I’m wearing my Miskatonic University graduation ring. I picked it up at Gen-Con a few years ago, just as a joke. My Cam character — William Walker — has his father’s “orikalchum ring.” Actually, it’s a generational ring, delivered to the first Lord Strange, all the way down to poor William Walker — the Last Strange. He’s #33. Auspicious number.
I keep the ring to myself and Trekhead. I mean, I try to explain it to Storytellers. “I don’t know what it does. I don’t even know if it does anything at all. He just has it.”
They ask, “Do you mean you don’t know what it does, or Strange doesn’t know what it does?”
I say, “No, I mean neither of us knows. It’s a thing. A hook. Use it. Go ahead. I don’t care.”
It’s like when Walker got a Ward without getting any points for it. I mean, her. Great. It gives the character focus. Before that little girl came along, I had no idea what he was going to do in Los Angeles. He doesn’t like and/or trust his Clan superiors, and it looks like the Elders have everything in hand when it comes to solving problems. What’s a li’l ol’ neonate to do? Even if he is a Tremere?
Okay, so here comes this little girl. This little girl.
“I lost a daughter, too,” he told that old voodoo woman. Then, before he got in the grave, he whispered, “I’m not doing this for them.” I’m sure that didn’t make the other Tremere happy.
I was ready to ditch the character. I mean, I was having fun and all, but being a Tremere in LA just wasn’t any fun. I was having a great time with the other clans, and even had a great talk with an anarch (who went and got himself killed shortly thereafter), but… well, it just wasn’t going well. Might as well head back to England and…
… and one of the Tremere gets hit with a curse. There’s a “blood rose” in the middle of the Getty Center. Nobody can touch it but him. I saw the curse, saw the old voodoo woman who put it on him. I heard the cryptic words that I just didn’t have enough knowledge to understand.
All right. One of the Tremere who doesn’t like me very much just got hit with a curse. Great. Tell me why I care. I mean, I’ll go talk to the Brujah and…
… there’s a little girl involved. A little girl buried alive. The woman says this to the Tremere Primogen. She appears out of nowhere, starts saying all those riddles again. He seems to know what she’s talking about, or he’s faking it. But, a little girl. A little girl.
She starts walking away, and Walker rushes forward. “She was your daughter?” he asks.
The woman stops. “My daughter,” she says.
Walker nods. “I lost a daughter, too,” he says to her. His fingers trembling. Remembering. He was a cop, then. Not a vampire, not a warlock. Just a cop.
“She’s gone. But she can be brought back,” she says.
“Let me help,” Walker tells her. He remembers her laughter, her tears. Taken. Stolen. Throttled. Murdered. His lips mumble something. Then, he says it louder. “I need to help.”
And now, Walker can touch the rose, too.
Three graves. One for a little girl, one for a mortal, and one for a vampire. Three roses, one for each.
The Tremere look skeptical. They Dominate a ghoul to get into the second grave. The little girl gets into the first one, her eyes red, her heart still, her skin cold.
“Now,” the woman says, not entirely there. “Who shall go in the third?”
The Tremere balk. Without even thinking, Walker says, “I will.”
He steps up to the grave and looks in. He turns to the old woman. “I’m not doing this for them,” he says.
“I know.” She motions to the grave. Walker climbs in.
The grave is cold and still. The sky is red. If he had a heartbeat, it’d be in his ears. He’s afraid. But it doesn’t matter. She’ll find rest. That’s what matters. That’s what matte…
… daddy?
He hears his breath catch. Habit. Not need. His eyes red, his heart still, his skin cold.
daddy. i’m here daddy.
A white mist lifts him, and she’s there, her little hand lifting his weight from the cold ground.
it’s okay daddy. i’m okay.
He wants to say something. Anything. He can’t move.
why are you so sad. did i do something wrong?
(And, at this point, John almost loses it. Right there.)
Walker can barely whisper. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
there’s another little girl. the bad man hurt her, too. and she needs a daddy.
He nods softly. Barely.
i love you, daddy.
His throat tightens, his tears choking him. She holds him for a moment, and before he can say a word, she’s gone. And he’s standing there, still feeling her little embrace. No, not an embrace. Just a hug. A big, warm, hug. Sometimes, the little word is bigger.
And he’s there, at the edge of the grave. Everyone is still there, still watching. How long did…
And the old woman is there, pulling something from the grave. Pulling her daughter from the grave. And the girl’s eyes are chocolate brown. Her heart is strong. And her skin is soft and warm.
The girl and her daughter disappear. The Tremere bosses tell him it was an illusion. “Don’t say a word of this,” they tell him. He nods quietly.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Walker?” they ask him.
“Nothing,” he says.
“What did you see?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
And, for a moment, he realizes they could smell him lying. If they wanted to. He watches them.
“Very well,” they say. “Remember what we said.” They leave. He looks back at the three graves.
i love you, daddy.
“You couldn’t tell her,” he says. “You couldn’t save her.”
i love you, daddy.
All the way home, the words are in his head. Chandler drives him back to his home. He doesn’t stay in the chantry. Outside, the dawn is sneaking up on the sky. They’re late. Chandler drives fast.
A break in the silence. “I failed you,” he whispers, his eyes thick.
“What’s that?” Chandler asks.
“Nothing.” You couldn’t tell her. Even then, you had your chance. And you couldn’t tell her.
Long, dark road, the headlights staring far ahead, but his eyes stare farther. Those magic eyes of his. All the good they did him tonight. She was there. You said if you had one more chance, you’d tell her everything you never had the chance to say. You swore you would. And there she was. Right there. In your arms and you couldn’t tell her.
“Did you say something, Walker?” Chandler asks.
“No,” he says, his eyes looking out the window, out to the distant stars. Little lights, so far away. “But I should have.”
(for R)