Time Immortal: Tales of Marcus, the Blind Vampire
Laura A. Ellison
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011
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Outside in Darkness
I can’t believe it, Julia thought. Not now, not during the day.
She checked her watch. Three–thirty. Damn. The van just had to break down now. She would have to get out and walk. She would have to leave Marcus alone.
Julia, soon after she pulled off the highway, heard Marcus emerge. The lid of the old casket opened and shut, hidden by a heavy black curtain separating the back from the front of the van, where Julia was sitting in the driver’s seat.
Marcus, his voice soft, asked, “What’s the matter? Why have we stopped?”
“The van has stalled. I can’t get it started.”
Marcus did not reply.
“I’m going to have to get some help.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think you’ll be all right?”
He sighed. “Probably. When I hear you coming, I’ll get back inside my casket. Just keep an eye on the coolers, all right?”
“I’m sorry, Marcus.”
His hand, long and white, reached out briefly from behind the curtain. He squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t be sorry. We’ll figure something out.”
*****
Marcus did not want Julia to know how worried he really was.
Marcus, being sightless, did not like to travel. His clear blue eyes, which a female admirer had once compared to an autumn sky, registered nothing, not even shadows.
His long fingers brushed against the four large coolers Julia had packed into the van. Along with his casket, this left little room to move around and, for a blind person, a possible hazard.
The coolers were used to store the packets of blood Marcus received from the fellow vampires he gave prophecy to every year. Marcus the Prophet provided the entertainment for the bored creatures that wanted to know if they would live one more decade or century. The only difference this year was the location change from the Sands in Las Vegas, which had been demolished, to the seemingly less decadent Heartland Casino in Michigan City, Indiana. This change provided Marcus with the convenience of being closer to his home in Chicago.
The supply of blood Marcus collected from his annual psychic readings kept him from having to hunt for it. His blindness made pursuing humans as prey almost impossible, although his other senses were as sharp as any vampire.
Marcus knew of others like him, who had suffered irreversible injuries. One had lost a limb, another an eye, but Marcus was the only blind vampire he knew. This gave him a kind of humility–it almost made him human, to have such a glaring vulnerability. His handicap elicited pity in some, and a grudging respect in others, because Marcus the Prophet had survived longer than most of them.
Marcus calling himself psychic may have seemed redundant to his fellow creatures at first, because most of them possessed a kind of sixth sense; however, they could not predict, with such amazing and painful accuracy, the events Marcus could. Some recalled Marcus predicting the rise of Hitler and the beginning of World War II. Many of them took his advice, and left Europe before Hitler became Chancellor of Germany.
The crowd at the casino did not doubt Marcus‘s psychic abilities, even if some of them remained unconvinced when he spoke of his spirit guide, whose current name was Despair. Marcus‘s guide had been with him from the moment he was born in the city of Viscontio, seventy years after the death of Christ, in northwestern France. Despair had saved Marcus’s life once, and was the one to tell him he would always be blind, after marauders, who had escaped from a Roman prison, attacked the small village where Marcus was living in eastern Italy, near Picenum. His house was robbed, his servants murdered, and he was dragged into the sunlight, which burned every bit of him, including his eyes. Despair took on a physical form, in the guise of a Roman soldier, and carried Marcus to shelter just before it was too late. The burns on his skin recovered, but his eyesight was never restored.
*****
Julia Royer, Marcus’s twenty-five year old assistant, knew why he had to make this ridiculous trip every year. He had prepared her, they had planned carefully, but in no way did they expect the van to stall in the middle of nowhere.
Marcus needs a more dependable vehicle, Julia thought. Of course, I was the one who left my cell phone on the kitchen table.
Julia had been walking down the highway for almost twenty minutes. She was starting to sweat in her leather jacket and jeans.
Well, at least the September weather has been pleasant, she thought.
Except for the occasional inconveniences, Julia knew she was lucky to be working for Marcus. When he hired her, she had been unemployed for almost a year. She knew better than to tell potential employers she had manic depression, and she still would not get the job. She had two years of college as a nursing student and certification in home health care, but it did not seem to matter. She was ready to give up when she met Mrs. Yuen, Marcus’s former assistant.
Julia had seen a ’help wanted’ ad in a local newspaper for someone to help a sightless person with their housekeeping. Julia sent her resume to the post office box, and got a reply a few days later from Mrs. Yuen, asking for an interview.
The interview ended up being three, held only by the petite, soft-spoken Mrs. Yuen, who had to be in her late sixties. On the third meeting, Mrs. Yuen finally asked Julia if she wanted to work for Mr. Marcus, who Julia did not meet until a week later, in his small apartment in Cicero.
Julia, at first, had seen nothing odd about the blue-eyed man with the ash-blond hair. She noticed his large hands, which rested at his knees as he sat straight. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing the shape of his face, with its wide forehead, slightly hooked nose, and small mouth. His clear blue gaze stared straight into nothing.
Mrs. Yuen left the room, and Marcus continued to sit at the couch.
Julia took in the furnishings of the man’s apartment. The dark green couch and matching easy chairs, one of which Julia was sitting in across from Marcus, were comfortable. The carpeting was a dark gold color, thick and plushy. An impressive stereo system rested in one corner. Near her chair, a brass lamp sat on an end table made of dark pine.
The silence was growing awkward when Marcus finally spoke. “I had a student named Julia once, when I was a teacher at a school for the blind. She died from scarlet fever, long ago...”
Julia sat there quietly, wondering why he would tell her something like that.
Marcus cleared his throat, in an effort to change the subject. “I can pay you whatever the going rate is for this type of job. I can’t offer any insurance, but if you need to go to the doctor or dentist, I would be happy to cover the expense. I don’t need a cook, but I need someone to clean and to answer the phone during the day. I need quiet then…when I sleep.”
“Why?”
