Gears of Aspiration Ch2 Original Version

Chapter 2

    On stage of the Winspear Opera House on Flora Street, Luigi Bassi sat at a table set for a large feast. Bassi was playing the lead in Mozart's "Don Giovanni". The stage was set as a dining hall in a large opulent mansion of the late eighteenth century. Large candelabra stood at both ends of a long ornate table piled high with every food and drink imaginable in the 1780's, yet Bassi's character ate alone, served by his servant Leporello. Luigi Bassi sang loudly and clearly in a perfect vibrato to the audience in attendance, but unbeknownst to Bassi, there was an extra pair of ears listening to his performance from the dark shadowy corner of the fifth floor Grand Tier of the opera house.

    Lucius Flavius stood in the shadows of the Grand Tier completely invisible to the humans seated nearby. Invisibility to humans was Lucius' most important discipline as the mere sight of him would cause the bravest of humans to flee, screaming into the night in absolute horror and revulsion. He was cursed with the appearance of a rotting corpse. His skin hung from the bones of his face and hands. His yellow/brown teeth apparent in an ever present ghastly smile that unnerved even vampires that were used to dealing with the oldest vampire in Dallas. His head was bald and scabbed with just a few strands of yellowish gray wisps of hair standing on end here and there. Open sores on his skin constantly oozed puss making clean clothing an exercise in futility. A sweetly sour smell of decay wafted from him. Lucius had learned to control this too, but for no more than a few hours at a time before the putrid smell of puss and rotten flesh would begin to emanate from him once again.

    Lucius was enthralled by the spectacle on stage. Moreover, Lucius was completely enamored by young Luigi Bassi. Bassi was a beautiful man, Lucius thought to himself. His long flowing blond hair enticed Lucius. The boyish features of Bassi's face held Lucius attention for long periods of time. But it was Bassi's voice that made Lucius fall in love with the man.

    Lucius stood and watched Bassi's performance of Don Giovanni. He watched as Giovanni's lover Donna Elvira entered the scene on stage. He listened as she sang of how she no longer resented, but felt naught but pity for the young, aloof, sexually debauched playboy that was Don Giovanni. He listened as Giovanni scorned Elvira for the pleasures of the flesh he called the support and glory of humankind. Lucius laughed to himself as Elvira left in anger, leaving Giovanni to his lonely feast.

    He listened as Elvira screamed off stage and reentered the scene, running for her life, only to exit the far end of the stage. Lucius watched as Don Giovanni sent Leporello to see what was the matter. Excitement enthralled him as he heard Leporello scream and return to Giovanni exclaiming that the stone figure of the late Commendatore had returned as promised. He watched as the stone figure gave Giovanni one last chance to redeem himself, which the arrogant fool denied. Lucius nearly jumped out of his skin as the Commendatore sank into the earth dragging Don Giovanni to hell leaving only Leporello to tell the sad tale of Don Giovanni.

    This was not the first time Lucius came to see the lovely young man as he portrayed this character, and it would not be the last. He decided that he would see the next performance, and the one after that, and all the other performances however long they lasted. He had to see young Bassi again, maybe even away from the Winspear. Lucius was captivated by the man's boyish features. He was completely enthralled by Bassi's exquisite voice. Lucius smiled to himself as he made his way outside, ducked into a storm sewer making straight for the subterranean chamber he called home. Yes, he would see Luigi Bassi again, that much he assured himself.

**********

    King Edward's queen, Elizabeth sat in the parlor of the Belo mansion, where King Edward held court. She sat upon a sofa facing a cocktail table. The whole room was furnished with antiques befitting a house built in the late Victorian era. The sofa was a richly upholstered chaise-lounge. A matching pair of arm chairs sat on either side of the Queen. With her sat Tony Woodville, her brother and Richard Grey, a son from a previous marriage. The trio discussed the condition of the ailing king, a kind and generous man whom they loved dearly.

    "Have patience, Madam. I have no doubt that his majesty will soon recover his accustomed health," stated Tony as he stood and began pacing about the room.

    "To see you grieve so only makes him worse. It would be better, Madam, to entertain a cheerful mood in Edward's presence," Richard Grey said. He sat on one of the arm chairs, leaning forward as he spoke, his hands upon his lap.

    "What would become of me were he to die?" asked the Queen.

    "No detriment, Madam, than the loss of a husband,"  Grey answered.

    "The loss of this husband includes all detriments," said Elizabeth.

    "You have been blessed with good and respectable sons to comfort you once King Edward is gone," affirmed Tony as he stopped pacing. He stood looking out the window behind the queen, hands clasped behind his back.

    "We are put into the care of Richard Duke, He doesn't care for us at all," declared the Queen stretching out and laying back on her chaise-lounge.

