Hera, Love & Revenge

Hera #01

"... Isn't it taking too long, sir?"

"She'll wake up soon… Isn't my daughter so pretty already?"

"Yes, yes..."

I hear someone chuckle, a deep voice. After a couple more seconds of struggling, I finally manage to open my eyes. Oh, crap, it's bright...

"Good morning, my Sleeping Beauty."

A silhouette appears above me, blocking the light. I blink a couple of times, trying to distinguish their facial features. A smile like a shark behind a grayish, perfectly combed beard, and two piercing, ice-cold blue eyes… Who is that? I can't help but blink repeatedly; my eyes are dry as hell. Where the heck am I? What's going on? I want to move, but my body's so damn heavy... What's that weird smell too? I try to move my head, look around. This place is so… white. All monochrome, white, and metal. Sanitized and cold like a hospital. No, wait. It looks like it must be cold, but I don't feel cold at all. Nor hot. Just… neutral. So weird…

I do feel something hard and sturdy underneath me. I'm not on a bed. A table?

"Can you hear us?"

I turn my head, finding another man on my right, seated and staring from behind his glasses. I do hear them. I want to answer, but… my throat hurts! It hurts so much, it's completely dry and scratchy. I want to talk, but I don't even know how to breathe! I can't feel any air moving through my lungs, my throat... I try to inhale, but it feels empty like my organs are moving for no reason.

"Answer us," the man insists. "Can you hear us?"

He's wearing a white coat and scrubs? I just nod by reflex.

"I... I-I do."

The air I finally feel seems so strange in my lungs and throat. My own voice sounds different. Deeper, raspier.

"Good."

"Give me your hand, dear," gently says the bearded one next to me. "Let's have you sit up first."

I feel his cold hand grabbing mine, and very gently, he helps me sit up. My body feels so heavy, I thought I'd get a bit dizzy or something, but there is none of that. Just some strange… nausea. I try to ignore it and sit up, only to finally realize exactly where I am...

"Is this a… mortuary?" I mutter, a bit confused.

I've never been in one, but there's no mistaking it. I've seen enough crime shows to know that. Those rows of chrome cupboards with numbers on them, and this aseptic, cold hospital atmosphere without any patients... I look down and notice I'm sitting on a silver table, like one that they put the bodies on, except that I'm very much awake and alive, and not naked or covered by just a sheet as I'd imagine a corpse would be. Instead, I'm actually wearing a long-sleeved black dress I've never seen before...

"What the..."

"Seems like you're a quick one," says the guy in the doctor's outfit. "Yes, this is a morgue. Your death was pronounced at 1:34 a.m., and it's now… 10:00 in the evening."

"My… death? But I'm not..."

"Oh, no, you're dead. According to human standards, you were dead the minute your heart stopped beating, although you were formally pronounced dead a few minutes later. But you did die after 1:00 a.m."

"This makes no sense," I mutter.

The man with the beard next to me has been smiling this whole time, staring at me like a proud father looking at his child, which seems incredibly strange given the situation. I don't understand anything that's going on. Not only do I feel… extremely weird, but those two are making it even more uncomfortable. There's a man in a white coat giving me a lecture about my supposed death right now, and another staring at me with… a creepy expression. What the heck is going on?

"How do you feel?" asks the creepy, smiling man.

I realize this guy's got a British accent... or is it Scottish? His blue eyes look as if he's scanning me. I slowly shake my head.

"Strange," I mutter. "My th-throat hurts like hell, and... I'm feeling somewhat sick. Nauseous. But... who the heck are you people?"

"My name is Richard," says the British man. "Richard Heartgraves."

"Ethan." The guy behind him waves with a bored expression.

Ethan adjusts his round glasses and turns around to grab a piece of paper from his desk, visibly unbothered. He has short curly hair and a two-day beard. I turn my eyes to Richard. I feel such a heavy… sensation toward him. As if I know him, like a long-lost parent. Have I met him before? Even if my mind wasn't so fuzzy, I don't think I could remember. No, I wouldn't have forgotten someone with such a strong… aura. I'm attracted to his eyes every time I try to look elsewhere. He dominates the room with that strange... heavy, dark aura around him. It's invisible, but it's impossible to ignore; it's suffocating. I feel like a defenseless child. If he wasn't gently holding my hand, I'd be terrified...

