vd chapter one

8/2/2019 VD Chapter One

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VAMPIRE DREAMS

JACKSON PORTER


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PRELUDE

His name was Vronde, and the shadow of his burly, aged figure stretched out far behind him,

disappearing after a small, grassy hill that could be seen in the distance. The sun was low in the

sky, whether it was setting or rising neither Vronde nor the man just appearing from within the

forest knew, for it did not matter to either of them.

Both men stood in a wavy, green field that seemed to have no end. The branches of the

giant, majestic trees swayed in the wind, sending hundreds of leaves fluttering to the ground. It

was fall, and the weather was a bit chilly, but it seemed as if both men did not feel the cold. Their

gazes were locked on each other as if they were both expecting the other to do something

dangerous, something stupid.

It was the unnamed man, the man who had just appeared from the forest moments ago,

who spoke first. His voice was deep, and even though he whispered when he talked, Vronde

could hear him as clearly as if he were speaking into his ear. What you intend to do, Vronde, is

foolish.

Vronde, his red eyes gleaming with joy and anticipation, in his voice that seemed to be

one with the wind, conveyed in a powerful tone, You are foolish! You are blinded by those

irrelevant stirrings you call feelings! We were made to rule, not to dwindle into a secret race,

hidden from the world because of fear!

The man unclenched his fists as the wind began to whip wildly, exhaustion from his lifes

events finally racing upon him. He did not have the energy to fight Vronde, he knew that much,

so he continued to talk, hoping that he could hold Vronde off for just another few moments.


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How can you kill so mercilessly? So many have fallen under your bite, so many have

perished by your hand, and yet you stand upon that hill as if you have done nothing wrong! How

is it that you feel nothing Vronde? How is it so?

Vronde chuckled; the sound of it made the man shiver. We have no choice. We can do

nothing about it; therefore, it is right to kill. We die if we do not thrive on their blood; therefore,

it is not wrong that we murder. We were created like this, he patted his own body, for two

simple reasons: to destroy and conquer.

It is not right, the man said simply, bowing his head. It is not right.

You cannot stop me, none of you can. I am much too powerful and all of you know it!

You are right, the man replied, we cannot stop you. We cannot do anything about this.

But I am not going to sleep another night knowing that you are out there destroying innocent

lives. I may not posses the ability to decimate you, Vronde, but I do have the capability to

imprison you.

And out of the forest came hundreds of men, all of them pale, all of them with dark eyes,

all of them invincible. They ran at Vronde with a determination stronger than any other that had

ever been, and they raced into the battle, with their fists raised, their fangs grown, and their

strength improved.

And Vronde, knowing it was the end of his time, pulled a small vile full of white flakes

from his pocket and hurled it onto the ground. And the grass and the leaves burst into flames, and

as the field and the forest burned he yelled out eleven words: Long live the Vampires, for one

day we will rule all!


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PART ONE


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CHAPTER ONE - EMMET DAGNIL:

THE CRIMSON TRAIL

I am in a black room, I can see nothing.

The scariest part about being here is the fact that I cant even see myself. I

always thought that being able to turn invisible would be the coolest thing ever,

but as I stand here, in this dark, empty room I cant help but think that maybe it

wouldnt be the coolest thing ever, theres just something not right about not being

able to see your own body.

Pushing the thought out of my mind, I reach out with my right hand.

Somehow I know that theres a door in front of me, and even when my fingers

connect with the handle and I pull at the knob Im not surprised.

Something is off, but I cant put my finger on it.

I was hoping that when the door opened itd shed some light on the room

Im in, but it doesnt. Everything is still as black as a starless, moonless night. I

step into the new room, searching for a light switch on the either wall but I come

up with nothing.

A feeling arouses in my gut and I shut the door and begin to travel to the

other side of the room. Im scared, not of the dark but of the strangeness that

surrounds this place. Everything still seems wrong and out of order, and yet I

dont know what it is. So, when I reach the door Im not surprised to find, I shove

it open and I am greeted with light. It is a plain room. Peeling green paint

blankets the walls, flakes of it falling to the worn, wooden floorboards every


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minute or so. One featureless window is on the north side of the room. The moon

is close tonight, and its light is what illuminates this chamber.

