19. The Final Trial

Chapter 19

The Final Trial

" W ho's he?" Alice's reflection asked.

"Thaddeus, there's a way out," Hugo said as he sat up.

"Who's Thaddeus?" Alice's reflection asked. "What's going on? Talk to me."

"Come here," Thaddeus yelled as he reached down and yanked Hugo by the shirt.

Hugo's body weight was no match for Thaddeus' burly might as Hugo went flying up to his feet.

"Thaddeus, listen. Alice is coming to rescue us," he said.

"Plans changed. Your little stunt did not work, so I made a deal to ensure my survival," Thaddeus replied.

Hugo's heart skipped a beat. "What are you talking about? What did you do?"

"First, no more communication," Thaddeus said.

"Hugo, what's happ?—"

Thaddeus slammed his boot into the mirror, silencing Alice's reflection. The mirror spider-webbed as it shattered into pieces.

"What are you doing?" Hugo asked as he moved to stop Thaddeus.

Thaddeus grabbed him by the shirt and slammed Hugo into the wall. He placed his arm up and leaned his body weight into Hugo, pinning him. Hugo struggled to free himself, but Thaddeus was far too strong. He stomped on the mirror until the entire silver reflection was shattered into small pieces and the back of the mirror exposed.

"We tried your way," Thaddeus said. "It did not work out. You lost. Now, I am doing it my way. For my own survival."

"You coward. Help is on the way."

Thaddeus snarled at Hugo, baring his teeth. "Survival is the name of the game. I am getting out of here one way or another. You managed to upset her. I convinced her you would be converted through the final trial in exchange for my freedom. I plan on delivering."

Hugo narrowed his eyes, malice coursing through his thoughts. He wasn't about to let Thaddeus beat or convert him. After all, he was a vampire, and if it was a display of teeth Thaddeus wanted, it's what Thaddeus would receive.

"My, what big teeth you have. Unfortunately, mine are bigger," Hugo growled.

His vampire fangs elongated, and he chomped down on Thaddeus' arm. He drove the fangs deep into the forearm holding him in place. There was no blood, although parts of Hugo craved it. There was, however, pain. Pain for Thaddeus.

Thaddeus let out a yell as he pressed against Hugo's head. Hugo held firm, his jaw locked in tight on his arm. Thaddeus pushed harder, but Hugo's head pressed against the wall, trapped between the wall and Thaddeus' arm. The more pressure Thaddeus exerted on Hugo, the more Hugo locked onto his arm.

Hugo swung his right fist, uppercutting into Thaddeus' stocky torso, each thunderous blow hitting and striking harder. Thaddeus winced as he cried out in pain. Hugo gave a few more shots to his rib section.

Thaddeus pulled Hugo away from the wall and slammed him back into it. Pain reverberated through Hugo, each blow more painful than the last. Even though he was dead, this realm still invoked pain to his spirit, his soul. His muffled voice winced as he still held firm onto Thaddeus' arm.

Thaddeus drew Hugo closer to him, and Hugo seized his opportunity. He punched Thaddeus once more, timing it perfectly when he was closest to him. Thaddeus let go of Hugo's head as he clutched his rib cage. Hugo retracted his fangs and ducked under Thaddeus, bolting for the door.

"A neat trick," Thaddeus said as he rubbed his arm. "But what did you think it was going to accomplish?"

"I'm getting out of here, and you can't stop me," Hugo said as he dove his arm under the bed mattress. He withdrew his black and gray hockey stick like a champion warrior unsheathing a sword. "I'll fight the banshee's whole army if I have to. I'm getting the hell out of here."

Hugo sprinted out of the room and down the stairs. Surefooted, he never missed a step. Determination and fire flickered in his eyes. He barged into the living room to gather any of Alice's trinkets he could use as weapons.

Hugo stopped in his tracks. He gripped the hockey stick, the end tape knob in his left hand, with his right sliding up the shaft in a loose grip. He stepped forward with his left foot and turned his right foot back to the side. He was ready to strike at the new occupant of the living room.

"Who are you?" Hugo asked.

An armchair, with round cushioned sides, now occupied a space where Alice and the Christmas tree were before. The chair's back turned to Hugo with a seated figure—a man. His neatly coifed hair was unmistakable. He wore a white, long- sleeve dress shirt. An end table placed next to the chair held a wineglass and a greenish-black bottle.

