"It's okay, Mr. Evans. I'm not here to harm you," the man said calmly, his smile becoming more genuine. Hank smiled back with mocking disgust.
"Just like your buddy wasn't trying to harm me either, huh? Or these filthy, flying fuckers here?" he shouted, pointing up at the four floating creatures who hissed in return. The man in black laughed with great amusement. Hank had to fight to keep from also laughing at his own tongue twister. He pulled his mouth out of the smile it was trying to make into the best look of distrust he could muster.
"I assume you are speaking of Peter. Peter is hardly my... buddy," he said, emphasizing the word with contempt.
Hank could see the sheer honesty in this statement and started to slightly relax. Had this man called off the vampires hovering above him?
"Henry, do you mind if I call you ‘Henry’?" the black-haired vampire asked.
Hank sighed. He hoped his gut was telling him the right thing.
"Call me Hank," he said, loosening his stance.
"Very well. Hank. My name is Ishan," he said and then paused a moment. "Ishan Achari," Ishan added with obvious reluctance.
The vampire was going beyond his own comfort level to extend a sincere greeting to him. Hank saw this as a sign he had some sort of advantage, but what that could be, he couldn't begin to imagine. He nodded to Ishan as politely as he could manage.
"What do you want, Mr...." Hank closed his eyes for a second to think "Achari?" he asked.
"First of all, I would prefer you refrain from calling me by my father's name. Second, I need the opportunity to study you," Ishan said dryly.
"You need to what?" Hank asked.
"I need to study you. You have stumbled upon something rather remarkable. Something we never found in all our centuries of research. You see, no human has ever drank the blood before," Ishan said.
"And what if I don't want to let you study me?" Hank asked. He was going to find out just how bad this vampire really did need him.
"Then, I will need to find a way to persuade you," Ishan said and then added, "peacefully... beneficially."
Hank looked at him sternly, thinking about what this meant. Could it be this easy? Could he simply let this man study him and find a way to find Toby? How? How could this vampire do anything to protect Toby? He was sure that he couldn’t be studied if he was allowed to leave the city. He let his expression falter.
"I don't think you can do that," he said regretfully.
"Surely, Mr. Evans, there must be something that you want," Ishan said.
"There is. But it's not going to be possible. I want my son. I want him to be safe and the only way I know that can happen for sure is for me to take care of him myself," he explained. Ishan was about to speak, but Hank continued. "Now, I'm certainly not stupid enough to have him brought here. And I'm also not too dim to believe that you will be able to study me if I leave the city. Besides, how would you pull it off? I'm sure the Empire won't allow it."
"Hank, the Empire need not be involved. I'm not sure that I have a solution to your problem, but I can assure you it would be best if you let me seek one out."
"What happens if you can't and I decide to walk away?" Hank asked, though he was sure he knew the answer.
"Then I will escort you safely from this city myself," Ishan said with a strange look of pride in his expression. Hank had an impression that there was something more to this vampire than all the others, especially the one Ishan had called "Peter". An aura of power emanated from Ishan. From his gestures, his cordiality, his manner of speaking, right down to the look in his eyes. If he was lying, he could have fooled even the most crooked politician.
Chapter 10
The Implant
Simon stood facing the back of the demolished house Peter's scent had led him to. He could now smell several other strange odors mixing in with Peter's. He jumped up into the large damaged opening and started looking around inside. He saw plenty of scattered debris of drywall, wood, and tile covering most of the kitchen floor. As he continued on into the dining room, he couldn't help but notice the large, pulverized table on the floor. It was obvious not all of the damage was due to an impact. What he saw in the dining room were signs of a struggle. Simon couldn't help but wonder who Peter would be struggling with, though.
After a few minutes of investigating the place, Simon decided to try and single out Peter's scent and follow it farther. He climbed back out and went around to the side of the house. There he noticed one of the other smells again, only much stronger. A deep, longing feeling in his gut told him it belonged to a human. He mentally followed the scent in the direction it led. A radical change came over him. It came at the moment he realized he could now also smell the blood of that same human. He no longer cared about finding Peter. A desire beyond any human emotion to follow the human trail overtook him.
