BLOOD
The Last Vampire
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Disclaimer: BLOOD: The Last Vampire © Manga Entertainment & Production IG/ IG Plus
All you plagiarism lawyers can go fuck yourselves.
Chapter 2
The threat of war looming over East and the October weather cast a dark cloud over the city. The air was thick with haze and moisture, blurring the surrounding buildings like smoke and casting halos over the street lamps. Rain left the roads slick. Some unknown source growled the engines of cars, driving anonymously between matchsticks of tarmac.
Far from the station, sword still clutched, the girl walked through a desolate area of the town, where the shops were shut and police sirens rang. Papers stuck to the notice board were dripping and white paint faded on the metal sheet of closed doors. Lights shone in her face, growing then blinding against the corrugated iron, as an empty taxi rushed by.
Saya had the collar of her coat pinched right up to her nose, burying her face in the fabric. Her feet made very little noise as she walked. Behind her a red light shone.
The water was still dripping when they arrived on the scene. Much noise there was outside, but in there only the tiny yet reverberating bloip! of just another drop of water in the bucket could hold the emptiness of the bathroom. The water rippled as it fell.
The first flash caught the bloodstains, still sticky, circling round the drains, staining between the tiles.
The second flash saw the kitchen knife, new, sharp and decorated, sitting amongst swirls of more blood.
The third snapped the arm, hanging limply over the side of the bath, the fingers slightly curved with blackening fingernails and redness veining between the grooves of her palm. Streaks and drips of spatter smeared against the yellowing bathroom tiles. As he examined the limb, he made sure to capture the grisly chunk sawn out, just above the wrist bone. If he looked carefully, he could see the faint greyish outline around the skin, where already the flesh started to decompose.
Finally, he photographed the dead girls' face. She seemed young – her skin was not battered, the eyebrows were high and neatly plucked, as if she had drawn them there, the lips were full and slightly parted, and there was only a slight amount of fat under her jaw line, the beginnings of a double-chin perhaps. Her eyes were large and blue, now staring forever towards the wall. She could not have been on the job long – probably couldn't handle it. She looked more like a puppy that been put to sleep, rather than someone who had bled to death.
The camera flashed once more, making a quiet flicking sound. The bathroom was tiny; the bath itself took up more than half the space. Combined with the two investigators and the coverboards there was hardly enough room to call it a crime scene. The photographer, wearing an inappropriate baseball cap on backwards checked his camera one more time without taking a backwards glance at the woman. She had somehow managed to squeeze herself into the square, efficient bathroom with one shade of stained yellow all around the floor, walls and ceilings, each with many little chips taken out of it. Her dark hair was wet and streaked itself across her face like roots. Two locks still remained snaking over her breasts. By the looks of it she had simply stripped – not caring how they found her – sat in the bath, legs folded up, and ended it all slumped almost peacefully against the edge.
The other investigator had the decency to but his cap on forwards, being careful not to slip on the blood.
Outside three police cars swung their lights around the houses. Like the house itself the area was cramped an unfriendly. During the great economic overhaul of the 60s, the largest urban development project in history, woodlands were scraped away and replaced not by charming individual houses by with small, mean, entirely practical dwellings, with neon signs down every building. Even the sky seemed unhappy. With no trees to soak it up, rain drenched the district without washing it clean. Naturally the entire sect was Japanese.
One police car moved away. It wasn't needed. Umbrellas up, people chatted away at the animation. Somewhere a cricket chirruped.
A woman – perhaps her mother, she had large greying bushy hair tied back and pearl earrings, was crying in one of the police cars. Understandably. She'd been given a handkerchief to stifle her tears.
"So the tap was still running when you found her?"
She sobbed and kept nodding.
The police officer, younger than she, was less than sympathetic, with his arm resting casually over the seat. His face was square and flat and he wore thick-rimmed classes under his smart cap.
"Calm down. You don't have to cry."
She tried sniffing and wiping her eyes. The officer had seen too many of these.
Another policeman was questioning the neighbours. A man leaned against his doorway with his arms folded and a cynical look on his face.
"I'm not too sure," he sighed. "But I heard Mari was going out with an American solider." By the look on his face he had seen enough of these to stop caring too.
Elsewhere other businesses were still going despite the excitement. Next to the whores stood a nasty little black man with his shoulders hunched. He looked like his bald head had been transplanted onto a 12-year old. The women next to the pink Pub Lounge sign took a long drag of her cigarette. She was pretty ugly too.
