Chronicles of the Damned
by
R.N.Matos
Edited by
N. M. Matos
****************
Copyright
All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2000 Rolando N. Matos
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.
For information, please contact:
rnmatos@chroniclesofthedamned.com
www.chroniclesofthedamed.com
Print version Available through Amazon.com
ISBN: 9-78141-9698873
Library of Congress Control Number: 2008910159
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License Notes
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Printed in the United States of America
****************
Table of Contents
Introduction
The Reporter
Anna Belle Lee
The Archeologist
The Hit
Matthias the Vindicator
Herr Hauser Oberstgruppenfuhrer
House of Kharsag
Gabrielle’s Tale
Prince Dracula
Bruno Maximus Casta
Bruno II
Bruno III
Bruno IV
A Bold Move
Sins of the Father
The Nachtshutz
The Nachtshutz
The Nachtshutz
The Nachtshutz
The Nachtshutz
The Nachtshutz
The Breakout
The Discovery
The Kidnapping
Prelude to Oblivion
Oblivion
Thy Will Be Done
The Cover Up
Katrina’s Assignment
Finito
Glossary
Acknowledgements
In considering what to do with this page I decided to mention everyone who had a hand directly or indirectly in influencing the outcome of this story. The book is dedicated to the scribes, Levis and translators of the scriptures who gave me the foundation for the story. I would also like to thank the fathers of my twisted imagination: Ray Harryhausen, Issac Asimov, Edgar Alan Poe, Vincent Price, Lon Chaney, Lon Chaney Jr., Bela Lugosi, Ray Bradberry, Mary Shelly, Christopher Lee, Gene Rodenbarry, Cecil B. DeMille and Frank Frazetta who gave a face to the stories that ruled my early days. To my wife Nadine and my daughter Danielle without who I would not have found the motivation or the determination to finish. To my mother who showed me how to gain determination in the face of adversity and to my father from whom I inherited imagination and creativity. Last but absolutely not least, to God who no matter how confused this world might be about him, continues to be a steadfast influence on our lives and who through daily miraculous events shows us he hasn’t abandoned us.
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Introduction
The world is a stranger place than anyone could have imagined. Centuries of myth and fairytale have turned out to hold some truth. Vampires have come out to the world and are now an accepted part of functioning society. In light of these events other human sub or super species are making their claim to a position in this new era of human civilization bringing to light an ancient struggle that has raged in secret since before time. A presumed descendant of Count Dracula is now the leader of the New Minority, the official governing body of the Legion. The general public is instantly enamored with the charismatic descendant of the Romanian Count. It is this quick and overwhelming acceptance of this man and his kind that has precipitated the reaction of other once mythical sub-species. The war that was waged in every corridor and battlefield of the world under a veil of secrecy has spilled into the streets. The adversaries involved have faced each other time and time again for so long that at times the original cause and objective have been forgotten. The leaders on each side are now more interested in domination of the other and elimination of mankind than resolving the issues that sparked the Great War. Strange allegiances and ironic twists of fate shall shape the future of all humankind on this planet. Man, Vampire and others will have to learn to co-exist or parish in a dispute long forgotten.
****************
The Reporter
NEWS FLASH: This morning, several people were arrested in connection with the late night violence that erupted after last nights demonstration at the New Minority headquarters in downtown Miami. There was one death reported and two hospitalizations. Oddly enough the casualties were Vampires. More on channel 7 at 11.
I have no idea how long I’ve been here. The events of the past few days seem a little fuzzy at the present time. The nurses are cute for a change, very polite and down right agreeable. I suspect a few of them to be Vampires. I only see them at night and they seem much more active then the usual bunch of night shift nurses. It is really difficult to tell the difference between them. Then there is the one with the fire red eyes.
“Good morning, baby you look good enough to eat!” She greets me with a devious smile that makes one wish she were serious.
I can remember a few things. The assignment seemed easy enough. There were a series of demonstrations that erupted into violence following the New Minority’s acquisition of the former Freedom Tower building and then after their final occupation of the offices. I was sent to take as many statements as possible and try to put together a story for, The Daily. All day long I had to interview people who seemed to be appalled by the occurrences of the past days.
The very heated demonstrations rivaled that of the WTO conferences during the early years of the millennium. People here were outraged that the city council would allow the New Minority to take over control of this historic building. The people were volatile and extremely agitated by the appearance of the leader of the Vampire led organization known as the New Minority. Everyone yelled obscenities and hurled trash at the Vampire dignitary but none would dare confront him. The story seemed typical and leading nowhere special, there had to be more. The victims weren’t just beat up these guys were severely hurt; one dead and two in the hospital. This is not an easy thing to do considering we’re talking about Vampires. There have been previous attacks on them, but I can’t remember when one was put into intensive care.
No one had a clue about what had happened. There was the usual demonstration by Vampire activists protesting the current administrations’ policies involving the “New Minority.” Three of the vamps were somehow separated from the group and were found hours later tied to crucifixes facing east. On the top of the dead ones head was a large piece of paper with a big “K” on it. The locals thought the Klan was up to its old tricks, but I don’t think there’s a Klansman alive that wants to tangle with these guys. To me it seemed odd that those beings that were so afraid of sunlight would want their headquarters in the Sunshine State, much less Miami. The interviewing was leading nowhere until, Frank.
