny how intense she could be sometimes.

***

Dr.Wallace woke up the day following her death, her limbs were heavy and numb, her skin grown cold. She felt painfully aware of her surroundings. The sound of carriages rolling on gravel, the blinding sunlight, the cries, the laughs…they all harassed her.

She roamed the paved streets, indifferent to the dried blood that covered her neck and dress and the looks that it attracted. With no destination, she walked, trying to make sense of herself, but it was as if she’d been suddenly bolted out of her own mind. How long she had walked, she would not know. She wasn’t conscious of time anymore, nor was she of her feelings. All she was filled with was a raw, bestial need for something she did not recognize. Finally, she gave in to exhaustion and found shelter under the weeping hollow by the brook. She had always loved that tree, she could remember the peace that it had brought to her countless times. But as she nestled the way she had so often done before, she felt nothing. She remained empty. And it wouldn’t take her long to realize that that was no temporary condition, that she was cursed to feel bloodlust only, carrying through the centuries the memory of what she once was.

But as she lay beneath the weeping tree, it seemed to be but a queer dream she’d eventually wake up from. She was too tired to even notice that her heart had stopped beating.

***

“So failure is hard for you to digest, I gather.”

“Well, of course. Isn’t it for everybody?” Lauren asks, disappointed that this is the conclusion Dr.Wallace has come to. She doesn’t know what she was expecting, but certainly not something that obvious. I knew going to a shrink was nonsense, there go 75 bucks…wasted.

Dr.Wallace hears the confusion in Lauren’s tone, but moves on as if nothing.

“I mean, it depends on the person. For some it is easy to move on from past failures you know. But something tells me that’s not your case” The way Dr.Wallace delivers the statement as if she were reading a recipe infuriates the perplexed woman. She is ready to object but the doctor doesn’t give her the time. “What I’m curious about is not how you feel when things don’t go your way but rather when they do. Then what? Is it worth all the pain you put yourself through for perfection?”

Clouds pass by, casting shadows over Dr.Wallace’s eyes and stealing all hints of warmth from her smile.

“Uhh… Of course, I mean it wouldn’t make sense if it wasn’t.”

The doctor sees her struggling to believe what she says.

“I don’t care about what makes sense. You’re human, not making sense is in your nature. What I want to know is how you feel. That’s different”

A loud silence follows, Lauren is all too aware of the wind that has risen, stamping the shutters, once… and again.

“I have achieved perfection many times in my life, for instance my blueberry-lemon cake is renowned throughout the whole neighborhood… and I knit wonderfully. But, now that I think of it, these moments may not be the ones I feel happiest… I…” Dr.Wallace’s eyes gleam, she leans in, intrigued. The words burn up Lauren’s throat. “I guess I’ve never had the chance to achieve anything that felt truly dear to me.” Now that she’s said it, a weight lifts off her shoulders. “ All I’ve ever done was cooking lunch and dinner, day after day, hosting parties and… giving birth.” She laughs, her eyes start to tear up. “I don’t even get to look after my kids.. they’ve got a nanny for that!”

***

50 years.

That’s how long it took Dr.Wallace to acknowledge the truth of who she was, or rather what she was. The years flew past without her even noticing. She traveled, be it day or night, raining or snowing, constantly fleeing from the truth. But no matter where she trod, she was haunted by what was lost that night.

Sometimes, in her dreams, she would witness moments from her past life, simple ones: an embrace, her sister’s laugh or even the warmth of the sun in spring. She watched from afar, didn’t recognize herself in that woman who felt and cared deeply, who drank life in as it came. Each memory stung, but she clung to them anyway.

The thirst for blood was another matter.

For years she refused to listen to her body yearning for human flesh. It would mean yielding to the monster inside of her if she did. So instead, when the hunger became too strong for her to resist, she’d look for dead animals on the road. She could never look at her prey once she had fed, she didn’t even bother to clean up her mess. She simply kept on walking.

Until her first victim.

It happened on a windy night of October, 1897.

He was in a corner of an emptied train station hall, whistling gaily as he moped the floor. Something stirred within her as she looked at him, she could not get her eyes off his hypnotizing swing. She followed him through the corridors, chasing after his song. She did so for an hour, stuck in a trance, until he saw her. His song broke off, his peaceful smile turned abruptly into a grimace. It bothered her that he had stopped so. “Go on, keep singing.” She had said to him. His lips trembled, he started for the exit, but she couldn’t let him go. She needed more. And before she even knew, she had jumped on him and drawn her fangs into his throat.

And that’s when she finally understood the cost of feeling alive.

***

Dr.Wallace checks the clock.

5 minutes left.

Her stomach growls. I’d better get this over with.

