Noir: A Crimson Shadow Novel

by Nathan Squiers

  The meat sizzled and popped and sent small portions of the brine splattering out, and the flowery smell filled the room. Stan frowned at the scent, hopeful that the taste wouldn’t be the same. It would be awkward, he thought, to bite into something that he considered meat and have it taste like candy.

  Instead, when he was satisfied that the hand was fully cooked and he sat down to take the first bite, he was surprised to find that the hand tasted like a very fine veal cutlet, but with a slightly fruity aftertaste, as if he had marinated it in juice instead of salt-water and herbs. He also noticed as he ate that there were no bones at all; no grit or unwanted muscle fibers. It was, in fact, the best piece of meat that he’d ever eaten.

  After the last bite was consumed, Stan looked down at the empty plate and frowned. He didn’t feel any different. There was no electric pull from his center telling him he was all-powerful. He just felt full… and tired.

  Very tired.

  Feeing his eyelids tugging shut, he got up from the table and headed towards his bed. Halfway there, his body lagged, telling him that he wouldn’t make it that far, and he settled on making it to the couch instead. A few feeble steps later and his body confessed that that trek, too, was an impossible one and the floor quickly became the best option.

  Several hours later Stan awoke feeling as if he’d slept for days and he sat up, taking in a deep breath. Standing with a slight groan and stretching out, he was startled by a loud cracking sound and instantly recoiled. Had the sound come from his stiff joints? He tested the thought, stretching again and listening as the sound intensified.

  No, not his joints.

  Something inanimate. . .

  Something structural.

  Still stretching, he looked up towards the sound and saw the dents in the ceiling—two perfectly rounded indentations freshly punched into the cheap plaster roofing. But Stan knew he was the one responsible, and stretched harder, watching as the dents deepened and leaked powdered plaster chunks and loosened dust. As Stan focused on his overly simple magical feat, his eyes picked up on the energy field.

  His time with Joseph and Depok and other psychic vampires had taught him how to recognize auric energy. Though the ability was more common in psychic vampires, and nearly impossible for humans to perfect, there he was, punching holes in his ceiling with a pale-blue aura without having told his mind to do anything of the sort. He smiled and concentrated on pulling his aura back to himself, smiling widely as it obliged, moving to his will like his arms or legs.

  The creature had done it!

  The next day, Stan caught the thief, or thieves as it turned out. He had disconnected himself from his physical body and viewed the time stream like a video cassette: rewinding as far back as desired to see what had taken place the day of the assault-slash-robbery.

  Upon reentering his solid form, he inquired around the building until he located the culprit.

  Or, rather, culprits!

  He had no trouble identifying the three boys he had seen in his “vision”, and when he’d at last tracked them down, he stood behind the closed door and, amid the cloud of marijuana smoke and the stink of booze, tortured the boys by entering their minds and leaving them with the impression that their skulls were full of scorpions. As they writhed in agony on their stolen carpet, blind to their punisher’s entrance, Stan collected his belongings and left the thieves screaming and clawing at their already bloodied scalps trying to free the phantom stings.

  Though he wasn’t prepared to take the extra step and kill them for their attack on the poor girl, he’d nevertheless uttered a silent prayer to himself that their hysteria would drive them to rip themselves apart.

  Despite everything that had happened, he was confident that these prayers would be answered.

  ****

  The remainder of Stan’s college career was a cakewalk, and it was not long until he was accepting his teaching degree and graduating first in his class. He was not surprised on the day of his graduation to see Depok and Joseph standing in the crowd under the shadow of a tall tree, smiling at him as he accepted his certificate. Joseph’s wife had been there as well, and Stan had smiled when his old friend informed him that they were due to have their first child sometime in late-October.

  Though the future was a blank slate for even him—nothing short of a devil on Earth—Stan couldn’t help but know that his path with the unborn Stryker child would change everything.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Reunion

  I always knew there was something about him. Trepis said.

  “Figures that he’s tied into all this,” Xander grumbled as he took another drag off of one of his new cigarettes.

  On his way back from the library he’d met a sympathetic sang who had given him a nearly full pack. He’d explained that after being turned he had no longer felt the addiction but smoked them anyway out of habit. Xander hadn’t cared about the details but was appreciative nonetheless.

  Sort of makes sense, though; in a strange, twisted kinda way, I mean, Trepis continued.

  Xander snorted, “This entire fucking week has been a series of ‘strange twists’!” He sighed before bringing the cigarette to his lips and taking one last drag.

  You sound upset about that.

  Xander paused. Was he upset about it? After all that had happened, did he really feel any regret that he was where he was? He shook his head, afraid to ponder the question any longer, “You know me, Trep; I always have to have something to bitch about.” He exhaled the smoke and put out the spent cigarette.

  Feeling that, for the moment, he’d satisfied his nicotine craving, he lay back in bed. It was his third day in the Odin Clan’s mansion. After the talk with Depok the night before, he had gone back to his room and collapsed back into his bed only to fall asleep all day.

  So are we going lie here all day then? Trepis asked, a note of irritation riding on his voice.

  Xander sighed, “And where would you have me go?”

