For this is how you rid the world of vampire men
You pierce the heart, cut it out, and then
Fill the mouth with garlic and sever the head
This will ensure that the vampire is dead

Could John really do such a terrible deed?
To a man he’d loved so much indeed?
Jan hated him knowing that he could
Jan feared him knowing that he would

He’d waited so long for this.

And his heart seared in anticipation as he imagined the moment when he’d do the very thing that had been fixated in his imagination, the act that would seal his vengeance, and he ran his tongue over his dry lips as he realised that this was everything he’d been waiting for all this time.

He felt the raindrops trickling down from his hairline to the bridge of his nose, he ignored every bead that seeped down the back of his coat and down his spine, and though his glasses were useless in such weather, he somehow was able to see every detail, every inch of the garden and pathway perfectly. He gripped the iron bars of the fence tightly in his palms and once again wet his mouth. He’d never felt quite like this before, never had he felt such a strong inclination, enough to make his pulse race and his lungs struggle to keep up with his fiercely beating heart. The corners of his lips twitched and with a terrible sense of purpose, he thrust through the garden gate and along the path.

With only a few sweeps of his long stride, he had reached the front door, and his fingers searched for the handle, wanting to somehow burn every sensation of this moment into his memory. The moment when he’d rid the world of that traitor, that lying fiend, evil personified. It had taken him too long to get here, far too long, and how many lives had been lost because his journey here had been delayed so needlessly? He was going to do it for all those nameless victims, for everyone who’d fallen under the spell of that creature, entranced, willingly baring their throats for him. None of them would have been able to defend themselves against such a monster, but now it was time for the monster to feel fear, regret. He’d be sorry for everything he’d done to the world, he was going to pay.

The door was unlocked; it was almost like Jan was inviting him in. In the past they’d done that, when they’d been friends and constantly at each other’s side. For a while it had seemed they were two halves of a single being, until John discovered Jan had been playing him false. In daylight they’d know only friendship, camaraderie. During the night, Jan would slip away into shadows and wait for someone entirely unfortunate. John could not forget. John could not forgive. And he knew no one could possibly understand how it felt. He’d invested so much in that traitor, his trust, his affection. He’d have done anything Jan asked of him. But Jan lied. His entire world was one of lies, dark and horrifying lies.

John didn’t hate him for his vampirism; he hated him because the Jan he’d cared for so much clearly hadn’t cared for him. He missed his friend so completely, but he missed the Jan Vasile he thought he knew through and through. The monster that had revealed itself made fond memories burn his heart, made a mockery of everything. EVERYTHING! No one could understand that, and John didn’t expect them to. Sometimes, he would hear a snippet of a song, or see something in a shop and remember for a moment, so fondly, that Jan loved that song, that he’d have loved to receive that thing as a present. And he’d imagine how his friend’s face would light up, enjoying John’s kindness. And then John would remember how Jan had played him false; he would hate that song, he would leave the shop in a fury. Deceiving Jan, lying Jan, false, wicked, terrible, uncaring, unfeeling Jan.

Had Jan broken anyone else’s heart like he’d ruined John’s?

When God had somehow spared him from the mortal threat that had punctured his left lung and missed his aorta by mere inches, John knew he’d been allowed to survive for a reason. The bullet should have killed him, but somehow he’d seen the rest of the war go by. He’d seen the new world born. He’d regained his faith because somehow his salvation hadn’t been accidental, and he’d been lost trying to find the purpose. John hadn’t imagined that Jan would be his purpose. He wished that that cup had passed them by. If only something higher than all of them hadn’t wanted Jan’s type destroyed. John regretted what he had to do, but he did not forgive.

When he stepped into the house, he realised that the beads of moisture still seeping down from his hairline were no longer raindrops. His sweat was somehow as heavy as great drops of blood sliding down to the ground; he had to remove his coat and roll up his shirt sleeves.  He studied Jan’s new home with considerable interest, imagining what it might have been like to sit in that armchair near him, to toast his good health and fortune and laugh like they used to do. He could almost see them both there, and Jan became even more monstrous in his imagination. Deceiving Jan, false Jan.

