The Gentleman
It is difficult for a woman to find a good man, or even a decent one, especially in a city like Santa Carla. Gentlemen are a dying breed, quickly becoming dangerously close to extinction. Times have changed, and chivalry is no longer as important as it once was. Manners in general have been lost to this new, strange generation of people. They run around at all hours of the night, hooting and hollering, drinking and smoking whatever can be rolled up into a joint. They dress in tight, barely there outfits, clad with leather and an excess amount of jewelry. Hair is no longer one colour or worn in simple, practical styles. They are wild with both colours and cuts. Being abnormal is the new normal; no one must fit in. Santa Carla, the murder capital of the world, does not cater to people over thirty. It can be very difficult for women, especially ones that are getting up there in age or are looking for a serious relationship, to find a good man amongst the growing mass of defects.
However, there is one decent catch in this murky pond. Women can tell by first glance that he is safe with his neat and slightly nerdy appearance. He is always well dressed in suits, adding in a modern twist with a variety of patters and colours. His cheer disposition and natural charm easily drew women in. He is not too bad on the eyes as well; great teeth, nice pearly whites as most women may tell you. Also, he runs his own business, a huge plus considering a great deal of the male population of Santa Carla seems to be able to hold a steady job for now. He runs his own video rental store down near the board walk. It is rather small, but still the best in town with its wide selection of movie choices. Women will occasionally stop it to look for a movie or two, as well as to get a glance at the man their girlfriends had mentioned to them before; possibly the last gentleman left in Santa Carla. He was friendly, always greeting his customers with a smile and offering his help, and the women would giggle like silly little school girls, tickled to be getting any sort of attention. Sometimes, if the woman was right, he would strike up a conversation with her, spending more time than necessary to help her with her video selection.
No one knew why this seemingly wonderful man, who, by the way, is called Max, is still single. He is older, probably in his mid to late forties, with his own job and home; why has he not settled with a wife yet? There are rumors, of course, of why this may be true. Some people have said he is divorced, sometimes leaving a cheating wife or the other way around. Others theorize a more tragic past, that he had been in love at one time but she was lost in a car accident or fire. Then there are some wonder if he is a permanent bachelor, a closeted homosexual hiding his true identity so it does not affect his business. No matter what gossip was spread, it would only heighted women's interest. It does not really matter all that much to them; everyone comes with baggage. It would be difficult to find anyone that age with a squeaky clean record. Even the best of men have a little dark side to them.
Max did not mind the attention. It made life all the easier for him; he did not have to go out and look for a woman, they came to him. He is careful in his selection, only choosing those is deems worth of his time and money. Max has a taste for women of higher society; true ladies with a distinct set of moral, class and a twist of hypocrisy in their blood. They were most often older, rarely younger than thirty-five. Middle aged women are more of a challenged; they are just as easily impressed as the young, twenty year olds but much more reluctant to give into their desires. It is more satisfying to celebrate after a well earned date.
This night, Max has managed to reel in a particularly fine catch. This woman, Maureen, as she would later introduce herself, had been lucky enough to catch his eye nearly two weeks ago when she stopped by his store one afternoon. She is a little on the short side, five feet two at the most, and dresses in a simple, feminine style with flowing skirts and pastel cardigans. She has remarkable beauty for someone her age, forty-two, and, as shallow as it is, was the first thing Max had noticed. There were a few, small wrinkles on her aging face and thanks to a box of at home hair dye, her hair managed to remain a dark, glossy brown. Max found her need to hide her true age and uppity ways endearing and all the more attractive. She will be perfect.
Maureen walks into the store, tilting her head upward as she looks for her date. She spots him standing at the register, conversing with a rather intimidating young man. She frowns at the site of the youth; bleached hair, black trench coat and bikers boots. It is the perfect recipe for trouble. Maureen stops short of the counter and impatiently taps her pink heeled foot while she waits for the conversation to end. Max glances over, finally noting his date's presence, and smiles. "Maureen! I'm sorry; I lost track of time. You are ready to go, I assume."
"Yes," she replies, her voice flat. Her lips are set in slight frown of disapproval, keeping her eyes on the potential trouble maker. She wishes that he would just leave and do whatever the hell kids these days do somewhere else, somewhere away from her.
The young blond notices this and smirks. "I'll see you later then, Dad," he says. He takes one last look at Maureen and laughs quietly to himself before finally leaving.
