We were outside now, sitting leisurely on a wrought iron bench gazing at the lush greenery, at trimmed grass. The green-house was behind us, framed in glass, sunlight and sublime plant life. The glass door that allowed us access to the backyard was still ajar.
It provided a clear view of the sofa I just had a mental breakdown in. The sight of it sparked feelings of failure and something I couldn't describe. With a thought the door closed, obscuring the view, my heart going silent once more.
Jonathan was still sipping tea taking his time enjoying the view. His coat was draped over his legs, gaze fixed on the foliage. He looked like a proper gentleman enjoying the late afternoon breeze, cradling his warm cup of tea.
There was only one thing wrong with this picture—the eyes. Those eyes carried a dark melancholy, they were not gazing at the world with warm emotion, not appreciating the beauty they had surrounded themselves with.
So empty. Yet so full of mischief, dark bemusement, hatred and pain. Yes, pain. Only present for a flickering moment, but I caught it.
The cup was finished. The eyes finally drifted over to me. The emptiness receeded just a bit and unwanted curiosity staggered forward. The smirk returned—a rather forced fractured one. Jonathan DeLark was back from his of reverie.
Those eyes chilled me more than the cold winter air, more than the horror I'd witnessed minutes ago.
"Luke, did I ever tell you?" He paused waiting for me to ask what he meant. I didn't. "Did I ever tell you how much I hate them."
The chill intensified, the hate ghosted through the eyes, but it was a frayed, tired thing. It spoke of his determination, he would hate till his dying breath, I wasn't sure how I knew, but I did.
"I begged them at first," Melancholy and regret bled into his voice now. "I begged and offered all I had. My pride, my loyalty, my servitude. They smiled, played along, led me to believe that I could trust their aid. But when the time came, they laughed, they joined in my mockery."
Jonathan let out a deep sigh and turned back to gazing at the grass and birds. It was my turn to talk and ask questions. Because the more he spoke the more confused I ended up.
"Who were they? Are they like you... like us?" The question came out like a desperate plea.
"You are unqualified to know them."
"Why?!"
"Knowledge was weight. And to bare it you need the corresponding power." He turned to me again, his eyes hauntingly cold. "You are weak, Lukehiem. Knowledge of these secrets, these beings will do you know good."
Weak!! He called me weak. Was I really weak? Perhaps from his perspective, perhaps from the perspective of our kind. All sense of accomplishment I accumulated over the last few months of strainful effort to improve vanished.
Then a thought struck me. If Jonathan DeLark had the audacity to call me weak, then what did he think of the past me, of all engaging bouts we had. Was it child's play to him.
I knew, I knew he was holding back, knew he was stronger than me. Despite the vast improvements I made in my abilities over the last few months, he always matched me. He was holding back—that was a glaring fact—but I didn't think it was by such a wide margin.
One more look into those eyes confirmed it. Jonathan could end me right here and now without a sweat. I wouldn't even stand a chance. I wasn't even a threat to him, just a passable toy.
I swallowed my anxiety, fear and embarrassment like a bitter pill. I could not stand to look at him anymore, my head was bent in shame. The futility of my very existence crashed over me once more.
Jonathan looked at the bowed mop of straw colored hair. Another smirk graced his lips, this one more sadistic than he'd ever shown. He had expected Luke to break, to realize just how little he mattered.
He watched those tightly clenched fists and trembling shoulders with great interest. Jonathan relished in Luke's suffering, it fueled him, brought him joy.
More! He wanted more. What would it take to make him cry, to make him beg. What would it take to break this youthful soul into submission. Images flickered in him mind, perverse thoughts soaking through.
Family. It occurred to him, that was all Lukehiem cared about, all he ever bargained for. But it was too soon. Threatening him now would spark more defiance. He had to take it slow, it wasn't everyday that he could encounter such a unique mind.
'Show me more Lukehiem. Pleasure me more.'
