by S. L. Eaves
This night keeps getting better.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” I assure my friends.
“You sure, Lori? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s cool. Boring lawyer stuff,” I cover, waving them off.
I swing in, closing the door behind me. My stomach knots.
My friends linger on the sidewalk, wearing dumbfounded expressions as we drive away. The driver does not speak. Light from the street and the occasional passing car permits me brief, eerie glimpses of my companion.
Shrouded in a cloak, he slides back the hood to reveal striking porcelain features and the subtle gleam of fangs.
“Who are you?” I try to stifle a gasp.
“I think you know.”
“You’re Adrian. I’d say ‘nice to meet you’ but given the circumstances…Well, does anyone ever say that to you?”
“You are surprised. I suppose Catch gave the impression I was one for smoke and mirrors. It’s really not the case.”
“I’m more surprised by your timing. How’d you know I’d be walking down that street tonight? You stalking me, too?”
“Let’s just say I’ve had lots of practice.”
“Yeah, your kind does seem to have a knack for it. So what do you want?”
“Very direct. I like that.” He continues, “I trust Catch has been teaching you some valuable skills. I doubt, however, that he has encouraged your recent behavior.”
“No, he hasn’t. My decisions are my own.”
“You cannot act as if nothing has changed. It’s a dangerous facade. You will only end up hurting them in the end.”
“Is that a threat?”
He laughs dryly. “No. It’s advice. You’d be wise to take it. Cut off all ties to your old life. Those humans are not part of this. Not part of who you are now.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Don’t you get it, Lori? You are the threat.”
The car pulls to the curb.
“Go to Catch.”
A white card appears from his cloak. “Dusk, tomorrow.”
His long nails extend the length of the card.
I gingerly accept it, risking one last glimpse at his startling physique, the sheer white skin, the sinister smile, the absence of God in his eyes.
I exit the car and watch the taillights as it vanishes down the street. We had simply circled the block.
“Now there’s a guy who knows how to make an impression.”
I say aloud to no one in particular. The card has the name and address of a gym in Hell’s Kitchen.
“Strange…”
***
I arrive at the gym just after sunset. Catch hadn’t been surprised when I recounted my car ride. He’d told me to go alone and to trust Adrian. A hard feat, but I didn’t see I had much choice in the matter.
No sign of Adrian. I take a seat on the metal bleachers surrounding a boxing ring. A handful of people watch with mild interest as two bloody boxers go at it in the ring; their coaches yell enthusiastically from the corners, seemingly the only ones excited over the match.
Sufficiently distracted, I don’t even notice Adrian till he’s by my side, cloaked like before, hood pulled down over his brow. He observes the fight with feigned interest, not averting his gaze.
“You’ll leave the States tomorrow after sunset. Catch will take you to a mansion outside London which serves as a base camp. Everyone involved in the war resides there when not out on assignment. There you’ll learn from them and you’ll work with them. They are your allies. Your only allies.
“As I’m sure Catch explained, our numbers are few. Not intentionally so. The war has demanded we re-populate. However, this does not mean we are any less selective about who we recruit.”
“Look, I’m really sorry about the fire. Tragic, truly. But if this leads to you telling me I’m privileged, save it.”
Adrian shakes his head.
“As I was saying…you will receive training of the highest caliber and hopefully will find the answers you seek.”
“Why me, Adrian?”
“There are things which cannot be told. Things that must be understood.”
He avoids making eye contact.
“Fine. I’m not protesting. It is hard to play a ghost.”
“I’m glad for your change of heart.”
“I will go; I’m just not trusting of your motives for sending me.”
“That’s completely fine. I’m not asking for your trust; I’m asking for your obedience.”
“I’m beginning to realize that it’s too painful to stay here, to keep up this charade,” I’m thinking less about the encounter with Erica and more about the safety of my friends. It’s not common knowledge vampires exist. But surely people have discovered them before. And there’s a reason they’ve never managed to tell anyone.
He gives a slight nod.
“A change of scenery would serve me well right about now.”
Adrian regards me with that chilling thin-lipped smile. I turn my attention to the ring and grimace as the bloodier of the two contenders takes a hard left to the jaw and falls to the ground.
“You are wondering why I met you here.”
I sigh. The thought of a fresh start weighs on my mind.
“No, but I feel a metaphor coming on.”
Adrian gives a dry scoff.
“Fighting is one consistency that, as long as there is life on this planet, will never change. Motives, sure, but there is always something to fight for. I love to come to these dives and watch the fights; it’s where I do my best thinking.”
“Some meditate in church, others…”
“One night years ago, I was so moved by a fighter, by his skill, and determination, that I sought him out after his match. He was sitting at the pub across the street. I introduced myself as a fan and bought a round of beer. While we sat there conversing, a man came over to congratulate him on a good fight. This man took one look at the fighter’s bloody knuckles and commented ‘No gloves tonight?’ And you know what the fighter replied?”
I shrug.
“‘I just need to feel it sometimes, you know?’ The man nodded as if he understood. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. But I understood exactly.”