    "Are you certain that Duke has been made Protector of the Realm?" asked her brother.

    "It is not official yet. But it must be so if Edward were to perish," Elizabeth acknowledged.

    Henry Stafford and Thomas Stanley entered the parlor and approached them, bowing low, genuflecting before their queen. Both men were trusted advisers to King Edward and were regularly seen coming and going at the Belo mansion.

    "Good day, your royal grace!" exclaimed Stafford.

    "May you be as happy as ever you have been, Madam," said Stanley.

    "Rise. Have you seen the king today, Stanley?" the queen asked, standing to greet the newcomers.

    Standing upright, Thomas Stanley said, "Stafford and I have just come from an audience with the king."

    "And did he look well to you?" Elizabeth queried.

    "His Grace speaks cheerfully, Madam," said Henry.

    "Did you confer with him?" she asked.

    "He wants to make peace between Richard Duke and your brothers. He also intends to make amends between them and Chamberlain. He commands them to his royal presence,"  Stafford said.

    "I wish all were well. I believe our happiness is now at its height," stated the queen with all depression evident in her voice.

    Richard Duke entered the parlor just then, with Bill Hastings and another of the queen's sons, Thomas Grey, in tow. Richard was clearly agitated, and his hands flew wildly as he began to speak.

    "They do me wrong, and I'll not abide it. Who are they to complain to the king, that I am cruel and love them not? They do his grace a great injustice by filling his head with such contentious lies. Because I cannot flatter and look fair while lying in men's faces, I am to be held a bitter enemy? Cannot a man live and think no harm to others without being abused by these silken naives?" Richard Duke demanded.

    "Of whom do you speak?" bid Richard Grey.

    "Why, of you, of course! When have I done you wrong? Or you," Richard Duke asked, now pointing about the room, "or you, or any of you? A pox upon you all! His grace cannot be left in peace without being troubled by your lewd complaints."

    The queen spoke up, "You are mistaken. Your actions show your hatred of us all."

    "What has come of this world, that sparrows pillage where raptors dare not even perch?" Richard Duke retorted.

    "Come now, Richard. You envy our betterment. I pray we never have need of you!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

    "Ah, but I have need of you. My brother George is imprisoned by your own lies. I, myself am disgraced and held in contempt, while you and yours are promoted in his majesties good graces," Richard exclaimed as he began pacing about the room, hands now clasped behind his back.

    Elizabeth approached Richard and said, "I never did incense his majesty against George. I have, instead, been his advocate, pleading his case unto the king. Richard, you do me wrong by falsely drawing me as such a vile cohort in this imaginary scheme you have dreamed up."

    Richard stopped pacing then, and turned, facing the queen.

    "You deny that you were not the means of my brother George's imprisonment? he demanded.

    Her brother then advanced upon them stating, "She does."

    "She can do far more than that. She could help you to your latterly won  betterments, and then disavow that she had any hand in the matter at all," Richard stated as a sneer crossed his malformed face.

    "For too long have I endured your scoffs and personal defamations upon my character. I intend to acquaint the king with these gross taunts that, far too often, have I borne. I would rather be of common folk, than to be a queen in such a situation as this. I have no joy in being queen," Elizabeth decried as the parlor doors opened admitting former Queen Margaret.

    "You threaten me by telling on me to the king? Then tell him, I say, and spare not one detail. Better yet, I'll tell him myself and risk imprisonment in his majesty's dungeons. The time to speak is now! You all forget my pains," Richard said, his tone rising in volume until he was screeching at his queen.

    "Out, you Devil," shouted Margaret, "I remember your pains all too well. You did murder my husband in those very same dungeons. And you killed my poor son in battle some months ago!"

    "Before you were queen, Margaret, before your husband was ever king, I was the man that did his bidding. I did weed out his dignified foes. I rewarded his friends with grants of title and land given to them by your Henry himself. To royalize his blood I did spill mine own. Remember what you were then and what you are now. Also remember what I was and what I now am," Richard admonished her.

    "A murderous fiend, and so you remain!" exclaimed Margaret.

    "Poor George did forsake his own father to fight for Edward's part for the crown! And as payment for this service, King Edward has him locked away? I wish my heart were made of stone, like Edwards or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine own, I am not made for this world, it would seem," Richard Duke stated as he made his way toward a vacant arm chair near the queen's chaise-lounge.

    "You, go to hell, Richard!" demanded Margaret, pure hatred evident in her voice.

    "In those days, Richard, we followed the directive of our sovereign king. So should we follow you, were you to be king," Tony Woodville said, joining in on the debate as he moved to stand beside his sister.

    "If I should be king? I would rather be a poor beggar than king. To be king is the farthest thing in my mind," Richard lied.

