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Monday, April 30th

The vampire woke up at dusk with a melody in his head. It was something with the feel of an old southern hymn. He swirled the tune around in his mind, letting it dance with the sleepy fog that still drifted there. He was trying to place it, trying to remember the lyrics. Only it had no place, and there were no lyrics, he had just brought it into existence.

Jack rose slowly. He’d conked out at dawn ,as usual, sprawled out on a large, comfy couch that didn’t belong to him, but which he still claimed as his own. A blanket had found its way over his thin form sometime during the daylight hours. He pushed it aside, slipping from his resting place. The vampire shuffled across the room to where his guitar case had spent the daytime and removed his mahogany acoustic from within. He made his way back to the couch.

Picking with his right hand and chording with his left, Jack brought his instrument into tune. Then he let the song his head ring out through the dark room. It was a traditional folksy tune, but he let it drip with gospely blues and wrapped it in melodic overtones. Many of his songs, when they began, sounded classic. They were aimless wanderers, from a time long past. Jack took them in, gave them a cause, and let them wreak havoc where they would. All in the name of freedom, all in the name of love.

He could never get his head around the modern sounds. Today’s rock music was a hodgepodge of sounds from different genres, loosely laced together. It was an attempt to plant the idea that such songs were something profound in the listener’s mind, rather than to convey an idea or a feeling. It left the music pretentious and swallow, Jack hated it. Never did he let his tunes get that way. They stayed rooted in tradition and into them he poured pure emotion.

The young vampire stopped playing for a moment, reaching for a little black notepad on the circular coffee table before him. Like the rest of the room, the table was a vibrant white color. Though he enjoyed the minimalist abode, with it’s white plank floors and the large circular window gracing the back wall, the small clocktower apartment had him humming Cream more often than not. Pulling a black pen from the notepad’s spiral binding, Jack began to make some notes on the melody, the beginnings of lyrics.

He’d been trying to write a new song for some weeks now. He’d thought it was a proper Muse that he needed and he’d almost dropped quite a bit of coin on one. Somethings just weren’t meant to be, however, and he was left with only the musings that sprang forth from the terrors of his dreams. ‘Lighting candles to praise mankind's vandals’ he scribbled before pushing some of his tousled, unruly locks away from his dark blue eyes. He dropped the pen over the notepad, picked up his guitar, and let the song continue to flow forward from his mind.

'What will you call it?’ At some point during the melody, May’s spectral semblance appeared sitting on the puffy white couch next to him. The white bohemian dress she wore faded into the fabric of the couch despite the pale blue aura that seemed to radiate from her. The blood that dripped from her didn’t leave a stain, but just turned to a fine dust that drifted off into air. Jack turned to her, seeing her loose auburn curls and the starlight that always seemed to swim in her hazel eyes, left him with pang of guilt in his chest that almost made his dead heart beat. He placed their guitar down carefully and walked towards the curtained window. He drew back the white drapes slowly as if something horrid hid behind them and gazed out into the starry darkness. “Was thinkin’ ‘Lullaby for the Half Alive,’ but it may be a bit wordy.” Her ghostly giggles were the sweetest kind of song, they embraced him like a hot vice.

It was Monday, so he had to make an appearance at the gallery. No doubt he could spend the whole evening staring out at the city from the clocktower window, just reflecting, just trying to make sense of it all. He was probably late as it was though. Despite his tardiness he had no doubt he’d still wrap up his nightly tasks with more than a bit of time to spare. He dressed quickly, throwing on a pair of worn black jeans and slipping his weathered leather jacket over the white t-shirt he’d slept in. The young vampire was about ready to head out for his clerical duties, checking himself out in the bathroom mirror, making sure his patchwork ivy cap sat on his head just right...cocked just a tad to the right, that is. Then he’d just had to lace up his black boots and he would be hitting the pavement. He left his fender on the couch and stepped out into the hall.

Another cool spring night had found its way to Harper Rock. The young vampire let the refreshing nighttime air fill his lungs. The faint smell of corruption hung in the air. It seemed to be inescapable these days, so much so that had become a quality of the city. Just a fact of life that floated in the background. If the heat ever found it’s way this far north, Jack was sure that faint fetid stench would become much more invasive. He wondered how many more folks would be driven away by that alone. It was important to enjoy the simplicity of the moment though, so Jack did just that, loving the night for its own sake.

A few blocks from the mall and a shrill shriek rang through the darkness like a bell. Jack picked up the pace a bit, heading towards the frightened call. Another cry sang accompanied by an otherworldly sort of roar. The vampire was running now, fumbling through the inside of his coat for his James Bondesque weapon. The streets were relatively empty, had been for quite some nights now, but as he came around the bend empty they were not. A group of walking corpses had surrounded someone, but by the time he’d arrived Jack couldn’t make out if it were a man or a woman. The monsters had already begun ripping into their unfortunate prey.

The victim had been backed up against the back wall of the mall, near a small alleyway. Jack could hear the sick slurping sounds that the zombies made as they lapped up the blood and the crackling crunch of bone that sounded too much like the breaking of a chicken wing. The smell of death wafted through the air towards him. It wasn’t so much the scene that Jack found shocking, but rather how it was so close to his place of employment. It meant that he’d have to dispatch these vile things and get the bodies hidden, including that of their dinner. Folks trying to make a livin’ were suffering enough around these parts. Another zombie related headline by a media all too happy to help spread some panic was just not something his people needed at the moment. He’d already drawn the small golden gun from his pocket.

