Vampire Untitled (Vampire Untitled Trilogy Book 1)

by Lee McGeorge

  The forest.

  That was it, they’d changed from heading to the bus stand and were now aimed towards the picnic area where Paul had followed Big Man and Boy. They were luring him. They knew he was following, could see he meant business, albeit from sixty yards out; and they wanted it. They wanted him to follow, to go to the forest.

  Paul grinned with clenched teeth. The kitchen knife in his fist felt good. It felt amazingly good. Nealla had a razor, Big Man Raul carried a balisong knife. So long as they didn’t attack with blades at the same time, there would be nothing to worry about.

  The heat started to get to him. He was walking faster and faster, picking up the pace and beginning to burn on the inside. He used his free hand to loosen a few buttons from his shirt to let the cool air and snow touch his breastbone. He was glad he wasn’t wearing socks. The comfort of socks didn’t matter, but feeling the cold air blow around his ankles and the cool of the snow through the soles of his shoes seemed to give him energy. His muscles were flexing, enlarging and his desire to confront Nealla was turning into rage. He was on autopilot, he didn’t even have to think anymore, everything would take care of itself. These two idiots were no match for him. They were men, not even that, they were just stupid boys, ants under the boot of what he had become.

  True to his analysis, Nealla and Raul headed into the tight corridor between the smallholdings. It was narrow and he could see that in some places they almost walked shoulder-first to navigate the haphazard waist-high fences. As they got to the far end by the road the two men suddenly vanished from view, obscured by the fences and bushes. It would be dangerous to allow them to hide and attack by surprise. Then he saw Raul through the gap, crossing the road, looking both ways. Nealla looked back into the corridor and grinned at Paul, then crossed the road too. Why did he grin? Was he stupid, did he really think he could fight and win? This wasn’t going to be like it was in the lobby. Ha. Nealla didn’t know this yet. Perhaps Big Man Raul knew and understood. He suspected Raul would be reticent to take him on alone since he had seen him this morning, but even Raul didn’t know how much stronger Paul had become in just the last few hours since their encounter.

  Paul emerged at the road. He couldn’t see them, but he could see the gap in the bushes that led to the picnic area. They were so fucking stupid. Did they actually believe that he would be crazy enough to go and confront them in a secluded space like this? Obviously they did, but they had no comprehension of what he had become.

  On crossing the road he looked through the gap in the bushes and saw both men standing in wait. They were in the midst of the picnic tables. Nealla had his hands in his pockets and was further back. Big Man Raul stood ahead with his hands in fists. The snow was falling around them, the children’s swings were covered in snow and swayed ever so gently. It was peaceful here. Quiet.

  It was perfect.

  ----- X -----

  Paul tucked the knife into the back of his jeans. It occurred to him just before entering the picnic area that from their distance they would never have been able to clearly see that he was carrying a weapon. That subterfuge must hold longer. Hide the weapon, get close, grab it and use it.

  Paul walked. Calmly.

  The two men remained standing still as Paul approached. Nealla had that same shit-eating grin of domination he’d worn before. In his mind, the confrontation had already been won. This situation was what Nealla wanted; he wanted the opportunity to fuck up Paul physically and prove his dominance. Nealla quite clearly thought he’d won in advance. Nealla also probably thought that he’d engineered the scenario, he probably felt clever at seducing Paul to a barren spot with nobody to call to for help. Big Man, on the other hand, was looking psyched and purposeful. He had moved ahead of Nealla and raised his fists in preparation of a boxing match. He’d started bopping, moving his weight from one foot to the other, rolling his shoulders in preparation of throwing a punch.

  Paul walked. Calmly.

  When he was ten yards away, Big Man approached. He kicked the snow ahead of him with each stride. He had his height, the higher ground, his greater reach, the supporting figure of Nealla, the secluded environment. Everything was in Big Man’s favour.

  Paul remained calm.

