by Mark Harritt
He let the vampire slip to the floor. The vampire couldn’t move, transfixed by the wooden sticks. Eli gently lowered the body to the floor, ensuring that the stakes stayed in place. When the vampire was arranged on the floor, Eli stood over it. He talked as he looked down at his victim, “I could make it easy on you. One bullet, one shotgun shell, and you’d be consumed by hellfire, nothing left but ash. Or, I could use one of these,” Eli pulled twin short swords from sheaths harnessed under the leather coat. They were exquisite works of art. The workmanship of the blades, the hilts, and the engraving proclaiming that they were superior to any other blades in the world. He made sure that the vampire could see them. “These swords are Faith, and Mercy. These would end your suffering immediately. But I’m not in a generous mood. I’m not inclined towards Mercy at all.”
The vampire was frozen in place. Eli knew that there was nothing it could do. He looked over at the table at Cynthia on the altar. He smiled, and walked around the table. He walked over to the altar, placed his hand on her head, and smiled down at the soft beauty of the girl’s sleeping features. He shrugged out of his coat, and picked her up, wrapping her in the coat. It was cold, and he didn’t want her to suffer in the chill air. Cynthia didn’t move, though her chest rose and fell. He could feel her breath, soft as a butterfly, on his cheek. He used one finger to gently open an eyelid. The pupils were dilated. He frowned. He arranged her on the table so that she would be comfortable. He turned her head from what he was about to do, just in case.
The blade had caught his eye from the other side of the room. Eli looked at the ancient, wicked thing. It was hideous, created to instill fear in its victims. He wondered how many children had died screaming on its ragged edge. He wondered how many innocent lives had been destroyed by this evil instrument. He picked up the blade, and walked back around the table.
He squatted down next to the vampire. “So, here we are. And, in a little bit, you’re going to wish you didn’t have those regenerative powers.”
He couldn’t stay too long, but he carved long enough to do major damage and inflict maximum pain. When he was done, he sawed at the neck. He used the heavy blade to saw at the spine and hack until the head separated from the body. He dropped the knife onto the floor. The loud metallic sound echoed in the room and out into the tunnel. He picked up the head by the greasy locks of hair, and looked into the eyes of the vampire. He knew that the intellect was still in there, peering back out at him. He put the head on the chest of what was left of the vampire’s body. He pulled the ironwood sticks out of the body. Immediately, the body began to heal. He jammed the sticks back down into the chest. The healing stopped. The vampire was still alive. He grabbed the knife, and rammed it down through the top of the head, pinning the head to the chest.
He stood up, grabbed his weapons and ammunition. He walked over to the girl and gently picked her up. He didn’t know how much or what kind of opiates they put into her, but he didn’t want to wake her. God knows she would probably have nightmares for years after this. He hoped she was young enough that she would forget this night, or dismiss it as a bad dream. He stepped out of the room, and walked up the tunnel about thirty feet. He laid her on the floor. He still had something to take care of, and he wanted to make sure that she was safely out of the way. He rummaged around in his jacket, and pulled out a cylindrical object.
He walked back to the corpse. He had a US Army thermite hand grenade. He wedged the grenade into the mouth of the vampire, and pulled the pin. As he walked away, the fuse of the grenade caught, and the thermite began burning at five thousand degrees Celsius. He walked out and scooped up Cynthia. He began jogging down the tunnel to get away from what was turning into a raging inferno. Everything in the brick lined room would be destroyed.
As he jogged past, he heard the cell phone on one of the corpses ring.
“I guess his girlfriend is trying to call him,” he thought.
He kept jogging. Smoke was starting to pollute the air. He passed another body. The previous cell phone stopped ringing, and the one on this corpse began. That one stopped, and the next phone on the next corpse started ringing. This kept happening as he moved through the tunnels and back up to the entrance. He stopped when he got to the first room at the entrance that led into the alley. It was cold out, so he looked, and found a jacket for Cynthia. It had belonged to one of the gangsters that he had killed. This one had been hung from a hook, so no bullet holes or blood on it. He wrapped the girl in it, and put his jacket back on. Another cell phone began ringing. He sighed. It wasn’t going to go away. He walked over to the corpse and rolled it over. He rummaged through the pockets until he found the cell phone. He picked it up, hit ‘answer’, and listened.
