The Damascus Chronicles (14 page)

“Do you think he would come here to Vegas?” asked Frank.

“I wouldn’t doubt it, he and his low life friends used to stay here in town before he left for active duty.”

“Thanks. Sorry about the ruffling up,” said Frank as he tossed a hundred dollar bill at the old man and took off out the door.

For days Frank searched every shady place he could think of and for days he found nothing. “I’ll find you, you son of a bitch and when I do, you’re dead,” vowed Frank.

But Michael always remembered to cover his tracks and Frank couldn’t do anything but bide his time.

Late one night, Michael was called up for a meeting with Don Santerini and Serena stepped out to do some shopping for their home. Michael brought his mentor the Don a very special tribute.

“My boy, you never cease to amaze me,” said Don Felice.

“50,000 dollars in tribute, a gift to you Don Felice,” said Michael.

“Jackie has told me good things about you and your girl,” said Don Felice, smiling.

“It’s always a pleasure to work for you.” Michael shook his boss’s hand.

“I’m proud of how you handled that little unannounced job you pulled the other night,” said Don Felice.

“We got rid of the evidence, and the cops don’t remember a thing,” said Michael.

“I would still be watchful son,” cautioned Don Felice.

“What do you mean?” inquired Michael.

“Word from the street is that some hot-headed cop has it in for you. He roughed up some of our disloyal associates.”

“What?”

“An unfortunate mistake,” sighed Don Felice. “Do you want me to take care of these rats?” questioned Michael firmly.

“No. They’ve already been dealt with, but go and put this pugnacious pig out of his misery; he makes the organization look bad. We can’t have two-cent coppers walking all over us, can we?”

“But Felice, I can’t, he’s a cop,” said Michael.

“Do it, kill him and put him in a casket,” said Don Felice.

“But to whack a cop – the media will be all over us if they find out.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve paid most of the media off.”

”I still have reservations about this,” said Michael.

“Doesn’t matter. We can’t have this dick meddling around in our business. If you let this guy go, you’ll be the one in a body bag, get me?” said Don Felice, frowning.

“Yeah,” said Michael.

“Our guys have seen him every night around 9 pm at Sammy’s Bar.”

“Very well, I’ll remove him discreetly,” Michael reluctantly agreed.

Meanwhile, in a grimy old apartment bedroom, Duval cleaned his pistols with a thin gun brush, waiting until he got the call. Franco had one of his thugs from the warehouse incident spot Serena and take her picture. A half-hour later, a knock on the door announced the arrival of the photo of Duval’s new target. “Pretty piece of ass,” said Duval as he inhaled on a joint, blowing the smoke into a cloud and watching as the smoke thinned out in the room. “Too bad this bitch has to go,” he said, smiling sickly as he burned a hole through the photograph with his joint and then stamped out the charred photo on the ground. Pushing the clips into his pistol and grabbing his light, long coat he said to himself “Time to die, girly.” He slammed the door shut and set out to find his prey.

Duval drove aimlessly around the city looking for his victim until he caught sight of Serena heading home on Otis Way, back from a wine store with a special present for her lover, a bottle of expensive champagne to commemorate their one month anniversary of being together. Duval stepped out of his car, following far behind Serena, but she could smell his human scent. She smiled to herself and slipped into an alleyway and hid in the dark shadows between the dimly lit street lamps.

“What the fuck?” said Duval as he walked closer to the corner and slid against the wall to peek and aim his gun in the alleyway. He saw nothing in the dark. “Where did she go?” said Duval under his breath.

“Right here, big boy,” said Serena as she flashed out from the shadow and grabbed Duval, shredding his face with her claws, looking into his eyes as hers glowed. She put him in a trance, and then kissed him before she gnawed on his neck, draining him of blood until he fell to ground. Weak, Duval pulled out his pistol to shoot, but Serena stomped on his arm, breaking it and his shoulder while pinning him down. She grabbed his gun and shot him in the head. Blood poured out of his skull like the waterspout of a statue, and Duval lay dead to the sidewalk. Serena dragged his bloodstained corpse to a part in the dark alley to let the other vampires in the area feed off his remains.

Thursday at 9 pm, Frank Watson had just finished his evening shift. He was tired and frustrated, so he decided to head over to Sammy’s Bar for a drink. He couldn’t get over the fact that finding his suspect now seemed impossible. At 9:30 he was heading out the door of the bar to be picked up by his wife and young son when the sound of gunshots came from the roof. Frank instinctively fell to the ground, cocking his pistol with fear and looking around. Just seconds before Frank’s family arrived on the scene, Michael pulled the trigger on his sniper rifle. The bullet went straight through Frank’s heart, killing him instantly. The car stopped at the curb and his young son jumped out, running to his daddy and crying, as Frank’s wife screamed with shock. Michael’s face went white with shock. He dropped the rifle, seeing the young kid and wife screaming while he stood motionless. “What have I done!” said Michael as he jumped from the roof onto his hover bike and headed back to his pad.

Serena was worried as she looked out the window in Michael’s pad.

“What have I done!” again said Michael. He began to lose it, breaking down in tears, his mind swarming with the guilt, the voices again tormenting him. “Murderer, so much for your honor, join us in death, angel of death you are, in death you’re ours,” said the voices in his mind.

“NO! NO!” screamed Michael as he crashed his hover bike into a guardrail, flying over as it exploded on the highway. Michael fell off the overpass.

Serena sensed her lover was in danger and teleported him from the crash, to bring him home safely. Still in shock and grief from his actions, Serena put him in bed to rest.

