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“You have a picture of me?” I asked.
He went to the nightstand and pulled a frame out of it. Inside it was a picture of my family. The one I kept in my wallet.
“You kept it all these years?”
“Not only that. Come, let me show you,” he said.
Curious, I took the last bite of the cake and went with him. Just like his name implied, Shadow followed us behind. The hallways maintained the same style as the bedroom. A bit gloomy and a bit mysterious. From the pointed ceilings hung candelabras which reflected a warm, incandescent light. Half of the wall was covered in dark wood panels. The other half hosted numerous paintings and sculptures. At first, I didn’t pay much attention to the subjects of those paintings, but once I took a closer look, I realized it was me. Every portrait had a distinct painting style, from Renaissance to modern, but all of them have a singular subject––me.
“This is madness,” I said.
“You say it’s madness. I say it’s my favorite gallery in the world. If anyone knew about the existence of these paintings and who their creators were, their value would soar. Though, in my opinion, their real worth hides in their subject. Come, we have so much more to see,” he said with boyish excitement and grabbed my hand.
We entered the room at the end of the hallway, only for me to discover a study inside. But not an ordinary study, an antiquated floor-to-ceiling library filled to the brim with books. The frankincense incense mixed with the natural, earthy smell of wood conjured a special kind of fragrance.
“This is the most beautiful home study I’ve ever seen,” I said.
“You should see the library downstairs,” he said.
“Why do you have two libraries?” I asked.
“The one downstairs is for all the books I ever read. This study incorporates a first-edition library.”
Chapter 5
What do you mean by a first-edition library?” I asked.
“Every single book you see here is a first edition. Many are also signed by the author, though I wasn’t able to do so with every single book.”
I looked around, mesmerized by the unique allure of the books. As I entered the room, I noticed a rather unusual bookcase. “This one is a bit different. How so?” I asked as I approached an ornate piece of furniture behind a wooden desk.
“Ah, you have a keen sense of observation. These are the first editions of every vampire book ever written. Up there is your favorite author, Bram Stoker’s book. I was deeply disappointed to learn he had never visited my lands before. Since I knew his fate was to become a famous writer, I went to impart a few details about being a vampire. And though some of his descriptions were close to reality, he still chose to ignore my advice and wrote the book in his own vision. For example, vampires not being able to enter houses unless invited. As if someone could stop me from entering their humble abode. Alas, one cannot expect a fiction author to portray historical facts accurately. Still, after the publication, I swallowed my pride and brought a copy for him to sign. The second time we met, he didn’t even remember me. I entertained the idea of grabbing a helper of his and give him a demonstration on how one becomes a vampire, but it wouldn’t matter to history, and he risked being labeled a mad man till death. Too many such cases occurred before.” Gabriel took out the book and presented it to me.
The book was in pristine condition. The yellow cover, as well as the ink, looked fresh off the press. I opened it to admire Stoker’s signature. The book was worth thousands.
“It is my gift to you. Actually, the entire study is my gift to you,” Gabriel said.
“You remembered my delusional daydream and turned it into life?”
“My only regret was not asking more about your wishes, for I had plenty of time to bring them all to life.”
“Trust me. This is more than enough. Did you read all of these books?” I asked.
“When you have infinite time at your disposal, knowledge becomes the only light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Which one is your favorite?”
“I prefer not to pick favorites, as all have gifted me something through their pages. But I do have a favorite quote.”
“Which one?”
“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby becomes a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”
“I’ve never heard of this one. Who’s the author?”
“Nietzsche.Philosophy has played a great role in my life up until now.” Gabriel turned toward what I assumed was the philosophy bookcase.
“It doesn’t come as a surprise, given your last name is based on an entire philosophical school. Do you have a favorite stoic philosopher?”
