by Phil Wohl
The man literally wasn’t born yesterday, “You’re going to have to let me in to find that out, Thomas Hartwell. What other choice do you have?”
Hartwell reflected briefly on the events of his life and then looked over at the loaded gun. He opened the door and said, “Okay, you can come in,” which unlocked his last seal of protection in the mortal world.
While Hartwell kept a tight grip on the gun, the distinguished-looking gentleman walked in slowly, hardly befitted the demeanor or aggressive tendencies of a savage beast. The man’s beige wool, three-piece suit, well-groomed mustache, and classic bowler hat that he removed and held in his hand, lessened Hartwell’s anxiety as it had for the hundreds of his unsuspecting victims. He then conveyed the mental message, “You can put the gun away. We are all friends here.”
So Hartwell put the gun in the top drawer of his desk and asked, “Can
I get you anything, friend? I’m going to put up some tea.”
The man reached down into his vest pocket and pulled out a gold pocket watch, which he had picked up along the way. He opened the engraved latch and realized that his window of opportunity was closing fast. Surely the hunters were tracking his scent and would be closing in within minutes.
Hartwell walked back into the room and was instructed to sit next to the man on the couch.
“My name is Alexander Lowery and I am here to offer you eternal life.” Lowery thought for a moment and then decided to slightly alter his claim, “In any event, you can last pretty long if you eat people on a high- fiber diet and do your best to avoid those persistent hunters.”
Hartwell didn’t really care about himself and his life at this point, “What about my wife and son?”
Lowery’s hair was slicked back and finely combed as he stroked his mustache before speaking in a dramatic tone, “Your boy shall rise again on the moon of the new century. Oh, and your wife should be along in another eight to 10 moons after that.”
Hartwell was confused, “How long is a moon?”
Lowery replied, “A moon is about a year in most circles, give or take a few months. In Germany…” he started before screams and heavy bangs could be heard in the street below.
A muscular fellow wearing a finely-tailored suit burst into the room, "My food fellow, you might want to speed things up a bit!”
Lowery’s eyes transformed from brown to orange and razor-sharp fangs sprouted from the upper and lower portions of his mouth, as he ferociously bit into the right side of Hartwell’s neck.
The searing pain Hartwell initially felt was replaced by the euphoria of seeing his wife and son waiting for him in the distance. Lowery quickly drained Hartwell’s blood and then opened the vein on his right wrist to keep Hartwell from dying, “No, not just yet. You have some work to do before you see them.”
Hartwell drank the blood from Lowery’s wrist as if he was a baby with a bottle. Only this ‘formula’ was the bridge from mortality to immortality, from man to monster.
“Two other things,” Lowery said. “I dripped a little blood – clumsy me
– on the couch, so you might want to treat that when you come to. And, the second thing is – and this one’s real important, so get your hearing shoes on – after you die 100 times you become mortal again.”
There was a huge thump on the front door of the building and Lowery hastened to finish the job, as his ally rushed toward his side.
“Good luck, Hartwell,” he said, as he removed his arm from near
Hartwell’s mouth and then snapped his neck, all in one motion.
“We have to go,” the large man said to Lowery, as Hartwell dropped
to the floor. Lowery and his accomplice zipped out the window and into the sky, narrowly escaping a group of aggressive hunters that burst into the room.
The San Francisco plague had taken its toll on the vampire population. By the time Lowery had Hartwell for dinner, the ‘fanged’ ranks had been trimmed from thousands to mere hundreds. Hartwell’s turning was more a part of an informal drive to recruit new blood, than a merciful act performed by a compassionate beast.
The Black Death, while lethal to mortals, also had a significant impact on the vampire community. Death was an outcome seen in 44 percent of the vampires, but there were a few cases where vampires were killed for the 100th time and then contracted the disease, opening their intricate immune systems to the unstoppable force. There were also many cases when vampires lost a strength, or two, such as chain-saw-sharp teeth or the ability to fly. It was definitely the worst of times in ‘the City by the Bay'.
FIVE
The dynamic in Mrs. Williams’ third-grade class change measurably since Daniel and Andrew – who was affectionately called Drew by people who knew him best – realized they were cousins. But the truth did little to curb the competitiveness between the boys. They would go at it in the
most mundane of tasks, such as erasing and washing a chalk board, to more complex physical challenges on the playground. Neither boy would give an inch, and it was often difficult for the naked eye to distinguish a clear winner.
Nicole Phillips, the boys’ fair-haired muse, always seemed to be in the center of the action as the boys were constantly vying for her favor. The three kids were inseparable, which inevitably brought elders into the
equation to say what had to be said, without actually saying what had to be said.
“You and the boys sure seem to spend a lot of time together,” Sharon Phillips said to her daughter, while they stripped the husks off a bunch of corn for dinner.
“Yeah,” Nicole replied like a typical eight year-old, as she ripped the stringy husk off and then flipped the yellow ear into a boiling pot of water.
‘Yeah’ wasn’t exactly the response mom was looking for, so she reached for her mental shovel and started digging.
