Ela: Forever (Waking Forever)

by Heather McVea

  Ela tilted her head to the left. “I was never sure who I was praying to, considering God is dead, but it gave me some solace.” Ela bit her lower lip. “I guess what they say is true: there are no atheists in foxholes.”

  Reaching for another shovel full of dirt, Ela heard a faint whimpering coming from the hole. She looked down and saw Albert’s blood stained face staring back at her. She dropped the dirt into the hole, and then another, and another.

  “This is it, Albert. The death of hope you and I discussed earlier.” Ela smiled and continued shoveling the dirt on top of Ana and Albert.

  “Texas!” Ana spat.

  Ela paused mid shovel. “Where in Texas, please? As our dear friend Albert can attest, it’s a big place. Narrow it down for me.”

  “I –I only know South Texas.” Ana grimaced.

  “Thank you.” Standing over the hole, Ela had the last shovelful of dirt that would completely immerse the two vampires. She looked at the dirt and then at Albert and Ana. “You’ll be fine. I’m sure you can hold your breath for a very long time.”

  Before Ana could respond, Ela tossed the dirt on top of her head. Picking up speed, Ela filled the remainder of the hole with less fanfare. Packing the dirt down, she threw the shovel into the thick foliage of the surrounding jungle, dusted her hands off, and took several steps back from the now nearly invisible mound of dirt.

  Ela crossed her arms and considered the events of the past few hours. She could have chosen to grieve endlessly for the loss of time and the scars her time in the void had left, grieve for being adrift on an endless black sea. Smiling, she decided rage suited her better.

  Her thoughts went to Rachel, the memory of her betrayal leaving a bitter taste in Ela’s mouth. She remembered something they had read once together. As a human, Ela remembered finding the quote unnerving and hateful. As a vampire she simply found it necessary. To the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee.

  ***

  Ela spent the next eight years moving through north central parts of Brazil, Venezuela, Columbia, and into Central America. As the horrors of a world war had hidden the heinousness of her killings when she moved through Europe decades before, the viciousness of the drug cartels masked her activities now.

  It was 1985, and violence ran rampant through the streets of Panama City, the capital of Panama. The killings and complete disregard for human life reminded Ela of the camps during the war, except the murders weren’t centralized and behind barbwire fences.

  People were being gunned down, snatched off the street by alleged government officials, and stabbed or hung in the streets nearly daily. It was senseless to Ela’s way of thinking because all that blood was going to waste.

  After Ana and Albert’s betrayal, Ela had no interest in finding a clan to join. She was content to be on her own. She hunted as often and as brutally as she saw fit. She was happily and utterly alone.

  Her solitary existence was perfect except for occasional bouts of boredom. The bloodshed and unabashed cruelty provided only so many variations of a theme. The passing time also served her ends regarding Rachel. The accumulation of time meant Rachel was amassing more affinities, preferences and ambitions. She was building a more meaningful life for Ela to rip apart.

  Ela sat thirty feet off the ground, leaning against the broad trunk of a pine tree with her legs stretched out in front of her. The canopy of the lowland rainforest indicative of the region spread out in front of her like a thick, textured quilt.

  “I never did get my pants back from you.” The vampire’s baritone voice rippled through Ela. He was perched perfectly still on a tree limb adjacent to the tree Ela was in, his piercing blue eyes fixed on her. Wisps of his light blond hair blew across his forehead, and the same arrogant look Ela remembered from Coleen’s camp donned his face.

  Ela was more unnerved by the fact Claudio had crept up on her then by seeing a vampire from Coleen’s clan. Leaning her head against the tree trunk, Ela sighed. “Claudio, what an absolute displeasure to see you.”

  A soft chuckle escaped his full lips. “You never did like me.”

  “Rest assured, I still don’t.” Ela turned and dangled her legs over the side of the branch. “What do you want, Claudio? Has Coleen sent you?”

  A quick lunge, and the man sat next to Ela. “I’m not with Coleen anymore.” Ela lifted her eyebrow. “Her tastes aren’t my tastes.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought you had senses to come to.” Ela smirked.

