Children of the Pomme - Book 1

by Matthew Fish

  “Your people…?” Mark asked. “Black people…?”

  “Really…black people…?” Bradley said as he shook his head and allowed a small laugh to escape his serious demeanor. “There are a lot of names we’ve been called over the long span of time…Perpetuals, Immortals, Eternals…and for a short time to scare away regular humans…Vampires.”

  “You’re…like her?”

  “I can’t do that shit with fire, and if you say she disappeared she’s got some wind talent as well—so she’s what we’d call an Elemental. Basically means can control fire, she seems young if she’s trying to scare you with the vampire moniker—so she probably can do a few tricks right now…but she’s among the small percentage of us that are gifted. I’d even go so far as to say exceptionally gifted if she has control over two things…”

  I took a moment and allowed silence to fill the void that had become my understanding of….well, everything. Being naturally sarcastic, and skeptical—I can only suspend my sense of disbelief so far. I mean, one time when I was eleven I swore that I saw a ghost in the basement of the old house where my father kept his vast coin collection…I was scared and a believer for all of about twenty minutes or so, until I realized that there was a small window that would allow the light of passing cars to shine in and reflect upon the many different glass surfaces. I remember that I laughed at myself for being fooled…I felt like I should have been laughing at this as well. I feel like the next words out of Bradley’s mouth should be…”Hey man, I’m really just fucking with you.” Vampires that aren’t really vampires, and quarters…Elementals…it all started to sound more than ridiculous to my rational mind.

  “So you…drink blood?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Bradley said as he placed his palms out and shook his head. “No fangs. We can’t turn into bats, we aren’t killed by stakes to the heart…that was all purposeful misinformation spread during a time when a few of our kind would do bad things…and the innocent of our kind would suffer for it.”

  “I don’t…you know, it’s just…yeah, I don’t get it.”

  “It’s a lot to take in,” Bradley added as he nodded. “There’s no real way to ease anyone into this kind of thing. Most people are just unaware of it—we live side by side with people just like you. Hell, most of us are ordinary…we may be a bit stronger, live for a hell of a lot longer…but the majority of my kind are not talented.”

  “Do you sparkle in the sunlight?”

  “No…God no, none of that stupid shit,” Bradley muttered as a sour look washed over his face. “We are not vampires in any conventional sense other than having more physical strength when we need it and the whole not aging thing.”

  “So what do you eat then?” Mark asked, continuing what seemed like an endless amount of questions that he had ready and loaded.

  “Normal food…we need it just as much as you do or else we get weak, sick, and lethargic—we need water. As long as we consume food and water, we will never get sick. We’d never die of starvation, or dehydration—but let me tell you; it’s not a fun experience…or an enjoyable one.”

  “So just, conveniently only the good aspects of being a vampire then…? Extremely long life, strength, superpowers, and…never being sick as long as you get something to eat or drink…?”

  “It’s not as easy as it sounds,” Bradley said as he placed his hands on the table and attempted to gather his thoughts to explain this as easily as possible. “The body will always be healthy if taken care of—it’s the mind that isn’t always easy to keep up. Especially for the unremarkable ones…imagine having a ridiculously long life of never aging past twenty-four but not having any wealth—working fast food jobs, or warehouse and factory careers…it starts to wear on you. These people, eventually fed up with following rules, are the ones that are most likely to head to a life of crime—which is whom your father was responsible for hunting.”

  “And that’s where the quarters come into play?”

  “In a way,” Bradley said as he nodded. “Yes.”

  “How…is it like…the stake to the heart?”

  “Basically…but it’s a bit more complicated than that. It hasn’t always just been quarters either—it has to be an object that society places value upon, so these days it’s quarters…they are easy to carry and you can hold a lot in one hand—or in the air…but I’ll come back to that. Anyway, our kind…we are very attached to the year that we were born into this world. So it can’t just be any quarter—it has to be one minted on the year of our birth.”

  “But quarters haven’t been around for…that long.”

  “First quarter was made in 1796,” Bradley said as though it was something he had well memorized. “The problem with living for as long as we do…or can…is boredom. A section of our group, a large section—believes in trying to outnumber your kind. So it’s not uncommon for a couple to give birth to fifty children in a century…especially if they are a part of the hard core…crazier sect. With that kind of odds in the first fifty years you could easily say that a third of those children are going to go bad…turn to joining gangs or some kind of mafia related organization. It’s thrilling for them—easy money to live a more comfortable life. They get to exert their power. They fall into groups that believe that your kind is worthless.”

  “So most of the people that my father would hunt with….quarters…were from…?”

  “About the last hundred years or so,” Bradley finished as he shrugged his shoulders and looked away for a moment as though he knew what question was coming next.

  “So what happened…that day he died?”

  “We came upon something much…much older,” Bradley said as he continued to keep his eyes away from Mark’s. “My skill, my only skill, is knowing the year one of my kind was born. I would call out the dates and your father would…do his part. It’s called being a Spotter. That night we were sent to a warehouse off Lake Michigan, some of my kind were moving drugs…at least that’s what an informant told us. I just remember feeling an old presence that I could not place. We dealt with the ones that we could and tried to escape. I got shot a lot of times, got knocked unconscious…that’s…all I remember.”

