The Diary of Andrew Grant

The Diary of Andrew Grant
By: RSK

Rating: R

Summary: A young watcher, intrigued with the circumstances surrounding the death of a favorite composer, finds the truth in the journals of a vampire.

Disclaimer: The Council of Watchers and their Slayers do not belong to me. However, Terrence and Andrew do. I have enjoyed playing in Joss’s little universe and am thankful that he is so supportive of the words of fanfic writers like myself.

---

Dear Merideth,

Here is the information you requested on Andrew Grant, although why you would want this, I’ll never understand. You know as well as I do that the information in these diaries is suspect at best.

I have condensed these entries, as this particular vampire recorded all of his daily activities for over one hundred fifty years. I have taken from three primary phases in his life, his turning, the incidents that you asked about, and his death. As you requested, I made my own notes in certain areas of significance. You are aware, of course, that Father had extensive notes on this vampire as well. I truly do not understand why you would be interested in this particular creature, as he did nothing remarkable, but here you are.

Please contact me if you are in need of any further information.

Sincerely,
Cedrick


13 October 1754

I met a man on the road this evening. Quite striking, really. He was dressed in rags, but bore himself as a noble. Our conversation was short, and I find myself wondering…

Father says I must put out the light, but I shall return to this subject.


4 November 1754

I met him again. The man from the road. He was dressed more to his stature and he was quite interested in me. Father frowned disapprovingly at us as we spoke, but I was able to get his name. He is a foreigner. Terrance Callaghan. Father returns, I will continue my descriptions later.

*Note: The council has very little information on this Terrance Callaghan creature. There are references to him as early as 1435, however, it appears that he always avoided the council’s representatives.


14 November 1754

Terrance, for he asked that I not call him Sir Callaghan, called for me tonight. Father invited him in, yet he refused. He asked instead that I walk with him. Such an amazing man. His mind is full of stories and tales of other times. We wandered through the dale, encountering no one else as the night deepened. I found myself on more than one occasion watching as he moved. I am uncomfortably warm as I write this, but I must express my feelings. Father would never approve. In fact, he informed me when I returned this evening that he has my marriage arranged. In just over two month’s time, I shall be wed to Madeline Granger. This does cause me some distress, however, it is overcome by the pleasure of remembering the time spent with Terrance. He says that he will return tomorrow to speak with me again.


22 November 1754

It is morn.

I have spent the last eight days in the company of my Terrance. He has introduced me to the pleasures of the flesh, taken his pleasure in my body and offered his own in return. I know not how this happened. Only that our walks became something more, our discussions lead to cool kisses. His tongue, it burns where’re it touches. It takes but a look and my flesh is swelling, aching for his touch, and only his. I find myself drifting during the days, wanting only for the night to fall so that he will once more be at my side.

Father has commented on my pensive state and I find myself dreading returning home. I’ve not written of these encounters, as I am beyond fearful of what would be said if my journal were ever found. But tonight I felt the need to write as everything has changed. Terrance has asked me to leave with him.

Leave my home, my family, my position; leave to be with him. I am sore tempted. I search my heart and mind for answers to many questions. Does this action appeal to me simply because of the pleasures that have been awakened in my body? I think not. For I find myself waiting for his voice more than the touch of his hand. Would I receive the same pleasure with Miss Granger were we to wed? I think not. She is quite attractive, but her manner and mind are slow. I would achieve no satisfaction from speaking with her about the times.

And for the touches, I have experienced… varied forms of intercourse and I find my pleasure in being penetrated.

Terrance will be returning for me tonight. He says that there is information that I must have before I agree to leave with him, before he will allow me to make any type of decision. I cannot think of any detail that would turn my heart, for I am in love.

22 November 1754

This cannot be true. I cannot say, it is too gruesome for words. I have not, NOT given over my heart to such a creature. Never again.

*Note: Father’s notes include the following: Observe the change in handwriting, he was obviously distressed, not only in words but in form. It is interesting how his handwriting continues to change over the course of these diaries.

