Vampires!
(And other demons...but we like the vampires more)
--Humor--
Warning:
For Adult Language
March 4, 2008: It's a craptastic update, but at least it's an update. Check it out. PART of Chapter Six: The Amulet and the Well.
This is a different kind of story from what you guys are used to reading by me.. I started writing this story several months ago. It was a time in my life when I was kind of depressed and sick of everything in my life being so serious and melancholic. I wanted a light side, something funny that would take my mind off of things
I've always been a fan of parodies. Mel Brooks to be specific. Spaceballs, Young Frankenstein, Robin Hood: Men in Tights. Just to name a few. A new favorite is Shaun of the Dead, which isn't really a parody at all (nor is it Mel Brooks), just a really funny movie based on popular aspects of zombie movies with humorous twists instead of gruesome horror.
I wanted to do a funny vampire story that was intentionally filled with cliches and cliche twists, plot holes, and...well, stupidness. So I came up with this. It isn't finished, and to be honest, I don't know if or when I ever will get around to finishing it. I hope I do because I know what I'd like to do for an ending, or at least I have an idea of what I want to do. Plus, I fell in love with the main character, Wick, and would love to finish his story.
Even though it's not a complete piece, I hope you all fall in love with Wick and his half-story, too. Hehe.
--Rey
(p.s. This is a rough first draft. This story is likely to have mistakes--read at your own risk)
Introduction
Let's Let Fate Have One Last Laugh
Wick was a vampire of about 213 years. Born as a human into nobility in 1700s England, he felt a great weight upon his shoulders. Most of that weight was placed there by his father. Wick was supposed to be a model young man--a perfect man. But Wick didn't want it that way.
He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted until 1985 when that song, "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" came out. Replace all the girly stuff with manly things like spitting and writing your name in piss in the street and that song would have suited him perfectly. Wick didn't want responsibilities. He wanted to have fun. He wanted to stay out until all hours of the night, drinking and having as many women as he could.
But "Daddy Dearest" wanted Wick to be a man. Pushk.
So Wick ran away.
He was about 24 when he arrived in Ireland. The year was 1818. For a while, things were going great. He was the life of every pub, had women o'plenty, and nothing to worry about. Until that little bitch came along.
And little she was--a pint sized bitch.
Oh sure, he was grateful now. If it hadn't have been for her, he wouldn't be the badass he was today. But it was the way she had done it that still got to him every now and then.
He had been a little buzzed that night, walking along in his own merry way. He may have stumbled a few times and he knew he had been singing. Though the song couldn't be remembered now. He was happy is the point.
Just as he started skipping to add some bounce to his song, he saw something lying in the middle of the street. It was a girl--a child. And she was hurt. An image like that would have sobered anyone up; she looked so helpless--dead. He ran to her and took her limp body up in his arms, calling for help. She was a beautiful child; porcelain skin and chocolate curls of hair pinned up on her little head. She was maybe 10 or so. And her clothes indicated she belonged to a family of importance. Wick carried her through the street, taking her to where he knew a healer resided. Just in case she wasn't all the way dead.
Turned out she was. Sorta.
Suddenly, the girl's eyes popped wide open and Wick almost dropped her because of the shock. How does a kid go from being lifeless to suddenly wide awake?
"What the bloody hell?!" Wick had yelled.
Tiny fingers shot up and grabbed him around the throat and the little girl pulled herself up, opening her mouth wide. Wick didn't have time to ask her what was going on. He caught a glimpse of her little teeth elongating into fangs and before he could throw the bitch to the ground, she sank them into him. Right into his neck. And she stayed latched on. He tried grabbing her around the waist and swinging her off of him, but that only tore the flesh of his throat more.
Just as he had been starting to feel woozy, she let him go, slapping her tiny palm against his forehead. Then she jumped out of his arms, knocked him to the ground, and ran away. Laughing. Evil little girl. She sounded like one of those hyena things in that lion movie.
Stumbling, half leaning against walls of buildings for support, he made his way back to the tavern he had been staying at. He didn't remember reaching his bed, but he must have because he woke up in it several hours later. His throat had felt dry, parched. He needed a drink. When he stood, he realized that the rest of him felt okay. A new strength had seeped into him overnight.
There had been a steel water pitcher on the table only a few feet away. As he poured himself a drink, he caught a glimpse of the reflection in the pitcher.
"Son of a bitch," he had muttered, touching his forehead. He couldn't feel the letters, but there they were, stamped into his forehead: vampire.
The damn brat had sired him, changed him into a creature of the night.
After a few weeks the mark disappeared, but he remained undead. A vampire can't walk around with an identity on his forehead. No one would come within yards of him, except to light his ass on fire and send him back to hell. Couldn't have that. Not to mention, having the word "vampire" on one's forehead would make said person look pretty stupid. So the mark never stays. Not in plain sight anyway--it just kind of sinks into the skin.
Wick never saw his pint-sized sire after that. He hoped he never would either. Do you know how embarrassing it is for him to have to tell his vampire buddies that story? Most of the lucky bastards were sired by beautiful lady vampires...with curves. But no, let's let Fate have one last laugh by having Shirley Temple sire Wick.
Ah well. He got over it.
/*/*/*/
Chapter One
Tumbleweeds Galore
After acquiring his undead advantages, Wick traveled a lot. Roamed Europe. Reeked a little havoc; burning hillsides and torturing people, that kind of thing. He was a bad dude. Still was, though some vamps said he had gone soft. He made sure to prove to those foolish enough to mock him that he was still a badass. No one messed with Wick. He'd string you up and torture you for weeks. If you were lucky, he'd kill you when he got bored with you. If not, he'd let nature take its course and have you rot to death.
He hadn't gone soft. Torturing just wasn't what it used to be. Nowadays you had all these annoying cop detectives and lawyers. Just wasn't worth it, mate. Not that he couldn't handle a couple of nosy pigs, it just got annoying was all.
In 1912 Wick came to America. You guessed it: he took the Titanic. Well, for most of the trip. When it hit that rock of ice, he had to swim the rest of the way. You think the freezing water had any affect on him? He's dead. What did he care? As for food, he fed off sharks. They never saw it coming either. They thought they had found a meal. Wrongo.
