Blood of the Forsaken

by David Horrocks

  Sam waited until he felt sturdy enough to move again before checking inside the wardrobe, wearily pulling the door open to see the rack full of clothing hanging within. He clumsily grabbed at a hanging t-shirt, not paying too much attention to the aesthetics as he pulled it over his head and squeezed in. The shirt felt a little tight, as its thin material stretched between his shoulders and pressed against his back. It was definitely on the small side and was very uncomfortable to wear, with little room left for him to to breathe. Fortunately for Sam, that was no longer an issue.

  The distorted music continued to play, only now it was accompanied by the haunting melody of a woman’s voice, the lyrics difficult to hear through the brickwork. It was a siren’s song, calling out to Sam in a way that he found impossible to resist. Her vocals were undeniably alluring and before he knew it he was reaching for the door, unsure as to how he had gotten that far without toppling over. His weakness had somehow faded and he felt renewed vigor as if from nowhere. It seemed that her voice made him forget all about his pain as it reeled him in like a fish on a hook.

  Exiting the confines of the makeshift bedroom, Sam found himself on the metal grated floor of a walkway that overlooked a much more spacious room. It was a theatre of sorts, with a modest sized stage and an open floor plan filled with metal folding chairs. The music was clearer now, but it was so loud that it hurt his overly sensitive ears. He hadn't learned to filter out noise and any sudden sounds would almost leave him stunned.

  It was from that vantage point above the lighting rigs on high that Sam could see the origin of the music. Lit up by purple tinged spotlights, a small band played their hearts out. They were unfamiliar to the country boy who had always been relatively conservative in taste when it came to music. It was always Alice that had loved alternative music more than him, but there was something about this particular group that Sam found mesmerising.

  There were five members in the band, but one stood out amongst them all as she danced and sang in between the skinhead drummer, heavyset keyboard player, bearded bassist and a skinny guitarist thrashing away with his bright green mohawk. The lead singer was a young woman in her mid twenties, with black hair that seemed to glisten with purple highlights as she jumped around the stage enthusiastically, gyrating to the music.

  The singer's fierce, in your face attitude and punk style took Sam by surprise. He had never seen someone quite like her before, at least not in person. City girls were so different to those that he was used to, especially in Florida, and this one in particular was on another level entirely. An array of different piercings decorated the woman’s lips and nose, with studs bordering her ears. Her makeup was bright and wild, with matching tones to compliment the streaks of her hair. The singer was clearly trying to stand out from the crowd and from what Sam could see, she was succeeding.

  There was something about the way that the woman moved that drew Sam’s eye even more than her bold style. She had an elegance to her, with a gentle grace that drew him in, but there was also a hidden power that was waiting to be unleashed. She kept him on his toes by breaking her flow with quick, explosive movements that displayed her dominance. It was that self assured domination of the stage that left him feeling a little shaken. This was definitely someone that he shouldn't trifle with.

  As he made his way quietly across the walkway and down the steel staircase that ran parallel, Sam found that he couldn't take his eyes off the singer, not even for a second. He was in awe of her talent. Not just because of her dancing and the way she controlled the space around her, but the fact that her voice was so powerful it almost drowned out everything else, filling the room with her mighty presence.

  In contrast to her outgoing attitude, there was an underlying sadness that was apparent in the smallest of movements and within each note she belted out with forced confidence. It was then that Sam realised that it was the same woman who had nursed him as he slept. The same sorrowful person who had brought him in from the street and taken care of him when it had felt as though the whole world was against him. He owed her everything, and yet he still couldn't help but wonder what had happened to make her this way. Despite her outward appearance, she was clearly hurting and needed someone to help heal her own emotional wounds.