Hugo scanned the room for other occupants. The room was lit by candlelight and the corners shrouded in darkness. All the Christmas trimmings were gone. The garland and the tree had disappeared. It was as if the room reset itself once more. There was only the lone man with his back to Hugo.

"Who are you?" Hugo asked once more. "Answer me or I'll strike."

The man picked up the wineglass and took a sip. Hugo glimpsed the label of the greenish-black bottle, a label he hadn't drank in over a year, since the night of Elizabeth's funeral. It was Elizabeth's favorite brand. The night of her funeral, he sat alone in his living room and drank every bottle they had in the house. He relayed the same mantra over and over, trying to find answers, but he was met with only silence.

Hugo blinked a few times. It was as if he was seeing a ghost. Not those he had seen before; this time, it was different. This was something he had lived and knew all too well. The man sitting in the chair was him.

"Why did you have to leave me?" his ghostly visage asked. The man set the glass down and twisted the black onyx ring on his ring finger.

"What is this?" Hugo asked.

The heavy soles of Thaddeus' boots echoed off the hardwood steps as he descended. Hugo turned to him as he entered the living room. Thaddeus stood in the doorway, rubbing his forearm where Hugo bit him.

"Welcome to the final trial, Hugo Dodds," Thaddeus said. "Make it quick."

Hugo turned and pointed the hockey stick at Thaddeus. "What is this? A trick?"

"Why did you have to leave me?" Hugo's ghostly visage asked again. "What am I supposed to do?"

"No trick," Thaddeus said. "The truth."

"What truth?" Hugo asked.

"Why did you have to leave me?" his image asked yet again.

"The truth you have never wanted to face. The one you hid away. This was all made up," Thaddeus said.

Hugo lowered the hockey stick, the blade contacting the floor. With a narrowed gaze, he tilted his head, struggling to understand what played out before him. Hugo's brows furrowed as a puzzled expression took hold. He turned to face the chair. "You mean I'm not dead?"

"Oh no, you are very much dead," Thaddeus said. "Although, it was not the way you believed. This is the truth."

The man sitting in the chair rose. He turned to face Hugo. His icy blue eyes, his coifed hair, his clean-shaven face—it was unmistakable. It was his image, only from a lifetime ago. Right after Elizabeth's funeral.

"Why did you have to leave me?" his image said.

"You never met anyone named Alice. There was no witch. There was no purple house. You never became a vampire. The hole in your chest is not from a wooden stake," Thaddeus said. He approached Hugo in small steps.

Hugo stood there, shaking his head. He knew what he had experienced. Max. Galahad. Flying on broomsticks. Riding on Guinevere to the Raskins' store to propose to Alice, only to have it interrupted by failing to enter the security alarm. Dinner with the Savinos. Confronting the Savinos and being turned into a vampire. Storming his old house. It was real. It was all real. He experienced it. He lived it. He knew it to be real.

Yet, here was an image of a man. The man he used to be. The man he no longer was stood before him. The images of Elizabeth and Alice were slightly off. Something was different about them, like a dream or a nightmare where the details weren't accurate.

Yet, there was nothing off about his visage. It was as if a mirror was held up in front of him, perfectly reflecting his own likeness. He was chanting the same words he had muttered over and over without fault. He said those words the night of the funeral. He sat in the chair. Drank the wine. Hugo was alone in his house, in the dark, and he had no idea what to do next.

"I—I don't understand," Hugo said.

"You sat in your chair, night after night, drinking your wine to numb the pain," Thaddeus said.

"Why did you have to leave me?" Hugo's visage said.

Thaddeus stalked around Hugo, moving from side to side as he spoke. Hugo never took his eyes off his image.

"You did everything you could to numb the pain of losing someone you loved. You made it all up. You told yourself a story to hide the pain, but it wasn't good enough. You still lived in a reality where you were alone. Lost. Hurt."

Thaddeus' words tore at Hugo, pulling him back into dark recesses he had long forgotten, but it was still there. The pain he experienced was never gone, but his reality became so much more than his grief. The pain filled less of his soul.

At least, he thought it was. Hugo found himself slipping back into old habits. Old thoughts. Not confronted by the loss, but the pain he went through. The pain he was forced to endure all over again.

