DAY OF RECKONING
By Caitlyn
A fan fiction story dedicated to my close friends from VS2 for making me motivated about my pursuing writing career. This story is for you pals!
As an inspired writer (hopefully one day), sometimes authors get things out of hand and come up with something that might be completely off topic to a story currently in progress stage. Here is a story I came up with and decided to write it down so I could get some of the ideas and details out of my head while I worked on the story I am thinking of publishing.
DISCLAIMER: Some of the characters from the movie Blade are used in the story; I did not steal them nor are they in my property, but may I keep Deacon as my boyfriend? Chanel and a few other characters are made up by me, so please do not take them.
Society honors its living conformists and its dead troublemakers. -Mignon McLaughlin
1: Emerge
There was little sight for the young woman to arise from the floor, her eyes were weak, and the lack of vision didn't help her identify the place she was in. Her platinum blonde hair covered her bloody face of deep gashes seeping crimson blood into her chapped mouth. She tasted the thick liquid, and immediately the taste was desirable. It was something she had never tasted in a long time; however, she wasn't too sure how long it had been since she last tasted the blood. For sure it was too long.
She coughed, hard enough to spew out the blood she recently consumed. Spattered all over the floor she covered her mouth to avoid throwing up the blood again, she didn't want the taste to disperse. Her hair shield her pale blue eyes, scanning the place in awe, wondering where her exact location might be. She pushed her bangs out of her face and focused on one spot of the area where a pile of black ashes stood in the middle of a stone platform. Astonished, there were more ash piles scattered everywhere once she was able to see a clear vision of the place—what the heck happened? she mused.
She keeled down and pushed herself up from the floor, her knees trembled, and she grabbed onto the rusted stone wall from falling that was coved in silky webs. The room was silent, silent wasn't one of her favorite things when alone in a room. She needed noise. She moaned from the pain stabbing her back, her knees were tender to the touch, bloody scrapes on her hands that was now completely dry. She leaned against the cold wall and sighed, relieved as the cold feeling chilled her spine from the warm tenderness her back was going through.
All at once, her breath stopped. She recognized the place—the temple where the tempestuous man whom she captured for the ritual killed her love, the man she thought she would be his partner until the day they would both rule the impetuous world. However, it never happened. And she was now to deal with a broken heart alone? Her heart, which never made a beat, felt like her love was now long gone, and to be alone meant nothing other than to die and go where her love was nestled. Hell or Heaven.
The chattered pieces of stone crumbled on her shoulders, she dusted them off and staggered towards the center where the platform was. Engraved in that platform was the glyph that symbolized her love, memories were brought back as she traced the glyph with her scraped hand. She felt light hearted inside now that she miraculously was living again. It questioned her though why all at once she would come back. Did the ritual work like her love had said? Or was it something else she would have never expected? There was no reason to doubt that her love was right, that the ritual would make all immortals live for eternity. But why would there be ashes on the floor that are the left over remains of dead creatures like her? She pondered it over for a moment until she came up with one reasonable answer. Maybe she survived because he imprinted on her to be one of the surviving people who interacted with the ritual. If so, he would have imprinted on more people, close friends or familiars.
A scattering noise emerged from behind her back, she stuttered and spun around to see what was making the noise. At the very end of the room was a man, his face was bloody like hers, except his eyes were covered with shattered sunglasses. His orange hair was disheveled, dirty, and long that his hair reached down his shoulders. He pushed himself away from the stone pillar and murmured out loud, "Mercury?"
She could not believe what was happening, but was happy that the results were gratifying. "Quinn? Are you okay?"
Quinn stumbled towards her and he tripped on his feet, falling onto his knees as she hovered him. He looked up. "Not at the moment, but I may recover within a few hours." He licked his lips. "Are you okay yourself?"
She shook her head and changed the subject, worried. "Where is he?"
"You mean Deac-"
"Yes!" She exclaimed, "Where is he?"
Quinn threw out his arms and pushed himself up, grabbing onto her elbows. "How should I know where he is? I didn't witness the fight he had with that...that daywalker son of a bitch."
"We need to find him and see if he's alive!" She chirped, and ran for the outer edge of the platform, where a leading stair case lead to a hallway with candles hung from the ceiling. She trembled as she ran for the hallway until a moaning sound ran through the temple. It was loud and it echoed like the inside of a cave. It had to be him; he must have survived.
