..... unfinished work .....
by Cristos DeFalme


He watched the thin white fingers of mist slowly creep along the ground and devour the scenery like a starving predator and he smiled inwardly at his simile, the harmless tendrils of fog being a predator, quite innocent compared to the real predators that hunted the seemingly endless supply of human cattle that populated this city of sorrow. This was a nightly ritual for him, crouching low against the time-worn walls of the crumbling abandoned building that had been scheduled for demolition nearly five years now. His almond shaped amber eyes slightly glowed in the faint illumination of the distantly placed streetlights that had not yet been consumed by the billowy haze. He let most of his weight rest on the balls of his feet, not wishing to miss an opportunity to feed because of lack of timing, but even so he could feel the rough brick against the flesh of his back.

His ears caught the soft clicking of high heels in the distance, the hurried pace conjuring a picture within his mind of an uncertain young lady, her worried eyes darting here and there, picturing unspeakable demons in the shadows. These images brought a small smile to his smooth marble white face and sharp canines glimmered in the light, not the teeth of a man, but of a carnivore. As he waited, a slight breeze raced by and stole a single piece of paper from the ground, tossing it high into the air. That cool wind would have made a mortal rub his arms to chase away the chill, but the only affect the wind had on him was to assault his senses with an abundance of perfume. He inhaled deeply and was rewarded with the soft scent of summer flowers, the sweet smell almost masking the fragrance that truly aroused him, inciting within his body an almost uncontrollable lust. He quickly became a creature of need, wanting to desperately quench the burning that consumed him from within, and his stomach growled with frustration, citing numerous missed meals. He became aware of her heartbeat, fluttering within her chest like a butterfly trapped in a glass Mason jar. She was frightened, and heeding her reactions he calmed himself enough to find the reason for her fears. Waiting, he soon became aware of more footfalls, their pace quick but calm, seeming to be pursuing her, and he recognized four distinct sets of movement as she appeared in his line of vision.

He pulled back, not because of shock, but due to instinctive animal reaction, human habits dying slowly, and then laughing, realizing that she couldn't see him shrouded in the ebon blackness of nightfall. He pursed his lips and rested his chin in his palm as he studied her form, pushing back the brown locks of hair that fell into his eyes, he admired the firm muscle tone of her legs, the soft bob of hair that fell to her shoulders, and her brown doe eyes, wide with fright. He eased forward, tensing muscles to pounce upon her like a great cat, but his movement halted when he saw her pursuers, the dregs of the city, and possibly of humanity.

They were Skulkers, the organized violence that ruled the underworld of this city. Youths not more than seventeen years old, they all wore the flashy orange and red colors that marked them for who they were. They skirted in and out of the shadows, laughing and quickening their pace when she saw them. He slid a little farther back into the shadows that dotted the roof as they passed by, thinking of how they reminded him of the jackals that paced the pens of the African wildlife exhibit in the downtown zoo, yes he thought, human jackals.

They each wielded blades, long slivers of moonlight in the hands of possessed forms, their madness already determined. He had seen much of their handiwork, and weighing the choices of food against curiosity, he found that curiosity won out, and so he followed them, quiet as a shadow, his form silhouetted against the lamplight. From his higher viewpoint he sat with his back braced against a soot covered chimney, languidly stretching as the show unfolded below him. They had cornered her as she had pressed herself against the walls of an alleyway, and now they slowly tortured her mind, moving around her in a slow lazy circle, feinting in and out with their weapons, drawing small screams of terror from her. He watched as she pleaded with them, offering the money in her purse for her life, and receiving only a braying laughter in response. She clutched her arms around her, as if this simple gesture would erase the horror that her eyes were showing her and he knew she was finished, and he was without caring. His emotional part having died a long time ago. What did he care if humans slaughtered themselves? It was more of a cover for his feeding.

They continued to move in a semi-circle around her, and as she turned her back to one of the assailants he seized the opportunity, swinging his fist at the juncture that was formed by the meeting of the base of her skull and the top of her spine. At the brutal contact her eyes glazed over as she fell to her knees, the wet asphalt tearing her pantyhose and gashing her knees. He blinked his eyes as puddles of the crimson formed on the ground, slowly snaking into the gutter, and he cursed under his breath at the waste of blood, thinking that if a mother were here she would have told them not to waste food and would have cited all the starving children in the world. The young woman started to fall forward, and one of the youths reached out and grabbed her by the hair stopping her fall. She regained her senses quickly enough to scream for help, but everyone present knew that there would be no rescue for her tonight as her shouts echoed forlornly down the street. They dragged her deeper into the alleyway she had taken cover in, and he wondered if the walls would be red when they finished, and not from the brick-like material of their makeup.

