Chapter 9: Ending Things with Jonathan

It started with harassment.

Harley found a place for herself pretty quickly after Jonathan attacked her with the wooden stake. It wasn't much, but it was hers. She'd started working to establish herself, trying to find where the best place to sate her hunger might be, and arranging things to make sure she wouldn't have to deal with a struggle.

It took a few weeks, but eventually she started to feel like she had her own life again, like she was in charge of herself. She was still learning what she could do and what it cost her to do it. The more she used her vampiric abilities, the more often she needed to feed. It was just about finding a balance for herself.

She felt good, like she was finally getting her life together, something that hadn't happened before her death. She was away from him, away from his crazy games and his insistence on power dynamics. She could learn to be herself, to be an immortal in an ever changing world without constant worry that her creator might decide to attack her again.

But then he did. It started with leaving letters on the door to her apartment. At first, they were taped there with duct tape, simple but threatening notes that told her that he knew where she was. Then they became possessive, reminding her that she belonged to him.

For a time, he tried to be nice in his notes. He told her that he missed her. That he was proud of her for showing that she could handle life on her own.

Then he tried telling her there was so much she still didn't know.

He warned her to be careful.

Then he started offering help. He reminded her that his phone was always on, and that she could call him.

She ignored him.

Weeks turned into months, and the notes stopped showing up taped to her door. He slipped some underneath her door or sent them to her through the mail. Then he left a letter inside her locked mailbox. A letter without a stamp and without an address.

The letter said, “I can still reach you.”

As if that wasn't threatening enough, he started delivering pictures. Of her. Walking down the street, talking to her neighbors, and even just sitting in her new apartment and watching television.

But when he delivered a wooden stake to her apartment, when she came home and found it sitting on the bed she’d set up inside the walk-in closet – far from any windows – that was the final straw.

She had the stake in her hand when she called him.

“Harley, is that you?” he asked. “It's been so long, I barely recognize your voice.”

“It's been six months,” she said, her voice flat, determined not to be pulled into his game. “I got your present.”

“It was a reminder of your lesson,” he said. “The one that I never got to finish. I'm just thinking of your protection. You need to know how these things work. I don't want you panicking, should the worst ever happen.”

She took a deep breath and lied to him as her resolve formed. “I know,” she said. “I appreciate that you're always trying to look out for me. I'm just scared at the idea of it.”

“That's understandable,” he said, thinking he had her, or that she was on his hook at the very least. “But that's just my point. You need to know what can happen, and you need to know what it feels like. The last thing I want is for you to be surprised when something like that happens. What if you panic and end up destroying yourself? That's the last thing I want.”

“I know,” she said. “You've got my best interest at heart.”

“Of course I do, of course,” he said, not even taking the chance to make a quip about her heart. “I only want what's best for you. I want you to be safe. I want you to thrive, like all my children.”

Jonathan didn't often talk about the others he'd turned. She'd managed to get a few nuggets of truth from him over the three years she'd spent by his side.

His other children, as he called them, were out in the world living their lives. That's what he said. But when she'd tried to look them up, tried to get in contact with them, she'd found that most of them didn't exist anymore.

It gave her an idea of how old he was; there were some who he’d turned who had been dead for a hundred years or more. There were some who’d been historical figures that he had turned in order to be with them forever.

But none of his forevers seemed to last very long. Whether they were killed, escaped, or whether the separations were amicable, Harley couldn't find any evidence of Jonathan turning someone and still being in touch with them after a decade.

And that wasn't even counting the 'failed' children he'd had. She'd found evidence among his things, read his diaries, and discovered at least eight different people – all women – who had been turned, but who’d failed his training. People he had killed because they didn't 'have the stomach for immortality'. And the more she’d learned, the more certain she had been that leaving him was her only option.

But she was gone, and he was talking to her again. He was trying to help. Or, at least, he was pretending to. How many had he lured back to his side, only to kill them when he became convinced that they would leave again?

How likely was it that he was trying to do the exact same thing again?

“I'm doing just fine on my own,” she'd said. “You should know, since you've been inside my apartment.”

“You're living in squalor,” he said, his voice sounding truly concerned. “You deserve more. I can give you money if that would help. I've had time to grow investments, but you are young still. I can teach you how to make sure that money is never something to worry about. I can help you make sure that your life will be happy and that you will want for nothing.”

“That's sweet of you,” she'd said.

“And I promise, I won't try to stake you again until you're truly ready for it. Maybe we will find someone else, and I can demonstrate on them so that you don't even have to feel the pain.”

“Is that why you left the stake on my bed?”

“It's a promise,” he said. “A promise that I won't try to force that, or anything else, onto you.”

She didn't believe him for a second. But she needed him to think that she did.

“And if I told you that I just want time to myself? If I asked you to give me, say, a decade, to learn on my own? A decade during which you leave me completely alone. Could you do that?”

“It seems like a waste of time to me,” he'd said. “All that you could learn in ten years, I could teach you in one. Why not let me teach you, and then you can have all of eternity to live your life? Wouldn't that be better?”

She knew from the tone of his voice that he would never leave her alone. If she wanted to escape, she had to really get away from him. And maybe the only way to do that was to buy herself the time she needed for a fresh start. To buy herself the time she needed to truly disappear.

“I suppose,” she'd said. “I mean, that does make sense.” She'd sighed, internally yelling at herself for her poor acting. “Fine. I'll come back. Are you still in the same place?”

“Of course,” he'd said. “My home is your home, and it waits upon your return. Will you be back tonight, or do I have to wait until tomorrow?”

“I'll be there soon,” she'd said. “No need to wait. Let's not put things off.”

He hadn't understood what she'd meant. He thought he had her convinced. She could hear the smile in his voice. “Excellent, my dear. I'll be waiting.”