13 December 1754

I have been neglecting my journal. I have been unable to write since that night.

I do not understand my own reactions. I saw what type of inhuman creature that he actually is, and yet each night I must fight my own desires to remain safely ensconced in my quarters. My heart, it wishes to run into the night and accept that creature’s offer. But I cannot. My form has begun to alter, to slighten since that night, for I find food most revolting, and father has begun to notice the change in me. I fear that I shall die if I do not follow him.

I cannot. I must not. I must stay true to my own being and

Terrance is outside my window. I can see his figure just beyond the coverings. How did it come to this? This, this longing for a creature that I cannot accept, that I canno

24 December 1754

The change is something that I would have never believed possible. The human restraints are gone; there is no guilt, no doubt. But everything else that I am, that I was, remains. The love I feel for Terrance, the adoration and fear of my father, the warmth that remains when I think of my long dead mother. I asked my sire of this and he smiled, that smile, the one that tears at my heart, and whispered that all demons are free.

I watched my father as he went through the motions of mourning; burying an empty pine box and posting my name above it. My heart wrenched, yet I walked away, following my love through the night.

My Terrance has asked that I write the story of our love here; that I keep a record of it for future generations to see. What future he speaks of, I know not, as we are both male, and in principle, no longer living. Whatever his reasons, he has requested it and therefore I shall.

This promises to be a rather lengthy entry, longer than ever before. I am hesitant to begin, but as my love watches me from our bed, I write, trying to explain the reasons that I am no longer alive.

Eleven nights ago, I was writing in my journal, struggling with my emotions when I discovered Terrence outside my window. I pulled back the curtain and found him smiling at me, bringing such pain with that look. He stated quite clearly that he was not there to convince me to come with him, but that as I was firm in my decision, he was leaving. Perhaps returning to the mainland, anything to get away. To get away from my scent in the air, my voice in his dreams, my touch in his memories.

Tears escaped from his eyes as he leaned into my window and pressed a kiss to my lips. I was aquiver, unable to respond, only knowing that my heart was breaking. Tears began to stream down my face and I began to beg him not to leave, not to abandon me to a life of tediousness.

He smiled so sadly at me and told me that he could not stay. That he could not control the demon, which resides so deeply within him, much longer. It appeared that the demon wanted me. It did not care about my contentment, my humanity or my feelings; it simply wanted its mate. And Terrance said that he couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow it to take me in such a manner.

He kissed me once more and expressed his love before turning and walking away.

I watched as he crossed the yard, and began striding down the lane towards the village. I could feel everything within me screaming to follow him, to beg him to stay. My wedding to Miss Granger was closing and I was afraid. Afraid to marry, afraid to not, afraid of my ability to ever touch another after experiencing such perfection with my love.

I sat upon my floor and cried.

I stayed this way for an eternity it seems, but in reality it was but a day. I ignored father’s cries to dine, ignored his weight as he dragged me from the floor, ignored his pleas to stay with him, stay alive.

I was not aware of how misshapen I had become. My flesh stretched across bone, no mass fleshing me out. Father feared that I was dying from some malady that he did not know.

I left then. When Father retired to his own room to cry, I left.

My intentions were to allow the elements to take me, to end the suffering that I felt, but Terrance was at the end of the lane, staring towards the stars as if seeking an answer to some inscrutable question.

He stiffened and turned, his eyes alighting on me, watching me as I stumbled closer. He held out his arms, his eyes so uncertain, and I collapsed into them, remembering nothing else.

I awakened some time later to find myself in a warm bed, surrounded by mountains of quilting. For more than five days he fed me by his own hand, whispering words of love and devotion, promises of happiness, of freedom. Slowly I began to feel more myself. I began to savor each firm bite of lamb, potatoes and carrots that were spooned into me.

I warmed and fattened, the quickness of my recovery startling me. The sixth day Terrance came to me and once again declared his intention to leave. The days of close proximity were eating at his control, his demon slipping more and more often.

