Demon Vampire

by Virgil Moore

  “It’s dark. The blood is repulsive. It’s always damp. The earth and sky bleed when I’m here. It’s terrifying,” she told him.

  “I’m not terrified. I like the rain. I like the dark,” he ran his thumb over her lower lip.

  She was speechless.

  “This is part of you,” he placed his other hand behind her neck and cradled her head. “You don’t have to ask for my acceptance. You already have it.”

  A tear ran down her eyelash and fell on the ground. The leaves appeared to spring to life as they quickly scurried away from it.

  “Look at it now and tell me I’m still beautiful,” she wanted proof.

  He knelt down. He picked up a leaf. It was alive. Some type of creature masquerading as the vegetation it was eating. It was made from the blood in the river. He looked down at the soil. Small white worms ate the changed leaves and drank the blood within them. They even ate each other. It was a scene of horror as he stood back to his feet.

  “I’m a monster. A doll with a pretty shell and a freak inside that pulls the strings,” she cried as she lowered her head.

  He firmly pressed her to him. He embraced her as she wept. A chill crept up his back. He tried to ignore it. He brushed the hair over her left ear and exposed her milky white neck.

  A voice boomed from the sky that only he could hear, “taste the image of her mind. Sink deep into the throws of her flesh. Enjoy the wet, naked parts of her body as you peel the skin from her bones. Let the urge drive you to it. Let it take control and guide your teeth. Take her arm firmly, grip her hair, force her neck to welcome you, and plunge into the vein.”

  He stepped away from her. He was startled. He had actually imagined doing what the voice had asked him to. He could see himself killing her. He could see himself enjoy the act. She looked at him in distress. She didn’t know what had happened.

  He screamed to the sky, “I won’t! You will never make me!!”

  Chapter Fifty Four

  The Visage

  The dream changed again. There was no music. Kyli was gone. The forest was gone. He was at the edge of the meadow now. He stood on a sandy shoreline. Before him was a vast sea of endless blood that was turbulent. It broke upon the beach.

  The form of a person appeared far out near the edge of the breaking tide. It walked to the shore. The female was covered in thick blood. It masked any real detail to her body. The figure appeared to be made from the blood it was soaked in. The naked female apparition walked up to him. As he stared at her body, he could tell it resembled Kyli. The shape of her face, the length of her arms and legs, even the curves of her hips. This thing was meant to entice him, to incite him to action. Its feet stepped to the edge of the breaking tide. He came closer to see its face. Its eyes were open yet glazed over from the flowing blood that constantly dripped down its skin. He could feel its stare.

  The blood specter spoke. The words were mumbled, garbled with drowned blood that poured out of its mouth. It was too difficult to make out. Its right hand reached to him, a wet trail tracked its motion in the sand. It placed its hand on his neck. The blood coated his chest, he couldn’t resist. It disturbed him. At the same time, it was warm, soothing, inviting.

  He closed his eyes.

  “Finally, you open your heart,” a dark voice echoed through to his core.

  He could feel sharp wet fingertips pierce his skin.

  “Remember the pain. It will make what is to come much easier,” the voice spoke calmly to him. It was sure of itself in a way that he disturbingly had to admire.

  “What are you?” he managed to say as his throat was clasped tight.

  The dark presence paused. It breathed slowly into his right ear, “I am a choice.”

  Chapter Fifty Five

  Back To Reality

  Zack snapped awake. Kyli had softly struck him across the cheek. There was a solid pain on the left side of his face. She had nearly fractured his jaw to rouse him. The sound drew the attention of the people around them. They were stunned that she hit him out of nowhere. She smiled back at everyone and then checked his face. There was thankfully no bruise. She put her arm around him and grinned. The people staring went back to listening.

  The 5th symphony was still playing from almost the same moment he had slipped into the daydream. Only a few seconds had passed.

  “Zack, let go. You’re crushing my hand,” she whispered calmly.

  His fingers were piercing the back and sides of her hand. A few of the tips were buried halfway to his knuckles. They drew blood that spilled out on to the carpet. He stopped, tenderly pulling his fingers from her hand. He gently applied pressure, “I’m sorry.”

  She smirked at him. Something had happened. It was clear to her. He had made contact with the demon.

  “Never mind that. I’ll heal in a minute.” She said nothing for a moment, then whispered into his ear, “do you enjoy the show so far?”

  He thought about the dream. The vision of her blood soaked body biting into him. He faked a slow nod and stared at her. She was beautiful. He reached his arm around her and pulled her tight. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” she wasn’t sure how much he had picked up from her mind. She was worried.

  “I’m just sorry okay. Just know that,” he squeezed her tight against him.

  He quietly sat through the rest of the concert in peace. He didn’t know what the daydreams were exactly. They seemed painful enough to be real. They were too disturbing to have actually happened. He wanted to explain why he had pierced her hand but he wasn’t sure if she would believe him or not. He sat calmly as he mulled over the haunting images that played in his mind.

  Demetrius Del Marin had no intermission to his concert. It was a straight two hour sequence of songs with little interlude between them. He played everything from variations on symphony number seven to selected bits from Rachmaninov.