Frank Talbot is a recent transplant from Texas. This guy was a psycho. It was not hard to tell where he stood on the Vampire issue. Just the mention of the bashing brought forward a barrage of obscenities followed by a lecture on the moral objections to the New Minority and its philosophies. As the line of questioning intensified I noticed his level of agitation mounting. I stirred him up to the point where I was feeling uncomfortable so I suggested we continue the next day. He agreed, and apologetically invited me to his house for dinner the following night. I don’t usually take complete strangers up on impromptu invitations to visit their homes. Things like that can be dangerous in my line of work. I was compelled by his southern charm and seemingly singular knowledge on the subject. He also promised me the story I would never forget. In retrospect that was quite the understatement.
I arrived early and found him toiling over a barbecue the size of Texas.
“Is that for me or are you expecting an army?” I asked.
“I’m cursed with the appetite of a wolf,” he replied.
We sat at a table inside in the large dining room of his home out in the Redlands. His home sits on the edge of a swampy area on the rim of the Everglades. The sun was approaching its resting-place, what a view it was. Across the table from me sat this man eating his meal as if it were the only thing left on the planet. It was almost nauseating to watch. I had a later appointment and wished to make the visit short so I strategically veered the conversation towards the issue of interest, Vampires. The conversation grew more and more intense as time passed. He was again growing angry.
“I didn’t invite you to speak of those scavengers of life. Man is so naïve, so vain. Do you think Vampires are the only things that exist from your so-called legends? If you were wrong about them; does it not make sense to conclude that you may be wrong about others?”
His tone grew harsher with his anger. He wasn’t making any sense, speaking of the atrocities committed against his people, silly superstitions, and carrying on. I could not understand any of it. Suddenly, he stopped ranting. He turned to the window, looked at me, gave me the most terrifying look I have ever seen and fell to his knees. I felt concern at first, but the sounds that came from this man froze my heart in fear. I wanted to turn and run yet none of my limbs would respond.
He stood up facing me, his face twisted, contorted; it seemed in pain or rage. I finally took control of my faculties and ran for the door. In my panic I failed to unlock one of the bolts and the door would not open. I pulled and kicked at the door struggling to open it. Behind me the sounds grew stranger, unrecognizable to my ears, if pain, rage, fear and despair had a sound that was it. What I heard next sent my panic into overdrive. I heard growling like a dog’s and the approaching sound of nails scratching on the hard wood floor. I was trapped.
“Oh no, I insulted him in such a way that he’s sicked his pit bull on me,” I thought to myself.
The ripping of flesh and clothes were the next sounds I heard. The force of the blow was devastating. I was slammed against the door so hard I crashed through it. Still, I could not see the animal that attacked me. I could only feel the cold steel-like teeth digging into my flesh and the warmth of my blood spreading across my back. I remember thinking I would surely die. Then, suddenly it was as if the dog had been blown off me by a great gust of wind. I tried to get up, but my legs failed me. There was howling and growling. I then heard a loud snapping, the sound of bones breaking; and stranger still, voices. I was dazed, but managed to roll onto my side to see what all the commotion was about. I looked up and saw a big beautiful full moon. My vision was becoming blurred; all I could make out was the shape of two animals fighting. I blacked out, but I remember voices in the distance.
“I’ve been tracking you for months, you bastard.”
“Canis like you are a disgrace,” said another voice.
“No, you’re the disgrace! That is why you must be destroyed.”
Then, in my delirious state, I was face to face with the biggest dog I have ever seen in my life. The bump on my head must have been worse than I thought because he spoke. He said:
“You’ll be sorry that you lived. This is a night you’ll never forget.”
The last thing I remember thinking was that I never saw or even remember Frank mentioning a dog, and that thing talking to me didn’t look much like a pit bull. Those words keep running around in my head.
“You’ll be sorry; you’ll be sorry.”
The nurses say I’m lucky the man brought me in when he did or I would be dead. I don’t feel so lucky. They never found the dog that attacked me. I had to take the whole series of rabies vaccine, just in case. The pain is unbearable, the nightmares are terrible and my appetite is insatiable. The doctors say I should be able to go home soon. I hope not. I don’t know how I’m going to get along without the painkillers they provide. Life without the attention of all those nurses is surely going to be unbearable. I think when I leave here I’ll ask that red eyed vamp if she minds making house calls. With my luck, she’ll charge extra for that!
It’s good to be home. The pain is gone and I feel like a million bucks. The doctors worked some kind of magic. I have never felt this good. There is still one drawback, man, am I hungry. It turns out the red-eyed vamp’s name is Katya. She told me that tonight is her night off and she’s coming to see me. Just can’t wait. I’ve never been with a “red eyed vamp” before. They say those are the best. They are supposed to be ferocious lovers. I hope she wants to go to dinner. I’ve had a lot to eat but I’m still starving.
There she is, right on time. It’s just after sundown, so she has to be hungry. I’ll ask her when she gets in. Man she is really looking good tonight. No wonder all the girls are going vamp. Look at her, who knows how old she is and she looks great and she’ll never look older. I don’t mind the paleness. Hey, wait a minute; she’s looking a little too rosy cheeked. What’s going on here? Wait till she gets in.
Just my luck, she stopped over at her blood slave’s house on her way here. I guess I’ll have to wait for dinner. I wonder what could be in store for me tonight. Great, she wants to go dancing. I hear the Kitchen Club is really jumping these days and I know how much these vamps love the industrial scene. A night out on the town with a gorgeous red-eyed vamp, what more could a man ask for? It’s going to be a night to remember.
