In any case, even with Francine's saintly patience, I continued to be astonished--and perturbed--by her steadfast belief in her husband's love for her, and puzzled for many hours over why she stayed with him, risking her life (and later on, her child's life) to his capricious ire. Any reasonable person would have come to the conclusion that a man who abuses his wife to such a degree does not hold any true affection for her. Even before my sempiternal existence began, it was common for many men to physically punish their wives, but in that respect, I suppose, I was a man many years ahead of my time. I have always found it most distasteful to display such a lack of self control as to lay hands on women and children, just because one is capable of it.

By the time Francine had decided that enough was enough, her son was nearly ten years old. Vincent made the mistake of doing more damage to her face than could easily be explained away by walking into a door or tripping over the cat and falling into a table. Even at that, I believe what finally drove her to action was the look on her young son's face when he came home from school and saw her sitting at the kitchen table in her blood-soaked blouse with the ice pack covering half of her face. That evening while Vincent was at work, Francine called an abuse hot line and within twenty-four hours, she and her son were secreted away by a group of caring strangers in the hope beginning a new life far from the violence and pain of the old one. They were given new names (in another ironic twist of fate, Francine became Mary), along with a source of income and a place to live a thousand miles from their home in Brooklyn.

I followed, naturally, curious to see how things would turn out. Florida was not particularly to my liking. Had I blood running through my veins, I could not have tolerated the insects, which were large and seemingly insatiable; fortunately, I do not. Francine's son was enrolled in school and she found employment as a visiting health aid, a job much beneath her nurse's status, largely consisting of checking blood pressures, changing sheets and making sure the patients had what they needed to survive until the next visit. Things were difficult, but life was improving for them. However the need to keep secreted from Vincent was a constant gremlin that niggled at Francine, who worried that with his police contacts he would somehow find them. In spite of this, by the time six months had passed, she had managed to make a few friends and slowly began the renovations that would turn their new apartment into a home.

Then came the night when Francine's worst nightmare became reality.

Her son was gone on a weekend camping trip with a friend, and she had accepted a dinner invitation from a pleasant young man, as different in appearance and temperament from her husband as a man could be. She looked exquisite in an emerald green dress that suited her natural coloring and slender figure to perfection, and a glimmer of light shone again in her eyes. It was the first time in a very long while that I had seen a resemblance to the beautiful young woman who had played jump rope in the street with her little sister. To borrow an expression that is not technically accurate, but true nonetheless, it warmed my heart to see Francine happy. Alas, this turned out to be an ephemeral pleasure for both of us.

When she returned home that night, Francine walked into her bedroom and flipped on the light to find Vincent waiting for her. He sat on her bed, smoking a cigarette, with pillows propping him against the headboard. The hand closest to the side of the bed raised a baseball bat with casual menace. He spoke to her in the voice of purest evil, usually given to characters like me in films and theatricals. "You stole my son, Francine. MY son. You shouldn't have done that. I'm going to make sure you don't ever try that again."

He rose from the bed then and the paralysis that had momentarily fallen over Francine lifted. She turned and ran, but had I not been there, it would have done her no good at all. I let her pass me in the shadowed hall, but stepped forward when Vincent would have caught her by the hair. With one hand I grabbed him by the throat and held him up against the wall. His legs dangled inches from the floor and his eyes rolled wide in shock. Clearly, he wasn't used to being the one pinned to the wall. I grinned maliciously, exposing my fangs, as I repeated his earlier words to Francine. "You shouldn't have done that. I'm going to make sure you don't ever try that again." I was gratified to see the shock turn to fear.

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