Much like the aroma of decay, gunshots had become nothing more than your everyday city sound here in Harper Rock. So when he pulled the trigger, the young vampire didn’t so much fear that someone would be calling alerting the police. And if they did, chances were good that they’d be too tied up to come. Jack had spent many nights wondering if this was how folks lived in wartorn countries, air filled with the constant bang of bullets, the rich burn of gunpowder, and the fetid stench of death. He wondered if they lived with the uncertainty of seeing another sunrise. After awhile did it just become like nothing at all. A decomposing head imploded under a barrage of whizzing bullets, fragments of bone and brain matter smattering the mall’s brick wall in a torrent of black and green muck. The vampire’s aim was certainly true.

There had been three in total, well two now and, after the fall of their comrade, they were moving with some surprising speed towards him. Jack took aim again and fired three shots into the zombie approaching from the right. The hot metal whirled through the air, one right through the monster’s greyish green cheek, knocking out a few teeth, or perhaps maggots. The other two sank into the puffy flesh of the creatures shoulders, slinking out the other side. Meanwhile the zombie on the left got close enough to grab hold of Jack’s arm. Acting fast he kicked the creatures feet out from under it and launched an elbow into it the half exposed skull of its face. Even through his jacket, Jack was sure he could feel the dead flesh clinging to him like a soupy putty. It was going to be hell to clean. There was a horrible cracking sound as the monster fell, Jack turned the gun on it, emptying his clip it the zombie’s face. It was bad a decision, there was still one left.

The right zombie was upon him now, arms locked on Jack’s shoulders, mouth chattering trying to take a bite out of his neck. Jack pushed back, the stench of death was so profound, so overpowering in and of itself, that the vampire thought it would do him in. He could see the grave worms squirming through the open gashes where the flesh had left only bone and he was sure some had fallen on him. He dropped his gun and kneed the thing in the gut. It didn’t seem to flinch, so he pushed back and tried again, just trying to get the aroma of death away from him. He had to remember that he didn’t need to breathe, it was a habit that died hard. Jack, holding his breath now, tugged his right shoulder free and launched a heavy blow straight through the creature’s gut. Feeling the nighttime air and the gunk on his hand, Jack realized his arm was now sticking straight through the zombie’s stomach. The creature fell back a little and Jack recoiled a bit as something slimy slithered up his jacket. He pulled his arm free and pushed the zombie to the pavement, it’s head hit the curb and Jack promptly and forcefully launched his boot down upon it again and again. A sickening wet, crunching noise accompanied fading moans until there was silence.

Standing alone on the street, covered in blood, fluids, and various other body matter, Jack surveyed the scene. Shaking a bit of the goo from his arm he began to formulate a plan to dispose of the bodies. ‘You’re a hot mess, love.’ A barefoot May was floating over the remains of the human, the victim that had lured him here. A soft sigh escaped his lips. He’d have to dispose of that one as well. The blood stained walls and pavement were going to be just as tricky as hiding the remains. He knew a guy he could call to come help him dispose of things inconspicuously. A man in the militia, his man. He hoped the two of them could get things cleaned up before anyone came snooping around. One thing was for certain, there was no way he was getting to the gallery on time tonight.

Tuesday, May 1st

The numbers in front of him seemed to swirl in a whirlwind of decimals and dollar signs. He was riding the number two like a witch in a twister of black figures. It made him feel like cackling wildly. The number forty was the closest he came to passing a out a little farm house. The vampire wondered if he would end up underneath it once the winds dissipated and everything came crashing down. It wasn’t worth worrying about, it was important just to enjoy the ride, but still he couldn’t help but think some little girl might try to steal the boots right off of his feet…

It was the crash of the door that brought his head up with a start. Jack was sitting in the gallery office, two days worth of paperwork strewn out on the surface of the large, oak desk in front of him. He’d been making decent progress, until his mind had started to wander. He ran a hand through his brown hair and pushed the chair back from the desk. A bit of a break was in order and investigating the goings on in the gallery was the perfect excuse for such a reprieve. He stood and casually wandered out into the hall.

Painting and sculpting weren’t his forte. Jack was a music man through and through, but he still had a solid appreciation for the visual arts. They could transport a soul just as easily as the audio arts. It had been a quiet evening, they usually were unless there was some kind of showing taking place. His foot falls echoed through the large foyer as he strolled, old blue flannel tied around his waist, hands clasped behind his back. Seeing him, the vampire would look much more the casual observer than an actual employee. That was often the goal. He loved to hear unbiased critiques and watch real time reactions. Tonight though he seemed alone. No, he was certain he had heard someone enter. And it hadn’t been his imagination because it broke him away from his random musings.

He saw her before he heard her, a clear sign if any that she wasn’t exactly human. He could hear a heart beating a mile away these days. She had the appearance of childhood youth with the thoughtful expression of aged wisdom. Clad in a long, black, cloak-like sweater the visitor couldn’t have been standing more than five feet in height, though Jack was sure she was a bit shorter than that. Golden tresses fell from underneath the black hood of that sweater around large, wondering eyes. Her skin was porcelain shimmering like a glass doll under the gallery lights. Her overall aura was unsettling and it stopped the young vampire in his tracks.

They stared each other down for a few moments from across the room, each seeming to consider the other with a cautious curiosity. The doll girl made the first move, curtseying to Jack before turning back towards the painting in front of her. Seeing that old fashioned gesture as a sign of good will, Jack made his casual stroll slowly towards her, until they were standing side by side. Both looking up at the piece on the far wall. “Quiet night…” Jack broke the silence without turning from the painting, though his attention was solely on the curious girl. “They’ll only get quieter…” her voice was beautiful, otherworldly, filled with both melodious dreams and grave convictions “...you always loved this piece.” He turned to look at her, but she was still staring at the wall. Who was she to tell him what he liked? He was sure that they’d never met, as a singer himself, she had a voice that he’d remember. Getting ready to speak, she turned to him, placed a single finger over her stark red lips and signaled with her eyes towards the painting. Jack’s eyes followed.

