Yawning, he stepped through the door and into a maze of tunnels that worked their way into deadly traps scattered throughout his underground chamber. Another whoosh signaled the door locking behind him. With the candelabra in his right hand, Alex moved through the maze and watched the flickering shadows play on the walls.
Alex stopped short and blinked. He saw what he thought was Malcolm's face, shining menacingly in the light ahead. He held the candles out toward the face, but the image wavered in the candlelight and disappeared.
Hmmmm, he thought, perhaps the night ahead will prove eventful after all.
Except for his echoing footsteps, the tunnels were deadly silent. Once he reached the end of the tunnels, he faced yet another heavy steel door with an electronic lock. Again, Alex entered a code on a keypad and exited the tunnels into a small closet.
Finally, he came to a thick oak door that simply needed a key. He removed the key from the pocket of his pajama shirt. Alex unlocked the door, entered the actual bedroom of his house, and relocked the entryway to the tunnels like he always did.
More out of habit than concern, Alex scanned the room with all his senses. Despite popular legend, the many mirrors in the room reflected his image off each other.
Alex gazed longingly at the four poster bed in which he never slept. The thick mattress was clothed in burgundy blankets with piles of decorative pillows scattered across the head of the bed. Burgundy and black dominated the color scheme: black carpet, burgundy walls, and sheer black curtains shading the windows.
Preferring the softer light of candles, he bypassed the light switch and went to the dressing table. He placed the candelabra on the table and picked up a candle that stood in a golden holder with biblical carvings on its base. Each time he lit the candle he was reminded of his time in Rome. The things there were so beautiful he couldn’t resist bringing something home for himself.
Alex knew his hobby of decorating bordered on obsessive. He brought back things from his journeys all over the world to put in his main house in Reno. But his house was finished.
On top of that, his casinos practically ran themselves. His place on the Higher Collective only occupied him every now and then.
He found it an awful feeling, having no purpose.
He tried to ignore the weakness that plagued his body with pain, indicating it was time to feed again. Glancing at his nightstand, he noticed the blinking red message light on his cellphone. Pushing back the pangs of hunger, he checked the messages.
Damion’s smooth voice came through the earpiece. “Hey Alex, I’ve set a Collective meeting for tonight. Something is going down with Malcolm ... I really don’t like the feel of it. I think we all need to get together to talk about this one. Eleven, conference room.”
Clicking his phone shut and throwing it on the bed, Alex went to his closet and rummaged through his clothes. With exacting care, he chose a black Armani suit, complemented by a dark red dress shirt. Dark red was his power color, and he loved to feel powerful.
In the connecting bathroom he stripped out of his pajamas. The reflection staring back at him was one that would never change. Until the end of his existence, each time he looked in the mirror, he would see a twenty-eight-year-old man. His harsh Russian features would forever remain without wrinkles, and his coal black hair would never gray. His eyes, though, told the story of his age, and even he could see the stories in them.
His bare arms and chest still held the large muscles of the hardworking man he had been as a mortal. Although, his chest now bore the one mark he had allowed himself to get. He ran his fingers over the red longevity symbol. He had chosen longevity as a marker for being immortal. Like it was yesterday he remembered China and the tattoo shop where he had received the tattoo. As a last minute decision he asked the artist to add the three koi fish in a circle around the longevity symbol because the koi fish were associated with life-long good luck. And he felt like he sure need some of that.
Alex continued to think about China and its rare beauty while he carefully applied a dark, skin-colored foundation to his face and hands to cover his paleness. It was worth the effort to prevent mortals from questioning his light skin. After checking himself in the mirror again, Alex donned his black leather overcoat, a long flowing garment that swept the floor.
He allowed himself one last approving glance in the mirror, grabbed his briefcase off his dresser, and left the room.
He opened the garage door and sighed with pride. The room glimmered with glossy paint and shiny chrome from the many vehicles. He chose his orange ’69 Mustang, because he wanted to stop at the church before the meeting, but he didn’t have much time to spare. He slipped into the driver’s seat, set his briefcase on the seat beside him, and then, with the turn of the key, the car came to life. After he backed out of the garage, he shut the doors with a remote and roared his way out of the long driveway.
At that hour of night, the pine-tree-lined streets were deserted. Alex liked that. Living outside the city, between Reno and Lake Tahoe, gave him more privacy. Although it was raining, he opened his window halfway to let in the fresh scent of the rain-washed earth.
When he approached the city, he took in the view of the lights. For Alex, each time was like the first time. The lights were like beacons, calling to him, enticing him. For that matter, he thought the lights were like vampires, deceivingly beautiful, alluring, and full of promise.
Until you’re bitten, he thought.
Unable to help himself, he chuckled and continued the drive into the city. Traffic there was crazy compared to the lonely streets near his home. Among the multitude of hotels and casinos dominating the city, he kept his focus on the Lucas Hotels and Casinos—the massive towers stood tall and proud—while he drew closer to them.
He passed the exit and kept going for a few miles until he came to a stop in front of a large brick church. He parked the car, ran through the rain, and ascended the cement stairway. Alex found the church deserted and locked, as it always was that time of night.
