Here, In This Place: An Origin Tale

LOVE AND HUNGER

PART TWO

Legs folded under her, she sat nude on the bed, combing her long black hair, and said, “It has been a long time since I’ve met a man like you, David Lawry.”

“Really?” he said. “How long a time?”

She stopped in the middle of brushing and said, “Are you asking me how old I am?”

“In a polite way,” David said, and he pushed his hair from his face as he turned over and reached for the pack of cigarettes that was the first one he’d bought in years.

“It’s never polite to ask a woman her age,” she surveyed the length of his body, the play of muscle from his shoulders to his buttocks as he lit the cigarette and turned around to face her.

“And I am usually oh so polite.”

“Usually quite the gentleman,” she said, switching sides with the brush and taking the cigarette from him with a long, joyous inhale, like a movie star, her blue cat eyes closing to slits while she exhaled from her nostrils and returned the cigarette.

“But you don’t fuck like a gentleman,” she said.

And he had never heard that word from her mouth, so he nearly coughed, and then shaking his head, he ashed and said, “No ma’am, no I do not. But you take all the gentleman out of me.”

Their very first time, when he was not sure how to court her, when he thought Tanitha so fey and exalted he would always let her make the first move, they had been at a movie he wasn’t very in love with, and suddenly her hand had slipped into his trousers. At first he was surprised at what was happening, and then he was like a teenager. There were few people in the theatre and as the movie had loudly played over them, he had undone his pants and gone down lower in his seat, his hand had made its way up her classy dress and they had pleasured each other, laughing, groaning, looking at each other through slit eyes while the film played.

They had left that theatre in a hurry and gone back to David’s apartment where Tan had guided him not to the bedroom, but to the door. He’d had her there, against the wall, and come laughing with surprise, and then burying his head in her shoulders.

“I’m so good, so responsible most of the time. Such a goddamn worry wart,” He had said, still not releasing her, still holding her legs around his waist, still buried inside of her, feeling hands in his hair, her stroking his neck.

“I get tired of being so good.”

“Detective Lawry, I’d say you were very good just now,” she had laughed.

Right now, David sat beside her on the bed and finished the cigarette, stubbing it out. She had ceased combing her hair and now ran her fingers through his.

“Five hundred,” she said. “Give or take.”

David murmured, “Five hundred what?”

Then his eyes flew open.

“What the fuck? Five hundred years old!”

“Give or take,” Tanitha repeated, reaching over him for his Marlboros.

“Jesus!”

“Not as old as him,” she said. “And by the way, if you didn’t want to know, I’m not sure why you asked.”

She took one out for her and one for him.

“I just… like… That’s like you were before America.”

“You should make me a tee shirt and put that on it for my birthday.”

David half laughed.

He took her by the chin and kissed her,

“If I’m out of line for saying this, forgive me. But I’m in love you.”

She kissed him back, lightly.

“I was getting that.”

“And amazed by you.”

“Because I’m older than America.”

“But it’s like you were just born yesterday.”

“I certainly wasn’t. You’re just surprised because you’re thinking in a mortal way. But if the ocean can be wet after millions of years, why are you surprised that I’m still wet after five hundred?”

There was just something different that night about being on the motorcycle, speeding over the streets of Lassador and toward the expressway and then riding on the curve all the way to Rawlston. He felt freer than he’d ever felt before with the wind in his hair. It never occurred to him to put on a helmet. Was he already feeling the effects of immortality? Sight had changed. Before this he could never have seen stars in the light polluted Lassador sky. Now they blazed in the black sky, and now Sunny thought of coming back to his friends, friends for whom he had worried.

In the back of his mind the worry blossomed. He was, in fact, not completely free, just released for the first time. And he would have to find a way to kill someone if he didn’t want to go mad again and start killing with no thought. What was more, he would have to return to Lassador, to that large warehouse where Rosamunde was trying to start her new tribe, and he would have to remain with them for a time. When he had left, he could feel the effects of the sun. It had been dark red in the sky as it was setting. He would have to be back by six, six-thirty at the latest. He knew they weren’t lying about the effects of the sun because Dan’s journal had confirmed it, and he’d have one hell of a time explaining to Brad or Nehru why he could not leave his apartment till nightfall. What was more, he fully believed that Rosamunde and Carter would make good on their promise, that they would kill his mother and his friends if he did not return.