  She explained there was a heater under the table of goblets that kept the blood from coagulating long enough to play through the concert. Eventually by the midpoint the blood began to die. When that happened, the pitch of each note was altered. It was a change that affected the entire second half of the performance. She told him that the first section of the show was all classical pieces to accommodate for this. The latter half was filled with original works by Marin himself, all with their tones chosen with this altered sound in mind.

  When the last note rang off Marin’s finger, everyone had been lulled silent. Each person was nearly put into their own state of bliss. All Zack wanted to do was stay awake. He hoped to ward off any more dreams. He was still gravely distraught by the vision he had.

  With the concert over, she pulled out a small vial from inside his blazer pocket. She unscrewed the top and poured a small amount on her hand. The rest she put in her mouth. She turned to him and kissed him. She forced the blood into his mouth.

  “Milky enough for you?” she poked fun to lighten the mood.

  He was too focused on the kiss to think about the taste. It was delicious. Her lips on his. The burn as their skin touched was aweing. He pressed himself to her and finished the kiss with his own actions. Afterward he spoke, “what did you ask again?”

  She was too dazed to answer. He was a great kisser.

  He sat there as the concert hall watched Marin exit the stage. He was anxious about meeting him. All he knew was that she somehow knew him, that her father didn’t like him, and that he had on a tie that was specially chosen for this occasion. His stomach was in a knot. He knew it was a set up.

  They made their way conspicuously down to the backstage entrance. Her red dress caught the eye of everyone they passed. She led him to the roped off area where the after party was to be held. They approached the doorman.

  “Your names?” the large, burly bouncer asked him.

  He looked at her.

  “The man asked you, not me,” she told him.

  “We’re guests of
David Waterfield,” he said confidently.

  The doorman quickly moved to the side. He undid the red velvet rope and let them in immediately.

  As he passed inside the black corridor he found ten foot passage with black curtains that shielded the room from the other side. He stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked him.

  “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” he asked in a cryptic manner.

  She thought about the ramifications of what it meant to walk past this point. She thought about the contract and what Marin would do to him as soon as they were alone. She hesitated.

  He could feel the doubt in her. He spoke first, “Then let’s just see how this all plays out.” He smiled.

  She was nervous and rushed to speak, “it’s okay. I didn’t know what was beyond the veil the first time either.” She lied. She took a hold of his hand. “What’s important is that you move forward.”

  He solemnly nodded and pulled the curtain back. Dim red candle light flooded his eyes. The inner room was filled with large golden chandeliers that lined the ceiling. They cast a red hue over the crowd.

  There was a cold draft that touched on his neck as he entered room with her. A thought in the back of his mind told him that he shouldn’t be there.

  “Glad to see you still trust me,” she forced a smile. “Let’s go.”

  The room was packed with tall, gorgeous people. Men and women of all nationalities were there mingling with each other. Most of the women had crystals, diamonds, blue sapphires, and red gems all over them. Most of the men wore variations of black suits. A portion of them had on long flowing black and gray robes. It was a clear status symbol to the remaining men in the room. There was no one color scheme to their clothing. It was a sharp contrast to the audience outside.

  He felt very out of place. Large parties weren’t his forte but he managed. His head began to hurt as he looked around the room. It nagged at him to leave.

  She linked her arm with his and led him to the middle of the crowd. In the center of the room there was a gathering of people. The black and white colors most of them had on were dazzling. These were the darkest blacks and the purest whites that could be represented in a threaded garment. There were a few specially dressed individuals that uniquely separated themselves from the rest. They wore older styles of Victorian dresses and late Renaissance attire. Some of the men were in white, some not. The same followed for the women. They seemed refined. A few of them looked gaunt. They looked at Zack and Kyli with disgust as they approached. He was sure there were other vampires in the room, though they seemed not to pay any more attention to their passing into the thick of the party.

  At the center of the mass of people was Demetrius Del Marin. He stood mechanically. He entertained a wide panel of guests with witty banter and happy smiles. He drank one of the goblets of blood from the show. They had the same unique low bulbed shape. Zack viewed Marin as a skilled conversationalist within this crowd. He seemed more at ease than on the stage. His teeth were showing. They sparkled. They were wet from the last sip he had taken. None of the more regular looking people standing around him were startled by this fact. He simply kept talking as if he had a golden smile and a gilded tongue.

  He said one word instantly as they reached their destination, “vampire.” He was a mere three feet from Marin.

  Chapter Fifty Six

  The Uncomfortable Conversation

  The guests around Marin all stared at Zack and chuckled as the word still rang from his lips.

  Marin grinned with his long teeth partially hidden under his lips, “yes, you have hit the nail on the head child. I am what I have always said, a vampire. True as day, if you’ll forgive the play on words.” He was suave, smooth. His voice not so skittish as it was on stage only two hours ago. He was in his element here.

  He turned to Kyli. She was manically smiling, excited that she was in front of her idol.

