After the Fall: A Vampire Chronicle (Book One) Page 2

  She bent down to retrieve the shoe that she had tripped on and found that there was a foot in it. Caroline closed her eyes and took a deep breath as a feeling of horror and profound panic began to seize her. This was her mother’s shoe, and this was her mother’s foot, and lying there, on the living room rug, was her mother.

  “Mom?” she whispered, her voice shaking. Maybe she was sleeping. Or playing some sort of sick joke. But how would that explain the gaping hole in her mother’s throat and the pool of blood she was lying in?

  Caroline saw it, and yet didn’t see it; she felt as if she was an observer to the scene, watching her body watch her mother. This wasn’t real; it couldn’t be, because that would have to mean that her mother was dead, and her mother couldn’t be, because just ten minutes earlier they had been bantering with each other, and this had been a normal day and now…

  Standing up, Caroline found she was trembling, shaking actually, and she grabbed hold of a nearby bookshelf to steady herself. For the first time, she noticed that the room had been completely trashed – lamps and mirrors had been broken, books torn and tossed, the cushions on the couch slashed. As if in a dream, Caroline stepped over her mother and walked into the kitchen, where she found her father, face down on the tiles, also lying in a pool of blood. The kitchen, too, was a mess, and here, there were bloody footsteps on the floor, and bloody handprints on the wall, and for the first time, Caroline realized that whoever had killed her parents might still be in the apartment.

  At the thought, her blood ran cold. Part of her wanted to keep looking, had to, because maybe Lauren and Katie were still in the apartment someplace. Maybe they were hiding, and were scared. They were only little girls; they would need their big sister. But part of Caroline knew that she had to get out and call the police. She had to tell somebody that her parents were dead.

  Her parents were dead.

  A small whimper escaped her throat, but Caroline knew she couldn’t fall apart just yet; she had to call the police, find her sisters, and then she could fall apart and not worry that she would never be able to pull herself together. She hurried into the living room, and picked up the receiver to the telephone. She heard a sound coming from the kitchen just as she realized that there was no dial tone coming through. Putting down the receiver very slowly, she listened closely, and heard it again. A footstep. Someone was in the apartment.

  She wanted to run and get as far away as possible, but she felt a small glimmer of hope that it was one of her sisters, that maybe they were okay. However, it wasn’t Katie or Lauren who stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, but a man. A very familiar looking man, soon joined by his equally familiar companion. The couple from the elevator. Both had unreadable expressions on their faces, but their eyes were hard and very, very cold, and suddenly Caroline was extremely frightened. That was the first thing she noticed.

  The second thing she noticed was that both of their mouths were unnaturally red - blood red, in fact; it was smeared messily across their chins and dripping from their lips, as if they had actually put their mouths to her parents’ wounds. Caroline thought she was going to faint. She nearly jumped out of her skin when one of them spoke.

  “We weren’t expecting you,” said the female, “or we would have waited.” She took a step into the living room, causing Caroline to take a step back, trying to maintain her distance from these obviously insane people.

  “Your parents, and your sisters,” the female continued, in an almost apologetic voice, “they met with a little accident.”

  At the thought of her sisters, Caroline had to close her eyes and will herself not to vomit right then and there.

  “They were such nice people,” she said, her eyes wandering, brushing her fingers across the back of Ron’s overstuffed chair in a nonchalant manner, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  “They were…delicious.”

  She smiled, a wide, bloody grin, turning Caroline’s blood to ice. Somewhere in the back of her brain, a tiny voice was screaming for her to run, to get the hell out of there, to scream at the top of her lungs, but her feet were rooted to the floor and she couldn’t breathe. A thought washed over her and began to sink in: You’re going to die.

  Across the room, the male ran his tongue lazily across his teeth, licking away the crimson liquid that covered them, running across two unusually large and pointy canines. This time, Caroline did faint – her eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she collapsed to the floor.

  The female approached her and bent down, but the male grabbed her arm, pulling her roughly up.

  “There’s no time,” he hissed. “Listen.”

  Her ears perked, and she heard quickly approaching sirens. The screams earlier must have disturbed some of the neighbors.

  “There will be time, Anya,” he continued. “Once the Master has won, there will be plenty of time.”

  “But I’m hungry, Gideon,” she whined. He smiled viciously at her.

  “Don’t be greedy, love. Save this one for later.”

  Giving him her own arctic grin, she grabbed his face and ran her tongue over his chin and lips, licking away the blood. She stared into his eyes.

  “Promise?”

  “Of course, my love.”

  She looked down at the unconscious girl at her feet and reluctantly backed away, following her companion back into the kitchen. As two squad cars pulled up in front of the building, the two of them climbed out the window onto the fire escape, taking it up to the roof of the building, where they disappeared into the night, long gone by the time the police finally got to the scene of their very bloody handiwork.

  Chapter Two

  It took Caroline only a few seconds once she awoke to realize that she was not alone in her room. It took her a little longer to realize that she was not in her room, but in a hospital. With that realization came all the memories of the night before, rushing back over her like a flood. Without looking to see who her visitor was, she sat up in bed, closed her eyes in a futile attempt to keep the bloody images at bay, and vomited into the garbage pail that suddenly appeared before her.

