Anne Rice & Becket [The Blood Theo (retail) (epub)

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.Yet he would not.He had no fear of death, and no fear of dying either.That surprised me!The old man had faith in the fullness of life.His wearied movements told me that he would not surrender to his sorrow.His old love had taught him the heart of loving other people and loving one’s self: Patience.The old man knew he would see his love again soon.He just had to be patient.He had more growth to live through, more experiences to learn from, and more life to know and understand.For me, that old man defined the reason that patience can be as painful as it is rewarding.Theo faced me.“I’m going to drink from him tonight.”I couldn’t understand why.The old man didn’t appear to be anyone special.People all over the world lose childhood sweethearts.Besides, the old man’s movement said that he’d also had a desk job for decades before retirement, that he was living in a gated community in suburban sprawl, that he had no interest in the arts or sciences, and that he went to church.He reminded me of my dad.Theo smiled at me kindly.“I’ve played violin sonatas,” he said.“I’ve scaled mountains.I’ve done so much more than that.But all of those Blood Memories were from people who had much skill with work and not enough experience with life.”Theo pointed to the old man.“Experience is in his blood.Wisdom is in his Blood Memories.”“Does wisdom come from experience only?” I inquired.Theo thought it did.All he wanted was a sense of interior balance.The old man would give it to him.I wasn’t interested in wisdom, only in acceptance.I wanted to drink the blood that Theo drank.I feared being unlike him.I worried that he might dislike me if I was too different from who and how he was.I was becoming my mom.Theo wouldn’t let me drink the old man’s blood with him.Only a pint could be taken from the old man, and that pint belonged to Theo.Not me.He sped off toward the old man.I watched from the pier.Theo actually introduced himself.The old man greeted him warmly.The yellow lab licked Theo’s hand, all sticky from the cotton candy.The dog loved Theo instantly.So did the old man.The three of them walked along the beach together.They talked for a little while.Theo pointed to the storm.The old man looked.Not even the dog heard Theo move.Theo was behind the old man in a blink.Probiscus in neck.Drinking his pint of blood.Nothing more.Wisdom – experience – the blood of a self-actualized soul – that was all he wanted.Perhaps that’s why he never asked to drink my blood.I couldn’t fault him.Theo was right: The old man had a kind of wisdom.He had courage and humility, knowledge and understanding and prudence, and he had an awareness of a power greater than himself.For Theo, each of those facets was an important component of wisdom.He liked the old man very much.I looked for another old man to drink from.But I didn’t know how to see the embodiment of wisdom.Old men just looked old.I was only seventeen after all.I went on the Ferris wheel.I had a seat all to myself.I was used to being by myself.It felt normal.Normal felt safe.The Ferris wheel looped around and around.From the top I could see the nighttime lights of San Diego over one hundred miles away.Beneath me I could see every sight, smell every scent, and hear every sound throughout the amusement park.I could smell grease on the roller coasters, and I could smell arcade tokens touched by countless fingers, and I could smell the milky sweet scent of children sweating out sugar.And I could smell a million other scents.I could see fathers digging deep into pockets to give begging kids coins for games, and I could see boyfriends winning girlfriends massive stuffed animals, and I could see vendors sneakily skimming pocket change off the top of the amusement park’s profits.And I could see a million other sights.My photographic memory saw and heard and remembered everything.Every scent, every expression, every stitch the crowd wore, every laughter bubbling up from their throats – my mind cataloged all of it efficiently.I also noticed someone watching me.He looked like a man on the outside.He was tall and lean, middle aged, dark brown hair down to his chin, mustache, goatee, and redness around his eyes.I’d never seen someone so hungry, angry, alone, and tired.His name was Lowen.I called him The Dark Man.You could call him my Jean Valjean, my Lex Luthor.Beside him was my bread and my kryptonite.Her name was Nell.I recognized her instantly: She was the girl who had been kidnapped from my fifth grade class.Lowen had been her kidnapper, and she had been with him for all those terrible years, although I did not know that right then.I would learn that when Nell tricked me into drinking her black blood.Nell looked like a girl.Sometimes she acted like one too.She was petite like me.Her skin was very white like mine, but mine is snow-white porcelain, while hers was pale and sickly.Her features were sunken.Around her eyes were dark rings, like two hollows.Her lips were blue, as if she had fallen into a frozen river and drowned.That night, her black hair was short and cut across her chin.She wore a black shirt, black Converse high-tops, black knee-high socks, and a short skirt.She could have been adorable.But she looked like a twisted version of the girl I had been only a year earlier, a girl defeated by life and loneliness.Yet the more I recognized her, the more she was unrecognizable.She was no longer the young victim from fifth grade.To me, she was now only known as the Pale Girl.Lowen the Dark Man had almost no scent at all.No sweat.No pheromones [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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