If the sharks could have talked, they probably would have said something like, "Oi! What the hell, mate?" when Wick turned around and sunk his fangs into them. Probably wouldn't have been pleasant--having your food turn on you and eat you instead. Ah well, Wick hated sharks. They were as bad as bears. In fact, that's what he called them: water-bears.
After spending a while in the Big Apple, Wick decided to become a nomad and wander America. Sight-seeing mostly. It was interesting to see what the damn humans could come up with when they had free time. And they had a lot of it, apparently. Kansas takes pride in having the "world's largest ball of twine." Now there's something to brag about. Puh-lease. He didn't stay long there.
Present day he resided in a small town in Idaho. Everyone he knew made fun of the self-proclaiming-ho state, but Wick rather liked it. Not everything was about parties and wild nights (though Wick had had his share). He'd wanted a break. Relax. Take some time to enjoy his undead life; gaze at the stars, relish in the quiet nights. It was a good thing that's what he wanted because there was almost nothing to his little town. It was surrounded by what the locals called mountains, but anyone who had seen a real mountain knew that they were just overjoyed hills. Smack dab in the middle of a crater. That's what it looked like when you were in town.
There was an Air Force Base about fifteen miles away, but other than that, nothing. The town itself only had about 11,000 meals--er, humans. All the buildings, including most of the houses, looked like they had been standing since the founding of the town. They didn't look like they would be standing much longer. The commercial buildings were kind of cool. They all had that old feel to it, like you were in one of those black and white movies without sound.
There was an old water well over by the railroad tracks. It had three walls around it, made of ancient looking stone. Some of it was starting to crumble. But it was nice. Kind of gave off a soothing aura, like it was the heart of the town, even though it was on the edge of it instead of the center. Wick liked to stand by it, waiting for just the right victim to come along.
He was a loner. No vampire had ever been sired by Wick because he liked being on his own. The last thing he needed was an annoying sidekick. He could get any woman he wanted, that was all he needed for companionship--one night at a time. No strings attached for good ol' Wick.
The ladies loved him. He was young--or so it appeared to them--he was bad, and he had the looks: shoulder-length, jet black hair, slicked back behind his ears. Striking topaz eyes, hard features. Nice pale bod dressed up in jeans, a band shirt, and a black trench coat. Oh yeah. He was hot.
And the accent. Chicks dug the accent. It got 'em killed, though. Women and their lusting after "bad boys." Wick always laughed when he thought about it. There wasn't one woman he had been with that he hadn't drunk dry afterwards. It was just his way; love 'em and eat 'em. That way they didn't come back to him, whining about wanting some kind of commitment or wanting to drag him home to meet the parents. Ugh.
--
That night, he was walking the long stretch of highway that led in to the town. He lived in a cave in the side of ne of the overjoyed hills nearby (seriously, they weren't mountains: hills on Viagra is all they were). A cave kept most of the sun out. Bloody sun. If he lived in a house he would have to worry about covering windows and making sure he kept the door lock. Plus, in town, people got nosy. They'd come up near his windows and ask him if he wanted to bar-b-q...then he would have to kill them like the walking martinis they were--which he enjoyed, but he didn't want to have to kill a lot of people at once. Then there would be a lot of panic and chaos, and blah, blah. He just didn't want that. So a cave it was.
The road was dark. All he had was the crater-faced moon and the stars to guide his way. But with his night vision, the lack of light wouldn't be a problem. He had memorized the road by now and he could see the lights that outlined the town several miles ahead, calling to him like a buffet at a low-cost restaurant.
This part of Idaho was creepy. It was mostly desolate, only a house here and there. The road was like something from a horror flick. If it were a movie and Wick were human, he would have been lubricated already and a creepy fat guy in overalls with a beard and missing teeth would be standing over him. Or behind him.
He shuddered at the thought.
There were tumbleweeds galore in the stretch of land Wick was walking by. Sometimes it was amusing to watch them if you had nothing better to do. They would roll across the road and sometimes cars swerved to dodge them. If you were lucky, the car would lose control and crash into a cow. The cows frequently got out of their fences--annoying, but amusing. Of course, watching the dried up bushes roll over the road really wasn't that much more exciting than that ball of twine in Kansas. Unless you've had a few drinks. Which Wick normally had. Sometimes the weeds jumped the barbed-wire fences lining property. Almost like they were alive. There were often times the dried up, rolling weeds reminded him of those creepy hairballs with the teeth in that critter movie. Now that movie had given him the willies. He had nightmares for weeks. Or daymares, rather.
Whatever.
Just as Wick was about to step a combat-booted foot onto the main street in Mountain Home, he was impacted; something hit him hard in the ribs. Something tall, heavy, and slimy that had come from his left, pounding into him like a football player. It wrapped boulder-type arms around his waist and was trying to bite him. It snarled as a rabid dog. 'Something' thought it had found something else to eat.
Wick smirked and took the thing by the neck, throwing it to the ground. It yelped like a pup and then cowered, holding its arms in front of itself for shielding. Wick stood over it, sneering. The thing was ugly. It sounded like a dog, but it had a gray pig face.
Stomping a heavy boot on the thing's chest, Wick said, "In this movie, I'm the bad guy. This is my town, my own personal Happy Meal--super-sized. And there's no room in it for low-life demons such as yourself." He brought the boot back up and slammed it down on the demon's neck, crushing its windpipe.
/*/*/*/
Chapter Two
Want Me to Burn You?
The town was pretty quiet, as usual. After about 6pm, it turned into a ghost town. People shut down early there. Well, most of them anyway. The partiers liked to gather at the Beer Joint and drink until the early hours of the morning. Not even kidding, that was the name of the run-down shack that served beer in dirty glasses.
Ah, but it was good beer.
Wick sat at the counter on one of those twisty bar stool things. One hand resting on the cool surface of the counter. There were grains of salt under his fingers from where someone had had a margarita and the barkeep hadn't cleaned it up yet--probably wouldn't bother to either. But Wick didn't mind. All he cared about was the icy liquid running down his throat.
He needed blood to live, but beer...beer was pure pleasure.
After he killed what he affectionately called the Rock Demon, he had made his way to the bar. It was where he went every night before he fed. Drinking gave him stamina for the kill.
