Chapter 1.
The persistent sounds of tires crushing down pavement, the smell of smog drifting up through the large vents in the street and the worried, apprehensive thoughts of a young man on his way to a job interview, filled my mind.
I closed my eyes, the jingle of New York swarmed into my ears, reverberating around my brain. Breathe, I reminded myself. I sucked in a deep breath and willed the sounds and smells to cease. A subtle quietness filled my mind, but the few tires squeals made through the barrier. I opened my eyes and peered out through my sunglasses.
With my sharp eyes, the sun glittering off the glass speckled side walks nearly blinded me, the glare off someone's watch too bright to bear. My name is Carlisle Medelion. I am a two hundred and three-year-old vampire.
It is not much of a secret in this day in age here. I mindlessly traced the tattoo—the symbol, the marking—on my right forearm that the government stamped on me. To show the world what I was. The black marking consisted of a crucifix, intertwined in ivy and the sharp, jagged letter V where Jesus would have been, I presumed. Some sort of bar code was imbedded under the cross, to verify who we were.
It was against the Four Laws of Vampyre to cover the traitor. I had the sleeves of my blazer pushed up to my elbows, the tattoo glaring at the humans around me. How did the government expect us to be comfortable in their world? I thought. I shifted in the chair, my knee brushing under the table. I sat outside of Times Square Café, near the gate that separated us from the side walk and busy roads.
My feet were propped up on the vacant seat across from me, as I leaned back against my chair and sipped my lemon water. Vampires can drink and eat anything we like. Only drinks, mostly caffeinated drinks, evaporated into our blood stream, causing the need for blood more prudent. Oh, it was always prudent, always a burning feeling in the back of my throat. Only maximized by the caffeine. If we ate, we were forced to cough up the remains, due to the lack of acids to break it down.
Perhaps, to understand myself and my kind better, I shall start with my features. I had light, golden hair that waves, more or less, down past my chin, black eyes that darkened to a red when I was in dire need of blood. My skin lacked pigment, gleaming white and hard as stone statues. My touch was freezing and electric. My voice was greater than any melody to humans, my laugh entrancing. We give off an earthy, pleasant smell though it we cannot detect among our own. As any myth goes, vampires should have jutting or retracting fangs.
On the contrary. Our teeth are merely sharpened, our normally pointed canines sharpening. So you see, it was not hard for the myth and legends to begin. However, our teeth do not retract and are not sharp and pointed enough to give us away. Instead, they are razor sharp, coated in layers of venom.
Did we derive from snakes? With their numbing venom and enchanting eyes? We do not know. Our own meaning is not fully known to us.
Anyways, vampires move much too quickly for any hope of human eyes to catch us. And our strength out numbers any human and many animals. We can move around in the sunlight as we wish, but if we dare venture in a single ray on lack of blood…there is no much hope for the poor creature. I do not sleep in a coffin, I hardly sleep at all. Perhaps an hour or so at the most, and in a bed mind you. Stake me in the heart and I will continue to assail you. The only way of death for our kind is to be cremated and our ashes scattered.
Some time ago, in the early twenty-first century I remember, nearly every vampire in the world became fed up with hiding in secrecy. They showed them selves to the world. A war ensued and humanity would have lost if the vampires did not give them life. So in many ways, we are in control of the world. Even though our kind and theirs weights in at ten to two. But over time, humans made the Four Laws of Vampyre to restrain us, to make peace: The first Law of Vampyre is that all Vampyres must not hunt the innocent. The second law states that all feedings must be away from any witness and the corpse buried. The third law is that all vampyres must either be schooled or work. The Fourth and Final Law is that all vampyres must at all times never hide their markings.
Ridiculous, I thought. But as far as the humans' minds could expand they did their job. My phone pinged and I glanced down at it. A message from Lieutenant Grady was calling me in on an important case. His voice sounded strained and irritated.
I grabbed my keys from the top of the table, tossed a bill onto my plate and sprang quickly over the gate. I was on my new, silver Honda CRF230F Street Bike before all before the light turned green.
