Extract from the Diary of Ephraim Goodweather
Dear Zack,
This is my second time writing a letter that no father should ever have to write to his son: a suicide note. The first one I crafted before putting you on that train out of New York City, explaining my reasons for staying behind and fighting what I suspected was a losing battle.
Here I remain, still fighting that fight.
You were taken from me in the cruelest manner possible. For nearly two years now, I have pined for you, I have tried to find a way to set you free from the clutches of those who hold you. You think me dead, but no—not yet. I live, and I live for you.
I am writing this to you in the event that you survive me and that the Master survives me as well. In that case—which is for me the worst-case scenario—I will have committed a grave crime against humanity, or what was left of it. I will have traded the last hope for the freedom of our subordinated race in order that you, son, will live. Not only live, but live as a human being, unturned by the plague of vampirism spread by the Master.
My dearest hope is that you have by now come to the realization that the Master’s way is evil in its basest form. There is a very wise saying: “History is written by the victor.” Today I write not of history but of hope. We had a life together once, Zack. A beautiful life, and I include your mother in this also. Please remember that life, its sunlight, laughter, and simple joy. That was your youth. You have been made to grow up much too fast, and any confusion on your part as to who truly loves you and wants the best for you is understandable and forgivable. I forgive you everything. Please forgive my treachery on your behalf. My own life is a small price to pay for yours, but the lives of my friends, and the future of humanity—enormous.
Many times I have given up hope in myself, but never in you. I regret only that I will not see the man you will grow to be. Please let my sacrifice guide you onto the path of goodness.
And now I have one other very important thing to say. If, as I say, this plan comes off as I fear it might, then I have been turned. I am a vampire. And you must understand that, due to the bond of love I feel for you, my vampire self will be coming for you. It will never stop. If, by the time you read this, you have already slain me, I thank you. A thousand times, I thank you. Please feel no guilt, no shame, only the satisfaction of a good deed done well. I am at peace.
But if somehow you have not released me yet—please destroy me the next chance you get. This is my last request. You will want to cut down your mother too. We love you.
If you have found this diary where I intend to leave it—on your boyhood bed, in your mother’s house on Kelton Street in Woodside, Queens—then you will find, beneath the bed, a bag of weapons forged of silver that I hope will make your way easier in this world. It is all I have to bequeath you.
It is a cruel world, Zachary Goodweather. Do anything you can to make it better.
Your father,
Dr. Ephraim Goodweather
Columbia University
EPH HAD SKIPPED Gus’s promised meal in order to compose his letter to Zack in one of the empt
y classrooms down the hall from Joaquin. In doing so, Eph despised the Master at that moment more than he had at any other point in this long, terrible ordeal.
Now he looked over what he had just written. He read it through, trying to approach it as Zack would. Eph had never before considered this from Zachary’s perspective. What would his son think?
Dad loved me—yes.
Dad was a traitor to his friends and his people—yes.
Eph realized, reading this, how saddled with guilt Zack would be. To have the weight of the lost world upon his shoulders. His father having chosen slavery for all for the freedom of one.
Was that really an act of love? Or was that something else?
It was a cheat. It was the easy way out. Zack would get to live as a human slave—if the Master fulfilled its end of the bargain—and the planet would become a vampire’s nest for eternity.
Eph had the sensation of awakening, as though from a fever dream. How could he ever have considered this? It was almost as though, having allowed the Master’s voice into his head, he had also allowed a bit of corruption or insanity. As if the Master’s malignant presence had mentally nested inside Eph’s mind and started to metastasize. Thinking of this actually made him fear for Zack more than ever: he feared Zack being alive next to that monster.
Eph heard someone approaching from the hallway and quickly closed his diary and slid it underneath his pack—just as the door opened.
It was Creem, his bulk nearly filling the door frame. Eph had expected Mr. Quinlan, and Creem’s presence threw him off. At the same time, Eph was relieved: Mr. Quinlan would have seen right through his distress, Eph felt.
“Hey, doc. Looking for you. Alone time, huh?”
“Getting my head straight.”
“I was looking for that Dr. Martinez, but she’s busy.”
“I don’t know where she is.”