When Darkness Comes

by Wilbanks, G. Allen

  When he had risked as much time as he dared, Robert reluctantly decided he had done as much as he could and the rest of his assets would have to be abandoned. He arranged to meet with me for our final transaction. This time I chose both the time and the place. The location was an abandoned sub-basement beneath a row of shops. The shops had been built in Old Town, the same part of town I had gazed down upon during our first meeting. I had spoken with the Friends about hiding locations and had personally scouted out the area before settling on a den in which to hide Robert. This particular part of Sacramento served as a tourist spot and venue for fairs and parades. With the numbers of people that moved through the area each day it did not at first glance appear to be an ideal place to hide a fledgling vampire, but the sub-basement I selected was located below water level and frequently flooded in the most minor of rainstorms, so it had long ago been bricked up and forgotten. No one had used the space in decades. When I first stumbled across it, I knew right away it would make a perfect temporary lair if I ever needed to disappear for a while. Or help someone else disappear.

  Robert peered around at the brick and dirt décor with open distaste as I explained to him that this was where he would need to hide for the next several weeks. I had brought a small battery powered lamp in deference to his weaker eyesight and had turned it on in one corner of the room. The light was barely stronger than a good flashlight, but in the encompassing gloom it was more than sufficient.

  He walked the interior perimeter of his new underground abode, running his hands along the brick support walls and muttering to himself; his comments alternating back and forth between excitement over the immortality that would soon be his and disgust at his filthy surroundings. At least at this time of the year the ground was hard and dry with no danger of flooding for at least a couple more months. It was cold underground, but that would not bother him for much longer.

  For the occasion Robert was wearing a hand-tailored, gray suit that appeared to be brand new. The cost I could only guess at, but it was obviously not an off-the-rack type of item. It had been carefully cut for a man of his size. Not that it hid his fat so much as it smoothed the lines of his torso and gave the appearance of shape where none previously existed. The expensive wardrobe almost made me laugh out loud as I remembered my first month of nakedness, covered in only dirt and blood.

  “Do you like your new home?” I asked, still trying to control my impulse to laugh.

  “It’s cold, dirty, and demeaning that I have to be here,” he said, turning to face me. Despite his words, he was smiling; his face positively beaming. “And as the location of my transformation, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He threw his hands out to encompass the room. “It’s just like I imagined it should be. Dark. Mysterious.”

  “Don’t get carried away. This place is a shit hole, but it should be completely safe for as long as we need to keep you here.” Robert was enjoying this far too much for my tastes. He had no idea of the trials ahead of him and, honestly, neither did I. But it was time to close this business deal once and for all. The sooner we were begun, the sooner we could part ways and I could move on to a more comfortable lifestyle.

  There was just one more detail that I needed to address.

  “I checked my account before we came here,” I told him. All hint of amusement left me at this point. There was nothing funny about Robert or his suit now. There was only a problem that needed to be ironed out. “The money isn’t there. Do you need more time to arrange the transfer? Should we reschedule this meeting?”

  “No, no, no. There isn’t any problem.” Robert was still all smiles and he placed one beefy hand on my shoulder. He gave me what I’m sure he felt was a reassuring pat; the consummate salesman putting the mark at ease. “The money is ready to transfer. It will just take one little phone call and you are all set.” He paused for a moment. He released my shoulder and began tapping one finger to his lips, as if carefully considering a thought that had just come to him. “I have been thinking, however.”

  “About?” I kept my voice calm, but I could feel the proverbial knife hovering near my back.

  “If I give you the money now, there is nothing to prevent you from just walking away without fulfilling your end of our deal. Or worse, you could just kill me right here and leave two million dollars richer. Surely you see my concern?” Robert clasped his hands in front of his chest to emphasize the reasonableness of his point. His expression was earnest, but it made the hair rise on the back of my neck.

  “So, what I’ve done is arrange for the transfer to be made, but only after I get what I was promised. When I am … what did you call it? Turned? Yes, when I am turned and I am strong enough to be on my own, I will make one phone call and you will have your money. We will both have what we most want and we can separate as friends.” He put out his right hand, waiting for me to clasp it. “What do you say?”

  I ignored the proffered handshake. “And what is to keep you from simply walking away from me without paying? You are already making changes to our original deal. What prevents you from ignoring it altogether?”

  “My word as a businessman. I promise you that when we are done you will not leave feeling cheated.”

  “So I have your word,” I said, nodding as if I were honestly considering the change in plans. “Then let me just tell you one little fact that I may have neglected to mention earlier.”

  Robert stared at me intently. I had his full attention. In return I was also watching him very closely.

  “New vampires are intimately linked to their creators,” I told him. If a vampire is killed, any progeny that he has created is destroyed with him.” I paused for a moment, letting it sink in. “Do you understand, Robert? If I die, you die.”

