by Mark Stewart
England 1849AD
HALETON WALKED down the long narrow road towards a wooden jetty. The lovely aroma of food cooking in a wood fired oven blotted out the smell of the sea. A single sheet of paper caught his eye. He picked it up out of the long grass. More than half of the printed words were smudged. The date on the top right-hand corner of the sheet read: 31st October 1849AD.
"Halloween," Haleton mumbled, looking around the area.
In the distance, he noticed an old man carrying a bag slowly limping along the road. His back looked severely bent. When the man came to a head height kerosene lamp, he stopped, refilled the empty bottle and lit the wick. A small mob of people holding lit kerosene torches was approaching him. They pushed the old man from their path so they could deliberately march in Haleton's direction.
A skinny black kitten looked up at Haleton through lonely eyes. Walking around his legs, the cat started purring.
"Beat it kit; I'm no good for you. Where I'm going, you can't come." Haleton stooped, giving the cat a back rub. He picked it up allowing the cat to muzzle into his chest. "You do have nice sweet smelling blood for a cat."
Haleton placed the kitten on the ground, pushing it towards a mouse hole in the side of a wooden building before stepping into the shadow of the baker's mill. He compared it to the ones in the new millennium, quickly deciding the bakery belonged to a poor man. He spat at the ground, grumbling.
"The distasteful council of four certainly made my life a living hell. I thought they were joking when they forced me to drink the stinking vampire blood. Little did I know it was only the start of the curse? After entering a new year, I have exactly forty-eight hours to kill a lawless person, or I start again. No romance, no let-up; no getting used to my surroundings. One kill followed by a new time zone. This back and forth through time has taken its toll on my patience. I'm on ninety-eight kills. I have two more deaths and two more different time zones before I'm home free. Maybe, just maybe, there will be no more Mr. Bad Guy. Over the centuries, I have witnessed many things a normal sane person should never have had to see. How I long to be mortal. I crave for my life to be normal once again. Hopefully, soon I'll be able to put my horrendous nightmare behind me."
Haleton paused thinking of the future and what it might be like to start a new life. He completely missed the celebrations of the new millennium. 'Could he be so lucky as to have a second chance at attending the party of all parties? Did he dare to imagine ever meeting a nice young woman whom he could fall in love with?' He sighed. His thoughts immediately fell on Rose-a-lee Cantala. How he loathed the woman, he loved. His unanswered question, 'why she didn't warn him about the council of four and what they were planning?' still eluded him.
Haleton pulled his knife from his boot. "Rose-a-lee, if we ever meet again, I'm sure I won't be able to stop myself from ending your life." He shook his head, cringing at the thought somebody might have overheard his moaning. Too many times he'd been caught unawares by his hatred ramblings. He stared down the road at the flickering flames riding on the top of the torches. They were getting closer.
Heavy drunken footsteps were almost upon him. Haleton shrunk further into the shadows to hide. He studied an old man carrying a wine bottle. He staggered slightly as he walked. Haleton watched him slowly hobble past.
"Evening," croaked the old man. "I'd stop for a chat, but by the time I get home, the moon will be directly above my head. I don't like the dark."
"You stink worse than a sewer old timer," hissed Haleton.
"Whatever," the man stammered. He hunched his shoulders as if trying his hardest to pick up his slow shuffling pace.
The old man eventually turned the corner, disappearing down a lane. Haleton cocked his head to the side before deciding to follow. He easily jumped onto the roof of the building behind the man. He trailed the old timer by walking along the leading edge. The balding man's strides were long, deliberate; not frail as expected.
"Interesting," whispered Haleton. "I can hear his heartbeat even from my bird's eye view. It was beating slowly when we spoke earlier; now it's pumping his blood faster by the second."
Haleton quietly slid down the side of the building to the ground. He didn't bother to scan the area or keep to the shadows like he normally did. He kept at arm's length, copying the supposed drunken man's style of walk. Haleton could sense trouble brewing.
One hundred yards in front of the man, at the exit to the only lane in the immediate vicinity, something scraped metal. To Haleton, the noise sounded all too familiar. Once, just for fun, he created the exact noise by scraping a knife's sharp edge across wrought iron in an attempt to scare whoever could hear the noise.