None of this catches my attention though. It is the old man standing in the

middle of the room that does. His long silver hair is combed back on his head and

stretches to his broad, built shoulders. His pale skin is pulled across his face,

making his cheekbones prominent. His eyes are wide open, unblinking, black

irises glued on me. His thin lips are stretched into a long frown that holds

absolutely no emotion at all. I am uneasy at the sight of this old man, and I take

two steps backwards.

He says nothing.

I wave, hoping it will result in some kind of reaction from him.

He does nothing.

Hi. Im...Im Emmet. I begin walking towards him but halfway there I

am hit so hard with fear that I cannot continue forward. I fall to my butt, bracing

my fall with my hands.

The man just stares, unmoving.

I slide back against the wall and hug my knees to my chest. Who are

you? I whisper under my heavy breathing.

The man still does nothing.

I begin inching towards the door. He watches me the whole way. When I

come to the door I reach up for the handle but pull back quickly when the old man

raises his hand and points at me with one long, bony finger.


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Who are you? I ask again. He doesnt respond. Just like the rooms Ive

been in something about the man is off. I jump to my feet and fling the door open,

but I am suddenly ripped from the ground and thrown against the north wall. For

a full three seconds I stick against the wall; then, I drop to the floor.

I look at the old man, stand up, and raise my fists in the boxing position.

His whole body has turned so he is facing me, but his arm is now resting by his

side. I glance at the door - it shuts with abang!

Who are you? I dont know how Im managing to keep myself under

control. Whoever this man is hes powerful...supernaturally powerful, and theres

no way out of this building.

How do I know that? I think. How do I know theres no way out of this

building?

I look around the room again, and at the man, and I realize that its

familiar, Ive been here before, I just cant remember when. I think harder, hoping

to find something, anything in the folds of my thoughts, but the only thing there is

the small sense of familiarity.

Where am I? No response. Who are you? Still no response. I bolt

towards the door. He points at me and I am flying through the air once more.

SMASH!I can feel the wall crack under the pressure of my weight and I grimace

in pain when I slam face-down on the splintery floorboards.

I wipe the blood from my lip and roll onto my side. The old man is walking

towards me slowly, continuing to stare. Who are you? I manage even though I


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know its pointless. When all I can see are his shoes, he reaches down and picks

me up as if I weigh no more than a feather.

Who are you? My voice is groggy and my vision is blurring. I must have

hit the wall really hard.

He sits me down in the middle of the room, where he had been standing

when I had come in; then, he points to the wall he had thrown me against. For a

full half minute there is no sound, and then the walls begin to separate and swing

inward. Thats when I realize it isnt a wall, its a door! And it wasnt the wall I

had heard crack, it had been the locks. The deadbolts on the door had broken.

When the doors have opened all the way I peer into the room. I manage to

catch a glimpse of two small figures stalking towards me before I pass out.

I jolt out of bed, my whole body springing into a sitting position. The blankets covering me float

in the air for a moment, allowing a blast of cold air to cool my sweaty body. I look around my

room, taking a few seconds to recuperate from the nightmare.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream....

I sigh loudly, relieved that it hadnt been reality, and crawl out of bed.

My name is Emmet James Dagnil, Im seventeen years old, and Ive been having that

nightmare for a full year now. Im six feet tall, I have dark black hair, green eyes, and a six pack

that usually sweats.

...okay, that ones a lie; it doesnt always sweat!


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My hobbies mostly consist of stories, such as writing, or reading, or drawing. Sometimes

I write music, but thats only on a rare occasion. I guess I can thank my mom for my hobbies,

shes a New York Timesbestselling author and she introduced me to the book world. In fact, a

movie based on her book is coming out in a few weeks.

We live in the District of Columbia - Fairfax Village to be exact. Our house was built on

top of a giant hill next to the Fendants home. We, including the Fendants, are the only ones who

live on this hill. To the east, west, and north lies Fairfax Village, a city thriving with American

citizens. But to the south lies a forest, a large one with a diameter of about ten miles in length

and width. I used to play in that forest when I was a kid, but now I stay clear away from it

because of the thing that took place three years ago.

Yeah, the thing. The thing nobody talks about. Its a touchy subject to say the least. I still

remember the day it happened. It had been raining...

Emmet. Ryan Fendant was standing in the doorway of my home. He was a

smaller kid with big eyes and short, blond hair. He didnt say much, and when he

did he spoke quietly.