Taking out his set of lock picks, he thought about the old days when churches were never locked. They were always open for the public whenever someone needed to be close to God.
Upon entering, he felt a presence; not God, but something else.
Danielle.
She had always had a habit of following him when she was invisible. Although he knew she was there, he rarely let on. He couldn’t think of any reason why she would want to keep herself secret from him, since she knew he would tell her anything she wanted to know. Besides, she could read minds.
Although the bricks muffled the sound of the rain, its presence was evident. It drizzled down the outside of the multicolored stained glass windows.
It’s like they are melting, Alex thought as he stared at them.
An aisle separated two sets of pews, and at the far end of the church, behind the podium and the large choir section, was the baptismal area.
Following his usual ritual, Alex knelt in front of the podium at a short wooden table that, without fail, held a fresh flower arrangement. It also held a large leather-bound Bible, always opened to the same verse: John 3:16.
Alex lowered his head and spoke aloud to the empty church, his voice echoing in the darkness. “Lord, forgive me. I have sinned. I live a life of sin. Yet, you let me live. Again and again, I ask how that can be. How is it that you could let something as evil and corrupt as I live on this earth and walk with the humans you created?"
He dropped his head lower.
“I still don’t understand a lot of things you have shown me, Lord. I'm depressed. I've never asked for anything from except guidance and strength, but it's time I humbly ask, just this once, for you to bless me with something to give me the will to go on.”
A clap of thunder shook the walls of the church.
“This depression has become too great. I can barely rise from sleep when the sun sets. None of the hobbies that previously occupied me so well interest me anymore.”
Alex paused and took in a deep, shuddering breath.
“I would never try to bargain with or demand anything from you. I would never be so bold as to assume I'm owed anything. All I ask is for some kind of meaning to this life, or after-life; whatever you wish to call it.
“I need a reason to persevere. After all, I no longer have a family. The only thing I have, besides a few friends, is the everlasting torment of being one of the most unholy creatures to walk this earth.
“Please hear me and consider the needs of one of your servants. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything you have given me. I would do anything for you. I am yours in all ways, and I am yours in everything.
“In Jesus’s precious name, Amen.”
When Alex rose from his knees, contentment flowed through his veins and filled him up. He felt the same every time he prayed.
A moment later, he rushed out the door, stopping only to relock it like he always respectfully did.
“Do you think he’s ready?” Damion asked.
“He’s past ready,” Danielle murmured while she slipped off her perch on the railing that separated the choir area from the rest of the church. “Damion, his depression has to end.”
She felt Damion follow her to the front pew, on the right side of the aisle. She wanted to sit so she could see the altar.
He sat next to her. “I know Alex was chosen for this, but how do we know it will cure his depression? It could end this present situation, but begin another lengthy and dangerous one. How do we know this will not be the straw that breaks the camel’s back?”
Danielle smiled. “I have known Alex for almost four hundred years. Even though he thinks he is dammed, he keeps his faith in God, and that, my dear friend, is the strongest kind of faith there is.”
“So he’ll do it?”
“He has yet to decide.”
“I hope it goes the way we've planned.”
“So do I, Damion, so do I.”
“Why do you always come here to watch him pray? Don’t you think that’s like invasion of privacy or something?”
“I am his guardian.”
“You were, when he was a human. He hasn’t been mortal for a long time. I know enough to know you aren’t required to be with him at all times.”
“That’s true, but his prayers are a most important time for me to be with him.”
“Why?”
“He’s convinced God doesn’t hear his prayers. That’s why he comes here almost every night. He could go on living a sinful life, believing he is dammed anyway, but he doesn’t. It's vital he has some reinforcement of his faith in God. I know he feels me here.”
Damion shook his head. “We'd better get to the meeting. I'll see you there."
Damion left. Danielle didn't want to leave the church. She looked up at the large cross on the wall above the baptismal. “Come on, Big Guy. His time to shine is finally here, so let’s show him how much you really have in store for him.”
She reluctantly stood, walked back down the aisle, and moved transparently through the tightly locked doors.
Jennifer Malone Wright is best known for her short story series, The Vampire Hunter’s Daughter. Other works include the follow up to The Vampire Hunter’s Daughter series called The Arcadia Falls Chronicles and her vampire novel called The Birth of Jaiden. Jennifer also co-authors a series called Once Upon a Zombie Apocalypse.
She resides in the beautiful mountains of northern Idaho with her husband and five children where she practices preparing for the zombie apocalypse. Just kidding!
But seriously, between the craziness of taking care of her children, Jennifer has little time left for herself. The time she does have left, usually leading far into the night, is spent working on her beloved fiction or chatting with her equally crazy friends.
Jennifer also loves coffee, has a passionate affair with red bull, wishes the sushi were better where she lives and dances while she cleans.
