by Titus, Rose
“No,” she continued. “I mean...” But she really didn’t know how to say it. “What are vampires, then, if they are not really undead?”
“I dunno. Just people, I guess, like anyone else.” He rose and handed her a small bunch of white flowers.
She smiled under the glow of the streetlight. “Not possible!”
“What isn’t possible?”
“You’re not just people, like anyone else!”
“Hey. We pay taxes, lady. We work for a living; we put up with dumb resort tourists overpopulating the landscape every year, especially during winter. Yeah, I would say we’re just like anyone else.” He continued to walk and she followed.
“But, but Rick—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
“Where do you all come from? I mean, you’re telling me that you are all really members of this ancient race of people that live off blood.”
“Well, yeah, putting it simply, that’s right.” He wished she would not talk so loudly. The park seemed empty at night, but any bench could be a resting place for a vagrant.
“Okay! Then, what are you all doing in California?”
“I don’t think we’re all in California, some of us might still be over there.”
“Will you please not be so mysterious?”
“I’m not being mysterious. There was once this little village in Russia where my mother’s family lived. There were many families, like ours, living there, in that village. But they had been there so long the people had grown used to them, they had all peacefully coexisted for centuries, intermarrying, doing business together, working together, never made the big deal that people make of it nowadays.”
“So,” she was intrigued. “What happened to the village?”
“War happened, then chaos. My mother’s first husband was killed, in the traditional manner used to kill my people. She doesn’t like to talk about it; none of us do. Then she, my half-brother and half-sister, and several others of our kind, all left the country together. They brought some jewelry with them, a little money, came here, started over. But some stayed. We lost contact with them during World War Two. No word from them since, only silence. They could all be gone now,” and then he remembered the story that Jim Ellison found. Alex had it. He needed to read it.
“Why are you telling me all this?” she continued with her nagging questions and Rick noticed she was getting on his nerves.
“Well, because you ask,” and he found an empty bench and sat, leaned back and let his legs stretch out.
But she would not be silenced. “No! I mean...I always thought...” She stood in front of him and her voice became faster and more anxious. “I had always believed...Maybe everything I always believed about vampires was wrong.”
“Right. Look, those windows in the apartment building above us are all open.”
“So?”
“So, like, whisper. And yes, everything you always believed about vampires is wrong, mostly.”
“Well, I always thought you people would want to live in absolute secrecy. I mean, kill anyone who finds out?”
“You’re not going to start up with that stuff again, are you? Besides, if you told, who would believe you? Not many people, I don’t think. Just keep it quiet, that’s all.”
“I won’t tell. Sorry I talk so loud. You’re right. No one will believe it anyway.”
She sat by his side, but did not look at him. Instead she looked up at the sky, at the glow of the large bright silver moon and the small delicate stars that surrounded it. “I guess it’s good that most people don’t believe in you, then. I mean, that you exist.”
“Definitely. We’ve been living in our own private world for almost a hundred years. What would people do to us if they found out? Butcher us? Or tolerate us? I don’t know. Do you people even realize how deeply we fear you? Your kind?” He slouched, stared down at the dark pavement under his feet. She watched him; he seemed silently lost in thought.
“Why?” she whispered.
“We’re out numbered, by millions. A great, wild, screaming, violent mass of irrational people. You can so easily wipe out every one of us in one day. It’s so terrible to be so outnumbered.” He looked up, watched the stars flash in the cool night sky and was silent. He listened to the slow rhythm of her heart and the quiet breeze that flew past.
She sat by him, gazing at him curiously, and he could feel it.
Pavel watched his surroundings warily. He felt the weight of many people’s stares, and his hand was ready to reach for his sword. He only half listened as the princess explained to her father. Instead he listened for the slightest movement behind him.
She explained that she was kidnapped, held prisoner, and that Pavel helped her escape. But still he watched, and still he was ready to reach for his weapon.
The queen sat by and looked at him curiously, she said nothing.
“Well,” the king roared, “It does seem you two had an adventure! Come, now! Let us all gather in the great hall for a feast!”
And now he wanted to leave even more.
Pavel sat quietly throughout the meal, sipped the small amount of red wine that he could stomach, and made simple polite conversation with those sitting by him. He ate nothing and the king watched him anxiously.
“My daughter tells me of how you easily overwhelmed several armed guardsmen, Pavel! Is this true?”
“They were not alert, Majesty,” he replied quietly.
“But still, they were armed. And how did you manage this, my good friend?”
“I fear the lady exaggerates.”
“Please! Eat something. A warrior needs his strength,” the king laughed heartily, as though something was amusing to him.
Pavel stared down into his plate. “Forgive me, I am not hungry.”
“Is it not to your liking? Or shall I have the cook drain a young pig?”
Pavel looked around warily; most did not seem to comprehend. Slowly, he reached down to his boot for his dagger.
“I did not know there were any of you left,” the king’s tone grew serious, and the people’s voices hushed. “No, do not be troubled. Whatever it is you need, you shall have it. For now.”
