NOR THE YEARS CONDEMN

by Anne Macdonald &
Tom Campbell

Yea I know this well: were you once sealed mine,
Mine in the blood’s beat, mine in the breath,
Mixed into me as honey in wine,
Not time, that sayeth or gainsayeth,
Nor all strong things had severed us then;

Not wrath of gods, nor wisdom of men,
Nor all things earthly, nor all divine,
Nor joy nor sorrow, nor life nor death.

A.C.Swinburne

A GROUP OF YOUNG MEN loitered beneath a streetlight near the end of Sixteenth Street. They milled round each other, passing a bottle of bourbon from hand to hand. They were laughing, but their postures were as sharp and expectant as blades in the darkness. There was anticipation in the air.

Lance heard them laughing as he drew closer. He smiled to himself, remembering a time when he had been young and ready for the night. Suddenly, his stomach growled. Hunger pierced him like a needle punching through his abdomen. His mouth twisted in an involuntary grimace as he willed the need back into its lair. He turned away from the youths abruptly.

One of them noticed the sudden movement and shouted derisively at the tall man’s back. Lance flinched at the catcall, but he was too starved to turn and face them. He hurried back the way he had come.

The mouth of an alley opened to his left and he ducked into the dim tunnel, hurrying along towards the lights at the other end of the narrow defile. Alertly, he scanned the garbage cans for food. The stench of rotting vegetables and meat hung heavily in the air. He could smell it. There was food there, but he was not famished enough yet for that. Not yet.

His hunger had retreated to a dull ache, a familiar pain that was manageable, for the time being. He quickened his steps as if he could outpace his body's need.

There was a groan and a rustle amongst the garbage cans ahead of him. He knew what it was. He slowed, watching in reluctant fascination as a derelict crawled out of the shadows and staggered to her feet.

She blocked his way, teetering slightly from side to side. Her

body beneath the layers of coats and sweaters was flimsy with want. She stank of shit and Thunderbird. Her odour filled the alley as she held out a hand; filthy but human.

"Got any change? Give me something!" she whined. Her eyes were red and watery, nervous as mice in the gloom. There was nothing threatening about her.

Lance gagged as the fleshy, faecal smell hit him. He gritted his teeth and quickly pushed past the swaying wreck. She fell over, swearing and rattling the bins.

He broke into a run. There were other people lying amongst the garbage. If she woke them up with her furious cursing, he did' not know what he would do. He dashed for the end of the alley and spun out into the street beyond.

**

The long avenue was empty. Rows of brownstones stretched into the distance like so many blank faces. Behind each facade lay dreams of passion and desire; numberless prosaic nightmares of lamentation.

Lance felt the weight of their longing pressing on the dull pavements; manifesting in the gutters to congregate like ghosts about the pools of radiance that rippled at the foot of every streetlight. He stopped running and walked with his arms folded over his belly. Holding himself, as if mere touch could make the pain go away. It was a gesture that did not even fool himself.

A cab turned into the street and slowed to a stop beneath a street light. A woman got out. She was thickset, weary, and no longer young. She bowed her head as she rummaged in her pocketbook for change. She paid the driver and straightened, turning towards the steps that led up to her apartment.

Lance was a hundred yards away, walking slowly. The woman glanced at him warily as she climbed the stoop. He looked back at her and the glow of the streetlight fell on her face.

It was Amelia.

He stopped in his tracks and stared.

In a vivid flash, acute as sunlight on the naked heart, he remembered the shining lake at the bottom of her garden. The soft whisper of silk as she walked beside him. The warmth of her hand on his cheek.

It was Amelia, but she had changed. She was older now. Whatever beauty she had possessed when he first knew her, had slipped away with the years. Only her eyes were the same. Dark eyes, gentle and knowing, touched with the sadness only he had ever had the power to banish.

And shuddering, he remembered how he had failed in that, the last time he saw her.

The night veiled her again as she hurried into the building, but one glimpse had been enough. Lance almost forgot he was hungry.

He stood still and looked at her door, as if the wood was a revelation. He had never hoped to see Amelia again. Never imagined he would be given a second chance. He felt like crying.

**

Lance moved through the dark apartment like a wraith. He drifted into the living room. The room was a mess, every surface covered with a confusion of papers and objects. There  was only one touch of order in the whole   space. Behind the sofa, a  span of neat bookcases lined one wall from floor to ceiling. He smiled to himself, the hope growing in him that some things would not change although the years divided. He paced the  narrow, untidy passage behind the sofa and scanned the shelves closely, reading the titles to discover Amelia all over again by the books she treasured.

