A
Night in the (Un)Life of
David
Turov
A
Vampire the Masquerade Short Story
Part
2: Home Again, Home Again
The
group strides across the tarmac, every bit the conquering heroes
returned from abroad. The light cloud cover overhead reflects the
city lights back down at us, and coupled with the lights of the
airport, we're bathed in a dim, orangish ambiance. The jet's hangar
looms nearby, the vehicle in question performing it's slow, arduous
taxi into the structure. Off to the side, our destination, is a group
of vehicles that has been valeted over, the drivers of the small
fleet having departed upon delivery, as per their instructions.
It's
not a long walk to the vehicles, but everyone is taking their time,
letting the feel of the city wash over them, much in the same way as
an back into place old sailor will pause and smell the salt sea air,
and feel as if he's being called home. I let the group walk ahead of
me, lost in my own thoughts. I don't notice Sophi walking next to me
until she bumps my elbow with hers. With a start, I bring myself back
to the here and now, silently cursing myself for the lapse in
attention.
“Hey,”
she begins. She's pulled her hijab back into place, the black
cloth and her dark skin blending almost seamlessly in the dark,
orange lighting. Her bright eyes stand out, however, their intensity
stabbing through me, and I feel the pull of so many things ripping
through me. I wonder, as always, if the price of my safety, and
Enzo's, is worth the cost I'm paying. I raise my eyebrows to her in
reply.
“Are
you going to be okay, now that we are back?” Unlike Elizabeth,
Sophi isn't altruistic. I've personally watched her cleave monsters
in half, and dance through groups of enemies as if it were a
choreographed exhibition. The inherent violence that she encompasses,
however, merely serves to push into focus the meaning of her care and
kindness, of which I am currently the focus. I nod to her curtly.
“I've
matters well in hand,” I tell her. Even as I say this, it's a
struggle to bring my old habits back into place. While we were in
England, I was able to pretend to be something other than what I
normally portray myself as. For whatever reason, I played closer to
my true self with this group, most likely because of the bond I share
with Sophi. Stupid, stupid choices, I chide myself. Her good natured
scoff as she jabs me with her elbow again almost shatters my self
control, as I feel... whatever it is... stab through me, clutching at
my heart like a palpable force. It's all I can do to not lean against
her. Instead, I just barely manage a curious look at her. “You
doubt my abilities?” It comes out more hoarse than I'd like.
“You
play so many games, David.” Her voice is tinged with sadness, as if
somehow she's already seen the end of the road I walk, and knows how
poorly it will end. “You know I will do what I can to help you, but
you are throwing yourself into so many dragons' dens, it will only be
a matter of time before you get too deep, before your world implodes,
and then there will be nothing I can do.” I let out a resigned
sigh, an all too human gesture, as I gaze sideways at her. I can't
trust my emotions enough to look at her fully with what is about to
come out of my mouth.
The
blade flashed in the dim light of the bulb, and I involuntarily
flinched from it, only to start swinging by the shackles that held me
hanging in place from the ceiling. A frightned, animal whimper
escaped my throat, and terror welled up inside me, coupled with hope.
Such a terrible thing, to fear death, yet want it, need it so badly.
I clenched my eyes shut, and heard the whisper of air as the sword
sliced down. A sensation of falling... I landed in a crumpled, dirty
heap in the filth that had accumulated beneath me for the past two
days. Gagging and disgusted, I scrambled back, slammed into the wall
of the cell. Arms that shook with fatigue and strain raised up to
shield me from the next blow.
“Your
path to the outside has been cleared.” Oddly accented Russian. Her
voice was the promise of darkness, the whisper of death itself made
incarnate. “You must hurry, though, before the Germans find their
dead.” I slowly lowered my hands, my uncomprehending stare fixated
on this shadow made flesh before me. Above me, I could here the faint
squeaking of the broken chain swinging from its hook. She stepped
forward, yanked me roughly to my feet. Her bright eyes glared at me
from the dark folds of cloth that swathed her features. “Go!”
“You
saved my life, all those years ago. I never got to thank you.” She
opens her mouth to say something, but I raise my hand. “Please.”
