Unfaithful Servant<\/p>\n
(Sheridan, Vampyre)<\/p>\n
Being an immortal parasite had gradually made Sheridan sullen and depressed. When he first met Francois Varcuic he thought being a vampire would be the coolest thing in the world. Now, it just seemed pathetic.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sheridan was brought across in 1979. He was eighteen years old. He grew up in New York City, the only son of an Italian Mother and a father whose heritage included Irish, German and American Indian ancestory. Sheridan was raised Catholic, and his mother often talked about the Devil, and the creatures that served him. Unlike most mortals, he was not surprised when he found out that Varcuic was a vampire. There was no disbelief. Eventually, there was only disappointment but unfortunately, he felt the disappointment too late.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sheridan\u2019s mother died when he was ten. His grieving father took a job in Texas. They moved from the greatest city in the world to a town with a 7-11 and a Walmart. If you did not play football, no one talked to you. In fact, any lack of conformity was met with derision. His father remarried a Southern woman, who had two daughters. They all loved Sheridan\u2019s father, but hated Sheridan. Sheridan\u2019s father had a new family, but Sheridan always felt he was in the way and a reminder of a past his father wished to forget. Ostracized at home, ostracized at school by the Yankee hating rednecks, he rather enjoyed or at least got used to being disliked.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 In 1978, the famous punk rock band, the Sex Pistols, on their first and only tour of the United States, played in Austin. The concert changed Sheridan\u2019s life. Most of those retarded hillbillies booed, threw food and garbage at the Brits who hated the crowd as much as they hated them. But the fast, aggressive Rock and Roll filled Sheridan with awe. Sid Viscous was his favorite Sex Pistol. Skinny and pale, shirtless with crimson pock marks on his arms, chest and face, Sid smashed his bass on the head of some redneck who wanted to fight the band. Sid became Sheridan\u2019s only hero.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Sheridan bought an electric bass guitar that looked just like Sid\u2019s. He plugged the instrument into the speakers of the family stereo system. A week later, after his father yelled at him about the noise and his step sisters laughed at him for his lack of talent, he took the bass guitar, everything he could fit into a duffel bag, bought a bus ticket to New York City and left. He would never see Texas again. His father did not bother to call the police. It was a good riddance for all concerned.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 His dream of being the next Sid never happened. The bass guitar was stolen. He slept on floors or on the street and soon, like so many young men who came to Manhattan just to see their dreams die hard and fast, used drugs to feel better and made money by having sex with older men.<\/p>\n
He met Varcuic in a gay bar called Reading Goal on Christopher Street. Sheridan felt bored and rich that night. He had more than a hundred dollars in his pockets\u2014besides the men who picked him up on the street or in the bars and discos, he had dependable and wealthy tricks who paid him for sex on a regular basis.<\/p>\n
Reading Goal was devoted to Oscar Wilde. On the pink walls hung framed photographs of old and young Oscar as well as other Victorian fops. By 1985, the pictures were gone, the walls were covered with brown wood paneling and the name was changed to The Bulge\u2014homosexual men had become less subtle about their sexual preferences as well as less interested in dead literary heroes. Fewer patrons understood that goal was another spelling of jail. Two years ago, it became a Starbucks.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 But that night, as Sheridan drank his Lowenbrau, he gradually realized that in the mirror behind the bar, he could not see the face of the man sitting next to him. He remembered his mother telling him about vampires\u2014they\u2019re evil and lived on human blood and because their souls belonged to Satan, their faces could not appear in a mirror. They had no reflection. Most people would have done a double take. Sheridan was calm about it. When he glanced at the guy again, he moved in a way that did not attract attention.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Then he heard a European accent, \u201cCan I buy you a drink.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sheridan squinted at the man. \u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cI am not a trick.\u201d Sheridan heard the same voice. But the mouth did not move He was looking at the stranger, noticing his swollen, yellowish eyes and long narrow nose. Even though his accent was certainly not English, his teeth seemed crooked and his over-bite stretched his ribbon-thin, purplish lips. The man waved the bartender over. His lips quivered as he pointed at Sheridan. \u201cServe him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Sheridan nodded at the bartender when asked if he wanted another beer. Then he smiled. \u201cI didn\u2019t think you were.