He found the bureau unlocked and disordered as the rest of the room. He resisted the urge to tidy her papers as he leafed through them. He had no right yet to perpetrate such an intimacy. Perhaps he never would again. Despair clenched his heart. He knew he was a fool to hope for a second chance, but he could not help it. He covered his mouth with his hand and went on reading, piecing together a life from the scattered clues of receipts, pay checks and notes.

**

A streetlight shone through the curtains and lit the bedroom with a soft orange glow. Lance stood in the darkest shadow by the door, and watched the woman sleeping in the bed beneath the window.

This was an Amelia he had never imagined when they were young together. Her face was grieved with years. Her mouth hung open a little. A single thread of saliva gleamed between her lips, vibrating slightly in the gentle susurration of her breath.

Drawn inexorably by his memories, Lance crept forward, and knelt down beside her. He felt the warmth of her body on his cheek and the sweet smell of her perfume invaded him. He gazed at her in wonder. Now, in a more profound way, he recognised the face she wore. This was the face that would have raised their children. The patient face of living grown into tears and laughter. The face of the years he had lost forever.

Reverently he bent over her and kissed her brow. His cool mouth was light as a snowflake landing on her skin.

Arnelia slept on.

**

There were fifteen people at the opening, fewer than Nicole expected, but they looked as if they owned most of New York. They strolled round the pictures exuding an aura of wealth that was almost stifling.

Nicole lingered in an unobtrusive corner near a large abstract canvas and watched surreptitiously as her friend, Julia performed for the good-looking man she had snared at the buffet. He was leaning forward attentively and laughing in all the right places. Julia looked pretty and immensely satisfied. Nicole suppressed a small pang of wistfulness and turned away to look at the next painting.

"It reminds me of Italy; the dust in the air; the heat haze rising from the sea, " said a low voice behind her.

Nicole turned away from the hot swirls of gold and ochre and looked at the speaker.

He was a tall, slender man about forty years old. He had wide shoulders and short, dark hair that was beginning to recede a little at the front. He was dressed in a navy blue suit of impeccable cut. His face was pale, with deeply etched lines round the mouth and a nose too long for beauty. His eyes were blue and he smiled warmly down at Nicole as he waited for her to reply.

"There is a certain hazy quality about the light that reminds me of Canaletto," she replied carefully, "But I'm afraid I don't know very much about modern art."

"Ah! you are more at home with the Quatrocento, perhaps?"

Nicole sighed mentally and she waited for his smile to fade as she answered, "Well, I might be, if I knew what it was."

The tall man laughed kindly, "Forgive me. It's only dealers' jargon for the Renaissance. Your honesty reminds me I spend too much time in the incestuous little world of Fine Art. My name is Lance Carpentier. This is my gallery."

Nicole introduced herself and continued, "I was surprised to receive an invitation. I'm a teacher. I can't afford to be a collector. I suppose it was a mistake, but I was curious so I along anyway."

"My secretary may have made a mistake, but I’m very glad he did," Lance said warmly. He held out his arm, and went on, "Come upstairs to the little gallery. I’ve a Raphael drawing there at the moment, which you might enjoy.

Nicole tried not to let her surprise show on her face. She was not a woman men usually wished to make a point of pleasing, but she had a lot of initiative in a crisis.

"I would be very interested, Mr Carpentier," she smiled, and taking his arm gracefully, she allowed him to lead her past a rope barrier and up a flight of stairs to the balcony that ran round the upper part of the room.

**

Nicole listened intently as Lance played Bach to her on the harpsichord. The sense of unreality that had dogged her all week sank down and enveloped her like a cloud, as she sat in his drawing room and watched his long fingers pass lightly over the dark keys. The music fluttered round her head like falling leaves. She felt poised on a precipice and she watched him in wonder and confusion.

In one short week he had overthrown her. He had said nothing, but she knew he loved her. And she loved him. She had been attracted to him that first evening, but she had never imagined that the feeling might be reciprocated. She had learnt long ago that she was not lovable. She was a plain, devout woman. A stereotype spinster; good-hearted but a reader of romances, not a participant.

And somehow, beyond all expectation, Lance cared for her. His eyes caressed her. Even as he played, he looked at her as if his heart burned in his glance. She caught him gazing at her again and smiled shyly, looking away, suddenly scorched and blushing.

Lance closed the lid of the harpsichord and came over to her. “You want you to see my private collection,” he said. Nicole’s blush deepened, and he continued lightheartedly, "Don't worry. I don't have an etching in the house."

