Azraël : The Angel of Death
Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Charlaine Harris' Southern Vampire Mysteries and Allan Ball's True Blood. This is solely a not-for-profit activity, and in no way intends to infringe on copyrights. This is a work of fiction and any similarity to reality or resemblance to other published works is purely coincidental. The original character (Éléanor) is inspired after Charlotte in the movie Wir sind die Nacht (2010) and belongs to the writers and producers of this awesome movie. Please, do not sue; I only live on meager student loans, anyway.
Summary: Godric is falling deeper and deeper into depression. His past actions haunt him and torment him at his every waking moment. He is growing morose and melancholic during his mournful pensive state of mind. It is all becoming too much for him to bear. He wishes to atone for his past sins and make amendments. What if Death wasn't the ultimate sacrifice to rectify his bloody past? What if he was offered a chance at redemption? What if love is forgiveness, and forgiveness is redemption? As Sheriff of Area 9, Texas, it falls to Godric's duties to ensure his rules and regulations are followed by the vampire community part of his retinue. Thus, when there is evidence of a rogue vampire on the loose in his area, he must capture it quickly and quietly before too much damage is caused. Will this fortuitous encounter be the chance at redemption he so desperately wishes for? This is a Godric/OC story.
Setting: This story happens before Godric is taken to the Fellowship (FOTS) and will perhaps follow to the events that lead to his capture by the FOTS and afterwards. We'll see where inspiration takes me. I'll edit my story as we go along. Just roll with me.
Author note: I absolutely despise how True Blood killed off such a promising character. Therefore, Godric doesn't die in this story, life goes on. Yay! J Please don't burn me at the stake, I'm not a witch and this is my first fanfiction. I've read many that were well written and wanted to try my hand at it. Also, please note that English is not my first language, as French is, so please be merciful and lenient with me. If there are any mistakes or inconsistencies in my writing, please point them out to me and I will correct them. Enough said… Enjoy! This a Godric/OC romance story.
This first chapter has been re-edited, there's definitely more details that you might not want to miss upon. I originally had about 2 600 words, I'm now up to 3 500 words.
As promised, here is the music listing I listened to while writing. You know the drill, remove the spaces:
Music themes for this story:
Maria Callas – Ave Maria
Pavarotti - Una furtiva lagrima
Enrico Caruso – Mi par d'udir ancora
Godric's introspections (intro):
Raynald Arseneault – Alléluia
www. musicme (insert dot here) com/ Natalie-Choquette/ albums/ Aeterna – 3411369967922 . html
Maria Callas – Ave Maria
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=l5cF5GGqVWo
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Don Giovanni, K 527; Act 2 Commendatore
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=D8uDJXA_aNA
Beethoven – Symphony No.7 in A major op.92; movement II, Allegretto
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=vCHREyE5GzQ
Stabat Mater de Pergolesi – Quando corpus morietur
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=3OPsIl-bfXw
Luciano Pavarotti - Una furtiva lagrima from Gaetano Donizetti's L'Elisir d'amore
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=Fh2Vh8jwyQA
Enrico Caruso – Mi par d'udir ancora from Georges Bizet's I Pescatori Di Perle
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=NxhFZK3F81Y
The arrival of the Chief of Police (discussing the investigation):
The Illusionist – The Secret Plot
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=GYB1eDe_FuE&list=PLCD32EB2934177319
Chapter 1: The Angel of Death
And I shall consume thy soul, and thou shall shed tears of crimson
Dallas, Texas
Godric
I rose early this evening. I showered, dressed and fed in less than a half hour. My nestmates slumbered, still. I entered my office and closed the door behind me for privacy in the same monotonous routine I have developed over the past decades. I, then, went to the meticulously sculpted table on which rested my old gramophone I'd acquired at the turning of the century. I put the vinyl disc on the wheel and oriented the stylus. The first notes were played on the piano, floating eerily around me, then the voice of Enrico Caruso filled the space with its melodious harmony full of agony as he sang Bizet's « Mi par d'udir ancora ». I sat in my chair and, against my better judgement, reminisced to the lulling opera. I have been rising earlier than usual, lately. And my slumber was more and more perturbed by memories I'd forgotten I had. Sometimes, I see faces, other times, I only hear their cries, oftentimes, only screams, but the absolute worst of all is the dreadful silence that follows. A silence that has been plaguing me for decades, now. A silence that is a true testament to my nature and my namesake, Death. It is, however, not as peaceful as I'd envisioned. It is chilling rather than soothing. So unlike Proserpina's Garden in the Underworld, where the Dead slumbers. Swinburne wrote a rather fetching poem about this particular Roman Myth shared by the Greeks. He is right about one thing; "for dead men", there is indeed "deadly wine" and it is "in an eternal night". A wine that is now as dead to me as my own unending Death. Colours have become mourn, passions have withered and I am doomed to consume tasteless dead wine that shall never consume me.