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cI want to know you better, Sheridan.\u201d His pronunciation of Sheridan sounded funny; his accent tripled the number of syllables. Most people would have asked, how did you know my name? But Sheridan was quick to understand a situation. Then the man told him his name, and as they shook hands, his lips did not move again. \u201cI am what you think I am.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cCool,\u201d Sheridan muttered. He guzzled his beer until his hands stopped shaking. They left together. They walked in silence. On the street, Cars and taxi cabs rumbled past, their headlights sluggish comets in Sheridan\u2019s peripheral vision. Varcuic turned on Bedford, a narrow street with short buildings that for the moment was deserted, and Sheridan followed. They both stopped, the vampire turned around. Sheridan became breathless from the gaze of the undead. He whispered, \u201cCan you show me without killing me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Varcuic laughed. He lifted Sheridan\u2019s hand to his mouth and kissed it tenderly. Then his mouth gripped Sheridan\u2019s wrist and made a slurping sound. But it didn\u2019t hurt . Sheridan just felt that his skin was being pulled. A few minutes later, Varcuic\u2019s mouth let go. Blood slowly dripped out the two holes in Sheridan\u2019s wrist. \u201cCome stay with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Maybe it was the vampire mind control from the very beginning. Maybe even noticing the lack of his reflection in the mirror at Reading Goal was one of those hypnotic suggestions the older blood suckers could plant in your mind. Sheridan knew that Varcuic influenced him. But he was never sure of the degree.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Even in the beginning, when Varcuic\u2019s power seemed strongest over Sheridan, he could not be completely controlled. Eventually, he was just confused\u2014devotion and resentment constantly colliding.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Sheridan helped Varcuic with practical matters. Vampires think mostly of the feeding. The search for and consumption of the thick, warm, red\u2014that\u2019s the undead\u2019s strongest obsession. They don\u2019t hold down jobs. Sometimes such simple matters as securing a safe hiding place for the coffin were overlooked. Feeding can be an excruciating chore. Vampires need servants. Their existence was too precarious to live, like animals, only to feed. Daylight, crucifixes, Eucharist\u2019s, holy water and the random anti-occult zealots who tracked down vampires and staked their hearts while they slept\u2014too much garlic could incapacitate vampires until the dawn kills them\u2014if servants weren\u2019t there to provide some basic safeguards, blood drinking could be as dangerous for the Nosferatu as for the mortal population. Sheridan became Varcuic\u2019s servant. His duties included bill paying, dealing with banks as well as keeping the apartment clean.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic lived in the largest apartment Sheridan had ever seen. Thirty foot high ceilings, large living room, dining room, kitchen, three bedrooms\u2014in Manhattan, only rich people lived in places like this. Sheridan had only heard of places like this. One bedroom was empty, where they sometimes stored drained corpses for later disposal. He gave Sheridan the other room. Varcuic\u2019s coffin was in the third bedroom, which was at the end of a long hall. He kept the door locked during the day. The living room had a tiger pelt rug on the dark hardwood floor, black leather chairs and a long sofa with thick cushions. The burgundy colored walls were lined with book cases filled with books in a number of different languages.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Varcuic was brought over in the year 1315. He lived in a Serbian monastery when he was mortal. He wanted to become a priest, but the Abbot did not think he was ready. Nonetheless, he was one of the few educated people around then. This was part of the problem. Varcuic was accused of caring more about knowledge than he did about the Church. So he ran away from the monastery at the age of twenty seven. He threw away his robes and rosaries, socialized with prostitutes, gypsies and other outcasts until Lilith Krastinga, an old, Turkish vampire with a deep and utter loathing of anything Christian, made it her duty to bring a would-be-priest across.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI want to be like you,\u201d said Sheridan.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cYou are not ready yet,\u201d he replied. Sometimes he just wanted to stay in and read his ancient books and would suck some of Sheridan\u2019s blood to ease the hunger. Other nights, they would cruise the bars, find a young man or woman to bring home. Sheridan made love to the victim, then Varcuic would drain the person dead. Sheridan had to dispose of the body, a task he soon he got used to\u2014cutting off the limbs, melting down the skin and bones with sulfuric acid. Not as messy a task as one might think without the blood. What didn\u2019t disappear into the plumbing he\u2019d put in a plastic garbage bag, throw it in the river, sometimes just leave it with somebody\u2019s trash to be taken away with the morning pick up.