Nicole laughed outright. Her embarrassment vanished. She still was not used to the way he seemed to understand her thoughts and acknowledge them without rancour. It was as if he studied her with complete acceptance, adjusting his pace to her uncertainty. She wanted to believe the song her heart was singing, but he seemed to know that only the passage of time could stop her trust from faltering.

So there would be no seduction tonight. She walked out of the room beside him, almost disappointed.

**

Lance Carpentier's collection of paintings was at odds with the sombre elegance of the rest of his home. The long walls of the gallery were filled with bright canvases. Suns blazed from every side; setting, rising, shining. Nicole paused on the threshold, dazzled by the vibrant display of light and colour. Halfway down one wall, she spotted a golden cornfield she was sure had been painted by Van Gogh. Nearby, the green and azure opulence Gauguin had found in Tahiti beckoned to her.

"This is incredible! I never saw so many suns," she exclaimed as Lance led her from canvas to canvas.

They stopped before the Van Gogh and contemplated the tortured brilliance of the suicide. Lance took Nicole's hand and led her to a banquette. They sat down together. He did not let go of her hand.

"There's something I must tell you," he said quietly, and his cool fingers tightened, “It may seem too soon to speak of it, and yet I want you to know. You have a right to know. I have an illness."

Fear clenched Nicole’s heart. Was he trying to tell her he was dying? After searching for him all her life, had she found him at last, only to lose him? She tried to smile encouragingly but her mouth would not obey her. Tears sprang to her eyes.

Lance saw the unshed glitter and hurried on, "Do not be afraid. It is not fatal. Merely painful and inconvenient. I suffer from Kholeren’s Syndrome; an allergy to vitamin D.

Nicole laughed in relief and raised his hand to her cheek, saying, "You frightened me! I thought you were going to tell me you were dying.

Lance smiled sadly. He put his arm around her, "Nothing so bad as that my dear," he said, "But it's a very inconvenient complaint. There are many foods I must avoid. The worst effect is that I'm allergic to sunlight. These suns around us here are the only suns that I may see. Sometimes I think I would give all I possess to stand in the daylight and see the sun again with my own eyes."

Nicole’s tears spilled over as she realised how Kholeren’s Syndrome must have affected Lance's life.

She turned towards him. He took her in his arms and said, "Don't cry, my dearest. I only wanted you to know so you would understand, that if you continue to see me, I cannot share the world with you as another man might do."

Nicole threw away caution and pride. "That doesn't matter to me, " she exclaimed, "I don't care for any other man. "

Lance kissed her.

**

A week passed. It was 2.00am. Nicole lay on the sofa in the drawing room under a white afghan with her head on Lance’s knees. Her face was turned towards him and he held one of her hands. She was fast asleep. A wisp of hair had fallen across her brow and he smoothed it back with exquisite tenderness, watching the patient rise and fall of her breast as she breathed.

He could not stop looking at her. He knew her now and he loved that he could not put into words. That evening he had asked her to tell him about her life and she had trusted him with the unvarnished truth.

He had listened without jealousy as she recounted how she had loved twice in her youth and seen the gift defiled and betrayed and called worthless by men who were themselves without worth. After such bitter experiences, she had taken her love to the One who would never reject it or abuse it, and had found comfort and meaning in the religion of her childhood.

She had been a little embarrassed to tell him that she spent much of her spare time involved in an adult literacy program sponsored by the Church, and that this was the part of her life which gave her the most pleasure and sense of achievement.

Her gentleness was his miracle. He felt like a moth circling a flame. He thought her eyes were the most beautiful he had ever seen. Her slow flowering smile when she looked at him, filled him with a sense of unbearable poignancy.

He wanted to keep her in his sight forever. To spend his years making love to her. To live with her, and grow old with her. To die with her and then share forever whatever lay beyond.

And it was all completely impossible. There was no chance for he and she. She could not share his existence. The old, false, poisoned hope whispered in his mind and he rejected it with a groan. He would not pollute her with the attempt.

He lifted her gently to his breast and held her sleeping body close. He longed for the release of tears.

**

They walked the night together. Nicole had been frightened at first. It seemed quite mad to tramp about the streets of New York in the dark, but Lance was not afraid and as night after night passed uneventfully, and she came to know him better, Nicole became more confident.

There was something about him which repelled the predators prowling the streets. On the rare occasions someone approached them, Lance would step in front of Nicole and tell the person to go away'. They always obeyed him, and slowly but surely, Nicole realized why.

