Vampin
Volume 1
By Jamie Ott
Copyright
2011 Jamie Ott. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used
without written permission, except for where credit is duly given.
Black Crowe (Robert Crowe) Books.
ISBN-13: 978-0615563053
ISBN-10: 0615563058
For all inquiries, please contact passionateprose@mail.com.
Vampin
Chapter 1
Before crossing the street, Starr tucked the wad of money she’d made that night, working at Billie’s, into her black leather lace up boots. She didn’t want the others to see she had cash because kids had tried to break into her room before. Since Starr was a sixteen year old runaway living with undesirables whose ethics were, somewhat, skewed, she had to be careful of all she possessed. Not that she owned much; just a few articles of clothing and a picture of her older sister whom she missed, terribly.
She walked along a couple yards of six foot high chain link fence that, behind which, stood an old abandoned building with boarded out windows and partially rotted walls.
The place used to be a clinic, but was now a forgotten, condemned building in the nastiest part of town. Although they had only been there less than a year, Starr didn’t think there was much chance of them getting caught. Not only did the cops rarely make an appearance in that part of town, and especially not after dark, but with the way the neighborhood looked, she couldn’t imagine many people wanting to move in and start a business, or, at least, not anytime soon.
So far, she’d been right about not getting caught, but there were still dangers; like every once in a while a hobo would wander in, looking for a place to crash, or someone would notice her and the others going in and out, and make a fuss about it. At times like these, it was up to Starr and the others to take care of them, and only use force when they had to, and, sometimes, they did have to.
She ducked under two slanted pieces of wood, nailed across a small walk way that lead to a glass door. The warm air blew back her hair as she pulled back the glass door and walked into the hazy lit entrance where several kids were hanging about, doing homework.
Not all of them were untrustworthy thieves, though. Some of them really went out of their way to look after each other, and had become like a second set of parents or siblings. Take Shane, for example, who could have moved into the Columbia University dorms on her scholarship, but, instead, chose to stay and would often be found helping the younger one’s get through school work; or check out Marla who was already done with college and made a full time income working as a night auditor for the Mayflower Hotel, yet stayed on and contributed much of her income to re stocking the food supply, when she could, and making sure strangers didn’t wander into the clinic during the day while it was nearly empty; lastly, there was Mica, social butterfly and bartender enrolled at the Soho beauty academy. She already had a steady list of clients and was making more money than any of them, yet she went out of her way to make sure the kids had clothes, and would try to get jobs for them through her many connections.
“Hey, Starr,” called Lily.
“Hey, Sweetie,” she bent over and kissed the top of her head and rubbed her shoulders.
Lily was a twelve year old girl who attended middle school on the other side of town. Her mother was never around to take care of her, so she was often found hanging out in the clinic. Starr found her sitting and shivering on a stoop one night when her mother had locked her out of their house. It was midnight and the freaks were out, so she brought her to the clinic and, since that night, she’d been a regular. Although Starr was no mind reader – that was Shane’s bag - , she was still good at reading people, and it was easy to see that Lily was a neglected, affection-starved child.
“You eat, tonight?”
Sometimes there wasn’t enough food in the clinic, despite their trying to keep the clinic’s staff room and refrigerator full for them. Feeding a dozen people three squares each day was hard work.
“Yeah, I had a couple grilled cheese sandwiches. Marla made dinner tonight, before she went to work.”
“Did you get veggies?” Lily hated vegetables, so Starr was always trying to convince her.
“Three pieces of celery,” she grinned.
“Alrighty, then, finish your homework, brush your teeth and go to bed. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Lily was a sweet girl and if Starr could have had another sister, it would have been her. She hoped her mother would never come for her, and even imagined what she’d do if she did come around. Not that she would do anything violent, but she could, and especially if she was hurting Lily in any way.
Becoming immortal and, in many ways, invincible had instilled a cocky sort of arrogance in Starr. Before they took her, she was just like Lily: sweet, trusting, looking for affection. Perhaps that was also why she went out of her way to be there for Lily; because, for Starr, it was that sweet nature that got her into trouble.
More than anything, she wanted to protect Lily, the way her sister tried to protect her – tried and failed. If only they had turned her sooner, she would have saved them both. She would have torn their limbs right out of their sockets and sucked the marrow from their bones.
