The Keyes To Unlife {Jesse Fforde}

[Rhett Keyes]

Dozens upon dozens. Bloodline. How many was dozens? Five dozen? Seven? Ten? Rhett swallowed as he thought about the people that have died or gone missing. Those with blood loss and other strange occurrences that he encountered and tried to fix before getting people to the hospital to staff that had more medical knowledge and background than he had.

Jesse's passing, spoken thought made Rhett think the same thing. How did people still not know or notice? Or was society just blind to things? Wasn't he blind just a few hours ago? It was easy to just shrug things off or come up with some other, reasonable answer to situations instead of something like 'there are vampires drinking our blood.'

Thirsty. Rhett had been thirsty a couple nights ago. So thirsty his lips had chapped up and his throat burned, itched and scratched. Or was that because he was becoming a vampire like Jesse? Was what he experienced what everyone experienced when becoming a vampire? "Yeah. A little." Rhett admitted, his voice still hoarse from misuse.

Rhett follows Jesse and goes for a glass in a cupboard to the left of his sink and turns on the tap. He lets it run for a couple seconds before putting the cheap glass cup under the water and fills it about three-fourths filled. "Can people tell we're vampires? By looking at us?" Rhett asked after he turned the tap off and faced Jesse again, the glass in his right hand, waiting to hear Jesse's answer before he takes a long, needed drink of water.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse was distracted. He’d gone to the fridge and had removed a blood bag from within; by the time he turned around to answer Rhett’s question, the guy was already taking a long, healthy swig of water. Jesse opened his mouth to tell him to stop, but then shrugged. Trial by fire. Rhett would learn what not to do by making mistakes. For the small things, anyway. Jesse proceeded to tear the top from the blood bag to pour it into a mug – he had fed himself a few times in Rhett’s apartment, and thus knew where to find everything.

”Yes and no. Ordinary people? No. You’d have seen and identified plenty by now if you could,” he said, putting the blood in the microwave to zap it for twenty seconds.

”But there are hunters. And there are blood thieves. There are some humans that are in the know, and they can learn how to identify us, if they want to. But for the majority, no. To keep it that way, I suggest you don’t drink any more water any time soon…” he said, watching Rhett carefully. There was a lot that Rhett had probably seen in this city that he hadn’t tried to explain, or that he had blamed on something else. It was humanity’s ignorance that vampires banked on, Jesse assumed; their inability to accept or believe in things that were beyond their comprehension. Their inability to face something that they feared. And they feared what they could not understand.

Except Rhett didn’t seem to be afraid. He appeared to be taking this all in his stride, and Jesse was waiting for the ball to drop. He was waiting for a reaction that was less than accepting; he was waiting for the hatred, and the fury. What did it say about his past that he was waiting for these things? It could come within the next five minutes, or it could develop over the next five months. Either way, regardless of the fact that he had just sired, he failed to have much optimism.

Maybe the ball would drop as soon as Rhett threw up the water he had just consumed. Maybe when he realised nothing would be normal about his life anymore. So Jesse just waited, leaning up against the kitchen’s bench. He waited for the water to be rejected; he waited for the microwave to ding.

[Rhett Keyes]

Rhett wanted to ask about blood thieves. And humans in the know, but there was a churning in his stomach that held up any further questions from the guy. His right hand went to a counter, as his left hand held up a finger indicating to Jesse to give him a minute. Jesse said something about water, but it had gone amiss when Rhett felt the need to vomit. He didn't do it a lot, but that feeling was unmistakable.

Rhett turned toward the trash which wasn't far from the fridge and where Jesse was now, but Rhett knew he wouldn't make it. Sink it was. The guy hunched over the left side of the sink, rather awkwardly given his height and the low placement of the sink, and expelled the water and a little blood too.

A back hand came to wipe his lips off, Rhett taking a minute to clear his throat before looking at Jesse. "God, I feel like **** still, man." Rhett croaked out before grabbing a small chair at the table near the very sad excuse for a window. "When will I be able to drink water again?" Rhett asked with another wipe to his mouth, making sure anything else that came up was gone.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse was not surprised by the sudden upchuck of water. Even as Rhett held up his finger and proceeded to hunch over the sink, Jesse busied himself with the microwave, which had finally signalled the end of its warming. Reaching in, he retrieved the mug that he had warmed. He found a spoon and proceeded to stir the contents, to make sure the warmth was evenly spread. There was nothing worse than drinking blood that wasn’t consistent.

Moving over to Rhett, Jesse grabbed the other chair and sat down. He pushed the mug of blood toward Rhett, waiting for the reaction. Waiting for the new vampire to catch a whiff of the blood. The reactions were different for everyone – not everyone was the same when they turned, Jesse had realised. The smell had him wanting to down the contents, regardless of the fact that Rhett wanted it more. Jesse craved the blood, the thirst itching the back of his throat like a constant ******* demon. He ignored it.

”You won’t be able to drink water again. Unless you turn out to be an Allurist – in which case you can learn. You need to drink blood to survive – the blood of humans. Or of animals. Humans taste better,” he said, nudging the mug that tiny bit closer.

