THE FALL

by Reverend Steven Rage

  The spine stretched, fractured, but remained intact. The rack rotated feet down; letting gravity pull most of the blood back into the body. The vampire reached behind, grabbed the waiting tool. With a flash of glinting, a sharp blade sliced spine in two. The tool dropped. The vampire had talons sunk in tortured sinner before the blade settled on hard-packed earthen floor.

  The vampire torturer lifted the body skyward lightening fast. He dislocated his jaw in a three part: left, right, left downward movements. The human"s ragged neck in the vampire"s cavernous mouth. He snapped his jaw back up once. It locked onto warm flesh with no leaks.

  The heretic held aloft, a giant bowl of mead. The vampire opened his esophagus to empty the man. He sucked hungrily on the severed neck like it was his momma"s swollen breast.

  When finished, the vampire released the empty body. He eased his jaw back into place. Hands burned fiercely. The assistant rinsed with cool water. He dried them and the burning ceased.

  The vampire sat the floor, stared absently at the heretic"s remains. Vampire signs faded as he relaxed and floated within the surge of power. It"s the blood. The torturer wanted rivers of it. He wanted as much as he could get.

  Especially, the vampire thought, from the fearful.

  Instill the fear and infuse the blood. Increase the fear and make them hold it. Ripen the fruit and drink deeply of it.

  God"s green Earth"s a banquet, the vampire decided. It was bountiful and his cup truly runneth over.

  The vampire stood. He placed the stubborn sinner"s head in a burlap bag. He shall present it as a souvenir to the Inquisitor. It will add nicely to the Papist"s collection of those who have confessed headless quickly their heresy, but only after being subjected to torture.

  The assistant gave the Inquisitor the head of the obstinate heretic. The vampire no longer required its services. There"s plenty more where that came from.

  Chapter Nine

  I

  am moving again toward my stash of emergency money. I am activating my contingency plan. Motherfuckers should always

  have a Plan B.

  I have $100,000 in one hundred dollar bills wrapped in shrink-tite plastic. This stash I keep in a watertight, padlocked box in Mary Magdalene"s childhood home in Clarkston. I bought the little house years before and gave it to Mary. I have a house key that nobody knows about.

  The Pharisees made a deal with me. I expect them to keep their word as a solemn business contract, but once again, a nigga never knows, not in The Harbor. And Iwasn"t about to be without a quick exit. I can always come back for Herod at a later time if things go south.

  If I have to run with naught but the shirt on myback, it"s nice to know the shirt is stuffed with hundreds. So much for the good news; the bad news is the mysterious and treacherous Clarkston itself.

  The neighborhoods of Clarkston are some of the oldest in The Harbor. It is situated in a halfsquare mile, all single lane roads. It is a closed square. There"s only one way into the square, the same way out. Outsiders are not welcomed. Those who stray and find themselves inside regret it with their dying breath.

  Clarkston has its own gang affiliation and it is the real deal. Nobody fucks with these niggas: not even Herod"s cops. If folks have to be dealt with, the police wait to catch them outside the square. Even then, retaliation is to be expected, depending on the relative worth of the individual in question.

  My boys sling dope on the periphery of Clarkston, but definitely not inside the square. I, myself, am barely tolerated inside out of respect for my clout and status. The fact that Juan has also grown up inside the square helps pave the way for tolerating my presence.

  So, with Mary and Juan being from Clarkston, it seemed the perfect place to hide my last ditch emergency cash. Except now that I need it, Mary is unavailable and Juan is dead. My runners are gone. Herod and I have only a shaky truce imposed by the Pharisees. There is no more protection under Herod"s name.

  Also Clarkston"s where the little Christ was raised. The whole area knows Immanuel and I stand on opposite sides of the Plata fence.

  I have no help with me and none forthcoming. I"m going in naked, with no back-up. Where there are gangsters with automatic weapons and Christians with shotguns.

  I check the 9mm I keep in the glove box. I have two fully loaded spare clips. I hope to fuck it"s enough.

  I park outside the square of Clarkston. About three blocks away at a gas station I own.