  Then I saw it. He blinked, at first in confusion, but then for an instant that peevish look crossed his features. The same look I had seen when I challenged him in his office, when I asked whether or not he understood his choice to become a vampire. The expression came and went, like a small ripple across water, gone almost before it could be noticed. But I saw it, and it was enough. He had very definite plans for how things were supposed to go and I had just upset them.

  I grabbed his head with my hands, one palm across each of his fat cheeks. “Deal’s off.”

  His blood was salty and yet sweeter than most. Perhaps this was a product of his lavish lifestyle, or perhaps it was just my good fortune to stumble across someone with particularly desirable blood. Regardless, the delectable, hot liquid flowed into my mouth as I tore open his throat and I swallowed it down greedily. His diseased little heart struggled in his chest to keep pumping as I drained him and I was rewarded with the delightfully bitter taste of adrenaline blossoming on my tongue as his body tried to keep itself from dying. Realization came quickly that I was taking his life, not saving it, and Robert began to struggle against me. His hands struck my chest, though with no real force. Already too weak from blood loss, he pushed feebly against me, punching and scratching without effect. Even at full strength he never could have done any real damage to me.

  He tried to scream, but that is terribly difficult to do when your vocal cords have already been chewed through.

  I drank him dry. I took every drop I possibly could, and when there was nothing left I tore his head from his body and threw it across the room. Flung with all my strength, it struck one of the brick support walls with a satisfying crack before it flopped to the dirt floor. Not yet done with my tantrum, I stormed across the room and kicked the head once more into the wall. The already damaged bones crunched again before the bloody mass fell to the dirt at my feet. Robert’s face looked up at me, his eyes open but unfocused. His distorted features hung loose on his crushed skull like a Halloween mask propped on a display peg. I spat on it.

  I was angry. An understatement. And a little out of control, perhaps.

  He thought he could cheat me. Not only had he planned to keep what he owed me, but he thought he could kill me and dispose of me l
ike an inconvenient loose end once he had what he wanted. Nothing Robert said could be further trusted, making any renegotiation of our deal pointless. So, rather than free him from Death, I had hurled him into the arms of that dark specter as hard as I could. I hope the Devil has him and even now is making a special project of the fat man in the expensive suit.

  Killing Robert had been somewhat cathartic to my anger in the heat of the moment, but the real satisfaction came the next night when I was calmer and thinking more clearly. Because I had been instrumental in creating some of his new identities I had the means to access several of his accounts. I quickly discovered that Robert was a paranoid, untrusting soul and that he had already been in the process of moving his money into new reserves of which I had no knowledge. This was just more evidence of what I already knew: he was never going to pay me. Several of the savings and investment accounts I had helped him create were already closed out. Enough, however, were still completely intact.

  Over the following week, using information I had committed to memory as well as assistance from documents I removed from Robert’s wallet and the pockets of his clothing, I systematically raided his financial portfolios. When I was done, although I had recovered only a small percentage of what he had originally put aside for himself, I possessed much more than the paltry two million I had initially been promised. Our partnership had, in the end, been extremely beneficial.

  For me.

  Not so much for Robert, I suppose.

  As soon as possible, I began to distribute the money among several of my identities. It would not do for one alias to be compromised at some point in the future causing me to lose everything I had just gained. Once the money was more or less evenly distributed among my accounts, I diversified the best I knew how, buying stocks, bonds, and property to build long term income. I also hedged my bets by burying small lockboxes of base metals in various locations; stashes of gold and silver. I figured it couldn’t hurt to prepare for a time when I might have to dump everything and run with just the property I could carry on my person.

  With my finances secure for the first time since I departed my old life, my standards of living improved dramatically. I traveled, visiting countries I never thought I would get to see while I was human. I moved primarily by car and by foot so I was not dependent on someone else’s schedule. I did not trust traveling by plane or boat since I could not reliably guarantee a place to hide during daylight hours. It would not do to be forced to disembark a ship at noon only to burst into flame on the gangplank. So my travels were largely limited to the continents of North and South America.

  I even bought a few small homes in some very out of the way places across the United States and outfitted them to meet my special needs. I chose locations far from largely inhabited cities, in territories that did not appear to have any others of my kind already in residence. I needed refuges that I could depend on for solitude at times when it was best that I just disappear for a while. An older vampire, one that is wealthy enough and powerful enough to exert sufficient influence, might choose to claim an area as his or her own. For small fish like me however, safety came from the ability to run and hide. The more resources I could spread around and the more bolt holes I could establish, the better off I would be.

  Aside from these randomly dispersed hiding places, I believe my best investment was the financing of several for-profit blood banks across the country. They take in and distribute a great deal of blood each year, most of which is sold to local hospitals for a sizable profit. About one donation in twenty however tends to be tossed away for various reasons: failure to pass required inspections, expiration dates, or they are just mishandled and lost. I do not care much about expiration dates or required inspections. I am not that picky. As a silent partner in the business, it is also a simple matter to redirect the occasional shipment of clean blood slated for a local hospital or other client to those more in need. Namely, me. The blood banks proved to be an invaluable steady stream of income and food.

