The cold room opened to the wind of the night. The clothes lay scattered on the ground. A broken frame was on the wall. The bed was empty except for a few thin sheets and one single pillow. The chair stood near the closet which was closed for what seemed to be an eternity.
Empty silvers eyes raked over the room. A figure stood by the doorway…the light emitting from the hall cascaded into the dank space of emptiness (for the room was unusually empty). A sigh and a breath of cold mist came from the figure and the hall was encased in darkness with a simple flick of the switch. The figure walked into the room and the door closed unceremoniously.
The figure walked towards the bed, the guitar in his grasp fell on to the chair and he sat down on the empty mass of white sheets. He slowly turned towards the wall across from him. Empty except for that glass casing that held his most treasured, his most…hated possession.
The Vampire Killer…the sign of a true and powerful Belmont…
His power…his sickening curse.
The brown leather of the whip still glistened brightly as it had for countless centuries. In the end, all he felt was a sick taste in his mouth as he remembered that last battle…so much blood and death…and it was HE who spilled most of it.
The vampire that had been killing and ravaging the city was gone…but the scent of death still haunted him.
He slowly pulled out a syringe from his pocket. He stared at it for…how long, he didn't care. Tying a thin, broken band around his arm just above a large vein, he closed his eyes and let out a soft gasp as he felt the temporary escape from the syringe fill the inside of him. His eyes open to let out one tear, then two, then more as time drifted by.
Gazing towards the closet, he could hear a crash as the broken frame fell into pieces on to the ground. Dropping the syringe from his limp hand, he fell on his side on to the empty bed and moved only slightly to gaze up at the ceiling. His silver eyes remained empty but the salty waters were flowing more and more.
"…God…I'm so fucked up."
**
"Tristam! Get your ass up here! The concert is about to start!"
Tristam looked up from his idle tuning and gazed over at the stage manager. His wild, tangled black hair hung over his face, where one could see the tips of red that spiral down strands of the dark mass, and he breathed out gently before looking down to his Warwick Vampyre guitar…silver…like his eyes.
"Hey dude, what's wrong? You've been a downer lately."
"It's nothing Chris…I've just had a bad head ache that's all."
Chris looked down at his band mate and sighed. You've always had a bad headache… "Dude, you look like shit today…I'm sure it's not just a head ache."
Tristam stood up gruffly, his attitude cold and stern, "It's nothing…just lack of sleep."
A hand went forward, slapping him on the back and he turned to the grinning face of their bassist, "Now come on! You're like a vampire! You NEVER sleep." She lifted her hand to muss his already tangled mess of hair, her laughter ringing in her eyes, "Cheer up! You'll go up there to all your groupies and you'll forget what a shit-fest life is."
Tristam only scowled more, but begun to relax, They want to help me…but how could they know of all that I had been through…?
"Hey you jackasses, the crowd is getting wild!" cried the stage manager, "Get your asses out there NOW!"
"All right, don't be such a dick!" The bassist looked around, slightly confused and in a grinning daze, "Where's Jimmy?"
"Out here you bastards!" Jimmy, holding his drumsticks, glared back at the rest of his band mates, growling, "Pick up your shit and come on!"
Tristam silently, lifted the guitar. The name Lillith was carved into the Vampyre as he dragged it, along with himself, on to the stage, and the cries from the audience rang towards him.
Music…my favorite escape…the only way, other than Lady Heroin from which I can leave such a painful reality. With a serene smile, he could hear the crowd grow silent. Gently kissing the guitar, as was his tradition, he moved forward towards the microphone. The dark, deep notes of the bass rumbled forth, and soon he could feel his fingers, under control of a power greater than his own, pluck the strings carefully, tenderly…perfectly.
***"She shines in a world full of ugliness.
She matters when everything is meaningless.
Fragile…she doesn't see her beauty,
She tries to go away…
Sometimes, it just that nothing seems worth saving
I can't watch her slip away."