It was the first time he’d really looked upon the painting tonight. It was the first time he’d ever looked upon it. He couldn’t recall it even being here. It was abstract, but as he stared he saw purple falling stars over a black ruined cityscape that burned in swirls of spectral greens. The designs and colors took his breath away and he felt as though he were being sucked straight down into the vibrant and dark shades. He was hearing the ear shattering whizzing of the bright balls of light, crashing through and incinerating decaying grey structures. Countless screams slammed into him like a freight train. The pallid, drained corpses that were strew about his feet seemed to stretch on for miles and miles. No decay had begun to eat away at them, yet no life was returning to them. Had it not been for the agonized cries, Jack would have thought that there was no life left at all. A rancid, bitterness stained his tongue, a death taste, but not of the variety with which he was accustomed. It was only a familiar voice among the madness, the voice of his phantom paramore that pulled him back. She called out to him in the darkness, called out to him before he was licked by the green tongues of flame.

It was as if a jolt of pure electricity had travelled through his body. His flesh had broken out in goose pimples and he was frozen in pins and needles. The young vampire hadn’t experienced such a thing since he had died, hell, he didn’t even know he could still feel such a thing. ‘Jack, snap out of it, we’re not out of the woods yet,’ He saw May floating behind the doll like woman, her face twisted in a terrible disgust as her words slammed into his brain, shaking him once again. “She’s still talking to you, I see,” said the porcelain girl, softly, almost with a sad disappointment, her attention still squarely focused on the jarring artwork. At first her words didn’t register, Jack was still a bit shaken up, but when they finally hit him, he could hardly believe what she had said. How could she know about May? Jack hadn’t told a soul. And further how could she know that the spirit was among them now. He’d been positive that he was the only one who could see her. So positive in fact, that when May first appeared to him, Jack thought he straight up lost his mind, too many dead brain cells as a result of his turning. “How…” he started softly, before her arm reached out with a preternatural speed, her petite hand gripping his arm.

There was a lot of strength in that grip, especially considering how small the girl was. And her touch, it was like a metallic frost, burning his skin with sheer cold. “You don’t remember me?” The doll girl asked in that same otherworldly tone, teeming with a bitter sadness, “we’re at the beginning…” she turned to face him, he could see dark tears in her shadowy eyes, though they never graced her face, “you’ll find me at the end…” as she seemed to trail off Jack happened to look down, seeing for the first time that it looked as though she were almost floating, her bare toes pointing downward, just scrapping an inch from the ground. “Hold on until then, the devil you know is worse than the devil you don’t.” The lights in the gallery flickered and she vanished in a haze of shadow. Jack could still feel her grip on his arm even though it left no mark.

“What was that?!” The young vampire demanded of the shade of his former love. She stood there looking all too innocent, but Jack knew that she knew something. ‘Hush now love, probably just something that drifted from the darkness of the rift,’ she began to sing softly,

'Try not to worry, try not to turn on to problems that upset you, don’t you know that everything’s alright…’

even now her singing could soothe him. Still Jack needed an answer and something that drifted from the darkness wouldn’t do. That girl knew him intimately and she was very vampiric. “May, enough with the games,” his tone was grim, “what. just. happened. to. me.,” Jack was sure to enunciate and emphasize every word distinctly. Her singing stopped and she sighed, shaking her head. Her long auburn curls bouncing too and fro, her large eyes filled with a dismal dismay. She placed a single bloody finger to her lip, before dissipating in a swirl of spectral dust. Even on the day of her namesake, no answers, nothing new.

Jack let himself slide backward against the wall until his bottom met the waxed floor. He leaned forward, placing his head in his hands. The whole experience left him feeling confused and sick, if a vampire could feel sick. He kept trying to place the doll girl, she had a familiar aura about her, but Jack knew they’d never met. Violated was the right word to describe how he was feeling. It was as if she had torn into his being and plucked out something that was his alone. Something he would never share. He began to hum a bit of the song he had started writing the night before. A new verse had been born and he needed to nurse it, keep it alive. Perhaps it was about this, perhaps it was about that small creature that had infected his thoughts. He didn’t feel like doing any more paperwork. In fact, he felt like playing a few tunes.

Before he knew it he was carrying his guitar out of the gallery and towards the lobby. There’d be some folks in the mall tonight, maybe he’d grace them with a song. If worst came to worst he’d be playing for himself. Though he knew folks used the space to socialize and consume away their fears. Perhaps he’d play away his own. Whatever the darkness was the young vampire had experienced tonight, it had shaken him to the core. Mostly because he knew how easy it would be to marry himself to it, how easy it would be to let it flow forth from his person. He’d seen it in the painting, under the green haze of that spectral burn. Maybe what May had said was more truth than fiction. Maybe the rift was increasing the darkness that lurked inside. Maybe the power from it was piercing into him like so many shadowy daggers. Jack would continue to ponder upon the strange vistor’s words until they themselves became a verse in a song.

Wednesday, May 2nd

Despite the strange happening that marked the early part of Tuesday night, the rest of the evening went off without a hitch. Even his sleep had been dreamless. The nightmarish images that often flooded his daylight hours had remained still and silent. It had been a welcome reprieve. And by Wednesday, Jack had pushed the peculiar vision to the back of his thoughts. Not forgotten, just left to sit and infect, shaping any musings that may arise. If there was any answer to be had, Jack knew he’d find it sooner or later. For the time being there was business to attend to.

