The dark man came closer. “I am the doubt that rests in the recesses of men's hearts.” He placed his left hand on Damien's right shoulder. “I am the effect of the body wishing to preserve itself.”
The man drew the tip of his left index finger over Damien's chest, towards his left arm. The fabric of Damien's black priest robe split instantly.
“I am the mechanism that forces men to flee the horror of the dark.” The man's eyes glared at Damien as he slowly pressed his finger into Damien's shoulder.
The blood flowed, Damien wasn't able to run. He wasn't able to move. He was trapped, unable to react, unable to flinch from the pain. He was completely frozen.
The man spoke as he twisted his finger deeper. “I am Fear.” He was redoubtable before Damien.
“What are you going to do to Rebekkah?” Damien resisted the urge to scream from the pain.
“Me, do to Rebekkah?” Fear laughed. “Are you joking? I will do anything that I wish to her. She is mine alone until she or any other can hope to defeat me for what she offers. Oh, no, I will never relinquish her lucubration.”
Damien trembled, despite the calm in his words, it was uncontrollable. “Son, this is wrong. In your heart you know it's wrong.” Damien stared at Rebekkah's torn skin, the blood on her tan clothing. “Stop this and there will be nothing more of it.”
Fear leaned into Damien. “You misunderstand. You are the child standing before the elder. I do what I will because I wish to. Nothing can stop me. You are no different.”
“Then why does such an elder, as you say you are, travel under a false name?” Damien was trying to buy as much time for Rebekkah to run as he could. To his dismay, she wasn't leaving.
“Fear is the name of my gift. The name I have come to be called over the thousands of years I have lived.” Fear bore his other fingers into Damien's left shoulder, piercing the bone, gripping his shoulder from within.
Damien felt every motion. It was painful, but he did not pass out to his surprise. “There must have been a name for which you were born to?”
Fear sighed. “Yes, but it matters little to me now. Less to the dead that have passed me.”
“At least spare her in exchange for my life. I do not want to die with her life on my soul.” Damien pleaded.
Fear laughed. “You think she is human?” Fear removed his fingers from Damien's flesh. He walked to Rebekkah. Fear raised his right hand up in the air. His actions were objurgated, he cut Rebekkah open.
The slice was not apparent. From where Damien viewed, Fear didn't even touch her. He wasn't even close enough to her. Rebekkah didn't have time to scream. Her left lung was eviscerated before the air was able to make a sound over her throat. The wound was from the left side of Rebekkah's neck to her left hip. Her clothing, her skin, her bones were all torn and broken. Her blood splashed across the newly wet ground. The sky above began to crackle with thunder. The wind picked up, it was warm. Small droplets of rain struck Damien's head with some of Rebekkah's blood. Anointing the last moments of his life, consecrating the death of Rebekkah before his eyes. They were both destined to die that night.
Damien wanted to scream for the horror that he was witnessing.
Fear turned to Damien. Glaring at him, imposing his gift further. “Don't worry, there's more to watch.”
The sky broke. Rebekkah's body oozed blood. The rain washed her open wound clean. Her body twitched. Slowly, her right side began to move again. The blood resumed its flow. Steadily, she reached over to her left arm, pulling it and the rest of her body closer. Once her arm was reattached, Rebekkah sealed the rest of the gaping injury. The flesh rejoined before Damien's eyes. She was a vampire.
“Yes, she is the ultimate tool. A companion that can never die, able to walk among you, inviting the more lewd of you to their deaths.” Fear didn't waste time humiliating Rebekkah. He gestured to what remained of her shredded clothing. Rebekkah's slender nude body was clean and wet. “And she's pleasant to the eye as well.”
Rebekkah's torn shirt revealed her small shapely left breast. Her stomach was flat and delicate. Her skin very light and fair. Rebekkah's hip was exposed, the fabric barely covering her lower region. She didn't say anything, Damien suspected that it was because of Fear's affect on her.
“So you now know the truth.” Fear searched Damien for a reaction.
Damien said nothing.