"Deac!" She yelled, running faster towards the area she heard the moan.
Quinn slumped and followed Mercury, wailing, "Wait up. You know I'm a lot slower than your average girl speed."
Ignoring him, Mercury dashed through the tall pillars that were aligned with the walls and followed the moaning sound of a man who seemed to be calling for help. At the end, she felt tired, but motivated to find him. And she did.
"Frost! She yelled.
Near the entrance to the grand staircase that lead to the upper floor of the temple was a man hunched over, his back stripped from clothing and revealed deep scratch marks that covered his entire back. His accent reminded Mercury of a python, an angry by worn out python, who was struggling to survive. Once she caught sight of him, he bulged a loud cough and slouched on the hard, stone cold floor. His head flagged up when he saw the young beautiful woman astonished by his miraculous survival. She ran over for him, grabbed his back, and let him rest in her arms. She nibbled on the lower half of her lip, amazed that her love was alive after all.
"Frost! You're alive!" Warm tears sheared out of her eyes. She held him tight in a huge hug, digging her head into his chest, sobbing hard enough to make him jerk out of her grasp.
His throat was dry as he spoke. "M-Merc-Mercury?"
"Yes, my love," She said pleasantly. "It's me. I'm alive."
"Wha...the fu...are you talkin...about?"
"Don't be silly," She warned, adding a light accent to her tone. "You know that you are my only love."
His eyes slowly opened, but his voice was still crackly. He sighed. "I've got no girl to pass by with. You might as well change the subject."
Mercury rolled her eyes and continued to squeeze him tight in her arms. "I guess so," she said, convinced. "Did the ritual work after all if we are still alive?"
Quinn, who was slowly crawling on his knees from back pain, reached out for Deacon by grasping onto Mercury's foot. He haltered himself forward and leaned over Mercury; me smiled at the man who he considered as a close friend. He couldn't believe it either that his friend survived the fight and the ritual itself—the daywalker was too tough to beat unless you were known as La Magra, then there would have been a difference within the fight.
He examined Deacon's chest and noticed the stab wound and tiny red dots. Something must have happened if he were badly defeated. He stood up and heard a crunching sound of glass underneath his boot. He looked down and saw the shattered pieces of a broken vile, leaking out a clear blue fluid which looked poisonous than a healthy dose of blood he would have normally taken.
"What is this?" Quinn questioned the weak mean, picked up the vile, and held it in front of his face.
Deacon bulged away from the vile. "Don't remind me, please? I've had enough for once."
"So did it work or not?" Mercury reminded Deacon again.
"Yes, for crying out loud. Shut your fuckin' mouth or else I'll rip that tongue of yours." He groaned loudly, and released her grip from his arms. He threw her hands aside when she hesitated to hold him again. Then, he continued to ask unusual questions about the current date. "What year is it? Or what day or whatsoever century we might be in?"
Mercury maneuvered away from him and thought over the question. "Honestly, I have no idea."
"Damn it."
She turned towards Quinn and grabbed his wrist, which had a wristwatch on it. "Check to see what today date is it."
Quinn took his watch and examined the year and date. His face scrutinized for a while until it suddenly changed when he handed over the watch to Mercury slowly. His eyes were surprised. "It's July 30, 2008."
"What the hell? Are you serious?" She yelled loudly, and grabbed the watch from his wrist.
Deacon's hand flashed out and took away the watch, his teeth grinning together. "Are you saying we have been dead for eleven fuckin' years?"
"The evidence proves it," Quinn answered. "Fuck! It doesn't feel like it has been eleven years."
"That's because we have been dead, dumbass! Damn, you are so fuckin' stupid." Deacon shouted and rubbed his temple.
Quinn threw his hands in the air and circled around Deacon, and turned his eyes away, provoked that it had been eleven years since he had seen the day of life. He felt the same as usual: claustrophobic about every part of his body burnt to ashes from fire or that thing the daywalker used; his military capability strength was normal; his attitude, he felt perfectly fine though dead for a long time. He just felt fresher—reborn in another way, as if his body cleansed the old memories and ready for the new ones. That is, if he planned to make new memories or just wanted to have the same stimulant life style again by smoking, drinking, and catching humans for a brawl load of fun—consuming blood like a slob. His hands trembled on the broken vile and he thrashed it at the wall, the vile shattered into tiny diamonds.