  With money readily at hand, I controlled my own destiny. I traveled where I wished and did as I pleased. Most importantly, I could now feed myself without leaving a trail of bodies in my wake that might one day lead the authorities back to me. My security and comfort had been secured … in all areas except one: Andi. Three days a year. Every year.

  Each year I made my pilgrimage to Andi’s doorstep, and each year I left that house infuriated with her power over me. Though I continued to try to accept what I could not change, I grew more dissatisfied with our arrangement during each successive visit. But I could not fight her, and I could not destroy her without destroying myself. So I fumed, impotent. And I did nothing.

  CHAPTER 14

  I do not trust the Friends of the Dark. I never did completely trust them even before a small group of them turned on me. Despite the help I had received from them early on, I knew they were by nature unreliable at best, and quite dangerous at worst. Any group of human beings capable of betraying their own kind to predatory monsters like me could be capable of any atrocity. They were not my friends – though the name might claim otherwise – they were outcasts that wanted something from me and were willing to sacrifice almost anything to get it.

  I forgot that for a moment and it almost cost me dearly.

  Friends of the Dark. Friends of the Night. Children of the Dark. Companions of Death. And a hundred other similar titles. Feeders, all of them. And all shit beneath my boot heel.

  Most were sycophantic to the point of being disgusting. Masochistic and self-loathing, they offered themselves to my kind in the hopes that one day we might raise them up to the ranks of the immortal. I have already said this, but it bears repeating.

  I don’t believe the majority completely understand what they are doing. I think many of the Friends that I have met, were nothing more than fools playing a dangerous game. They perhaps thought themselves role players in a cult or dark fringe group of some sort. They probably did not even believe vampires were real, but rather were just other humans with bizarre tastes in recreational activities.

  A small percentage, however, know exactly what they are doing. They recognize evil as a source of power that they desperately covet, and they happily commit any and all acts that could grant them their dark desires. Even murder seems an acceptable task if it moves them the slightest bit closer to their goal. This small group understands fully what I am and what I require to survive. These are the ones that could often be of the most help to me, but they are also by far the most dangerous with which to associate.

  I was twenty-nine years old – or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I was five years dead – when two self-professed Friends pointedly reminded me of this fact.

  While traveling across the country with no particular destination in mind, I found myself in Bloomington, Indiana. Since I had potentially unlimited time to spend, my goal, if one could be attributed to my actions, was to experience as much of the world as I could by visiting places I had never seen while I was alive. I had never before been to Bloomington, Indiana.

  I am pretty sure I will never again go back.

  While enjoying an evening stroll on a particularly warm spring night, I decided to check out a small bar located on South Indiana Avenue near East 4th Street. The opaque black windows and understated “Bar” sign on the front door caught my attention as I was passing by and I turned in on impulse. Upon entering, I immediately liked the place because it was poorly lit, loud, and crowded, giving the customers a kind of noisy privacy. The half-shouted conversations and overly loud music around me made any kind of casual or low-key approach impossible. As most people don’t like walking up to a stranger and immediately yelling to start a conversation, the other customers left me to myself, present but invisible at the same time. Just the way I liked it.

  Another reason I found myself attracted to this bar was an expanse of forested parkland to the east of the building. One step out the back door and I could lose myself in the trees in
an instant, alone or accompanied as my evening dictated. Cries of distress are easy to hear in the woods, but almost impossible to pinpoint due to echoes bouncing among the trees. Although I did not have any particular plans to feed that night, I like to think ahead just in case I was later tempted by a small treat too tasty to ignore.

  I glanced around trying to get a feel for the people surrounding me. Most of the crowd was younger, perhaps my age – or rather, the age I had been when I stopped growing older – so I fit right in on first impression. The clothing was casual: jeans, t-shirts or light button-up shirts, tennis shoes or boots, and the patrons were still sporting winter pale skin, almost untouched by sunlight during the long Indiana cold season. So again, I did not stand out in this gathering.

  Having fed the day before, I was not hungry. I was not on the prowl tonight. I merely sought out a place to sit and not feel completely isolated from humanity for a while. It is nice to occasionally pretend to be normal for a few hours, or minutes, or however long reality lets me ignore the harsh facts of what I have become. The building was warm with so many bodies packed inside, and the bar was loud and active with no one giving me a second look. I had found a perfect location to bask in anonymity while still enjoying the vicarious camaraderie of others.

  I gravitated to a tall empty table near the middle of the room. Only one lone chair remained standing beside the table and I claimed it for myself. Any other seats that had been there had been grabbed earlier and moved to other tables by late comers squeezing in with friends, or perhaps solo individuals who did not want to sit alone and had introduced themselves into nearby groups. Regardless, the lack of other chairs in my vicinity simply reinforced my unspoken message that I wished to remain unbothered by anyone who might try to approach.