Shining in Crimson: Empire of Blood Book One (A Dystopian Vampire Novel) (28 page)

"What's the matter, Toby, your father not here to save you?" James asked. "Is he too dead to help you?" He laughed along with all the other boys. Toby dug into a hole within himself as he heard these words. He had no reason anymore to lie to himself. His father was surely dead and he had no one left in this world. His weeping was only a fuel to the laughter that had now become almost deafening. The cloth that covered his eyes was ripped from his face. The room he was in was very dimly lit, but there was enough light to tell that it wasn't his cell. It looked dank and moist, like some sort of underground cellar or basement. Piping of all shapes and sizes covered the ceiling. The sound of dripping water was the only thing that filled the silence as the small crowd of boys dressed in capes made from bed sheets and sporting fake vampire teeth stood leering at Toby.

They pushed him to the ground. They took turns kicking him in his sides as they circled around him, his body folding inward from the shock. Then some of them began stomping on his legs and a loud crack came from his right ankle. The boys yelled insults as they beat him.
Everything from "faggot", to "whore", to "sinner", and even "murderer".
Then four of the boys held his arms and legs as James sat and straddled Toby's chest. James gave him a grim smile and took out the vampire teeth from his mouth and looked them over.

"I got these special, Toby. They're not like the others the other guys have. These are sharp, made of real bone. I even sharpened 'em a little extra," he said, winking at Toby.

Toby tried hard to struggle, knowing what was about to happen and wanting, needing to get away from the horrible thing that James was about to do. But the boys held tightly and Toby quickly wasted his strength. James laughed loudly and then put the teeth back in his mouth, biting down, making a dull clicking sound that was deep enough to give away the fact that they were quite solid. Toby let out a scream, the loudest he could muster, but another boy quickly filled his open mouth with a large rag. James gave him one last smiling glare and then thrust his mouth between Toby's head and left shoulder and bit down hard on Toby's jugular, the solid teeth tearing more than slicing his flesh. Toby clenched his teeth and nearly choked on the rag in his mouth. The laughter died. Some of the boys looked at James as if he were mad.

"What the hell are you doing, James? I thought you were just going to scare him," Charlie Welch pleaded.

Several of the other boys shared his look of fear, but said nothing. Even the boys who had been holding Toby's arms and legs had let go as they watched James in disgust. Toby tried to move his arms to push James away but he found them to be too heavy to move at all. The world began fading in and out. Toby saw darkness,
then
he saw James sitting on top of him, the fake teeth dripping with blood. Each time he was back in the room, there were fewer and fewer boys alongside James. The last thing he remembered was returning from the darkness to the sound of a gunshot. James's face had changed. He jumped up from Toby in an instant, pleading to an unseen person for his life. There was a swift movement, and then James let out a scream. Then, standing above Toby was a man in his mid forties, dressed in a gray suit, his left arm bandaged in a sling. Toby faded back into unconsciousness as the man looked down at him curiously, with a hint of a grin.

* * *

As Chuck Lotinger signed the last of the paperwork that checked Toby Evans out of the orphanage, he listened with as much patience as he could manage while the senior staff member Mr. Sandburn carried on to him about the boy.

"I told him, all right. I told him that Lord Caesar was merciful, and waiting to help those in need. I told him, and he didn't believe me, so I prayed for him myself. And I'll be, here you are, a representative of the Master himself. You've come to show him the way, haven't you Mr.-"

"Lotinger, sir.
Yes, I have. The Emperor himself is waiting to meet this young man and lead him back to the path of righteousness his father steered him away from for so many years," Lotinger said almost too enthusiastically. After the paperwork was all signed and Chuck had suffered as much of the man's incessant jabber as he could stand, he said his farewell and walked out to the waiting Imperial car and slipped into the back seat. Behind the car, the ambulance waited.

"Let's get on the road, the Emperor is waiting," he said to the driver, who needed no further prompting. The driver, a young redheaded man covered in freckles, flipped the switch that activated the siren and put the car in gear. Lotinger watched Imperial Orphanage #4254 blur away through tinted glass as both vehicles drove away.

Chapter 23

The Ultimatum

A
t first, there had been nothing. Nothing at all, not
even
an awareness of the lack of anything. Then, slowly, a weak sort of perception began to grow from the darkness. A sensation of realizing existence, but completely void of nature or identity. There was also the wanting. The deep need for something yet undefined. The sense of presence, of life, developed into something more as sounds rose all around the mind. Then a pale, blurry light emerged from the nothing. A single color filled this new vision. The color was gray. A flood of memories sparked from the recognition of this single color. Images of storm clouds, sediment, rocks, various metallic objects, and sidewalks formed in the mind. These things swirled into patterns and warped into other colors and images until a spark ignited in
his
mind. That much was certain. He was a boy, or was he a man? Recollections of times and places as a young boy morphed into visions of events much more complex. He was a man. This knowledge, now acquired, only sped up the process of recall that his brain was fighting its way through.

But a hazy, dark memory brought forth another possibility. The faint impression of feeling sharp fangs pressing against his lips from within his mouth reminded him of a more recent past than his prior remembrance had. He remembered the blood then, and how much he needed it. This also awakened the realization that his sensation of touch had not yet returned.