  Trepis lingered on the question for a moment and there was a tickle over Xander’s left ear that he’d come to associate as a shrug from his friend, I don’t know. This is just boring!

  Sighing, Xander hoisted himself up with a groan and sat on the corner of the bed, “Is there something you know that you’re not telling me?”

  I wish I knew.

  Xander growled, “What the hell does that mean?”

  There was another tickle.

  “Since when are you at a loss for words?”

  I can’t explain it! There’s a familiarity here, but it’s hard to remember—like I’ve seen it in a dream or something. Trepis explained.

  Xander shook his head, “Since when do you dream?”

  I’ve been a part of yours since before you were born, smartass.

  Xander sighed; Trepis had him there. Looking at the door that led to the hall and into the strangeness of the vampire clan, he smiled.

  “Would you like to take control for a while?”

  You would do that?

  Xander grinned at the astonishment in Trepis’ voice. He was usually uncomfortable being a passenger in his own body and Trepis, knowing this, had given up expecting it. He shrugged, “Not like I know where anything is around here. This place is apparently more foreign to me than it is to you. Who knows what we’ll find if you’re behind the wheel.”

  No sooner had the words been spoken than his body began to shake. By some bizarre miracle, the body was able to remain upright as it quaked. There was a sharp pull and Xander felt himself separate from the rest of him. A sensation, as if his mind was being crumpled up like a sheet of paper, followed soon after. When at last the mental whirl-pool died down, he was resting in the back of his own mind “seeing” through the eyes of Trepis as he took control.

  How’s it feel to be back on the outside? Xander called out.

  The body’s jaw stretched for a moment before Trepis spoke through it, “Feels good.” He tested the joints’ flexibility, “Forgot how stiff ev
erything felt.”

  Xander understood. Where he was, there was no feeling of restriction. It felt like he was a ball of floating liquid with no confinements whatsoever. He could see why a sudden change from this into a world of solids and gravity would be jarring.

  So are we going to lie here all day then? He mocked.

  Trepis shook the head and walked towards the door, fumbling with the handle before finally turning it and stepping into the hall.

  Xander watched as Trepis explored the mansion, seeming to already know where everything was. Every now and again, there would be a momentary fog of confusion, then Trepis would steer the body back until it was on a recognizable path once again.

  Coming across a stairwell with a nearby elevator shaft, Trepis stabbed the thumb into the call button. As the polished doors slid open, Trepis hurried to step over the gap and almost fell over before righting himself against the far wall of the elevator cab.

  God dammit! Xander cried out as he felt the body stumble.

  Some vampires walking nearby watched in silent confusion as Stryker’s son—the big-deal talk of the whole clan—laughed at himself for such a blunder and pressed his index finger against the button for the first floor. As the doors shut and the elevator lurched downward, Trepis wavered and fell back, catching himself along a chrome rail.

  Real slick, Xander laughed, I wonder what they think of the son of the great Joseph Stryker now.

  “It’s not as easy as you’ve made it look!” Trepis said in his defense, “And besides, you’re a lot taller than you were the last time I did this.”

  Xander would have rolled his eyes if he’d had control of them, Good thing you didn’t take the stairs. You’d have broken my neck!

  The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors slid open. Trepis made a note of being more graceful as he exited and looked around. After some hesitation, he navigated down a long hall and kept walking straight until a single step down turned the floor from luxurious carpeting to stained wood. At the end of the “new” hall was a Japanese-style sliding door made of light wood and paper, which, after a brief pause, Trepis pulled open and stepped through.

  The aromatic smell of tea wafted through the opening and swirled out into the hall. As Trepis looked around the room, Xander could see that the floor, walls and even the ceiling were lined with bamboo. Along each wall, evenly spaced and symmetrical scrolls hung; each baring a Japanese symbol written in red ink, which contrasted against the light yellow hue of the rest of the room.

  At last, his exploring eyes came to rest on a little bald oriental boy who sat near the far wall with a cup of tea. Though he didn’t look older than twelve or thirteen, he had a posture that seemed far more matured. As Xander watched from the back of his own mind, Trepis began to move towards him.

  Though the boy hadn’t seemed to notice their entrance, he looked unsurprised when he lifted his head and saw them coming. “Welcome back, Stryker-san,” his voice was soft-but-strong.

  Xander watched, his confusion growing, as Trepis bowed to the little boy and sat down across from him, “Hello, Sensei.”

  Xander would have frowned had he the face to do so, Who is this?

  He is called ‘Sensei’. Trepis answered back, communicating in private—something that Xander had never figured out how to accomplish.

  Yea, I heard that part. But how do you know who he is? Xander asked.

  Trepis paused, looking down for a moment. Then he sighed, I don’t know.

  The little boy—Sensei—took a sip of his tea and smiled, “You’ve taken the boy where he needed to be, now let me speak with him.”

  Another strong, sudden pull took Xander by surprise then. He felt as if he was being dragged by his chest into a brick wall that began to swallow him piece-by-piece. As he was consumed, his senses came back to him, allowing reality to fall back into place until he was once again in control.

  “That must be quite a trip, I imagine,” the boy said with a grin.

  Xander blinked away the dizziness, “That’s one way of putting it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pack of cigs and his lighter.