Marcus made a sound, almost like a snort. “Well, I guess Mrs. Yuen didn’t tell you. I was hoping she would.”
“Tell me what?”
He sighed. He had found no easy way to explain what he was, so he kept it short. “I lived and died before the fall of Rome. I am a monster...a blind monster.”
Julia’s shock quickly turned to anger. She could not believe Mrs. Yuen, who had seemed so sensible and kind, would be part of such a sick prank. She grabbed her purse off the end table, ready to leave.
Marcus rose slowly from the couch. “Before you go, I want you to see this. Mrs. Yuen told me I could trust you, and she is never wrong.”
He walked carefully to the front window, feeling for its exact location. He lifted one of his big hands up to the tiny crack of sunlight between the drapes. He turned around clumsily, as his face grimaced in pain. Julia heard the sizzling sound, smelled the burning flesh. She saw a tiny flame shoot out as he jumped away.
Julia did not need any further convincing. She rose from her chair and cautiously approached him, but he was already sitting calmly, gripping his burnt hand with the other. His hands were beautiful, and Julia, her fear momentarily forgotten, brushed her fingers against the cool flesh of his cheek. His skin was as white as milk, exceptionally smooth, with no large pores or blemishes.
He smiled, his small mouth twisted in a crooked bow. “So…do you want the job?”
Julia took the job. Having Marcus in her life, and watching him deal with what he was, taught her more than she could express. He touched her to the soul, and she repaid him in devotion.
Julia did not tell him about her struggle with manic depression until three months after he hired her. He listened attentively to the whole story, although he already knew, and assured her that her condition would not be a problem, as long as she was getting the proper treatment.
Marcus, as soon as he hired Julia, informed her of his psychic ability, and how he used it. One of Julia’s duties was to answer the phone, and she received some odd calls during the day, most of them from creatures like Marcus. This alarmed her at first, but they wanted nothing from her, and usually left a courteous message for Marcus to return their call. Sometimes he did. Sometimes, after Julia relayed the message to him, she was told to throw it in the garbage.
Marcus also shared, after a while, his origins as vampire and psychic. He had known he was ‘chosen’ since he was nine, when his father, the Celtic rebel Brennus Getorix, had taken him to the Gallic seeress Veleda. She told Getorix that his son would be cursed in the arms of a woman, and the only way this could possibly be circumvented is if the boy remained a virgin. She then went on to tell the man that his son was very gifted, an old Druid god was speaking through him, giving him visions. Veleda felt the only way to guarantee Marcus’s safety was to keep him with her, living in seclusion in her tower–like home deep in the Arduenna Forest, in what is now Northern France.
Brennus Getorix found the whole idea ridiculous. This man was a Roman-trained soldier of Druid descent, who had later fought with his people against the Romans. The idea of his only living son remaining a virgin, with no children of his own to continue the clan, was out of the question. Getorix, thinking Veleda senile, chose to disregard her words, and left with his boy.
Nine years later, Marcus lost his virginity, and Veleda’s prophecy was finally revealed.
Marcus had been hunting with friends that day, in the woods outside his father’s farm, and dusk approached before he knew it. He could hear Lucas and Virgil calling his name, when she appeared before him.
He remembered her raven–haired, with brown eyes. She was dressed in a white, loose-fitting tunic, her feet bare. Her long arms and neck were the color of ivory, her lips full and red. He had assumed she was a priestess from the few remaining groups of Druids in the area.
The young man followed her deeper into the woods. When he caught up with her, she seemed neither surprised nor startled. She smiled at him warmly, reached up, and kissed him, her tongue brushing against his upper lip.
She undressed him and herself effortlessly. He felt no shame, just dumb lust. Later, Marcus would recall these moments in a bittersweet way, because that was the end of his life as an innocent, gifted boy, and the beginning of his life as an eternal outsider.
He experienced his first climax, his breathing still coming in pants, the ground and her flesh sticking to him. The woods were completely dark now, and Marcus looked up at the clear night sky. Then her face came into view once again, her eyes shiny black orbs, the whites gone, her lips drawn back, revealing her ancient, saber-like fangs. Marcus didn’t have time to gasp before she tore into his flesh.
The vampiress, as she consumed the blood of the young psychic, received a terrifying prophecy. From the far corners of Marcus’s subconscious, Despair found a way to torment the bitch with the future scene of her death…her head being severed at the neck in one astonishing blow...the vampire hunter, a red-haired man in a buckskin jacket...her head being placed on his belt next to the others hanging by the hair.
Marcus awoke several hours later, his father’s voice calling to him in the darkness. He saw men with torches in the distance. Lucas and Virgil had been found dead, their bodies in the river, throats torn as if from wild animals. Brennus Getorix broke down and wept at the sight of his son half dead on the ground. The man carried his boy home.
Marcus fled the following night, never to return. The thirst had overtaken him, and the memory of being with her only made it worse. He knew what he needed, and he was not going to submit his father to the shame of what he had become.
Another century would pass before Marcus returned to his homeland.
He would not see the vampiress again until centuries later. She took just enough of his blood to change him, but he never had a chance to drink from her, and to bond with another creature never occurred. Because of this happenstance, Marcus was like an orphan, his only guidance and help coming from Despair.
*****
Julia could feel a vehicle slow down next to her. She turned, and saw it was a pickup truck. Inside, an elderly man and his dog gawked at her.
“I saw a van back there,” the old man said. “That your’s?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, the next stop is about a mile away. Want a ride?”
Julia knew better than to accept rides from strangers, but this man could be her grandfather, even the dog looked friendly. Besides, the sooner things were taken care of, the sooner she and Marcus could get home.
“Uh...sure, thanks.”