The young vampire was sitting under the dim glow of the bar lights. It was a small place and filled with the sounds of laughter, shouting, and the clanging of glasses. The noise of inebriated hoopla and drunken merriment. Being that it was so close to the QZ, it had become a hot spot for soldiers and militia, as well as vigilantes and criminals...and of course for those few folks who blurred the lines. Staring into the undrunk glass of whiskey that sat on the mahogany counter in front of him, Jack wondered just where he fell. It wasn’t something that he often considered, however, as he awaited the weekly rendezvous, the allurist couldn’t help but ask himself what all this was for. All the meticulous note taking, all the movement memorizing, all the tactic terminology, what was the point of learning it? What could a single vampire do? Especially one who was living by the case of his guitar. Was there really anything that needed doing? He may have had the Quartermaine name in his preternatural blood, but he still felt leagues away from the hero of the adventure novels that defined the lonely days of his youth. Still it seemed like a great sin to not be aware, to not be prepared.

No one paid the young vampire much mind, they hardly ever did. Though Jack was quite sure that if the rowdy bar bunch had suspected him of being anything other than human, well, there would have been at least a few attempts to kick his head in. He kept that head down, not so much out of fear, but to keep himself anonymous. Being just another face in the crowd, a ghost in the night, had certain advantages. Once that anonymity was gone, it was a hard thing to get back again.

Speaking of ghosts, his had appeared in the empty seat beside him. Looking as forlorn and melancholy as she did, with her long curls hanging over her pale, freckled features, Jack would have thought she’d buy the bottle tonight had he not already known she was dead. Truth be told, May was the last phantom he wanted to see right now. Knowing that to be a fact was like a hot knife through his heart. She didn’t greet him, didn’t look up at him, just bled all over her white dress. The drops of spectral goo that fell from her person turned to a fine dust and dissipated into the air. It was almost as if whatever plane she existed on wouldn’t allow anything solid to slip into his reality. If he thought she’d give him an explanation, he might have asked her about it. The allurist pretended to ignore her, but the guilt he felt at doing so kept May ever present. He just hoped his man would arrive soon. Jack wanted to be away from her. As if that were an option.

Ten past ten read the clock that hung over the liquor display. His man had just walked through the door. Finally, Jack had felt as though he’d been here since dusk. The smell of old gunpowder and corruption had been hanging in the air all evening. It mingled with the smell of hops, cigarette smoke, grain alcohol, bodies, and of course urine. What bar would be complete without some unfortunate soul pissing on himself or, in more humorous cases, on someone else? But when the dark haired man took the seat next to Jack, the scent of death and firepower became as present as the spirit that he sat on. It was the stench of war, at least Jack imagined that to be the case.

May had vanished when his man settled in on the otherwise empty barstool. His long, thick hair had been tied back in a ponytail and he still had his semi-automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. He was wearing heavy, protective, bloodstained clothing and and a dark green bandana hung from around his neck. The dark, defined features of his face were graced by a thin layer of grime and his almond eyes radiated an exhaustion that added a new level of guilt to Jack’s conscience. He asked himself again, what was this all for? His man smiled though and they clasped hands in a sort of high five handshake before leaning into each other for a quick embrace. “How goes it out there?” Jack asked keeping his voice just low enough for the dark haired man to hear. “It goes, my brother...it goes.”

Jack bought him a drink or three as they conversed. The young vampire’s own whiskey remained untouched. Nothing at all appeared off or strange about their meeting, just two friends shooting the ****. His man fit right in with the crowd, much more so than Jack, who, in his black leather jacket and worn denim jeans, had the more appearance of a biker than a soldier. His man had slipped him the information at about the halfway point of their conversation. As always it was in the form of lined notebook paper, handwritten, and folded neatly into a small square. And as always, with one dexterous motion, Jack made that square disappear, like a magician doing parlor tricks. It didn’t really vanish of course, it was just tucked safely inside of his coat, waiting for analysis, waiting to be complied and compared with the data provided on its predecessors.

The meeting lasted about an hour before Jack pushed his glass of whiskey to the man and stood from the bar. Time to be moving on. He’d heard what he needed to hear and had what he’d come to recieve. As he turned, his man grabbed his wrist. It wasn’t at all like the icy clutch that he’d experienced from his visitor the night before, but he was still reminded of it. Perhaps it was because both the man at the bar and the girl at the gallery had latched on to him on the very same spot. Perhaps it was how the ominous tone that his man spoke in reflected the same inauspicious air that the little porcelain lady had displayed in their conversation the previous night. “It’s the beginning of the end, friend. Best prepare.” Jack nodded and the man released his grip, turning back to the bar, specifically to the glass of whiskey Jack had slid to him.

The allurist was out in the darkness of the evening once again. The stars seemed to hang low overhead, providing a hazy glow in the springtime sky. A cool breeze lapped lazily at his face. His hands were tucked into his coat pockets as he strolled slowly down the lonesome road. The young vampire was running things through his head and whistling that new tune of his. He’d added a bit more to the melody. It had almost completely come together now. ‘I like that...who’s it by?’ She was floating beside him again, in that white, bloody, bohemian dress. It should have been covered in grave dust, not in blood. She hadn’t died in it. “It’s by me,” Jack responded curtly, attempting to dismiss her and this conversation at the outset. ‘Please don’t be angry, love, you heard what Tito said, he’s right. We need each other more now,’ Jack cut her off stopping in the middle of the street. “Don’t give me this ‘we’ stuff darlin’, you know, you play the part well, shoulder to cry on. And you know I’d be content never to hold you in my arms again, for just the opportunity to talk with you, but you can’t even give me
that!” Jack was so angry that he didn’t realize he had begun yelling. His thoughts were so jumbled that he wasn’t even sure if the words that were spewing forth from his lips made any sense at all.