  The visions are slamming into me with tremendous force. It"s IMAX in my head: big, loud and sharp. It leaves me momentarily groggy and confused. It also burns a lot of time.

  I carefully drive around to the back; the station is dark and closed for the night.

  The former owner became a hardcore Plata addict. Eventually he signed the business over to me.The man"s daughter manages the place as my employee. The young woman"s father died soon after he graduated to the needle. His daughter is doing much better than her father.

  I sit in the close dark for a bit. I ponder my sudden reversal. The day before yesterday I had my whole world by the balls. Now it turns on me. Shit has evolved into an all or nothing proposition.

  Now that I have calmed, I realizethere"s more to it than revenge on Herod. My choices are less clear. win back Pharisees innocent including my own life. I know that if the Pharisees" protection is ever compromised – well… Herod will have his niggas digging for me in every hole. My life won"t be worth squat.

  My final choice, way down on the list, is to just say fuck it and run. I can always do that. If I can grab the money, the little bit that"s left. And I can hardly fucking believe that"s what it comes down to. Here I am about to risk life and limb to get money that amounts to less than four percent of my fortune.

  Not much in the way of choices and ain"t none of them easy. But I can"t dwell on this shit any longer. There"s no more time left toplan. I"ve got to move.

  The phone I"m supposed to keep on hand is left purposefully in the car. I"ll need to be silent and deadly now. There are thick stores of oxygen I can kill the innocent preacher girl and my world. That is certainly what the want from me. Or, I can save the and lose everything I ever coveted, feeding and strengthening me. My muscles are swollen, poised and on the mark.

  I shut the big bay door. I look out toward Clarkston. My fingertips tingle, the talons are pressing. The nubs harden and sharp tips tease the soft, pink flesh. I am all set.

  I"m a blur as I travel swift and deep into Clarkston. I know running faster than the human eye will still make some residual noise. I prudently keep to the shadows and dark crevices.

  I leap to the top of a corner house. I soar down the block, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. I very nearly fly. I slow to a stop on the rooftop of an empty, darkened house. I study the street below behind a second story chimney. The house is directly across the lane. My money waits for me there. I frown as I scout the area.

  Damn. Motherfuckers are everywhere, celebrating.

  Mary Magdalene"s tiny house is straight ahead, across the street, near ground zero. As I watch, an automatic rifle rips the night air. Dogs bark like Jesus is coming. Someone gets punched in the face, and falls back into a bonfire. A scuffle breaks out. A girl sluggishly pulls a train on the hood of an old car. Hard music frames the background noise.

  Big-ass niggas resplendent with prison ink loiter shirtless. Nines and auto-pistols are in plain sight. It seems that the square is celebrating a quincineain Caligula"s basement, while awaiting marching orders. There"re so many deadly sins on display here and so much hardware concentrated on this one block. My money is waiting for me, but it"s through the gauntlet on the other side. Shit.

  It is what it is.

  Irritated, I palm my gun, shit off safety. I knowthere ain"t nothin" easy in The Harbor but damn if this isn"t getting ridiculous. I continue to watch the crowd below.

  No mystery why no one comes here. But money"s on the line and I don"t have time for this. I can"t stay away from my phone too long. The Pharisees will
be calling for me at any time now. If I don"t answer, they won"t be amused. It will be yet another bullshit problem I will have to deal with.

  I check the surrounding area. The bulk of the fun appears to be consolidated right below me, here at party central. Fortunately for me, at least the far periphery is quiet. I scan the revelers one last time, jump down to the soft grass below. I pull the slide on the nine, chamber it. Then I melt into the night.

