Path of the Vampire forum

There were few things in life that were more comforting that a clean, fluffy towel. The feel of the soft cotton upon one’s skin, like a thousand fluttering fairy eyelashes, and the unmistakable fragrance of fabric conditioner, could soothe even the most savage of beasts. Comfort, luxury, was something that had been severely lacking in Grant Stonehouse’s new life in Harper Rock. A dusty warehouse floor or damp sewer tunnel was hardly comparable with a well-sprung mattress resting neatly upon a wrought iron bedframe. A shower was often simply a stolen opportunity to rinse a tired body under stone cold water from a burst pipe, so the thought of a hot, relaxing bath in a real tub was truly joyous. As Stonehouse accepted the towel from his helpful hostess, he couldn’t help but smile gleefully. The memories of an incident in a factory where Stonehouse had attacked an innocent worker in the changing room showers momentarily entered his head like an unwanted guest, but were quickly banished to the back of the wounded man’s mind. This was not the time to mull over past misdemeanours; it was time to unwind, at last.

After the obligatory thanks for receiving the towel, Stonehouse returned his attention to his ripped shirt and the crusty bloodstains that adorned it. It was only then that it struck him that it wasn’t his blood that had created the crazy patterns across the once crisp, white garment, but the blood of the hunter. He looked at his sewer tunnel saviour, offering yet another smile in her direction, before responding to her. “Yes, I guess I am a shadow,” said Stonehouse slowly. He’d heard the word used before, and the description seem to fit perfectly like a tailored suit from Savile Row. “The weird smoky blood just seems to melt away into thin air. What about you? Are you one of the shadow people, if that’s the right thing to call them?”

Maybe it was an odd question to ask Laura, but then again Stonehouse didn’t really know much about the woman. He knew that she crafted weapons, that she was also a vampire like he was, and that she was very kind-hearted and generous, but who was she? Normally Stonehouse would attempt to suss out a person within the first minute of being introduced to them. The psychology graduate’s inquisitive nature meant that he needed to categorize people and try to work out what made them tick so that he would know exactly what buttons to press if or when he wanted to elicit a reaction. In all the commotion of the attack and the subsequent stumbling journey back to Laura’s dwelling place, Stonehouse had been preoccupied with his own wellbeing, and had barely had an opportunity to actually study the attractive blonde. Yes, she was attractive, wasn’t she, but not in an overtly sexual or flamboyant way, thought Stonehouse as he let his dark eyes linger a little longer on her figure. The light from the flickering candles illuminated her cheekbones, and gave her a warm, healthy looking glow. The phrase that Stonehouse would use to describe the woman standing in front of him would be “casually sexy”; the kind of girl that you could lie next to, stroking their hair for hours and gently caressing their skin, without really saying a word.

Stonehouse became aware that his glance was morphing into a stare, and quickly addressed Laura’s enquiry about clothes. “I do indeed have a few changes of clothing,” said Stonehouse rather chirpily, as if owning an extra shirt or two was some kind of amazing achievement. “I’ve actually got a great boiler suit that’s perfect for working in the sewers, although the colour really clashes with my hair.”

Stonehouse released a pathetic laugh as he ruffled his thick, dark hair with the hand that wasn’t holding the towel. “I’m sure that my current clothes will clean up just fine, and I can get a change soon enough.”

He glanced over at the washing machine, turned on the hot tap of the bathtub, running his free hand under the jet of water to judge the temperature, and then began to remove the damaged, soiled shirt. He peeled it off like the skin of an orange, rather than simply taking it off as he would do normally, in the hope that he wouldn’t strain the wound. Wandering over to the washer, Stonehouse launched the rag inside and turned to face Laura. “I think some bandages would be grand, “he said with yet another broad smile firmly implanted across his face. He paused, before saying what was really on his mind. “Oh, and thank you again, Laura.”

Stonehouse watched as Laura left the bathroom through the open archway. He could question her again later. He finished stripping away his dirty clothing, tossing them unceremoniously into the washing machine, and climbed into the rapidly filling bathtub, submerging himself in the invitingly hot water, letting out a sigh of pleasure before he sunk beneath the surface.