  “This is all just…fucking crazy,” Mark whispered as he shook his head and nervously began to chew on his lower lip. “So…disregarding all of that—why is that crazy girl after me? And can I protect myself with what…a 1990’s quarter…I’m pretty sure I could find a few of those pretty easily.”

  “That’s where I’m a little confused,” Bradley admitted. “People that young don’t tend to go bad…I mean there’s always the chance of mental instability.”

  “She definitely seemed a bit psychotically challenged…”

  “Yeah,” Bradley said as he pulled his hands up to his chin and began to scratch his fingertips against his rough beard. “I think that her father believes that you have the same power as your father and wants to…make sure that power isn’t put to use. As far as protecting yourself—I’m sorry, but you’re not a Conductor.”

  “A Conductor?”

  “It’s not just as simple as throwing a quarter at someone. You have to have the ability to control it with your mind. Your father would take a large handful of quarters and toss them up in the air—they would stay there for a time and he would be able to pick which ones needed to be send towards its intended target. It was a lot of hand gesturing…it was complicated. It was a lot more than just tossing a quarter at a teenager.”

  “So…I’m screwed.”

  “We will stay here today,” Bradley said as he looked around. We should be safe here—if she comes I can put a few bullets into her. We may be nearly immortal, but we need time to heal. In the morning I’ll take you to my place—I just moved, so you should be safe there.”

  “And, after that…?”

  “We will need to get you placed under the protection of a Conductor,” Bradley said matter-of-factly. “It might take a while though. The percentage of Conductors arou
nd here are pretty low, at least ones that aren’t already occupied…we’ll figure it out though.”

  “With that kind of confidence, I know I’ll sleep well tonight,” Mark said as he shook his head and walked into the living room and sat down upon the couch. He turned the TV on and mindlessly watched a news report about the fire he had witnessed a short time ago. A quick shot of him in his boxers caused him to feel even more embarrassed.

  A million thoughts raced through my mind. I started looking at the people on the television and wondered how many of them are Eternals or, whatever they called themselves. I began to wonder why my father never told me about any of it—at least I’d be prepared…was he trying to shield me from the truth for my own protection? Or was it disappointment that I wasn’t like him? The latter thought made me feel rather sad…I know I was and had always been a rather sarcastic little shit. I just…I guess, I just felt that he had more confidence in me. Then again, we never talked that much…at least, nothing past the usual things—simple conversations like, “How was your day?” met with simple answers like, “It was fine.” We never had any deep, meaningful conversations. We definitely never talked about his real job…working as a “Conductor.” I wish we had. All the shit happening now would be a lot easier to swallow if I had the tiniest bit of warning. I suppose, we never really shared the same interest. I never understood his obsession with coin collecting. I remember always joking about how dirty change was as he was digging through it when he got some back at a drive-thru restaurant. I remember he’d just laugh it off and agree. I realized then how disappointing that must have been for him. All that time…he’d been some kind of hero while I’d always seen him as some lame detective who would ground me for getting mediocre grades and scold me for playing too many video games. In a way, I could relate to the unremarkables that Bradley had talked about…after all, I was one of them.

  The day passed by, also unremarkably; this was very fitting as I spent most of the time feeling sorry for myself. I’m sure that Bradley could tell as he kept asking if I was doing alright. I simply nodded. I figured he was giving me time to take in all the information he had dumped on me…truthfully, I was just feeling worthless.

  “How you holding up, kid?” Bradley asked as we sat down for some pizza.

  “Fine,” Mark said shortly.

  “I know it’s a lot,” Bradley added as he placed a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “You’ll sort it all out though and be stronger for it.”

  “It’s fine…” Mark spoke numbly. “I’m fine….everything’s just fine.”

  “We can relocate you somewhere safe; give you a new identity…set you up in a new place where no one will be looking to cause you any harm. I’ll work on selling this place and you can start a whole new life somewhere else, and then honestly kid, you can just forget all about this…you can just go on and have a normal life.”

  “Yeah…” Mark said as he nodded. “Great.”

  “Or you could crash with me until things blow over,” Bradley said, attempting to come up with some kind of compromise that would cheer Mark up even a little. “I could use the company, we could play some games…hang out. As one of my kind who hunts others…I don’t have a lot of friends.”

  “I’m going to go lay down for a while,” Mark replied, disregarding Bradley’s offer. He felt like it was more of an extension of friendship with a healthy side of pity.

