Omertà - [Jesse Fforde]

[Jesse Fforde]

There are always humans lingering around the edges of pubs and clubs. It’s toward the heavy, thrumming bass of a club that I take us; there’s more opportunity, there, for humans to lose their way. Drunk idiots who have lost their friends, and whose friends won’t look for them. There are some people who often get blind drunk whose friends know the frequency with which they might tend to run off with some potential one night stand. There are people who won’t be missed, at least for a day. And by then, I’m long gone, and the clues have already started to whither.

Lately, I’ve found it harder to stop. Harder not to kill—to leave my prey breathing and woozy in some darkened nook. It ought to be problematic that I don’t care. There probably ought to be at least some tiny twinge of guilt, some tiny tightening of the heart strings. But I honestly cannot seem to care. The blood is all I need, and it is blood that I shall have. At whatever cost.

Due to the fact that Axel has taken quite a bit of blood from me, I can feel the hunger probably nearly as keenly as he can. I glance sideways at him, as if I might be able to gauge his hunger against mine just by looking at him. Of course I can’t; but I stare at him for a few seconds anyway. His skin, beneath the ink, has turned the deathly hue common to most vampires. This means that the ink is brighter, and stands out; his eyes, as we pass beneath a street light, are a startling, deep blue. A richer blue than mine—mine are ice-cold. I know, as I look at him, that he will have no trouble at all luring his prey. Women will flock to him like bees to a bright flower, unsuspecting of the fact that the flower is actually a Venus fly trap.

I can’t help but smirk to myself. When we are nearer to the club, I slow my pace. There’s another street light, just outside the entrance to the alley which leads down to the side entrance of the club. My pace matches that of a man, about our age, sauntering down the path toward us. I time it so that we both reach the entrance to that alley at the same time. The human’s steps are faulty, wavering, his body lurching like it doesn’t quite know how to keep to a straight line. When we are side by side, the human stops. It’s as if he’s run into a wall. And then, quite violently, he gasps. Blood spatters his lips as he coughs once, in confusion.

Right there, standing in front of the human, is a dark space. As if the air is shimmering. It might take a glance or two to realise that my shadow is not stuck to the ground. No, my shadow is standing on its own two feet, with a mind of its own. Blood blossoms on the human’s shirt, just below the right collar bone. Before anyone can see, I throw my arm over the human’s shoulder and lead him into the cavity of darkness.

I did not command my shadow to do as it did. The shadow chose the victim for me, lashing out unbidden. Lashing out because it is aware of my insatiable hunger. In one swift movement I have the guy pinned against the brick wall. I’ve torn into the artery at his neck. I drink, like a man who has been in the desert for days without a drop of water. And yet I force myself to stop. I am not the one who needs the blood the most. I have fed, only to show Axel how it is done. When I step away, my shadow has returned to its normal behaviour, though it remains tense. I hold the human still against the wall; his eyes are wide and surprised, and his voice has caught in his chest. He seems confused, though on the verge of understanding. He’s on the verge of shouting blood murder.

I **** my head toward him, gesturing for Axel to finish what I have started. I can feel the warm blood, sticky, dripping from my lips, down my chin. I use my free hand to swipe it away.

Axel needs to be quick—and when we are done with this one, we can move on to another.

[Axel Rosen]

His steel blue eyes watch Jesse with a focus that has been unseen since his days in college, stuck to the other male vampire like glue. That is, at least on a sort of psychic or emotional level. It’s something that’s not physical, at least not in a way that he can really explain. Following, he watches the the vampire that is until the human is cut down, blood coming out of his mouth. He’s been watching his creator, and knows that Jesse didn’t make any move, that he knows of, to attack the human in such a violent way. Deep down, as he watches the blood settle in, he doesn’t feel anything for the man. That worries him that he has no feeling for the death of a human, but he passes it off as him being extremely hungry. There, he sees it, the shadows, like the one he saw on the ground moving away from his feet. Only Jesse’s shadow seems to have attacked and murdered a human man. That’s gonna be something he’s gonna have to get used to if his shadow starts doing things like that.

