Only the ring of light from the street lamppost showed the relentless downpour of rain. The night was black; only the lamp cast a feverish glow, like a subdued star among the flooded streets. The cold was in the damp, the terror in the darkness of the night.
I sat huddled alone in the shadowed entrance of an old apartment, trying to harbor myself from the cold. The rank smell from the gutters gnawed through the damp wind, thrashing at the scarf I coaxed around my face. A dark pool formed at the base of step, reflecting lewd light, like a dark-lashed glassy eye that watched the unaware; never hesitating to fill itself with knowledge gathered from the surrounds. I watched the snaking lines of water trickle towards the dark outline, like veins rippling towards a core chamber, desperately traveling, and never seeming to begin nor end. Like blood moving to the heart. But these veins on the pavement did not trickle out of the puddle, nor would they congeal as blood would. These veins would flow into one mass of darkness, only to fade with the coming of braver weather.
I tried to blind the gratuitous image from my mind, shifting my weight closer to the security of the wall, perched on the low doorstep. I fought away the compulsion in my eyelids, as they insisted on sinking to cover glassy eyes, long without the luxury of sleep. The rain continued to dress the naked street. For a moment, the sickly street lamp dipped and faded to a stagnant brown glow before dying out unceremonially. The ground moved from beneath me.
My hands found the leather of shoes as I struggled to rise to my feet. From behind, two glittery eyes regarded me from a height of six feet—eyes that seemed to be luminous even in the shadow that shrouded his entire body. The two eyes seemed to levitate, without a fleshy structure to suspend them, until I felt the edge of dark cloth catch against my cheek in the wind, and knew he had a body and soul.
He was like a transparent outline, cast in the darkness of his own aura—his long ebony trench coat, his gloved hands, the silent black scarf concealing his neck. As I rose from the ground, his visage became a little clearer as my height grew closer to his own. The curves of his lips moved slightly upwards. His voice was low and deep.
“Heavy rain” he murmured, awkwardly stepping sideward. His eyes flickered about the alcove, restless, unable to fix upon my face. My breath came at last.
“I never realized—” I began, smoothing down the crushed jacket weaved tightly about my tremulous body.
“I am not surprised.” He took sudden interest in the brick wall, a craft of stacked fragments iced together with sable mortar. “People don’t often see the point in time when the darkness arrives and departs. I suppose you don’t know where Feragus Avenue is?”
I shook my head. The area was not familiar to me. Dare I mention this to a stranger?
“You’re from elsewhere.” He whispered, finally looking at my face. “How does it feel to be discarded by friends in foreign territory? I know, you wonder how I know. Darkness cannot hide your luminous thoughts, don’t let it fool you—a cold night, is it not?” he began to remove his gloves, gingerly, as if he were peeling away his own skin, only to reveal long white fingers—bones latched to knuckles, knuckles hinged like a door to the hand. The hands buckled along the length of his torso as he slipped each of his coat buttons from their eyes.
“Please allow me.” He moved near, holding the inside of the coat to face me, the armholes invisible yet inevitable. My own arms slipped effortlessly into the gaping wells of the coat, a midnight darkness overtaking the whole length of my body. His hands lingered on my arms, a gentle grasp near to a caress. His encroachment failed to allow me to draw myself away from the tangible balminess. My flesh turned limp at the warmth of his breath on my exposed neck, at the irregularity of his breathing.
“My name is Val Tris—until we meet again.” His lips traced down the nape of my neck, sketching over the violently pounding pulse that betrayed my heart thrashing beneath fine ribs, a distressed intake of oxygen, a wild sensation flooding my dilated veins. He devoured my soft skin, over and over, encouraging numbing, tingling sensations all throughout my trembling body. An insatiable pressure of loveless intimacy fastened me to passion, yet I remained effortlessly inert.
Even in the ultimate darkness of closed eyes, I became sharply aware of flooding street, a drain clogged with debris—the inert lamp, the dark mass of liquid collecting at the base of the step. The trickling of the rain from the parapet.
His grip tightened about my body, his rampant kiss became forceful, ferocious in its intensity. In my throat there was emptiness, a shameless vault of darkness that refused to replenish my lungs. My chest tightened. Like razor stilettos, two ravenous spears from between his lips drove through my flesh—shooting blades into the fathomless vault of excruciation. My legs ran liquid; the twisted shadows drenched my mind like a blinding cloak of numbness. Cold hardness jarred my knees.
***
Of the remnants of the night there were only fragments. The puzzle of Night had been once more scattered for Day to piece together. But the rain never stopped, and the disapproving dim still lingered about the little world the English bottled as their own.
The sound was the restless pattering of the rain. I became aware of the chill that infested each of my limbs. I ached. Yet the responsiveness I owed myself was mislaid in some forgotten abyss of my mind. I gathered slight awareness of myself, yet my body could not push beyond that viscous web that embalmed me. I fell in and out of vulgar darkness, fighting for my senses.
The glare that edged through the slits between my lashes was insufferable. My hands groped for stability, support: I felt as upside-down as a Christmas pudding. My fingers experienced a substance not unlike hardened clag. It was dark: clods of clotted blood, patterned on the damp concrete. My neck throbbed menacingly. His trench coat, still draping off my shoulders, proved to be a comforting refuge for my eyes. The satin lining was smooth against my cheeks, the paper hooked in the interior pocket, hard. On its removal, I found it addressed to myself:
MISPLACED MORTAL
My hunger and bloodlust was far too unrestrainable for an immortal such as myself. I sincerely beg forgiveness if I seemed to flaunt my tendencies to you, deceiving you with unpredictable behaviour. My dear, this fate was meant to come upon you—my foresight predicted your oncoming evolution, as you were previously misplaced in this life.
Our clan is to meet again at 13 Feragus Avenue tonight at one—check a map for this location and I shall find you there.
Your immortal,
Val Tris
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Submission Name: untitled
