Beautiful Death (23 page)
PAIN and pain.
My lungs burn. I can’t breathe. Maybe I’m drowning. That’s it, I’m drowning and about to die.
My stomach… Tingles and something—there’s a vampire. Oh. Vampires, plural. I can feel more than one. I guess I really am going to die now. Damn Malik and his fucking flunkies.
“I’m over it—”
Hell. Even singing in my head is off-key. Who the fuck cares? I’m about to die, I can sing if I want to. I’m going to sing into death.
“You see I’m falling in the vast abyss—”
I really like this song. But maybe Amazing Grace is more appropriate?
“Amazing Grace how sweet the sound that—shit.” Don’t know the words. Fuck it, I’m dying, I can sing what I want.
“Clouded by memories of the past—”
It would have been nice to be able to say goodbye to my friends from home. To Ash. I think I’ll miss her the most. Why do I feel so strongly about someone I don’t even know?
“I once was lost, but now am found—”
I killed that vampire, didn’t I? I killed that vampire in the kitchen and didn’t even think twice about it. It felt so damn good too, cutting into that monster. That man.
I killed a man.
“God, I’m the real monster.”
Did I… did I say that out loud?
“…Tristan?”
Someone calling me? Ash, is that you? Ah! My fingers. I can feel… my body. Nothing hurts. Why doesn’t it hurt? Oh. That’s right. I died. Well, had to happen sometime.
“At last, I see.”
DEEP laughter filled Tristan’s ears, washed down his body like scolding oil. The sound came from every direction, seeking him out.
“And tell me,” the owner of that deep laugh said, “what is it you finally see?” His voice was a rich, deep baritone, holding almost a creamy touchable quality as if you could reach out and push your fingers through it to find it warm and tingling across your skin. If you stuck your tongue out and licked it, it would taste of dark chocolate and Bailey’s.
Tristan’s eyes opened. The sky, it was so dark. The stars, so beautiful. Dirty hands. The stink of burnt plastic and heated metal.
“No,” he whispered. He couldn’t believe that if he died, this was where he was supposed to be. He may of have had a rough past year, did some things he wasn’t proud of, but he was still a good person. He didn’t deserve to spend the rest of eternity here. He couldn’t watch this forever.
“No,” he said again as if it would make it true. He sat up and looked around. “Oh my god, this isn’t. It can’t… Make it stop.”
He was sitting on the ground in the middle of a lonely street. A street he knew well. A street he’d never forget not matter how old and weary his memory grew with age. Night was fresh and the air warm. There was the crackle of a fire and he had to look. He had to turn towards the noise even though he knew what he’d find. The Audi lay on its side. Father on the ground. Mother inside, burning alive, mouth agape like in Munch’s famous “The Scream”. Just like the painting, there was no sound to go with the horrifying visage. Indeed, the only sound was that man with the deep voice laughing again.
Laughing at Tristan.
He looked up, past the burning car to the trees. There he was, The Laughing Man. The Shadow, the Wraith. But who was he? And why was he fucking laughing?
“Hey,” Tristan yelled, standing and then stopped, realizing he wasn’t hurt. He looked down. He was wearing the clothes he had on that night, the night his parents died. Just to be sure, Tristan reached inside his dress shirt and felt his stomach. Flat and smooth—well, no open wounds anyway. No broken leg.
He knew it, he really did die. And now he was stuck here. This was his hell.
Laughter again. “Oh, you are so very amusing.”
Tristan frowned, thinking he’d heard that from somewhere recently. Oh, right, that crazy old bat, Yuki.
“She is rather old and
batty
, isn’t she?” A man stepped forward, making two sharp clicks with the heels of his dandy looking shoes on the pavement. Then a third click. The man had an honest-to-God walking cane. Tristan wondered what time he was in as he looked over the tall, slender man before him. His triangular face was mature, mid-thirties, but the features were delicate. Thick, wavy white hair barely covered his ears. He was dressed like he stepped right out of a period movie wearing dark pants that tucked into knee-high tan riding boots. The shirt was white cotton; one of those old style shirts, like you’d see out of the eighteenth century, with billowing sleeves. The shirt tails were tucked in to leave no white showing between his pants and the tightly fitted, finely decorated vest of gold and dark reds that he wore over it. All the dude needed was a top hat, or more rightly, a riding hat.
