Vampires itw - Chapter 3 - 4

Chapter 3.



Lazamar was blacking out fast. He was hooded, and transported somewhere. He could not see, and the blood that gushed from his head forbade him to get an accurate coherence of his surroundings. The world was tumbling, as it were. Lazamar tried getting all his senses back, struggling, but to no avail.  He blacked in and out of consciousness, moving only to find his hands and feet bound by ropes. Finally, lazamar stopped struggling and concentrated on recovering.

Approximately what seemed like 20 to 30 minutes later, he felt the car yielding to a dead stop. With the black hood over his head, he could make out some of the light through the fine fabric, but he knew he was standing under a lamp post. Almost dawn. He quivered at the thought, and told himself to brace himself if they were to stay in the sunlight a little while.

He heard voices far off into the distance, and his attacker had him walk toward the origin. With his increased vampire hearing, he knew they were talking, and it sounded like some sort of inn, or barn. Suddenly, the attacker swerved from the place where the voices were, and felt him enter a damp area where they stopped. The attacker pushed lazamar to the ground, and, still dazed from the blow to his head, muffled a scream from the gag that had him. Calm, he reminded himself. He was thrown around too much for one night, and tried to escape the bonds that had him one more time. The bonds did not break.

The presence of the light coming through the fabric that his eyes barely absorbed disappeared after the attack left him the floor and heard some doors close and locks tumbling into place. He was wary of his surroundings, knowing he had a lot of space. He sat up into a position where he didn’t struggle with his bonds, yet concentrated on who had him hostage, and who the individual was who has him.

Perhaps an old client that he inadvertently got angry at him. Perhaps somebody who was an oldenemy. Whoever he was, he had another vampire working for him. Not a lot of people have ever subdued and kept lazamar hostage, or even tried, because of his prowess, and the power inside of him that kept growing through the ages. He concentrated his hearing and heard nothing but the scream of silence. He sighed, and waited patiently.

****

Brian was looking over his shoulder when the car had rammed him from the rear.

“Damn it!” he walked over to the rear of the car, and deducted how fake the look the person who had rammed him was. An insurance fraud? Brian calmly pulled out his cell phone, and called 9-1-1. The person who had rammed him from the rear got out of his car and started to apologize.

“it’s all good, we’ll get the police in on this and settle the insurance bill over a cup of coffee,” he said, patting the guy on the shoulder. Brian smiled, and looked at the rear of his car and saw the damage was slight. The bumper hung from the car. Nothing insurance can’t fix. The irony was how the other man’s car was not damaged at all.

Brian was a middleaged man, who worked a nine to five, struggled, and never married. He was a loner, and the childish survival instinct in him coped with his lonliness with just that: being a loner, to the point he even prided himself on the fact in front of his friends. He did date, sometimes though, but always ran after the relationship became even remotely serious. Afraid of commitments, and brian even knew he had some sort of problem with himself. He tried solving issues, but being a man that worked, hardly ever got out, he was a person of stature in his little niche of friends. Some class, some flair, and yet, even an air of the gruffness that told of his upbringing in the street. Besides his nine to five, he worked and made a lot of money on the side, with investments. I have no life, brian kept thinking to himself.

The police, having gathered enough information, disappeared off into the distance. Brian, busy as he was when it came to life and money making, decided to walk to a nearby book store and get out of the cold and call one of his friends to come get him and drive him home. He had squeezed the other man into a small timeslot to have a cup of coffee with the other driver.

Brian was looking over to the left when it happened. he had seen a man duck into the alleyway about a shop over to the bookstore, and saw another man come up behind him. Brian had thought nothing of it, but started to walk faster toward the bookstore. New York city, late night, a guy following another guy into an alleyway;  brian hurried into the bookstore, wary and cautious. Looking back to the left, he saw a man on the floor, and the other man ruffling over his body. Brian breathed a sigh of self-preservative relief, when he was seated at a coffee table, and made that phone call. He dialed 9-1-1 again, and reported what he saw.

Little did brian know that his world would be thrust upside down. he had walked over to a window and looked outside through the curtain. he saw a car driving away. the license plate on the car, the make and the model looked familiar. Brian growled. It was his.



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“hey! Wait! Stop!” brian ran after his car, and, huffing and panting for breath, came to a stop nearly two hundred meters from where the bookstore was. He was tired, dialed 9-1-1, and walked back to the bookstore.

The driver in the seat of brian’s car looked into the rear view of the car, and, casually revving the engine down the street, smirked grimly. Lazamar, in the back of the trunk, was out cold, and could do little to help himself. The driver gunned the engine to a right turn and disappeared into the night.









Angela looked at the watch on her hand, and walked over to the office where the board meeting was being held. Walking in five minutes late, she nodded at the gentlemen seated at the desk, and walked over to her own seat at the conference table. The meeting was about to begin.

She glanced around the room once, and saw some new faces.