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Varcuic took Sheridan to a bar called The Artery. Only the undead and their friends and servants knew about it. The bartender, Sanko, a bald blood drinker, was brought over when New York was Dutch. He procured blood and victims for visiting vampires, helped the undead who needed places to rest. The place was dimly lit, no mirrors at all. Classical music was played on the stereo. Most nights were quiet, except for vampires talking about distant histories, remembering mortal days, or slurping on the blood Sanko served. One night, Sheridan watched Sanko, Varcuic and a female vampire, Vitale\u2014who was from France and knew Napoleon in her mortal years\u2014play a card game for an infant boy. Vitale won. She picked up the child, smacked the wall with his head, then yanked open the child\u2019s skull and drained the blood by sucking it through the veins and arteries connected to his tiny brain.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic was wealthy, gave Sheridan more money than he could spend. Sheridan bought designer clothes, even though they were mostly expensive versions of his punk garb\u2014silk T- shirts, black boots, black jeans, black leather jackets\u2014he hung out at the hippest clubs and chatted with the self-involved and morose denizens of downtown Manhattan. He bought a Fender bass that the music store owner swore was once played by Sid Viscous and a Marshall amplifier, but the idea of playing music held no interest anymore. All the death he had seen\u2014the power of Varcuic he had witnessed\u2014made everything but crossing over seem meaningless.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sheridan bought a mahogany coffin and put it in his room. He slept in the elegant box. He found healthier, more attractive victims, fed them huge steak meals so the blood would be richer for his master. He searched out books in Latin and Greek. Anything to make Varcuic happy enough to grant his simple wish.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u201cPlease, master,\u201d he begged. \u201cMake me in your image. Make me the flesh of your flesh, the blood of your blood.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic hissed with annoyance. \u201cYou are not ready,\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0Sheridan decided on a different strategy. He purchased a small, razor-sharp, silver poniard in an antique store in Soho. Varcuic was in one of his lazier phases, spending his evenings reading the works of Aristotle and dreaming of the Serbian countryside.<\/p>\n
One night, as Varcuic was sucking on Sheridan\u2019s neck, Sheridan unbuttoned Varcuic\u2019s shirt, removed the small blade and slid it across Varcuic chest. Sheridan lowered his mouth and drank the black blood of the supernatural. Sheridan wasn\u2019t given vampirism. He stole it.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sheridan never realized how much he would miss the sun or the company of people, or other thoughts and desires instead of solely wanting and thinking about the thick, warm, red. Around the same time, the Sex Pistols had broken up, Sid died of an overdose, and the punk rock scene he dreamt about as a New York teenager living in nowhere Texas disappeared. People his age finished school and took jobs, started using personal computers and watching music videos on MTV. Then crack and AIDS took their tolls. The idea of never aging or dying certainly motivated Sheridan\u2019s desire to join the undead. But America changed during his first decade as a vampire; youth was no longer held in the same esteem.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 For a while, it was exciting. Nothing compares to the thick, warm, red. No mere sustenance. It is power and euphoria. Imbibing is closer to sexual pleasure than normal eating or drinking. Sheridan owned the night and anyone alive could be his victim.<\/p>\n
But the other vampires at The Artery never gave Sheridan respect. They often spoke in foreign languages just so he could not join in the conversation. Sheridan could read minds, hypnotize victims so they would not struggle and the feeding would be quick and easy, but his powers were never at the same level of Varcuic or the other drinkers. Nor could Sheridan transmute into a bat or a wolf or a disappear into mists, although the capacity of metamorphosis is not a common vampire trait. Sheridan suspected that because the vampirism was not bestowed, but taken, his powers could never be as strong as theirs. Varcuic claimed it had to do with Sheridan\u2019s young age as well as bloodline purity. An American mongrel boy like Sheridan was innately inferior to vampires from unmixed stock.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic constantly reminded Sheridan of his weaknesses and Sheridan decided to spend more time on his own. He put a spare coffin in the basement of an abandoned building, and months would go by without any contact with other blood drinkers. Sheridan hated how they treated him at The Artery, but the isolation, as well as the need for a fix when a victim could not be found, always forced his return to the company of other vampires.