The Immortals: Chapter 1: Rough Draft

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!”