I move silently through the night, uninterested in causing a spectacle in this fabricated world of the affluent and self important.  I rarely come to this side of town, the pompous fools flaunting their wealth and success, a bitter reminder of everything I don’t possess and know I should.  Their arrogance is galling, and I’d make a meal out of them all, stealing their riches if only given the opportunity.  But they tend to run in packs, and I’m not ready to be run out of this city quite yet.  Not to mention, the blood of the aristocratic has always seemed a bit thin for my tastes.  No, I prefer the rich, thick blood of someone who really lives, really savors their spark of life and to find one with both…well, that’s usually too much to ask for. 

Lights from the recent holiday--which must have been Christmas--still adorn the streets and I shy away from the manufactured symbols of merriment.  Instead I opt for the deeper shadow of a large courtyard that marks the entrance of what I’m sure is a five star hotel or palace to be more accurate.  I do my best to make myself unnoticed in this little corner of excess as I watch the highly decorated sheep pass by, eyes scanning each one for signs of weakness that I can exploit.  Perhaps tonight I’ll find myself a real meal ticket, at least for awhile anyway.

I turn to look at the ritzy hotel to see if there’s anyone worth my time emerging from the massive doorway and freeze.  My eyes widen as I look over the grand structure when I suddenly realize I know exactly what the interior of it looks like…even though I’ve never stepped foot inside.  In my mind I can see the large three-level lobby adorned in golds and deep reds with a grand staircase that could have been ripped straight out of a movie set.  I see the large marble fire place on the top level that I know must be roaring tonight with gas flames, perfectly simulating a true wood burning fire, and I can practically feel the warmth.  Without looking I know there is a huge Christmas tree that will stand elaborately decorated until after New Years Eve just a few days away.  The memory is so complete, the image so perfect…I know instantly it’s not mine.
 
My eyes flash with silver and I barely maintain my human mask as a low growl emanates from my chest when I realize the memories belong to him.  The body I now inhabit.  The one who had everything and didn’t even know it.  The one who wasn’t shut out in the cold unwanted, alone and abandoned.  The one who wasn’t a shattered shell with a black hole inside that’s eaten up everything he could have been.  The one I’ve shut out to survive, memories serving as nothing more than idle fantasies to taunt me with what I could have had.
 
I growl softly again and don’t even notice the woman who shies away from me, pulling her small child along.  No, my eyes are locked on the gilded doors and wide open courtyard filled with opulence and I consider busting my way inside, turning the entire fairytale into a bloodbath.  My nails bite into my palms as I take a more predatory stance and glower at the self-important fools who pass by, not even knowing the danger they’re in.  I could reach out and snap any neck, rip out every throat of every person who walks by and their complete ignorance is infuriating.
 
The bloodlust rises inside me and I swear the next elitist socialite that crosses my path will meet their gruesome death at my hands, torn to shreds only to feed my rage. My mouth practically waters in anticipation as I can hear a heartbeat, feel the blood running through an unwitting body as my new victim comes closer and closer.  I can feel that my features are about to shift, human mask dropping away to reveal the true demon beneath the surface, and I have to hold back my impatience.  I run my tongue over my teeth that will soon become razor sharp fangs when I finally see him…and blink in surprise.
 
I don’t see his face, this down trodden figure that seems ridiculously out of place as he shuffles out of the fancy surroundings.  I watch as he comes closer, faded red ball cap curled at the bill so much that the shadows obscure a face that almost seems…familiar.  My eyes narrow slightly, trying to read his features but his head is lowered; shoulders tense as he crosses the court yard and I can’t make out his face.

My eyes run over him as he seems to wander without purpose, cut adrift from the world around him.  I examine him in more detail, taking in the worn, brown, suede leather coat and how he buries his hands in the pockets, pulling it tight around him as if he just wants to huddle away from the vibrant atmosphere around him.  I notice how his faded, dirty jeans seem at least a size too big, even though he’s worn them so much the cuffs are thread bare and the knees are almost worn through.  I continue to study him as he finally reaches the sidewalk and turns away from me, and I can’t help but follow.  His sharp contrast to the richness around him draws me in and pulls me along, and for the moment…I don’t even question it.

I step out from under the awning of the massive building I’m staying in, glancing up and up at the multitude of windows, before shaking my head and stepping out into the crowd of people. Tug my worn jacket around me, the smooth press of leather under my fingertips comforting against the fierce wind. I turn the collar up and duck my face into it, hat pulled low as I stride into the streets. It’s late but there are still countless people in my way.