Yeah? I said precariously. We werent the best of friends, we never

really had been, but after his girlfriend had been...murdered, he had started

pushing everybody away and he had turned into sort of a jerk. I dont really blame

him, though.

Its...uh...its my dad.

Yeah? I asked, tilting my head forward in order to hear him.


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My dad. Hes...hes missing.

I snatched my jacket off the coat rack and bolted out the front door, past

Ryan, and to the Fendants home. Police sirens and helicopters could be heard a

few miles off, heading in our direction.

Kristen screamed out my name when I bursted through the front door of

their home. She wrapped me in a hug, her thick, black hair enveloping me and

filling my nose with a calming, good scent. Emmet, she said again. I hugged

her back and looked over her shoulder at her family. Ashley, the mother, was

standing in the middle of the room, pulling on her jacket. Chad was in the kitchen

on the phone with somebody, talking in a hurried tone. Sarah was rummaging

through the many drawers in their home, searching frantically for something. I

couldnt see Bobby anywhere.

Whats going on? I asked nervously. Baron, their dad, was like a second

father to me. I was like his fourth son.

He went for a hike. Its been four hours. He said hed be back in an

hour, Ashley murmured. Her eyes were wide with fear, and her mouth quivered

when she spoke. She was scared. She was really scared.

I pulled out of Kristens hug. Search and rescue? I asked her.

Theyre on their way. Oh, Emmet, Im so scared. She tightened her hold

on me.


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Chad slammed the phone back down on its hook and wheeled over to me. I

never asked about what had accident put him in a wheelchair, that was a touchy

subject. Everyones on their way.

Sarah yelped in victory and ran out of the kitchen, through the living

room, and out the front door without so much as a word spoken.

Sarah! Ashley called, following her out of the house.

She found the flashlight, shes going to look for him, Kristen explained.

For a moment no words were spoken, and then Chad swore and wheeled

back to the phone.

And hes frustrated he cant help search.

I nodded in understanding. I feel bad.

So do I.

The blare of the sirens and the stroke of the helicopter blades continued to

crescendo in unison. They were close, probably half a mile from the hill.

My names Chad Fendant. I just called. Yes, we know theyre coming. Im

in a wheelchair. I want to help search. I could hear a small squabble from the

lady on the other end of the phone. No. Hes lost in the woods. Cars cant drive

in the woods! The lady continued speaking. Send down another helicopter. We

live in Washington D.C. for- Silence. Yes. Thank you! Thank you. He hung up

and wheeled over to us.

Theyre sending in another helicopter. How many are they sending in

already?


12/22

Three. Thisll make four, Kristen said.

Im sorry Chad. Well do everything we can.

He looked at us and raised his eyebrows. Im sure you will, he said in a

spiteful tone. Then he rolled himself out the open front door after his mother and

sister.

It took me a moment to figure out what he had been talking about, and

when I tightened my hug on Kristen I realized what.

Kristen, I said. We should probably go help look.

She whispered a yeah and pulled away from me. Yeah, we probably

should.

The memory begins swirling in a vortex of colors; then, fades away and I am again looking at

myself in the mirror. I sigh deeply and begin to get ready for the day.

After showering, brushing my teeth, doing my hair, and dressing up in a classic summer

day outfit - white t-shirt, black shorts, and comfortable, basketball sneakers - I descend down the

stairs to the breakfast my mother has prepared. Four slices of french toast glazed over in

strawberry syrup is stacked onto a plate in front of my chair. Yes, my chair. Since neither my

father, mother, or I can agree on the most comfortable breakfast/dinner chair we all went out and

bought our own. Mine is a brown, padded, spinning chair supported by four, wheel-less metal

legs. My mothers is a hand-carved, wooden vintage chair that looks like it came out of the

1850s. And my dads is an everyday office chair. Black pleather with a high back-rest. Yeah,

were weird like that.


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After glancing left, right, and left again, making sure that no one is around, I tiptoe over

to my plate of food, snatch up the metal fork lying by the side of it, and stab it into my wonderful

breakfast. I eat, snarfing down the food as quickly as possible, and, when I am done, I wash the

syrup from the plate and dump it in the dishwasher along with the fork.