If anyone happened upon this scene they would have seen the man yelling at nothing but darkness, perhaps a nearby streetlamp. He probably looked half insane, maybe he was. 'Please Jack,’ May pleaded, ‘don’t you think if I knew I’d tell you.’ The young vampire cut off his phantom paramore once more, “It seems to be all a game to you! Ever answer just a veiled question!” The main point of contention was the previous evening of course. ‘It’s just as I said, something from the abyss, something from the rift…’ Jack could hear the pain in her voice, could see the hurt in her eyes...eyes that had always been so innocent...even now seemed so innocent. She had the look of a wounded doe and Jack was the cruel hunter. He hated himself for it, yet he was to furious to stop. “Yeah, then why come for me?” He’d stopped yelling, but his tone was no less firey. ‘Maybe it wasn’t just you, maybe it was everyone, Jack, I don’t know. But I do know that there are more important things to focus on right now.’ Jack just nodded. He was suddenly exhausted. May’s voice seemed to tear at his mind while kissing the wounds it left in its wake. He continued onward again in the direction of his apartment and May began to sing softly. It was the song he’d been imagining and hearing it in her voice was the most bittersweet moment of the evening.

Thursday, May 3rd

The vampire stood gazing out the large circular window, down into the dark streets below. A look of pensive contemplation graced his well defined features. He was lost in a world of his own making, birthed by imagination and patterns he was beginning to see. He hadn’t moved a muscle for at least two hours. If anyone were to look up and happen to see the figure in the window, they’d most likely have thought him a strange mannequin, an all too pretty gargoyle waiting to swoop down upon them. About midway across the room a mess of notebook pages and open books were strewn across the white coffee table. Some had even been pushed to the wooden floor beneath it. Scribbles of frustrated madness crisscrossed shorthand and decoded coordinates.

Dreams were a funny thing. Even when they were always frightening. They couldn’t be called nightmares anymore, since they occurred during the day, but they were no less nightmarish. When the lines between the sleeping and the waking worlds began to blur, that was when the real fun began. Even now Jack wasn’t sure if he was truly awake. He contemplated pushing open the window and jumping out into the darkness. A plot to assuage any doubts he may have had about this being real. At one time a fall like that might kill him, now it might be more like getting a nasty bruise.

From the outset, Jack wasn’t sure what he was going to find. He had an idea of course, an educated guess, if you will. Still seeing it and understanding the implications behind it was jarring. Especially when it corresponded to events he’d experienced during his sleeping hours. He ran the terror through his mind like a song on repeat. He tried to pause the moments that seemed most relevant, the moments where there was a potential to screw the inevitability of the outcome. For these few hours passed he hadn’t been standing peering out the window, but rather in the middle of a city street, lit by the dance of flames and distinguished by the desolation of once proud towers. Ash sprinkled slowly down upon him like millions of tiny grey snowflakes. The sky was so heavy with the smokey clouds that carried it, that not a even the glimmer of a single star could be seen. Soldiers in their gas masks marched around him, marched through him, all wearing a peculiar symbol upon their arm. It was something that remained hazy, something he couldn’t quite make out.

They were ambushed of course. It happened each time and marked the beginning of a barrage of deafening gunfire. Jack wondered if the voice of God was as thunderous. Vampires seemed to lunge from the shadows. Either half starved or filled with fury, the bullets ripped through them, yet still they came. They leapt from the alleyways and seemed to fall from the buildings above. They came from the front of the band and they came from behind, boxing the soldiers in on all sides. The soldiers seemed to outnumber them, but more immortals seemed to rise from the ashy piles. It reminded Jack of fire ants swarming their prey. And when they overcame the troopers, they fed. When they fed, they seemed much fewer. Some were motley and feral, others carried themselves with the dignity and charm classic to vampires. They were all led by a small vampire in a black cloak.

Jack was part of this vision though he stood apart from it now. Just a spectator trying to make sense of something he was missing. It was nearing the end of his loop now. The circumstances that had brought them to this point had passed. Soon they’d be feeding on each other, tearing themselves limb from limb at the behest of the boy vampire. Jack was staring out onto the street again. Skipping ahead, back at the beginning of the loop, back in the present. How simple it would be to break it. How easy it would be to make a change. The simplest proof that no fate was sealed. That, like all things, this too was fluid. The idea was a dramatic one to say the least, but it seemed like the only correct one.

'Foolish, love, foolish…’ the spector floated just outside the window, they were eye level, face to face. She was beautiful as always. A dreadfully maimed and bloody, yet beautiful mess. The blue glow around her only accentuated her most lovely features. Despite being on opposite sides of the glass, her singsong voice rang through his mind like a bell. Even if she hadn’t moved her lips, Jack was sure he’d hear her otherworldly call. It was a call that in days past had such sway over him. Truly if she said frog, he’d jump. As of late though that power she had over him seemed to falter. It was as if something had jogged him loose of her grip. May smiled sadly raising her slender, ghostly arms in surrender before vanishing. She was out like a light, literally, and Jack was left alone in the darkness again.

It had been his phantom paramore that started him on this path to begin with. Whispering quiet secrets into his ear and swearing him to silence. His love held him to her confidence. But even May seemed like a dream these nights past. One that he was waking up from, one that he had begun to question. Even in the dreams, she was with him. It left the young vampire to wonder, who was really steering the ship? The May he’d loved would never make him into a glorified flesh puppet. It would have been anathema to the core beliefs that they both held. It was that fact that kept him from completely dismissing her. Perhaps it was foolish, but how else would one describe love?

Moving for the first time in hours, the vampire reached up and pushed against the window pane. The large porthole was unlocked and creaked open with a shrill scream. A cold breeze drifted into the room, shuffling the loose papers around the coffee table. He could feel the night pulling him forward. This was the only way really. The only surefire solution. He laughed, a bit manically, despite himself. The product of exhaustion and heartache. The evening air enveloped him as he stepped out into the darkness, tumbling down into the gloom.