*****
The old man dropped Julia off at the Gas-N-Go near the highway. He was on his way to visit his wife at a hospital in a neighboring town, so he had to leave Julia there. She had planned, after calling the nearest towing service, to walk back to the van and wait. The tow would probably take an hour. The sun would be almost completely set, and Marcus could come out. Most likely, they would end up at a motel until the van was repaired. She was walking out of the store when another man offered her a ride back.
The guy seemed nice enough. He was fifty–ish, muscular going to fat, wearing a pullover sweater and beige polyester pants along with a white fishing cap. He looked like someone’s dad. His Chevy Blazer was in the parking lot. Julia got in with him.
She felt safe at first. The van came up on the horizon.
“You can drop me here. There’s the van.”
She had her hand on the door handle, ready to get out, when she felt the blade against her left cheek. She turned, and saw the guy had a large kitchen knife in his right hand as he continued to steer. Julia pulled on the door handle instinctively, but it was locked.
The cold blade moved down, and rested at the side of her neck. “Don’t move, young lady, and I won’t hurt you.”
Julia sat very still, too shocked to respond. Her thoughts quickly turned to Marcus, who was now out there alone.
*****
Marcus could sense Despair was near.
Marcus?
Yes?
Julia is in danger.
Marcus jumped out of his seat. “Where the Hell is she? What’s happened to her?”
The sun has set, Marcus. Come out into the night. I will be your eyes.
The creature carefully exited the van. He felt around the doors, making sure the vehicle was locked up. He had to leave behind his casket and coolers, but so be it. He was hanging on to the passenger-side door handle when he felt a hand on his right arm, gently turning him around in the direction Julia had taken. Despair had said she would be his eyes in this strange place, and he could feel her guiding him away from traffic.
Where are we going, my Despair?
We will go where she was last seen.
Do you know where she is now?
No, but she is being taken away by automobile.
Has she been harmed?
No, not yet...but we have to find her soon.
*****
The young woman working at the register in the Gas–N–Go could not believe what she was seeing when the two men walked in–one blind, and the other unlike anyone she had seen before, at least in Mount Vernon.
The blind man’s companion, his right arm hooked in the other’s left, approached her cautiously, almost shyly. Tall, thin, and swarthy, he looked almost Arab. His dark hair was thick, black, and unruly. His eyes were dark, more black than brown. Below his aquiline nose, she stared at his beautiful mouth; he had full lips, the top bow- shaped. He was dressed in jeans, a denim shirt, and brown corduroy jacket.
“Miss, could you tell me if you saw a young woman in here this afternoon? Short, with reddish-brown hair? She was wearing a leather jacket?”
No trace of an accent, the guy must be from this country. “Um...no. Maybe Derek-he works with me-might have seen her.”
“Would he have been here around three-thirty?”
“Uh...yeah.”
Despair may have been a spirit guide, but even she could not communicate with someone this dim. “Is he here now?”
The girl suddenly snapped to attention. “Yeah, I’ll get him.”
Despair and Marcus continued to stand at the cash register. The spirit guide looked around the place. She had not taken on a physical form in a long time, and only chose this male shape from a magazine Julia had left in the van. Despair was in a hurry, and may have chosen unwisely. She had assumed that being a man would be more convenient, but her looks were too conspicuous. People were staring.
Despair took a long look at Marcus. Julia need to buy him some new clothes; his gray jacket looked old, his jeans were faded. He wore an old pair of sneakers with Velcro straps. He did not trust anyone to give him a decent haircut.
The girl returned with Derek. An obese young man in glasses and a red work-smock, he eyed the two men suspiciously. “You looking for someone?”
“Yes,” Despair replied,” a short young woman with red hair. Her name is Julia.”
Derek nodded. “Yeah, she was in here this afternoon. She said she needed to use the phone, her van broke down—”
“That’s her. We were waiting back at the van, but she didn’t show.”
“You think something happened to her?”
“Yes. Did you see her leave with anyone?”
Derek sipped his Big Gulp. “Well, Old Man Dickerson dropped her off. And his wife is in the hospital, so he left. See, I was at the register then, but I didn’t see her leave. You know, you have to wait twenty-four hours before the police will even help you.”
Despair knew it would be too late then. One of the killer’s young victims had contacted her on the Other Side, pleading with Despair to find her killer. The spirit had only lived sixteen years in the flesh, and had her life torn from her.
Despair had explained to Marcus, during their long walk, about the visit from the young spirit. Her throat had been cut, her killer watched her die, and Julia would be next if they did not find her first.
Marcus finally spoke, asking, ”Derek, do you know of any regular customer, a man, who wears a white cap, is overweight, drives a...Blazer...a Chevy, red and white in color?”
Derek scratched his head. “Christ…that could be anybody. Lots of people drive those things...”
The two knew the guy had a point, the description was too broad. This place was near the highway, people come and go. Julia could be with anyone anywhere.
Despair recalled, on the way to the Gas–N–Go, passing a school. The victim had only been sixteen years old, she must have attended school. “That school building, about a mile away, is that the only one in this area?”
Derek nodded. “You must mean Dewey High School, I went there-”
Marcus suddenly saw a flash of a living room in someone’s home, the rustle of papers. “Do you remember any teacher at your school that used to invite students to his home? Maybe something to do with writing?”
Derek sighed. He leaned his bulk against the counter near the register, to take the weight off his feet. “You know, that reminds me of a girl who disappeared about six months ago. Her family, everybody, combed this whole town looking for her. My guess is she’s either dead or ran away. But she was involved in writing and plays at Dewey High.”
“How old was she?” asked Despair.
“Sixteen, I think. She was waiting for her mom to pick her up from a rehearsal at the school, outside the building, and when her mom got there, she was gone.”
“What was her name?”
“Andrea Carlyle. Here, I can show you a picture.”
Derek left behind the register and returned with a white, legal-sized, Xerox copy. At the top, in large letters, the word ‘MISSING.’ Underneath, the name ‘Andrea Christine Carlyle,’ featuring a recent photograph from school pictures, along with a description of her vital statistics and when she was last seen outside Dewey High School in April.
