Rising to darkness

by Lucia Guglielminetti

  At 8:30, I got into my new car, heading towards Place de l'Alma, where those treacherous floating things are harbored. I was in a good mood, the opposite of now, also because I had just been commissioned a new job, the second and last of the year: worth five million euros, thanks to which I could be quite happy for the rest of the year. I realize that I have never told you about my current profession, a very prestigious one that has occupied me since the end of the Second World War with excellent economical returns.

  I'm a hired assassin, the best available, also known as "Atropos", the legendary Fate appointed to end the strand of human life. After a few years of hard work, I can now afford to be selective, to choose my propositions depending on the compensation or on those involved. For a figure lower than that established by me, I don't even pick up the phone. You can count on one hand the people who had the fortune (or misfortune, judge for yourself) to have met me. Once it happened more often when technology was inadequate and a simple e-mail wasn't available.

  My work is always flawless, with great attention to details; it requires a lot of time between stalking and rigorous study of my future victims’ habits. In my opinion, this deserves an adequate reward. The result, needless to say, is guaranteed one hundred per cent. Who are my wealthy clients? Although for obvious reasons I can't name them, I can certify you that main government organizations worldwide including substantial sample of politicians, financiers, and high-level entrepreneurs have taken advantage of my services. The only limit I put and that I will never overcome is that of the massacres. I have no intention of mingling with those madmen blowing up women and children in a crude and brutal way. I don't work like that. I respect my victims... Well, almost always. For weeks, I put great effort in staging an ideal death scenario and you should be able to understand a lot from that. I receive offers of the other kind at least once a month. There is always some very wealthy fanatic who thinks he can buy anything from anyone, but now I can afford to send them to hell. And, that’s what I do, with overwhelming pleasure. But I digress. I'll talk about my profession later more in depth. Now there are more urgent matters requiring my full attention, not least the asshole sitting beside me who has been trying to peek at my monitor for a good ten minutes.

  I put him to sleep. Don't think badly now, I can't kill my seatmate on the plane, so I chose to escape. I already drew too much attention yesterday in that damn tunnel. I just stared at him for a second in a more intense than normal way. When he wakes up in London, he'll remember he was sitting next to a pretty girl named Hilary. I will never exist in his memory.

  We had taken off about half an hour ago, which means that I have one left to decide my moves for the next few days.

  I'm furious, you see, for I had not expected this.

  And I hate surprises.

  Back to last night, I had just passed the Paris 18 exit around Place de Clichy when I spotted the two BMWs following me at a short distance. Call it sixth sense, call it whatever you like. It took just a few seconds for me to realize that their presence wasn't random. Rue d'Amsterdam, Rue du Havre, Rue Tronchet, Place de la Madeleine: I zigzagged among the other cars, pressing the accelerator harder with them still behind me. It couldn’t be a coincidence: two cars with English license plates. My brain was working frantically to figure out who they might have been but, no matter how hard I tried, the only name coming to mind was that of my old friend Greylord. I was certain that they wouldn't give up easily. The perfect reflexes at my disposal allow me to control cars with no difficulty, even when I proceed at a high velocity. My pursuers, however, were just as skilled. The two cars were glued to my bumper despite my abrupt diversions. I bent down and pulled out my gun from the glove compartment on passenger’s side, placing it on the seat between my legs, then I took the cell from my jacket pocket and called Sophie. At the moment, I was darting on Cours la Reine at about 95 miles per hour. I was still talking to her when the first burst of gunfire broke through my rear window.

  "Did you understand what I said, Sophie? Go home and wait for me there, I'll try to get there as soon as possible! Fuck!"

  "Raistan! What was that noise, are you okay? What's going on?"

  "I've some problems now, I can't talk... Wait for me at home, I'm coming!"

  I threw the cell on the seat beside me and focused on my driving, keeping myself as low as possible on the steering wheel to avoid being hit. On Cours Albert I, one of the cars pulled alongside and I could see the face of the driver, an anonymous guy with black hair and shades, maybe from the Middle East. Then another hail of fire sprayed my car and the windows on the right side exploded, flooding me with a shower of glass shards. I fired too, several times; but, unlike their gunslinger, I also had to check the street, so my aim was inaccurate. I couldn't hit the driver, my main target, only the man behind him.

