Path of the Vampire forum

(Prompt 1)

Jerking awake, Doc sat up abruptly while reaching for the Beretta 92 he kept by the bed. Racking the weapon, he strained to hear if anyone was in the apartment. Hearing nothing, he cautiously got out of bed. He was shaken. He knew what cause it. He walked the perimeter of the apartment, ready to pull the trigger. Finding nothing, he stood in the middle of the living room and starting at the door, and wondering why he awoke as he did.

It was the dream. The dream he had had, every few weeks, from the time he was sixteen until he was turned. At his turning the dream faded from him. Sleep became less of a resting state, than a catatonic state, where he remembered nothing when he awoke at dusk. But tonight had been different. Tonight he had dreamt. And not just any dream, but that nightmare of old. Why it chose this night to came back and haunt him, he wasn’t sure.

Perhaps it was because he was stepping into a course of the unknown. Pushing the envelope, if he was successful, he pushed it toward more secure future for vampirekind. But if he was unsuccessful, he was pushing it toward oblivion. Regardless of the risk, he knew now was the time to act. Act while the humans were mostly clueless about the truth and strength that vampires had. Every passing day, the vampire community was that much closer to an uprising, with no legal standing for fall back on. The Americans were ramping up their Nationality, of America First. Soon it could become Humans First and vampires would pay the price. They needed to be recognized under the law. So that everyone had a chance at due process.

Realizing he was still carrying the gun in a shooting stance, Doc forced himself to relax, and decocked the weapon. He returned it to the night stand beside the bed. Sitting on the bed, the memories of old reared up once more. The dream was built from his memories. Actual events that had taken place, and except for the tiniest twist of fate, he would not be anymore. He had been sixteen, angry at the world and his father, and willing to rebel in any way he could. He had taken to hanging out with a rough crowd. A crowd his father demanded he stop associating with. That had made Doc that much more adamant to be in that crowd, if for no more reason than to piss his father off.

How he reveled in letting his father know, why he was late, where he was, and with whom. He endured it, even though the gang called him ‘Charlie’, despite how he despised that name. If it hurt his father, he would endure it. Until that night, the night, he refused to go with the gang. He took a stand against them. It had nothing to do with obeying his father. It had everything to do with what the gang planned to that night. They wanted to take down Hermosea.

Everyone who did drugs, knew Hermosea. Doc had never done drugs, he had seen the effects up close and personal, and he had no desire to find himself in a such a vulnerable and degraded position. But no so with Hermosea. That man had no soul. It wasn’t like Doc was a touchie feelie person, ready to sing “Kumbaya” with a stranger; but he knew evil when he saw it. And Hermosea was evil. Evil enough to make the hair on the back of Doc’s neck to stand up. That never happened. So when he found out the gang was going to make a play and take Hermosea’s territory, he bailed. Oh he bailed and blamed his father. The man he wanted to hurt. But in this instance, he used his father as an excuse. Hermosea was bad news. Doc wanted no part of that.

It proved prophetic.

Doc had bailed, but every member of the gang that had agreed to take part.. Disappeared. Never to be seen again. Oh .. he knew what had happened to them. But he never told a soul. There was no point… except..

His eyes narrowed. Hermosea wasn’t that much older than himself. Ten years? Maybe fifteen? Hermosea could still be about. The dream had reemerged unexpectedly? Why? Had Doc’s subconscious recognized him? Yes. That was it. He had spotted Hermosea.. And he needed to pay.

(Prompt 2)

Trust

Charles’ father had been the well respected heart surgeon of Toronto. He had been voted ‘Toronto’s Man of the Year’ more than once, ‘Doctor of the Year’ for eleven years running. He had the power to pick and choose which cases he would take. A feat practically unheard of in the 50’s and 60’s. He had been highly respected and sought after for conferences and second opinions. By his side, Charles’s mother. Beautiful and elegant, and always well turned out, with never so much as a hair out of place.

However, behind closed doors, it had been a completely different picture. Gone was the loving family man, who cherished his wife, and in that place, Doc’s father became an overbearing wife beater. He and his mother never knew what would set him off. It could be something as simple as a chicken for dinner. If he had chicken for lunch, it was an affront that he be served the same meat again at dinner. It could be a perceived insult by a careless driver on his way home, that would set him into a rage. Dare you avoid him, hoping to avoid his wrath? No, that merely made him worse. He wanted to vent and hit something. And usually once his father beat his mother, in places where the bruises would never show, he would become the magnanimous Dr. Nilson once more.

Growing up as a child, in a household where such violence was an everyday occurrence, and being taught that if Charles said anything, it would be worse for his mother later, the resentment and frustration grew. From an early age, Charles began planning, plotting and predictive preempting his father’s actions. If his father would react in one manner, Charles would react in a preconceived parry. As proud as he should have felt for successfully parrying his father, it wasn’t something he could share with anyone.