"Well," he assumed, and looked down at his watch. "It's 11:42 at night, so we might as well get out of here before someone finds this place active."
"But where?" Mercury asked. "The penthouse is a total mess? We can't go back there, what if he's locked the place down or burnt it to the ground."
Deacon lifted an eyebrow and bent down before Mercury; cupping her hands into a ball and he caressed her injured cheekbone. "The Porsche is still out back of this temple. We can take it from there and find a new location to set up. But before we even do that, we need to get back to the penthouse and get the file."
There was doubt in Mercury that this was a possible solution. "Okay, I guess that could work. But where exactly would be our new location?"
"Think of someplace small, easily hidden, something or somewhere where no person would ever look?" His fingers tapped on her elbow, causing Mercury to react cliquishly, goose bumps raised on her elbow.
"Anything you want, boss." Quinn replied.
- - - - -
A black Porsche pulled up to the curb of the road and turned towards a street that was dark, and was guarded by a rusted metal fence with a signed picketed on the metal door 'Private Property. Do not Enter.'
Deacon got out of the car, slid the metal gates open, and drove inside the boundary line where the penthouse he used to stay at was still in great shape. Rather surprised that it hadn't been knocked down, he felt little hope that his laptop would be there. He needed it badly so that he could check to see if the files were still on—if so, his next plan would go into active mode. Though he didn't know what would be coming he knew there was a way out of this situation; he had been dead for eleven years for crying out loud, his familiars might have forgotten about him. If so, his new plan would end up in trash. There had to be another way…
The car drove into the cemented plastered garage and came to a stall when Quinn and Mercury exited the back of the car. Deacon shut the door behind and twirled the car keys between his fingers.
"Hopefully the elevator still works," he said.
They walked up towards the elevator door and Deacon pushed the up button, a light ping sound was hard and he smiled. As always, being dominate was his major prior to being an idol, so he entered into the elevator first and let the two rascals wait. Quinn and Mercury sighed and entered into the elevator after Deacon pushed the elevator button to floor 16 of the building. It was a quick way up and by the time Quinn evoked Mercury to being irritated, the doors opened to a marble room filled with darkness as they exited the building. A luminous color of pale blue flickered from the one of the light bulbs that Quinn was able to turn on with the light switch.
"This place is in decent shape." Quinn said, stunned.
Deacon scanned the room and looked around for his laptop underneath the white sofa and coffee table, but found nothing what he wanted. His face turned pale, saddened that his plan would turn out unsuccessful without the laptop. Mercury searched around the kitchen part of the penthouse and came back with the same results after looking through the fridge—the fridge that held the remains of brain dead bodies hung from bags to complete the blood bank—her face was disgruntled.
"There's nothing in the kitchen either where you leave most of your important belongings." She replied and hugged Deacon by his neck.
He threw her hands off him, his eyes stone cold. "Where in the hell would I ever put that thing?"
"Did you check your bedroom?"
He thought about it for a moment and went back to Mercury's question. "Not yet—"
"Found it!" yelled out Quinn, who was already in the bedroom, flashing out an Apple lap top in his grip.
Deacon and Mercury ran for the bedroom and saw Quinn turn the laptop on for Deacon's use; he handed it towards Deacon and let him sit on the bed.
"You are a life saver." Deacon mentioned while he rummage around in the files of his computer. He clicked on each file one at a time and opened them, but they were completely empty—no RAR files, simply emptiness. This made Deacon more agitated once he went through all the files until he found the last two, which were in fact the files that held the important information he needed. A devilish smile stretched across his face. "This is it." He mumbled, and clicked the files he needed.
Zilch, only a HTML page with an e-mail address attached to it. This wasn't what he wanted at all.
"Son of a bitch!" He yelled, and tossed the computer at the wall. Mercury dashed for the laptop before it could hit the wall and grabbed it, so that it would not crumble into metal and plastic chunks. A sigh of relief came through her lips.
"What, boss? What's wrong?" Quinn asked him, confused.