  Just as I was entering the tunnel, the other car pulled alongside as well and the cascade of bullets doubled. The tunnel is just about a hundred yards long, yet it seemed interminable in those frantic moments. I managed to ram the car on my left when I was about halfway through the underpass: in the rearview mirror, I saw it hitting another vehicle, fly up and crash to the ground with a terrible boom. For several minutes, I did not see anything else. A front tire exploded and one of the tunnel pillars bore down on me before I could avoid it.

  I heard a deafening wail of twisted metal, my legs crushed under a monstrous pressure and pain; I broke the windshield with my head and, for a while, my brain ceased to function, just as the woman had hinted on TV. I lived the extra devastation of bullets as if it did not concern me: I could feel the impact of the bullets; I was too wrapped up in the uproar of the weapons and wanted to move to fight fire with fire, but my body didn't obey any commands. I just stood there staring at them while they emptied the magazine of their guns at me. I didn’t feel any pain, just an annoying vibration every time I was hit. If the bullets had been made of silver, it would have been quite another matter. By this time, I would be playing my harp for the benefit of some demon in hell. Fortunately, they were simple, vulgar, ordinary bullets, nothing someone like me couldn't heal from, though with some great effort. For this, I was wondering who would have been so incompetent as to have ordered an attack of this kind, knowing that it wouldn't have been fatal. And, if they didn't know and thought I was just a normal human, who could have been so misinformed as to try to kill me anyway?

  If I made a mistake, it was when I regained consciousness and I wasn't cold-hearted enough to pretend I was dead. I should have let the firefighters pull me out of the car and carry me in their ambulance instead of performing circus acts such as those I invented. Once in the morgue, I could have easily vanished: the disappearance of a corpse causes less of a sensation in comparison to that of a person riddled with bullets setting himself free from his wrecked car, stealing another to escape, and running away as if nothing happened. While I was waiting for my plane, I followed some news on the Internet: it's one of the most popular headlines in the entire Western World. A short video even appeared on You Tube, thankfully a poor quality one, of the moment when I ripped off the piece of sheet metal from my leg and I commandeered that guy's car by pulling him out of the window, up to the scene where I rearranged my collarbone back in its place. Thank God I wasn’t able to move at my usual speed, limping like any injured human; otherwise, the backlash of my exploits would have been even more serious.

  Vincent will want to kill me, that's certain.

  He's done nothing but bombard me with calls since yesterday evening, but I didn't have the courage to answer him, I confess. Even Shibeen and Isabelle called me to be sure I was fine. The first is in Ireland where she had returned for many years; Isabelle is in Amsterdam, a strange choice for someone who so hated the cold. They both read the news on the web and were angry and worried for any future repercussions. To put it as Shibeen would do, this time I really did the Raistan.

  Outside Sophie's house, I waited for about ten minutes, sitting behind the wheel, t
o make sure nobody had followed me. Every now and then, I could hear the thud of a bullet being ejected from my body which was working at full capacity to regenerate. Who could have organized an ambush like that? Who could have dared so much? As soon as I find out, I’ll tear him to pieces, that's for sure. Mad with rage, I hit the steering wheel several times with my fist, cracking it. Even if it's hard for me to admit, I was shocked and I still am now. Somebody had found out where I lived and had known about my plans for that night. Someone was doing to me what I did to my victims. Who could have the technical means and the necessary knowledge to unmask my cover? As if someone had read my mind, my cell rang at that very moment. I checked the display but instead of numbers, the word "private" appeared. Nice job. I brought it to my ear and pressed the button that initiates communication, curious and irritated.

  "Yes." I said, waiting.

  "Atropos?" a male voice asked. He had a foreign accent which, at first, I couldn't identify. But, it was not what bothered me most, rather the way he was able to link that number to my secret identity. Was there anything else about me he still didn’t know? Perhaps my true nature?