I reached out… I remember this so clearly. I reached out and touched his face, the ridges I had glimpsed just once before broke out under my fingertips and he pulled away, seemingly ashamed. I grabbed his arms and pulled him back, knowing that in my weakness I could not force him to stay.

He knelt beside the bed and looked at me as I asked him to allow me to see what it was within him. His face altered, becoming a distorted remnant of itself. I took in the strong forehead, and golden eyes, shocked at the emotion so clear within them.

He opened his mouth as my fingers dipped lower and I explored the distended ivory that I found there. I pressed against one sharp tooth, and blood erupted from my fingertip. A growl passed his lips as they wrapped around my flesh, sucking at my finger. I could feel his tongue pressing against my skin and I shuddered, my eyes falling shut.

At that point, Terrance left the room, and did not return for three days. A woman appeared in his place. She fed me bits and tastes of various sumptuous dishes, and yet my appetite waned.

The tenth day, Terrance returned, a look of despair on his face. He informed me of my ‘death’. I pulled myself from my sick bed, startled at the strength in my limbs. Terrence dressed me warmly, and walked me to my father’s home, where a casket was being laid under the earth.

Why so late, I wondered, and Terrance informed me of the lengthy search that had just been completed that eve. My father had called off the search, buried the casket and was now sitting atop loose soil, crying tears for a lost son.

A single step away from Terrance and I knew that I could never return. I felt my body aching as I moved away from my love. I collapsed in his arms and begged him to take me home.

When we arrived, the woman who had been caring for me was gone. Terrance placed me back in bed and moved to leave, I begged him to remain, to hold me, love me. Throughout the night he moved within me, and toward dawn I requested that he gift me with what he had offered all those nights ago.

He refused, going so far as to leave our bed. But I followed, begging, crying out for his love. Only the rising sun kept him with me. He refused to be near me, begged me to leave him alone, begged for my acquiescence.

When the sun was at its highest, I struck out into the daylight, gathering those materials that I might need. I remembered the sensation when he drew my blood from the small cut on my finger. I wanted that again, that odd pleasure.

I returned to the cottage and stripped myself of my clothing, standing before my love. I pronounced that I would not live without him, and therefore would no longer live. My throat sliced easily, the slaughtering iron sufficient to block my consciousness almost immediately.

The last I heard was the iron striking the ground. The last I saw was the stricken face of my love and the last I felt were his arms around me.

When I awoke, it was to find myself in his arms, deep within the bed that had become my home. He scolded me for taking my own life, for forcing his hand, then praised me by feeding me from his breast. His blood flowed into my mouth as he cooed over me. At long last, we slept.

And that is my story. I not only asked for the demon that now resides within me, but forced my sire, my mate, to infect me with it. He is calling me back to bed now, pleased with my progress. He will feed me again before we leave.

Leave. To explore the world, he says, to spend eternity together.

*Note: From here, there are dozens of volumes concerning their travels. I have not included them here, as they are immaterial to the topic that you are currently researching. Following are the entries that referred to your targeted topic; all others have been removed.

Father’s notes stated the following: It is obvious that the demon was unable to speak ill of its sire and relate the true story of Andrew Grant’s death. I fear that this bastardized version of the truth is all that we will have on this issue however.

2 June 1789

Terrance returned tonight with an interesting companion. A young composer named Wolfgang Mozart. We attended a soiree a fortnight ago where this young man provided the evening’s entertainment. He is quite talented. After an extended evening of talk and many drinks, we escorted him out into the night, ensuring that he made it to the door of his own home. It would not do for such genius to disappear.

*Note: Father said: This is an absurd claim by any stretch of the imagination. That any vampire would leave someone completely unharmed is nonsense. Intriguing piece of fiction, however. Quiet interesting indeed.

30 September 1789

Our young composer appeared again this eve. He was quite inebriated and difficult to understand, however, the woman in his arms was well and truly deceased, lending an air of panic to his ruminations.

