“You saw that, that thing.” Nathan spat the word, as though no reference to his sire could ever accurately describe his hideousness. “His blood is in mine. How could I put that into my son? How could I make him…”

He was running out of anger, and all that was left for him was despair. “How could I make him like me?” On the last word, his face went ashen and his shoulders sagged in defeat. He crumpled to the floor with a cry of anguish.

Faced with a man’s tears, I reacted much in the way a male would to a woman crying. I stood silently and watched his misery, feeling helpless in the awkwardness of the moment. Then I realized I had to do something, so I knelt on the floor of the tiny kitchen and put my arms around him. “Nathan, you’re nothing like them.”

I thought he’d push me away, but he returned my embrace, clinging to me like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood. “You don’t know me, Carrie. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

I wondered how long it had been since he’d let himself cry or talk to anyone or, God, even feel. Unable to think of any better way to comfort him, I held him while his cold tears wet the front of my shirt and his back shook with unrestrained sobs.

A long time later, when he’d composed himself, we salvaged the dishes that had survived his wrath. As if nothing had happened, we set about making breakfast side by side in the tiny kitchen.

Because there was nothing else to talk about, I asked about Ziggy.

At first, Nathan resisted, giving short, perfunctory answers. I’m not sure if it was talking through the tragedy that soothed him, or making breakfast, but he soon fell into an easy pattern of storytelling. “Ziggy was a runaway. He left home when he was nine. Can you believe that?”

I shook my head sympathetically and let him continue.

“His mom was on drugs, his dad was in jail. His stepdad beat him so badly that he had two broken ribs when I found him. Every few months, I’d do the rounds at the Goth clubs. I’d look for wannabes and vampire hunters, and kids who got into the role-playing and took it too seriously. Usually, I’d give them a good scare and send them home.” He motioned for me to flip the bacon I’d arranged in a frying pan, and leaned to turn down the heat.

“Ziggy had fallen in with some pretty stupid kids. They were in their early teens, but they let him hang around. They called themselves vampire hunters, but I’m glad I got to them before they could get in any actual trouble. These kids had no idea how to fight. They all ran from me. Except Ziggy. We stood in that alley for two hours, staring each other down. I even did the whole—” He waved his hands in front of his face. “He just kept insisting he was going to kill me and rid the world of, I think the term he used was ‘hell spawn.’”