Darkness Becomes Her Disclaimer: Own the ideas, but didn’t make money for it. Any comments, just e-mail me at “kfong60hotmail.com” Episode 9: When Day Turns Night Updated: June 21, 2004 (Small update) Completion: 35% High in the rafters, up in the air vents she peered through the air ways, down at the uniformed squadron with keen interest. They were strange fellows, with stranger contraptions. Also she noted by their postures, they had been vigil there for probably a good amount of time. You happen to find these small details when you’re acutely looking for them. They were planning something; those setting up something made that obvious. But, she waited nonetheless, absentmindedly rolling her fingers in her hair patiently watching. They knew where the other two with her were, but it bothered her none. What could humans do before the might and fury of a vampire? Death has already been determined at the beginning of existence, and she was at the threshold; a little bit of both. Then her worries increased slightly after catching sight of a brutalized man in a blue police uniform. They were up to something and she had a hunch it had something to do with that individual. How fitting that they should stoop so low as to use hostages. If she had thought Dracula was bad, these men were lower than dirt. At least, he never went so low as to hide behind the cover of innocence. And then there was the case of that man. . . a tall figure, features partially hidden beneath a wide and brown looking hat, with sunglasses. What really caught her eyes was the gleaming object around his neck. She knew it was a he for there was no bulge around the chest area. There in almost perfect symmetry, was a silver cross; a symbol most noticed as a believer of Christianity. Could the Vatican and the members of the Church have tracked their presence? And another question arose. Was this a priest paladin sent by the Church in question? ‘No, that can’t be. . . They were all eliminated. He made sure of it back in 1852 A.D. . . didn’t he?’ At least, she thought she was sure, but she couldn’t confirm it and it left her in an air of doubt. It was irritated further by the unnatural vibes she felt, setting off her senses. Something about the man seemed predatory; the feel of something animalistic on the fringes of her mind.. ‘Who am I kidding?’ she ascertained, smiling at her own stupidity; though its stupidity relieves her. They were dead, and that was that. Exasperation getting the better of her, she slumped back in the ventilation shaft. Narrowing her eyes and massaging her temples with her fingers, she wracked her brain in growing anxiety. Whoever the man was, he was definitely not of the originals. Now that she thought about it, he didn’t even wield a crucifix anywhere to symbolize the band; like the vampire hunter wielded a whip. But even as it was, there was no reason to rise and strike now. Her only reclusion was when, and she would await its forthcoming. Then she saw him holding a hand up, in a warding sign for a cease fire to his men. On the other side an opposing ominous feeling stairwell, a wave of darkness washed over her senses. No other than he who walks in the night could make her feel this way. “you’re one of the them, aren’t you?” Whesker spoke coyly. “That I am.” Vlad coldly responded, his long silver and icy hair wet and matted to his pale complexion, without a mar or blight upon his face. Remembering something Whesker inquired with raised interest, “You’re the one that spoke back on the phone I presume?” he asked quizzically. “What if I am?” he inquired emotionlessly, his long pitch black trench coat bellowed behind his wake as he turned a bit to eye the man. Guns were facing him in all directions, however Vlad didn’t care to notice or perhaps Vlad didn’t mind, as they locked eyes. They were all breathing steadily behind those face plates; though he could not see it, he could hear it, smell it, taste it. They were all positioned, within a fine line, ready to attack their enemy, who only held his hands behind his back, unfazed by the weapons of man or the fact that he was unarmed. He didn’t need a weapon to get rid of them. . . Removing his glasses to the flat of his palm, Whesker pulled a black cloth out from his suit and began cleaning the foggy haze that had accumulated upon the lens methodically counter-clockwise. Having done that, he peered with the corner of an eye to regard the man, then chuckled and refitted the spectacle. “I must congratulate you for making it this far. I don’t know whether I should be thanking you for making this so much easier for me, or chastise you between the words courageous and