The Immortals: Chapter 1
Rough Draft
Michael
Riker winced as the thick leather belt lashed into his back leaving a long
bloody welt on his tanned skin.
The foul but all too familiar stench of manure, wet hay, and his
stepfather’s whiskey coated breath filled his nostrils.
Just get it over with you
miserable drunk! Michael thought, as the belt struck
again.
“I’ll
teach you to back talk me, you little son of a bitch!” his Stepfather Richard
yelled, as he reared back for another swing. His greasy black hair fell into his dirty face as bits of white
spittle flew from between his cracked lips.
There
had been no ‘back talk’. Michael
had simply asked if Richard planned on going to work the next morning or if he
needed to go in for him again. But
that was all the provocation the drunk had needed. He, along with his two oldest sons Richie Jr. and Paul,
cornered Michael in the barn while he was mucking out the stalls.
Michael
cried out in pain as the point on the large round belt buckle dug deep into his
left shoulder blade. Fueled by
hate he pulled his arms as hard as he could, nearly freeing himself from his
half-brothers’ grasps.
“Damn
you, boys!” Richard drunkenly
swung the belt at their heads, just nicking the oldest boy’s left ear. “Hold him down or I’ll whip ya just as
bad!”
“Ow,
Daddy! That hurt!” Paul said, releasing his grip on
Michael’s left arm to hold his wounded ear. “I’m bleeding!”
Michael
didn’t waste the opportunity. He
swung with all the strength he could muster and slammed his fist into Richie
Junior’s face, splitting the younger boy’s lip.
Though
he knew it would cost him, Michael laughed.
“I
said hold him, dammit!” Richard grabbed
Michael by the back of the neck and threw him hard onto the hay-strewn floor.
Michael’s
body landed hard, while his face planted right in the middle of a big, still
juicy cow patty.
I’m going to kill that son
of a bitch! Michael thought but kept his mouth and
eyes shut tight. I’ll kill them all for this! Every damn one of them!
“But,
Daddy!” Paul cried, his left hand clutching his mouth. “He busted my lip!”
“Hold
him down!” Richard pulled his arm
back ready to strike again. “Hold
him down or I’ll knock every tooth out of your dimwitted heads!”
Fearing
for their lives, Richie Jr. and Paul immediately forgot their wounds and
resumed their places holding Michael to the floor.
“Hurt
my son will ya?!” Richard placed
his boot in the middle of Michael’s back grinding him into the floor.
Jesse, Michael’s youngest half-brother, who
was too young to join in on the “fun”, watched from the loft above with his
thin scabby legs swinging joyfully.
“Hit him again, Pa!” he yelled down.
Riker
held him in place by his muddy cowboy boot and started to lash at the back of
the Michael’s exposed neck.
Unable
to hold back, Michael screamed out in pain.
“Listen
to him cry!” Jesse laughed
hysterically. “Hit him again! Hit him again!”
Paul
and Richie Jr. both joined in his laughter.
“I’ll
kill you for this!” Michael
yelled.
Riker
swung again and again, each lashing burying itself deeper into his skin. Through it all Michael never stopped
fighting. Anger, rage, and pure
unforgiving hate fueled his body long after it should have collapsed in a heap
on the manure covered floor.
After
what seemed like an eternity, Richard’s arms grew heavy and after three more
sharp whips, he dropped the belt to the floor. “That’ll teach ya.” He panted, completely out of breath. “You back talking bastard.” Then he stumbled out of the barn in
search of another bottle of Jack Daniels.
“When
I get my hands on you . . .” Michael said to his half-brothers.
Jesse
was the first to depart. He leapt
off the ledge and skidded out the big double doors before Richie Jr. and Paul
even realized he was gone. Both
boys gave each other a worried glance then followed suit.
Unable
to even rise, Michael slumped to the floor, his hair and face caked with cow
manure. All he could manage to do
was crawl into a fetal position and finally let the tears flow. He remained that way until his mother
came and found him nearly two hours later. With her help he just barely made it into the house.
