NightFall: Book One: Bloodlust Is the Cure for the Immortal Soul (2 page)

He took his meager meal back to the bleak alley, a place that he has called home for five
months now, and ate greedily.
It surely did not make up for all those days of emptiness. It barely mad
e a
dent in his hunger pangs;
p
eculiar hunger pangs that seemed to
get a little bit worse with each passing
day.

This……..
this
was his hell.

Could hell be any worse than this? To suffer at the hands of strangers who could ca
re less if you starved to death; t
o see you s
ick and helpless and then smile
arrogantly at your dilemma?

No. Living or dead, hell is the same.

When will the hunger ever subside?
He pondered to no one.

As long as he
was living and breathing
in this life?
Probably never.

Why am I even alive?

With nothing more to do or eat, Van lay upon his musty papers once again. It was very late in the evening anyway. He sat up long enough to rustle the papers to make them more comfortable.

He laughed with no humor. Only
the overwhelming
sadness filled every part of him.

What is the use?
He shrugged.

He lay back down and laced his cracked fingers behind his head. His stomach rumbled still. But what did he expect after such a scant meal? Could you even call it that?

Van gazed up at the sky, seeing the stars twinkling like diamonds against a black canvas. It seemed like even the stars were his adversary. They were shining with hope. Hope that he had long forgotten. The ever bright stars mocked him. And his faith faded with each turn of the sun and the moon. They scorned him in a way he could not understand.

Van s
ucked in a breath, held it, and
let it out slowly. He had no purpose in this life. Why couldn’t he just fall asleep and never wake up? Provoke some drunkard into beating him to death? Steal some poisons from the local apothecary down the street, hoping to get caught for his actions? If the owner was merciful, he would either make him drink the vile poison or have him killed for his crime. Then it would truly be over. No one would care any
way. Just
a nobody
transient that was justly punis
hed. Van who? Who cares? He c
ould almost see his limp, bony body, his eyes glossed over in death, being thrown into a shallow grave with no marker showing who he once was, even though he really never was. He would be with the rest of the ‘unknowns’ in a dirty, rotting pile of corpses.

No!
he
thought, shaking that eerie image out of his mind.
There must be a be
tter life for me in the future,
he mused with the smallest glimmer of hope. But that hope had disappeared faster than it had appeared.

Future?
What blasted future? He felt he did not have much longer anyway. He felt his life waning, barely hanging on by a thread. And with one nick of a razor, he would die.

Gladly die.

Hopefully die.

“What in the world is wrong with me?” Van asked the emptiness. He looked up at the dark sky, wai
ting for an answer.
Nothing.
Just a
s he predicted.
Every
thing
, every being was against him.

He must be going insane. Surely, it is because of going days on end without food.

Yes,
he decided.
That must be it.

But even as he thought of that being the case, something niggled in the far recesses of his mind. He felt hungry all of the time but no matter what he ate-if he ate-the
hunger
never changed its commanding rage. The hunger was like a whole other being within him. He had no control whatsoever over this mysterious demon.

He thought for a fleeting moment that he must be coming down with
some mysterious malady. Whether it was physical of mental, he did not know. Either way, one was not better than the other.

Physical: die on the streets. Mental: die in the asylum. Van didn’t know which was worse. People run the other way at either of those problems. They wanted no part of it.

Van wondered if the other beggars felt the same way. He knew he would never bring himself to talk amongst them. They had never shown any camaraderie toward him. He knew they-like him-had their own miserable lives to think about. Though, it was not much of a life to think about or a life worth waking up in the mornings happy. Those days for them never came. It was an endless darkness cascading all around them, shutting them off from everything and everyone.

The last though that swam in Van’s brain was that if
he was sick, he would not have
to worry about begging for food any longer. The dead don’t eat.

Just as Van’s eyes drifted off to slumber, a hand, a powerful hand, clamped down over his mouth. He never thought a human could possess such brute strength……..until now.

Van tried to struggle free, but his efforts were done in vain. Panic encased his rapidly beating heart.

Now that Van was looking death in the face, he realized he wasn’t so brave about wanting to die.
Especially right now.

Oh, but he was a worthless coward.

Oh, please. Not now,
he beseeched silently. A soft whimper escaped his lips.

“Be still, man,”
the rich male voice ordered with the same power that his hand possessed.