    "As little joy you would find in being king, I now find in being queen," said Elizabeth, walking toward Richard, seeing him standing beside an arm chair tracing the pattern of the upholstery with his index finger, as if deep in thought.

    Margaret then turned and advanced on them both. "I can no longer hold my peace! Hear me, you pirates, that fall out in sharing that which you have stolen from me! Which of you does not tremble and shake when you look upon me? If not for you, I would still be queen!"

    "Were you not banished upon pain of death, were you ever to return to this fair city?" Richard demanded as anger welled up in his bosom and flashed like lightning within his eyes.

    "I was, but I find far more pain in banishment than final death can possibly bring. You owe me a husband and a son!," Margaret screamed at Richard. Then turning on Elizabeth she yelled, "And you owe me a kingdom!"

    "This pain that I bare is yours by right! All the pleasures you supplant are also mine!", Margaret bellowed, addressing them both.

    "My progenitor, Richard York, cursed you when your scorns drew rivers of blood from his eyes. He cursed you out of spite, before you crowned his severed head with a paper circlet, fore it turned to a pile of cold ash. It was fate, not we, that curses you," Richard said advancing on Margaret.

    "To right the innocent, so just is fate," affirmed Elizabeth.

    "It was a foul and treacherous deed to crown the severed head of so noble a man," stated Bill Hastings as he approached them.

    "Even autocrats cried when the news was heard," Tony Woodville said, also advancing on Margaret.

    "We all expected revenge for that deceitful act," affirmed Thomas Grey.

    "Before I arrived, you were all snarling, ready to catch each other by the throat. And now, you turn all hatred upon me? Did York's curse work so well as that? That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, their kingdom's loss and my woeful banishment, should all but answer for that one act of deceit? Can curses cleave the clouds and invade paradise? Then, give way, gray clouds, give entrance to my disdain!" Margaret demanded, spite rolling from her tongue.

    "Though not by war, by excess shall your king die! May you, Queen, outlive your prestige, like my calamitous self! Long may you live to wail your childer's death! May you see all rights usurped from you as I have seen mine! May all happiness in your life die long before you do, and then only after many long hours of grief!" Margaret cursed.

    "Brothers Grey, you stood idly by, as did you Hastings, when my son was killed by this murderous fiend. May none of you see my Edward's age, may some unforeseen accident cut short your life!" continued her curse.

    "Enough of this!" said Richard Duke, turning toward the door.

    "And leave you out? Stay, for you will hear me!" Margaret demanded of him. "If fate have any calamitous pestilence in store, one worse than that I myself can wish for, let it keep it till your sins be ripest, then heap its scorn upon you! May your conscience gnaw upon your black soul! May you suspect your closest friends as traitors and take traitors for your closest friends! May you get no sleep unless to be plagued by a hell full of demons in your fearful dreams!" Margaret finished.

    Stafford stepped forward, then, "Amity, for modesty if not for kindness!"

    "I'll take your hand, Stafford, as a sign of kinship. I wish good will for you and yours. Your cloths are not stained with our blood, nor are you encompassed in my curse," Margaret said reassuringly, before pointy an accusing finger at Richard Duke.

    "Beware this dog, Stafford! Have naught to do with him! After he flatters, he attacks! When he attacks, his venomous fang will torment you to your own death!" Margaret shouted, before lowering her voice and whispering in his ear.

    "Beware of him, Henry. Damnation and Death have left their marks upon him, and all the ministers of Hell attend upon him," Margaret warned as she left the parlor, slamming the heavy wooden doors behind her.

**********

    Lucius Flavius stood concealed in his usual corner on the fifth floor of the Winspear opera house. He had originally come to watch Luigi Bassi perform Don Giovanni once again, but he only enjoyed the performance audibly as he kept his eyes closed and ignored all parts of the spectacle on stage except the young man's perfect baritone. He was far too captivated by the beautiful young Bassi's voice to enjoy the rest of the show tonight. As he stood in the corner, eyes closed and head back listening Bassi sing, an idea began to form in Lucius' ancient and learned mind.

    He had to meet this talented baritone. But, the mere sight of Lucius would send the young man running away in abject terror. This meeting therefore must be handed delicately. It would not do to have the young man spurn his advances from the onset.

    As the opera neared its end, before the final appearance of the stone figure, Lucius made his way backstage and waited in Mr. Bassi's dressing room for the young man to appear. He walked invisibly about Bassi's quarters. A well lit vanity sat against the rear wall. A makeup case sat on the counter before the mirrors of the vanity. Tucked into the frame of the mirrors were several close up pictures of Mr. Bassi as Don Giovanni taken from every conceivable angle. Apparently Luigi Bassi liked to apply his own makeup before performances. An ergonomic swivel chair sat before the counter and draped across its back was a white dress shirt worn by beautiful Luigi.