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Despite being more powerful, Sheridan never felt the other vampires were any smarter. They kept glorifying the Old World, as if Europe was some kind of Olympia and they were blood sucking gods. Europe was nothing more than just another bunch of jabbering mortals eating, defecating, fornicating, reproducing, fighting and watching TV. Most of the countries there were Catholic, which meant plenty of crucifixes and other deadly objects. America\u2019s religious freedom and cultural diversity minimized that threat. The villagers were always getting in an uproar when a drinker\u2019s feeding got out of hand. They murdered vampires in the morning or drove them from their castles and countries; yet the old world vampires loved and yearned for these lands. To Sheridan, the vampires at The Artery were hypocrites and fools<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Soon, except for meeting Varcuic during his occasional visits to The Artery, Sheridan never saw the vampire who brought him across. Sometimes, Sheridan was so depressed, he could not keep his mind on stalking victims. Mortals were suspicious of all strangers these days. They had become increasingly difficult to seduce.<\/p>\n
He often wondered if he had been set up by Varcuic. The old vampire could have implanted the desire to drink the black Nosferatu blood. Sheridan could never be sure.<\/p>\n
Many nights, after roaming aimlessly from Washington Heights to Battery Park, too absorbed in bitter reveries to hunt, Sheridan considered ending it all\u2014throwing himself on a wooden pole, running into a church and breaking open the tabernacle and eating all the Communions out of a gold Ciborium, or just standing on the sidewalk and letting the dawn turn him to cinders.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 One chilly February night, Sheridan was sad and lonely as he lurked through the streets of the East Village in a half-hearted attempt at feeding. All he could think about was how these streets that seemed so thrilling when he first arrived in New York, now were dull and desolate. Suddenly he heard familiar music: God Save The Queen, by the Sex Pistols. He followed the sound up First Avenue to Tenth Street. It had snowed about a foot two days before and Manhattan was not done digging out. On Tenth Street, two men in their thirties were drinking beer by their car, a brand new Saturn on whose sound system the Compact Disc re-issue of Never Mind The Bullocks blared. They had just cleared away the snow, and were taking a breather, listening to the music of their youth and discussing the pros and cons of a particular computer software program they both used at their jobs.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sheridan stopped and stared. These men were his age\u2014born around the same time\u2014and until that fatal night when Sheridan drank from the chest of a vampire\u2014 probably experienced most of the same things Sheridan had. Now, Sheridan was completely alone but these two had friends and families, held responsible positions in society and youth was not everlasting to them, just memories that inspired nostalgia. Sheridan looked like a very pallid juvenile delinquent. The men got in the car and locked the doors. He was the youth they left behind. The Sid who could never die. Every preternatural molecule in Sheridan\u2019s body envied them; an envy that for the moment was stronger than the need to feed. He became upset, moaned so loud everyone on the street recognized anguish. The engine started, the Saturn jerked out of the spot. Sheridan fled, stomped through the frozen slush across Manhattan until he knocked over a woman in a dark blue parka on Hudson Street.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cYou stupid jerk,\u201d she yelled. He put out his hand to help her up, but she screamed, \u201cGet away from me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He became furious and attacked her. He tore through her garments, bit off one of her breasts and drank. Her thick, warm, red covered him. He was absorbed in the frenzy and when she was drained, he roared with muscular delight. He left her in the snow, to be found the next day by an early morning dog walker.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Every newspaper, radio station and Television network featured the mutilated woman story. Experts talked about the possibility of a new serial killer in town. Politicians called for increased police protection. Neighborhood patrols were organized. The mortals were afraid. It became harder to feed. But no hunters appeared. Many New Yorkers had faith in God or Tarot Cards or Astrology or Psychic Healers. But few believed in supernatural evil, or in immortal monsters who drank blood to survive.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Nonetheless, at The Artery, the vampires were angry at Sheridan. They were afraid of too much attention; as if New Yorkers had nothing better to do than band together like Carpathian peasants and start chasing down blood suckers with crosses and holy water and Eucharist\u2019s and wooden stakes. Sheridan had not read any of the papers or heard any of the reports. When he walked into The Artery, Sanko punched him in the face, sending him flying across the room. Suddenly, all the vampires thrashed Sheridan, hitting and kicking and cursing his name in several different languages.