Blood of the Forsaken

by David Horrocks

  The homeless people that often gathered in that dark place, mere mortals struggling to survive, seemed to avoid Sam like the plague, but that didn't bother him one bit. He just needed room to think and wasn't seeking their company any time soon. To make things worse, the blood flowing just beneath their flesh was a temptation so strong that he had to fight against himself to resist its pull. It would be so little effort for him to slaughter them all and feed upon the spilt vitae, but he refused to give himself the satisfaction. He didn't deserve the ecstasy that came from quenching his thirst, and would sooner leap into the fire than harm someone who didn't deserve it.

  Each and every night that Sam had come to this alleyway, he had moved a little closer to the flames. He had become fixated on them, testing himself with every inch of ground that he gained and pushing himself that little bit further. Where he had once stood across the alley from the burning barrel, he was now within a couple of feet and could feel the intense heat emanating from within. Turning to run away would be the easy way out, but he simply refused. His sheer willpower was all that stood between him and escape.

  As he watched the flames dance within their circular, steel prison, Sam swore that he could see Christie’s face within the embers as her skin cracked and crumbled to dust. As horrifying as that was, and as much as he missed her, he realised that his feelings towards her weren't quite as strong as they had once been. Sure, he still loved her and likely always would, but he was no longer overcome with the same level of intense emotions that had turned him into her willing slave. She hadn't ever treated him as such, but he would have given himself over to her wholeheartedly if she had only asked it. As the effects of drinking Christie's blood gradually faded, so too did Sam's unwavering loyalty. He could see now that she hadn't been perfect, far from it in fact, but that didn't matter to him. Her life had been unfairly stolen and it was a debt that he had to repay in kind.

  TJ was yet to call upon Sam, but that didn't mean that he wasn't still being watched. The man’s goons were never far away, and he was sure that someone had been spying on him. The gangster's eyes were seemingly everywhere, but the thought of that no longer seemed to phase him at all.

  Taking another step towards the fire, Sam reached towards it with an outstretched hand, his fingers so close that he could feel their tips burning. He ignored the pain, pushing through it as he concentrated on what the future would hold. All that was left now was him and the flames, with the only thoughts in his head those of revenge. He would watch TJ burn and stand amongst the smouldering remains until there was nothing left but ash. Despite Sam's current bout of apathy, he hadn’t actually given up. No, he still sought vengeance, but he was preparing himself for what was to come.

  A passing breeze caused the fire to waver, breaking Sam’s focus as he saw something else moving within the burning refuse. Another girl’s face emerged from the embers, the shape of it shifting as smoke swirled around like a thick fog. There was something about it that seemed familiar as long, billowing hair surrounded a face that he had somehow forgotten. The kind smile of a long lost friend warmed his soul in a way that the flames never could. The girl had once been his closest friend, so how could he have forgotten her? How could he have forgotten Alice?

  An image flashed in Sam's mind, the extravagant theatre in Calgary, the last place that he had seen her. Alice had been sitting in the audience as the band played, unaware of his presence there. He couldn't fathom how such an important factor could have slipped his mind and wondered what had happened to him over the last few months to make him that way. Had Christie somehow wiped his memory? Had he asked her to? It was a distinct possibility that seeing Alice had caused him emotional pain of some degree and that he had wanted to forget, but Sam couldn't be sure of what happened afterwards. The details were sketchy at best and he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to accurately recall what had actually occurred. He might be able to piece events together given time, but there was no guarantee that they hadn't been altered in his brain somehow.

  It had never really occurred to Sam before, but he couldn't work out what had drawn Christie to him in the first place. Had she simply felt sorry for him and how pathetic he was in his vulnerable state? It was difficult for him to accept that someone like her could ever fall for someone like him. He wasn't a competent or particularly manly person, in fact he was more of an incoherent mess than anything else. Perhaps she had considered him to be an innocent in need of protection from a harsh world that he was in no way prepared to face. Whether her feelings had been genuine or not, Christie had at least given Sam the illusion of being loved if nothing else. The doubt that he felt was just another insecurity in a list so long that he couldn't keep track of every item written down on it.

  Paranoia set in, causing Sam’s brain to brew up all sorts of wild conspiracy theories, with no proof as to any of them actually being true. He was reluctant to believe that Christie had meant him harm, so anything that she had done to him had to have been for his own protection. Whatever her intentions, it was unsettling to think of how his mind could be controlled and his memories changed. Sam wanted to know how Christie had achieved what she did, but most of all he wanted to know why. Unfortunately, there was no chance of him ever discovering the truth now, not with her having crumbled to dust.

  As Sam continued to dwell on past events that he was powerless to change, a rogue idea popped into his head. It was an idea born of a hidden cunning that he didn't even know that he possessed, instead of his usual panicked desperation that he based most of his split second decisions off. He vaguely remembered his discovery of how Alice had met a similar fate and had become a creature of the night like him, albeit without the same flawed blood that had left him cursed as one of the Forsaken. Unlike Sam however, she seemed to actually have influence within vampire politics and likely had powerful friends in even higher places. She had resources at her disposal that he couldn't ever hope to match, and if he could somehow get in contact with her, then perhaps he could sway her to his cause. He could rekindle their lost friendship with a genuine request for help and Alice would have to bring out the big guns for the sake of the friend who she thought to be dead. TJ wouldn't stand a chance.

