Gutshot Gauthier #2 — Tales from the Rails
The withered man clung to my shoulder as I helped him across the threshold of my home.
“Sebastien,” I called. The house was quiet. The darkness outside poured in through the windows with no candlelight to challenge it. My maidservant had been lazy again, and I thought I would reprimand her in the morning. The only light I saw came from the lit fireplace in the parlor, illuminating my brother sleeping in my armchair, hunting rifle across his lap. “Sebastien!” I said again.
He stirred and rubbed his eyes. “Gauthier?” he asked, groggily.
“Sebastien, quickly,” I said. “Send for a doctor. This man needs urgent help.”
Though in the dark I couldn’t see any physical injuries on him, the man on my shoulder had fallen from the sky. What man walks away from a thing like that uninjured? And above all that, it was plain to see he was elderly, even in the poor lighting. As if on cue, the man broke into a rasping, wet cough. I ushered him into a seat.
“Send for a doctor?” Sebastien asked, standing. He held the rifle lazily in one hand, letting it point toward the floor. “Gauthier, I am a doctor!”
“A real doctor,” I said, turning towards him. “The man suffered a tremendous fall! He needs a surgeon!”
“I could be his surgeon!”
“We don’t have time for your fantasies,” I said, returning my attention to the man to better asses his condition.
“I’m serious, Gauthier,” he said, “I’ve watched surgeries before. You find a cloth he can bite on, and I’ll fetch my saw…”
“SEBASTIEN,” I barked, letting my anger get the best of me. I stood and took him by the shoulders, staring directly into his eyes. “You will do no such thing! Do you understand me?”
My brother’s face scrunched in fear, but I couldn’t stop myself — his foolishness could cost a man his life.
“You are not a doctor! You cannot perform surgery! And you will never amount to anything until you stop chasing your schemes and fantasies like a child!”
“Gauthier — ” My brother said, stepping back.
“No, you listen, Sebastien,” I continued. “We may still save this man’s life, if you’ll just send for an actual doctor.”
“Gauthier, you — ”
“Someone who can actually help!”
“GAUTHIER!”
“WHAT?” It didn’t occur to me that my brother’s fear did not come from my diatribe. I sensed a presence behind me.
Hot breath on the back of my neck.
The quiet, wet crackling of jaws opening wide.
The pressure of teeth against my skin, and the delayed, piercing pain of fangs penetrating my flesh.
I screamed in pain, flailing my arms to ward off my attacker as everything I saw took on a sanguine hue. But the man held tight. With one of his hands on my neck and his other arm wrapped around my torso, I wasn’t able to shake him. I don’t know how long we stayed connected, but I felt something change in me. I felt a new strength. A new hunger. A new darkness.
And still, I could not shake the man.
“I can help you Gauthier,” my brother cried, pointing the rifle toward me. He closed his eyes and cocked his head to one side.
“Sebastien, NO!” I shouted over the roaring in my ears.
And then the assault was over, the roaring replaced by ringing. The man released me, and when I whirled around to plant my fist in his face, he was gone. The adrenaline left my body and I collapsed to the floor.
“Gauthier — ” I heard my brother whimper. And then: “GAUTHIER.” He fell to his knees and crawled toward me. “I… I… I didn’t… I don’t…” My vision returning to normal, I saw a deeper expression of fear on his face. One mixed with grief. And revulsion.
He was staring at my stomach in horror, and when I followed his gaze, I found that he’d shot me. A cannon ball-sized hole had been torn through my body, leaving my innards exposed and glistening darkly in the dancing firelight. But I felt no pain. Nor did I feel any form of shock, nor disgust; despair nor fear. I felt…
Famished.
“I’m sorry, Gauthier, I…” Sebastien cried, shedding tears over my ruptured organs. “I thought I could help! I… I only ever wanted to help.”
“Sebastien,” I said quietly, a feral sensation beginning to blossom in my chest.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry…” he sobbed.
“Sebastien, get away from me,” I warned.
“No!” He leaned in close to my face. “I won’t leave you to die alone.”