His rich tenor, almost baritone voice, sung the words whith such power, if not, such despair that, even those so far away, can hear each note placed. His eyes were closed as they were in their songs and Chris, the lead guitarist, added more just to Tristam's voice than the song itself.
"I won't let you fall apart…
I won't let you fall apart…
I won't let you fall apart…
I won't let you fall apart."
The chorus, while still calm, appeared to have more power from the voice than the verse. Tristam couldn't hear a few of their fans sing with him. Banners holding their logos covered some of the lights of the stadium. Et Misere were on the tongues of chanters. Only Tristam didn't seem to acknowledge them (the bassist spun around her large instrument around her neck and the guitarist was smiling with approval as the drummer juggled his drumsticks between the verse and the chorus). He was too lost in the music.
"She reads the mind of all the people as they pass her by
Hoping someone would see…
If I could fix myself I'd do that…
But it's too late for me…"
Now the audience were screaming, the chorus ringing out through their minds and stung the air with it's essence. Tristam had his eyes closed still, even has he shouted his words. He didn't even notice his bleeding fingers as blood began to coat the steel strings of the Vampyre (for he never remembers to use his pick).
"I won't let you fall apart!
I won't let you fall apart!
I won't let you fall part!
I won't let you fall apart!"
There was pause. The audience fell to silence, as was the effect. Tristam began the song once more. The tone was calm…surreal…almost like an unearthly peace after a vicious battle. His voice, almost whispering into the mike, broke such silence of humane voices…
"We'll find the perfect place to go where we can run and hide…
I'll build a wall and we can keep him on the other side…
But thinking into and thinking…
And thinking…and thinking…
And I'm thinking…and thinking…and thinking…"
Soon the violent rage and power came back, but not in the voice, but in the music. Their fans battle amongst themselves, lost in their mind. The setting from chilling peace, to bone crushing violence was also the effect. Tristam still had his eyes closed, waiting for that time where he can unleash his voice again.
Wake up.
Tristam's eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat. For the first time he looked at his audience. Who said that…?
He scanned for the owner, yet the voice seem to ring in his mind…but it couldn't be. That wasn't possible…Cold sweat ran down his face.
You can't hide forever…your destiny calls for you.
Who are you…?
The one who is calling for the true you. The person you are meant to be…
No get away…not again…
Stop hiding.
Leave me the fuck alone!
"Where are you…?" Tristam whispered, his heart pounding painfully against his chest. He could feel the music slowly change…just slightly to go into the chorus. But he can't sing yet! He needed to find that voice…
"There's something I need to do…"
That one part came out as a whisper of fear and dread, an ill feeling surrounding the stadium.
His eyes kept searching, kept watching, kept stalking until he noticed one person…just one person in a room of hundreds not moving, not budging, gazing at him and only him, coldly.
It is time…Belmont.
"NOOOO!!!!" Tristam reeled back, knocking the microphone down, an ear splitting noise screaming through the air. Tristam felt himself fall back. The music ended painfully and abruptly as soon Tristam fell on to the ground of the stage. His eyes wide with horror, he ripped the cord from his guitar and run, crashing into the drum set, causing a chaotic stir.
The audience cheered, thinking this to be all part of the show, and the band, knowing Tristam to be eccentric and at times, unsettling, could only watch in disbelief as their lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist ran with such speed, away from the concert.
The stage manager was knocked unto the ground as he was the last to see Tristam run, "…what the fuck was that?!"
Part 1: Broken Memories
***For all those who are Nine Inch Nails fans, the italicized and quoted lyrics are from the song The Fragile by Nine Inch Nails…thus Copyrighted Nine Inch Nails…don't sue me.
Author's Note: Aw…Tristam…my Belmont…mine…I made him. I don't know whether to make Julius his father, his uncle, his great uncle father or whatever…I just know that I had a dream about him and he had to a star in this story…besides…he is just so painfully angsty…;D I love angst. Oh and yes…Warwick has a guitar named Vampyre…and yes…I want one very much.