Not that she could get much, out of Lily, about why her mother was never around, but Starr didn’t care. The fact was a mother let her child wander the streets, and that was enough information for her. She would just trust that Lily would tell her about her mother or family when she was ready.
Starr walked down the hall to the third door on the left. It was not a great place to have a room, with people always walking past, but it was a good way to keep an eye on all the kids. She, Marla, Mica and Shane stayed in the front rooms while the kids stayed down the hall, so if a hobo wandered in, they were likely to hear it, or, at least, Mica would: super hearing – that was her bag.
She closed and latched the door behind her. Kids loved to come in and sneak things, and, sometimes, they were able to do so without her knowing until later. The fables would have people believe that their kind was ultimately supernatural in every way, meaning they weren’t easy to fool, that their superhuman instincts would protect them always, and that they lived by rigid rules of nature, but it wasn’t so. The truth was only their natural strengths were intensified after death, so if a person, like Mica, had good hearing while they lived, that person would have super hearing after death; if a person was an insomniac, and the insomnia was due to a natural lack of serotonin in the brain, then, like Marla, that person would never need to sleep; same thing with Shane, she was already prone to glimpsing the thoughts of others, as a mortal, so now she was the ultimate mind read. And Starr? She was a natural runner, black belt in karate, and could bench press like a man, and now she was literally a real life woman of steel.
There were only a few things they all, consistently, seemed to have in common: quicker minds, quicker reflexes, stronger senses of smell, pale skin, brilliant eyes, resilient organs, and, yes, a thirst for blood. Other than these things, and their natural predispositions, they were much the same as they were before they died.
Whether they would truly live forever was a question that remained unanswered, as neither of them had ever met another one of their kind before, but all the research they’d done pointed to the fact that they might be around for a long time.
Carefully, she pulled out the half dozen silver ear rings and hoops from her ears and laid them on her desk. Fortunately, her ears were already pierced before she died, and so they didn’t heal themselves every night, like Shane whose mother would never allow her to get ear rings as a child.
Starr twisted her waist-length hair up into a tight bun on her head. If she could, she would have cut it off, as, before she died, she always preferred short hair. Unfortunately, it was the first thing that changed when she died: it grew and it didn’t stop growing until the next day; the same happened when she, later, tried to cut it again. Luckily, the hair seemed to absorb hair dye like a sponge absorbing water; a small consolation because she loved her long, sleek black hair, now.
She began to unbutton her black leather vest and untie the strings of her black leather boots and pants. Coating a cotton ball with makeup remover, she smeared the black eyeliner and mascara away from her eyes, revealing the depth of her soul in the mirror.
A long, deep sigh, she exhaled. She still had trigonometry and a paper to write, but she was exhausted. Pulling on her jammies, she climbed into bed.
~~~
The next morning, she was the first up, as usual. It was selfish, but Starr liked to enjoy the mornings in peace and quiet, so she would be the first up and the first to leave, often taking coffee and a bagel in a shop a couple blocks from school.
The fables would also have people believe that they only drank blood, but it wasn’t so. She could go many nights without it, and, if she had to, New York had tons of butchers in the city; she’d go and get a raw haggis or an uncongealed blood pudding.
Contrary to popular myth, certain animal’s blood was just as good, if not better, than a human’s, like sheep, goat, and even dog. Sturdier breeds of animal turned up the best tasting. Funnily enough, chicken blood was way better than cow.
According to Shane’s research, the reason people thought human blood was the ultimate is because they are arrogant, she read from a journal she’d picked up from the library, one time. “’Being turned, turns one into a hunter, and there was nothing better than hunting a human,’” wrote the author, L. S. Credenza. “’They’d lost much of their animal instinct millenniums ago, and along with it, the ability to cloak their bodies chemistry; that chemistry that smelled like fear.
For their kind, it was the scent of fear that was most seductive. It was the hunt, more so, than the blood (L.S. Credenza, 1955).’”
What Credenza wrote was the truth; they didn’t actually need to eat anymore, let alone drink human blood, but it was hard to resist all the fear in the city, like watching an attractive mate; a mate who arouses lust, so like it, was the scent of fear: walking to the store, walking to their cars, walking in the dark, everyone was afraid of something.
