Empire of Blood [Box Set]

by Robert S. Wilson

  Simon felt as though he merely existed inside another body, unable to move or speak. He could see what this person saw, from their short perspective, leading him to believe he was inhabiting the body of a child. But even stranger, the view before him was a humble room within an oddly built structure. The dirt floor and ceilings were anything but symmetrical. All this he noticed from what he managed to glimpse within the child's movements. He tried to will himself to look down at the body he was trapped within, but seemed helpless to control any of the its motion. A thought repeated in the child’s mind with great excitement. It was intriguing and annoying at the same time. He understood it even though it was in a language he somehow knew to be Sanskrit. He learned several things from the child’s mind. He was a boy of only eight years old who lived in India and whose father was a boat builder.

  Then a deep voice came from outside the room speaking also in Sanskrit.

  "Ishan, my son," the voice said, "are you ready to come with papa?" a tall, smiling, dark-skinned man asked as he came into the room and leaned in front of the boy. Simon felt Ishan's young head bob up and down with great exhilaration. Then, the man's smile brightened and he reached out his hand and ruffled the boys hair. Simon was in no way surprised with the enthusiasm the boy showed. He’d been unable to stop thinking about going with his father. It would be the boy’s first time learning to build boats himself.

  He was not only excited about learning the family trade, he was also ecstatic to be going where his father worked. The boat builders worked in the port city of Muziris. The small village they lived in lay just outside the city, but Ishan hadn’t been to Muziris before. He hoped he would get to see the Roman soldiers his papa had told him about. Or the Greek and Arabian traders; they all sounded very interesting to the boy. He also longed to look up at the great statue of Augustus that towered over the city. Muziris was the greatest of all of India's many ports of trade with the Roman Empire. The Romans came bringing gold and wine in return for spices like pepper and ginger. In India, pepper grew like a weed in great numbers. But the Romans valued it highly, using it in many kinds of food.

  Simon's anger was coming to a boiling point. He had seen, heard, felt, and learned enough. He wanted to wake up now. He tried to scream. Nothing. He tried with all his willpower to move. Still nothing. It was like nothing he ever felt before. He could sense everything his young host could, but affect nothing at all. He couldn't close his eyes and block it out. He couldn't block the thoughts out. Nor could he turn and run away from the body he was imprisoned in. But lingering in a small, dark place within Simon was something he hadn't expected. He loathed it. Why should he care about Ishan's past? Why should he want anything to do with it? But still it sparked his interest and it didn't seem he had a choice but to indulge this strange curiosity.

  * * *

  An alarm sounded from the small device in Peter’s pocket as he sat in the gravel underneath the underpass outside the entrance to the tunnels. He pulled the device out and smiled at it. It was time now. The drug he slipped Ishan would now be fully active and Ishan would be incapacitated enough for Peter to make his move. He only hoped everything else was in place. He stood up and brushed away the gravel sticking to his clothes and walked toward the mouth of the middle tunnel. He knew the Ancestors would be of no concern as they had always went into The Sleep earlier than the others. When he came to the entrance of the nest, he saw his biggest worry was inconsequential as well. The password override he’d chosen to be entered into the system had been taken care of. He prepared himself to attack as the door opened, but as planned the hall inside and the room beyond seemed to be empty. If his directions had been followed, all the others would have been sent to their chambers by the time he stepped inside. As he came down the silver hall, he smiled in response to its emptiness.

  * * *

  As Kato looked over the long printout of Simon's brain scan, he heard movement from outside the door of the small infirmary. He stopped what he was doing and listened. Then, he heard a light tap on the frosted glass window of the door. He took a moment to compose himself and gently set the long roll of paper back down on top of the printer. He opened the door casually, expecting any one of the many vampires who might come here looking for him or Ishan. Instead, as soon as the door was ajar, he was surprised to see Peter standing outside the door, smirking.