She stops, waiting patiently for me to continue. “I'm sure, after
the incident at the hospital with Anya, that you stepped in to save
my life again. Then, as before, I do not know why.” I slow my pace,
letting the rest of the group pull further ahead. I cannot look at
her, and the false emotions that course through me threaten to undo
me. I know they're false... I know they're false. Aren't they?
“Instead
of thanking you when I had the chance, I asked you for a favor.” I
stare up at the sky, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “I
asked you for a way to help me keep a semblance of myself in light of
the alliances I'd made. Again, for whatever reason, you helped save
me.” I force myself to look at her, now, I force myself to be
vulnerable to her. My eyes lock on her.
“Now,
I thank you. I thank you for myself, and for Enzo. You have done so
very much for me.” I keep my gaze upon her, letting her stare into
my eyes, I fingernails dig into my palm, the pain the only thing
grounding me, keeping the emotions in check. “I thank you, but I
swear to you, any further problems are my own, and I will not darken
your door with my specters.” She comes to a stop, turning to face
me fully. Her smile is a pitying one, no more than I deserve. She
reaches up, and places her cold, steely hand softly against my cheek.
My stomach drops into freefall as she touches me, and a low sound
crawls from my throat. She pats my cheek gently.
“You
are an idiot.” She states flatly, grinning. She turns and continues
casually after the group, gesturing me to follow. I obey. “You do
not get to dictate my actions, “ she continues, “Nor do you get
to say who I will care about, or how I will care about them.” She
casts a sidelong glance at me, then turns back to the group. “I
like underdogs, David,” she says flippantly. “I have been the
underdog, I can relate to it. But you? You are more under than anyone
I have ever met.”
Up
ahead, the group has reached their vehicles. Klein's motorcycle, a
black and green Kawasaki Ninja 300 that appears to be more machine
than Klein's undying 15 year old frame can handle, Vincent's
Lamborghini Huracan Spyder, unyielding lines in black with blue
highlights, Seth and Tony's matching '69 Chrysler GTO's, black and
chrome gifts of affection from Chicago's deadliest underworld tyrant,
and Archon's grey and black Dodge Charger, which is being eyed with
unhidden glee and hunger by Hank. The group mills around as Sophi and
I make our slow approach, discussing amongst themselves plans for the
future, victory celebrations, welcome home parties, hunting
expiditions. While we're still out of normal earshot of the group,
Sophi stops and turns towards me once more.
“I
know you are not, how would you say, one of the gang,” she begins.
“I know that there is still a large measure of distrust between you
and Vincent. However, I hope you can trust me.” The emphasis she
puts on the last statement draws at me, pull me into the beginings of
some downward spiral that I just barely manage to keep myself from
tumbling into. Numbly, I nod. Another pitying look from her, perhaps
because we both know the pull I feel, perhaps because she knows all
to well the Bond into which I've entered with her. The same Bond that
Vincent has upon her.
A
quick, silent step up behind him. A preset diversion, a nearby
flashbang perhaps, when I know his Senses will be hightened. A blade
through the top of his spinal column, temporary paralysis, how fast
will he heal from it? Can he use his other Gifts in the moments it
will take him to recover? Flare gun round into the base of his skull,
fire and heat boiling away at tissue and bone and brain. While the
fire takes it's toll, while he still can't move to defend himself,
empty twenty rounds of 5.7mm into what's left of his skull. Can he
survive it? When will his compatriots step in? When will she kill me?
Will he expire before she can save him? Would that free her? Wouldn't
it be worth it, if she can be free?
She
hands me what appears to me a remote key fob, but of no manufacture
that I'm aware of. As I hesitate, she takes my hand and wraps it
around the fob. A mild, electric shudder courses through me from her
touch.
“This
is programmed with your access credentials for the Catacombs,” she
says, referencing the not-so-secret base that the group has built on
the southwestern outskirts of town. I look at her numbly, but she
continues. “Most of us stay there, and we have room for you as well
should you need it. It is not an order you must follow,” she
interjects, seeing my hesitant expression. “If it helps you to
process it, consider this. You are still in Mr. Winter's employ.