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sheridan cried, \u201cWhy are you doing this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sanko explained about the woman then screamed, \u201conly a moron doesn\u2019t dispose of the body after they\u2019ve fed. We don\u2019t want no hunters in this town.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cAre you all crazy,\u201d Sheridan yelled. \u201cPeople die all the time in New York. Tomorrow they\u2019ll be talking about something else. We\u2019re not living in the middle ages. These mortals are not the stupid peasants you\u2019re used to. They\u2019re busy making money.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cSome of the witches they burned at Salem were Nosferatu,\u201d said Sanko. \u201cI remember.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat was hundreds of years ago,\u201d shouted Sheridan. \u201cIt\u2019s history.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sanko kicked Sheridan in the head. \u201cThere are those who still hunt our kind!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Vitalie was so filled with rage her fingernails and fangs grew and her ears and eyebrows became pointed. She shrieked, \u201cLet\u2019s chain this stupid boy to the top of a building and let the sun burn his soul.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Suddenly, Varcuic pushed the others way. They feared and respected him. \u201cLeave the boy alone. I brought him over, and I\u2019ll take the responsibility for him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cKill him,\u201d Vitalie insisted \u201cHe\u2019ll hurt us all.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cNo.\u201d Varcuic was firm. \u201cHe was too young when he was brought over, but he is one of us! Without each other, we\u2019ll wind up feeding on stray dogs and rats. No. He needs to be taught, he needs to be re-educated. He belongs to me. He\u2019s my concern!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The blood suckers murmured angrily, but no one wanted to challenge Varcuic. One by one, they went back to their chairs. Sanko was the last to depart. Finally, he spat on Sheridan and told Varcuic, \u201cJust don\u2019t bring him around here. I don\u2019t want to see this punk again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic helped Sheridan stand, brushed the dirt off his motorcycle jacket and spiked hair then hugged him. \u201cCome home with me, my son.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cThank you\u2026master,\u201d sobbed Sheridan.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 George Bush the first was president the last time Sheridan had been in the apartment. The furniture, the tiger pelt on the floor, the books, even his first coffin in the spare bedroom, had not changed, except for the inch layer of dirt on everything, empty blood-packs, puppy and kitten carcasses and assorted debris scattered throughout. The small oak stand near Varcuic\u2019s favorite leather chair was caked with candle wax. Instead of paying the electric bill, he was reading by candle light.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sheridan was a servant again. He had to buy a mop, broom, cleaning supplies to scrub the place down. Since it was winter and the sun was setting early, he hurried over to the Con-Edison building before it closed at five and settled the bill with one thousand dollars in cash. The next night, he carried the tiger rug to a dry cleaners who specialized in fur, something he had done for Varcuic when they were together and had not been done since. The old man behind the counter remembered the rug and Sheridan. He charged two hundred dollars and said it would be ready by the end of the week.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI can\u2019t believe it, you look the same, like you haven\u2019t aged a day,\u201d the man said as Sheridan left. \u201cGood to see you again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic had gotten lazier. He despised walking the streets of New York. Sheridan had to bring him food. \u201cGet me something young, tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sheridan found a young man with green hair\u2014a grunge dude\u2014at CBGB\u2019s\u2014the only hangout from the old days that was still in business and still looked exactly the same. The mortal embraced Sheridan on the Street. Sheridan sucked on his neck. It made him easier to handle. Sheridan only drank a pint. Varcuic was mad at Sheridan for opening up the veins. The old vampire grabbed the boy, drained him quickly, then tossed the corpse aside.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI hate the taste of Heroin,\u201d he hissed. \u201cGet this hideous piece of trash out of here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cOkay\u2026 but why don\u2019t you go out sometimes? You waste all your nights reading. Get your own food, Francois.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic grabbed Sheridan by the collar of his leather motorcycle jacket, threw him against the wall. He knelt on Sheridan\u2019s chest and began slapping his face. \u201cI\u2019m your master, and you do as I say. I gave you immortality! I taught you how to feed! You give me obedience\u2026 and respect, like a good son and servant. Or, I\u2019ll nail your coffin shut and you\u2019ll be hungry until that bastard Jesus Christ comes back and sends your soul to Hell!