"The damn files aren't on there!" he threw his hands in the air, and slouched, letting his head fall in his sweaty palms. "I'm done for!"
Mercury flipped the notebook open and searched the same file Deacon originally opened up. She saw the same thing: an HTML document renamed an e-mail address she couldn't distinguish. "Do you know who the e-mail address is?"
"No, why?"
She opened the document. "Chanel-and-Citrus at mail dot com." She examined the document and noted the date of transcription. "A message was sent to her just an hour ago, and the only one who could have gotten into your notebook would have to be one of the familiars in the clergy. Maybe they wanted to send a file to someone in the clergy but got the wrong address." Suddenly, her face went blank.
Quinn stared at Mercury, who also gave the same expression and held onto a fist. Deacon didn't know why they were both overreacting and grabbed the laptop from Mercury.
"Let me have a look." He said and saw for himself what mercury was talking about. Then, what Quinn and Mercury didn't notice was Deacon's true reaction to the transcription—fury. "The damn files were attached to the message!"
- - - - -
The clouds faded over the ancient town of Fremont, puffs of smoke arising from the tips of the rusted red chimney, a decent breeze in the air blew the autumn leaves in a dancing unison. The streets were abnormally quiet on this peaceful day, not something that always happened, but during the fall season, it would drastically change not by sound, but by appearance. Fall had come around the corner where the children's summer fun had come to an end; the screeching of young kids faded, the summer short-shorts were no longer in style, and the sandals worn practically everywhere were neatly stored in their bedrooms. Now was the time of year where hard work and ethics was all that counted in this town.
However, for Chanel Keen, that was a different story.
Attending the University of New Hampshire for the entire summer—while most of her friends took the summer off—Chanel was relieved that the season was here, and what she called her summer vacation was adorning, except that it was during the fall time.
The back '04 Ford Explore strolled down the deserted roadway; whisking leaves fell into her path and whooshed as the car flew by at a slow but steady speed. Escalating up a sparse hill and throughout the town Chanel strolled past the antique stores she admired since she was a child. The childhood memories were coming back to her: sitting on the rocks near by the river, eating raspberry ice cream while it melted into thick streams and blobs on her adoring face. The apple crisp air that used to come from the apple farm near the quaint grocery store—surprisingly still standing its grounds—and the fresh feeling of release from stress whenever she was in the dense valley of daisies.
Memories like these were scarce, but they were meant to be remembered.
Below that hill was a field, seemingly isolated from far away but up close enough was an old-fashioned house made of plywood painted a russet red and a door the color of a dark green. Though she didn't like the exterior color, she did love the way how traditional the house had been for over sixty years. She pulled into the lengthy gravel driveway and turned off the engine once the car came to a complete stop in the barn.
She took out her school books, notebooks, and other supplies and skirmished up the stone path and into the white porch. Underneath the welcome pad was a key to the door and Chanel opened it without a fret to drop her things and run inside with joy. She opened the door and tossed her belongings onto the dirty green sofa, stretched out her arms and called out a name.
"Oh Citrus? Are you here boy?" She hollered with her hands cupped over her mouth.
From the other side of the room—the quaint sized kitchen—was a giant German Sheppard, leaping into the air and landing on Chanel with a loud thud, its paws dirty from going outside and covered her in dirt. She laughed and scratched behind the hyperactive dog's ear.
"Citrus! You are such a good boy! Aren't you, sweetie?" Chanel smooth-talked to the dog and let him jump on her chest. "Yes you are! You are such a good boy!"
The fresh smell of fried zucchini and yellow squash filled the air with an aroma smell of butter, which delighted Chanel's taste buds; a drooling sensation crammed her mouth with saliva. Someone must be cooking up some dinner, she muttered, it smells delicious!
"Hi, Chanel!" exclaimed a perky voice. Then, popped out of the kitchen was a dark, brown haired man, whose hair was short and gelled in the front where the tiny strands spiked up. His age appeared to be in his late twenties, a fine looking man for a young age whose body was well built with a little muscle. Moreover, his skin was a light tan color, as if he had just returned from walking along the shoreline of a beach, a sun kiss glow. His eyes were a dark green that were the most noticeable out of his entire look. The most dazzling part of all…was his smile.