But even when Charles had well laid out plans, there were instances when even the best laid plans were not enough. Doc’s main goal was to protect his mother, but as Charles got older, that just made his father turned on both of them. At the age of eleven, Charles dared to fight back. His father lost no time, beating the eleven year old child into submission. His mother took the unconscious Charles to hospital claiming a gang of boys had beaten him. The police were waiting outside his room, as he begged his mother to tell the truth. To have his father arrested. But she had refused. Why? Because she ‘loved’ him. She had even warned him, if he tried to tell the truth, she would not support him. They could not live without their father. They would have nothing. No house, no jewels, no country club. Charles argued, they did not need things. Freedom was worth more than a house and things. But not to his mother.

A young Charles lay in his hospital bed, and came to the cold hard conclusion then and there, that caring for others brought you nothing but pain. Love was a construct and veil for the weak to hide behind. Because if love was real, surely his mother would have protected him. But she had not. She sold him out for the things. So Charles, hardened his heart against his mother and father. When the police were allowed to interview him, he lied. He did not let his father off the hook however. He clearly stated in his statement, that there had only been one assailant but due to the blow to his head, he couldn’t really remember who it was, but perhaps it might come back to him later?

Betrayal.

Charles had been betrayed by those that should have been his champions. He realized then, that he could never trust anyone else to stand by him. At some point they would all turn away. Whether it was due to a different goal, or the lust for things, the only person Charles could trust was himself.

(Prompt 3)

The loss of innocence.

Sitting in the Riverside dinner, in his usual booth, he overheard the conversation of the couple across from him. They were a young couple, barely in their later teens. From the conversation, Doc knew they had eloped to be together, because their families said they were too young. Young and indestructible they had fled to Canada. But now the results of their actions were showing up. They were out of money. The hotel was kicking them out. The car needed fuel, and the girl had missed her period. He stole a glance at them. They looked shattered. Welcome to the world of the adult.

Looking back at the journal that he had been writing in, he paused. Doc remembered having that self-same shattering look. For him, it had been when he found out that vampires were real. His whole professional life had been predicated on the desire to extend human life. To find that key set of chemicals or implants that would makes someone normal into someone extraordinary. It was a goal that he worked for whole heartedly. By day, he was a surgeon. At night, he had the backing the American ‘off-the-books’ medical experimentation grants through the Department of Defense.

Using the documentation provided by to DoD, he made sizable advances in the research. His grant was coming to an end, and he needed a boost, in order to extend for an additional three years. He thought perhaps it was his poor quality test subjects that was the problem. He needed a new source. No longer would he use the street kids. Yes, they were easier to manage and break. But they also tended to be junkies and malnourished. That was a stumbling block for medical interventions. What a normal body could easily recover from, a malnourished body, could not.

Laying down his pen, he closed his journal as he recalled that moment, when he witnessed a vampire feed from, and mind control it’s victim, allow it to stumble off in a daze. Doc had followed the vampire as best he could, losing sight of it, as it just disappeared as though it was never there. Countless nights Doc watched and waited, hoping to find that vampire again. So much time had gone by, he began to question his memories. Maybe he has misinterpreted things. Perhaps it wasn’t as he thought.

Until.. Frankie needed a favor. Frankie was a friend the Nose, Doc’s cleaner. The Nose was a gangster, who was willing to do odd jobs like disposing bodies, for a price. The Nose had been missing for awhile, Doc put it down to the Nose needing to lay low for a while. But then Frankie showed up.. Needing a favor. That was his introduction to the Broussards. And.. the Broussards were in the middle of a war. That next week, he patched up, doctored patient after patient that should have died.. But did not. Men that he said was a lost cause and needed to make their peace with their maker; were sitting up in bed the next day laughing and joking.Doc came to find out, they were blood thieves. Men that drank the blood of vampires to make themselves stronger, and with that strength came accelerated healing.

In that moment, Doc knew that everything he had spent his life working on, was all for naught. He would not be the one to make any strides in lengthening mankind's life. Everything he had worked for, was dust. He had nothing to show for his efforts except untold number of bodies that the Nose disposed of for him. His life had been wasted. His goals, all evaporated. What did he have left? Surgery? What was the point? It was the survival of the fittest. He couldn’t extend life with surgery, he could only patch it up.

His life had been wasted.

(Prompt 4)

Spike.

She was a ratty little guttersnipe. She was crude, but canny. He had decimated her whole crew, those he had not killed, fled. But she still stood defiantly facing him. This little blonde female that was more mouth than muscle. She faced him with a blade. A tiny one at that. She wielded with ease, but he was able to parry her every move. She really wasn’t much of an opponent… except…

She had spunk.

He had beaten her at every turn. He wasn’t even trying. He was barely going through the motions. But she refused to give in. Even when he was crushing her neck, choking the life out of her. She remained defiant.

The look in her eyes as she stared at him. Unwavering. Staring at him, daring him to end her.

And he almost had. But that look. That ‘I refuse to give in’ look in her eyes. It deserved recognition.

It was as her eyes started to roll back in her head, that he relented.