“How long have you been a priest father?” Fear changed the subject.
“All my life.” Damien proudly proclaimed.
“Fifty, sixty years?” Fear guessed.
“Fifty seven.” Damien said.
“A good age to die.” Fear closed the ten foot gap between him and Damien in a flash.
Fear punched Damien's chest. His arm didn't push through it, but impacted it. A large explosion of blood, flesh, and bone flew from Damien's back. Damien fell to the ground, dead.
Fear turned to Rebekkah. “Take his robe and cover yourself. I'll see you tomorrow night. Then we're leaving this town.” Fear walked away into the storming night.
Rebekkah stood up, shaking from the loss of blood. She looked at Damien's body. As she stepped towards him, she collapsed. She pulled her weak body to his. Rebekkah bore her fangs into Damien's throat. She drank what she needed and began to cry. “Damien, I'm sorry for this. You may hate me for the rest of your life, but at least you will have a free life to live.” Rebekkah cupped her right hand under her recently closed wound. She pressed, blood poured into her palm, enough to partially fill it. Rebekkah carefully carried it to Damien's mouth. She let it fill, making sure he took it all into his already cold lips. She repeated the process, filling another handful of blood. Rebekkah doused more of her blood onto Damien's chest and back. Her own injuries were healing as she stood up. Rebekkah tied shut the pieces of clothing she had remaining. “Once again, I'm sorry Damien. Live on for both of us, please.”
The rain showered down upon them as Rebekkah left in the same direction as Fear. Two hours passed. Damien's body was not disturbed while the water continued to flush away the last remnants of his scattered flesh. All of the blood that had been spilled that night was gone. Damien's head lay to his left side, motionless.
The rain let up, coming to a drizzle. The sunrise began to fill the horizon. The pink hue danced across the clouds, forcing them to retreat. Two men from the monastery arrived, looking for Damien.
“Damien! Damien, are you okay my brother!?” The first man spotted Damien's body.
Both men ran to see Damien's condition.
The first priest held Damien's head up, raising his back. He felt the wet gooey blood that stuck to his back. “Brother, I fear the worst.” The priest said with dread.
“Damien, what happened?” The second priest asked as he tried to shake Damien awake.
A total of three hours had passed since Damien's death. Damien was cold and without response. The two priests understood the absence of life in him and preformed his last rights. They brought Damien back to the monastery to be buried once a proper funeral had been arranged and held.
Twelve hours passed as Damien's body lay still in an empty above ground crypt. His flesh was wet, but not swollen or stiff. Fifteen hours after his death, Damien's right hand twitched. A feeling of pain rushed over him as his heart struggled to beat. The flow of blood sent waves of debilitating, searing anguish through him. There was no sight yet, the world remained dark to him. For the next eight hours, Damien lay convulsing. His body slowly reanimating itself. He randomly blacked out during those first few hours. His mind unable to deal with the pain. He laid there awake and unable to move. Damien pondered if he was being sent to hell for defending the life of a vampire, a monster. Confused, not knowing if he was alive, Damien felt anger. If he was dead, he had failed god. If he was alive, he was an abomination. He didn't know what had been done to him, but he had heard stories of monsters drinking blood to live for centuries. He knew of vampires, but had never met one. He feared they had changed his body into one of th
ose blasphemous things. The doubt began to set in.
After twenty four hours, Damien opened his eyes. The room was dark. His eyes adjusted quickly, unnaturally for what they should have done. Damien felt different, but still weak. He raised his left arm. It was dry, partially cracked from the cold arid conditions of the crypt. He felt flowers by his right hand. They had already held his funeral, he remembered dying. He was sure of it now. Damien tried to move his legs, they didn't respond. He felt a pool of wet blood under his back. He remembered the impact. Damien didn't have any sensation below his upper back. He attempted to cry out for help. Asking someone to save him. His voice failed him. A small wheeze came out as he focused all his energy into his breath. Nothing rang out. He was trapped on the table. The puddle under him began to grow. Damien became light-headed. He had torn something, the light went out.