Despair saw what the young spirit looked like in life, and was disturbed by Andrea Carlyle’s resemblance to Julia. Although the print was in black and white, Despair could see the girl’s auburn hair, brown eyes, and fair skin.
Derek, at this moment, burst out, ”Hey, shit! You don’t think whoever took Andrea took your friend?”
Marcus put his index finger to his lips, trying to shush the guy. “We don’t know for sure, but it’s a possibility. When you went to school at Dewey, who taught English or Drama?”
Derek purposely lowered his voice. “Dewey’s a small school. We only had two English teachers, Miss Danvers and Mr. Webb. I had Miss Danvers for tenth and twelfth grade English. She was a mean old bitch, died the year after graduation. Mr. Webb still teaches there. Actually, he is kinda fat, and always wears these pullover sweaters, in winter and summer. Nice guy, though. His wife died last year, and he was Andrea’s teacher. He was there the night Andrea disappeared, but he wasn’t arrested. No one was.” Derek leaned in closer, and whispered, “If you ask me, Andrea Carlyle’s family is a mess. Her dad’s a drunk, her mother was never home, and her brother is in jail. Andrea could have run off with a boyfriend, or her father could have killed her. People get crazy when they’re drunk.”
Despair already knew Andrea had been killed by someone outside the family. “Did you hear any odd stories or unpleasant rumors about Mr. Webb while in school?”
“Uh...no. But sometimes he would have some of his students get together at his house, to read poetry, I guess. And he did that when Mrs. Webb was alive, so everybody knew about it, nobody thought it was wrong. See, Mr. and Mrs. Webb didn’t have any kids...”
*****
Webb sat facing Julia. He was still wearing his fishing cap, the knife resting on his lap.
Julia had no idea what this man was going to do next. He must not have been in any hurry to kill her; otherwise, she would not be sitting in this motor home, gagged and tied to a chair.
Webb cleared his throat, squirmed in his chair. “You know, some things just get out of hand. I tried explaining this to Andrea, but she was too young to understand. I should have known better. I never wanted to...kill any of them. But I would look at them every day, see how young and good they were, and know they would lose it all. This town has churned out more than its share of teen pregnancies, abused wives and children. Their parents tell them lies about their bright futures. But the kids are just another group to be herded out and herded in to the next factory or trailer park.” Webb smiled at his own humor, but avoided eye contact with his captive, staring down at the knife in his lap instead. “I used to have hope, now it’s just memories of a more innocent time.”
Julia remained confused. If he cared about these kids, why did he murder them? Julia was a stranger to him, so why did he take her? She turned her head from side to side, trying to get Webb to look at her. As a manic-depressive, Julia had educated herself about abnormal psychology, and she guessed this man’s delusions had a long time to grow into something so strong, he could not hide his madness anymore. If only he would take the gag off her, she could talk to him.
Webb continued, but his voice was starting to crack.
“What was the point in them even living? Nothing could justify their suffering, and when Andrea wrote, her stories were full of what I had been feeling for years. Everyone knew her father drank, and her brother was sent to jail. She was mature for her age, but did she really understand the enormity of her pain? Did she know she would have to live with it for the rest of her life?
After rehearsal that night, when all the others had left, she was waiting for her mother in the parking lot. But it was getting late. I offered her a ride home, but she refused. I knew she would. There was a part of her that already didn’t trust anymore. She had avoided boys at school, even the ones that liked her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had been molested—”
Julia was not feeling so understanding now. Actually, she could feel herself starting to fume. She had to deal with the same kind of insensitivity as a kid, because so few understood her condition, labeling her as everything from hyperactive to schizophrenic.
Webb went on. “She came back into the building. I told her I wouldn’t leave until her mom came. The school was empty except for us and the night janitor, who was in another part of the school. It had been awhile, but the time had come to save another. I gave her some hot cocoa mixed with a sedative. She fell asleep on the sofa in the back of the office, and I carried her to my car and put her in the trunk. Before anyone knew she was missing, I already had her out here. She was tied to that chair, just like you. And all I wanted was to try to tell her, to make her understand, to teach her...”
*****
Marcus and Despair returned to the van, with the tow already there. The driver explained that he could take the van to a nearby auto repair, but it could not get worked on until morning. The tow left with the van, Marcus’s coolers and casket going with it.
*****
A cab dropped Despair and Marcus off near Webb’s home in a local subdivision, only a few miles from the high school.
Despair, hoping for a sign, soon found one. The appearance of a presence, its aura a light shade of blue, could be seen against the darkness. The blue light slowly took on the shape of a human being, the outline of its head and arms outstretched, fully visible.
“Stella,” Marcus whispered, “his wife.”
Webb’s dead wife. Marcus could sense the unrest within this ghost, who spent much of her time in the world of the living, because she could not pass on to the Other Side.
Stella Webb had been a weak woman in life. She had known her husband was the killer of children.
Stella found proof twenty years ago, when they were living in South Carolina. An old cat Stella had owned since she was a teenager had died and, in the act of digging a grave for it, had unearthed a dead body in her backyard, which was surrounded by a high wooden fence. The body was that of a young girl, Stella was sure of it. Webb had been in the hospital for a tonsillectomy at the time his wife made her grisly discovery. In an act that would seal both their fates, Stella concealed the body, covering it again with dirt. She never told her husband, not anyone.
Stella then became concerned for her own safety, fully aware that the man who slept next to her could kill her whenever he chose, and this dread may have contributed to her premature death.
Give me a place, Stella, Marcus thought. That’s all I need...
There is some property...near a body of water...Webb would go there to fish...Stella never went with him...Andrea is buried on that property...Julia is there, inside a camper, an old Airstream, shiny, like silver, on the outside.