A smirk stretched across his face, looking quite embarrassed in Chanel's pink apron while holding a fork in his right hand. I bet he is embarrassed to be wearing that, Chanel giggled.
She knelt down besides the dog and patted the top of his head. "Cooking for tonight I see?" Chanel asked, flattering his dressy appearance.
His hands relaxed as he sighed, humiliation clearly showed on his face. "What seems to be wrong with that?"
"You're wearing a powder pink colored apron, a floral pattern oven mitt, and my fluffy slippers…You, my friend, are what I call peculiar."
An 'I-know-I-look-queer' grin struck his face. "I couldn't be more normal than this, so please give me a break on what I look like." He explained, while grabbing Chanel by her hand and yanked her up from the wooden floor.
Chanel pranced into the kitchen while her hand was clutched onto his elbow and sniffed the odor air. "Smells like someone cooked up a barbeque or something. What did you cook?"
His eyebrows lifted into an arch. "Fried zucchini, yellow squash, and barbeque chicken legs. What else?"
"I don't know, but something smells exceedingly appetizing."
"Oh," he evoked a smile. "You must be smelling the chocolate brownies I made."
"Do you cook like this normally, Lance?" She solicited; her eyes squinted with curiosity.
Lance shook his head. "Not unless I'm around with you I don't." And he grabbed her by the waste and summoned her forward. His lips parted and struck her moist mouth with a kiss; his breath overflowed her lungs as she gasped for air, admiring his lovely scent —a freesia cologne, her favorite. She beckoned his forceful kissing by holding his face in her palms, and begged for more, licking her lips. She loved his kissing, no matter where she was or what she was feeling, she wanted his lips to touch hers like an angle bending down to gives her a present. He conceded a final kiss and let her go.
"This has not been something you have ever endured on." He laughed, licking his lips.
"Not really," She joked along.
He pulled up a chair to the table and offered the seat to Chanel, who gracefully accepted his offer and sat down with her hands on her lap. She eyed his every moment from placing the plates and silver utensils on the marble table, and then seating himself across from her. He scooped out a big spoonful of mashed potatoes, vegetables, picked up a chicken leg from the tin tray, and passed the plate to the young woman. After serving a plate for himself Chanel began to chew slowly on the chicken leg, complimentary it's delicate taste of spicy sauce hit her tongue like fire.
Lance propped his head and narrowed his eyes at Chanel; her posture was inadequate as if she was worried about something by the way her hand shook when she handled her fork. She crosshatched her mashed potatoes and kept her glare fixed at the table.
"What seems to be the problem, Chanel?" Lanced asked, forking the potatoes.
Chanel shook her head. "I don't know. Honestly, I have been lost in my concentration for a while."
"Is it because of the school work for the midterm?"
"Maybe, but it's not that. I'm just so stressed out."
"From what?"
She placed her fork down and covered her lap with her napkin. "It's the death cases that are occurring recently. I mean—every day we get two murder cases and one unknown case—and they all involve with the same location. The cities are becoming a lot more dangerous now, I do have to say, but pastoral places are also in jeopardy as well."
"So basically…no one is safe no matter where they live or where they walk."
"Exactly." Chanel answered.
Lance slouched in his hair and lifted his knife in the air, examining the engraved details on the handle. "Who would have caused these crimes?"
"Whoever the person or people are, I will say they are quite a smart person. They know when to attack, what to use, time their escape—they're just too damn smart that I can't even solve it."
Precisely at the moment when Chanel finished her observation of Lance's reaction to the remarks, the phone in the kitchen rings and alerts Lance to pick it up from the line. He answers and listens to the person speaking from the other end. A few sighs, 'okay' and 'mmm' remarks was all he said until he passed the phone to Chanel. His hand staggered.
"It's for you."
Chanel answers the phone with an exhausting tone that may have alerted the speaker for a few seconds.
"Mrs. Keen, I'm very sorry to bother you at a time like this," the man said. "But we've found another body in the heart of Manchester and it's a brutal scene."
"Chief, would you like me and Lance to come up?"
"Absolutley!" the man retorted.