Jesse ducks into an alleyway, taking the human man with him. Following in quickly behind he watches as his sire drinks from the throat of the man, ripping him open as if it were nothing. Axel’s eyes glance over the blood, his stomach turning in on itself almost as if he is going to explode. The pain in his gut makes him want to scream but that would show, in his mind, that he is weak in some way. It seems like, when Jesse is done, that he doesn’t want to stop, that he wants to keep drinking from the man. The training session is pretty straight forward though, and he knows that’s what it was. He knows for a fact that this was his sire teaching him to feed on not just this man, but all humans.

When the motion is given for the Axel to move in for the feed, he doesn’t hesitate, he’s far too hungry to ask questions. He feels, just before moving forward, that his hunger may actually kill him if he waits any longer. Bridging the gap between his sire with the human in hand and himself, he wants to tell the man that he’s sorry. He wants to, but he’s not. He’s not sorry not in the least. He wants this, wants to feed, wants to be immortal; however, that shred of human decency is intact. Instead of saying anything to the man, with a beating heart like he had just moments ago, Axel attacks. He sinks his fangs into the man, drinking quickly is fast hard gulps. His hand is over the mouth of the male, keeping him quiet. He remembers the paper, if the human makes a sound and draws attention it would break that thing called the masquerade.

Stopping for breath, though in afterthought, he knows he doesn’t need to breathe. As he stops to take a breath he takes a step back and looks at the man again. Axel isn’t sure if the human will be able to live from the wounds that he has sustained in the previous moments. His eyes look back to Jesse, and then back to the human man. Not wiping the blood from his own lips, he looks to his sire, not sure if he should continue to feed from the man or not. The question of human morality comes across his mind again. The feeling that feeding from a man, a man that he’s sure is dying, should be wrong, or at least some a grey area. For him though it just feels right. It feels like it’s something that he should have done his whole life.

He licks his lips, not wiping them with his hand, and looks at the blood on the man’s neck. The taste of the crimson liquid is exquisite. The blood tastes like liquid candy and power mingled together. More, does he want more? He doesn’t really have to think about it any more than that. Wanting more isn’t the question, the question is if he can have more and where can he find it. This human seems to be almost disposed of already. Those blue eyes look him over, from head to toe. He’s not sure what the rules are for feeding from dead or dying humans, but he can almost feel the edge that his sire has. That feeling that they need to move to the next target.

[Jesse Fforde]

Axel moves like a man possessed. He doesn’t hesitate; he’s not even looking at me with the accusation or the horror that I now realise I expected from him. It’s less than half an hour ago that he was human. But then I suppose, unlike other humans, Axel had the added knowledge that vampires exist. He was spared that incredulity upon turning, and was better able to launch into the specifics. He swoops in on the prey, taking the human’s blood with relish and all the insatiable desire that I’m sure I could probably be projecting upon him. Just because I feel it, doesn’t mean that he is, too.

I watch Axel carefully, mouth twisted together in a hard line, as he feeds. I don’t need to breath, but if I did I know that my lungs would be sucking in more air than they need. If my heart beat, I know that it would be beating a heavy rhythm in my chest; there’s something almost arousing in watching another vampire feed. And if it’s not arousing, it’s causing some kind of envy. But I don’t think it’s that, either. I suppose it can be equated to watching porn—you have no connection to the people on the screen, but all of a sudden you want to be there with them, doing exactly what they’re doing. So it’s not envy, not at all Instead, I feel like I can lift the human’s wrist and feed at the same time as Axel. But I don’t, because I have at least the decency enough to let the fledgling have his fill, to not steal from him what is rightfully his.

Axel pulls away from the human, who’s lost a lot of blood. I’m not too sure how it works, medically. How much blood a human can stand to lose before he’s on death’s door. All I know is that this guy has had two vampires feed from him, rather than the one. He’s leaning there against the wall, a deranged smile on his face, as if he can’t quite figure out where he is, who he is, or what the hell is going on. As soon as I let him go, I know he’ll fall. He’ll crumple to the ground and will either die of blood loss, or will be found and taken to hospital.

Rather than let him do either, I turn my attention from Axel for only a second or two; I hold the human up by his jaw, before I wrench his neck to the side, and up a bit. There’s a resounding crack as his neck breaks. It’s only then that I let him fall to the ground, dead as a ragdoll. Slowly, my gaze slides back up toward my newest fledgling. I watch his face for the merest hint of emotion. There’s not really any reason why I should have killed the human, except for safety’s sake. We could have continued to feed from him until there was no blood left, but why only eat from the entrée when there are still three courses to go?