  Big Man made two strides to cover the distance. Calmly and with perfect anticipation Paul took hold of the knife and swung it in a wide arc as he jumped backwards to avoid the punch. The result was magnificent. The knife was swung at the perfect angle and connected with maximum force. Big Man’s fist was flying at speed and the blade sliced with all the power Raul had mustered. The steel caught between his knuckles and bit brutally between ring and index fingers, then carried on slicing across the back of his hand right down to the wrist. The amount of blood that came out was astonishing. Raul didn’t quite know what had happened. He was still moving forward, his bulk carrying him with the momentum as Paul retreated. The moment Raul saw the wound his face turned white. He grabbed at the gaping valley that had opened between the bones of his fist and dropped one knee into the snow.

  It was all the advantage Paul needed. He swung the knife again, stepping close to ensure a harsh and deep wound across the side of Raul’s neck.

  Although the damage was strong, it lacked the force and intensity Raul had added by punching into the blade. Despite being of lower force, it was still an assured attack and a second after inflicting it the slice was pouring with blood. Raul took his blood covered hand away from the first injury and tapped it to the neck wound before checking his fingers for bleeding. A redundant gesture because there was blood falling everywhere. Raul tried to stem the flow from his neck by clasping his left hand against the neck wound and tucking his wounded right hand in his left armpit.

  Paul felt calm. Content.

  Raul looked over his shoulder to Nealla, almost as though to call for help. It was the dumbest most stupid thing he could have done. Raul had both hands in use to stem the bleeding, he couldn’t defend himself and now he was foolish enough to look away.

  Paul slammed the knife point back into the neck wound to double down on the same injury. Raul’s hand was beside the wound and the hit was so hard it looked as though one of his fingers came off as the knife punched through the jugular to his larynx.

  Nealla hadn’t moved at all other than to take his hands out of his pockets, but his face was one of ultimate horror.

  Paul stepped towards Raul who now lifted both hands forward in defence, on his knees, begging with hands out. The wound to his right hand was horrid and the skin hung off the back like it was a patch of cloth, the tip of his little finger on his left hand was missing, severed clean when Paul had punched the blade into his neck. That wound had settled things. With his hands held ahead of him, blood spurted from the carotid artery, shooting at least six feet. Pure crimson, almost glowing as it stained the snow around him.

  Paul held the knife in anticipation, looking for the opening of landing a huge stab to Raul’s face.

  The Big Man whispered, “Varog,” and with it a huge amount of blood spilled from his lips. At the same time his balance seemed to go and his skin went ashen. He slumped backwards into the snow and lifted his hands back to his neck.

  Big Man was down. He was out of the game.

  Paul turned his attention to Nealla.

  “Nu!” Nealla called out as he turned and ran. He went three or four strides before turning back. He looked at Raul who in turn was looking up at him. Raul was alive but immobile. It looked as though Raul was trying to call to Nealla for help, begging his friend, pleading with him, knowing that without medical attention in the next few minutes he would die. Nealla knew this too, but when he looked at Paul he turned back and started running up the hill, higher into the forest. Abandoning Raul to his death in order that he may live a few minutes longer.

  Minutes longer.

  Only minutes.

  Paul followed at Nealla’s pace but could see that his nemesis was no physical match for him. Nealla was a smoker of cigarette
s and that smoking was costing him now. He was barely halfway up the hill and he was gasping for breath. Paul kept him within twenty yards without feeling it necessary to breathe. He was feeling hot though, and his muscles seemed to have grown or swollen further on attacking Raul. His shirt was feeling tight around the armpits and biceps. Ahead of him Nealla fell forward into the snow, struggling with exertion. Paul used the opportunity to unfasten the remaining buttons and slip off his shirt. He dropped it on the footprints to be sure he could find it on the way back. Nealla was knelt in the snow looking back over his shoulder. He looked on worriedly, rolling himself to sit his ass in the snow whilst he tried to regain his breath. He had something in his hand that Paul assumed was the razor, but the blade was still folded inside the handle.