For two days Michael heard strange sounds and evil laughs throughout the air, as his mind and body pulsed with incredible pain. His eyes began to turn white and he had convulsions, coughing up blood. He felt worthless and he wanted to die. Grabbing the knife that he always kept in his room, Michael slit one of his wrists. The blood dripped and then disappeared as his wound instantly healed; Serena came into the room and saw what he was doing. “What the hell are you doing, Michael!”

“I want to end this, I can’t take seeing their faces anymore, all the people I’ve killed, I see them, so much blood.”

“Michael! Don’t you dare do this. I love you! Are you out of your mind?” screamed Serena with fear.

“Maybe,” said Michael. Then he stood motionless and it stopped. The pain left him. Michael came back to himself. He felt very weak and desperate to feed.

Serena took him to a part of the city that was perfect for hunting, where a few scumbags would be easy pickings. Two drug dealers were selling crack to a young kid. Michael’s insane hunger went wild and he killed them, draining their life force dry, except for the kid, whom he let go, remembering the face of Watson’s little boy.

Falling to the ground Michael began to weep at the monster he had truly become. Serena had forgotten the curse that came along with the dark gift. Many vampires became bitter or cruel or insane, or even suicidal.

Back at the crime scene where Watson had been killed, Commissioner Hamilton saw the forensics team studying evidence while the coroner packed up the body in a van. In anger she vowed in her heart, “We won’t rest until every one of these mob bastards is taken down.”

After consoling Watson’s family, the Commissioner called the FBI; when they heard the story the Feds agreed to help.

Once the reporters had finished at the scene, Commissioner Hamilton put a call in on her car radio. “This is Commissioner Hamilton. I want officers sweeping the scene, no one gets in or out.”

“Copy that,” said the officer on down the line.

“God, who could have done this?” Commissioner Hamilton looked downhearted as she saw the forensics people zip up Watson’s corpse in a bag and load it into the van, closing the vehicle doors behind them.

Across town in the dark shadows of a subterranean grotto lit by burning torches, two vampires were looking at the beauty of the city at night through a shimmering pool of water in a fountain, seeing mortals come and go, one of them a beautiful young blonde, another with the dark beauty of the orient.

“You want to be like them, don’t you?” said the Asian vampire.

“Who wouldn’t? When you live forever life can be quite boring,” said Scarlet the blonde one.

The other looked on the murals on the walls, murals that showed the race of the undead, images of men in dark robes slaughtering vampires, one showing a man in a black with long hair dueling with another man.

“You don’t believe the one will come to end this war, do you?” said Marianna the Asian, looking at the mural.

“Maybe the prophecy is just a lie, or a dream,” replied the blonde one.

Suddenly the Asian vampire fell to the ground shaking violently in a trance, her blue eyes burning white-hot.

“Marianna!” screamed the blonde as she saw her sister enter a deep trance. The Asian vampire experienced a vision of terror, a man in black with long hair dressed in a black coat, fighting a dark figure in a black cloak that bore the face of a red dragon.

The Asian vampire grew silent as the trance left her.

“What did you see?” urged the blonde.

“The chosen one has come. He will be a great warrior, fallen, fallen to be chosen to rise again to grace,” said the Asian vampire.

Helping her sister up, the blonde vampire said, “Tell our Lord, he must know this immediately.” The two left the chamber. A dark mist flowed out of the shadows and red eyes appeared everywhere. A deep, resigned laughter echoed and then the shadow beings fled through the cracks in the walls.

For days Michael locked himself away in his room as Serena wept. The guilt from all the killings he had committed was too much, from his years in the CIA up to the present. In the back of his mind he could still hear the screams of his victims begging him to let them live. Michael felt worthless. He wanted to die. He had terrifying nightmares of past assassin missions where he saw his victims being killed and tortured brutally; their eyes were plucked out by CIA agents. As the nightmares continued, Michael found himself in a dark plain of caves, where alien creatures full of teeth and fangs flourished made of fish bodies that stunk like rotting garbage. In the underground scum ponds the he saw bubbling lakes of green and blue blood, giant demon leeches that had human faces; these creatures tormented him by tearing his flesh apart and draining him of his blood. He saw himself turn into a hideous slithering beast with three heads. Then, a huge earthquake occurred, causing a chasm to open up; Michael fell into a deep pool of burning oil and fire.

He woke up screaming in terror; a large demonic creature with the body of a man and the head of an anteater sat on top of his chest. He could feel the weight of this thing crushing his insides. Michael’s pupils shrunk. He couldn’t breathe and he was kept from screaming as this evil aberration stuck its stagnant snout over Michael’s face, sucking out his prey’s soul.

Michael screamed as he woke up. His face was covered with sweat and his eyes burned with pain. The night terror was so real to him that his arms felt like they had been singed and his body was covered in bruises. He then passed out again and dreamed again about Anna, the vampire who had seen him in a vision.

After waking from those two nightmares he could not get back to sleep. Insomnia plagued Michael for days from the guilt in his mind and he longed for peace. Serena felt his pain. She too felt guilt and remorse for the killings she had committed and wept intensely.

Then, one night as he lay in bed, Michael felt a strange presence in the room. A voice spoke to him, “Come back to God.” Then it left. Michael was shocked; he did not understand what was happening. He thought, “Just me being crazy.”

Feeling calmer, he decided to go out and get some night air, while he let Serena rest and get some sleep. He headed to a bar he knew, a bar where he and his old army friends would go whenever they were on vacation in Vegas. It was on the strip and was called the Lagoon Lounge. Michael hadn’t been there in years.

Sitting down at the bar he ordered a Cosmo martini, trying to make sense of why he had let the Don talk him into killing Watson. He couldn’t believe the shit that had hit the fan a few days earlier in the form of his own personal crisis. In his heart though, he still ached for Watson’s family. Although he did not mind killing criminals or rival mobsters, Michael hated to kill innocent people. Even as a vampire he had standards.