Humans usually don't like walking in the fog. Perhaps they irrationally fear something dangerous lurking among its crooks and angles and tend to avoid it if they can. As I had always been the dangerous one, I savored the feeling of being loss, the lack of orientation, as if it was a game.
Then, all of a sudden, a new smell made me stop abruptly, putting all my senses on the alert and inducing a feeling of impending danger. I crouched, sniffing the air and straining my ears, but, strange smell aside, I sensed nothing. No movement, no sound, nothing at all.
I decided to hurry home and began to run at a moderate speed, almost a trot. The fog made me feel trapped now, as if I was a normal human being. Finally, somewhere on my right, and not at a reassuring distance, a howl pierced the silenced, echoed by another on my left. The fog had thickened: I could barely see my own feet.
The rest were ghostly white walls against the black of the night.
It was a scary moment. I couldn't do anything but turn around without any point of reference, hoping that if something was about to appear it at least did it on the right side not taking me by surprise. I knew that somewhere behind me stood the elegant fences of the houses, but it was as if the space around me had widened; I felt a tightness in my chest as if I was becoming short of breath. Amusing, really, for someone who doesn't even need to breathe.
The temptation to shout, to draw their attention in some way, was almost overwhelming.
Anything to put an end to the inevitable.
Their eyes revealed them: a moment before the lycans got to me, I saw them glowing in the dark. Instinctively, to dodge their assault, I jumped. Oddly, I never had to do that in my life as a vampire. I didn't know if my jumping skills had improved just as my running did. With a great surprise, I felt myself propelled upwards like a rocket. I also jumped forward impulsively and, when I landed with an offhand flip, I saw with relief the werewolves were caught off guard by my move. Just for a moment, though. With a bloodcurdling snarl, they hurled at me and I ran away. My plans had to change. I didn't mean for any reason to lead them to where I lived, so I just ran, changing my direction as often as possible hoping fog could help me in leaving them behind. I heard their heavy steps behind me, their panting, sometimes a howl or a growl, but I did not dare turn back, fearing I would lose a bit of speed. If only the fog had thinned out ... I wanted to climb somewhere, but how could I when even the side of the road was invisible? The footsteps, meanwhile, were fast approaching, and it wasn't just my impression. I feared that at any moment I would get hammered in the back, causing me to fall. Would I have time to turn around and see their eyes before they sank their teeth into my throat, ripping it off? This thought gave new impetus to my run. I was also hoping that sooner or later they'd get tired. I could run forever, I had no problems running out of breath, but they were animals and would have to stop at some point. Wouldn’t they?
"We're almost there, blondie, prepare yourself...”howled one of them. Hard to tell. Only just after a while did I realized that the sound coming from his mouth could have been translated into words.
Then, finally, the fog lifted. One moment you couldn't see an inch away, a moment later everything was clear-cut. We were in a less pleasant area of the city. Houses loomed over us like gloomy guardians, but the streets were more favorable for my escape, more tortuous, full of nooks and dark corners. Not that I thought of hiding: if they found me, and I had no doubt they would, I would have been trapped.
I turned for a moment and what I saw forced a strangled groan from me.
The first time is always a shock.
They were at least eight feet, two inches tall, both with a clear coat, running on their hind feet-like paws, but bent forward, with their long arms almost touching the ground, comparable to monkeys. The awkward position didn't seem to hinder them though. They looked as if they had no trouble keeping up with my pace: they had gained ground and only a dozen yards were separating us. I still dream about that time, even after 300 years. In the dreams, they catch me and the last thing I see before succumbing and waking up holding back a scream are their razor-sharp teeth sinking into my throat.
Suddenly I decided to change my tactics: executing a miraculous leap, I clung to a windowsill on the second floor of a house and started to climb up to reach the roof. I threw a quick glance down and saw with dismay that my pursuers were doing the same thing, and more quickly than I with the help of their elongated arms.