He slipped his dagger back into his boot and smiled grimly. “Then so be it. But I prefer lamb.”
The fair haired woman at his right gasped weakly and rose up from her seat. She left the great hall, and faded swiftly into the darkness. The young hunter at his left whom he had been speaking with earlier stopped eating and gazed at him silently.
“Mikhail would admire you, Pavel,” the king continued speaking. “He enjoys hunting. He caught much of the game that is on this table. But you! I am certain you are swift, and merciless! I admire those qualities.”
“I am sure you do, Majesty.”
Mikhail slowly began to finish his meal, but did not take his eyes off Pavel.
“And tell us! What is it you commonly hunt?”
“Deer, wild boar, sometimes a few stray sheep.” He shrugged, not seeing the importance.
A servant timidly approached him from behind. Pavel turned swiftly when he smelled fresh blood. In his shaking hands the serf held a large bowl. And so Pavel held out an empty wine goblet for him to fill.
He accepted it and sipped it. “Much thanks, Majesty. This is what gives me strength.”
The servant turned to quickly leave. “No. You must stay, until I am filled and that bowl is emptied,” Pavel ignored the whispers around him and continued to drink. He rapidly finished the contents of his cup and took more as the servant stood at his side trembling.
He wished it was Yuri at his side. Yuri did not tremble. Perhaps he did fear him somewhat, but he did trust him. Yuri did fear the darkness of night, and the spirits of almost forgotten gods, and Pavel was a creature of that darkness. But Yuri knew him well, and never trembled while serving him.
Pavel’s hands were now covered with blood. The serf had spilled it, and he began to whimper in fear of instant severe punishment.
“And tell us,” the king went on. “You hunt none of the worthless wretches that live in the hovels outside your forest?”
“No, Majesty,” he answered quietly.
“A pity! It would make great sport.” He laughed, and Olga laughed along with him.
“Such hunting is too easy,” Pavel said, to remind them all to be careful. “They are all much too slow, and weak.”
“I see, I see,” said the king. “I almost enjoy you!”
Mikhail watched as Pavel drank. He ceased to eat, as if he could not.
“Remain here for the day, then!”
“Thankyou.”
“And while you are here, that worthless fool you see standing next to you will see to your needs. If he cannot find a sheep for you quickly enough, then just seize him and use your dagger to slice his throat!”
Again the princess laughed.
The bowl dropped to the stone floor and shattered, the warm fresh blood splashed onto Pavel’s boots.
A tremendous waste, he thought, as he gazed sadly into the deep red pool under his feet. He heard the king shout for the two guardsmen stationed by the entrance to the great hall. “Have this useless dog thrashed!”
“Not necessary, Majesty.”
“Oh come now! It amuses me!” The king roared with laughter again.
The serf went coldly limp as he was dragged across the floor…
After the feast Pavel walked throughout the courtyard in the moonlight while most in the castle were sleeping. He would leave tomorrow at dusk, as soon as the gentle darkness crept into the sky.
He headed toward the stables to tend to his stallion, to be sure he was fed and warm, for he was certain that the beast was his only friend within the hostile fortress that held him.
Quickly he turned. Footsteps shuffled quietly behind him in the darkness. He listened. Nothing. Was he watched? He did not know, but he kept his hand on the hilt of his sword.
On entering the stable he smelled the strong scent of fresh blood mixing with the smell of leather and hay. He peered through the semi-darkness, and there, cowering in the corner of an empty stall was the serf that had been beaten.
He turned to go and find what he needed, fresh water, and a clean shirt.
Pavel returned after fetching the water from the well. The young man did not hear him enter and so he continued to walk softly toward him, and he put the bucket of cool water down where it would be in reach.
The serf lifted his head weakly and mumbled something incoherent. Pavel knelt by him and tore off what was left of his bloodied clothing. The boy was naked above the waist save for the iron slave collar his masters had locked around his neck to remind him of his low position. He now weakly crawled deeper into the corner of the stall, a halfhearted attempt for escape.
“Be still, my friend, you’ll do yourself no good if you do not let me clean these wounds.” Pavel soaked the bloodied and ripped shirt in the water and used it to clean the gelled blood from the young man’s whip-cut back. He could see the boy’s ribs and backbone through the thin layer of skin—he was poorly fed, and weak. The young serf trembled fearfully under his careful touch, yet he did not cry out in pain as his wounds were slowly washed. “I see they have broken your spirit. If it had been me, I would have sliced the throats of both useless dogs. But, you are not me. Never mind. Just be still.”
He whimpered and made another weak attempt to crawl away. “I will do you no harm. What do I care for a small stain on my boots?” When his back was nearly cleansed Pavel rose to step back and let it air dry. The serf remained flat on the pile of soiled hay, his face buried in foul smelling straw.
Pavel pulled the woolen blanket from his horse’s back and tossed it over the peasant. “What is your name, boy?”
“Dmitri,” he whispered.
“In the morning, Dmitri, you can wear this old shirt of mine.” He let it drop on top of the blanket. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen, my lord.”
