The room is dark and dimly lit. Shadows lurk in the corners and under the few sparse pieces of furniture. Mildew stains the corners and the ceiling, and an unpleasant stench eminates from all parts of the room. In the decrepit room there is a woman. She sits at rickety old desk, illuminated by only a single bare bulb.
The woman is not beautiful, attractive perhaps, but never beautiful. None the less there is something undeniably enticing about her. Her skin is smooth and unblemished and her lashes are luxuriously long. Her hair is so curly it seems to have a life of its own, and is a color that can only be described as bright yellow. The woman's lips are plumb and unnaturally colored the same shade as fresh blood. Her hands are soft, her fingers long and slender, and her nails are painted the same bright red as her lips. She is thin, but filled out with curves that make her undeniably a woman. Yes, she is terribly attractive, but something is off about her.
Her smooth skin is deathly pale, and lacks the youthful luster that most people have. The woman's carefully painted nails curl into claws, and behind her lips are unusually sharp teeth. And underneath her long lashes her eyes are glazed over, dull, and posses the unseeing gaze of the dead.
In front of the woman, on the desk, is a book, a notebook to be exact. The woman is writing in the book. She writes in an old fashioned form of cursive, her letters looping and connected.
The woman writes this:
I am tired.
So tired.
How long has it been? How many days, years, decades has it been?
I don't remember anymore.
I don't care anymore.
I am so tired.
I have been cheated of my eternal rest.
Now I am stuck in this awful limbo, unable to to live or die.
I am tired.
I want it to end
The woman puts down the pen and sighs. Then she slowly closes the book and places it on the table. She sits there for a few moments, unmoving and silent. Suddenly she stands up and goes over to one of the corners. There is a beat up cardboard box, and the woman picks it up and walks through the crooked door in the back.
The door leads into a bathroom. The bathroom floor is covered in cracked faded tiles, and cockroaches scurry over them. The toilet is another monstrosity, the seat yellow around the edges and attached crookedly, the water stained brown with rust. The sink is in bad shape as well, with one of the handles missing, the faucet leaking and the entire basin is covered in unidentifiable stains. There is a mirror over the sink, with long cracks running through it and dust covering the edges.
The woman disregards the disgustingness of her surroundings and places the box on the toilet seat. She pulls off her ratty T-shirt that reaches past her knees and is riddled with holes. Out of the box comes item after item, a strapless black bra, plain black underwear, and a worn red makeup bag. The woman takes out another item. She puts it on, revealing it to be a black dress. The dress is so short it borders on obscene, and the neckline shows off more cleavage than can ever be called modest. The straps of the dress are thin little strips of cloth and the fabric of the dress clings to the woman, showing off her full curves.
After dressing herself she grabs the red bag and turns toward the sink. The woman rummages around before choosing foundation and blush to darken her skin and to put some life into her cheeks. The woman then puts on some mascara, lengthening her already long eyelashes. She removes a tube of lipstick, using it to carefully put a fresh coat of her blood red lipstick on her mouth. The woman stares at her reflection in the mirror, almost as if she's entranced. Then just as quickly the woman snaps out of it. She stands up straighter, fluffing her hair a bit, as if it needs it. Then she takes one last evaluation in the mirror before walking out of the bathroom.
The woman is back in the filthy dark room again. She goes back to the corner where she got the box, but this time she pulls out something different. A pair of black, knee-high, high-heeled, go-go boots. The woman grins widely, displaying all of her brilliant white teeth. The pointed canines are even more prominent when she smiles. She reaches into the box again and takes out a light brown trench coat. She shrugs it on. buttons it, and turns the collar up. She walks into the center room an reaches up, barely stretching, and turns off the light. The woman walks out the door, and then turns to close it. She fishes out rusted key from one of her many pockets. She locks the door and walks down the hallway. Crooked entrances line the passage, no doubt leading into other unkempt rooms. Hoarse shouts can be made out from the floor above, and loud rock music blasts from one of the rooms. The woman ignores this, and heads straight to the stairwell.