  "You must be mistaken. There's no Atropos here," I said, but I didn't hang up, waiting.

  "Of course, I understand. If you see him, you should tell him that today was just a warning and that some people, when they make a request, do not like receiving "no" as an answer. You should also inform him that these people know everything about him, even those better left unmentioned. They know exactly how to deal with him even if they hope not to be forced to go that far. Is that clear?"

  I squeezed the cell so hard that I felt it crunching in my hand while sweat was running down the front of my face, with rage exploding out of me in waves.

  "Who do you think you're talking to, you repulsive little rat? How dare you even think of threatening me? Do you have the slightest idea what I might do to you when I find you? And, I’m sure that it's just a matter of time. You have no idea of the trouble in which you're putting yourself. You'll regret that day you were born, I swear."

  "Let’s hope that it won’t be you who will regret it first, or some of the few people you care about. You'll hear from us soon. Have a nice evening, Mr. Atropos. Or Van Hoeck, if you prefer."

  When I put down the phone, I stared at it for a few seconds, astonished and incredulous.

  Coverage that has lasted for more than fifty years had just fallen apart. It was a tragedy of enormous dimensions for which I still cannot find an explanation. I've been analyzing my every move, every single contact in this last half century, but I couldn’t find the slightest flaw in the security system that I had created to be able to separate my two identities.

  I was so shocked that, for a moment, I was afraid of fainting. I opened the car door and took some long breaths of fresh air, with my eyes closed and my hands clutched tight at the steering wheel. Perhaps it was the shock of what had just happened in the tunnel, but I felt weak and shaky like any ordinary sick human being. I took my cigarettes out of my pocket and lit one, cursing my trembling hand. Even if nicotine does not have any effect on my dead nervous system, smoking is a gesture that calms me and helps me to think. When I felt master of myself again, I got out of the car and reached Sophie's door. She opened it instantly, as if she had been stuck to the intercom, and I climbed the stairs just as quickly, ignoring the elevator. When she appeared at the door, her concerned expression turned to a grimace of horror, followed by a scream that I stifled with my hand over her mouth. I dragged her back inside. In my excitement, I had forgotten about my terrifying aspect with which I presented at her door.

  "Shhhh, calm down... I'm fine... hush..."

  I held her tightly with her back against me and my hand over her mouth until I was certain she would no longer scream, then I let her go and collapsed on the sofa, reclining my head back.

  "I had quite a complicated night. I'm sorry that I showed up like this."

  Cling! One of the bullets decorating my forehead fell to the floor. Sophie tried not to scream as she watched mesmerized while the hole closed, leaving no evidence. She slowly approached and sat by my side, brushing my leg with her hand.

  "What happened, Raistan? Can you tell me?"

  Her voice was trembling and her eyes were fixed on my face. I told her briefly what had happened to me, omitting the phone call and any reference to my profession.

  "I have to leave for a while, Sophie. I have to figure out who did this and why, and act accordingly.”

  Another cling accentuated the expulsion of a bullet.

  "When?"

  "Tomorrow evening at most. Now is too late, I have to go home to get some things, the bare minimum. I'm very sorry and I'm furious. You have to be careful in the coming days. Don't trust any strangers, as you did with me, ok? I'll call you every night, I promise, and I'll be back as soon as possible."

  "You won't be back, on the contrary, and for who knows how long, I know."

  Her eyes filled with tears and she did nothing to dry them. I tried to hug her but she pulled back as if I burnt her.

  "Please, Sophie, this doesn't depend on me. Don’t make it even more difficult than it already is. You're my only friend now. I... I need you."

  It's embarrassing to admit, even if her happy expression paid off my effort. She let me hold her, then she gave a long sigh and commanded me to undress.

  "Let's take all this hardware off from you. You wouldn't last a minute at the airport metal detector."

  "No need for that. By tomorrow they'll all be gone." I just felt the need to sleep, but I forced myself to take a shower and to get ready to go back to my apartment to take what I needed for my trip. But first...