Winter is an unknown quantity in this city. I like the idea of
keeping unknown quantities nearby so that I may learn more of them.”
I slowly nod, accepting the veneer of suspicion she offers, and
cherishing the kindness that she hides behind that. She indicates the
fob I hold loosely in my hand. “If you press those two buttons
together, it will signal an alarm to me, and I will find you, where
ever you are. Do you understand?” Hey eyes fix upon mine, her gaze
reaching into me and squeezing my brain, my heart. I nod once,
slowly. I can't speak.
She
reaches up and pats my cheek again, hard enough to cause a minor
sting, but I don't mind. She smiles her soft, barely there devil's
smile, and inclines her head slightly, coyly. “Stop being an idiot,
and you will not have to use it, correct?” With that, she turns and
strides purposefully towards Vincent, who is standing with his arms
resting atop the roof of the Lamborghini. I can feel his eyes upon me
from behind the tinted lenses of his spectacles. His gaze is stone
steady on me, and lasts for a moment after Sophi has already gotten
into the vehicle. I imagine that he is plotting my demise, but
without the hinderances I would face in regards to his. It's sobering
to know that if he should make that decision before I do, there's
nothing I could do to alter the outcome.
I
smile benignly and offer a short wave to him. He doesn't return it,
but instead slides smoothly down into the driver's seat of his
vehicle. He guns the powerful v-10 engine, and the car takes off,
slick and controlled, the model of effecient engineering. I watch him
drive off, and I can almost imagine Sophi turning in her seat to
watch me as they leave. I know she doesn't, but I imagine.
“Hey,
Dave.” The voice is akin to the growl of a predatory animal,
threatening and dangerous. It is also completely unexpected, and I
spin on my heels to see Tony looming next to me. I look back to where
his car is, having just seen him there a moment ago. I'm sure I did.
I think. I turn my head back to him, to find him leaning towards me,
sniffing. He's sniffing.
Shit.
He
cocks his head and he slowly smiles at me. It's not a pleasant smile.
With his slicked back black hair and heavy jaw, it wouldn't surprise
me to see him take a ball bat to my knee. In a previous life, it's
what he was good at. In his currently life, he doesn't need the bat
anymore. I clear my throat, attempting some form of nonchalance.
“Hello,
Tony. Is there something I can help
you with?” As the words leave my mouth, he takes a half step in.
Unable to stop myself, I give ground to the primal force before me,
my hands moving to my sides in a supplicating geasture. He looks me
up and down, and narrows his eyes at me. I blank my breathing, force
myself to calm, to pale before him. Nothing to see here, just a
small, weak, dead thing.
“Sophi
gave you a key the the Tomb?” he asks me, using his own terminology
to refer to the Catacombs. I nod, warily. “So... you're one of us
now?” This question has more of a sneer to it.
“I
will always do what I can to offer you all my assitance-” He
interrupts me with an angry scoff and a thick, rebar like finger to
my chest.
“That's
not what I asked, Dave.” I'm struck by the thought that Tony is the
only man I've met who can make one's given name into a curse. He
steps closer, crowding me. I cast a desperate glance over to the
other members of the group, all gathered around their cars and
blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding a mere forty feet away. It
dawns on me that Tony is Cloaking us. He grins his killer's grin,
shadowy and skull like in the harshness of the city lights. “I know
it's your thing, to double talk and tell half truths. To pretend at
things you're not.” Again, he sniffs at me.
Shit.
“So
how about maybe you answer some answers straight for a change, you
think you can do that? Because if you can,” and he draws himself up
to his full height, to stare down at me, “maybe I don't have to
remember that I'm the Sheriff here. Maybe I won't have to enforce
Camarilla law.” For a moment, under the lights and the starshine
and the clouds, Tony allows his true face to show, a horrific,
nightmarish visage, all fangs and hatred and killing desire. “Maybe
I forget who the monster here is.”
And
then Tony's public face is in place once more. He stares at me, still
angry, but as if nothing else happened. He's silent for a moment, but
I recognize the twith to his eye, that growing need to act instead of
doing nothing.
