Glory Day

I am keeping a journal, Christopher. A countdown to glory, if you will. I have allowed myself five days to either attain the splendor I seek or abandon the notion. I am at the point where I can think of nothing else...concentrate on nothing else...focus on nothing else. It has become an obsession which must be resolved, one way or another, before I go insane.

Glory Day Minus Four
I follow you to New Orleans. You did not say you were going there, but it was not necessary. The journey was predictable. Lost in the Crescent City, you believe I'll not find you, but you are wrong. Where you are, there I will be. Why do you feel the necessity to run, my love? Is it for my protection or your own?

Glory Day Minus Three
I take a room on Bienville in the heart of the French Quarter. I have yet to see you, but you are near. I sense your presence and your mood. I walk past St. Louis Cathedral. You had been there, loitering on the steps, perhaps only an hour or so earlier than I. Were you afraid to enter? I could banish your demons, if you would allow me. Then, you would never experience such anxieties again for I would always be close to drive them away. Do you know I am here, my love? I believe that you do.

Glory Day Minus Two
I saw you this evening. My eyes feasted hungrily upon your form and face. My heart was pounding. I felt sure you would hear it, but you did not. You were hurrying along Decatur toward the Brewhouse, but you looked pale and tired. I fear for you, my love. Why do you persist in this foolishness? Time is running out...for both of us. Do you hear me, Christopher?

Glory Day Minus One
It must have been divine intervention that led me to the Court of Two Sisters tonight. I was confused and disoriented...I almost went elsewhere. Did you summon me to your side, Christopher, with words only my innermost being could comprehend? I like to think you did. Or was it merely your final, futile smokescreen to thwart my quest? You were shocked and dismayed to see me. Do not for one moment regret that I found you, my love. I never matter what happens from this point on. I take comfort in the knowledge that your eyes glowed in the candlelit courtyard with the same compulsion that shines from my own. I handed you the note, upon which I had written my address. It was an open invitation, complete with all that such implies. You shook your head but, nevertheless, slipped it into your pocket. Will you come? I can only wait and worry. There are but twenty-four short hours left and, much as I yearn to extend the deadline I have put upon myself, to do so would be madness. If this is not to be, then I must forget, abandon my desire and go on as best I can. It is truly now or never.

Glory Day
I awoke and feared it had been nothing more than a flight of fancy or the product of my imagination, but the curtain lay still against the window...the window I had left open and through which I hoped against hope you would enter. Did you close it as a sign, Christopher? I doubt it, since you left others which were so much more significant. Your scent still lingered on the bedclothes. The sheet still bore your the imprint of your body and there was a bloodstain on the pillow. My fingertips searched...and found the two small punctures your delectably sharp teeth had left in my neck, and then I remembered, at the point of losing consciousness, how you opened a vein and allowed me to drink. Thank you, Christopher, my eternal cherished beloved brother.

Castille Severn
New Orleans
November 20, 1847...Glory Day

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