Isabel, so gentle and compassionate, thinks I am in the deep of depression… But vampires' health does not variate. She thinks I am morose and melancholic, which of course she does not tell me out of her great respect. But I hear the hushed whispers. She says I'm brooding…ridiculous. They also say that I my complexion is graying, paler than ivory, and that my dark brown eyes have lost their sparkle, which is another more polite way of saying they have lost their warmth and have grown cold and remote, much like my personality, according to some. Have I grown cold? I have always been cold. Vampires are cold. But, have I always been this cold? It is our nature after all. It is, however, true that I shut out my child from the bond, to spare him my internal misery. It is not healthy for a vampire to dwell on their actions and reminisce on past times, it lead some of the elders of our kind to lose all sense of reality and do something as ludicrous as Meeting The Sun out of guilt or some other trivial emotion. It seems I no longer think like a Vampire as I am, too, contemplating such an end to my affliction; that ceaseless and relentless sorrow that haunts my thoughts and actions. Some might call it remorse. It is grotesquely absurd for a creature of the night like us to feel such a senseless and contradictory sentiment to our nature.
The nights were getting warmer and shorter, announcing a dry and hot Texan summer. I warmed up a True Blood and sat back in my office to read the newspapers. Another murder; it kept covering the headlines of late. All those butchered humans... The killer was growing more brutal with each kill. The human population of Dallas was getting restless the longer it took to capture the offender. If he wasn't caught soon, the media would find him a catchy name, inspiring yet more rabid gossips. How I loathed modern times. I sighed and turned on the news channel on the 62 inch plasma TV at the other end of the room. The following images featured the recent crime scene with blue and red lights from the patrol cars and numerous officers prowling the perimeters and collecting evidence. The avid reporters, like ravenous vultures, lined the yellow security tape trying to take the best shots, their cameras flashing aggressively and incessantly.
« …the police has yet to comment on this new development, as they are still searching for the "AZRAËL KILLER", a name that means "Angel of Death" and bestowed for the number of victims that keeps increasing exponentially. In fact, the Azraël Killer has now murdered up to 32 known victims, in the past week alone. In all cases they were young men between the ages of 16 and 42 years old… »
There was a soft knock on the door.
"Enter."
Isabel closed the door behind her, glided in the room and nodded at me,
"Good evening, Sheriff."
She, then, turned towards the object of my attention with a grave look.
« …the local authorities have released a new statement in which the Sheriff requests and urges the residents of Dallas to stay inside their home at night and to lock the doors and windows, as a precautionary measure… »
"The Azraël Killer stroke again?", her accent more pronounced having heard the disturbing news.
A humorless laugh escaped me.
"Indeed. The Angel of Death, a befitting name, don't you agree?", I sighed.
"It's certainly better than the « Danse Macabre Killer » they came up with at the beginning of the investigation. I believe they also tried « The Lazarus Butcher of Dallas » and « The Judgement Day Killer » and something or another about a « Doll-maker » or maybe it was « Soul Eater »…", she finished, looking pensive.
"How many so far?", she asked with her great doe eyes full of compassion.
"With the past week, there have been 47 kills", I sighed heavily.
"Was there an issue you wanted to speak to me of?", I asked, turning my attention to her.
Isabel moved closer and took a seat opposite me.
"I received word from the local Sheriff. He petitioned a visit for tonight."
"Tonight? So soon…"
"Since the matter is pressing, I scheduled an appointment. He should be here within the hour."
"Thank you, Isabel."
Isabel nodded, then leaned closer with a confidential demeanour,
"Have you had anything other than True Blood, lately?", she asked softly.