"You're going to feel sick for at least the next 48 hours," says Ethan, his eyes still on the paper. "It's just the beginning, but it should subside though. Eventually. Are you thirsty?"

"… My throat hurts," I groan.

I don't know if it's due to the thirst, but it feels as dry as sandpaper. Ethan moves and hands me a cup. It looks like… wine? It smells good and… appealing. Without thinking, I drink it and it's… strangely filling. It tastes vaguely familiar, a bit sweet and salty at the same time. I frown. The smell is… a bit off. Or perhaps because it's new. I drink, I keep drinking. No, I just can't stop myself. I push all my thoughts aside and drink more and more, unable to stop. The liquid's cold, but it's filling me and warming me up nicely. It's almost calming, but it's never enough. I want that feeling in my throat. It's the most delicious thing I've ever had... I feel like ten more of these wouldn't be enough... Soon enough though, I reach the end of the cup, the last drop. I feel a bit better, but… unsatisfied. I glare at the empty cup.

"… Good girl."

Richard takes the cup away from me before I can protest. Now that I've drank a little, I feel a bit better, but also… even more confused. He's clearly the man in charge, so I turn to him for answers. The nausea is getting worse, but I try to ignore it.

"What's… going on?" I mutter. "What happened?"

"Do you remember?"

He slowly rolls up my sleeve, revealing the blood-stained bandages around my wrists... I shiver. I remember. Vaguely, but I have a feeling. The pain, the loneliness. The rain against the windows, the neon lights from the billboards, and the darkness of my room… The bathtub overflowing, the lukewarm water, and that pain… The one in my chest, deeper and worse than the one dripping down my wrists… It's like a nightmare that haunts my mind. I start breathing heavily, erratically.

"I... I..."

That was no dream. I tried to kill myself. No... I f*****g did. I grab my other sleeve and find the same bandage, the same blood stains on the other side. Ice runs down my spine, making me shiver even more.

"Hera."

Richard suddenly caresses my cheek, forcing me to look into his blue eyes again. He smiles, with a hint of warmth, but more importantly, two visible fangs...

"Calm down, child," he mutters. "You will be alright. This is all over. You're mine now."

"W-what... What did you call me?"

He smiles even more, and I start to feel… sleepy. Why am I sleepy now? So suddenly. My head feels heavy...

"Sleep, my child," he whispers. "You'll feel better when you wake up again."

I have no choice but to obey. My whole self dives into sleep before I can resist it.

I wake up slowly, with no idea where I am, or how long I've slept... I'm not in a proper bed either, but leaning back in a comfy, leather armchair, a blanket covering me. There's a strange, heavy buzzing in the background. I grimace. I'm still feeling crappy, but it's a bit better... The ache in my throat is gone. I glance at the window next to me. It's night again... but this isn't a regular window. It's a plane window... and we're above the clouds too.

"Good evening, darling."

I turn my head. In the seat facing me is Richard Heartgraves again. He's looking at me with that smile, slowly swirling a glass of wine between his index finger and thumb.

"… Richard," I mutter. "Where… are we?"

"Somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean," he says, glancing outside. "We will land in London in a couple more hours."

"London?" I frown. "Why the hell–"

"Is there a problem?"

I can tell by his smile he knows there is one. I swallow down my protest. I guess I have a few bigger issues than going back to that city for now... I try to remember what happened. It still feels like I'm half in a dream or a weird daze. I look down to notice I'm still wearing the same black dress as before. It looks simple, but I can tell when a piece of fabric is expensive. That kind of embroidered top and lace isn't something you'd buy at any store. I glance around. This is definitely a private jet too... and while he's not wearing any jewelry, just a couple of old rings, Richard's suit looks brand new and tailored. Perhaps British. There's a cane with a golden pommel by his side too. The head is a roaring lion...

"... Who are you?" I finally ask. "Why... Why did you..."