In the city that relives its sorrow daily, they pretend the pain doesn’t exist just like I do, but they can hide in plain sight. I can’t. Everything about me is a contrast. I walk out of luxury as if it’s my birthright, but I don’t belong. Not in faded blue jeans with a heart just as worn. Stopped caring the moment my world lost meaning. I race with the same determination, maybe even desperation, that I always have but once out of the car, I am nothing, just a hollowed shell hidden behind the well crafted persona.

I spout the company line and let what everyone expects to see flow from within. I’m a persona even when I argue against it. Even when I was anything BUT for the longest time; genuine, easily relatable, the reason why everyone liked me. I stop at a street corner and peer up at the grey sky and wonder if it’ll snow, ignoring the jostling I receive from people hurrying home.

Home…I left the snowy fields of North Carolina for the bleak dankness of New York. The sense of warmth and family driving me into the arms of a city still reeling from its own wounds. A huge gaping hole in the middle of the city everyone ignores as they walk by. The irony of it causes me to laugh softly into my jacket collar. Do they even remember? Do they even care?

It’s all an illusion, this sense of humanity that floats around me. Brush shoulders with suit clad strangers who don’t even look up. Catch the gaze of a brunette talking on the phone, business call to Japan maybe? Even at this late hour I wouldn’t be surprised. Nothing but brief flickers of life amid the implacable grind of the earth’s rotation. Shake my head and watch my feet pass over the concrete step by step. The crunch of Pumas against the pebbled concrete, and I haven’t stared at my feet in years. Not since I learned the worth of my name and how I was to always be proud. I was proud. Three years old and I couldn’t have been prouder to have my last name.

Gusts of wind flutter from numerous taxis that are still about even this late at night and the crowd thins as I head deeper into the city. Racetrack, town, or big city, they’re all the same in the gloom. Quiet, desolate, nothing in sight except for the shadowed figures of buildings and something else--felt more than seen--lurking, waiting for its chance to strike.

Look both ways before crossing a street, and wouldn’t it be the perfect irony if I were to die tonight? Would it matter? I struggle in this world alone and wonder why I try, why it matters. Step across puddles of sludge and grime and my scuffed worn shoes make a soft scritch-scritch against the pavement. Balance on the lip of the curb and stare at the puddles of inky yellow light arrayed before me.

The whine of an oncoming car causes me to shy up onto the sidewalk and see nothing but the dark glare of two eyes peering out of a dented Mitsubishi. So close…as I watch it speed off into the night. Desire too weak, instinct to survive too strong, for me to take that final step, that final moment before I could rejoin all those I love. My feet still linger on the curb, precariously balanced, my life in my own hands, but the corner’s not busy enough, not sharp enough. Need someplace better, need to time it just right. What’s beyond life? Is it the heaven I’ve always believed in or the dark emptiness that’s always been hinted at?

Gaze down at the smudged white lines that could mark the boundary between life and death. Irony? In tenfold. Opportunity? I’m in New York, what better place? But what if by some twist of fate it’s not severe enough, just not enough. What if I’m left in a wheelchair? Paralyzed and unable to do the thing I was born to do? Shudder and step off the curb, making my way to the other side but not without eying the matching one with suspicion.

Half in, half out of a circle of weak amber light, I peer down the street and the comparison is striking. Weak halos cover the streets in small arcs ahead of me; bitter reminders of all the angels already taken from my life. Taken away before their time…. I wonder, if they’re looking down at me now, what they think of this man they once loved.

I stop under the light of one and pull my hand from my jacket. Turn it among the rays of heaven floating down and watch the play of “hallowed” light across my skin. Skin weathered and worn by time and the work I’ve done under the bodies of cars--over women’s bodies--and it never ceases to amaze me, what I do to myself. One thing after another and I wonder if it will ever end.

I try so hard to imagine small delicate hands tracing over mine, hands equally as worn, squeezing and giving reassurance like so many times before or those newborn ones, eager to explore and learn. But it’s nothing but a fool’s dream. Now I hold my hands before me and stare at the curved fingers and calloused palms. The shapes and shadows cast under this golden light turn my hands into curved claws, seeking flesh to tear. Enough. I came this way to forget. I shove them back into my pockets and quickly begin walking again.