  “You were always a bit of a shit, Ela.” Claudio looked out at the horizon.

  “What do you want, Claudio? In case you hadn’t guessed, I’m not into talking about the good old days.” Ela looked at the man. “The good old days weren’t so good after all.”

  Claudio shook his head. “I suppose not, but things are very good now. I’ve been watching you, and I think you may be able to help me.”

  “Able, but I doubt willing.” Ela turned her attention to the faint sound of branches and leaves being displaced. “Besides, I’m waiting for some people and you’re disturbing me.”

  “The hunting party a mile out?” Claudio lifted his head and took a deep breath. “They’re another twenty minutes from here. Plenty of time for us to chat.”

  Ela was intrigued by Claudio’s hints. Though she didn’t like him, she didn’t want to deny herself a possible creative outlet. “Speak then.”

  Claudio smiled. “You’re familiar with Zonians?”

  “The American’s who live in the Canal Zone?” Ela asked.

  “Yes. They are very wealthy, affluent, and not altogether human.” Claudio smirked.

  Ela huffed. “And?”

  “And you can’t want to live out eternity poor and taking shelter in the houses of your last meal.” Claudio turned on the branch and, straddling it, he faced Ela. “Political power and money give our kind the influence we need to shape the world as we see fit.”

  Ela looked at Claudio, her face expressionless. “What propaganda pamphlet did you read that in?”

  “Joke if you will, but don’t you want the finer things in life?” Claudio insisted.

  Ela didn’t like Claudio any more now than she had when she was human. That aside, she was tired of wandering. Perhaps settling down in a large house with servants and the finer things in life was something she should consider. Ela smirked.

  “What’s funny?” Claudio asked confused.

  Ela looked out over the forest canopy and remembered a part of her human life she had forgotten. Her attempt to give Delia a gift, and how that attempt had gone terribly awry, ruined by Delia’s insistence on doing the moral thing. “Evidently, I’m destined to have brass bowls for each of my dogs.” Ela flicked her tongue across her incisor. “I wonder if I’ll start smelling like rotten eggs, too?”

  Claudio furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand.”

  Ela glanced at him as she stood. “No, you wouldn’t.” She dropped to the ground below and looked up at Claudio. “Are you coming? Let’s save the hunting party the walk.”

  ***

  For the next fifteen years, Ela amassed an inordinate amount of wealth. The upheaval caused by the United States invasion of Panama, along with the country’s liberal banking laws, practically facilitated money laundering. The climate was the perfect proportion of chaos. An ambitious vampire had no choice but to thrive. Ela trafficked in stolen art, drugs, prostitution, and any other number of illegal activities.

  At the turn of the twenty-first century, Ela found her mind focusing more and more on Rachel. She had never lost sight of her desire to destroy Rachel’s life and ultimately end her, but the business of extortion and murder had proven time consuming.

  “I’m relocating to the border of Texas and Mexico, Claudio.” Ela popped a grape in her mouth as she sat reclined on a shaded patio next to a large crystal-clear pool. A dog-eared copy of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead lay on the wooden table next to her.

 
Claudio had just returned from a routine hunt and sat bare chested next to Ela. “Why would you want to leave this?” He made a sweeping gesture at their opulent surroundings.

  Ela stretched and put another grape in her mouth. “I’m bored, Claudio, and I refuse to be bored because I’m not boring.” Ela smiled, remembering a quote from one of her favorite Zelda Fitzgerald short stories.

  “Maybe, but I also know you’re looking for Rachel,” Claudio said casually.

  Ela’s head popped up and she glared at Claudio. “Do you know where she is?”

  Claudio shook his head. “No, but I heard Coleen talk about your undying devotion to her demise enough to know it’s about the only thing that could take you away from all this.”

  Claudio was right. The border of Texas and Mexico was notoriously violent and the clans in that area uncivilized with no respect for life. This was normally admirable to Ela’s way of thinking, except the disrespect extended to other vampires. The entire region was very cliquish.