  Sam realised that he only knew one person in the entire world who could help him to contact his old friend. Trekking up to Calgary alone would be borderline suicide, so his best option was to call her by phone. However, with no actual number to reach her on, he had run out of other options. The old soul trapped within a child's body, introduced to Sam only by the name of Jonah, was the best lead that he had to go on and would be one of the first steps in his campaign for revenge. But that could wait until tomorrow night, as for now he would have to test himself further.

  There was another idea that came to mind alongside the first, one that was riskier, but could prove to be just as fruitful. Sam knew that without taking risks, there would be no reward and his victory would be denied. He had to explore every option, no matter how dangerous they might prove to be. Potential allies could be found where he least expected it, and that is what he was hoping to come to pass.

  Another step towards the burning barrel and Sam could really feel the intensity of the heat. If he got any closer the hairs on his arms would be singed by the flame. The beast inside roared at him to get back, but he stubbornly refused and stood his ground. He had to master himself, to overcome his fears and the most basic of instincts. If he was destined to be a deadly predator stalking its prey in the night, then he wanted to be the one in control, not the one who was under control. Sam would allow himself to feed in time, but he would be the one to decide when that would be. His willpower would win the fight, it had to. If he couldn't overcome his own demons, then he wouldn't be able to claim victory over the man who had taken everything from him.

  **********

  'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ It was an age old saying, but as relevant now as it had been whenever it had first been spoken. If Sam wanted to take the fight to
TJ, then he needed all the help that he could get, and who else to form an alliance with than the man’s biggest rivals. The 79th Street Locos would be a hard sell, with their members having no reason to trust a nobody like him, but their assistance could prove to be invaluable. He would need their numbers to go up against TJ’s crew, and no one else had the man power or the same level of motivation as they did.

  While Sam was trapped within the pit, it had crossed his mind that no one else hated TJ more than the gang that he had stolen territory from. Sure, any encounter with them or request for parlay could end in violence, but that didn't mean that they weren't his best and only option. He knew that it was a longshot to even make an attempt at opening a dialogue with the gang, but he had to try. He had to risk making contact, even if it could all end in disaster.

  It didn't take long for Sam to stumble across one of the Loco’s members, the coincidence being that he was the man who had stabbed him within the same alley that he now found himself in once again. The sun was still high in the sky and the pox was already starting to irritate Sam’s heavily scarred skin in the mid afternoon light. He didn't have long before it would really start to burn, but he would make the most of the limited time that he had.

  The skinny Cuban man, with his white tank top and poorly scrawled tattoos, looked like a deer caught in headlights as he was startled by Sam’s sudden appearance. “Oh shit!” He tripped over his feet, stumbling backwards onto the floor where he looked up at him with eyes full of fear. Making the sign of the cross over his chest with trembling hands, he cried out with a panicked prayer. “En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo!”

  Sam couldn't believe how frightened the man was, especially as he was the one who had been wielding the knife the first time they had met. Perhaps he had changed a little after all. “I'm not here for you! I just need your help...”

  He tried to speak calmly, but the man still tried to scramble away a little before raising his hands defensively. “You're fuckin’ crazy, man! I don't want no trouble!”

  Sam sighed, taking a step forward that caused the skinny gangster to flinch. “I'm serious... It's about TJ.”

  The name seemed to inspire almost as much fear as his own appearance. “TJ?!? Man, don't go sayin’ that name 'round here!” Spittle stuck in the man’s goatee, matching the glint of the beads of sweat that covered his bald head.

  As Sam stood over the quivering wretch, he could smell the fear emanating from within and the sweet scent of blood in his veins. Despite the temptation offered up to him on a plate, he maintained his composure as his ravenous appetite screamed for sustenance. “I want to make a deal. Where’s your boss?”

  Panicked confusion overwrote fear as the gangster trembled at his mercy. “…What?”

  Sam smiled with as much warmth as he could muster, not realising that the look he pulled off was more sinister than friendly, the whites of his teeth put on display. “I'm going to burn TJ’s empire to the ground… and you're going to help me do it.”

  Chapter Twenty Two: The lair of the dead.

  It hadn't been easy, but Sam had somehow managed to obtain the support of the Locos. He had promised them more than he was sure that he could deliver, but was determined to do whatever it would take to raise the army that he required. Now the sun had finally set, he moved on to the next part of his plan, returning to a place that he hadn't visited in quite some time. Not since his first night with Christie.

  Sam had only been to the apartment once before, but everything about that night had been ingrained into his brain and so he found it surprisingly easy to retrace their steps. The building itself was as run down and gloomy as he remembered, but that didn't bother him as much as it had when Christie had taken him there. He found himself wondering if Jonah would remember him or even let him through the front door, as one brief meeting was barely a mark in the life of someone who could be decades, if not centuries old.