  I am a blur as I run, still faster than any human eye can see. But suddenly I begin to slow down, not being able to help myself. I come to an abrupt stop while shit gets unclear. I put my hands on my knees, trying to quell the storm raging within. I fall back against the wall of a vacant, darkened house. It figures. This happens just as I am ready to give niggas what for. I fall further to my hands and knees. All I can think of is hiding. I"m frightened of what these motherfuckers will do to me if they catch me vulnerable like this. I begin crawling toward a hedgerow of neglected bushes nearby. I make it under and behind the bushes. I am momentarily safe here in the dark. The dizziness is spinning my head out of control. I lean my back against the wall, in the dark and close my eyes. The 9mm is wedged securely and safely under my thigh, I note this, just as the rug of my consciousness is pulled out from under me. Y"all know what"s coming:

  COURTESIAN

  410, anno Domini

  S

  he remained alongside the famous Roman historian"s house, next to the Salarian Gate. The house of Sallust was empty and darkened

  as the rest of sleeping Rome.

  She peered around the corner, watched slaves gather at the gate. The slaves were a gift, a gesture of goodwill from the army laying siege to Rome.

  Alaric gave the Roman Senate a gift of three hundred beardless slaves. He was impressed by their loyalty to the beleaguered Emperor in the West. Loyalty deeply admired by Alaric as displayed by the Senate during the long siege. Alaric"s armies made camp outside the walls, but did not advance. He ordered attacks to cease.

  Alaric could not possibly continue besieging those showing such fine bravery and conviction, his emissary stated.

  The fearsome days, continued his unmolested and in peace. Rome was desperate to believe.

  The slaves, who should be at home with their masters, began to consolidate. The Gate sentries suspected not a thing.

  Fools, she thought, all of them.

  general, over the last few overtures to leave the city She glanced down. The slave lay motionless

  between her bare feet. She slid a toe into his ear. She shoved it in deep, jiggled it about. The slave lay still. She kicked hard enough to break a rib or two and yet he lay still. The slave was dead.

  She cursed silently. It was such a waste. The teenage boy was a gift of Alaric, one of the three hundred the Senate was so grateful for. The boy spilled his guts in exchange for a quick fuck. She had to kill him when wet garbled cries erupted from the slave as she fed on him.

  She had her mouth clamped tightly the boy"s bleeding groin. She neglected to enrapture him.

  The vampire had barely enough blood in her mouth to swish and taste before she was forced to kill him. She shut up his cries by squeezing his throat shut.

  He died, the blood turned foul and vulgar. It was worse than a rabid, dying dog.

  The vampire destitute again.

  Up until this unpleasant thought was far from her. She hadn"t pondered the ugliness of her past in a long while. Now it rushed forefront as she sucked bloody teeth clean, countingthe slaves" growing numbers.

  The slaves were waiting for darkest hour, she knew. The dead boy at her feet told her so. He didn"t know she was more than a concubine of the Roman Senate. She also spied for the Emperor in the East.

  Theodosius was the Roman Emperor in the East and the vampire girl"s master.

  The dead boy at her feet was no slave. He confided this as he grunted and sweated on top of planned to never be that

  night, that desperate and her. He bragged about it. He told her none of the boys were really slaves at all.

  Alaric, outside the city with his armies, was playing the Senate. The boys were soldiers in Alaric"s army. And now they were massed at the Salarian Gate.

  Soon they would rush unsuspecting, drowsy guards and overwhelm them. After the guards are dispatched, the slaves will open the Gate. Alaric and his armies will pour through and sack Rome.

  The vampire girl had to admit, a devil of a good plan. She learned about it much too late to warn Theodosius. Not in time, anyway. It would take days to send a message that far away, even if peace ruled. In a few moments, all will be chaos. There will be no message of warning from her.

  A glut of slave/soldiers clustered together in the darkness. They hid from the guards. They had daggers cleverly concealed. The vampire could hear their plans.

  It was nearly Dark Hour. She heard stirring and hushed movement from outside the walls.

  She turned and disappeared into the dark night.

  The sounds of men fighting, dying at the Gate came from a distance. She scaled the wall, peeked over the top. A soldier stood watch near a group of placidly cropping horses. The guard leaned against the wall, right below the vampire. She was a preying mantis anxious to savor his fluids.

  Her eyes yellowed. The guard"s blood teased her. Fangs fell and talons pierced the wall. She went over, scaled silently downward the outer side. The vampire inched stealthily toward the unwary guard, creeping like a hunting spider.