As he took long, staggering steps, following the intoxicating fragrance of that blood, he became dizzy with the intensity of his yearning. It took a concentrated effort, but he was able to coordinate himself enough so that he could run. The wind began to pick up, filling his nose with the heavenly odor, as he soared forward. He closed his eyes with anticipation of the taste he now knew to be the core of his new existence. It was as if all his mental, physical, and emotional desires could be quenched with the mere taste of that blood.
He noticed the smell becoming tainted with another as he got closer. It was a strong dust smell mixed with new pavement. He couldn't recall ever really recognizing it before; yet, it was as though he had known its identity all along. His new body made no sign of being affected by the black, dusty smoke clouding around him. He could see through it enough to take careful note of the large hole in the road. When he came to it, timing it just right, he leapt over it, and landed on the other side. He felt a twinge of himself come back as an old anger reminded him why he shouldn't be enjoying himself.
But before he could feel guilty, the scent of blood overwhelmed him as he realized he was close to its source. A moment later, he blazed through the other side of the dark, dusty cloud, the air clearing instantly in front of him. About a hundred meters before him, he saw the man and someone he hadn't expected. It was Ishan. Only now as he looked at him through this new, strange vision, he saw a sort of energy pulsating and flowing outwardly from the vampire. It surprised him enough to make him flinch but the desire was too strong to be held back. He lunged toward the man in a burst of speed. He saw a flash of blurry movement just before his teeth sank in. Immediately, he knew something was wrong. This was not the taste he had been longing for. There was no real taste. But plenty of pain. Something akin to electricity jolted throughout his body. It felt like he’d bitten into a power line. The temperature of his blood rose. The jolting intensified and his veins were on fire. All the fluids in his body began to evaporate. Images were swirling around in his mind. They made no sense. He saw a large ancient structure. He thought he recognized it, but he didn't know precisely what it was. Something from Greek or Roman history. He couldn't be sure. He saw a dark cave. Within the cave glowed two yellow, cat-like eyes. The image became clearer as if he were moving closer. The shadow decreased, revealing the creature's face. It reminded Simon of the natural vampires he saw in Mediator training videos but only vaguely. The face was longer, more oval. The features softer, more delicate than what he witnessed in his training. Before the darkness overtook him, Simon realized he must be dreaming. One of the few things known about them, natural vampires were asexual. There were no females.
* * *
Hank took a deep breath realizing he was still alive. Ishan stood facing away from him. The blonde, desperate-looking creature that caught Hank off guard and dived right for his throat was slumped over Ishan's shoulder, his teeth buried into Ishan's neck. He looked as though he were in agony the whole time. Now, he hung from Ishan's shoulder completely limp. Ishan leaned forward, turning to face Hank at the same time, and gently pulled the vampire from his neck. He laid the body carefully on the ground, t
hen knelt down to study the creature and sighed.
"Are you all right?" Ishan asked.
"Uh, yeah. A little shaken, I guess, but I'll be just fine."
"Good."
"Is he dead?" Hank asked, looking at the vampire's frozen expression.
"No, at least not ultimately."
"Why did he lunge after me like that? I was under the impression that you were some kind of leader here," Hank said, beginning to doubt Ishan's promises.
"I am. This was a case of fledgling blood lust. You see, Mr. Evans, you would have given him his first quickening. He can't have been infected more than an hour or so now."
"Infected? Are you telling me that this is some kind of disease?" Hank asked, pointing down at the unconscious vampire's bared fangs.
"No, Mr. Evans, not quite exactly," Ishan said in a tone that told Hank it would be in his best interest to be silent a while. Ishan reached out and picked up the body with one hand and gently set it over his shoulder, stood up, and turned to face Hank.
"Shall we?" he asked, stretching his free arm forward in a "right this way" gesture. Hank obliged, reluctantly.