**

“I want you to make love to me," Nicole said quietly one evening as she sat in the drawing room, listening to him play.

Lance took his hands from the keys and became very still. He bowed his head and then looked up as if with a great effort. "I cannot," he replied, "The Syndrome.... I am impotent. I should have told you before. " His eyes fell, "I am ashamed.

Nicole got up and stood beside him with her hand on his shoulder. She felt him tremble slightly at her touch and she said, "No. You are lying. There is another reason. It is time you told me the truth. I love you. Do not be afraid.”

"I. . . I cannot."

Nicole held his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. "I know you love me," she said softly, “Now you must trust me too. I love you, as you are, from the bottom of my heart and I'll never be afraid of you. Tell me the truth, it will not change me.

Lance looked up at her and wonder spread across his face like dawn, "You already know!" he cried.

**

He took her to the room of the suns and drew back the curtain that covered the far end of the gallery. A painting hung on the wall. It was a portrait of a young woman dressed in the style of Marie Antoinette. She wore a gown of yellow silk, caught back on the panniers with bunches of rosebuds to reveal a pale pink satin petticoat. Her hair was powdered but her face was innocent of any tint but health. Around her neck lay a thin chain. The pendant had been blotted out with white paint.

“This is a picture of Amelia de Rossingol,” Lance said quietly.

“What a lovely girl!" Nicole exclaimed.

"Yes, she was," Lance smiled at Nicole and kissed her cheek, "She still is. But I think you have already guessed that part. Come, I will tell you the story.

They sat down together and Lance put his arm about Nicole, holding her very close as he began, "I loved Amelia. We were born to love each other. Our families' estates in the Romagne were close to each other, and our parents arranged the match in our cradles. We grew up together, and even when I was of an age to notice women, I saw only Amelia.

“When I was nineteen, my parents sent me to the University in Rome to complete my education. I was changed there.

“I met a woman called Rosamunde. At least, she had been a woman once. She was so beautiful. She wanted me, and for the first time I was tempted to be unfaithful to Amelia. The tides of the body drew me on and Rosamunde had the forcing glance. She chose me to be her consort. She fed on me and wrought the change, making me as herself."

Lance turned away and the lines on his face deepened, etching the paths of ancient sorrow across his features. His cheeks grew paler yet, and when he turned back to Nicole, his eyes were dark with shame.

Her heart went out to him. She took his hand and as he opened his mouth to continue, she touched his lips and said, "Remember. As you are. For always."

Lance kissed the hand at his mouth and lowered his head until his brow lay in the hollow of Nicole’s neck. He felt the warm throb of the blood running beneath her skin and he shuddered as the hunger stirred lightly.

"Once Rosamunde had changed me there was no need to force my appetites. She led me to the blood and taught me how to feed... and how to kill. The thirst is great, overwhelming at times, and then the blood is sweet. So sweet. She charmed me with the opulent debauchery of her power. I gorged with her, and rutted with her, and never cast a thought on what I did, until the night she brought Amelia to me.

“Amelia had come to Rome to visit her aunt, but really to seek news of me. She sent her maid to ask around the University and when Rosamunde heard of it, she thought it would be amusing for me to consummate my new betrothal with the blood of the old. She said it was beneath her dignity to be jealous of our meat, and so she gave Amelia the forcing glance, and carried her off to the palazzo where we lived on the outskirts of the city.

“I will never forget the sight of Amelia that night. Rosamunde had tied her to the bed and revoked the forcing glance so that my love might fully understand how vile I had become. Rosamunde had slaked her thirst upon a youth she had taken earlier that night, and she laid his body beside Amelia to show my dear one the treatment she might expect from my hands.

“But Amelia did not shrink from me. She was only too glad to find that I was, as she thought, alive. She greeted me as her saviour and blessed me. I felt the blessing like a brand on my mind. I was damned and all her loving words tormented my flesh.

“Rosamunde shrieked as the fire of the blessing smote ..her too. She urged me to silence Amelia. I went to the bed and looked down at my darling. She stared back at me with perfect trust from a lifetime of love, and brought me to my senses. I could not harm Amelia. I could not take her life. Instead, I began to untie her. Rosamunde grew furious. She was ancient, as strong as I am now, and when she understood that some part of me was still undefiled, and that I would not call my heart’s love ’’meat", she attacked me.

“We are not invulnerable to our own kind, especially when we are newly created. Rosamunde overpowered me and threw me aside. I was knocked out for a moment and when I regained consciousness, she was feeding on Amelia. The dead boy’s sword lay with his clothes. I took it up and pulled Rosamunde away from the bed by her hair. Before she could free herself, I struck off her head.