Van stilled immediately. He looked into the stranger’s eyes. If this man were surely death, wouldn’t his eyes reflect that fiery doom? His eyes only showed genuine concern.

Van studied the stranger’s face. It was rather pallid and shone oddly in the glow of the moon
. His skin was somewhat luminous an
d very smooth looking.
And his
eyes?
They were the color of ancient amber. His sooty lashes seemed to go on for
miles. His hair, colored as a raven’s wing, was shiny and nearly touched to nape of his pale neck. The hair on his chin was shaped meticulously in a strange anchor-like pattern. It started small just under the bottom lip then both sides curved inward and back out, only it was about two inches wider at the base of his strong, stubborn chin. It seemed to be dusted with a golden color. His nose was rather patrician looking.
Strong.
Sure. His black coat came down to the back of his knees. As Van realized, the stranger was wearing all black attire. He still had the look of nobility, dignity and prestige about him. His face commanded attention. And the stranger knew it.

Van realized that this enigmatic man had removed his hand from his mouth. He wondere
d how long ago that had been a
nd how long had he been gawking at the fellow? He also wondered why he had not had the urge to call out for help. It was as if he knew no harm
would befall him.
Very curious,
indeed.

“I will not harm you,”
the stranger assured him.

It seemed this
newcomer had read his mind.

Strange.

Van gave the man an untrusting stare.

“I a
m only here to help you, Van,”
the man confessed candidly.

Van furrowed his brows in befuddlement. “How did you know my name?” He knew had never seen the likes of this person before. It was not a face one could forget. Living on the streets, Van could observe freely the people from all walks of life and this man was not one of them.

The man laughed. It almost sounded contriving in its own way.
In Van’s opinion any
way.

“I know more about you, Van, than
even you know about yourself,”
the man admitted confidently.

Van continued to gape in bewilderment, so the stranger seiz
ed the opportunity to humor him j
ust a little.

“I knew you were orphaned at the tender and very impressionable age of thirteen. Oh, a few good souls welcomed you into their homes. But it was few and far between. No one really helped you for you had no other family that you knew of. So you were forced to beg on these streets up until now. And I must respectfully a
dmit,”
he
concluded despondently,
“I do not see how you have made it to your twenty-fifth year.”

Van looked at the stranger, first in wonder.
Then when all the words sunk in
that emotion turned quickly to outrage.

“What do
you
know about ‘begging on these streets’?
You and your fancy clothes and flawless manners.”
Van seethed and spat near the stranger’s shiny black shoes. He pointed to the man’s hands. “You don’t look like you had to do a hard day’s work ever in you perfect little life. You will never know the hell I have been through.” Van stormed with anger. “It is
my
business. Now go
and just leave. Me. Alone!” Van shouted audaciously in the man’s face and attempted to wave him away.

The man grasped his arm with that beast-like strength. Van was certain the stranger would crush his arm to dust if squeezed just a bit harder. Van looked up into the stranger’s eyes. They were glowing fiercely with fire.

The stranger’s voice became a low, deep growl. His full, red lips snarled ferociously. His teeth, straight and white, gleamed in the moonlight.

“Leave you alone?!”
the stranger hissed as he grabbed Van’s collar and pulled his face dangerously close to his. “Do you know what I am capable of, you young knave?” He sneered. “Dare you be so imprudent in your ways?” Van could only shake his head. The man released Van’s collar and Van put his hand to his throat with lightening speed. “Do you
want to die on these streets?”
the stranger asked, making a sweeping gesture towards the city. He looked Van in the eyes pointedly and gave a knowing smirk.
“A nobody like you?”
He decided to let Van’s arm drop from his grip roughly. Van massaged the aching flesh.

The man smiled, showing just a hint of teeth, taking care not to let him see the razor sharp canines. It would do Van no good to scare him to death. He was not ready to know just yet.

Van found that he could not smile back. This stranger could have very well snapped him in two. He was still feeling the shock of it all. He looked at the dirt below him. He couldn’t meet this man eye to eye. He could feel the shame well up in his chest. Burning like a fire in the pit of his stomach.

“I would never kil
l any one in cold blood, Van,”
the man informed sincerely.

Van’s head shot up in consternation. He didn’t vocalize his thoughts. Did he? What was going on?

Crazy,
Van decided.
I must be going stark raving mad.
A dream.
Yes, it had to be a dream.