    Lucius approached the chair and took up the shirt. He felt the fine threaded silk of the shirt as he raised it to his malformed nose. Bassi smelled as delectable as he looked he thought to himself as he placed the shirt back exactly as he had found it, before setting his eyes on the pictures tucked within the mirrors frame. Lucius gently removed one of the photographs and stared longingly into Bassi's blue eyes in the photo.

    Lucius quickly pocketed the picture as he heard the door to the dressing room open. He turned and watched as Luigi entered the room. Bassi must have felt that something was amiss as he entered the dressing room because he carefully looked about it as he made his way to the vanity in the back. Luigi stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted his white silk shirt. He picked up the shirt and held it up for inspection with both hands. Mr. Bassi looked disgusted as he saw a good sized greasy stain about the size of an old silver dollar just below the collar.

    "Ruined!" Bassi exclaimed before tossing the shirt into a waste paper bin at his feet. Luigi Bassi spoke fluent English with no accent at all betraying his Italian heritage as his great grand parents had come to America from Florence in the early twentieth century.

    Lucius frowned to himself at his own carelessness. He should have known better than to be so rash.

    Bassi sat in the chair and removed a jar of cold cream from a drawer beneath the counter before grabbing a few thick tissues from a box on the counter top. The talented baritone leaned forward and began removing the makeup from his face using small circular motions. Lucius moved behind him then and reached out as if to place his hands upon Bassi's shoulder before stopping himself. Lucius held his hand mere inches from Luigi's shoulder when Mr. Bassi stopped removing the makeup and unexpectedly looked about the room with a curious look about his face.

    "Is someone there?" he asked.

    Lucius retreated a bit then before answering, "I'll replace the shirt, of course. I shall give you as many like it as you wish," Lucius stated in his almost unintelligible voice.

    "Who's there?" Luigi demanded, standing upright with a start and turning to examine the dressing room.

    "Only someone who thinks you're extremely talented, young Sir," Lucius replied.

    "Who are you? Why can't I see you?" he asked the seemingly empty room.

    "My name is Lucius Flavius. You cannot see me because I do not wish you to," he exclaimed. "Not just yet anyway."

    "Security!" Bassi screamed. "Security!"

    Within moments two off duty DPD officers entered and questioned Bassi as to what was the matter.

    "There's a man in my dressing room," he told them. "I could not see him, but he was here, talking to me."

    The young actor produced the ruined shirt and began to relate his story to the officers before they searched his dressing room.

    "Well, there's obviously no one here now," one of the officers told him.

    "Let us know if you suspect he has returned," the other officer told him before they both left Bassi alone in the room.

    Bassi looked about the room himself searching for some type of electronic device that would explain the strange voice. After finding nothing, Luigi returned to the mirrors visibly shaken and began removing his makeup once again. After some time he heard the voice again.

    "You are not yet ready for this it would seem." Lucius stated before turning and exiting the room himself.

    For his part, Luigi Bassi remained in control of himself, even as the dressing room door seemed to open then close all on its own accord.

**********

    Angelica Pierce heard a knocking upon her office door. Rising from her chair behind her desk, she approached the door. Turning the knob, she opened the door to see a man with short cropped black hair and finely tailored business suit standing, leather bound briefcase in hand.

    "May I help you sir?" she asked, her curiosity peaked by the unexpected appearance of the man.

    "My name is William Brandon, Ma'am. I represent one Harry Richmond. May I come in?" the man asked.

    "Please do," Angelica said as she admitted Mr. Brandon into her office.

    "Take a seat, Sir," she said, indicating a chair in front of her desk, "What can I do for you, Mr. Brandon?"

    William Brandon sat, placing his briefcase in his lap as he did so.

    Opening the case, he produced a manila folder and placed it upon her desk.

    "We need you to dispatch a vampire for us, Ms. Pierce." he said, "We've heard that you're quite resourceful. Just the quality we need in a hunter."

    "I get by, Mr. Brandon. Who is this vampire Mr. Richmond wants killed?" she asked, opening the folder before her.

    "His name is Dante Salazar. He works at Club Valois in Deep Ellum, Ms. Pierce. Mr. Richmond will pay you the sum of $50,000 upon completion. Of course, your discretion is of the utmost import to my employer, Ms. Pierce." he stated, closing his briefcase before placing it on the floor by his feet.

    Angelica looked at the file and noticed pictures, lists of personal habits, work schedules and any number of information needed to find and destroy Dante Salazar.

    "This is a very thorough file Mr. Brandon. Why doesn't Mr. Richmond get rid of this leech himself?" she asked, closing the folder and placing it on the desk before her.

