DEATH OF AN IMMORTAL, (2).

 

CHAPTER 2.

"So what's your name?" the girl asked. 

"Really?  Do people really ever give you a real name?"

"No," she admitted.  "But I can tell something about them by the name they give me."

"Then...my name is Ted."

She looked sad.  Genuinely sad.  Like she cared, for a stranger she'd met in a bar -- a meal ticket, a 'John.'  

Curious, he asked.  "What does that tell you?"

"You want to be ordinary.  You want to stay home and watch T.V., eat at McDonalds, gain fifty pounds and live out your life."

She eyed his lean, tall frame, his impeccably tailored suit, his razor sharp haircut, his manicured nails.  He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties in age, but he felt so much older.

"Everything you aren't..."

He slept less than an hour.  Forty-five minutes to be exact.  He woke snarling, his jaw extended, his fangs exposed, his claws unfurled.

There was knocking at the back car window, and he could see the outline of a head, wearing a hat he recognized as a policeman's cap.   He calmed himself.  In a thousand years, he had never been able to restrain that first impulse after discovery  -- to kill, to feed.  It was only in the last few centuries he'd been able to control it at all.

He breathed deeply, as the knocking increased in force and tempo.  He gauged the height of the sun, the slant of the rays, the distance he needed to maintain.  He positioned himself about halfway down the back seat from the window, and reached over and hit the button.  He retracted his hand just in time, as the window opened automatically.

The light hit the first quarter of the seat full on -- the next quarter was in the shade, but still burned.  He slid over about an inch, and it was tolerable.

"This is a non-parking zone," the cop said.  He was beefy, red-faced.  Exactly the type of prey Terrill had always preferred.  Someone who could, on a good day and with immense luck, actually hurt him.  It had never happened, of course.  Never would.

"I was getting way too sleepy last night," Terrill said.  "I decided it might be safer to pull over and get some rest."

The policeman had a studied skepticism, probably met every response by every citizen with the same attitude.  It made the guilty squirm, no doubt.  Terrill kept his face bland, and the cop finally shrugged.  So far, so good.

"Well, that's a good idea, sir.  I applaud you for it.  But you need to move along."

"Thanks.  I will."  It was a rare sunny day in the fall in Portland.  Terrill had gravitated to the coastal Northwest America because such days were unusual.  The rain and clouds, the fogs and the mists -- all were perfect for him.

Terrill didn't move -- couldn't move.  Climbing into the front seat would necessitate him moving into the direct sunlight.  He busied himself with straightening his clothes, smoothing his hair, smiling at the cop.

"May I see your driver's license and registration?"

While the policeman had been thinking about his next move, Terrill reached into his pockets and put on his gloves.  He angled himself over the seat, trying not to look too awkward.  The angle was wrong and he struggled with the latch, his sleeve rode up his forearm and he felt the sharp pain of long dead flesh exposed to sunlight.  Finally, he snatched the registration and fell back into shadow, and the pain immediately subsided and healed.  He handed the documents over to the cop carefully, making sure to be covered every inch.

Meanwhile, he casually looked around at the neighborhood.  Policemen always attracted attention.  There would be people watching this, from the sides of their eyes, glad it wasn't them who was stopped.  He practiced the attack in his mind.  Reaching out and grabbing the head, twisting the neck before the man could make a sound, leveraging the body swiftly through the window, closing the window and scrambling over the seat and driving away.

He reached into the light and opened the window the last couple of inches.  Again the sleeve exposed a part of his arm, and he grimaced at the pain.  The cop was still examining the papers.

Terrill waited for the words, “Would you please step outside, sir?”

Ironically, fully opening the window seemed to reassure the cop, as if by opening the window, he'd exposed himself.  The cop handed him back his papers, even going so far as to reach in enough for Terrill to take them without extending himself again.

"Have a good day."

"Thank you.  I will." 

Terrill maneuvered himself over the console and plopped into the driver's seat, but not before his right cheek was exposed to the full light for a second.  It sizzled and smoked.  He put his glove to his face, and looked back at the policeman, who was looking at the traffic instead.

He started the car and started to put it into gear.

“One more thing,” the cop said. 

Terrill almost pulled away, because the cop had that warning tone in his voice again.

“You need to have your rearview mirror unobstructed.”

The mirror was covered casually with one of Terrill’s many hats.  Terrill reached up and removed it, hoping the cop wasn’t looking directly in the mirror.  But the cop had already lost interest and was waving him on.

Terrill eased into traffic.  He headed east on Burnside Street, and looked in the mirror to see that the cop was following him.  He kept heading east, finally reaching the airport and turning into the parking lot, while the police car kept going.

Terrill sat back and closed his eyes.

Time to leave town?  He always left town after a kill. 

He'd stayed in Portland longer than anywhere else.   Twenty years of drinking cow's blood and that of an occasional stray dog.  Twenty years of existing peacefully among humans.

Damn her.  Why had she woken him like that?  What had made her suspect him?  And why couldn't he have had that second to think, to pause, before he killed her?

'Jamie Howe' she had written on the motel registration.  A small town girl, too honest to even lie for one evening, except to her John, and even there she caught him looking and shrugged at him with a wistful smile.

He pulled out his phone and looked her up.  There was a Jamie Lee Howe from Bend, just the other side of the Cascade Mountain range.  Without thinking, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed southeast toward Mount Hood.

He had sworn he would never kill again.  But he had.  He was still vampire, not human.  All he could do now was try to make up for it somehow, to make amends to the girl’s family and friends.  To rebuild what little shreds of humanity he still contained by learning all he could about Jamie Lee Howe.  Who was she and how had she ended up in the bed of a vampire?

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/289646