  The vampire halted inches above the crown of his helmet, eyes yellow and shining. Saliva, pink and slick, dribbled cool from her, splattered the back of his neck. The soldier reached the spittle and wiped some free. He brought it around and peered closely at it. He couldn"t place it, absent suitable light.

  He felt he was being watched. The guard quickly scanned the immediate area. He was at the ready, but saw nothing save his brethren in the distance and horses beside him. Then, to satisfy a strange but insistent urging, he glanced upward. His breath caught at what he saw.

  She smiled at him and his heart almost stopped.

  Her talons split the anterior chest wall and gripped his ribs like handles. She pulled the guard off the ground. His heels hit the wall spasmodically as she fed.

  When finished, she dropped him to the ground. The vampire girl remained inverted on the wall until the fresh blood suffused her core. Then it spread glowing warmth throughout her body.

  She hit the ground. Vampire signs died down. Flushed and full. Inside, Rome erupted with violence and strangled cries. The vampire outside the walls, walking carefully away as the dying city was raped.

  It was time for her to change loyalties.

  She saw Alaric"s tents up ahead, not far. She smoothed her hair. She pinched up her nipples until the hard gems strained her tunic. She tightened fabric to accentuate the curve from waist to hip. She ran a finger between thick downy lips of her vulva. The vampire dabbed wet scent wherever her pulse pounded close to the skin"s surface: behind ears, base of throat, the soft sparse fur under her arms.

  She wondered how manyof Alaric"s men she would have to fuck. Did not matter, she wasn"t afraid of them. Theodosius, the Emperor of the Eastern Empire taught her well. He taught her to thrive.

  The tents neared. She was mostly free of blood. She could hear men laughing with triumph. Rome, all knew, would now fall.

  She saw Alaric emerge from the tent, surrounded by his men. The conqueror saw her. The vampire smiled seductively and came to him.

  In Gaul, almost eight centuries later, the vampire finally died. She fed once too often in the same place. She paid for it with her long life.

  Frankish peasants pinned her throat to a mud wall. She bled out around the farming implement impaling her. They curiously watched as she died without struggle. They piled wood and hay around her feet. The blaze set, fire raged. Still there was no struggle.

  The vampire traveled vast distances, crisscrossing the centuries since leaving Rome. She witnessed and experienced many great and horr
id things. She killed more humans than anyone could count. She could have lived many more years, could have taught survival as an art form.

  But she tired of it, all of it. She grew weary from the living of life and the taking of it. She tired of it until she despaired. She was finished. What shall be done next, when all has been? There was nothing left for her, save the one.

  She allowed herself to be captured by the Franks. Her suicide was all she had left to do.

  And it was a triumphant one.

  Chapter Ten

  T

  he first falls before anyone in Clarkston hears the gunshots I spit out at the night. I snap two shots from the darkness and follow

  those immediately by three more to the right of the first two. Then it"s back to the left, five shots. Two more fall.

  By the time three more come in from the right, I can see their weapons are in hand. Niggas are running flat out, firing at the general direction of my visible muzzle flashes.

  Gunfire lights up the night. Dozens of dogs bark angrily. Old looking young women go to the fallen and begin to resignedly wail for them. The area blows up in chaotic violence.

  I run hard and away from my last series of gunshots. I find a deep spot beside a quiet shed. I drop the clip and replace it with a fresh one. I used up some of my oxygen darting faster than humans can see and shooting several houses apart. I want to give the motherfuckers the impression a squad is attacking. I"m not overly concerned about the O2 used. The blood I supped upon is premium and I have plenty left.

  I see them run past me, firing at places from which I"d shot, always a step or two behind me. I watch them go by and turn my attention to the tiny house across the street.

  I stand there, money slung over my shoulder. I stare at her. She sleeps on the couch. No one else is with her.

  The metal box in the attic crawl space is right where I"d left it. When checked, the money is in there and in good shape. I remove a few thousand, put them in my pocket.

  When I went down the stairs to the ground floor, that"s when I saw her. Iwasn"t expecting to, but I should have. It makes the most sense. She will feel safe here while she recovers.