I search our house for my mother, if shes still asleep then Ill write her a note that Im

going out, and if shes not, well...Ill write her a note that Im going out anyway. If you knew my

mother youd notice that shes the one who decorates our house the minute you walk through the

wooden-style door. The carpet is old, the walls have a light brown, hideous drape-like designed

wallpaper pasted onto them, and the furniture looks like it came out of the 1850s. Oh, yeah, all

the furniture actually did come from the 1850s. The house is vintage in itself. And if you havent

caught on by now, my mother is literally obsessed with the 1850s. She dresses in those old,

hoop-skirt dressed with big, white truffles at the end and a ridiculously enormous bow thats

wrapped around the waist and tied at the back to bring out the womans slender figure. Somedays

she wears bonnets, other days she wears her black hair loose, allowing it to flow down the back

of her neck until it stops at the edge of her shoulder blades.

I may sound annoyed at my mom for the way she lives, but Im not. I adore my mom.

Shes hilarious, she always makes references to horror movies - surprisingly shes interested in

scary films, she loves the 1850s but you cant get her to sit through anything but a horror movie

- and shes possibly one of the most fun people Ive ever met. Shes a smaller lady, and looks

much smaller than she actually is when standing next to my dad. The feature she has that people

usually notice first is her green eyes. Her bright, green eyes that are my earliest memory and

what she claims can light up the darkest of rooms. Yes, her eyes are thatgreen.


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Anyway, our house is three levels: the basement which none of us ever go down in; the

main floor that includes the living room - with the mini-organ/piano that scares the hell out of me

every time someone pounds on the keys - the kitchen, the TV room, one bathroom, and the

dining room; and the upper floor which includes my bedroom and bathroom, the guest room, my

parents room, and the junk room that we throw all of our memorable/useless belongings in to

(hopefully one day we will clean this out, though Im trying to convince my parents just to burn

it, theres no way wed ever be able to sort through that mess).

After Ive searched each of the floors I go back to my room for pen and paper. In there, I

open my desk drawer and pull out a Sharpie and notebook paper from my Choir binder from two

years ago. On the paper I write,

Going out, call me when you get back from wherever you went. Love you!

-emmet

then fold it in half. I cross over to my bed and snatch my keys and cellphone off my nightstand-

littered-with-books.

As Im about to leave I notice a red stain on my pillowcase. After closer inspection I

conclude that its blood, for its dry and looks like it could be easily wiped off. My mind

immediately jumps to the conclusion that its blood from my split lip I acquired in my dream, but

I remind myself that thats impossible. Ever since I was a kid Ive randomly broken out in nose-

bleeds. Id be sitting in the middle of a math test and blood would drip from my nose onto my

paper. Id be playing basketball with some friends and my nose would spurt out a fountain of red


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liquid. I must have started bleeding during the night and not noticed. It doesnt make much sense

because I think I would have noticed if I had had a bloody nose when I looked into the mirror

this morning, but I didnt have a split lip either, so who knows where the blood came from.

Maybe it was old blood from like, a week ago, and I never noticed it till now.

I flip my pillow over, hoping my mom wont notice, and leave my room. I place the note

on the counter, turn off my phone, and walk out of the house toward the driveway. Normally Id

be parked on the curb and my dad would be on the right side, out of the way of the garage,

parked under the basketball hoop, but not today. My dad, for the whole month of July, and very

much against his discretion, had to attend a vehicle conference over in California somewhere.

The conference only lasts a week, but his bosses bosses boss wanted him to spend the

remaining few weeks in the month with him, so they could attend meetings and discuss the new

division theyre planning to build down in Florida. My dad is the sales-boss over some type of

Ford engine company that runs in thirty-six states of America. Hes not gone for work that much

because he usually works out of the house, so he was really annoyed when he found out that he

was going to be gone for a whole month. But he didnt complain, well, not verbally, because he

gets payed a lot of money for what he does, and hes in a stable work environment. You really

couldnt ask for more. Anyway, the minute after we got back home from dropping him off at the

airport, I backed his car out of the driveway and parked it in what he calls Emmets designated

parking space, and parked my car in what he calls Brads designated parking space. My mom

only rolled her eyes at me and laughed. I yelled back at her, not in anger but in excitement, that

she parked in the garage, so she would have no idea how much it sucked to park on the curb

every night!


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I hop in my car, start it up, back out of the driveway, and drive down the hill towards the

bookstore. A cute girl by the name of Katherine Goldfish (I know, what an awesome last name!)

works there, and she works on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Saturday mornings.