Katya knows her way around the club scene pretty well. I can’t believe how many people come over to greet us. It’s amazing how fast the Vampire thing has caught on in Miami. Miami has always been that type of town. Whatever the trend at the time; it’s bound to be in Miami. Look at her move, it’s astounding the way she sways her hips to the beat of the music.
The smoked filled air adds a sense of dreaminess to her motion. She invites me to dance with her. We move to the sound of Peter Murphy’s “…Cuts You Up…” Remarkable, I don’t think I have ever heard it this way before. She starts moving closer to me a step at a time and every step an eternity as she glides from side to side. She puts her hands behind my back as she draws herself closer to me. We move together as if in a trance. Her hands roam all over my body as she gently kisses my skin, tracing the surface of my flesh from my chest to my neck. All I need now is for her to bite me.
To tell the truth it wouldn’t even faze me. I feel better right now than I have ever felt with anyone. Her pale soft skin pressed against mine. I can feel every curve of her voluptuous body. Her chest heaves underneath her breast, rubbing against mine giving me so much pleasure. I bathe in her red eyes gleaming brighter with every moment of her mounting arousal.
I open my eyes and we’re back in my house, in my room, on my bed, naked! How did we get here? I don’t remember leaving the club. Who cares? My god she’s beautiful. Nothing like what you would expect from those old Vampire movies. Her lips feel like petals on my skin as she follows the trail of veins leading from between my legs to the top of my neck. Her breasts are so firm and round under my caress, she is leaning forward, she opens her mouth, I think she is going to bite me! Oh, yes, please! Hey, what’s that smell? What the hell? Three of the biggest hairiest men I have ever seen are in the room with us. If werewolves are real, these guys are good examples.
One snatches Katya by the neck and lifts her off the bed. I leap to the floor to do, I don’t know what, exactly, and one of them pins me against the wall.
“We’ve been tracking you since you left the hospital,” said the one with the big head.
“You have an appetite for Vampires and we couldn’t let you make that mistake. You belong to us now. Before the night is through, you will definitely have the story of your life. Too bad you won’t be able to tell anyone.”
I watch frozen with fear as Katya is struggling under the grip of that hulking wolf thing. Now she looks every bit the movie Vampire one grew up with. Her blood shot red eyes are bulging out of their sockets, her once beautiful face twisted up in rage and her over sized canines flared in a vain attempt to threaten her attacker. You can hear the bones in her neck popping, but still she fights. Finally, the wolf pins her to the ceiling and buries a claw filled paw in her heart. Blood gushes everywhere as she struggles to the last drop. They tie her to a chair in the living room by a window facing east.
“Come with us now and live.”
How
do you argue with a beast that has just
wasted a Vampire?
****************
Anna Belle Lee
Bruno Castañeda stood in the center of his gallery surveying the fruits of a lifelong commitment to his God given talent. The sun had long set, the street lights had long been lit, the storefronts had long been closed, the inquisitive art gawkers that had filled the spaces were long gone, but he stood basking in the gleam that ages of living in gloom had seduced from his soul. He walked slowly through the corridors of the thirty-three thousand square foot space of the Miami design district’s Annabelle Lee Gallery. As he strolled along the pathways created by the mock walls on which his canvases display his art, the memories of the inspiration that drove every piece streams through his mind. Suddenly out of the corner, his eye catches the figure of a woman standing in one of the many dark corridors silently contemplating one of his more poignant pieces. Her face is hidden by her long dark hair and her posture projects an elusive sadness. After chasing away the goose bumps, he approaches her and gently addresses the visitor.
“Greetings, I hope it’s not the piece that makes you so melancholy. It is but an apparition that lurks in the deepest darkest corridors of the artist’s imagination.”
“It is a lovely piece,” she replies, still ever so sadly.
“I see the pain in her eyes; I feel the anger and frustration in her soul. Will she ever be released?” the lady continues her inquiry.
“It is in her power to do so. I still don’t know if she will,” he replies.
His memories drift to a distant dream that once had been his life. A life before the grand acceptance, when hiding and plotting was the way of life for him and his kind.
Bruno worked the night shift at the student gallery after his night classes. He managed to convince the curator to allow him to keep it open all night so that students with a case of insomnia as bad as his had other things to do besides get drunk. It was his ability to charm perfect strangers into deep conversations on their feelings for the art and his power to influence their perceptions that made him such an asset to the gallery and a vicious self-promoter. He worked hard at both and every night he would meet the most interesting people and extract their opinions on life, art and happiness. One night while the museum was oddly empty, the phone rang. It was the curator.
“Bruno, I have an extremely interesting person coming out to see you. Make her feel at home she will be keeping you company on the night shift from now on. She’s an art major so be nice.”
“Kitna, you know I operate alone, I like doing this by myself I can’t be burdened by some newbie. She’ll just drag me down and bore everyone with her vast knowledge of art history or whatever. Spewing non-sense about how this artist has influenced the work of some other in the face of adversity, blah, blah, blah! Come on Kitna, this is my little house and my little house music, I am the creator.”