  “Lucky for the two of us that you turned an unhealthy shade of green just then,” her visitor said, and though she kept her eyes closed, she could hear a tiny smile in his voice, which was deep and gravelly and accented – Spanish or Italian, maybe. Her eyes remained shut until she felt a cool, wet cloth being pressed to her forehead. It was a welcome relief, and she opened her eyes to finally see who it was who had been so kind.

  “Ah, so you are awake. I was beginning to think you were still asleep. Feeling better?”

  The man fit his voice. He was old, perhaps in his sixties, with a snow white beard and head of hair, but he wasn’t frail; he was tall and a bit stocky, and an image of Sean Connery came to Caroline’s mind. She had absolutely no clue who he was. The man was looking at her inquisitively, and she realized he had asked her a question.

  “Yes, thank you,” she muttered.

  “Good.”

  “This may be a stupid question, but do I know you? Are you the police?” Strangers had never made her nervous before, but all that had changed when she encountered those pale freaks in her apartment.

  The man’s face suddenly became grave, and his brow furrowed, as if concentrating on something intensely.

  “No, Miss Gallagher, as answer to both your questions. I am not the police and you do not know me, but I thought that, perhaps, I could be of some service to you.”

  Caroline was puzzled at first by the man’s response, but as he put down the fedora he held in his hand onto his chair, and took off his overcoat and placed it on top, she realized he was dressed completely in black, and recognized the white Roman collar at his throat.

  “Oh,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say. He was a priest – this was part of what he did for a living, seeing to those who had lost loved ones. At least he wasn’t there to kill her. At least she hoped so.

  “My name is Fa
ther Lorenzo Catalano, and I am visiting New York from the Vatican. I heard of the horrible thing that had happened to you and your family and I wished to come here to express my sympathy to you for your loss, and to offer a prayer and blessing of protection for you and your family.”

  “Thank you, Father,” she responded automatically, more out of politeness than gratitude. A prayer and a blessing. Those would be welcome in the stands at her college graduation. She hoped they remembered to bring a camera. Not that she would be going to college now. She couldn’t afford it. Her family was gone. She was on her own.

  “I know that right now it will not seem like much, but…”

  Caroline didn’t respond. There was nothing to say, and besides that, she thought she might vomit again if she tried to speak.

  The old priest looked as if he was going to speak again, but he was cut off by the door of the room opening, and a nurse walking in.

  “Father, I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. Visiting hours are over and Miss Gallagher needs her rest.”

  “Certainly,” the priest complied, though Caroline was close enough that she could see the reluctance and hesitation in the old man’s eyes. Still, he walked over to his chair and picked up his coat and hat, tossing the coat over his arm, before turning back to her.

  “If, at any time, you feel the need to come talk to someone, anyone, about anything, Miss Gallagher, please look me up at Saint Joseph’s Church in Greenwich Village. One should not be alone in times such as these.”

  I’m alone because of times such as these, Caroline wanted to say, but instead, she only nodded in return, and with that, the priest turned and left. The nurse took her blood pressure and temperature, and told her the doctor would be in in the morning to write her a prescription for a sedative and ready her discharge papers. She handed Caroline a glass of water and two pills, which she took gladly, as the memory of the night before was quickly washing over her again. But before she could relive the horror of that night in full, she thankfully drifted off into the darkness.

  Chapter Three

  The chapel was dark, save for a single burning candle by the altar, which is where Father Lorenzo Catalano found him, praying. Lorenzo sat down in a pew towards the back to wait for the young man to finish; he did not have to wait long, for the man felt his presence, and ending his prayer, came to his feet and joined Lorenzo in the back.

  “Where have you been?” the young man asked him in a somewhat accusatory tone. Lorenzo smiled to himself. He always thought of Christian Dreiden as a “young man”, though he was already 23 years old. Still, Christian was less than half Lorenzo’s age, and he had been much younger when Lorenzo had first taken him under his wing.

  “I was at New York Presbyterian,” Lorenzo said, and Christian frowned, his brow creased with worry.

  “You’re not sick, are you?” Christian asked, and Lorenzo tried to keep from smiling at Christian’s concern. For such a tough, isolated, violent individual, Christian managed to have a very large and caring heart.

  “No, I’m not sick. I was not there for me. You know about last night’s attack.”

  Christian’s frown was Lorenzo’s answer.

  “Yes. Four more dead. Four people I was not able to save,” Christian answered bitterly.

  “You cannot blame yourself for every life a vampire takes, Christian. You must look at the good that comes from it, however little and slim that good may be - it brings us one step closer to finding the Master Vampire and his lair, and think of how many lives you will save once the Master Vampire is killed.”

  “If the Master Vampire is killed,” Christian added. “I have never faced a Master Vampire before. There are no guarantees I will succeed.”

  “No, not with that attitude. Come, you are not usually so hard on yourself.”

  “Did you know that two of the dead were children? Two little girls.” Christian tried to hide it, but Lorenzo heard the catch in his voice and knew that had he less self-control, he might be crying.