Another day transpired. Damien awoke to the sound of shovels striking loose dirt. It was dark with glimmers of light shining through gaps in a thick fabric. He didn't feel the cold stone slab anymore. The pool of blood was gone. He could see the inner stitch marks of a cloth sack. Small thuds of wet dirt landed on him. Particles of soil fell into his eyes and face through the bag. Damien tried to scream, nothing came out. As more dirt covered his face and blotted out the sun from his eyes, Damien understood what was actually happening.
This was a burial.
“How old was he?” One of the gravedigger's asked the other.
“In his late fifties, I think. He was a really great priest from what I hear.” The second gravedigger recalled.
“Yeah, well, does anyone know exactly how he died? I heard that there was a girl missing the same night. No one said it was connected, but I wonder.” The voice was young. It was a boy, in his early teens.
The second boy sounded about the same age. “Her name was Rebekkah. She couldn't have down this to him. There's no way.”
“What exactly was it that killed him?” The first boy shoveled more dirt onto Damien's chest and face.
Damien could feel the weight of the soil pressing on him, it became difficult to breathe.
“The priests said that someone had taken a large pick to his back. There was a huge hole in him. She couldn't have done that to him.” The second boy threw more dirt down the grave. It was filling quickly.
“It's still a weird way to die. Imagine being alone in the rain and having someone attack you from behind. That's horrible.” The first boy cringed.
Damien was completely covered now. The weight of the earth was crushing his lungs.
“They say he died quickly at least.” The second boy commented.
“That's good, I'd hate to lay there feeling it for too long.” The first boy lamented.
“I don't want to think about it. Let's just finish burying him.” The second boy didn't want to linger too much over a dead body.
Damien could hear the shovels above him padding the ground to level the grave. There was no air. Damien was suffocating. The fear gripped him. This was not as direct as when he was held powerless two nights ago. It was a panic, a knowledge that he wasn't able to escape. A sudden feeling of claustrophobia struck Damien. He gasped, letting a handful of earth fill his mouth. Just as his breath was forced shut, Damien blacked out.
On the third night. Damien awoke to the sound of his heart beating slowly. There was a moment of silence, then it pulsed again. Two seconds passed, a strong heart beat rang out again. The sound was different. There was no anxiety. He wasn't breathing. His mouth was still filled with dirt. It didn't matter. He was simply laying there, content. Six feet under, his body was bound in a burlap sack, Damien felt alive again. He could feel his legs. His arms shifted, ripping the bag encasing him with ease. There were thousands of pounds of earth pressing on every inch of his flesh, Damien felt nothing no weight at all. He pushed through the dirt as if it were water. It was wet on his skin as he dug. Damien sifted the earth around him as he made way to the surface. It was raining again. The droplets were fat and heavy. He spit out the dry soil from his mouth. The weather was baptismal as Damien stood. He was in the local cemetery.
The night was black. The clouds were just as they were when Damien had last gazed upon the sky. He reached for his back, the clothing was whole. The priests had changed his robes to bury him clean.
Damien smiled. “They always took great care of me, those two. They were always so energetic.” Damien heard his voice for the first time in three days. It was dark, lower than normal. It barely sounded familiar.
Damien pulled his robe back to reveal his left shoulder where Fear had cut into him. There was no injury, no scars, and no mark to show it had ever happened. It didn't hurt, it was fine. Damien felt great, strong. Considering he had died a few days ago, he was even content. The cold, soaking weather was comforting to him. He knew this was the beginning of a new life. The ideals he once stood for were now lost to him. As a monster, he was no longer the pillar of his church or the pious priest he was once known to be.
Damien remembered stories of men who drank blood to live unnatural lives. They were vampires. The unholy creation of sin embodied in flesh. An undead plague to haunt humanity for its transgressions. As kind and godly a priest as Damien was, he came to an understanding. He walked away from the grave and his former life as a respected man knowing that no matter what he did from that day forward, regardless of any goodwill he might emit out into the world – Damien believed he was going to hell.
