by Nick James
‘Well, this is interesting. Come here often?’ I chuckled and was then stunned when she broke her facade and brayed like a donkey.
‘Oh, come on, Albert.’ She laughed, making many of the rough-looking crowd stare at us some more. It seemed like the place was made of shadows. Tracey looked around and smirked. ‘It is a shithole, but it’s a shithole where nobody cares what you say, or do.’
And she was right. My eyes could pierce the darkness to see that there was a drug deal going on in one corner, a handgun being exchanged in a booth like ours, and in the furthest corner a patron was getting orally pleasured by another, gender not sure.
‘Good point,’ I agreed. ‘So, have you met many of us about?’
She waited for the goth waitress to drop off our gin and tonics in cloudy glasses. ‘No, the only person I met was the shit who bit me,’ Tracey snarled angrily.
‘Bastard.’ I shook my head. ‘But when did you get turned?’ I watched her throat as she swallowed the drink.
‘1972, Bristol, went out on a date to a club, a bloke called Steve,’ Tracey explained with a far-off look in her eyes. ‘We were getting friendly in a corner when the fucker latched onto me and bit down. The pain was unbelievable.’
‘But how did you get his blood in you? That’s what you needed to change, isn’t it?’ I asked, pleased to have another to fact-check with.
She nodded and raised her hand to the waitress, who just rolled her eyes and muttered something to the bald-headed behemoth who pretended to be the barman. ‘I’m a Bristol girl. We don’t give up easy. He pushed me to the ground, but I managed to slip off my shoe and jam the heel into his throat. His blood sprayed over my face and clothes. And that was it. He did a runner out of the club. I chased him out, but after a few screams about my appearance I ran home which was just around the corner. Thankfully, my parents were out for the night as I looked a right state.’ Her eyes filled with tears. I knew what would happen when she finally changed, and her parents were back, she would need to feed the beast.
The drinks were slammed onto our table, and I handed over the money. The barmaid stalked away and there was never a hint of the change coming back to me.
‘I’m sorry. Did you ever see him again?’ I then saw the feral grin appear on her face. ‘Oh good.’
‘Oh yes, I found him a year later. He had another poor woman with him, but I got to him in time before he ruined someone else’s life,’ she stated with a grin as music was pumped through the substandard speakers. ‘So, Albert, what’s your story?’ Once again she showed a crack in her stoic manner.
I took a sip. ‘I was born in August 1868, and in my twenties I was attacked and turned by the one and only…Jack the Ripper.’ I looked her, not a single reaction appeared on her face. Who am I kidding? She spat out her drink all over me and shouted, ‘Fuck off!’ and then started to once again bray like a donkey. The laughter continued until the redhead realised that I hadn’t joined her.
‘Shit, you’re not kidding, are you?’
‘Nope, I’m afraid not, Tracey. I stumbled over him as he was killing one of his victims. I tried to stop him, and—’ I held my arms out wide ‘—TADAAAAA!’
Her hands faintly shook at the telling of my tale. ‘So, the history books are wrong, and I’m guessing he didn’t get away?’ she asked and waved at the now extremely pissed off waitress/dominatrix/serial killer, possibly, by the looks she was giving us.
‘I bought a shop in that area, and over time I hunted him down,’ I explained with an ironic chuckle, remembering how that fight could’ve gone either way. ‘Do you think it’s in our nature to kill the person who turned us?’
A thoughtful look crossed her porcelain features. ‘Yes, it’s such a brutal, invasive act. They can’t blame us for wanting vengeance,’ she surmised.
I had never thought of it before, really; but it was true, especially with the violence. Although they had never intended to turn us, we were just food to them, in the end it cost them their lives, their immortality, just for some food.
The Aileen Wuornos wannabe slammed down some more drinks. Thankfully, it was nearly closing time.
‘So, Albert, would you care to have dinner with me tomorrow night?’ Tracey asked politely.