“Sebastien…”
“Gauthier, I’m sorry, I — ”
I couldn’t suppress the feeling any longer. I pushed off the ground with my elbows and lunged toward my brother. I needed his blood. I needed it more than I had ever needed anything before. More than I needed air. We collided, and Sebastien rolled away from me, scrambling to his feet. I did the same. We regarded each other from opposite sides of the parlor with only the crackling sound of the fire to break the silence.
But then another noise invaded the space. It began as a thick gurgling, then became a visceral squelching. My entrails were possessed by a flurry of motion, squirming and writhing wildly, flinging my blood in all directions, slowly but diligently knitting themselves back together. The squelching was replaced by a dry, organic sound, like the shattering of glass, but softer, duller, heard in reverse. And then the room was quiet. Even the fire dared not make a sound.
I turned to my brother — my dear but foolish brother whom I loved, whose blood I had been ravenous for only moments before — and I saw him break.
“M-monster…” he mumbled from behind hollow eyes.
“Sebastien, I’m sorry,” I started to say.
“MONSTER,” he shouted. “MONSTER! HELP!”
I backed away from him. “No, please!” I urged him. Whatever dark urge I’d been consumed by was gone for the moment. “Please, brother, don’t. I…”
“HELP ME,” he screamed, voice cracking. Sebastien brought his hands to his eyes and let loose a painful wail the likes of which I’d not heard before. “Somebody! Please!” Before I knew it, he had fled the house, running into the night.
I didn’t think it wise to follow him.
…
After that, I closed myself off to the world. I cloistered in my home for months, sliding in and out of madness. My worthless maidservant quit after only a few days, and I ran out of provisions shortly after that. The food I ate did nothing to satiate me. The hunger gnawed at me, whispering to me every day, growing louder and louder, shrieking at me from within, commanding me to feast on the blood of mortals. But the memory of my brother’s face, his fractured look of unspeakable pain and terror, kept me tethered to humanity. I could no longer live as an ordinary human, but I refused to accept what I was becoming.
I heard the gossip of the townsfolk as they passed my home, lowering their voices to whispers, believing I couldn’t hear them.
“Did you hear what happened to that Sebastien Moreau?”
“The one who sells ‘miracle elixirs’ and calls himself a doctor?”
“I heard one of his tinctures drove him mad, and he nearly killed his brother.”
“Gauthier Moreau? The businessman?”
“His brother veritably tore him in half with his bare hands!”
“I heard it was Gauthier who went mad, and attacked Sebastien, so Sebastien shot his brother in the stomach in self-defense.”
Eventually the rumors transformed into urban legends.
“Don’t stare at that house for too long. Gutshot Gauthier will tear you apart, if you make eye contact with him through the window.”
“Didn’t Saint Moreau used to live in that house?”
“Saint Moreau?”
“You know. The man who lost his mind and pedals crucifixes on the banks of the Goldengulch River. He claims there are vampires in Harperdeen Heights.”
In that way, the gossip was actually useful to me: I hadn’t seen or heard from my brother since that awful night. He lived next door to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to visit him for fear of causing him more pain. Or that I might lose control of myself again. But when I learned that Sebastien was allegedly living on the riverbank in squalor, I decided I had to see him again.
The moon shone brightly on the evening I made my way down to the water. I didn’t bother to conceal myself, nor to stick to the shadows. I felt confident that none of the townsfolk was capable of truly harming me, were I to be spotted. I didn’t have to search long before finding my brother. He’d fashioned a ramshackle lean-to in the rocky sand, made from an overturned rowboat and a number of coats, shirts, and other garments. The boat’s oars had been discarded next to the boat.
“Sebastien?” I whispered, peering into the structure. I saw a man gone wild, asleep on the ground. His hair had grown long and was matted with wet sand, and his beard stuck out in all directions. He wore loose-fitting pajamas, which I recognized as a birthday gift I’d given him, though they were now torn and stained.
“He won’t wake up,” said a heavy voice behind me. I turned and saw a man standing with his arms behind his back, eyes glowing red. He looked different from how I remembered him. Though he appeared elderly, his face was no longer withered. All traces of visible weakness had been replaced by tightened skin and sculpted musculature. “I’ve put him in a deep slumber.”
