Eternal Night

(II) Chapter 4: Where He Belongs

It had been a couple of hours since Frankie had returned from the cemetery on the other side of town, and yet Jack's departing words continued to echo in her mind.

Don't give up hope just yet, he had said. If I believed in otherworldly powers, I'd trust in Mariella's prophecies over any other celestial miracle. You and Father will be together. I don't know how, but I know it will happen.

The woman had initially dismissed the sentiment as an act of charity on his part, but now she couldn't seem to ignore the impact his sincerity had had on her person the longer his words stewed in her brain. She would never admit to it aloud, but some secret part of her wished him to be correct in his faith, that perhaps someday she and Vlad would be given a second chance, an opportunity to make things work – even if such a likelihood at present appeared to be little more than fantasy.

While lost in her own private thoughts, Frankie continued to absently listen to Vesper's language lessons, the girl seated beside her and reading some innocuous French text aloud at the bar. The woman only ever spoke to correct the teenager's occasional mispronunciation of a word.

It was certainly nice to be in the company of friends – a luxury she had willingly forgone in the last few weeks especially – but it wasn't long before Frankie found herself craving the familiar solitude of her office, the reprieve and sense of control that could only be found when buried in work. This place was saturated in memories of Vlad and indulging in reminisces that came with her surroundings only seemed to stir up her inner turmoil – the guilt, the longing, the conflict, and the intolerable ache in her heart.

The woman raked her fingers through her hair and lightly tugged the roots in an effort to calm herself, sensing a well-known agitation growing inside of her, but the longer she sat there at the bar listening to Vesper, the more anxiety-ridden she became.

The disputing thoughts in her head were soon like a swarm of angry bees, all buzzing about in contradictory rhythms until it felt as though she were on the brink of some chaotic insanity of thought. Feeding certainly couldn't soothe her, nor could the liquor, a smoke – not even the walks she had made a regular habit of in the evening seemed capable of pacifying her. After her meeting with Jack, it seemed her every waking thought was now consumed in memories of Vlad. To add insult to injury, she was struggling to appear sedate and indifferent, unable to suppress the recollections of each conversation they had shared in this room, every stolen glance or secret touch.

Frankie knocked back her shot of whiskey and then closed her eyes as if doing so would help her dispel the memories and regain control, but even when she tried concentrating on Vesper's French, she couldn't seem to stay focused. With her eyes shut, more memories she had desperately tried burying for months now were suddenly resurfacing, bubbling over like a bot of boiling water left on the stove for too long –

The time he had teased her over erotic art.

The time he had been her saving grace after she had been attacked on her way home from her interview with Louise.

The time he had kissed her hand.

Then there was that incident in the cellar after Rémy's meeting with Aldrick Meino – that kiss.

The way he had touched her, tasted her... the carefully suppressed sounds of his pleasure when their clothed bodies met.

Frankie became aware of a growing tension in her body, her sense of self-control diminishing.

She needed release, some kind of relief from her incessant state of anxiety and sexual frustration; an escape, something to help cool her off and balance her out again. She opened her eyes and slipped off the barstool, standing abruptly.