The demon hadn't shaken him up at all. He was used to them by now. The town was overrun with them. Though, the nave (more like stupid) humans hadn't noticed. Their presence didn't bother Wick. He was stronger than all of them; they didn't pose a threat.
Just as Wick was finishing his second drink, someone sat at the bar beside him. He ignored the bloke. Or tried anyway. The guy was staring at him, actually staring. Not just a friendly glance, but right up in his face staring.
Finally, Wick got sick of him.
"What?" he demanded, turning an evil eye to the man. He was probably mid twenties, dark eyes, short black spiked hair, and a pair of those "emo" glasses.
"Are you Wick?" the man asked.
Wick scoffed, giving the signal for another drink. "Depends on who's asking, kid."
"Simon. Simon Weatherly Hart is asking. He's me by the way." The man raised his chin, face shining with annoying pride.
After giving him a concentrated look, trying to figure out if he'd seen or heard of the man before, Wick shook his head. "Never heard of you."
"That's okay! I didn't expect you to. But I know all about you, Wick. I've had dreams about you."
Okay, now he was getting weird. And pissing Wick the bloody hell off.
"Hold on now! What kind of pervert are you?" Wick said. He should just eat him. But he had a feeling the man would leave a bad taste in his mouth. "Dreamin' about other men..." Wick finished in a mumble.
"Not those kind of dreams!" Simon insisted, lowering his voice to a hiss and eyeing the other people in the bar. Like they cared. They probably hadn't even noticed him walk in. Or maybe they had. He did stick out like a sore thumb. Him and his neatly pressed khakis and blue polo. Pussy.
The barkeep placed another frosty mug in front of Wick. He drank half of it in one gulp and then gave a loud belch.
"Well, that's a good thing, Semen. Because I'm not a nancy-boy."
"Oh, it's uh, Simon. Not semen. That's just kind of...ew. Anyway!" Simon lowered his voice again and leaned even closer, breathing minty breath on the side of Wick's face. "In case you haven't noticed, there are a bunch of, uh," looking around nervously, Simon lowered his voice even more, "demons around here. I know of a way to stop them. An amulet. Problem is, I don't know where to begin the search for it. But I know you know where it's at."
Wick chuckled, looking into his drink. "You think so, huh? And this amulet of yours, what is it called?"
"The Noxabeoblah." Simon raised his chin proudly.
Wick stood, slapping the man on the shoulder. "That's right, mate. Just wanted to hear you say it. Good luck with finding it then."
With that, he walked out of the bar, leaving his half mug of beer on the counter. He was fixing the collar on his coat when he heard rushed footsteps--half walking, half jogging--behind him. Wick sighed. Bloody human didn't take a hint very well, did he?
"You're not going to help?" the man whined from behind.
"Look, slick. I'm not in the mood to be a hero. I can kick any demon's ass, I don't see how them coming into this town is my problem." He was still walking as he talked. He didn't owe the human anything.
"But, but," Simon stuttered. "What about the humans? They'll all be enslaved or killed!"
"What about them? The only person I care about is me."
"If the demons kill all the humans, how will you live?" Simon had a point, but it didn't bother Wick at that moment.
"Yeah, well. When they get put on the endangered species list, then I'll worry. Sod off."
Finally, the footsteps behind him stopped. The human had given up. Good. He was annoying.
Wick knew about the demons. Normally, only a certain number of them, including the vampires, were allowed on earth. To feed. To tempt the humans. And to recruit new members for the demon army. Restricting the number of evils allowed on the planet kept things in balance. But some asshole down below had unlocked the way out for them and they were now spilling onto the planet via volcanoes. The increase in demon activity was all over the world, not just Mountain Home.
The amulet, the Noxabeoblah, was indeed the only way to stop them. Its power would plug up the spewing mountains and kill the ones that had escaped hell. But what did Wick care? He sure as hell wasn't going to become an ally to the humans. He could survive in a world of demons. Maybe he would keep a few people and make them his pets. Breed them so he had his own supply of food. Yeah, that was all he needed. Let the demons come.
There was a place near the railroad tracks that kids hung out at. The rebels. The ones who dressed in black and stereotyped themselves as Goths. Wick knew of one girl who thought she was hardcore just because her favorite movie was that one, Nightmare Before Christmas. She tasted yummy.
Wick's destination was the railroad tracks not because the people there were the "goth" kids, but because a lot of them were depressed. Vulnerable. And usually willing to give themselves to him. There were exceptions, of course.
There was one girl, she looked to be about seventeen, standing away from the group. She was walking back and forth on one of the rails, smoking a cigarette. Her blonde hair fell down her back like a silky curtain. She was gorgeous. Maybe he would get laid and then eat her.
Strolling up to her, putting a bit of shake in his walk, he pursed his lips into a smug smirk and said, "Hey, baby. The name's Wick. Want me to light your fire?"
The girl looked at him, something close to smug showing in her baby blues. She puffed the cig once and then let the smoke out in a smooth flow. "Wick's don't light fires, they burn them."
Great. A chick with an attitude. Guess he wouldn't be getting laid. Not by her anyway. Nothing irritated him more than a woman who thought she was smug.
"Alright then." He chuckled, low and dangerously, and then glared heavily at her. "Want me to burn you, then?"
She scoffed, sounding like she was pms-ing or something, and went back to walking on the rails.
Chicks.
Sneaking a quick peek at the group thirty feet away--they weren't paying attention--Wick reached out and grabbed the girl, covering her mouth with his hand so she couldn't scream, and pulling her away from the tracks. She struggled, of course, but she was no match for him. The cigarette was still in her mouth, sticking out between Wick's fingers. She kicked at him a few times. The points of her heels hurt a little, but nothing to cry over.
He dragged her behind a thick area of brush, far away from the group. They wouldn't hear them if they just talked, but she could still scream.
"Okay, I'm gonna let you go now, but no screaming, or I'll torture you. And I'm good at that," he said.
She nodded in agreement and he let her go, pushing her forward a few feet. She spun around and glared at him and he looked at her, hard, staring into her eyes. At first, she looked afraid, then her expression dulled to boredom.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Trying to read your mind. Is it working?"
"How should I know?"
"Well, tell me if I'm right: Do you want to die?"