Behind him, the shadow he emerged from moved. Not much, just enough to pull Tristan’s attention. But this shadow wasn’t vertical so much as a crouched mass of darkness. He wondered for a moment who else was hiding back there. Was that a glint of animal eyes?
“What’s going on here?”
The gentleman made a sweeping gesture with a gloved hand. Was he wearing those before? “Oh this? I thought it appropriate to meet on common grounds. You don’t like it?”
Tristan was nearly trembling with anger, eyes welled up from the pain of watching his family. He couldn’t look. He couldn’t watch his mother and father die again. “I—”
“Oh dear, don’t tell me you haven’t dreamshared with Asta yet? She is very skilled.” His smug smile slipped away, pale eyes went cold. “You haven’t touched her have you? I won’t abide by humans putting their disease ridden cocks in my precious Asta.”
“You, you’re Malik.”
The dapper looking “gentlemen” grinned big, flashing fang, crossed an arm across his chest and gave a deep bow. “A true pleasure.”
The crackle of flames took over the silence that hung between them, begging him to look their way, to watch the tragedy of death.
“You. You son of a… You killed Haruka.”
“Point in fact, Asta killed her. Bullet to the head. Saw the whole thing. Tragic, heartwarming, crushing, blah blah blah blah blah blah. Ah, that girl hasn’t changed once in over three-hundred years. Shame, really thought I could break her. Sadly, I was wrong. Ah, well, first time for everything, right?”
Tristan gritted his teeth. “You’re a monster.”
“You only just met me.”
Yeah, he’d been hearing that a lot lately. “I know enough. You are a monster.”
Malik laughed. “Guilty. But a beautiful one though, no?” He started to walk slowly towards Tristan and laughed when the American jumped back. He settled on making a slow, wide circle around him to assess him from every angle. “Though, I must say. I hadn’t a good look of you that night. Up close you are far, far more fetching. Perhaps even more than I?” He laughed, slapped his thigh with the hand not holding the cane. “Oh, I say some of the silliest things.”
“What are you talking about?” Tristan made sure to keep him in sight, turning to face the vampire as he made his circle. He felt like an elk being hunted by a lion. Wonder who ran faster. “I’ve never met you.”
“No, point in fact, we haven’t met. But I’ve seen you. Your dashingly handsome face filled with agony. The tears, oh I wanted to lick them up, devour you whole. And they weren’t tears for the pain your weak human body inflicted upon you. No, no, no. You barely noticed your leg was crushed after you saw your mother. You darling thing, crying so for your mommy and daddy.”
“What do you know?” he snapped only to keep from exploding. He wanted to pound the guy’s face in.
“Oh, plenty.” Malik stopped, clicking his heels sharply on the pavement. He tucked the cane under an arm and held out one hand, palm up. The other got a quick lick on the thumb and then he pretended to flip through his invisible book. “Tristan Daniel Blum. Male,
single
. Attended Johns Hopkins University for electrical engineering. Hmm, good grades. Mother, Julia Mary Elizabeth Blum. Father, Vincent “Spike”—” He made sure to make the air quotes with the fingers used to flip the invisible pages in his make-em-up book. “—Grant Blum. Birth mother, Masuyo Uruwashi, of
the
Uruwashi clan. Birth father—” Malik glanced up at Tristan’s sharp intake of air. “Unknown.” He snapped his little invisible book shut.
“You know, don’t you? You know who my father is?”
Malik looked away, putting a pinky to his chin. “I don’t recall. Gosh, the mind does weary so over the years. I can’t even remember how old I am. Six-hundred? No, that can’t possibly be right. Was it after the fall of the Byzantine Empire? Or the Ottomans? Ah, I must be getting senile.”