Once the body was out of sight, disposed of in the livery, Terrance strove to calm him. It soon became clear that this was indeed impossible in his current state and, at Terrance’s look, I struck Heir Mozart once in the temple. We laid him out in our bed, cleaning him as best we could, removing his stained clothing and replacing it with more appropriate garments. He moved from unconsciousness to sleep and we left to find somewhere comfortable to wait out the day.

Our early morning lovemaking was interrupted at its climax, Terrance buried within me, his fangs deep within my throat. Our young composer stood in the doorway, surprise and shock evident on his face. The poor thing ran off into the morning. How uncomfortable he must have felt seeing us in such a manner. However, Terrance insists that the man was aroused when he left.

10 October 1789

Wolfgang, for he has insisted that we cease formalities, returned this evening. He drew out a sheath of music and began to play for us, filling our rooms with his gifts. We drank sweet wine with him afterward, listening as he explained the death of his companion some nights ago. He thanked us for our assistance in that matter and Terrance smiled that smile. Wolfgang once again spent the night in our company, leaving only as the dawn approached.

5 November 1789

Tonight, Terrance brought Wolfgang into our bed. His fleshed warmed ours as we explored him, bringing him satisfaction time and time again. He sleeps now, wrapped around my love. I have but only a moment to reflect before I am called back, I can see that Terrance is seeking me even now.

9 December 1789

Wolfgang is an eager, receptive lover and has graced our bed many times. He seemed not to notice our differences until tonight. This eve he questioned Terrance on the coolness of his skin. I fear that we will need to leave him soon. ‘Tis a pity.

1 January 1790

A new year breaks and our bed is warm and happy. Wolfgang shares it regularly now, his odd questions endearing us to him. He asked about the moment that he interrupted in late September. Asked how it was possible that I bore no scar from the bites that he saw inflicted.

Terrance explained that he did not see as he thought and promptly kissed him until he could no longer breathe, leaving our boy woozy and soft. We must tell him soon. Or leave. Terrance is aggrieved, but concurs.

9 January 1790

Wolfgang arrived with his wife this evening. She has become suspicious of his nightly disappearances and we were forced to put on as if it were not our boy she was stroking, our pet that she kissed. She is quite improper in her affections and I could feel Terrence’s anger. We bade them an early night and took ourselves out. A young woman, as dark as Wolfgang’s bride, found her death in my lover. His anger abated quickly and he took me to bed.

I write this as the sun breaks. I can hear Wolfgang approaching. He has much to answer for.

11 January 1790

It has been a long two nights. Terrence decided that Wolfgang’s impudence was to be punished. We tied him to our bed, nude, and tormented his body, moving from gently touches to harsh slaps. We made love on bed between his legs where he could only watch and wonder. Terrence forgot himself and we found ourselves in a position as before. He buried within me, Wolfgang looking on in shock.

Terrence pulled himself from my body and smiled up at our boy, He looked so beautiful, his demon surging to taste the warm blood that was so close. I crawled up and sat at Wolfgang’s head as Terrence’s fangs split his thigh. Wolfgang stared at Terrence, his breathing erratic, as my love drew out his blood.

Wolfgang looked at me and I let my demon out as well. He struggled in his bonds, whimpering, but not afraid. When Terrence released him, Wolfgang was spent.

12 January 1790

We sent Wolfgang home to his wife this morn. A note arrived from her questioning us on her husband’s whereabouts. Terrence bade our boy go, but with instructions on the use of the body that belongs to us.

30 January 1790

I am concerned for our boy.

He will no longer participate in the lovemaking that we offer. He wants only the bite. He will, of course, do as Terrence and I say, but our hands do nothing for him anymore.

1 March 1790

Our Wolfgang is a fool.

The two fortnight have been spent trying to break him of his desire for the touch of our fangs. We have sent a letter to his wife, explaining that we are traveling with him.