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He stopped hitting him, and Sheridan whimpered, \u201cI\u2019ll do as you say\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic looked into Sheridan\u2019s eyes. \u201cThe others don\u2019t like you, they never have\u2026 they still want to kill you, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI don\u2019t care.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cAlways the teenager. Always the little boy. Always the little American.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWhat do you want me to do, all the kids are on the smack these days.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s such a pity. It\u2019s so bad for the blood.\u201d Varcuic stood, pulled Sheridan to his feet. \u201cI want somebody young and fresh. I\u2019m sick of males. I need a female. A young female. Go look in different places. I love you, Sheridan. I fathered you. That\u2019s why I treat you so. It\u2019s been a long time since I had a girl. That will bring me out of my ennui. Everything will change. I\u2019ll love you like I used to.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Confusion tormented Sheridan. He resented the old blood sucker, but he also wanted his approval. Sheridan suspected that his mixed emotions could be another vampire mind-trick. One way or another, Varcuic was the source of his inner conflicts.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The next night, Sheridan went to Port Authority Bus Station on Forty Second Street. This immense transportation center was cleaner, with more police and less homeless and panhandlers than when Sheridan arrived after four days on the Grey Hound bus more than fifteen years before. Men and women in business suits lined up for commuter buses home to New Jersey and teenagers wandered through the station in groups. Two policemen stood with a German Shepherd against a wall. The officers were watching Sheridan, who was darting his head around looking for victims. His ink-black hair was spiked and his face was the color of a junkie\u2019s\u2014ghoulish white. Suddenly the dog, who was trained to remain still until it heard a command, started howling and would not stop.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 On the second level, at a table in the Pathway Donut Shop, Sheridan noticed a girl sitting alone with a nylon daypack on her lap, wiping tears off her cheeks with a napkin. She was overweight, acne covered her face. The tables, counters and walls were a bright orange and glaring fluorescent lights were suspended from the ceiling. Sheridan squinted as he walked up to the cashier, ordered a coffee and a chocolate donut, then sat at a table next to the girl\u2019s.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He pretended to drink the coffee. Their eyes met a couple of times. He smiled at her. He was able to read her mind. Her name was Monica Burston, she lived in Paramus, New Jersey and tonight her father came home drunk and was fighting with Monica\u2019s mother. Monica took a bus to Port Authority to escape the turmoil. A sophomore in high school, she was dyslectic and overweight. Everybody in school made fun of her. She had no friends. She was fifteen years old and a virgin. Her will was feeble, thus susceptible to Sheridan\u2019s limited powers. He telepathically instilled in her feelings of trust.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He smiled at her again, offered her the donut. \u201cWould you like this, I\u2019m really not hungry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She shook her head, stifling a sob.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cGo on, take it\u2026 I just came in here to chill, I just got back from visiting my parents in Westwood. Home is as bad as when I left.\u201d She sniffled, then accepted the donut, bit into it then chewed very slowly. Sheridan continued, \u201cI don\u2019t mean to be nosy or anything, but you seem upset.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s nothing,\u201d she said, biting into the donut again.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cAre you leaving from\u2026 or coming to\u2026 the Big Apple?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She did not understand the question right away. \u201cOh\u2026 I don\u2019t live here, I mean, I just took a bus here. I mean, I\u2019m waiting for a bus. I just came to get away.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cGet away?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cMy father\u2019s a real pig. I couldn\u2019t stay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cGee, I thought my father was the only father who was a pig.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She laughed at this, finished the donut. The chocolate was calming her down.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cA pretty girl like you shouldn\u2019t be crying like that, it\u2019s not right\u2026 my name is Sheridan.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m Monica.