“Stop fucking around!” Tristan took a step towards him, fists balled.
The vampire slowly turned to look at him, grinning something wicked. “Now, there’s that fire I was looking for. Then again, I suppose I should have just told that I was the one who killed your parents from the very beginning.”
Tristan could barely form the word, “What?”
“Oh, did I spoil the surprise? I have been known to do that. I just get so excited and forget…” He let out a wistful sigh. “I was the one on the grassy knoll. Ah, rather, I stood off to the side in the grass. That counts doesn’t it?”
“You—you’re the one who—” He couldn’t believe it. His whole body was trembling as fresh adrenaline spiked with fear, anger, hurt, and sorrow flooded in.
“Yes yesyesyesyesss. I made your car crash. And when it stopped sliding across the road, I ripped Vincent, sorry,
Spike
from the driver’s seat, dragged him across the pavement and snapped his fucking neck like a little bird.”
“You son of a bitch!” Tristan roared and lunged.
Malik opened his arms as if to embrace the enraged man. Tristan fell into him with his full weight, fist aimed for that fucking smug ass smile. It was useless, his attack. Malik caught him, wrenching Tristan’s arms and twisted his body around so that he had Tristan’s back pressed to his chest.
“My god, you smell even better up close. I wish I could touch you for real, but I suppose that will have to wait.” Tristan tried to get away, but Malik held fast. “I can however, give you a taste, pardon the poor pun, of what is to come. But I will be having the last taste and then, you die.”
“Bastard.”
“True enough, my mother
was
a whore. All of the Turkish Empire sampled her wares. ”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Don’t you understand? I want to live. And I can’t have some mongrel, half-breed piece of shit stand in my way.”
Tristan tried to wrangle free again. Malik only tightened his hold, making his wrists ache. “I’m only human.”
“You
have
been around Asta for too long, she’s rubbing off on you with those wild ideals she’s held on to all these years.”
Tristan was sure he didn’t know what he meant. At the moment, he just wanted to wake up.
Malik’s lips touched his neck, a scrap of fang. “You will wake when I allow you to wake.”
“Fucker, get off!”
“You shouldn’t be so rude you know, this is your only chance to talk to me like this. Next time we meet, there will be no talking. Only death.”
“Yeah, yours.”
“My, such a big bark for such a delusional mongrel.”
“Okay. I have one question.”
Malik smiled, his lips still pressed to Tristan’s neck in threat. “Please.”
“Why… why my father? Spike, he wasn’t like me. I was adopted.”
“Ah, yes.” The vampire sounded slightly embarrassed. “Let’s just call it hastiness on an old vampire’s part. I do hate to admit a shortcoming but I was just so excited that I found the Uruwashi that I mistook your father for the one I wanted. After I snapped his neck, as far as I was concerned, my job was done. The Uruwashi was dead. And I so did enjoy watching you play hero and try to save your mother. The task was done, so why kill you? See, I’m not a complete monster.”
Tristan roared, kicking and sent the pair tumbling back. Malik gave a distinct oomph when Tristan’s larger weight pinned him. Thinking he’d just gotten a good advantage, he didn’t hesitate to send his elbow backwards into the vampire’s face. Another satisfied grunt and Tristan was free. He jumped to his feet, stumbling backwards.
Malik sat up slowly, blood pouring from his nose, dripping from his chin to stain his shirt. He heaved a sigh and started to unbutton his vest. “How rude. I do you a favor and this is how you repay me?”
“Favor! You, you killed my family. You’re trying to kill me!” Tristan was crying and couldn’t stop it. The pain of losing his family was still a raw, open wound. And this man, this piece of shit vampire was the one who killed them. They never did anything to hurt anyone. They didn’t deserve to die like that.
“Are those glorious tears for me? For the pain of those broken fingers?”
Tristan looked down. He hadn’t even known. “When did—”
“Causalities of war. What does it matter anyway if they are gone? You are soon to join them. Sooner now that you ruined my shirt.”