Vampire - Chapter 1

Special Vampiric Services

Chapter 1: Death of Mark Squires

Mark peered through the thick smoke while dodging in-between patrons of the Spencer’s Arms. It hadn’t taken him long to navigate a circuitous route through the room and come to the conclusion his friend Luke had yet to arrive. He spotted a vacant table near the entrance and carefully placed his jacket over the backrest before taking a seat.
On the table before him was a discarded newspaper. Plastered in large font across the front page was: “London Mayor says – The streets are no longer safe.” Intrigued by the cover story and feeling self-conscious sitting alone; he picked up the paper to browse. As the minutes passed, his expression became more and more sour: bodies drained of blood, mutilations, disappearances and spontaneous combustion sightings. He folded the paper and wondered if perhaps he should have selected another meeting place, farther from Charring Cross.
He checked his watch. It was almost six thirty and Luke was still nowhere to be seen. Every now and then the door would open and more young people would pile into the pub. Mark reached into a deep pocket and retrieved his cellular phone. His face screwed up in despair as he looked upon the blank screen. He quickly switched it on and immediately a text message appeared. Mark’s hopes for tonight’s meeting began to slowly fade away. He opened the first text.
‘luke phone said u out.’ The halfhearted message was from his wife, Beth. He stared expressionlessly at it and could almost imagine her miserable tone of voice.
_What the hell is going on with my life? _ He wondered. The abrupt message reminded him of why he was here and the point of tonight’s meeting. He remembered the good times they had shared together. The first few dates had been romantic and the wedding that followed shortly after was quiet and picturesque. The bickering began even before the end of their honeymoon; she appeared to find being pleasant towards him was unbearable. He shook his head and scrolled down to the second and final message. It was from Luke.
‘Hi Mark. Sorry but I have to cancel tonight. I tried phoning your home but Beth told me you had already left. I hope you get this message before you leave Hastings. Call me tomorrow okay? Sorry again buddy. Take it easy. Luke. Mark dropped the phone on top of the table and lowered his head into his hands. For several minutes, he sat there unmoving. He looked intently at his phone and considered phoning his friend but it was pointless. If Luke had had time for a chat, he wouldn’t have cancelled.
_Maybe it was meant to be this way_ He thought. He will have to sort his own problems out and not rely on other people all the time. The smoke and clamor in the room had intensified since he had arrived but he was determined to make the most of what remained of the evening. Mark ordered himself a drink and headed back to his table. Before taking his seat, he downed it in one gulp. His next one was a double.
For the next three hours he sat alone trying to work out where his marriage became so messed up and what he could do to save it. The barmaid who had served him half the night came over to collect his considerable array of empty glasses. He smiled at what he thought was the correct woman of the two he saw before him. She frowned and gathered the glasses more hastily. Her reaction didn’t surprise him as he was used to women treating him that way. The only woman who had ever treated him lovingly was his wife, before they were married.
_What is it about me that was so off putting to the fairer sex? _ He thought. _ Okay I’m a little chunky, but that makes me cuddly like a big bear. Women like teddy bears right? And my hair is on the retreat but isn’t that a sign of being distinguished? _ He ran an over-sized hand through his black, greasy hair and adjusted his spectacles.
"I'm only twenty-five!" he said, his voice slurred. He moved to hand her a glass, but instead knocked it off the table to shatter and send glass fragments in all directions.
"Huh?" she said, “What did you say?”
He didn’t reply; just stared up at her through half closed eyes, with drool on his chin. She turned and hurried away mumbling, the glasses on her tray clinking loudly. He watched her depart and then looked around to see if anyone had noticed the exchange.
The room was by now virtually deserted, just himself, the bar staff, and two guys sitting in the corner. The two men quickly averted their eyes when he looked over. Too drunk to care, he staggered unsteadily to his feet. He stuffed his hand into his pocket and threw a few coins, chewing gum papers and his door keys onto the onto the table. Finally, after two-failed attempts at the armhole he managed to shrug on his jacket.