Things had certainly changed in the world where a woman could ask a man out for dinner. ‘Why, Miss Andrews, how deliciously scandalous of you. What would my dear papa say?’ I pretended to fan my face, which brought out her donkey-like laugh again. ‘Tracey, it sounds like fun. Just tell me when and where,’ I said with a smile before looking around. ‘Just not here…please.’
We swapped numbers, making sure I gave her my business contact number. I alternated between sleeping at the shop and my family home. I had vowed not to let anyone else into my home, it was full of my most treasured memories, and certainly not another vampire. After a hug and the now in fashion double-cheek kiss, we headed off in separate directions. With my sense now attuned to her scent, as creepy as it sounds, I knew she wasn’t following me, so I headed back to the shop.
I moved like a ghost through the streets heading back to the docklands where I hunted. There was always some miscreant breaking the laws of the land. I hid in an alley as I saw a tall shaven-headed white man walk up to a car and lean in. I could hear a drug deal going down. I know it’s ten a penny now, but they are still a blight on this earth.
It was a quick and easy kill as the man was sprawled upon a bench situated by a small park, which allowed him a quick escape if the Peelers ever turned up. He didn’t seem to see or hear anything as I crept up behind, yanked back his head and plunged my teeth into his throat and drank. Then, with a flash of my claw, I slashed my wrist and let the change begin. As he started to twitch back to life, I thrust a fallen branch through his heart, sending ashes disappearing into the misty night thanks to a friendly breeze.
I licked my lips and tasted the drugs in his system. It was bitter, but another one done and dusted. Time for a long walk home and to think about the dinner tomorrow. I made it home without any more fun and games, and then I spent the rest of the night talking to the picture of Anna. As crazy as it sounds, it always centred me, especially after a night like tonight.
The next night I put on a new black Armani suit. For once I decided to take a black cab into the city centre because knowing my luck I would’ve ended up being attacked and getting covered in claret before dinner, which I didn’t think she would mind, but the maître d’ would be somewhat alarmed.
I stood outside the front of the brand-new upper-class restaurant and waited, then she appeared. Her red hair was lighting up the night and the blackness of her dress seemed to drink in the shadows. Every time her matching high heels impacted the pavement, they seemed to echo throughout the world. The populous seem to skirt around her like a rock in a river.
I smiled. ‘Well, don’t you scrub up nice,’ I quipped, bringing her godawful laugh to the fore.
‘You are funny,’ she said, giving my chest a playful swat. ‘Shall we go in and play at being normal?’ She took my hand in her pale long fingers and guided me into the glass-fronted restaurant.
When we were seated at the back I noticed that Tracey was sitting where she could take in the whole place, ever vigilant. Clearly, there was a past there. After a small amount of banter, we ordered some nice large rare steaks, with pepper sauce for a little kick.
‘So, what do you do for money, Albert?’ she probed.
I was honest about my pawnshop and the several houses I had bought and rented out, especial after the war when Suzie helped, who was skillful at picking out good homes and areas to buy in. ‘And, of course, there is always some money to be found with the right kind of food,’ I said and watched the smile appear on her face. ‘And you, you don’t seem to be hurting for money?’
The pale woman shrugged. ‘I get by, life insurance from my parents.’ Her face darkened when she said that, but it was fleeting. ‘I do a bit of five-fingered shopping in jewellers, plus there is always
a rich old man wanting to take me home, and who am I to deny them the pleasure.’
It was at that moment I realised we didn’t have much in common, we ran on different side of the tracks, but I would not throw away this possible friendship so lightly and quickly. I had to remember that I was so much older than her, and it’s hard to find friends, especially when you are immortal.
‘So, I’m guessing that’s why you are scanning the crowd, for your next sugar daddy, or someone you’ve stolen from?’
‘A little from column A, and a little from column B, Albert, but tonight is about us. I’m sure you know how hard it is to make friends, especially as we don’t age,’ Tracey said, mirroring my own thoughts.