"Try to behave yourself tonight, David," Max calls as the boy reaches the door. David pauses to look back at his father and Maureen. His eyes fall on Maureen for a moment and his devilish smirk reappears.
Maureen sharply turns towards Max. "That is your son?"
Max smiles to himself, finding humor in the harshness of his date's voice. Some people can be so judgmental that they fail to see true evil when it is standing right next to them. "Yes, but don't mind him. It's just a phase he is going through. He has been like that since his mother and sister passed away."
"Oh." Her heart begins to soften a little for the boy. "I don't mean to pry, but-."
"It's alright," Max says as he leads her towards the door. "It was a car accident. My wife was taking our little Suzie to dance practice and someone hit them after he ran through a stop sign. Marjorie, my wife, died instantly but Suzie managed to hold on for nearly a day."
Maureen's eyes began to tear a little. She would have to tell her friend tomorrow that she was wrong; it had been a car accident and not an epic divorce battle. "That is so sad! I'm sorry for-."
"It's fine," Max cuts in. He opens the passenger door to his car for her. Maureen falters a little, flattered by the gesture, and quickly gets in, telling him thank you. Max shuts the door and walks over the driver's side. He smiles lightly to himself, amused by how easily women can take to sob stories. His tales vary from date to date. One night he is a widower that has lost his wife to tragic circumstances, occasionally adding in a child or two into the mix, and then the next he is a divorcee. On other dates he just never found the right time or the right woman to settle down with. The right woman is true for the most part. Max has a habit with rarely making it to a second date. Each story depended on whatever woman he was dining with that night; whatever he believed they would take to best, Max would tell them.
Each night is the same; a simple dinner date. He takes them to a nice, quiet restaurant, making sure that they are well fed before moving on. He sits across the table from them and asks questions about their lives, politely smiling and nodding along. Typically, his dates are pleased with this. A man that not only acts like he is interested in their lives, but listens as well? It is too good to be true; they must have struck luck and hit the jackpot! He asks them the normal questions.
Do you have any siblings?
Did you grow up here?
What do you do for a living?
What are some of your hobbies?
What is something you fear?
Maureen has two siblings, both being sisters. She grew up in the Midwest, but moved to Santa Carla just a year ago for a change of scenery after a nasty divorce. She is a receptionist in an office and in her spare time, Maureen likes to do watercolour paintings. What does she fear? Maureen is afraid of spiders and becomes ill at the tiniest sight of blood.
She asks him a few more questions about his family, which Max gladly supplied answers to. He went into detail about his daughter, a pretty little blond girl who loved dolls and snow, but vague when it came to his wife. Maureen did not have a problem with that, though. It would have been awkward hearing about a past lover. They talked long after the meal was gone and did not leave until the restaurant was just about ready to close. Maureen was giddy, practically off the wall with happiness with this perfect date with this kind, wonderful man. Max once again held the door open for her, only sending her into more joy. "Oh, you are such a gentleman!" she exclaims as she gets into the car. "I have to say, I never get this sort of attention from… Well, from anyone!"
Max flashes his shining teeth. Maureen shudders a bit, though she is not sure why. It must be the cold, she tells herself. "It's my pleasure," he says before shutting the door.
As they drive off into the night, Max asks if she would like come back to his house for a couple of drinks. Maureen suppresses a grin, trying to hide her eagerness. "Sure," she replies casually. "That sounds lovely."
After a few beverages and another long conversation, Maureen was being more open with her feelings. She laughed loudly at whatever Max said, whether it was meant to be funny or not, flopping back up against the couch. He smiled at her, knowing full well that she was not drunk. She was only desperate for attention.
Maureen holds her empty glass out so that Max may pour her another glass of wine. He hesitates, not wanting to have her too intoxicated. It would spoil all of the fun later. "You know," Maureen says after taking a sip. "I think this is the most fun I have had in a long time, possibly since I have been married. Hell, probably better than that!"
"I am glad you are enjoying yourself."
She falls into a fit of giggles. "You are so cute! Why can't there be more men like you?"
Max smiles and takes the woman's hand into his. She giggles more, her laughs high and breathy, as he turns her wrist over to examine it. "So," he says, drawing her in closer. "What do you propose we do now?"