I follow him a few paces behind, then draw closer as he doesn’t seem to notice me at all, so lost in his own world of obvious misery.  As I get closer, almost close enough to reach out and touch him, I can feel his despair wash over me, coating me in his anguish, and I lick my lips, drinking it down like fine wine from days gone by.  I watch as it seems every step, every move, is almost too painful for him to bear and I can’t help but wonder what great tragedy has befallen this familiar stranger.  My anticipation grows as his projected emotions almost engulf me in their intensity and I know I’ve finally found my fun for the evening.  Pain and fear, sadness and misery, lust and desire, any strong, powerful emotion only seems to make the blood more potent…and the misery coming off of him is the sweetest I’ve ever felt.

I can’t wait to taste it.
 
Part of me wants to stop him right now and drag him to the nearest alley, pin him against the filthy buildings and drink him down slowly, savoring every single drop until he’s a crumpled heap at my feet. 
 
And I almost do.
 
I actually reach out to grab him but then pull back suddenly when he stops of his own accord.  Melt into the shadows against the unlit building at my side and watch him curiously as he pulls his hands out of his pockets and seems to stare at them in wonder.  Once again I try to get a better look at him, as he seems mesmerized by visions only he can see, but the shadows continue to shroud his face that seems more familiar by the minute. My eyes run over his lean form and in the faint yellow light I finally catch sight of the reddish locks that poke from beneath his hat, curling over his ear and suddenly I realize I know him…or at least, he knew him, and I wrack my memory to put the pieces together.

I move a little closer, the memory right at the surface and I know I need something, just one more clue, and all the pieces will fall together, revealing the hidden picture that’s just out of reach.  Inch my way closer, but then stop quickly as he shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to head down the darkened street once more.  I hesitate for a moment before starting after him again, this game of cat and mouse only serving to heighten my desire and curiosity.

My steps, hollow, dull and echoing, are unvarying just as the buildings that pass beside me. A flash of memory hits me anew and I hunch further into myself. Memories of a protective presence always watching over me flow through my already broken mind, with playful banter and loving care always showered on me.  She’d hate what I’m doing to myself now.

I count the angel lights. One, two, three…. Every moment I spend within them seems to make my skin burn with sense memories I don’t want. Small grasping fingers tug at my hands, at my hair; the warmth of a growing body held in my arms as I coo over her.

I’m ragged and I know most wouldn’t recognize me for who I really am; I prefer it that way. Want to keep the state of my despair secret from all those unconcerned in the matter. Family…more torture than comfort. They try to ease my pain in their own ways but I don’t want any part of it.

They don’t understand me and it hurts to be reminded of that. They mean well, I just can’t deal with it. Now I enjoy the silence more than ever. A respite from the never ending noise surrounding me and a way to lose myself in the cottony silence of solitude, nothing more than my animals and the soft sounds of the land settling before the start of another weary day.

I continue to stalk him, moving silently through the shadows as I stay against the dark store fronts, watching as he steps in and out of the pools of light from overhead.  He shifts his hands, adjusting his jacket, and I catch a glimpse of pale skin that actually rivals that of my own, untouched by the sun for just over two years now.  My eyes lock on the exposed flesh, hunger rising again and I draw closer again, unable to tear my eyes away from the pulse I can feel as I focus on him and him alone.  The world drops away as I can hear the blood rushing in his veins and I trail my gaze over him again when suddenly the last piece of the puzzle finally locks in place.
 
I stop short in my pursuit of him as he continues to drag his feet and I try to wrap my mind around what I’ve just seen.  The pale column of his neck, the soft dusting of reddish stubble at his jaw, and the even paler mark on his skin.  The mark that’s burned in my memories.  The burn.  Holy fuck.
 
It’s Junior.
 
It’s fucking Dale Earnhardt Jr.
 
I stand there, stunned, for a long moment as I watch his form shrink in the distance and a slow smile curls my lips.  I’ve hit the jackpot tonight.  I know this one.  Or at least he did.  And this is going to be so damn easy.  I run my tongue slowly across my teeth and suddenly I’m in motion, moving as a blur to human eyes as I hurry to catch him.  I stop, right before I’m on him, and start to follow my meal ticket once more.  
 
My eyes locked on him, I let my mind do something I never do.  I open myself to the memories of what I was, what he was.  I unlock the secret corner of my mind and it all comes rushing back.  Suddenly it’s all crystal clear.  His easy trusting way.  The boyish smile crumbling under vast devastation all in the space of a day.  His complete naivety to the real world and his immense fortune that rivaled even my own.
 
Yes, I’ve found my way out.  I’ve found my escape from this pathetic existence I’ve barely survived day after day.  This one will be easy.  He’s probably got a wad of cash on him, trusting fool that he is.  Hell, I bet everything I need to fund me for the next century is up in his hotel, locked away on a computer or scribbled on a note easy to decipher.  I want it all now.  I want to feed and steal and take it all right now.  But as my eyes run over him once more a strange curiosity fills me.  An emotion I haven’t felt since my turning.  
 