Todays Saturday. Todays going to be the day I make my move.

The bookstore is located on the other end of the highway, and so I flip on my blinker and

pull out onto the road. A car honks at me for absolutely no reason at all, and I sigh in disbelief

and switch to the middle lane.

Some people... I turn on the radio and Karma Chameleon by the Culture Club blasts

through my speakers.

We come and go...

You come and go...

I turn it down and focus my attention back on the road. Its a busy day. Well, busy for

Saturday. Washington D.C. is always packed with tourists, and for some reason a lot of them like

to clump together in the middle of Fairfax Village. I hate taking the highway specifically for the

trafficking and tourist reasons.

Eventually I steer into the parking lot of the bookstore and park my car right next to

Katherines. She owns some type of Volvo. Not a super nice one, just a normal looking one. Im

not much into cars, so I have no idea if it even is a Volvo. It just sounds like something an

extremely attractive girl like Katherine would drive. On the other hand I own a yellow Mustang,

or so my dad told me. An 05 Mustang. It runs well, its speakers are good, and I cant really

complain about the interior because theres nothing to complain about. Its overall a nice car.


17/22

I lock my car, shut the door and proceed to the bookstore. Many cars are parked here

today, a lot more than there usually are. I figure out why when I walk through the doors. A life-

size cardboard cutout of a tall, lanky author by the name of Eric Robinson holding a sign that

says Ill be signing on the 5th. Come and say hi! has been positioned in the corner in such a

way that its the first thing you see when you walk through the doors. I let out a little yelp,

startled by the cardboard man.

I enter through the second set of doors and am greeted with a mans voice calmly flowing

out of every speaker in the building. He must be in the back of the building, because theres

nobody around here, up front.

Its not so much that I come up with the ideas than I am inspired. Ideas never come to

me over a long period of time, they come instantaneously, without warning, like a sudden white

flash that pushes away all other thoughts and obsessions and interests out of the way and takes

over my mind. This idea simmers at the top of my head for a few weeks, waiting impatiently for

the moment it will be taken to the paper. Meanwhile, as I continue on with my life, my

subconscious perceives the world around me, and begins creating the world of the idea at the top

of my head. And that, sir, is how I come up with my ideas for books.

I nod in agreement even though no one can see me. Thats when I notice the silver-haired

man shuffling through the fantasy section. I cant see his face, just the back of his head, but he

appears to be rather tall and muscular.

Something pulls at the back of my memory.

Hello, Em.


18/22

Katherine steps into my path of vision, her silky blonde hair weaved together in the best

french braid Ive ever seen. Her grey eyes stare up at me, sparkling in the light of the bookstore.

Shes beautiful. Its the only word that comes to my mind right now. And she smells of peaches.

Katherine! I exclaim, throwing my hands up in the air. What a surprise? I wink at her

and touch her shoulder.

She giggles. Yeah, sure. So, Em, what brings you here today? Did you come to see

Robinson, because, if so, hes in the back. And if you came for the Kiddie Read-Along that

doesnt start for another few hours. Following my fashion she winks; then, smiles wide,

revealing gleaming, perfectly white teeth.

Right now I feel like the creepiest person on the planet.Her teeth?! Seriously, Emmet?!

Ha! No, I came to get a few new books. Im not looking for anything specifically, just

something thats good and interesting. Mind helping me look?

Her smile widens and I have the sudden, strong urge to kiss her. She grabs my wrist, and

I want to hold her hand, and she drags me to the middle of the bookstore, in the romance section.

To tell the truth romance books are my favorite type of books. They have the simplest most

heart-warming stories to tell and they do it the best out of any other genre...except maybe

romance/political thrillers, because political thrillers can have really awesome romances.

She pulls some book with bright colors and a fancy illustration on the cover off the

bottom shelf and holds it up to me. Our eyes meet, and, her hand still on my wrist, I take a step

closer to her.

Katherine, I know we dont know each other very well, but I just wanted to ask you-


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She places the book against my lips and her hand slips down from my wrist to the tips of

my fingers. A flurry of emotion shoots through me and I take a deep, unsteady breath. Yes, I

will go out with you tonight. Pick me up here at eight. Surprise me! She laughs a small laugh,

places the book in my hands, and skips down the aisle, leaving me to ponder the ideas for the

date we have tonight.