He laughs knowing nothing he said will make a difference. Still, it was fun getting her goat and pushing the boss’ buttons every now and then. He knew it would get him nowhere but he needed to try. With all of his charm and attractive attributes, there were plenty of things he wished to keep to himself. He paced the space traveling from art piece to art piece, canvas to statue trying to select something about each that could lead to a potential conversation with his new colleague. He was a self-taught artist and felt contempt for all who supposed they could explain something they couldn’t possibly experience for they had no talent. He saved his greatest contempt for those who called themselves professors, instructors, so on and so forth. As he paced the remainder of the gallery he drifted in thought, wondering what this art nerd was going to be like. For sure she would be this ill kept mousy being with glasses, a squeaky voice and birds nest hair balled up in a bun. He pondered his existence with this art troll mourning for his lost liberties to express and reign as king supreme in his domain.
“What am I going to do with her?” He let out in a gasp of desperation.
“Going to do with whom?” said a voice softly from behind him trying to startle him.
Without missing a beat he said, “This bitch my boss wants me to work with.”
His jaw dropped when he realized what he had just done.
“Let me tell you asshole, you’re not doing anything with me unless I want you to!”
She crinkled up her face and let out this devious laugh; something like Renfield only cuter. It was the beginning of something special he could feel it. They spent the rest of the night walking the gallery. He told her about the telephone and security procedures. He explained to her all the little intricacies that made that job function. By the end of the night they were sitting in the center of the gallery leaning against a bare part of the front wall.
“So, why the night shift?” she asked.
“I like to engage people at night; their emotions are not encumbered by the trappings of their everyday life. People, who walk around at night because they can’t sleep or feel some draw to the night, are open to deeper conversations. I’ve made some good friends here. I’ll start talking about a painting hanging here and before they know it, I’m hearing about their troubles and life experiences. This allows me to draw from those conversations as inspiration for my art work.”
“You’re a painter.” She exclaims.
“You say that with such conviction. How did you know I wasn’t a sculptor or basket weaver?”
“You’re hands are too smooth to be a sculptor and you seem more of a basket case than a weaver.”
“Oh basket case huh, well what brings you to the asylum?”
“I need the credit and it allows me to spend more time at home with my mom.”
“That’s nice, the good daughter.”
“Actually I stay home…”
Before she could get another word out a scruffy looking character with torn jeans, plaid shirt and black t-shirt underneath pushed the door open and called for her.
“Hey lets go!”
Startled, she jumps, looks towards the door and her expression completely changes. She looks back at Bruno gets up and walks away.
“Wait, we have been here all night and I don’t know your name.”
“Her name is Gabrielle, asshole! Hurry up lets go; I can’t believe you have to do this at this time. Isn’t there another shift or a different job you can take? And, who’s that asshole, he seems like a freak.”
Her companion drags her off into the early morning fog and they disappear into the pathways of the university.
“Oh my how rude! I think I heard somewhere that rude people taste better, or was that evil people? I don’t know, I’ll have to look into that. Well, here comes the sun. Where’s my relief, I have to get home I have some work to do.”
A few minutes later, the curator walks in the door.
“Well it’s about time, Miss Kitna. Sheets stuck to your ass this morning?”
“Look here Castañeda, I’ll tolerate that because of your talent, but do that in front of someone and you’re through.”
“Ooooh, Jes ma’am.”
“So, how did it go with the newbie?”
“She’s through, poor girl I sent her home crying. You better line up the next one.”
“Bruno, you better not have done anything stupid. If she quits I’ll get rid of the night shift.”
“Sticks and stones dear, sticks and stones… your little tart is alive and well. Oh, by the way I think the little strumpet is adorable. I highly approve.”
Bruno makes his way to his studio apartment anxious to get back to his art. He stands before an art piece he has been working on, it is a dark image. In the forefront sits the sad face of a young girl weeping, in the midfield is the image of a woman lying in bed in a field of dead trees with scattered broken and fallen headstones. In the background the spirits dance revolving around a dark figure whose features are not yet distinguishable. He ponders whether they should be. He has yet to give this one a title. This is particularly peculiar for him, since he usually starts all his pieces with a ritualistic naming of the art. Giving his pieces a title right away helps him to deal with the content and direct his attention between multiple projects. He treats his paintings like scattered children looking for faces. Children of his dreams, aspirations and conflicts spawned by his contact with the people he meets in his everyday life. Not this one.
This piece is the product of nothing more than feelings coursing through his soul, seeping into his mind and directing his hand. The colors of nightmares glazed with time, over a bed of everlasting sorrow, screaming the tales of torture and horrors suffered over thousands of years. Yet here, in this one room studio, it seeks release at the hands of a child whose knowledge of these events are stories passed down from ancestors long gone. He stands alone now, with no other to share his pain. He sets his sight inward to his soul and looks for the source of all he creates. With a stroke he clears his mind and spills his soul onto the canvas. He spends hours before the oversized frame of stretched canvas and lost in this world of his creation, a mirror to his soul and portal to his past. A past gorged in blood.
“Where did you come from, and where are you taking me?”
His nightly conversation with his new creation takes a new course.
“What face do I give this new torture, how deep is the wound?”
The day passes and even though his hands have filled the space with strokes of colored line and fills of tones in pitch, the dark figure remains without a face. He finally takes his time to sleep and in his slumber fills his heart with peace. The things that torture his soul have been there for a long time and no amount of therapy will be able to dislodge it from his being. Neither will any amount of sleep. The scars that blemish his soul run entirely too deep.
