Blood By Moonlight: Chapter 1

  --Blood by Moonlight. Chapter One: Cinnamon Rolls--

--<~*(__)*~>--

 
 
         There exists a second stream of knowledge and life; one that twists the laws of physics, and bends the explanations of biology. There are rules, of course, and limitations as well- as with everything. Those who are in this stream of existence walk among those who do not, but society has become immune to them. If a yellow-eyed creature strut out in the street, flicked a forked tongue at traffic and screamed that he was a demon he would probably have a few people wondering where he got those contact lenses, others marveling at surgical advances that allowed for that tongue and dentistry, and others just honking and yelling at him to move out of the way.
 
         The news is not riddled with events like this because the food chain is always changing. A lone creature would have to be an idiot to run around telling the world that he was a monster, for the same reason an eight-year-old would be an idiot to walk freely into a known child sex-offender’s house and strip. Mankind has a way of dealing with threats. For creatures of the night, there are mortal hunters and slayers who know all about them and are always coming up with new tactics to level the playing field. The thing about hunters and slayers is that they do not wear costumes or run around telling everyone about their unusual graveyard-shift job. They can be anyone, anywhere, and at any time. All the same, those who are hunted learn tricks of their own. The most dangerous predator, after all, is one who has the outward appearance of its prey.
 
         Walking downtown near the city center at night, streetlights provide fake sunlight, neon lights mix with music and voices to provide a welcoming aura into the clubs and bars. People walk past, laughing and talking as they go about their night. The cars cruise the street with anxious and happy occupants. They all blend together like pieces of a puzzle; each group acting in a logical and explainable pattern to fit into the grand scheme of the night. No one gives a passing thought to the figure weaving through them; they are unaware that there is anything different about him. On first glance, Kyle Sabre looks nothing like a creature of darkness.
 
         With a face and body for magazines, he was not starring as villain in the horror movies of his acquaintances’ imaginations. There was something dark about Kyle; it was not apparent on first glance, but there was a mood hanging around him that whispered of secrets and mystery. The moon was full, so Kyle wore sunglasses and was a little amused by the fact that he was not alone in that aspect as a few partygoers were displaying tinted glasses either over their eyes or on their heads. The strobe lights outside the club Pasquinade could be the reason behind that, as Pasquinade made it their main goal to be the brightest, flashiest, most attention-grabbing club around.
 
         Kyle had heard many people describe the interior as a surprise as there were private rooms for resting and chatting, a large dance floor, a bar serving just about anything you could think of and home-brew style beers were always on tap, a stage for live performances, and a professional DJ on staff in case anything went wrong with the performances or no one had been booked. It was like a secret place in a way, as anyone who had never been inside thought it was annoying and gaudy. Kyle passed the club and removed his sunglasses for a moment so his silver eyes could adjust to the sudden lack of light, but he did not have time to slow down. Back at the school was a white board with his name on it, telling those who would punish him that he had gone out and was past the curfew deadline.
 
         He escaped the lights and noise as he traveled away from the college and stepped onto the light rail. Kyle stood up a little straighter as a tingle traveled through his spine and he found himself peering at the occupants of the cabin in search of a threat. A few homeless patrons were asleep with their tickets clutched in their hands; other riders were already drunk and did not realize they were going west, away from the college and the clubs; and the rest looked to be an assortment of late-night employees going to or from work. The doors shut and the rail sped towards the stop it only made because there was track available and certain members of the rebuilding council were convinced the rail would help revive the almost forgotten far west downtown area.
 
         “Wait, it’s going backwards,” noticed a girl with a green bottle cradled against her chest as she pointed out the window. Her friends stared at her finger with bubbly expressions and only one managed an answer that was not laughter.
 
         “The map up there says it has stops this way, then it’ll go back east,” replied a grungy redhead as he scratched his beard.
 
         “This is the way to do it,” piped in one of the girls in the group. “Stop by the liquor store at eight, get into the early-open clubs at nine, dance and drink for a few hours and you’re back at the dorms in time to study.”  While her comment was received with laughter or agreement from her companions, Kyle squeezed past the group before the greenest of the gang could vomit on him instead of the brown paper bag she was strangling.
 
         “Stupid kids,” growled a man with a clenched fist and drunken bloodshot eyes.
 
         “They’re just having fun,” replied Kyle, removing his sunglasses so no one would ponder why he had them on at night and so he could look the man in the eyes. “It's no harm.” There were security guards who randomly patrolled to make sure none of the patrons clashed, but it was bad taste to put all your trust in a stranger who may or may not even be in your section. The man offered Kyle an unsatisfied glare, but remained seated. Probably a long and ultimately tormenting day was weighing on his nerves. The college students were smart enough not to comment and instead they traveled up a few steps to sit down and wait for the train to head back towards their homework assignments. They laughed about things that had happened at the clubs and in their classes through the next two stops, made faces at the man as he got off at a third, and were giggling still at the final stop where Kyle left them.
 