Wind whipped at my helmet, the face screen rattling. It was not a necessity for me to wear the ridiculous thing, but it was human law, if not vampire law, and I did not need to be fined. My blazer rippled behind me like a gray cape as I sped much too quickly down the highway. I glanced down and saw that my bike was nearly out of gas.
Just as I looked up, the light turned red. I pressed on the break and slammed my other foot down into the cement. It cracked as I was tugged forward but no damage was done. I waited impatiently for the light to change. Cars pulled up on either side of me slowly, waiting as well.
Nice bike. I looked automatically to my right and saw a girl perhaps nineteen grinning at me. Her eyes flashed down to my forearm and her smile faded. She looked away quickly.
The sound of the locks clicking echoed in my head. I twisted the gas nozzle before the light even turned green and disappeared down the street.
I pulled into the police station and parked my bike away from Gene Marlow's SUV. Inside, I wasn't greeted by any of my co-workers. The way I like it. The station was always buzzing with thoughts; it was enough to drive any vampire insane.
I walked past my cubicle back towards Grady's office. I grabbed my mail from the gangly boy pushing the cart. Bills, bills, I read.
"Whoa, whoa," a hand reached out and stopped me. I looked up and saw a skinny guy, perhaps twenty-one at the oldest. He looked nervous, licking his lips repeatedly. I could hear his heart beating unevenly. Jeeze. How is he so…? Oh, I realized. He was that kind of guy.
"Can I help you?" I asked. He blinked and glanced down at his shoes for a second.
"Only police officers are allowed to go back there," he said, his voice breaking.
"And?" I prompted, a non humorous smile spreading over my face.
"Well…you're not…you can't be," he looked down at my right arm and back to my face. The door behind him opened and Grady stepped out.
"What's going on?" His large, gray speckled brows scrunched together. "Kevin, this is Officer Medelion."
"Oh…" Kevin sputtered. Grady stepped aside and waved me in. I smiled at Kevin as I walked past.
"Shut the door," Grady ordered. I complied and sat down in front of him.
"Quite the security system you have got set up boss," I smirked. "When does the vicious watch poodle come in?"
"This is serious Medelion," he said. His round, sweaty faces frowning.
"Always is." Grady sighed and spread a few folders in front of him.
"There's been a murder in LA. Some hot shot singer. He was torn apart, drained of blood. They think—"
"That a vampire was the COD?" I figured.
"—and California doesn't have a…er—you on their force…"
"So, you would like me to fly to California to investigate the murder and decipher whether or not it was a vampire," I summarized.
"That would be the case, yes," he nodded. "We already have your plane ticket ready for tomorrow morning at six o'clock."
I nodded, looking around the office. Dust was settling everywhere, coating award and certificates he had achieved. "Medelion are you—"
"Who cleans for you?" I asked.
"What?"
"Who do you have clean your office? Is it Kevin? If so, you should fire him. He's done a terrible job."
"Look Medelion," Grady pointed at me with a sausage finer. "I'm sick of you sarcastic mouth. You're lucky that we even hired you. If you haven't proved that you could work on this force than you wouldn't be wearing that badge." He pointed to my coat, where he presumed it was. In reality it was tucked in my back pocket.
I raised my hands in defense.
"I completely understand. My apologize, may I continue on my day off sir?" Grady sighed, wiping the sweat beads off his lip.
"Sure." I rose silently and opened the door, startling Kevin.
"Leaving?" He asked.
"That is how it would seem," I stated. "Does it itch when they make you wear that collar?"
"Heh?"
"Nothing."
I was nearly on my way out when Gene Marlow stopped me.
"Off to the blood bank?" He laughed. He was a tall, fat guy. We stood nearly eye level, though I was unlucky enough to be able to see the balding spot on his head.
"Hello Marlow," I gritted.
"Say, did you catch that Discovery Channel documentary last night? It was on this disgusting fungus. It slinks around other germs, pretending to fit in. And then wham!" He pounded his fist into his other palm. "The fungus attacks all the other germs, building as it does until it's just this huge, filthy waste product. Soon, it starts growing crazy from all the germs and starts eating at its own flesh…" A smile parted his cheeks. "I think it was called the vampire fungus."