“You…” I said slowly.
“Yes, Gauthier Moreau. I have returned with another gift for you.”
“Gift?” I scoffed. “What gift did you ever grant me?”
“The gift of power,” he said, smirking. “The gift of longevity.”
“You made me into a monster!” I spat. “You drove my brother mad!”
The vampire shrugged. “If you choose to believe what the mortals say.” I stood to look him in the eye. “But that’s neither here nor there,” he said. “You’ve not eaten in months, Gauthier. You must me on the brink of madness, yourself.”
At his words I felt the gnawing in my chest return. My body cried out for human blood.
“And I supposed you’ve brought an innocent here for me to prey upon?” I asked. “I won’t do it.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, my friend,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve brought you to the innocent.”
I looked to where my sleeping brother lie.
“I — ” I stammered. “I won’t do it.” But my feet had begun moving of their own accord. I approached Sebastien, driven forward by my dark thirst. “I won’t…” I remembered his face on the night when I turned, when I tried to prey on him in an outburst of rage. I had to stop this.
“Good, Gauthier. Let the feeling fill you.”
“No!” I shouted as I came to my senses. I reached for one of the oars on the sand, and spun around, swinging it at the vampire’s head. It landed with an earsplitting thwack. I struck him again. And again. And again. Until he began laughing.
“You should know by now you cannot kill me, Gauthier, just as you cannot die!”
I hit him again.
“But by all means, keep trying! I do love a fun game!”
I jabbed the oar at him like a spear, knocking him off balance. He stumbled backward and fell onto the sand. I leapt at him, pinning him beneath my weight. “If I cannot kill you, I’ll just have to make sure you’re incapable of cursing anyone ever again.”
“And how do you plan to do that?” he asked, flashing a smile, revealing his fangs.
I looked around me, and laid eyes on a palm-sized stone half-buried in the sand. Its edged looked sharp enough.
I began cutting.
“Gauthier, Gauthier,” the man chided as his blood sprayed into my face. “These are the pitiful actions of a desperate man!” I continued hacking until I reached bone. “Cease this, now.”
“No,” I growled, placing both hands on either side of his face. My own strength surprised me. I removed his head with a sickening crunch.
“See?” the head said. “Even now. Still alive and well.” The body lay bleeding out on beneath me.
“Good,” I snarled. “That’s my plan.” I detached a coat from the structure of Sebastien’s shelter and carried it and the head with me as I patrolled the beach. When I found a rock that looked suitably heavy, I used the garment to bind the head to it.
“Hang on,” it said, a hint of panic seeping into its tone. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Of course, I do,” I said. I returned to Sebastien and knocked down the rest of his shelter, careful not to let anything fall on him. I dragged the boat and both oars to the head and the rock, putting them in the craft before climbing in and disembarking. When I felt I had rowed far enough from the shore, I tossed the head and the stone into the water. Returning to the shore, I buried the body in the sand.
“Who’s there?” I heard my brother’s voice call behind me. The vampire’s sleeping curse must have finally broken.
I turned to my brother. He was too far away for me to clearly see his face. I felt the hunger stirring in me again. I took a deep breath to calm myself, then called, “Nobody. Go back to sleep.” I felt power flowing from my eyes, and Sebastien lay back down.
…
I left Harperdeen Heights after that.
And I believe you can imagine the trajectory my life took on after that.
But that is a story for another day. What matters is that I began to cooperate with the Jonson Group. They promised me a mechanism by which I could revisit that fateful day when I was cursed, and when I became a curse to my brother. I failed to capture the Llewinson man, and was given a second chance with Kirk Osipov.
And through a twist of fate, Kirk Osipov is the one who to bless me with that gift I’d been seeking for so long.
And it was through another twist of fate I realized the worst was still ahead of me.
For you see, when I activated the so-called Clock of Misery, I was not transported back to the moment that damned me and my brother.
I opened my eyes to a moment that existed outside of my centuries-long recollection.
I awoke in a time that was yet to come.