“I will see to it that someone brings you some food; I will find someone before I sleep for the day,” and he turned to leave, “and I shall look for you before I leave at dusk, to be sure you are in better condition. But, remember that long ago, centuries before you were born, it was considered an honor to serve my people. Most have forgotten, but I have not.” He left the stable, drifted back into the cold night air.
And again he heard the whisper of soft footfall. He turned to look. It was Mikhail.
“Forgive me, but I could not sleep.”
“And so you decided to follow me?”
“Forgive me.” His voice was sincere, without fear or pretense.
“For what purpose do you follow me? I see you carry no weapon. Or is it concealed?” Pavel quietly demanded.
“It is concealed, but I’ve no wish to use it, Pavel.”
“I have no wish to draw my sword, either, Mikhail.”
“You take pity on a useless servant. Why?”
“I did not know what else to do about him. That is all.”
They walked quietly together under the darkness of the night sky and continued to talk.
“Is it true you were once called gods, all of you?”
“Not gods, no, but children of the Dark Goddess, the one who rules the dark mother earth and the stars in the night sky. It is not important. Not anymore. There are so few of us left. So, they tell me you are a hunter?”
“Only to spend time away from the castle, yes.”
“Then I assume you hunt often?”
“Yes! I do.”
“If I lived here, I believe I would spend much of my time hunting through the forest as well.”
“Did you come from far away?”
“Perhaps I did.”
“And, will you be leaving soon?”
“Yes! Tomorrow at dusk.”
“Then I envy you as much as does my uncle the king.”
“This is a strange place, Mikhail. The king and his beautiful princess laugh constantly, yet there is no happiness here. Only misery. Tomorrow, as soon as the sun is out of the sky, I shall be gone.”
“I almost wish to be in your place. I would give up being able to see the sun and enjoy its warmth, all my money and fine clothes, the comfort and safety of this castle, just to have the chance to ride out of here one night and never return.”
Pavel smiled grimly. Under the cover of darkness, Mikhail did not see. “Then do so, boy! What keeps you?”
“My sister, Katarina. The one who ran from the table tonight. Who would protect her? It is believed the king had our father killed, though there is no proof of this, only talk. He is mad. I know he is; he is quite mad. Perhaps one day he will kill me. He keeps speaking of how dangerous these forests are, of how many men enter and do not return.”
“One day, my friend, when your lovely sister is married and safely far from his reach, you will ride out, and never return.”
Her head fell upon his shoulder hours ago and he sat in silence, watching the stars in the velvet dark night sky and feeling her warmth as she slept.
“Laura,” he whispered, “Wake up.”
“W-what?” she yawned.
“You can’t stay out here all night. Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
There were a few hours still before the dawn drifted into the sky. He would do what he had originally intended to do: Search the area. It was his night to search the area and he did not do a good job of it. He had already wasted a lot of time.
He drove his Pontiac slowly, quietly ghosting through the back streets, watching for anything that looked out of place. Then he saw her from a distance. She was picking flowers in the dark. He had walked her home, but she came back outside again, on her own, to pick the flowers in the dark. At first he thought it was odd. But he knew it was good. She was at least learning how to live, learning how to lighten up a little, even when surrounded by her own darkness.
He pulled over by the small row of flowers that ran down the edge of the park. She said sh
e was doing it just for the hell of it.
She was learning to live. To do things for the hell of it.
And they started talking again. But he had to leave; he had to do what he came out for. He shifted into drive and the car once again began its slow journey through dark alleys, back streets, dimly lit parking lots. And after another hour, the sky began to slowly brighten. And Rick grew tired. The gas gauge read at nearly Empty.
Like him, and all his kind, the large and powerful old car was constantly thirsting, constantly needing to stop, and refill.
He would have to fill it early tomorrow evening. None of the local gas stations were open. Only After Dark remained open, but soon its doors too would be locked, its people would sleep, and so would he.
Rick turned to head for the street that would bring him home. Then he heard the scream. A high pitched wail of pain and cold fear. And the sound of running feet.
“What the hell?” his foot slowly lifted off the accelerator and pressed down on the brake pedal. He looked around.
A kid dashed out of the alley, running fast—
“Hey! Hey kid.”
It was useless.
But then he realized if he had been quiet, then whatever, whoever, had chased the boy would have emerged from the alley. “Damn it,” he whispered.
McMurphy was not in one of his good moods this morning. Martin could see that his eyes were red. And he seemed exhausted. Strangely exhausted.
“You okay, Murph?” Martin did not really care. He simply was curious. Why the change?
“Busy night, had stuff to do, didn’t get a damn chance to finish what I was trying to do,” he answered. He smiled wearily. “You know me. I’m a man of action, Marty. Gotta always have action.”
He hated to be called Marty, everyone knew that.
“Hear the news?” he went on.
“News?” Martin pretended to be interested.
“Chief is getting a psychic to help find the killer of the street trash. I heard the talk this morning.”