    "This is far too dangerous a job for Mr. Richmond to undertake himself. Besides, Mr. Richmond does not wish to get his hands dirty, Ms. Pierce. Your acting as intermediary gives him a buffer between himself and the deed. Call it plausible deniability, if you will, Ms. Pierce," he said as a smile crossed his face.

    "This buffer will not stand up to scrutiny, Mr. Brandon, were any of his friends to inquire about Dante's death. Surely Mr. Richmond knows this," Angelica stated, rather matter-of-factly.

    "He does , Ms. Pierce. Rest assured that he has plans in place should such a situation arise," he told her.

    "I'll have to bounce this off of my associates before I come to a decision on this matter, Mr. Brandon," she said.

    "I would expect nothing less, Ms. Pierce," he said to her as he stood and picked up his suitcase, "You'll find my contact information on the business card stapled on the front of the file I gave you."

    He walked toward the door, "I look forward to hearing from you Ms. Pierce. No need to rise, I'll show myself out. Good day, Ma'am."

    With that, Mr. Brandon left the office leaving Angelica to ponder the new case presented to her. Why would Mr. Richmond send an associate to present the deal to her instead of doing it himself? Why would he offer such a high payment offer? She would have taken on the case for half that amount. It seems Mr. Richmond wanted to ensure that she would take on the case. But why?

    These questions swirled in her brain as she turned in her chair and looked out the window at the warm sunlit street outside her warehouse office. This unusually high payment was, obviously, intended to make sure she asked no questions and took on the case outright. If that were truly the case, Mr. Richmond failed miserably as doubts filled Angelica's head. She would need to think on this matter before making her decision.

**********

    Richard Duke sat behind the desk in his office when a whistling chirp from his smart phone caught his attention. He reached for the phone and read a notification from Dante at the bar. Richard stood and walked over to the office door and admitted two shadowy figures. They were both dressed in dark clothing and said not a word as they entered and instinctively took a seat in the chairs across from Richard's desk.

    "You two have come highly recommended," Richard stated addressing them.

    As Richard looked at their faces, their features changed subtly and almost imperceptibly every few seconds, but change they did. A human that happened to see them during a change would notice almost nothing. Richard realized that this would make identification of these two nearly impossible. Richard smiled as he thought of how useful this trick would be in their chosen profession.

    "Are we ready to do this thing," Richard said almost laughingly, clearly pleased with himself.

    "We are, Sir," stated the first figure, his voice sounded as if it came from an electronic voice changer.

    "We have come for the first installment of our fee, Mr. Duke," said the second figure, his voice also sounding artificial.

    "Of course, and you shall have it," Richard said as he produced a suitcase filled with one hundred dollar bills and slid it across his desk to the two assassins.

    "It wouldn't do to leave a paper trail behind us," said the second figure as he opened the case and began counting the money inside.

    "Yes," agreed the first figure, "Thank you for agreeing to this cash transfer. I realize that electronic transfers are much easier to deal with."

    As he talked with these two men, Richard realized that their voices changed ever few seconds as well. Pride swelled in Richard as he became more pleased with his decision to hire these two.

    "It was no trouble at all," he stated, "it wouldn't do for me to be tied to this deed myself. I was more than happy to comply."

    "When you are done, return here for the remainder of your fee. But, please, be quick about the deed. Do not listen to his pleading as George is quite well spoken and he may stir your hearts to pity," Richard instructed the assassins.

    "We will not stand here and boast, Sir," said the first assassin, "Those whom are talkers tend not to be good doers. Rest assured, Mr. Duke, we go not to use our tongues, but to use our hands."

    "Your eyes remain dry as fools shed tears? Excellent! I like you two, now straight away, dispatch this deed," Richard said, clearly pleased with himself. Richard rose and showed the two men out of his office.

**********

    George sat on a wooden chair behind bars of solid silver in his cell. The cell was a cavity carved into the very bedrock that supported the city of Dallas above. Glyphs of strange and arcane shape were crudely painted in red and black upon the substratum of the cell.  These were wards, he knew, designed to nullify any discipline a prisoner might use in an attempt to escape. These wards were specially designed to render only the prisoner powerless within the rough hewed stone cubicle. There was no lighting within the cell itself. The only light came from the foyer outside, and it gradually dissipated into absolute darkness at the back of the cell where an open lidded coffin and simple wooden chair sat. George sat upon this chair as the door on the far end of the foyer opened to admit a single figure.

    The kings head guard, a vampire known only as Brakenbury, entered the foyer then stood outside the cell and looked sadly upon George as he sat pondering his fate.

    "Why such a long face today, Sir?" he asked George as he looked down upon his charge.

    "I have passed a sorrowful night full of fearful dreams," George told the guard.

    "What were your dreams, Sir?", asked Brakenbury, "Please tell me."

    "I dreamt that I had made my escape from these very dungeons. That I had made my way to Galveston. There I had sought and found passage on a sailing schooner with my brother Richard," George told the guard.

