Disclaimer: All creative rights belong to Charlaine Harris. Stereotypes and memes belong to the community - I don't think she wants them.
The St. Eric contest is over, but we had a late entrant. It's me, your host that's been slack in posting.
Sincere thanks to all who entered, and especially those that reviewed.
Christian Callahan is psychic.
37 years ago his mother was brutally murdered, her killers were never found. He has spent his life waiting for a vision to help him discover who killed her and why. For decades he has willed himself into having a vision that would help him in his investigation but none came; until now.
A vampire with long blond hair, blue eyes and a shitty bar somewhere in Shreveport.
Any observer of the human race can tell you a cold truth: we are all liars. We even lie about the things we lie about. In the dark hours we tell ourselves we lie about the little things, but our deceptions cut far deeper - we lie about who we are. We are not as beautiful as we think, not as clever, not as well loved. Our final prevarication is what we believe because, despite what we tell ourselves we always know the truth, we're simply too cowardly to face it.
Chris never lied himself, he knew who and exactly what he was. He was a psychic he had been one all his life. Two loving, adoptive, God fearing people had brought him into their lives when his drug addled mother was murdered so many years ago. He didn't spend more than a few days in "the system." He had a happy childhood and was precisely because of them that he spent his lifetime trying to help other people. First as a missionary and today for The Agency. He worked to prevent terrorism and government meltdowns and solve unsolvable crimes. He brought peace to thousands of people. In his heart he knew the government didn't necessarily always use his ability for good but in the balance of things he had saved thousands of lives, he prevented world unrest. Stopped revolutions and hastened others along. He believed he tipped the scales toward good, and the realities he witnessed day-to-day with were better than the alternatives he had seen in his visions.
As a child he had horrible visions of the future. He saw a life enslaved to undead monsters for the better part of a year he woke up screaming every night and each night his adoptive mother rushed in to hold him and tell him it would be alright. His parents attributed his nightmares to his past and to a mother who had been widely known as unstable and a drug addict. His parents hoped he would outgrow his problems and loving parents that they were they sent him to church; when the Lord did not lend a healing hand as they had hoped they brought him to a doctor. By the age of six Chris had learned to lie about the things he saw and the good doctor pronounced him cured.
When he was eight Chris realized for the first time that the future was not a thing set in stone but a possibility, a way a thing might be, given the right set of circumstances. Even now, so many years later he remembered the day well. April, a girl in his class had a cat. He knew the cat was going to get run over and he knew he liked April so the thought of her sad made him sad. He decided to do something about it.
Painful experience had taught him telling anyone would label him a freak or worse some scary kid who threatens cats to get the attention of pretty girls. In the milieu grade school this was somewhere below the kid who eats paste and above the kid who burns down vacant buildings. Being eight he didn't have many options but he went to her house, saw the cat sleeping lazily in the sun, he picked it up and carried it all the way home. He locked it in his room for two weeks telling his parents he'd found a stray and wouldn't they please let him keep it. Being good Christians they didn't want to throw it out in to the street. After two weeks he brought the cat back to April saying he'd found it wandering the streets. He told his parents the cat had run away when he left the window open and they adopted a dog from the local shelter.
April was overjoyed to be reunited with her cat and the three of them remained friends throughout grade school and high school, only losing touch with each other after college. The cat lived to a ripe old age. At eight years old Christopher knew a great truth that had troubled philosophers for centuries, the future was not set and could be pushed in a new direction.
So in 2001 when Chris started to have terrible visions of burning buildings he decided to do something about it. At the time he was working as a missionary in the inner-city of Los Angles, he walked into an FBI office and tried to convince them to do something.
They threw him out. Twice. The third time they threatened to have him committed. Six months later there were fewer people laughing. A man, dressed in a black suit and dark sunglasses showed up at his house after church. He announced who he was, who he worked for and wanted very much to know how Chris knew what he did. Chris explained, he showed the Man in Black a diary he kept of his visions.
The Man in Black took his diary, thumbed through it and told Chris he would be in touch. A week later Chris was on a plane to Virginia.