Where is the property? Marcus asked himself. It could be anywhere between Mount Vernon and Indiana.
Indiana...Indian...Marcus could see, in his mind’s eye, a sign with the face of an Indian on it...Seneca Hills Campground...further out...Webb owns this property...it’s closer to the water, on the banks of this river, but it is close to Seneca Hills Campground.
Despair could see the presence of Stella Webb starting to fade from view. Helping the living was one way for restless spirits to feel forgiven for evil acts committed while alive. Hopefully, Stella Webb might rest in peace someday.
*****
The cab driver gave them the time, ten–thirty. Despair, from the back of the cab, could see a smiling profile of an Indian, with ‘Seneca Hills Campground’ painted over the head in red letters with a white background. The sign was made out of aluminum, and trembled against the wind on a wooden post. Several campers were parked next to each other, the lights on inside.
Despair paid the cab driver with Marcus’s last twenty–dollar bill. As the car pulled away, they started the walk into the woods outside the campground.
Marcus was hoping he ‘saw’ the right place. He knew there must have been several Airstream campers in that campground, but Webb was too smart to commit his crimes where they could be seen, he would most likely choose a more solitary place.
Despair, pointing the flashlight she bought at the Gas–N–Go with her right hand as her left arm stayed locked in Marcus’s right, knew what Marcus wanted. If Julia were dead, nothing else would satisfy except the taste of Webb’s blood. Despair would not be able to stop Marcus, she knew how strong he was physically; he could tear a man apart if he had one in his grip. Directly, Despair could not let herself be a party to such things, she had learned too much in the place of the dead.
Despair, in spite of their long, long history together, had always feared the day Marcus would have to feed from her. In this hastily constructed human shell, she was flesh and blood and, with the exception of newborn babies’ blood, hers was the purest of any kind.
Her blood could have healed Marcus of his blindness all those centuries ago.
You could have healed him, but it was your own shame that stopped you, she thought.
Despair had once been a male vampire, named Imat, in Egypt several thousand years ago. However, after centuries of existence, the creature took his own life, burning to death in the desert. This was Despair’s last incarnation before choosing to become a spirit guide on the Other Side. Despair, although she had been with Marcus since his birth, never told him about her past lives.
Marcus was oblivious to the thoughts of his spirit guide as they continued to wind through the woods, the crickets softly chirping. These woods, as did all woods, reminded him of that place so long ago when she, his magnificent seducer, had appeared to him in the little forest. It even smelled the same.
The vampire froze in mid–step as Despair stopped walking. She asked, “What if he tries to kill us? How are we going to stop him, anyway?”
“I don’t know.”
Despair was quiet for a moment, then said, “There is a way, but if we do it, the results are only temporary. There is not enough time for anything else.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Promise you will forgive me...”
*****
Webb lit a kerosene lamp, the flame low enough to make a dim light in the camper.
Julia did not want to give herself any false hope, but Webb was stalling for some reason, because he could have killed her hours ago. She was so drained; she sat as comfortably as she could in her bound position in the heavy wooden chair.
She was not surprised that her mind kept drifting back to Marcus. She believed he would try to find her, although he would not involve the police, she was sure of that. If she did die tonight, she knew she was going to be Webb’s last victim. He might even kill himself, and no one would know what he had done. He would get away with it.
*****
Marcus could feel the change almost immediately, the darkness becoming shapes and shadows, which became the forest. He looked down, and saw the beautiful man Despair had been in his powerful grip.
The vampire wanted to join with her again; her blood warm and real in his mouth, but it was too late. He had come here to find Julia, and Despair had given him the tool to do it, but the effect would only last so long, and then his blindness would return.
He gently laid the shell of his beloved Despair on the ground. Marcus noticed the whiteness of his hands as he caressed the face of the dead man. He knew his spirit guide was now safe on the Other Side, and he had readily forgiven her, so she would be back.
The forest was a splendid place, he could see the colors of the autumn leaves under his feet, and the moon in all its brightness. The clear night sky was full of stars, but Marcus knew he could not slow down in his pursuit.
The vampire would take flight again, feeling the branches and leaves brush across his face, his restored sight integrating with his other extraordinary senses as he flew through the woods, searching for Webb’s camper.
*****
Julia wondered if a cut throat was the fastest way to die.
Webb stood behind her, his knife at her neck. He used his left hand to pull off her gag.
“Do you have anything to say, young lady?”
“Please don’t kill me! It’s not going to change anything!”
Webb shook his head. “It’s too late for change. We will be standing side by side in Hell—”
Something hit the side of the camper so hard, it rocked dangerously. Webb stumbled, but did not lose his grip on the knife.
Julia and Webb heard someone at the door, followed by the sound of metal and wood tearing. The hinges popped, and the door disappeared. Marcus entered, bringing the autumn wind and a cloud of leaves with him.
Shades of yellow and red stuck to his hair, his ponytail undone. His skin was ghostly in the dim light. Julia had never seen the very distinct fangs that broke through the delicate mouth, which was smeared red. His stride was confident, almost strutting, as he went after Webb, his sight straight on the man. His eyes glowed with rage.
Julia did not know when or how, but Marcus could see.
Webb lunged at Marcus with his big blade. He lost his balance, and Marcus turned him around. The vampire easily tore the knife from the man’s grip, throwing it over to the other side of the camper, where it landed with a loud clang.
Marcus was more than ready to kill Webb. He saw Julia tied to a chair, relieved she was still alive. He did not know her face until now, he tried harder to focus on her, but his vision was starting to blur.
Webb, who Marcus had pushed to the floor, could not believe the monster he was seeing.
“Marcus!” Julia cried. “Don’t kill him! The families of the victims need to know!”
Webb got on his knees in front of Marcus. “Please. Do it.”