After
soaking in the tub for close to an hour his mother Tammy began working on his
wounded back and neck.
“Damn that stings!” Michael yelped as
she applied iodine to the biggest of a half dozen bloody lacerations running
across his back. He leaned his
chest into the back of an oak dining chair in his family’s kitchen and grit his
teeth as she methodically cleaned and bandaged each wound. His white-knuckle grip threatened to
break the chair in two.
“Oh shush, Michael,” Tammy scolded,
gently patting the wound with a dry cloth. “You don’t want to get an infection.”
Michael grimaced, squeezing his green
eyes shut as she again dotted the wound.
“I’d welcome an infection if it got me away from him for a few
days.”
“You really shouldn’t talk about your
father that way, Michael,” Tammy said, laying a bandage across one of the
cuts. “He’s just . . . well . . .
young men need a firm hand. It
turns you into a fine upstanding gentleman. My pa did it to my brothers just as his pa did it to
him. That’s just the way it is.”
“And how’d they turn out?” Michael turned his head straining to
look her in the eye. “Uncle Eddie
got killed robbing a bank in Abilene and Uncle Jesse is serving thirty five
years in Huntsville for murder!”
“Well maybe if he’d beaten a little
more sense into them, like your father beats you, they would have turned out a
little better.”
“He. Is. Not. My father.” Michael turned back around in his seat gritting his teeth in
anger. It boggled his mind how his
own mother could defend such an evil man.
“My father died a war hero.
Richard’s just the piece of white trash that stole his place at the
table.”
She slapped him hard across his back
causing him to cry out in pain.
“Richard is my husband and your stepfather! You will give him the respect he deserves!”
Michael climbed out of the chair,
standing to his full six-foot height.
With tears stinging his eyes he slipped the dirty, bloodied shirt back
over his head, covering dozens of dark bruises, cigarette burns, and various
healed cuts. The pain in his back and neck was almost overwhelming, but paled
in comparison to the ache in his heart.
“I give him exactly the amount he
deserves!” Michael screamed at
her, towering over her tiny, thin frame.
“What kind of man takes his own brother’s wife? What kind of man gets drunk and puts
cigarettes out on small children?”
Michael slammed his fist down hard on the table, sloshing the bowl of
water Tammy had been using to clean his cuts with.
“You never wondered why Grandpa cut him
out of the will and left all the land to Dad? Because Richard is evil! Grandpa and Grandma knew it! Dad knew it!
Why can’t you open your eyes and see what a monster he really is?”
Tammy grabbed a cast iron skillet from
off the stove and threatened to swing it at him. Michael stood his ground, daring her to do it. She held it above her head with two
skinny shaking hands, her chest heaving in anger.
“Just look at what he turned you into,”
Michael whispered, then turned and stormed out the backdoor, slamming the
screen door behind him.
How can she defend
him like that? She used to be so
kind . . . so gentle.
Michael thought, as he paced the dusty weed covered backyard. He rubbed at the fresh welts on the
back of his neck. One of these
days I’ll show them! I’ll show
them all! I’ll just grab a bag of
clothes and hit the road. Maybe
I’ll take the miserable bastard’s shotgun and blow his head off before I
go! Maybe I’ll save the world some
trouble and blow my own head off while I’m at it! I hate it here!
I hate it! God, why does it
have to be like this?! What have I
ever done to deserve this? He wanted to yell at the heavens, to
curse a god that would allow such travesties to take place.
“Hey Mike-Mike! Watch me!” His six-year old sister
Julia called from atop the half rotted, cross tie fence at the back of the yard. “Come on watch me!”
Michael
lowered his head. I can’t leave
Julia. She’ll never survive
without me.
Julia was the youngest of the five
children, and Michael being the oldest, had taken it upon himself to watch over
and protect her from their brothers.
