Shades - The Demise of Blake Beck

by Anders Rauff-Nielsen

  As Vincenzo opened the door into the heart of the club, the intense electronica and the noise of hundreds of partygoers drowned out all other sounds and the shifting faces around him filled his mind. Suddenly, it all began to flow together in a liquid haze of checkered vinyl floor and laughing, shouting faces. In a blur of sight and sound, Vincenzo felt his new body revolt. He struggled to keep his mind in the same place as his body, staggering drunkenly towards the exit, but his thoughts were swooped away into the young woman’s past memories. Vincenzo learned then that reminiscence is not at all like recollection, and he found himself a passenger in a body he couldn't control. It was as if he was actually present, as if he was the girl, and yet he had no control at all because what he was experiencing had all occurred in the past. He heard the music, tasted the lingering flavor of beer on his lips, and felt a drunken young man bump into him without even a slight mumble of an apology. It was still the same club that he had reanimated in, but it was only 8:35 p.m. according to an old 1950's wall clock. If this was his body’s memories from the same night, he gathered that it was about four hours prior to her death. Straightening his dress – a gesture that felt very strange to him – Vincenzo walked over to the bar. As he placed his half empty bottle of Heineken down on the bar, Vincenzo got the distinct impression of being on the prowl for a nice time – a quick cuddle, a snog or perhaps even a bit of bonking in a parking lot or some other sordid place. Next to him, a man with a strong, trim build was standing with his back turned, talking to another guest at the bar. The man was clearly of Arabian heritage and he was old enough to be the girl’s father. Yet the girl had been checking out this man all night, and despite feeling very uneasy inside this memory, there was nothing Vincenzo could do. The man turned to face him, and to Vincenzo's great surprise, it was Bahij he suddenly found standing in front of him, wearing a stylish grey suit and a friendly smile. The smile that had conquered the girl in the fatal final hours of her life.

  “I can see that you are in need of a new drink. Something colorful, sharp and tasty to fit the rest of you instead of that out-of-place beer, I would imagine,” Bahij started. “Now if you offer me your name, I will offer you that drink in return.”

  “Carrie,” Vincenzo heard himself say in an endearing female voice. “And what's yours?”

  “Bahij. Bahij Khaleel. It means cheerful friend,” he said with a smile.

  “Will you be my friend tonight then?” Vincenzo heard himself say and felt the batting of his mascara-coated eyelashes.

  “Absolutely, my dear! What do you fancy?”

  “Well, another drink, some dancing and then perhaps a bite before we might go somewhere else later on.”

  “Right you are, my dear. What are you having?” Alongside the conversation with Bahij, Vincenzo could hear the faint calling of a man’s voice. It seemed like it was coming from another world, calling in a deep, slow voice like a 78 LP record played at 33½ rpm.

  “Aaarree yyoouu aallrriigghhtt, mmiiss?” As the distant voice spoke, the memories shifted and Vincenzo felt himself rushing through hundreds of thousands of emotional and sensory shifts in a split second as the memories fast-forwarded through the night. Suddenly, he found himself with his eyes shut, kissing Bahij wildly, hardly aware of his surroundings. He felt his back being slammed against the stall door, which opened with a bang, echoing as the door hit the stall wall. They were kissing madly and he could feel his body getting aroused. He felt himself lift up his dress to the waist, and as Bahij moved his kisses from his mouth and down to his neck, Vincenzo opened his eyes again. Then he felt a sharp pain as Bahij sank his teeth in. As the blood began to flow, Vincenzo felt the rush of adrenalin as panic set in. He felt himself kicking and letting out a scream that was muffled into a low sob by Bahij's hand covering his mouth.