Her brow furrowed, jaw dropping. "How did you know?"
He shook his head. "I didn't. You just told me." Before she could say anything, he reached out and sank his fangs deep into her throat, sucking the warm blood straight from her vein. The liquid slid smoothly down his throat, warming the tube nicely after its visit from the chilled beverages. The two drinks mixed well.
Once every last drop was drained from the girl--yeah, that bullshit about stopping before the last heartbeat was just that: bullshit--Wick let her body fall to the ground with a thump.
He laughed at her corpse. "Can't believe you fell for that. Vampires reading minds..." he scoffed to finish his ridicule and then turned away, his coat wooshing from the motion.
/*/*/*/
Chapter Three
15% Talked About Kicking Puppies
It was a few nights later. Wick was sitting in a corner booth at his favorite place to shop (for blood): "Vampire Night." It was a club that claimed to be the most gothic joint in town. It was the only gothic club in town. Hello? A town that size was lucky to have even one.
Wick liked sitting in the far left corner, that way he could see the entire room and spot the weaker ones. The place was dark (duh) with strobes being the only light, sending quick flashes of white lights over the nicely polished dance floor. People were grinding and almost having sex right there in the center. Most of them were having a good time. All the typically clad goths of this day and age: black clothes, fishnets, piercing's, black eyeliner. Probably 80% of them were all talk and no action. Most of them were teenagers who liked to talk tough but then would cuddle with a teddy bear in their nice, warm beds when no one was looking. 15% probably talked about kicking puppies. And the 5% left actually did. The bastards.
Wick scoffed into his beer. They knew nothing of "bad." But they might soon because the very definition of it was sitting at that table.
The dancers were hyped that night. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Damn it. None of them would work. Wick spent most of the night in the club, scanning the floor. It wasn't until two hours before sunset that he finally found someone.
She was about early twenties, sitting off by herself while her friends lit up the floor. Her hair was cut short and in a straight line at her jaw. Dyed black with a bluish tint to it. Her eyes were charcoal, very lost. Lips as red as the blood Wick knew was flowing in her veins. Had nice legs, too. They were almost as pale as he was, no blemishes.
She would do.
With confidence, Wick strolled up beside her and eased himself into the seat next to her. She followed him with her eyes, but said nothing.
"'Hello, love. Why are you sitting all alone?" False sympathy accompanied his words.
She sighed woefully. Typical. "I'm always alone. Who cares?"
Cry me a bloody river, Wick thought. Actually, that didn't sound half bad. A bloody river; an endless supply of nourishment. There went that fake smile he was so good at doing.
"You're not alone anymore, babe. Mah name's Wick."
She turned her head and looked at him with black eyes. "Do you think I'm stupid?"
Frowning, Wick pretended to think a moment and then nodded. "I was kind of hoping."
"I know what you're after."
"Do you now?"
"Yes. You think I'm going to have sex with you."
He smirked and raised his hands in a shrug. "You caught me. So, where do you want to do it?"
She seemed taken aback by his response, as though she didn't expect him to admit such a thing. "What makes you think I'm going to-"
She needed some convincing. No problem. Before she could finish her sentence, Wick flung a hand onto the back of her neck and pulled her towards him, mashing his lips against hers, sucking the air from her lungs. She gasped when he pulled away and ogled him for a moment. Then, as if the kiss had caught up to her, she grabbed his hands and pulled him up, dragging him along towards the back door.
They were climbing each other by the time the door shut behind them and they were out in the trash alley of the club. It reeked of garbage, but who cared? The cool air was nice against their--well, her--heated skin.
Wick shoved the girl against the wall and kissed her lips a few times, so she wouldn't suspect anything, and then he moved down to her neck. That part right between the shoulder and the jaw. He tasted perfume first. Sick. She yelled in shock and pain and tried to push him away. Then he tasted the blood and it was worth getting through the nauseating taste of Britney's Curious.
He pulled back enough so he could look into her frightened eyes. "I should tell you, I wasn't wanting to have sex with you. No offense, love, but you're too mopey for that. However, you do taste delicious."
"Oh, sweet death, must you be so painful?" Her breath puffed out in woe.
Rolling his eyes, Wick said, "Give me a break. Fuckin' emo's" and bit into her again.
Blood rolled in a thick stream out of the puncture wounds and down her neck, grazing over Wick's chin, staining it crimson. The woman coughed once.
"Oh, that's...that's nasty. Ew. Oh my. Yuck."
Wick gave sent an exasperated groan rumbling into the woman's neck. He knew that voice. It had been a couple of days, he thought he had escaped it. But no, here it was, bugging him again. He was just going to have to go against his "no dude's" rule and eat the stupid bastard.
Letting the woman slink to the ground, Wick turned around, wiping his chin off. "What the bloody hell do you want?"
"I've given you time to think things over, Vampire Wick." Simon shifted nervously from one leg to the other. He had a large, ancient looking book in his hands, pressed against his crisp shirt. "And, I've come to ask you once more for the location of the Noxabeoblah."
Not that again. Why was this geek so worried, anyway? With how annoying he was he'd be dead before he hit thirty. The real dead; no coming back for him. No one would want him for eternity. Stupid wanker.
"And once more, I refuse. Find it on your own." Wick turned away and started down the alley, towards his cave. The sun would be rising soon and he didn't want to be in the way when it did.
He pushed back the desire to kill Simon. After a second thought, he had realized that after filling up on the girl he wouldn't have the stomach to eat a disgusting meal like that man. This was his last chance to live. Because, next time, Wick wouldn't worry about how his stomach felt. He'd just eat him. Maybe he'd come back later and eat him anyway.
"I'm sorry, you leave me no choice."
Wick didn't even have the chance to turn back around. He felt a thump on his head and a horrible pounding sound from inside his skull. And then he felt nothing; everything was black....
/*/*/*/
Chapter Four
Need Human Blood, Slick
When he woke up he was in a cage and his head was pounding. Cock sucker had smashed him over the head with his stupid book. Why hadn't Wick seen that coming? He was usually good at reading people. True, vampires couldn't actually read minds and hear others' thoughts (not that the humans needed to know that), but one of his mortal gifts was that he could read people--always could from the time he was human. But this lousy wanker had gotten the better of him. He would pay. In blood.
