He was with his friends, having a great time. I stood in one of the corners and watched him for a while. There was no doubt that the man was a complete success with pretty much everyone. He had changed. Long gone was the strong young man he used to be. He had traded him for some kind of a bad interpretation of a male model wannabe, or what I like to refer to as the junkie look. He had lost at least thirty pounds, way too much for his body frame; and instead of looking leaner, he just looked sick.
I have a strong build, but after two hundred years of a diet dominated by protein and liquids, all that’s left in me is my muscles, but that is my excuse. His was either a stupid idea of trying to look like a model, or maybe to follow the trend of having six-pack abs, or drugs. My senses told me it was the first.
There was a petite girl who was making the rounds in and out of his circle. I could tell she was more than interested in a friendship with him. A beautiful, lean brunette. Maybe way too short for him, but he did not seem to mind at all. She was dressed as a maid; he was smartly decked out in gray pants, white long-sleeved shirt with a tie and a vest, and a pair of well-polished black shoes. He had put gel on his hair and combed it in a back-to-the-’30s style.
I focused all my energy on him, and just like that, he turned around and found me among the crowd. His expression turned serious as I walked toward him, offering him my biggest and brightest smile, fangs showing. He was polite enough to extend his hand, and I responded to the gesture. He asked how I was, and I threw the question back at him. After the mandatory thirty seconds of politeness, we were ready to say good-bye. He didn’t ask about Lucy, and I didn’t mention her. Then the petite maid showed up, smiling at us. She never told me her name, but I knew it was Amanda.
It’s so easy reading the mind of the young.
I looked at Stephen and asked him who he was supposed to be. He answered Clyde, as in Bonnie and Clyde. Of course, I thought. Another one who actually believed that Clyde looked like Warren Beatty in the movie. If he only knew that the real Clyde was indeed a bully, an average-looking man without ambition.
Now that I think about it, I realize that Stephen had picked the perfect costume.
I looked at him and Amanda and couldn’t help myself. “So, where’s Bonnie?” I asked.
“She didn’t make it,” Stephen said.
My eyes bore into him. He looked back at me and then at Amanda.
“That thing that we both died in an ambush is all lies,” he said to her, and then turned back to me. “I got lucky. She, not so much.”
“So now you two are like the maid and Clyde?” I asked.
Stephen smiled condescendingly like he used to do when feeling challenged.
“Hey, but don’t be fooled by appearances!” said Amanda in a strong voice over the loud music, grabbing my attention. “I’m a killer maid!” she proclaimed, smiling wickedly.
I smiled back at her and then started to leave.
“And who are you supposed to be?” Amanda asked.
I reacted without really thinking about my answer or its implications. I turned to look at her with a murderous gaze.
“I’m a vampire trying to pass as human,” I replied with a full-on menacing smile.
Amanda saw the gleam in my eyes, and her smile faded. I turned to Stephen and nodded. He also turned serious. With nothing else to say, I turned and walked away.
********
I decided to walk for a change, looking for a place to calm myself down. I don’t know how many blocks I walked while doing my best to keep in mind that it was not my place to take the life of “Clyde.” Not because I didn’t want it to but because I had made up my mind after Lucy told me about the pregnancy and her intention of keeping the baby. I told her it was a mistake, knowing that she didn’t arrive easily at that decision. It is not that I thought having a child was a mistake; in fact, the real mistake was keeping Stephen in her life, which was what she would do by having his spawn. I did not have to read her thoughts to see how much she was still in love with him; and while I could understand that, I was nevertheless angry beyond reason to know how much of a disadvantage she was at because of her feelings for him.
Sometimes love could scars us forever.
My thoughts zeroed in on the memory of Kamille. Sometimes I still hear her voice, and other times, I can see her smile right after the sun sets and the twilight rules. She smiles at me, ever present inside my mind.
I felt nostalgic relating to Lucy’s pain, because I too was, and always will be, at a disadvantage regarding my true feelings for Kamille.
********
November 10, 2004
Miami
Weeks had passed since I sensed his scent. It was as though he had somehow vanished from the face of the earth. I searched Orlando, even Tampa; but my vigilante was gone, or so I thought until I picked his scent a couple of days back over in Coral Gables.
Now that Lucy had moved to the old apartment over on Collins Avenue, I had all the time in the world to track him down. I was curious about what he was up to.
I flew over the city, slowly searching for him.
Suddenly, I felt a slight headache. What was going on with me? I stopped in midair, suspending my body at will while feeling the numb sensation crawling down from the top of my head down to my spine. I was aware of what was about to come, and I didn’t want any part of it. I shifted my body and started heading back to the beach, trying to shake off the sensation; but then I grew dizzy and, unable to control myself, had to land.
