Nocturnal

by Mark Allen

  As we glided along in that seedy part of town, we must have been an unusual sight. She a petite, slim, strangely exotic woman in a thick red velvet dress that plunged at the neckline and fell to her feet, and me, a pale, gangly man with a flat face, no hat, no necktie, and no coat – only pants, shoes, no belt or suspenders, and a plain white shirt with long sleeves that did not quite extend down to the wrists of my newly longer arms. And yet we moved along in this dangerous place, neither one of us felt threatened.

  No one accosted us. People on the sidewalk looked away. A few altered course to avoid us. We were the predators, and the prey somehow knew it. And like all prey in the animal kingdom, they got out of the predators’ way.

  I asked my teacher, whom we should target? She asked me whom I would like to target? I thought a moment, and then told her I wanted to target a criminal. A bad person. Someone who deserved to be drained of blood, and possibly die a frightful death, if it came to that. She smiled, showing her fangs. She liked that idea.

  We stopped at a corner, where we could watch people going into saloons and speakeasies, staggering out, random people walking down the street. She told me to pick one person out, and concentrate on them. I did as she asked, and realized what she was trying to teach me.

  If I calmed myself to stillness, I could sense the auras of the humans around me. I could sense who was good, who was bad, who was in between. In time, I would hone this skill to where I can do it at will, turn it on and off like a switch. And I found out later that if I could touch a person, I could see into their souls, know everything about them, everything they’ve done. Every person they ever hurt, every sin they ever committed.

  But that night, I was a newborn vampire, trying to understand my new senses, my new powers.

  We decided on a prostitute who plied her trade nearby. This was a safe choice. Rough men with dark souls and violent tempers frequented the brothels here, and it was not uncommon for young ladies of the evening to be killed or go missing, never to be found. If she survived, no one would ever believe the truth. If she died, she was just another whore who went missing.

  She stood on a corner a block away, wearing a threadbare blouse and long skirt of faded red. She was probably late twenties, but a rough life and barebones existence had made her look closer to forty. She reeked of desperation and sadness. I had found a hat outside a store as we had walked along. It fit fairly well, maybe a little tight, but I could wear it and not look ridiculous. So I pulled my hat down low to hide my face and approached. My teacher followed behind me at a distance.

  The hooker, who was familiar to me and went by the name Trixie, saw me heading her way. She took a step further out onto the boarded sidewalk as I approached. With my head down, we exchanged pleasantries. She did not recognize my voice. With my hat low and my head pointed at the ground, my face was hidden. I feigned embarrassment.

  She asked if the woman with me wanted to watch or participate? I told her she would most definitely participate. Trixie quoted her price, and I agreed. She turned to go inside through the front door, but I stopped her. I asked her if there was a back way, as my partner and I required discretion.

  She smiled and nodded, thinking she understood our intent. She motioned with her hand for us to follow her around the corner. We followed and stepped into the deeper gloom. As my mentor caught up with me, our hostess was assuring us of her utmost discretion, and further assured us of her tender talents, as she had entertained couples such as ourselves before.

  The vampire beside me smiled, stifled a laugh, and replied, “I doubt that.”

  Something in my Vampire Mother’s voice made the woman turn around. I raised my head and looked her square in the eye. She took in our pale faces, our black eyes, our hungry mouths.

  We moved quickly. We grabbed her at the wrists and the mouth, pushing her against the rough-hewn wall of the building. Pure instinct took over. I could hear her heartbeat, smell her fear. Feel the humidity from the sweat on her skin. It excited me, intoxicated me. I could see the gentle pulse under the alabaster skin at the side of her neck. My mouth opened and I descended upon her. That blood was the sweetest I have ever tasted in over a hundred years.

  No one ever forgets their first time.

  I do not know my Vampire Mother’s name. She never told me, and I never asked. She taught me only the most rudimentary of vampire survival skills, and then she was gone. I never saw her again after that first night.

  My Vampire Mother was careful, unhurried, sublime. The word “dainty” comes to mind. She hardly spilled a drop on the ground. Not me, man. I was a slobbering fool. Not for the woman, of course, but for her life-giving blood. I was as sloppy as a Saint Bernard at a water trough.

  It was like a drug that first time. It was as close as I ever came to being high. Oh, that warmth. That pulsating warmth. The slick wetness of it. Even the coppery taste.

  I made a rookie mistake. I reveled in it jut a bit too much that first time. I drained the poor woman to the point of death. Suddenly, Trixie was limp in my arms, a lifeless doll. I could barely hear her heartbeat as I came out of my euphoric trance.

  Vampire Mother scolded me on my lack of self-control. She told me I could not allow Trixie to become like us. I did not know how to be a vampire myself. How could I possibly teach anyone else? My choice was quite simple. I asked how, and she told me to snap her neck. Right away.

  I obeyed quickly, snapping Trixie’s neck with a quick twist to the right, her pliant spinal cord coming apart as the cervical vertebrae gave way, killing her instantly. It was easier than I had expected. A person’s neck is actually quite thick with muscle, bone, tendons running everywhere. It takes an enormous amount of torque, the proper force at the proper time in the proper direction, to do it and do it right. But with my new vampire strength, it popped with little effort.