Seconds seemed the morph into hours as he fell. He could feel the cold trying to push him back as it howled around him, swallowing him. His hands reached out to tickle the air, grasp at the nothingness of the blur. The dark pavement inched closer and closer to his face. His last thought before he crashed into the ground with a sickening, cracking, plop, was that he’d done it. He’d broken the loop. All that was left, now, was to wake up. His world blinked out and became darkness.

Friday, May 4th

Icy flames seared his flesh. Casting an eerie blue glow they danced around his compulsing body ritualistically. Streams of the ghastly flame seemed to switch off shooting across his chest, his limbs, his mind. There wasn’t an inch of his body that was spared the cold burn. The agony was so intense that he couldn’t even cry out. It was as if the flames had burned his very voice away. Nothing existed but the blue fire and the vampire just wished that it would finally consume him. The strange thing about this conflagration was that even as it licked and licked it never burned anything away.

Saying that he jolted awake would have been an overstatement. His eyes certainly shot open with all the force that would have suggested being startled out of a deep sleep. If circumstances had been different he probably would have instinctively bolted upright, but when his body went to move it was forced backward by a dull, burning sensation. Nothing as intense as his dream, but enough to make him wary of his next movement. Bones were out of place, the first disoriented realization among many. A groggy groan escaped from his lips and his eyes adjusted to the candlelight of the room. No, it was too bright to be a candle, too large. It was a stone goblet of sorts, spouting sparks. A tall figure stood before it. “Yes, Yes, I know what you’re thinking, ‘Why me?’ Why is the right question, but it isn’t limited to you. It’s not limited to anyone. Everyone thinks the story is about them. We are all just bees in a greater hive.”

It was an otherworldly voice, a bit similar to the one that the porcelain girl had spoken with a few nights earlier, but altogether different at the same time. It was much deeper, the voice of a male, tones that indicated both a touch of madness and European descent, maybe French. Jack squinted, trying to peer through the shadows, trying to make out the black shape that stood before him. The young vampire moved to sit up, groaning again in pain. His whole body really did feel as though it were on fire...a very bitter cold fire. Jack was sure he could feel bones and tendons stitching themselves together inside of him. He moved his hand towards his side as a rib seemed to be slowly working its way out of his lungs. “Quite a flare for the dramatics, eh boy?” Even though Jack couldn’t see the man, the snear in his voice was apparent. And, it could have been his imagination, but he was quite sure the word ‘flare’ had been emphasized.

Jack moved to rise again, this time he was a bit more successful. The surface he’d been laying on was rough and high off the ground. His first thought was a stone slab, it certainly felt like he was pushing against polished marble as he adjusted himself to a sitting position. Between the disorentiation he was experiencing and the bowls of fire that seemed to adorne the room, Jack was sure he was laying on an altar in some strange temple. But as his eyes focused, he discovered the truth was far less glamorous. It was the bottles that gave it away. Multicolor things shelved in a halfmoon on one side of the altar. They were all in odd shapes and sizes, no two the same. There had been a haze around them, which gave the young vampire the impression that they had been smoking...some kind of strange incense burners or sacrificial potions. It was just the glaze of his eyes and the play of the shadows, however, and they were nothing more than empty and broken liquor bottles. The altar was a rather wide bar and they were alone in an empty pub. “Devious trickster, the mind,” the man said in an offhanded way though it was strangely relevant, as if the figure had been reading Jack’s thoughts, “Many an empty tavern these days,” he finished in that same cool, nonchalant manner.

Speaking was going to be painful, but the young vampire needed to do it anyway. His voice was weak and hoarse, the vibrations it produced in his own mouth and head seemed to shake as violently as a category nine earthquake, “Where am I?” Jack was still trying to peer through the shadows to get a good glimpse of the man, but he could still only make out a dark silhouette. “Ahh another marvelous question! Perhaps drifting in a madness, a shadow, a plane among many. All of life is just a dream and dreams of themselves are only dreams…” the towering shadow trailed off, letting a bit of silence linger "but if you mean in the sense of the physical, you’re in a Westwall Pub. You were most recently a bit of a splatter on the pavement...roadkill, I believe they call it.” It was coming back to him now, the leap, the discovery, the dreams. He let his head fall into his hands, slowly massaging his temples. He twitched and grimaced as his left shoulder popped itself back into place. An overwhelming hunger clouded his thoughts. "You’re fortunate that all the king's horses and all the king's men decided to scrape you off the ground before the sun burned you away. And that your body will put itself together again. Hungry?”

The scent of blood suddenly wafted through his nostrils. Looking to his right Jack noticed a pint glass filled with the red elixir of life. He was sure it hadn’t been there just a moment ago. The hunger overtook him and like an addict he swiftly grabbed the glass, despite the pain that raged through his healing body, and began to chug down the sweet, thick, coopery juice. As it slooshed over his tongue and cascaded down his throat, the cold pain he felt began to burn with a familiar euphoria. A swelling of pleasure that began in his chest and branched outward, slowly caressing each and every nerve ending, like the tickle of loving tendrils. The high it created was just enough to make the pain a bit tolerable, though as he held the empty glass in his hand he felt a bit like Oliver Twist, the desire to beg for more foremost in his mind. Instead though he asked, “Why did you bring me here, stranger? Not that I’m not grateful for the save.” He carefully placed the pint back onto the bar.