Paul, Richie Jr., and Jesse’s mean
streak didn’t stop with women or young girls. They simply had too much of their father in them. They took great pleasure in torturing
Julia, often going far beyond the playful teasing or bullying that older
siblings tend to do.
Last summer they’d taken it upon
themselves to lure her away from their mother’s watchful gaze. They’d tied her to a fence post in an
empty pasture four miles from home.
Richard was off on one of his drunken binges and couldn’t be bothered to
help find her. So Michael had
taken it upon himself.
When his brothers refused to tell him
what they’d done with her, Michael had beaten them black and blue and threatened
to kill them if they didn’t confess to what they’d done.
Cut knuckles, black eyes, and a broken
nose later they’d finally confessed.
When he’d found her the poor child had been trapped without food or
water in the hot Texas heat for almost fourteen hours.
Using his pocketknife, Michael cut her
free and carried her home. It took
three days for their mother to nurse her back to health. But thanks to her big brother, Paul,
Junior, and Jesse never went near her again.
Of course Richard came home and found
his three favorite sons bruised and beaten and took a wire hanger to Michael’s
legs. He never even bothered to
punish the others for what they’d done to Julia. Michael knew then that he was the only hope she had.
“Wow that’s great!” Michael
called to her, trying his best to steady his voice. Julia held both arms outstretched as she walked across the
top of the fence. She teetered
back and forth unsteadily with each step. “Be careful, Sis.” Michael swallowed the lump in his
throat. “You don’t want to fall
and bust your head open.”
“I’m not gonna fall!”
She giggled then teetered falling in his direction.
Michael surged forward catching her in
his arms. He grimaced in pain as
her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
Julia only laughed at the close
call. How she remained so pure and
innocent in such a terrible environment was a complete mystery to Michael.
“Ewww, Mikey Mike, you smell like
doodie!” She squinched up her nose
and leapt out of his arms.
“I know, I know.” Michael scrunched his
brow. “I took a bath but we are
out of soap again. I’ll have to
swing by the Cunningham’s tomorrow and see if we can’t trade for some.”
She laughed, waving her hand in front
of her face. “I’m going to start
calling you Mr. Stinkypants!”
“Alright little sister, let’s go inside.” He managed a very
weak smile. “It’s going to be dark
soon.”
“Do I have to?” Julia pouted.
A sharp pain suddenly raced through his
back. Unable to help himself,
Michael let loose the tiniest groan.
He tried to keep the beatings from Julia whenever he could, but this
time it was taking everything he had just to stay standing.
Always the observant one, Julia said,
“Daddy hit you again, didn’t he?”
“No, sissy, I’m just tired is
all.” Michael pulled his sleeves
down so she wouldn’t see the bruises covering his arms. “I just had a long day at work is all.”
“You’re lying,” she said, standing in
front of him with her arms crossed.
“It’s not nice to lie.”
Michael managed a weak smile. “No, sis, its not. Come on, Julia, lets go inside, Mom
will have dinner cooking soon and she’ll need your help.”
“Do I have to?” she groaned, rolling
her eyes.
“Yes, you have to.”
“Alright! Fine! Race ya!”
she yelled out, taking off at a dead run for the back door.
Michael dropped the act as the screen
door slammed behind her. Letting
out a deep breath he leaned against the fence and watched as the sun slowly
dropped in the west.
Coyotes yipped in the distance. Dark black storm clouds brewed to the north,
and bright streaks of lightning cascaded across the sky.
Michael sighed shaking his head at the
thought of rain, not to mention the heavy winds that always accompanied
it. The roof was in a bad need of fixing
and if a big storm hit it tended to leak, badly.
Very slowly he walked back to their
tiny two-bedroom shack. A
mysterious fire had claimed the family’s large ranch house three years before
Michael had been born, killing both his grandparents. Michael’s father, Owen, had been the only heir named in
their will, which came as a big surprise to their oldest son, Richard.
Owen, with his young bride in tow, took
over the property and moved into what had once been a bunkhouse for ranch
hands. Since Owen’s death the
house had fallen into severe disrepair.