”We vampires have what they call paths. I’m a Necromancer. We’ll figure out what you are, so I know what you need to know,” he said.

”I get the blood from blood packs, mostly. Sometimes… like last week, with you, I can’t control myself. Sometimes…” he shook his head. It didn’t matter. ”Don’t get caught. Don’t get seen. Blood bags or animals are best – or learn how to get rid of your victims. Drink it, I promise you’ll feel better after a few,” he said. He had more than one bag stored away, for this very purpose.

[Rhett Keyes]

The cup that was put in front of him was looked at, and Rhett cringed at the thought of what that might actually be. He knew what it was, but it had to be a joke, right? Rhett had seen enough blood in his lifetime to know what blood was-but really?

His eyes moved off the cup and over to Jesse, as if saying, 'what is that and what do you want me to do with that?' All questions Jesse answered as he started talking and explaining what it meant to be like him. Like Jesse. Allurist, paths. What the hell? Rhett didn't really understand any of it, but he was too focused on the idea of having to have blood to survive. Human blood that tasted better.

"Victims?" Rhett looked at the cup again. Whose blood had this been? One of Jesse's victims, or a bag he got from somewhere? Rhett imagined all the people he had seen and helped while on the job and imagined taking any of their blood instead of trying to keep the blood pumping through them to keep them alive. He couldn't stomach it, really. That and the idea of tasting any of it.

"What if I can't? Or don't drink that stuff? Drink blood." His eyes moved back to Jesse as Rhett stood against the counter, making no move to accept the drink, or even give it any other thought.

[Jesse Fforde]

There were certain things that Jesse did that the others didn’t agree with. Clover, specifically, seemed not to like it when he went into ‘sire-mode’. Which was exactly what he was going to do to Rhett, now. Although his head canted to the side, his eyes narrowed and his expression hardened.

”Tonight, or tomorrow night, I’ll take you into the Quarantine Zone. Once there, I’ll show you what a feral vampire looks like,” he said. There was no evidence, really, but Jesse believed that any vampire who did not feed would turn feral. They wouldn’t be in control of their own instincts, their own power. They would become no better than animals, hunting for their next meal in a less than graceful manner.

”Basically? You need the blood to survive. If you don’t drink the blood – I’m not sure you’ll die, but you’ll be ravaged by the thirst. You’ll become a walking masquerade violation and I don’t want to have to put you down,” he said. He was dead serious. If Rhett suffered, if he hated what he had been turned into, and if he hated Jesse for doing it to him, Jesse would prefer that they never met on the street. Rhett was an old friend – someone he respected and admired. This could make or break them. Jesse would prefer it to be the former.

He didn’t want to mother Rhett, either. Jesse could help. He could meet the guy every night and boost his blood so that he never had to swallow a single drop of blood. But that would be coddling. What if something happened to Jesse? What if he went months without siring and finally gave in to the urge to kill himself? What if it were permanent? Rhett needed to know how to take care of himself.

Rather than continue, Jesse waited for the words to sink in – he even pushed the blood back toward Rhett. He pushed the point.

[Rhett Keyes]

Rhett listened, his eyes glued to the mug of blood as Jesse talked. Couldn't Jesse have been considered 'feral' the night they met? If that was what a feral vampire was, Rhett had to weigh the lesser of the two evils. A little bit of blood every night to stay sane, or no blood and go crazy like Jesse had been the night they bumped into the other.

As long as something had blood in it, Rhett could probably drink off it. Cats and dogs were the first thing to shoot through his mind, but Rhett couldn't imagine sinking fangs in the old lady's cat down the hall. Rhett had come to know that cat for a couple years now. What if he took too much and it died? No, cats and dogs were not an option. Rhett would work on finding other alternatives some other night.

Tonight, it seemed as if he would have to drink that mug of blood, especially with Jesse pushing it smack dab in front of Rhett. He sighed, grabbed the mug and swirled it around a little. Then he brought it to his lips and took a small swig of it. It wasn't the most horrible thing Rhett had tasted. Tofu was far worse than it. Squishy and soggy was how that experience was summed up. Rhett tried it when he was on this health kick a few years ago, but never stuck with it. It was hard to imagine enjoying a meal with that in his dinner.

Rhett coughed and brought the back of his hand to his lips and wiped them clean, even if there was nothing on it. He wondered where the blood came from. A willing donor, hopefully. But where was it supposed to go? Some lady who had a transplant? An operating room in the heart of the city? Who was he potentially killing to get his blood fix from.

"That stuff about the QZ is true?" Rhett had heard it, but never actually went to look at the claims he heard. He wasn't a big believer in the paranormal or supernatural until he met Jesse again. "What other stuff is true?" Rhett held the mug in his hand, but mad no move to take another drink of it yet.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse leaned back in the chair; the first hurdle had been jumped. Rhett had accepted the blood. Had taken it, had tried it. Would drink it, hopefully, to avoid what he would become if he didn’t. Content that he would not have a fight on his hands, Jesse relaxed. He looked for all the world as if he were completely at home here. As if this apartment were his own, and Rhett was the visitor. Though, that probably couldn’t be helped with how often Jesse had stayed over the past week.