His mouth was so dry. And since the house was so still, silent and motionless, he detoured to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. Somehow it did nothing for him, it was wet in his mouth, it was cold down his throat, but still he was thirsty. John wondered if Jan ever felt thirsty for water, or if it had always been blood that satisfied his cravings. And he remembered why this moment was so important. He was going to save the world from such an appetite, and if he put it off any longer, delayed just another second more, then others could fall victim to that terrible set of fangs.

John found Jan exactly where he expected him to find him, lying prone and still, enclosed by the four sides of a casket. He stood at the threshold of the room for quite some time, just watching Jan’s chest rise and fall with each breath, that pale face so peaceful, obviously not troubled by the past. Jan had cut his hair really short and somehow it did not suit the vampire. John ran his hand over his clammy neck and then covered his mouth, blinking back the sting that was affecting his tear ducts. He repressed a shudder. He knew what he had to do rid the world of this monster, but it took him all his time to cross the room to Jan’s side. For a moment he couldn’t stand doing this.

John dropped his satchel onto a small table beside the casket; it was set up almost like a bedside table and the satire of it nearly made him laugh. He lay out his tools, contemplating each with dismay, regret, and anger. Jan did not stir, he did not even twitch when John lay out some garlic and he wondered whether it did have any point in this at all, or whether it was unnecessary. But better safe than sorry; he’d use it regardless.

In researching this rather gruesome little task, he’d discovered something ironic. The wood preferred for this ritual was that of the Hawthorn tree, the Serbians considered it particularly deadly for vampires. Had it been fate all along? Was a different type of Hawthorne just as dangerous for those fiends?

No matter how he tried to steady his trembling hand, it still shook as he ran it along Jan’s torso, from his belly to his chest and he tried to gauge exactly where he should position the stake. He didn’t want to miss his target. Without opening his eyes, Jan’s hand rose up and he gripped the other’s man’s wrist tightly.

“Jan,” he sighed.

“John,” the other murmured sleepily. He opened his eyes, closed them, and re-positioned himself just a little. His old friend had expected him to awaken with violence, but Jan barely moved. So John re-evaluated where to place the tip of the stake and when he pressed down into the other’s man flesh, Jan finally pulled himself into the waking world.

“What... what are you doing?” his voice shook, as if he had a very good idea of what John Hawthorne was doing.

“I’m trying to find out where your heart is,” came the cold reply, colder than he thought himself capable of. “If in fact you have a heart, which I have come to doubt. If I am correct, it should lie just here, just a little left of your breast bone.”

“Are you really going to kill me?”  Jan tried to sneer, but those intense eyes were frozen with fear. It was almost as if you could see the cogs in that terrible mind working furiously, thinking of all the ways it could escape from such a situation, but John didn’t want to give it the chance of finding a solution.

He leaned down until the tip of his nose was only inches from that of his friend, until they shared the same breath, and he told him solemnly, “Yes, indeed I am going to kill you. Why, are you afraid?”

Jan was very much afraid. He had strength enough to rip this man in two, he could have flung himself across the room and out of the door before John had enough time to blink. Yet somehow, there seemed to be a terrible weight on his chest, as if something was sitting on it, and the four walls surrounding him kept him trapped. He felt claustrophobic and his breath came in terrified shudders. He appealed to his friend for mercy.

“John, please, I’m begging you,” Jan Vasile pleaded for his life. “Please? You don’t understand, please don’t kill me.”

“It is a little late for that, don’t you think?” his hissed furiously, enraged that Jan would be pathetic enough to think begging would spare his life. Did Jan really think he’d get it? After everything he’d done?

“John... I’m sorry! For everything!” he still couldn’t move. It was almost as if he was paralysed, held in place by John Hawthorne’s self righteous rage.

“Your words are meaningless. You are entirely incapable of being honest, and you are only sorry because you do not want to die, not because you hurt me.”

He held the offending weapon over the other man’s chest and once again contemplated what this act meant. From now on he’d never be able to tell Jan just how much he regretted him. They would never get another chance to talk like this.