I raised my glass, watching the blood-red wine swill around. ‘To the future, Tracey.’ We toasted and the rest of the evening went well.
We ended up back at her place and her soft, plush bed. I then realised why I search for human lovers. Two cold, naked bodies in the act of lovemaking just isn’t right; you need warmth and feelings to really enjoy the act.
We ate out a few more times and agreed that sleeping together was off the table for now, although we would both miss the stamina that our infliction had brought to each of us. During later years we met on the same day every year, but occasionally we saw each other out and about. Normally, she had a willing victim on her arm.
Chapter 11
London, Heathrow. November 2018
Tracey had taken me to the airport herself – well, her recent sugar daddy had paid for a limo to take us. We had previously promised never to repeat our night of passion, but the likelihood of seeing each other again was slight, so we enjoyed some fun in the limo. We had become closer than either of us had thought over the years. Together, we had found out that there was another of our kind going feral in the city of Nottingham. We found the animal scampering up the wall of an orphanage; he had killed four children before we could stop him. After that our friendship solidified. We smirked at each other as we dressed and readjusted ourselves before stepping out of the limo.
We hugged. ‘Take care, Albert. You call me as soon as you are settled,’ she said into my ear as we embraced.
‘I will. You enjoy yourself, and thank you for all your help,’ I answered as we locked eyes for the last time.
We shared a passionate yet still-lacking-something kiss before we parted. We knew that we could never be together, but our lives were intertwined, just like our bodies had been in the car. I watched the limo drive away with a hint of sadness, but somehow I felt that I would see my friend again.
While lying back in the first-class lounge for Virgin Airways, I thought about how nice it would be after all these years to experience another country, and not as a result of war. I would miss a few people, but it wasn’t like the movies where I had to ask permission from the coven master to leave or anything. What coven? Wasn’t that a witch thing?
It always made me laugh when I saw those films, the blokes all pale with sparkly and long, luscious hair. Me, a boy from the streets of London, with wiry hair, who was bitten by the one and only Jack the fucking Ripper. Did he stop to teach me the ways of a vampire? Did he hell. Did I stumble into a coven who helped me…? No! I mentally ranted. God knows why I was going over old ground again.
The flight was perfect, even though all those pulses were causing me a bit of trouble, but it was the long-legged blonde air stewardess who created the most issues. Clearly, she liked working in first class as it gave her access to the rich and famous. And I guessed if she couldn’t get one of those, there was always the pilots. I was surprised Tracey hadn’t become one, if only for the night flights. But then again, when her temper raged so did her Bristol accent, along with a constant flow of swear words.
Let’s just say that the stewardess’s hands wandered when she placed a blanket over me and along with the ‘take me now’ smile, it meant a troubling trouser time for little old Albert. But she also went through the same thing with every other pulse carrier in first class. Not saying I wasn’t tempted, it had been a few months since I had lay with a warm-bodied woman, or, in fact, any woman – Tracey didn’t count; our coupling together was one that mortals would never be able to compare – but getting caught with her in the toilet could mean trouble getting out of the airport and to my new apartment, which I had to do quickly while the sun was still in hiding.
Once the plane finally landed, I followed the sheep. Yes, my feelings towards the normal public had lessened over the year, so we went into the terminal and out to collect our baggage. Most of my keepsakes were in packing cases that would arrive in a few days. My one bag just had underwear and personal papers. Clothes, you can buy anywhere. Although most of my best Savile Row suits would be coming along with my other items.
I had arranged for a blacked-out SUV to shuttle me from the hotel to an apartment that I had rented for the year, which came with the option to buy, in midtown Manhattan on West 42nd St.
Hunger was starting to pull at me. Hopefully I could make it until sundown and then go looking for trouble. I’d hate to free up another apartment.
The driver was quiet, which I liked, so he earned himself another $50 for the courteous service. But just as we pulled up and I handed him the money, I had to ask, in my poshest accent, ‘Are there any parts of the city I shouldn’t wander in after dark?’