  Sensei frowned at the sight, “You will not smoke in here.”

  Shaking his head, Xander pulled a cigarette out of the pack and put it between his lips, “Kid, if you’d gone through what I’ve been through you’d be craving one too.” He struck the Zippo and moved to put the flame to the tip.

  The child’s tone grew harsher, “You will not smoke in here!”

  Xander looked at the boy who, though he was much shorter, suddenly seemed to look down on him.

  Do as he says, Trepis warned.

  Frowning, Xander flipped the Zippo shut and put the cigarette back in the pack and pocketed it, “Happy?”

  The boy nodded once.

  “You got a name besides ‘Sensei’?” he asked.

  “I’m sure I did once, but one loses track of such things.”

  Xander sneered, “So what you’re telling me is you’re so ancient that you’ve forgotten your own name?”

  “I have put out of my mind a title that was unnecessary for my journeys, yes,” Sensei’s calm voice was unwavering.

  Xander frowned, not sure he fully understood. Though he’d learned a great deal about vampires from Marcus and Sophie, they hadn’t said much about the aging process, just that they aged differently than humans. Could Sensei just be a vampire child? Or was he a special sort of…

  “You question my age,” Sensei smiled and took another sip of his tea.

  Xander chuckled, “I’m actually questioning my eyes.”

  “The eyes you look through do tell many lies, but I am what I appear to be,” he smiled, “but, at the same time, not.”

  Xander sighed and, finally able to do so, rolled his eyes, “I understand that you’re older than you look. I’m just wondering how old.”

  “More than seven centuries,” Sensei answered.

  Xander nodded, though it only arose more questions, “Fair enough. So why do they call you ‘Sensei’?”

  He shrugged and took a sip of his tea, “It is just a title.”

  Xander sighed and motioned towards the teapot, “You mind?”

  Sensei smiled, “That is why it is there.”

  Xander reached for the pot and poured himself some of the steaming green tea into a mug and took a sip, “When I—we—first came in, you said it was good to see me again. Have we met before?”

  Sensei put down his tea and rose to his feet. “No, Stryker-San,” he murmured, “this would be our first encounter.”

  “I don’t understand,” Xander said, frowning.

  Sensei looked up from his tea, his eyes wide with surprise, “You mean you do not know? They have not yet told you?” he shook his head, muttering to himself before finally looking back at Xander and smiling, “I was talking to your father.”

  Xander cocked his head in confusion, “My father?”

  Sensei nodded, “Mmhm. It’s been quite a while since I had last spoken to him.”

  Xander clenched his teeth, “My father is dead!”

  Sensei ignored both his anger and his words and began humming as he walked towards a sliding door between two wall scrolls, “Did you name the voice in your head ‘Trepis’ yourself or have you always known him by that name?”

  “What does that have to do with my father?” Xander shouted, jumping up to his feet.

  Sensei turned and faced Xander, unwavering, “I would suggest you calm yourself, Stryker-San, and listen to what I have to say. Your father—”

  The burning rage gripped at Xander and grew in intensity at that, “MY FATHER IS DEAD!” he screamed, pulling back his fist and preparing to…

  And then he was on his back.

  The image of the bald Asian boy’s head came into focus as Xander gasped and heaved on the floor.

  Sensei squatted down and looked him, “The death of the body is not always the death of the mind.”

  Xander looked up, finally breathing, though
it came in small bursts, “But Depok said…” he stopped, unable to fuel any more words.

  “Depok knows many things, but he is sadly out of touch with the spiritual side of the world,” Sensei answered.

  Xander rolled over onto his stomach and began to push himself up, pausing to catch his breath, “My father…”

  “… ‘is dead’,” Sensei finished, shaking his head, “His body is long since passed, yes, Stryker-San, but there is more to a person than simply the body. There is the fuel: Chi. It is one’s essence that drives them, and when that life ends, the essence usually—usually!—leaves to become a part of everything. When your father was murdered, he pushed beyond the very limits to find you; and he succeeded. He found you before you’d ever seen the light of this world.” Sensei smiled, “And he’s been a part of you ever since.”

  Xander’s eyes widened, “Trepis is…”

  Sensei nodded, smiling, “He is your father.”

  A rock formed in Xander’s throat and, despite how hard he tried to swallow it away, it began to grow. His eyes shut as he felt tears well inside of them and the corners of his lips drew back against his will. And there, on the floor, in front of a seven-hundred year old prepubescent boy, he began to cry.

  Sensei offered a light touch to Xander’s shoulder with his right hand, and he felt a calming sensation; a familiar one that brought a wave of haunting memories of his grandmother. With renewed stability, he rose and looked down, choking on a sob.

  Sensei, again, walked towards the door, “Would you like to meet the real Trepis?” he asked.

  Xander looked up, “The real…”

  Sensei slid open the hidden door.

  “HOLY SHIT!” Xander fell backwards in a clumsy heap, trying to distance himself from the massive white tiger that stepped out.

  “Be calm!” Sensei called out, but Xander wasn’t listening. Sensei spoke again, this time in Xander’s mind, Relax! Trepis will not hurt you.