Marcus was feeling his sight fade, but he had to think. If he let Webb live, he would run the risk of exposing himself. If he killed Webb, the families of the victims would have no justice, Andrea would never rest. He swung his failing gaze over to Julia. She would have to be the one to tell the police where Andrea was buried, and her remains would be the key to putting Webb away. Julia was right. Besides, who would believe a psycho like Webb? So Marcus balled his large, long fingered right hand into a fist, and punched Webb-hard. The man sprawled, unconscious, to the floor.
Marcus stumbled over to Julia, and tried to focus on the ropes that bound her. The thick fibers snapped like twigs between his fingers.
“Marcus! How can you see?” she asked. “How did it happen?”
Colors and shapes were fading as all the ropes finally gave. Julia reached down and untied her feet. As she was doing this, Marcus took one last look at her face.
Julia, when she had finished, turned to Marcus, and quickly noticed that the blank look in his eyes had returned.
“Marcus? Why is it gone?” She turned herself around and slid off the chair, joining him on the floor where he was sitting, gripping his head. “You could see! I know you did!”
He pulled his hands away, and sighed. “Yes, I did.”
“Well, what happened? How did you find me?”
Marcus raised a pale finger, and brushed her cheek. “You really are beautiful, you know.”
Stolen Souls
Marcus and Julia waited at the door.
Julia took this time to look around at the Michigan wilderness surrounding the large, log cabin home. She had drove Marcus and herself all the way from Chicago to the outskirts of Charlevoix, Michigan for this meeting. The drive had taken about ten hours, and she was tired and hungry, the sun setting hours ago.
Julia had answered the phone call yesterday that preceded this hasty journey. The caller was a Deborah Seymour, and she left a long message, asking if Marcus could return her call.
Marcus, when he emerged from his casket at sunset, had Julia read the message to him.
He told her to throw it in the garbage.
Julia had never questioned Marcus’s decisions in all the years that she had worked for him as his assistant, but Deborah’s voice sounded so urgent, so desperate.
Marcus had stood before Julia, fully dressed in a baggy blue shirt and old jeans. She needed to buy him some new clothes. Like most sightless people, Marcus did not always notice these things.
Marcus had been a powerful psychic since birth. He was born around 70 A.D., in the area of ancient Gaul that is now northwestern France, in the Roman-occupied city of Viscontio. He possessed a spirit guide named Despair, who had been with him for as long as he could remember. He was meant to be a seer among his own people; however, a vampiress named Demetria intervened by the time Marcus was eighteen, and then he was permanently blinded one hundred years later. Marcus now only used his abilities to help others when he chose.
Marcus, with his tapered, pale fingers, pulled back at his long ash-blond hair until he secured it with a rubber band, making a tight ponytail. This set off the rest of his face-the high forehead, slightly hooked nose, small mouth, and the clearest blue eyes Julia had ever seen.
“Marcus,” she asked, ”I think this woman is in real trouble.”
Marcus, who was now sitting across from her at the kitchen table, shook his head impatiently. “Most likely, Deborah is having family troubles again. I used to know her parents and her brothers, the whole family.”
Julia was fascinated. “You mean...your kind can have children?”
Marcus laughed softly. “The boys were from their mother’s first marriage, and Deborah was supposedly adopted. They were ‘turned’ by their step-father, William Seymour, when they grew up. He didn’t really let them choose, but I never heard them complain. They are very wealthy people, the Seymours.”
“Why do you dislike them?”
Marcus was suddenly shy. He became silent, and Julia wondered if she was annoying him by asking too many questions, although she could not help but be interested.
Marcus finally spoke up. “I used to be a tutor to Deborah and her brothers many years ago. The whole family was living in Pennsylvania then, outside Philadelphia. I had been teaching at a school for the blind the year before, but had to resign in a hurry. I knew I could...sort of...hide out if I took up the offer from Seymour. Deborah and her brothers were just children; they didn’t know what he had planned for them. The family was so wealthy; the children were always sheltered. This way, I could be sheltered, too. But I became involved with Seymour’s wife, Rachel. Like the children, she was also human then, but she was ruled by her husband. It was a pathetic situation. He kept her human to control her, and the children.”
“They were a bizarre family?” Julia asked.
“How could they be anything else?”
Marcus rose from his seat at the table and walked to the refrigerator. Julia had grown used to Marcus’s nightly routine. The bags of blood were kept in the fridge. He would open a bag with the sharp edge of one of his ancient fangs, dumping the liquid contents into an old Chicago Bulls mug, which had once belonged to Julia. He would consume the blood quickly, with no mess. The bag was thrown in the garbage, the mug rinsed out in the sink.
Marcus did not want to share the rest of the story with Julia or anyone else. When he thought back on it, all he could feel was embarrassment.
Rachel Seymour was young, a mother of three by the time she was twenty-five. She had been born and raised in Virginia, the accent never fading from her voice. She had smelled like lilies of the valley. Deborah had adored her mother, in spite of her obvious weaknesses, and she had despised her father, in spite of his power.
William Seymour was a monster, not only to his wife and children, but also to everyone else.
Deborah had once told Marcus she wished he were her father.
The children called Seymour ‘Father’ to his face, but the boys, David and James, called him the Old Man behind his back, although they would not know how old he really was until they became men themselves.
Seymour initially became wealthy through the railroads, oil, and steel. Over the centuries, he would move on to pharmaceuticals and technology. His boys made their money out of Silicon Valley now. The Seymours would always be rich, and immortal.
Marcus had heard a rumor, around 1935, that one of the boys had plotted to kill the Old Man. Almost forty years later, the Old Man had supposedly been seen in Chicago. Deborah, in the 1930s, would occasionally turn up in magazines or the society page, although the Seymours of that generation were presently keeping a very low profile. Rachel had committed suicide sometime in the 1940s, having been forgotten. Some had said, and the other creatures loved to gossip about the Seymours, that one of Rachel’s own children had put a stake through her heart rather than deal with what a sad creature she had become.