“So, which one do you like better?” “Ewww!” Nicole shrieked.
Sharon flicked her wrist and another corn was sent nakedly into the pot. She then composed herself and started digging in another spot.
“I really like that Daniel…” she stated, just stopping short of following up with, “I’ve known him since he was born.”
“Yeah, he’s nice,” a non-committal Nicole replied.
By the time the 10-minute conversation mercifully ended, Sharon dug a bunch of shallow holes that could be refilled with dirt in no time.
Across town, the story was much different at the Brewster house. Preparing dinner was much more a labor of love for a family that went through a few shopping carts of food each day.
“Drew, make sure you peel that bag of potatoes and then go out and feed the dogs.” Emily Brewster said as she threw a five-pound roast in the oven.
Andrew finished his two chores within minutes and then was back in his mother’s face.
Emily looked at Andrew, as only mothers can, and said, “What’s going on in your head? I tell you, you are getting two quick for your own good, young man. Speed isn’t always the way – you have to think about things before you do them.”
Andrew barely heard anything after “What’s going on in your head?' probably because he was in a hurry to ask his question.
“Why do we eat so much?” he innocently asked.
Emily knew Andrew was too young to give him ‘the speech,' so she went the vague and general route instead.
“We have to eat so we have enough energy to do all of the things we have to do during the day.”
Andrew absorbed the information, but that did little to quench his curiosity.
“But I bring lunch and also buy lunch, and the rest of the kids only do one.”
There was no way that Emily could go into further detail without revealing the family’s secret, which had remained secure - save for a few knowledgeable adversaries - for more than a century.
“Let me ask you a question,” Emily said. “Ready?” Andrew nodded ‘Yes.'
“Are you hungry by the time you go to lunch?” “Yes.”
<
br /> Emily saw the sheepish grin on Andrew’s face and stated, “You’re so hungry, in fact, that you ate some of that dog food while you were feeding them.”
Andrew was shocked! He wondered how his mother could have known that he stuck his head in the 50-pound bag of dry dog food and helped himself to a few mouthfuls.
She knew what he was thinking and reached over and removed a piece of the dog food from his cheek and showed it to him.
“Any more questions?” she asked not looking for an answer. “Now go upstairs and wash up. You’re grandpa’ will be home soon.”
Andrew smiled as he sped upstairs. Emily looked and smelled the piece of food and then threw it down her throat. She knew her son was going to be a handful while he was growing up, but was excited that he and Daniel would make such great allies in pursuing the families' target.
Meanwhile, Hartwell was across town at a coffee shop, sitting on a couch and reviewing his stock portfolio. He had used his powers of persuasion over the years to build on his fortune. Companies would exchange secrets privately, while Hartwell would be there undetected to scoop up the insider-trading gold. Although he was questioned by the authorities on several occasions for his questionable trading patterns, he always seemed to exit the process in better shape than when he started.
In return for his dishonest behavior, Hartwell was rewarded with a seat on the New York Stock Exchange, prime tickets to local sporting events, many large hams, and countless meals. But things weren’t that easy in the beginning…
The hunters that were tracking Lowery burst into Hartwell’s home in San Francisco to find Hartwell dead in a pool of his own blood on the floor between the couch and the coffee table in the living room, or parlor as they called it at the turn of the century.
The male hunter put his fingers on Hartwell’s broken and bloodied neck and said, “This one’s as dead as a cricket run over by a carriage.”
The female hunter asked, “Do you think he turned him?”
He moved his lantern closer to Hartwell’s mouth and took a look inside, while also getting a good sniff.
“His smell is everywhere, but there is no sign of blood,” the mountain- of-a-man said as he let Hartwell’s head fall to the floor. “I say he didn’t
have time. Let’s get going before we get too far behind.”
So the hunters left the house and Hartwell lay dormant for another few hours before the darkness of the night permeated the room. At which time, the brute force and potency of Lowery’s blood coursed through Hartwell’s veins and worked to repair and upgrade his lifeless body.
In the days before computers, Hartwell was essentially swapping his basic PC hard drive for the size, speed, and massive processing power of a mainframe computer. But the transformation was a gradual process, as
Hartwell quickly found out when his eyes opened and his new world was simply black.
Hartwell’s balance was askew, which made it difficult for him to stand up and find his way. After tripping on the oval wood table in front of him at least three times, he then crawled to the bathroom where he was able to light a candle after struggling to find a spark.
The faint light pained Hartwell’s crusty eyes as he rubbed them furiously with his fists to gain a clearer self-image in the mirror. His rebooted brain was still experiencing some rough patches and images of a beast with shiny, sharp teeth flashed in his mind as if that was the reflection he was looking at in the mirror.
Hartwell’s pulse quickened as he started to breathe heavier like he was running away from someone or something. When the frightening image faded and his vision cleared, although his eyes were still red and burning, it became apparent that his neck was severely cocked to the left side. Instinctively, he reached up with both hands and violently snapped his neck back into place.
The dramatic body realignment combined with Hartwell’s still fragile state as a ‘newbie,' caused him to pass out and collapse in a heap on the floor.