  “Mmiissss!?! Ccoommee oonn, lleett'sss ggeett yyoouu ssoooommmeee ffrreesshh aaiirr.” Vincenzo felt life slipping away as Bahij placed him gently on the porcelain toilet. He didn't struggle anymore. Death had taken its hold, and as he closed his eyes, Bahij began to wipe the stray blood from his dress with a piece of toilet paper. As Vincenzo closed his eyes to the memory, he opened his eyes in reality. He was outside the club, half hanging by one arm around the neck of a young man helping him to the curb. The youth was clearly under the impression that this young woman had had too much to drink and needed a bit of air, and perhaps she needed to bake a pavement pizza, as well. He sat Vincenzo down on the curb of the small paved area that separates Old Street from Hoxton Street in northeast London. Vincenzo looked up towards the club, which was located in a series of old Hackney apartments on Old Street. At street level, the wall was painted bright blue, with 12-foot tall black and white lettering reading “Exciting!” all the way around the end of the building to Hoxton Street.

  “Are you OK, miss?” the young man asked again.

  “Sure, I just need a minute,” Vincenzo replied with a smile before continuing. “Will you stay with me?” he asked.

  “Of course!” the youth replied as he sat down next to Vincenzo. He sat there silently for a minute or two to let the girl catch her breath and get her bearings. As always, Vincenzo played his part brilliantly.

  “I don't think I need anymore to drink,” he said, breaking the silence between the two.

  “No. I don't think so either,” the young man replied.

  “Would you walk me home? I'm sleeping at my friend’s flat. It’s just a couple of minutes up Hoxton Street,” Vincenzo said, scooting in closer to his companion, who – like most young men – was helpless against the endearing gestures of a beautiful woman in need of assistance and male protection.

  “Sure,” he said and got up. “You need a hand?”

  “Yes, please,” Vincenzo said, letting his new friend take his hand and help him off the curb. Vincenzo straightened his dress and took the boy’s arm as they started up Hoxton Street. Vincenzo cuddled up to the young man as they walked, wanting to keep the small talk to a minimum. After a few minutes, they reached a small communal garden that lay quiet on this Tuesday night. Vincenzo stopped and moved to kiss the young man. He didn't feel any stranger doing this than a fisherman feels reeling in his catch. To Vincenzo, the kiss was merely a means to an end. “Come on. Let's go in there,” he said, pointing to the garden with an unambiguous glimmer in his eyes.

  “OK,” the young man said with a slightly goofy grin, thinking he knew what was about to happen. Vincenzo took his hand and walked into the garden where he looked around to see if there was anyone nearby, and finding no one, Vincenzo leaned in and kissed the boy. Even by his lips, Vincenzo could feel how the blood started rushing as the young man's pulse rose. Then he felt the young man caressing his back and looking for a way to unzip Vincenzo's dress.

  “What's your name?” Vincenzo whispered, running his fingers down the boy’s throat.

  “Why?”

  “I'd just like to know.”

  “Martin,” the young man replied. Vincenzo kissed him and saw how he closed his eyes to the kiss.

  “Well, Martin, thank you for this,” Vincenzo said, kissing him on the cheek before moving his kisses downwards.

  “Mmmhh . . .” was the last thing the boy said as he stretched his neck to let the girl kiss him. Vincenzo sank in his fangs and immediately tasted and felt how arousal turned into panic. Vincenzo covered the young man’s mouth with one hand, silencing his screams while pulling back his head by his hair with the other. The young man fought to break free, but to no luck. Vincenzo swept away his legs and let the young man fall on his back as Vincenzo got on top. Then Vincenzo drank, feeling his own powers grow and his soul bolster and renew as the young man’s dwindled away. He closed his eyes, reveling in the taste of fear. As he felt the boy’s body relax, Vincenzo sat up on his chest and looked into his eyes. Even though Vincenzo had removed his hand, the boy didn't scream. There was no strength left in him, and in his eyes was the despairing look of an untroubled youth who had met the devil for the first time. Vincenzo
smiled.

  “Why . . .” the young man stuttered, finding no strength to go on.

  “Because I hunger.” Vincenzo leaned down. “But if it offers you any comfort in your last moments, know that I am likely to have saved you from an eternity of punishment. For I am sure that you – like all the others – would have eventually squandered your life away in sin.” As Vincenzo spoke, he saw blood filling the boy’s mouth and knew that he would soon be gone. Vincenzo sank his teeth into the boy and consumed the last of his soul, feeling life leave his body as he did. Then Vincenzo sat up and ripped a clean piece off of the young man’s shirt, using it to clean as much of the blood off his dress as he could. Then he got up and hid the body among the bushes with a makeshift cover of leaves and branches. This would keep at least until morning when Vincenzo would be long gone.