I gesture to the street behind us, head cocked to the side. It’s not Axel’s turn to choose his prey, now that he knows how easily it’s done.

[Axel Rosen]

A murder, it happens before his eyes, and he doesn’t even cringe. Deep inside of his gut he wanted to kill the man moments before anyway. He wanted to feed from him until he couldn’t breath, until his heart stopped beating. Axel’s lust for blood is far more intense than he could imagine it at the moment. A breath, he half takes it, but he reminds himself that he doesn’t have to breathe. His eyes watch the man slump down and he doesn’t feel any remorse for the man. Death, as he knows, is natural. He writes about the death of man many times, and the death of man is usually at the hands of another man. This other human, happens to not be a human at all, but a vampire. It doesn’t bother him, but it makes sense. I sinks in that thought that he feels that vampires are the true hunters. Axel is the top of the food chain now, even though he already thought that he was the top of the food chain before. He lets that half breath out of his lungs, and he finds that he wishes that he could have committed the kill. However, being that the man is already dead, and there’s no use crying over spilt blood, he might as well move on.

Idle mind has left him, as he moves through the streets looking for his next victim, his mind reminds him that he was a vampire moments ago. He’s having an internal struggle. The struggle is that of whether or not he should be more compassionate about the beings that they hunt. It’s not like he has to kill them, or so he thinks. He’s heard about humans being bitten and then waking up in a different part of the city. He has been one of those humans so he knows that he survived being fed from. At the same time, he wants to kill his next victim, whoever it may be. Each step brings him closer to another human, lonely walking down the street. His actions follow the actions of his sire, the way that he stalked his prey. It’s almost as if being an animalistic being of rage and hunger. Still, stalking this man, he’s torn. Not about feeding. He knows he doesn’t have to kill him, but he wants to.

As he comes closer to the man, something happens when he makes eye contact. As Axel’s steel blue eyes come to gaze into the human’s eyes, the man stops. He stops inches before Axel, and it makes him turn his head to the side and then look back at his sire. The look on the fledglings face is surprised and confused. As Axel moves, the human follows him almost like a puppy. Leading the human into the alleyway near him, he shrugs to his sire. He’s not sure what’s going on, but it’s going well for him. His fangs come down, again, after having retracted moments before. Axel bites at the man’s throat, tearing into the flesh ravenously. The blood pours, not just into his mouth but down the neck of the man. He didn’t just bite, but tore the artery wide open like he wants the man to bleed out. His eyes close, licking the blood before actually wrapping his mouth around the wound. He starts to drink. More and more blood comes into his mouth and he opens his eyes. Power, purely and absolute, he can feel it coming into his mouth and down his throat.

Pulling from the man, he says a little lowly, but loudly enough for Jesse and himself to hear: “Eternal the kiss I breathe. Syphon your blood to me..” His words are sung softly and he licks his lips. Why would he wipe his mouth with his hand? Blood is too delicious and far too rich in power for him to let it go. A wisp hair in his face, is pushed away as he lets the human drop to the ground. He looks down at him. He can’t decide if he wants to kill the man or not. His eyes look back to his creator, not sure if he should ask or not. It is always better to ask for forgiveness that to ask for permission. His body moves forward, foot raising up off the ground, ready to smite the lesser being from existence. With his foot in the air, he pauses and ponders it again. He ponders morality again, not sure but he really wants to end this human’s life.
Some would call this a sort of God-complex.

[Jesse Fforde]

I follow behind Axel, hands shoved into my pockets. They find no warmth there—but then they find no warmth anywhere. Nowhere except in the blood of humans. Their blood is hot, like fresh-made soup. Their blood is spiced with the habits of their living; a smoker’s blood will taste different to the blood of someone who’s never touched a cigarette in their life. The blood of the obese tastes almost sweet, compared to the blood of those who eat only fruit, nuts and vegetables. Sometimes, the blood lust doesn’t give you an option—you’re so damned ******* thirsty that you don’t care what you eat, so long as it fills you up. Sometimes, though, it’s worth really looking, and choosing carefully. A lot of the time, though, you can’t discern what kind of life a person lives just by looking at them. Not at first glance, anyway. Maybe if you watch them for a couple of hours—but who has that kind of time? Sometimes it’s just luck of the draw. Like pulling a random jelly bean from a packet of jelly bellies.