The man's walk slowed. In a slick move, he resumed his bent shoulder old man look, exaggerating the limp. His face changed from middle aged to a look which portrayed him to be a defenseless old homeless man who was frightened of the dark and half out of his mind.
Haleton jumped back onto the rooftop. Squatting, he watched, interested at the charade.
The noise came again, this time, a lot closer. Laughing filled the ink coloured sky. Haleton zeroed in on the voices, surmising there were at least five individuals, more than likely young males waiting to ambush the man.
"Correction," he whispered, listening to their heartbeats. "There are six louts lying in wait to either steal from the man or to rob him of his life." Haleton slid his knife from its sheath hidden in his boot. He lifted it to eye level, studying the long steel blade.
The old man clutched his chest, his eyes protruding from their sockets. Gasping for air, he crumpled to the compacted dirt. The louts swarmed around the man, laughing and jostling each other. One young male ventured close, kicking him in the ribs. The old timer opened his eyes, managing to lunge a small knife at the closest youth. The sharp blade scraped his leg, ripping his pants. The youth retaliated by snatching the knife from the old man's hand, thrusting the knife into his chest.
Haleton slid down the wall of the building, hissing. "Does murdering the old timer make you a real man?"
"No, it doesn't. After you join the old fella on the ground, our newest recruit will be a fully-fledged member of our gang."
An inked picture of a witch tattooed on both arms of the tall young man in question obviously was to help him look tough. He pointed directly at Haleton, spitting on the ground at his feet. "Prepare to meet thy maker."
"Are you sure you want to pursue such a statement?" warned Haleton.
"Fellow gang members, we have a real tough jerk in front of us. Do you all agree to sever his lifeline?"
A roar of agreement hovered above their heads like a thick blanket of fog.
Haleton growled a deep throated noise. He raised his knife, flashing it in the face of the lad. "This is your first and last warning, leave the area before each one of you gets hurt. I only need one soul to help me on my way."
Each gang member crouched, waiting to strike.
Hearing the old man exhale his last shallow breath a barrage of shouts came from the other end of the lane. Haleton watched the lads disperse faster than they arrived. He turned his head so he could view the lynch mob bearing down on him.
"You there, leave the old man alone. Step away. Put your hands in the air."
"My name is William Haleton. Do you have any idea what my name means?"
The lynch mob looked to be at least twenty deep. The first man pointed a sword at Haleton and yelled again.
"Yes. We have all heard of your name. Now step away from the man. If you fail to do exactly what I tell you, I will be forced to hang you from the nearest tree."
"Don't make me laugh. A hanging can't stop me," Haleton taunted. "Besides, I came to the aid of the old fella. There were six young males looking to rob the man. He died from a knife attack from a lad with tattooed arms."
The lead man stared at the accused. "Your story is highly unlikely. We've been watching over the area for years waiting for the time you might show your ugly face. Crime in this area has been stamped out."
"I think you need to take stock. Look around at the supposed secure area," suggested Haleton. "You'll be surprised at what you find."
Focusing on Haleton's every move the lynch mob closed in.
"You are under arrest for the death of the innocent man," screeched a military man pointing to the corpse lying in the lane.
"In my defense, I have to plead innocent. I didn't murder the man. If I did, I wouldn't be here."
"We don't care what you have to say. We've read about your goings on and the curse you have in a textbook. It's been years since you drank the vampire blood. According to the rules of the ancient scroll, you must start anew."
The lead man turned his head and gave a sharp nod at a short, stocky man holding a large metal net in his hands.
"The net won't be necessary," advised Haleton.
"We've been waiting a long time for you to arrive. If the rumours about you are true, you will have the steel net draped over your head and around you so tight you won't be able to breathe, "
"Again, I tell you there is no need to use the net. I'm a gentleman. I offer you my word I'll come peacefully."
"Your word has no backbone to it," growled the leader of the posse. "Use the net. If the prisoner tries to escape, I want to see a sword cut his heart into little pieces."
The net was thrown outwards into the air. Haleton's vampire speed helped him to easily sidestep away. Every man present watched it fall harmlessly to the ground. Haleton glared at each man in the group.
"Now you can escort me to the courthouse."
CHAPTER FIVE