Each night, he begs and pleads and I cannot take much more. We have not broken his flesh again, we will not, but also we cannot let him go.

13 March 1790

Wolfgang has returned to his home, adamant that he will no longer seek us out. My heart aches for him, our sweet pet. Terrence is angry, packing. I must go assist.

*Note: This portion of his journal is extremely vague. I do not think that he was able to maintain the façade of this fiction to provide more detail.

22 August 1790

We have returned to Vienna. My journal is poorly cared for at this point and as I read back through my entries, I do not see the passion, the fire that we felt when we were with our boy, even in that last month. I know that Terrence feels the same. He still seems to ache deep inside, blaming himself for introducing Wolfgang to such an intoxicating stimulus.

We have returned because of a rumor.

It is said that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is wasting away. He has fallen under some type of condition which has brought him close to death. We will seek him out tonight.

23 August 1790

Wolfgang.

It is almost too painful to state.

He is. Whoring. Himself out to vampires.

3 September 1790

We followed him tonight. He crossed over many streets, stumbling as he attempted to hold himself upright. Over a bridge, almost falling into the water beneath when he stumbled. My concern for Terrence is exceeding my concern for Wolfgang. Terrence was angry, so angry in fact that he was unable to guard against his demon. Time and time again, I was forced to stand before him when another passed on the street.

Wolfgang finally made it to an antiquated building on the outer edge of town. From our vantage point across the road, we could hear the demons within.

Terrence waved me in and I followed Wolfgang up the stairwell to a room where many vampires sat waiting. They all took him. Over and over their fangs marred his perfect flesh. Flesh that I have worshiped with my hands and lips and they were desecrating it!

Wolfgang lost consciousness and I attacked. Terrence must have heard the commotion, for he joined me. The floor was littered with dust when we completed our vengeance. Terrence picked up our boy and we returned to his home.

His wife was nowhere to be found, so we bathed him, dressed him and put him in bed, waiting for him to awaken.

10 September 1790

It has been a week since we brought Wolfgang back to his home. His wife continues to be absent, though we have found evidence that she was recently here. He has yet to awaken from the night that he was all but devoured. We wait, impatiently, for some sign that he will live or die. Waiting. Terrence speaks of nothing but Wolfgang. His heart is breaking. However, when I suggested that he turn to boy, make him ours forever, he turned his back to me, not speaking for days.

I fear for my love.

*note: As if this demon wouldn’t simply take the opportunity to expand its brood. This entry lends itself to father’s belief that this entire scenario was fiction, written to entertain the demon and confuse the council.

18 September 1790

Wolfgang is awake, although he does not appear to live. The only words that pass his lips are words of hate aimed at my love and I, or pleading to return him to his whorehouse. His wounds have healed nicely, but his fever has not decreased and I am unable to get any type of food to stay within.

Broth has now become his sustenance, when he allows me near enough to feed him. I can see his bones just beneath his skin, smell the death on his breath.

25 September 1790

A miracle has happened. Wolfgang is writing again. He asked for ink, scrolls and a quill last eve. His hastily drawn ledger is filled with scratches, perfect notes, dark, heavy, but living.

He eats, to keep up his strength he says, not because I bid it. I care not, for he is eating. Terrence has begun speaking again, and has returned to our bed. I have missed my love during this time.

3 October 1790

Wolfgang continues to strengthen. His music is flowing out of him now and I can almost see the notes around him as he stalks through the rooms, angrily puffing on his pipe, glaring daggers at my love. Terrence will not allow him to leave and Wolfgang is quite displeased.

I am not. I am quite pleased with the progress that our boy is making. Pleased with the fire that is firing through him. I smile at Terrence and he returns the expression. I believe that this is the turning point.

10 November 1790

Wolfgang, still too thin, still too susceptible to the myriad of diseases that the humans of this time share with one another, has requested to go out.

Terrence eyed him for a long moment before consenting to the outing. We will go out tonight, allow Wolfgang some fresh air and then return to the rooms.