Marcus had only wanted to forget about them. However, in the quiet of the kitchen, Marcus could sense Despair.
“Deborah’s child is dying.”
“Deborah doesn’t have children,” Marcus answered.
Julia remained at the table. She knew Marcus was not talking to himself. His spirit guide was making an appearance.
“She has two children that she adopted. The girl is starving herself. Deborah wants your help. You should give it.”
“I have avoided the Seymours for over seventy years. Why does Deborah want me to help her, of all people?”
“Many of them see you as a healer.”
“How can I heal this child? Is the child even human?”
“Yes, the girl is still human. Go to her. You may be the only one who can heal her.”
“All right. I will speak with Deborah. But it is only my guilty conscience that makes me do it.”
*****
“Marcus, remember when I was a child, and you could communicate with my brothers and I telepathically? You could even teach us lessons that way!”
“Yes, I remember.”
The conversation was pleasant, once the awkward greetings were over with. The last time Marcus had spoken to Deborah, over seventy-five years ago, she had been eleven years old.
Marcus sat by himself in the living room with the phone. Julia had a class that night, so he was alone.
“Deborah, I know you didn’t just contact me to talk about old times. My spirit guide—”
“Yes. Despair.”
Marcus did not miss the sarcasm. The other creatures always found Despair to be a source of amusement. “She told me your child is ill.”
The other end was quiet for several moments, but Marcus knew she was still on the line. “Deborah?”
“Yes, it’s true, my daughter is ill. That’s why I called you.”
“What is her condition?”
“She is anorexic. She has been starving herself, on and off, since she was a child. She weighs only eighty pounds.”
Marcus could sense the sadness in her voice, she was almost crying. He could recall Rachel punishing her children for crying. Marcus would say nothing, believing their discipline was none of his business; and they grew up to be so heartless. “Have you taken her to a doctor? There are specialists—”
“I can’t. She could expose the whole family, you know that...”
“So talk therapy is out of the question. Can you bring anyone to her?”
“I was hoping you would come.”
“Where are you living now?”
“Michigan, near Charlevoix. At the summer house.”
“I’ve been there. That last summer...”
“I had the old house torn down, a new log home built in its place.” She sighed. “Can you come, Marcus? I don’t know what else to do. She might die.”
Marcus could not believe he was going through with this, but he never could resist Rachel’s daughter. Deborah had been ‘adopted’ when she was two years old, an orphaned child of a Seymour cousin. The Old Man brought her home like a puppy for Rachel; the Old Man had been sterile for centuries, just like Marcus. “Yes, I can come to your home. But I will only see you and your daughter. This has to be kept secret. I can’t be making house calls for everyone.”
*****
Deborah finally answered the door.
Julia could not help but notice how beautiful Deborah Seymour was. Deborah never knew her real parents, but her mother had been Swedish, and had supposedly died while giving birth to Deborah, who was a beautiful, cool blonde in jeans and a loose red sweater that brought out the paleness of her skin.
Marcus was not familiar with Deborah’s adult personality, although he easily picked up on her nervous energy, which had not changed. Now, over a century later, Deborah was no longer human, but an undead creature.
“Marcus, I’m glad you made it. Please, come in.”
Marcus, followed by Julia, entered the house.
“Deborah, this is my assistant, Julia Royer,” he said. “She can be trusted.”
Julia was already uneasy. She did not like being around other vampires, their behavior could be unpredictable. However, if they wanted Marcus’s help, they knew they had to be civil.
Deborah, in her own way, smiled warmly. “Well, if you trust her, Marcus, then I am fine with her being here. Please, let me show you into the living room. We can sit and talk.”
Julia immediately noticed the antiques and other expensive furnishings in the house. The living room was rustic, with a huge fireplace, with black leather furniture, a thick area rug over the hardwood floor in a dark green. Framed, sepia-toned photographs graced the walls. A large picture window dominated the room, revealing a view of Lake Michigan. More photographs sat on the mantelpiece over the fireplace; some looked just as old, some more recent.
Deborah graciously led Marcus by the hand to a place on the leather couch to sit, and then sat across from him in a reclining chair. Julia tried not to feel ignored.
Deborah noticed that nothing about Marcus had changed. He remained that quietly beautiful creature from a time when silence and discretion were the best defense for a vampire. He still kept his ash-blond hair long and pulled away from his hawk-like face. His hypnotic eyes, as blind as ever, stared into a place only he could see. He always sat up straight, his big hands resting on his knees. He was dressed in a blue turtleneck sweater, covered in a black blazer-jacket and matching pants. He didn’t favor jewelry.
“Marcus,” Deborah said, ”I am so happy you have come. My daughter, Theresa, needs help. As I told you on the phone, she has been anorexic for years. Her brother and I have tried everything, even forcing her to eat. But that doesn’t work, it only makes things worse. I have read all the books, but I am not a therapist, and I certainly can’t send her to one—”
“Has she expressed any interest in changing her behavior?” Marcus asked. “Has she admitted that she is ill? That she could die?”
“Yes, she knows it, but doesn’t care,” Deborah answered. “Sometimes, I think she is purposely doing this to hurt me. My children are now old enough to know all about the family.”
“You mentioned you have a son?”
“Yes. Matthew.”
“How old are they?”
“Matthew is twenty. Theresa, seventeen.”
“How were they educated?”
“Home schooled. Matthew has completed one year at college, but wants to take a year off. Theresa, since her illness worsened, has lost interest in her studies. She is now bedridden.”
Julia, from her spot in a corner antique rocker, found Deborah’s child-rearing skills interesting. Were her children lonely? How could Deborah relate to or understand the needs of human children? Although Marcus had explained that Deborah and her brothers had been human until adulthood, even their childhoods had been unusual.