What was once one of the proudest
ranches in all of Texas was now little more than a joke. A long string of droughts in the
fifties had dried up their water, making the land all but uninhabitable for
cattle.
Owen had tried to dig a few wells but had
no success. Rumors from Spur, the
closest town to the Riker’s property, said he’d even struck oil once, but for
whatever reason had never allowed any serious drilling on his family’s
property.
Thunder boomed quietly in the
distance. “Damn,” Michael said,
aloud. Better get the buckets
ready. Looks like a bad one is
coming in.
Michael stepped back inside and dropped
to his tiny cot in the kitchen.
His mother gave him an angry scowl that slowly turned to concern. She walked over and handed him a glass
of milk then patted his hand.
As hard as it was to muster, Michael
managed a weak smile. He wanted to
hate her for what she allowed to happen.
But he couldn’t. She
couldn’t help what she was. What
her life with dominating men had made her. He knew that deep down she was a good soul. She was just too afraid to be alone and
too afraid to leave Richard. He
wouldn’t have let her go anyway.
Michael had heard him tell her at least a dozen times that he’d kill her
if she ever left him.
He sipped the cool drink then set it on
the floor next to his bed.
“Jesse!” he called out.
“What!” the boy called back to him from
the adjacent room where he was watching Gunsmoke on their black and
white television.
“Go get the buckets out of the
barn. Its about to rain.”
“Awe! Why can’t Paul do it?”
“Because I told you to!” Michael yelled back. “Now do what I say.”
Michael leaned back resting his head
against the wall. The sun set
outside and the thunder grew closer.
Jesse came back in with a collection of buckets under each arm.
“Why don’t you just fix the roof so we
don’t have to worry about it leaking?” he said, angrily dropping them to the
floor in front of Michael’s cot with a loud clang.
“Why don’t you ask your dad to fix
it? Michael replied. “It is his house after all.”
“Because he’s always working. Unlike some people that just sit around
all day.”
Michael kicked at him chasing him out
of the kitchen.
“Michael, honey . . .” his mother
started to say, turning over a piece of fried chicken in the big iron skillet
on the stove. “Do you think you’ll
be up to go in for Richard tomorrow morning. You know how he needs his rest.”
“Yeah. Sure, Mom,” Michael said, closing his eyes. There was no point in arguing with
her. It would just get her upset
and in the end he’d have to work for him anyway. Ah, another day in glorious hell.
Richard had taught him how to weld when
he was barely ten years old. It
was the only constructive thing he’d ever done for him. But he hadn’t done it to help Michael
learn a trade, he’d done it so that Michael would be able to help him on the
job, then when Michael became adept enough, he ended up working more than
Richard. At sixteen he’d been
taken out of school entirely.
Michael spent at least sixty hours a
week doing work for local ranchers, oil companies, anyone that needed some
welding work done. When he wasn’t
doing that he’d work odd jobs for the neighbors wherever he could. Anything to keep food on the table.
Michael didn’t mind. It got him away from home and sometimes
he was lucky enough to finish early and sneak away to the movies in town. Or even better, to visit Annie Smith,
the sixteen year old daughter of one of their closest neighbors. A good romp with her in the hay loft of
old man Smith’s barn was the one thing that Michael had to look forward to, and
Annie gladly accommodated him whenever her father was away at work.
Tammy finished making dinner and set it
on the table. Outside the wind
picked up and rain began falling in sheets as thick as lead. Sure enough the leaks began in a dozen
different places including one right over Michael’s bed. His mother handed him a plate of food,
a fried chicken leg with a spoonful of mashed potatoes and a slice of
cornbread. Michael moved over
several inches and set a bucket on the bed next to him. Julia came bouncing in and plopped down
on the bed next to him. Michael
smiled down at her then gave her a wink.
“Julia, baby, come eat,” Tammy said,
beckoning her to the table. She
sat down next to Jesse and dug into a chicken leg.