Water was essential for life to flourish. It was the carrier of creation. When a much younger Grant Stonehouse had visited the Jodrell Bank Observatory in Cheshire for the first time, he had read about the search for planets that had signs of water, as they were the ones that may sustain “life” as we currently know it. No water, no existence. It was a simply equation. Blood plasma, which constitutes about 55% of the body’s total blood volume, was roughly 90% water, meaning that approximately half of the recently turned vampire’s new tipple of choice was good old-fashioned water. The principle still rang true: no water, no existence. Granted, drinking blood was a most unusual method of consuming nature’s liquid life-giver, but the basic concept was the same.

Water was not only for drinking. Two hydrogen atoms combined with a single atom of oxygen didn’t just produce a fluid that could support life, they created a substance that could refresh and rejuvenate life. A bathtub, topped to the brim with hot, steaming water, could relax the most tired of limbs and soothe the aching muscles of the weariest of warriors; a bathtub such as the one in Laura’s dwelling place.

Stonehouse felt the warmth of the water massaging his wounded body. It was like the embrace of an angel, the cherub’s watery wings wrapping around his skin, comforting him as he submerged himself into the bathtub’s bosom. Perhaps one day Stonehouse would indulge himself in pampering session, a luxury spa experience where he could bathe in a full tub of fresh, sweet blood. He could string a couple of human blood bags above his head, and slit their throats so that their luscious crimson juice cascaded down upon his head, like an unholy waterfall. It would be like showering in the fountain of eternal youth, soaking in the elixir of immortality. Maybe he’d ask Laura to join him as a token of his appreciation for her help.

Stonehouse’s lurid thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a voice in his head – a familiar sounding woman’s voice – causing him to spring into life and splash water over the rim of the bathtub. So she’s a telepath, thought Stonehouse as he eased his body back into the hot water, allowing the liquid to tickle his chin as his shoulders sank beneath the surface. The revelation should have stunned Stonehouse, but magical occurrences were becoming ever so fashionable. During his time at university, the psychology student had learned about various mental conditions such as schizophrenia, a frequent symptom of which is auditory hallucinations. The “voices in your head” could leave suffers with paranoid delusions, anxiety attacks, and suicidal tendencies. As Stonehouse heard his hostess’ words echoing inside his skull, he wondered if schizophrenics were simply tuning their brains into the wavelength of a telepath, or were victims of telepathic teasing. He called out to the craftswoman, “So you’re a telepath?” he said rhetorically with a mischievous grin across his wet face. “Are you reading my thoughts now?”

Stonehouse’s grin developed into a full-blown smile. “I won’t be long,” he continued, before allowing a few interesting thoughts to casually drift into his mind. He had absolutely no idea what being a telepath entailed, or what supernatural powers a telepath possessed, but he assumed that reading minds could be on the list. Stonehouse would be intrigued to see whether or not his sword-making hostess was blushing when he saw her next.

After a few more heavenly minutes of lazing around in the sanctuary of the bathtub, Stonehouse slowly hauled his toned frame out of the water. Looking downwards, he examined his gut wound. It was starting to scab over, but still looked red and inflamed. An inquisitive finger couldn’t help but poke at the bullet hole in an act of unadulterated curiosity. Maybe in a couple of days it would be fully healed and his stomach would be good as new, but in the meantime he certainly wouldn’t refuse the offer of a bandage. While drying himself down with the huge fluffy towel that Laura had provided, Stonehouse glanced across at the washing machine. The cycle was going to take at least another half an hour to complete, probably double that, so for now the towel would have to double up as a makeshift robe. Fastening the luxurious cotton shroud as securely as he could around his waist, the bare-chested Stonehouse walked through the archway, wondering if he’d be greeted by a blushing woman, or a bandage carrying nurse.