“Ahh! Here I’ve been, twas you who found your way to me,” it was then that Jack realized that try as he might, the towering shadow would never fully come into focus. He was truly a shade of some kind. The young vampire also realized that the bar was not just empty, but had been abandoned for sometime. Cobwebs and dust drifted through the shadows and cracked window panes could been seen through the light of the flames, “Dreams seem to be your master. Dreams sent you sailing into the void. Dreams delivered you into darkness. I will show you how to bend the layers, how to make you master of dreams.” The shade was rambling on about dreams again. Relevant, but Jack was a skeptic. There was no way this guy knew what was going on in his head or how it related to what was happening out there in Harper Rock. If not for the throbbing pain in his head, Jack would have thought this very exchange a dream. “‘Preciate your concern,” the young vampire began as he slid himself off of the bar counter. As soon as his feet hit the floor he knew it was a mistake. A new wave of pain shoot up through his legs. It killed the headyness from the blood. “But nothing is my master,” he finished with a wince.

The figure’s laughter filled the room. It was a deep, mad cackling heavy with disdain, “Not even the blood?” At the word blood, the aroma of the sweet nectar filled the room again. Jack turned his head slowly towards the bar to see that the empty pint glass was filled once more. The scent was fresh and Jack could almost feel the warmth radiating from it. It was calling to him, a silent beacon leading him to relief. He couldn’t resist reaching out and chugging down another pint of the luscious liquid. It only validated the truth of the spector’s statement. He turned back to the man, “How’d you…” but he wasn’t able to finish, the shade cut him off, "Come now, a boy like you, who knows a bit about sleight of hand, knows it’s all very simple.” Jack looked to the empty glass then back to the silhouette. True the young vampire had a few tricks up his sleeve. Gimmicks really to get a girl in his bed or some coin in his pocket. Nothing as marvelous as filling a glass from halfway across the room. “Do you believe your eyes? Your tongue? Some will say trust your senses, Your senses will be your Judas, kill with a kiss.” The pint glass vanished from his grip.

“Alright, what kind of snake oil you sellin’, stranger?” Jack’s interest was piqued despite the splitting headache. He wondered if he had actually split his head when he landed on the blacktop. "Nothing that you don’t already have, no one special, you, don’t forget it. Imagination like yours though, would be a terrible thing to waste," The colossal phantom glided toward him with an easy grace as he continued to correctly assume things about the young vampire. It was getting tiresome fast. Jack wasn’t sure how much more cryptic rambling he could stomach. “Listen, friend, let’s get to the...,” Jack began before he lost his voice. The shade had produced a paper flower and it seemed to float in the air between them. A vibrant purple rose, with an ashy, black stem, “Point,” he finished softly. That was Jack’s trick and the flower had been crafted in his style, a style he learned long ago in another life. True, it wasn’t so unique that it couldn’t be duplicated, but that it would be presented to him...no the odds were too high. Jack reached out to touch the flower, but just before his fingers could reach it, the flower was completely consumed by flames. “All that we see is but a dream, Sleepwalkers all are we. Lucid dreaming is what I offer. Break the loop, shape the dream,” there was a grin in his voice.

Jack was suspicious, what did this thing have to gain by divulging this knowledge. But before the vampire could even get the question out of his mouth, the spector responded. "I only require one thing...just a bit of your dream,” his shadowy arm reached out, tapping the young vampire on the forward and Jack felt as though he were falling backward, falling down into the darkness once again. The petals of paper flowers slowly drifted down around him as he fell into an endless void. They were vibrant colors of all sorts from the brightest of blues to the darkest of reds and seemed to light the darkness that rushed around him. “Berlion is the name, illusion is our game.”

Saturday, May 5th

The illusionist pulled a small paper rose from behind the lass’s long blonde lock. The lady squealed in a surprised delight clapping enthusiastically. The fellow she was with tried to hold back his own smile, but the illusionist was well prepared. Closing his outstretched hand over the red paper flower, he prompted the guy to give him a quick fist bump. He reluctantly, gave in, after a bit of prompting by his lady, and upon doing so, the illusionist opened his hand and a small paper bird fluttered up and around the couple’s heads before gently, landing back into the illusionist’s outstretched palm. There was an excited mummer from the onlookers who’d gathered, but his target audience for the moment, the burly fellow with his arm around the tall blonde, was the only face that mattered. And his expression twisted into a large, disbelieving smile. He shook his head as he chuckled. The illusion was a success and the illusionist in the blue and grey patchwork ivy cap took a bow.

So had his night begun in the courtyard under the shadow of the clocktower. There hadn’t been many folks hanging about. These days it certainly wasn’t wise to. But there were still some good people wandering. People who weren’t afraid of no ghosts or zombies really and who couldn’t pass up the bargain of cheap rents and reduced prices. Come one, come all to the containment zone where you can grab a five star meal at a two star price because by the end of the night you might end up on the menu or stay awhile in our one of our luxury suites until you have the luxury of running into one of your monstrous neighbors. Trade offs, but hey they made for a great audience, among other things.

For his next trick, a fan of cards seemed to materialize with the flick of the illusionist’s wrist. He used it to wave over a dorky looking onlooker, his next proverbial victim. Truly he hadn’t felt this alive in months, which made sense because he was technically dead. Though the previous evening’s encounter with Berlion had left him weary (it felt as though the wraith had flayed his mind) the arcane and rather practical wisdom the spirit had bequeathed made leaping out of a third story window seem rather silly and quite counterproductive. The illusionist was flipping the cards between his right and left hands now at an impossible speed. They seemed to float in the empty space between his palms. Out here was where he needed to be, out where the people were. He’d lost something that had been so elemental to his survival when he was a young man, something the mad wraith had bonked back into his brain.