And that statement was completely literal.
The rest of the room was dark, but it appeared he was in a basement. Typical. He could smell the damn human, not too far away.
"I didn't figure you had something like this in you, Semen. Maybe you do have some balls somewhere under those neatly pressed khakis." Wick smirked.
A match was struck and a candle lit. Simon raised the dancing flame so Wick could see his face in the soft glow.
"The name's Simon. And you're gonna tell me where that amulet is."
Scoffing, Wick said, "Or?"
"Or you'll die!" Simon laughed like a giddy school boy who had just come across the girls' locker room. Geez, what had gotten into him? Maybe he had had too much caffeine. In his free hand, he held a cord rope that would send a set of thick maroon curtains flying open. Sunlight. Right now the material was thick enough to block the horrid light, but if he opened the curtain....
Wick had to play it cool.
He chuckled. "Is that supposed to scare me?"
Simon frowned, looking confused. "Aren't vampires allergic to the sun or something?"
Wick laughed harder. "You've been reading too many bloody sci-fi and horror books." He sighed in disgust. "Honestly, you humans are all the same. Read a book and you think you know everything. Ya know how many times I've almost 'been turned to dust'? More times than I can count. And all those times, I added a fresh bit of blood to my dead heart."
"You mean you killed them?"
Wick looked him in the eye and frowned. Was the bastard's question serious? Of course he killed them.
"No, slick. It was a fair trade. Yeah, they gave me their blood and I gave them a collectable stamp. They're wandering around bloodless, but they're happy because they got that collectible Elvis portrait to stick on an envelope. They honestly got the better end of the deal, but I doubt wrinkly and gray skin does much for them when they're tryin to get a date." Wick sighed, shaking his head.
"No need to be sarcastic."
"Pushk."
"Anyway! Stop distracting me! I know the sun works, I-"
"Read about it," Wick interrupted. "Didn't I just warn you about that?"
"You're bluffing. I can see the fear in your eyes."
"Oh really? Is that what that is? I thought it was the bloody migraine I have from you bashing me over the head!"
Simon ignored his outburst. "Come on, Wick. Tell me where the amulet is and I'll let you out."
"You'll never get me to talk. I'm not going to help the helpless."
Simon sighed, his once-confident shoulders dropping. "Alright. Then you leave me no choice."
Wick looked at him, warning him with a cold look in his eyes. He wouldn't dare pull open the curtains. The wanker needed him; he would be daft to think he could kill Wick now.
Simon braced himself, tightening his whole body as if he really was going to regret pulling the cord. "Last chance."
Wick smirked. "You won't do it."
"Ah ha! You are nervous! That proves that the sun will kill you! Just tell me where it is, Wick! At least give me a hint!"
"No way in hell. Even if I decided to be a little charitable--which, I won't--that amulet does not belong in your hands. No human needs to get a hold of it."
Simon' body almost went limp with disappointment. "At least I gave you a choice."
To Wick's surprise, Simon yanked the cord, violently drawing open the velvety curtains and allowing sunlight to flood into the room. Wick rolled over on his side, trying to turn away from the damn light.
"Fuck, man! You were bloody serious!" Wick screamed. He hurriedly pulled the collar of his leather jacket up, trying to bury his face in the cool material. "Ah, shit, it's too late! How could you do this to me?!"
"I'm sorry! I had to! If only you wouldn't have been so stubborn." Was he actually crying? Simon sniffled and wept, sobbing loudly and turning away, seemingly trying to get away from the blood-curdling screams coming from the dying vampire.
It hurt. Wick yelled, still trying to cover his face with his jacket, but it was no use. He had already been touched by the rays.
After a moment, the screams stopped and Simon dropped the candle to the floor, the flame ceasing. The curtains fell back together and the room was enshrouded in darkness once again. Simon lowered himself to the floor, sobbing loudly. His tears rolled down his cheeks and hit his pants, leaving wet spots.
"I killed him!" He moaned. "I killed him. Stupid vampire. Why did you have to be so stubborn?"
After a few moments of pathetic weeping, another match was struck and then the room glowed to dim life as a torch on the wall was lit, instead of the candle.
Simon sniffled and then gasped, peering into the cage.
"Look what ya did to me. Wanker." Wick growled, shaking his head, and attentively patted the tip of his nose with a finger.
"But...but...you're not dead!" Simon stuttered the words, confused and nervous, "Or you are, but you know what I mean, you're not dust!"
"Duh."
Simon frowned and knelt back down in front of the cage, holding the torch next to the bars, trying to get a glimpse of Wick's face. Simon cocked his head to the side and said, "Then, what did it do to you? You seemed to be in pain."
Wick held a hand over his face. "No, don't look at me, it's too horrible. It'll take weeks to heal."
"Come on, just show me."
"No! I'm hideous and it's all your fault!"
"Wick, come on. I won't think you're hideous."
Wick hesitated. He didn't want to show the bastard what he had done to him. Sure, Wick had wreaked his own share of havoc and evil in his time, but this...this was unconceivable. How could someone be so cruel? Slowly, Wick turned so that Simon could see his face. The man leaned in, squinting his spectacle-shielded eyes over the torch.
"I don't...Wick, I don't see anything."
"Look closer."
Simon leaned further in so that he had his head partially through the bars. "I still don't see anything."
Wick sighed angrily and raised his chin so the light shined directly on his nose.
Simon frowned. "That's it? Vampires don't go into the sun because they get a pimple?"
"Not just a bloody pimple!" Wick followed Simon with his eyes as the man stood. He didn't like the look the sod was giving him, either. His eyes were shining and his lips looked like they were straining against a grin. It was like he was mocking him in that head of his. That stupid, human head. "I'm going to have this thing for weeks and it's the size of Rudolph's glowy thing!"
Simon stifled a laugh and cocked his head, studying the impurity. "It's really not so bad. Nothing a little makeup can't fix."
Wick scoffed in disgust. Makeup. "Yeah and you'd know all about make up, wouldn't you, you soddin' fairy?" He was trying to cover up the Kilauea Volcano on the end of his nose. He would have to walk around in a sick mask for the next two weeks. If he ever got out of the damn cage.