"I know it is not my place to say so, but I worry about you, Godric", her warm hazelnut eyes full of compassion and worry.
"If you'd like, I offer you Hugo –"
"That will not be necessary, Isabel", I cut her, sternly.
"I appreciate your counsel, but you are overstepping your boundaries."
Just then, another more powerful knock full of confidence resounded on the door.
"Enter."
Stan opened the door and filled the entrance with his imposing stature.
"Evening, Sheriff, the chief of human authorities is here. He says he has an appointment and that it's urgent." He said in his customary gruffly deep voice.
"I will receive him. Do not disturb me for the duration of this meeting, unless it is a matter of great importance that cannot be resolved otherwise."
"Yes, Sheriff", answered Stan with his deep voice.
Isabel stood briskly and nodded at me deeply, more deeply than subordinates are required too. She held a great amount of respect and…affection for me, as I did her.
Stan left, followed by Isabel, and the young human Sheriff stepped in hurriedly. I stood to greet him. He unconsciously puffed his chest to appear more intimidating. It seemed he felt I was a menace, and rightly so. As we grew older, the elder of us developed a certain aura of power representative to our age that was much more perceptible to humans. They were not only aware of the threat of a skilled predator such as they were in the presence of any vampire, but they knew they couldn't run in the presence of an elder. That was the powerful aura that some of us exuded.
"Have a seat, Sheriff…"
"Hayes. But you may call me William. And I'll stand."
He gave me a critical look.
"When I called, your secretary assured me I would be speaking to the commanding superior officer of this retinue, not some little boy. I don't have time for stupid jokes, we've got enough of the prank callers, already. I demand to see you superior, son. Now." He said with authority, looking down at me condescendingly.
My fangs snapped down at his rude comment, and I stood briskly. I disliked, or rather loathed, been discredited for my youthful appearance. Although, at times it still amused me. These modern times made it even more unbearable, as young men of twenty five years of age were still not considered adults in society, even if they were legally adults at the age of eighteen. In my time, young men were adults at the mere age of twelve and were encouraged to start a family.
I moved too rapidly for his eyes to register the movement and went to stand directly in front of him and spoke to his face with my fangs in full display. He was at least a foot taller than my own stature, but that did not matter as he still cowed in such close proximity to my presence. My unfavorable mood made my accent thicker.
"I am the oldest vampire you will encounter on this part of the New Continent. Thus, if there is a boy in this room, he is standing in front of me. You would be wise to remember your place. You are only here out of courtesy and because I allow it. I want to improve human-vampire relations and am offering my full cooperation, only to be met with flagrant disrespect."
I retracted my fangs as a peace offering,
"Now, do you or do you not want the assistance for which you came here for?"
"I'm sorry, my mistake. You just look…soo young. I would very much like to discuss this investigation with you, since I believe it concerns you." He said, properly contrite, then took the seat I offered him.
"I was expecting Sheriff Reynolds." I moved towards a more comfortable subject to put the young man at ease.
In fact, the older Sheriff had quickly accepted the reality of vampires and strived to resolve crimes that required the more critical eye of a vampire. The charisma and strong bearing he carried through his old age marked the years he spent on the force.
"He retired three months ago,"
I briefly wondered what kind of man he was. Would that encumber on our future dealings? He seemed a young and able man of forty-some years with graying hair and fierce green eyes.
"and I was subsequently promoted to his position."
"I suppose congratulations are in order."
"Thank you."
"There is a reason for which I believe this case concerns you."
"What do you mean to say? Have you found evidence a vampire is involved in this matter?"
"No, actually, it's the lack of evidence thereof. There is no puncture wound to be found."
"Couldn't the forensics identify them?"
He gave me an incredulous look and let out an exasperated sigh through his nose.
"There is no fang mark to be found because the bodies are soo damaged they are beyond recognition. I mean, at this point they could be anything, but human. They should change that stupid Az-a-riulll name to the Ziplock Bag Killer, because once he's done, all that's left could be scooped up with a spatula and contained into one, rather than a body bag!" He ranted out to me. He then seemed to remember to who he was speaking and his demeanour changed into that of embarrassment.
"I'm sorry…for…the outburst. I'ts been a trying week."
"That is fine. Please elaborate on what you meant by lack of evidence."
