No Good Deed...

Bloodlust, supernatural abilities and near immortality can make you restless. Then there was Marcus and his family. The trade-off for my time spent with them was a deepening sense of guilt. It was easy to be around them but I could not relax, I could not allow myself to fully embrace my ‘gift’.

Not for the first time I questioned my love for this island, its people and their culture. Was it something pure or had it been tainted by what I had become and my belief that I could use my extraordinary abilities to right things? Of course, I knew intimately that the road to Hell was paved with intentions just like mines but I couldn’t turn a blind eye to the destruction of lives and dreams.

I enjoyed the art of social commentary through song, called calypso that was practiced by skilled local artistes called calypsonians. Their lot was the same as many singers and song writers the world over, but they carried the moniker of starving artiste proudly. When I attended shows I suspect they knew that the, often, lone Caucasian at the back of the room had something to do with the substantial contributions for the night.

I’m not proud to say that I would follow some of them after their performance, especially if I found them particularly entertaining. It was never with the intention to interrupt or inject myself in their lives. I was just fascinated by their creative process, their relationships, their struggles…their life.

I followed one tonight. I have followed him before. He has the ability to describe the problems of the country with clarity and wit and when he is on stage you can tell that this is what he was born to do. He is the father of three and lives in a two room shanty with his wife and children. He’s unfaithful and unhappy, and has to drink heavily after a performance so that he can go back to his life. A life I envy.

I follow him from a bar in the city to the outskirts, along the moonlit dirt track that leads to his house. He’s still a couple hundred yards away, taking a few moments between steps to steady himself and protect his guitar. Chest high weeds border the track and before the burning figure appears before him I sense we are not alone. He raises his hand to shield himself from the light and heat. I cover the distance between us in a breath. As the figure reaches for him I tackle it, the momentum carrying us into the bushes. I hear a low hiss followed by laughter.

“I knew you were not with us, now Marcus will too.” The female voice whispers.

For a moment I am confused and angry. I bare my fangs and maul the soucouyant who is defenseless against my attack. Moments later I am covered in blood. I am not sure who I have destroyed, only that they are linked to Marcus. Beyond my breathing all I hear is the sound of erratic footsteps fading into the night…

The Beautiful Struggle

It would be easier if I did not care about my distant mortality or my mortal relationships. Far simpler if I were not genuinely fond of Marcus Anthony. It has been two weeks since our second meeting and I now spend some part of each day with him. Our kind instinctively recognizes weakness and exploits it, so for me there was no plan beyond waiting for an opportunity.

While I am understandably circumspect of Marcus and his family, they welcome me with open arms. They are considerate of each other and me and seem, dare I say, almost normal. There are many questions that I have about them and their curious dynamic but other questions are more pressing. Still, it is an unsettling comfort to be in their company.

There are twelve others that work for him, that he calls his extended family, his brood. Marcus is a natural leader, charismatic, convincing and completely convinced by the message he instills in his brood. They are disciplined and loyal and I am uncomfortable in their presence.

I suspect Marcus knows that I am opposed to his belief in our domination, but for the moment we both seemed content with the easy friendship and respect of an equal. As a token of his goodwill Ngozi is safe. He says we are brothers in a far deeper way than actual siblings. We were, both, chosen by La Safer and he believes this to be a great honor.

“We are a select few.” He said to me. “Our bloodline is divine and while we can make others of our kind none are as close to beautiful perfection as we are. It is my sincere hope that you see that it is our right and responsibility to lead our kind.”

His words were chosen well and not entirely unreasonable, but I knew that I could be equally persuasive. More seductive is the easy acceptance by another of my kind who saw me as both prodigal son and misguided big brother. He is genuine in his affection, dare I say love for me, but he is also very deliberate in the use of his family to create the sense of emotions I crave. Still, we stand at philosophical extremes so I know, ultimately, this will end badly for both of us…

The Friend of my Enemy

Marcus left himself open to me which made him a lot easier to find. He lived on the foothills overlooking the growing town of Arima. His house was above his business which, I had to admit, displayed a sense of brash genius. The sign in fancy script read Anthony’s Funeral Home.

A pretty pre-pubescent girl in a yellow and white polka dot dress approached the gate before I could call on Marcus. She looked to be an ordinary girl, but I know my kind. I removed my hat and she gave me a little smile before she opened the gate.

“You are here to see my father.” She said. It was not a question.

“Your Father?” I asked.

“Yes, Marcus.”

“Yes I am.” I said.

“This way.” She said turning her back to me skipping up the three steps that led to the double doors of the business. “He’s expecting you.”

She led me past a receptionist’s desk to an office door which displayed a tile in formal lettering that read Marcus Anthony – Owner / Manger. She stopped and turned abruptly.

“I am Clara.” She said warmly, extending her hand. “It was nice meeting you Mr. Bourbon.” And then she turned and skipped away, eerily convincing. The voice that came from the office startled me for a moment.

“Nicholas, please come in.” Marcus’ tone was just as warm and I did feel like I was being welcomed by a brother. It was my first time seeing him and he was an impressive representative for our species. He was powerfully built and stood nearly six feet tall with skin the color of brown sugar and short cropped, black curly hair. He made an expansive gesture with his hands and exposed a near perfect smile. He walked from behind his large purple wooden desk to greet me. I felt his strong arms encircle me briefly.

“Please sit.” He said before returning to his seat.

“Marcus Anthony.” I said with a little smile.

“It’s always been my name actually.” He said by way of explanation. “But I’m sure we have more pressing matters to discuss.”

On his desk I saw a picture of the little girl and one of him and a woman holding a younger Clara. He followed my eyes and smiled.

“You have already met my little princess and that is my wife Kathleen.”

“You have a family.” I said locking eyes with him.

“Yes Nicholas, and we are all in the family business.”

I understood which business he meant.

“Shall we speak frankly?”

“Certainly. But let me assure you that you need not worry anymore about your mortal lady friend.”

“Thank you.” I replied, strangely reassured by his promise. “But I am equally concerned about the plans that you and La Safer have for me.”

“Perhaps it would be best to clear up a misconception of yours.”

“Please.” I said with an arched eyebrow.

“La Safer is not exactly who you might think he is, although initially I too thought he must be Lucifer.”

“And you know that he isn’t?”

“Yes. In fact he is no different from you or I. He is, quite literally, an ambitious, fallen angel and we understand how great this new rule of our kind will be.” He said, with an engaging smile.

Looking into the eyes of this bloodthirsty fanatic I understood just how difficult this new challenge would be. But I took heart in the new knowledge that my maker was less than I thought he was…

Blood Ties

Meeting Marcus was unsettling. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him during that first encounter but I would know him when next we met. I only had a glimpse into La Safer’s mind, but I felt certain that those he chose to make by his own blood were of particular significance.

While I have always been conflicted, I could sense in Marcus’ voice a strength and serenity that was alien to me. He was at peace with his dark gift and this clarity made him a more willing alley of La Safer. The friend of my enemy…

It was strange to be thinking in these terms. La Safer had given me a great power, but I had not served his purpose and he was constantly looking for opportunities to remind me of just where my blood ties now lay. He had always been my enemy.

I had no problem standing in defense of those I cared for, the ones I truly considered my blood but I had to acknowledge that the collateral damage in this fight had been extended far beyond my intimate circle. Left unchecked, unchallenged, this beautiful island and every other place of promise would be tainted.

At night I watched over Ngozi without further incident. But on many of those nights she would sob for hours before slipping mercifully into sleep. I could no longer pretend that all was well in my small corner of the world. I had to embrace what I was and make peace with an unavoidable task. Marcus was the key...