Please visit Jennifer’s website at
www.jenniferwrightauthor.com
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I ran as quickly as I could, trying my very best to catch up. The large black and red train started to leave the station without me, causing a panic to settle deep into my chest. I ran along the platform, my maroon heels clicking underneath me. My purple and black striped dress clinging to my small frame and my pink fedora hat teasing with the thought of flying off of my head. I had recently cut off all of my hair. In fact, by “recent”, I mean, last night. I am a stress cutter and no I don’t mean that I harm myself, I mean, that if I get extremely stressed out, I do drastic things to my hair and this was no exception. My hair had been down past the middle of my back, all one length, minus the bits of layering to frame my face. It was naturally chestnut brown, a strong trait in my family, as well as the pale skin, large eyes, and pouty lips.
Now…well, my hair is shaggy and bleached blonde. I know, like I said…I am a stress cutter and when I change my look, I do a one-eighty in whatever direction suits me best. It had been four years since I had last morphed myself into something new. I know for some it may seem as if I need to have a therapy session or two, but honestly, cutting my hair had made me feel a million times better after the phone call I had received at eight pm the previous night.
I sped up as the train's whistle blew. The mere sound of it causing my body to tense up. I had arrived late, through no fault of my own. I live in New York City and whenever you plan something, you have to add two extra hours onto it to make sure you have time. Unfortunately it was raining, the city was backed up in traffic and the cab showed up a half hour late. I didn’t even complain about it, there was no need. My thoughts were of one thing and one thing only…getting home. I was told to fly, but the train was beckoning me for a very good reason. It was one childhood memory that I always drew upon when living in the city made me feel lonely. Cities can do that to you and I always found it ironic with so many people dwelling in them. You would think it was the last place that loneliness would grip you in the middle of the night, but no. You can be standing in the middle of a packed club and feel as if you are the only person in the world. I never felt like that back home, but it had a lot to do with my dad…and of course, my eccentric family.
The reason I had insisted on taking the train home was very simple. When I was eleven years old, my dad had taken me on an adventure. We had boarded the train with two old suitcases in hand and a need to see all of Pennsylvania. That is where I am originally from. Stillcreek, Pennsylvania and proud of it. My home town was built on industrial logging, in fact, that was what my dad did. He worked at the mill, he started out on the bottom level, hard labor and long hours. He worked his way up and his last position was that of foreman. He was proud of what he had accomplished and I was proud of him, too.
The train ride was a birthday gift to me. I was adamant about traveling the world. In fact, I had map after map with locations marked on them on my bedroom walls. No one paid attention to it, except my dad. No one being that of my four sisters, Poppy, Violet, Daisy and Rose. I was born last in a chain of flowers, my name being Jasmine. My mother told us, many times over, that she wanted a garden of children as beautiful as the one behind the house. I never thought of myself as beautiful, but she insisted that we all were. I have no idea if it was because I came along after everyone else or if I was just more like a boy, but my sisters were all girly and I was not. I was a tomboy and maybe that is why my dad seemed to bond with me when my sisters clung to my mother.
I remember sitting next to my dad on this train as we watched the scenery go by from our room. The sky was blue, the day was perfect and he said something to me that I will never ever forgot.
“When I die, I want to be taken on a train and you make sure to scatter my ashes from here to the other side of Pennsylvania, Jasmine. I want t
o be set free. We are all made of stars and to the stars we return.”
I remember staring at him as he watched the sky from our window and thinking about how he would never die, he couldn’t, he was my dad. To me, he was immortal. I then blinked, pulled out of memory, as I felt a hand take mine and pull me up onto the slowly moving train. I almost dropped my suitcase, a tattered old thing with stickers of different places of the world on it. I sighed and then looked up to see a man standing there, he was dressed in a white button down shirt, a nice coat and jeans. He grinned as I pushed past him and then I hesitated, remembering my manners. I turned back and got caught staring at his shoes. They were so familiar, like the ones my dad always wore. I looked up and saw his face. His eyes bright and blue, lips a pinkish red. His skin pale, but not sickly in color. He was very attractive. My kind of attractive. Young, probably my age, if not a year older. His hair was tussled, that weird style that looks great on some people and completely ridiculous on others. It was dark, a bit shaggy, but framed his face and accentuated his features. His bangs were just a smidgen too long, adding to his “cuteness”, that coy hair in the eyes thing was happening as the wind blew. It gave him a unique look. One of independence and kind of artsy, my thing, when it came to what I found interesting in people.
I grinned, his gallant effort to save me catching me off guard. “Thank you.” I said as my hat flew off and away from the back of the train.
We both watched the thing linger for a few seconds before it darted off down the tracks behind us. He jumped. I screamed…I mean,, it seemed insane to watch him do it. He landed in between the tracks and ran until he snatched up my hat and then turned to smile at me. His look of triumph soon turned to one of distress as he realized the train was gaining speed. He took off running towards me and I dropped my suitcase and held onto the bar as I extended my hand out as far as I could. He finally reached me and with one leap, his hand was in mine and I pulled as he jumped up. We quickly moved backward and he was against me. The closest any man had been in a while. You see, I was not big on dating, I tend to have strange expectations and it trips me up in the relationship department, but anyway, that discussion is definitely for another time.
Keeper vs. Reaper (Graveyard Guardians Book 1) Page 26