"Well, we never found any puncture wounds up to this point. But, there is a pattern. It seems obvious to me it's not a human. No human could rand, butcher, dismember and annihilate a body so efficiently in such a short amount of time, since the bodies are always fresh when found. They're barely a couple of hours old. And we didn't find any evidence of a chainsaw or any other kind of blade or weapon."
"My profiler believes it's either a woman with a serious grudge against men or some sadistic old pervert that gets off by mutilating little boys for his own pleasure…" As he finished his sentence, he seemed to realize his not so delicate phrasing about boys and avoided making eye contact, resorting to fidgeting in his chair and throwing me a few speculative looks, probably thinking that I, too, looked much like a boy.
"There seems to be a recurring pattern," as he said this, his tone became grave and he made full eye contact with me.
"all the…remains…of the victims are mummified. That is the strange part, Mummification takes forty-nine to seventy days to occur and the body must be kept in a low moisture environment with controlled temperature where it can completely dry. The bodies were generally found outside and they were fresh, which makes the mummification process impossible to occur. There was a leak at the beginning of this investigation, a reporter got word that the bodies were mummified and that's when the « Soul Eater » made the headlines. This information hasn't been disclosed to the media nor released to the public because it would cause a general panic in the community." He finished with a heavy sigh, much like the ones I found myself experiencing of late.
"Mummification, you say? That is grave, indeed. Although, it is not something a vampire can accomplish." I sighed in turn. But the most plausible explanation would revolve around some kind of Supernatural, which means I must quench this case personally before there is any suspicion amongst the human population of other species living with them. Humans are barely handling the presence of Vampires, they are not ready to know there are many more of us. In all actuality, they do not want to know. Human psychology is a strange thing I often find myself marvelling at; they are extraordinarily oblivious to the most obvious of all, if they would rather deny the undeniable, it becomes Truth, a Universal Truth. No creature truly knows the bliss of ignorance like the Humans do. They have an uncanny ability to deny what they do not want to see.
"You heard on the news that the body count has now piled up to 47 known victims. Actually, there might be more victims… we just haven't found the bodies yet." He said gravely.
"In fact, there's been an outbreak in missing people reports and there might be some that haven't been reported…like the homeless. The actual number of missing people is still unknown and so is the real number of victims."
"My profiler also mentioned that usually the younger boys are only mummified, whereas the older men are brutally dismembered on top of becoming a dry sac of bones. We can't decipher whether they've been beaten prior to becoming leather matchsticks. There's always a lot of blood on the crime scene, although we can't say if there's any significant quantities missing, since it's all dried up in the veins and arteries and turned to leather. There's no way to dissect leather to measure the amount of blood present. The forensics have never seen anything like it and there's no precedent of such a case in our files. They've had to resort to mummification study."
"That killer has become a threat to the vampire community of Dallas by causing much fear and insecurity. It is only a matter of time before they act on those fears."
Fear and incentive was never a good combination, and that worried me. They will soon want a sacrificial lamb to slaughter. I do believe the modern term would be scapegoat. In fact a new church was gaining in popularity, lately. It is called The Fellowship of the Sun, a church that preaches hate against Vampires.
He bent forward, bracing his forearms on my mahogany desk and looked me in the eye intentively,
"Can you catch him?"
I have re-edited this first chapter to include more details I thought were essential to the plot. I've received criticism that requested more of Godric and to be reminded of his gorgeous looks, so there it is. I like the parallelism of Humans' denial and Godric's own denial about his depression.
What do you think? Are the tone, setting and atmosphere clearly established and alright so far? If you have other ideas about a killer name that's not too cheesy and inspires chills, I'll be happy to hear your generous suggestions! Also, should I elaborate more about the description of the environment, like the rooms and such? Is it exciting and new? I think I might go for a gothic style of romance where the general atmosphere reflects the mood of the characters. Did I interpret Godric well so far? Tell me what you think? What can be improved, what I should focus on, what I should cut out… If you have suggestions for the plot, it is not fully established at this moment, so I'll take any and all suggestions for consideration. Even if you're not a member, feel free to review, just as well!
If anyone wants to be my beta-reader, I need one!
I looove constructive criticism! So please be nice in your criticism.
I expect to update regularly, like every week and a half or so, because I loathe when stories I love are abandoned by the writer.
Love you all!
Proserpina