“A room?” Malock asked through clenched teeth. “Exactly how long am I expected to wait?”
The driver swallowed hard. “I’m not sure,” he said, then seeing the irritation in Malock’s face, quickly added, “but I’m sure they will see you just as soon as possible.”
“Typical,” Malock sneered. “They are the ones who summoned me here, yet I’m the one who has to wait.” The driver simply stared at him, shocked by Malock’s open disrespect for the Council or fear for his own life though, Malock couldn’t be sure. He rolled his eyes and said, “Well, are you going to show me to my room, or does the Council wish for me to guess where it is?”
“Of course. Right this way,” the driver said, stumbling slightly over his words and his own feet. He led Malock up the large staircase directly off the foyer, and Malock followed close behind.
“My meal,” Malock began, but was interrupted.
“I will arrange it as soon as I see you to your room,” the driver assured him.
“Very good,” Malock said. He then casually added, “Make sure it’s something … disposable.”
The driver stopped abruptly and turned to look at Malock. His mouth opened for a moment then snapped shut. He simply bowed to indicate he understood and there would be no problem. Malock answered with a smile large enough to show his sharp teeth again.
Malock’s room was on the second floor, at the back corner of the plantation house. It took only a moment to decide he hated it. The Spartan surroundings suggested the room was for guests not expected to stay long, which was a good thing. Still, as he walked across the creaking floorboards, he noticed everything seemed to be covered in a fine layer of dust. Apparently the Council hadn’t entertained many guests recently.
The driver remained in the hall, one hand firmly on the door handle. He spoke quickly, closing the door as he did. “I hope everything is to your liking. If not, I’m sure other arrangements can be made. If you need anything just pick up the phone and someone will assist you.” He nearly had the door closed, and Malock watched in amusement as he delivered his final bit of information with nearly just his lips pursed through the door. “One last thing, the Council has insisted you remain in your quarters until they are ready to see you.” The door snapped close upon the final word.
“Don’t forget my meal, or I may be forced to leave my quarters,” he yelled to the closed door. There was no reply, but he was certain he had been heard. The driver hesitated at the door for a moment, then Malock heard his footsteps trail off down the hall.
Turning back to the room, Malock noted his choices for where to sit were a single wooden chair or a bed sagging under its own weight. Fearing how long it may have been since the sheets were changed, he opted for the chair. It creaked a bit as he slowly lowered himself onto the seat, but it held. He sat back and took another glance around the room. The walls were bare, with yellowing wallpaper beginning to curl in the corners. The windows had been plastered over some time ago, taking great care to make them blend in with the wall. He assumed it had been a very good job, fifty years ago. Now, it was beginning to sag at the joints, showing its age, much like everything else around here.
A small, hesitant knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. There’s my dinner now, he thought as he called out, “Come.” The door swung open and a petite woman wearing a white robe entered, carrying an ornately decorated golden chalice on a silver platter. Malock chuckled to himself. Obviously the driver had failed to inform her of Malock’s request, or she wouldn’t have bothered to bring the cup. How quickly they turn on one another.
She moved silently across the room without even a glance in his direction. She placed the tray on the bed, and produced a knife from the folds of her robe. There was a flash of her pale upper thigh, and Malock wondered if she was a virgin.
It wasn’t usually something he thought about, but here among the Council, she almost certainly would be. Most of them refused to drink anything except virgin blood. Honestly, he had never been able to tell a difference, and gave up trying to keep virgin cattle around.
She pushed the sleeve of the robe up to her elbow, and held her arm over the cup, her wrist facing Malock. The steady pulse pushing against her skin was the first thing he noticed, but was quickly distracted by the numerous scars from previous bleedings. He saw even more on her other arm as she raised the blade. Normally he would have watched the ruby liquid fall into the cup, but instead he was watching her face. It was calm as she made the familiar cut, but then a slight tension as she applied force to break the skin. The scar tissue was becoming tough to cut, and that would offend a vampire with a more sensitive palate than his own. She had become unacceptable as food.
She looked up from her work and caught Malock watching her, but he didn’t look away. The Council members may have deemed her unfit, but he thought she would do just fine. He didn’t like to be too picky. The more finicky one became, the more power you gave to the humans.
Therein lay the real reason for the Council’s decline in power. They relied too heavily upon these frail mortals. Once they graduated from mere cattle to slaves it wasn’t long before they were entrusted with secrets and responsibilities beyond their station. To Malock, they were still primarily food. Intelligent? Yes. Capable of performing tasks required in daylight hours? Certainly. Should this afford them a place of honor beside the Council? Malock thought not. At least Master had the decency to employ things only partly human.
The cup was nearly full, and he wondered how such a small body could hold so much blood. He only hoped there would be enough left in her to quench his growing thirst. She produced a thick bandage from her robe, pressed it tightly against the wound, and then picked up the tray.
She had turned an even whiter shade of pale from the blood loss, and was certainly weakened, but showed no sign of it as she carried the platter and cup to Malock. She offered it to him with stone-steady hands. It was something else that bothered him.