“Hey, Momma?” she said, with a mouthful
of food. “When’s Daddy coming
home?”
Tammy patted her on the head then
gently kissed her. “I don’t know,
honey. Whenever he’s done with his
friends.”
Paul and Junior came in from outside,
both of them soaking wet. They’d
both hid from Michael as long as they could, but the rain had driven them
inside. Both boys gave Michael a
fearful glance before sitting down.
“Paul! Junior!” Tammy
yelled at them. “You boys are
dripping water all over my floor!
Go change into some dry clothes before you sit down at my table.”
“Yes, Mom,” they said in unison,
neither boy taking his eyes off of Michael.
Michael leaned forward quickly causing
both boys to jump. He picked his
napkin off the floor and leaned back with a smile on his face. Both boys darted out of the room leaving
behind a trail of wet footprints.
A few minutes later they returned. Michael didn’t bother to give them a
second thought. He was just in too
much pain.
Michael finished his meal and set the
plate in the sink then sat back down on his cot. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. When he opened them next, several hours
had passed and the rain was still dripping into the nearly full bucket next to
him. The pain in his back was
excruciating. It felt as if it
were on fire. Stretching his sore
neck, Michael picked up the bucket and carried it to the front door and tossed
its contents out into the yard.
At the edge of their property stood a
lone figure. His clothes soaking
wet. The wind beat at him
relentlessly, but he didn’t move an inch to fight it. Michael and the stranger kept eye contact for what seemed
like a long time until Tammy walked up.
“Michael, close that door. You’re letting the rain in.”
“Hello there!” the stranger called out
above the roaring wind of the storm, his body remaining rigid and still as a
statue. “Could I trouble you for a
bite to eat? Maybe a chance to get
warm?”
No! was
Michael’s first thought. Normally
when a stranger came calling, he’d let them in without a second thought. Especially on a night like
tonight. But something about this
man didn’t sit right.
Unfortunately his mother took one look
at the disheveled man and took the decision from him. “Oh my word!” she said, placing her hand up to her
mouth. “You poor, poor man! Come in here this second! Michael, what is wrong with you? Letting this poor man sit out here
getting drenched!”
Michael stepped out of the way as she
ushered the stranger in. The man
stepped past him and pulled a wet black bowler from off his head and shook the
water from it out the front door then pulled off his soaking wet frock
coat. It was then that Michael saw
the preacher’s white collar.
“Hello,” he said, reaching out his right hand. “Would you be the man of the house?”
“That would be my step-father,” Michael
answered, grudgingly shaking the man’s hand. He was shocked at how cold it was. “But he’s not home at the moment.”
“Oh . . . well my name is Father
Gaius. Mind if I step in out of
the rain for a bit?”
Michael just stared at him. His voice temporarily unable to form
words.
“You’ll have to excuse my son,” Tammy
spoke up. “He seems to have
forgotten his manners. My name is
Tammy Riker and this is my son Michael.” She ushered him into the kitchen and
pulled a chair out for him. “We
don’t have much, but what we do have you’re welcome to.”
Setting his bowler down on the table,
he slicked back his damp jet-black hair then sat down. He wasn’t very tall, standing about
five foot nine and looked no older than thirty. His eyes blazed a deep dark blue, like nothing Michael had
ever seen before. He spoke with a strange accent that Michael couldn’t quite
place.
Michael sat back down on his cot,
replacing his bucket on the now damp blankets. He felt something tickle his ankles, he achingly leaned over
to scratch it, thinking a spider had found its way onto his bare feet. He looked down to find his sister’s
smiling, dirty face hiding under his cot.
Michael smiled at her then leaned back against the wall.
His mother set a glass of water in
front of Father Gaius with a piece of apple pie and draped a dry towel over his
shoulder.
When the hell did she
make pie? Michael found
himself thinking.
