by Alicia Ryan
He heard runners approaching on the path below and lowered his voice to a whisper. “What do you mean? Have you investigated?”
Toria released his arm. “Of course,” she retorted. “I’m looking into all of them myself. They’re all young, and some appear to have died in the usual ways, but not all of them. The official explanation, of course, is that they killed themselves, but I don’t believe it.”
“So what do you think is happening?” he pressed.
Toria splayed her hands open. “I don’t know yet,” she said. “So far all I have is rumors.”
“Why am I just hearing about this now?” Ash demanded.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” Toria said with a touch of what seemed like genuine hurt. “I know you don’t like it when we intrude into your human life.” She spat out the word human as if it was a bit of bad meat. “Besides, you haven’t been in town for some time now.”
Another pair of runners trudged past on the path below. Ash shook his head. “We can’t talk properly here,” he said. “I’m going to be in New York on business for at least a few weeks. Come by my townhouse when you’ve got more information, and I’ll see if there’s anything I can do.”
Toria nodded, murmured an all but inaudible word of thanks, and backed away into the darkness.
Ash turned in the opposite direction and retraced his steps back down the hill. Halfway down, a strangled grunt forced him to turn back.
Toria’s discarded jogger lay awkwardly at the base of the tree. The sweat on his skin hadn’t even dried, but he was pale and unmoving. Ash knelt and put two fingers to the man’s throat, detecting a very weak pulse. The poor man wouldn’t last much longer. Suddenly, the man’s eyes opened, and Ash drew back, startled.
“My wife,” the man pleaded. He drew in a breath as if to say more, but no words came.
He stared at Ash for another moment before his gaze went blank, and Ash was shocked to find that the man’s emotion had touched him, reaching a place in him he thought long hardened. Whoever he was, the man bore real love for his wife. Ash remembered the feeling, and was surprised he still could. When he thought of Delilah it was usually hate and recrimination that rose to the fore.
Putting her out of his mind, Ash looked into the man’s slowly closing eyes and decided to do something he had not done in many lifetimes—something he’d thought never to do again. He flexed his tongue against his palette to expose his fangs.
There was no need to drain any more blood from the man; only the final step remained. With one fang Ash opened a vein in his own wrist and pressed it to the man’s lips, ignoring the flicker of doubt coalescing at the back of his mind. As the first and strongest vampire, the ones he created were very powerful. Ash hoped he was not making a mistake with this man. Perhaps nostalgia had gotten the better of him, but he thought the time might have finally come when his progeny need not be killers.
Ash let the man drink his fill. The effort weakened him, but he immediately pulled out his phone and called his driver. They needed to get out of the park.
He waited just a moment as his strength returned, then stood and dragged the semi-conscious runner to his feet. He couldn’t stand, but Ash slung one of his arms across his shoulders and braced the man’s body against his own. Then he carried him, feet dangling just above the ground, to the edge of the park
A short car ride later, Ash slung the now completely unconscious man over his shoulder and carried him in through the garage entrance of his townhouse. After three flights of stairs, he opened the door to one of the spare bedrooms and deposited the man onto the bed.
CHAPTER 3
Except for the wooden chair in which she sat and the bouquet of Number 2 pencils on Detective Simmons’ desk, every other surface in the Midtown North police precinct seemed to have taken refuge under innumerable coats of medium blue paint. Blue stretched out before her in every direction.
“And that was the last time you heard from him?” Detective Simmons asked.
Ariana nodded, the motion increasing the strange sense she had of being at sea. She looked back at the detective and caught his cloudy eyes roving over her figure, so she returned the favor. Neither tall nor short, with just the beginnings of a comb-over, Detective Simmons was as plain as his name.
“So the two of you no longer live together, is that right?” the detective asked.
“Yes. James moved out just over a month ago,” Ariana explained, “but he wouldn’t go away without telling me.”
Detective Simmons’ viewed her with skepticism. “So, you think he’s been missing for three days?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ariana confirmed. “We spoke on Friday night, and I haven’t been able to reach him since.”
The detective made a half-hearted notation on his yellow pad. “And what time was it when you got this call on Friday?”
“Around ten.”
“You were working?” The detective asked, looking away from her to scribble something else onto the pad.
“Yes,” Ariana repeated, wondering if he was really writing anything down.
“And did your husband sound unusual in any way?”
Ariana hesitated. “No, he just wanted to see if I’d signed the divorce papers.”
The detective lowered his pen. “Is it possible your husband just doesn’t want to talk to you?” he asked. “Or maybe he’s off rethinking the divorce?”
His voice had grown patronizing, but Ariana thought he was trying to be nice. “No,” she said slowly, shaking her head. “He’d made up his mind.” An errant lock of blonde hair slipped into her field of view; she hastily tucked it behind her ear.
Detective Simmons’ skeptical look resurfaced. “You’re sure he couldn’t just be holed up in a bar somewhere?”
“My husband doesn’t drink, officer,” Ariana said through tight lips. “He was in his apartment on Friday night, and now he’s nowhere to be found. If you knew James, you’d know that something must have happened. Please tell me you’ll help me.”
