It was overcast, but it wasn't raining. Ignoring my truck, I walked east, diagonally across Chuck's yard and into the forest I had never set foot in before. It didn't take long for me to go into the depths, to places that I couldn't see anymore, either from the house or from the road. The only sounds were the creaking of the wet earth beneath my feet, and the sudden cries of jays.

A narrow trail leads through the dense forest, otherwise I wouldn't risk getting lost. My sense of direction has always been hopeless: if there was less information around me to help me find my way, I would have lost. The trail winds its way deeper into the forest, and as far as I can tell, it generally leads eastward. It zigzags around the West Dega spruce and hemlock, the yew and maple. I only vaguely knew the names of the trees around me, and I owe all this to Chuck. Earlier, he had pointed out the names of the trees outside my window in the patrol car. There were many trees I didn't recognize, and there were a few that I couldn't pin, because they were covered in dense green vines.

My anger pushed me forward, and I kept walking along the path. It wasn't until the anger began to fade that I slowed down. Drops of water were trickling down from the top of my head, but I wasn't sure if it was starting to rain, or if it was just the water that had been left high above my head after yesterday's rain, slowly dripping down to complete their journey back to dust. A large, newly fallen tree - I think it's new because it's not yet completely covered with moss - reclines on the trunk of her sisters, forming a sheltered bench, only a metre or two safe from the path. I stepped over a fern and sat down carefully, making sure my jacket was between that damp seat and the corresponding clothes. Then I leaned my hooded head against the living tree.

I'm in the wrong place, I should have known about it, but where else could I go? The forest was so verdant, it looked like last night's dream, and I couldn't keep my mind at peace. Now that there are no more of my dull footsteps, the silence is all the more ironic. The birds also quieted down. The dripping water gradually became more frequent, so it must be raining over the forest.

The fern was taller than me, and since I was sitting, I knew that even if someone passed by on the path 1 meter away, they wouldn't see me.

I forced myself to focus on the two most important issues that I had to solve, but I was reluctant to do so.

First of all, I must judge whether it is possible that what Kendil said about the Wright family is true.

My heart immediately replied in the negative. It's stupid and nerves to make fun of such a ridiculous idea. But so what? There is no plausible explanation as to why I am alive at this very moment. Once again, I made a mental list of what I had observed: incredible speed and strength, the color of my eyes that turned from black to gold and back again, beauty beyond the ordinary, pale and cold skin. And much more - little things slowly reveal themselves - such as the fact that they never seem to eat, and that their demeanor is astonishingly graceful. And sometimes the way they speak, the unfamiliar tone and choice of words, is more appropriate to the style of a novel from another century than to a twenty-first-century classroom. He skipped school the day we tested his blood type. He didn't say not going to go on a trip to the beach until he heard where we were going. He seemed to know what everyone around him was thinking...... Except for me. He told me he was a bad guy and very dangerous......

Is it possible that the Wrights are vampires?

Well, they really are something. Something outside of the possibility of reasonable judgment was happening in front of my discerning eyes. Whether it's Kendil's Blood Ice Clan or my own superhero theory, Roger Wright won't be ...... Mankind. He is some kind of being that is beyond humans.

Well, maybe. That's what I can conclude now.

Another issue is particularly important. If this is true, what do I do?

What if Roger really was a vampire – a term I had a hard time thinking about myself – what would I do? It is obviously not okay to involve others. I couldn't even believe myself. Whoever I tell me, I have to take responsibility.

There are only two options that seem to be more viable. The first is to listen to his advice: be smart and stay away from him. Cancel our plans and go back to ignoring him as much as possible. When we were forced to sit together in class, pretend that there was an impenetrable, thick glass wall between us. Tell him to stay away from himself - and show it this time.

As I pondered this choice, I suddenly fell into a desperate pain. My heart resisted the pain and quickly jumped to the next option.

I don't have to do anything. After all, even if he is some kind of ...... There is danger, and he has not done anything to hurt me so far. In fact, if he hadn't moved that fast, I would have been a dent under Moore's fenders. So quickly, I'm arguing with myself, and that definitely reflects something wrong. But how bad can he be if this reflection is used to save lives? I retorted. My mind was spinning in vain.

If I'm sure of anything, there's one thing I'm sure of. The dark Roger in my dream last night was just a manifestation of my fear of what Kendil was saying, not Roger himself. That said, when I screamed in horror at the attack of the werewolves, I didn't shout "no" out of fear of the wolves. I was just scared that he might get hurt - even though he bared his sharp fangs and called out to me, I was worried about him.

Then I knew I had the answer. I don't even know if there was really a choice in this. I've sunk too deep. I knew - if I really knew - that I would do nothing about this horrible secret of mine. Because whenever I think of him, of his voice, of his hypnotic eyes, of his attractive personality, I just want to be with him at once, and nothing else. Even though...... But I can't think about it anymore. I can't be here, alone in the darkening forest. Not at this time, when the rain has darkened the twilight on the horizon, and the tick-tock sound is like the sound of footsteps walking across a tiled floor. I thought, quickly getting up from my hiding place, worried that the path might disappear into the rain.

But it was still there, safe and clear, winding its way through the wet green labyrinth. I hurried back down the path, my hood pulled low and hanging down my face. I began to panic, almost running through the woods, for I felt as far as I had come. I began to wonder if I had already rushed over the top, or if I had followed the path further into the forest. But before I became more panicked, I could glimpse some open fields through the dense spider's web-like branches. Then I heard the sound of a car crossing the street and I was free. Chuck's lawn appeared in front of me, and the house beckoned to me, promising warm and dry socks.

It was noon when I walked back inside. I went upstairs and changed into my outfit for the day – jeans and a t-shirt – because I would be staying home all the time. It won't take much effort to solve today's task with all its might, just a paper on The Merchant of Venice due on Wednesday. Satisfied, I plunged into my work and laid out a rough draft. This state of tranquility is something I haven't felt in a long time, since ...... Well, since Thursday afternoon, if I'm honest enough.

That's usually my style, though. Making decisions was a painful process for me, a process that made me suffer. But once I've made a decision, I'll just stay the course – and often feel relieved that I've made a choice. Sometimes this relief is spoiled by disappointment, as I decided to come to Vidonia. But it's still much better than trying to make a choice.

It's much easier to live with this decision now, ridiculously easy. It's easy to be in crisis.

The day passed peacefully and efficiently - I finished my thesis by eight o'clock. When Chuck arrived home, it was a bumper harvest. I made a memo reminding myself to buy a fish cookbook when I go to Seattle next week. Whenever I think about this journey, a chill rushes down my spine. But it was no different from the chill I felt before my walk with Kendir Allen. I think they should have been different. I should have felt scared - I knew I should, but I really didn't feel the right sense of fear.