Lauren remains silent, her teary eyes are smeared with make up. She doesn’t feel like talking, she’s said too much already. She thinks of her children, ashamed. Outside, the wind howls louder, she finds comfort in the sound and let it wash over her thoughts. Something cold touches her hand, crashing through her daydreaming. She’s surprised to notice that it is no other than Dr.Wallace’s hand holding hers. She looks up and meets the doctor’s eyes. Were they this dark a moment before? Her skin prickles where it touches Dr.Wallace’s. The gesture is unsettling, she didn’t think shrinks were this intimate… and yet she doesn’t pull away, she lets herself feel seen instead.

“I’d like to ask you one last thing before we part…” the doctor ventures.

Lauren waits, silent.

“You see, your story moves me and I can’t help but wonder… What do you aspire to achieve? Not for your husband, nor your children… forget about them. What, if you could do anything, would make you the proudest?”

Lauren thinks for a moment, she has never asked herself such a question and she fears she might have no answer to give. To her surprise, her thoughts naturally lead her to a distant memory, one she had forgotten about. She sighs.

“Well, what exactly, I wouldn’t know… But I remember now that as a teenager I always dreamt of hiking up mountains. Not the simple family hikes, you know, more like the ones that last days, weeks even. The ones you need flashlights for… I probably would never make it through, but I’d very much like to know how it feels to reach the top. Me and my backpack…no babies nor husband to tend to. That would be the dream.” She giggles. “It’s silly, I know…”

Dr.Wallace smiles, she can picture it. She gives her patient a friendly look.

“I bet those perfect nails of yours wouldn’t survive all the mud and dirt..”

Lauren laughs, heartily this time.

“They probably won’t, you are right. An neither would my curls…that’d be a shame, my husband paid 60$ for them.” Now they are both laughing, their hands still resting together.

Lauren’s laugh echoes as silence settles back in the room. She has missed how it felt, allowing herself to dream. Something shifts in the doctor’s gaze. Lauren doesn’t know what to do. Shouldn’t the session be over by now?

Dr.Wallace stands up, walks around the desk and kneels at her side. Odd, and yet it feels natural. The doctor cups her patient’s face in her hand, the touch is gentle. Lauren catches her breath, she neither leans in nor backs away. She waits, expectant.

She’s surprised to see yearning in Dr.Wallace’s eyes. What for?

“I heard that Mount McKinley is beautiful at this time of the year… and it’s not too far away from here.” The doctor whispers.

“You did? I would like to see it someday…” She smiles at the thought. Dr.Wallace is close enough she can see the pulse on her neck now. She caresses it. “I should probably bring warm clothes…” Lauren goes on. “it is getting awfully cold nowadays don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know. I can’t feel the cold.”

“Oh.” Somehow that makes sense. “You’re lucky”

The doctor’s fangs slash her throat in a swift, precise movement.

Lauren gasps, eyes wide, hands clutching at her assailant’s vest.

The sour taste of iron fills the doctor’s mouth. And with it comes a wave of regret, of unaccomplished dreams and suffocating reality. It floods over her as she keeps drinking in Lauren’s blood. She tightens her grip on the convulsing body, unbothered by Lauren’s nails that frantically claw and dig into her flesh.

The body goes limp.

Dr.Wallace lifts her head, blood streaming down her chin. A broken smile lingers on Lauren’s lips, her eyes stare blankly past the rain across the window. They seem to be looking for something, something she’s lost. The doctor searches for a pulse out of habit. It is faint, but fighting still.

So she dives her teeth back into the woman’s neck.

A tear slides down her cheek. It doesn’t taste like she remembers. It is not hers. She enjoys it all the same. The tear unleashes a need for more. So she keeps drinking, her fingers running through blood-soaked curls, the smell of iron mixing with Lauren’s sweet perfume.

And then… out of her patient’s regret grows something she hadn’t felt in so long: hope. At first it is small, vulnerable but she clings to it. Until she feels the sweetness of a breeze, the smell of wet earth at dawn, the nagging dirt under her nails and the weight of a backpack on her shoulders.

She lets go of the body and leans back on the wall, out of breath.

That should be enough.

She lies on the damp carpet, lets her body tremble as waves of hope move through her. Her lungs burn from exhaustion. She feels proud of herself somehow.

The body lies still at her feet. Blood streaming from the open wound.

The doctor’s skin melts under the warmth of a sun somewhere overhead as she steadies her breathing and listens closely. It should be here by now - what she’s spent centuries chasing after.

There… in her chest - it is barely audible over the rain, yet unquestionably present.

Thump.

She laughs. Her face is smeared with blood. Finally.

She leans back on the wall and closes her eyes, relieved… Better enjoy it while it lasts.

Thump…

…Thump-thump.