Laying Blame... [Open]

[Trahir Trahison]

Scene One - Travel to Gravenhurst
Day One, 7am
The RV barreled on through the countryside on Highway 60, the thrall was at the wheel. In the back, a long sleek box held the most precious cargo imaginable. Her Regnant as he called himself. She simply called him Master. It had been that way since the fateful night at the airport and she knew only death would free her. Not hers, his. That had been her illusion until one night, with a half-million dollar bounty of his head, her Master had ordered her to put a bullet in his head, killing him. She’d not been freed. He came back a week later as powerful as ever. As insane as ever. In that moment her resolution and hope of being free from him while she lived shattered. These days it was only her usefulness that kept her alive. That and her Master’s mate having taken a liking to her. She supposed it could be worse. He could have turned her into one of them. He could already have murdered her in one of his typically brutal fashions. He could have been one of those vampires who enjoyed the flesh of mortals and used her as breeding stock for one of the fade beasts he so enjoyed hunting. Yes, it could be worse. It could always be worse.

The vehicle was borrowed from one of his employees at the Harper Rock Vermin Removal service he owned. She knew the vermin he “rid” people of were not animals. They were people. He got rid of them for vampires and mortals alike if the price was right and they called knowing the right questions. The ladies at the office, Hope Hess and Meredith Cornelius, the lady who owned their current vehicle were oblivious of the true nature of the business. Trahir had explained it briefly to Nicolette. There were always a series of questions asked. If the questions led to Meredith believing the call was out of the ordinary, larger animals for example, she had been directed to send the call over to Trahir’s private line for them to leave a message.

Usually the call was for a wolf or a bear in such instances, sometimes even a mountain lion. On occasion though a customer “in the know” simply left a phone number on the machine with a quote from the card of the Harper Rock Hunt Club, a second business owned by the Killer Pathed Vampire. These callers wanted Trahir’s version of “vermin” eliminated.

Nicolette shivered. People eliminated as vermin because they had found out about vampires. A club specifically for doing so in a fashion that entertained her Master. She had never been a part of, nor privy to any of these hunts thank God. A family though, a family in the woods several months ago had gone missing. Now, word had reached Trahir, her Master’s ears that a missing person report had been filed. That is where they were headed. Trahir wanted to tie up “loose ends” while at the same time draw attention away from Harper Rock. It seemed to Nicolette that her life had become an endless stream of the macabre.

She’d called into work telling Dominique’s voicemail that “T” needed her for something for that day and the next and had, without more than a few minutes notice, quickly packed an overnight bag before being rushed out to the RV at her Master’s insistence. Turning south on Highway 11 the RV heads toward its destination, the sleepy town of Gravenhurst, population 12,000 and some change. Known as the "Gateway to Muskoka", the town had been known as Camp 20 when it was used to house Nazi POWs in the nineteen forties. Ulrich Steinhilper, a German Ace fighter pilot had been a prominent guest at the Camp. He later went on to work for IBM Germany and coined the phrase “Word Processor”. He’d attempted escape and failed twice from Camp 20 and three times prior to being housed there. Nicolette had no such recourse. A single escape attempt would mean her death and if this road trip were any indication, her Master was not shy about crossing borders to find and eliminate “pesky vermin”.

Concentrate on the road Nikki, she thought to herself. The last thing you need is to get pulled over or have an accident. The drive was only about two hours but to her, when every little thing that could go wrong could likely lead to death or worse, those two hours were like years in her perception. In the rear view mirror behind her, the reason for her fear lay in the center of the RV’s living area contained for the moment within the coffin on the floor. Getting pulled over was not an option.

----

Scene Two - Trahir waking up in Gravenhurst
Day One, 7:50pm
The vampire awoke to darkness as usual. His hand flexed, fingers curling into silken lining bolstered by a comfortable filling , the familiar feeling of a coffin’s interior. His hand moved to the side, unlatching a plethora of locks and chains keeping the lid secure from those who may pry into his resting place either on purpose or inadvertently. Everything was as it should be he saw as he pushed the lid open, seeing the ceiling of the RV. Sitting up, Trahir glanced around to see all the curtains on the vehicle were down still. He looked toward the cab of the vehicle seeing Nicolette taking a nap in the driver’s seat.