  He realized he was alone for the moment, “sorry, it’s a bit weird seeing the fangs at first.” He tipped his head down towards Marin and the others, “this is Kyli Waterfield.” He gestured to her.

  She curtsied.

  “I’m Zack Giver. It’s a pleasure to actually meet you Demetrius Del Marin,” He spoke with courtesy and enough pomp to please everyone around them. His words were not his own.

  “Marin,” he replied quickly. “Call me Marin, all my friends do.” He was calm and confident. He smiled as he spoke. There was a confidence that he exuded. He actually meant what he said.

  “But we’re not-” he was about to say that they weren’t his friends.

  “-Friends yet,” she interjected. “So we didn’t know. From now on we’ll call you Marin,” she couldn’t stop smirking like a giddy school girl within reach of a pop star. She had a lionized view of Marin.

  Marin stared at him for a second. He was searching for something in his eyes, something that he didn’t seem to find. He resumed his normal banter with the rest of the group. They discussed the concert and other classical pieces that would sound better when played by bloody goblets. They ignored Zack and Kyli.

  He had a question that bothered him, “what makes the blood sound different than water?” The group stopped talking.

  Marin had answered the question a thousand times before at his concerts and events. Zack seemed to be the only one that hadn’t read his explanations of why he chose blood to work with.

  “Besides my obvious affinity towards it as a preference, the tone it produces is warm. The first half of the concert is all classical pieces for a reason. When the blood is fresh, it rings clear notes. As the night slides forth, the tones diminish and the blood allows my songs to pour over the audience in the way they were written,” Marin explained the same thing she had told him during the concert.

  He understood the concept well enough. He wanted to press Marin for an answer. He wanted to best him in front of his peers. He desired a challenge.

  “You mean you write your material with those duller notes in mind?” she was on damage control, perhaps a little too much. She acted like she had just figured it out to placate Marin and the group.

  He had to intervene, “you mean you plan ahead? For it to eventually happen that way? So that your music is as dull as it’s originally meant to be. Is that right? Or am I misunderstanding your intentions for writing the second half of the concert?” He had his challenge.

  His comment stunned the group. It was bold, too bold for him, as a newcomer, to say. Any admonishment she could have built Marin up with had been dissolved. Most of them shied away. They didn’t want to remain in such an area of tension. Over a third of the group instantly left. The others gulped a sip of wine and waited for Marin’s response. They wanted to watch him verbally tear Zack apart.

  “Clever boy you have there, Ms. Waterfield.” Marin ignored the question.

  He had won the minute. He had stolen the show from Marin.

  Marin refused to drink the last sip of blood in his glass out of protest. He looked at Zack with detest.

  He waited silently for a response.

  “The blood has lost its taste,” Marin cleared his throat. He turned to put his goblet down on a waiter’s tray. He focused his attention, “Zack, there’s something I want to debate with you. Will you follow me?” he didn’t seem angry, only fascinated by something he wasn’t willing to share yet. “Can I borrow him for a moment?”

  This was it. The last moment she would see him. She thought about her actions up to this point and sighed. She pulled together all her nerve and spoke, “it’s fine with me, as long as you keep him safe Marin.” She kissed Zack passionately and passed him off. She knew what was about to happen next.

  Chapter Fifty Seven

  A Simple Solution

  One day a young cocky man named Ed Fisher walked into Del’s tax office and offered him a job at one of the local law conglomerates. He was dressed in a tan suit. His sho
rt blond hair and brown eyes complemented his fake smile. He was thin and athletic. He saw him as the type that constantly strove to gain a promotion.

  Ed sat down in the office’s one desk chair and told him that his law firm was offering a small job. Del was to be given a desk in a back room with stacks and stacks of tax cases to work on day and night. The room had no windows, no bathroom, not even a chair. He was very upfront. No one would bother him, or even invite him to the annual Christmas party each year. He was to be given a job to eliminate his competition and to be merciful about it. That was the extent of the visit.

  He accepted immediately. It was a real job, a tedious, simple task that fit him well. He moved his small collection of case files into the cramped back room of the high rise law firm the following Monday night.

  Ed ushered him into the room and treated him as a child with no education. He made it seem like the position was more of a joke than plain pity.

  He didn’t mind. He liked the small room with no windows. It meant he didn’t have to sleep every day. He could stay up for several hours and work. Sunlight was the only problem with his old office. He could only be in the room at night. During the day, he had to turn away potential clients with a closed sign. At his new desk, the sun was never an issue. He had no limits.

  Ed gestured to a huge stack of case work on the very old and worn desk. There were more than two hundred files from the last three years that needed to be settled. The fiendish smile on his face was difficult to contain. He chuckled and left him alone in the room.

  He wasted no time.

  By morning one hundred and twenty seven cases had been closed. He was a machine. The entire firm couldn’t believe it and challenged it quickly. He had eighty two cases left and they wanted him to finish all of them that night without leaving his desk to prove he actually did them all. The night passed and he had the files on the lead lawyer’s desk. There was no real way to check all his work. There weren’t enough lawyers employed at the firm to check everything. The sheer amount of files would take a team of men working months just to check if everything was correct.