He began talking, his responses punctuated as he listened to the other side of the conversation, “Yeah, I’m done here. What, no, I have to take the girl to the hospital first. I don’t know what kind of drugs they put into her. I just want to make sure she’s safe.” He paused, then continued talking, “What? Who do you want me to meet? Are you kidding me? You know I spend most of my time cleaning up after her, right.” There was another pause as he listened, “What, why? Good God. Okay, okay, I’ll watch my language.” There was another, longer pause, “Yes, I’ll meet her, but I’m not happy about it. Where and when?”
The conversation finished. He hit end, then dialed 911, and reported the fire. He threw the phone back down on the corpse. He picked the girl up, wrapped the jacket tightly around her to keep the cold wind at bay. He stepped into the alley and walked into the night, the rhythm of hip-hop music punctuating the timing of his steps.
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Chapter Two – A Greasy Spoon in Brooklyn
Eli carried Cynthia back to the apartment. He placed her on the bed, and began putting equipment away in pelican cases. It wouldn’t do to walk around New York with that much armament on him. The only thing he kept was his Springfield XD. He changed jackets. The chain mail was showing through the leather, and would attract too much attention. He called a friend, Detective Roy Mayland.
Detective Mayland had been asleep. He picked up the ringing cell phone and listened. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
“Hey Roy, how’s it going?”
He had to think for a minute to place the voice, “Eli, is that you?”
“Yeah, how’s it going?”
“Pretty good. It’s been a while.”
“Sorry it’s so early. I hope I didn’t wake the wife.”
“Too late. She’s awake.”
“Sorry. Apologize for me.”
“She’ll understand when she knows who’s calling.”
“Yeah, well. Still, tell her I’m sorry. I’m in town. I was working, and I found a missing girl. Her name’s Cynthia Rowland.”
“You mean, the little girl kidnapped from the park?”
“Yeah, I have her here with me.”
“How did you find her?”
“You know me, Roy. I have contacts in places you don’t want to know about.”
Mayland paused as he thought about it, “Yeah, Eli, I know. All too well.”
Detective Mayland and Eli had worked together when Mayland was working Criminal Investigation in Iraq. Mayland had quit the Army afterwards and applied for work with the NYPD. Since then, Eli had popped up in New York several times. Every time Mayland got a call from Eli, he knew it was going to be interesting. Mayland knew not to ask too many questions.
“So, Roy, can I meet you at University Hospital of Brooklyn. I need to get her into the hospital. The people that had her gave her something. I don’t know what it is. She needs to get checked out.”
“Is she going to be okay?” Eli could hear the concern in Roy’s voice.
“Yeah, she’ll be okay. She’s sleeping, and her breathing’s good. Better safe than sorry, though.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you.”
Eli hung up. He could hear the sound of emergency vehicles in the
distance. He looked out the window. He couldn’t see any smoke, so there was still time for them to get there and take care of the fire.
----------------------------------------------------
Thirty minutes later, Eli was handing off Cynthia to Roy. She was still wrapped in the coat.
“Can you tell me where you found her?” Roy asked.
“Roy, you know better than that.”
Roy nodded, “Okay, Eli, just asking. What about the people that took her?”
“You don’t have to worry about them anymore. They won’t be hurting children again.”
“Eli, you should let us handle this kind of thing,” Roy chastised him.
Eli shook his head, “Roy, if I did that, Cynthia would be dead right now. I got there just in time to stop them. Believe me, if I thought the NYPD could handle it, I’d give you a call and step back. You know what I do. You really think a beat cop could handle some of the things that I deal with.”
Roy thought about it, and then shook his head, “No, not after Iraq. That thing almost killed me. What was it you called it?”