I stood up on the windowsill and jumped, grabbing a ledge of the opposite house. The stone was slimy due to the moisture and dirt; therefore, I lost my grip and slid down along the façade, clenching my teeth in the effort to break my fall. One of the wolves was waiting for me on the ground, looking upwards with his eyes gleaming with malice, jaws wide open in an evil grin from which drool dripped profusely. Summoning all my strength, I lunged to the side towards another windowsill and avoided his fangs sinking his teeth on my foot by a whisker; I began to climb up again and soon reached the roof of the building. I leaned out for a moment to keep an eye on my pursuers and, with despair, I realized they did not intend to let me go. I have never encountered a race as stubborn as werewolves.
On the run again.
Hunted down once again.
I jumped from one roof to another with long strides, looking constantly behind. They were catching up with me. If I didn't beat them with skill and cunning, sooner or later they would have taken me or dawn would come and they'd win regardless.
I stopped.
Looked down.
The house where I stood was three stories high. What would happen to a vampire if he fell from such a height? I was about to find it out. I looked at my pursuers, smiled, and let myself plummet.
Finding out that our physical skills allowed us to land on our feet like cats with no harm to our articulations was a very nice discovery.
This ability has been very useful to me many times throughout my life.
When I landed with my feet on the ground, I looked up and saw the two descending the façade of the house, but I knew I had won that round. I continued to run with renewed energy and soon they were gone. From that evening, however, I no longer went out unarmed. The next day I sent Ambrosine to Finnegan's, the gunsmith, and commissioned him to craft the long silver blade dagger that I call Doimar, which has served me faithfully until Greylord took it away from me. As for my enemies, I had tested, for the first time, their speed and determination, two dangerous weapons by themselves. In the future, I would experience in its entirety the wealth of their natural gifts and, many times, at my own risk.
5 - SAYING GOODBYE
On April 10, 1711, at dawn, I opened the lid of my trunk without having received the usual signal from Ambrosine, the two knocks.
I jumped out of my lair and looked around with an anguishing premonition growing stronger every minute. The jug of hot water was missing on the table and the fire was off. Ambrosine would have never forgotten. Something must have happened. I put my boots on quickly, rushed out of my apartment and bombarded her door with blows, calling her name out loudly. In spite of everything, I still wanted to believe that she had only fallen, maybe injured; I refused to think of any other scenario, the one that was clawing into my mind like a rat. At the end, I bashed the door in with a kick and went inside, shouting her name and praying not to find her at all because doing so would have meant only one thing, the one thing I didn't even dare think about. I looked in the kitchen, in the tiny living room, then into the bedroom; I was about to leave when a groan coming from behind the bed, the side of the room hidden from view, froze my very blood. Ambrosine was there, lying on the floor with a nasty cut on her forehead. I didn't worry about it, though, but her eyes alternated fear and absence and she was unable to speak.
I lifted her up in my arms and laid her on the bed, talking to her and trying to calm her down.
Once again, when she needed me, I was not there, I was a few feet away sleeping like an idiot. I felt the bloody tears streaming f
rom my eyes, but did nothing to stop them. She noticed them too, widening her eyes in surprise, and tried to lift her hand to touch my face, but could not. Her hand tremored slightly with the effort and remained resting on the bedspread. I lifted it for her and placed it on my cheek where tears were flowing. I realized how cold she was as I didn’t feel the usual difference between the temperatures of our skins. Her lips trembled in an attempt to say something that would never be spoken.
"I'm sorry Ambrosine, I couldn’t hear you, I'm so sorry, I deserted you yet again..."
She shook her head and stared at me, then she slowly turned towards the tiny cabinet she used as a night table and pointed to it. I dried my eyes, leaving a long red streak on the back of my hand, and stood up.
"What are you trying to tell me?"