To any observer the man who entered Fangtasia did not belong. He wore gray wool slacks a blue button-down shirt and brown loafers. He face was graced with the delicate beauty of a woman as well as hollow cheeks and sandy, sun-kissed hair several weeks beyond needing a cut. He was slight of build and it seemed as though a stiff breeze might blow him over.
"ID," said a short, blond vampire as she looked him up and down. " Christian Callahan, you are 37 years old."
"Sure am," he said, offering her a smile full of slightly crooked teeth, his parents had been God fearing but poor - orthodontists were for rich kids.
"Welcome to Fangtasia, bar with a bite, be careful, sometimes the fixtures bite back." She said, but she had already moved on to the people behind him, a group of college girls out for a night of excitement. They squealed with joy when the bouncer spoke to them and showed her fangs.
It was pure theater, he knew, he'd seen it all before.
Taking a few steps inside he took in the scene, his visions had not done the place justice in its tackiness. Like every kitsch shit hole on the east-cost, plastic was heavily represented, it was red and black and garish. There was even a gift shop so you could take shit home with you. This wasn't how vampires lived, Chris knew that - but the type of people who came here weren't interested in actually knowing vampires any more than people who went to Disneyland really wanted to know how princesses lived. These tourists had come to flirt with death, not live with it.
Peering through the crowd Chris saw his target. A large vampire with long blond hair, sitting in a corner booth. It might have been ten seconds it might have been ten minutes but Chris stood and stared and the monster who had haunted his visions for weeks until he got in a car and drove south.
In his visions the man stood in court in silver chains, only when the court clerk read the charges to the vampire did Chris recognize the significance of the dream. Each night his visions became increasingly detailed. Staring at the vampire through the crowd in a shitty bar somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon line Chris knew: this was the vampire who killed his mother.
You might think you'll know how to react when something really monumental happens in your life. Chris' first thought was to walk up to the vampire and confront him - but he knew that path lead to death. And his presence here was predicated on a promise that he would do no such thing. He stood planted for a few more minutes until a waitress walked up to him and asked him if he wanted a drink.
"Sure," he managed to stutter, he needed to think. He followed the waitress over to the bar and took a seat. "Um...anything on special?" His parents had taught him to save money.
"We got Coors," the waitress answered blankly, already realizing he wasn't a big spender and she wasn't looking at a huge tip, she was looking for new people to serve.
Chris had a brief thought of her ending up dead in a boarded up house somewhere not far from here, drained of life. He swallowed, he wasn't here to change the future just to make sure a particular one came into being. The waitress returned with a can of Coors, no glass, and no nuts. This was a classy place.
"Um," outside of April he never had much luck with the ladies, it was hard when you knew most of the important things about them, like if they'd cheat on you, when and how they'd die. The monkey of his mind thought how terrible it would be to be a parent in that situation. He wondered what had been the final straw for his mother before falling in with these creatures. "You...been working here long." He put down a ten for the five dollar drink.
The waitress tossed her hair back a little and smiled at him. "Few years now."
"Like it?" He took a sip of his beer, it tasted like piss.
"It's a job." He wasn't going to say anything to her she hadn't heard before. She was looking around at her tables.
"That your boss over there?" He nodded at the big vampire in the booth.
"Eric? Yea he owns the place. You let me know if you need anything." She smiled at him, lightly touching his arm.
Chris sat there for the next two hours, thinking about possibilities and weighing his next action. Watching possible futures. His target was Eric Northman Sheriff of Area five. His phone buzzed in his pocket, he knew better than to answer it here with so many capable ears listening in so he took it as an excuse to leave.
When he got to his car he sat down and listened to the voicemail. It was his boss wanting to know how his "hunting expedition" had gone. If he had to say one thing about his supervisor - it would be that he was one cagy fuck. Former Recon Marine, all around badass, out to protect his people at any cost. When Chris had gone to him several weeks ago Jim had listened as grim lines formed around his face.
"How sure are you it's the guy?" Jim had asked.
"As sure as I can be until I lay eyes on him."