"It's not that big a deal," Simon said, ignoring Wick's fairy comment. "Plenty of us humans have to deal with that kind of thing all the time." He laughed. "Why, when I was in high-school-"
"I don't care to hear about the Diaries of a Teenage Geek Captain, okay?" Wick said, covering the pimple with his hand again. "I have more pressing issues at hand, like, how am I supposed to feed? No beautiful girl is going to let me get within ten feet of her, much less let me charm the bra off her so I can get my fill of the tasty red stuff."
"Well, um" Simon struggled, trying to think. "I could help you if you want."
"Oh right." Making his voice high, he mimicked Simon's voice:
"Hello, Ladies, I have a swell computer game to show you at my pad if you want to come check it out.'" He scoffed, "Puh-lease."
Wick pouted, letting his face slide into his hands. He felt pathetic. Helpless. When he got out of this cage, so help that human....
After a few minutes of silence, Wick wailed, "I'm gonna starve to death!"
"No, really, Wick. I can help you. How about pig's blood or something?"
Though his blood was cold, he could feel it burning in anger. What an insult. Pig's blood?
"What are you gonna do with pig's blood? Ruin some poor girl's prom night? I need human blood, slick!"
"Oh," Simon said, hope dropping.
"Oh please. You can slaughter a poor little piggy, but you have the conscience to not kill a human? Who's the better man anyway? A pig or a human? Don't give me that look, I'm not crazy; I know it's oxymoron to ask that question. But consider this: humans walk all over you and adorable little piggies love you for no reason. They're like puppies. Fat, bald puppies."
Simon looked very uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other. He scratched his head with his free hand. "Uh, I...I guess I could find someone for you. Maybe a drug dealer or something?"
"Again with the movies." Wick did an exaggerated face-palm and sighed. Then he perked his head up and imitated the voice of a southern female. "'Killin' innocents is ba-ad, let's find a drug dealer! Because drug dealers aren't human and can't feel any pain!'."
"Well, what do you want then?"
Wick returned his voice to normal and looked the man square in the eye. "A girl. Preferably between 20 and 25. And make sure she's lonely."
Simon nodded, eyes wide, intrigued. "Oh, I see. So you're like a Kevorkian vampire?"
Wick chuckled. "Yeah, something like that. I'm doing 'em a favor at least."
"So...these people-"
"Women. No men."
"These, women, they want to die?"
"Yeah. So it makes it all right, see? "
Another nod. "Okay, I'll see if I can find you one of these girls. Or, how many do you need?"
"Just one. I'll keep her alive for a few weeks."
Simon shuddered at the thought. "If I do this for you, do you promise to at least consider telling me where the amulet is?"
"Sure." Just because he considered it, didn't mean he had to do it. Having his fingers crossed behind his back ensured he wouldn't have to tell at all.
That lit Simon's chiseled face up. He flashed a toothy grin. "Really? Thanks, Wick!"
"Yeah, yeah. Move along." Wick waved the uncrossed-finger hand.
"Right! I'll be back soon."
"Joyous."
/*/*/*/
It was several hours later. Wick felt like he was going to shrivel up and die (you know what he meant) right there on the spot. He needed blood. It really hadn't been that long since his last feeding, but the thought of not being able to feed whenever he wanted made him panic and made his hunger strike him ten times as quick and ten times as famished. Simon had probably stumbled across a Science Club or something and forgot all about him. As soon as he got out of the cage, Wick was going to make Simon pay.
Finally, Wick heard a lock jiggling and then a door open. After that Simon' annoying voice, telling the girl this was "home sweet home." Yeah, right. Wick heard their footsteps creaking above his head and then the sound of them coming down the stairs. Simon switched on a light--why the hell didn't he use that before instead of the torch?--and then finished the walk down the stairs.
He had a dark figure with him. The girl's face couldn't be seen because she was hunched over and had it covered with the hood of a black cloak. Great. Wick brought him an old grandma who thought she was a witch. Didn't he hear Wick say she needed to be between 20 and 25 years of age? Well, Wick would just send his khaki ass back out there if he had to.
"I asked for a depressed girl, not Igor." Wick wrapped his hands around the bars and stuck his face between them as far as they would go.
"She is depressed! That's why she's all in black and covering her face. She says she has a scar she doesn't like people to see. She also told me she's a donor and told me you would know what that means. Since I don't...apparently she's not a liver donor, which is what I thought."
Wick sighed. "Yeah, she donates her blood to other vamps. Which means she's leftovers."
"Is that...bad?"
"She'll do for now, but you'll have to go back out later and bring me another one. Bring her over here."
Simon led the girl. She didn't seem frightened or nervous. In fact, she didn't seem anything. It was almost like she was robotic. Or maybe a zombie.
Once she was almost within grasping range, the girl suddenly stood straight up and flung off the cloak. Wick jumped back in the cage, startled by the face. It was her. And there she was, standing in her moment of glory, a smug smirk on her crimson lips.
"Semen! You brought me the bloody slayer!"
Simon was taken aback. Eyes wide and lips turned in a confused frown. "She didn't look like a...slayer. She was depressed. And she said she wanted to feed you."
"I faked it!" The Slayer said. She giggled and turned to Simon. "You're gullible."
"If you don't want to feed him, what do you want, then?" Simon was also naive.
"What do you think, slick?" Wick was in the farthest corner of the cage.
"Wick is a well known killer. So I'm going to kill him." She grinned and turned back to smirk at Wick, hands on her hips, back to being triumphant.
/*/*/*/
Chapter Five
Your Cooter is Not Immune
The two were staring at one another--two sets of cold, hard eyes icing over the room. Simon looked uncomfortable and maybe a little embarrassed for bringing the Slayer to Wick instead of a meal. If Wick got out of this alive, he'd trick the sod into letting him go and then kill him in his own home. Assuming the dank basement was a part of his home. For all Wick knew, Simon was part of some geeky vampire slash demon hunter organization and Wick was in the interrogation room of headquarters.
The Slayer had an all-powerful smirk on her mug. Hands still on her hips, she was basking in the moment; here she had Wick, a well known and feared vampire, cowering in a cage. Nowhere to run, nothing to defend himself with. She took her time, making him loathe his predicament even more. He was stuck in a bloody cage. What could he do?
