A violent cacophony of memories flooded his brain all at once. Images, thoughts, and feelings from the last 500 years blasted him with the force of a waterfall against his head. The feeling was so visceral that it felt like the memories might burst through the other side. He lurched in pain. His spine arched at an unnatural angle in the arms of the man who had been his father for the last ten years. The sensation was so intense he couldn’t summon the strength to breathe, and he choked on the little breath in his lungs.
Images flashed beneath his shuttered eyelids. A chalice resting on a wooden altar in a dimly lit hut. A midwife placing a blue-eyed baby in his arms. A table in a hall with a dozen men dressed in armor on either side, holding goblets over their heads in celebration. Banners, blue and gold hanging from battlements. More banners drenched in crimson mud and soot. Views from skyscrapers looking over cities across the world. Countless faces of the wardens who had served him. Some whose names he knew and knew well. Many he didn’t.
He saw deaths by his hand. He couldn’t begin to know how many. And his own violent deaths and echoes of the pain that came with them. At once, he felt the pierce of a knife between his ribs, the shattered bones from falling, and fiery burns across his skin. At the same time, he felt the feminine touch on his lips and neck. He felt the warm baths, lush grass under his toes, and the feeling of a pillow after a long day’s work.
Sounds blended together in turmoil, like a hundred songs across a hundred genres competing for dominance. Laughs and cries and shrieks. Trumpets and gunfire and helicopters.
“Timmault!” “Violet!” “Henry!” “Ben!”
“Die!” “Don’t!” “Please!” “Run!”
Centuries of smells collided and congealed into one indistinct foul stench in his nostrils. He would have vomited had his muscles allowed him to wretch. He was at once burning hot and shivering cold. He was terrified, overwhelmed, listless, and catatonic.
And the vampires.
Hundreds of vampires stared at him through the generations, watching him with smug satisfaction as his face and body contorted. Their features varied greatly, except for their porcelain skin and blood-stained eyes. Amidst the bombardment, only one of those haunting faces stood out. The one that followed him for so many years. His lips almost traced his name.
The Comeback felt like hours, but it was over in an instant. The surge of electricity that pulled at his limbs finally dissipated. Timmault’s muscles went limp. He could breathe. As many times as he had comeback, he would never get used to it. In fact, it got worse every time. Each new return meant one more violent death to remember.
With the barrage of sound fading from his ears, only one sound took its place.
“Cody! Cody! Talk to me!” His father - this comeback’s father looked down at him, his face white with horror.
Timmault caught his breath enough to whisper. “Yeah?”
“What happened? Are you okay?”
The world around him came into focus, and Timmault looked the man in his eyes. Sweat beaded from his heavy brow. Dirt creased the wrinkles on his forehead the way it always did. His dark hair with hints of gray stuck straight up. He must have been pulling at it the way he always did when he was anxious or worried.
His breath smelled like coffee and a smell that Timmault could only now identify with 500 years of life behind him as chewing tobacco.
His father brought him peace and slowed his breath. And now, another set of memories filtered into his mind. This time, they were gentle, one at a time. He remembered the time the two of them took a road trip to Busch Stadium to see the Cubs play the Cardinals. They stopped at 7/11, and his dad gave him $30 to buy whatever he wanted for the ride. He got candy and comic books.
He remembered the time his dad picked him up from school for a dentist appointment that turned out to be an early showing of a superhero movie.
He remembered the times his dad took him to visit his mom’s burial site. His dad didn’t talk much on those days.
He remembered when his dad yelled at him for the time he punched his teacher and another time when he flooded the basement. That feeling made a pit in his stomach.
And he remembered all the times he crawled into his dad’s bed when he was scared or couldn’t sleep. His bed was so warm. So safe.
All these memories played in his head as the heavy feeling of sorrow grew in his chest. It was never easy to say goodbye. But for some reason, this time, it would be harder than ever.
To be Continued . . .
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