  I stared up at the ceiling. The same ceiling I had awoken to for years. I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out the quarter that I had been spinning around on the kitchen table earlier. I bounced it in the palm of my hand….attempting to get a good feel of its weight. I ran a finger against the rough textured curves of the coin. I concentrated hard on getting it to do something, anything. On a whim, I tossed the coin up into the air and it abruptly fell back down and hit me square on the forehead. I felt like a complete dumbass. What the hell am I doing? I was just being foolish…still, I persisted. I placed the quarter back into the palm of my hand, running my fingers over the cool surface. I brought it up to my face and inspect the year 2007, with this coin, if I was a Conductor, I could successfully kill an eight year old…wonderful. I concentrated hard upon the coin and flicked it up with my thumb high into the air. It began to spin end over end until it hit the bedside table and was lost beneath the bed. I let out a frustrated sigh and closed my eyes. It had been a long day. A long, shitty day…I finally allowed myself to drift off to sleep.

  I remembered a bit of what a dreamt about that night. I was back in my grandma’s kitchen and that girl with the crazy pink hair and cute witch-like getup was standing at the stove. I remember attempting to stop her. However, the ability to speak was somehow withheld from me. I attempted to move closer. As I did, she yelled ‘Dickwad’ at me once more and a huge ball of gas fueled fire was hurled in my direction. This time, I did not move. I felt this strange warmth that should have been searing horrible pain. I woke up sweaty. I looked at the clock and it was just a little past eight.

  “Feel any better after that nap?” Bradley asked as he was seated upon the couch watching a reality TV cooking competition show.

  “Let’s just say at this point I don’t think I could feel any worse,” Mark said as he rubbed the back of his neck and cocked his head to the side. “Your…your kind, I guess, what do you prefer to be called?”

  “African Americans…”

  “So now you’re into jokes,” Mark said as he shook his head. “Thanks for that.”

  “Not funny?” Bradley asked as he chuckled to himself. He apparently found it extremely humorous. “Me…I just call us people. That’s how I see it. We’re both just people when it comes down to it. Most of my kind like to call themselves Perpetuals, which does make sense more than Eternals…because nothing really lasts forever. When it comes to hunting we call them hired thugs…unless we’re dealing with an Elemental…then we just call them an Elemental. Basic stuff, really. If you need to call us anything…I guess Perpetuals works best.”

  “How do you feel being a…Perpetual who helps to hunt other Perpetuals?”

  “I feel fine about it,” Bradley said with a casual tone. “It’s our job to protect people—both kinds. Our Police Captain is one of my kind…we know that not everyone would agree—especially the ones that think that they are superior, however we do what we do, because we have to minimize knowledge of our existence. When an Unremarkable goes out and breaks the rules and starts using his strength…it scares normal people. We don’t want a war—we don’t want our kind to be hunted or feared like we were in the old days.”

  “Do you always have to kill them?”

  “It’s a line that they know not to cross,” Bradley answered as he let out a heavy sigh and furrowed his eyebrows. “Do I like it how it is…no. It leaves no room for second chances—but once someone chooses to go down that path and joins up with one of the many criminal groups…there’s no coming back from that. Besides, the prison system isn’t equipped to handle that kind of population. But, yeah…short answer to your question…yes. Also, once they have that taste of fight in them…that power, they don’t always want to give that up without going down.”

  “So the girl…would she die for what she did?” Mark asked. He felt a strange twinge of sadness at the idea—despite the fact that she tried to kill him and called him a ‘Dickwad.’

  “She would be a first…given her probable young age. Honestly, I think if she wanted you dead it would have happened. I think she was more trying to scare you…not very comforting, I know. I think we should be more interested in who her father is. It’s possible that she didn’t even think that she’d burn the place down. But…if she continues to be a threat, then yes…a Conductor would have to put a coin through her.”

  That’s about what I figured,” Mark added. He felt even worse by this answer and rather wished he had not asked. He walked toward an old wooden door that had two long cracks that allowed light from the basement to filter through. “I’m…going to go
check out the collection.”

  “I’ll be up here,” Bradley said as he returned his attention to the television. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Will do…”

  I remember staring at this door a lot when I was a bit younger. I always wondered how the cracks got into the door. My father said that the door was salvaged from an older home and that he just liked the old look to it—the old iron keyhole, the textured doorknob, and distinct dark umber grain. I always imagined some kind of creature attempted to escape through the door and had clawed at it. I placed my hand on the doorknob and it gave an old familiar creak as it slowly opened revealing a long wooden staircase. As I descended, I placed my hand against the cold, rough brick wall for stability. I would have hated to fall…after all I’d been through sustaining a major injury was not something I wished to add to the list. As I entered the finished room in the basement, I saw the familiar large sectional black wooden table. Upon the table rested about twenty or so wood and glass cases filled with all manner of coins…although quarters made up a vast majority of the collection. Each case had a red velvet lining and a small pile of coins with a white printed label beneath it giving the date each coin was manufactured. My father used to spend hours down here. I always thought he was adding or moving coins around. It never occurred to me that he was taking coins for assignments...or replacing coins he had used to kill Perpetuals. In all honesty, I had always found his coin obsession boring. I think that always disappointed him. He would try and get me to be a little interested…giving me bits of history my bored mind had long since forgotten. I started to feel terribly guilty. Perhaps this was the sadness that my therapist had told me about. Then again, I felt like I didn’t really know him—at least not the real him. For that, I also blamed him.