“An Efreet.”
“Yeah, well, you saved my ass in Iraq. No problems.”
Roy took the girl from him, “Hey, Eli, you need to stop by before you leave town again. Nancy would love to see you. The kids are getting big, too. Dave asks about you.”
“I’d love to, but I can’t promise anything right now. I have something else in the works. Tell Nancy that I’ll stop by when I get a chance.”
“Okay, Eli. She’s going to be disappointed, though.”
Eli shrugged, “You know how it is. It’s business. Tell her I’m sorry. Give your kids my love.”
“Okay. Don’t be a stranger though. Three years is too long.”
They said their goodbyes, and Detective Mayland took Cynthia inside the hospital. Eli pulled his jacket tight around him to fight off the cold. He turned south and began walking. He had an appointment to keep. Eli walked south on Bedford Avenue to a greasy spoon he liked. He was glad the meet was there. A few toughs eyed him as he walked. He pulled back his jacket and showed his pistol. They didn’t know who he was affiliated with or what kind of juice he had, so they left him alone.
He opened the door of the restaurant, enjoying the hot air that spilled out. The place was old. It looked like it hadn’t been refurbished since the sixties or seventies. He walked past the patrons to a booth in the back. The patrons were mostly refugees from closing night clubs, trying to get something to eat before they went home.
He took the gunslinger seat to watch the door at the front of the restaurant. The waitress walked over. He looked at her. She was African American, in her mid-forties, and life had not been kind to her. He could see the woman that she used to be, the hope that she had when she was young, and the beauty that she had been. He smiled at her. She smiled back.
“How can I help you honey. My name is Carol. Do you want to start out with something to drink?”
He was early for the meeting, so he decided that he was going to get something to eat. He didn’t look at the menu, ordering coffee, black, and three eggs over easy, hash browns, and wheat toast. She walked away with the order, put the ticket in the window, and brought him back a cup of black coffee. The china was ancient, and had a chip on the rim.
“Do you need cream with that, honey?”
He took a sip of the coffee, “No, this tastes pretty good.”
“Okay, but you let me know if you need anything.”
She walked away to wait on other patrons. He sat there, sipping coffee, waiting for the food to be delivered. Ten minutes later, Carol brought his food to the table. He gave her a twenty for everything, and told her to keep the change. It was a large tip for the service, and she smiled, grateful for the extra money.
He cut into the eggs to let the yolk run. He applied salt and pepper liberally, and used a piece of toast to dip into the yolk. He liked the taste, and kept eating. The food disappeared quickly, and he piled his silverware and the napkins on top of the plate to make it easy for the waitress to collect. She came back, grabbed the plate, noticed that he needed more coffee, went to the counter and came back with the coffee pot. She smiled at him again, showing more interest in him as she refilled his coffee cup. He returned the smile.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to keep drinking coffee for a while. I’m supposed to meet someone here. They should be along soon.”
“Don’t worry, honey, you take your time. It’s a cold night out there. You get free refills anyway.”
He thanked her. Some of the night club refugees were beginning to leave the restaurant. He sat there, waiting for the inevitable. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to blows, but you never knew how these things might end up. If she was in a particularly spiteful mood, she might have the entire group attack him. He wasn’t willing to put it past her to do so.
He knew she would be pissed off. She wouldn’t show it, but she didn’t like it when he spoiled her projects. She was very good at what she did. Men and women often committed horrible crimes for the touch of her hand, or a whisper from her lips. He thought about it, remembering what he had done in his past. Thank God for his sisters. They saved his life, and ultimately, his soul.
The door opened, and she walked in. All motion in the restaurant stopped. As soon as she entered, every head turned to drink in the sight of her. Even people facing away from the door felt her presence, and turned around. He watched as lust replaced the normal expressions on the faces of the patrons and employees. He continued to sip his coffee.