“So what, he needed a reminder of what it felt like to pummel someone?”
Adrian ignores my dismissive tone.
“He needed a reminder of his own mortality. That he could feel pain. Overcome vulnerability. Not just a test of his physical strength, but mental. He wanted to bring his suffering to the surface.”
“Proof that he wasn’t dead inside?”
Adrian shrugs. “Maybe.”
“And if he was?”
“His appearance would tell a different story to men like the one who congratulated him in the bar. They would see his passion and he would revel in it.”
We sit in silence for a short while.
“Did Catch hate you? Resent what you made him?”
Adrian looks mildly amused, maybe not expecting me to know Catch was the subject of his little story.
“Not in the slightest. He embraced his new life. Frankly, I expected you to do the same.”
I study the boxers, trying to picture Catch in the ring. It isn’t a stretch.
“I’m struggling. With all due respect, I worked pretty damn hard to crawl out of the slums I was raised in. I finally got my life on track. Well sort of. I was happy.”
“You have a greater destiny. You don’t see it now, but we’re giving you a chance your human life did not grant you.”
“Guess I’ll have to take your word on that…” My voice trails off, and when he does not offer any further insight, I change the subject.
“How old are you?”
He continues to focus on the fight.
“1200 and a few weeks, months…” He ponders for a moment. “You know, I may be 1300. At this point who’s counting?”
“Wow. Were you ever human?”
He shakes his
head. “Never had a heartbeat. Time has not granted me any explanation to why I’m here or how I came to be.”
“Does time help?”
“Help?”
“With loss, pain…?”
“You’re young. Human emotions will persist for some time to come; it’s only natural. This is how it has to be. You may not understand that now, but you will in time.”
“What if I slip? What if someone learns what has happened to me?”
“That is not an option. Our world is kept separate from the humans, for obvious reasons. We do not interfere in their affairs, we do not play vigilante in their towns, and we do not commit murder. Certain risks are not worth taking.
The bell dings to end the round. The boxers stagger to their respective corners. Adrian has expertly danced around the question and is quick to tangent off the subject of humans.
“To answer your earlier question, yes, time helps. Time makes us invincible; immortality is earned, achieved in this fashion. But time only helps us overcome obstacles if we overcome it.
“Time, you see, was never an issue with our kind, but now we have found ourselves in a war to save our race and every passing moment counts considerably.”
What if I don’t want to save our race?
He continues, “You will have some time to train at the facility in England and then you’ll be thrown into the deep end, so to speak. But you’re in the best possible hands with Catch. And I have a feeling you’re a quick study.”
The fight resumes. The man who threw that mean jab earlier now takes one to the side of his head and drops to the floor, unconscious. The fight is over. It’s not about the time we have, it’s how we use it.
“I can settle with that for now.” I am doing my best to seem agreeable.
“Well, I dare say this is the most I’ve conversed with anyone in a long while. Perhaps the fight put me in a good mood, or,” a severity in his tone now, “maybe I was worried you’d try something drastic unless otherwise advised. That would be a shame.”
Chapter 9
I crawl out from the overturned vehicle.
Jolted, trembling, I make my way clear of the wreckage and push myself upright. Staggering backward, I admire my handiwork. Fear turns to amusement as a tire drops from the broken axel and bounces several yards before teetering sideways into the grass.
Rather disappointed by my unscathed state, I scan for evidence and turn up nothing but a rip in my sleeve. Then I taste blood and bring my hand to my head. Blood is streaming from a gash across my temple and beginning to drip from my chin.
The wound is already healing. I feel it close and wipe the blood from my face.
Staring at my blood-soaked hand, I will it to stop shaking.
Adrenaline still happens. Part of the nervous system still reacts. But it feels very different. In a circumstance where the average human would be in shock, registering it as trauma or pain, I’m feeling invigorated almost satisfied.
I notice a small blaze ignite in the engine and watch as a series of explosions emanate from the undercarriage. A minute later, the car is consumed in flames.
Entertained, I watch, transfixed for a short while, then finally turn away, starting uphill. After a couple steps, I freeze at the sight of a figure standing at the point where I’d lost control of the vehicle.
“Ah, Angel of Death, you’re too late, my friend.” I trek uphill and met the figure, whose silhouette remains stagnant, arms crossed, bathed in moonlight.
Catch does not look pleased, but I continue. “Tell me you caught that on video.”
He just stands there shaking his head.
“Okay, you gotta tell me how you found me.”
“We’re connected. It’s in the blood. I will always know where you are. Whether you’re climbing Mount Everest or joy riding through wherever the hell this is—Jersey? For fuck’s sake, Lori. What the hell are you doing?”
His jaw muscles spasm when he is agitated. It’s cute.
“Experimenting. It occurred to me I never learned how to drive. Not officially. I hot-wired my fair share of cars as a kid. Never was very good at the driving part though.”
“Well your juvenile delinquency aside, you know that could have killed you, right? I was sure I covered the part about fire pretty thoroughly. Did Adrian say something to you? Specifically something that would cause all this…rubbish.”