  * * *

  Hank could see the vial just ahead of him as he crawled for it. He thought he might be close enough to reach it. He drew his arm out and stretched his fingers toward it. Not quite. He was about to pull his arm back when he heard a swift movement and a swooshing in the air. Before he could look up to see what happened, a foot came crashing down in front of him, crushing his hand as it landed. He screamed as the worst physical pain he ever felt came from what was left of his hand. He didn't bother looking up, knowing the foot was attached to Rachel. He could only lie there and moan in agony. She lifted her foot and he could see the mess that was left behind. He felt nauseous. If he hadn't been in so much pain, his nausea might have overtaken him. But the torrential stinging from his hand made him forget he ever had a stomach.

  Rachel had moved from his line of vision. He tried to look around for her but couldn't bear to move too much as each slight movement of any part of his body heightened the terrible mixture of throbbing and stinging of his hand. He tried again to turn his head and felt fingers slide up the back of it. He screamed out as they gripped a full handful of hair and pulled his head back. He felt a slight, cold breeze hit the right side of his face and then heard a whisper that turned his world upside down.

  "If you'll just die now, Hank, we can be together," Diana's voice whispered in his ear.

  A wave of pain with more sting, pressure, and throbbing than any physical ailment could ever manage filled Hank like water overfilling a glass. He couldn't understand what he was hearing. Was Rachel channeling his long-lost wife? It didn't make any sense. She whispered in his ear again.

  "It's okay, honey. It will all be over soon," she said.

  Hank squealed in a pitch he hadn't known his vocal chords capable of. He turned his head just enough to see Rachel's face next to his with a menacing grin baring her pointed canines.

  Then, in Diana's voice, she spoke again.

  "What's the matter, Hank, don't you recognize the true love of your life?" her voice dripping with bitterness and sarcasm.

  Hank looked at her in terror. He couldn't understand what was happening.

  "How are you doing that?" he cried.

  "Neat, isn't it?" she asked in her own voice. "You see, some of us have talents beyond the rest. I happen to have the talent of mimicry." she said, widening her smile and showing more teeth.

  "But how?" he whined, trying to find the words to complete the sentence.

  "Oh, that part was easy. Not even a talent, really. Just the drinker's curse. You see, all of us learn much from those we drink from."

  Hank looked at her, his face a mix of confusion, anger, and anguish.

  "Don't look at me like that. I know you're not smart enough to understand. When I spilled your blood for the challenge, it spilled onto my tongue. Not a lot, but enough," she said, still smiling.

  He had forgotten about this. It all made sense now, though it didn't soothe the pain, not even a little bit. She pulled back on his hair again, causing the floor of the building above to be the only thing in view. Then, she slithered her face against the side of his and whispered into his ear in Diana's voice again.

  "I'm only supposed to kill you. But after you insulted my lover and I saw yours from your very memory, I decided to have a little fun with you along the way," Hank was spinning in place, trying to figure out who she was talking about.

  "Lover?" was all he could get out as Diana's voice seemed to resonate throughout his skull.

  "The greatest of us all. The one who will soon take his rightful place as our master and lead us to victory against your puny people," she said.

  Hank still d
idn't get it and was sure his face was showing it. He took a moment to gather some courage and warm up some of the chill in his heart.

  "You'll have to forgive me. I piss off a lot of people and I can't make anything out of all this gibberish. Give me a name, you psychotic bitch!" he yelled as he struggled to free his head. He felt his neck crack slightly as she pulled harder in a quick motion. As he felt his consciousness slipping, he heard her speak once more.

  "Peter!" she said, caressing the name with her lips. As his brain tried to process what she had said, Hank's vision began to blur. Then, he felt everything slide away from him.

  * * *

  "You're early," Kato said, pulling the door the rest of the way open.

  "I can't help it that everything is going even smoother than I planned," Peter said.

  "Not quite everything," Kato said angrily. "You told me Isingoma wouldn't get hurt, you promised!"

