Dying is a non-factor to Vampires, it goes against our nature. Killing me would be an exercise in futility, a waste of both time and energy. No. They have far better ways to deal with creatures like myself. Any moment now, the lights will flicker on, followed by the tip tapping of Vincent's cane. The last sound I'll recall in the horrible moments of sanity, before my insanity washes over me, drowning me, sinking me deeper into the dark places.

"Jack."

Rufus musky scent drifts over to me, from across the dark room.

"Rufus, it's nice to... hear your voice again."

"So, you're not all gone then," he laughs

"You know me, stubborn till the end. Looks like you've still got a flair for the dramatic."

His silence unnerves me, I'm right. The time is nigh. Not long now and Hell will welcome me with open arms. Hell, masquerading behind the facade of decrepit ruins. Hermitage Castle. The place that our society uses to terrify us into obedience.

"Can't risk him watching. You know how suspicious Vincent is."

"And here was me thinking this was a romantic gesture. A confession of guy love."

"Enough, stop pretending."

"Careful Rufus, anyone would think that you're protesting too much."

Rufus' sigh floats across the room.

"For once, once in your life, be serious."

"What's the point? It's not like it'll bring my son back. Give me my wife back. Erase the past six months and wipe the slate clean."

Rufus is silent, he has no retort, no reply that can counter mine.

"I'll take my chances in Hermitage, It's better for everyone this way."

If it wasn't for the protection of the darkness, Rufus would see the tears in my eyes and on my cheeks. The trembling in my hands. Even now, after everything, he's still got my back.

"I've got to go, Vincent has demanded a vote on your situation. But know this Jack, this charade isn't fooling anyone, not for one second. I want you to remember ... you're not a monster."

Rufus exits the cell; the pleasantries are over. I can return to torturing myself. Replaying the events in my mind, time after time, Bloody Mary, Sunrise, Blackout, Dead kids. Bloody Mary, Sunrise, Blackout, Dead kids.

Repeating this mantra has possessed me, overwhelmed my sanity. And now even when I try not to think about it, it loops back round stronger than ever.

When I was still a part of the Supernatural Police Force, my brain would do this for cases, trying to unravel the puzzle and get to the truth, hidden within. The brain, logical to a fault is trying to work out the puzzle behind my situation.

It doesn't matter. I know the truth. I did it. I can tell. My mind and body haven't been their usually gloomy and miserable selves. The cravings have lessened, the cramps stopped.

For the first time in months, I have clarity. I'm standing in the eye of the storm, and this calm won't last. Soon, the cravings will come back tenfold, nourished by the dead children's blood.

Mankind claim to be sentient, this is a deception. The hard truth is this. Mankind is a beast, ridden by its needs and wants. Telling itself a grand deception. A lie to encourage the ever-nagging, self-entitled wants, and give them a reality.

Must feed, must sleep, must reproduce. The only difference between myself and mankind is that Death doesn't agree with me.

Closing my eyes for one second is all that bastard 'Sandman' needs to throw his junk in my eyes. When it begins, I'm always aware that it's not real, but dreams are the sinkholes of reality, the deepest and darkest chasms projected by our fears, hopes, and regrets. No matter how hard you struggle. You always drown. The dream consumes you, dulls your senses, and you roam the darkness, lost within the labyrinth. It defines you, becomes the pillar of your reality. And you follow it blindly, reacting how it wants you to, forgetting the world that came before.

The oppressing silence is heavy and over-bearing, the wet earth sinks beneath my feet as I struggle in the newfound quagmire of mud, the mist is rolling over the hills, approaching, blanketing and obscuring all in its path. The blackbirds are singing from their perch on the church steeple.

This is Jonathan's grave - his final resting place. The six feet of soil housing his rotting flesh. A thick granite headstone overflowing with shrubbery marks the spot of reminiscence and grief. A parent can do anything for their child, anything but resurrect them from death. Roses and orchids are placed on the headstone but just like my son, they too are wilted, rotting. The clouds have darkened and swelled. Any second now, a deluge of rain will break free, and the downpour will begin. Like me, the rain will fall.

