Demon Vampire (The Redgold Series) (27 page)

Del was headed south west towards Charlottesville. One night while he was feeding on livestock in a random field, a young girl of no more than eight years old stumbled upon him. She was in a white linen sun dress tattered with mud. Her head coming to a mere four foot eight. She had dark brown curly hair and light green eyes. Her sun freckled skin gave way to the idea she was the farmer's daughter. She held her arms tight as the brisk night air wisped by. As she slowly understood what he was doing to the cow, tears welled up in her eyes. She was afraid of him. Just as Del knew every animal on the farm he grew up with, this girl did as well. She was frightened and didn’t know what to say. Her feet were covered in the wet dirt from the day's rain. Her knees were trembling. The girl watched as Del turned to face her. His face was coated in blood. Del's hair was matted and clumped together from the many cows he'd fed on. His suit saturated in old, coagulated liquid. Del was a monster to her.

The girl quietly stood, shaking not knowing what action to take next. Del thought about what he was doing. He was taking the life of the same gentle beasts he had once cared for. It was against Del's own nature to do what he needed to. He had to reconsider, he required a plan, a goal for his new life.

The girl stepped back as Del focused on The girl's face. She was young and vibrant. She smelled like molasses, sweet and pure. Del licked his lips. He fought the urge to attack and feed on the helpless child. His body wanted to tear her chest open and devour her heart. To feast on her wet insides and drain the life from her thin, small little body. A sick and twisted thought in Del's mind that he had to fight back. He was silent as he watched the girl breathe.

The child slowly leaned backwards and fell down. She picked herself up and ran in the opposite direction away from Del.

With blood constantly flowing down Del's chin, he swallowed what was left in his mouth. The idea that he would desire the death of a child was alien to him. He had to force himself to not follow the little girl. Her scent trailed in the air, strong, pungent. He decided that he would find a way to succeed at being human, in all his endeavors, at all of his goals. If he was able to resist these urges, Del could rebuild his life. He found that after drinking a large amount of blood, his skin blushed. The color that had faded from his veins returned. The red in his eyes remained, along with the gaunt to his cheeks. It was a matter of over indulgence that returned part of his humanity. He saw it as a small way to regain what he lost. He shuttered to think of the volume of blood he would have to ingest from any other creature. If the blood of a cow was just enough to add a hue of color to his skin, it would take more than three people to attain the same result. Looking down at his hands, he felt the blood spill onto his shoes. He was still a monster and would be seen as one for his actions.

Del spoke out loud to himself. “At least the cows are big, plenty, and bred for butchery with clear intent.” He stood up and peered in the direction of the little girl. He could hear her wet, muddied footsteps echoing in the distance. There was a pulling in his body to chase her. To hunt her. It gnawed at his consciousness. He clenched his fists and turned his back to the soft sounds.

Del wandered in to a diner in the middle of the night. He was in the same blood soaked clothing he had on when he left two months ago. As he approached the restaurant, the people viewed him with disgust. His dirty, rancid suit was torn. He was not presentable. Upon seeing him, some people picked up their things and departed from the store. Others shied away covering their noses from the scent. Del kept his eyes down, hiding his face.

The waitress took one look at Del and sighed. “You can’t eat like that poor thing. Come with me out back, we’ll clean you up darlin'.” The woman was kind to him. Her curly brown hair was somehow familiar to Del. She had the same green eyes as the little girl he recently saw in the dark field. She was an older woman, in her later forties. Standing a short five foot two.

Del thought she smelled like freshly baked cookies.

Charlene led Del out to the back of the diner. She turned on the water hose and filled a bucket of cold water. She threw in a bar of soap. “Now close your eyes darlin'.” Charlene sprayed Del down with the water. “Now take a seat on the bench over there. We'll get you cleaned up.” She took a sponge and dipped it in the soapy bucket. Charlene ran the sponge over Del. She focused on cleaning him more than noticing the watery blood flowing down the back alley drain. Either she didn't care, or she didn't want to know. All that mattered to her was that she was helping a poor beaten down man out. “My names Charlene. What’s yours?”