Her heels go click, clack on the stairs. Over and over again, click, clack, click, clack, echoes in the stairwell. She teaches the bottom and walks out into the city. Night has fallen, but cars still honk, people still roam, and shops and bars are still open. Street lights illuminate everything, and taxis speed through puddles left from the storm. The woman strides down the street, full of purpose and authority. She towers over most of the people she passes, but none take notice of her, to wrapped up with what they are doing. She walks block after block, her hair whipped about by the wind. The woman turns off onto a small street, full of neon signs and a more than a few drunks.
People stand outside the entrance to the largest bar and obnoxious music blares out onto the street. The woman slips her way into the bar, pushing past the glassy eyed patrons. Cigarette smoke wafts up, mixing with the smell of stale beer. The women seats herself at the bar, next to haggard man. She smiles at him before removing her trench coat. The dim lights give her an illusion of exotic beauty, and the man leans toward her.
"Can I buy you a drink, sweetheart?" The woman gives him a coy smile.
"I make it my policy to never turn down a free drink." The man turns away, calling out to the bartender, giving the woman a chance to evaluate him. His face is long and has the distinct look of that if horse. Scraggly hairs cling to his chin in desperation in a failed attempt to disguise the many scars of past eruptions. The man is lean and lanky, but he will do for the woman's purpose.
After berating the barman, the man focuses once again on the woman.
"So sweetheart, you got a man to go along with that pretty face?" His awkward words make the woman cringe inwardly, but her composure holds. She leans forward, allowing the man a glance down her dress before straightening.
"Jaqueline. And you?" She moves ever so slightly towards him." The man stumbles around with his words a bit before answering."
"Er, my, uh, name is, um, my friends call me Chuck." The woman, or rather Jacqueline, widens her smile. Chuck can't seem to believe his luck, that such an attractive woman is even looking at him, much less flirting. The drinks arrive, and the conversation carries on.
Jacqueline does not touch her drink, but Chuck downs glass over glass. He becomes less and less coherent, and thus completely obliging when Jacqueline leads him out of the bar. He stumbles along the streets with her, still trying to seduce her, and still failing at it. She pulls Chuck into a deserted backstreets, and pushes him up against the brick wall. He lets out a startled cry, but Jacqueline silences him with a forceful kiss. Chuck leans into her, gasping for air when they pull apart. Jacqueline just grins,revealing her pointed canines, and begins to kiss his neck. Her kisses become more desperate and soon they become bites. Then she pierces his skin with her teeth. Chuck lets out a cry of surprise of fear, but Jacqueline reaches up and covers his mouth. She eagerly laps blood as Chucks struggles become more frantic. He wiggles and tries to push her off, but Jacqueline remains unyielding. Chuck pales as Jacqueline drinks unceasingly from him. He can't seem to make out her heartbeat, even as close as they are. After what seems like an eternity to him, Chuck slumps forward. Without a pause of her feeding, Jacqueline shifts Chuck to where she has easier access to his neck. She sucks at the bite, drawing out the life she has no right to. She stops, and licks up the blood that has begun to dry around her mouth.
She gently lowers Chuck to the ground, as if she was mother putting her child to bed. Turning him over on his back, she rifles through his pockets. Methodically, mechanically, the woman searches through the contents of his wallet. A driver's license,an expired credit card, as few wads of bills, and a picture of a woman. She glances at it. Who is the person in this wrinkled and water damaged photo. A mother? A daughter? Or even a lover? The woman puts the picture back, but tucks the cash into her coat. Almost as an afterthought, she checks his pulse. Alive.
The woman rises up from her crouch, watching for any witnesses. She has been hasty with this one, and does not regret it. She strolls out of the alley, opposite the direction she came.
