Search for a Soul

By Rosemarie E. Bishop

This story is about a vampire's struggle with the human condition coupled with his struggle to accept his vampirism as he attempts to make sense of his life, and discover his soul with the help of a mortal woman, and his best friend who is also an angel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 10, 1999
• ISBN: 9781453565681

Rosemarie E. Bishop

About the Author Bishop began writing novels in 1999 and currently has six other novels in print. Three of them are parts of The Moral Vampire Series – Search For A Soul, A Matter Of Conscience, and Spiritual Vengeance, plus three stand alone novels, Noah’s Garden, Mrs. Pope, and A Brother’s Love. In 1996 Rosemarie began her studies in Reiki, the art of hands-on healing. Today she is a Reiki Master/Healer/Teacher and teaches others this ancient healing technique whenever a student is led to her. Ms. Bishop lives in Southern New Hampshire with her husband, Christopher, and their furry family member, Teasha, that she finds peace with in their woodland home. For more information about this author and her work visit www.rosemariebishop.com.

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Copyright © 1998 by Rosemarie Elaine Bishop.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PROLOGUE

PART I

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

PART II

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

EPILOGUE

This book is dedicated to my husband, Christopher, who inspired it

one summer day when he told me to write a book instead of all

the letters I wrote; then helped me through the rough spots

and supported me without question in this venture.

And to my mother, Elaine Mandy,

who has instilled in me a love for language and literature,

and who ironed out the rough spots in this project.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish to thank the staff of Lee Shore Literary Agency for their help and counsel in perfecting this project, especially Cynthia Sterling, Jennifer Blose, and Kristine Habun. I would like to extend a special thanks to Kathryn Williamson for her last minute input that set my mind at ease. I would also like to thank my mother for her initial edit and advice in preparing this manuscript for review, and for her support and dedication to my artistic endeavors; and my father, Steve Mandy, for his pride in me and his faith in everything I have ever done. Most of all I wish to thank my husband for enduring the evenings alone while I was lost in this story, for being there to read the entire book during the final rewrite, for keeping everything around me far enough away so I could stay focused, and for never allowing me to give up on the dream. Finally, I would like to thank Michelle Grucela for walking a very difficult path with me without ever looking back.

It must be realized that there will always be hope

for even the worst of souls,

because God is Love,

and Love conquers all.

PROLOGUE

A.D. 1679

The ship had just docked on the shores of The New World as the moon was reaching its highest point in the navy blue, midnight sky. Few clouds drifted past its brilliant glow. The few that did cast moonshadows on the ground below. It was summer on the east coast of America, and a hot summer it was.

Christian Desmonde left the ship under cover of darkness with his newfound friend by his side. He and Jesse Nestarius had sailed all the way from England together on a ship that had quickly become home. Christian was traveling to the New World in search of a new and different life. He never did find out why Jesse made the journey.

Is this where we part company? Jesse asked.

For the moment only, Christian answered. I most certainly need to find quarters, if only temporary ones. I’ll need to get some rest, but I’m sure we’ll meet again. Boston can only be so big.

Fate will do with us what it chooses, Jesse replied. He tipped his hand in a gesture of parting. Til tomorrow. He hesitated a moment. Or whenever.

‘Til whenever, Christian agreed. He took a few steps backward, then turned and went his own way. His sole intent was to find shelter from the sunrise that was sure to come in a few short hours. He briefly wondered if his fear of the sun would give away his nature, but the truth was, he really didn’t care. Sooner or later someone was bound to come along who would recognize him for what he was and either sweep him from the earth’s memory, or heal him inside so that he could bear to stay. He would equally welcome either option.