It was no secret that Marlow despised all vampires, he would single handedly burn all of us if he could. But this attack hit me with a force I hadn't expected. I grabbed the top of the two cubicles he stood between, their plastic and metal crumpling in my grasp. He stepped back, his eyes widening momentarily.
"I'm sorry," I said through my teeth. "I did not happen to catch that certain episode. I must have been out at the bar or on a date. I'm sorry I could not sit all alone at home on a Saturday night, eating a little bowl of popcorn and feeling sorry for myself. Next Saturday why don't you record it for me? If you have the time I mean." I smiled widely at his furious face and turned away.
I walked briskly down the small hall towards the door, feeling his anger rise. He stepped after me, his hand outstretched for me. I whirled around, surprising him even further.
"Something you forgot to tell me Marlow?"
"I…if you…" he sputtered, his face turning purple.
"Um…Marlow?" Stacy, his partner called from her desk. "The phone is for you." I glanced at Stacy over his shoulder and then looked back to him.
"Go on, it's your mother." Then I turned on him and left.
Outside, I got on my bike and rode on.
I reached my apartment soon after but decided against it. I drove past, deciding to see an old friend of mine.
Isabella Mark lived in an old retirement home. Alzheimer's disease taking her under a few years ago. The halls were painted white, the floor tiles were white, and everyone was dressed in white. Too much, too sterile. I nodded to the young receptionist at the front desk, her heart pitter-pattered loudly and I smiled to myself. I spotted Dr. Crain in the hall, studying her clip board. She looked up when I walked over.
"Hello Carlisle," she greeted.
"Dr. Crain," I nodded. We both stood in the hall way, watching all the old and frail humans sitting about in their white uniforms. Some moved slowly to the windows, to peer out at the green garden around them. Others stared blankly at the television sets and a group of old men plaid checkers in the back corner. "How is our little patient doing?"
"Mrs. Mark is doing well…"
"Sleeping problems?" I asked, over hearing her thoughts.
"She's been fussing in her sleep. We gave her some pills but they didn't seem to help. She's wearing out." We suspect that she may be dying soon.
"How soon?"
"It's hard to tell. With some patients it's sudden and others it's obvious." I nodded and found my little friend. Ninety-six and still beautiful. Her thin gray hair showed her scalp underneath, her skin was creased and wrinkled, her eyes sad and lost.
"Thank you doctor," I excused myself and went over to Isabella. I watched her paint quietly. She dipped her brush, raised it to the nearly blank canvas and froze. A few lines had been painted but hardly enough to show what it was to be. She lowered her hand and shook her head. I moved around to her side slowly and softly as I could. She didn't notice me.
I squat down next to her, watching her frail face stare helplessly at the unfinished painting. I closed my eyes, letting our minds melt as one. What was I painting? She wondered. She lifted her hands again, pressed the tip of the paint brush against the canvas. It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing does. She put down her hand again and set aside her paint. As slowly as I could, to not alarm her, I reached out my hand and took hers.
I could feel the weak bones under the cracked and weathered skin. She looked down at my hand slowly and looked at me with a small frown. Her weak blue eyes looked at mine, trying to remember.
"Do I know you?" She asked softly, struggling.
"No," I whispered. Before she could worry, I added, "I am your great grandson Carlisle."
"Grandson?" She asked. "I had children?" She looked away, her brow puckering further.
"Yes. A girl named Isabella and a boy named Mathew. Isabella had four children…but Mathew passed away in a tragic airplane crash."
"Poor Mathew," she mumbled. "Was he your grandfather?"
My answer was automatic. "No. Isabella was my grandmother….Do you remember her?" Isabella Mark shook her head.
"No. And I'm sorry, but I don't remember you either." Her words stung more than she could ever imagine. I looked away from her, a tight pain in my chest. Dr. Crain was speaking with a couple who had just walked in. I rubbed the loose skin on her hand with my thumb, but she pulled away. "Why are you so cold? I have a pair of gloves…oh." She looked down at the table next to her, where, perhaps forty years ago there would have been gloves, only her paint set lay. "I guess I left them in my room."