It wasn’t some lost card bit that old Berlion had brought back to Jack, though the potential the wraith had unlocked in the young vampire’s mind did give a bit of a preternatural edge to some of his old tricks. It was a reminder of how easy it was to lose oneself in the illusion. It was a reminder that the illusion was constant and all around them. It was how the humans controlled each other, creating matrix after matrix to subjugate via fear and desire. Jack had been swept away by the negative vibes that had swarmed the city, Hell the world, like a plague of locusts. Recognizing the power of perception gave one dominance over it. The dorky, young bystander picked and placed a card back in the fanned out deck. Jack, after performing another fancy shuffle between hands, passed the guy the deck and prompted him to shuffle. The fact of the matter was that reality was in the palm of each soul’s hand, ready and willing to be bent and molded. He’d known this truth, to some extent, what seemed like ages ago, when life after death meant something wholly different. When the ghostly girl, floating in the back of the crowd, had taught him what it meant to live. The fellow passed the deck back to the illusionist, who tipped off his cap, placed the deck on his head and replaced his hat over it. With a wink and a smile, the illusionist reached out and flicked the young bystander’s front pocket. The distinct sound of card paper could be heard and as the fellow reached in to pull out his card, a look of astonishment graced his boyish features. Laughter and clapping followed from those who looked on. The illusionist bowed again, pulling off his cap as he did so to show the crowd that the deck of cards was no longer within.

Yes, he was on fire tonight. Spreading magic and mirth to the lost souls of the city. A little hope to drown out the despair. Truth was, the young vampire was quite suspect of any man with a steady heartbeat, but he sympathized with their plight. Manipulation was the beginning of most of history’s despotisms. So he provided a bit of his own and like the songs that he wrote there was a definite message behind it…’Resist.’ Laughter was a stronger weapon than most realized. Speaking of songs, his newest was almost complete. He was just piecing together a few remaining harmonies, tightening up the tune. The events of the last week had nearly written the piece for him. And as the illusionist set up for his next demonstration of sleight of hand and misdirection, he knew that the lullaby he was crafting would send the half alive to bed by bringing them fully to life.

Being a musician by trade, the illusionist’s performance and a musical quality to it. Each of his movements and actions seemed to dance in harmony to some unheard melody. Though those that paid him some mind this evening, would have swore they heard a sweet, haunting tune with each and every trick. It was something he thought up to enhance the experience. Though he was still learning, he believed the wraith when it told him that the imagination was limitless. Jack would swim through it to infinity. It was truly the key to staying free.

Sunday May 6th

Some would call Sunday a day of rest. The vampire sat in quiet contemplation,
his thin legs crossed beneath him, boney arms at his sides. His eyes were closed, yet he wasn’t sleeping, even after the week he had. Truly there was no rest for the wicked. In a state of meditation, the allurist was creating. He rode a wave of the colorful harmony like a Hawaiian surfer, his board trailing the finishing touches of melody and lyric behind it. Vibrant shades of green, purple, red, and blue mixed and meshed causing altogether new hues to splash up around him. As he rode the wave into a shore of swirling stars, he knew it was just about complete now. It just needed something a little more. His dark eyes opened and he was sitting in the white apartment once again, an open notebook sat next to his acoustic at his feet. It had been some week, it was nice just to be writing again.

Not that the happenings as of late weren’t inspiring. Hell, they’d nearly finished his song for him. They’d left him pretty drained though. Even with the bestowal of Berlion’s strange wisdom, Jack was still finding true sleep hard to come by. Last night hadn’t been dreamless, in fact, what he had experienced was more vivid than anything prior. His skin still seemed to sizzle from the vision of chained vampires marched into the daylight, flamethrowing soldiers at their back. The scene was familiar though he was having trouble placing the location. He felt as though if he could just pin down exactly where they had been that he could unearth some clue, something that might be able to shed a bit of light on what was causing the terrors. Or at the very least confirm that they were nothing more than ramblings and ravings of a mad mind. May sat crosslegged just across from him, silent, but with a knowing look to her eyes. She always joined him during his daytime adventures

The last touch came to him then. It wasn’t anything complex, but a rather simple harmony to send the song out. Sometimes it was the simple things that ended up being the most memorable. He hoped that this song would be. If it could catch with just a few folks, maybe they’d sing it to a few friends and those friends would sing it to a few friends, and on and on. Jack wanted it to take on a life of his own, separate from the vampire who wrote it, from the vampire who would ultimately play it. He’d open with it, probably in the courtyard of the Clocktower, probably tonight. His voice would reach out and tap anyone who happened to be passing through. Maybe one or two would stop and listen, but most surely four or five would hear.

There was no permanent escape from the current state of affairs. The dead walked the earth, it was irreversible. The world had changed and would continue to change around this fact. The question was, what kind of world would the people want it to become? For centuries mankind had lived in a true darkness. Even before the opening of the rift and the pouring out of monsters, humanity had been enslaved by calculating minds and mad desires. Could this shadows that the tear in reality released bring the world into a new enlightenment? Surely there would be those that came along promising such a thing and surely many of them would be working towards their own aggrandizement, a flavor of their own darkness. Perhaps though, there would be an evolution in thinking that resulted from the current state of the world. Perhaps mankind would enter a more perfect state. Maybe they’d shed their mortal limitations and enter into immortality, where mind and body were a limitless machines and the ghost inside dwelled forever.

Jack closed the notebook at his feet and grabbed his guitar. He began to strum away, tickling the chords. Lullaby for the Half Alive rang out through the room and his gruff, melodious voice sang the lyrics. The window that he jumped through what seemed like a lifetime ago, hung open and a warm breeze drifted in as the melodic tune drifted out. The savage, yet sad rebellion in the tune wasn’t what one would find in your everyday punk song. It was a bit deeper, more complex, something that would make a person stop and think. Something that may open up the eyes and put to bed the half alive.