Leonidas De La Cruz - Unboxed Pt 5

Final Interview At The Manor

Well, we had come to the final part of the interview. Leo had insisted that we actually conduct this part in Spain at the manor. I found him in the library, a book open in front of him.

2260: Well, Leo, we have come to the final part of our series, and I promised the readers that they could ask the questions.

Leo: What an interesting idea. Did we get a lot of questions?

2260: I have to admit, the response wasn’t as robust as I had hoped for.

I knew I was in uncharted territory. We would be completing this interview tonight, regardless of what questions were submitted, and I was nervously anticipating Leo's unpredictability.

Leo: Well, what’s the first question?

2260: This one is from Niki. She wants to know about your tattoos—what do they mean, and what was your inspiration for them?

Leo: My tattoos—an interesting start. Well, it was after Fernando had left us. I spent a lot of time in mourning. Genevieve was beside herself; she didn’t know what to do for me. She kept me fed, she bathed me, and helped me through the everyday tasks, but I was more a shell than a living being.
My father was gone, and I wanted to go with him.

After a decade, I began to have a recurring dream. In it, I was standing in front of a mirror, bare-chested, and as I looked at myself, lines of ink began to run across my body. As I watched, I heard Fernando’s voice saying: la sangre es el río—Blood Is the River.

When I woke, I started to draw what I had seen in my dreams—and that is the tattoo that covers my chest and neck. It honors my sire, and deep within, I believe it comes from him.

2260: So one could say that your tattoos represent the winding bloodline that connects you to your sire. The tracings of time.

Leo: That could be one way of putting it.

I paused for a moment, allowing Leo's words to rest in the silence. I thought about his relationship with Don Fernando—the pain of his loss, and the healing act of creating and wearing these tattoos in tribute on his flesh.

I took a breath and exhaled slowly.

2260: Shall we move to the next question?

Leo: Absolutely.

2260: Curious asks — Do you regret Don Fernando and Genevieve saving you? Do you wish they had simply let you die?

Leo: No, I do not regret the gift they gave me. In nature, all living things wish to survive. They fight to continue living even when there is no hope — even when they know they face oblivion. It is natural to want to live. As I lay in the dirt after the attack, I did not lose the desire to live; I wanted to be saved — and by the grace of the Goddess, I got the chance. I will always be grateful to Fernando and Genevieve for choosing me.

I thought about Leo’s words—this desire of all natural things to continue their existence. The fight to live, to rage against the night and try to win against the darkness.

Death wasn’t welcomed like a friend, but viewed as a betrayal, an enemy. Wasn’t this the human way of things?

And yet Leo’s death had been a doorway—to salvation, to healing, to the family that would love him unconditionally.

For a moment, I looked down—overwhelmed by the intensity of revelation. I closed my eyes to center myself, to experience the moment and its immensity.

I looked up again at Leo and saw the concern in his eyes. I smiled to reassure him I was alright, and he smiled back. I nodded to let him know we could proceed.

Leo: Well, Hamilton, I think we’ve come to the end of your reader-submitted questions—yes?

2260: It would seem so.

Leo: It would be a shame if we ended the interview here. It would feel so unfinished, don’t you agree?

I knew Leo had something in mind—and knowing him, it meant I would have to face parts of myself I’d put off looking at for a very long time.

Writing had become an escape, a way to throw myself into worlds where I could find the perfect hero to rescue me, or the ideal love to fantasize about.

But even then, my characters had ideas of their own—and this suave, strikingly handsome, gentle, honorable, and protective vampire was no different.

I had a feeling the rest of this interview was going to involve some heavy lifting on my part.

I took a deep breath.

2260: Okay, Leo—what did you have in mind?

Leo: In our last four encounters, you’ve been the one asking the questions, and I’ve been the one answering. I think the readers have come to know me quite well through these exchanges.

But there’s something missing.

The final piece of the puzzle that brings it all together.

Who is 2260 Hamilton—and what is his place in the journey of Leonidas De La Cruz?

I knew I was cornered. No flippant response or joke would do.

The gauntlet had been cast—Leo was challenging me to step onto the field and do battle with myself.

Leo: So I will ask the questions—and you will answer. Yes?

2260: Yes.

The word passed my lips softly, in surrender.
There was no escaping this.
It was time to dig deep.

Leo: Why did you give me such a painful beginning?

Here it was—the question I had been dreading.

The age-old inquiry that every philosopher and theologian has pondered: God, why did you make me thus?

Leo was asking me to give him an answer—for his life, and for his experience.

So… what was my answer?

How did suffering fit into my worldview—and why was it reflected in Leo’s experience?

2260: Leo, I could say it wasn’t my intention to give you such a painful beginning.

I could blame it on plot, or genre narrative, or any number of writing formulas.

But that would be cheating. It would dishonor this moment.

You deserve more.

I exhaled the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

2260: To answer your question, we need to look at my relationship with suffering—with pain.

Your transformation was salvation. But salvation, to be valued, must come from a place of pain.

Sometimes that pain is inflicted by others. Sometimes, it is self-inflicted.

It’s how we rise above it—how we seek the light, even when we’re drowning in darkness—that makes the moment of salvation all the more sweet.

All salvation is a gift… but the gift, most times, is paid for with pain.

Leo took a moment to ponder my words, and then he looked me in the eye.

Leo: Have you found your salvation, Hamilton—or are you still in the darkness, reaching for the light?

The words struck me like a blow.

The compassion that echoed through them almost undid me.

I spoke softly—almost a whisper.

2260: Writing your story helps.

Leo nodded to himself, as if he had expected my answer.

Leo: So… my salvation was a gift for the pain I endured. Did you know it would be Fernando and Genevieve who would save me?

2260: I had a feeling.

When I began to write them, they simply showed up—and they were so striking, so different from what I had expected a vampire and their blood match to be.

Fernando was ancient, but wrapped in the image of an angelic youth. Genevieve was a lady—motherly and sturdy. She was strong enough to work the farm, and gentle enough to lend an ear when you needed someone to listen.

You were so lonely after your parents left you. You needed family—and they were looking for a son.

Leo seemed to consider this for a moment.

Leo: Why Liam?

There it was.

I had expected the conversation to eventually come around to Liam.

They were like twin stars orbiting each other—neither could escape their mutual gravitational pull.

2260: Do you remember the first night we met?

You were walking in a blizzard. You had grown tired of existence—immortality had become a prison, a constant string of days where monotony was a never-ending curse.

You needed a lifeline to pull you back.

As you wandered the deserted streets, you were oblivious to the fact that somewhere on the path ahead of you was a young man—trapped in his own prison.

One of mourning and loss.

Leo: So we were supposed to meet.

2260: You had been traveling toward each other the whole time—each the key to the other’s prison cell.

I could see the next question forming in Leo’s mind, and I already had an answer for it. I wasn’t sure he would like it—but he would have to live with it.

Leo: So what’s next for Liam and me?

2260: That hasn’t yet been written. It’s your story—I’m only the witness.

Leo nodded—more to himself than to me.

Then he got up, walked over to the sideboard, and poured two glasses of red wine.

Walking back over, he handed one to me and touched glasses.

I knew our time had come to an end.

Now, we were just going to sit in the silence—
enjoy our wine, each other’s presence,
and the cool Spanish night.