  As Sam reached the last step, moving from metal to hard concrete, the woman’s bright blue eyes met his from across the room and she let out a gasp, stopping dead in her tracks. The world around her seemed to peel away and Sam lost himself in her gaze. There was nothing else but him, her and the music that filled the hole where his heart used to beat. In that moment, he saw the singer for who she truly was. No makeup, no bright hair or piercings. Just a normal girl, angry at the world for everything that it had taken from her. She was a lonely soul, lost in the universe just like him. It was the first time that Sam had ever stared so deeply into someone's eyes, and it left him feeling spellbound.

  “What the fuck, ya twat? Why’d ya stop?” The jarring English accent of the angry looking guitarist dragged Sam back down to earth, and suddenly he found himself back in the cold harshness of reality. The music had screeched to a halt, leaving the room in an uncomfortable silence.

  “He… he’s awake.” The singer looked as though she couldn't believe her own eyes as Sam stood there in front of her, increasingly aware that the tables had turned and he had become the centre of attention.

  “Um… Hey.” Sam felt awkward as his voice seemed to echo around the room. The acoustics coming from the stage had seemed perfect, but he was almost sure that the physics had changed just to torment him.

  The drummer placed his drumsticks down as quietly as possible before rubbing the top of his smooth head with a loud sigh. To his immediate right the darker skinned man at the keyboard looked over at the loud mouthed guitarist and shook his head slowly as if to tell him no, but it didn’t stop words from spewing out of the Englishman's mouth. “Would ya look at that! The sleeping prick came ta grace us commoners with 'is royal presence.”

  “Jacko... That ain't cool, man.” The large, Southern bassist tried to calm his friend, raising a hand out towards him as he ran the fingers of the other through his beard.

  Looking a little red faced and flustered, the skinny man slid off his shoulder strap and slammed his guitar onto a nearby stand with a loud clang. “Nah, man. What 'ain’t cool’ is little miss princess stoppin’ practice again for 'er own fuckin’ selfish needs!”

  The woman didn't seem to hear his harsh words as she stared at Sam, locking her eyes with his as she made her way down the wooden steps at the base of the stage. She seemed a little plainer now, her slim frame hidden under her baggy, sleeveless shirt and ripped jeans, her untamed hair and piercings less apparent than before. They were still there, but Sam could see the person beneath and from the look on her face, she could see him too.

  Stopping just shy of Sam, a warm smile lit up the woman’s face. She was a little shorter than him, but not by much, and beamed at him with a twinkle in her eye. Pausing for just a second, she wrapped her arms around him tightly and rested her head against his shoulder, speaking in a manner that depicted them as old friends. “Hey. How’re you doing?”

  Sam repressed a gulp and fought against a stutter as he replied nervously. “I’m okay, thanks.”

  She pulled her head back and looked up at his face again, her smile just as wide as before. “I knew you’d pull through.”

  Not knowing how to respond, Sam just smiled back. The woman suddenly seemed to realise how confused he must have been. “Oh, I'm sorry…” Letting go of him, she took a step back, tilting her head to one side as her pale skin seemed to light up the same colour as the highlights in her hair under the warmth of the spotlights. “I’m Entropy, but most people call me En.”

  Sam couldn't hold back his stutter any longer. “S... Sa… Sam.”

  Delighted by his answer, Entropy took Sam’s hand and pulled him a few feet towards the stage. “Pleased to meet you, Sam.” She stopped and looked at him in slight
puzzlement, glancing down at his chest. “Wait… is that my shirt?”

  Sam wasn't sure how to defend himself as he stood there in his skin tight top. He hadn't realised that it was a woman's t-shirt at the time, but it made sense now he thought about it. “Sorry, I…”

  Entropy chuckled, smiling playfully. “Don't be. It looks cute on you.”

  Sam would have blushed if he could, but his face remained pale. He was standing there with a combination of her t-shirt and his own boxer shorts. What had he been thinking?

  It was fortunate that Entropy didn't dwell on it for too long, and she continued as if nothing had happened. “Come and meet my band!” Pulling Sam forwards, she stopped him right in front of the stage. Entropy released her grip and held her arms out to each side as she introduced her group with fervour. “This is Entropy of the Heart!” She paused dramatically as if she was waiting for a round of applause and cheering that never came.

