Rouge de Sang: Prologue

Prologue.

"Death is not the worst that can happen to men." - Plato

Jamaica, Queens, NY December 13th 1998.


Amélie stared into her son’s eyes, she already knew that by the expression on his face, he wanted to skip the mushy momma's boy scenario and leave for his date. It was a quiet, awkward ten seconds, Amélie rested her hand on Julien’s upper arm. His eyes wondered, seemingly lining every object in the room - of their small, two bedroom apartment - besides his mother. She stood transfixed for a time as she groped for the words to say. "Julien." she piped. He turned to look at her; he found it difficult to look into her eyes. Amélie had always been the fulsome type of mother; she took an obnoxious amount of pride in her son. Her life was inherently orbiting around him. He was indeed, all she had. Julien already anticipated what his mother was trying to convey. She was going to rant out another one of her pointless "growing up" speeches he despised so much. He brandished a brief minuscule grin and took his mothers hand in his. Her hands were small, always cold to the touch and slightly quivering. “It’s going to be fine. I'll be careful. No need to worry." He voiced quiescently. Amélie released a breath of relief. She pulled her son in to a tight embrace. "Just... Don’t do anything stupid." She whispered. After a few seconds she released him. He gave her a quick nod and headed to the door. He scurried outside to evade anymore futile lectures from his erratic mother. As he walked to his car, she hurried to the door and waved. But, he brushed it off and pretended he didn't see her.

Amélie listened as her son started up their old Chevy Nova and edged out of the driveway. In a couple of seconds he was completely out of sight and making his way to Shelby Allen’s house – his date. It was a wintry night in early December; Amélie prodded the fire with the fireplace poker. The house was quiet; the only dominant sound she could hear was the wind whirling against the house and the occasional car roar past breaking the dead quiet that surrounded her. She wasn’t used to the silence, living in a large city and a populated town usually meant an abundance of sound and vibrant liveliness. Tonight felt strange to Amélie, she needed something to preoccupy her and get her mind off the feeling of being alone. She proceeded to the kitchen and twisted on the hot water handle on the sink, the splurge of the water against the metal interior of the sink took over her concentration as she continued to scrub clean the dishes that were left on the counter nearby. Directly in front of her was a large window showing out into the side yard of the property; frost had collected on the edges and the cold moisture outside had fogged up the glass making it fairly hard to see through. Amélie didn’t notice the tall dark figure standing ten feet away in the gleaming, white snow, in the side yard.


As she was finishing up the dishes, Amélie noticed Goosebumps begin to prickle up on her arms; she had a sudden realization that the temperature had dropped ten or twelve degrees. She dropped what she was doing and steadily walked out of the kitchen back into the living room to see the front door wide open and the seemingly visible cold slowly creeping into the house like a stealthy, ice-blue thief. She sighed and walked speedily to the door to close it when her eyes turned and transfixed on the figure that was leaning against the wooden banister on the stairs. Her expression changed in an instant to a mask of astonishment and a mix of dismay. “Elijah?” she paused. “Elijah, how did you find me?” she said in a naïve stupor. The black figure of a man pushed off the banister and moved into the light, he crossed his arms and looked down at Amélie in disgust. The man was pale, almost as white as the bed of snow that lay snug outside. His facial features were hard, sturdy and extremely intimidating. At first glance the man looked as though, maybe, a hundred years ago, his face could be soft even comforting but harden and washed into what it is now over time. Although eerie, his face was also flawless, beautiful at the least. “Two things.” He hissed.

When he spoke his voice was harsh, scary even. “One, never call me Elijah.” He grew louder as he spoke. “Two.” He stepped closer to her, eyeing her up and down and examining her aged hair and skin. He paid close attention to the bags underneath her eyes and the red of her cheeks as the blood rushed to her face. “Why Nedezhda, did you risk everything?” He roared again. The mans eyes were a dark ebony green mixture; his hair was almost as white as his pale skin. He stared down at Amélie, awaiting an answer. She was trembling violently now, unable to move any of her limbs, or her mouth for that matter. “Elijah, I…” she managed to say. “No!” he screamed. “My name is Rishic. Don’t you remember?” he reached out and snatched her arm, tangling his fingers around her wrist with a thousand pounds of pressure. “You almost ruined the clan. You almost ruined me… and you sure as hell ruined us.” He whispered bitterly. “Seventeen years, Nedezhda.” He let go of her arm, leaving a distinct red mark that encircled her wrist. Her eyes reddened and watered “seventeen years I’ve searched.” He hissed. “Stop calling me that…” Amélie snapped back. The tears forming in her eyes began to pour, cascading down her flushed cheeks and collecting at her chin, eventually dripping to the floor in large droplets. Rishic grinned heinously. “Call you what Nedezhda? That is your name is it not?” he proclaimed.

