Rouge de Sang: Chapter 3

Chapter 3.

“Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil.”- Aristotle

Jamaica, Queens, NY May 18th, 2004

Julien widened his eyes; he had woken immature to what he’d contemplated. It was four in the morning, he had slept an hour. Julien found sleeping a luxury of sorts; he could comfortably go days without rest, but he enjoyed the sensation of slumber. Being half vampire seemed exceptional to being pure bred, he thought. Half-breeds can be exposed to the sun, go adequately longer without feeding, the ability to sleep soundly and still carry immortality, attractive features, and abnormal strength. Julien bounded out of bed and pulled on a clean shirt, he cantered into the bathroom and brushed his teeth and smoothed out his coarse, umber hair. The definitive part of his morning routine, ended with a steel metal file to his now cuspate fangs. He riveted at his reflection in the mirror, almost laughing at the thought of the fatuous myth that vampires didn’t have a reflection. ‘It’s not like we don’t exist’ he aspired to himself.

He looked essentially normal, despite his toneless skin and inconstant eye color. He threw on a light jacket, grabbed the paperwork he’d abandoned on his kitchen table - not that he had a need for a kitchen in the first place – and left. The office building was conveniently right down the street, so he wouldn’t be burdened by having to take a cab. Julien loathed cars, although he couldn’t quite grasp the reason why. Besides, he’d always preferred walking; it was easier when evading traffic and constant movement never jaded him. He arrived at the building earlier then expected and was greeted at the front desk by a ditsy, youthful brunet in her early twenties. The woman embraced Julien much more intimately then she would any other newcomer.
“You’re looking for Dr. Pravus I presume?” the young woman alleged, fixating her stare into Julien’s eyes.
“Actually, yes. Is he available?” Julien voiced calmly.
She nodded. “He’s through that door right there, on the left.” She motioned with her hand. She held a pencil with her other hand, which she was tapping lightly on her lip in an attempt to be seductive.

Julien smiled. “Thank you.” He walked toward the door, gripping his paperwork tightly. As soon as he entered the room Julien could sense the snake like pair of eyes staring him down at the far end of the room, a thrill slithered down his spine and escaped out through his heels. He actually dreaded the man – a human. It befuddled Julien, never in his life had he ever actually feared a human being. It was Dr. Pravus’s high notched authority, his visible aptitude that bewildered Julien. He could easily recognize that Dr. Pravus was not just the CEO of a major company; he was a part of something substantially bigger, something impiously corrupt.

“Hello, Mr. Mendez.” He said without stirring an inch from his low, veiled position in his leather chair. His voice was deep; it sliced through the room like a thousand daggers. He was a large man, mid fifties. His hair was a coarse, deep iron shade which was on its early stages of whitening. He wore a flawless ashen suit and timeless leather dress shoes. The man had a cowardly aura, which stood meager underneath his colossal abilities.
“Dr. Pravus, it’s great to finally –“
“Call me Samael, or Sam… whatever suits your liking.” He declared. His gray eyes followed Julien as he took a seat in front of his desk.

*

“One should rather die than be betrayed. There is no deceit in death. It delivers precisely what it has promised. Betrayal, though ... betrayal is the willful slaughter of hope.” - Steven Dietz

Seathwaite, The Lake District, Britain October 24th, 1770

A few moments had pasted, feeling was slowly being restored into Rishic’s body. His eyes were closed firmly; he was hesitant to release them. He tried to imagine what it looked like, his surroundings. He envisioned a landscape of undying pulchritude, of bliss and delirium as far as the eye could see. Of his loved ones, his friends and his mother. He hadn’t been informed much about heaven, only what his grandmother had told him countless years ago. He released the strain on his eyelids and let his eyes flutter open; much to his surprise his eyesight was substantially better. He could focus in on things all the way across the room – the room he’d been in all along. No, he wasn’t dead.

Rishic scanned the room as he sat up. He pulled his hand in front of him and stared at it. His hand was almost gray, he placed it on his face, there was little feeling, only a stinging cold that made him pull his hand back and examine it again. He leaped off the cot and sped into the main room of the cottage. He was taken aback by how fast he moved from room to room. Rishic noticed Berusai sitting soundly on a wooden rocking chair; he looked up to appraise him as he walked in.
“It’s good to see you Rishic.” He said tonelessly, rising from his seat.
“What did you do to me?” Rishic voiced impatiently.
Berusai ignored his question. “Gather your things, we are departing tonight.” He said bloodlessly.
“Wait.” Rishic paused. “I must see Canivar before we leave.”
“That is out of the question.” Berusai snapped back, his face burned with choler. The look he gave made Rishic regret asking.

Rishic went into his chambers and hastily packed his scant amount of possessions into a medium sized leather sack. He wasn’t going to depart without saying goodbye to his best friend. He slipped out into the dimness of the outdoors and across the river to the barn, hoping to evade Berusai at any cost. The barn was a casual place; the boys would go there to relax after training. He wasn’t surprised to see Canivar torpid on a cube of hay.
“Canivar!” he said, proceeding toward him “Wake up!” He yelled, half way across the barn. Canivar stirred innocently in his sleep.
Rishic sighed and jogged steadily toward him. “I’m leaving, I came to say good --” He was dumbstruck and was unable finish his sentence. He found himself gawking at his comatose friend. His muscles tightened, and his upper-lip twitched violently. His teeth were bearing, it had almost slipped his mind that his canines had grown an inch and he went to feel them with his tongue. He was prowling now, toward his friend, and he hadn’t even realized it. As he got closer to Canivar, the sensation of hunger sophisticated. His obsidian eyes transfixed on his friend; who was now inevitably his Prey.