It’s hard to follow behind Axel as he searches for his next victim. My obligation is to this new fledgling, however; not only because it’s probably the nice thing to do, to make sure the guy settles in okay, but because he’s my responsibility. If he screws up, it’s on my head. If a new vampire doesn’t know what to do and thus ends up breaking the masquerade, it’s not really their fault. It’s the fault of the person who turned them, for not giving them the short and skinny of it all. It would hardly be responsible of me to veer off on my own mission to sate bloodlust, and to leave this fledgling on his own.

Though, the way that Axel finally lures his prey is something unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. He doesn’t have to actually work at compelling the human; the human stops as if he’s literally a fly caught in the Venus fly trap. More than that, it’s as if he’s been literally hypnotised; he’s a fish, caught on a hook and being dragged to his death. Axel slides an inquisitive glance in my direction and all I can do is shrug. Shrug, and grin. This must be some ability that he has that I’m not privy to. Something to do with the path that’s inadvertently landed on that I have nothing to do with.

I think about those things that I’ve read in magazines while bored. How certain sexual positions might affect the outcome of the baby conceived. I wonder, idly, if there’s different ways to go about a siring that might contribute to which path the fledgling ends up on. Is there such a thing, and could it be worth investigating? I ponder the implications and the consequences of such an experiment as I follow Axel into the alleyway. Perhaps not such a great idea to sire random strangers. But then, that’s all I’ve done so far, right? And they seem to have turned out okay.

And I gather that opinion pretty quickly about Axel. He doesn’t flinch as he witnesses cold-blooded murder. He feeds like a man possessed, but he’s also host to grace and a certain kind of civility that indicates he’s aware of what he’s doing, and he’s doing it anyway—with zest and success.

Axel raises a foot to kill his prey—I stand, idle, to the side. I want to watch him kill. I want to live vicariously through him, just for that moment. I want to see that he’s capable of it, for some morbid reason. It’s a satisfying thought, that I might have surrounded myself with childer who have about as much remorse as I do. I feel like fate has handed me a couple of wild cards—wild cards that I might just come to love.

At that moment, however, there’s a sing-song voice echoing toward us from the entrance of the alleyway.

“Danny? Snookums?” There’s a giggle from the slightly inebriated woman. A brunette on high-heels, holding on to the corner for balance as she squints down into the darkness of the alleyway, trying to see.

“Did I see you go down there? What are you doing, baby?” she asks, before she begins to tottle toward us. Oh, yes. Meals on wheels. I like it when they come to me. Except for the fact that the woman sees the inert body of her counterpart before I have the chance to silence her. She lets out a scream, which doesn’t have the chance to reach its crescendo before I’ve covered the woman’s mouth; before I tear into her neck with relish. She struggles, only slightly. I can taste the alcohol that’s soaked into her blood, which is a heady mixture of pheromones and sickly sweetness. This woman obviously thought she was going home to get laid. I indulge in the meal, hoping that her short scream hasn’t caught the attention of anyone else.

[Axel Rosen]

Waiting, for what seems like hours, but he’s sure it’s not, Axel has his foot in the air. Luckily for him, the few years of martial arts training that he has under his belt has given him the physical discipline to keep it there. After another moment, he says nothing, the fledgling vampire hears a voice. The woman is peering down the alleyway, no doubt looking for this poor fool beneath Axel’s heel. The man looks up at the brown haired fledgling vampire and Axel is sure that he still doesn’t know where he is. It’s like his power is still affecting him, acting like a fish out of water. The woman at the end of the alleyway moves toward the two of them, and Axel starts to panic. It’s all internal, inside his head, weighing the options of what to do. The answer is quickly revealed as his sire moves and attacks the woman. Relieved that the threat of his own exposure, so soon into his creation, is over, Axel quickly thrusts his foot forward.

Crunch, the sound of the bones hitting one another along with the inside of the brick wall behind them. He continues to apply pressure, the sound of gurgling happening within the throat of the human, struggling to breathe as he loses consciousness. Soon, the man would be dead. Still, Axel doesn’t let loose his hold on the man. His foot twists, wanting to hear the bones grind against one another within the flesh of the man’s neck. Blue eyes staring down at the male, he tilts his head to the side. His concentration on the human breaks, smelling blood, at the first time at this distance. His attention turns to Jesse, then measures the paces between himself and his sire. If he weren’t so hungry still, he would marvel at the distance at which he can smell fresh blood.