“I was too late. Amelia had lost too much blood to Rosamunde. She was dying. Her blood covered both of us, yet she blessed me again and prayed for me. The pain was unspeakable, but I held her in my arms and as the shadows of death crept across her face, I knew I could not bear to lose her. I bent to her wounds and changed her.

“It was a terrible mistake. The next night when Amelia awoke I was with her. She was overjoyed to see me. I held her in my arms. Cold she was, and light. So light. She opened her mouth to say, "Thank..." and she could not say the word. Even the thought of the name is agony."

Lance groaned and Nicole held him tightly whispering, "I understand, you cannot say it either. Go on."

"She screamed and tried again to utter a blessing or a prayer. It was no longer possible for her. The expression on her face when she realized what I had done to her, has never left me. She did not reproach me, but her sadness was the most excruciating thing I have ever seen.

“I told her that I had only done it to save her. She forgave me, but I could see that all her joy was dead. She loved me, but without the greater love, she did not wish to exist. Three days she endured. Trying to pray in spite of the pain. Trying to fight the thirst that raged in her more strongly with every passing hour.

“Looking back, I can see now that I was cruel, though I did not mean to be. I loved her and I was desperate. I brought her meat and tried to feed her, but she would have none of it and begged me to release the man for her sake. I could not do it. He had seen too much to live, but I took him away and told her I would let him go.

“She knew me too well. When I returned she was dead. She had sharpened the handle of a broom and leant on it until it penetrated her heart.

“And beside her lay another stake. One she had prepared for me.”

Lance stopped speaking. He held Nicole's hands tightly, his face was drawn tight in a rictus of agony. She saw he could not weep; there could be no cathartic release of tears for him. She groped for something to say, something to do to comfort him, but suddenly he cried out, "I tried to die with you! I tried! I pressed the stake against my heart, but I was afraid! You had not sinned, but I had. I had killed a dozen men with Rosamunde. I could not hope to be with you again. I was afraid to face hell alone. I was afraid! I am afraid!"

Nicole pulled him into her arms by main force. His body was rigid, still frozen with the coolness she could not hope to warm. She prayed silently for mercy but her heart ached, for there was nothing she could do to assuage his grief or comfort his despair. There was no hope.

The agonizing fit of remorse passed. Lance slumped forward with his hand over his eyes, “I have not killed since then. I have fed. I have stolen enough blood to continue my existence, but I have tried to contain the evil. I swear it! I only feed when I can endure the pain no more.

Slowly Nicole drew his hand away from his face. She could not find the right words to express the depth of her pity and her love. She held his hand tightly and said, "If there is anything I can do to help you, I will do it. I love you. I will stay with you so long as I have breath.

Lance embraced her, "Thank you! Even to have you for so little time out of all eternity is more mercy than I deserve. But how will you bear it? I must feed sometimes and you will see the change in me then. You will know when I have done it. How can you see that and not recoil?"

"It may not be so often as you fear, my darling!" Nicole exclaimed, "I’ll feed you while my strength endures. Perhaps you will not need to steal so often."

"No!" Lance cried, "My love! I can’t hurt you like that! It’s dangerous! I might lose control! I will not do it!"

Nicole laughed and the honest warmth of her merriment echoed through the gallery, bouncing off the sun-riven canvases like light, "But of course you will! Perhaps that’s why you found me. Who knows? Come darling, we may both be great sinners in our way, but we can be happy together for a lifetime. Don’t reject the single gift in my power to give. Don't reject me."

"But I don’t want to hurt you!"

"Then you won’t. Oh sweetheart! It’s time!"

**

Lance laid Nicole on the bed. Her arms were round his neck and as he released her, she did not let him go. She pulled his head down gently and kissed him.

Lance felt the soft touch of her lips on his mouth and the warmth of her breath in his throat. He lay beside her, cradling her head with his arm as his kisses deepened. With his free hand he traced the zone of her waist with delicate urgency.

The passion that quickened the slow tide of his cool blood left him elated and appalled. His strength was massive, his desire immense, but he contained the forces churning in his heart. The sensation of a desire that was not hunger seemed blessed beyond belief.

Nicole’s hands were at his breast. She unbuttoned his shirt and slid it from his shoulders. He returned the favour, and they passed from one to the other until they were entwined upon the bed with all the naked fervour in their hearts.