    "Richard came to my cabin and begged me walk with him upon the hatches of the schooners upper deck. There we stood, under the light of the full moon. looking back at Texas as we sailed away," he continued.

    "We talked, then, of wars recently past. We talked of evil tides that had befallen us as we paced along the treacherous footing of the hatches themselves," George told Brakenbury.

    "Then, far from shore, I dreamt that Richard struck me from behind as he stumbled and knocked me overboard on rough seas. I thought to myself, How horrible, even for a vampire to drown!" George stated.

    "How dreadful the noise of the sea would be as it filled my ears! What visions of dreadful death invaded mine eyes! I saw thousands of fearful wrecks lining the sea floor! I saw thousands of men gnawed upon by the creatures of the deep!" George told his captor, now shaking with fear.

    "Ingots of gold, anchors of iron, piles of pearls and heaps of gems dotted the sea floor! Some of these lay within the skulls of dead men! Some, even spilled from the eye sockets of these dead skulls and lay upon the silt of the sea floor!" George confessed.

    "You did not awaken from this agony?" Brakenbury asked of his prisoner.

    "I did not. I passed through darkness and was confronted by Charon, the fearful ferryman of the river Styx himself! He carried me across the river safely before disappearing into the very mists themselves!" George related to the guard.

    "Then a shadowy angel with golden hair tinged with blood, broad at the shoulder with corded muscles wandered by. It was the ghost of slain Edward, and it shrieked aloud "Now comes George,- false, evanescent, misleading George,- that did help end my life in battle; Seize him, hellions and take him to his anguish!" divulged George.

    "With that, a bevy of foul fiends enveloped me! They did howl in mine ears such hideous lamentations that I awoke trembling! I believe I was in Hell, such a terrible impression the dream made upon me!" George told Brakenbury, still visibly shaken by the experience.

    "So fearful, Sir, is your dream that it frightens me to hear you tell it." admitted the guard.

    "I have done these things, Brakenbury, for my brother Edward's sake. Now see how he indemnifies me? If I must suffer for these heinous deeds, please spare my wife and childer!" George requested as if of God.

    "That is truly a frightful tale, Sir. But, sadly, it is time I leave you. My shift has ended just minutes ago. My replacements will be here soon enough. I shall see you again tomorrow. So, until then, farewell, Sir," Brakenbury said as he left George in his prison cell.

    George sat trembling in darkness. He tried fighting sleep as he waited for the appearance of Brakenbury's replacements. The last thing he wanted was to replay his frightful dreams of earlier. He began to nod off as he sat in the chair. George awoke with a start as his dipped onto his chest.

    "I have just awoken a short while ago, it cannot be daylight so soon," he said aloud to no one.

    Looking at the few glyphs he could see, George thought that his sleepiness must be some trick of one of these wards, an attempt to keep prisoners docile he thought. Try as he might to avoid sleep, it was no use. His head would dip and George would startle himself awake. His head would dip again and once more he would wake himself.

    "Forget this," George said as he stood and walked over to the coffin. He lay down inside and wondered why new guards had not yet arrived just as sleep took him into it's usually calming embrace. 

**********

    Back at her office, Angelica Pierce tapped a few numbers on her smart phone. Mr. Brandon, on the other end, answered.

    "This is Brandon," he said into his phone.

    "This is Ms. Pierce. Tell Mr. Richmond that I've thought it over and will take the case, Mr. Brandon," she said as she sat back in her chair, placing her feet up on her desk.

    "Mr. Richmond will be glad to hear that Mrs. Pierce," he said.

    "It's Miss Pierce, Mr. Brandon," she stated firmly.

    "How would you like the first half of your payment delivered, Ms. Pierce?" he asked her.

    "Deposit it into my account," she said as she gave him her account information.

    "May I ask, what changed your mind?", he asked.

    "I need the money, Mr. Brandon," she answered. "Let's leave it at that."

    "And so we shall," he stated. "May I call you Angelica?" he asked of her.

    "You may not, Mr. Brandon," she replied. "Let keep this professional, shall we?"

    "Professional," Brandon repeated, smiling to himself as ulterior motives swam through his mind.

    He had liked her the moment he first set eyes upon her. Was she simply playing hard to get? Perhaps, but she did seem awful rigid. Maybe she actually wanted to keep things professional. Time would tell, he told himself.

    "When would Mr. Richmond want this thing done?" she asked, trying to take control of the conversation.

    "ASAP, Ms. Pierce. Mr. Richmond is a patient man, but this is something he wants done quickly," he informed her.

    "Well, tell Mr. Richmond that it may take a couple of weeks. I'll have to get to know a few things that weren't included in the dossier I was given," she told him, "namely his personal preferences. This sort of knowledge really gives me the edge required to dispatch a vampire."