His barely suppressed cackle almost seeped through. Then the smile faded—somethinh had changed.
Lukehiem's shoulders no longer trembled. His fist eased from their tight clench, spreading open like he'd accepted a new reality. Lukehiem's head came up and he sparked anew. His eyes burned with renewed vigor, with challenge. With defiance.
Jonathan's mood soured, his pleasure frizzling out. The despicable melancholy was returning, consuming him again. 'Why? I had him... just for a bit more. Not this soon... he can't... *Sigh* oh well.' Another time. It would take more than that to break him. There was also a satisfaction that came with the progress, the results could wait.
Deep in his despair Luke had a thought—'So what?'... So what if he was stronger? So what if he was holding back? So what if he might be able to alter reality? There had to be limits, there had to be weaknesses.
He would bide his time gaining as much strength as possible and look for other methods that could serve as a counter. After all victory was not determined by strength alone.
Now was not the time to crumble. He was sure to encounter scarier, stronger foes. After all from Jonathan's own words he wasn't the most powerful. There were others he hated but couldn't oppose at the moment. So Luke considered himself lucky, this was a sort of preliminary to grow before he encountered the harsh world.
"Oh, you've calmed down already. You suprise me Luke. But there really is no need to get your wits in a twist." He said gingerly, with a trace of mockery. "You are doing exceedingly well considering your age. Very few could pull off what you do at seventeen.
So take pride in yourself. And do not worry, I'll be here to protect you until you're ready to stand on your own. They won't dare interfere with me around."
"You speak like we aren't the same age. You're no older than I am, yet you speak so confidently." Luke hissed.
Jonathan's face lost it's twisted grin, turning blank like finished concrete. "Are you sure about that Luke? Are you sure we are the same age, am I that convincing?"
Lukehiem reeled back growing alert and weary. What did he mean, was he some sort of ancient evil spirit wearing youthful skin. Was that their true nature, ageless beings with perverse psyches... like vampires.
That would explain the strange sway he held over people. Many possibilities drifted through my mind, I circled through all the myths and legends I knew trying to find the best match.
"Hahahaha... you should have seen your face, Luke. I can't believe you fell for that! Oh gods, I'm hilarious." Jonathan clutched his stomach, doubled over with laughter.
Embarrassment burned at Luke, but the unease didn't vanish. What that truly a joke, or was it to be taken more seriously. One could never know where truth ended and lies began. Such were the perils of the uninformed, the unschooled in matters of the supernatural.
"Do not play game with me DeLark. I've had enough! Even if I am unworthy of knowing about the others you speak of, I deserve some answers." Luke seethed with long suppressed frustration.
Jonathan nodded along, like he was trying to appease a stubborn child determined to cause trouble.
Luke composed himself and asked with earnest. "How were you able to breach my defences so easily. The message you sent at the lake and the tampering of the pastry are tricks of the mind, I'm sure. So how did you do it."
Jonathan chuckled. "The message... I'll let you figure that one one your own, it will do you some good. And the macaron... that was no trick, I can assure you, Luke." He chuckled again, making it difficult to gauge how much to take away from his words.
"Cut the bullshit."
"*Sigh* then I'll offer you an alternative—"
Just then we both turned our heads upward, gazing at the cloudy sky. I sensed it before I saw it. Jonathan was also anticipating it.
The snowflake drifted down into our line of sight, carried by the wind into the waiting earth.
My hand reached out to obstruct the journey. I cradled it gently and peered with great interest. Even Jonathan leaned over to take a look in my open palm, his gaze turning soft for a moment as he took in it's fragile brilliance.
It melted in my palm and silence descended between us, letting the weight of the first snow settle. Then the next one came, then the next. Until the snow adopted a steady rhythm.
A felt a smile bloom on my face. I imagined the faces of the children at home gleaming with excitement at the prospect of a White Christmas. Those smiles were sure to be simply divine.