Christian wandered around the city for a short time, exploring the new surroundings, and looking for a place to stay. He noticed how the air smelled different than it had in his beloved France where the aroma of the grapes that grew in the Desmonde vineyard permeated his senses all day and night. He had single-handedly run the vineyard that had belonged to his family for generations. It wasn’t so long ago when he’d relinquished control of it to his brothers and, ultimately, to the generations that would follow. There were times when he considered whether or not it had been a stupid thing to do, but given the circumstances it was the only thing to do. It was ludicrous to think a vampire could successfully run a thriving vineyard when he couldn’t inspect the grapes by daylight. The sun that fed and nurtured each juicy, round ball of fruit as they clustered together on a single thin vine for the safety that could be found, most readily, in numbers, was the very thing that would destroy him.

He could not. Therefore, he did not.

Christian continued to wander the streets of Boston until he found an inn with a vacancy. He quickly reserved a room for his daytime rest, then went out once more to feed greedily until sunrise.

While crossing the ocean Christian had existed solely on rats from the ships confines so as not to arouse suspicion on board. He ate as sparingly as possible. There were only so many rats available. Christian never fooled himself into believing they could multiply faster than he would drain their blood. He could have left the ship under his own power of flight at any time in order to feed, but he did not. Maybe it was Jesse who kept him on board; maybe it was some kind of self-inflicted punishment. He didn’t care what the reason was. Now that he was back on solid ground he felt much of his old confidence returning. It was reminiscent of his mortal days when he was the lord of his castle and in charge of the family fortune as well as their entire future.

He was in the New World now and ravenous for the living blood he could hear flowing all around him; the blood of dreams and of reality. The blood that would give him back the strength he’d lost since he’d left his precious France, the home of his mortal years and of his family, the home of his best friend, Samuel, the home of his old life. He passionately missed those days.

Christian wandered back down to the docks where the ships were held in port. He was amused at the many drunken sailors, and the harlots who held the men on their feet making sure they were awake enough to part with their hard earned money. The sailors passing by in their lustful search for anything that would satisfy their baser needs were of no particular interest to him. Their blood was tainted with far too much alcohol. Christian also enjoyed his ale when he was a young man, but theirs was not the kind of blood he hungered for.

The women — yes.

It was the women’s blood he needed. The women were the beginning and the cultivators of all life. Their sweet, delectible, aromatic blood fired with the passions that women carry in their souls through every conscious hour was exactly what he craved. Christian savored the flavors that mirrored the intense emotions that only the women held locked deep inside; the ones they love and the ones they hate; the feelings of lust and revulsion; of joy and despair; the emotions of strength and of life. This was the kind of blood that Christian coveted; the blood of life. And he was surrounded by it. He need only reach out his hand with his eyes closed tight and he could easily grab, with little effort, the very thing he needed. But how fair would such an act be when conducted by a telepathic vampire who would know simply by the thoughts that passed him by, whether those thoughts had come from a woman or from a man? It would not be fair at all. Who said life was fair? Christian thought as he reached his hand out for the woman who was, just now passing by. She was alone and experiencing the excited anticipation of meeting her beloved on the last dock in the harbor.

Christian quickly unnerved her, rendering her spellbound with his paralyzing stare, the stare that made the young girls of his home village swoon over him even in his mortal years. The women had always loved his eyes. This one was no exception. Her flesh was tender and young, but it gave way to his piercing fangs as if to a surgeon’s scalpel with no more resistence than an anesthetized patient on the operating room table. The blood that flowed so easily over his tongue and down his throat was salty sweet, as blood most often is, but it’s coppery aftertaste made it so much less appealing to Christian as it became a reminder of a shameful deed that was much better forgotten.

When he was finished, Christian sat the near-dead woman on a bench by the wharf where she would awaken, groggy and bemused many hours from now. He positioned her to appear as if she had been looking out to sea while falling, uncontrollably, asleep. Christian amused himself with his creativity. He sometimes waited to see how long it took for a healthy mortal to notice the ‘something strange’ about the victim he had just turned into a replica of a wax dummy.