So…. Feeling free is not the same as being free, he figured as the motorcycle growled while he rolled down the off ramp into Rawlston.

He had expected his employers to say something about his absense, but they said nothing at all as he checked in, put on his apron and went for his schedule.  They were not a restaurant with a large staff—another reason Sunny was surprised they hadn’t missed him—and a server was expected to till a register and wash a dish. Tonight he was serving on the roof top and enjoying the strung up party lights. He was in the same jeans and tee shirt he’d been in when he’d been taken, and he realized he’d have to stop at Brad and Nehru’s for clothes before he went back to Lassador.

He was working nights at the bar he’d come to, and his employers could tell no real difference in his life. After all, he was from out of town, and no one was paid to care for a server. He was glad to be making money, though he wondered how much that was going to mean from now on. Surely being what he now didn’t mean work and money weren’t necessary and yet… they weren’t as necessary.

He was surprised by how much he saw and how much he sensed. On TV shows vampire always had such small regard for human life, but this whole night he had been so very fascinated by it. He had longed to be right back in the midst of it. He was still human, wasn’t he? Only changed. And he wanted the touch of human skin, the scent of human flesh, human laughter. Human life. Right now, to overhear conversations, to smell perfume, to see the pleasure taken in eating was his purpose for being here.

Things changed when HE arrived, because Sunny could not stop looking at the Black man who wasn’t short, wasn’t tall, wasn’t fat and wasn’t exactly thin, who was, in a way that Sunny did not have time to analyze while he went from table to table, arresting, and this is why he was glad to take the tip from the last table of departing guest and make it to this man before anyone else did.

“I’m Alex, I’ll be your server,” Sunny said. “You probably need time to decide? Let me start you out on water.”

 Sunny was drawn to the twinkle in his eye, the regal way he nodded, the was his face seemed carved and polished mahogany, a work of art. Sunny poured more water and said, “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Why don’t you get your best wine.”

Sunny smirked. “Our best wine is about eight bucks.”

“Well, then,” the man smiled and held open his hands, “Why don’t we make that happen? I can certainly spare eight dollars.”

“And do you prefer—?”

“A red.”

Something happened in that moment. It was a difference in the quality of the man he was standing before, contrasted to everyone around him. Things he would never have noticed were clear now. His scent was different. His speech was different, His breathing was different. Different from everyone else around him, but… not different from people he’d been around for a few days now, not different from himself.

Once he’d heard two people having a discussion and one said, “I always knew she was Black.”

“How could you tell?” the white girl asked her friend.

“How could you not?” her Black friend had said.

He’d almost thought that was nonsense, but going into the military he realized he could tell another soldier. And now, when Sunny pulled away from this beautiful man with eyes like alligators, he knew two things, “He s like me. He is a vampire.” And also, “He knows that I am as well.”

“You don’t look like you’re from around here,” Sunny said, pouring the wine.

“I look as much it as do you.”

Sunny smiled and said, “Fair. I came looking for one thing. I found something else entirely.”

“That’s often how it is,” the man said.

“And you?” said Sunny.

“I was looking to settle in a new place. My family has an old property around here, and now it is mine.”

His name was Crane, and they talked through the night. As the crowd lessened, Sunny had more time, and Crane seemed in no hurry to leave. Since he was what he was, Sunny assumed the man was waiting to talk with him. It did not occur to Sunny to ask for help in escaping Rosamunde. He was only glad that there were others in this world, possibly many more. Despite not having worked in two days, he hardly worked at all tonight. He was was drawn to the elegant man, and finally Crane said, “You look hungry. You have the look of someone who comes to a city and doesn’t know the good places to eat.”

Everything in Sunny sharpened. He sat upright, but said nothing.

Crane said, “When you learn to listen, you know all the great places, but you are young so right now I’ll simply tell you, if you go over to Victor Terrace you will find all the great cuisine you’re looking for. Especially this time of night.”

Crane nodded, tipping the hat he placed on his head, then placed an actual tip on the table, and stood to leave.