"Good evening ladies of the night." He said in the general direction of the bar, while giggling to himself and then stumbled out into the cold night. The crisp evening air felt good but a wave of wooziness washed over him and the ground seemed to move and sway. He leaned heavily against a wall while resisting the urge to fall down where he stood and slip into blissful oblivion. After a few minutes and curious glances, he turned and headed slowly towards the station. He squared his shoulders and focused his attention on his feet, keeping them moving forward one step at a time. Mark tried to concentrate on his sorrows again but the noise was too distracting. A narrow alleyway leading away from the main street was just ahead. Against his better judgment, he walked into the quiet dark and away from the crowds.
Mark knew he was just thinking the same thing over and over and had to make a choice. Either work on the marriage or end it. He stopped walking for a moment and leaned against a wall. This was perhaps the most significant decision of his life.
_I’m going to save my marriage. _ He thought and then smiled at the possibilities. “What ever it takes, it’s worth saving,” he said. His voice seemed to shatter the stillness. He glanced back towards the stree
Back in the direction he had been walking was a dimly illuminated intersecting road. He walked rapidly towards it. The urge to break into a run threatened to overwhelm him.
_I’m not going to run. _ He thought. _I have nothing to worry about. _
Footsteps sounded behind him.
He looked back.
Nothing, it was only his imagination. He exited the alley, while looking over one shoulder and stumbled on the curb. He struggled for balance but his drunken body wouldn’t respond and he landed painfully in a heap. With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet and moved to the side of the small alley and listened. Absolute silence, not even a car could be heard.
After a few long moments, the feeling of imminent danger passed and he examined his surroundings. What he had originally thought was a road, was in fact no more than back alley, with garages and piles of rubbish lining both sides. Most of the lamps that disappeared into the distance no longer worked, while the few that did flickered as if they might burn out at any moment. Footsteps echoed again, this time much closer. Mark backed slowly away from the darkened alleyway and reached into his jacket. The heavy booted feet grew closer. Anxiously, he patted each pocket for his mobile phone. He knew it wasn’t his imagination. Two men emerged from the alleyway and then stopped, just a few feet away.
"What do you guys want?" Mark said.
There was something about them that seemed a bit sinister and uncannily familiar. He examined them more closely. They both wore combat trousers, Doc Martin boots, and heavy black jackets with woolen hats.
"Straight to the point. Aye, I like that.” The larger of the two said in a thick North England accent, “You can start by giving us your wallet pal." He smiled broadly showing a collection of gold caps and stained teeth.
Mark eyes darted nervously from one man to the other. He glanced over his shoulder at the long dark street and whimpered.
The skinny one laughed, "You’re kidding right? Look at you, a huge pile of blubber! You would never make it." His voice was high-pitched and squeaky.
"I don’t want any trouble guys. When I give it too you, Lets go our separate ways. Okay?" Mark asked. The men stared threateningly, unblinking. "Just take it. It’s all I have.” He removed his wallet and tossed it to the larger man.
“Now can I go home to my wife?"
The thug opened it up and rifled through the contents.
"What are you doing?" Mark asked, desperation in his voice.
"Shut it!" The smaller man said.
Mark remembered why they had seemed familiar. They had been in the Spencer’s Arms, the same two that had stayed till closing. The large man opened his jacket and withdrew a huge bowie knife.
"No, wait. Don’t..." Mark said, backing up a step, "What do you want with me?" He backed into a garage door. “I gave you my…” The man surged forward suddenly, his big dirty hand covered Mark’s mouth and pushed his head hard against the doors, shaking them loudly. The tearing agony in his belly an instant later could mean only one thing; he had been stabbed. The man pulled out the blade, and then cut him again. He lowered his face to look Mark in the eyes, "Nothing personal. Just business." His voice was a mere whisper. Mark’s felt his eyes well up with tears. The thug tore out the blade and Mark felt like his guts had been ripped out. The hand came away from Mark’s mouth and grabbed him by the front of his jacket. He was spun around and before he could even lift his hands in defense, the hilt of the heavy blade smashed into his face. An explosion of pain went off in his head as lurched backwards then tumbled face down into a pile of rubbish cans and bags.
"That was easy." Mark heard the skinny guy say, as his vision faded.
"Yeah," the deep voiced larger man said. "Easy money.”
Then darkness came, from which Mark never expected to wake.