The vampire rose silently from his resting place, making his way without a whisper of noise to the cab of the vehicle and slid into the passenger seat. He remains there for a long moment, watching the artery throbbing on the side of Nicolette’s throat. He had never taken a drop of her blood, simply for the fact that he wanted it. She was a fine human female, beautiful, her body had every curve placed perfectly, her lips full and inviting sensual kisses. Her eyes caught one’s attention and drew them in. Her mind was sharp, dulled only by the enforcement of his commands over her own thoughts. She had done well before he had snatched her from her mortal life. Before he had enslaved her.

Trahir didn’t have a high opinion of mortals in general. They were disgusting creatures eating and shitting and ******* and sleeping, pissing and puking and sweating and leaking all sorts of disgusting fluids when carved open. It was a miracle such a weak and flawed race managed to survive long enough to infect areas, changing them from a world they were not suited to into cities and towns, conquering nature in all her glory and corrupting her work to fill the needs they could not in her world. It was hard to believe that a race such as his came from such… frail stock.

Still, looking at his thrall sleeping peacefully albeit not in the most comfortable position, Trahir can see the features in her face that many would consider worthy of immortalizing. He’d considered Embracing her several times, always holding back out of a distaste for the idea of progeny and out of his own sense of self-preservation. Nicolette, no doubt, hated Trahir. She had to see him as a captor, a tormentor, a monster. To gift her with freedom alone would be dangerous. To grant her immortality, that was ludicrous, insane.

If Nicolette had done her job they would be parked in Gull Lake Park, a short walk away from Bethune Dr. North. His targets were only a moments walk away. Unhurried, the vampire watches her thrall a moment longer. His thirst had woken with him. It was a hollow, burning feeling in his throat and stomach. It begged for satiation, she was so close. He could lean forward and caress her throat with his fangs it he wanted to. So close, so intoxicating. Self-denial was the only thing that stayed his hand, or fangs as it were.

“Nicolette…”

She moved slightly, murmured something unintelligible at his soft voice. “Nicolette, wake up.” This time his voice carries its usual tone of authority and his words rouse her from her sleep. Deep chocolate eyes blink away the moment of transition from sleep to wakefulness and she focuses on him, her voice soft and breathy. “Yes Master?”

“You did well Nicolette, thank you.” His smile shows the extended, needle sharp tips of his fangs. “If you need to, you can get out, explore the town, stretch your legs or you can take a nap in the back on the bed. Just be ready to go when I return. I’ll text you when I am ready to leave.”

Her brunette head bobs as she nods, showing she understands his words and she clears her throat. “Yes Master.”

“There’s a good girl. I’ll return shortly.”

----

Scene Three - Trahir at the Gallows
Day Onee 8:15pm
The wooden siding of the house was distinct, just as he has seen on the Google Maps images. Lights were on in the living room and Trahir could see, through the curtains, movement within. He walked up the driveway to the house and then up the cement path to the front door. Knocking, the vampire waited for one of the family to open it.

Sitting inside the living room of the family, their name a platitude in the conversation. They were a traditional family a man, a woman, a child. Actually a young adult. The daughter was eighteen, she was as plain and average as the town she resided in. All of them were. Trahir had been respectful from the moment they opened the door, Mr. this and Mrs. that and Miss thrown into everything he’s said. It was good practice and helped his act along.

“So Detective Roy,” the husband pronounced the name in the French pronunciation of it. “They have contacted you and are down in the States now? They just popped into the States without a word?” He sounded very dubious of the story.

“No Mr. Gallows, of course not. They did tell us their departure was based on the belief of the husband who believed the wife was having an affair.”