    "I will inform him myself Ms. Pierce. Expect the funds in your account on the next business day," Brandon told her before disconnecting the call.

    Angelica placed her smart phone in the front pocket of her jeans and walked out of her office into the warehouse where she saw Victor Müller and Karl Wagner hard at work. Victor had a passion for American muscle cars and was tuning up her Camaro. Karl was an engineering genius. He was busy working on some new weapon he would tell no one about.

    She had met the two young men in Berlin ten years earlier. She had gone backpacking across Europe with a couple of friends, right after graduation. It turned out to be their first experience with a vampire. Unfortunately for her two friends from high school, it would also be their last. The three were attacked by what they thought was a wolf not long after sunset as they made their way to the hostel where they were staying. The attack occured just as they passed by the infamous Reichstag building, the Nazi seat of government during the terrible years of Hiltler's National Socialist movement.

    Victor and Karl witnessed the savage attack and killed the vampire with an ultraviolet lamp of Karls own design, but not before her two companions were killed. Angelica laid in a hospital bed for nearly a month and a half before she was released. To their credit, Victor and Karl stopped in to see her every day. The three became fast friends. Karl even let her stay with him until she was able to get airfare back to America.

    In her months in Berlin, Angelica had learned how the two large Germans longed to move to America. Angelica decided then that, even though she would not let her father pay her way back home, she would let him use his influence with the State Department back in Washington D.C. to secure visas for her two friends. In their free time, the two Germans taught Angelica the ins and outs of vampire hunting. Angelica, for her part, worked odd jobs around Berlin with Victor as Karl worked his job as an engineer. In a matter of months she not only had enough money for her airfare home, but she also surprised her new friends with their own immigration visas.

    It was back in Washington where Angelica had the idea of becoming a vampire hunter for hire. She took courses to become a private detective. She also took self defense classes to add to her talents. Before long, the three had become an excellent team and had nearly fifteen documented kills to their name before they decided to move from Washington to Dallas, where reports of vampires had begun to become commonplace, even if the local populace discredited such tall tales. That was eight years ago, and the three only got better with time. They now had nearly fifty documented kills and were unwittingly important in the vampire wars that were then raging through Dallas' underworld.

    "We have a job, fellas," she told her friends as she entered the center of the warehouse.

    "You guys feel like clubbing tonight?" she asked laughingly.

**********

    Back at her loft apartment, Anne Neville sat on her couch with her back once again to the Dallas skyline. She looked down at the ring Richard had given her, turning and twisting it as she thought. She considered Richard and excitement welled within her. She thought of him, penitent before her as he bared his breast, and she smiled. She saw, in her mind's eye, the gun she pointed at him with a shaking hand. She remembered her late husband and anger grew anew within her bosom.

    Anne was torn between love and hate. One minute the thought of Richard Duke brought a smile to her face. The next minute the thought of the same man stirred the utmost hate within her. She knew not whether to throw her arms around him and shower him with kisses or to spit in his eye and plot his demise. Her emotions warred with themselves leaving poor Anne visibly shaken.

    What would she do, marry the man that killed the only true love she'd known in over a century of unlife? How could she defile poor Edwards memory by marrying his killer? How could she marry a man that had murdered her father in law and king, a kind and loving man that had always treated Anne as if she were his own daughter? How could she live with herself after such a betrayal of those that loved her?

    But, Richard seemed to love her. He seemed to be truly repentant of his evil deeds. He had even given her the chance to exact her revenge upon him herself. She had wished for such an opportunity over and again over the months since Edwards death. But, when the opportunity actually presented itself to her, she faltered. Why?

    Did she actually love this loathsome toad? How could she? She thought of him kneeling before her, looking up at her with all regret in his eyes. Her excitement was peaked once again and she smiled to herself. She remembered his kind words of praise and her excitement deepened.

    She continued to think of what she should do as she turned the golden ring upon her finger. Her emotions continued to play tug of war with Anne's future as the prize. One moment her hate was vehement and absolute. The next her hate wavered and love fought its way to the forefront of her mind. Her emotions tore at each other with bloody claws. They rattled Anne and she shook with the fight within herself.

    Not since she was a young girl had Anne been so unsure of herself. Not since her days at "Twenty One" had she been so emotive. She was torn between love and hate, between happiness and grief. She knew not what to do, so she sat and she thought. It was the one thing that helped to calm her nerves. Or so she once thought. At the moment her thoughts did everything but calm her nerves. Her thoughts poked at her nerves as if with a stick just to get a rise out of her, and it was working. Her nerves left her visibly shaken as a fine coat of bloody sweat began to bead up on her forehead.

        Anne stood and walked over to the mirror once again. She stared at her reflection, just as she had done before. She again pored herself glass of century old blood and downed it in one shot.