Days came and went and he hadn’t moved from the same position – pancaked flat on his back. This time around, his inactivity was accompanied by breath, and breath was guided by a virtual training manual playing as the main feature in his mind.
Scenes of unsuspecting men and women shockingly looking into the eye of a creature while it devoured them from the neck were interwoven with a life portrayed as one that was constantly in motion, constantly on the run.
While the pursuer was never presented in a distinct manner, the ally was: the mammalian being was part man, part evolutionary wonder.
Hartwell’s subconscious was treated to a lengthy reel of the evolutionary tract of cetaceans – from their early days as hoofed creatures with triangular teeth like wolves, to cat-like creatures, to early variations of the hippopotamus, to bottlenose dolphins and Orca, the ‘killer whale’, which is the largest species of dolphin. The hybrid mammal also had the ability to convert to a smaller aquatic mammal, capable of diving into water and hiding beneath the surface to avoid birds of prey.
The images left the reprogrammed Hartwell feeling safe and protected until he spent the last 24 hours viewing footage of his natural enemy, the hunter.
Hunters had also evolved from Homo sapien warriors, to beings capable of combating adversaries both on land and in the sky. The loop that kept playing over and over again was that of a man running through a forest clearing and changing into an angry pit bull, and then a powerful ram as it picked up speed, and then a huge grizzly bear with knife-like claws
capable of running at speeds up to 30 miles per hour, and then the massive wing span of a hawk capable of picking up small animals with its hook-like talons.
After each iteration, the ending image was one of the beach and more specifically, the ocean, and the word ‘SAFETY’ flashing on the screen. The hunters were physiologically-designed to combat the vampires, with their full set of evolutionary incantations, but they had not
fully evolved. But years of being thrown through the ‘rinse cycle’ was finally paying off, proving that ‘through strife comes change.'
SIX
Hartwell was always with Daniel, even if he wasn’t physically present in Daniel’s location. You could say that as a vampire he was the kids’
‘blood shadow.' Because blood shadows are often referred to as ghosts of beings that give no physical indication of their presence but, corporeally, they are very much around.
The previous one hundred years-or-so were pure torture, except for the random acts of blood-letting and violence that made Hartwell one of the most feared disruptive forces of his generation.
His life of vampirism started fairly innocently, as blood-thirsty creatures go. When we last saw Hartwell, he was lying on his back and playing the part of the three-day download. Before the change, he had a daily ritual of taking a walk down the street every afternoon to fetch a newspaper from a local tobacco purveyor, and then he would stop next door at Mrs. Wilcox’s house for a baked good, or two, before heading home. Unless, of course, he was out of town traveling with his family.
Mrs. Wilcox was 60 years old and was battling the late stages of Alzheimer ’s disease. To say that she forgot her own name some days would be an exaggeration, but there were definitely ‘gaps’ in her life that went permanently missing from the memory bank. It had been two weeks since Thomas had stopped by and the scones were starting to pile up, because Mrs. Wilcox had not stopped baking.
It had been years since she had been in Hartwell’s residence, but one lonely afternoon she decided to see what was going on with her only friend. The truth was that even if she made it back on the street that night, it would have been a long shot if she would have found her way home.
A faint knock on the door got things started, but barely made a dent in Hartwell’s deep slumber on the bathroom floor. Repeated attempts from Edna Wilcox’s brittle and slightly-discolored hands also went on deaf ears, so she looked for something more substantial to pound on the door. She managed to locate a f
ive-inch-round rock but tried the civilized approach one more time before resorted to force.
“Thomas? Thomas, are you in there? This is Edna Wilcox!” she yelled straining her lungs, which caused her to cough painfully for about ten seconds. She thought about tapping the rock against the door with both hands, but it flew out of her grasp about mid-way to the door causing a loud “Thud!”
The sound served as a spark that lit the fuse of a keg of dynamite. Edna Wilcox stood in front of the door admiring a dent that was her handiwork, as Hartwell’s now-orange eyes opened as he rose to his feet effortlessly, on a 90-degree angle. He floated to the door without the use of
his legs and said, “Who is it?” in his best ‘big-bad wolf posing as granny’
voice.
Edna nearly gave up and had turned her back until she heard the familiar voice. The door swung open as Hartwell’s mind was now doing what his hands and feet used to do. Wilcox turned around and said, “Oh Thomas, you are home. I was starting to worry…” Edna prattled on as she basically described events that were now ancient history to a reborn son of the blood. His ears blocked out the infernal noise and his eyes focused like a lion waiting in the tall grass for an opportune time to pounce on its prey. While he was transfixed on her neck, his consciousness was scanning the street for mortal and animal traffic patterns.
A local shopkeeper walked by and looked up at Edna talking to Thomas and then looked down to see where he was walking, before picking up his head and seeing nothing but a closed door. It must have been only a few seconds between viewings of Hartwell’s doorway, and this
piqued Burt Larson’s interest enough to stop by the next day. But the good neighbor only managed to be lunch for a vampire that was quite awake and had an insatiable appetite for beleaguered San Franciscans.
