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The summer heat was near unbearable, the month of August was usually the beginning of the fall chill. But there was no crispness to this air today. It was sweltering, and the drops of sweat would slide down his face. Even now, the tall slender youth was in need of that essence that he had heard so much about. He never understood how it worked. He knew that with his diet back at his Mistresses home, he was never in need of it. But now, as he moved back and forth along the graveyard he needed to garner it. It was dirty to him, taking the emotion of humans. How was he supposed to be ok with it, but the truth was he needed it to survive. Even now, as he walked about the graveyard in his shifted form, the bright blue eyes searched for just that something that would sate this unquestionable thirst he was now suffering from. He lowered his head, the older for he had taken looked nothing like him. It was just his personal idea of an Irish priest. He would go by O’Connell. It was plenty Irish and his brogue was only improving as time progressed. He cleared his throat as even now, the heat was getting to him. He tried to have the cold of his blood cool him. But that only seemed to make it worse. Or perhaps it was that he was so unused to this new life. He had already been placed in the apartment by the Winter Court. It was still so new from what it had been. He let his fingers clear away the gray strands of hair that hung into his eyes. He quietly persisted forward.
He had to thank the benefactor who freed him from that prison, but he was unaware of just how difficult this new life was going to be. Nothing was going to be provided for him. But he would no longer have to hunt, or study under his mistress’ watchful gaze. He was free now, for what it was worth. He didn’t fear what happen to himself. No, fear was far from the sentiment that he had. It was rather sadness. It was an overwhelming sadness that consumed his every step. He moved closer passed fresh plots. He could feel the traces of what he was looking for, but it wasn’t enough he needed a true sentiment. Part of him was angered that he could just not glean it from himself. He wanted to take no more from humanity. The monster from Arcadia, that’s how he looked and perceived that part of his life. Part of him felt he needed it to happen, as even now he probably couldn’t just return to his ordinary life. Hell, he couldn’t even hear he his real name. But he wasn’t the man he had been, he wasn’t the boy who had traipsed about Cambridge so freely. His heart was harder now, and perhaps this how every woman he had hurt felt. They were hardened by the reality he had presented them. Even now, it made him sick, as his feet stumbled about the freshly dug soil. His feet still moved, here at this final resting place, he knew that he had to bury his past.
He was done being Jason Wagner. The boy of German immigrants, the boy who was beaten up every day for living in South Boston among the lower echelon of the Boston society. The boy who managed to finagle yachts for high school parties by talking the lady of the house into just letting him in return for his stolen attentions while their husbands were away, though they were always away really. He didn’t see it as a crime, and when the time came he moved on. They would always leave or call off the relationship before he did. The real trick was to keep enough interested for the time being, or just moving on to their daughters. He was an artist a lot of his friends thought. But he just looked at it as means to survive. He was a poor kid, who made most believe that he was just one of them. After going to prestigious school after prestigious school not really on his merits but the sweat of his friends, who knew the truth. Jason was a con. But they enjoyed the benefits of it as well. Even his time in Harvard was off of someone else’s blood sweat and tears. He wove the best stories he was the height of society there. He was the king of Cambridge, many wanted to be him. But perhaps that was his downfall, it was all about how the life. He didn’t care who he hurt in the wake of his success. It was Jason who mattered, and nothing more. He threw a few proverbial bones here and there, but he was a tyrant leaving heartache wherever he went. And he had been fine with it all until that fateful night. The one thing Jason ever did on his own was act, he had always had the ability to meld himself into someone he wasn’t. It was never an issue to play another part. He had never really settled in on being Jason Wagner, that person was just a memory in his parents eyes.
This notion was never more true then on that fateful night, the night where Jason fell in love. Or what he perceived to be love. For a boy who’d never felt his heart beat in the manner that it did, it was difficult for him to tell the different. The truth was, he was enamored with her, infatuated. In absolute lust of the exotic beauty who was there that evening. He had just finished playing Puck in Midsummer Night’s Dream. Comical now, as the vague mirror of thought shattered. He’d won the role in the Hyperion Theatre Group. It was something else for him. A chance to really shine, and there she was. A Miss Antoinette Gibaldri, she was a talent scout for a Theatre in New York. But the thought of possibly being nominated for awards or getting an opportunity to shine wasn’t what came to his mind. He was enthralled by her beauty. He hung at her every word. For a moment, he wondered to himself, if this was how other women had felt about him. But he scoffed it off, no one could have loved the character he had created. No, it wasn’t possible. Antoinette seemed to feel equally attracted to him, though he wasn’t certain after the night of frivolity that they had had , she insisted he stay the night. It was the beginning of the trap. She entangled him into her web, but instead of taking him on that night. She gave into his passions, for though mortal and flawed he did play awful well at being above himself. She saw through his façade, but what she intended to do was break him. She did just that, as she tore him through the glass of the world he knew so well. She made it so he would never bear the sound of his own name, or the sight of his own face. She took the things he had ran from the most away from him. She had succeeded and in spite of the torment of his change. He loved her, and felt empty without her.