“I wish I had never met you,” that wasn’t entirely true, but they’d both be spared the pain if their paths had never crossed, “I wish I’d never known your sorry hide. I still cannot... I still cannot believe how much I...”

“I loved you,” Jan’s voice was shaking so much he was practically incoherent, but John could make out those words and it burnt his insides. “I’m sorry!”

“YOU ARE NOT SORRY!” he bellowed down at the prone man, “You wouldn't dare try to justify yourself if you knew how much I’d cared about you! Don’t you dare look me in the eye and tell me you’re sorry!”

“Please put the stake down,” his friend asked, “Please let’s just talk first. I’ll tell you everything. I swear. I won’t leave out a single detail. I never chose this! My uncle... Rastislav... he...”

“Enough! I have heard enough of your excuses, enough of your lies!” Why was his throat so dry? He couldn’t stand it, “I am not listening to you anymore. I have wasted enough of my heart taking pity on you.”

He reached for his hammer and refused to meet Jan’s eyes. Still Jan swore his friendship, still feared the crushing hand of fate reaching for him. Outside the world blazed by at a hundred miles an hour, outside people were going about their day to day lives, completely unaware of the bloody murder in John’s mind. The world stormed outside, but in here it was only they two, soon to be only one.

“John... I...” he never got to finish. He cried out in pain when he felt the first swing of the hammer, felt the stake penetrate an inch into his chest cavity. He tried to scream, and blood was the only thing that came out of his mouth. It trickled down his chin, and his whole body shook even as John swung around again, hitting the head of the stake dead centre, thrusting it further into the vampire’s chest. Jan’s hands were flailing at him desperately, trying to push him away, sliding along the inside of his casket desperately as if he was still trying to find an escape route.

It took three swings, three terrible thuds, three mind numbing crunches as flesh and bone were forced to give way. Then the tip ruptured his heart, the only thing mortal about him, and Jan Vasile went as still as death. John released a breath he didn’t know he was holding; felt the tears stinging as they slid down from his eyes. He knew he’d killed his friend; he was covered in enough of Jan’s blood to prove it. Some had spurted from his chest and splashed against his glasses but John still see enough to continue.

He took the garlic and forced it between Jan’s jaws, watching with morbid fascination as the vampire’s tongue and some of his lips were burnt away at its touch. Jan’s handsome face was quite ruined by the garlic’s presence. But he still was not finished. He retrieved the handsaw he had brought with him, threaded his fingers through Jan’s shortened hair and nearly fell down sick when he began to saw through his friend’s neck. It took much longer than he thought it would, and there was so much blood. The smell of death hung heavily in the air, the sickly stench of blood made John feel faint. He gagged when he began to saw through what had been Jan’s spine and the terrible squeal that seemed to emanate from the bones. He severed the head completely, though some sinew at first refused to give way to him.

And that’s what was left of Jan Vasile, a bloody and mutilated corpse. He was well and truly dead, but the ritual demanded that the heart must be removed to ensure that the vampire could not rise from his grave once more. It had to be taken out. John Hawthorne hacked away at the hole he’d made, cracking the chest cavity even wider until he beheld Jan’s heart. Somehow it was still beating, but faintly. John had heard of the medical phenomenon that the heart could beat on past brain death, continue for several minutes before going still. But he had pierced the heart; surely it should have stopped from that at least?

He plucked it from Jan’s chest and held it before him, witnessing the damage he’d done to it. It throbbed its last in his palm. Yet his anger was somehow not spent, this should have satisfied him. He’d done his duty; he’d killed the vampire. He’d killed the man who had hurt him so much. So why did he feel so terribly empty? And he was so thirsty. So thirsty, his mouth was so dry.

Blood seeped from the muscle in his hand and John watched it trace a trail down his palm and down his wrist. He licked it away, and then, for no reason at all except to take away his thirst and exorcise his anger, he opened his mouth wide, bit into the heart...

...and that was when Jan Vasile awoke, screaming from his nightmare.