Thirst No. 1: The Last Vampire, Black Blood, and Red Dice

by Christopher Pike

  “Blue is better than red,” I reply. “But a little red does not frighten me. I am going to shoot now unless you do as I say. This is a sniper rifle. The bullets leave the barrel at high velocity. I am going to shoot my friend in the chest, through one of his lungs, and that same bullet will probably go into one of your lungs. You will have trouble holding on to my friend with a hole in such a vital spot. True, you will start to heal immediately, but before you do, I will put another bullet in my friend, and in you. How many bullets do you think you can take before you have to let go? How many bullets can you take before you die?” I pause. “I don’t make many mistakes, Eddie.”

  My audacity shakes him. It shakes Ray as well; he turns a bit green. He continues to choke. Eddie reconsiders. “You will not shoot your friend,” he says.

  “Why not? You’re about to kill him anyway.” I settle on a spot on Ray’s belly, just below the rib cage. They are roughly the same height; the wounds should be identical, less serious than holes in the lungs. “I am going to count to three. One—two—”

  “Wait,” Eddie says quickly. “I’ll make you a counter proposal.”

  I keep my aim fast. “Yes?”

  “I will tell you where your other friend is—as a sign of good faith—and you will allow me to leave with your boyfriend as far as the other end of the warehouse. There I will release him.”

  He’s lying. He will break Ray’s neck as soon as he puts some distance between us. “First tell me where Yaksha is, then I will consider your proposal.”

  Eddie snorts. “You are one cunning bitch.”

  “Thank you. Where is Yaksha?”

  “He’s not far.”

  “I tire of this.” I put four pounds on a five-pound trigger. “Ray,” I say gently, “after I shoot, I want you to fight to shake free. He will try to hold on to you, of course, but remember he will be bleeding as badly as you are. And even though he is stronger than both of us, he is alone. Even if I have to put two or three bullets in you, I promise, you will not die.” My tone becomes bitter. “But you, Eddie, will die screaming. Like those people you tortured last night.”

  He is a cruel devil. “I look forward to hearing your screams.”

  I fire. The bullet hits where I intend and penetrates both of them, exiting Eddie’s back and striking the passenger door of the gasoline truck. Red blossoms on Ray’s midsection and he gasps in pain. But Eddie does not try to defend himself by continuing to use Ray as a shield. The guy is totally unpredictable. Instead, he throws Ray at me, momentarily knocking me off balance. Then he is on me. Yes, even though I hold the rifle in my hands and there are thirty feet between us, Eddie is able to get to me before I can get off another shot. He is like black lightning. Crashing into me with tremendous force, he knocks me onto my back. The rear of my skull smacks the ground and my grip on the rifle falters, although I have not let go of it. For a moment I see stars, and they are not Krishna blue but hellish red and threatening to explode. Stunned himself, Eddie slowly climbs to his knees beside me. He regains his concentration swiftly, however. His eyes focus on the rifle, the only thing that gives me an advantage over him. I try to bring it up, to put a bullet in his face, but once again he is too fast. Lashing out in a sharp karatelike motion with his right hand, he actually bends the barrel of the rifle, rendering it useless. He is bleeding badly from his stomach, but he grins as he stares at my broken toy. He thinks he has me now.

  “I can take a lot before I die,” he says, answering my previous question.

  “Really?” I kick him in the belly, in his wound, and he momentarily doubles up. But my blow is not decisive. Before I can fully climb to my knees, he strikes with his left fist, and I feel as if my head almost leaves its place on top of my shoulders. Again, I topple backward, blood pouring from my mouth. I land dizzily in a pile of gravel. Pain throbs through my entire body from my face. He has broken my jaw, several of my teeth, at least. And he is not done. Out the side of a drooping eye, I see him climb to his feet and ready his sharp black boots to kick me to death. Out the other eye I see Ray also stand. Eddie has momentarily forgotten my lover, probably considering him small game.