  "Sophie, you have to do me one last favor. Cut my hair. I'm too recognizable."

  "I thought vampires couldn't change much of their appearance..."

  "You're partly right, my hair will grow back very quickly because this is how I wore it when I... I became what I am now. Even this slight beard covering my chin will never go away, even shaving it. I should be ok for a couple of days, though. What interests me is to go unnoticed at the airport."

  "Ok. I don't know what will become of it. Cutting such long and thick hair is a crime."

  "After 300 years, you get bored with it, I assure you. Come on, cut, go crazy! I want to look like someone else."

  At the end, I ended up looking like a soldier.

  "Good evening, stranger" she told me, making me turn me to the mirror. It was a shock for me too. Another person was staring at me from there. I passed my hand up and down my head, getting the impression of stroking someone else's head. The holes of the bullets were disappearing.

  "You look good. I could almost get used to it."

  "I don't know, but you did a good job. Not even my mother would recognize me. You have a future."

  "What was her name?"

  "Whose?"

  "Your mother's."

  "Elisabeth, I think."

  "It's sad that you are no longer sure about it, even if it’s been so long."

  "I know. Time erases so many things."

  "I... I wish I could go with you, but I know you won’t take me."

  "I wish you could come too, but I will be facing the unknown, Sophie. I don't know what to expect in the coming days. I can't look after you too."

  "I’m not a child. I can take care of myself."

  "Not in my world. I have to go now. Promise me you will come back straight home after work and that you will not go out alone after dark. Promise me, please."

  “I promise, but you have to call me every night, ok? I don't even want to know where you're going, I don't care. Just call me. I'll go crazy if you don't.”

  “I promise to call you if I get the chance. That's the best I can do."

  "I suppose that it has to be enough then..."

  She stretched out her arms and I let her hold me for a moment. Her scent was delicious as usual and triggered my thirst. Of blood, but of something else too. We
soon found ourselves on the sofa, clinging tightly to each other, almost frantic, knowing that for who knows how long will pass before we would be able to see each other again. Even now, I look back on those times with nostalgia and sadness, as if centuries had passed rather than hours. It looked like a goodbye, but I hoped that it was not. I don't want to lose for the umpteenth time someone I care about. It has happened too many times. My heart is barren enough even without having to endure this test. Still, reflecting grimly, I realized that it could take months to be able to set foot in Paris safely. While we enjoyed our last moments together before my departure, I asked Sophie for her permission to exchange our blood. Through this gesture, we would be linked even more closely and I'd be able to sense whether she's fine or not and to know about her state of mind even miles away. She would, then, in fact, be really mine. It was important to me, but I didn't know if she would accept. It's always something a little shocking and painful and reveals the animal and feral side of our race. Some prefer not to think about it and pretend we're always human beings, but it usually proves to be a mistake. Never underestimate a vampire or, worse, idealize them. It wasn't the first time I bit her, but it would be the first for her to taste my blood. She looked at me strangely, with a mixture of fear and attraction; then, she turned her head slowly to one side and, despite trembling, offered me her neck in an unmistakable gesture.

  "Don't be afraid, you will not become like me. Sophie, my Sophie, my beautiful one..."

  "I'm not afraid. Do it, please. Take me with you..."

  If I want, I could do it in a way that the bite of my fangs, razor sharp, wouldn’t be more painful than a prick. With Sophie, I put a lot of effort in it. I wanted it to be a good moment for her too. I believe it was, judging from her moans of pleasure. For me, it was pure ecstasy and only the self-control I acquired in 300 years allowed me to break away from her before damaging her. Her blood was pure and sweet and, like the previous times, carried a steady stream of images, a vivid sequence of pictures, most of them happy. I saw Sophie as a child, with her parents, the Christmas when she got her first bike and a stuffed dog that she still keeps somewhere, worn down by the thousand hugs she has given over the years. Friends, holidays, school, love... Yes, my little girls has had a good life, until now. She didn't need someone like me to ruin it. I also saw our first meeting; I could read wonder, amazement, attraction, confusion, and a bit of fear too... a pleasant mixture overall.