A prettier woman came up:
"Mari from Charade's committed suicide."
"Stupid girl," said the fag queen. The cigarettes took all the flesh out of her face and strapped her skin against the elongated frame of her skeleton. "She didn't have to kill herself."
"Maybe she got the "clap"." sniggered the nasty little man.
The other woman gave him a cynical look. Her eyes were too far apart and the blush only emphasized her protruding cheekbones.
"You can't get upset over a minor thing if you're doing work with American soldiers." Said the smoker with her thin lips.
"Did you hear about the suicide at the base school last month?" the woman with odd hair – very straight and down to her eyebrows on her head, but incredibly bushy behind her neck – looked like she's just remembered.
Her male 'friend' replied. "There seem to be a lot of them lately."
The gossipy one with large breasts and neatly combed blonde hair raised an eyebrow. "Apparently, everybody's really uptight about it." She said snidely from under the umbrella.
"How terrible." Bushy looked up to the sky and ruffled her coat. Everything about her was overdressed, the faux fur-lined jacket was striped, though under the half-hearted light it was hard to tell what colour, she wore red pearls and blue earrings; even with her profession it seemed entirely wrong. She shook her head a little. "I hope this doesn't affect business."
A plane was approaching.
"It can't be helped if we're going to make a living off the base."
"Huh?" she strained to hear.
Wearing that horrible rag that barely covered her hair it was surprising she could hear anything at all either. "It can't be helped if we're going to make a living off the base – !"
Even the police looked up.
The plane was huge, the sort used to carry large military equipment like tanks, with four propellers on each wing bellowing, buzzing over the town. Like a great bird it flew beyond the barbed wire and fencing and grubbiness of the buildings around it into American ground. On one of the fences a sign warned people not to enter, but the only words they saw, those with real significance, were "WAR", "United States" and "Restrict."
Saya, in her new clothes, watched the plane touchdown with a faint roar on safe turf. There was something ominous about everything that went inside there.
She turned back to her window outside the Antique & Gift shop. A truck sped behind her, but she didn't seem to notice it, nor did she notice the American soldier was standing outside the other window a few feet away.
The shop was owned by a small rat-faced man in glasses with a cigarette hanging from his lips, reading the newspaper. He looked like he'd accidentally dressed himself in his son's clothing. Strange to imagine that such a weedy man could own so many wonderful things. In the angle of the light she found it difficult to see past her own reflection. Something caught her eye.
If she moved passed the door she could see it better. Beyond the gramophone, in a glass case with a bowl resting on it, would have been the perfect gift. Another car sped past in the window.
A sword and a dagger, resting peacefully on their stands. The smooth leather sheaths were still bound with black tape. All the gold about it, the handle, the decorations on the stands, depicted beautifully the trees and animals and stars of ancient Japan. The handles were tightly stitched and would have felt smooth in her hands. Even the label hanging from the sword was written in Japanese.
But the sign said "Not For Sale" in English.
Suddenly aware of something looking towards him the rat-man flinched are tried to fix the perpetrator with a leer.
But she was aware of him too and very quickly was gone.
Unlike the cold dreariness mere hours before the sun shot down mercilessly on the city, cutting dark shadows against the ground. The roads were coming alive with more and more cars speeding carelessly against that fence, beyond which lied the base.
Against the blaze of light, Saya would have appeared very small.
Cars moved freely in and out the barriers, despite all the stop signs and speed restrictions. Just as one rose to let a large green truck out another lowered to inspect the small yellow car. It needn't – it was only her. The military man waved his resister to allow the barrier the raise itself. There was another car right behind her.
She looked nice. She also looked for her parking space, wedged between two other cars, one black one green, right next to the Yokota High School entrance. The school itself looked a bit slap-dash, everything seemed to be made of wood and the signs were painted on. Still, the surrounding grass, trees and bushes added a touch of green to an otherwise grey city block known as Yokota.
Two older American students cheerfully greeted her as she left the car, not saying how odd she looked in a suit and bright red bow tie.
"Hi!"
"Hi." She quite liked them.