  Uncertain, Ray makes a move to attack Eddie that will lengthen my life by all of five seconds. Shaking my head minutely, I raise my bleeding arm in the direction of the truck. A look passes between us. Ray understands. Light the fuse, I am saying, detonate our bomb. Save the human race. Save yourself. I will keep Eddie busy for ten seconds. Ray turns in the direction of the truck, the gasoline from the other tanker puddling around the wheels. Of course Eddie also sees him turn for the truck. He moves to stop him. In that moment, summoning the last of my strength, I launch myself off the ground at Eddie’s midsection.

  We crash and fall into another painful pile. As we once more struggle to stand, he reaches over and grabs me by the hair, pulling my face close to his. His breath is foul; I believe he not only sucks his victims dry, but eats them as well. He looks as if he would like to take a bite out of me. His eyes are crazed: excited and furious at the same time. Prozac would not help him. He yanks at my hair and a thousand roots come out.

  “That hurts,” I say.

  He grins, cocking his fist back. “Try this on for size, Sita.”

  I close my eyes and wait for the blow. This one, I am sure, will send me into the promised land. I just hope I have bought Ray enough time. What I do not understand is that Ray is still trying to buy me time. The blow never arrives. Ray’s voice comes to me as if from far away.

  “Eddie,” he says firmly.

  I open my eyes. Eddie and I both look over and discover that rather than follow my last instruction and light the fuse, Ray has chosen to punch a hole in the tanker with his fist. The gasoline pours out beside him like a gusher from a cracking dam. Of greater note, he has already struck a single wooden match and holds the flame above his head like a miniature torch that will lead us safely past the valley of the shadow of death. Or else straight into it. I am fully aware that the fumes of gasoline are more volatile than the actual liquid itself. And Ray stands in a cloud of petroleum fog. Not that Eddie and I loiter at a safe distance. Gasoline soaks both sets of our feet.

  “I only have one match,” Ray says to Eddie. “If you do not let Sita go, I will have to drop this one. What do you say?”

  Eddie just won’t learn. “You’re bluffing,” he says.

  I catch Ray’s eye. “No,” I plead.

  Ray smiles faintly in my direction. “Run, Sita. Fly. Return and fight him another day. In the end you’ll win. Remember, you have Krishna’s grace.” His fingers move.

  “Ray!” I scream.

  He lets go of the burning match. Eddie lets go of me, in a hurry. For a moment I stare transfixed as the little orange flame topples toward the waterfall of gasoline. Despite my endless years, the countless deaths I have witnessed, it strikes me as inconceivable that such a tiny flame has the potential to scorch my universe, to burn everything I love and cherish. Yet my state of denial does not last forever. The match is halfway to the ground when I bolt toward Ray. But even I, Yaksha’s prime pupil, am too slow for gravity. Before I can reach Ray’s hands, which he holds up to ward me off, the match kisses the flowing river of fuel.

  “No!” I cry.

  Combustion is immediate. The gasoline at his feet ignites. The flames race up his soaked clothes. In an instant my beautiful boy is transformed into a living torch. For a moment I see his eyes through the flames. Perhaps it is a trick of the light, but his brown eyes suddenly appear blue to me, shining with the light of stars I have never seen, or stars I no longer remember. There is no pain on his face; he has made his choice willingly, to save me, to save us all. He stands for a moment like a candle fit to be offered to the Lord. But the flames are not idle; they rush toward me while at the same time they leap toward the truck that stands behind Ray. The truck is closer. Before my own legs begin to burn, before I can reach Ray and pull him free of the holocaust, the fire snakes into the opening Ray had punched in the
tanker. The stream of fire is not a fuse we planned, but it is an effective one nevertheless.

  The gasoline truck explodes.

  An angry red hand slaps the entire front of my body. I have a last glimpse of Ray’s fiery form disintegrating under the hammer of the shock wave. Then I am flying through the air, shooting through the smoke. A blur of a wall appears and I hit it hard and feel every bone in my body break. I slump to the ground, falling into a well of despair. My clothes are on fire, but they fail to light this black well because it is bottomless.

  My last conscious awareness is of a sport coat being thrown over me.

  Then I am blackness.