         He continued east, placing his sunglasses back on as he reached the outskirts of town. Once upon a time, the area he was in had been the life of the city and the streets had been full of people and voices. Now he could only wonder what the street had looked like long ago in a time when the drug store was not an ironic haven for dealers who did not seem to match the ones in the D.A.R.E campaigns. They did not push their product on anyone, just let business come to them by word of mouth. Addictive substances were easy to sell, all you had to worry about was getting caught, so why push people to buy from you when others come begging?
 
         He passed a clothing boutique with racks containing only what the owner thought worthy of being left behind, and a restaurant whose faded menu still told of fish and chip specials and dollar drink Tuesdays. The investors had determined it was not worth the money to re-build the dying area, so they left it hallowed out, rotting, and built a shopping center where farmland used to be. What was ruined was abandoned and what was considered to have potential was forcefully built upon, even if it ruined its purpose.
 
         Every year, Kyle was asked what he was going to do in the future, but well-researched, sugar coated, and mainly forged answers were all he ever gave. Brian, his counselor, was always willing to offer career choices- though they were like the shops had been a long time ago; bright, shiny and full of promise… but look at them now. Everyone was fighting for scholarships and Kyle’s grades were nothing to make him stand out. He might have been able to claw out a few hundred and spend a semester at a community college, but then what? Realistically, he planned to get through high school, enlist, and if he didn’t die then at least he would have some money for college and could decide what he wanted to do then. That answer, however, was one he was not stupid enough to write down for homework credit.
 
         The system just wanted to be able to write a hobby and a goal down so they could shove him in a file and move on to others who showed signs of trouble and were either marked as lost causes, or manage to get whatever little bit of aid their state could afford to offer them. Kyle picked up his pace and tried to think about something that could not be bogged down by the dank and depressing atmosphere around him. The cafeteria was serving cinnamon rolls tomorrow, the band had agreed that symbol crashing was not a skill requiring daily practice, the cat was going to the vet for shots, and they had finally managed to eradicate the basement class rooms of its roach infestation.  With thoughts of a warm breakfast as well as a cat and roach-free day, Kyle turned the corner into a narrow alley and climbed over a wall into the alleyway behind the shops where all the trash cans were located.
 
         The tingling in his spine returned and Kyle’s eyes flickered to movement ahead of him. Three men stood from behind one of the empty dumpsters and turned their attention towards the newcomer.
 
         "You lost?" One of them asked sinisterly, with a smirk as he sized up the approaching figure. Kyle made no response or even slight sign that he had heard the man; he simply continued his pace. The three men moved to surround him. Each one held some threatening trinket they used to intimidate their victims. Kyle stopped as his path was blocked and let out an aggravated sigh. These thugs had to be in their thirties and they chose to pick on a fifteen-year-old who was shorter than they were and carried no weapon. The annoyed stance of the teenager seemed to throw the men into a faint stupor.
 
         Their victim was supposed to be afraid, not irritated at being slowed down. Kyle moved to bypass them, but any hesitation they had faced was gone and they blocked his path again as they noticed the fact that their target was wearing sunglasses at night. A handicapped target gave them all the courage in the world.
 
         "I asked you a question," the man sneered, apparently feeling that he was being sly. Kyle growled out a sigh and clenched his fists in aggravation.
 
         “Seriously?” he demanded, shaking his head. “I have more important things to do than this.” The idea was simple, if you’re dealing with pack animals you make sure to behave like the biggest, toughest animal in the bunch. These were scrawny addicts who were probably homeless and carried their weapons to defend themselves, but it looked like they were trying their hands at mugging people as well.
 
         "You got an attitude, kid?" The man in front of him pointed to his colleagues to tell them where to stand and a basic plan of attack. So far it was a triangle with the only opening being the wall, and the guy in back was supposed to attack first.
 
         "I got a gun,” snapped Kyle, throwing all the quick anger and irritation he could muster into those words. He held his ground and stared directly into the eyes of the knife-wielding man in front of him. When the man’s eyes flickered away, Kyle ducked under the crowbar that sailed over his head, and horse-kicked it’s off-balance wielder. The other two had moved slightly to avoid the swing, but they returned immediately when they saw the attack go bad. The one with a knife jabbed out, but Kyle shot to the side, into the other man, whose weapon was a fairly rusted chain- not a close range weapon. The lunge knocked the chain owner to the floor and Kyle connected a fist to the kidney of the knife carrier as the man tried to lunge at him again.
 