I care.
 
Oh, I don’t mean that I care about him…because no matter what he will die tonight.  No, I want to know why.  I want to know what hollowed out this once strong creature.  I want to know what finally broke the unbreakable.  Not because he means anything…he’s only just another meal after all, but because the image before me doesn’t match the one in my head.  
 
And I want to know why.
 
So I continue to stalk him, content to see where he leads me. 

I come to a place not many would expect me to frequent. Decrepit with rust falling off it like leaves, no signs, no markings to indicate this is anything more than an abandoned warehouse managing to escape demolition by chance. It’s shady. It reeks of half hidden crime. Perfect.

Under the signs of age and neglect are traces of red and black paint, an indication of what the place once was but lost to memory now. Sometimes, in the distant back rooms you can catch a hint of something on the air. It reminds me of fish but to others I’ve asked, it’s always something different. Something lost and precious.

The entrance is shadowed, only murky edges looming out of the shadows, then a few steps down to the door of the club. Don’t peer into the corners of the small entranceway, focus on getting into the club. This place is mostly word of mouth but even then that’s selective.

Open the door and head inside. Eyes quickly adjusting to the interior, only slightly dimmer than the outside, and as usual the place seems to be empty, shadowed booths hiding their occupants, not to mention the upper floor. Gunpowder, smoke, whiskey, and the hum of music throbbing through the floor. Old leather, from the booths most likely, warm and musty mixed with the cloying smells of cologne. The glint of lights off glasses and tables, sometimes even off the jewelry and sparkles hanging off shifting, flowing bodies. There’s the bar pressed back against the far wall, through a maze of booths and dead ends. I got lost the first time here and the memory almost brings a smile to my face.

It was the end of the season from hell…and I escaped into the anonymity that only New York could offer. Walking aimlessly, no one knowing where I was, who I was. Grief on display for the whole world to see and then, then I was reclaiming it as my own. Street to street, sight upon sight till on a whim I’d pulled open the door with the familiar colors of red and black. The moment I stepped inside I felt at peace…and I’ve been coming back ever since.

I glance to my left and see the usual gyrating crowd of shadowed people on the floor, oblivious to anything but their need and the low throb of the music. Strobe lights highlight one now; pierced nose, dark hair, and then another; vibrant red hair with equally bright clothes. Male, female, they all merge into one collage of mismatched pieces. Style and taste don’t matter here, only the goal does.

Wind my way through the maze, I know like the hallways of my home, back to the bar. I hear snatches of conversations, disjointed words out of the hum around me as I pass through. I signal the barkeep and order what I’ve come to term as salvation. A bitter twist how what would be a vice is my only savior.

I can’t help but smile as I see him enter the club and wonder if he even knows that he’s taking his life into his own hands.  Humans aren’t the only creatures that haunt this part of town, this club in particular, and I move a little closer to him, letting my presence alone ward off would be hunters as I silently stake my claim.

Junior is mine.  All mine.  And I won’t let anyone else interfere. 

I follow a few paces behind, never taking my eyes off of him as I nod to the oversized doorman.  Even the glorified bouncer knows better than to mess with my kind, and I’ve never been so much as asked for a cover. Apparently he must frequent this place as well because the hulking Neanderthal doesn’t seem to bother with him either. I close the distance between us, knowing he’s in his own little world as he weaves his way through this maze of a club, bypassing the strobing dance floor and keeping to the shadows--an act that is in complete contrast with the image of him in my head.

Head bowed, he makes his way slowly to the darkened bar and as he signals the bartender I take that opportunity to scan the club, instantly picking out the less than human patrons and once again make it perfectly clear that he is my prey.  No one will take my prize from me this night.  Once I’m certain that we will be left in peace, I follow after him and I can’t help but smile as he does a fair job of warding off the human would be admirers, male and female alike, as effectively as I have the demonic…almost as if he knows tonight belongs to us.

Tuck myself in a secluded table, watching the humanity swirl out on the dance floor, peppered by the flickering lights. I look for a scuff in the shape of a 3 on the polished wooden surface but don’t see it. Don’t think it’s my favorite table. Can never be sure. The place shifts layouts as often as I come by. I only happened to ever find the same one twice. Never more.

It’s all so detached, so foreign to me now. Life swirls around me, trying to envelop me like it once did. I know I could make the effort to lose myself again but I prefer not to. I’m not content with this new existence I’ve carved out for myself but it’s survivable.