    "That did the trick." she said to her own reflection as she began to dab the blood tinged sweat from her brow with a linen napkin she kept on the chromed bar below the mirror.

    Anne took several deep breaths to calm herself. She fought to drive her thoughts back to her subconscious in an attempt to regain her composure. She needed to appear to be in control of herself, even if she were not. It would not do to seem weak before any vampire, but to do so before an ambitious one could be fatal.

**********

    Two dark figures stood above George as he slept and conversed in whispers.

    "Shall we dispatch him while he sleeps?" one figure asked the other.

    "No, it is dishonorable enough to murder caged pray," said the other. "Prudence will curse us come Judgment Day if we do this while he sleeps."

    "The word judgment has bred compassion in me," the first assassin said.

    "Are you afraid?" the second assassin asked with a chuckle.

    "To kill him? No, only to be damned for the deed," the first replied.

    "But, we are both vampires. Are we not already damned?" the second murderer asked.

    "That is for neither of us to say," the first murderer reasoned. "Why should we compound the matter?"

    "And here, I thought you were resolute," joked the other.

    "To let him live, yes," said the first.

    "Great! Richard Duke will love to hear this," the second assassin said with a laugh. "He should know this at once."

    He was grabbed by the arm as he turned to leave.

    "No, stay a minute. I may change my mind," the first executioner stated.

    "Remember our reward," reminded the other.

    "I had forgotten the reward," the first said. "He dies!"

    "And, where is your conscience now, my friend," laughed the second assassin.

    "Why, in Richard Dukes wallet, of course," he replied now chuckling himself.

    "So, when he opens his wallet to pay us, your conscience will fly out," joked the other.

    "Let it! No one will entertain it anyway," he said.

    "And if it comes to you again?" the other asked knowingly.

    "I'll not fool with it, — it makes a man cowardly," he answered.

    "Then, we have work to do," said the second executioner.

    "Damn! He awakens!" observed the first.

    "Stake him!" demanded the second. "It'll be easier if he's immobile."

    "No, we shall deliberate with him," the first murderer stated.

    "Guard!" demanded George. "Bring me blood. I must feed."

    "You'll have blood enough, Sir," the second said jokingly. "Afterward."

    "What are you?" demanded George.

    "A vampire, as are you," the first answered.

    "No, not noble as am I," George admonished.

    "And you aren't loyal," the second assassin replied. "As are we."

    "Your appearances are apprehensive, and your words thunderous," started the prisoner.

    "Our looks are our own," said the first murderer, "and our voices are the kings."

    "Dark and deadly are your words. Your eyes are full of menace. Who sent you and why?" demanded George.

    "To.............." started the first before trailing off to silence.

    "You haven't the hearts to tell me? I dare say you haven't the hearts to do it," George declared. "Tell me, my friends, have I wronged you?"

    "Us? No," the other executioner replied, "but the king."

    "I'll be reconciled to him once again," affirmed George.

    "Never again, Sir," the first murderer said. "Prepare for your final death!"

    "What is my offence?" demanded the prisoner. "Where is the evidence that accuses me? What jury has given up this verdict? Who did pronounce the bitter sentence of my death? It is against our laws to be threatened with execution before a trial of peers be set. I charge you to depart and lay your hands not upon me! This damnable deed will not sit well with others of this city!"

    "We do as we are commanded, Sir," affirmed the first assassin.

    "It is our king that commands us," the second said.

    "Do not hate me if you love my brother," the prisoner demanded. "for I love him well. If you are paid to do this deed, then go to my brother Richard. He will pay you far more for my life than the king does for my death."

    "You are deceived. It is Richard that hates you," the first murderer said.

    "No, Richard loves me and holds me dear to his heart!" George demanded. "Go to him for me."

    "And so we shall, but to claim our reward," replied the other assassin.

    "Tell him that our father blessed his three sons with a victorious arm. He told us to love each other from the moment he made us," enounced George.

    "Richard told us not to weep for you," the first said drawing his pistol slipping the slide back and pointing it at George's breast.

    "Do not slander my brother." George plead. "Richard is kind."

    "Right as the rain he is," said the first. "Come now, you deceive yourself!"

    "It is Richard that has set us upon this bloody path," the second executioner said laughingly.

    "It cannot be," George said as bloody tears of betrayal streaked his face. "Richard promised to talk with the king and deliver me my freedom!"

    "And so he has," said the second murderer as the first fired a white hot round into George's flesh that quickly caught and engulfed him in flame that rendered poor George to a pile of smoking ash.

    A piteous wail escaped George's lips as the flame caught in his chest. The chamber below Dallas echoed time and again with the concussion of the .45 caliber blast. Alas, poor George was no more.