The Search.

    *Abram's POV*

            I had stayed in the study for days, turning over books and old paintings, consumed in thought. The dusty tapestry of curtains billowing in the wind of the slightly cracked window. The thick material of the curtain, obscuring some of the late evening sun, and the sky that's becoming a multitude of coral, pinks and orangey hues. The sunlight no longer bothers me, having become tolerant of it for decades now, but I have no desire to look at the sun. I run a finger along the large painting on the wall, my finger trailing the delicate curve of Elsie's throat. Beautiful. I sigh.

          Beautiful. But not alive, not here. No painting could ever capture the essence of the woman I loved. The dew of her skin, the way the angles of her face caught the light of lanterns and candles in dim rooms, the harmony of her heartbeat after hours of love. I move my hand across hers in the painting, finger the texture of paint over the green fenstone ring I had made for her. I will find it. Just as I have found and vowed to find the descendants of those involved in her death.

         If her death will torment and suffer me all my life, I will see to it that it suffers them too. I have taken them, their children, their friends and lovers all from the face of this Earth. Obliterating the filth of their bloodline, slowly but efficiently. Only a handful from those families remain, and that will be amended shortly.

          "Abram!" I turn to see Jonah materialize at the room's edge and come striding towards me.

          "Yes?"

           "I have news for you." I raise a skeptical brow.

           "Go on."

           "I found another Marshall." I grin wickedly.

            "Where is he? That is the one I've been wanting." Bill and Marta. Bill the sister of Leda. I smirk as I recall Leda's husband desperately fighting to save her life while the blood oozed from his throat. I ripped her to bits, right infront of his dying eyes.

             "Not him. The daughter."

             "Daughter?" I prove, curious. Daughter of whom?

             "Here." He slides a photograph across the desk to me and I snap it up and raise it to examine.

             The photograph has age, a bit crumpled in one corner. It depicts a family, a once happy family. Leda and her husband stand smiling and proud above a young girl, a young girl who's eyes turn my stomach. I blink several times and redirect my attention to Jonah.

           "Who is this?"

           "Mira Marshall. Here, look through this." He shoves the cellular phone at me and I hastily poke around until I have pulled up the picture gallery.

            The first photo stops me dead in my tracks. A light scar in her eyebrow, light freckles around her eyes and nose, heterochromia in one eye. The only difference is the little stud in her nose, the feathering of the hair, and the modern clothing. It is like looking at Elsie alive again. I pinch my nose bridge as I flip through the rest of the photos. Her graduation, random self shots, pictures of nature, plants...the plants. Elsie's love of nature, plants and the supernatural is what contributed to her demise.

          I smile through the hurt as I conjure from memory the image of her in her flowy dresses, gardening and digging up wild orchids and vibes to adorn our house. Her medicinal plants and stones lined all window panes in the home. I remember how she panicked and tried to refuse her ring, terrified of losing it, and overwhelmed by such a gift. She had leaped up on her toes to playfully smack and kiss me.

         She never cared what I was. She had protected and hid me from the others when we knew I had changed. I should have been dead, but my sire had left me to live. After my mortak death, and turning, bodies began to turn up, I couldn't refrain from indulging my hunger, and she couldn't safely feed me enough. She began to dabble in magic, into things that were taboo, and the town's people turned on her after spotting us in the woods together. They had claimed I was a spector, brought by back Elsie in her grief. She was a witch, they said.

          One night, I had ventured out to feed, and they came for her without warning. A large group of towns men. They threw her stones, smashed her breakables, tossed her plants and medicines about. And then...and then they killed her. They beat, assaulted, and tormented her before setting our home ablaze. With her legs broken, she couldn't get out in time and her agonizing cries reached me through the silence of the night. Not even the animals made a noise. I could smell her blood and burning flesh. The world had stilled. Time had stopped, and I moved with a power I knew not existed, but I was too late.

          Fire. Fire had engulfed everything, and was one of my only weaknesses. I had to try though. So I ran through the raging flames and pulled her out. My legs, arm and side of my face permanently scared from the fire of her body. I refused to let go. She was too far decimated to save, but I tried everything. Her skin and flesh bubbled away, teeth and bone exposed. Eyes soldered. I tried to turn her too. I held her until she finally succumbed to her death. It was a short time, but watching her suffer felt like an eternity.

            Her ring was gone. It had been swiped from her finger. This only infuriated me further. I went into town after I had given her a proper burial, and I managed to kill half of everything that breathed. Ecerythibg that wasn't locked inside.

I kept one man as prisoner for a day, Elsie's brother. He gave me names and details I needed. He was not involved, but had been beaten unconscious for trying to intervene. He told me that Elsie was not a Smith, as we had all been taught to believe. She was a Marshall.

          A product of her mother's infidelity. Her own mother, and her real father had conspired the majority of this and were ready to see her hang to protect their good name. Going over her supposed father's head with the other towns men. It was her own true father who helped kill her. He had gotten away with it. He and several others escaped and went on to live full lives, and I vowed that I would wipe that particular strain of filth from the gene pool.

          "She's almost identical-"

          "She. Is. Nothing. It is a cruel joke that she favors her. A mockery of my suffering. She will pay for her existence. And that of all those before her."

           "She looks just like her. She even acts like her. It could be something. Surely you can't just kill the replica of your own beloved-"

           "She's not her, nor anything like her. I'm not going to kill her, yet. She's going to see everyone she loves die. Then, then I will leave her to rot in captivity. No, I will leave her in captivity to rot with only something to kill herself. I'll watch her suffer until she acts."

           "I've been helping you with your search for some time now. I was with you when you killed her aunt's boy, and most the others. You are my sire, and I am loyal. You spared me, among all those other villagers. This feels wrong. I remember Elsie. Killing her would feel like watching her die twice. You'll come to resent me."

          "To hell with you. They brought this on their own. Do you think it felt wrong to them?"

          "Sire, this girl probably doesn't even know her history, let alone anything that took place. You can't hold her accountable for this. Generation after generation have fallen for their ancestors' crimes. Go find the remaining Smith descendants."

         "Where is she?"

         "I don't know." He shrugs. "In Hell probably. Does anything I say matter? You'll find her regardless. You'll do what you think you should."

         "Why does this one bother you? Not the others? Not even the children?"

         "I don't know. But something is different. Perhaps it is the similarities between she and Elsie."

         "You'll need to let it go. Elsie is gone. Her death was necessary for this family to relocate and spawn as it did. She was never meant to be. None of them were. They live on borrowed time." I use a clawed finger to cut out her parents' faces.

         "Now then, take this back to her. I need to reflect on this. I will accompany you to find her tomorrow."

          Jonah exits and leaves me to my thoughts. I look through the photos on the camera again. It hurts to look at them. A pain worse than the physical. I can't stand to see her. To know she lives. She is a beauty. An exact duplica, down to her smile, but she cannot exist.

        "The search is over, little copy cat. I found you. I'll find your family. Then all dues from the Marshalls' will be paid."