She had muscular legs. Pale tree stumps sticking out from a pair of black, low-cut denim shorts. A thick belt was around her waist, holding two sub machine hand guns and several different knives. She had short legs, but the rest of her wasn't so stocky. She had a long waist, hidden under a dark green tank top. Her arms were toned, but slim. Maybe if she weren't loaded with weapons, she would be attractive. Kind of.
"Uh, listen, lady. You can't kill him." Simon' voice was a combination of wimp and balls. However that worked.
"True enough. I can't kill him with these," she nodded down at her armored waist. "But," she reached down into one of her mid-calf, black boots and pulled a silver dagger out. The bitch went slow, every inch of blade seeming to take an hour to be revealed. The hilt was gold with a neatly rounded sapphire on the pommel. "I can kill him with this. Oh, and my name is Zelda."
"Zelda, right. I'll remember that." Simon nodded, serious. "Okay, well, Zelda-"
She didn't wait. Her gloating disappeared and was replaced with blood-thirsty adrenaline. Lunging at the cage, she slid the blade through the bars, trying to stick Wick with the pointy end. He jumped back, out of reach, and she ran to the other side of the cage, following him, repeating the vicious act. She had Wick dancing around like a ballerina tripping on acid. Several times she almost got him in that special place. The cage was too damn small to get very far away from her at a time.
"Hold still!" Zelda thrust the knife and Wick had to jump and spread his legs in order to avoid getting hit.
"Right! I'm convinced!" Wick yelled, dropping to the floor and rolling to the opposite end of the cage. "Semen! Get this bitch away from me, would ya?"
Simon was standing to the side, watching the show as if he had paid a high price for a ticket. Only when Wick yelled at him did he seem to snap back into reality.
"Um, Zelda?" Simon said, tone soft with caution. She was still poking through the bars, enjoying seeing Wick dance. "I really would appreciate if you don't kill him. He's the only one who knows where the Noxabeoblah is."
"The what?" she asked, jabbing again. Wick veered left, a look of scorn on his face.
"The Noxabeoblah. It's an amulet. Once Wick tells me where it is, I can use its powers to send the unnecessary demons back to where they came from."
Zelda finally stopped, giving Wick a moment to relax.
"You mean there are necessary demons?" Zelda looked at Simon with a sarcastic eye.
"W-well, yes. Earth needs a certain number of demons walking its ground to balance the population and auras of good and bad. But the volcanoes are spewing out way, way too many demons at once these days. The amulet is the only thing that can stop them, and he," Simon waved a hand at Wick, "is the only one who knows its location."
"Ah." Zelda nodded. "So that's why you have a vamp locked up in a cage--I was wondering."
"Y-yes. So, if you could, please stop trying to kill him. Though, I don't quite understand how you were going to do it with that silver dagger there." Simon scrunched his brow.
"This?" Zelda held the weapon up and looked at it as if checking for bugs. "How else was I gonna kill him?"
"Wooden stake?"
Zelda scoffed. "Are you sure you know what you're talking about with this amulet, this, uh, Neo Angelo, or whatever it's called, because you sure don't know anything about vampires." She chuckled, shaking her head. "Wooden stake."
"You don't use a wooden stake to the heart?"
"Nope. You use a silver dagger to the crotch. That's how it's always been."
"The...crotch?" Simon's face fell into a pit of disgustedness and his hand instinctively went to cover his man-parts.
Wick flinched. He hated hearing that part. South of his torso was already in pain at the thought of it. But, the bitch was right. She knew to aim for his pecker and that's exactly what she had been doing. Oh, and the weapon had to be silver, whether it was a blade or bullets.
"Yeah, that's right: the crotch."
"What about the girl vampires?"
"Their cooters aren't immune. It's the same for them."
Simon looked at Wick with wide eyes. Wick nodded and shrugged in agreement to the horrible truth.
"But anyway, back to this Neo Angelo thing," Zelda said.
"Noxabeoblah, actually," said Simon.
"Right, whatever. Anyway, it won't get rid of all the demons, will it? Because I kind of like my job."
"Oh no, just the extras."
"Okay, cool." Shrugging, Zelda put the dagger back into place in its boot. "I won't kill him...yet. But I want in on the hunt."
"There is no hunt, sweetheart, because I'm not telling this dick-weed anything." Wick was back to being confident now that the shiny, silver weapon was put away.
"He will, trust me," Simon said. "I have a back up plan if he doesn't talk soon."
"So, can I get in on it without having to threaten you?" Zelda said.
"Sure," said Simon. "I could use the help. Convincing Wick to tell me where it is without having to resort to plan B isn't going to be easy."
"Ooh, can I torture him?" The light in Zelda's eyes when she said "torture" should not have been there. Psycho bitch.
"Uh," Simon took a step backwards. "I don't think torturing should be an option."
"Said the bastard who opened the curtains on me only a while ago," Wick said.
"That was different. I was trying to kill you, not torture you."
Wick scoffed. What was the difference?
Zelda giggled. "I thought I saw a big ol' potential crater-hole on your face."
"Shut your gob!" Wick pointed a serious finger at her. She rolled her eyes. Wick looked back at Simon. "And the matter of my feeding is still in question now that your little snack turned out to be spoiled."
"Oh, I'll have to find you someone else, I guess." His lip curled in disgust and he looked like he was thinking about vomiting.
"Ah, let him starve," Zelda waved a hand over her shoulder. "Not like he'll die."
"Er, no, but I'm sure something bad would happen if he did starve."
"He'd just turn into a walking, talking skeleton is all."
Wick scoffed. "Yeah, that's all."
Zelda smirked at him. "We'll deal with his food later. Anyway, about the amulet, what are we waiting for? If he isn't talking, let's just do plan B, why wait?"
"Because, I want him to tell me on his own. I'm really not big on blackmail," Simon said, sounding uncomfortable.
Zelda sighed, sounding impatient. "Man...what's he think he's doing now?" She mumbled the words so Simon couldn't hear her and then she sighed. "Okay, how long do we give him?"
***
A few days later...
"You're neeeever going to find it." Wick sang out the words. He was going crazy from hunger and being locked up in such a small and confined space for three days.