  For someone who seemed to prize his security, it was more than a little unusual to find that the place had been left unlocked. Sam tried the handle, the door opening with unnerving ease as he peered into the darkened hallway. It could just be that Jonah had witnessed his approach on the security cameras and had preemptively removed the safety chain, deadbolt and countless other locks, but from what little Sam knew of the him that seemed extremely unlikely. Someone else had to have been there already and they might still be somewhere inside, lying in wait.

  Unsure as to what to expect, Sam should have turned to leave, but he was far too determined to contact Alice and wasn't about to let his fear of the unknown prevent him from achieving his goal. He drew upon whatever courage he could muster and stepped through the threshold, his shoes causing the floorboards to creak in a way that would have caused his hair to stand on end had he still been mortal.

  “Hello?” The curiosity in Sam’s tone seemed to hide his jitters, the self confidence that he felt by the burning barrel all but fading as he made his way towards the room at the far end of the hall. “Jonah? Are you in here?” There was no answer from anywhere in the apartment. If there was someone hiding within, they weren't willing or able to reply.

  A cold, blue light stretched out from the open doorway, causing the shadow of Jonah’s chair to appear larger than life against the far wall. The constant hum and whir of cooling fans could be heard from around the corner, with Sam unable to pick out any other sounds in the dark. The white noise wasn't enough to distract him from something much more sinister however, as it lingered in the air around him like a toxic cloud.

  Sam’s nose caught a scent of something that caused the ravenous beast inside of him to stir. The coppery aroma caused pain to stab at his muscles as his stomach ached for the sweet sustenance that it could provide. Blood. It wasn't unusual to smell it within the lair of a creature that fed on it for survival, but something was distinctly off about the way it tasted in the air. He realised that the blood smelled similar to Christie’s, but something about it was much older. This particular vintage was seemingly ancient and a great deal more potent than anything that Sam had picked up before. The odd thing was that it still smelled fresh, as if it had only just been spilled. It was the palpable stench of a fresh kill.

  Despite the obvious signs that something terrible had recently gone down in the apartment, Sam still didn't give in to the thoughts in the back of his mind that begged for him to run. The beast inside him was drawn to the spilt blood, but that wasn't the reason for his refusal to flee. He had to find out what had happened there, but most of all he needed to find a way to contact his friend. Any worries in his mind had been overshadowed by his desire to see this through to the bitter end. Neither his nagging self doubts, nor the instincts that plagued him, were enough to stop him from wandering further into the lair of the dead.

  The room itself didn't look out of the ordinary, at least compared to how Sam had seen it during his previous visit. The silhouette of a large, padded chair sat in front of the collection of monitors that had just resumed their screensavers due to sitting idle for too long. From where he stood in the entryway, he was unable to see if anyone was still sitting at the desk, but the lack of movement suggested that either it was empty or the occupant was resting there quietly. The stench of blood was much stronger in there than it had been within the hall, but that didn't stop him from acting foolishly and making his approach.

  Sam crept across the floor, keeping his eyes on the chair as he closed the gap, his arm outstretched towards it. He wrapped his fingers around the headrest, his hand gripping the leather as he braced himself for what he might discover there. It finally crossed his mind that he could still turn back and leave that place before he delved any deeper, but he attributed those thoughts to a cowardice that he was still trying his best to overcome. With one swift movement, he span the chair to face him, but as its motion came to a stop he found that he still wasn't prepared for what he saw.

  Sam's eyes widened as he caught sight of a small, lifeless body, ly
ing motionless as it was cradled by the padded leather of the chair. It was slumped up against the curvature of the backrest, the pale skin starting to blacken as it slowly caved in upon itself. The wrinkled fabric of unwashed clothing was falling off the skeletal frame, due to there being little left to support it. Raw flesh had begun to decay at an unnatural rate, resulting in a stench that quickly overwhelmed the senses. However, the smell wasn't nearly as unsettling as the fact that there wasn't a head resting upon the bloody stump that sat empty between narrow shoulders.

  Although the corpse was impossible to identify, Sam was fairly certain that it was Jonah lying there. After all, who else could it be? Before he could question things further, something large and wet hit the ground behind him, rolling across the wooden floor until it came to a halt by his feet. As he looked down to investigate, he was horrified to discover that the object was the severed head that he had just been searching for, in a state that made it just as difficult to identify as the rest of the body.

  “Friend of yours?” The voice startled Sam, but he instantly recognised the man that it belonged to. It was the taller, more athletic hunter. The one he knew as Christie’s ex-boyfriend, Tommy.

  Turning to look the smug sounding aggressor straight in the eye, Sam’s gaze was met with a grin that made his blood boil. He couldn't believe that he had allowed them to get the drop on him yet again. More than anything, he was angry at himself for not turning back when he had doubted the situation in the first place. Sam had knowingly stumbled into a trap with no care for himself or the consequences that came with it. He had foolishly allowed himself to be caught yet again and now there was no one else to blame for his current predicament but himself.