Jim sat back and thought. He didn't like the idea of losing one of his men, even for something as understandable as vengeance. But he also knew Chris' visions could become problematic if not managed correctly and given a necessary outlet. Chris was one of The Agency's most valuable assets it was better to help him get what he wanted than it was to fight him with bureaucratic crap. He had to give Chris credit for coming to him, if a vampire killed out of his daughters, or his wife, there would have been no conversation with the chain of command. Chris was smart, Jim reminded himself, he knew his limitations.
"Look. I know how much this bothers you and I know you want revenge for what happened to your mom. I get it."
Chris frowned, this sounded like a windup for a refusal.
"But I have to ask you to sit second-chair for this thing. You're not a shooter, you're way more valuable. Go down there, do your thing. If it's the guy let us handle it."
Chris could see why people died for Jim, fair, pragmatic and a leader. Jim knew if he refused Chris, Chris would go off the reservation and do it anyway, this way, at least, Jim could protect his asset, make him happy and get a little field work for some of his operatives. And, if things went well, provide the state of Louisiana with a test case for some new technology.
Chris was silent, possibilities whirled around him. "You OK man?" Jim asked, worried Chris wasn't sanguine with the arrangement he'd offered.
"No, I mean, yes. I'm just relieved." He rubbed his eyes, he hadn't been sleeping well, his shoulders slumped a little.
"Take the rest of the day, pack your bags. I'll tell the boys you're off on a hunting trip. But ," he paused. "Stay in touch. I don't want to have to go in guns blazing anywhere to pull your magical ass out of a vampire nest. Not that Andy wouldn't enjoy it, he's still pissed about being turned." They both laughed a little thinking about their mutual friend.
"He bitches, but he enjoys kicking our asses in the baseball tournament." Said Chis as he stood up and Jim lumbered to his feet. Well his prosthetics anyway, he'd lost both feet and an arm to an IED in Iraq. Last halloween he'd been the most convincing pirate Chris had ever seen. "When you come back you'll come over for dinner," he said, reaching to shake Chris' hand with his good arm. "My wife misses you." Even with only one good arm Jim was still an imposing man, tall and muscular, he maintained his high and tight and had such an authoritative bearing Chris always felt a ridiculous need to stand at attention when Jim was in the room. Jim had only joined their unit at The Agency a year ago but he already had it running like a spinning top. The people who worked for Jim were devoted. Chris was devoted, he loved Jim like an older brother. Before Jim joined the unit had been divided down supernatural lines, Jim made it clear they were all in this together. There were no baseball teams for vampires, weres or witches, you played on a team that needed a person.
Chris smiled, "I miss her and the kids too." The last few weeks had been hard on him.
"I'm looking forward to it, we can try grilling pizza again."
Jim laughed. "How does that turn out?"
"Poorly, but you just got in some good beer from Belgium so really it's a win for me, I'm too cheap to buy the good stuff." They both laughed. Chris paused and Jim looked at him expectantly waiting for him to get it all off his chest. Chris dropped his eyes and looked behind Jim to the window behind him. "Thanks Jim."
Jim nodded. Chris had a number of demons behind him - in this case literally, several demons had come to work for the unit when he took over. "We'll about this later Chris, call me when you know - one way or the other." He motioned for the demons to enter.
Six days later a witch, two human agents and a demon lawyer executed a search warrant on Eric Northman's residence in Shreveport Louisiana. It was a daytime raid, the house was searched from top to bottom until they found the vampire's sleeping quarters. The agents wrapped the vampire in a light-tight body bag and carefully carried him to a silver lined van specially made for the transport of vampire suspects. They brought him to the Shreveport police station while other agents processed his home for evidence.
That night Chris went to see the fruits of his labors.
The creature sitting before him was responsible for countless murders, of that he was sure. Their records told him that Eric was at least 1000 years old, how many people had died at his hands? Chris didn't know, he couldn't fathom being alive for that long and he only cared about one murder.
There was an Eisenhower era chair sitting in the corner, military green with a cracked leather seat. It was oddly comfortable. He pulled it up, but out of reach of the long arms behind the silver bars.
"Do you know who I am?" Chris asked?
The vampire glared at him and Chris figured he was trying to glamour him. "You should know that won't work." For whatever reason glamouring never worked on him, some people were naturally immune, and others could be taught to resist, still arresting vampires was dangerous business, best left for witches, the daytime or other vampires. Chris tried again, asking quietly, "do you know who I am?"