He stretched out onto his stomach, resting his chin on his hands and letting half of his face hang over the edge of the building. His eyes pierced the darkness, and he could see through the gloom that they were holding her down. His ears could hear the faint popping sound as each button of her blouse was slowly torn off, and he watched as they took one of their blades and skillfully cut away her white cotton bra and panties leaving her nude. She had regained some of her composure and was kicking and scratching, trying to escape from a hopeless position. Her struggles lasted for only a second, and then one of the thugs formed a fist and struck her full in the face, splitting her lip and causing the blood to stream from her nose. Taking advantage of her shock, they pinned her down to the concrete, one to an arm while one held her head still and the last parted her legs with such force that he heard her pelvis crack, and he shuddered, though from imagined pain or pleasure one could not be sure. The teen between her legs undid his jeans and brutally pushed into her, and she screamed as he penetrated her, pushing her legs into her face, and he was reminded of the sound a deer makes as it realizes it's lifetime is ended. They each took turns with her as she became submissive, giggling as they raped her repeatedly. Watching he knew that she didn't lose consciousness until they rolled her over and took her like they would a man, forcing her legs apart and cruelly forcing themselves deep into her virgin ass until her eyes rolled back into her head showing the whites and her mouth fell open, her tongue dangling loosely for a second before one of the enterprising young men took advantage of her open mouth and filled it with his length, slowly working her head back and forth. When they had sated their needs they rolled her onto her back once again and took turns carving graffiti into her flesh, just like they would use spray paint on a wall. Finishing they picked up her purse and walked out of the alleyway, readjusting their clothes and making their blades disappear without a backwards glance at the broken figure behind them. His inner clock told him that she had lasted forty five minutes, and he wondered how much pain she had endured before entering another state of mind. He sat and watched for a few more moments, the rising and falling of her chest as she drew in each ragged breath, and then he heard the sound of more scavengers, and he turned his head away as the rats descended upon the body, nibbling at the flesh of a soul to weak to cry out in pain or disgust.

He stood up, casually brushing the dust from his black jeans and tee-shirt, his back to the scene of the violence. He looked himself over to make sure he had removed all the dirt, black was best to hunt in, before walking to the other edge of the building and reaching the edge he peered down, staring into a thirty foot chasm formed by the spacing of the buildings. He lifted his arms above his head like a star greeting his fans and gracefully stepped over the edge, free falling the distance and landing on the balls of his feet, silence in motion. Rising from his crouch, he started off towards his favorite club, the one hidden behind the large red doors that was charmingly named Hell. His walk was slow and relaxed, knowing that there was no predator greater on the food chain than him in this hunting ground, and even at his pace it only took him twenty minutes to reach his destination, his ears picking up the music from a block away, smelling the sweat dripping off hot young bodies twisting and turning, lost in the pull of the music. He walked by the matched pair of massive dark skinned bouncers that stood attentively in front of the doors without a word of recognition, and pushed open the door only to be greeted by a blast of furnace hot air to the face, but just like the cold wind outside, the heat had no effect upon him.

Just footsteps into the door, the music called out to him, it's wail burrowing to the farthest corners of his mind, the scream of the guitar slicing through his reason like piano wire through flesh. He quickly lost himself to the pulsating beat, he and the music battling for possession of his will, and he knew that he could lose himself here, this would be the only public place that he could relax, where he seemed normal, at least compared to the rest of the crowd. Pushing aside a few couples that danced into his way, he effectively cleared a path to the bar, and leaning towards it he ordered a rum and Coke and was rewarded for his efforts by a watered down drink, but then again, he hadn't been drunk in over three hundred years.

He danced over to one of the black leather couches that lined the walls of the club, sprawling down onto the cigarette burned leather, propping one foot over the arm, tapping it against the air keeping time to the beat. He let his attention wander as he scanned the room, his amber eyes hidden behind the Oakley Razorblades he wore, seeing everything but remembering little in detail. He came back to reality suddenly as a lithe form straddled him, wrapping long sun drenched legs around his waist. He stared at the brunette who had pushed her face into his, pouting lips layered with both red and black lipstick. She smiled at him, and he slid his drink onto a small wooden table, it's scarred surface bearing many promises of undying love. With both of his hands free, he rested them on her full hips, and she slowly began to rock back and forth, reaching between them to stroke his manhood. She leaned forward and whispered into his ear, her voice and soft breath like a cool breeze on a sweltering day.
"I smell your soul," she breathed, running her hand over his chest, fully enjoying herself. He smiled as she pulled back, and said in a whisper, learning a long time ago that the softer you spoke in a crowded, noise infested place, the more the recipient strained to hear you.
"You must be mistaken, I haven't had a soul for more than three hundred years." She giggled at the thought as he cupped her chin in his hands, saying, "I'm dead serious."

He used one of his hands to push the Oakleys down his nose and focused his eyes on hers. She tried to squirm free once the connection was made, but his one hand kept her from jerking her head away, and he quickly forced his way into her mind, letting his influence flow through his mental touch. He loved the way her green eyes filled with pain as he worked through her every thought, sampled her every memory, just as a shark devouring it's prey. He knew she wanted to pull away, run to some dark hidden corner, and her body twitched slightly, but he had too much control over her by now, not allowing her to do anything that was not within his wishes. He used his thumb to wipe away one of the tears from her face, becoming excited at the fear her mind generated. In this way he was similar to other predators, in that they could all sense the emotions of their prey. He leaned in and pressed his lips to her throat, feeling her pulse race under her skin. Using his tongue he traced the outline of her carotid artery and he was pleased with her shudder.
"You know I could snuff out that shallow thing you call a life," he mocked, moving his mouth up to cruelly kiss her on her bottom lip.