"I'm fine," I said, taking a deep breath. "Do…do you perhaps remember a small cottage in Washington?" She licked her lips, her poor mind fighting against her disease to burry up the memory.
"I think so. Were—the shutters yellow?"
"With a blue door," I nodded.
"And…white? White walls?"
"Yes," I nodded again. "The hardwood floors and flower pots. You had a small garden in the back corner of the house behind the fireplace….You loved that garden, and the little blue jays that would visit."
"Was I married?" She asked hopefully, the brightness in her aging blue eyes enough to make my dead heart squeeze.
"Yes. You were very happy. You painted as well," I motioned to the blank canvas. "Mostly sceneries."
"What happened to my husband?" I always dreaded this part of our usual, repetitive conversation.
"Yes. He fought in the war…a single bullet to his brain ended him quickly. No pain."
I didn't die Isabella, I thought at her. I'm still very much alive. I never went anywhere.
"Did he love me? We were in love?"
"Yes," my voice broke and I had to look away again. Vampires could cry, but only a minimal amount of times in his or her life. I took her hand again. "So much. You two hardly went anywhere without each other." She took her hand back for the second time, placing them in her lap.
"Who are you?"
"Just a drifter."
"I don't know you," she was panicking. Her heart beat began to rise loudly in my ears. "Dr. Crain! Dr. Crain!" I stood up quickly, my heart tearing.
"Please," I begged, reaching out to hold her hand. She flinched away and I snatched my hand back.
"Dr. Crain!" I could hear the doctor's running footsteps.
"I'm so sorry Isabella." And then I was gone.
I sat on top of the paper mill, letting the sounds of the world deafen me. I stared unblinkingly at the setting sun, wishing my eyes would burn out. If I was human, I thought. I wouldn't have had to fake my own death after only twenty years of marriage. I still remember that day perfectly. I should have been more prepared.
It was slowly progressing, her suspicion. When Isabella looked at herself in her mirror, she saw wrinkles beginning to form at the corners of her eyes and of her mouth. She would look at me, my skin completely smooth and youthful. I had to leave. And everyday I regretted it. About ten years later, the Four Laws of Vampyre were made, but by then it was much too late.
But there wasn't a day that passed that I was angered against being a vampire. I embraced the truth of what I was. It was because of this sentence that I could track down murderers and rapists help others who were being taken advantage of.
The sun had set, darkening the world. I fumbled with my sunglasses, feeling their metal and plastic. I crushed it easily and tossed the debris over the edge. Standing, I looked down at the passing people below. They smiled, chatted animatedly, flirted and held hands.
I stepped off the edge…the wind rippled through my clothes and blew back my hair. How would it be to die? I wondered. There was a scream of horror as a witness saw me falling the twelve stories. But I landed quickly on my feet, growling vibrations shaking the floor around me. Everyone passing froze and stared. I looked at the diminishing surprise in their faces and walked away.
About a block or so down was a bar. I never been there before, but I needed a drink. Inside was warm with drunken chatter. A few tables lined the walls, a pool table was off to the side and in the center of the building was the bar. A glass ran behind the shelves that held liquor and bottles. A large man was drying a cup when I entered.
"Hello," he said. I sat on the stool and mumbled my greeting. "What can I do you for?"
"What's the strongest thing you have?" The man chuckled and reached under the counter and pulled out a heavy red bottle. He pulled out a heavy glass and scooped ice into before pouring the bottle only a quarter into the cup. I cocked my brow and he laughed before filling it all the way.
"Thanks," I grumbled. I took deep long drinks, feeling the warm liquor spread down my throat and fall into the empty pit of my stomach.
"Jesus," he said. "Be careful. That stuff can do some damage." I set down the cup and bent my right arm, showing him the Mark. "Keep going then." He chuckled nervously.
I don't know how long I was in there. In that seat. Drinking that liquor. I could sense that hours had passed. The bottle became lighter but I did not become intoxicated. I did not forget. I could not.