"Why did you have to leave me?" Hugo's image muttered once more.

He dropped the hockey stick. The graphite shaft bounded off the hardwood, but Hugo never flinched. He reached for his ring finger. The ring was gone, but his body knew what to do. He gave two twists. His ghostly image did the same.

Thaddeus placed a hand on Hugo's shoulder. "You drank at night to forget, but the morning always came. You tried to dull it further. You drank to the point you were numb to life and slipped into fantasy. You wanted to stay, live in your fantasy, but you never could. Then one night . . ."

Thaddeus let go and backed away.

Hugo breathed in and out with short bursts. The memories flooded his mind—at least, he thought they were his memories. In the memory, he repeated the same thing over and over until one day, the wineglass slipped from his hand. The world went dark, and he found himself here.

Hugo fell to his knees. "No. It's not true. You're in my head."

Hugo's face burned as the mask took its final form. His cheeks sunk. The searing pain engulfed his jaw, intensifying as the mask constricted his face, turning him into a terrifying, monstrous being. He slipped into the darkness, succumbing to the pain and despair.

"Give in," Thaddeus said. "It's the only way."

Hugo collapsed to his hands. His forehead rested against the hardwood. The pain seared through his body. It was too much. Hope faded. The room darkened. There was nothing else. There was only the void. It was over. He had failed.

Alice wasn't coming. There was no Alice. It was all in his head.

"Why did you have to leave me?" his image begged in the same sorrowful tone.

Hugo turned his head to see the red velvet Victorian couch where Alice once sat, or he had thought Alice sat. He wanted to see something joyful before the mask took over.

"I'm sorry, Alice. Elizabeth . . . why did you have to leave me?"

His eye glimpsed something under the couch—the object missing from his hand. The object held so much power and control over him. The one thing that, if it was all real, it wouldn't have been missing from his hand. The half-broken black onyx wedding ring.

With every ounce of strength Hugo had left, he focused on his left hand. The ring was gone. His ghostly image still had the ring, but it was missing from Hugo's finger. It was a false image. A false memory from a horrific place.

Their lies weren't true. Max was real. Alice was real. The purple house was real. Galahad. Guinevere. The Savinos.

They were all real. Alice was coming, and he knew it. He had to keep fighting until she arrived. He had to hold on to hope and keep going.

Keep moving forward.

He let out a low growl, summoning all his remaining power. Hugo placed his palms onto the floor. With all his strength, he pushed, picking himself up. His growl grew as he picked himself up from the floor. He rose to one knee. Placing his hands on his knee, he lifted off the ground.

He stood tall, shoulders back, chest puffed out, and head high. He used his forearm to wipe away what he thought was drool from his mouth. He snarled at his image, his icy blue eyes piercing at his target.

"My name is Hugo Dodds. Widower of Elizabeth Dodds. Betrothed of Alice Primrose. I've been knocked down on the ice multiple times in my life, but I always get up. I'm a survivor, a fighter, and when faced with oblivion, I never give in. I'm the vampire of Newbury Grove, and you can't stop me," he shouted.

With a swoop of his left hand, Hugo snatched up the hockey stick from the ground. He charged at the image of himself, letting out a barbaric yawp. With his hands steadfast and the stick clutched tight, he cleaved through the image. It dissipated along with the chair.

Hugo threw back his shoulders and arms, yelling to the sky. The pain and pressure on his face vanished as the weight of grief lifted. The mask was collapsing. First his face, and then his eyes, until there was nothing holding him back.

"What did you do?" Thaddeus asked as he stumbled backward with a horrified expression on his face. "No one . . . no one has ever reversed the mask."

Hugo rushed to the window and threw back the curtains to peer at his reflection. The white mask and black rings around his eyes were gone. A triumphant grin grew across his face. He was himself again. He was Hugo Dodds, the neighborhood vampire of Newbury Grove.

The game is tied. Next goal wins.

"You are going to get us both sent to oblivion," Thaddeus said with a raised voice. "She is going to be furious. We are both going to suffer."

He glared at Thaddeus, his eyes narrowing. "You're going to suffer," Hugo said in a stern voice. "I'm leaving this place. Alice and I will be leaving together."