  The only sound that followed was the audible resentment of the frustrated guitarist. “Oh fer fuck sake!” He threw his hands in the air and turned to storm off stage, slamming through a swinging door just to the left of the band’s setup. The other three members just shrugged to each other and casually passed off his actions as if it was normal.

  Entropy looked a little embarrassed, hiding a cringe behind her forced simper as she lowered her hands once more. “And that charmer was Jacko. Don't let his temperament fool you, he’s a nice guy… sometimes.”

  The beer bellied man on the base cleared his throat, drawing Entropy’s attention. She introduced him next. “This is our esteemed bassist, Mikey P.”

  The man continued to stroke his beard as he studied Sam for a few seconds before nodding his head in greeting. His deep voice boomed with an ever present, yet slight, Southern twang. “Hell with it. Just call me Mike.”

  Entropy looked relieved at her friend’s surprising acceptance of Sam. She turned to the beefy man on the keyboard next, continuing the introductions with a refreshing flair. “And next on the keys is the Latin lover, Chavz!”

  The man looked Sam up and down, giving him a once over. “'Sup, man.”

  The drummer was the next on the list. He had picked up his drumsticks again, proceeding to twirl one around his fingers as he passed the time. Entropy hopped back on the stage and made her way around the edge to stand behind her band member, resting her hands on his shoulders. “Last, but certainly not least… Skid!” She rubbed her arm on the drummer’s bald head, pretending to polish it. He seemed unphased, as if the action was a common occurrence. Raising a hand to her mouth, she pretended to whisper to Sam, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. “Just don't ask us how he got that name.” Entropy grinned widely, with wildfire dancing in her eyes. To Sam’s surprise, the drummer just smirked, not annoyed by his friend's jokes at all. He continued to spin his drumstick, aware of the conversation, but not really participating in it.

  Sam felt himself beginning to grow frail again, but he did his best to ignore it, as he didn't want to appear weak in front of strangers. He pulled together the words and what was left of his quickly waning energy to respond politely. “It's good to meet you all…” He felt faint and his knees began to shake, close to giving way under the burden of his own weight. His body seemed to grow heavier, and it was getting harder and harder for him to remain standing.

  A look of concern quickly replace the smile on Entropy’s face. “Sam? Are you okay?”

  Chavs stepped past his keyboard, nearing the edge of the stage. “He don’t look so hot.” He was right. As much as Sam fought to stay standing, and as much as he struggled, he had to accept that he was fighting a losing battle. His vision blurred once more and that’s when he knew that he was about to drop.

  “Sam?!? Sam!!!” Sam could hear Entropy’s cries of panic and then he felt someone catch him before he could hit the floor. Their skin was cool to the touch, with a chill of the dead that matched his own, and then there was nothing. No music, no band and no Entropy. And yet, Sam couldn't seem to get her out of his mind until there was nothing left but the blackness of the void.

  Chapter Eight: The forsaken one.

  It was a full day before Sam recovered and was in a fit enough state to socialise. It seemed that Entropy had been watching over him as he slept, the entrancing beauty of her worried looking face the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. She genuinely seemed to care about him, but Sam was left with a nervous feeling that he was there to fill a void that had been left by someone else.

  With doubts and questions in his mind, Sam sat down with the band that night, around a circular table at the far end of the venue from the stage. Even Jacko had returned, seemingly getting over his outburst and acting as a somewhat functional human being, although most of his interactions were either crude, sarcastic or condescending. Entropy explained that Jacko found it hard to build trust and that he always took a while to warm up to new people. Sam found that difficult to believe, but had no choice but to take her word for it. It was the perfect time for him to get to know the people who had taken him in off the street during his time of need, despite some obvious objections.