“It’s Del.” Del’s voice was raspy, deeper than it normally was. Del cleared his throat. “My name is Del.” It sounded better, but there was still a different pitch to it. He tried to compensate for it with little effect. Del wanted to know, he needed to understand. “Why are you-?”

“-Because you looked like you needed a bath hun. I don't know what happened to you, what was done to you. Something just called to me. Telling me that you need help.” Charlene lowered her head as she removed Del's jacket. “Now let’s finish up before my breaks over.” She carefully rinsed Del's matted hair.

Blood ran down the bench Del was sitting on. The mud swirled into a puddle at his feet.

Charlene walked to a small row of thin gray lockers. She reached in one and pulled out a pair of overalls. “Jed won’t miss these, he has enough of 'em.” Charlene tossed Del the clothes. She reached for a towel and gave it to Del. “After you're done getting dressed, sit where you are. I’ll serve you up some late night dinner.”

Charlene left back to the dinner as Del removed his nearly destroyed black suit. Somehow he didn't find any more sentimentality in keeping it as it was. He decided to let it go and move on. Charlene came back to Del with a large plate of country fried steak and a small shot of liquor.

“What's this for?” Del referred to Charlene's hospitality.

Charlene placed the meal down at a picnic table a few feet away from him. “The meal is pity.” She sat the shot of alcohol next to the plate. “The bourbon is mercy.”

Del looked at Charlene with a sad expression. A few minutes before he walked in, he was viewed as a monster. Now this stranger was taking the time to help him. It was the first sign of humanity anyone had recognized in him since the change, including Del.

“Are you going to eat? Or am I going to have to feed this to the dog?” Charlene laughed to herself. “You know my dog Poochy can't handle his bourbon, it makes him piss all over the front of the store. Are you really going to let it come to that?”

“I'll eat, I'll eat.” Del said softly, his voice choked up from the kind gesture.

The meal tasted fine as quickly as he finished it. Though it did not sate his hunger. Inside Del there was still a thirst to be quenched. Not even the alcohol had an effect. It did however taste and smell familiar to him. A thin, light scent of molasses lingered in the shot glass.

“What is this?” Del asked Charlene while he held up the glass.

“Oh, that. I just coat the shot glass with a bit of homemade molasses and let it dry out in the sun. It gives off a sweet taste when the bourbon hits it. It's a family tradition.” Charlene took up Del's dishes.

“Charlene.” Del's voice was still scratchy. “Do you have a daughter?”

Charlene stopped in her tracks and turned back to meet Del's strange eyes. “Yes, do you know her? She a thin little eight year old girl. She's my baby. Did you see her on your way over here? She better not be playin' in that corn field at night again. I've told her better time and time again. That child.”

Del thought about his answer for a second. “Yes, I saw her before I arrived.” Del wanted to be honest.

“She better be back in the bed when I get home. Or that girl's gonna have a whoopin' tonight.” Charlene's face tightened as she walked back to the diner.

Del understood. He had spared the little girl in the field. Then this complete stranger had the grace to help and tend to him. Del felt a sense of right in the world. Charlene was truly nice to him.

At eleven, the diner was finished closing up. Charlene came out and gave Del two dollars. “Here, you could use this.”

“Why are you doing this?” Del didn't feel he had deserved such decency.

“Hun, why shouldn’t I?” Charlene smiled.

A car at the front of the diner honked its horn, signaling her to hurry.

“Well, that's me. I hope that gets you where you're going stranger.” Charlene got into the work carpool that was waiting for her.

Del was touched by her blind sincerity. He decided to change direction. The idea of finding the coastline was appealing. Del had never worked on boats before, but thought he'd be handy with the tools it took to make them. As long as he was able to get work, everything would be fine for a while. Provided Del had an ample supply of cows along the way.