As I was not accustomed to reading her mind for respect, I didn't consider this as a solution at once; when I explained to her what I was planning to do, though, relief came across her face. I closed my eyes then and descended in my Ambrosine’s mind for the first and only time. And this is what I read:
Dear dear Ray it's not your fault I'm sorry I love you I love you so much don't be sad I had a good life I had my Roger, my Megan and I had you too don't cry don't cry I'll be with them now just be careful you be careful of who's going to look after you now you're good be careful don't forget me don't forget Roger we'll look after you from beyond look in the night table the documents of the shop of the house all yours take them I love you always loved you so much you..."
Her eyes went blank and the flow of her thoughts went out like a candle. Her hand, which I had held against my cheek up to that moment, became heavier as death laid claim to her. I told you I had never cried in front of anybody anymore because I couldn't remember how many tears I shed that night before and after Ambrosine passed away. I rearranged her nightgown, gently combed her hair with her favorite brush, the one I gave her for Christmas millions of years ago, then covered her with care and laid down beside her. I talked and talked and cried, pressing a handkerchief against my eyes in order not to stain with my blood the linen sheets she had always been proud of. I stayed with her all night, then, just before dawn, I went down into the store and wrote a note to Robert, the sales clerk, explaining what had happened and leaving instructions for her funeral. Not even being able to escort her to the cemetery drove me crazy with anger, but I promised I would have gone to pay homage to her just after dark. At dawn, I kissed her cheeks, which had forever lost their complexion, and returned sadly to my trunk without even feeding. I felt more alone than I had ever did. Now there wasn't a single person in the whole world, except for my mother - if she was still alive - who cared if I live or if I die.
In any case, I didn't care either.
6 - CRIME WITH NO PUNISHMENT
I spent the following six months almost lethargic, coming out only to hunt.
My house soon turned into a pigsty without Ambrosine keeping it clean and tidy.
The truth was, I didn't care at all.
I carried on just to ensure myself mere survival, killing quickly and randomly; then I came home and spent the rest of the night lying in bed, motionless, with the feeling of isolation and loneliness mounting every day.
My appearance wasn't better than my state of mind; conforming to the standards of the time, I didn't wash, I changed my clothes just when the blood stains resulting from my nightly incursions became too obvious, and I didn't care about anything or anyone because no one and nothing cared about me.
One night I found myself passing by Shibeen's and I was tempted to knock on her door. Even being mistreated seemed better than the solitude tormenting me. In the end, I gave up, though. I looked horrible and my pride prevented me from giving them such satisfaction. I continued on my way with my eyes down and my hands in my pockets, feeling an iciness that I could not really comprehend.
The worse thing was never having the chance to talk to anybody. Sometimes, I found myself talking out loud, just to be sure I still could. The evenings spent with Ambrosine in her small living room, when I read to her or we just chatted, often came to my mind. She had never made me feel abnormal. Now the gap separating me from human beings was enormous.
One evening, exasperated by my isolation, I went into a tavern.
I wanted to feel the closeness of other people, listen to a little music. I chose one by the mere fact of having passed by it. Like many of my decisions, it was dictated by impulse without thinking about the consequence. I wore my faithful dark glasses, gathered my hair in a ponytail, and walked through the door of the pub.
In my own way, I already had dinner so the smell of people’s blood did not produce any particular effect on me. It was like walking into a deli after eating a hearty meal: the aromas of roasted meat no longer titillated you, you hardly even notice it. In fact, you can’t even be bothered. I stood near the door for a moment; I was afraid that the patrons of the tavern would have immediately noticed my diversity, as if I had the word “vampire" tattooed on my forehead. Instead, with the exception of a couple of people at the counter who turned around for a moment towards me, no one seemed to give any weight to my arrival.
The tavern was not very well-lit, thus hiding my eyes. In fact, I could look like an ordinary guy eager to get a beer and then go on along his way. I saw a little secluded table and I walked towards it, making my way among the people stationed here and there; I sat down and when the waitress came up to me, I asked for a beer. Meanwhile, I was starting to relax a bit. I began to listen to conversations at the other tables and even at some thoughts that were flowing more intensely than normal.