The big man shrugged. ‘Everywhere can be dangerous, sir, especially off the main street – you shouldn’t walk alone.’ He then turned to look at me. ‘I have some friends who offer one-on-one bodyguard services if you’re worried, ex-military type.’ He handed me a business card. ‘Just in case, sir.’
I gave him a nod, grabbed my bag and headed towards the apartment building. The apartments seemed to have been washed in brushed steel and glass. It’s a good job that vampires have reflections, or I would be damned. I moved towards the doorman.
‘Good morning, I am Albert Morris, I have rented apartment 5c,’ I said, holding out a photocopy of the lease.
‘Good morning, sir,’ the tall, kind-looking African American man said in reply. ‘I was expecting you, sir. If I could just see some ID, then I can take you up.’
My ID was passed over. I know it was risky, but I had managed to keep my name all my life and moving here would help. He handed me back my passport, which Tracey’s friends had sourced for me, and bid me to follow him. The man was a heavy drinker; I could smell the whisky leaking through his pores. One bite would get me pissed. At that thought my stomach rumbled loudly.
‘Sorry, can’t stand airline food,’ I said, making him laugh as we entered the lift.
‘Don’t blame you, sir. I understand the realtor has filled your cupboards and icebox with groceries, so that should sort you right out,’ he said as we travelled up to the fifth floor. When the lift doors opened, I saw that the corridor was an off-white colour. ‘As I understand it, they have put some dark filters on your windows for you,’ the doorman commented.
‘That’s good to hear. A war wound, bright light kills my eyes,’ I added, and then saw him flash a US marine badge.
‘Iraq or Afghanistan, if you don’t mind me asking, sir?’
I shrugged as he let us into the apartment. ‘A little of both, behind the lines type of thing,’ I lied, thinking that World War II for assassination missions would be unbelievable.
‘Hardcore, sir,’ he said before showing me around.
There were plenty of now darkened windows, a nice balcony and two bedrooms for my imaginary friends. Or, as I liked to call it, my feeding room – although I ordinarily like to eat out and mainly on the dregs of humanity.
I bid the doorman goodbye and handed him twenty bucks before closing the door with a click. It was something I had read about, that a lot of the service people had low wages and used the tips to top up their wages. I sighed; I was finally here.
It was then that the darkness had started to recede, allowing the winter sun to warm the people who adore it, which wasn’t me. Thankfully, the
realtor had done a good job as enough light came in to light the rooms and not set me on fire. But hunger still gnawed at my bones, so I checked the refrigerator. My eyes widened and my incisors lengthened when I saw the steaks, at least half a dozen T-bones. They were torn out of the packaging, all the excess blood was poured into an empty glass, and then I used all my increased strength to squeeze the big red bastards in my hands, leaving them discoloured and destroyed.
It was old blood, but good blood. It hardly filled the glass, or me, but it would fill a gap until sundown. I checked around and saw the laptop that I had paid to be there. Luckily, over the decades I had kept up with technology, so within the hour I was set up with the apartment’s broadband, and several suits and other clothes would be here tomorrow morning. So now bed.
After waking, I stood on the edge of the balcony looking at the New Yorkers and holidaymakers bustling around, all those heartbeats, all that blood pumping around their bodies. I looked up and over the way, straight into an office building. I locked eyes with a beautiful woman. She looked like a goddess with her long black hair and curvy frame. She was stunning; if I had a heartbeat, it would have been racing. I lifted up my hand and waved. All she did was give a smirk, turn around and stride off in her black business suit.
For the first time in many months, a smile appeared on my face. I turned and headed back inside. I donned my leather jacket, left the apartment and descended in the lift. It was the same guard.
‘Good evening, sir,’ he said.
I checked his name tag. ‘Good evening, Mr Conrad, did you have a good day?’ I saw him chuckle.
‘Please, call me Jasper,’ he said and extended his hand, which I shook. ‘Jesus, your hands are cold, sir.’ He chuckled again.