At some point, a couple of large, brawny bikers came in and set their large bulks at the corner of the bar. The laughed loudly, joked around with each other. One of them noticed me and elbowed the man with the gray beard next to him.
I heard them walk over to me before I saw them. The huge set man with the gotee smirked at me as he leaned on the counter.
"I'm not causing any trouble," I said without looking at him.
"Oh we know you're not," he laughed and the others followed. "We wouldn't have that." I continued to stare at the glass behind the shelves and drank the last of my drink. The bar tender began filling it without me even asking. When I reached out to take it, the man pushed it away. I sighed and sat up, getting off the bar stool.
I pulled out a large bill and slid it to the bar tender. I finally looked at the man. He was taller than me and probably out weighed me two to nothing. Tattoos covered his arms and up one side of his neck. He reached of leather, motor oil and sweat.
"That's a nice tattoo you've got there," he said, looking at my arm. "How old were you when you got it? Eighteen? Five hundred…six hundred?" They all laughed. I tried to step around him but he pushed me back with a heavy hand.
"Do not touch me," I warned calmly.
"Or what? I know your laws. You can't touch me. I haven't committed any crime."
"Not yet. But you will. You're just as repulsive as all the other humans on this earth."
"What did you say freak?!" He shouted, stepping close enough to me to where his chest hit me.
"Phil…" the bartender warned. "The laws say you can't harm them either." Phil made a choking sound in the back of his throat and stepped back. But before he could, I was already inside of his head. I pushed past useless information and found the monster inside of him.
What would your son think? I pressed into his mind. His eyes widened and then hardened. You didn't see him, that's what you say. But I believe that you did see him when you backed the boat off the dock. Did you know he couldn't swim?
"Listen you—"He grabbed the front of my shirt. In an instant, I grabbed his hand, twisted it around, breaking his wrist and forearm. He cried out in pain, his knees buckling.
"A human body holds ten pints of blood," I whispered harshly. "Loose seven and you die. The kind of wound I could inflict on you would cause you to lose a pint per second. Do. Not. Touch. Me." I let him go and he crumpled to the floor.
I walked towards the door but before I could leave I heard a voice. I recognized the same bell like tone that seduced humans felt the cold radiating skin and the evilness inside of him. Alasdair. Any vampire knew that name. I didn't look at him, knowing that when I did, I would see something I would rather not see.
"You're alone," he said. "And yet…you live for being what you were destined to be."
"I rather live in a world where you make your own destiny." Look at me. "No."
"Why not?" He sounded amused.
"The O'Clery family has nothing to do with me. I bid you goodbye."
"I will be watching you Carlisle, as I watch over all of our kind."
"Yes, you are the Jesus of our disgusting forms," I hissed, my voice so sarcastic that it annoyed even myself.
"I like to think so." He chuckled. I heard the sound of his fingernails tracing the wooden table. "When you fly to California in the morning—I will be there." I nearly looked at him, wanting to know how he knew. But the answer was obvious. He chuckled, sensing my distress. "I will be seeing you soon Carlisle."
My apartment was small and cluttered. I didn't mind much, I was hardly ever home anyways. I tossed my keys onto the counter and went into the fridge. All the alcohol I had consumed made my throat burn, my muscles tightening. In the cold fridge several blood bags sat, waiting.
During the making of the Four Laws, the government decided to give any extra blood, some states even had blood donations, to vampires. I grabbed a bag, feeling the plastic and blood inside and slammed the fridge shut. I flopped down on my couch, setting my feet on top of the coffee table. I watched the news. That's all I ever did when I was home. I watched the world kill its self blindly.
Some reporter was talking about the body of a young girl found in the river.
"Humans," I growled. I twisted off the plastic cap inserted into the bag and drank. I choked and nearly spat the blood back out. I held up the bag and read the label and groaned. Pig blood. Animal blood was never as pleasant tasting as human blood, or as thick. It never gave us as much energy or strength. Where was the fun in blood bags? Where was the hunt?