“Thank you, Mrs. Riker.” Father Gaius smiled. “I’ve been walking for what seems like
days and this storm just came out of nowhere.” He looked around at the water still leaking into the room,
then turned in his chair giving Michael a sad, sympathetic smile.
A slight chill ran down Michael’s spine
as his gaze fell on him. It stayed
there until Paul, Junior, and Jesse came bounding in to inspect the soaking wet
man that graced their humble abode.
Each of them plopped down at the table and stared up at Father Gaius,
who politely gave each of them a nod.
“So are you from around here,
Father?” Tamm asked, shooing
Junior out of his seat so she could sit down.
“No, I’m afraid not,” he said, swishing
the water around in his glass.
“What about you, Mrs. Riker?
Do you have any family in this area?”
Tammy Riker loved company and loved to
talk and once she started there wasn’t much you could do to get her to
stop. So for the next half hour
she went on and on about every detail of their lives, how her parents had died
years back, about her brothers run in with the law, her in-laws deaths in the fire,
about Owen dying in the Korean war and finally her marrying Richard.
To his credit Father Gaius sat quietly
through it all, seemingly hanging on her every word, never touching either the
pie or the glass of water in front of him.
Your loss, pal, Michael
thought. The second you’re out
the door I’m eating that pie, and if Paul or Junior gets in my way, they’ll
catch a black eye for it.
Finally the priest rose to his feet
replacing the still wet bowler on his head. “Thank you for the shelter, Mrs. Riker, but I must be on my
way.”
“Oh must you rush off?” she asked. “You’ve barely touched your pie.”
For crying out loud,
Mom let the poor man go! Can’t you
see he’s got business to attend to?
Business that involves leaving that piece of pie.
“I’m afraid so,” he draped his frock
coat over his left arm, “It looks as though the rain’s finally stopped and I’ve
still got a few miles to make.”
“Are you sure? It’s almost nine. Where could you need to go at this late
hour?”
He smiled politely. “I wish I could stay, but I must be on
my way, Mrs. Riker.”
“Well alright then, it was nice
visiting with you. Paul, honey,
would you show him out.”
Paul rolled his eyes but lead him
through the kitchen to the living room.
When Father Gaius reached the front door he didn’t leave. He closed it, turning the deadbolt,
locking it. Then he began to
recite an altered, warped version of the Lord’s Prayer. “Now I lay thee down to sleep. I pray the Lord thy soul to keep, and
that I receive my fill to eat. May
God keep thee and bless thee.
Amen.”
Michael listened from the other room,
his body only half awake. A
loud scream from his mother followed by a thud, forced him fully awake. Michael leapt to his feet running to
see what was going on.
Father Gaius had Paul’s broken neck up
to his mouth. It took Michael
several seconds to comprehend what he was seeing.
My God . . .
The Priest’s eyes had turned blood
red. Huge, thick claws extending
from his finger tips dug deep into Paul’s flesh. He pulled back and smiled at
Michael with blood oozing down his chin.
Michael stood in shock. Unable to make his body move. Jesse and Richie Jr. ran to help their
brother, but the monster dropped Paul’s lifeless body to the floor snatching
them both by the throat.
He lifted them high into the air. He looked at them for a quick second
before crashing their heads together with a sickening crack. The two boys tumbled to the floor with
blood streaming from their cracked skulls. Richie’s leg twitched uncontrollably.
Michael came out of his moment of shock
as the creature headed for his mother.
He leapt in front of her pushing her toward the kitchen. They’d just made it through the doorway
when the beast hit him. Michael
was tossed aside by a single slap.
He flew across the room crashing on top of their large black stove. His hands began to burn as he tried to
push himself off of it. He rolled
off, crashing into one of the full buckets of rainwater.
The monster had his mother pinned down
on Michael’s cot and had begun to feast on her neck. His tongue lapped at her blood. He sucked greedily on her neck.
Michael watched helplessly as the life
drained out of her. She reached
out to him, beckoning him to help her.