Hours later Bruno wakes up. his biological alarm clock keeps him completely prompt to all events. He gathers his things in preparation for his shift at the gallery. He takes a snap shot of his painting with a Polaroid camera so he can continue to work on his newest creation. He sticks it up on his mirror while he runs his shower waiting for the water to warm up. He finds his thoughts drifting to the new co-worker and what the expression on her face told him as she left that morning. There was something behind that look telling him she isn’t as happy as she played off all night. He could not put his finger on it as of yet. He slips into the shower thinking about this “strumpet” that has invaded his thoughts. Even in his steaming shower he could not shake the thoughts. He gets out of the shower grabs his stuff and heads out the door. It is dark now and the night has a nice breeze soothing the night.
Bruno arrives at the gallery to find Gabrielle waiting at the door. The evening shift kid was talking to her; no doubt putting on a rap, hitting on the new girl. Bruno steps up to the door and rescues his new co-worker.
“Get away from me kid ya botha me,” quoting one of his favorite characters. Gabrielle looks a little shocked but yet alleviated that he came along when he did.
“Are you always such an ass?” She says coyly.
“Actually, sometimes I’m a dick,” he replies with a devious smile.
“I guess you’re proud of yourself for being so damned clever?”
“Oooh, isn’t ‘Pride’ one of the fatal sins? I better run and confess or sacrifice something quick.”
“Hey, I won’t stand for any blasphemy?”
“You won’t? Will you lay down for it?”
“Dude, one day someone is going to force you to make good on your innuendos. What are you going to do then?”
“I guess I’ll make someone very happy.”
Gabrielle laughs as she sits down on the floor at the same spot where they last saw each other. Bruno gets to his chair behind his desk and checks the call-back list. He makes a few calls as Gabrielle tries to start a conversation. He fields her attempts trying to show interest, but hard to do when you are on the phone with someone asking ridiculous questions. At that moment, a visitor walks into the door. Gabrielle quickly stands up and looks at Bruno.
“He’s all yours, show me what you got.”
Gabrielle flashes her best smile and engages her first client guest. Bruno stays on the phone fielding more ridiculous questions while he watches her do her thing. She is completely disarming and quickly has the man completely charmed with her graces. She strolls with the man through the space, guiding him through the nuances of each piece exhibiting more elegance than her faded jeans and black t-shirt initially reveal. She can approach anyone and regardless of her knowledge of the subject have him or her completely enthralled in whatever direction she wishes to take the discussion.
“She’s
almost as good as me,” he said under
his breath.
Finally, Gabrielle walks the man to the door and bids him farewell. As the man walks out the door, she turns and gives Bruno a wide-eyed face gleaming smile.
“She could melt your soul with that smile.” He says, again under his breath.
“Yeah, that was great. Did you get some kind of contact information?” He spouts mockingly.
Gabrielle opens her eyes wide doing her best imitation of the deer in the headlights and as if by slow motion pulls out a business card from her back pocket. Now that smile turns into a devious Cheshire cat grin and her eyes widen as her eyebrows arch making her look a lot like the joker on most popular playing cards. She dances around mockingly like a 5 year old holding the only snow cone on the block.
“Am I good? Admit it you know I’m good. Come on tell me, how good am I? She sings trying to get under his skin.
“Sweetie, you did good, you’re almost as good as me. I got the next one and I’ll show you how it’s done.” He laughs to let her in on the joke.
She just turns around dejected acting as if she is angry and sits with a pout on the ground against the main wall where their first conversation ended last time. This is the second time she tries to start where they left off in a sense. Bruno seems to sense it and almost teasingly avoids her by making up work for himself. A few minutes later, a women walks into the gallery, she immediately scans the floor and walks over to the desk. Bruno looks over at Gabrielle and smiles. He walks to the desk to meet his guest greeting her with a smile, a handshake and a special word. He takes control right away, leading her to his favorite pieces doing his best to get her talking about her feelings. After two rounds around the space, they walk to the door. As they come near Gabrielle, Bruno stops to introduce them.
“Gabrielle can you hold down the fort for a few minutes, I’ll be right back?”
“Oh, sure what ever you like.” Gabrielle responds with some sarcasm.
They walk out the door and disappear into the night. A few minutes later, he comes in the door holding two large coffees.
“Hi there, do you do the java?”
“I like Cuban, but I’ll tolerate the Joe for the right taste and sufficient quantities of caffeine.”
“I figured. Which is your flavor caramel or mocha?”
She takes the caramel with a smile and sits back down against the wall.
“Okay big boy, so where’s the contact information?”
He pulls out a crumpled up paper napkin, holds it up and shows her the phone number, address and e-mail. He pulls out a pair of bagels from a bag and sits next to her. After the coffee was gone and the bagels disappeared in the course of a conversation filled with jokes and heavy laughter, Bruno brought up the end of last night’s chat.
“Right before you left last night you were going to tell me something, what was it?”
Her expression changed, not to say she was all of the sudden sad, it just changed. Her smile seemed to be forced and her eyes lost their fire.
“Is there something wrong?” He asked trying to catch her gaze again.
“I was just going to answer a question, your question about my choice of shifts. I need to spend time with my Mom, she’s sick and I’m the one who takes care of her. There is no one else around I can count on.”
Then almost like clockwork as if set off by some hidden alarm came a call.
“Hey, how long do I have to wait? Let’s go.”