* * * *
On the outskirts of the town where Damien grew up, a large open cave echoed sounds of horror from within. Screams, yelps pleading for life, all manner of cries littered the ears of anyone that dare come closer. The granite formation was jagged with plates that formed the upper lip of the entrance. The tongue was slippery and smooth from the rain. A welcoming that was silver to anyone that stepped inside.
Just beyond the darkness of the night, a thin girl with red hair stitched her torn clothes.
“That was sloppy Rebekkah.” Fear sat on a rock, counting the prisoners in the cell before him.
A tree trunk prison cell kept more than fifteen men and women captive. Fear had crafted the enclosure within a few hours. His tremendous strength allowed him to acquire building materials at pure whim. The trees were closely spaced and allowed for little to no movement for escape. Blood stained the bark of those who had already tried to anger Fear. They were his first meal of the night.
Rebekkah had nearly finished sewing. She only had the left shoulder to complete. Blood had saturated most of the garment, almost dyeing it entirely. Only a few tan speckles remained untarnished.
Rebekkah spoke up against Fear. “What? For letting him live? What's wrong with that?” Rebekkah asked Fear. She was upset at him for killing Damien in the first place.
“Usually when I kill people, it means I do not wish them to be alive. Knowing that you were the one who turned him is unsettling.” Fear had an idea, a thought to insult Rebekkah for the reasoning behind her actions. “Wait, you didn't sleep with him, did you?”
Rebekkah was appalled. She didn't even respond to Fear's accusations. She stood up, surveyed the women in the cell and licked her lips.
“Oh, that's right. You prefer the other gender.” Fear smiled.
“When you have centuries to get to know your own body, pleasing the same anatomy comes naturally.” Rebekkah pointed towards one of the more attractive women in the cell. “I want that one.”
“Okay.” Fear stood up. He leisurely walked over to one of the large trunks. With his left hand he squeezed the center of the tree. His fingers sank into the trunk as he lifted it out of place.
Rebekkah stepped inside the cell and dragged out the woman she had been eying.
Fear reset the wall and sat back down. “I see your point of view, but I do have one objection.”
Rebekkah was too busy with the haughty women before her. Her long curly brown hair, green eyes. She was dripping with tears. The woman's thin body and ample breasts were holding
Rebekkah's attention. “Yeah, make it quick.”
“I've lived far longer than you and I haven't been with one man, ever.” Fear kicked his legs up onto a rock. “Either way, enjoy her while she can still scream.”
Rebekkah stared at the woman with a devilish intent. “Take it off.” Rebekkah grinned. “Carefully, slowly.”
The woman followed Rebekkah's directions. She took off her entire outfit, corset, blouse, and knickers. She sat, covering her breasts with her left arm and laying her right over her lap.
“Don't be shy, miss. We'll be too close soon enough for you to think about blushing.” Rebekkah instructed the woman.
“Just don't get any blood on the dress, you'll need to wear it in the next town we go to.” Fear reminded Rebekkah.
“Why do you think I had her remove it?” Rebekkah explained.
“Because you're strange like that.” Fear chuckled and laid his head back. He closed his eyes and began to fall asleep. It was reaching morning, dawn was peering over the horizon and onto the tongue of the cave.
“I am.” Rebekkah dashed the attractive young woman. Landing on her, gently pushing her over and pinning her to the ground. All of the other men and women in the cell were able to watch as Rebekkah ravaged the young woman's body physically and sexually.
Fear and Rebekkah's relationship was purely tacit.
* * * *
Ten miles east of the town, Damien continued to walk through the day and night. The sun light had partially charred his skin, giving a warning that he wasn't able to stay in the daylight for long. The night offered a pleasant break to regenerate the damage that was done. By the second midnight after he crawled out of his own grave, Damien was getting hungry, he was getting thirsty.
Damien came to a small pool of water. As the moon cast stark shadows contrasting on the ground, he knelt beside it. For the first time he witnessed his reflection as the monster he now was. His eyes had changed. They were transparent, completely clear to the back of his iris.
Demon Vampire (The Redgold Series) Page 59