Demon Vampire (The Redgold Series) (29 page)

Ten more years passed, it was now 1969. Del was supposed to be in his mid fifties, though he forever remained a twenty five year old. The Spaniards there thought he was a young looking thirty five year old. It was becoming a creeping problem, so Del thought of another location in which to hide from the very law firm that had employed him for the last twenty three years. He was going to move again and try out Russia. He lived with communism in Cuba and thought it might be somehow similar, but with a different accent that he didn’t understand. Unfortunately, Del's plans were interrupted.

One night, a man from Del's past came to Spain knocking on his office door. The scent of cologne and after shave was strong in the air. Del knew the man knocking.

“Is Del Marin here?” A man in his late forties called out from behind Del’s closed door. “It's Ed Fisher.”

“Coming.” Del said calmly.

Del’s speed had increased steadily over his years of drinking blood. He was sitting at his desk when he spoke. By the time Del had closed his mouth he was standing and looking through the peep hole at this older man. Del opened the door. The cocky man with short blond hair and brown eyes appeared to be highly impatient. He was five foot ten, slightly overweight, and breathing heavily. Ed had changed.

“Where’s Del Marin? I have a letter for him.” Ed was dressed in a nice, tailored tan suit. Del had no idea who this man was, but he did look familiar.

Del spoke without accessing the full situation, a mistake that he would later regret. “I’m Del Marin.” Del had not changed his style of suit for the last three decades. It was black and white with a red tie nearly identical to the one he received from Mr. McHugh.

“You’re him?” A look of sudden confusion overcame Ed. “You are him, aren’t you?” The man surveyed Del up, then down. “You’re Del Marin, our overseas tax lawyer.”

Del was silent. He slowly walked back over to his desk and sat down.

“You are the same young spitball lawyer that I met in 1946.” Ed asked Del.

Del remained quiet.

“You haven’t aged, not one day. Our records say you’re fifty five. Yet here you are in the same suit as the day you started.” Ed was getting angry.

Del did not shiver. He never shivered. He was trembling with unease.

“What the hell are you?” Ed was beginning to shout.

Del understood exactly who Ed was. The same cocky lawyer that offered him the position at the law firm. The man that was nearly ten years younger than him was an old man before him. It was a mirror into what Del had actually become. The blood was preserving him, sustaining him in a way that was highly unnatural. This prick of a man that was before him knew Del's secret. In a sudden rush of emotions, Del over reacted. An anger swelled in his body and provoked pride. Del drove his entire right forearm through the man in the tan suit, pinning the rest of his body to the far door. Del’s hand pierced clean through to the other side. There was no blood, yet. Del had struck the man with such power that the pressure of his arm against the door behind it prevented the wound from bleeding. The man was still breathing, for now. Del's fangs poked out from behind his lips as he watched the man's chest fall and rise.

“What are you? A vampire? What kind of freak are you Del?” Ed was getting weak, slumping into unconsciousness. His brown eyes wondering why Del would do such a thing and why he had to die in such a way.

Del stood unknowing. “Am I a vampire?” He was seriously asking. After all these years he never posed the question to himself.

“Your age, strength, fangs.” Blood began to trickle out the left side of Ed's mouth. “All you need is a cape.” He smiled, his face slumping down. He was dead. Ed was a nameless rival from a long forgotten time. He was there to deliver a Christmas bonus in person to an overseas attorney. Ironically he was murdered by the hand of whom he was suppose to shake.

Del hung his head low. Blood poured on to the ground, and saturated the brown carpet Del had once picked out. With the death of this nameless man, he knew there was no longer a place for him in Spain. Del removed his hand letting the body thud to the floor. His head landed on the side of one of the many filling cabinets in the room. Del slowly picked up the letter, his bloody fingers stained it with every movement. He took the time to read it. After he was done, Del struck a match normally used for the lantern at his desk. Instead of burning the letter, he let the match fall, setting a small and climbing blaze to the cramped office room.