stupid.” “Why thank you.” He added sarcastically. Then the pleasantries by an unheard mutual agreement broke out, the two individuals hardly paying much attention with their eyes at each other sardonically. “Whesker.” “Vlad.” Brief and to the point. They’d have it no other way. “Yes, yes, charmed. . . It still won’t change the fate you’re about to face when I make you pay for your crimes-” Vlad only cackled at his response with an arm supporting his glee, cutting him off sharply, his voice deep, cold and raspy as it echoed throughout the area, even beyond the window panes of the desecrated, abandoned building they were standing in. Then through the gap between his fingers, he revealed his corrupted eyes as if a forewarning to what was to come. “I’ve seen men like you,” he replied cruelly, “I’ve heard and seen countless like you of your kind. But I guarantee you won’t be lasting long in this world. You will be liquidated my dear Whesker and I will make sure of that. Lately you and your pathetic underground worms have been a thorn at my side and all that’s left to do is getting rid of them once I’m through with you. But then if they should run, I guess we can play the game of cat and mouse.” He egotistically remarked, a few index fingers twitching. “Is that right?” he smirked carelessly, “They can take care of themselves, and I see you’re unarmed and unprepared to face the consequences of your crimes.” Vlad decided to play along and in a joking manner replied, “And under what crimes am I guilty of? There’s been so many I’ve lost count. . .” he laughed. Ignoring his last statement Whesker widened his eyes a bit as if he didn’t know, amusing him further with his answer, “For existing of course.” By that statement alone, the vicissitudes of the circumstances too complicated to describe, could turn soar quite quickly. May it be he chose to ignore it, or put on an air of indifference, no one could tell. Reading his face was like reading a foreign language; incomprehensible. Whesker narrowed his eyes further, behind his black rimmed glasses. “And did I mention how foolish you are to stand in the open? Don’t you know that you can be dead in the span of a width of a breath?” Containing another chuckle, he snapped his fingers. In junction with the reverberating echo, a head popped out slightly from the overshadowed staircase behind him with two pistols raised. He also realized she was still afraid though he told her not to, and he wished he could take that fear from her, but she held onto it like some sort of shield. He had never experienced anything remotely like this before, and hadn't the faintest clue how to go about handling it. And so, as the day progressed, he found himself becoming firmly mired in a mixture of irritation and bewilderment. It was not a place he wished to be. His face was impassive, as if chiselled from marble, and he would not acknowledge her searching gaze three gloves behind. It made him wonder how she could do such a thing. And, he mused grimly, how could she not? Claire valiantly tried to keep calm, as this was the first time she saw the odds stacked against her. They were unfavourable and left the mouth dry and bitter to say the least. What stopped her and them from tearing each other apart in symphony was the fact that there were still Vlad and Whesker in- between who have yet to declare war. “Vanity, stupidity; call it what you will. Life’s a gamble, so you have to go ahead and roll the dice. It’s only then do you know where you stand.” A hand propped to his chin, Vlad responded amusingly. He seemed to be enjoying the threatening atmosphere with much enthusiasm. “Ah, that is true. Be that as it may, I still have one last trump card to play.” Whesker motioned for their prisoner forward. Two of his fledglings knocked him down on his knees with the butt of their guns. The S.T.A.R.S uniform, the frizzled oak hair and the battered physical appearance was that of Claire’s partner from her recent endeavour. “Leon. . . no. . .” she spoke beneath her breath, barely audible. The man in question looked barely half alive, and his chest was matted in dried blood. “Tell your friend in the back to lower her guns and surrender, and I will let this one go.” He ordered trying to sound exasperatedly sympathetic, “He is one of your friends, is he not?” “You have some nerve to try to blackmail me.” Vlad bit back, under his hoarse breath, “And I tire of this game. You bore me.” “Why don’t you enlighten me then?” Whesker playfully dared. “Who do you think you’re talking to, human?” The squadron began to slowly step back from him. His eyes once clouded by shadows, was now swirling brightly