When they’d disbanded and gone about their daily work, Jennifer couldn’t
stop thinking
. Am I not only naïve but a prude as well?
And that self-righteous voice was back again. She didn’t like it and muttered, “Shut the hell up.”
Chapter 2
Dorian Taylor stood at the wall of windows on the very top floor of the high-rise building which housed his business in downtown Miami. His hand clasped behind his back, he gazed out at the panoramic view set before him, marveling as always at the twilight of a Miami night to come. The air was heavy with the ceaseless humidity of the city and the lightning zigzagged in a brilliant bluish, white hue through the sky heading toward the ground.
He was in a contemplative mood tonight
. He thought back over the last six years, which had been good ones, he couldn’t deny it, and yet he yearned for something more. What that something was he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he could feel it. His heart was empty. He didn’t know if the hollowness filled his soul as well because he was unsure if he possessed one. Perhaps he had once, when he’d been a young human male of 24. Being what he was and had been for the past ninety-seven years, he hoped he didn’t have one because if he ever died, he’d certainly go to hell.
It was
almost time for the evening meeting of e.Vampire.com, the company he and his partner, Malachi Van Ness had founded six years ago in the perfect city, Miami where death was as common place as the palm trees and ocean breezes. So many mortals came here to spend the last years of their lives that death was to be expected.
And then of course, there were plenty of criminals, gangs who fought over drugs and territory, and the whores peddling their wares, dazzling with their glitzy
, albeit cheap clothes and tanned bodies.
The stench of swea
t
,
violence and blood hid behind the expensive cars and elaborate mansions, the swaying palms and aqua colored ocean waters.
The seedy part of Miami was a place
the tourists and the very wealthy never saw, unless of course they went looking for it. If you looked hard enough for decadence and debauchery, hell, if you looked just a
little
it certainly wouldn’t be hard to come by here.
And this city is where he and Malachi had decided to create the perfect
side business to accommodate such needs and wants. Here is where e.Vampire.com was born. However, their offices were not located in the seedy areas, far from it.
e.Vampire.com sat high in the sky in an all glass and steel building right in downtown Miami.
Although it was housed in the same building, it was completely separate from their real business, Taylor and Van Ness, the huge software company he and Malachi had built. The company was worth billions. Granted, Malachi had provided the start-up funds, but it was Dorian’s amazing talent as a computer software designer which made the company so successful.
Over the last
six years, Dorian came to realize this was one of the most dangerous places he’d ever lived in. And that was saying a lot.
As a child, he’d lived in the English countryside in a large cottage, complete with a magnificent English garden. His father, Robert Taylor wasn’t a rich man, but they lived well enough, until the bitter times came
during that one horrible winter when everything changed forever.
Still they were better off than the poor souls who resided in White Chapel. A place Dorian had visited on the few occasions his father had business there. Although, business wasn’t exactly the right word for what his father did there.
His father went there solely to have sex with prostitutes
and had tried to buy Dorian a whore for his eighteenth birthday. Dorian refused the gift the first time and every time he asked thereafter. After a while, his father stopped asking.
During those visits, he’d sat alone on the stoops of the run-down brothels with their broken windows and chipped wooden frames, listening to the moans of the women and the grunts of the men who
bed them. He remembered how difficult it was to breathe there. The air was so heavy with soot from the endless fireplaces where coal burned and chimneys churned gray smoke into the air.
The country air was so much fresher. Each time they returned home, his father would put
a finger to his mouth and tell him “Not a word, Dorian. This is our secret. Your mother and sister must never know.”
Dorian
would nod and say nothing. He found it difficult to face his mother after those visits, and prayed she wouldn’t see the blush of his cheek which proclaimed his shame at his father’s sordid past-times.
Genevieve
, his mother was once a very beautiful young, French girl. Now, she was a mere shadow of her former self. She was dying slowly but surely of consumption and he felt the familiar pang of fury at his father for tossing her aside now that her looks were fading and she was ill.
He should be caring for her
, Dorian would think
.
Apparently, his father didn’t agree. The man avoided contact with his wife as much as possible.
Her face lit up when
ever Dorian entered her room. “Ah, my son! Come sit beside me.”
The room was always chilly and the fire in need of stoking.
“First, let me tend to the fire.” He’d build her a roaring blaze and sit with her for hours, listening to the tales of her youth. How many a man had courted her but only his father had won her heart, much to her family’s dismay. They didn’t trust the man who’d taken their precious daughter out of Paris and into the English countryside. Her parents had since passed away and she had no siblings. All she had left was a home that was giving way to age and lack of care, an absent husband and no money to speak of.
Dorian knew full well, his family was near penniless.
She had her children, whom she cherished. His sister Naomi a wide eyed, innocent sixteen year old girl and him.