  “Caring and compassion are both a gift and a curse, are they not, my son? But come, do you not wonder still why I was at the hospital?”

  Christian furrowed his brow in puzzlement.

  “The bodies…”

  “…have already been brought to the morgue and are being prepared for their funeral service at this very moment.”

  “Then what, Father?”

  “There is a survivor.”

  Christian’s eyes went wide, and he sucked in his breath, and it was a time before he let it out again, slowly. Lorenzo watched the shock roll over him and settle in.

  “A survivor,” the young man mulled. “There are never survivors.”

  “See, my son. Another ray of light. They are getting sloppy and making mistakes, and last night, they left their first witness. I wasn’t able to question her enough to see what she knows.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Christian asked, jumping to his feet. Lorenzo laid a gentle but firm hand on the boy’s arm.

  “Not so fast,” Lorenzo said. “Sit.” Though puzzled, Christian obeyed.

  “Now is probably not the best time. She’s been through quite an ordeal; her entire family is dead and she has had a close brush with death herself. The funerals will be in two days. We will attend. I think we can safely wait until then. The Master Vampire won’t move beforehand, I don’t think.” He closed his eyes, allowing the peacefulness of the chapel to settle over him.

  “Are we going out on a limb here?”

  Lorenzo opened his eyes and looked at Christian, noticing a hint of self-doubt not only in the boy’s voice but also in his eyes. Seeing the puzzled expression on Lorenzo’s face, Christian continued.

  “I mean, we’re really just going on a hunch here, aren’t we? For all we know, there is no Master Vampire in New York. This place is an ideal feeding ground for any vampire; the large number of killings here recently could just be a coincidence.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Lorenzo asked. Christian hesitated for a moment, but his answer was strong.

  “No, I don’t. He’s around here someplace. I can feel it.”

  “Trust your instincts, Christian. Your subconscious is often in tune with things your conscious isn’t even aware of.”

  Christian glanced over at the far wall of the chapel, and a large street map of Manhattan that had been hung there. There were five thumbtacks pushed into it, one at each location where a vampire attack had occurred over the past few months. Lorenzo followed Christian’s gaze.

  “Vampires are fiercely territorial creatures. Slowly, a pattern will emerge, and at the center will be the Master Vampire’s lair.”

  “And meanwhile, more innocent people will die.”

  “We do what we can do, Christian.”

  “That’s not good enough, Lorenzo,” Christian answered fiercely. “At least not for me. I’m a Hunter. I’m the Hunter. It’s my job to do more. It’s my job to save the world.”

  “Yes, it is,” Lorenzo agreed. “You are the Hunter, and so you can do more than most, but you still only do what you can. All right?”

  “All right,” Christian finally answered, though reluctantly.

  “Meanwhile, I will continue to consult my books, see if I can’t find any more prophecies or other information concerning the Master Vampire. We will find him, Christian. He’s young, which makes him arrogant and overconfident. Eventually, he’ll make a fatal mistake, and we will find him, and then you will kill him.”

  “The sooner, Lorenzo, the better.” Christian stood up as he spoke, suddenly more animated, a fierce determination on his face. He wandered over to the map on the wall, studying it intently, as if he would find in it the answers to all his questions. He turned around and faced Lorenzo.

  “Have you learned anything from any of the books?”

  Lorenzo stood and walked over to where he had placed two, ancient looking books on a windowsill. The leather binding was cracked and dust-covered, the pages worn and yello
wed with age. Lorenzo picked them up and brought them over to Christian, who took them, holding them gingerly in his hands, as if they might crumble into dust at any moment, which they probably would.

  “I left most of the books back in the hotel room, but I wanted to go through these two more closely.”

  “What are they?” Christian asked, eyeing the covers, trying to read the faded lettering on them.

  “The top one is the journal of a man named Lucius, a priest in the northern German countryside around the year 1360. He was assigned to help the Hunter, and he spent much of his time doing research on any type of folklore or prophecies that had to do with vampires. I found some intriguing stories so far, but nothing yet that can help us. I am still hopeful, however.”

  “And the second book?”

  “I am not yet certain. I found it hidden in the back of the Vatican archives, all but forgotten. I picked it up because it mentions the Master Vampire and the apocalypse. I haven’t read much of it, but it appears that the author, a French monk, believed that though a Master Vampire would contribute to the coming of the Apocalypse, ultimately, he would not be responsible for it.”

  “Really?” Christian asked, intrigued. “It seems odd that a simple vampire could accomplish what a Master Vampire could not.”

  “Indeed,” Lorenzo agreed, “although it doesn’t say explicitly what happens. Still, it doesn’t take a Master Vampire to bring about the Apocalypse. A simple human could do it. We brought about the first fall – we could bring about the second.”

  “Well, which one can I start reading?”

  Lorenzo took the bottom book from Christian’s hands.

  “I want to look over this one more closely. Read Lucius’ journal. You may find intriguing what he has to say about his Hunter.”

  “Does he complain about how difficult his Hunter was?” Christian joked.