  “She’s somewhere in South Texas, and I’ll find her eventually. Relocating to that area is a step in the right direction.” Ela picked up the book and began thumbing through it. “Besides, the debauchery near Nuevo Laredo, and all the excitement that implies, is just what I need.”

  ***

  Ela stood on a low, rocky rise overlooking the Mexican village of Tierra Seca. She had spent the last year moving through Central America, up the coast of the Gulf of Mexico and then inland through Monterrey.

  Now she was in a remote village less than three hundred miles from Nuevo Laredo and the Texas border. The sun beat down on her and even though she was clothed in jeans, a long sleeve linen blouse with a head wrap, and sunglasses, her skin tingled uncomfortably.

  The village consisted of no more than twenty small mud brick and wood shacks. The roofs were flat, overlapping pieces of sheet metal that were worn and rusted through. Listening closely, Ela could hear forty distinct heartbeats. Each heartbeat hummed along at the steady beat she had come to recognize as human. Less pronounced, almost as if it were buried, was the rapid heartbeat she knew to be indicative of a shifter.

  Launching herself from the low ledge, Ela sprinted toward the village square. She stopped at the flimsy wooden door of a shack on the southernmost part of the village and listened intently to the slow heartbeat inside.

  After several seconds, she cleared her throat and knocked. A leathery skinned, elderly woman wearing a beige tattered dress and a crucifix around her neck opened the door.

  Ela pulled the thin scarf she had covering her mouth and nose down. “Señora, I have been travelling for a very long time and am very thirsty.” Ela smiled.

  The woman glanced behind Ela as if expecting to see another person, and then back at Ela, who continued to smile. “There is a well at the village square. You can get water there.”

  The woman started to close the door, but Ela placed her arm against it. “You misunderstand me, Señora. I’m not thirsty for water.”

  Ela parted her lips as her incisors extended and before the woman could scream, she lunged at her. With her hand over the human’s mouth, Ela bit into her neck. A loud popping sound filled the small dirt floor room when Ela snapped the elderly woman’s neck.

  Straddling the corpse, Ela reached down and took the gold crucifix in her hand, snapping the chain. Holding the necklace up, Ela examined it closely. Hanging from the cross was a primitive looking Christ figure. Ela shook her head and flung the necklace into the corner of the shack. “Morbid.”

  Ela moved from building to building, guided by the human heartbeats coming from within. When all the houses had been emptied, she walked to the center square of the village. A group of seven men sat around in worn wooden chairs in the shade of the local cantina’s patio.

  The men were obviously farmers of some kind as Ela could smell the vegetation and pesticides radiating from them. Their boots had caked on dirt and their long sleeve shirts had perspiration stains. Every man in the circle had no less than three empty beer bottles at his feet. Ela slowly crossed the square and walked up to the men.

  The conversation stopped as each man turned to look at Ela.

  “Caballeros.” Ela grinned.

  The youngest of the men stood and tipped his hat to Ela, while swaying slightly to the left from inebriation. “Señora. What is such a beautiful woman doing here?”

  Ela glanced at each man and made a quick calculation in her head. “While you drunkards have been downing that swill, I have been methodically massacring everyone in this village.”

  The men looked at each other and then began laughing. In a split second, Ela moved through the circle and using her nails, ripped the throat of the man who stood out. A wheezing and gurgling sound emanated from him as he clutched his throat.

  The other six men went silent. Before they could react, Ela, in a series of quick movements, clawed and bit at each of their throats. Within seconds, all seven men lay dead on the ground.

  Ela rounded the corner of the cantina. The noon sun struck her eyes, and she squinted against it as she saw movement to her right. There was a slight jarring to the left side of her neck, followed by a low grunt. Ela turned her head slowly, shading her eyes with her right hand. A young boy, no older than fifteen, stood next to her. His skin was a rich brown and his hair was long and hung over his wide brown eyes. Ela glanced at the machete he clutched in his right hand.

  “Qué eres?” The boy gasped.