Gabrielle looks back startled again, then gets up and saying good-bye with a wave walks out the door.
“One day boss, one day you and I are going to come to terms.”
Bruno turns away and packs his stuff to go. His relief comes in and he goes on to follow his usual routine.
The next night at the gallery, there is a group of people huddled at the door swarming around the free newspaper box. Bruno approaches and is taken back by the picture of the woman he escorted last night to the café spread across the front page under the headline ‘Killer on Campus’. He quickly pushes through the crowd and grabs his copy then makes a b-line for the front desk. He sits, scanning the article trying to soak up as much information as he can gather. He picks up the phone and calls the local police. He tells them he met the lady last night and wishes to come in and make a statement. The police advise him that they will be glad to send someone out to take his statement. He just then realizes what he has done. He starts to get nervous, but he knows he has no reason to be. A few minutes later, Gabrielle walks in the door holding a paper. The look on her face tells everything she is feeling. She walks over to the desk where Bruno is sitting. She lays down the paper sits on the desktop and just waits for him to say something. After a moment of silence she speaks.
“Are you okay?”
“I feel strange; I might have been the last person to see this lady alive. I tried to sell her on the idea of sponsoring the gallery and conned her into buying me coffee.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I just called the police. They are going to send someone to talk to me.”
“Are you nuts? You just gave them a prime suspect!”
“Maybe, but once they hear what I have to say I should be okay.”
“What happens if they don’t believe you?”
“I guess I’m in trouble, I’ll have to get a lawyer or something.”
“Well, anything I can do to help, I’m here.”
“Hey man I think you got bigger problems than I do, you got a sick Mom at home and an asshole for a boyfriend.”
“Correction, I had an asshole for a boyfriend. We broke up last night. He said I didn’t devote enough time to us. He thinks I’m only interested in me and my problems.”
“Wow, I’m sorry.”
“Really, sorry about what? It was bound to happen. I just feel my Mom needs all the attention I can give her right now.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t realize what a prick he was sooner.”
“Hey, cut that out, he’s a good guy he just doesn’t want to compete with all of the distractions in my life.”
“I guess some things are just not meant to be.”
They walk around the space talking about each other’s life up until that point. A few minutes later, a well-dressed man in a solid black suit comes in asking for Mr. Castañeda. Bruno walks up to the desk, sits on the desktop, and starts to talk to the investigator. Gabrielle watches with concern. A few minutes later a couple of police officers arrive and Bruno walks away with them.
“You’ll have to handle the gallery on your own; I have a meeting with the Man,” Bruno said with a wave as they took him away.
The rest of the night went on uneventfully. At closing time, Gabrielle goes through all the procedures for closing up the Gallery. When she is done she walks outside and locks the door. She leans against the wall and waits for her ride. The moments tick by and the area becomes more and more desolate. Gabrielle starts to get a strange feeling; almost as if she’s being watched; she is over-run with paranoia.
“Fuck this,” she said as she pulls out her cell and dials her friend.
“Hey, can you come get me? That asshole is playing games. He promised to come get me tonight. I told him it was the last time I needed a ride. I guess it’s his idea of payback.”
“Sure sweetie; but you’ll have to come to me; I’m in the photo lab with Carlos. He took some pictures of me last night,” replied her friend Joanna.
“No problem,” Gabrielle responds happily.
They say their good-byes and Gabrielle dials campus security to request an escort to the photography department. After a few minutes a guard arrives on a golf cart.
“Hey, that was quick,” she said as she gets on the cart.
“You were lucky. I was about to go do my rounds around the parking lot when your request came over the radio. Do you mind if I go through the lot?”
“Can you please take me straight to the lab? I don’t want to keep my friend waiting, she’s my only ride and not very patient or dependable,” replied Gabrielle.
The guard looked aggravated.
“You know that’s on the other side of the campus, right?”
“I know,” she replies, giving him as pathetic a look as she could muster.
“Okay, I just wanted to make sure you knew the inconvenience this is going to cause,” said the guard as he sped away towards the photography department.
A few minutes later Rudy pulls into the FIU parking lot. He parks his car underneath a tree near the art gallery.
“I’m so fucking tired of this shit. I’m glad this is the last time. Watch the bitch not even be there because I’m a little late. Fucking Miami traffic! Doesn’t matter what time it is,” he grumbled to himself as he slides out of the seat.
He leans back into the car to grab his messenger bag then slings it across his back. He slams the door shut as he turns around and crashes into a dark figure standing behind him.
“What the fuck freak?” he yells as he is knocked back against the car.
Without missing a beat Rudy throws a punch right at the intruder’s nose because in his world ‘talk is cheap’. His fist lands squarely on the man’s nose, rocking his head back, blood squirting out immediately, but the man just rebounds and stares right into Rudy’s eyes with a burning glare. Rudy throws a flurry of punches bruising his knuckles from the force of impact, but the man just takes it all in stride and doesn’t even budge. Suddenly, the fiend leaps on Rudy driving him to the ground. The strange man rips at Rudy’s neck with his teeth. Rudy’s eyes widen in a panic-stricken gaze as he struggles against his attacker. Slowly Rudy’s struggling ceases as the life trickles out of his body with every drop of blood the monster consumes. Rudy’s body stiffens up, shutters with convulsions and then goes deathly still. The dark fiend slowly rises; pulls Rudy up and sits him down in the car leaving him slumped over as if asleep at the wheel.