The officer drew back in his chair. “Look, lady, don’t worry,” he said, pushing his yellow pad in her direction. “Put down his full name and address, and if you know where he likes to go, put that down too. We’ll put someone on it tonight. We’ll check his apartment, hospitals… and we’ll let you know what we find.”
Ariana carefully wrote down the address of James’ apartment, his office, and the words CENTRAL PARK in giant letters, and slid the pad back across the desk. Detective Simmons read it and gave her a questioning look.
“He jogs there at least four times a week,” she explained.
The detective slid the pad to one side. “That’s very helpful, Mrs. Chambers. That will give the boys somewhere to start.”
Ariana stood and pulled one of her business cards from her wallet. “Please take this, Detective,” she said. “I understand it may not seem urgent to you, but I know something has happened to James. Please,” she reiterated, pressing the card firmly into his calloused hand, “call me when you find out anything.”
Detective Simmons slipped the card into his shirt pocket and handed her one of his own. “Likewise, Mrs. Chambers, if you think of anything else, please give us a call.”
“I will, Detective, thank you.”
“Mrs. Chambers?”
Ariana turned back.
“One more question. Does your husband have a life insurance policy?”
Ariana knew he was just doing his job, but couldn’t keep her gaze from turning to ice. “Yes, he has one through his job, but I think you’ll find out when you start investigating,” she leaned hard on the word, “that I’m not in any sort of financial difficulty. Of the two of us, I have the far bigger paycheck.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Chambers.” The detective rose from his chair and extended his hand.
Ariana shook it grudgingly, knowing she couldn’t afford to offend him.
Back out on the street, irritation at Detective Simmons and at her own inability to do more fuele
d her pace as she headed back toward her apartment. The sun had set while she was inside, but the streets of midtown Manhattan still glowed. Not even the sky was truly dark; tonight it was more of a deep mauve, some low clouds having rolled in to reflect the light of the city back to its nocturnal denizens.
With the hours she put in at the office, Ariana had given up seeing the sun, but sometimes she really missed the stars.
She’d grown up on a farm, where the sky stretched as far as the eye could see in any direction, and the stars were visible almost every night. You could even see the Milky Way from there. But not here.
This was a city that felt no need for further adornment. Its boxy silhouette of concrete and glass and steel reflected back the sun during the day and allowed the city’s own radiance to block out the sky at night, as if thumbing its proud nose at the only things that might rival it.
Ariana supposed it was just as well. The yawning emptiness of the night sky seemed designed to make humanity feel small, and New York was a monument to human achievement. Tonight though, she longed to look up into the stars and believe in something bigger than just herself.
CHAPTER 4
James thought he must be dead, but his mind cleared and he realized that if he were dead, it probably wouldn’t hurt so much.
He slowly opened his eyes. Everything was still dark. Great, he thought, I’m blind in addition to being almost dead. Slowly, however, his eyes began to adjust to the low light, and he realized he wasn’t blind after all, just lying in a bed in a dark room. He struggled to get up, but a voice from the darkness told him to lie still.
James froze as fear rippled through him. In the far corner of the room he could just make out the seated figure of a very large man. As he stared, the visual sharpened, bringing his captor into focus. It was hard to tell his age. His hair was black, springy, without even a hint of gray, but the carved expression on his face belonged to someone much older. A well-tailored suit did little to hide the defined musculature underneath.
James’ mind raced as a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Kidnapped, he thought, I’ve been kidnapped, and this guy is here to guard the prize.
“Not exactly,” his captor snorted in retort.
Even as he thought it, James knew he was wrong. The power that clung to this man was more than just physical power. It was also money, probably very old money, and something else James couldn’t quite put a finger on.
“Well, what then?” James said, trying to remember if he’d made his first comment out loud. “What the hell happened to me?” he asked. “Who are you? Where am I?” His voice began to rise in panic.
The man started to get up, but appeared to think better of it and returned his large body to the chair.
“My name is Ash Samson,” he said, answering James as calmly as if they had just met at a friend’s dinner party. “You’re in my home. You were attacked in the park. Out for a late run, I believe.”
James thought back. He remembered calling Ariana to ask her to sign the divorce papers. He remembered going for the run. And then something else. Something dark descending from above as he rounded a lonely curve. Something grabbing him by the neck and hoisting him into the air. Something sucking the life out of him. He began shaking his head from side to side in almost unconscious denial.
“No,” Ash insisted, “your mind is not playing tricks on you. What you remember is exactly what happened. The woman who attacked you—” Ash stopped at James’ confused look. “Alright, the thing that attacked you,” he said, “was a vampire named Toria. She, unfortunately for you, has a taste for joggers.”
“What kind of goddamned sick joke is this?” James demanded, swinging his feet to the floor. “Look, I don’t know what happened to me or what part you played in it, but I’m going to leave now, and...” he broke off for a moment as Ash rose from the chair to his full height, but he swallowed hard and continued on, “...and if you just stand aside, I won’t call the police.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Ash said, his voice dark and level.