“You’ll need a name you know this?“ as she walked around him. “Or should I just call you Mirror?“ her amusement at his torment changed little. Part of him felt he deserved it. “This all must be a dream…“ she scoffed at his words as he looked at his flesh. The quicksilver reverberated over him. He felt the ebb and flow of his being. Even now, as the memory came, he felt his skin crawl once again. “What do you think this is just some dream you can just climb out of?“ He shook his head, but the stinging from her calling him Jason had stopped. He did need to be called something, something that wasn’t that name. It burned his very core. For what it was worth, her words served as inspiration. “My name is Jacob.“ She did not get the reference, but he would someday climb out of this dream was his thought. It was something to give him hope. That was until the tasks came, and they came quickly and without warning. They were endless as he longed to no longer be given these torments. For now, her Pied Piper truly destroyed lives.
He knelt down for a moment, as the heat was getting to him. Or was the whisper of his memories. Perhaps this is why he needed the glamour. To be able to control the temperature in his veins. Why were the memories flooding back like this? Maybe it was being away from Arcadia. He was starting to long for her, or it just had to be the need for the Glamour. What was it about this place, the spirits of his past were haunting him now. Even now, it seemed to get worse as he moved forward. He had torn lives apart at that point of his life, but it was nothing compared to what he had done as the Mirror. The sweat was mixing with the tears now, as he continued to walk down the graveyard. It would be hard to tell, if someone were to see him they would think it was just the heat getting to an old man. He cleared the sweat off of his brow and finally saw a small procession. It was the gravedigger, a man, and a little girl. He had done the math in his head. It had to be the death of the mother. He moved closer, as the feeling swelled inside of him. Even now, as he was in the vicinity he grew stronger. But the memories and the ghosts did not stop. As he saw the little girl he was reminded of what he had done. How he had taken away from families just like this. Yes, he remembered little Daniel who he took away using his guitar.
His mind flooded to that day in the haze of the summer’s heat. He could still hear the strums of his guitar, as he played Beautiful Boy. His mind echoed the sounds of those notes. With ever chord, it struck at him even harder. The pain was evident, and even now as he proceeded to move and break the fog of the memory it made breathing that much harder. He saw the little boy, nothing more then a statue in her court. He shook his head, trying so hard to clear the cobwebs of memories he was going through.
But they continued even now. As the build of the Gravedigger bought back another jaded part of his past. Alexander the Great is what they called him, he was the fastest heavy weight they had seen. But Jacob ruined it all. The boy had gone to the Olympics and won gold, he was headed for superstardom. In a world corrupt and bankable he was a shining light in the boxing world. It was simple enough for Jason, just play the part of promoter. It was nothing really, it was the simplest of jobs. He played it perfect, as Alexander and his father were eating out of his hand. The young Russian had been taken away from his home land so he would never have to be oppressed, never have to see the torment that his own people were capable of making someone of his athletic prowess endure. His father whisked him away, his son was not to be a repeat of himself. Little did he know the lady had watched. She felt justified in a manner, because truly there was great irony in the situation. That was the only thing she ever found funny. Jason took him, he was now her body guard.
Finally he stood before them all, his eyes looked to the pair. His heart almost stopped as he eyed the little girl. It was as though Donna had escaped and returned to an innocent child version of herself. His head hung low, as he smiled peacefully to the girl. For some reason, as he gleaned the glamour from this pair. He felt something, a spirit watching over them. He didn’t know what it was, but he was cold now, and the Gravedigger another changed sensed it too.
“Your Priest won’t be able to make it today.”
“That’s a shame. We were looking forward to Father Franklin speaking here at my wife’s funeral.” the father said timidly. He shook his head.
“Well, id it’s all the same to the two of you, I might not be Father Franklin, but I would like to help you both at this time. Perhaps I could take over?”
The child smiled and nodded though the sadness was there. It was as though Donna were calling to him.
“Yes, father that would be fine.”
After a few moments of discussion and a brief eulogy given, the father and daughter left. He moved away, the Leechfinger Gravedigger waving him off. As he stepped away, the spirit made itself clear. “Take care of her. She’s endanger.” The words echoed in his ears now, as he looked to the shadowy figure. He lowered his head. For once in his time as Jacob he had a chance to help instead of hinder. He moved slowly, and ran up to the girl’s father.
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