         He felt the knife bite into his arm, but it was superficial.
 
         “You can’t see,” snapped the recovering pipe wielder; as if they were in a cartoon where the character can fly until they look down. Kyle yanked off his sunglasses and turned to face the one who had spoken.
 
         “I’m not blind,” he barked. In movies there were those moments when defeat seems inevitable and the hero smirks and reveals he has been acting on a handicap; moments such as when the swordsman tossed the sword to his other hand and admits that he is not left handed. In some case, the enemy does the same; in others the tide of battle is changed. Now, however, the evil doers just collected themselves and decided they did not care one bit. The attack told them that their victim was lying about the gun, for why didn’t he use it if he had one?
 
         "Gimme your money, brat!" One of the men demanded, taking over the conversation as if he could do better.  Kyle turned his head to look at the speaker. This man was very thin and had a tattoo of an upside-down cross on his right shoulder that had a snake crawling through it. His breath was slightly less offensive, yet there was a belt mark on his arm, some recently used tourniquet, and small puncture marks.
 
         "I don't have any," Kyle stated truthfully. Why they thought a teenager walking alone at night would have any money was unknown. Apparently, they were not the most talented group as far as observation skills were concerned. They weren't skilled in hygiene either it seemed as each provided a unique stench that radiated off as attitude.
 
         "You're not getting out of here alive, kid. Unless you pay the toll," the man replied.
 
         "And you would be the troll, I'm guessing," Kyle rolled his eyes, though he knew they couldn't see his face in the dark alley. His sarcasm seemed to alarm them slightly, but he didn't care. This kid had been abandoned by everything and walked with the outward appearance of a zombie. Unseen scars, deeper then these three could make already ran through him. These retards could not destroy him; someone had beaten them to it already and Kyle wasn’t about to let such weak scum kill him.
 
         "Toll!" The man snapped. "Not troll.”
 
         "My mistake," Kyle's tone held a slight, mocking laugh and he once again tried to pass.
 
         "Get him!" The third man yelled, swinging his pipe at Kyle's skull. Kyle leaned back, dodging the pipe and crouched to the side. He planted his left hand on the ground and swung out his leg, bringing it swiftly across the man's mid section with surprising force that knocked the man off his feet. Kyle rolled as the second brought down the chain to where he had just been. The man with the knife grabbed him and held on while the first moved in for another attack.
 
         Kyle stared at his attacker, his arms being held tightly and proving useless. His captor was strong and seemed well practiced in his part, which was to hold the victim. Little did they know, they had picked the wrong target. Kyle brought his legs up and rammed them into the pipe guy as he came closer. He used that momentum to bring his feet up and over, back-flipping out of his captor's grip. Kyle quickly pulled the trench coat he was wearing off and swung it at the guy with the knife. The fabric smacked into the man's face and he recoiled. Kyle threw the trench coat up onto a pole that was jutting from the brick wall to his right. It left him exposed to the cold winter air, but it was easier to fight with it off. A weak smirk appeared on his face as the first man stood up and prepared for yet another attack.
 
         Kyle wasn't fearful of these amateurs; they didn't know how to use their weapons when their opponent fought back. He dodged the man with the knife as the chain wrapped around his arm. He was about to turn his attention to the chain when he felt the iron pipe smash into his side. He hit the ground and kicked out at the man with the knife, before any pain could set in. The knife flew out of the alley and slid down the alley and under a dumpster. In a fight against so many people there were always consequences for every action; Kyle had to decide what the most important goal was, and he had to decide quickly. His opponents were attacking all at once and there was a chance they’d hit each other and he could easily end the fight, but he had already created an opening for an escape.
 
         These men had been squatting near a trash bin, rotting, and their attacks were juvenile at best. There was no victory in beating them down, no relief in letting them win, and no gain if he let them hold him up any longer. Tomorrow morning would bring cinnamon rolls, which he could not have if he spent all night in a fight. Before they could surround him again, Kyle was charging. He leapt and connected a punch to the gut of the man in front of him, launched a roundhouse at the man with the pipe, knocking him onto the third guy, jumped onto the back of the doubled-over first attacker, and leapt over the wall.
 
         He arrived in the parking lot of what had once been a shoe store and hurried around to the other side in case the idiots came after him for a second round.
 
         Kyle took a deep breath; the cold air stung his lungs and seemed to attack the injuries in his body. The consequence of discarding his only means of armor and shielding from the cold. From the alleyway he could hear an argument as the men tried to decide what to do. Sadly, they seemed content enough to stay there all night. Getting his coat and book back would mean another battle, but he had only a limited amount of belongings and needed that book for class. With a sigh, he left the stoop and stood between the shoe shore and a music store that was somehow still scratching out a living. If he ran and hopped the wall, there were good odds that he could take the men by surprise and grab at least one item before they knew what to do. Jumping over and trying to assert dominance was a lost cause now, considering he had fled the fight.
 