She welcomed him tenderly. His cool flesh lay against her heat, moved with the flickering of her flame. They clung to one another tightly, every caress igniting new fires that did not die, but grew fiercer as the moments passed.

She watched his face as they made love to each other. He looked at her steadily as he moved above her. The intentness of his gaze was a revelation. He did not close his eyes. He was not distracted by his own pleasure. It was as if he could not bear to lose sight of her. He paused, running his hands over her body with desperate gentleness. She held his face in her hands, reaching up to kiss him with her own eyes open.

He moved again. His body tightened and Nicole pulled his head down to her neck. "Now love! Now!" she whispered.

Lance opened his mouth. His teeth pressed lightly against her skin. She felt him falter and arched up against him. Blood welled from the pinpricks.

Lance fed.

Nicole prayed silently, calling down blessings on her love.

**

The blood moved through Lance like a cleansing tide. He felt the hot surge of her lifeforce ignite his flesh. A huge light burst in his head as he climaxed and the serpent of power they created between them, curled round to eat its tail.

The hunger shrieked with ecstasy as it fell upon mortality and mortality did not recoil.

Nicole clung to him with all her might, her body moulding to the hard contours of his flesh. She wound her fingers in his hair and pressed his head down against the soft skin of her throat.

It hurt as he had warned her it would, but she did not care. Her pain was mortal and would pass, while she knew that his unquenched agony was eternal. She gave with compassion as much as love. Self-immolation was in her act, but hope too.

So much hope.

She pressed him closer yet and asked Christ for forgiveness.

**

Lance watched her while she slept. She was pale in the darkness, but not too pale for safety. Carefully he checked her pulse. It was strong and regular. He was glad he had not risked her strength. The hunger had faded to a muted hum in the back of his mind. He could feel dawn approaching.

Slowly he got up and wrapped her in the eiderdown. He lifted her and cradled the solid weight of her against his chest, savouring the delicate throb of her pulse though the coverlet. Kissing her once upon the brow he carried her out of the room.

He laid her on his bed of earth. The sarcophagus was wide, easily large enough to allow him to lie down beside her. He arranged their bodies so that she lay half across him with her head beneath his chin. He held her close for a while, regretting the unconsciousness that would soon divide them. All too soon, he sensed the sun rising. He forced himself to let his arms fall to his sides. He was afraid that she might wake in his cold, intransigent embrace and be alarmed.

Blackness engulfed him.

**

Nicole awoke, embracing her dead lover. She shivered as she stretched upwards to kiss his lips, but it was cold not fear that moved her. She trembled against the chill perfection of his marble mouth and as she rose from his sepulchre and left the cellar, she yearned for night to come again.

Nicole looked at the wounds on her neck in the mirror. She smiled as she pressed the crucifix against her throat and blessed the twin incisions. A purple bruise had risen round the angry welts and she saw the macula was beautiful. It was like a brand; a sigil representing her commitment. Her lips moved in another silent prayer and then she kissed the crucifix and hid it away.

Night after night they lay together, in the bed and in the grave. Immortality wrapped itself in mortal flesh again and again. And every night Nicole prayed in her passion, and offered the glad sacrifice of blood upon the altar of her love.

**

In the last darkness of an early morning, Lance lay down in his sarcophagus. He held Nicole in his arms and waited for oblivion. The familiar lassitude did not come. Lance waited. He sensed the sunrise. Night abandoned the world. He felt the great red disc wheel over the horizon of the earth and still he remained alert and self aware.

A terrible hope shook his heart.

Nicole stirred. His arms tightened round her. Warmth suffused his veins.

"What is it? What’s happening?" Nicole whispered. She felt the rapid patter of his heart, the sudden heat of his hands on her flesh.

"I.. I don’t know." Lance could hardly speak. There was a lump in his throat that made it hard to breathe.

In his imagination the sun blazed. His eyes stung again at the thought of its lost glory.

Tears spilled down his cheeks.

Nicole felt the wetness on her skin. Her heart soared. She reached up in the blackness of the grave and cradled Lance’s face in her trembling hands.

"It is the blood. My blood, given and received in love and His mercy, has driven out the evil. Will you bear it, if I bless you darling?" she whispered.

"Yes. Oh yes," he replied, and the tears rolled down his face like a waterfall. Tightly he held her and buried his mouth in her hair.

"Then in the name of Christ the Redeemer, turn your back upon the fear of hell. Trust to His mercy, my dearest love. Rise from the grave and come with me.

And together they climbed out of the cellar and left the house and walked, hand in hand, into the sunlight.