  Vincenzo walked out of the garden and back down Hoxton Street to Old Street where he managed to flag down one of the characteristic black London taxis. He got in and told the driver to take him to the address Bahij had given him in Wandsworth. They drove in silence through the streets of London towards the suburb in the southwestern part of the city. Vincenzo's body language made it clear that he was in no mood for idle chatter. After about half an hour, the taxi halted outside one of a great number of identical, two-story, yellow brick houses with bay windows framed by white painted wood. The houses were built together and formed what appeared to be a great wall that enclosed the street, as if they were meant to keep people from escaping from suburbia. Vincenzo paid the taxi driver and got out without replying to the taxi driver’s “sleep well, miss,” which had a distinct ring of disapproval to let Vincenzo know that young girls shouldn’t be out that late drinking on a Tuesday night. Vincenzo walked up to the house bearing a sign stating that it was a bed & breakfast run and owned by a Mrs. Miller, which was aptly named Mrs. Miller's B&B. Below the sign, dangling by two hooks, another sign revealed that there were, in fact, “no vacancies.” This sign – to the marvel of all the neighbors – was never taken down. This had resulted in the general agreement that Mrs. Miller and her husband Clive had to be very well off given all their business, even though they certainly did not flaunt their riches. To the neighbors it was this presumed restraint that ensured that Mrs. Miller and her husband were still a welcome and valued part of the community. They were certainly much more welcome than the family who had moved in next door to Mrs. Miller's a few years back with their uncontrollable teenage son Aidan who would play that awful rock and roll music until late at night – and even on weekdays at that. However, the truth about Mrs. Miller's B&B was light-years away from what any neighbor could have dreamed of.

  Vincenzo knocked on the door of the house where Mrs. Miller had run a vampire safe house for more than thirty years. She offered cheap rates at the price of life in death – a death that would no doubt be confined to Shades when her life's work was added up. Seeing as Mrs. Miller was a stalwart woman, she would have none of that and had taken charge of her own destiny and afterlife. As for Clive, he seemed to do mainly what his wife told him. It was a couple of minutes before the door was answered by a little, elderly lady wearing what secondhand stores would peddle as a vintage nightgown.

  “Yes, dear?” she said.

  “I believe that a room has been reserved for me for the next few days by Bahij Khaleel.”

  “Oh, you must be Mister Vincenzo. Pardon me, dear. I had expected you to look a bit different. Come on in,” Mrs. Miller said, stepping aside to let Vincenzo enter before she closed the door. “I have reserved our best room for you; it's a single. We can't have anyone associated with Him sleeping with the crowd of box-heads, if you don't mind me saying.” Vincenzo simply ignored her – a hint she clearly understood. “It's up the stairs and to the right, dear.” He started up the stairs, finding that the house appeared to have been unchanged in its furnishings for the better part of the thirty years it had been in the care of Mrs. Miller. The carpeted boards creaked as he walked up the stairs with Mrs. Miller following behind him. “That's the one,” she said, pointing to the street-side door down the hallway to the right. As Vincenzo opened the door, a rush of cold air met him. The house lay silent, save for the humming of the air conditioning running on full blast and the muffled sound of Aidan's stereo playing in the neighboring house on the other side of the wall. Vincenzo's en-suite room had rather sparse furnishings, but the room offered the choice of a bed or a box, as some undead had gotten used to inanimating in boxes or coffins. Wherever it was done, the most important concern was to keep the body cool and out of direct sunlight while it lay inanimate without the undead’s soul to keep it from decaying.

  “This will be fine,” Vincenzo said.

  “That's nice to hear, dear. Now, is there anything else I can do for you? Otherwise, I will be getting back to bed.”

  “No. I will be fine. Just make sure that the room remains undisturbed.”