But not tonight. The stars had already changed position and the moon would be leaving soon, telling Christian to hide from the light of day or die. The thought had crossed his mind many a time. Why shouldn’t he just sit in the sunshine and let himself burn to a pile of ashes that would blow away when the first breeze touched them? Because the reality of it was that Christian had no tolerance for pain of any kind. Vampires rarely feel pain in the physical sense, but when they do that pain means death, or near death which might be more agonizing than death itself.

What choice was left to a vampire who neither wanted to be a vampire nor had the courage to end his own life? Only one. To stumble through this world hoping to find the meaning for it all, like so many mortals do, but with much less time at their disposal. If Christian could just find a good reason for existing, then he believed his vampirism might become bearable. Until that time, he would remain a nomad in a strange, yet familiar world.

PART I

"I looked for my soul

but my soul I could not see.

I looked for my God

but my God eluded me.

I looked for a friend

and then I found all three."

— Thomas Blake

CHAPTER 1

July 19, 1996 9:00PM

It’s relative, Jesse said as he stared into the clear, midnight sky, his long blonde hair blowing gently away from his face.

It was a quiet night in Boston, with only the gentle rustling sound of leaves as the light summer breeze softly touched the nearby oak trees. The days had been oppressively hot and sticky for the better part of July, but the cooler nights were a blessing. As Christian thought about what Jesse had said, a Harley-Davidson motorcycle sped by on Park Dr. interrupting the silence.

Every living thing has its choices to make, Jesse went on as he waved away a mosquito. Most of those choices are, ultimately, between good and evil, right and wrong. The final decision depends on how you define good and evil. Jesse hesitated a moment, apparently unsure of whether or not to continue discussing a touchy subject like morality with Christian.

However, your idea of what’s good, he continued, may be very different than another man’s idea of what’s good, and yet, both of your opinions may be completely valid. It depends on what each of you base your individual points of view. This is why I said that ‘good’ and ‘evil’ are relative terms.

Jesse looked out over the park thoughtfully for a moment. The evening mist had begun to accumulate in the undisturbed, low lying areas of the Back Bay Fens, adding a surrealness to the air. Soon they would be surrounded by New England fog as it moved in from the Charles River to the north and the Muddy River to the southwest. The patches of fog that appeared in the parks and wooded areas of Boston were exceptionally warm this July because the nights had hardly dipped below seventy degrees. Compared to the high nineties during the daytime, the warm evenings were a relief.

We’ve had this discussion so many times already, Jesse said. Slow down, Christian. Have some patience with yourself. Learn to trust what you feel. Deep down you have the right ideas, but you don’t pay enough attention to what you know.

Jesse hesitated a second before he continued. Could be that you’re really ignoring yourself, he added softly. "Or avoiding what you feel. Maybe those emotional walls you built around your heart prevent even you from getting in."

Christian winced from the pain that shot through the vulnerable nerve Jesse had hit. He ran a hand through his layered black hair and sighed.

"Stop asking me what’s right and start asking yourself, Jesse gently suggested. I can’t program you like a robot by giving you a set of instructions to follow the rest of your life."

Christian turned to look at Jesse, intending to object defensively to his mentor’s criticism, but he was stopped midstream by the laborious manner in which Jesse rose from the park bench. Jesse stood slowly, using his hands to push himself up from his knees. He appeared stiff from sitting. His movements made him look like a very old man, which in fact he was, but his normal appearance was that of a thirty year old. Seeing how Jesse stood up reminded Christian of a cat waking up reluctantly after a long nap, all stiff and tired, but he was frightened by how old the action made Jesse look. It brought back so many painful memories of the losses he had faced from time itself as he watched those around him grow old and die. After standing a moment, Jesse took a few casual steps away as if to emphasize his point by leaving Christian alone to argue with himself.

For a moment, Christian thought to ask Jesse if he was all right, but he knew better and restrained himself from voicing even a polite concern.

Jesse was fine. Jesse was always fine.