”Whatever you’ve heard about the QZ is probably true, yes. Depending. There probably are some untrue rumours. Zombies, mooncalves, feral vampires… there are walking corpses in the catacombs up beneath the graveyard in cherrydale. There are fae creatures - fairies - in the woods. I don’t recommend you spend too long out there,” he started. There was a lot to explain. But he was doing it out of order. He took a deep breath and focused. This was always the part where he did a lot of talking, and his voice would never be whole. It would start to give out, sooner or later, becoming huskier with each new explanation. But it was worth it. It was a requirement.

”It’s this city. We life on a rift. It’s like a tear between this world and the world of the dead. We call it the Shadow Realm. Two hundred years ago, vampires were wiped out, clean from this earth, and that’s where their souls, their spirits, remained. Someone, something, opened the rift here, in Harper Rock, around… I don’t know, maybe three to four years ago. A few of the souls escaped. Found new bodies - or their old bodies. Vampires, for better or for worse, existed again. All of us who live here now spring from them. There are about six or seven of them, I think - main elders. We call them first generation,” he said. He stopped. Rhett probably already had questions, even though there was still so much more to explain. But Jesse stopped - he gave Rhett the time to interject, if he wanted to. To ask his questions. Or even to just mull it over, take it in. Absorb. More often than not, Jesse had to repeat these things in the future. It was a lot to take in at first. Some details got lost in the deluge. But it was incumbent upon him to try to be thorough. For both Rhett’s sake, and for the family’s. For the sake of vampire-kind. It was Jesse’s responsibility to be thorough.

No vampire should ever sire unless he or she were willing and capable of teaching their progeny the history, the basics. Everything that they needed to know to survive, to understand. To accept.

[Rhett Keyes]

While Rhett listened to Jesse, he stared down at the blood, still wondering the things he had been wondering before about its source. Rhett couldn't help it. It was in his nature to think these things, given what he had been doing for a good portion of his adult life.

He was still listening to Jesse, even if he broke eye contact from where Jesse was standing at. He had heard about the large things in the QZ. The walking dead, but Rhett was one to shrug it off with a laugh. If there were dead things walking around, surely he would have seen them in the city. They would have climbed the fences by now or something if it were true. Only, Rhett never suspected that he was among the walking dead the entire time these last few years. Just a different kind. Ones whose skin wasn't decaying or rotting. One's who only wanted blood and not flesh and brains.

There was more than one world. There was this world and another. Rhett wasn't sure if the shadow realm was the waiting place to go to the final place, or what. It seemed weird. To die, but not really die. To wait to be released again. "They went back to their old bodies?" Rhett shuddered wondering what those vampires looked like. Maybe those were what were in the QZ, making other things just like them. After two hundred years, a body had to be rotting and decaying, right? Or was there some sort of unexplained paranormal, supernatural explanation as to how they could come back and look as alive as they were two hundred years ago?

"Got it. We don't really die. We're trapped between worlds or something. Will it take two hundred years for me to come back if I died tomorrow?" Rhett finally looked up from the mug with the blood in it and looked over at Jesse, trying to grasp all this heavy information in the first few hours of his cognitive state of mind.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse was often preoccupied, thinking about death. Sometimes he wondered these things, too. Did the elders come back in their original forms, or did they come back looking completely different? Were they too far removed from their former selves to re-attach their souls to that particular body? Or did someone’s body always reflect their soul? He supposed that wasn’t the case with mystics.

”The best I can explain it is that we’re not really… real. It makes no ******* sense, I know,” he said. This was always one of the harder things to explain; when Jesse died, he came back with all the same tattoos he’d had when alive. When he lost a limb, it grew back, and it didn’t look as fresh as a newborn.

”Our bodies are a part of us, in a way. If you’re a mystic, when you die you’ll come back with a different body. The rest of us… it’s like we come back as a photocopy. We’re not fresh as newborns. All that body-memory is still there, as if we never lost our bodies to begin with. You’d have to ask someone more inclined toward research into this kind of stuff,” he said, waving his hand in mid-air. Perhaps, Jesse thought, he should be that person. He should have these answers ready to repeat to every new person he sired. Write them all down in a book for later reference. He made a point to remind himself to find this **** out – or at least figure out a way to word it more gracefully.

”And… God, no. It’s always about a week, when we die. We can come back after a week. It’s a good opportunity to rest, to work on spiritually healing any wounds that might have helped you die. Because of the rift… it’s easy to get back and forth. If you die outside of this city, there would be no coming back. You wouldn’t be able to get back out again. If someone were to manage to close it, we’d be fucked. If someone decided to slaughter us, figure out a way… which is why secrecy if of the utmost importance,” he repeated.

Probably too much information for Rhett in one go. Jesse could go on, but he stopped. He lounged in the chair across from Rhett, watching him carefully, sharp eyes focused on every shift in the other man’s expressions.