In that moment, Sunny tried to place him, all the little things he had seen and been obsessed by. The wide brimmed hat tipped over his head, the dark trousers and white shirt over a strong body, a bottom Sunny didn’t mind looking at either. He thought saying ass was too crude for someone like this. He watched his shoulders, the lion way in which he walked. He called:

“Crane?”

Slowly the man with the rich brown skin turned around, raising one eyebrow.

Sunny approached him.

“I get off work in about forty-five minutes. If it wouldn’t be too much, would you… Would you like to take me there? Victor Terrace?”

“Alex—” Crane touched his hand.

“My friends call me Sunny.”

“I think,” Crane said, and his hand still rested on Sunny’s, “I will call you Alexander.”

 Crane’s delicate touch sent a shiver through Sunny.

 “I promise you this: I will be back for you in forty-five minutes.”

Crane said, “Leave your bike here and we’ll be back for it by morning.”

Sunny was going to say that he could easily follow him, but he knew what Crane wanted, and he wanted it too. They climbed inside of his very expensive car, and in the belly of its rich interior, silently sped down Rawlston Road back into Lassador. As they whizzed down the road, passing other cars and trucks, Crane not only never took his eyes off the road, but placed his hand on Sunny’s thigh, and Sunny, who felt himself stirring, cleared his throat, and then placed his hand on Crane’s knee. As Crane’s hand went up, it was like he dared Sunny to do the same, and by the time the car was at breakneck speed and closed shops and empty strip malls, new style churches and stretches of country road were only blurs in the night, Sunny was gazing at whizzing stars through the open skylight, his eyes rolled back in his head while Crane worked him, and he pumped up and down on Crane in return. He thought about going to his knees for him, thought about how trashy that was, how he’d already done far too much, wondered, as Crane’s fingers slipped down and made his eyes cross, where was the boundary of decency, and then gave way to the things the man was doing to him and let his hand rest limp between his driver’s thighs.

They drove through the north until they dipped south in an area Sunny knew nothing about and then, in the deep night, they stopped at a truly desolate set of apartments across the street from and entangled with a trailer park on one side and run down houses on the other.

“Stickney Avenue,” Crane said as they fastened their pants and he climbed out of the car, rounding the door to let Sunny out.

Again came that curious feeling he was having a lot these days, where something that used to mean something no longer did. Like this was easily an area where he would have assumed he’d be taking his life in his hands to walk through, and yet now, as he passed crowds of hooded and hostile kids, he felt nothing.

“Listen,” Crane put a finger to his lips, and he almost smiled. He was enjoying himself.  “You have to listen.”

The hunger in him had turned into lust and excitement and even romance. He longed for Crane to touch him the way he had, he wanted to please him too. He was listening now, but by the time he heard it, he was following Crane, and he realized no one could see them. They absorbed all light, and they were coming to an alley where five kids were kicking one into the ground.

“Show his ass!” the white girl leading them was saying. “Show ‘is ass.”

She was gleeful and her hair was swinging, and the four boys were kicking the one on the ground over and over and then, just like that, Crane was there, and he had taken the girl and spun her around, and her eyes flew open and he lunged on her throat and the other’s screamed, running. Sunny watched, at a loss while they all ran away, and by the time he really understood what had happened, the girl was dead in Crane’s arms, and the boy was still lying on the ground, hand over his head, bleeding.

Crane lowered the girl to the ground and ran the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Alexander, my friend. What you just did is what the kids call an… epic fail. Four people just got away.”

Crane was taking his phone out and he was saying, “I’m not reprimanding you, but that’s why you need a teacher.”

He stopped talking to report the beaten boy and the dead girl, and then hung up.

“I’ve never seen it done, and I just… you just killed her.”

“She was the ringleader. She would have gone on being a ringleader. That’s why I sought her. The others will drift into whatever foolishness they do. Maybe that’s why you let them go.”

Still talking like a teacher, Crane said, “In another time you would look at this boy and offer him the Gift, or you might simply kill him and finish the inevitable. But he is not as close to dying as he looks, so we wait for the police.”

Crane knelt down and put his hand on the boys head, whispering some words, then he said, “Well, we don’t wait for the police, Obviously. Come,” he said.

In the backrground they could hear a siren and Crane said, not terribly firmly or even a little worried, “Come.”