The Compassionate

Marguerite Lamoureaux looked up at the abandoned Theatre Royale, her long black hair blowing in
the chill wind of autumn.
She clutched her black trenchcoat, pulling it tighter around herself. The chill brought a pink flush to her normally pale face. She hadn't
anticipated such a cold October morning, but she should have known better. Marguerite had moved from the States to be closer to her family in Quebec. She had been living in the U.S. after she had graduated from college, but her father had unexpectedly died of a heart attack, so she had decided to move back home to help out her mother. Ever since she had returned however, she had been drawn to the old Theatre. As a child, she had heard stories of it being haunted, but she never believed them. Now, as her stormy gray eyes took the
dilapidated building in, she reconsidered her childhood decision.
She couldn't explain why she was drawn to the building; it almost felt like it was calling her. Marguerite had never been a particularly brave person, but something inside her pushed her to go in. Slowly, she obliged to her unconscious thought.
She pushed the door open with a creak. She walked into the lobby of the Theatre. Suddenly, a loud bang came from behind her. She jumped, startled by the noise, but quickly recovered and laughed at her own stupidity. It had only been the door closing behind her. She looked back up at her dusty surroundings.
There were two grand stairways on either side of her, which led to the upper balconies. Directly in front of her was an information booth where people could buy tickets. On either side of that were the entrances to the actual theatre, covered by velvety
red, moth-eaten curtains. She headed for the left entrance, and pushed the curtains aside.
Down the long aisle she walked, passing row after row of plush seats as she went. The stage was a bit plain for a theatre called the Royale, but she surmised it must have served it's purpose well. She was about to climb up onto the stage when she
thought she heard a faint whisper behind her.
"Marguerite..." a ghostly voice called. Immediately Marguerite got goosebumps. She whirled around, looking for a sign that someone else was there. She didn't see anything however.
"I must be hearing things," Marguerite thought, but no! There it was again: "Marguerite..."
She looked up to the box seats and saw what she thought was the swish of a cloak. She turned and ran back up the aisle, making her way for the lobby and one of the staircases.
As she rapidly climbed the stairs, she wondered what was happening. "Is someone just playing a trick on me, or am I truly in danger?" she wondered. "Or what if I'm just going insane?"
She reached the top of the staircase, and a cold chill went through her, causing her to shiver, but this time she knew it wasn't due to the wind. She began to search the boxes, but had no luck. Finally, she turned back towards the stairs, but something struck a chord in her mind. "I forgot to check near the organ!" She had just remembered the old antique organ, the prized posession of the Theatre.She changed her course to make way to the giant instrument. As she came closer, another chill went thorugh her body like a shockwave.
Suddenly, it sounded as though someone had pressed one of the keys on the organ. The note resounded throughout the theatre, making the floors vibrate.
"Who's there?" She called out, her voice betraying the fear that was there. No one answered.
"Who's there?" she asked again. "Who?"
Once again, they did not answer. Cautiouly she approached the immense organ. She could sense a presence there, and as she got closer she could see a silhouete sitting on the organ itself, not at the bench. Still, she could not help thinking, "Oh my, I'm in a Gaston Laroux novel."
Without notice, the figure leaped from his perch upon the organ and landed on his feet directly in front of her. She backed away, frightened, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her face to his.
He had very pale skin, almost more pale than her own. He had hazel eyes, but they were unusual, as there was a touch of darkness to them. His lips were rubies, and his black hair fell to his shoulders. She had read enough Gothic literature to recognize him for what he was-a vampire.
He smiled, showing his ivory fangs. "Hello Marguerite. I've been wondering when you would answer my call."
His voice was hauntingly beautiful, yet strangely mournful at the same time. However, she was still on her guard.
"What are you talking about? Who are you and how do you know my name?" she asked, hoping to get some answers.
He laughed lightly to himself. "Now now dear, no need to get defensive." He patted her hand, which he had still been holding. His hand was like silk. "My name is Gerard. I have been chosen to sire you."
"You've been chosen to sire me? Why me?" she asked, recognizing the term. To sire was when a vampire transformed a human into a vampire.