Still, they could eat just like anybody else, if they wanted. Although coffee and chocolate didn’t seem to have the same stimulant effect as it did when she was alive, the flavor and smell was still just as inviting and, sometimes, irresistible to her new sharpened senses.
One time, she passed by Godiva’s and the intoxicating scent incited a fever in her. Her mouth watered like a fount and bits of perspiration soaked the shawl around her neck. She walked in and bought chocolate macaroons, chocolate truffles, and cherry chocolates. As she ate, the fever came down, and they tasted delicious.
Later, as she told Shane about her experience, she confided that she’d had a similar one when the aroma of hot chocolate wafted passed her, one day, at the university. A horribly embarrassing tale of how she pushed through students, filled a Styrofoam cup, and gulped down the 100+ degree formula without burning her tongue, as a hundred students in the commons area watched on in amazement.
Between them all, the scent of chocolate was like an exotic cat nip to them. They couldn’t find any research to support what they’d experienced, but it was very real.
They found nothing from Credenza on the subject, who they’d contemplated writing to on several occasions. Although much of the author’s research was published in the fifties, they considered that he, or she, might still be alive, and could help them fully comprehend the limitations of their conditions as well as how to deal with them.
But they never got around to writing; afraid that to do so would tip him or her off. Instead, they snuck into the library and stole all the books by L.S. Credenza, and kept them locked away in Starr’s room.
Starr looked outside the window; it was still pretty dark and the chill was deepening, as it was October. Unfortunately, they needed to figure out how they were going to get a new generator because the old one was broken. Maybe she’d go and meet her friend, Michael, at the Salvation Army on the way home. Between all four of them, they should be able to get something.
Not that they ever got cold, anymore, but the kids would need it. Now that she’d been turned, the only thing she felt was warmth, when in the direct sun. Her skin would perspire and burn. One time, she left her arm under direct exposure to see what would happen, and, though it wasn’t terribly painful, her skin felt irritated; it turned to a mocha-color and gave off a foul odor, like burning trash.
When she pulled back her arm, it began to instantly heal back. Fortunately, sunscreen did work, and even on their kind which confirmed L.S. Credenza’s assertion that it was the ultra violet rays that were dangerous to them.
Still, that didn’t mean they couldn’t freeze. Apparently, in the mid-twentieth century, a piece of glacier arrived off the coast of Greenland. Geologists went to inspect, as even then they were worried about global warming, and inside they found a man had been frozen. A fable, to most, but to the author, Credenza, it was real: it was nosferatu.
A quick shower, into her usual black garb, and a smear of her vampire red lipstick from Manic Panic, and she was off. Just as she ducked under the rotted boards blocking the entrance to the glass door, she caught Mot, a Danish kid who, if possible, was even whiter than Starr, smoking.
“Mot! I thought you promised to quit!”
“Where I fr-r-rom,” he rolled his r, “everybody smoke.”
“Fine, just as long as you keep out here, but, I’m warning you, if you attract unwanted attention – like cops or hobos – I’m coming after you!”
Mot was a good kid, though. She just wished he’d stop smoking. The smell drove her nuts; it was worse than a toilet.
He was fifteen years old, attended remedial school on the East side, and had a penchant for trouble. Though he was usually loyal toward those he cared for, he was the kind who always looked for an easy way out; he was the kind you’d expect to wind up in jail one day. From what Starr had gathered about his father, Mot didn’t fall too far from his tree of origin.
She hunkered down at the bakery, her usual morning haunt and finished her homework.
Another advantage they seemed to have in common was their tripled reflexes. Anyone who’d seen Mica slip up, when cutting hair or serving drinks would see her move fast as a flash; it was why she had so many clients and made the most money. She worked in an industry where speed was valued; that and she was great at doing hair!
In the early mornings of the bakery, she’d often finish her homework just as quickly as Mica could serve up a few dozen cosmopolitans, which was about twenty minutes. The lighting was terrible, but not to her dead eyes that could see better, now, than when they were alive. Still, the dark bakery was advantageous because it was quiet and no one would see how fast she could turn pages.