* * *
Jeffrey only meant to take a five-minute nap before he fell asleep. Now he wondered just how long it had been since he sat at his desk with his now-cold cup of coffee. It was a strange sounding alarm that woke him. He looked at the glowing computer screen in front of him to see what time it was and what was going on. Most of the screen filled with a giant red font that read: "Warning: Five Hour Threshold Complete." He cursed as he realized he’d slept for three hours. He would really be lucky to keep his job. He should have notified his superior once the three-hour threshold had been crossed, let alone the five-hour threshold. In fifteen years, no one had ever reached the three-hour threshold, so he never dreamed it would become a problem.
For a split second, he wondered if he should try to wait it out in the hopes that whatever lucky son of a bitch made it this long wouldn't last much longer. Then, his more reasonable side won over and he picked up the phone, almost dropping it from his sweaty palm. He dialed Chuck Lotinger's number as his finger kept shaking over the buttons. As soon as he touched the last button, the dull drone of ringing began to sound from the ear piece. His heart seemed to swell with anticipation as he waited for his boss to answer the phone. After the fifth ring, a groggy, angry voice answered.
"Somebody had better be dead!" Chuck growled over the receiver.
Jeffrey swallowed hard. Chuck wasn't a fun guy to talk to under normal circumstances. Jeffrey was unsurprised to note he would be even more unpleasant in this particular situation.
"Well, sir, it's Jeffrey. Actually the problem is more that someone is still alive." Jeffrey heard some commotion over the phone and then Chuck replied.
"Are you talking about what I think you're talking about, Mr. Avery?"
Jeffrey cringed hard as he went to answer.
"Yes, sir. I know I should have called two hours ago. I fell asleep, sir. It's never happened before. It won't happen again," Jeffrey explained in desperation.
"You're damn right it won't happen again. Start tracking vitals. I'll be there in less than fifteen minutes. You'd better hope for your sake that this guy doesn't become the first to make it to sunrise!" Lotinger hung up, leaving a dial tone buzzing in Jeffrey's ear.
Jeffrey put the phone down in a daze, wondering how he would tell his wife he lost his job. Then, it dawned on him that he could be charged with futility for this mistake. After a few minutes of freaking out, he snapped out of it and followed the orders Chuck had just given him. Hopefully, this man wouldn't last. He typed in the command LV to bring up the man's current vitals. The cursor spun to show the computer working. Connecting... appeared on the screen. When the vitals from the man's wireless implant finally came up, Jeffrey did a double take. The man's adrenaline level went beyond a lethal level and his blood pressure was surprisingly normal. An adrenaline reading like that should have raised the lucky bastard's blood pressure to a critical degree. His heart rate was mostly normal as well. Slightly elevated, but no more than if he were simply walking. As he got toward the bottom of the readings, Jeffrey came to brain activity. Those numbers were even more insane than the adrenaline reading. What was happening to this guy? It was like he was on some kind of super PCP or something. Only PCP had been pretty much nonexistent for 17 years now. It was wiped away with all the other illegal substances in the cleanup that followed the initiation of the Empire.
When Chuck arrived at the station, Jeffrey could barely contain himself as he spouted off information about Henry Evans's vitals. Going back through the logs, he found the man's adrenaline and brain activity had jumped back and forth several times throughout the night from normal to the plateau he was at now and back. He went over the data with Lotinger, who listened keenly. Then Lotinger asked the very question Jeffrey had expected.
"Have you run diagnostics on the implant, yet?"
"Yes, sir. Everything came back fine. Unless the diag software is corrupt, this data is the real thing," he said, smiling wide. Lotinger looked back down at the computer printouts with a worried expression.
"You think it could be anything other than a drug?" Lotinger asked, still staring at the paper.
"I don't know, sir. At first, I figured they made him into another bloodsucker. But his heartbeat is too normal for that to be the case. Plus, I don't know what to make of his vitals bouncing back to normal every once in a while," Jeffrey explained, pointing out readings in the logs on the computer screen. "It's as if this guy is some kind of Incredible Hulk or something. Almost every time his heart rate starts to accelerate, bam! It just goes right back to normal and everything else goes crazy."