“Hello everybody. Lazamar was kidnapped last night.” Agent Warloch began, without wasting time with introductions or the casual hellos and good morning. Agent warloch, being an old veteran police officer, and investigator, was all business today, because, not only had the sting operation resulted in two of their finest being dead, lazamar was kidnapped and missing. He sighed. He was thinking of that cup of coffee he never had this morning.

Agent Angela acknowledged Warloch after a little silence in the room. “where and when did this ever happen?” she was faking surprise, and muttered something under her breath. She was still angry at her sister’s untimely death, and was hoping that Lazamar was brought to justice, except she was hoping he would secretly die somewhere. This was inappropriate for an FBI agent, because it was usually practice to bring the culprit to the legal system, and let the authorities deal with the person. She immediately caught herself in that thought, and was flabbergasted at her own need for revenge. Training’s good for something, she thought.

Agent warloch paced around the room, speaking. He switched the coffee machine on as he did. “He didn’t return to his apartment building last night, and we started tracking him down. He disappeared. 911 told us that there was a phone call of somebody being abducted.” He paused, turned to the people and motioned at the files in front of everybody. “Turns out that it was this individual, brian. He seems connected to lazamar somehow… his company has ties with Lazamar’s business.”

Angela looked at the photograph in the file. It was of a middle aged person. His freckles stood out, and he wore glasses. “Did the bureau ever track him down?”

“we haven’t brought him in for questioning. There’s a stake out though, at his apartment, and we’re tracking his moves. He’s made none.”

Angela looked at the photograph again, and wondered. Brian looked a little too innocent to be involved in anything dangerous. “I think we should look him up, or pay a visit. He may have some information.”

Warloch looked at angela and wondered what was going thrugh the girl’s head when she heard of her sister’s death. He glanced away when Angela caught him looking at her. Still pacing, and waiting for that cup of coffee, he sat down. “alright, here’s what we do.” He proceeded to explain a plan of action that would get brian to co-operate willingly. The FBI was not willing to twist any arms in this case, but lazamar, being wanted and dangerous, were hoping that brian would willingly explain everything that happened that night.



“sounds like a plan,” said one of the people sitting at the table. The agents continued to get up from their places and walked out the door. Agent warloch rushed and grabbed that cup of coffee before he exited the room.









Angela introduced herself to the agents as she was walking toward the company car. “looks like we hardly had time for introductions. My name’s angela.” She extended her hand in greeting as they were halfway to the car.

“name’s farooq. That’s my brother, yazey,” the agent gestured to the being on his right.

“sorry we weren’t properly introduced in the board room. Things are hectic, we have two agents dead on our hands, and one of them happened to be my sister.”

Farooq looked at her with a look of sympathy on his face. “Yeah, we heard. We’re sorry for your loss. We gotta get the bastard responsible for this.”

Yazev spoke. “We must. Everytime an agent gets it….” he spoke with an accent that sounded middle eastern. His voice had trailed off. Everytime an agent seemed to get hit, capturd or murdered, the agents at the beareau got together and would man a witchhunt. Whoever the people were, responsible for the agent’s mis-handling, paid dearly.



Lazamar, half awake, half asleep from the blow to his head, got up and struggled with his bonds that kept him captive. He was concentrating on the bonds now, with all his mental will, and figured they were made of steel nylon. Impossible to break with just brute force.  I need to get out of here, he thought. Lazamar looked around the barn. All he could see was darkness, but he could make out a white-lime light coming from the area behind him. He slowly crawled and rolled his way toward this light, and figured he was lying right beside the doorway.  He heard voices from far away, emanating from a distance, and, timing being perfect, heard footsteps headed his way. After what seemed like only a few seconds, (time flew by fast when a person was hit on the head). He looked toward the noise in the barn. They were walking to the right of lazamar, and he realized he was wrong about being at the barn door.

Lazamar heard loud noises from the other end of the barn, and heard a door open with a loud crash. After a little, he felt light gush in through the bag over his head. He was thankful, but lazamar’s eyes did not adjust that fast to the light, and he squinted. He could see through the bad.

“Where’d he go?” he heard somebody say.

“He didn’t just disappear, did he?” Lazamar was half amused, half disgusted at his captors. Captured by a novice vampire, and has human friends.

Lazamar did not have that many human friends. He had vampire ones, and the only people he ever dealt with were either clients or dinner.

There seemed to be just one vampire in the group that walked in. he heard enough foot steps, and guesstimated about three people.

Lazamar kept busy by trying to use his heightened senses to get a bearing. He looked at the night sky, trying to find a constellation he found familiar. He also looked at the dirt road, and could see green fields to either side.

Lazamar lived in new York. He figured he was somewhere upstate, possibly near Albany. Maybe even near the Adirondack parks.

After a while, of patiently struggling against the steel nylon that held him captive, he heard footsteps near the barn. They were headed his way. Lazamar quickly struggled back to the center of the room, and decided to stay still, in hopes he could surprise his captor.



Lazamar, still groggy from the attack, looked at the barn door and saw the men approach him. Lazamar, groggy, looked up at the man, towering above him.