At the time, Trahir had believed the family to be drifters. Living in their RV as they traveled from place to place. They had been living illegally on a plot of land in a “closed for the season” camping ground just outside the city limits of Harper Rock while he had been hunting after hearing sighting of strange animals in the woods during the day. No one he knew have killed a Fae in the wilderness. That was the kind of trophy Trahir wanted to take, along with the acclaim of killing one of the hated Fae. He stumbled across the family during this hunt and had brought Jane back to test her mettle. She had surprised him. During the ordeal the family went through Trahir had overhead part of the woman’s conversation on the phone. She had been having an affair. Trahir was banking that it was with the man before him now. “Of course we haven’t thoroughly investigated that part of the story yet…”

Trahir and Mortll had tied up the loose ends of the scene at the Camp Grounds. The last thing Harper Rock needed was for people to think the place had become Camp Crystal Lake in Friday the 13th. Harper Rock was as beleaguered by “paranormal investigators” and “supernatural occurrences”” as it could get without bursting. The Masquerade was already paper-thin and the word “vampire” was whispered in certain human circles within the city. Sometimes more than whispered. That reminded him, once he got home he’d really need to locate one of these Blood Thieves and have a chat with them.

Mr. Gallows was red-faced but the simple retort has shut him up. His wife, for the moment, seemed oblivious to the implications the past few seconds had held. She was already asking if he could give her the missing family’s contact information. “Actually Mrs. Gallows, I’m not allowed by law to divulge that information at this time as the investigation may be ongoing for some… extenuating situations.”

“Well you let us know if there’s anything else you need.”

“Of course Mrs. Gallows,” Trahir said, extending his hand as he rose

After the typical human ceremonies of parting ways, Trahir bid them goodnight and left an hour later. He walked from the home and down Bethune, heading back toward the RV. leaving the unlit house behind him. Let the mortals see something horrific in the area not based in Harper Rock. Let Gravenhurst have the attention of the media for a change. Let the RV with the missing family’s license plates be spotted if it was spotted. It should be. Nicolette would be in the back asleep no doubt, she had likely just gotten off work when he had come in and told her to grab an overnight bag (something he would make sure was on hand from then on) while the ticket was being written for parking a recreational vehicle overnight. Without paying for the parking.

The family was likely known for such based on where Trahir had encountered them. Let the murdered family of squatters be responsible for the murdered family in Gravenhurst. It was a simple enough set-up and Trahir have fed enough that Nicolette’s thrumming carotid artery wouldn’t be as much a distraction while he was driving them home.

Hopefully that would further divert the search from Harper Rock. The city was under the eye of the world enough. The sheer brutality of the attack should be enough to gain headlines.

----

Scene Four - A Long Drive Home
Day One, 9:30pm
Removing the ticket from the window, Trahir gave a small smile. He unlocked the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. Nicolette was already up and in the messenger seat having received his text right before he left the Gallows house. “I take it you slept through the ticketing?”

Nicolette looked over to him, meeting his eyes for a brief instant before averting her gaze. Did she fail him by sleeping? He’d told her to sleep. Was she meant to stop them from giving the RV a ticket? How? Kill them? She couldn’t do that could she? Could he make her do that? Would he? A million questions ran through the woman’s mind as Trahir knew they would. It was cruel to leave her in such a panic but he did for a moment anyway. “It’s fine. I had hoped you would either be asleep or gone when they came. I’m pleased I don’t have to wander around this boring little hamlet longer than I had to.” He turned the key in the ignition and muttered to himself, “Not that Harper Rock is really a booming mecca of culture.”

Nicolette was from Paris. She missed it so much. Especially in this moment. She misses her family, her friends, her agent. He’d been annoying sometimes before but right now, she missed him like family. She would give anything to be able to go home. The night begins to move outside her window as Trahir brings the RV out onto the road. As Nicolette watches, the sleepy town of Gravenhurst, unbeknownst to it’s residents would soon be cast into the limelight for an atrocity committed upon three members of its community, fell away in front of her, giving way to pristine forested areas and farmers fields. Soon enough the farmland becomes more and more sporadic. Trahir pulls the vehicle over, switches the license plates again. They drive on through the night. Finally, still in silence they pass a sign reads Harper Rock. The sign seems more to read Welcome to Hell to Nicolette. They stop first at the farm Trahir owns. There they drop off the Casket. Before the head to the Cornelius residence. The pull into Meredith’s property and Trahir parks the RV, taking with him the plates of the now-framed missing family.