****
The stinging pain in his cheek passed but the burning pain in his stomach and thumping in his head did not. Again came the pain in his cheek, he groaned and tried to open his eyes. They wouldn’t respond, as both were swollen shut.
“Are you awake?” Someone asked. The voice seemed faint and distant. Mark tried to find some focus to his jumbled thoughts. “I’m getting tired of slapping you. Can you hear me?” The man asked.
“Yes.” Mark said, his voice barely a murmur.
“Good.” The man replied. Mark finally managed to discern that the speaker wasn’t one of the two that had attacked him but his laid-back attitude and stinging in his cheeks did nothing to quell his fears.
“You’re a hard man to find Mark. You know that?” The man said, his voice cheery. “I spend all this time and energy looking for you and what happens? You get yourself beaten half to death.”
Mark tried again to open his eyes and finally one did open slightly. A hazy street lamp came into view and a silhouette of a man leaned over him, his face was clouded in shadows.
“Welcome back.” The man said. “You are lucky I was here to save your worthless life.”
Mark opened his mouth to speak, but faintness rolled over him and kept him silent.
“You’re about to head in a whole new direction my friend.” He said, “It begins with your death.”
The words hardly registered in Marks scrambled mind. Gradually he became aware of an increasing pain in his neck and the growing coldness throughout his body. With no strength left, his will to live faded with the light in his eyes.
****
The room was a shell of its former self. The wallpaper covering the walls was grey and dusty. Many holes dotted the carpet; it was impossible to make out its original color. Nothing remained in the room, except for a solitary chair and an old casket in the corner.
Lord Skavlin lifted a pale boney hand to smooth his matted mane then drummed long fingers anxiously on the cracked wooden armrest. The chamber’s only door opened and a white-skinned bald-headed creature entered cautiously. It glanced about the gloomy room and its huge white eyes narrowed as it looked upon the master. Compelled to do so, it crept stiffly towards him.
"Is it complete?" Lord Skavlin asked in an even tone.
"Yes," the creature hissed, "Lord Jinsilver spies have seen the sewer entrance, as you requested.”
"_Demanded! _" Lord Skavlin roared, leaning forward in his chair. "I demand and you obey.”
The creature hissed defiantly, its lip curled revealing filthy shark-like teeth.
“Kneel foolish Leuglan!” Lord Skavlin roared, “Who is your master?"
The creature fell to its knees. "Lord Skavlin!" The words were torn from his mouth. Lord Skavlin clenched his fist, concentrating on the feeble mind of the vampire before him. The creature grabbed at his head and howled in agony. The ancient vampire rose from his chair and quicker than the creature could react landed a solid backhand strike. Only a solid wall a dozen feet away stopped its flight.
"Learn your place." Lord Skavlin threatened, his black eyes promising endless hours of torture. The creature lay in a crumpled heap and didn’t move. A loud knock followed by a door creaking open interrupted any further punishment.
“Ragzor.” Lord Skavlin said, calming once more. “Come in.”
"Master." Ragzor said in a horrid rasping voice. He bowed briefly and glanced towards unmoving form of propped up against the wall. "Huh?" He said.
"Minor inconvenience." Lord Skavlin replied. He returned to his old chair, "I have been weakened by unacceptable losses.”
“Vampires. Dead?”
Lord Skavlin nodded and beckoned Ragzor to come closer.
“Who …” Ragzor paused for a moment and then continued, “Did it?”
Lord Skavlin sighed. Ragzor’s lack of reasoning and limited use of speech was a constant frustration. But he couldn’t deny the Leuglan’s ability to provide a constant source of newly sired vampires and almost as importantly, his savage fighting prowess.
Ignoring Ragzor’s question he said. “We are at a critical stage. I suspect the outcome of this encounter will decide who shall rule over London. You must be prepared for when Lord Jinsilver’s assassins strike. ”
Ragzor nodded eagerly.
"The hour is late. Prepare for an attack as early as tomorrow night." Lord Skavlin said, his menacing smile, revealing two enlarged canines. "Fortune has smiled upon Lord Jinsilver for too long, but a new player is about to enter the game."
"Darksun!" Ragzor said with disgust. "Me not trust."