- - - - -
About an hour later when Chanel and Lance received the message and left the house, they arrived at the scene of the crime. Yellow police tape surrounded the street light poles, approximately ten police cars staggered along the street and blocked off some businesses nearby in order to do the investigation. The black Ford pulled up to the curb and the two baffled young adults exited out of the car and sauntered beyond the yellow tape. Chanel pulled out a mini flashlight from her back pocket and set the switch on.
A glare from the red liquid sent Chanel's eyes in a bewildering blindness, astounded by the mess she was encountering. This was a brutal scene, she subdued. The chief who called Chanel in the first place staggered forward and handed Chanel what looked like an ID covered in thick cherry blood.
"Ms. Keen, I am very hopeful that you came." He said.
She shook hands with him and handed the ID to Lance. "Chief Josef Howard, what might have occurred here? The same results like the other cases we have seen for the past week?"
Josef quivered from the horror that struck him cold. "It is like the other crimes, but this one has more or an atrocious scene that we have never seen before. Follow me." He motioned Chanel and Lance to follow him towards the body he discovered lying on the street.
Lance caught up with them and saw the horror Chanel was also facing…it looked like a mad crime gone wild. Thick oozing burgundy bled on the streets and drained in the street drainer where all the city water flowed throughout the city. Lance questioned to himself how long the body had been outside in this condition.
"What a mess," Lance assumed.
"I couldn't believe it myself when I found her. She must have been out here for more than three hours."
"What could have caused this?" Chanel asked Josef, who quickly glanced down the girl with demanding eyes.
"Not a human for sure," he replied. "A human could not have bled this girl to death."
"So you're saying it's a non-human thing that may have caused all of crimes?"
Josef wasn't sure enough if the right answer would come out of his mouth, after all, he didn't know as much about the case as Chanel. She devoted everything to finding the killer and it's mischief mind. He bit his tongue and avoided any thought of concentration on Chanel's perfection with the case. Obviously, he was jealous that she was doing a lot better than him and the other investigators on the team. His fingers trembled.
"Possibly."
"What an unreasonable answer." She sneered. "You're smarter than that—you know no such creatures would make a mess this big."
"I'm giving my opinion on the case; you know that everyone is working all together on this other than yourself."
Chanel hissed out a laughing rejoinder. She was amused by his counterfeiting arguments and the way he presented it by relating to the fact that she was a harder, and a smarter worker than anyone else was on the investigating team. Such idiots, she deemed. Not giving a care about his whining, she continued to mock Josef's statement. There was no reason to be pissed that I am a lot better than you she joked.
"Are you upset that I am putting every bit of effort into this and that I am getting the positive results to the aftermaths of these crimes."
"Precisely, yes." Josef simulated. "So why won't you give us a change to solve the crimes for once?"
"Do I really give a crap?"
Josef's eyebrows rose, alarmed by her behavior and tolerance to his statement. "Why don't you instead look for cause of death so Lance and I can look up the aftermaths."
"Isn't that the same thing—"
"Ms. Keen. Just…do it." Josef rubbed his forehead and walked away with Lance to get some equipment to inspect the body.
Chanel began to mimic Josef from behind his back and after he and Lance turned for the corner of the street, she continued to examine the body and the damages done to the victim. There were no signs of gun shots, stab wounds nor any other object that would have drained the girl out completely dry. Her hair was in good shape, so nothing may have occurred on the skull—no puncture wounds, nothing. Where could had she bled from that made such a mess on the street? Then, she turned the limbed girl to her side and checked out her back. Bulky scratch marks extended from her lower back, not deep enough to cause extended bleeding, and the scratches were not that serious anyhow. When Chanel pulled the girl's thick golden blonde hair aside to reveal her tan neck, her eyes widened, horrified by what she saw. This can't be right, she thought aloud. Her hands shook as she handled the flashlight, which then suddenly feel to the ground when Chanel saw the cause of the excessive bleeding. Two puncture wounds on the neck revealed—clean from any sight of blood leaking out—the holes were large enough to drain out the girl as if a profuse straw was stuck in an orange.
She didn't understand why such a cause of death would all lead to this. Had this happened to all the victims in the past week? She trembled to come up with an answer, but panic shook her mind when she realized Josef was onto a point, and she wouldn't consider as humane. This was abnormal.
NEXT CHAPTER: EXAMINATION