"No." The vampire sat back in his cell, he wasn't going to answer any more questions.
Chris pursed his lips. "That's fine, you just have to listen. My mother was a psychic." He started. "Her name was Mary, she was born in 1941 and died in 1976. She was found, drained of blood at the bottom of a well in some shit-hole part of Louisiana and you killed her."
The vampire looked at him expectantly, no doubt thinking 'you'll never prove it, human.'
Chris leaned back in his chair a little. "I know that look."
"What look."
"The look you're giving me now . . .others have given it and you're wrong."
The vampire said nothing so Chris continued, "right now you're thinking you're going to destroy me. You're going to hunt down my family and bend me to your will. And you're wrong vampire. My mother wasn't the only psychic in that family. I've been looking you for most of my life."
In any fight there is a time when you can feel it turn to a particular opponent. A moment when, like the tide moving out to sea, the world shifts under your feet and no man can stop its direction. Chris could feel victory driving him forward. "You know, vampires aren't the only ones who'd like a psychic working for them. I came forward before 9/11, I told them about the attack - I told them everything, about vampires, fairies, weres. Because I'd seen it all." He laughed a bit, uncomfortable at the thought. "Come to think about it I would have gotten along better if I'd just told them about terrorists. As it was they thought I was crazy."
"But then." Eric started.
"But then the attacks..." Chris shrugged. "You'll notice there aren't been any in America since, some close calls sure but we've got them all."
Eric was watching Chris carefully, if he got close enough to the bars he could rip off his head. People like Chris were valuable, the ability to play the stock market alone made any one who held a psychic immensely rich. That's what had drawn him to Chris' mother - but she was too unstable, he had to kill her or risk discovery. Before the revelation he would have done the same to Sookie, useful, but ultimately hard to control and too much of a risk when your life depended on secrecy. Silence filled the room again, the human seemed to want something out of him, an apology, sorrow, fear? An admission of guilt?
"You should know, since vampires came out - people have been working on a way to type you for DNA - gather evidence, that kind of thing." Chris smiled. "This is going to be a test case. We all know I can't testify, but there will be plenty of evidence. Right now agents are searching some of your homes looking for things you use, we're going to take some of your blood and we're going to use touch DNA to tie you to the scene of the crime."
Eric crossed his arms impassively. The first use of vampire DNA had already happened in the UK six months ago, it was only a matter of time until it happened here. The bars were made of silver, his guards were demons, there would be no immediate escape. And what of Sookie, with his protection removed it was only a matter of time before someone else stepped in.
Chris had expected more from him, a soliloquy and apology, something. He felt a pang of disappointment.
"If I am to be tried by human laws, I want my human lawyer, now. Until then I have nothing to say."
Chris got up, pushing his chair back against the concrete floor. The room was cold, stale, windowless. "Louisiana is a death penalty state Mr. Northman, and there is no statute of limitations on murder." He said flatly. "I look forward to your day in court." Chris walked to the door and knocked to let the guard know he was ready to leave. "I'm going to offer your girlfriend a job, from the future I've seen for her, it's better than the alternative."
The heavy silver door slammed shut behind him. He never looked back.
Eric Northman was tried and sentenced to death for the first degree murder of Mary Atkins, mother of Chris Callahan and psychic (though the papers did not report on that aspect of the story). After decades of appeals Eric Northman was staked through the heart for his crime. The trial itself was cut and dry, Mary had last been seen with a man fitting Eric's description, her body was covered in his DNA, and she had been drained by a vampire. Circumstantial at best but enough for a jury.
Sookie Stackhouse attended every day of the trial. She watched as her vampire husband was led away in silver chains. Chris approached her and explained who he was, how he came to know about her and why he brought Eric Northman to justice. She wept but understood why he did it. Over a cup of coffee Chris talked about growing up with his visions and how he used them to protect the world how he believe he made it a better place and how he thought she could used her ability to do the same.
A week later a convoy of black SUVs drove he and Sookie northward. "I'm sorry," Chris said, as he and the telepath drove north toward Virginia.