Stefan’s Diaries: The Craving Chapter 19

When we arrived at the Sutherlands', our pony's lips were canvassed in froth and its eyes were moving back until they were ringed with white. â€Å"Not a lot of a racehorse,† he said recklessly, jumping down and giving it a pat on its neck. â€Å"Wouldn't shock me in the event that it dropped dead from the exertion.† I ventured out of the carriage, a rotten smell attacking my nose as though the Thayers had taken up home close to a butcher yard. â€Å"I figure he may as of now be dead,† I said cautiously. I took a full breath and steadied myself. I must be prepared for whatever came straightaway, be it Damon making a move against the Sutherlands or going through the night with my new lady of the hour. On the off chance that that occurred, it is difficult to keep my own guarantee of not any more convincing humans†¦. Preparing myself, I set out toward the entryway. â€Å"Not so quick, brother,† Damon stated, putting a hand on my chest. At that point he slipped it inside my petticoat as delicately as a pickpocket, and pulled out the check Winfield had thought of me. â€Å"I'll be requiring this,† he clarified joyfully. â€Å"Oh yes. Cash without the tracks,† I said harshly. â€Å"Much more subtle than burglarizing a bank vault. So outline for me, shouldn't something be said about the taxi driver? A dead man in the street †shouldn't something be said about those tracks?† â€Å"Him? Nobody will see him,† Damon stated, clearly shocked by my advantage. â€Å"Look around, Stefan. Individuals kick the bucket in the lanes here constantly. He's no one.† Damon had become the kind of vampire who had no issue with executing in any event, when it didn't straightforwardly profit him, and he submitted murder immediately. At the point when I killed in my first days, it was consistently for thirst, or self-security. Not for sport. Also, never just for the execute. â€Å"Besides, it incredibly aggravated you,† he included with a smile. â€Å"And isn't that what it's all about?† He gave a little bow and demonstrated I ought to enter our new home first. Gazing toward its lovely dark dividers and snarling foreboding figures, I wished nobody had ever welcomed me in, that I had been compelled to stay outside everlastingly, a poor animal consigned to the recreation center. And afterward someone shouted. Damon and I both surged in, essentially detaching the entryway its pivots in our push to get past. Margaret was remaining in the front room, white as a sheet, her hand over her mouth. What's more, it was evident why. The whole spot was scattered in what my turning psyche could just accept that was dark paint, until its smell hit my nose with the power of a truck: blood. Human blood. Gallons and gallons of it gradually trickling down the dividers and solidifying in pools on the floor. It rattled me, my vampire faculties reeling from the sheer amount. Damon held one hand over his face, as though attempting to smother the sensations, and pointed with his other hand. From the start all I saw was a couple of stockinged legs to one side on the carpet, as though somebody had an excessive amount to drink and tumbled down. At that point I understood they weren't joined to a body. â€Å"No†¦Ã¢â‚¬  I murmured, sinking to my knees with sickening dread. The groups of Lydia, Bridget, Winfield, and Mrs. Sutherland were spread around the room in pieces. The family I had hitched into to secure, the honest people I was attempting to be careful from Damon's psychopathic inclinations, were all dead. Be that as it may, they hadn't quite recently been killed †they had been destroyed and brutalized. â€Å"What did you do?† I snarled at Damon, fierceness turning my eyes red and starting the change. â€Å"What did you do?† I was going to tear his neck out. It was as straightforward as that. He was a beast, and I ought to have murdered him quite a while in the past, some time before he got an opportunity to pulverize others' lives. Be that as it may, Damon looked similarly as stunned as I felt. His ice-blue eyes were wide with unfeigned amazement. â€Å"It wasn't me,† he said. Margaret gave him a look that could have slaughtered. The manner in which he talked maybe he could have been him, simply †just not this time. â€Å"I accept you,† Margaret said delicately, shaking her head in miserable anguish. I was astounded. Why, after all the inquiries, all the glares, all the contentions, for what reason did she trust him now? Why, when she †again legitimately †accepted he was soon after the cash and had fled the second the records were dry, did she accept he wasn't the killer? Be that as it may, strangely I trusted him, if for no other explanation than the insensitivity of his tone. As though she could peruse my contemplations, Margaret turned her eyes to me. â€Å"I can generally tell when somebody is lying,† she said basically. â€Å"It's a†¦ blessing, I suppose.