  The band had apparently found Sam’s body in Loco territory after one of their gigs, as Skid stopped to take a quick leak in the same alley. The 79th Street Locos of Miami were infamous for fiercely defending their turf with extreme prejudice, and so the group knew that there had been some trouble. Sam had somehow run for miles down the coast after fleeing his parents house, all the way from Fort Lauderdale to the city of Miami, and had stumbled into the wrong part of town at the wrong time. He had been unaware how much ground he had actually traversed and had gotten lost within the streets of the huge metropolis soon after.

  When the group had discovered Sam's body, they knew that it wasn't a simple mugging gone wrong and that they could be targeted too if they stuck around for too long. They honestly believed that he was dead until Entropy somehow managed to discover that he wasn’t. How she realised the fact wasn't made so clear. The band had dragged the singer away from the scene, but she returned later on that same night to rescue him without their help. As to why she had taken him home instead of dropping him off at the hospital, Sam still wasn’t sure.

  Sam felt a little weird wearing someone else's clothing, but Entropy had provided some from a box that she had stashed in her room. He presumed that they belonged to a former boyfriend, or maybe the guy before him who he had heard so little about, as they were a little baggy in places. The plain, black t-shirt was one size too big and he had to tighten the belt to keep his well worn jeans up around his waist. The old, black, lace up boots were too large as well, but there wasn't exactly much to choose from. The style was simple, but it was still an upgrade from a torn burial suit and garbage soaked hoody.

  Resting on a folding chair, Sam’s elbows supported him against the round table that he was sitting by. He peered up towards the windows that lined the wall opposite the walkway. They had been sitting in the room for a while now, but he had only just realised that he couldn't see out of them. There was no moon or stars, and no flashing signs or street lights visible. At first he didn't know why that was, but Sam had now noticed that the windows were layered with a thick black paint that blocked the view of outside. It seemed a little odd, but he wasn't really sure what these types of places were meant to be like. Perhaps it was done to keep the sun out of the eyes of the performers. Or maybe there was another reason that wasn't yet clear to him.

  “What are you? You smell dead and look dead, but something's not quite right… I can't seem to place it.” Entropy’s tone was one of curiosity as she probed Sam for answers. He still didn't have any to give, and what did she mean by him smelling dead?

  “I don’t know… I was kind of hoping to find someone that could tell me.”

  For some reason Jacko found Sam’s ignorance to be hilarious. If it was any funnier he would have been doubled up with laughter. “Hah! Poor sod doesn't 'ave a clue!”

  Ent
ropy raised her eyebrows, catching Sam’s gaze as usual. “You really don't know what you are?”

  Jacko cackled, slapping the table hard with an open hand. “Found ‘nother smart one, didn't ya?”

  Chavz, Skid and Mikey P didn’t seem quite as amused as they sat around the table on folding chairs of their own. In fact Mike shot a harsh look over at Jacko with the goal of shutting him up, but it seemed like that was an impossible task.

  No matter what Jacko said or what rude comments spewed from his mouth, Entropy appeared to be able to ignore him as if he wasn't even there. She was clearly well practiced at it as she focused all her attention on Sam and Sam alone. “When I heal, I'm as good as new. You… Well, you have multiple knife shaped scars, and those took a long time to get even that far.”

  Sam didn't understand what she meant. Was she like him in some way? Were they all like him? “Who are you people?”

  Mike grunted, crossing his hairy arms in front of him as he leaned back in his chair. His thick, brown beard rested on his chest as he jumped into the conversation. “Our marketin’ campaign clearly ain't all it's cracked up to be.”

  Jacko laughed wholeheartedly, but Entropy paid him no mind. She shuffled her chair closer to Sam, moving around the edge of the table until she was within arms reach. Placing a hand on Sam’s knee, she looked him directly in the eyes. He couldn't help but admire the crystal blue colour of them as she spoke. “If you haven't guessed already, I'm a vampire.”

  Not entirely sure if she was being serious, Sam didn't react. He sat there straight faced as he asked his question. “You're a what?” The fact that Entropy wasn't smiling now and was as expressionless as him made him stop and think. Was she actually being earnest? “Are all of you vampires?”