“I’d like to see you again,” Travis said as she was finishing dessert. “Would you mind if I called you sometime?”
“Not at all.” Reaching into her bag, she withdrew one of her business cards and handed it to him.
Sara paid for her meal with her credit card. He paid cash for his wine and they left the restaurant together.
“Thanks for this evening,” he said. “Be careful going home.”
“I will. Good night, Mr. Black.”
He watched her get into her car and drive away. Then, whistling softly, he strolled down the street. He didn’t know how or why she had picked this town. He couldn’t say for certain, of course, but he was pretty sure she didn’t know what kind of people resided in Susandale.
But her being here suddenly made everything look brighter.
Although he had fed earlier, it hadn’t satisfied his thirst. It was said older vampires didn’t need to feed as often. He hoped like hell that was true, because even though he didn’t find the taste of blood repulsive, he hated what he had to do to get it.
Hunting within the town limits was forbidden, so he went to the next city, which was about ten miles away. It still amazed him that he could outrun a moving train.
He had spent the first few weeks after he’d been turned trying to learn how to use the preternatural powers that were now his, but he’d had little success so far. He knew vampires had the ability to transport themselves from one location to another merely by thinking about it, and that they could dissolve into mist, both talents he had yet to master. It was mostly fear that kept him from trying to dissolve into mist. What if he got caught halfway between vapor and solid form? Or if he turned into mist and got stuck there?
Now and then, when he was holed up in his lair before the dark sleep claimed him, he thought about all the vampires he had destroyed in the past. As a hunter, he had never thought of them as people. They were monsters, the enemy, nothing more. He had hunted them and killed them without a qualm. Now, he wondered how many had chosen to be turned out of a desperate desire to cheat death. And how many of them had been turned against their will. Most likely all of them. Surely no one in their right mind asked to be a vampire.
He grunted softly. Some had been monsters, preying on men, women, and even children without mercy or remorse. Somewhere along the way, they had lost their humanity so that they no longer considered themselves part of the human family at all. The thought that he might someday become one of them frightened him as nothing else had.
Pushing such thoughts aside, Travis found his prey on the next street. In what had become second nature, he mesmerized the woman with a look, took what he needed to survive, and released her from his thrall, hoping, as he did so, that he would never turn into the kind of monsters he had once hunted. That he would never lose his humanity. Or his immortal soul.
Back in his lair, he stretched out on the sofa and clasped his hands behind his head. From out of nowhere, he found himself wondering what Carl Overstreet was doing these days.
Suddenly curious, he grabbed his cell phone and Googled Overstreet’s name. Links to several articles penned by Overstreet popped up, including the series Carl had written about Ronan. Travis scrolled down to the last page.
And so, dear reader, we come at last to the end of our tale. I searched for a vampire, and I found one. You may not believe me, but I swear by everything I hold dear that they do exist. I spoke to him briefly, under conditions I would rather not repeat or remember. He told me that he had been a vampire for five hundred and thirteen years and admitted that he had killed “a few hundred people, maybe more” in that time.
He said he was made a vampire against his will, that there were many vampires here, in the United States, and many others throughout the world. “More than you want to know” were his exact words.
He said there had been vampires since the beginning of time. When questioned, he said he didn’t know where the first vampire had come from, though there were some who believed that Vlad the Impaler was the father of the Undead. Whoever the first vampire had been, it’s believed that he made a deal with the Devil, trading his soul for immortality.
Our vampire said he had never turned another into a vampire but he knew how it was done.
Travis snorted. Never turned another? That might have been true when Overstreet wrote the article, but not any longer. He, himself, was proof of that. And so was Shannah. With a shake of his head, he continued reading.
Indeed, he even offered to show me. You may be sure that I quickly declined.
I told him I had heard several versions of how one became a vampire and asked if he knew how it was done. He admitted that he did and even offered to show me. You may be sure that I quickly declined.
At this point, he grew impatient with my questions and the interview was over.
As for me, I hope never to see him again.
Someone once said, “Ignorance is bliss.”
Oh, how I long to be ignorant again.
Travis remembered reading the series of articles in one of the national magazines. He had read it twice, then thrown the publication against the wall.
A further search of the Net turned up a short article saying Carl Overstreet had retired shortly after the series was published.
Travis grunted softly, wondering what the writer would say if he knew his former accomplice had become what they had once hunted.
Thinking about Overstreet naturally led to thoughts of Ronan and