Amélie threw her hands into her face to attempt to bury her weakness. Rishic put his arm around her and removed a strand of her hair that was covering her neck. He took in her scent, it hadn’t changed. “I’m sorry Nedezhda.” He rasped in her ear. The cool of his breath lingered in her ear, causing the hair on her neck to stand upright. “…But I was sent to kill you.” He thrust his hand into the inner pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a small, sleek gun. “Now that you’re human it shouldn’t be too hard.” He hissed again and pressed the gun against her side. Amélie felt the cold steel being pushed into her upper ribcage through her thin white shirt. Before she could bring her hands away from her face to look over her shoulder at him, Rishic pulled the trigger hard and watched her body go stiff.





3 hours later.

“Mom, I’m home!” called Julien as he neared the front door. He took his key out of the front pocket of his suit jacket and shoved it into the key hole. His warm breath turned to mist as it escaped from his mouth in slow gasps of air as he exhaled. His hands trembled from the frigid cold the night had brought so he pushed open the door with anticipated force awaiting the warmth of his home. He came in to a sight so horrific it burned in to his mind forever.

*

"And I alone of all mankind was left in loneliness behind." - William Barnes

South Raynham, Norfolk County, Britain April 5th, 1762



The night was cool, with a warm breeze slowly swaying the green vibrant trees in the forest in South Raynham. It was mid spring and Elijah’s mother had woken him early; extremely early at that. It was 4 am and the moon was high and effulgent in the sky. They had left the safety of the village and wandered west, deep into the thick brush and later onto a crooked trail, seemingly never ending. Elijah stayed close to his mother, whom was striding down the path with increasing speed. Elijah’s mother was stunningly beautiful, she had glossy onyx hair, which was cut short and had small swirling curls that rung down her neck. She was light skinned, but her cheeks were always a rosy red tint. She had small features, mostly rounded. Her eyes defined her beauty, they were a light emerald and they always seemed to glow… especially at night. Elijah’s mother never exactly explained her occupation to him, women were not supposed to have jobs back then, however, because his father had died before he was born his mother took on work. She was a courtesan, a harlot of sorts. This is one of the reasons why she couldn’t keep him.


The walk seemed to last for hours, Elijah noticed a long row of wooden fencing running along the trail and much to his surprise they arrived at a grizzled, dilapidated cottage; the faint sound of music emanating from it. “What is this place?” he quietly asked his mother. However, he got no reply. They made their way inside, it was cold, colder then it was outside even. Elijah had a strange feeling about the place, he disliked it. He walked cautiously behind his mother as they made their way to the door all the way in the back. The inside of the pub was just as old and broken down as the outside. The inhabitants all looked nearly the same, the pale skin and bright eyes. However, the conversation seemed dead; there wasn’t much laughter and absolutely no cheerfulness. At the bar they only served one thing, Elijah noticed the unusual liquid each glass contained as he passed each table. The substance was red, and thick, thicker then wine. He watched it drip from one of the inhabitants mouths. It made a long slippery line, and continued to drip down slowly until it touched the wooden table and made a small red puddle. The scent of the pub tickled his nose, he couldn’t decipher if he liked or disliked the smell. A part of it gave him a soothing sensation, but the other made him think of rusting metal and salt.

They slowly entered the back room, it was dim and gloomy in the small claustrophobic accommodation, the door was closed loudly behind them and they continued forward into the darkness. A candle was lit in the near distance and a figure appeared, sitting silently in a chair at the end of the room. Elijah was bewildered; questions flooded his mind, like why he was taken to this unnerving place. He let his head drop and began rubbing his arm in uneasiness. A deep, malicious laughter seemed to roll off the shady man's tongue and echo through the room. “Good, what is his name?” he directed his question to Elijah’s mother. She turned and looked at him, putting her hand on his back and pushing him forward. “His name is Elijah.” She paused and stepped closer to the desk. “Now how much are you paying me?” she whispered. Elijah could hear some muffled sounds coming from his mother and the shadowed man, he saw the man pull out a red satin sack full of coins. His mother snatched it and turned to face him. “Momma, can we go?” Elijah looked up at his mother, tears threatening to stream down his cheeks. Her face tangled into an expressionless mask and she walked toward the door. In a flash the door was opened and closed and Elijah’s mother was gone. He turned toward the shady man in the back. The man stood and walked toward him; with a strong grasp he held Elijah on the back of the neck and guided him to another door in the back.



“Where is my mother? Why did she leave? She’s coming back for me…” Elijah said diffidently. The questions pouring out as fast as his tears poured out of his eyes. The man pushed open the door and guided him in, three other boys around his age, stood in the dank back room playing. The walls were made of aged wood, and the scratching and blood on them made Elijah cringe. He scanned the faces of each of the boys as the mysterious man slammed the door behind him. The obvious eldest boy was a few years older then Elijah who was ten at the time; he had ebony colored hair, which fell down to the sides of his neck and his skin was many shades darker, a copper color. The second boy was the same age as Elijah, however he had burnt wheat colored hair and light colored skin, his hair was long but tied up in a tail on the back of his head. The third boy was younger then Elijah, he seemed shy, because he was standing by the wall by himself. He had light blond hair, cut short and very pale skin. His eyes reminded Elijah of his mother’s eyes, he couldn’t stop staring at them. He couldn’t stop wondering why she’d left him.