  TEN

  I stand on a vast grass field of many gently sloping hills. It is night, yet the sky is bright. There is no sun, but a hundred blazing blue stars, each shimmering in a long river of nebulous cloud. The air is warm, pleasant, fragrant with the perfume of a thousand invisible flowers. In the distance a stream of people walk toward a large vessel of some type, nestled between the hills. The ship is violet, glowing; the bright rays that stab forth from it seem to reach to the stars. Somehow I know that it is about to leave and that I am supposed to be on it. Yet, before I depart, there is something I have to discuss with Lord Krishna.

  He stands beside me on the wide plain, his gold flute in his right hand, a red lotus flower in his left. His dress is simple, as is mine—long blue gowns that reach to the ground. Only he wears a single jewel around his neck—the brilliant Kaustubha gem, in which the destiny of every soul can be seen. He does not look at me but toward the vast ship, and the stars beyond. He seems to be waiting for me to speak, but for some reason I cannot remember what he said last. I only know that I am a special case. Because I do not know what to ask, I say what is most on my mind.

  “When will I see you again, my Lord?”

  He gestures to the vast plain, the thousands of people leaving. “The earth is a place of time and dimension. Moments here can seem like an eternity there. It all depends on your heart. When you remember me, I am there in the blink of an eye.”

  “Even on earth?”

  He nods. “Especially there. It is a unique place. Even the gods pray to take birth there.”

  “Why is that, my Lord?”

  He smiles faintly. His smile is bewitching. It has been said, I know, that the smile of the Lord has bewildered the minds of the angels. It has bewildered mine.

  “One question always leads to another question. Some things are better to wonder about.” He turns toward me finally, his long black hair blowing in the soft night breeze. The stars reflect in his black pupils; the whole universe is there. The love that flows from him is the sweetest ambrosia in all the heavens. Yet it breaks my heart to feel because I know it will soon be gone. “It is all maya,” he says. “Illusion.”

  “Will I get lost in this illusion, my Lord?”

  “Of course. It is to be expected. You will be lost for a long time.”

  “I will forget you?”

  “Yes.”

  I feel tears on my face. “Why does it have to be that way?”

  He considers. “There was this great god who was master of a vast ocean. This ocean—you may not know its name, but it is very near to here. This god had three wives. You know how hard it is to please one wife? You can imagine how difficult it was to keep all three happy. Not long after he married the three, two of them came to him and asked for gifts. The first one said, ‘O great Lord. We are the finest of your wives, the most beautiful. Reward us with special presents and we will be most pleased.’ And the second one said, ‘We have served you faithfully and love none other than you. Give us treasures and we will stay with you for the rest of your life.’ The god laughed at their requests, but because he was pleased with them, he fulfilled their wishes. To the first he gave all the jewels in his ocean: the diamonds, the emeralds, the sapphires. To the second he gave all the colored coral, all the beautiful seashells. The third wife, of course, asked for nothing in particular. So he gave her the salt.”

  “The salt, my Lord? Is that all?”

  “Yes. Because she asked nothing from him, he gave her the salt, which she spread out in the ocean. All the bright jewels became invisible, and all the pretty seashells were covered over. And the first two wives were unable to find their treasure and so were left with nothing. So you see the salt was the greatest of the gifts, or at least the most powerful.” Krishna pauses. “You understand this story, Sita?”

  I hesitate. There are always many meanings in his stories. “Yes. This nearby ocean is the creation we are about to enter. The salt is the maya, the illusion, that covers its treasures.”

  Krishna nods. “Yes. But understand that these treasures are not evil, and the goddesses who own them are not simply vain. Dive deep into this ocean and they will cause currents to stir that will lead you to things you cannot imagine.” He pauses and then continues in a softer voice, once more looking at the sky. “I dreamed of the earth, and that is how it came to be. In my dream I saw you there.” He reaches out and his hand touches my hair and I feel I will swoon. “You go there to learn things that only earth can teach. That is true but it is also false. All of truth is paradoxical. With me, there is never any coming or going. Do you understand?”

