Public Defender

The man once known as Public Defender now fully embraced his moniker for darker and far more intimate purposes. I was, all at once, fascinated and disturbed by just how much he had changed. More than the remarkable physical transformation or the stark changes in his manner and speech he was different in ways I had not seen before. Something in his, dear I say, spirit was markedly different. Why wouldn’t it be?

I know that I too have been changed and my own spirit altered, in ways that I refuse to acknowledge, but I still carry the distant memory of my own mortality with me and aspire to what must now be romantic notions of a humanity all but lost.

In quiet moments I see him struggle with sudden flashes of emotion, residue from a former existence, memories from his own life. But it was hard to tell what was left of the man I had grown to know through his eloquent expression and passion for his people. He was now an avenger and he was quite passionate about his work.

That first night he steadied his resolve with the memories of the horrors that he had witnessed and quenched his new thirst with the blood of our own kind. What was more remarkable was how cunning and elusive he had become. This was a man who had some experience with violence but, who, had never thought about taking a life. Near dawn he returned with blood on his hands and soaking thru his shirt. All he said, before going upstairs to the bath was that we should not worry, the blood was not his. Later, after Ngozi acquiesced to fatigue, he told me that he couldn’t believe how easy it was to pick them out. Strangely enough they couldn’t pick him until it was too late. He had lost count after seven.

As he spoke I listened to his new tone, his choice of words. I studied his mannerisms. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing a different kind of darkness reflected. He had acted, without much thought of consequence or care for his own ‘life’ such that it was. His only concern was in the reckoning that they had undoubtedly brought upon themselves.

As the sun began to peak over the horizon he grew silent, shut his eyes and did something that I have had little success with in far too long. He rested. I sat listening to the sounds of the house and Ngozi and of life stirring just outside. Enjoying the clam…

Becoming the Thing You Hate

Nothing could have prepared Winston for the transition. Not even I could predict how this, my, particular strand of our shared affliction would affect him and whatever was left of his spirit.

I saw the regret linger in his eyes for a long time after he took his first breaths as a new being. This ‘gift’ cannot be refused but for a time, more considerable than I have seen, he struggled against what was already a growing dark need. I offered him hushed explanations of what he might be feeling and the grim reminder that the thirst would have to be addressed sooner rather than later.

He looked at me and nodded. There was no hate or blame behind them, only an undeniable fire…anger. He seemed reluctant to use his voice, not quite certain he hadn’t also been ‘gifted’ the voice of the monster he had become.

“Let me go with you.” I said gently. “I should be your guide when first you feed. You were a man before, but you are babe in the matters and mysteries of your new existence.”

He stood up, straight and tall, still negotiating his new strength and senses. He seemed sure on his feet, secure in a way that spoke to an experience he had yet to glean as a vampire. He was in good physical shape before, but now he appeared at least ten years younger. As with each of us that is made, something unique had occurred with the co-mingling of our bloodlines.

“No.” He said evenly. He paused. His voice had changed. It was deeper and smoother. Seductive. “Thank you Nicholas, but I would like to have this experience to myself.” He looked into my eyes and there was now a strange calm in his. “Stay with Ngozi. I can take care of myself.”

I felt the hypnotic effect of his gaze. The strength and apparent control was surprising. “Be vigilant.” I said finally.

He clasped my shoulder before disappearing into what was left of the night. Ngozi stood next to me wordlessly and after a few moments I felt the warmer flesh of her hand pressed against my cool skin.

In a strange way it felt like we had sent our own creation into a cruel and unforgiving new world. We were both invested in Winston, hopeful that he could still manage to have some semblance of a life. But first he needed to survive this night and neither one of us would rest until he returned…

In for a Penny, In for a Pint

I should not have made another. The pleas of Ngozi and the strong silent presence of Eli should have been enough deterrent. But, his pleas were stronger. My life, such that it is, has been rife with misguided intent and when I looked into his eyes I saw that he too was tired. Tired of being marginalized and ignored, tired of losing everything with only the promise of more suffering.

He accepted the trade off. I thought that death might have been the eventual end for them and indeed for him it was, in the way it is for me. He mourned for the lives of his loved ones and his own mortality and yet saw a strange promise in his own making. He saw as a means to make amends for not being able to defend his wife and children. To correct his shortcomings as a husband and father. A small measure of retribution.

As my new disciple opened new eyes to an old world I wept for my part in his corruption, as yet unaware of how great an alley he would become and how pivotal he would be in the war to save his countrymen…

Beyond Blood

I struggle to feel more, for some sense of emotion. The more time passes the less certain I am that I feel anything beyond a manufactured sense of concern, a jealous need to be something I haven’t been for a very long time.

Winston displays many of the attributes that I am envious of, not least of which is his capacity for forgiveness. Remarkably, he seems to find space for a measure of sympathy in the midst of his profound loss.  He wasn’t afraid to die, even after what he had seen. His anger was well directed at a tangible evil.

After hours of avoidance Ngozi found me sitting in my study in the dark. She sat beside me in silence for a moment.

“What’s happening Nicholas?” She asked evenly.

“His name is Marcus. He was made by my maker, perhaps as my replacement. In any event, he is a believer in the superiority of our kind and put simply if I’m not with him…if I’m not helping the cause of our kind then he believes loss will teach me the error of my ways.”

“The loss of those you care about?”

“The loss of anyone, anything that is not of us.”

I felt her warm hand on mine.

“You’ve kept me safe for so long Nicholas, but this is different. I have never seen anything come after you. I don’t know what we can do, but Winston wants to help. He doesn’t want to die like his family, he at least wants a fighting chance.”

“I’m not sure I can promise anything more than that, but I believe I owe you both that much at the very least. I will do my best to keep you safe, but when Marcus decides to send others or show up here himself there will be more difficult decisions to be made.”

I turned to the doorway where Winston stood breathing deeply, choking back a fresh wave of tears…