The Requiem is perhaps a third completed. He states that he needs to breath in the night air to finish it. So tonight, my love and I take our boy out. I am trembling with excitement.

13 November 1790

He has disappeared, the ungrateful little creature. Our walk was but a ruse that he used to escape us. Terrence and I have spent the last three nights searching for Wolfgang. None of the established houses report seeing him. Terrence’s anger was palpable and I have no doubt that the demons within spoke only the truth.

30 November 1790

All this time and we find him on our doorstep. Terrence angrily dragged him in when we heard his approach.

He is closer to death now that before. His skin is ragged, too loose, and his eyes hold no life at all. He bears the mark of a single vampire, though he reeks of that one.

A female has held him all this time. Her scent surrounds him, oozes from him. Terrence has been an hour of more bathing the boy, scrubbing her marks from his body. That her fangs have left permanent marks is telling. I fear that he will not recover.

5 December 1790

The last five days were spent curled around my love, his arms filled with the frail body of our Wolfgang. Our Wolfgang.

It seems impossible that this man, this human, could draw out such a protective instinct in our demons. We lay there, listening as his breath became less, become shallow and painful. His heart beating slowly, missing beats, adding others, until finally…

It stopped.

We returned him to his home, tucked him into his bed and then began a search for his wife. We found her at her mother’s. She had been available all this time, merely a few doors down. We escorted her to the door of their rooms and left.

Our Wolfgang is gone. We shall never return to this haunted, unbearable place.

*note: This is the last mention of Mozart in his journals. More travels are recorded and many episodes of taking human lovers followed, however, Father’s notes all state that it is yet more invention, written to shock any future readers. I have removed all of these, forwarding to September 1899.

4 September 1899

I have kept these words for one hundred fifty three years, and have lived for one hundred and sixty three years.

Too long for frail pages to last. I look back on the words I wrote when I first met my love. So long ago. I was but a boy when he took me, made me his.

Terrence taught me what it meant to love, what it was to want to subsist for only one. And he was that one. Was.

I cannot begin to express

I cannot

I must write this down, I must include it in these books, so that when they are discovered, covered in ash, the story will be here. Will be complete. For when the sun rises, I will cease to exist.

My beautiful Terrence was murdered. My love, my heart, he was taken from my arms by an evil child with the scent of hate all around her. She was angry, meticulous in her work and she stole him from my arms.

We were along the banks of the Nile, watching the night pass, sharing kisses and soft words, enjoying our time together as we always do… did. My Terrence, I do not know how I can even write these words!

He had rolled over me, pressing himself into me, teasing my flesh, building our desire slowly. I offered my neck to my sire, my love, my heart, knowing that our union was quite perfect. His fangs met my flesh, that delicious feeling of being taken had just flooded through me when his weight was gone! My eyes opened as I tasted ash, felt the light touches of something fine, almost weightless alighting upon my bare skin.

And that hateful, sadistic little girl was standing over me, her face alight with pleasure. She reached down to yank me to my feet and I lost control. The feeling of her bones snapping under my fingers could not erase the sensation of dust sprinkling my flesh. Dust that was once my Terrence.

Her body lies here. Next to me on the ground. I know what she is. I can smell it on her, almost feel it in my bones. She is the Slayer. Or was. Terrence informed me of the Council of Watchers and their most horrible weapons. Told me of their wretched, displaced biases against anything non-human.

They steal the lives of little girls, rip them away from their families and make them into monsters. And now one of theirs is dead. And I feel nothing but contempt for their outdated ways.

I will end my life this day simply because I am unable to continue without Terrence. I will watch the sun rise, a sight that I have not enjoyed in several lifetimes. My dust will mingle with Terrence’s and cover the body of the one who stole my love. My words will be found when her Watcher seeks her out and they will know the truth.

The sun comes.

I am ready.

*note: Father discovered that the Slayer that was killed by this creature was found shortly after sunrise. She had been chosen but a week before.

~fin~