He’d been given his name based on one of his mother’s most treasured books, a first edition copy of
The Picture of Dorian
Gray
by Oscar Wilde. His father never liked the book, the name or the author. He thought of Oscar Wilde as a flamboyant and decadent man with an unnatural sexual preference for other men. His mother adored the imagination of the man and the notion of bartering one’s soul for lasting youth and beauty. The very things her illness was stripping away from her.
She was
fully aware that her death was imminent. He noticed she dared not even look into a mirror anymore.
He was
24 years old when she summoned him to her room one night. She and her husband had separate suites and Dorian knew whatever she had to say to him must be private. His father never came to her room anymore.
A strange sense of foreboding had come over Dorian. It was the night before he and his father were to go hunting. The hunt was the first of its kind for them. Normally, they’d set out with bow and arrows and hunt for sport.
Now, it was a matter of survival. The harsh truth was, his family was close to starvation.
Dorian’s stomach lurched when he walked into that room. It seemed
as if every time he saw her, she looked more like a corpse than a living, breathing woman.
She smiled warmly at him
. The smile made her appear all the more ghastly.
She lovingly stroked his cheeks with a mother’s gentle touch. “
How handsome you’ve become.”
He heard pride in her voice
and it pleased him. He bore a strong resemblance to her. He had her high cheekbones, icy blue eyes under long, black eyelashes and black hair which shone like ebony. His lips were full, his chin strong. She was a petite creature while he stood six feet tall, gaining his height from his father.
She spoke solemnly. “Dorian, I know what feelings you hold in your heart toward your father and it pains me. He’s been a good husband and father . . .”
“How can you say that?”
A good husband does not leave his wife to die alone!
Dorian thought
. Nor does he bed other women while his wife is going about it.
“I know about
White Chapel and the women he sees there. I’ve been ill for a very long time and a man has his needs. I am no longer able to fulfill them.”
Dorian was taken aback.
She knew!
Still, that was no excuse for his father’s behavior. Dorian would never treat a woman he loved that way. He’d take care of her and die for her if need be. That’s how a
real
man treats a woman, a good and decent man. He thought his father was neither.
Dorian couldn’t hide the flush of anger in his face but remained silent
.
“
You must forgive him, Dorian. He wasn’t always like he is now. You know that to be true.”
“
Why should I?” Dorian said defiantly. “I might forgive him his indiscretions, but to leave you alone when you’re . . .”
“Dorian, you’re a grown man now
. Sometimes, you need to look hard at a person to see what truly lies in their heart. Nothing is ever black and white. I do forgive him, for I see what lies behind his actions. The thought of my impending death terrifies him. He cannot bear to see me, once so beautiful in his eyes reduced to this
thing
. Cannot watch someone he loves eaten away by disease. Call him weak if you will, but I see it in his eyes when he’s near to me. He cares deeply.”
Dorian shook his head, confused. He didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand. “I’d never do that to someone I loved,” he whispered
.
“You don’t know that, Dorian.
Even the best of people would rather avoid death than stare it in the face. It’s not only unpleasant; it also reminds them of their own mortality. People deal with it in different ways.”
“Oh, but I
do
know! I’ll be here for you when the time comes. I promise.”
She smiled and took
his hands in hers. They felt like dried parchment. “I’m tired now. Go to bed. Tomorrow is a busy day for you and your father.”
He went to bed, but was unable to sleep,
his mind raced and his stomach growled. It was another night of going to bed hungry. They had to bring home meat tomorrow;
had
to if they hoped to survive the winter. And through the pang of hunger and sorrow, the anger he felt toward his father ate away at him.
The next morning Dorian woke bright and early. He must’ve fallen asleep at some point in the night and was now ready for the day. He was determined to
bring food home if just for his mother and sister.
H
e and his father walked stealthily through the woods, each carrying bows and a bucket of six arrows apiece slung over their shoulders.
T
hey didn’t speak, not wanting to scare off any game. Dorian was glad for the silence. He had nothing to say to the man. Anything he did say would most certainly reveal his anger and disappointment in him.
A light snow had begun to fall, which meant they needed to move hastily, before the tracks of deer, rabbit and other game were obliterated.
In a few minutes, they spotted a very large do
e
across the field. She stood alone, her nose to the ground, trying to find something to feed on. There was nothing. Many wild animals died of starvation during the winter. Dorian hoped he and his family wouldn’t join them. This animal could provide enough food for most of the winter.
He watched his father raise his bow, saw his hands shake. He wasn’t a skilled hunter. He’d had an easy life until these dark days and never took archery very seriously
. Dorian had. The arrow slipped and instead of heading toward the deer, it slid down and nicked his hand.
“Bloody Hell!” he yelled. The deer took off into the woods. They went after it.
Dorian had a bad feeling about this. His father wrapped his hand but still the wound bled. There were starving animals out here. Surely they’d pick up the scent of blood.
“Father
, I don’t think we should stray too far from the house. You’re hurt.”
“Nonsense, Dorian. That creature has angered me and I shall kill it! If you don’t want to help, just keep your
mouth shut!”