with a golden hue surrounding the crimson pupil. That added to his pale face made him appear demonic, especially when he revealed for the first time his fangs before sheathed. It was like he cast a spell upon them to not to move too quickly. Again, he smiled to break the tension. However what spoiled the effect, were his gaze and two, long and pearly white fangs that were at both corners of his perfectly white teeth. They were like predator’s teeth; curved and ivory white just like the other teeth in his mouth. Slipping a hand into his trench pocket, all their gaze rested upon him as he slowly pulled out a blue card from what Whesker could tell. “And what may I ask are you attempting? Tarot cards?” one of the geared men joked disbelievingly. If it could be possible, his grin grew more precise and pronounced. Eyeing them all carefully, he saw the laughter in their eyes mingled with bewilderment along with the pair behind him. “Sorry to disappoint, but it is not what you think it is.” He spoke with the deliberate intention of prolonging the last laugh they’ll ever make, before the eye of the storm disperses and the roaring gales of his intent would rip them to shreds. “A tarot card this is not but infinitely more useful and more so than you can imagine in that narrow mind of yours. It, is a moon card.” Glaring through the open windows at the great outdoors with great disdain, he decided to humour them further, “Take one last look at daylight, because soon it shall be night.” Seeing them gaze at the red sphere but ill-prepared for a shocker, he gave them one last warning hinting on what magical act he was soon to perform, and mind you it has nothing to do with the lights. The sky was as blue as sapphire; the kind you only find in paintings. “Let me tell you, powerful magic is at work here.” This all changed thereafter, when Vlad activated the magic of a moon card. Floating and twisting by its own accord, he took out a golden locket and opened its lid. The pocket watch was as quick as if it were on stim-packs; the hands of time coming full-circle thrice in seconds and thrice that in twice the time. As he tapped his foot impatiently and hummed a soft tune, the sun rose to its peak and descended over the horizon just as quickly. When all was said and done, the card simply fluctuated a bit before vanishing into thin air, its magic spent. Everyone excluding himself, were left with a sense of disbelief, while the vampires themselves were left feeling strangely refreshed as the night air was intoxicating to his senses. He heard the whispers, heard their thoughts in shambles. They spoke of impossibilities and they spoke of fiction and fairytales. Closing the lid with his thumb, his forearms perpendicular to each other, with the forefingers combined, forming a picture frame in their generalized direction. He phrased darkly, slyly, deviously for lack of better term through half closed eye lids, “Through the looking-glass, fairytale transparently.” He smiled, the tendrils of his hair whipping in the cool night air. They shuddered; felt the shivers rain down upon their spines. “That’s a neat trick you have.” Whesker recomposed himself, tilting his specs further up. “It is, isn’t it?” Vlad pride-fully agreed, nodding his head for added effect. Whesker began moving across his linesmen with firm steps sounding richly upon the ceramic tiles. He was as if inspecting the men, with his hands shoved into his pockets as he gave them incredeculous looks, then he paused. He raised a finger, waving it a bit, then some more in a suggestive gesture referring to this dilemma, “I would ask you one last time to surrender. . .” he gave Vlad an appraising gaze, “But I find you with too much pride as I now know my attempts at persuading you to think my way was in vain.” He sighed, no answer was forthcoming, “A waste of my time and yours.” His condensing gaze then lowered its sights on the captive before him, at Vlad, and back again. “So instead of letting this farce continue,” he pulled out his hands, with one resonating a metallic hum from the draw from its sheath, “I will take this into my own hands.” Since there was no reasoning with the unreasonable, there was nothing left to do but this. Rolling his thumb back on the trigger, he pressed the nozzle upon the captives head with a perfect posture. A hostage was useless when the ones who they have an affinity with, lacked the sympathy to abide by the unspoken rules associated with it. ‘They were more like guidelines anyways.’ He thought contemplatively. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Authors Notes: Updating slow as usual. Top of Form 1 Bottom of Form 1