Taking a step forward, he smells it stronger, hunger still there. As hungry as he is, when he comes within a few steps of Jesse, he stops. Even though he feels like he’s starving and in need of blood, he doesn’t feel it would be right to take blood from Jesse, not even if it were just to share. It’s that same feeling he had moments ago, the feeling that his creator is someone that he should follow, someone that he should give his utmost loyalty to. If asked, he would resent the word obsession. Thinking about it, watching Jesse feed, he would prefer to call it admiration, honor, or something along those lines. He’d find a word for it when he gets to that point. He thinks of keeping a journal; however, that seems like, if found, it could break the rule of the masquerade, and get him killed.

Leaning against the wall, he waits for an offer or something, but mainly the man is just happy to watch. There is something about the way Jesse moves, attacks, and feeds. This is a whole new part of his tattoo artist that he didn’t even knew existed. Being turned has opened a door to far more that just immortality. Those moments before his turning were nothing. He’s not saying that he hated his human life, internally, but in comparison to this, being a God among the being like he was. He was an insect, compared to Jesse, still is in some respect, but now he’s not. Compared to what he used to be, this is far better than that. He’ll have to find a code name to write under.

[Jesse Fforde]

It’s so hard to not get lost. In the beginning, I was almost gentle. I fed from my prey as if they were giving their blood to me willingly, and it would be rude of me if I took too much, if I asked for too much. But then, realising that they wouldn’t remember, I began to play. And now, now I just can’t seem to get enough. I don’t have any kind of respect for them at all. And I suppose that’s just the way I am, too—I dislike people, in general. I dislike people who talk too much. I dislike people who think too highly of themselves without reason. I dislike people who are lost without realising it. I dislike the idea that I could have been one of them. From a broader perspective, all humanity is lost. Just stumbling around, day to day, with this flimsy thing called ‘purpose’. But what does it all amount to in the end? Really? A quick and ravaged death in the darkness of a back alley because you stupidly decided to follow your equally stupid boyfriend.

I have no pity for the stupid. I remember partying, for sure. I could party as hard as the rest of them. But I enjoyed myself without the numbing effects of alcohol. I drank, but I never got silly drunk. If I did reckless ****, I did so with all my faculties intact. I did so with full comprehension of what I was about to do and the consequences that might follow. And this woman—just by smelling her, just by looking at her—I know she’s one of those stupid types. To get drunk and do silly **** just for the approval of her peers. **** peer pressure, man. I can’t feel sorry for anyone who’d be a willing sheep to the conformist shepherds.

It’s that kind of bitterness toward the idiotic masses that I can feel as I draw the blood from the brunette’s body. I know some kind of magic is working on her—like a spider paralysing its prey just before cocooning it in its silky web. She’s not struggling. She’s almost swooning, though I’m slowly killing her. It’s the thought that I can kill her that urges me on; there’s that voice in the back of my head telling me to rid the city of mindless clones. Bleed them dry.

And yet I stop. Because, the entire time, I’m aware of the eyes that are on me. I’m aware of my shadow—not my literal shadow, but the new vampire that I have trailing me, watching my every move, learning from me. I can feel him hovering there, over my shoulder. I lick my lips as I reluctantly manoeuvre myself so that I’m holding the woman up, one arm flung over my shoulder. I lift her other arm, like I’m the puppet-master and she’s the marionette; I hold the wrist out to Axel, letting the hand flop so that the veins are bright and protruding beneath her still-warm skin. I grin at the man, urging him to take the wrist, to take the rest of her blood, to fill himself up and feel the power that the blood will give to him.

I’m waiting for him to begin, so that I can help him. So that I can turn my head and bite into the arm that I’m holding over my shoulder. So that we can share this meal. There’s got to be something kind of symbolic in that, surely?

[Axel Rosen]

Jesse, mid feed, stops, and offers Axel an arm. His blue eyes, like cold steel just chilled and polished for the first time, look to his sire. The fledgling understands that the gesture is an invitation, but he’s worried that he’ll take too much from Jesse. He doesn’t want to ruin the meal for him, not if it means dissatisfaction with the situation as a whole. These feelings for the male before him are new, but he feels that maybe they’re just an exaggeration created by vampirism based off the trust that he had for the man before. Sure, Jesse, a few hours ago, just killed him and turned him into a vampire, but it’s better than the alternative. It’s better than just being dead and not being a vampire. If he were to think about the other places his immortal soul could go, this has to be the least problematic of them. He’s pretty much branded for three demons if Christianity were to be right. He’s not hung on his death, so much as grateful he didn’t completely die. He’s been given a gift of staying here on the surface of the planet to be, what some would call a monster.