Del nonchalantly walked outside to the front of the tiny building. He came up to one of the mid-sized trees in the area and placed his arms around it. Del lifted the two foot trunk with ease. The tree was torn from its roots with no more than a smile on Del’s part. This was a testament to the strength he had accumulated. He laid one end of the tree down, repositioning it over his left shoulder. He walked the short distance to the office building and drove the tree through the side wall where he had placed the now dead body of his former co-worker. Del surmised that the Spanish government and the American investigators would conclude Del burned to ashes in the fire. And that at some point a tree fell on the entire building and concluded the unfortunate accident. As for the circumstances, to pick up a tree and thrust it through a building was insane. No one would dare postulate that something even close to that was possible.

Del would be able to fake his death and walk away to Russia and into a new life. He knew he made a grave mistake killing the lawyer. He would have to return to a life of scavenging again. Somehow the knowledge sat well. Deep down, Del knew it was his fault. If he had prepared and analyzed the situation more, this man would have returned to his family, and he would still have a job. Del blamed himself and searched for the nearest abandoned building at the east edge of town. The next night he was headed for Russia.

Del was in eastern Spain now. His trip from Madrid was quick on foot. He moved at night and killed any Spanish highwaymen that unwittingly attempted to prey upon him. Del was tired and needed to rest. The time spent traveling hadn't been kind to him. Del's hair was matted and his suit was coated with layers of old, dried, dead blood. There was a distinct smell coming off of him that resembled death. Del's eyes still shined a blood red, demonizing his appearance even further.

Del came across a single hut in the middle of a large open pasture. Inside was a young woman making stew. The smell pervaded the air, reminding Del of how wonderful a home cooked meal was to a warm throat. She was humming something that he couldn't quite make out. Del came closer and sat next to the wall of the hut in order to listen. The rickety wood shook as a gust of wind blew by. The woman stopped for a moment and then continued. She was singing an English nursery rhyme.

“Mary had a little lamb. Its fleece was white was snow.” She was singing it to a different tune than Del had heard it as a child. It wasn't the same song sung by the women and babies that used to frequent the town he grew up in.

Del peeked through a knothole in one of the shutters. The hut was more of a shack than a place of dwelling. Inside was a young, vivacious woman dressed in peasant's farm clothing. She had white linen wrapped in cowhide leather around her waist, wrists, and ankles. She appeared to be vigorously stirring the stew over the fire. Her chest rocking to the soft motion of her arms spinning in a set circle. Her long untamed black hair flowed down over her left shoulder, accenting her partially open top. Beads of sweat poured down her skin. Del wondered what she was doing in such a place all by herself.

“Mary had a little lamb, Mary had a little lamb, Mary had a little lamb.” She was singing the same line over and over again and was beginning to sadden. The voice that was once bright and chipper was now lowering. She was lamenting something. As she stirred the pot, her pace was slowing. Something was upsetting her. Del felt something was wrong.

Del approached the only door to the hut. He called out to the woman inside. “Hello?”

Del heard the ladle the woman was stirring with drop to the floor. Scurrying sounds echoed from the hut and into the distant field. Suddenly and without warning, the door flung open. The beautiful young woman with very long wisping black hair and Spanish skin stood tall and confident. She stared into his eyes for a moment. Del got one good look at her while he transfixed his eyes to hers. She had bright green eyes that tore into his heart. This was a woman that was expecting someone, a traveler that was not Del. They were truly awing eyes that kept Del's attention. He didn't even feel the shot. The long double barrel gun that impacted his chest didn't so much as phase Del from staring at this young woman's green eyes. Del hadn’t fed in more than a day and was already feeling weakened at the time he approached the door. He didn’t flinch as the deer slug entered his right chest and slammed through his upper ribs, collapsing his lung. The trauma was too quick, too surprising for him to react. The bullet exited his back and ripped open the back of his black suit. Blood cascaded down Del's chest and back. It was the first time he had ever been shot. The pain was surprisingly numbing. It was more of an ache followed by a moment of light-headedness. Del blacked out. His eyes shut with the sight of the woman's green eyes.