I found an alley near the beach, and as soon as my feet were on the ground, I had to lean against one of the building walls for support. I felt weak, strange, and furious. I heard a noise and turned my head toward it.
The young boy was in shock standing next to his bicycle, his mouth wide open. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen. He saw my face and somehow guessed what was about to happen to him because he turned toward the highway, dropped his bike on the ground, and ran as fast as he could. I moved faster, of course, overtaking him and finally carrying him with me to the dark heavens, where no one would hear him scream.
*******
It was after 2:00 a.m. when I landed on the beach near the house. I stood there, wondering what was happening to me.
I heard a quick movement behind me and turned to find Lucy. She was wearing a thick sweater and was getting up from the blanket she had spread on the sand. She looked at me in silence, not moving.
We looked at each other for seconds, which felt like hours.
The sea breeze hit my back softly. The damn wind had taken away her scent, blinding me to her presence. I didn’t dare to move. It was she who did.
I silently begged for her not to be scared of me.
I watched as she walked, slowly and silently, toward me. When she reached me, she laid her head on my chest. I gave her a soft hug, her body seeking support from mine. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to be in her apartment. That was what I wanted, for her to get rid of every memory from the place she shared with Stephen, to grow strong again, to find her center. Instead, she had discovered me.
She raised her eyes to mine. And in the way she looked at me, I saw that she had known for a while that I had a secret. Of course, she had!
“I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to be alone,” she said softly.
There was no fear in her eyes, but for a reason I can’t explain, it was I who was afraid. I, who knows no fear, was afraid of losing her by revealing my true nature.
She hugged me tighter, letting me know that she was not going anywhere.
“Lucy—” I began.
“I don’t care,” she said, burying her face in my chest.
I laid my face on the top of her head, feeling dizzy again. I felt her heart racing and realized that, in fact, she was scared and was trying very hard not to show it.
Our proximity made me believe that my dizziness was because of her pregnancy. I always get very uncomfortable around pregnant women. But what I
was experiencing was not because of Lucy. I felt the numbness crawling down my spine again.
She looked up at me and saw me struggling. I looked away, not knowing what to expect.
“You’re so cold,” Lucy said.
Our eyes met again.
“You should wear a coat. I bet it gets very cold up there,” she added.
Her comment made me smile. I read her thoughts and knew she was terrified and happy at the same time. She was happy because, finally, there were no more mysteries between us; because she had found the one man who would never leave her, not ever. And she was terrified because of my nature.
I couldn’t look away from her. It was as though a lightning bolt had struck me, taking away all my strength. I stumbled, certain that I would fall, but Lucy caught me, helping me to stay on my feet.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Then there was the voice again, clear like the night is to me and as real as the wind. Finally, I understood what it was telling me. I felt the presence of an energy I had never felt before and, unable to help it, I turned into my real self.
Lucy stood in front of me while my fangs grew and my now-intense and murderous eyes focused on the night itself. Her grip grew stronger, making me focus on her.
“What is it?” she wanted to know.
I couldn’t reply. The only thing inside my head was that voice and its simple message.
“I hope you can guess my name,” it said.
We stood there looking into each other’s eyes. Hers, trying to see beyond my killer rage and mine trying to find peace in hers.
Chapter 52
Hunter
March 7, 2005
Miami
“Have I ever told you about the time I regained my faith?”
I was certain, almost convinced of the fact that neither God nor the devil existed.
The Greek used to tell the ancient history of his people and how they believed in all their gods. He taught me about the Romans and their gods. Later, I read about the Egyptians, the Indians, the Asians, the Germans, and all their gods. What I have learned is that there is no God. There is only mankind’s hope for one.
Now Christianity rules just like the true religion of the Egyptians and their most ancient god, Horus, once did. Just like the cults to Jupiter, Zeus, Odin, Buddha, Ra, and all the rest did. There’s no doubt in my mind that the carpenter, his “Divine” father, and the apostles will be the subject of a history book, not a religious one, at some point.
Good and evil are relative, or so I thought, until those nights of March 2005 in Vampire City, Miami. I was looking for a kill with no reason to believe when a reason found me. It found me in the middle of a hunt. It found me in the middle of my thoughts.
I didn’t know it at the time, but after centuries, I had become the prey, even though at this point it certainly felt the other way around.
However, I don’t want to get way ahead of myself.
In those first nights of March 2005, I watched how my vigilante got ready for his next kill. I found him in a cheap motel near the beach. It turns out that the subject of my attention was a captain in the U.S. Marines. I paid him a visit while he was asleep, and I got inside his mind.