“Take the car back to the farm. Take the night off, get some sleep. You look like you need it.”

She gets into the 1925 Rolls Royce Phantom and fires up the engine. Trahir doesn’t appear in her rear view mirror as she drives off. She is denied even that little shred of illusory freedom.

----

Scene Five - Arrival at Foucault Castle
Day Two 12:45am
Watching the taillights of his car vanish around the corner, Trahir head off into the city. He’s fed, he has some of the night left and he feels like socializing. Most of the clubs in the area would be shut down, where could he go to find others of his kind?

The Quarantine zone, the Catacombs, the sewers, Foucault Castle, Algonquin Caverns… all of these places came immediately to mind, so he decided to try his luck in the Castle. He’d seen Mordechai, the large man he’d met briefly a few times hunting within the castle a few times and wasn’t averse to speaking with him again. He seemed to be a consummate predator and Trahir couldn’t remember seeing his name listed on the violations list. Though most of his relations with his own kind were strained affairs with violence always lying immediately beneath the surface Trahir hadn’t have a bad feeling about the older vampire.

The only possible issue may come with encounters dealing with others who he used to associate with. Though things had been left… tensely amicable… with well wishes but no hug at the end of his last encounter with his former-Sire Velveteen, he was still unsure of the others. Still, there was a chance of meeting with someone that didn’t immediately raise his hackles.

Besides, he’d heard the Lionelli vampires worked with hunters. He wanted to know if this was true.

The city passes in a blur beneath his feet and within no time at all he stands before the Castle.

[Trahir Trahison]

Scene Six - Foucault Castle
Day Two, 12:50am
The Castle, as usual was dark. Within it lurked a network of vampires, all part of a criminal syndicate that traced its origins by dint of rumor, to the States.What bloodline had first sprung their likes into the world of the supernatural, Trahir did not know. He was interested though. Other shapes moved through the building no doubt. Hunters like him. Some intent of destroying the Lionelli Family. He knew at least one vampire pompously boasted his skills by taking it as a sort of title appended to his name to signify he was capable of killing Lionelli vampires. He was sure there were others who could too. He was approaching the battle prowess of the best the Lionelli had to offer and was less than a year old as one of the creatures of the blood-drinking kind. It was hardly a badge of honor to be proud of, it was a matter of training and tenacity.

He moved through the castle almost nonchalantly. He keeps his eyes open, but he doesn’t make any moves to attack any of the vampire within, Lionelli or otherwise. The place is spacious, he has to give the Lionelli Family home that. It wasn’t decorated very well. The vampire figures there’s little need for decor for their kind, but he’s always appreciated the less Spartan approach to life. He enjoys his creature comforts. He generally preferred a furnished environment. To each their own, though.

The Castle was the hunting grounds of some of the more deadly vampires in the city. Trahir was younger than them and likely not as powerful. Nonetheless he unabashedly makes his way through the building, ignoring most of who he sees. Supposedly a group had taken the territory Foucault Castle was included in away from the vampire gangsters. They must have missed the memo.

Finding little of interest the Killer heads back the way he came. Exiting the castle through the front gate and heading eastward along the road.

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Scene Seven - Streets of Harper Rock - Wickbridge (20, 23) Outside the Metronome Club
Day Two: 1:30am
The streets were crowded for the time of night as he approached the Rack, which is what he called any normally heavily populated, easy feeding area. Usually it was bars, clubs and the like.

Tonight it seemed there was live entertainment going on.

Trahir moved through the crowds to see what the small gathering was about. A man had a display set up and was performing magic tricks before the group of stunned onlookers. As he raised both hands above his head, a strange blue light grew between them, shooting up toward the heavens, briefly illuminating the faces of the oohing and ahhing crowd.

Trahir had seen that trick before. That trick have been used on him within the odious canals and walkways of Harper Rock's sewers. He knew what the attack was, what it meant. The smelly old bum before him was a Paladin, likely one of the stragglers from that pathetic order of hunters who called themselves the Order of St. James. The "parlor trick" had caused the very blood within his veins to boil away. The feeling was more or less what Trahir thought a human would feel if a low-pH acid were suddenly introduced into their bloodstream, of for an instant the blood within boiled hot enough to actually dissipate. Even as a vampire Trahir had felt it in all it's excruciating effect vividly.