The next day, Bruno again stands before his painting, hoping to come closer to finalizing his latest masterpiece. He stares at the painting for hours looking for the place to put that masterful stroke that turns a painting from a mere work of art to the unforgettable creation that genius is made of and kings will kill for to call their own. For now, the best he could hope for is to make it good enough to pass his toughest class. His fixation on this piece is irregular, his usual modus operandi is to work on several pieces at once and sacrifice the masterpiece for the energy of the moment. Yet, this one piece has invaded his soul and he has no explanation why. He fights back the urge to rip the painting to shreds; instead, he throws a can of paint into the air. The paint soars through the space in the room and some specks spill on the creation. Instantly panicked by what he is witnessing; his impulse is to try to snatch back the paint bucket, then he notices something eerie, two of the paint drops have landed perfectly on the canvas where the eyes should be on the menacing figure without a face. The accidental revisions give the figure an interestingly new look. The red eyes in an empty dark silhouette give him a new idea. He draws from this first impression then drags his brush and his palette filling in the necessary tones that complete the puzzle. Satisfied he turns away and carries himself away to sleep.
He wakes just in time for a bath and a quick bite to eat. He decides to take a detour on his way to the gallery and get something for Gabrielle too. He picks up his favorite sandwich and a bagel with all the fixings for his favorite assistant. He heads towards the gallery anticipating another interesting night with the mysterious Gabrielle. As he nears the long breezeway before reaching the gallery, he gets that chill on his neck one gets when they sense they are being watched. He stops, looks around him searching in the darkness. He waits for a couple of minutes listening and watching but there is nothing, he continues his walk this time staying aware of his environment. After a few steps, the night silence is shattered by the desperate screams of a woman.
Bruno charges towards the sounds of desperation as he nears the edge of the breezeway, off to his right past the shrubs and beyond some trees, he sees a gruesome site. The figure of a man hunched over a woman who he is holding down on a park bench ripping at her throat. Bruno leaps over the shrubs and runs towards the scene and with all his might he pushes the man off the girl. They roll on the ground and after a short scuffle they both end up on their feet. Bruno is face to face with what he can only describe as a lunatic. Eyes bulging out of his head, nostrils flared and teeth showing like a rabid dog. The man snarls at him, charges, then without cause, stops in his tracks, looks at Bruno, and says “There will be another night.” The man then looks off into the darkness of the trees and runs away with incredible speed. Bruno turns his attention to the victim ready to give first aid, but finds that it is too late. Her throat has been completely ripped out. Her eyes gleam in the night with an ominous dead stare.
“Is she going to be alright?” A familiar voice calls to him from behind.
Bruno turns around to see who it is. Gabrielle is standing before him with an anguished look on her face. I’m supposed to meet Joanna here. I was a little late. Have you seen her? He looks back as he realizes what is happening. He turns back to look at Gabrielle but can’t bring himself to say anything. She sees his expression, looks beyond him and screams in horror.
“No, no; don’t you say it. Don’t you say it! It can’t be! She’s not dead, it can’t be!
He walks towards her to keep her away from the disturbing scene and tries to console her.
“Get away from me! Let me see her. Stop, let me see her! She’s my best friend! She’s my best friend!”
Gabrielle struggles against his grip to try and reach Joanna, then crumbles in his arms weeping and wailing.
“Why is this happening to me?!” she screams towards the sky in anguish.
“It’s going to be alright,” Bruno tries to comfort her to no avail.
“No it’s not, that’s the best friend I have ever had. This is my fault, she was meeting me to comfort me,” she said mumbling through her tears.
“They found Rudy in his car last night. I was angry with him because he was late picking me up so I left and now look; he’s dead too. I feel terrible. Everyone I love dies. Why me, what have I done,” Gabrielle buries her face in his chest and sobs.
Finally, campus security arrives on the scene to find the two huddled in front of a gory mess that rivaled anything George Romero could have dreamed up. At the police station, the two witnesses are screened and emotionally prodded to paint as clear a picture of the event as possible for the investigators. They did not see each other at all until the next day. Bruno saw Gabrielle in the hallway between classes but she either did not see him or ignored him. He could not tell which. He brushed it off and went on with his day. He makes his way through his day not giving it a second thought. In the back of his mind he knew he would see her that night. The school was buzzing with the backlash of the events from the night before. By now everyone had heard of the night stalker and the role Bruno had played in the incident. Everywhere he went the stares and questions pursued him. In every instance, that now famous cold stare was his reply. He left school early and went home to his art and his usual nap. He woke to the sounds of his back up alarm clock beeping.
“Now that has never happened before.” He thought to himself.
He grabbed the first pair of pants at his reach and some shirt that was lying around and headed straight for the gallery.
“With the ‘Night Stalker’ scare there shouldn’t be anyone coming to the gallery,” he assures himself in a “sour grapes” sort of way.
Much to his dismay, there was someone waiting at the door and it was not Gabrielle. A very distinguished gentleman dressed in a black suit stood at the door.
“Hi, I’m Bruno, sorry for the wait, I overslept. I’ll open in a few more minutes. Come on in, have a seat here in the front and I’ll get all the lights on and guide you through the space. Is there any artist in particular you would like to see?”
“I heard of an artist by the name of Castañeda and I am interested in the type of work that was described.”
“There must be some kind of mistake, Sir. I’m not showing in this gallery.”