“Are you saying I’m not free to leave?”
“I’m not holding you prisoner, if that’s what you mean.” Ash returned to his former seated pose. “But you were basically dead just a few days ago.”
“Days!” James knew he was yelling, but didn’t care. “Days? Why didn’t you take me to a hospital?” He raced on, not waiting for an answer. “My God, does my wife know I’m okay?”
“You’re not okay,” Ash replied. “And there was no time to get you to a hospital, James. The only thing I could do was to give you my blood.”
James looked confused. “Are you a doctor?”
“No,” Ash said patiently. “I’m a vampire.”
“Oh, shit,” James muttered, convinced now that he’d been kidnapped by a well-dressed lunatic.
“James, please. This will be much easier for you to understand if you just let me explain.”
“How do you know my name?” James demanded, bracing himself for the next sinister twist.
Ash pointed to a pair of well-worn running shoes on the floor at the end of the large wooden bed frame. “There’s a little pouch on your shoe with an ID card in it,” Ash explained.
“Oh,” James said.
“I am 3,000 years old,” Ash began. “In my mortal life, I was known as Samson, and most of what has been written about me was true. I was a rash, barbaric young man, who, despite that, believed myself a servant of God. No, don’t scoff,” he said, when James couldn’t keep the look of skepticism off his face. “Others believed it too.”
“Right up until you sold your soul to Delilah?” James asked, wondering how this tale could get any more fantastic.
“That woman betrayed me,” Ash said. When James made no comment, he continued on. “Since you seem to know the story, you’ll remember I supposedly died in the rubble of a Philistine temple that I brought down in one final act of God-given strength.” Ash shifted his gaze from James to stare at a spot on the wine-colored curtains. “Obviously, that wasn’t quite what happened. Something happened to me that day, something that turned me into this.” Ash gestured at the length of his seated body. “I don’t know if there are other vampires older than me. All the ones I have ever known are ones I created or their progeny. As are you.”
“Listen, that’s a great story,” James said, “really it is, but I have to go.”
“Why does no one ever just believe me?” Ash asked to no one in particular. “In 3,000 years, you’d think someone would give me the benefit of the doubt.” He let out an exaggerated sigh and pressed a button on a small remote control that sat on the arm of his chair.
The heavy curtains over the window beside the bed made a whirring sound as they drew open. Bright sunlight streamed into the room, lighting the space between the two men.
James lifted an arm to shield his eyes. “What am I supposed to do,” he asked, irritated, “climb out the window?”
Ash smiled. “No, you are supposed to reach out your hand.”
James was suddenly hesitant.
“Come on,” Ash prodded, “put that skinny arm of yours into the sunlight. I’ve told you I made you a vampire. Now I will prove it to you.”
James stood and took one long stride, putting his whole body into the square of light coming in from the window. “I don’t know what you expected to happen, but obviously I’m…” James’ voice trailed off, as pain and confusion warred for the expressive territory of the newest vampire’s face.
Moments went by, and still James stood there, burning, but not believing.
When he started to smoke, Ash got up, went over to him and gave him a push that sent him tumbling backwards onto the bed.
“Don’t be a fool, James,” Ash said. “It’s exactly as I’ve told you. You will be extremely photosensitive for a few years.”
“I’m smoking,” James said, finally coming out of his stupor. His voice rose again in panic as he looked at the white wisps coming from his
hands. “I’m actually smoking.” His eyes flew to Ash’s face. “I don’t call that just being photosensitive.” Now he started to yell. “I call that being a fucking, goddamned VAMPIRE! What have you done to me?”
“Saved your life?” Ash suggested.
James’ skin began returning to its former color. “I have to go,” he said, struggling to a sitting position. “I have to get out of here.”
“James you aren’t ready. How will you live? How will you feed?”
“Feed?” James cried. “Dear God, what have you done to me?” He gave Ash a look filled with all the horror his brain could muster. “I don’t know why you’ve done this,” he said after a moment spent struggling to fit this new reality into the world he thought he knew, “or even exactly what ‘this’ is, but I want to leave here and never set eyes on you again. So tell me what I need to know,” James demanded. “Tell me what I need to know to be able to leave here and never come back.”
Ash stiffened. “Very well,” he said, grabbing the remote and returning the drapes to their closed position. “Follow me.”
CHAPTER 5
Ash led him downstairs into an office where panels roughly one foot square, made of a rich, red wood James didn’t recognize, covered all four walls. Thick beige carpet muffled their footfalls as they entered.
“Am I dead?” James asked.
Ash turned around. “No, James, you are most definitely not dead. You can still breathe and eat and do most other things you used to.”
James’ eyes widened.
“You will find, however,” Ash continued, “that you have little desire to do any of those things. Your body needs more oxygen now than it did before. You can get some of your requirements of oxygen by breathing if you must, but your body has been changed into a very efficient mechanism for removing oxygen from human blood. It also uses some of the proteins in the blood for cell regeneration, but oxygen is the main requirement.”