This creature had no fear of him whatsoever. There was no hint of it in the way she moved or looked. Where had things gone so terribly wrong that a human could stand in the presence of a hungry vampire and not feel even a tinge of fear? It was something he intended to remedy, starting right now.
He reached out and took not only the cup from her, but also the serving tray. He placed them gently on the floor beside him, careful not to spill any, just in case he was still hungry after. She remained frozen in place, empty hand still extended towards him, unsure what she should do now. Malock enjoyed her uneasiness as he rose from the chair, eyes locked on her own.
“This blood is an awful messy affair, isn’t it?” he asked softly. “I mean, it just gets all over everything, doesn’t it? And it never really washes clean.” Her brow furrowed slightly, and she moved a step back, but remained silent. “The robe you’re wearing, for instance,” he explained. “It will have to be replaced because somehow you will have spilled a drop on it, won’t you? Wash and wash until your hands are numb, but that slight red tinge will still be there. A constant reminder of why you are here.”
She was answering him with small, hesitant nods, unsure if she should agree or disagree with him. She had also begun to tremble, ever so slightly, and Malock watched it move over her body as he circled around behind her. He stared over her shoulder at the cup of her blood on the floor, and leaned in close to her ear.
“And that cup. How long before it too must be replaced because of the stains? How many times have you had one just like it thrown in your face while being yelled at for the foul, tainted taste of old blood? How many times have you been covered in your own blood, and tried washing it away?” The tremble was turning into an uncontrollable shake, and her breathing became rapid. Malock’s smile was filled with pointed teeth. It wouldn’t be long now.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, soothing her. “Like I said, it’s messy, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” was her barely audible reply, made through teeth clen
ched to keep them from chattering with fear.
“Yes,” he echoed. “I’ve always thought so too. It stains my lips.” He leaned in close, brushing his lips against the bare skin at the base of her neck. It was instantly covered in gooseflesh, and he watched her neck throb in time with her quickening pulse.
“It even stains my teeth,” he added, hovering a mouth full of sharp teeth only a hair’s breadth above her neck. He lowered his mouth and let them graze her flesh, ever so slightly. She let escape a small whimper, but didn’t move. The smell of her fear was thick in the air, but mixed with it was desire. The fear he understood, but the desire had always confused him. He didn’t question it though, he simply bathed in the power it gave him over his prey. It was time.
He put his lips next to her ear again, whispering, “And when I’ve had a particularly satisfying meal.” He pulled her head to one side, exposing the entire length of her neck as he finished, “it stains every single thing I’m wearing.” His teeth sank deep into her soft flesh, and his mouth was filled with her blood. He felt her body tense only for a moment before she gave herself over to him completely.
By the time her heart became too weak to pump the blood into his mouth, he had more than his fill. He remained on her neck, sucking the last bit of blood, feeling the life slip away as her body became limp in his arms. When he finally pulled away and let her body thump to floor, his face was covered in her blood.
“See,” he said to the dead girl. “This is what I’m talking about.” He wiped his face on his sleeve, adding to his shirt what had already dripped from his chin onto the front of it. “It gets all over everything. And don’t get me started on how hard it is to clean off the floor.”
He stepped over the body, making his way to the phone next to the bed. Someone was on the other end almost immediately. “Yes, sir. How may I assist you?”
“I’m finished with my meal,” Malock replied. “You can send someone up to collect the remains now.”
“Very well, sir,” the voice answered without hesitation, or emotion. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes,” he replied after a brief pause. If he was going to be stuck here, he was going to make it inconvenient. “This room is completely unacceptable. I will require a new one.” He glanced down at his stained clothes. “And I’ll need a change of clothes.” He hung up the receiver without waiting for an answer.
The knock at his door came a few minutes later. He answered it to find another robed human. “If you’ll follow me,” he said, “I will show you to your new quarters.” Again, the lack of fear disturbed Malock. He was covered in blood, with a dead body behind him, but the reaction was that this kind of thing happened every day. He fought the urge to teach another lesson in fear.
Malock shook his head, then called back into the room, “Thanks for the lovely chat before dinner, dear,” before following his guide down the hall. “Now I want real clothes,” he specified to his guide. “Not the robes everyone around here is wearing.”
He was ready to complain again when they reached the door to his new room. Considering the state of everything they had passed on the way – the threadbare carpets, dingy walls, and dusty décor – he assumed the room would be in a similar state of decomposition. He was mistaken.
The room was easily twice as large as the last one, and had its own private bath attached. A king size bed dominated much of the far wall, but there was plenty of room left for a dresser, desk, and small sitting area in front of a fireplace. “This will do,” Malock said as he entered.
The human bowed his head and said, “You will find clothes in the dresser that should match your size and style. If you need anything more, please pick up the phone.” He then closed the door, leaving Malock alone in his new room.
Malock walked towards the dresser, extending his arm towards the drawer handle. Dried blood pulled and cracked on his skin. “First things first,” he mumbled, heading for the shower.