A few weeks later Del found himself at a local dock in the middle of a clear, cloudless night. He was easily able to hear a dispute between a group of five men and a lone sailor. They were fighting about buying the sailor's fishing business. It was obvious the man didn’t want to sell to the group and they were pressuring him. Del crept closer to see what was happening. It was a bright night, despite the lack of a lit moon in the sky above. He could see for miles, far better than he had when he was a young boy. He watched from the shadows as their conversation ensued.

“I told you all to get lost. I’m not selling, ever.” The man was gruff, short, and had a thick brown beard. He was in his later fifties from the appearance of him. He was bald and had a stocky build. He barked at the group. “Now get the hell off my dock!” His worn yellow fisherman's outfit set a stark contrast to the drab mishmash of what the other men were wearing in the oppressing group. Though as tough as the old sailor looked, there was no way he could defend himself against the whole gang.

“That’s not how it works old man.” The taller one in the group of younger men shouted. He advanced on the sailor. “You’re going to sell or else.” He pointed with his index finger.

Each of the men had on a collection of different colored wool sweaters, dark work pants, worn boots, and either brown or black knit caps. They were in all aspects thugs.

The group of men began to encircle and hold down the older man. They were about to beat the answer they wanted out of him.

Del knew this was wrong. His morality forced him to act not knowing what he was going to do exactly. Del set out on a mission to save the sailor's life. He moved in to stop the taller one from slugging the old man. Del hadn’t noticed until then, he was significantly faster. Del's movements were exacting, they had a swiftness to them. He knew there was power to his body that he had never known. He had a strength that was new and unique. The world seemed to slow around him. He arrived in the middle of the group in a flash. Del's speed was bewildering even to him. He struck the tall man in the chest, his fist sunk into the flesh like a pillow, collapsing into the body. The other men around him reacted slowly to Del's sudden burst of aggression. Del’s new body was thinking for him, ahead of him. Two of the five men ran at Del. He pulled his hand from the tall man, striking both of the two attackers in the front of their necks. Their throats sprayed arterial blood across the dock as Del's fingers pierced deep through the skin. The tall man fell to the floor with blood flowing from the gaping wound. The last two of the five men ran off into the distance. Del had surprised himself. His movements were flashes in the night. He had dominated the scene with little effort on his part. He moved to chase after the two running men. Del attacked them from behind, embedding his forearms up to the elbow within the remaining men. The impact caused their chests to explode as they went limp, dead from the sudden trauma. The old sailor watched as Del slaughtered these men in front of his eyes. Within twenty seconds, all five men were dead. The fisherman stood as Del walked back to him, his arms saturated in blood.

The sailor spoke up. His voice gruff and tattered. “I don’t know what the hell you are boy, but you just saved my ass.” The fisherman hacked up a wade of spit onto one of the dead men. “Rot in hell, ‘ya bastard.” There was a gleam in the old man's blue eyes. He was blatantly happy these men were dead. He was happy Del had come along when he did.

Del felt uneasy, he wasn’t sure what the man would do next. He had no intention of killing the man for food. In the same thought, he did commit a graven crime while this man witnessed. Del asked the sailor a straight question. “You aren’t going to tell anyone about this are you?”

“Are you kidding?” The sailor kicked the tall man in the chest. Blood splattered onto his boot. “They were ‘gonna kill me, those bastards. You did me a favor.” He spit on another one of the corpses laying on the ground.

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” Del was being cautious, feeling out the sailor for what kind of man he was.

“Boy, if you wanted to kill me, I’d be dead. I’m not dead, so that means you’re hired.” The man extended his right hand out to Del.

“Hired for what?” Del needed a job, he still wanted to finish school and become a lawyer. However he realized that being a monster that drains the blood from living creatures caused a hindrance to that objective.

“The name’s Bill Saunders, what’s yer’s stranger?” The sailor introduced himself. The arm of acceptance fully outstretched to Del.

Del shook Bill’s hand delicately, trying not to smear too much blood on him. “It’s Del Marin.”