  "He's alive, isn't he? Besides, he put up more of a fight than they expected. If I had been there myself, I would have been able to prevent it, but you know as well as I do where I was then."

  "I don't care where you were or how much of a fight Isingoma put up!"

  "I'm sorry, Kato. I will give your brother a special place in my council."

  Kato relaxed, thinking this over for a moment.

  "All right. Come in, then," he said, gesturing inside.

  * * *

  Peter stepped into the room, looking greedily at Ishan's body.

  He took slow, deliberate steps toward Ishan's bedside. He gently ran his hand down Ishan's face, over his chin, and down the front of his throat then down the side of his neck. He stopped when his fingertips were hovering just over the carotid artery, savoring the excitement of what he was about to do. Then he leaned down onto one knee and whispered into Ishan's ear.

  "Goodbye, old friend. I hope your dreams are filled with things vivid and sweet. Because, they will be your last." He moved toward Ishan's neck. Then, with utter loss of control, he lunged his teeth into the ancient vampire's neck, piercing right into the artery he had singled out, and drank.

  Chapter 16

  Break On Through...

  From within the void, Hank noticed a trickle of light as fuzzy shapes and colors started molding together into movement. Maybe it was because of the voice he had just been painfully made to remember, but the movement before him resolved into Diana. No, it wasn't Diana after all. It was her. The girl from downtown. The one who got him into this mess in the first place. Well, that wasn't completely accurate. He shared a big part of the responsibility as well.

  Even though she was dressed like trash, she took his breath away as soon as he saw her. He was crossing Illinois Street, minding his own business. She looked so much like his dead wife that Hank found himself staring at her from the middle of the street and only realized it when he was woken by several angry car horns. He was there now, all over again, watching her. The sound of car horns and disgruntled shouts for Hank to move caught her attention and she turned and looked right at him. He froze again just like he did back then. He tried to fight it, but he found himself doing just as he did that day.

  He raised his arm to keep her attention, but she turned and race-walked away from him. This time he understood why. He failed to notice the first time that he must have looked like a madman looking for an innocent victim to assault. Just like the gesture itself, he was unable to stop himself from repeating his next move. He ran after her. She had just disappeared around the western corner of West Ohio Street, looking back at him as if in fear for her life, just like she had then. He never knew why he had taken off after her, not even then. He hadn't thought it was his wife, he just wanted to talk to her for some strange reason. As if meeting her would give him some kind of closure that nothing else had so far. This time, even though he knew how ridiculous his reasoning had been, he found himself still unable to prevent his actions. He grabbed hold of the two-tone granite wall to help slow him as he spun around the corner. He called out to her as he set foot onto the sidewalk of Ohio Street.

  "Ma’am! Please, wait! You look like someone. I just want to talk to you," he yelled out as he gestured toward her again.

  Almost breaking into a run, the woman seemed to have no interest in meeting Hank. She reached into her bag as she started to run and pulled out a cell phone. The phone had shiny, gem-like designs on it. Every other second or so, it reflected a blinding ray of sunlight into Hank's eyes as the woman ran with it at her ear. As she talked into the phone too fast for Hank to understand, he saw her glance periodically at his reflection in the windows that lined the building beside them to the left. The next thing Hank knew, she made it to the end of the block and swung left fast, following North Capital Avenue. Hank noticed as he turned onto the street himself that the same configuration of four windows grouped between stone pillars lined this side of the building as well. But it didn't last long. The building ended at an opening between itself and the next building that lead into a parking garage built into the next building.

  She turned left and ran into the opening for the garage. Hank knew what was coming but had, by this point, realized that there was no escaping the fact that he was going to relive it completely untainted from the first time.

  The pimp came running out from the ground level of the garage right on cue, baseball bat in hand. Hank stopped immediately, holding his hands up in a gesture that clearly said, "please don't hit me." The Diana clone ran behind the pimp without looking back as if she were running for home base in the major leagues. The heels of her shoes nearly broke off as she waddled for the garage.