Pushing the thoughts from his mind, he knows that his hunger is far too powerful to ignore, so he moves toward the woman in the arms of his sire. Taking the arm suggested by movement, he takes a bit, fangs deep in the arm, pulling upon the blood. His would close, but they have been snuck up on before. Jesse seems to be able to take care of things before they become a problem, but Axel is learning, by every action, movement, and incident. If someone could walk down the alley once, it could happen again, so his eyes stay fixed at the opening between the two buildings. There are no movements out in the light of the street lamps, but still it’s better to be safe than sorry. His mouth sucks the flowing blood from the wound, hand moving to help his sire hold the woman up. Thinking about it, mid feed, he guesses he could call this male bonding of some sort right? His eyes look over to his sire and he smiles softly.

Dying, he’s sure that’s what dying feels like. He had just done it, moments ago, the slow of the pulse, the dizziness. Sure her blood was thin with alcohol and her body was already limp, but the beat of her heart told the story that she couldn’t tell. Thud, it happens one moment, pressing blood into Axel’s mouth, and he’s sure into his sires. Thud, a couple seconds later, at a slower rate, the blood coming into his mouth at a weaker pressure than before. You never really know what blood pressure is until you feel it pulse into your mouth. Thud, the beat of the heart delayed again before he feels the blood push into his mouth. Yes, this woman is dying, and he’s enjoying it. This time he doesn’t question the morality of his previous human thoughts. He’s no longer human, Jesse has been showing him this. Is this to say that it’s the only reason for taking him out to feed? No, but it has turned into a crucial lesson that he has learned.

The things he’s learned so far, he does a lesson review in his mind, feeling the last beats of this woman’s heart. He’s learned that secrecy is above all things the true rule of their kind. And if you have to, kill to make sure that it isn’t broken. His sire has made it clear that vampires will kill one another in the interest of protecting them. Another lesson, he is no longer human, so clinging unto emotions and feelings about other humans is futile. Axel thinks for a moment about Jessica, knowing that it will be a tough one to overcome, but he would have to. It’s a transition he has to make, either that or be wasted potential. Sure the concept of love could still be felt and translated into his new feelings and understanding of the world; however, she’s not just a human. She’s a paladin. They hunt vampires, even if she has said she doesn’t. That will be a lesson for another day, or maybe later tonight, he’s sure, combat. A lesson to defend himself against others. The final lesson has been that he has a group to call family of sorts. He hasn’t met them yet, but he’s been told that bringing danger to them would end in his death. He goes over these things in his mind, until he knows that the next beat would be the woman’s last.

As he releases her, he looks at her and thinks of what to do with her. He could just leave her here, but for a body to die of blood loss without having a cut or a wound of any sort doesn’t make any sense. Yes, the bite marks, the little tiny scar tissue about the wrists would be there, but wouldn’t that break the illusion of there not being vampires? He looks to his sire then back to the woman again. His hand reaches into his pocket. He doesn’t have any weapons, and he realizes that he can’t make it appear that the woman was attacked by her boyfriend’s attacker. So, his eyes look to Jesse, not sure if he has any plan on how to stage a proper death for the woman.

[Jesse Fforde]

We finish our meal and Axel’s looking at me for guidance. I know what that look is; he wants to know what to do next. Whether we just leave the bodies where they are, or do something else with them. There’s one thing that I always do—one thing that I find best. One thing that obliterates most, if not all evidence. The weapon of the devil—the weapon that could kill us all in a heartbeat, human or not. The weapon wielded, in some form or other, by the sun. We would use that weapon that’s supposedly our worst enemy and let it do our bidding.

I’ve never really been a pyromaniac, but I suppose I could see the merits. I’ve become quite fond of watching fire. I’d love to watch it consume a whole city block. It would be fascinating, to see something that shouldn’t be so hard to control, leap out of the grasp of those who’d wish to keep it tame. Sometimes I feel akin to a flame. As a human, I was caged. I was a candle allowed to dance only on a single wick. Now, I am that same candle, that same flame, but I’ve been knocked over and I’ve caught hold of the curtains. I am a raging, roaring thing that cannot be controlled or contained any longer.

