Path of the Vampire forum

The room was dark. Elliot pondered the theory that maybe his mood never got any brighter simply because he couldn’t ever soak up the rays of the sun. He wondered—maybe that’s why everyone, after turned, goes a bit insane. A bit bloodthirsty. Violent, like a pack of wild ******* animals. Maybe that’s what sun deprivation does to a person. Maybe there’s something a little more to vitamin D than the good ol’ doctors told anyone about. A low hum rumbled from Elliot’s throat—still as shadowed as it was when he was turned. Oh, how he wished someone had let him shave before making him immortal, given the fact that he couldn’t seem to change. Couldn’t cut his hair, it would all just grow back again.

He stared at the window that wasn’t exactly a window. He sat, leaning against the wall in the sewer dwelling that he kept. Why? It was where he went when feeling morose. It was the place he came to when he considered never coming out again—though things hadn’t quite got that bad. Not yet. The wall across from him used to be blank, but he found a piece of chalk. He drew a square. He drew some curtains, knotted at the sides. He drew a hillside. Some trees. He drew a sun creeping up over a horizon. It was all in grey and white. It wasn’t very satisfactory. But he tried to imagine it, anyway. He stared so hard, unblinking, until the stars danced in front of his eyes, until the edges of his vision blurred.

Until he closed his eyes, and against the darkness of his eyelids he could see that sun, brilliant in his memory. That time that he’d stayed in some broken-down hovel in Tuscany. The hillside was covered in grapevines—he was being paid to help with the harvest. He had a bed, and he had brilliant, incandescent sunrises every single morning. Warm days that led into cooler nights, when they’d drink chilled Rose’ from the cellars.

As he imagined the scene, the hum deepened, lengthened, reverberated in a low bass tone before bouncing from the walls. For whatever other reason he might come to this place, the sound really was profound. It inspired some of his better songs. His head lolled on his shoulders; if not for the humming, and the way his fingers clutched at the guitar as if it were a lifeline, he may as well have been asleep. The notes were slowly plucked, the strings caressed and thrumming vibrations were lured from the heart of the instrument. Against his eyelids, that magnificent sunrise morphed, blinding as the orb of the sun left the horizon behind.

Instead of green fields, Elliot could see the sleek whiteness of Pi’s cheeks, that slender curve of her lips into that signature smile that she had. Wisps of her hair were whisked over her features, and he could only reach forward to brush them away, so that he could properly explore every facet of the blueness of her eyes, so much like that sky on a clear Italian day…

…the gentle thrumming of the guitar was interrupted. There was a different hum, now, permeating the darkness. A darkness that was no longer dark, but instead penetrated by an eerie, pulsing, alien blue-white glow…

Elliot cursed as he opened his eyes. His phone was ringing, vibrating its way across the cold stone floor. He squinted down at the screen, focusing on the number. It was one that he hadn’t seen for a very long time. His thumb hovered between the ‘answer’ button and the ‘reject’ button. He hesitated, before answering.

”Hello?”

…

Silence, at first. Then scuffling.

”Uh…. Hellooo?” Elliot called again, awkwardly into the mouthpiece. His own voice echoed back to him. He was surprised he was even getting signal down here. He continued to listen, holding the phone out from his ear as gunshots cracked, threatening to deafen him.

”…whatthefuck,” he mumbled to himself, before: ”Kazi? Kazi, can you hear me?”


No answer. More scuffling. A couple more gunshots. Until all he could hear was a muffled heavy breathing. It didn’t take him long to realise she’d dialled him by accident. He frowned at the phone as he held it out in front of him, watching the little numbers tick over, as they recorded the length of the phone call. Again, he considered just hanging up. Because that went against his character, however, he sighed, and then he shouted:

”KA-MI-KA-ZI.” He enunciated each syllable with precise care.

”LOOK.AT.YOUR.****.ING.PHONE.”

He figured she might be startled into action by the sound of a male voice coming from her pocket, or her bag. Wherever she kept her phone. He lifted his own phone to his ear to see if he had succeeded in gaining her attention.