“Mr.
Winter has plans for you all.” This causes Tony's eyes to widen in
surpise, but his persona is otherwise still in full force. “He
wanted me to tag along with your group, make myself useful to you.
Answer what questions you have. He wants you all to feel at ease with
the idea of him.”
“This
isn't building trust.”
“Hear
me out,” I say to him, my hands up and defensive as I say this.
“I'm trying to explain why I'm here with you all. Trust me, it's
not by choice.”
“Then
what is it? What's Winter playing at?” I shrug, honestly
exasperated at the myriad thoughts and ideas constantly running
through my head.
“I
don't know what his final gameplan is. I'm very good at reading
people, at understanding what makes them tick. With Winter, I
honestly don't know. He's ancient, he's totally inhuman. He can act
the part when it suits him, but whatever humanity and empathy he once
possessed is loong gone.” Tony ponders this for a moment,
calculating, trying to find a way to make this work for him.
“Why
are you telling me this?” He asks, incredulous.
“What,
not wanting you to kill me isn't reason enough?” He gives a
dangerous smirk at that, but I can tell the joke scores. “Winter
hasn't forbidden me from telling you what I know. I'm sure he expects
me to share my thoughts with you all at some point anyway.”
“Why?”
“Commonality
of purpose and opposition,” I tell him. He stares at me blankly.
“You and your friends have no love lost on Kaitlyn and her cronies.
Mr. Winter sees her as a potential and probable enemy at some point
in the future.” Tony puts a warning hand up.
“She's
still the Prince of Ashford, and I'm her Sheriff. You need to be
careful what you say.” His tone is difficult to gauge as he says
this. I give him a shrug.
“Winter
isn't overly concerned with her. He's far more interested in seeing
what you all will do, and seeing how that will align with his goals.”
Tony grunts as I say this.
“What
happens if he decides that our goals don't align, huh? Where will
you be?” I fix him with my gaze, anf I feel the frown crease my
face.
“I'll
be the first one he crushes under his boot, because...” I stop. I
can't bring myself to say it. I can't stand to utter what feels like
a betrayal to Anya. Tony's eyes widen, shifting from suspicion to
understanding.
“Because
of.. Sophi?” I nod, unsure why I'm letting this information out.
Unsure of my own plan, if it still even exists.
Tony
glances over at his friends, who have begun actively looking around
for him. He scowls in annoyance, then faces me once more.
“So
why her?” He asks. He's not concerned for me, I can hear it in his
voice. He's gathering data, trying to accumulate it and sort it,
stuffing it in that overactive memory of his. He's wondering if he
can use it later. I contemplate not telling him, but perhaps, maybe
some day, I can use his knowledge of my reasons in my own way.
“Winter
has long forgotten what it is to be human, he doesn't care about
that. Sophi remembers every day what it is. Strives for it, even in
the face of what she does. To make the deals I made with Winter, to
do whatever tasks he will inevitably ask of me, I needed to find
something to balance out, to remind me what it is.... to be human.
She's the only one in your group I trust not to use me to their own
ends.” I stare at him as I see him ponder this, then I make one
more statement to him, wondering if it'll be my last.
“Besides,”
I say, “I know you understand the struggle to keep a hold on your
higher self, when all you do is darkness for others.” I nod slowly
to him, not judging, merely seeking to understand. Letting him see
that I try to understand.
He
scowls, and turns away from me, walking towards the group. They
notice him approach, and begin waving and catcalling, not seeming to
notice that mere moments ago, they were looking around an open field,
wondering where he was. I watch for a moment as they gladhand one
another, congratulate themselves on jobs well done, missons bested,
adventures hard one. I watch this group of monsters, of killers... of
friends. I adjust the cuff of my suit jacket, and turn to walk
towards the airport terminal. There is no valet parking tonight for
David Turov.
“Hey,
Davey!” I turn back towards the sound of my shouted name, and see
Tony climbing into his vehicle. He looks back at me, and gives me a
two finger salute off his brow.
“Welcome
home.”
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