“How old was Theresa when she started refusing food?” Marcus asked.
“Her mother is with me.”
“Rachel?” Marcus asked silently.
“No. The girl’s birth mother.”
Deborah stopped talking. She could see the look on Marcus’s face. He was almost in a trance. Deborah knew what this meant, and remained quiet until Marcus was finished listening to his spirit guide. Deborah had not witnessed this kind of event since she was a child, and Despair would occasionally interrupt Marcus when he was giving the Seymour children their lessons. Once, when she was ten years old, she heard a man’s voice, speaking through Marcus in a strange language, when he was teaching Deborah and her brothers about the Egyptian pharaohs one day. When asked about it later, he did not bother to explain.
“Theresa’s birth mother, Sarah, is with me. She needs you to speak of her to Theresa. Deborah may not be so forthcoming with information...”
This was not an unusual situation. So many souls contacted Despair in the After-Life, asking for Marcus’s help. Some were human when alive, some were not, and Despair was not the only spirit guide available, but it was hardly a coincidence that in her last incarnation on Earth, Despair had been a vampire, a male named Imat, in Egypt, almost five thousand years ago. Imat had taken his own life after many centuries, burning to death in the desert under the sun’s rays. When he died, he elected to remain in the After-Life as a spirit guide. So Despair was no longer in the flesh, and she served Marcus, although she occasionally used him as a kind of psychic instrument.
“Marcus, Theresa can still be helped, but Deborah will have to cooperate...”
*****
Marcus knew how to behave around married women. Rachel Seymour, however, had made the decision to seduce him.
Her tactics had been fairly simple. The children had been napping that September afternoon. Marcus was in his study, when the housekeeper told him Mrs. Seymour wished to see him in her room.
The old Victorian home, hidden in the Pennsylvania countryside, had windows that were covered with heavy drapes. Marcus was able to get around easily; he was used to the placement of every furnishing and doorway.
Marcus made his way up the stairs. He could smell lilies of the valley in the hallway. The scent grew stronger as he came closer to Rachel’s room. He knocked on the door.
“Come in, Marcus.”
He pushed the door open. “Yes, Mrs. Seymour?”
“Please call me Rachel. You’ve been here for weeks, and you still call me Mrs. Seymour. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“All right.”
“My husband explained to me that you are supposed to be some kind of psychic. Can you tell fortunes?”
“Sometimes.”
“Could you read mine?”
“Yes, I suppose I could.” Marcus was not sure what this was leading to. He knew it was improper to be alone with her in her bedroom, and Seymour would not be pleased if he should find out. During that period, many people believed the blind to be asexual, but the servants liked to gossip, and Seymour knew Marcus was far from impotent.
“Please,” Rachel said, ”sit next to me on the bed.” She took his hand, leading him to her. He sat on the soft mattress, part of the four poster bed Rachel usually shared with her husband, who was supposedly in Philadelphia on business.
“You can read palms?” she asked.
“I do not read palms in the typical sense. I have to trace the lines with my fingers. Give me your left hand.”
He took her small hand in between his large one. He used his index finger of his right hand to trace the lines in her palm. He knew her future would be tragic, her life long and painful, so he improvised. She would not be able to see through his lies; she was still human, a puppet for her husband.
Marcus could not remember how the discussion swayed from his bogus predictions, to Rachel talking about her private relations with her husband, then her asking about how blind people made love.
“Rachel, are you trying to embarrass me?” Marcus asked.
“No, I’m trying to seduce you. How is it when you are with a woman? Does she offer the blood to you? I would willingly offer it, if you would offer yourself...”
Somehow, his finger had ended up in Rachel’s warm, wet mouth.
Marcus tried a weak protest. “Your husband will not be happy with this...”
“I should be happy, too,” said Rachel, her voice giddy with excitement. “So should you. I want to know you as a man, Marcus. William told me you can function just as well as he, and I want to know your bite. Let me, Marcus.”
Rachel undressed the both of them before they shared their first kiss. Marcus could not remember the last time he had been with a woman for carnal pleasure, maybe decades. He enjoyed the warmth and feel of Rachel’s flesh. The fine hair on her arms even made his fingertips tingle. She was playful and energetic; her enjoyment of the act relaxed him. She rubbed herself against the cool contours of his ancient flesh and bone, grabbing at him gently. He pleasured her orally, intoxicated by the musky, throbbing part of her, and his own aching sex, which he had ignored for too long.
Marcus was not sure if Rachel had experienced another’s bite except Seymour’s. With their physical passion spent, Rachel placed her hands to each side of Marcus’s head, leading him to where she wanted his bite, in the warm cavern between her earlobe and jaw line. With great relief, he gave her his bite, his ancient fangs tearing urgently into her flesh, finding the fragile vein. She almost yelled out, but quickly stifled herself. He would not take much from her, only enough to satisfy them both. In seconds, he locked in; not only with her heartbeat, but also with the pleasure centers of her brain, causing the secretion of chemicals that would almost take Rachel out of her body. This caused the euphoric aspects of the bite, and pacified the victims while they were possibly dying. The bite could also cause a strong narcotic effect, and many humans ended up becoming addicts to it. Rachel was no exception.
Rachel and Marcus fell asleep in that big bed.
Marcus, at sunset, awakened when he sensed William Seymour standing over him.
The creature seemed hardly surprised to see Marcus in bed with his wife. His tall frame cast a big shadow in the bedroom. His thick hair and beard were as neat and tailored as his suit. A pocket watch hung from the vest. His dark gray eyes glowed beneath thick brows.
“I thought my spell would keep her better in check,” sighed Seymour, his smooth voice no longer carrying its original British accent.
Marcus remained still underneath the sheets. He did not trust Seymour’s cool exterior, he never did, not even when Seymour was still human and Marcus had met the man in Japan centuries ago.
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