  Ela turned and faced him. “What have we here? A hero?” She tilted her head to the side and a slight popping sound came from her neck. “How refreshing.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. “Diablo!” He swung the machete at Ela's neck again. She easily caught the blade in her right hand and snapped it in half.

  The boy dropped the weapon and turned to run. Before he could take a single step, Ela was in front of him, her teeth buried deep in his throat.

  Dropping the lifeless body to the sun baked earth, Ela caught the scent of the shifter. The animal and plant mingled scent of a female shifter was wafting from the church across the village square. Closing her eyes, Ela could hear the woman’s rapid heartbeat.

  “An unexpected treat.” Ela wiped the dead boy’s blood from her chin and casually walked toward the church.

  The structure was small and its exterior consisted of rocks embedded in hand laid stucco. The wooden arch above the front entrance had a weathered wooden cross and the door itself was dilapidated and missing a hinge. The interior was rustic, the floor dirt, and there was no glass in the windows. Ela looked toward the front of the church to find a simple wooden table with a Christ figure hanging from a wood cross.

  “Have you come to confess?” A dark skinned man with light eyes sat on a wooden bench to Ela’s left. His black jacket was dusty and his white collar stained with sweat.

  Ela walked over and casually sat down next to the priest. “I have, Father.” Ela bowed her head in mock prayer. “I confess to not understanding why Christians, who believe Christ will return to earth someday, think he would want to be greeted by a cross.”

  Ela looked up at the modest altar. “I can’t imagine he wants to be reminded of those very long and torturous six hours.” She turned to look at the man next to her. “Can you offer me guidance on that, Father?”

  The priest shook his head. “What have you done here, my child?”

  Ela stood up and faced the man. “Nothing your faith hasn’t been a party to for millenniums.” Ela knelt in front of the priest, who continued to look down. “Your followers believe these absurdities.” Ela nodded her head toward the altar. “And have justified atrocities with them.”

  Ela’s eyes glowed as she gently lifted the man’s chin so he was forced to look at her. His eyes widened and tears began to streak his face. She wiped at his cheeks roughly with the palm of her hand. “Shhhh. Don’t cry, Father. If it gives you any comfort, you can believe I am the instrument of God’s will.”

  Ela pulled the priest t
oward her and bit into the side of his neck. In less than a minute she had drained him and dropped his body to the dirt floor.

  Walking toward the altar, Ela found a thin wooden door with an oversized metal lock embedded into the rock around the door jam. With a slight push, the door fell to the floor and Ela walked down a flight of stairs to a basement with a low ceiling that forced her to bend her head slightly.

  Crouched in the far corner of the basement was a woman. She looked to be in her early thirties and in spite of the filthy state she was in, it was obvious she was beautiful. Her long, unwashed brown hair still had a slight luster to it and her features were angular with perfectly proportioned lips.

  If there was any doubt in Ela’s mind the woman was a shifter, it was immediately put to rest when hesitantly the frightened woman looked up at Ela. Her eyes were nearly clear and, in the dim light of the basement, seemed to glow.

  Ela took note of the shackles that bound the woman’s wrists and ankles to the stone wall, reminding her of her imprisonment with the lycans. The woman cowered further into the corner as Ela approached. There was a worn, dirty mattress and blanket next to the shifter, along with a pan that smelled like it was where the woman relieved herself.

  Ela crouched in front of the shifter and, speaking Spanish, lowered her voice to a soothing tone. “I’m Ela. What’s your name?”

  The woman looked up at Ela and then back at the dirt floor. “Lara.”

  “How long have you been down here, Lara?” Ela asked gently.

  “Since I was a teenager.” Lara continued to stare at the floor.

  Ela inched closer to the woman. “Why?”

  The woman shook her head, refusing to answer. Ela sat down in front of Lara and crossed her legs. “Was it because you can change into animals?”

  Lara’s eyes shot up to Ela’s face and widened as her lower lip began to tremble. Tears streaked her dirty cheeks as she spoke. “I am from the devil.”