"Well, Jeffrey, standard protocol would dictate we hit the kill switch on this guy. But I think you'll agree this situation warrants some investigation first. Don't you think?"
Jeffrey fought back the aggravation he felt. Chuck had purposely frightened him with the possibility of losing his job and maybe even his life. They would have just killed the poor bastard anyway so there hadn't been anything to really worry about in the first place. But he straightened himself up and spoke reasonably.
"It's definitely worth keeping an eye on. Maybe this man knows something we don't," Jeffrey said.
"Exactly. I had better make arrangements to inform Lord Caesar," Lotinger said. Then, he got up and walked out the door heading off to the left.
Jeffrey let out a long sigh. Then, he took a sip of his cold coffee as he looked over more of the logs. He was surprised to note that, just in the last hour, the subject’s heart rate had almost faded out completely. But then, it went right back to normal and there was that crazy jump in activity again. Only this one wasn't following a rise in heart rate. The man was almost dead. So much for the Incredible Hulk theory. Jeffrey began to look back through the data for any other signs that could help to explain what was going on. Then, he noticed, looking back through the different occurrences of plateaus, that the rise in heartbeat couldn’t have been the cause directly. There was too much variation in the amount of time and speed that the rate changed. The more he looked at the data, the more he couldn't help but think it had to be some kind of drug. Whatever it was, it seemed to be happening on purpose.
When Chuck came back in Jeffrey's office, he was talking on his cell phone. It sounded like he was explaining the situation to the Emperor. Jeffrey tried to wait patiently and not interrupt but had always found himself unable to keep from blurting out important information when someone was on the phone.
"...yes, sir, it seems to be coming on whenever the convict's heart rate accelerates. Yes, sir. Uh-huh. I'm sorry, sir, can you hold on a second? Mr. Avery seems to have something he needs to tell me," Lotinger said, angling the phone away from his mouth and focusing his attention on Jeffrey.
"Actually, sir, I've found evidence that leads me to believe it's happening by choice and not in direct result of stress. I think it might be some kind of..."
Jeffrey broke off, noticing Chuck's attention seemed to return to his phone.
"What was that, sir? Of course, sir, not a problem," Chuck said, smiling into the cell phone as he reached into the inside of his coat and pulled out a large revolver with a silencer attached. Before Jeffrey could even stand up, he heard a slight ping sound come from the barrel as it pointed at his head. The last thing he saw was Lotinger continuing his phone conversation as if nothing had happened.
* * *
As Hank walked alongside Ishan, he was surprised to notice he wasn't afraid at all. He knew Ishan could easily crush him without a doubt. He also knew that, even if he drank all the blood he had left, he wouldn't be fast enough to run away. He looked curiously over at the vampire walking and carrying the one who Ishan called Simon.
"Is it difficult for you? To move at such a slow pace for me to keep up?" he asked.
A slight smile began to form on Ishan's face.
"It's actually quite refreshing. I haven't taken a walk at such a pace for many centuries. To tell the truth, I had forgotten the novelty of such a walk, seeing the stars sit still above my head for once," Ishan said, looking up at the sky and laughing in nostalgia.
"So, how old are you, if you don't mind me asking?" he asked.
Ishan looked surprised.
"Why do you seem so surprised by my question?" Hank asked.
"It's just that... if anyone else had ever wondered such a thing, be it human or vampire, they had not the courage to ask. Though I would have gladly answered," he said. "When I was still human, time was not measured so precisely as it has been for many centuries," he said.
"So, you don't know how old you are?" Hank asked with great interest.
"No, no. I do. The idea, really, the numbers are arbitrary to me. I was not born into a world with a precisely wound clock branding each moment in time with a number of reference. The human calendar is simply a mortal attempt to gain power over that which is always and forever his undoing. Ironically, in doing so, he enslaves himself even more to Father Time and his unmerciful will."
Shining in Crimson: Empire of Blood Book One (A Dystopian Vampire Novel) Page 9