This rain never falls completely, always stopping inches from the earth, defiant to its true nature, its singular purpose. It stops, and the noise begins. The drumming, growing louder and louder, with each cycle, until its loud enough to deafen, to madden.

Dropping to my knees in the mud of my sons grave, and looking heavenward, tears cascade from me, as the hatred, guilt, and pent-up rage, explode to the surface. Cursing myself, I collapse into the mud, my fingers resting on his grave. The ground trembles, once, twice, each tremble below is mirrored, reflected in the skies, a thunderclap, schisms the heavens. A battleground, war of lightning. The drumming ceases to disturb me, instead, it fills my aching heart with hope.

Jonathon is long dead, I know it, it's undeniable, but knowledge and belief have their own gravity. Before I understand what the fuck I'm doing, I'm digging into the earth with frenzy, mud flinging every which way, covering me, painting me. Deeper and deeper, I burrow. Using the grief, and the rage, to fuel me, to hasten me. As the sun sinks, and the moon rises to its zenith, I'm still digging. Encouraged, guided and driven, by the pulsating earth beneath me.

Crack. My fingers rebound off the casket, and I stop. Placing my hand on the coffin.

Thump.

I scream, jumping back, my heart pounding.

Thump, thump, thump.

"Jonathon?"

Thump, thump, thump.

Smiling, like the fool that I am, I lean over the coffin and punch through the lid. The wood splinters and cracks before my might. Tearing at the wooden remnants, I'm eager to see my boy again. It never occurs to me to question my situation.

"I'm here Son."

His head rises through the crack in the coffin.

"Jonathon," I scoop him up into my arms. Squeezing him with all the love my heart can muster, smelling his hair, utterly lost in the bliss of it all.

"Jack."

Hearing that voice makes me recoil, I drop him, and jump back, all thoughts of parentage obliterated and abandoned.

The voice is cold, raspy, and isn't my son in the slightest. Its ancient, cruel, and calculating all at once.

He levitates from the ground, a few inches, looming and threatening. My stomach twists and turns into a tight knot just being near the thing masquerading as my son.

It has no eyes, only rotting holes where its eyes should be.

It smiles at me, gliding inches above the thick mist. Its shadow growing and consuming the land.

"Dad? What's wrong?" It asks creeping closer to me.

"Get back!"

"I've missed you, father. I was lost in the dark and cold. I found my way back. I've come home."

Snakes slither out of the holes were its eyes should be and drop to the ground, rotting the ground where they lay.

"You're not my son. Stop pretending!"

Its harrowing laughter covers my skin in goose-flesh.

"Dad, I can prove it, here."

It mocks, slicing its skin open with its rotten nails, black blood trickles down its arm, as it holds its bleeding arm up to me.

"I taste the same. Come and drink from your son."

"I'm sorry." I plead, stricken by this brutal reminder of my sins.

"You're not sorry, not yet. You soon will be. Dead children tell no tales, Jack."

The creature lunges at me. Clawing into my shoulders, its gangrenous nails, slicing my flesh to ribbons, fire consuming my being. Violently, it shakes me, digging deeper, its nails sinking into my collar-bone. Repeating my name, over-and-over-again. Louder, and more beastlike, with each repetition.

"Jack!"

Closing my eyes, not looking into its hollow eyes as my bones crack beneath its might and it throws me like a rag-doll. I'm falling, the rain falls, and I follow. I'm falling deeper and deeper, waiting for the expected crash.

"Jack..."

My head recoils backward from an unknown force. To find out what the fuck is happening, my eyes open and wince as the blinding light burns my retinas. Slowly, the light fades, and Kali stares back at me.

"Jack." She sighs. As I place my hands on the bars of the cell, reaching out to her, still possessed by the dream.

"It's time."

A stray tear rolls down her cheek, and I hold her hand.

"I'm ready."

Kali clenches her jaw, her eyes harden, and she turns her back to me, as the tip tapping of the cane advances to me.