         The world was enveloped by darkness and weight as something dropped onto him and he threw it off to return light to the world. He held the object as he scanned the area, but there was no movement and only shadows met his eyes.  When he looked down he saw his coat in his hand and again his eyes looked upward for a reason. If there was anyone out there, Kyle could not see them, nor fathom why they were hanging out on rooftops. He pulled his coat on and felt the weight of his book in the pocket, like a taunt he couldn’t explain. A click directed his attention to the music store, but the only movement came from a clock, ticking away seconds and moving the hour hand closer towards midnight. No time for mysteries, Kyle peered around only once more and then abandoned the shoe store in favor of the street.
 
         The road was rimmed by a slope that led into a forest that was alive with night stalking creatures refusing to lie dormant just because the temperature had dropped. From there, Kyle headed North West and emerged on the other side of the forest, where he could see the school. The basketball court was to his east, the garden and fields to his west, and a wrought iron gate was locked in front of him. Quickly, Kyle crossed the street and climbed up the gate until he had to move over to the brick wall to avoid the spears on top of the gate. He returned to the iron gate once he was on the other side, as jumping off the brick wall would land him in a rose garden he could barely see in the darkness.
 
         The security light flickered to life, but he knew all the bedrooms were on the north side of the school, so he ignored it and picked the lock on the front door. The chain met him, but he had a large paperclip in a pocket of his coat and used it to move the links of the chain until the peg popped out and he could open the door.
 
The white board was on his left and a red marker shone in the spot where his return time should have been. The drawing created by the red marker was of a skull and cross bones with Mr. Decretum’s signature and a time: 5:30am.
 
         “Got it,” mumbled Kyle as he erased the drawing and headed right, into the living room. He made it out the back door and crossed to his lodgings. His roommate was sound asleep when Kyle entered the room, and the heater was running full blast. Kyle shed his coat and tossed it onto the shelving unit above his bed. Meeting the Headmaster at five was something he wasn’t looking forward to, but at least the injuries from the fight would have a chance to heal during the night. Kyle removed his shirt and stuck his finger through the hole the knife had created. Nice. The number of shirts he had that were not holey had decreased yet again. Tossing the shirt into the laundry basket under his bed, Kyle stepped into the bathroom to shower, patch himself up, change into a t-shirt and boxers, and cringe as his bare foot touched the area of concrete floor their rug did not cover.
 
         His roommate mumbled in his sleep and seemed to be losing whatever dream sports match he was in as he squeezed his pillow and grit his teeth. Kyle knew where this was leading so he crossed over to his roommate’s bed and whispered,
 
         “You’re winning, look at the score,” into his ear. Hopefully that trick would still work and he would not be woken up by the sound of an angry roar. Kyle returned to his own bed and stared at the calendar taped to the shelving unit above his bed. Nothing really exiting was planned and his paycheck was a ways off so instead of staring at the calendar, he let his mind drift back to the alley. He’d left the coat in the alley and the book had been on a dumpster, so how did they both end up falling on top of him? Had those three gathered his stuff and thrown it? Why? Were they afraid he would come back? He’d ran, there was no way they thought he might come back and they knew he didn’t really have a gun.
 
         “What happened?” he wondered aloud. An hour ticked by as he ran through possibilities, but nothing made much sense and he lost interest in wondering. He had a place to return to, a bed to sleep in, food, and was in school, so obsessing over what had happened next to a shoe store seemed pointless. The Headmaster would be mad, but no claims of coats falling from the sky would lessen that rage and meanwhile he had to be up at five am and still hadn’t gone to sleep. Tomorrow was supposed to be a good day; there were cinnamon rolls to consider.
 
 
--Still working on this chapter. Hoping to make the fight scene better as I really need to work on describing fight scenes. Any help would be awesome! If you notice any grammar errors that would help me out a lot as well.--

Prologue:  http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1599688-Blood-By-Moonlight-Prologu...
Chapter 1: http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1602851-Blood-By-Moonlight-Chapter...
Chapter 2: http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1606724-Blood-By-Moonlight-Chapter...
Chapter 3: http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1607770-Blood-By-Moonlight-Chapter...
Chapter 4: http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1610371-Blood-By-Moonlight-Chapter...
Chapter 5: http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1611731-Blood-By-Moonlight-Chapter...
Chapter 6: http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1618354-Blood-By-Moonlight-Chapter...
Chapter 7: http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1625657-Blood-by-Moonlight-Chapter...
Chapter 8: http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1628274-Blood-By-Moonlight-Chapter...