  “Of course, dear. Discretion is our creed.”

  “Good. Now I bid you goodnight.”

  “Good night, sir,” Mrs. Miller said and left the room, closing the door behind her. Vincenzo walked over to the door and locked it. He looked at himself in the mirror that hung on the wall and examined the well-trained body of the young girl. Then he removed the black dress and stockings as he went into the bathroom. He gave the clothes a quick rinse in the sink to remove the bloodstains and then hung them to dry in the shower. He walked back into the bedroom and pulled the blinds of the bay window that faced the street. The music coming through from next door disappeared for a second while the track changed before returning with the sound of tight drums, bass and an electric guitar blasting. The vocals joined in at the same time as Vincenzo reached the bed. As he lay down, he savored the feeling of being back in the world of the living. He could still taste the young man on his lips. “It is good to be back among the prey,” he thought, feeling like a wolf returning to a field of sheep. It didn't matter now that he had been forced to remain in Shades for all those years. All that mattered was that he was back. He closed his eyes. It was time to return and he began dislodging his soul from the vessel. As he felt the pull of Shades, the world dissolved around him and he felt as if he rose up out of his body and floated into the sky like a wisp of smoke.

  V

  The Earl got out of bed and put on the trousers of his walking suit. His white, embroidered shirt was unbuttoned and draped around his upper body, revealing the Earl’s physique as slender and lean, albeit muscular. Teresa lay across the bed, spanning its entire width – uncovered and unashamed. She let her love soak up the sight of her. The Earl turned his back to her in order to pour them both a glass of that most precious drink – that of distilled soul.

  “So, my dear. Have you been so fortunate as to have been further blessed by the company of our honorable and courteous, yet love-stricken friend?” the Earl said with customary arrogance, offering Teresa a glimpse of jealousy to assure her of his love for her. Although he felt no such thing, he played it out as the finest actor, knowing that it would suit the play.

  “John!” she said with slight disdain, feeling both assured and assaulted by his jealous demeanor. “You speak of Bahij as if he is a lovesick puppy intent on following me around – and one that I allow to follow me, if I do not mistake your words. But that could not be further from the truth,” she said as he turned and walked over to the bed. Teresa sat up and he handed her one of the two glasses, along with an endearing smile. “I know Bahij has pursued me for a while now, and I must admit that I have been flattered in the past and have laid my thoughts upon accepting his advances. But that is in the past. A past where I did not know you, John, but was resigned to knowing of you.” She took a sip from the glass before continuing. “I trust you do know that you have showed me things and feelings that I could never hope for Bahij – or anyone else for that matter – to show me again. You make me feel life again, and for that and because you are you, I love you. This I trust you do know?”

&nb
sp; “Yes. And I apologize sincerely, my dear, if I have offended you. It was not my venture to speak ill of you nor to show you mistrust.” As he spoke, he ran his hand over her hair and down her cheek before bending over to kiss her on the forehead. “Now let us speak no more of my ill manners and the misplaced words of unbefitting feelings. Rather, having touched upon the name of Bahij Khaleel, I have a matter that I would much like your advice upon.” He lay down in the bed next to Teresa, resting his head on his arm to allow him an optimal view of the topography of the bed. She smiled at him.

  “And what may this matter be, my love?” Teresa asked with a slight titter and a smile, giving away the fact that she – as the Earl had expected – had placed him on a pedestal adequately high for it to be slightly strange and amusing for him to ask her for advice.

  “Like all who serve Him, I too strive to make sure that Dæth is unlikely to be dealt a better hand than Him, and should it happen, it would be without my knowing or consent.”

  “Mhhh,” she murmured as she took another sip, urging him to go on.

  “I have come to know that Dæth is aware of the existence of the manuscript which Bahij has discovered – the one which we so inappropriately discussed in bed the other night. As Dæth knows of the manuscript, he will inevitably take precautions to make sure that He does not obtain it.” Teresa sat up, looking just as strikingly beautiful to him in death as she ever could have in life. The sparse light flowing through the window caressed her features as the gravity of his words sank in.