She was beautiful, amazingly so. Today, her hair was red, not like it was dyed, but naturally red, with copper highlights you can’t get out of a bottle. Her hair was shoulder length, cut in a page boy hair style. She was wearing a mid-length black leather coat, a black mandarin dress that was mid-thigh, slit to accentuate her long legs, and cut deep in the front to show off her décolletage, which was ample for her frame. She had on four inch, red, gladiator high heels. Her skin was pale, with subtle freckles across her face.
She looked around, and saw him at the back of the restaurant. She had a large smile on her face as she put one hand on her hip, and pointed at him, “You! You’ve made me so mad. I can’t believe what you’ve done. You are one very, naughty boy.”
At that point, every man in the restaurant wanted to be her naughty boy. Now that she had made her entrance, and everybody knew that she was there, she walked through the restaurant, the four inch heels clicking on the floor. She had one hand on her hip, the motion of her hips exaggerated as she walked. Every head in the restaurant followed her. Her hips synchronized the heartbeats in the room to her rhythm. The rhythm was sensual, sexual. She walked to his table, put one finger down, showing off the red finger nail polish, and tapped the surface of the table. She still had the hand on her hip. She pouted.
“I can’t believe you did that to poor Marty. Do you really believe that he deserved that?”
He motioned to the seat across from him, and she slid in, slowly, to accentuate the movement of her voluptuous figure. He raised his hand to attract the attention of the waitress, “Another coffee please.” He turned to her, “How are you Lilith. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other.”
The waitress grabbed another cup and the coffee pot. Eli took a sip of coffee, not willing to play her games. Lilith pouted at him, then smiled at the waitress as she brought the coffee. Lilith asked for cream and sugar. Carol licked her lips with the tip of her tongue, feeling the sexuality of Lilith deep in her psyche. She took her time pouring the coffee, basking in Lilith’s approval. Eli took it all in, knowing the power that Lilith welded.
The waitress went back for the cream, and he pointed out the sugar on the table. Lilith picked up the sugar and began pouring it into her coffee, stirring the coffee as she did. Carol brought the cream, and Lilith took it without acknowledging her. Carol looked hurt at the slight. Eli touched Carol’s hand. She looked at him, and seemed to wake
from a trance. Eli smiled at her, paid for the coffee, and gave her a dollar tip. She smiled at him and topped off his coffee. She turned and walked back to the counter.
He replied to Lilith, “Marty was his name? How ordinary. When I first ran across him in Yugoslavia, he called himself Magnus Dragomir.”
Lilith nodded, “yes, he was always dramatic. Truth was, I found him selling used cars in Ashtabula, Ohio.” She waved her hand in the air at the memory, “Oh, he was sexy, but he had no real ambition. He did have a taste for bondage, though, and exploiting women. I introduced him to magic, and from then on, he was mine. Still, sixty years was a good run.”
She took a drink of the coffee, then stared at him over the top of the cup. It was a sultry stare, and he pushed down emotions that he hadn’t felt in many years.
“Did you miss me, lover?”
He cleared his throat, “That was a long time ago. And no, I never looked back.”
The pout was back. She reached across the table, and ran one finger against the back of his hand. It was hard to ignore the sensation of her finger against his skin. The pout changed into a seductive smile, “That’s not a nice thing to say to a woman. You’re supposed to tell me that you love me, you miss me, you’ve thought of me every minute since we parted. That’s how you seduce your lover. You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it. We used to have such fun.”
It had been an extremely long time since they were in the same room together, and at that time, they were naked. She had been his downfall. Afterwards, much later, he began to work against Lilith, and others like her. Since then, they had spent the time dancing around each other, never in the same place, trading blows in the fight between good and evil.
He didn’t have the defenses back then that he had now. He had been so naïve. He shifted his hand back from her finger, just far enough so that she would have to move towards him to continue. It wouldn’t do for him to fall to her seduction, not after what his sisters did for him. They found the only person that could save him, and brought him to Eli’s side. He was very lucky that a statement against the forces of darkness needed to be made. Eli was given a second chance to make amends, a chance that he would never waste.