Despite the rustic outside inside was no-more well-built than any other place here. The walls too were chipped and the lights glowed greenish. But there were posters, bright happy posters, in that short corridor alone over five. All of them had Halloween Costume Contests and Come to the Halloween Dance Party and drawings of smiling pumpkins and haunted houses found only in Scooby-Doo
Saya walked silently and close to the lockers, either ignoring or not noticing the agitated stares of other students. They did not stop in their tracks to turn and look but found their eyes inadvertently drawn towards her, making them strangely nervous. Even the boy putting up yet another poster stopped and listened, though she made no sound. They were all American.
Inside the classrooms several students sat chatting to each other with pumpkins and half-donned clothes. There was a large American flags hanging from a pole from the floor.
"Hi." He waved.
"Hi."
She clipped on her pass as the left her office, looking much more at home in a white coat that suited her tubby frame. She also noticed, almost instinctively something different and looked up.
She was pale, even for a Japanese girl. Her eyes had also lost the distinctive slant of her race, but her small well-fleshed nose and thick lips were correct. Her hair even, seemed weighed down by something, her fringe hung in thick tendrils and tapped against her forehead when she walked. It seemed wet, shining lightly and clinging like fingers towards her face, but no her hair was definitely dry.
"Young lady . . ."
She ignored her. Perhaps she couldn't speak English.
But she turned. The look on her face contrasted harshly against yet more playful pictures surrounded white tinsel.
She tried another approach. Perhaps she would feel more comfortable hearing her native tongue. "Aren't you Japanese? You are not a student here, are you?"
Martha Caroline Auror. ID No. HP-5672-12T. School Nurse. Her greenish laminated tag shone smartly against her crisp white jacket.
But Saya was staring at her silver necklace.
"Did you pass through the office?"
She shot her a look of contempt – one eye dazzling in the bright light; the other concealed by shadow, and carried on her way.
Given the sweetness of the other students she was surprised. "Hey, hold on a second."
She stopped. "Where is the Principle's office?"
"Huh?"
After an age of waiting there was finally a knock at the door.
The English-speaking Principle took his little square spectacles off.
"Come in."
The nurse opened the door for her, ready to introduce her. "Sir, this young lady here – "
"Ah, Saya, you're late."
The stranger who'd been sitting anxiously for 10 minutes suddenly stood up as she entered the doorway, spreading his arm out. "I want you to say hello to the Principle."
The Head Teacher was a fat man with small tired brown eyes, sitting quietly behind his massive desk. His office was as large as a classroom and where the walls weren't covered in bookcases they were painted yet again green. The pictures framed were all of certificates, school photos, trophies, the flag of USA and other works of self-grandiose. Behind him stood to large windows, reaching from floor to ceiling, the fierce glare of the sun turned into a thick glow behind the lace.
The Principle himself wore a coffee-coloured suit over a brown jacket and white shirt with a starched collar. He too wore a bow tie, more like a ribbon given out at dog shows than a fashionable accessory. But what was so striking about him was his hair – it looked ridiculous. It was huge and puffy up front with streaks of brunette in an otherwise grey afro. He looked like he hadn't been off his seat for 30 years.
Saya said nothing but nodded.
"Hello. And you do speak English?" he said from under his tiny moustache.
"Of course." David answered for her.
He was in no mood for introductions. He had work to do. "Well then, you can go see some classes this afternoon." He locked his fingers and scrunched up his beady little eyes in a way that was suppose to be a smile. "But with the Halloween Party coming up I'm afraid we may not get much work done, eh-heh."
David smiled politely and nodded a little. "Thank you very much for your help. Goodbye."
He quickly turned away. Saya opened the door with a click and walked out as David put his hand on her shoulder.
The nurse had been uncomfortable throughout the whole thing.
"Who was that girl?" she asked as soon as the door closed.
"She came on an introduction. She wants to participate in classes for a few days." He replied flatly, putting his specs back on, pen in hand.
"Um, excuse me . . ."
"Huh?"
She walked up shyly to his desk. "About the party tomorrow?" asked a quiet voice.
"Not that again. I thought we were over that by now." He replied brusquely.
"Yes sir. But it hasn't been long since the terrible incident. And I'm not sure the students have recovered from the death of their friend – "
"That's why we're having this party." He tapped his pen angrily, resting his fist on one of his wobbling jowls as he gave her a cock-eyed look. "I've had enough of this. Now get back to work!"
The sweet-natured maternal nurse could only look down in shame. Like a student who'd been told off.
Yes I know, boring chapter. Still the movie is only 45 minutes long and 30 minutes are spent building atmosphere. Don't worry – I'll still be as gory as I can possibly be.