"Well, the coven feels you have a great potential. They have chosen me to mentor you. I've been following you for some time now, ever since you returned to Quebec. The elders however, have had their eye on you since you were a child. They could sense a power within you that so very few posess in our race."
"And what sort of power might that be?" Marguerite asked, unable to help herself. She was somewhat intrigued.
"The elders tell me you posess the greatest power of all: the power of Compassion."
Marguerite couldn't help but laugh at this statement. "Since when do vampires care about Compassion? When they are always attacking innocent victims and sucking the life out of them?"
Gerard did not look offended at all by the statement of fact. On the contrary, he smiled, a smile that Marguerite was already growing fond of. "The elders have realized that we cannot keep going around, striking down the innocent. That is why they are searching for those with Compassion, because the Compassionate understand the human mind better than others. The elders need a new generation of vampires to help usher them into the new milenium. We need to figure out how to feed without harming others anymore. The elders are convinced that the Compassionate will help to solve all the problems. Do you understand?" Gerard concluded, slightly out-of-breath.
Marguerite nodded. "I think so. But what do other vampires think of these radical ideas?"
This question caused Gerard to frown a bit. "Many do not approve of these new ideas. Already there have been outbreaks of protest. It has been horrible. I lost a few friends because I took the elders' side. But I had to, I am one of the Compassionate. I wish to help as much as I can, so I have volunteered to recruit newcomers."
Marguerite thought through all of this inside her mind. Did she really want to give up all she had to join the vampire race? She felt overwhelmed. Gerard must have sensed this, and he offered a suggestion. "Would you like to go home and sleep on it?"
But Marguerite knew she was destined to do this, so without hesitation she responded:
"No, I am ready. I will join you."
Gerard's face lit up, but then filled with doubt. "Are you sure you don't wish to sleep on it? Once you come to our side, there's no turning back."
Marguerite replied, "No, I am sure. I wish to help, and it's not as though I will be completely shut off from the world. I still can see my family and everything, right?"
"Of course," Gerard answered. "Now, are you ready for the transformation process?"
"Yes, I think. Will it hurt?" Marguerite asked, but she already knew the answer.
"Only a little bit. But don't worry sugar, you will be safe. I will be with you."
Marguerite's heart warmed at what Gerard had said. "Okay then. I am ready."
Slowly, Gerard tilted her head back, and, brushing her hair away, exposed her bare neck. He then bared his fangs, and trying to be as gentle as possible, sunk them into Marguerite's flesh. She shivered, not out of fright, but just because it was the natural reaction. She felt herself slipping away, and disappeared into dark nothingness...

When she awoke, Marguerite was in a hospital bed. She immediately sat up. It was nighttime, about 10:30 at night. She felt someone stirring in the chair next to the bed, and turned to see her mother.
"Oh Marguerite! I'm so happy you're alright! I was so worried..." her mother trailed off, hugging her daughter. "Darling, I didn't think you'd survive, not after hearing what happened."
"What did happen, Mother?" Marguerite asked, panicked. She hoped it hadn't all been a dream.
"Well, the police got a call about a break-in at the old Theatre Royale, and they found you there. They think you've been attacked by a rabid animal. They gave you rabies shots though, so you should be fine, but honey... there was so much blood loss,
and after losing your father and all, I don't know what I'd do without you too!" her mother broke down, sobbing.
"Shh, Mom, it's alright," Marguerite said to try and comfort her mother, but inside, she was crying as well. It had all been a dream. However, an object caught her attention on the side table.
"Mother, what is this?" Marguerite asked, reaching for a single long-stemmed rose and a note on parchment, tied in a ribbon. It was addressed to her.
"You know honey, I'm not sure where that came from. I stepped out for some air for a moment, and when I came back, it was lying there."
Marguerite opened the note. There, in elegant handwritten script, was a note explaining all:
"The doctors will not be able to detect the venom in your blood, for the transformation is still taking place. They always think it is simply rabies. If only they knew the truth, right?
I called the police, it seemed only right. Someone had spotted you, anyways.
Do not worry, for we will find each other in the very near future.
-Gerard
Marguerite was filled with joy. So it hadn't been a dream after all. Seeing the smile on her face, Marguerite's mother asked what was written, but Marguerite was too busy contemplating what was to come to respond. She was planning the future, her life with the vampires.