Though I suppose, even I have my limits. Even I know that there are rivers that I cannot cross. There are lines that keep from straying too far—like these bodies, which need to be destroyed. I reach down and pick the woman up, one arm beneath her knees, the other beneath her shoulders. Her head lolls backward, her mouth open and her lips blue, her skin pallid and no longer full of life. Only her long, brunette tresses have retained the vibrancy of life.

I carry her deeper into the alleyway; I carry her down and around the corner, until I find what I’m looking for. The bright yellow lid of the dumpster is already open. The woman is as light as a feather as I lift her high and toss her into the dumpster which is, thankfully, half full. It’s always a bit tricky if I’m trying to dispose of my prey in this way when it’s the night after bin day, and all the bins are empty.

I glance over my shoulder once my arms are free. Axel’s a smart guy – I assume he’ll be following, with the other corpse in hand.

[Axel Rosen]

Lifeless body is slumped over his arms, legs on one side and the head on the other, he carries her like a doll. Her new home is a metallic dollhouse full of trash which will a pivotal point in her death. It would be a way for her to get from here to the landfill, and there she would decompose until someone found her. If no one found her she would go through the full process, much like Axel is starting right now. He doesn’t know it but under his skin he is starting to manifest the eggs of fly larvae. It’s unknown to him, probably unknown to Jesse, but it’s starting. As his sire places the lifeless form of the woman into the dumpster, Axel grabs the other one. He wouldn’t have thought of it if it weren’t for the fact that his sire has been doing the same thing. He throws the other body over his shoulder and starts to head in that direction.

Once Axel makes it to the dumpster he drops the man into the dumpster, looking back to Jesse before looking down. His eyes, blue and dead, no remorse for the people they have killed. They were just two humans that could never speak of what they have seen or heard in this alley. Two humans that would just end up on the news if found as murder victims. Sure, there would be some, paladins, blood thieves, conspiracy theorists of the city, who would say that it was the act of vampires. That is a minority of the city. Most of the city is people who live regular lives, going about their business, taking care of their lives and those in their family.

The memories of the night so far, bring him to a thought. The masquerade is kind of like a code of honor that the mafia either used to have or still does (one can never be sure, unless in). This code that comes to mind is the a code of silence. In this case it’s a code of secrecy, but isn’t that the same thing. His hand reaches up and closes the lid. He doesn’t do so out of shame, but more out of the fact of that code. That code of secrecy, that code that he’s going to follow or be hunted by the man that created him. Dying is not on his list of things to do now that he has eternal life or.. unlife. He’s not sure. He’s only ever written one story about vampires. It wasn’t one of his more popular ones, as they weren’t his favorite style to write about.

His mind moves back to this code, the code of silence. It could be applied to this code that vampires follow. Omerta. It kind of sums up a lot of what he’s learned so far. He’s full, he’s not sure that he can get another sip of blood inside of him. He glances over to Jesse again and then takes a step back. He doesn’t tell him that he’s full, because if he were to be honest, he wants to kill again. Even if it’s just to feed his sire, he wants to rend flesh from bone and test his limits. Axel wants to watch the life leave the eyes of more people, it’s his insatiable hunger. It’s almost as if he has to kill, to get even with something deep inside his head.

He’s not sure what else there is for Jesse to teach him. What else could he teach him? He’s taught him how to feed and dispose of his prey, properly. He would have to remember to take care of each victim that way, and if there were not a dumpster nearby to be clever. Maybe he could do something involving lighter fluid and a match? That seems like it could be fun and a nice way to get rid of the body. But much more than that? Much more than feeding, killing, disposal, secrecy (Omerta), what else could his sire teach him this evening? Better question is, would it be able to be done before the sun comes up? He doesn’t say this to his sire, he just waits for the next movement toward instruction. Even if that movement is back to the shop, or to another feeding, or into the sun itself to make a point. This bond that he has with Jesse, he’s starting to assume it’s one that every new vampire shares with it’s creator. It’s so strong though. The desire to please, the desire to follow, the desire to do as he’s ‘told’ when Jesse acts. He waits, looking at Jesse, like an expectant puppy with an empty bowl of food.