Michael began to rise to his feet when
he saw the tiny form of Julia still hiding under the bed. Tears streaked down her dirty
face. Michael knew his mother was
already gone, but he would not let this monster get a hold of Julia. I’ll die first. Michael mouthed for her to stay still
and not move. She shook her head
frantically that she understood.
He lay there as still as he could and
carefully reached into his back pocket pulling out his pocketknife. He opened it as quietly as he could and
hid it under his hand.
The beast finished draining his mother
and walked over to Michael picking him up by his shirt with one hand. Michael swung his knife up aiming for
the priest’s face but the red eyed demon swiftly grabbed hold of his hand and
squeezed, crushing Michael’s wrist in his vice grip. He screamed out in pain as the bones ground to dust and the
knife dropped from his grasp.
“I hope you weren’t planning on
stabbing me with that,” Father Gaius said, holding him high overhead. “Because if you were, I would be very
inclined to feast on the little one hiding under the bed.”
His head leaned back as if he were
smelling the air. His eyes closed
tight and he licked Tammy’s blood from his lips. “Ah yes! I can
hear her heart beating so fast, coursing that sweet nectar through her tiny
veins! The blood of innocents is
so sweet! Unlike that tainted
blood of your whore mother.”
Michael screamed out in rage and
punched him square in the jaw with his good hand, shattering several
bones. It was like punching a
brick wall.
The priest laughed heartily at
him. “My you have spirit, young
one! Even in the embrace of
absolute death you fight!”
“Go to hell!” Michael screamed, spitting in his face.
“I have had my fill this night, but I
can always make room for one more.”
With that he sunk his teeth deep into Michael’s neck.
It was then that Michael knew his life
was over. He could feel his life
force emptying out of him. He was
mere seconds from passing into oblivion when the priest stopped drinking. He dropped Michael back to the floor
and with a sharp talon on his index finger, slit a long cut across his
wrist. A thick black substance
oozed out.
“Drink my blood and you will achieve
more than you could ever imagine.
You will be faster, stronger, smarter than any human alive! You will be a god among men! If you do not, you will die. Or turn into my mindless slave. The choice is yours.”
Michael looked at his terrified,
traumatized sister and knew what he had to do. Without hesitating he said, “I’ll do whatever you want, you
bastard. Just . . . don’t hurt my
sister.”
The monster nodded, his eyes turned
from the deep red back to its normal blue. The fangs and claws retracted. Once again he appeared human. “Drink. Drink
deeply of my blood and in doing so promise to be my child. In return I promise I will not hurt the
child.”
“I have your word?” Michael said weakly.
“You do! Now drink, before it is too late!”
Michael wrapped his mouth around the
priest’s wrist and felt liquid fire pour into his very soul. It felt warm and freezing cold at the
same time. His human life passed
before his eyes. Memories he
didn’t even know he had. His real
father carrying on his shoulders at the county fair when he was only two. His mother holding him tight in her
arms as she rocked him to sleep.
His step-father holding a butcher knife to his back with a butcher
knife, threatening to gut him like a fish for eating his Hershey’s chocolate
bar. He’d been only ten at the
time. After several seconds the
priest pulled away.
Michael’s body writhed in pain and
pleasure. The bones in his wrist
and hand healed. The burnt flesh
on his palms turned pink again.
The cuts on his back and arms from the beating at Richard’s hands pulled
themselves back together. He
closed his human eyes for the last time and opened new eyes to a world he’d
never dreamed possible. One he’d
never before seen. The colors were
clearer, the smells and sounds so much sharper. He could literally taste the air! In his entire life he’d never felt so alive!
Father Gaius placed his cold hands on
Michael’s shoulders and said, “My name is Gaius Julius Caesar Agustus
Germanicus. You may call me Gaius,
or if you prefer Maker. For I am
the Maker of all Immortals!”
Michael looked up at him not caring in
the slightest that the creature had just murdered his entire family. It was as if looking into the face of a
god. “What have you done to
me? I feel so . . . so . . .
alive!”
