Hitting Home

She looked slightly disappointed as the stake—she’d let go of it once she made contact—dropped to our feet. But what was key, she saw the small cut she’d made in my flesh heal itself almost before the stake hit the carpet. Looking into my eyes, winded, she asked, “What are you?”

It’s funny what kind of distractions can impose themselves on even the most bizarre circumstances, and I was momentarily reminded of the scene in The Princess Bride between Westley and Inigo and, though the original prompt is Who are you?, I was still tempted to respond to Jeanine, No one of consequence. But that would be a bald-faced lie, and she’d asked me to be honest. So all I did was smirk.

Suddenly, I found my feet once again swept out from under me. I’d seen it coming, but after Richard had done similarly, it seemed a good idea to analyze the vulnerability; I had only a split second to make a mental note of my position before she was kneeling over me, stake back in both hands, plunging it deep into my heart with all her weight behind her. Lying on top of me, nothing but an inch of wood between us, she growled, “Tell me everything.”

I’d known it would be extraordinarily painful when I first instructed her to do it, but I hadn’t wanted her to know that, lest it deter her from following through. The searing, burning ache that seemed to reach into my every nerve ending almost made me regret that decision, but honestly, there's no gentle way to drive a stake through a living person's chest. My breath too restricted for speech, I sputtered and gasped and held up a give me a minute finger, and Jeanine, shocked back into silence, readily slid off of me. I crawled to the mirror now leaning against the wall. I grasped the end of the stake and removed it slowly, waiting for the soft tissue to heal itself each millimeter of the way. Two ribs had gotten cracked in the process, and I’d have to bind my chest before going out to make sure they’d set properly in the next couple of days. When, finally, the full stake emerged and the last fold of skin closed up, I felt the air resume its unobstructed movement. I dropped back to the wall and gave myself time to recover myself fully.

Jeanine had moved nearer to watch. Her face communicated awe and a little surprise. She was probably unsure whether to be more amazed that she’d done it, stunned that I’d survived as I’d promised, or angry that it had taken much more out of me than I’d implied. She was entitled to all three, and I held out the stake, streaked with the same blood that had been taken by force from me twenty-four hours earlier. “That’s yours now,” I said a little weakly.