I just have so many questions, and about as many wild guesses floating in my head...

"Why did you save me?" I mutter.

"I didn't." He smiles. "I only took you."

I guess that's one way of saying it, but he's obviously avoiding what I really mean... My eyes fall on his glass.

"That wasn't… wine that I drank earlier, was it?"

"No, darling. It was not."

Richard slowly stands up and goes to the mini bar, grabbing another glass. I didn't realize how tall he was before... It's not only his height; he's imposing. Square, broad shoulders, and a lean physique in his dark gray suit. Despite his grayish hair and beard, it's hard to pinpoint his age. I would guess in his fifties from his looks. In his nineties from the way he spoke. In his twenties from his sharp eyes... He pours a glass and turns around to hand it to me, but I hesitate. Before, I wasn't in my right mind, but...

"This time, it is wine, dear." He chuckles. "I promise."

I take it. I could use a sip of that right now, I guess... He sits back down, facing me.

"... Why are you taking me to London?" I ask the easiest question I can think of.

"Because you're officially dead, and you appearing in New York City would be quite troublesome at the moment. Your face is all over the media already, dear."

He suddenly takes out a tablet from the table next to him, handing it to me. I grimace. It's already open to the front page of a popular news journal, my face and name splattered all over it. Ugh, they had to take one of those horrible pictures from my previous movie promotions... I only need to read the first two lines, but the rest of the article is no news to me. My suicide is the main focus, with big words to make the death of a B-list celebrity more sensational than it has to be, and a tear-jerking paragraph about my short, pathetic life to grab the readers' attention. Of course, they probably mention my family too... They wouldn't miss the occasion. I check the date. How quickly did they manage to write this piece of crap that came out the next day? I nervously comb my hair back, a habit I wish I'd given up.

"So you know who I am..."

"Of course. I didn't pick you randomly. And it's who you were," he says. "You're not June Starr anymore."

"Then who... what am I?"

"You're a Heartgraves. Hera Heartgraves."

Hera... He called me that earlier. I’ve got a lot to say, but I'm somewhat… scared. Despite his gentle voice and expression, this man intimidates me to no end. Being alone with him in just one room is… suffocating. The morgue guy was avoiding even looking in his direction earlier too. I force myself to take a breath and take a sip of wine while I think about what to say next. It's definitely wine this time. The taste is... lighter and sweeter than I expected. Almost like I'm merely drinking some juice... no, grape-flavored water. I can't taste the alcohol either.

"... A lot of things will taste, smell, look, and feel different from now on," says Richard, as if he'd read my mind. "Don't worry. We will guide you through it."

"We?"

"It's not just me." He smiles. "That's why I'm taking you to London. Home. To your new home... and you do need to meet the rest of the family."

I want to ask, but a new wave of nausea suddenly makes me want to throw up that much-too-sweet wine. I grimace and turn around. Please don't throw up in a plane... and I certainly don't want to throw up in front of him. I spot a kraft bag on the side of my seat, and I can't hold it anymore. I throw up, all my dignity gone in loud and ugly sounds. Shit... It's like my stomach's trying to tap out. I feel even sicker, but at least my stomach feels better once it’s gone... I take a couple of seconds to catch my breath, and Richard hands me a handkerchief as if it was normal for him to hand me some expensive piece of silk to wipe my dirty mouth with. I take it reluctantly, trying to gather my composure.

"Your current state is normal," he says. "You'll be sick for a few more hours. Your body is adjusting to the transformation."

"Transformation into... what?"

He smiles.

"You already know," he whispers.

I think I know, but it's… terrifying to think about. Hell, just a while ago, I was ready to die. I actually did. I died. But now, I'm far above the Atlantic and stuck in between two continents in an expensive private jet with a terrifying, imposing man facing me, and even scarier changes happening to my body... I try to calm down, at least so I won't throw up again. I glance outside as if the darkness of the night sky would help me. After a few seconds, I turn back to Richard.

"Did you... turn me into a vampire?"

He doesn't answer, but his sinister smile tells me all I need to know.

So it's true…