But I had to be contempt with what we were given. I sat back and drank slowly and deeply. Alasdair O'Clery was what humans feared most about vampires. He was what supplies the lore in their legends, myths and the were the stories that kept them up late at night. If anyone hated this new day in age technique of equilibrium between humans and vampires, it would be Alasdair.
He was how you would say an "old-school vampyre." He wore fashionable clothing from his time back in the nineteenth century, wore his black hair long and sleek. He walked with a silver and black cane, though not because he was lame, only to show his status in the world. He lived by the code of vampyres.
Vampyres and vampires were different, and not just in spelling. Vampyres were the darker side of our kind. They lived wickedly and loved it. Even though vampires hunted, killed and buried the same as vampyres, we saw humans as more of an equal than they. Of course we would rather mix with our own than with them, they were there and we had to share the earth.
Vampyres, on the other hand, wanted to eliminate humans, saw them merely as game and food. Ying-yang as it would be. Alasdair O'Clery was indeed, a vampyre. He was not their proclaimed leader though many saw him as their master. He was ruthless and cunning. Evil and enchanting. Though, if you were ever in danger, you could always rely on Alasdair and his coven of sorts to protect you. Vampyre or vampire.
My watch read three thirty AM. I turned off the television box, threw the empty blood bag into the waste basket and went into my bedroom. Again, I do not sleep in a coffin. Not even the vampyres…well that's not true. The O'Clery Coven believed in sticking to their ancestor's haunting tales and traditions. They slept in coffins but hardly ever regularly.
I pulled off my coat, my shirt and my pants before sliding into bed. I set my alarm clock to four and was asleep instantly.
Chapter 2.
The sound of crashing waves awakened me. I preferred this form of waking rather than that of the blaring screeches of a regular alarm clock.
I did not dream as I slept, our kind never did. And for that we should all be thankful. If we were to dream, what good natured images and imagination could be stirred in the mind of that of a blood sucking vampire?
I dressed in jeans and a white turtle neck, pushing my sleeves up. I quickly packed clothes for two weeks and was on my bike soon enough.
Baggage check in the airport was simple and quick enough but security was different. I set my carry on item, my leather case consisting of two blood bags, my cell phone and a novel, onto the little conveyer belt that would take my back under examination. When my bag passed, a red light blinked but no alarm sounded.
When I stepped up to the metal I beeped though I had placed my watch and keys into the little plastic bowl they offered. My shoes were removed, as well as my belt. A uniformed police man waved me over, he was holding my case in his hand. I walked over, not really knowing what to expect. He took the black wand and scanned me. When it passed over my right arm, it did not make the hallow wailing noise instead pulsated on a low tone that burned my ears.
I held up my right arm, revealing the Mark. The man passed the wand over and a read out appeared on the screen.
"Officer Carlisle Medelion," he read. "Flying to LA? Quite sunny out there."
"I can manage. My bag please?"
"Right," he said, handing me my case. "Enjoy your flight." I ignored him and gathered my things.
Picture this: a quite, harmless vampire sitting down at the gate, reading his newspaper. A bunch of annoying brats climbing on the seats all around him, but he paid no mind to them. Their mother calling them but they would not listen. And then, one little boy in particular with sticky hands, tugs on the vampire's sleeve.
"Can I read the comics?" He asked. The vampire smiles and hands the boy the fold. Doing so, the boy glimpses his arm. "Are you a…vampire?"
"Only the kind that drinks little boys," the vampire teases. The boy gasps and runs to his mother crying. The mother glares at the vampire but chastises the boy for even going up to him.
A funny scene to any other vampire. A stab in the chest for that vampire.
My plane arrives and I'm off.
When the plane lands in LA seven hours later, I'm literally dying of thirst and every human around me is a target. I hurry to baggage claim, grab my bag and run out into the blinding light of California. I'm dazed and confused momentarily. A cab pulls up and the well dressed man leans over and said, "Officer Medelion?"
"Yes?" I asked.
"I will be your transportation for the evening." I nodded and got in.
"A nice today," the driver pointed out.
"Very," my voice sounded harsh to me.
"I've been working since one this morning," he announced. "I sure could use a drink.
"So could I." That was it for conversation.