† I pondered what Bram had said †how Margaret had harmed him just by taking a gander at him. I contacted my ring, thinking about the witch, Emily, who'd do magic over it to shield me from the sun. Was it conceivable that Margaret had powers, as well? I opened my mouth to ask her, however tears were spilling from her eyes. Presently was not the ideal opportunity for a cross examination. Taking a full breath I rose and headed toward what was left of the bodies, attempting to find a hint or explanation behind the slaughter. The other portion of Mrs. Sutherland's body was spread on its gut close to the lounge chair. One arm was loosened up, as though she were attempting to get up, attempting to creep to her most youthful little girl. Bridget's throat had been detached and every last bit of her appendages had been snapped into equal parts. Her face was immaculate, be that as it may. In death she seemed as though the young lady she truly was, the delicate rose of her cheeks gradually blurring to a cold white, her lips opened marginally as though she were sleeping. Her eyes, wide and green and clear as a china doll's, were as yet open in stun. I delicately put my hand over her face and pulled her covers down. Lydia was solidified with a hand over her face, similar to an antiquated Roman tomb cutting, noble even in death. I got some distance from her demolished middle, the white bones of her back staying through her split chest. Winfield resembled a major, killed creature, a wild ox brought down in its prime. There were shockingly slick slices down his side, such as something had been attempting to butcher him. At long last, I headed toward Margaret and put my arms around her, turning her head so she wasn't gazing at the area of slaughter any longer. She clung to me, however solidified in shock when my hand brushed the skin on the rear of her neck. After a second she pulled away. Stun appeared to gradually settle down over her highlights. She sank into a seat and respected the room once more, this time with a clear face. â€Å"They resembled this when I arrived,† she started gradually. â€Å"I remained at the Richards' more drawn out than every other person, searching for you two, attempting to discover somebody who had seen you leave. Bram and Hilda and the standard group had left before, arranging some senseless tricks for your wedding night. A shivaree or something. I simply expected both of you took off for Europe with your dowry.† â€Å"Europe,† Damon said mindfully. I scowled at him. â€Å"The entryway was open,† she proceeded, â€Å"and the stench†¦Ã¢â‚¬  We fell into quietness. I didn't have the foggiest idea what to state or do. In standard, human conditions, my first move would have been to get Margaret away from the house and call for help. â€Å"Did you require the police?† I asked abruptly. Margaret met my look. â€Å"Yes. They'll be here soon. What's more, they'll think it was you, you know.† â€Å"It wasn't,† Damon rehashed. She gestured, not trying to take a gander at him. Her skin was smooth pale, as though a portion of the life had left her when her family had passed on. â€Å"I know, yet you are not blameless, either.† â€Å"No, no, we are not,† Damon said in a far off voice, taking a gander at Lydia's virus body. For a second, his highlights mellowed and he looked practically like a human in grieving. At that point, he shook his head, as though waking up himself from a dream. â€Å"Margaret, I'm upset for your loss,† he said spur of the moment. â€Å"But Stefan and I should run.† â€Å"Why should I leave with you?† I tested, the blood making my head turn, my musings spinning unsteadily in my mind. â€Å"Fine, remain here, get arrested.† I went to Margaret. â€Å"Are you going to be all right?† She gave me a look as though I was frantic. â€Å"My whole family is dead.† Her voice trembled on the edge of rational soundness. I put my hand out and contacted her shoulder, wishing I could state or accomplish something. Nobody merited this. Be that as it may, words wouldn't bring her family back. As Damon and I went to go, the obvious clasp clop of a police wagon pulling up before the house sounded, alongside the firm requests of a head coordinating his men. â€Å"Out the back,† I said. Damon gestured and we went through the lounge area and kitchen to the entryway that opened on the yard. My hand was going to contact the door handle when Damon got me, finger to his mouth. He squeezed himself in a bad position, showing I ought to do likewise. My predator's faculties got what Damon had just made sense of: There was a man, no, a couple of men, standing by quietly outside with weapons drawn, precisely arranged for us to get away from that way. â€Å"I'll just rapidly discard them,† Damon said. â€Å"No! Upstairs,† I murmured. â€Å"Window.† â€Å"Fine.† Damon murmured, and both of us began to crawl discreetly up the hirelings' flight of stairs. An unstable blast from the front lobby made us freeze in our tracks. â€Å"You, upstairs, you and you, to the parlor!† A harsh voice was woofing orders. From the hints of strides, a whole armada of cops was starting to move through the house. Damon and I surrendered any endeavor at hushing up, raging up the steps as quick as possible. There was a casement window at the top, which he opened up triumphantly, readied to hop to opportunity. Beneath, in the side yard, twelve outfitted police officer stood, pointing rifles at the structure. What's more, with his d