“Neither do I, at least not completely. I would be a fool to trust someone who murders his own kind but I can not deny, but I cannot deny what he can offer.” Lord Skavlin said, staring into the darkness. “His weapons mastery is unsurpassed. Even Lord Jinsilver’s assassins will be out matched by him.”
By the far wall, the stunned Leuglan struggled to its feet. Lord Skavlin eyed it with open hatred and then looked to Ragzor. “Destroy it.” He said.
Ragzor snarled and launched himself at the smaller Leuglan. The creatures claws deflected harmlessly off Ragzor’s bone plated arms then fell back grasping its own torn throat. Ragzor moved as a blur, black blood splattered the walls and floor. He hacked away with deadly sharp claws long after the creature had stopped moving, finally turning and facing Lord Skavlin once more. His lower jaw extended to impossible limits and shark like teeth dripped a mixture of black blood and drool. Lord Skavlin nodded and waved the Leuglan leader away. It was time to prepare for the coming battle.
****

The pain he was feeling meant only one thing; he was still alive. He tried to move his hand to examine his face but found it securely tied. With extreme effort, he forced open the lesser of his battered eyes and looked towards his wrist. A heavy clasp held his hand in place. Attempts to move his other arm and legs met with similar failure. He tugged hard against the shackles, growling at the pain as the metal cut into his skin. It was hopeless. He grimaced as he lifted his head and concentrated on his surroundings instead. A spot light shown down on him and created a circle of light around him, while leaving the rest of the area in darkness. He resumed pulling at the restraints, trying to focus his pain and anger into breaking free.
Beyond the ache, a new sensation grew within him. It felt like he was hungry and yet, he had never hunger pangs so severe.
“Mark Squires.” A voice said, from beyond the light around of him.
“Who are you people?” Mark shouted back at the voice. “What the hell am I doing here?”
“I am occult agent Johnson with the Special Paranormal Services, Nocturnal division.” The voice replied.
“What you want with me?”
“I will get straight to the point Mark. It is up to you whether you believe me or not.” Agent Johnson said. “Last night you were bitten by a vampire and you died.”
“Bullshit! Let me the hell out of this chair. I need a doctor.”
“Sorry, I can’t permit that.”
“Why?” Mark asked, his voice cracking under the strain.
“Because you are a vampire.”
Vampire? Mark thought. He remembered the man from last night. The man had said something to him, something about a new life and having to die. He had bitten him as well. He remembered it clearly, but this can’t be true. On impulse, he ran his tongue around his mouth and gasped as it rolled over an extended canine tooth.
“Look, I am not without compassion and I know you didn’t want this to happen. If you have any last wishes then let me know and I will do my best to carry them out for you.”
“Last wishes?” Mark said, his voice rising. “What are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Agent Johnson replied, “Let’s just get this over with, I have lunch in half an hour. Turn on the lamps and dust it!”
“Wait!” Mark shouted. A click sounded and then the room was filled with light equal to a midsummer’s day. He screamed in horror, convinced that he was about to die. The lights bore down on him as he tried futilely to curl into a ball. His mind flashed through scenes from every cheesy vampire movie he had ever seen and envisioned his own gruesome death of turning to ashes. The burning agony never came, only a warm glow that seemed to ease his pain and calm his fears.
“What is this?” Mark shouted at the large mirror on the wall in front of him. He suspected people looked at him from the other side. “Why are you treating me like this?” His eyes reddened with tears and he cried openly and without shame. He heard a door open behind him and strained to turn in his chair. Much to his surprise, he found he could see a bit clearer in his good eye and the other also seemed to have opened a little. A figure walked around the chair and stopped to stand before him. The person came slowly into focus. It was a woman, a beautiful blonde woman dressed all in black with strange red writing across her chest and wrists. It took him a moment to realize he was staring at her painfully snug fitting costume. He turned away embarrassed and apologized.
She waved her hand nonchalantly and said. “My name is Asha and we have much to discuss.” She moved closer to him and reached out slowly towards his face with one hand. Mark flinched and tried to move away.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” She said. Mark believed her. She gently tilted his head to one side and examined his neck closely.
“What is it?” Mark asked, unable to stand the suspense.
“The bite on your neck. It’s healing.”
“What does that mean?” Mark asked.