Wondering if the ability to move was beyond his reach as well, he experimentally attempted to close his eyes. The gray blur before him began to shrink as his eyelids gently closed.
Then blackness.
He then attempted to raise them. A slightly clearer gray blob started to grow in front of him. He could make out the obscure lines that intersected in rectangles to make a concrete wall. He tried to lift his head then, and almost immediately, the nerves came to life throughout his body as the various muscles worked to allow his movement. Worst of all was the physical twinge of needing the blood, but after a second, it subsided slightly and something else came into focus. A sharp pain in his chest made him gasp for air at the flash of memory it uncovered.

He had been in the desert. He had survived exposure to the sun, even though he’d expected to die. He was not a vampire after all. But why then did he still long for the blood so much? He remembered feeling as though he had been given a second chance. Was that memory a fraud? As the concrete wall came more into focus, a brief moment from his childhood played out in his mind. He was sitting at a desk in a classroom with 20 or so other children, hoping with all of his will that the teacher, Mrs. Vance, would not call on him. Several of the other children had their hands up as she looked around the room with her oval glasses sitting at the tip of her nose, her face filled with eagerness. He knew that eager
look,
he had seen it many times. She had always looked like this when she wanted to pick on one of the children. And more often than not, he had been her favorite choice to bully. This particular day was no exception. On her fifth round of looking over the classroom, her gaze came to a halt on him and she raised her arm and pointed to him as she took a deep, satisfied breath.

"Hank, why don't you tell us why an empire is a more effective government than any other type in the world?
And don't forget to cite examples," the old woman said and then smiled impishly. Before she even finished exhaling, he had lunged at her, bitten deep down into her neck and... No, that was not what happened. Knowing this did not take away the thirst that had just doubled within him.

He gritted his teeth to try to subdue the hunger. Once his mind was as clear as it would get, something sparked from the memory. He was Hank. And it wasn’t human blood he longed for. Knowing this seemed to bring everything back into focus. He could even see clearer and sat up with far less effort than it had taken to simply lift his head. He was sitting on a single slab of concrete in a small rectangular room not much larger than a broom closet. All of the walls were plain gray concrete, and there was a single solid metal door at the far end of the room, beyond the head of his "bed." There were no windows, nor were there any items in the room with him other than the concrete slab he sat upon. He wracked his newly awakened mind for some sort of clue as to where he was. Nothing came, save for that single moment he now knew to be the last thing he could remember. He had been shot. But as he examined his chest, he realized that whatever he had been shot with had not broken the skin. In place of the gaping wound he expected to find there
was
a purple bruise and a single red point in the middle of it that looked similar to a needle hole. It must have been some sort of tranquilizer.

He put his shirt back down and attempted to stand, finding his legs shaky and stiff. When he was completely upright, he tried taking a step. He had very little sense of balance. Between this and the fact that he couldn't stop shaking, he nearly fell over. Luckily the wall was near enough for him to grab and hold himself up. He used it for support as he slowly made his way toward the door. Reverberations of faraway sounds ricocheted through the thick metal of the door. As he leaned against the door, he took in a deep breath and for the first time since he had awoken, he tried to speak. It took a moment to stop his teeth from chattering. Then, he tried to make a soft sound. This attempt brought only the sound of air from his mouth. The second go sounded like a quiet choking. A few more tries resulted in variations of the first two. But on his sixth effort, a faint word sounded from his vocal chords.

"Hello?" his voice creaked weakly. This was going to be harder than he thought. He took another deep breath and braced himself as he pushed his diaphragm into this one. "Hello?" he yelled hoarsely. But all he heard in return was a faint metallic echo of his own word in his own voice. Balancing with his left arm, he beat against the door with his right fist. The door boomed deeply with each strike. No response. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fought off the returning thirst. He spent several minutes pressing into the door with his hands. It was more for the slight relief it gave him than to actually do anything to the unyielding door. He sighed and made his way back to the slab of concrete, still using the wall for support as he went. There were spots of blood along the wall and floor that disappeared with a second glance. He sat down on the slab and sat back against the cold, concrete wall. He decided that all he could do now was
wait
.

There was no way for Hank to tell just how long it had been since he had fallen asleep sitting up in this strange cell. He wiped the drool from his mouth, noticing again that he had no fangs, and did his best to dry the rest that was on his shirt. He looked toward the door, remembering then that it had been some sort of sound that had awoken him. Or had it been just a dream? He waited, watching the door with nervous anticipation. As badly as he wanted to know where he was, he equally dreaded to find out. He went into something like a trance from deep concentration as he listened. He was startled out of the trance by the abrupt sound of clanging from behind the door. This was followed by the fast clicking of gears turning from within the metal door. Then, an even louder jolt vibrated through the floor as the thick door began to shudder. A high-pitched squeal hissed from the door as it swung heavily open. Two men stood in the doorway, one wearing a suit, his left arm in a sling, the other dressed as an imperial sentry, the likes of which Hank had seen many of prior to arriving in Necropolis. Behind the two men, the hallway was just as gray and drab. The man in the suit came forward, smiling.

"Mr. Evans, we are here to escort you to the Emperor's chambers. He would like to see you. I think you will be most pleased to hear what he has to say."

"And you are?" Hank asked.

"I am Charles Lotinger, the Emperor's personal assistant," Lotinger said, still grinning.

Hank had a good idea there were likely all kinds of extraordinary errands the Emperor's personal assistant would be responsible for.

"So, if you will, please, come with me," Lotinger added in a less pleasant and much more demanding tone.