  "Starla doesn't hook up with anyone without an appointment made through me, ya hear, son?" the pimp said as he aimed the bat in Hank’s direction. He stood about six feet tall, wearing a brown corduroy suit with a purple silk handkerchief hanging from his jacket pocket and a cowboy hat that almost matched the color of his suit. Aside from the handkerchief, his clothes nearly camouflaged his pale skin. And here it was, the crucial moment, more than any other, that Hank wanted so badly to do over. It was the last chance he could have taken to walk away. Even though he knew in the real world, no one could really go back and do anything over again, he still tried to will himself to do just that. But no dice. He once again found himself reaching in his back pocket for his wallet with his right hand as he continued to hold his left up in that gesture of safety. The pimp, with a look of greedy curiosity, watched him as his arms loosened, letting the bat rest against his shoulder.

  "How much for your trouble? Please, I just need to talk to her for a little while. She looks just like my..." he trailed off as the pimp let his right hand steady the bat against his shoulder and reached out to snatch Hank's wallet from his hand. In any sane situation, this move would have pissed Hank off and he would have said as much. But he didn't want to spoil his chance at speaking with the girl. It was like he was in a trance. The pimp was counting all the money in Hank’s wallet and looking pleased. Hank had just withdrawn a large chunk from the ATM to make a payment on the car he was buying for Toby. He would still have time to get more out and make the payment. He just had to talk to this girl who looked so much like his Diana. When the pimp had taken all the cash and thrown the wallet back to Hank, he turned and whistled behind him.

  Slowly and cautiously, the girl came out of the shadows of the garage and made her way toward the two of them. Once she exchanged glances with the pimp, her whole aura seemed to change like the difference between night and day. Before Hank could stop her, she was caressing up and down his arm with her fingers and beaming at him. The effect was immobilizing, as her expressions were too much like Diana's.

  When they entered the room at the Hilton down the way on Market Street, Hank found himself simply staring at Starla. She returned his stare patiently. She seemed to wait for some kind of instructions. When none came, she sat him down on the foot of the bed. Now that he had her attention and had spoken with her, he realized all he really wanted was to look at h
er for a while. To watch her face make the different expressions it made, whatever they be. To fade into the illusion that she had never died in the first place and everything was right with the world. After a while, she spoke.

  "You like to watch, huh? You want me to take off my clothes so you can see a little more of me?" she asked coyly.

  "No, that's okay. I just want to look at you. You look so much like her," he said.

  Her expression changed to one of pity as he felt tears slide down his face. But just as quickly as that, her expression changed again. She put her hands on his chest and slid them up over his shoulders as she moved closer to him. It was so reminiscent of something Diana would have done that it caught him off guard. He let himself be gently pushed back onto the bed as she leaned forward and began kissing his neck. The illusion disappeared and Hank wept. Starla stopped in obvious aggravation and sat up abruptly, still straddling Hank.

  "What's the matter, huh?" she asked in exasperation.

  Hank went to say something, but she put her finger to his lips and wiped the tears from his eyes with both of her hands.

  "Suck it up, hun," she said and then started pulling Hank's shirt up.

  He tried to stop her, but in his emotional state, she had the upper hand. Before he knew it, she had both their shirts off. He couldn't help but notice the silky black bra she wore and felt a surge of mixed feelings. He hadn't been with a woman since Diana, so it wasn't surprising that he felt desire. Yet, he also felt a revulsion as he realized how different this lookalike of his loving bride really was. She was sitting there attempting to unbuckle his belt as he tried to, as gently as he could, push her away from him. The result was that his hands were on her shoulders in what must have looked like a willing action to the police officers who busted in the door the next second. It wasn't long after that he found out Starla and her pimp were infiltrated and given a chance to regain their freedom by luring in would-be customers. For the second time, Hank wondered if that brief moment in which Starla showed him a look of pity was just an act or the real thing.