  As Paul dropped his shirt he noticed how the snow touched the skin around his ankles. He wasn’t wearing socks and the cold freeze felt good, empowering, so he kicked off his shoes also. The moment he stepped a bare foot into the snow he knew he had to be naked.

  Nealla was still sitting in the snow trying to catch his breath, but as he saw Paul slipping off his jeans whilst holding the kitchen knife that had killed Raul, the true horror of the situation sunk in. Nealla called out some things in Romanian that Paul ignored. They sounded like pleadings, not threats.

  Perhaps Raul had told Nealla the truth about the confrontation earlier. Perhaps they had felt the same way as Boy, that Paul was a vampire. Did they believe it? Would Nealla have believed?

  It didn’t really matter what he thought. All that mattered was what happened now.

  Paul was naked, standing in falling snow. One man was dead or would be very soon. The other was sitting in a state of realisation that he had no options left. It was fight or flight against a vampire and his flight was no match to the thing stood before him.

  The cool air felt sensational against his skin. The snow underfoot charged him like an electric current. The knife in his hand would bring a calming justice to the scene.

  Paul began walking uphill.

  Nealla stood and backed away. He looked so utterly helpless and terrified that Paul couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps he was mirroring Nealla’s shit-eating grin. It made him feel amazing to be naked against the cold and he knew he looked amazing. His athletic physique was pumped and swollen, his muscles bulging and primed.

  “English... Sorry English... I always like!” Nealla screeched out like a desperate little girl. It seemed he could speak a little of the language after all.

  Paul continued his calm uphill climb.

  Nealla backed away for a few more steps then seemed to realise he didn’t have any options. He yelled a threat of some kind and unfolded his razor. He gripped it in his fist and adopted a fighting stance. He had made the decision to fight, he had the higher ground, he had the strength and a slight height advantage, but he had lost before he even began. He’d lost because he didn’t want to fight, he’d lost because what he really wanted to do was flee and he’d lost because there was no way he could move as quickly as a vampire.

  As Paul stepped to within striking distance Nealla made a move that was part retreat and part a defence swing with the razor.

  Paul’s counter move was lightening fast, dodging the razor with a swing of his arm to keep balance. He ducked to the side simply, effortlessly. It was all so easy to do. His reflexes were faster than ever, his muscles more powerful than ever. Nealla and Raul looked slow and sluggish, they looked like they were fighting through syrup. Nealla tried another attacking swing of the blade and again Paul found it pathetic. So easy to dodge, so easy to anticipate. In response, Paul rebounded like he was shot from a cannon to plant the kitchen knife deep into Nealla’s flank. He pulled the knife back out just as fast.

  Nealla stumbled backwards into the snow on the impact but scrambled upright to regain his footing. The wound was nowhere near as dramatic as Raul’s but it made Nealla scream when he looked down to see blood spreading out across his clothing.

  “Please, English. Please,” Nealla lowered onto one knee and held the razor ahead of him as a defence. “Please... Please.”

  Nealla had seemed to give up. He didn’t want to fight anymore. He was clutching his side, on his knees, begging for mercy.

  Paul approached and lowered his own blade. Nealla kept his razor held at the full extent of his arm. There was no way for him to attack from here, he was kneeling, his arm was fully extended. Paul reached forward and took the razor out of Nealla’s hand. It was capitulation. Nealla just gave it up, just gave away his only means of defence. Foolish boy. Paul folded the razor carefully then casually tossed it aside to become lost in the snow.

  “Please English, I sorry.”

  Paul looked into Nealla’s terrified eyes. They were streaming with tears, either with pain or with fear. When Nealla looked back at Paul’s eyes, he took a sudden intake of breath as the real horror registered. Nealla saw what Paul imagined he saw. A naked man with marble white skin and glassy red eyes.

  The knife slammed into Nealla’s ribcage, came out, and slammed in again. Nealla screamed with intensity but surprisingly little volume. Nor did Nealla defend himself very well. Paul knocked him onto his back and stood over him stabbing the knife repeatedly into his chest and abdomen. Blood spat from his mouth as he pleaded for what Paul assumed was forgiveness. But although he thrashed around, he never really lifted up his hands to defend himself; he just lay there making a bloody snow-angel as the vampire repeatedly stabbed him and sliced him and eviscerated him and spilled every last drop of blood until all movement from Nealla stopped.