"Can I please torture him?" Zelda was sitting on the cold cement floor, her back against the wall, using the tip of her dagger to clean out from under her fingernails.
"No." Simon sighed, sitting next to her. "But I do think it's time for plan B."
Relief exhaled from Zelda's lungs. "Finally."
Scattered on the floor around Zelda and Simon were empty ready-to-eat meal boxes and soda cans. Their food from the past three days. The air was stuffy from not having any windows open.
Simon inhaled and then let the air out in a groan as he stood up from the floor.
"Plan B isn't going to wooooooork, either," Wick sang from his cage.
Simon ignored him and went to a small table in the corner of the room. He opened the first of two drawers and pulled out a thick collar made of metal.
"What the bloody hell is that?" Wick asked, coming back to reality.
"Yeah, what is it?" Zelda came up to stand beside Simon, peering at the object with curiosity.
"It's an obedience collar." Simon was unhooking the ends of the object. It had some sort of control panel hooked to it.
"You mean like a dog?" Zelda chuckled.
"Yes, actually. I put this on him, and he can't go farther away from me than I allow--that's what the punch code is for."
"So, you're gonna put this on him and let him out of the cage?" The look on Zelda's face indicated she thought Simon had gone mad.
"I'm not going to be your poochy! You put that on me, and I'll kill you!" Wick gave the bars a punch for emphasis.
"Yes." Simon said to Zelda, ignoring the vampire's threats.
"What will stop him from killing you?"
"I have the code...and he doesn't." Simon grinned triumphantly. "If I die, he'll be stuck with this on him forever."
"I'll kill ya anyway!" said Wick. He was pacing around in his cage, feeling the stress of being a prisoner in an even more degrading way. "I'll just call the damn thing my, what is it the teenagers call it? Bling Bling?"
"I don't think you will. Because the collar will keep you in this vicinity, or wherever you kill me, forever."
Wick stomped a heavy foot but didn't say anything else.
"Ahh, good thinking. Do I get to know the code?" Zelda asked.
"Um, sorry. But no."
"And why not?"
"Well, no offense. You're a nice girl and everything, but you haven't proven yourself trustworthy. Now," Simon moved towards the cage with the collar open. "I'm going to need your help getting this on him.
"I'll bite you." Wick glared.
"I need you to keep him from biting me," Simon said to Zelda.
"Oh, I thought you didn't trust me." Zelda rolled her eyes and added a bit of a head shake to her words.
"I do, just not enough to give you the code yet. You'd be cautious, too, if you were me, wouldn't you?"
Zelda thought it over and then finally nodded. "Okay, what do you want me to do?"
"Well, do you know any techniques that could help us? Like" he hesitated. "Dare I mention another myth? Holy water?"
"Hm, Holy water might work...they hate the smell of it."
"It smells like sweaty socks rolled in vomit," Wick muttered.
"The smell is so bad they drop to the ground; it immobilizes them for as long as you have the scent present."
"Do you have any?" asked Simon.
"Of course."
"Don't you dare. Have I not been clear on my threats? Do you take me for some Nancy boy? If you put that slave collar on me, you will regret it!" Wick was starting to get nervous. He didn't like this helpless feeling. But he was not lying; they would pay if they put the collar on him. Maybe not today, maybe not even next week. But they would pay....
Chapter Six
The Amulet and the Well
“Are you pouting?” Simon asked Wick, curiosity filling his dark eyes.
“No,” Wick answered, indignant. He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, with his head down. Silver moon-light bounced off the silver collar that was now fastened around his neck. “I’m brooding—there’s a difference.”
They were still in the basement. The lights were off and the window open. Wick had gotten his get-of-jail-for-a-nice-shiny-piece-of-crap-slave-collar card. It was nice being out, and being able to stretch as much as he wanted, but he was still a prisoner—and this way was more embarrassing.
It had been a struggle. At least he had put up a good fight. But that bitch, Zelda, was good at her job. She was strong—freakishly so; it was very unattractive. She had managed to hold onto him long enough, while also keeping his teeth away from her, to pull both his arms around the bars of the cage and handcuff him there so he couldn’t move. Simon then went into the cage with him and put the damned collar on. All that happened in a ten-minute time frame. Wick had struggled, yes, and if he hadn’t have been starved, he might have—no, he would have—killed the bitch, but she had gotten the better of him.
No matter. He would have his revenge.
Maybe he’d get them to trust him, lead them to the damned amulet, and then turn on them the first chance he got. Then, he’d take the cursed piece of jewelry and throw it in a friggen volcano so this could never happen again.
He wondered if throwing the amulet in a volcano would cause any kind of an apocalypse?
Maybe he’d just hold on to it and leave town for a while. To a place where no human was a threat. Not that he was scared, of course—Simon was just annoying.
Once the collar was fastened, Simon punched in a seven digit code on the panel on the side of it and then, finally, let Wick out of the cage. Now that the bars weren’t separating them, Wick took the opportunity to throw a heavy punch at his captor. His knuckles had hit Simon in the nose. The puny human had cried out in pain, stumbling backwards, and, with one hand, covered his swelling face while, with the other, he pushed a button on a small remote.
Whatever he had pushed had sent an electric shock into Wick’s neck. The pain had been blinding, momentarily paralyzing. He had almost fallen to the floor, clutching at the collar.
That was the last time he had tried to punch the human, that was for sure. For now, anyway.
“As soon as we get this mess cleaned up, I’ll take the collar off, I promise,” Simon said. He was stuffing all sorts of weapons into a long, military-green duffle bag.
“Aw, come on. It looks good on him.” Zelda smirked, shouldering a second bag of weapons.
Wick shot her a heated glare before turning it on Simon. “We ain’t gonna do anything.” He scoffed at the idea and added, “I’m not working with you people.”
“Um, yes, well, you might change your mind if I shock you again.” Simon was still trying to be polite while he threatened the vampire. “I’d really hate to-”
“I wouldn’t,” Zelda interrupted. “Give me the damned remote.”
Simon ignored her and continued, “I’d really hate to hurt you again, Wick. So, take us to the amulet, please?”
Wick glared for several more, very long, moments before finally giving in with a disgusted sigh. “All right. Fine. But as soon as you get it, I want this thing off of me.”
“Of course,” Simon promised.
...To be continued...
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