I had no longer tasted any of the foods I used to eat as a human; when Ambrosine dined, I would just keep her company sitting at the table with her, always holding my breath because their smell bothered me. Now, however, the beer that I had in front of me tempted me, God knows why. By force of habit, I had ordered ale as I always did as a human. Therefore, I lifted the mug to my lips with some trepidation, and then took a small sip just to see how it tasted. I realized I would probably be entering a minefield. I had no idea of the effect that alcohol could have on me in my new state. I was afraid it would make me sick like blood of the dead, but I was also curious. Unfortunately, Shibeen's teachings did not deal with this issue.
The taste of beer wasn’t terrible, it was more or less as I remembered it, so I drank some more. Soon I started to feel very strange, very drunk, to say the least, but the weight grinding on my chest had relieved and I could just be happy about that.
Suddenly, a guy came up to me: "I know you," he said. "You are the coalman from Wickham Street, aren't you?"
I stared at him for some time, puzzled, while the effect of the beer grew stronger and stronger. It seemed incredible and amazing that someone would have noticed me. I was not invisible, then. Recovering from the surprise, I noticed he had reached his hand out to me, waiting for a handshake. He also introduced himself, but I couldn’t remember his name. Maybe it was a good thing since less than half an hour later pieces of his body would be scattered throughout the venue along with those of many other people.
I stood up, unsteady on my legs, and returned his handshake, confirming my identity. Such a stupid thing, I realize, but I repeat, I was as drunk as if I had ten pints, not just a few sips. All my scruples had gone and I didn't care at all.
"Hey man, such a cold hand you have! Just like my aunt Claire's in her coffin, may she rest in peace! So? What are you doing around here? You're a bit out of your zone; Wickham Street is on the opposite side of town..."
"Yeah, I took a stroll," I mumbled and drank another long sip. The fatal one.
I remember I talked with the man a few minutes more, but I don't remember what we had discussed.
I was starting to realize with dismay that my contact with reality was extremely fragile as if I was walking on a sheet of ice with every second getting thinner. I could not afford to lose control, not in a room full of people, some of which, due to
my stupidity, were aware of who I was and where I lived. That is exactly what happened. Maybe my shades fell off, maybe I laughed so hard as to have exposed my canines, but the fact was that, all of a sudden, everyone set off shouting, rushing towards the exit while the word "vampire" resounded in the air like the shrill of an alarm. Looking back, I must have suffered a real blackout as they say today. At first, I was sitting at my table talking with the guy, and soon after I was on my feet, completely covered in blood, surrounded by bodies or pieces of them, chairs and tables overturned, people huddled against the door trying to open it, screaming and trampling each other like crazy.
At that point, having recovered a bit of clarity, I knew only one thing: I had to finish the job. It was not fun nor was it pleasant, believe me. I acted as quickly as possible, attacking those poor assholes and snapping their necks. No one could get out of that place and I was hoping that it had not yet happened. God, they were screaming so much. Sometimes, those cries would come back to haunt me in my dreams. That’s why I was trying to finish it so quickly: I could not stand hearing them scream anymore. I did not look at them. If I could have, I would have closed my eyes. Until a few years ago, I was one of them, a quiet worker who loved having a beer in the evening and then going home. Now, because of me, dozens of families would be left without husbands or fathers, perhaps bringing about misery in their lives for having lost the person who secured their livelihoods just because a stupid vampire had thrown all caution to the wind and decided to do a forbidden experiment with alcohol.
Two of the ones crowded by the door succeeded in opening it and rushed out, but walked only a few yards before I reached them. The first did nothing but scream "no" until the very last moment; the second one looked back at me from the ground, his eyes bulging with terror, his arms outstretched towards me, palms forward trying to stop me. Luckily, there was no one on the street, but who could tell how many eyes and ears followed every scene from beyond the closed shutters?
Rising to darkness Page 12