He watched on as the old man, long graying beard, tattoos, and filthy clothes adding a touch of the absurd to his dishevelled appearance announced that he would be performing another trick. He produced from his stained and hole riddled jacket a small knife.

"Now this trick, it has been performed in circuses around the world and apparently it was taught to us westerners by the great sorcerers of the far east! Behold! Mothers, cover the eyes of your little ones! I will attempt to put this knife through my own hand and into the table beneath without leaving a single wound upon my flesh! There will be blood! This is not an illusion! It is a show of the healing power of our minds! I will show you that the tales of miracle healing are true!"

Trahir had seen this countless times. Usually it was one of his own kind who was able to focus the stolen blood in their body to seal and repair grievous injury done to their fleshly bodies.. It did not surprise him though to find out Paladins could do the same. Not at all. How else could they survive the injuries inflicted upon them be vampires?

The old man kept his right hand held out and asked for a volunteer from the audience to take the knife and plunge it into the table.

A youth wearing his pants down below his *** and enough gold chains to raise the brow of a Fort Knox insider shuffled forward and took the knife. The young man examined it for a moment, testing the point and the edge and then brought it down, slamming it through the wood of the table. The blade punctured the surface easily, burying to the handle through the thin particle-board tabletop.

"****'s for real," the teen said, taking a step back. "Nothing fake about that blade, yo."

The Paladin nodded to the youth and placed his left hand down on the table, reaching out and drawing the knife out with his right hand. Without delay he brought the blade down hard, piercing his hand and burying the knife to the handle through his left hand.

Gritting his teeth he waited until he collected his composure through the pain of the wound as the crowd gasped collectively. Trahir's dead, expressionless face watched the scene unchanging.

"So you see," the Paladin gasped. :The blade is through my flesh..." As if to prove his point further he pulled his right hand away and then tugged the blade free from the table with the hand it still skewered. Holding it aloft, blood beginning to ooze from the wound he waved it before the crowd.

Finally he reached for the blade with his right hand, grasped the hand and withdrew it, slowly, maximizing the effect the spectacle had on the crowd. He winced and gritted his teeth against the pain and as the blade was remove, it left only unbroken skin in it's wake. "You see! The power of mind over matter! The power of faith over the body!"

Though impressive, Trahir was not moved by the display. It taught him only that he needed to bear in mind that the tattooed freaks needed to be dead, well and truly dead, before he moved on from any future kills. He stepped back away from the crowd and moved off toward a nearby alley to survey the surroundings. No cameras nearby, he put his plan into effect. Waiting for the coast to be clear, waiting for a chance to use his vampiric powers without notice, Trahir takes on the appearance of the rogue vampire he had hunted down previously and steps out from the alley. In his hand is his Andras Special, a gun crafted by his sire. It was a beautiful work of art, a showcase of superior craftsmanship that Trahir on occasion still took the time to admire, months and months after being gifted with the weapon. Using the crowd and his stolen face as cover Trahir raises the weapon and *Blap Blap Blap!* fires off three rounds into the old man's head as he announces he will next demonstrate inhuman flexibility and martial prowess.

The Paladin's head rocks back as all three rounds smash through his skull courtesy of the Killer's Deadeye ability and the old man drops backward hitting the ground as Trahir quickly covers the gun within the confines of his trenchcoat. A woman nearby emits a shocked, horrified scream and people duck, some running.

Mimicking the panic of the onlooking crowd Trahir , still in the guise of the female, nameless vampire does the same, screaming and fleeing off into the alleyway.

By the time he emerges from the other side, he no longer resembles anyone else. It is his own face he wears.

Sometimes the vampire hunter make life difficult for the hunted. Other times they make the job of dispatching them almost too easy. Trahir walks through the crowd on the opposite side of the block, looking as oblivious as they to the violent outburst down the alleyway, one street over.

Harper Rock swallows death on a daily basis, Trahir thinks. What's one more snack for the city?