I shrug. “He spoke about embracing my new state.” Pointing downhill: “That was me…embracing.”
“Uh huh.”
“Wait, does that homing device thing work both ways ’cause it doesn’t seem very fair.”
“These theatrics bring the wrong kind of attention.”
“How’d you get here? If flying is really a thing and not a myth, I’m going to be so pissed you didn’t tell me sooner.”
“I didn’t—we can’t—fly. We’re fast, like out-run a cheetah fast, but not ‘breaking any sound barriers’ or ‘soaring through the air’ kind of fast.”
He looks over his shoulder. “I drove.”
There is a sports bike parked under a tree across the street. I burst out laughing.
“Oh, so I’m being reckless and you what—obtained your wheels legally? That’s rich.”
“What can I say, I like bikes. Had one when I was human. I plan to return it, intact mind you, before the owner has a chance to miss it.”
“Speaking of transportation, it appears we’re leaving for England at dusk tomorrow.”
“I know. But that couldn’t possibly be the reason Adrian contacted you, he’s not one for light conversation about boarding times. It’s rare for him to surface even under normal circumstances.”
“He spoke in insinuations and not actualities. Very philosophical, likes to make his points through stories and metaphors.”
“Yeah, that tends to be his style. He implies a lot and says a little.”
“I like him,” I wipe my hand off on the grass. “Think it’s okay I leave behind DNA evidence?”
“You want police to think you died in a car crash? Gonna be a bit of a tough sell without a body.”
“Wasn’t my initial goal, but I figure it might keep anyone who cares enough to look busy. Honestly, Adrian told me not to do anything reckless.”
“Well hope you got that out of your system then,” he is still trying to look angry with me, but I see a hint of a smile under the furrowed brow.
“Yup, that helped,” I quip, “I’m a better driver than I thought, you know until I swerved off the road.”
“So really then, he didn’t tell you anything more?” I can hear the disappointment in his voice. But I doubt he’s really expecting me to give him anything definitive. Probably just a fishing expedition to see if I connected more dots than I should have.
“Sorry,” I shrug as I follow him to his bike, hopping on the back.
“Well then let’s get out of here before someone sees this mess you made.”
Chapter 10
The flight is departing in a couple of hours from a private airstrip not far from Newark airport. Catch allows me to return to my house alone to gather a few ‘essentials’ and maybe leave a note explaining my sudden disappearance.
I need closure with my old life or some semblance of it so I can move forward and not leave those close to me wondering what happened. I don’t want them looking for me.
After my begging and pleading, followed by a stern lecture on his part, Catch is finally convinced I won’t do anything “stupid.”
He sends for a car, doling out strict orders to the driver about where he can take me and for how long. I’m okay with that.
I don’t want to go against Adrian’s wishes, and if my friends learn the truth, even suspect something was up, their blood will be on my hands.
Adrian does not lie or make hollow threats. Of this I am certain.
***
I’d written a rough draft in my head over and over of what I’d leave them. Saying I’d be in touch. That I recently reconnec
ted with a relative, an aunt living on the West Coast who needed medical care. That I was going to finish my degree from there. That I’d come by to say good-bye, but I’d found everyone out for the night and had a plane to catch. Some ridiculous, inflated lie justified only by the knowledge that the truth is much worse.
It’s Friday night. My roommates will be out for certain. I’ll slip in and grab some clothes, a sentimental object or two, tack a note to my door with money for the rest of the year’s rent supplied by what was left of my bank account. And be gone.
As I’d anticipated, the house is quiet and I sneak in without incident. Since it is still technically my place of residence, I do not need permission to enter and I easily make my way upstairs like I’ve done hundreds of times before. My room is how I’d left it. I pack quickly, tack the envelop to my door…smooth sailing.
Then things start to go south.
In our upstairs hallway a large horizontal mirror decorates the corner wall, facing the stairs. It is behind me as I round the corner, bloated gym bag slung over my shoulder, and there stand Jeff and Erica.
Like a deer caught in headlights, I freeze, startled. They look equally stunned by my sudden appearance. My room faces the street and I hadn’t heard anyone enter the house, but they could be emerging from his room since his door is closest to the stairs. Where I now need to go.
“Lori?”
“Hey guys, what’s up?”
Blank stares.
Is my delivery not casual enough?
Erica turns to Jeff. “Told you.”
“What?” Now I am agitated.
“She’s sick, possessed, something unnatural,” Erica presses further.
“What kind of illness causes that?” Jeff points behind me.
It clicks. I know what is there or, more accurately, not there, so I don’t bother turning to see the lack of my presence within its frame.
I’d stolen the damned mirror from a bar one night on a dare. Corona bottles with cocktail umbrellas and palm trees decorate its reflective surface. Couldn’t fit it in my room, so it found a home in our hallway. Go figure.
They stand between me and the stairs. I could turn and bolt through the window in my room, make a run for it. I should trust my new abilities to get me out of this. But my desperation to be “normal,” to rationalize the situation, to believe they will listen and understand; supersedes the urge to cut and run.
