Red begins to tinge my vision as the demon within me stirs. I force myself to calm down, taking a few deep (and totally unnecessary) breaths. Its always like this when I dont have my soul on me. The demon thatshares my body has more control, and I fly into a rage at the slightest provocation. Now I need to be calm, because finding my soul will take rational thinking and a cool head.
I review my memory of last night . Ok, think.I had it when I rose that night, I remember seing it in the mirror as I left my haven (a small apartment, rented by a guy who has no idea a vampire liives in his closet. Hiding skills plus mind control equal a free crash pad) and thinking it looked espescially pure that night. Then I headed to the movies, saw that new spy flick. I go to the movies at least once a week, even when I dont find anything interesting playing. Its a good way to stay modern and in-touch, so despite my 90 years of life and unlife, I don't seem anachronistic. I quite enjoyed the movie, almost made me wish I'd paid to get in. I remember making a mental note to find out what wi-fi meant.
I still had it when I met up with Nasty Jack outside the old trainyard. We finally capped off the Prank on that stuffy Ventrue LeVeaux. He's stayed in the same haven (an old brownstone house in mid-town), with the exact same décor, since his embrace… over two hundred years ago! The furniture is EXACTLY as it was when he was alive, in the EXACT same position, with the EXACT same lighting. A sign of what he would no doubt call 'continuity with my mortal life', but is just one old lick who's way to stuck in his ways. So, naturally me and nate pranked the motherfucker. For the last few months we've walked into the place while he's out on whatever the fuck old undead WASPS do at night, and rearranged the furniture. Nothing spectacular, move the couch to the other side of the room, shift the angle of the chairs just slightly, that kinda thing. Doesn't sound like much, but LeVeaux has been wigging the fuck out. He's tripled security (ghoul guards aren't much help againt the Invisible Mind-Controlling Decorators), installed all kinds of surveillance equipment (ditto), and even called in help from the Nosferatu (who owe Nate a big favor). Last night, though, we torched all his stuff. I mean ALL of it. Stripped the place down to bare boards, put it all in a BIG pile outside and torched it. That oughta do it.
After that, I swung by the red-light district for a little pay-as-you-go supper a.k.a. a hooker. Jack and the others laugh at me sometimes for paying for my meals, but what the hell I'm not hurting for money- an invisible pickpocket/burglar can make a nice living. Plus, I've never really liked hunting all that much, so this is a pretty damned fine way to get my blood. I do a quick scan with the Sight to make sure she hasn't got any sicknesses- last year a couple of Nosferatu got into big trouble with the Prince after it was proven that they'd been spreading AIDS to their victims. She seems clean- a nice healthy aura. $120 later, we're in my beat up old dodge caravan, heading for a rundown hotel in a now seedy part of town. A three-story red-brick building called The Sunshine Hotel.
The Southern Sunshine Hotel. Even now, the thought of the place raises a lump in my throat- metaphorically speaking. I know it well; I ought to, I used to run it back when I was alive. I loved that place from the moment I first entered the front door. It had class, style, and history, all the things I longed for in my own life. As manager, I helped make sure the Sunshine Hotel was not only a respected place, but the 'the place to be' (or one of em) for the city's elite. Hell, I found out later that the hotel lounge had been Elysium for ten years of my tenure as manager. I poured my soul into running that place, even took my 'vacations' there. No joke. I would sign out one day, and come back the next in casual clothes, another guest of my hotel. I remember how many job offers I would get, from hotels far more glamorous than my Sunshine. Espescially in the post-war years (the first war, not the second; I was already dead by the Fifties), when everyone seemed to have money to travel, the big hotels were on the lookout for qualified and dedicated managers. But I laughed at them; it was like being hit on by a hooker when you're out with your one true love.
Nothing has hurt me more in all the years since my Embrace than watching my Sunshine deteriorate. I guess my 'disappearance' was probably the first blow. After so long, I'd become the symbol for the hotel, both among the staff and the more regular patrons. The guests knew that so long as I was there, the Sunshine Hotel would represent a high standard of quality and service. The staff knew that so long as I was manager, it didn't matter who owned the hotel, they'd always be treated fairly and kindly (so long as they did their jobs). So, when I vanished one night without a trace, morale suffered.
A string of new managers followed, each with his own style. None worked well, and the place began to suffer. By the 60's, it'd become a cheap motel. By the 80's, it was a sleazy motel, the place you go to sleep it off or to get it on.
I remember, now, how it still struck me when I walked in last night. The once bright and immaculate lobby has become dingy and filthy. The tasteful furniture is still there (patent leather couches ordered shortly before my departure), but its been more than sixty years since then, and they're showing their age. Me and the whore- Jocasta, that was her name, where the hell do they get those names?- walked up to the counter. When I'd been there, it had been a gleaming slab of veined faux-stone (we had the real stuff on order but I never saw it delivered), and woe betide the clerk who left so much as a speck of dust on it. Now? The stone's gone, replaced by some unidentifiable artificial substance which resembles wood the way piss resembles gold.
Jocasta rang the
bell for a clerk- never necessary when I was there- and after fully a
minute and thirty five seconds (I timed him). He was everything I
expected; dirty, underdressed, distracted and rude.
"So" he
said, in a voice that was high and nasal "you two (snort) LOVEBIRDS
want a room, do ya? Sign here, or just make an X if yer own names is
too hard for ya"
I fought down
the urge to bash his head open with the registry book, instead
signing my name. As I do I glance down the page. Once upon a time, my
hotel registry book had been filled with the names of hundreds of
guests each month. Many had used the comment section to praise the
finely run, beautiful hotel. I still remember one old couple from my
last year at the Sunshine, who wrote "we came here for our wedding
night and every anniversary we could come. Its one of the few things
we've found that improved with age"
No such sentiments here.
Instead, I see perhaps half a dozen names, such as the estimable
Seymour Buttz, Dame Candi Appel, and the Honorable Bigg Wanz. Truly,
a distinguished clientele indeed.
We climb the
stairs (the elevator is, of course, broken) to our room. MY room,
since I use it every time I come here. The clerk doesn't notice-
for one thing he doesn't pay any attention to his guests (big
surprise there) and for another, even if he did he'd see a
different face each time.
I choose this room because it's the
first room I ever took at the Sunshine, all those decades ago, when I
was just a country hick visiting the city. Which makes its current
condition all the more poignant.
The windows are boarded up with plywood (I remember how everyone- me included- loved the view). The walls, once a rich red, are now a faded gray, with many holes and cracks. Light comes from a single bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. The rooms furnishings consist of a bed, a small table and a tv which was already showing porn when we opened the door.
It was all too much, I wanted to feed and get out of there. I tore into the hapless hookers throat with a savagery that surprised me. Normally I try to make feeding as pleasant an experience as possible for both me and her, but last night I just wanted the blood. I remember tasting something funny in her and then…
And then…
…I woke up. Here. Still in the room. Sans my soul.
FUCK!!