Asha released her hand and backed up a step. She seemed to hesitate as if trying to find the right words. “It means you’re a Teramort.”
Mark faced screwed up in confusion.
“Your one of us Mark. A Teramort vampire, a sun feeder.” She said, pointing to the lamps.
Mark looked up and studied her expression. “That’s ridiculous. You people are crazy.” He said, he tugged hard at the shackles. “Let me out of these.”
Asha moved to the side. “Look.” She pointed. Mark turned and looked ahead into a mirror. In the reflection, a solitary chair exactly the same as the one he sat in. He turned back to her with a knowing smile on his face. The door behind opened them and he heard heavy footsteps approaching. He glanced back towards the mirror and gasped at the image of a man in a grey suit walking towards the chair. Mark shook his head in denial and watched in disbelief as the man in the mirror and the footsteps grew closer. Just before reaching the chair, the man stopped and so did the footsteps. Mark stared, unwilling to blink. He hoped this was all some cruel trick. The man smiled and lifted a hand, then slapped it down on Mark’s shoulder.
“Shit!” Mark’s body jumped in shock at the sudden contact.
"Have I made a believer out of you?" The man said. He walked round to stand before Mark. "We aren't going to get any trouble from you are we?" He asked. The sparkle in his eye hinted that trouble wouldn't be such a bad thing.
"No," Mark replied
Asha pulled a lever on the side of the chair, which unlocked the shackles. Mark rubbed his wrists while looking from Asha to Agent Johnson.
Eventually he spoke. "Vampires don't exist." He said with as much conviction as he could muster.
Asha sighed and the agent said. “Do we have to go through this again?"
"Okay, say they do exist. What’s going to happen me now? I mean just five minutes ago you told me I couldn't leave and even tried to kill me."
"I shall discuss the matter with agent Johnson privately. I will try my best to for you, but please understand that undead have fewer rights than humans."
They both left Mark sitting alone in the lamps, while he considered whether they were telling the truth or just crazy. Either way, the hunger pains he felt were becoming less intense and he seemed to be able to see more clearly by the minute.
****
Asha closed the solid oak door while agent Johnson made himself comfortable at the large circular table.
"So, which of your group do you think crossed the line?" He asked. Asha turned and saw his smug expression. She knew the human had no love of the supernatural and enjoyed finding ways to torment them.
"What makes you believe it was one of mine that committed this crime?" She replied while seating herself in the chair facing him.
"Come now Asha. How many of your clan wanders the streets?" He raised an eyebrow.
Asha hated his reasoning, he was well aware that Teramort numbers were low and by all accounts her group was the only of it's kind in the whole of England.
"There is another who could have done this." She said. "Though this isn't really his style."
"You’re talking about Darksun I presume?"
Asha nodded then said. "You said our victims name is Mark Squires. What else do you know about him?"
"I know he is Mr. average; married with no children. They have a house in Hastings and his parents are just down the road."
"What profession is he?" She asked.
"Nothing special really. A sales assistant at a local shoe shop."
Asha leaned back and sighed loudly. "This can't be an accident. The only way to sire a Teramort is to bite him and then mix your blood with his at the moment of death."
"Lovely." Agent Johnson said. He slapped a hand down onto the dark wooden table. "The facts are. We have a new Teramort. A possible unknown attacker though Darksun is suspected with an as yet, undetermined motive. The question is; what do we do with him?"
After a long pause, she said. "I will take him in. I don't want to but we can at least keep an eye on him." A puzzled expression clouded her face. "Where did you find the body?"
“Lying in the middle of the street, not to far from charring cross. Why?"
"No reason." She lied. Darksun knows our procedures on suspected vampire corpses, she thought. They are brought to the Teramort mansion to monitor for twenty-four hours. If the victim didn't rise within that time then the body would be handed over to the family. If it did, then it was destroyed. Darksun must have wanted Mark’s body to be found quickly, before he rose from the dead. She shook her head, it was impossible to correctly guess Darksun motives or even if he was responsible.
"Leave him here with me." She said
"Okay, if you’re sure." Agent Johnson replied. He stood and smiled. "I want regular updates, you understand."
"Of course."
Agent Johnson left the room without another word leaving Asha to her plans for the new family member.
*** End of chapter 1 ***