  “No, my Lord.”

  He removes his hand. “It doesn’t matter. You are like the earth, unique. But unlike the others you see before you, you will not come and go there many times. In your dream, and mine, you will go there and stay.”

  “For how long, my Lord?”

  “You will be born at the beginning of one age. You will not leave until the next age comes.”

  My tears return. “And in all that time I am never to see you?”

  “You will see me not long after you are changed. Then, it is possible, you may see me again before you leave the earth.” Krishna smiles. “It is all up to you.”

  I do not understand what he means by changed, but have more pressing concerns. “But I don’t want to go at all!”

  He laughs so easily. “You say that now. You will not say that . . . later.” His eyes hold mine for what seems a moment, but perhaps is much longer. In that brief span I see many faces, many stars. It is as if the whole universe spins below and completes an entire revolution. But I have not left the hilltop. I continue to stare into Krishna’s eyes. Or are they really eyes and not windows into a portion of myself that I have striven so hard to reclaim? A tiny globe of light emerges from his eyes and floats into mine, a living world of many forms and shapes. He speaks to me in a whisper. “How do you feel now, Sita?”

  I raise my hand to my head. “Dizzy. I feel somehow as if I have just lived . . .” I stop. “I feel as if I have already been to earth and been married and had a child! It is all so strange. I feel as if I have been something other than human. Is that possible?”

  He nods. “You will be human for only a short time. And, yes, it has all happened already. You see, that is the maya. You think what you have to do, to accomplish, to perfect yourself to reach me. But there is no doer-ship. You are always with me, and I am always with you. Still, it is deep in your heart to be different from the rest, to try to do in one long life what it takes others thousands of lives to accomplish. So be it. You are an angel, but you wish to be like me. But I am both angel and demon, good and evil. Yet I am above all these things. Dive deep into the ocean, Sita, and you will find that the greatest treasures you find are the illusions you leave behind.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He raises his flute to his lips. “Now I will play you a song made up of the seven notes of humanity. All the emotions you will feel as a human and as a vampire. Remember this song and you will remember me. Sing this song and I will be there.”

  “Wait! What is a vampire?”

  But Krishna has already started to play. As I strive to listen a sudden wind comes up on the plain and the notes are drowned out. The dust rises and I am blinded, and I can’t see Krishna
anymore. I can’t feel him near. The light of the stars fades and all goes dark. And my sorrow is great.

  Yet I have to wonder if I have lost the song because I have become the song. If I have lost my Lord because I do indeed desire to be what I will become. A lover who hates, a saint who sins, and an angel who kills.

  I awake to a world I don’t want. There is no transition for me. I am in paradise, I am in hell.

  “Hello?” a voice says.

  Actually, I am in a cheap motel. Looking around, I see a chipped chest of drawers, a dusty mirror that reflects bare walls, a dumpy mattress. It is on this mattress that I lay, naked, covered with a sheet. In this reflection I also see Special Agent Joel Drake, who sits on a chair near the window and waits anxiously for me to respond to his query. But I say nothing at first.

  Ray is dead. I know this, I feel this. Yet, at the same time I hurt too much to feel anything. I hear my heart pump inside my chest. It cannot belong to me, however. In my long life I have drunk the blood of thousands, but now I am an empty vessel. I shiver even though the room is warm.

  “Yes?” I say finally.

  “Sita.” In the mirror I watch the reflection of Joel come and sit on the bed beside me. The soggy springs respond to the weight, and my body sags in the middle. “Are you all right?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re in a motel. I took you here after the explosion at the warehouse. That was twelve hours ago. You have slept away the entire day.”

  “Yes.”

  He speaks without believing his own words. “I followed in your footsteps. I went to see the mother. She was in a strange state, incoherent, like a broken record. She kept repeating the location of the warehouse that blew up. She said little else.”

  “Yes.” Clearly I pushed the mother’s brain too hard, etched my suggestion in her psyche, set up an echo. I have done this in the past, and the effect is seldom permanent. The woman will probably be all right in a day or two. Not that I care.