Starr looked at her watch and saw she had twenty minutes until class. She packed up, put on her leather jacket and entered the cool morning air.
As usual, the kids at Victorian High were lined up to greet her, graciously.
“Hello, Satan,” said Marcus Rent, a typical school jock with his head so far up his butt that his breath reeked from a distance. “How are you today?” he asked.
Starr opened her mouth to say something mean, but then he convulsed, shook his hands, jumped up and squealed, “Aaaaa, she’s cursed me, aaaa, hahahahah…” he laughed and ran back to his buddies.
Making Frenemies
Chapter 2
The day was another typical day. Rachel, who was Starr’s sworn enemy since the day she’d started at Victorian High, made sure to let everyone, in their chemistry class, know that Starr was an apostolate from hell, and, if they wanted to save their souls, they’d sit far away from her.
“Hey, Starr? Why are your lips so red? Have you been kissing demon butt?” she asked.
“What about that chain around your neck? Is that a chain from your father? Is that from Satan himself? If so, please stay back. I don’t wanna go to hell,” chimed her best friend, Chloe.
Starr just ignored them as usual. She loved the metal chain look, which she first saw a girl in a comic book wear. It was nothing more than a thick metal chain that one might tow a truck with, clasped off with a full sized lock that hung around her neck. Starr wore the same thing; the key was in her pocket at all times.
Funny because, before she’d died, she would have been angered by her classmates constant taunting. Now, however, she rarely felt moved enough to even acknowledge them.
This was one way, in which, the fables sort of got things right.
According to Shane’s research, “’sometimes the turning induced more of a base instinct; more simplified animal-like nature in humans (Credenza, 1955).’”
In other words, the virus that turned them also numbed out the chemical parts of their brains that were responsible for the more complex emotions that humans felt. So maybe they’d feel extreme love or hate, but, like an animal, adjective torment – name calling - could become meaningless. They couldn’t feel the complexities of loving something, yet hating it at the same time; wanting to achieve, but fear and anxiety holding them back. The nervousness and insecurity that humans were capable of feeling were disabled, once they were turned.
Although Marla disagreed, claiming she still felt anxiety from time-to-time, for Starr, Credenza was right. For example, even with Lily, it wasn’t her personality and sweetness that she loved, but it was a need to protect her innocence and her person, rather than the character that she was. It was more like a dog protecting her puppy rather than a human valuing the virtues of a loved one.
Besides, her classmates couldn’t hurt her. If she wanted to, she could crush them like cockroaches and feed them their own hearts while they still beat. No one would ever catch her; her abilities put her above the law, as she already put them to the test when she was first let out on the streets, alone and thirsty.
That and her hope for the future had been restored since she’d been turned. She knew that she would be around long after her tormentors were gone. Inside, she knew that she would accomplish great things with this mysterious gift that she’d received.
But it did worry Starr that Marla didn’t turn the same way she and the others did.
When Starr was human, sometimes human feelings made her want to withdraw from humanity. Being absent from emotional complexity is what made each of them sharper people in the world. It was only after Starr was turned that she was able to pick up her grades at school, and forget about her crappy home life. Numbing of those emotions made her circumstances less important, and, therefore, unable to stand in her way. Her demons, or proverbial closet of skeletons, died meaninglessly.
This philosophy was, also, addressed by Credenza, who’d noted the common trend of rising to success, among their kind. Quoting, it wasn’t only due to thievery of their victims, but the turned ones became newly driven beings while those who died, like Marla, were doomed.
Starr often asked herself, “How many lifetimes could Marla last?”
Credenza noted, in another journal, that this type of sensitive would, likely, end up in seclusion, or premature end of life; maybe not even make it to the end of, what would have been, their own natural life.
Starr thought of going through several lifetimes without hardwiring as having the same dream over and over again; each time with the same painful punch lines.
Eventually, she would have to end it, for who could stand it?
Finally, Alec, the instructor walked in.
“Alright, everyone,” and the room got quiet. “We will begin.” Then, noticing Rachel and her best friend, Chloe, in the corner sniggering, he said, “Not today, ladies, and not in my class!”
They stopped, immediately.