Back in the “real world”, the world of sunshine and home-cooked food - the world without killing and nightmarish creatures - Grant Stonehouse had worked for a medical company called Elixir. The chatty businessman had engaged in numerous discussions with research scientists, doctors, surgeons, and more nurses than he could care to remember. Initially, when Stonehouse had set out on his medical-related career path, his friends were jealous that he would be spending so much time with nurses. The assumption was that all nurses were glamorous, in their sexy uniforms, complete with stockings, suspenders, and high heels, as depicted in ridiculous old “Benny Hill” comedy shows, or the “Carry On” film franchise. They all had perfect hair, luscious ruby lips, and low cut tops leaving little to the imagination. The classic British saucy seaside postcard, showing the naughty nurse, had planted an image deep within the psyche of many a young and impressionable English boy. The reality was somewhat different. Incredibly long working hours with relatively poor pay, uniforms stained with blood and vomit, emptying the bedpans and wiping the arses of incontinent patients… oh yes, glamorous indeed.

It took a certain kind of person to be a nurse, to care, selflessly for others: a person with a kind heart, and the mental strength to put suffering to the backburner of their mind so that they could tend to injuries. Coolness under pressure, and the ability to cope when the situation looked bleak were essential character traits. As Stonehouse approached his hostess and sat himself down beside her on the comfortable sofa, he wondered what kind of nursing skills Laura possessed. She was certainly generous and caring, after all, the craftswoman had helped a wounded stranger in a damp sewer tunnel, bringing him home to assist him and help get him cleaned up. What’s more, Laura didn’t appear to want anything in exchange for her aid, except perhaps some conversation. Stonehouse put himself in the position of the pleasantly dressed woman seated next to him. Would he have done the same? Would he have assumed the role of the Good Samaritan?

Perhaps being a telepath was part of the reason for Laura’s sympathy? Was she able to feel Stonehouse’s pain and empathize with his situation by somehow inhabiting his thoughts? She appeared effortlessly unflustered by the whole situation, as if she knew more than she was letting on. Was she genuinely calm and unphased, or did the blonde possess the perfect poker face? It was fair to say that she currently held the superior hand, and that Stonehouse was nothing more than a busted flush. She had certainly shown no reaction to Stonehouse’s earlier thoughts while he was in the bathtub. There was, of course, the possibility that she couldn’t read everything that he was thinking. The mystery intrigued Stonehouse. As a psychology graduate, Stonehouse had spent years trying to master techniques that would allow him to access someone’s mind, like a stealthy ninja assassin or mental computer hacker. Suddenly he was face to face with someone who possessed magical psychic abilities, a woman who could potentially read him like a newspaper. Could she only see the banner headlines, or could the mind reader also delve much deeper and study the small print?

Surely time would deliver the answers, but for now the matter at hand was tending to Stonehouse’s bullet wound. Eyeing up the impressive array of bandages that Laura had stored neatly in a box, Stonehouse responded to his hostess. “It’s not too cold at all,” said Stonehouse as he returned his attention to the temporary nurse, “and I’m sure that my clothes will be ready soon enough. I’d hate to make you feel uncomfortable with a half naked stranger hanging around in your house… which is lovely, by the way.”

He paused, smiling at Laura to emphasize his appreciation of her home. “While I was in the bath,” continued Stonehouse, “I was thinking about your home, to see if you could read my thoughts.”

Technically this was true, as Stonehouse had allowed thoughts of the comforting sewer dwelling to seep into his mind; happy, positive thoughts that would possibly make Laura blush. The fact that a few other images, such as sharing the human blood bag shower, had wandered their way in was neither here nor there… unless, of course, the telepath had read his mind. He’d cross that bridge if the subject ever cropped up.

Stonehouse gestured towards the homemade first aid kit as Laura rummaged around inside it. “It looks like you are well prepared,” announced Stonehouse with wide eyes gazing into the box. “Do you do this sort of thing often, Laura?”

A thought suddenly struck Stonehouse like another bullet from the hunter’s gun. Maybe Laura really was a nurse, prior to her conversion to vampire sword-maker? Perhaps caring for the sick was second nature to her? Time to find out. “So where do you want me?” asked Stonehouse.