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m studying to be an actor and I need to know about people, Monica\u2026 why don\u2019t you tell me your life story.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cBeing an actor must be so exciting.\u201d Then she sighed, \u201cI\u2019m so boring. I live in New Jersey. I go to school.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI don\u2019t think you\u2019re boring at all, Monica. I think you\u2019re deep.\u201d She blushed. His words pleased her. His charm was working. \u201cMonica, you know if you don\u2019t want to go home to that bastard tonight, you can stay with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She looked down. \u201cI don\u2019t know you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI know you don\u2019t, and I don\u2019t mean any funny business whatsoever. Besides, I live with my uncle, he would make you sleep on the couch anyway. I just, well, I\u2019ve been in tough spots and strangers have been kind to me and so I always feel that the only way I can repay their kindness is to be kind to other strangers I meet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI was just planning to take the last bus home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cBut if you want, you can take the bus home tomorrow. I understand how you feel, in this day and age. Everyone is paranoid, and they have every right to be. I just have a sense about people. I just have a sense about you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI wish I had a sense about people.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI suppose it\u2019s because I want to be an actor. I\u2019m interested in people. I like to know everything about them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWhat about your uncle.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cOh, he\u2019s the same way. He loves to help people\u2026 he\u2019s the one who still makes me visit my parents.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 It clicked in. She was feeling comfortable and safe. Sheridan said, \u201cwe can talk and watch television, and you can sleep on the couch and I\u2019ll go to my room and in the morning, when everything looks better, I\u2019ll take you back here and you can get that bus. It will teach your parents a lesson. It will teach them to treat you better, with some respect.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cOkay\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0She slung her daypack over her shoulder, and they went to the ground level of the bus station. As they left the building and headed towards the taxi stand, an old wino inadvertently stepped in front of Sheridan. He held out his hand and said, \u201cCan you spare some cha-cha-cha..\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The man\u2019s withered face went slack with fear. Some people sense the supernatural easily. Monica did not notice Sheridan quietly hissing at the wino, who choked on his words and turned around and staggered swiftly uptown. They got in a cab, which smelled of incense. Luckily, no distressing objects like blest crucifixes dangled from the rearview mirror.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic was dressed in black pants and a white shirt, a silk, red ascot tied around his throat. He was playing the European aristocrat tonight. After Sheridan introduced Monica, he kissed her hand then said in his gentle accent, \u201cWelcome to our home, and may you leave some of the joy you bring with us when you go.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Monica gasped when she saw the thousands of books in the living room. She sat down on the couch, asked if the tiger rug was real.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cOh, yes my dear\u2026 it was killed by my father in the nineteen fifties\u2026and he felt so bad about it that he made the creature into a rug and he never went on safari again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sheridan rolled his eyes and thought, what a blood sucking dork. Monica looked at the head of the animal\u2014lifeless obsidian eyes and a row of long white teeth sticking out the snout. She said, \u201cIt\u2019s kind of cute.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cSheridan, let us not be impolite. Order some food to be delivered for our guest from the coffee shop around the corner. I must apologize sweet Monica, there is nothing in the house to eat.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI can\u2019t impose,\u201d she replied meekly. \u201cI\u2019m not hungry really.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cNo imposition at all, my dear, I insist.\u201d Varcuic smiled. Then he snapped his long fingers. The girl froze. He said to Sheridan, \u201cYou did well my son\u2026 she smells delectable, utterly fresh.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He snapped his fingers again. The girl blinked, shook her head. She felt dizzy. Sheridan whispered to her, \u201cHe\u2019s eccentric, don\u2019t worry. Unless you eat something, he won\u2019t shut up about it. Do it for me, just to keep him quiet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic retreated into his bedroom. Sheridan called the coffee shop, ordered milk shakes, bacon cheese burgers, French fries, essentially enough food for five people. He gave the delivery boy two hundred dollar bills and told him to keep the change. She seemed very hungry and ate with pleasure. He enjoyed watching her chew and swallow. He even ate half a cheeseburger, just to make her more comfortable.