As the pink tinged water swirled down the drain, Malock began to feel drowsy. Perhaps it was the hot water, or even the meal. Still, it never hit him this hard. He looked again at his feet, saw the water was running clear, and shut it off.
He stumbled from the shower, his legs more difficult to control than his heavy eyelids. He fumbled for a towel from the rack, wiping at the water dripping from his body as he weaved his way towards the bed. He collapsed onto the bed just as his eyes closed one final time and he fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
He was … a hero. At least, that’s what the newspapers were calling him. The police had branded him a ‘violent vigilante’. Looking at the pictures she could see why. Regardless, the fact was he had saved over a dozen people from a brutal gang of criminals with the same number of murders already committed among them. None of the patrons would have left that diner alive without Braughton.
Fine. She could understand why they were saying it, possibly even empathize with them, but then they turned to her. Human remains had been found among the twisted and charred remains of her squad car and his motorcycle at the bottom of a gorge. Positive ID wasn’t possible for either body, which meant they would never know who their savior was.
As she continued reading, her head struggled to understand what her slowly boiling blood had already grasped. They were making it her fault. His death, and even her own, lay squarely on her shoulders. As her anger grew, the sentences began to blur, leaving only words and phrases.
… disobeyed direct orders …
… no respect for authority …
… rogue officer ...
The Chief had crucified her in front of the press, and they had run with it. Her hands turned to fists, clenching the corners of the paper as she read about her own negligence. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, drowning out everything around her. Everything except her own voice.
What did you expect? You’re dead, and they needed someone to take the heat. You’re it. One last time you get to be the scapegoat, the butt of the joke. She couldn’t believe she had actually considered going back to it.
Eventually, the pounding slowed, her hands loosened, and her vision cleared. By the time Monk entered offering lunch, she felt almost back to normal. Whatever normal was in this new existence.
Monk glanced at the piles of paper and police photos Liz had scattered across the table, looking for a place to set the plate of food. “From my experience with your predecessor,” he said, “I suspect you aren’t feeling hungry.” Spotting an opening, he deposited the plate on the table. “But you should try to eat anyway.”
Seeing the food prompted a small gurgle from her stomach, even though Liz didn’t feel hungry. She shrugged, picked up half of a sandwich, and took a bite. After two bites she was sure she wouldn’t be eating the other half.
Monk had wandered further back into the room, and was rummaging around on one of the shelves she hadn’t seen yet. “I also suspect,” he said, pulling something from a bag and bringing it back to the table, “you’ll find this useful.” He placed the object on the table.
Liz dropped the remains of her sandwich on the place. “A laptop?” she asked hesitantly as she opened it.
“Yes, the wi-fi should reach down here,” he remarked. She looked at him with a half-smile. “What?” he asked, to which she merely shook her head. “We live in a monastery, not the middle ages.”
He was right, the signal did reach down into the library. Unfortunately, she didn’t find much more information on Braughton or the diner. She was careful to avoid more details about herself. The last thing she wanted to stumble upon was an account of her own funeral.
With no hope of identifying the remains in the wreckage, interest in the story took a nose dive. Everyone just seemed to want to forget it and move on with their lives. If only it were so easy for her.
The next time she heard the door open she assumed it was Monk again, possibly bringing dinner. “I’m really not hungry,” she said
without looking up.
“Good,” answered not Monk’s voice. “Because I didn’t bring anything to eat.” It was Braughton.
“Well how about some answers then,” she snapped. She could feel her repressed anger beginning to bubble to the surface. Everyone else in the world could blame her for what happened, but she knew whose fault it really was. “How about we start with an easy one, like ‘where have you been?’”
“I apologize,” he said a little stiffly, as though his mouth was unfamiliar with the word. “I didn’t expect you to awaken until later this evening.” She didn’t respond, and it was a moment of silence before he realized she was waiting on an answer. “I was making sure we weren’t followed.”
She turned back to the laptop and mumbled, “Which raises another entirely new line of questions.” She then had another thought. The name he had kept repeating. What was it? “Was it Malock?”
“Yes,” he said calmly, though she thought his eyes widened a bit in surprise. “Where did you hear that name?”
“From you. You must have said it over a dozen times while bringing me here.”
Had he said the name aloud? Truthfully, he wasn’t sure. He simply nodded to her.
“What does he want?” she asked.
Braughton shrugged. “Still not sure, but I believe I’ve thrown him off our trail for a while.” This topic might lead to how he encountered Malock, and that wasn’t a conversation he was ready to have with her. “Monk tells me you took a little trip of your own,” he said, trying to change the subject.
“Yeah, well, Monk was a little light on details when I asked about you,” she said. “And the library here doesn’t seem to have a section on you either.”
“So you decided to see what the police had figured out,” he said as he flipped through the written reports and crime photos. She caught glimpses of the gruesome pictures from the corner of her eye, but didn’t look away from the laptop screen. “You took these from the file room in the police station?” She nodded. “And no one saw you?” A silent shake of the head. Impressive, he thought.
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