Alec had little patience for their brand of high school idiot; that and he liked Starr very much. Despite their connection being chemistry class, he was also her sixth grade literary professor, and he, too, had a dark side.
Still, she never knew why he was keen to her until she spotted him, one evening, in the corner of the bar where Mica worked.
As he danced with a wanna-be manga girl, Starr noticed that, unlike his appearance during the day, in the evening it was almost like his inner ghoul had come out: spiked hair, tight black tee shirt, black jeans and metal tipped boots.
From across the room, Starr marveled at the metal bar that pierced his eyebrow, and the thick line of eyeliner, that was slightly smudged off.
The truth was Alec totally dug Starr’s style. Before, she didn’t know, but since being turned, she could sense animal attraction. Not that Alec was a perv, though; she could tell it was more of a nostalgia that he had when he saw her.
Countless occasions, she wanted to ask him who it was, she reminded him of, but didn’t want to cross any student-teacher boundaries, as one thing she always worried about was getting too close to outsiders.
~~~
As usual, Starr walked home after school.
Normally, she was alone on her afternoon walks, but, for some reason, Rachel and Chloe were up ahead of her.
Sensing that she was behind them, they turned and, seeing it was Starr, they made dirty looks at her.
Starr couldn’t help but think how silly they were, to think that they could get away with taunting her outside school, where there was no one to protect them. Inwardly, she dared them to turn and say something, so she really could frighten them. It would be such a laugh to send them running, screaming down the street.
This was another difference between her, before she was turned, and after. Before, the thought of scaring them was purely vengeful, but, now, it was a sadistic pleasure, sort of like cat and mouse, serial killer and prey.
To be more specific, Starr found she liked playing with people. It really was a thrill to, not only, kill, but to push her food across her plate.
That first night, when she escaped them, she stalked her prey for thirty minutes before caging her.
Just like in the movies, the girl sensed she was being followed. Scared, and looking for a quick way home, she was stupid enough to walk down a dark alley, and it was a dead end. Star decided to approach her.
But, yes, people had a habit of doing stupid things when they were scared, the movies are always right to depict such idiocy.
The girl tried to walk passed, but Starr, like picking up a wistful cat, grabbed her by the neck and threw her up against the wall. The satisfaction she got when seeing the look on the girls face was orgasmic; she wanted to do it again.
The girl, then, tried to run past her, but Starr slapped her to the ground. Grabbing her by the hair, she dragged her toward the exit of the alleyway. Starr did this, not with the intention of letting her free, but for the sadistic pleasure of giving her hope that she could escape if she gave one more fight, and then she dashed that hope, gleefully, like breaking her spirit.
The woman was her lady-madam. Although Starr had never met her before, she could smell them all over her. It was she who abducted girls and put them in that place.
Still, no matter how much she deserved what she got, the fact is Starr didn’t do what she did for vengeance, but she did it for pleasure, and that was the vampire in her.
After she’d done with the lady-madam, she felt bad for a long time: dirty and disgusting. Despite promising she’d never participate in such twistedness again, she sometimes found herself fantasizing about scaring those who feared her the most; from them, she’d get the most sadistic satisfaction.
Despite her fantasies, she never acted on those impulses again; although sometimes she couldn’t help but taunt those who feared her, and those who were fearless; like exactly what would happen in a pack of wolves, or a lion in its den: hunting, breaking the weak, and challenging the strong.
Savage as it sounds, in her neighborhood, it was very much a reality. The strong preyed on the weak, as is what happened with Starr and her older sister because they were too sweet, like Lily. The only difference between Starr and human predators was, despite her pack animal instinct, her morality was still intact, and, for that, she was grateful. She would never be a kind of monster like them.
Rachel and Chloe turned right at the stop light. Starr, though she reminded herself again and again that she would not hunt, would not kill, would not drink fresh blood, would not be sadistic, followed them from behind.
They continued to turn their heads, only they weren’t giving nasty looks anymore. Starr could see, in their eyes, and smell, from their pores, fear and aggravation that she was still behind them.
Rachel noticed the smirk on Starr’s face; although her hearing wasn’t super, like Mica’s, her senses were still improved. They were really starting to panic.
What were they up to?
Starr was really curious because they were acting like they had something to hide.