And Jesse would never grow old and die like the human beings Christian had known. It was one of life’s precious few blessings that Christian had been fortunate enough to receive a friend like Jesse who knew Christian better than he knew himself; a friend who would never leave him; a friend who was an angel, of all things.

Christian had been alive for five centuries. Whether it was his age or his experiences that caused him to be the diffident, self-reproaching, insecure person he’d become, Christian couldn’t say, nor did he give it much thought. Without the emotional walls, as Jesse called it, Christian would have no protection from the pain of his past. He would have no isolation from the guilt that he could no longer live with. His ‘demons’ were born of the knowledge accumulated from having lived too long and served as a constant reminder to Christian that caring for another would, eventually, bring pain.

Except for Jesse.

Their friendship had already stood the test of time. Jesse always understood Christian, allowing him his tantrums and childishly defensive fits of rage without the threat of ever losing a valuable friend. But then, wasn’t that the nature of an angel?

So, you’re saying, Christian began, causing Jesse to turn around, that a person can rationalize every decision they make so that they always appear to be right regardless of morality, laws, or anything else. He paused to think hard about what he wanted to say. In other words, he continued, I can make anything seem right depending on how I look at it.

Christian looked at Jesse with confusion and anger burning in his eyes. What he wanted was a cut and dried answer, but he should have known that Jesse never gave those.

I don’t agree with that, Christian said angrily, shaking his head. It can’t be right.

Christian stood up defiantly and began to pace four steps in either direction. His long, black cape billowed out theatrically behind him. Back and forth he walked, his voice growing louder with every step as if the volume of his words would help him understand the thoughts that raced through his head.

It means that if I ever take a life, intentionally or not, I can tell myself that it’s all right simply because I was hungry!? Christian asked in the mocking, sarcastic tone he saved just for those occasions when Jesse infuriated him by not giving him a straight answer. The look on Jesse’s face told Christian that his friend was on to his game. This frustrated Christian even more.

What about conscience? What about guilt? Christian’s tirade continued with even more force. AND, he emphasized, "assuming God does exist, should I be at all concerned what He thinks about it?"

Christian stopped ranting and looked at Jesse for a defensive reaction, but he did not receive what he had expected. Jesse remained silently attentive and slightly amused. His soft, hazel eyes smiled warmly. Christian knew what that look meant. It meant that Jesse fully understood Christian’s need to strike out at something. It meant that Jesse would not be riled by anything Christian had to say, even if he mocked God. It meant that Christian would not have the battle he needed right at the moment to release his growing frustration.

What’s right is right. What’s wrong is wrong, Christian finished decidedly, flailing his arms in the air. And I’ll never be right!

Tears were forming in Christian’s dark brown eyes as he stood staring at Jesse, defeat and sadness written all over his angular face, waiting for the reply that he knew would never come. The strength and compassion in Jesse’s softly chisled features made Christian feel weaker still. He used to be strong. He wanted to be again.

My God, Jesse, Christian said finally, his body suddenly limp and lifeless as he stood very still. I’m a vampire. Don’t you understand what that means? It means I can never be seen as good in the eyes of God.

This issue had gone too far without a resolution. Christian needed a solid answer. He had to know by what standards he would be judged or was, possibly, being judged right now. He was both afraid to burn in hell for being what he was and afraid to live forever committing sins that were beyond his control.

And I’m an angel, Jesse said. "Don’t you know what that means? It means that God loves you inspite of what you might look like; inspite of what you do. He loved you enough to send me to you centuries ago."

How can he? Christian asked, deflated.

Because He knows your soul, Jesse said. He knows you better than you know yourself.

My soul died with my humanity, Christian said, putting his hands in the pockets of his black slacks, his cape closing in around him.

You’re a vampire, Jesse said, with a soul that hates everything being a vampire entails. You can’t escape from what you are and you can’t forgive yourself, even though you crave both.