“I am also aware of that. I was told you don’t show anywhere. Why is that?”
“I feel the world is not ready for what I have to bring out. There aren’t enough like-minded people for me to present the pieces of my soul that are depicted on those canvases. I’m not ready to accept some of the criticism that will no doubt be an inherent part of the opening.”
“That seems arrogant of you to presume to know what the world is ready for. What makes you think that at your age you have such a pulse on the vein of the current art world?”
“I am wise way beyond my years when it comes to my art and I’m all-knowing when it concerns issues of the world.” He said with a smile hoping to add some humor to the escalating situation.
“There is nothing humorous about a man unwilling to achieve his greatest potential. An artist can only come into his own when he is willing to risk his face on the merits of his art.”
“Fine, I will bring you to my studio and you can see for yourself all the horrors my soul can reflect. I never quite got your name.”
“My name is Esteban, I am an art dealer and owner of the House of Pain Gallery in New York. We specialize in the unusual and the macabre.”
Bruno arranges to meet with Esteban after his shift is done. He escorts him to the door. Gabrielle meets them on her way in and is immediately taken aback by the man dressed in black. The hair on her neck stands on end and a chill crawls up her spine.
“Esteban this is Gabrielle, the assistant manager here at the gallery. Esteban is a gallery owner from New York; he’s here to see my art.”
“Oh, very nice to meet you; Gabrielle Vasquez,” she introduces herself. “I hope he wasn’t too terrible to you. I haven’t even seen his art.”
“Well then, I must be going. Very pleased to meet you miss Vasquez.” He looks at Bruno. “You Sir, I look forward to seeing all you have to offer.”
Esteban disappears through the breezeways into the night. Bruno and Gabrielle step into the gallery. Bruno looks at her trying to get a feel for what her mood is. Gabrielle just goes on with her task and does not look up as she accomplishes all the little things that make up her appointed duties.
“Are you okay? I didn’t get to talk to you after the incident the other night.”
“I’ll survive. It’s just hard to accept what happened. She was my best friend. I don’t understand what happened. This guy just followed us then he asked for directions to the office. All of the sudden we’re out of our way by the lake and he attacks us. I couldn’t do anything. I tried to pull him off her, but he was so strong. I’ve never seen anything like that. He was so strong.”
“I know! I am glad I got there when I did. It looked like you were his next victim. That guy was really strange and he’s still out there.”
“I’ll be okay. It’s going to be hard to get over her death, but I’ll have to. My mother needs me to be strong for her now.”
“Does she know about what happened?”
“I told her but I don’t think she really understood.”
“I would like to meet her. Do you think there is any way that I could come and see her?”
“I don’t know, I’m not sure that she wants to see anyone. She was a very proud woman; she wouldn’t want people to see her like this.”
“Okay, what ever you wish. If you ever feel differently let me know.”
The two continued their conversation as they walked through the space the same way they had on every other night. There was no one out that night and no one showed up at the gallery for the rest of the time they were open. As the shift was coming to its end Bruno offered to walk Gabrielle to her car. She accepted under the present circumstances.
“Wow nice ride! Will you be okay driving home on your own?”
“Yes, I think so, but listen can I give you a lift?”
“No, I like to walk; it helps me clear my mind for the sessions with the canvas.”
“What if I said it would make me feel better?”
“Okay, sure.” Bruno gets into the car and gives Gabrielle directions to his apartment. “Just go right up the street and make a left at the first light.”
They arrive at his apartment a few minutes later. Bruno gets out and they say their good-byes. He goes off to start his daily routine; art has taken over his life completely. That is how he likes it.
In his apartment he looks around trying to decide which pieces he is going to show his potential benefactor. There were a few great pieces and some he would rather not let anyone see; Ever! He pulls out every piece one by one and critiques his own work looking for the wow factor in all of them. He settles on a few he feels will stand up to any criticism and he comes up with counters to anything that might arise. Bruno then calls Miss Kitna to let her know what is going on. She gives him the night off to meet with the man, wishes him luck and says she will cover for him for the night.
Bruno arranges the canvases around the house in chronological order. He walks through the apartment practicing in front of each piece going over what he would say. As he gets half way through his mock presentation the buzzer at the door puts an end to his speech. He opens the door and standing in the doorway is Esteban. Once again dressed in black but showing a little more color this time. He doesn’t seem quite as pale as the night before.
“How’s it going Esteban, did you have fun at the beach?”
“I despise the ocean and the sand; I wouldn’t be caught dead near the water. Not to mention the people are so plastic and annoying on the beach.”
Bruno walks away leading Esteban to the first pieces.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in, one must always show proper manners.”
Bruno looks back, walks slowly to the door and then bows, outstretches his arm and swings it invitingly towards the living room as he says, “Welcome to my home. Enter freely of your own will and leave some of the happiness you bring,” he said sarcastically quoting something clever from a movie he once saw.
“You play too much young man. I guess that is one of the quirks of an artist’s personality,” Esteban replies as he enters the threshold.
They walk to the first painting; it is set in the Dark Ages, a scene depicting the dreary streets of a European city ravaged by the Black Death. A boy and girl cower down against a doorway in the foreground and a man pushing a cart of corpses in the background. One can almost smell the stench rising from the alleys of the city. In the farthest distance at the end of the corridor stands an eerie looking figure with yellow eyes.