She walks with no particular purpose, heading no where. Down winding streets and endless avenues she wanders. Cars zip past her, and life swirls all around, just out of her reach. She is an island in this ocean of activity. Even in the dead of night the city is lit up with noise and people.
None take notice of the silent lady with stains down the front of her. On the concrete her heels go click clack, click clack. She follows a road that leads over a river. It is a nearly forgotten bridge, fallen in to disuse as a larger, better one was built. Still vehicles trundle across every now and then, but the woman has it mostly to herself.
The woman seems drawn to the edge, moving with a hypnotized quality. She leans over the railing, watching the water flow beneath her. The water reflects the many streetlights, and the city itself. She wonders about the city beneath her, whether it is exactly the same, or opposite. She can see the silhouette of a figure, her reflection. What happens to her reflection when she walks away? Does it disappear? Does the reflection have her own life? What would happen to her if the reflection walked away? As a child she was terrified that she was the reflection and that real person would soon grow tired of her reflection and leave. So she would stand frozen for hours,in front of mirrors, puddles, and things of that ilk. Some called her vain, but it was fear not vanity, that drove her. Just as it always has.
Fear will no longer rule her. She made that vow long ago, and she still fails to fulfill it. No more. She climbs on to the railing. Her feet perch on the rail, but her hands continue to hold on. Slowly she uncurls one hand. She stares up at the sky, wanting to die facing the sliver of moon-
"Descoteaux! Cherise Descoteaux! What in hell are you doing?" The woman whipped her head around, nearly toppling into the river from surprise. No one had called her by that name since she had done her best to disappear.
"Are trying to die? If so, jumping off a bridge won't work. We both know that you are much tougher than that." A man approaches her casually, as if he strolls up to chat with people attempting suicide on a regular basis. Cherise, or Jacqueline, or whatever her name is, peers at the features of the stranger. A pale complexion, black hair and eyes, and that unforgettable impish smile confirms what she suspected.
"Giuseppe." Cherise sighs. "I suppose that means I'm already in hell." The man smiles, showing off his slightly crooked teeth, a smile that at one time melted Cherise. Now all she feels is a twinge of annoyance.
"Is that anyway to greet an old friend? Does our friendship matter that little to you?" He sniffs indignantly. "Are we to return to last names, Mademoiselle Descoteaux?"
"Your accent is as atrocious as ever, I see. Go bother someone else with it." Giuseppe's grin widens at this, but he does not move.
"I would gladly torture some other poor soul, but unfortunately Cherise I need, well rather she needs, your assistance. If you just come off that railing we can talk like civilized beings."
"Why must I come down? Afraid I'll escape?" Cherise snaps. She turns back to face the river. A gale sweeps over the water, grasping at Cherise's curls.
"No. But you might fall in and then I would feel honor bound to fish you out. And you and I both know that water is not my natural abode." He walks over to the edge. Resting his arms next to Cherise, Giuseppe stares off into the distance. Cherise watches him warily, her eyes focused solely on him. Neither move.
"Why can't you leave me alone? Is it so hard to just let me go?" Giuseppe remains silent. Slowly, as if it causes him pain, he looks up at her.
"You've been away, and things have changed since you left. Cherise, please come with me." He pleads.
"No"
"If you want to die so much, that means you have nothing to lose. Would it trouble you so much to postpone your end for an old companion?"
"Nothing you say will change my mind." Cherise shifts carefully, and scowls down at Giuseppe. Her face is contorted in a mask of anger and pain, her lips twisted into a frown. "I want nothing more to do with that filth."
"Do it for me, your best friend, your blood brother. Let us have one last journey together." He extends his hand. "Cherise" He mouths. " Please."
Reluctantly Cherise reaches out. They clasp hands, and Giuseppe helps her down. They stand in silence. Almost in unison they turn and begin to walk. Cherise and Giuseppe disappear into the city, leaving only the moon and the river as their witnesses.
Author's Note
I love stories of old school vampires, and this is my attempt at one. Please review, because I would love to know what you think.