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He turned on the television and they watched The Tonight Show, then an old movie on another channel. \u201cYou and your uncle,\u201d she asked, \u201cAre you always this nice to people you don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cOh, I think I know you\u2026 but we are nice to everyone. It would not be Christian to be unkind to strangers. Do you feel better?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cYes,\u201d she yawned.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cFathers never understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cMine sure doesn\u2019t\u2026\u201d she explained about her dismal childhood. He liked Monica a lot. Everyone always seemed disappointed in her. She could do nothing right. Her story was his.<\/p>\n
Sheridan missed sharing secrets, building friendships. He wished he made more friends when he was mortal.<\/p>\n
Suddenly, Varcuic\u2019s voice echoed in Sheridan\u2019s head. \u201cIt\u2019s feeding time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic walked into the room, carrying sheets, a blanket and pillows. \u201cSheridan, it is getting late and your guest must be tired. Make up the couch for her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sheridan tucked the sheets and blankets into the couch. She went into the bathroom, washed her face and hands, and Sheridan turned around when she took off her jeans. She got under the covers. She thanked him again, then they talked a little more, but she was soon asleep.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic hovered into the room. He was naked, and the anticipation of drinking virgin blood magnified the bestial nature of vampirism. His legs and arms were covered with thick, wolf-like fur. His ears and eye brows formed points, his fingers nails became claws and his fangs protruded out of his mouth, which dripped fat gobs of saliva. He laughed, exhilarated with the thought of the thick, warm, red from a female so young.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic\u2019s voice was a roared hush. \u201cStand up, Monica.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The old vampire\u2019s control of her mind was absolute. She stood on the orange and black striped pelt of the long dead jungle feline and removed her undergarments. She was pudgy. Her breasts were only recently formed and the her pubic hair was pale and sparse. She was more child than adult. Still a girl\u2026 womanhood far away.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cNo,\u201d Sheridan cried out. \u201cThis is wrong, not like this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic clutched Sheridan\u2019s throat, lifted him off the ground and threw him against the ceiling. Sheridan crashed down to the floor. Varcuic waved his hairy hand, and Sheridan was sent tumbling out of the living room and into the kitchen.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Varcuic crouched in front of the young girl. He drooled with excitement. He was planning to savor this feast, to take his time and fully enjoy the feeding.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sheridan was able to stand. Varcuic\u2019s attention was no longer on him. He reached into the kitchen closet, took out the mop, and snapped off its end. It was now a sharp, wooden javelin. As Varcuic put his gruesome mouth on Monica\u2019s delicate breast, Sheridan came running into the living room and jabbed the pole beneath Varcuic\u2019s shoulder blade, piercing his heart. Sheridan pushed until the jagged tip came out Varcuic\u2019s chest.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cMy son,\u201d screamed Varcuic as he staggered back in agony. His bestial countenance faded. The human face that replaced it began to age rapidly. Steaming black bile flowed out of the hole in his body and singed the tiger fur. Varcuic\u2019s skin began to rot. The passing of centuries finally made their mark. What was left of Varcuic collapsed on the floor. Sheridan kicked the decaying carcass out of the way, cursing so vehemently he wept.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Monica was now hysterical, verging on the edge of physical shock. Sheridan pulled the sheet off the couch, wrapped it around her and held her in his arms. \u201cHe was evil\u2026 he won\u2019t hurt you now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She hugged him. Sheridan could not remember the last time he felt the warmth of humanity. He was in love with her. But the aroma of the thick, warm, red could not be resisted and he put his mouth on her plump, alabaster neck.<\/p>\n
This story was first written in 1996 , part of a longer novel or film or at least a series, which I never could finish. Last year, I cleaned it up some and made it more a stand-alone piece. The story takes place in the 1990s. Who knows, maybe someday I will finish it, but there\u2019s so many good Vampire stories out there. Aficionados may notice what is original here.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n