My hand had accumulated at least a gallon of sweat from gripping the flashlight

so hard. Kristen and I, after pulling away from our hug, had grabbed a couple of

flashlights, gotten serious directions from a Search and Rescue officer, and taken

off into the forest. We werent that far from the hill, but I didnt recognize the place

we were in, which scared me.

Emmet, Kristen whispered. Please tell me were not lost.

Were not lost.

Are you sure? she asked with a shaky voice.

Yes, Kristen, Im sure. Look up into the sky. You see those lights. She

looked up. See? Those are other police officers flashlights. If you listen closely

you can hear the dogs, and the helicopters will be above us in a matter of

minutes.

Okay, Emmet.

We passed a big oak tree I remembered sleeping under when I was ten,

and I pointed it out to Kristen. He cant be too far. Hes an experienced hiker, so

he knows if he gets lost to stay in one place and yell until people find him.


20/22

Then why cant we hear yelling?

Maybe hes asleep, I comforted her. And to myself, Maybe he continued

hiking, or worse, maybe hes dead!I didnt let the image of him lying bloody in a

meadow enter my mind. I needed a motive to keep going.

We had only traveled half a mile, and already the forest was becoming

thicker and darker. It worried me, that maybe we could get lost, but I didnt let

that image enter my thoughts either. I needed to keep moving.

FENDANT! I yelled. FENDANT!

DAD! Kristen screamed. DADDY!

FENDANT!

We continued half-walking, half-running through the forest while yelling

for him. It had been a couple of hours since we left the hill at least, and the

terrain in that part of the forest was vicious, and made it difficult to travel. I

checked the pedometer the police officer had given me, it read 6,000 feet. We had

only traveled a little over a mile. Hopefully everybody else was making much

more progress than we were.

Emmet! Kristen screamed. I jumped and spun around to look at her.

Emmet, do you see that?

I looked in the direction she was pointing and, in the underbrush a few

yards away, I saw glowing red eyes staring up at me. My first thought was that it

was a wolf, but wolves have yellow eyes, so that wouldnt make any sense.

What do you think it is? she asked.


21/22

I dont know, I answered back. Stay here. I pulled out the hunting

knife I had taken from the Fendants home and began sauntering toward the

creature slowly. It didnt move, it didnt make a sound. It was dead.

I think its dead, I whispered over my shoulder.

I stepped closer to the glowing eyes and it came into sight. It was the body

of a cougar. The thing was lying on its side, its chin resting on the ground, its eyes

open. I examined it, shining my flashlight up and down its body, until my eyes

found the bleeding wound on its neck. From here it looked like a bullet hole, but I

couldnt be too sure.

Kristen, come here, youve gotta see this.

Its a cougar, she said excitedly.

And its dead. Hunting is illegal here. Whoever shot it must have had

reason to do so. Does your dad carry a gun with him when he hikes?

Uh, I dont think so. He might. I wouldnt know, though. I never went

hiking with him.

Okay. Um, anyway, well tell them about the cougar when we get back.

Lets keep looking. As I turned away the light from my flashlight glinted off

something a few yards away from the cougar. I squinted my eyes, trying to get a

closer look at whatever was on the ground.

It was liquid.

And then I realized it was blood.


22/22

Stay here, I ordered her again. I jumped over the cougars body and ran

to the pool of blood on the ground. It wasnt the cougars. The path of blood led

away from the animal.

No. I said as the fear settled into my chest. No.

I slowly lifted my flashlight from the red puddle, following the crimson

trail until it came to an end at a dark heap lying on the ground. A bullet of

adrenaline shot through me and I ran forward, tears already spilling down my

face.

The dark heap was a body, that much I could tell before I reached it. I

dropped to my knees behind the human, and rolled him over onto his back.

The very small moonlight that illuminated the forest in those parts was

enough for me to make out the mans features. It was Baron Fendant. He was

dead.

Emmet. Whats going on over there? Kristens voice was a dull buzz, I

could barely understand her. I took the flare gun from my jacket pocket, pointed it

into the air. I breathed once, twice; then, pulled the trigger.

Above me the red flare seemed to become one with the stars.

Below me Baron Fendant gazed up into the night sky. And even though I

knew he could see nothing, I imagined he could. Because, for me, that was

enough.

That was enough....

vd chapter one

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