  Trixie was nothing but a meat sack now, a limp bag of bones. Dead weight, she slid out of my hands. I left her where she fell, and my mentor and I calmly walked away, wiping our mouths. She then gave me the rundown on being a vampire.

  Bottom line, crosses do not paralyze us with fear, nor do we curse God. At least, no more than mortals. We are not compelled to sleep in coffins. Those of us who do have either a morbid sense of humor, or a proclivity for the macabre. Stakes through the heart just piss us off. Silver bullets through the heart? Wrong legend. Same result. We just keep coming.

  Shoot us in the head, now you are getting close. That will stop us temporarily. A shotgun blast to head? That will kill just about anything. I have never heard of one of my kind coming back from that.

  And as I said earlier, sunlight is Death to us, pure and simple. We sunburn and blister in seconds. We swell, bleed, and char in less than a minute. We burn to the bone like a fire victim in less than two.

  Think of it like albinism on steroids.

  Do not ask me why or how. I do not know the why or how. I simply know it is.

  My old life was gone. I had a new one in return. It was up to me to make it right.

  But I was no longer human, and new rules constrained me. I could no longer engage in most “human” activities. My emotions remained largely the same, but the physicality had changed drastically. Daylight was nonstarter, obviously. Eating human food, too. I can drink water, and water-based liquids. Tea, and coffee a little bit. Black only. No sugar, no cream. Anything else makes me violently ill.

  Sex was done, too. Over. Kaput. Forget about it.

  I told She Who Made Me again about Danae. I explained our situation, our plans for our immediate future. What was I to do?

  My vampire mother listened to my every word. She nodded at all the appropriate times, looked sympathetic to my plight. She told me the best thing I could do regarding Danae would be... nothing. Stay away entirely.

  Of course, this was unacceptable to me. I loved Danae, and nothing, not even death, could stop us from being together. She reminded me that I was different now. I looked different, smelled different. Humans would never
accept me. They would fear me. In the end, they would hate me. Danae would hate me. I was in what you might call a “no win” situation.

  I told her she was wrong; she was wrong about Danae.

  Vampire Mother told me to do as I desired, but be prepared for things to not work out. She advised me to make my appearance the following night. Dawn was coming. She would make sure I survived that first night, but after that, I was on my own. Her obligation would be at an end. But this first night, her job was to teach. My job was to learn.

  I was impatient, of course. Most young men are. A sign of immaturity, I think. Over time, we learn the benefits of allowing events to unfold in the fullness of time.

  Vampire Mother and I walked the streets. Trixie’s blood peppered the front of my shirt. Even in the night air, it had dried rusty brown sprayed across the white material. My companion, of course, was neat and tidy. She told me she understood the bloodlust that had overcome me, but warned me to keep it under control.

  Control was the secret of anonymity, she explained. And anonymity was the key to survival. That was probably the most important lesson I learned from my Vampire Mother.

  It was the rule I broke in order to save your life.

  Now, I am exposed. The truth of what I am is in danger of becoming public knowledge. Can you imagine what would happen in this day and age if people were to find out that vampires actually exist?

  I simply cannot have that.

  We need to keep you alive, and that means killing the men who are coming to kill you. Once it is done, I must fade back into the darkness, and you must go on with your life. That day-to-day struggle of life’s peaks and valleys is for you and you alone.

  But know this, my son: from now until the day you die, your movements will be known to me. If you ever need me again, need my special brand of assistance, believe me, I will know.

  In that sense, I will always be there for you.

  I swear it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Detective Reginald Downing sat silent in his seat. Overwhelmed by the story he had just heard and shocked by the vampire’s matter-of-fact candor, Reggie’s mouth hung open, his eyes wide and unblinking.

  The vampire had stopped talking, and now sipped from his glass of iced tea. Smooth, unhurried movements. If Reggie had not known better, he might have assumed the creature sitting across from him was alive, mortal. A bit pale and sickly looking, but mortal nonetheless.

  But Reggie did know better, didn’t he?

  The story the vampire had related was fantastic, incredible. But Reggie understood, on a visceral level, that every word was true. Another realization hit home, like a baseball bat to the center of his forehead.

  Vampires were real.

  And this vampire, this creature who subsisted on human blood, the walking corpse that had been shot, left for dead, delivered from Death, and now sat before him, was indeed his great great Grandfather.

  “I understand now why you helped me.” Reggie’s voice sounded hoarse. “And thanks again for that. But how did you know when and the where?”

  “Elementary, my dear Watson.” The vampire smiled and flicked his wrist. “I have been aware of you since the day you were born. I have kept tabs on you.”

  Reggie was not sure he liked the idea of a supernatural monster keeping tabs on him. The vampire sensed his tension.

  “Nothing intrusive, I assure you.”

  “What then?”

  The vampire leaned forward, elbows on the table for the first time. “Remember in middle school, you wanted to go on that eighth-grade overnight to Big Bear?”

  “Mom said she didn’t have the money.”

  “Times were hard for you and your Mom.”

  Reggie nodded. “She was working two jobs most of my childhood. I think she was looking for another part time job back then.”