That’s right! Christian said. So I go to you for help and advice. Anything that might make it easier for me to live. He raked his fingers through his hair and looked away. In truth, Jesse posed more difficult questions, making Christian think more than he wanted to.

But you don’t listen to me, Jesse said.

I hear you.

Yes, but you don’t listen.

The soft evening breeze kicked up the edges of Christian’s cape as if it had life of its own and held it gently suspended in midair.

Too many years, Christian said, shaking his head. Too many years of frustration.

Your frustration is your own doing, Jesse said. You spend your time trying to sort through your feelings which are in total disarray. You’re longing for the humanity you believe you’ll never know again, but you don’t realize how human you really are.

Christian looked at Jesse angrily. Humanity? he asked nearly yelling. How many human beings do you know in Boston that drink each other’s blood, Jesse? Five? Twenty? How many? Tell me.

Jesse looked at the ripples in the Muddy River as it gently flowed past him to his right. The evening breeze caused single strands of hair to cross his face as he turned back toward Christian.

I know of many human beings who drain each other’s hopes and dreams more thoroughly than you drain another’s blood, he said. I know of human beings who think nothing of taking more of each other’s possessions than you take of other people’s lives.

Christian stared at Jesse, noticing the raised eyebrows that clearly asked him to think about what his friend had just said. He then turned away and walked down to the edge of the water.

All I want is the mortality that will release me from this hell that I’m forced to live in, he said sadly. You never seem to understand, Jesse. My very nature is a contradiction to the scruples and beliefs I was raised with. You’d think after all this time I would have gotten passed my mortal upbringing with the Catholic faith that was ingrained in me by my mother.

It’s a wonderful thing that you haven’t, Jesse said, as he approached the water’s edge to stand beside Christian.

Yeah, right, Christian said, still staring at the water. I get to be immortal and face an eternity living like an animal just to survive. I live at opposite extremes with no common ground except the body they share. What kind of sense does that make, Jesse? Every day I fight to justify my actions as a creature of the night to prove to myself that I can still be the good person my parents raised me to be even though my nature forces me to do evil things.

What makes you think you’re the only person who lives a life of extremes? Jesse asked. I’ve tried for so long to help you understand that you’re not as alone as you think you are.

I know, Christian interrupted. God is with me. I’ve heard you say it at least a million times already. Christian turned to face Jesse. It’s crap! God would never have let this happen to me.

Or to Samuel? Jesse asked. He saved your life.

HE MADE ME A VAMPIRE!! Christian yelled. HE RUINED MY LIFE!

Jesse shook his head and placed a hand on Christian’s shoulder. But Christian shrugged him off and took a step backward.

He should’ve let me die, he said. What right did he have to change my whole life like he did?

Jesse was silent.

So many times I wished I could take my own life just to end the pain, Christian said. But I suppose it’s a good thing I can’t. That would condemn me even more in the eyes of God, wouldn’t it?

It would, Jesse replied softly. He gave you life for a reason.

Wonderful, Christian said, his sarcasm taking over. So I get to live in the middle of a battle with myself.

Not if you have the strength to choose one side or the other, Jesse said.

Oh, you mean, choose me over myself, Christian mocked him.

Something like that, Jesse replied, undaunted. It’s called making a decision.

How do I choose to stop being a vampire? Christian asked, his voice filled with anger and disbelief.

You can’t, Jesse said. But you can choose to stop wallowing in self pity for the things you have no control of. You can choose to start seeing the good things around you and allow yourself to enjoy them. You can also choose to be thankful for the chance to see things that no one else on earth today has seen.

I’m not the only vampire who’s seen what I’ve seen.

I know you’re not.

Christian looked at Jesse, then began to walk back into the cover of the garden foliage as two young men crossed the small bridge that spanned the short width of the river. He didn’t want them to overhear the nature of the discussion he and Jesse were having. Jesse followed only two steps behind him until they had reached a small lot in the center of the park where a wooden bench had been placed