Drawn by an impulse never before felt.. He turned her.

He had sired. He the loner, that never felt he could trust another, had created an offspring.

(Prompt 5)

Having turned his business dealings over to Cyril, Doc had more time to study and deal with all things Vampire. When he had first been turned, the desire to know his new history had been strong. But the desire to survive, and build a future had been more pressing. He felt the immediate and tangible need to protect the masquerade.

But though Doc had been single minded in doing all he could to protect the masquerade, it fell. Fell so easily. He had been disgusted with the entire Vampire community. They went on like it was nothing new. But Doc knew it was a foreshadowing of their destruction, if someone did not make preparations, they were but one event from annihilation.

He instituted his plan, by trying to find someone who was respected and well liked in the vampire community. There were several. But what he had proposed to them, had not been something that they wished to be so vocal of. In truth what he was asking was a lot. They would be the face of Vampires in the political arena. He had been advised that Enver Marshall II had already made huge inroads into the Human world, Why not ask him?

Why not? Doc did not trust him. He had never been one to put himself out for others. He was quite self seeking. Again, not something that Doc wasn’t very familiar with. Doc was just as self serving, but in this instance, the community needed a someone not seen as a glory hound or ego maniac. Several had asked him why he had not sought this for himself? It was his idea after all.

But Doc knew he was hated, feared, and perhaps even loathed by most of the vampire community. Who would agree to allow him to speak for them? None. However, as more time went by, the ability to strike while the ‘iron was hot’ as were, was getting smaller and smaller. Someone needed to act. So Doc made the move. He would act, and hope that he garnered agreement.

No matter how it ended, he at least tried.

(Prompt 6)

She was more than he deserved.

Doc had always been his own worst enemy when females were involved. He over thought it. Tried to make logical sense of things that should have just been accepted as is. It had taken a long time for him to learn this. That logic and science had very little to do with how people, females primarily, reacted.

The key to females.. Which again, had taken him a long time to learn, was to simply accept them as they were. Fault and foibles, sins and mistakes, they all played a part in what makes up a female. It could be true of anyone really. They were basically a sum of all their experiences. But no two females could go through the same experience and have the same long term result.

Females were emotional beings. It wasn’t an insult. It wasn’t anything he meant in a derisive manner. It had taken him years to learn this. Females were, beings of beauty. Each had their own special thing about them, that he could appreciate. From their looks, to their feelings, to their points of view, each had something to recommend them; and appreciated them.

But she was his diamond. A gem beyond compare. She who accepted him without question. She who never questioned him when he went into his periods of darkness. She, who was well aware of his ‘hobbies’, and she never cast a negative word or look toward him because of them. It wasn't because she feared him. No. It was because she understood him, in ways, that only someone intimately acquainted with his type of hobbies could. She would cast no stones, because she was just like him.

He held the ring up, eyeing it for its beauty, knowing it paled in comparison to her. But he knew, she would say a ring didn’t matter. It was symbolic only. But to him it did matter. This was not a game of chicken. This was him knowing he had finally figured it out.

(Prompt 7)

Doc had accepted her challenge and he intended to win. Loser would buy the other a new wardrobe. He was well aware that he could be a clothes horse. He knew this more than anyone. But he wanted to it to be a fair challenge. Tossing a pair of jeans, a polo and a leather jacket on the bed, he had what he would be wearing on the plane. It was a step down from his usual attire. But if he learned one thing about air travel, it was that planes could crash. If they did, a suit was easily shredded and gave little defense against the elements. At least with jeans, he would have a durable pair of pants on.

Truth be told, he was a little bit nervous about flying. But Doc squashed that thought, and shoved it low and deep into that dark spot where he repressed everything he didn’t like or want to remember. After all, the odds were in his favor. How many people died by plane crash, after they had survived one? His luck.. He would be the first. But he couldn't let his life be ruled by self doubt. That was a coward’s way out. Not his.

Doc threw open a suitcase. He tossed in a shaving kit. He grinned as he thought about what Lizzie would pack. No doubt she would be conservative. Perhaps even very conservative. He grabbed a duffel bag and unzipped it. Two weeks they would be gone, researching and visiting historic places. Doc paused. He grabbed a tablet and charger and set it beside the duffel and suitcase. He would need his journal as well… or not.

No; just in case of a repeat ‘plane crash’ occurrence, he did not want to lose his journal. He would purchase something there, in Italy. How hard would it be to find a blank journal? Maybe something crafted out of fine Italian leather? Yes. He would have to purchase that there, in Rome. A camera was tossed into the duffel. After all, didn’t every tourist have a camera?

Forcing the memories of the plane crash away, was getting harder and harder. He had thought he was over it. It had happened, he survived, he made it home. It was done. But it wasn’t. Not really. He closed his eyes and counted. When Doc opened his eyes, he felt more centered and grounded. He was back on task. The past was the past. What happened in the past, made him who he was today. It was up to him to make sure that, those past events, allowed him to equate himself well in the future.

Time would tell.