  ----- X -----

  There was a strange moment of neutrality as Paul sat in the snow beside his clothes. He had walked away from Nealla and followed the footprints downhill to find his shirt, jeans and shoes. Although content and truly afraid of nothing, he knew it would be unwise to return to the apartment whilst covered in blood. It was all over him, his chest, torso, genitals; mostly it was his hands and arms, his forearms in particular were heavily stained. He sat in the snow trying to rub it off his skin before dressing. He left the knife behind, he wouldn’t need it again. Nor did he look back at Nealla, or what was left of him. He’d stabbed him so many times in the abdomen that parts of his intestines had begun spilling to the point where he looked as though he’d turned inside out.

  The snow was still falling which was a good thing. The bodies would be covered soon.

  Paul walked downhill to discover that Raul wasn’t entirely dead. He’d lost all movement apart from the shallowest breathing that was mostly registered by a bubble of blood that blew from his right nostril with each exhalation. One of his eyes was widely dilated and the other had a pinprick pupil with a colourless iris. Paul looked into his eyes hoping Raul’s brain was still alive enough to see him. Two or three minutes later there was a barely perceptible yet striking change as Raul’s skin seemed to slacken and the bloody bubbles stopped forming on his nostril. Death. The exact moment registered.

  What now?

  It would be nice to go and see Ildico but somehow his cognition was telling him that it wouldn’t be a good idea. He needed to go now. He needed to return to the apartment, take his passport and an overnight bag and disappear. London would be the best option, he could vanish and disappear in London. There were many things to think about and do. He would have to vanish before somebody discovered the bodies and called the police.

  Would the police put two and two together? Would they consider him a person of interest? Most likely. People had seen Nealla attack him. The police would want to question him. They would come looking, they would become suspicious that he had left directly after the killings, they would find his details from the landlady, they would learn the story from Ildico. Boy would tell them things. Boy might tell them he was a vampire. They would put two and two together. He was a vampire, had killed Nealla and Raul then fled. They would check the flights, immigration, passport control. They were going to track him and he was going to have to become
a running man.

  He had time enough to make it to London, but what then?

  Evade. Escape. Transform. Get to London, buy time, get resourced and create an avenue to disappear.

  Ildico.

  It was a shame. He really did want to see her again. He stopped for a moment to ponder how she would react when she discovered he had killed Nealla and Big Man. How would she see this? What would she think of him?

  He could imagine exactly what she would think, she would say he was a vampire. She had told him not to go to that place in the forest as it made men go crazy. At first he hadn’t believed her, all that talk about the strigoi and superstitious mumbo-jumbo, but look what had happened. He went, he ended up believing and then...

  Paul took a deep breath as he endured a cold and painful moment of clarity. Reality returned. And this time, it returned with a fucking vengeance. It was true, it was all true. Vampires exist. He knew because he had become one. There were dark things he had imagined, and dark things he had made true.

  It was time to go.

  Paul used his hands to throw snow over Raul’s body. The snow was falling heavier and heavier and the evidence would be covered soon enough, but still, there was no sense in taking a risk. Sixty seconds to conceal the body might mean the difference between evasion and capture. He ran back up the hill to kick snow across Nealla’s body. Hopefully they would remain hidden for some time. With luck he would get a few days. Perhaps they wouldn’t be discovered until the snow thawed in the spring. Perhaps if he was really lucky their corpses would be mauled and eaten by bears or dogs, destroying any forensic evidence of knife wounds.

  Wishful thinking, but hopeful thinking.

  With the bodies largely covered Paul paused to enjoy the moment. Nealla. What a fucking joke. Amazing to think that only a week or so ago Nealla had thrown him to the floor and threatened him with a razor. What a transformation. What an amazing, wonderful and powerful transition it had been.