  “And what happened?”

  “She found a money order in the mailbox with...”

  “The precise amount of money she needed to send you.” The vampire finished. “Plus a hundred dollars for spending money.”

  “That trip meant the world to me,” Reggie said, remembering. “Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “Mom never said where the money came from.”

  “She did not know.”

  “Think I remember her saying there was a letter in the envelope.”

  “Instructing her to use the money for its intended purpose.”

  “The letter was not signed.”

  “Of course not.”

  “What else did you help us with?”

  The vampire tilted his head upwards and to the right, a subconscious action taken when accessing that area of the brain that retains long-term memory. “I attended your college graduation. The top bleachers in the back.”

  Reggie remembered graduation. It was eight o’clock, in June. “The sun was still out. How did you get inside without frying?”

  “Long pants, long sleeves, gloves, SPF 60 sunblock on my face and neck, and a broad brimmed hat. I waited until dusk before leaving.”

  Reggie contemplated this, nodded. Then Reggie the slaughter aboard the Sulu Sea came rushing back. Had it been less than two days since? It already seemed like a lifetime ago.

  The vampire smiled. If he had been a human being and not an unnatural creature, Reginald would have thought that his great great Grandfather was smiling warmly at him.

  “So you know my father, then?”

  The vampire’s smile fled his face. “Yes.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Passed on.”

  Reggie took the information in, nodded solemnly.

  “Please know, I had no hand in it.” What else could the vampire say after delivering such news?

  “It’s all right. I never really knew him.”

  “He was an addict. Your mother, God love her, had terrible taste in men.”

  “She’s still alive, you know.”

  “And living a life of self-imposed celibacy,” the vampire said. “Hence the past tense regarding her sexuality.”

  “Aw man,” Reggie said, sitting back and waving his hands. “Don’t talk like that.”

  The vampire was confused. “Why not? All humans are born sexual creatures. Of course your parents, your grandparents, and so on were sexual beings in their youth. Be glad they were. Otherwise, you would not be here.”

  Reggie pushed the disturbing mental images out of his mind. “What about my grandfather?”

  “On your mother’s side? Wilfred. My grandson. Married Dottie, your maternal grandmother in 1951. Got shipped off to war in 1952. Korea. Died for his country at the Chosin Reservoir, but not before making sure the bloodline continued.”

  “My mother.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Wait a minute. Grandma Dottie remarried. He’s dead now. But they had another child. Haven’t seen him since I was a kid”

  “Clarence. He did a stint in the Army. Fought in Vietnam. Bounced around a bit after he got back like so many of them did back then. Lives in Sarasota, Florida. Owns a car dealership down there.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Not much for family ties,” the vampire added. “He was a lonely kid before Vietnam. Confused. Never really fit in. Then what with his experiences during that war, and with all the drifting afterwards, well,” he shrugged. “He never married.”

  They sat in silence for a bit. The waitress came by, asked if they needed anything else. They did not. She left the bill turned upside down on the table, walked away with a smile.

  The vampire put his cold withered hand with the long fingers, claw nails, and mottled skin over the slip of paper. He drew it to him, picked it up. He regarded the math work on the ticket, adding the numbers in his head. He nodded to himself.

  “Everything okay?” Reggie asked.

  “Fine,” the vampire answered. “Did you get enough to eat?”

  Reggie grinned. His great great Grandpa was making sure he was full. “
Yes.”

  “Would you like some dessert? Some pie, perhaps?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  The vampire looked around the room, peered through the tinted glass outside. Reggie knew that the vampire saw everything.

  “Is everything all right?”

  The vampire looked at Reggie from across the table. “Yes. Fine.” The vampire moved towards the edge of his seat. “We must not stay in one place too long.”

  “Roger that.”

  They each slid out of the booth, twisting their torsos, contracting their core muscles, extending their legs. They were so similar, Reggie thought. They both moved, both breathed. Both possessed cognitive abilities, both experienced emotions. But only one of them was alive. The other had been dead for over a century.

  What surprised Reggie was that he was already accustomed to this new reality.

  The vampire led the way through the narrow confines of the restaurant. Reggie followed three feet behind him. Back in “cop mode” now, his eyes moved all around, taking in his surroundings. Red vinyl-covered booths squatted on his left. The old-fashioned Americana greasy spoon counter stretched into the distance on the right. The individual stools boasted padded seats covered in matching red vinyl and small backs so a diner could stretch during a meal.

  A young black man ate a tuna melt and onion rings at the counter, fourth seat from the cash register. Interwoven tribal tattoos adorned his arms. Dreadlocks tumbled down to the middle of his back. He paid no attention to Reggie or the vampire.

  In a booth to the left, the second booth from the main entrance a Hispanic family ate dinner. The father, trim, in his thirties, sat with a plate of tacos, beans and rice in front of him. His wife, young and attractive, ignored her Denver omelet with cottage fries to help feed the infant with them. The baby, a girl judging by her pink clothing and pierced ears, appeared to be about six months old. Secured in her car seat and wedged in between the back of the booth and the table’s edge, she held a Vienna sausage in each chubby little fist. She looked from one hand to another, trying to decide which one of eat first.