The woman realized the look on Del's face was not malicious as he fell. Del honestly meant her no harm. When she heard him at the door, she acted on impulse. Firing at Del with fear rather than any reason or justification. As Del lay on his back, bleeding the woman had an overwhelming sense of guilt hit her. Del’s weight had decreased over the years due to a diminished diet and a lack of livestock in Del's area. He had slimmed down to a light one hundred and sixty pounds. The woman dragged Del inside. A streak of blood trailed in the dirt behind him. She put a fire poker into the burning kindle for the stew and took out her sewing kit from the corner of the room.

A draft blew the door closed. The fire in the middle of the room lit only the lower half of the dwelling. There were multiple furs that lined the old walls of the hut. They provided surprising insulation to the little structure. Cast iron cookware hung over the flickering fire, above the bubbling potato and meat stew. A row of salted meat rested in the corner of the room, lined up against a stockpile of dried goods. The woman was very well entrenched considering the remoteness of the hut itself.

“If you survive this, you better have not been sent by Silveretta. If this has anything to do with my land, I’ll kill you again before you have a chance to run back.” The woman's voice was soft, but her words were strict. She drew a long string from the sewing kit and began to thread it into the large leather needle. She pulled Del up onto her left knee while she sat down, examining his chest. “By the way, I’m Maria. If you were sent by him, you already know my last name, but here’s to hoping you weren't.” Del's blood was soaking her dress. “For what it's worth, I’m sorry I shot you.”

Maria took the time and effort to stitch Del's wound shut. The bullet had passed through so there was nothing to dig out. She bandaged Del up and laid him on her small cot to rest. Del lay there in bandages for a day. Maria had closed the window shutters and sealed the door up tight. It had been cold and she didn't want him to freeze. He was unconscious until the next nightfall. Maria had treated him, cleaned his wound, and cared for him despite initially wanting to murder him at first sight.

A few hours after dusk, Del woke up. Maria was stunned to see him sit up on his own so shortly after taking such an injury. Del was pale, far lighter than he was the day before. His fangs had drawn themselves out. Del's eyes were bloodshot with dark red pupils that stared at Maria with a question. Del had no idea why Maria wanted to kill him. For the moment Del was thirsty and hungry for the primal need of blood his body had developed. He didn't care why she was helping him, only that she no longer wanted to end his life. Del just wanted nourishment. He set his sights on Maria. There was an urge consuming him. Del's body was sinewy and taught. He was the epitome of terror as he stood and stared at Maria. It was a fear that was felt to the core of her soul. She watched as Del closed in on her, knocked her to the floor, and pinned her arms above her on the ground. Del was about to sink his fangs deep into Maria's throat. Until she said something that Del couldn't ignore.

“The pain of fear, the ache of mortality. My life is a meal, a quick snack to be eaten by your eternal desire for more. Am I so insignificant that you would kill me without another thought?” Maria's words were crafty and full of eloquence.

Del didn't know what to think. He let up off of Maria, allowing her to climb to her feet.

Maria carefully backed away from Del. She misplaced her left foot and fell back towards the fire that was cooking the stew she had spent all day tending to.

Del caught Maria in his arms, saving her in mid air.

Maria stared at Del with displeasure. “You protect me from the fall when you already know you’re going to devour my soul?” Maria’s face shed its fright and adopted a position of curiosity. “What ferocious vampire spares injury that leads to an easy murder?”

Maria’s words rang loud in Del’s heart and mind. She was much smarter than he had let himself believe. She spoke clear English and was well educated. Del set Maria on the left side of the bed and hung his head in shame. Del had nearly slaughtered an innocent woman in a rage that was not his own. His craving for blood had gone unchecked for too long. He wanted to gain control again. Del wanted his humanity intact if he was going to continue living. Del held his head while his fingers shielded his face too long to describe. He let the water flow from the dry vessel that was his body. This was not who he wished himself to be. Del wanted to find a path that could remove him from his present course. He prayed for absolution.