Maureen's eyes light up. "Well, I have a couple of things in mind," she says in a slurred attempt to sound seductive. Max brings the wrist up to his lips and gave it a light kiss. Sighing, Maureen closes her eyes as she leans in closer to him. This is really the most perfect night, she tells herself. Max watches the woman closely, taking in the movements of her face. She looks happy; the time is right. He opens his mouth, his fangs coming forth as they graze the woman's skin. He can smell her blood and the thirst fills him at full force.
Max bites into her wrist and begins sucking on the open wound. He keeps his eyes on her as his date begins to struggle. Maureen lets out a gasp, but does not open her eyes. She jerks about, trying to pull away from the pain, trying to scream but she can do neither. She is now immobile. Max releases her and Maureen falls back. "What the fuck!" she screams, holding her wrist. She looks at the man, whose lips are stained with her blood. Her stomach churns at the sight of it. That is her blood on his mouth. That sick, metallic smell is from her. What the hell is going on?
He grins at the panic struck woman. His once dazzling smile has turned into a hungry grin of a predator. He can hear her heart pulsating; it's loud, spastic beating playing loudly in his ears like the carnival music at the boardwalk. "What was that?" he asks, inching closer to her. Maureen leaps up from the couch. She stumbles forward in an attempt for escape, tightly grasping her bleeding wrist. Before she can make it to the door, Maureen runs to Max. She looks up the man towering above her, wondering how he could have possibly moved so fast. His glasses are gone and eyes now a dangerous looking orange; he cannot be human.
"Do you want to leave?" Max asks. Maureen slowly takes a step backwards. She should scream, she tells herself. She should scream or fight back or do something, but she cannot bring herself to do anything but back away. "Now why would you want to do that? I thought we were having a good time."
"I-I." Maureen looks around for an escape route. "Ya-you're."
Max continues to advance towards her, his teeth bared and ready to strike again. "I'm what?"
"A monster." Maureen flinches as the man began to laugh.
"Yes, I suppose you can call me that," he says. "You seemed to have no problem with me a few minutes ago, though."
"I-I didn't know!"
"Clearly. Tell me, Maureen, do you still fear blood?" The woman falls back into the couch and sits helplessly as the vampire stands before her. Max slowly bends down so that they may be on the same eye level. He leans in close so that their faces are nearly touching. "Are you ready to die?"
Maureen shakes her head furiously. Tears of fear sting her eyes; she is not ready to die. "Please," she begs. "Please let me go."
"And why should I? I, like all beings, need to feed and here you are right in front of me with all of the nourishment I need."
"I-I'm not ready to die! Can't you find someone else?"
Max raises an eyebrow. "You are willing to sacrifice another's life for your own?" Maureen nods and he laughs at her again. "That does not seem very fair, don't you agree? I chose you, after all. And if I remember correctly, you were more than willing to play along."
"No, not this."
Max remains silent as he takes her wrist again. He examines it for a moment and then licks some of the blood that still drips from his bite mark. "Do you know what your blood tastes like?" He watches her, waiting for a reply. Maureen closes her eyes and tries to wish this all away. It is just a dream, she tells herself; only a horrible, terrifying nightmare. This cannot be happening.
"You aren't up for games, are you?" Max asks. He sighs once Maureen shakes her head. "You are starting to turn into quite the wet blanket. And here I thought we were having fun! I suppose I should just put an end to this if you no longer want to play. It would be very rude of me to do bother a lady."
"No. Please."
No and please; two words that each and every one of his dates say in this moment. Some scream, some cry and some try to fight back in attempt to put off their ultimate fate, but they all say "No" and "Please". "I don't think so," Max says. "You are starting to bore me, and I am getting rather hungry. I will finish you off now."
Before Maureen can protest again, a sharp pain pierces her neck. She can hear the bones cracking; feel the blood slowly being sucked from her body. She tries to scream again, but her energy is quickly leaving her. Maureen is dying and there is nothing she can do about it.
Once the blood is gone and all of the life has been sucked from her, Max settles the limp body onto his couch. He will take care of her later; the blood on his carpet needs tending to first before it leaves a permanent stain. "I hope you had a lovely night," Max says, smiling at the corpse. "I did. You have no idea how difficult it is to find a good date in a place like Santa Carla. You never know what you are getting into."
Why did I even post this? Bleh- damn the stupid ideas that come to me in school! I had to get it out since I won't have much to write and I didn't want it annoying me all weekend. Constructive criticism is more than welcomed! I need to work on the ending; it's nothing like how I wanted it. Oh well! Thank you for reading!