Of all my abilities, mind reading has proven to be the most useful. I have to admit that without it, I probably would have gotten killed or destroyed a long time ago.
Reading people’s thoughts is like reading a secret letter or breaking into somebody’s e-mail account. You have all the information, but you need to know whom the information is coming from and for whom it is intended; otherwise, you will end with up with useless random knowledge.
The vigilante was a tormented soul filled with hate and regret. There was something about him—better said, in him. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it. I picked the scent that very first night back in Orlando. There was something odd about it, something not quite human.
His name was Maximillian Hunter. Born and raised in Virginia, he was an all-American in every sense of the word. He was not tall, and neither was he too big. But he was smart, strong, and willing; and that by itself is enough in my book. He didn’t have relatives or friends. He was, just like me, alone in this life.
I saw fragments of a lonely childhood. Apparently, Hunter’s parents were not together when he was growing up. He had fond memories of friends and athletic activities, especially football and hunting. He didn’t do well in school—not because he was slow but because he was stubborn and that would serve him well later in his military years. He got used to loneliness, but he never meant to become a loner.
I was taken aback by his memories. I have always been fascinated by my ability to learn about other people’s lives. In this case, I was aware of the soldier, but seeing the lonely child and then the insecure young boy he became gave me a clear image of the man who was sleeping a few steps from me.
Hunter decided to enlist right after college. He had always wanted to be a navy SEAL, but he chose the Marine Corps instead at the last moment. It seemed that his hunger for action turned out to be detrimental in the end. He might have had a chance to be a fine executive; after all, he had a BA in foreign policies. Instead, as a marine, he was groomed to be an auto-soldier. But there was a problem: His brain was not wired like that. The military got very enthusiastic with him. He had every qualification they were after. He was young, idealistic, and, more importantly, he was alone. His father had died by the time he turned sixteen, and his mother, shortly before he graduated from college. He had no siblings or close friends. By all accounts, if the military was looking for suitable subjects to be part of their special ops, Hunter was one of those who should have been taken into consideration.
He had served in Iraq back in 1991, proving his courage by taking charge of his unit after their captain was gunned down by a sniper. Then came Somalia. There he got a taste for genocide carried out by a cleansing party sent to wipe out an entire village. He acted as he always had, motivated by the desire to protect the weak; instead, he found himself gunning down children dressed as soldiers sent to do the killing.
That was when he started to get detached from human emotions, when the real nightmare started.
Right after 9/11, Hunter, now a captain, was recruited as part of an obscure elite force called CYKOS. These men were going to be the subject of an experiment involving a new, enhanced cocktail of steroids and chemicals aimed to improve their mental skills and physique. Over 500 men were selected, all of them with the same profile: proven soldiers, young and alone in this world. By the end of the program, only 117 remained. By the year 2003, only 25 were left; and out of all of them, Hunter was the one who didn’t exhibit any of the side effects of the chemical cocktail. Apparently, the super soldiers had a tendency to turn into psychopaths. By the time the program was shut down, the last 12 healthy CYKOS spent much of their time decommissioning the others who had gone mad. The use of the enhancing cocktail was then suspended for messing up the physical and mental balance of the subjects, accelerating dementia in most cases, and causing chronic depression and suicidal tendencies in the lucky few.
The Pentagon ordered the complete destruction of all records, including those of the program’s participants.
Hunter was kept on a tight leash and under the influence of the cocktail. He was then ordered to hunt down the remaining members of his unit, but he couldn’t do it. He had joined the CYKO program under the impression that the participants were going to be the models for the soldier of the future. The program was designed to be the perfect marriage of technology and military supremacy.
They were supposed to exist to end all wars, not to kill each other.
Like I said before, Hunter was an exceptional soldier; but unlike the “perfect” soldier, he had the most dreaded quality a soldier could have—he had an opinion. He had recurrent nightmares about the war. He had been in three tours, two of them back-to-back ones in Iraq. He had killed men, women, and c
hildren in the name of America, democracy, and freedom.
In this present world, after 9/11, he had more reasons to hate the government than the Arabs did. He was part of an evil game set by the chain of command and backed up by Washington. He loved his country, but he rebelled when he found out that the order was to take out Saddam and kindly disregard intel reports of Bin Laden’s location in the Pakistani border. For that, he walked away, leaving everything behind. He was ordered to hunt down his own men, his brothers, the ones he never had; and he said no.
The gods of war unleashed their dogs on him, and he had to taint his hands with blood again; so he escaped into his own private war, and to me.
Hunter risked turning into a real psycho due to the lack of drugs but something unexpected happened. His body began to produce the substance by itself. Now by all accounts, he had become the CYKO the military had always hoped for.
Eternal Darkness, Blood King Page 5