Every day hurts to an untold degree and the moments when I can achieve silence are few and far between. But here, in this club, it all seems so much easier, silence seems to separate them from me as if I’m no longer a part of their world but then when was I ever?

I sit here, dark shadows keeping me hidden, as I nurse my glass of Jack Daniels, savoring the burn as it winds its way down my throat and into my system. A few adventurous club goers wander by and I turn them down one by one with a shake of my head. I’m not fit for company tonight. More over, I’m not fit for humanity tonight, lost more in the shadowy world of the dead than anything else. I live with their ghosts talking and laughing in my ears. I almost wish I could join them.

I tilt my head back and gaze into the darkness above me, losing myself in the swirl of the dark music and half heard words in a state of not thinking and merely existing.

A slow grin crosses my face as I watch him slip through the darkness and into a large circular booth, obviously meant for more than one person.  He slides all the way to the back and I can’t help but wonder if he’s chosen something so large out of habit, usually having a large entourage, or if he just wants to lose himself in the large space, hiding in plain sight.  I tend to think the latter as he practically curls in on himself and I slip into a smaller booth a few tables away to watch him. 

I make myself comfortable, reaching into my coat for my cigarettes and light one as I study him from afar.  I watch as he barely raises his head, even when a scantily clad girl tries to join him and he sends her away with the practiced ease of someone who’s played the game for far too long.  As she leaves I see him take a long pull of his drink--Jack Daniel’s that I can smell from here--and it hits me that there’s something familiar about that drink and how he holds the glass, but…I can’t seem to remember what.  Someone I knew used to…. 

I cut off the memories that try to creep into my mind with a shake of my head.  It doesn’t really matter what the image reminds me of, especially since he’ll be dead before the night is done.  Slowly exhale a long stream of smoke, watching it curl up into the darkness of the club, reflecting the neon flashes from the dance floor.  Then I smile and lean back in the seat, lighting a new cigarette off the last and just observe, trying to work out the rest of the puzzle and match this empty creature to the one engraved in my mind.

He’s in his own world of misery that much is obvious, and the more I study him, the more he seems to surprise me.  I would have expected him to be hammered by now with the multiple glasses of whiskey he’s ordered, but from my vantage point he still seems to be stone cold sober.  I examine his every move and marvel over how controlled he is, even when his eyes reveal that his careful façade is beginning to crack.  Yet he still finds a way to hold himself together, and I doubt that most who see him even have a clue as to the depth of his anguish.

I begin to light another cigarette but pause when I see him reach for something other than his mostly full glass of alcohol.  He shifts in his seat and pulls his wallet from his back pocket and my eyes narrow as his hands seem to tremble slightly.  It’s not enough for anyone who’s not looking for it to notice but for me the tremor is unmistakable.  I watch curiously as he bows his head and pulls out what seems to be a well worn news paper clipping and the angst radiating from him seems to ratchet up a notch.  Whatever it is, it has his heart pounding and I lean forward in anticipation, wondering what this new development will bring.

I drain the last of my whiskey, maybe my fourth one. Don’t plan on getting completely drunk, I haven’t since that day. Reach for my wallet and I pull it out, looking at the pictures there. Friends, family, love, life, tucked away into leather, out of sight but always there. Flip through all the happy moments; first win with Daddy hugging me, Martin winning. Chuckle, god, it’s been a few years but it still feels like yesterday. The temporary happiness fading as I come upon pictures of the girls and Kelley. Nieces I’ll never get to see grow up. A sister I won’t see age gracefully. A folded piece of paper…seeing it shouldn’t hurt this much, this small piece of nothing that somehow means everything. Tucked away at the back, almost feel like it should be up front. Heartache front and center while happiness fades into the past.

Sharp pains burning through my chest and I haven’t even read the words. But I’ve had them memorized for weeks.

I can’t…I won’t…flip it shut with a slap and shove it back into my pocket. Flash of white, flash of her face, flash of tubes everyone and consoling voices. No…no…no!

Push from the table. Shove past the giggling couple with their hands all over each other. Ignore their cries of outrage. They don’t know the true depths of pain. How can they? It’s the perfect story. A nightmare I wish I could wake from.

Stop at the stairs; look down at the seething mass of humanity and panic curls through me. I don’t want to go down. I’m panting softly, hands curled so tight together I can feel my nails, sharp pinpoints of pain barely grounding me. Scanning the upper floor urgently, I need out. I needIneedIneed…

Weaving my way through, snagging and catching on shoulders, bare and clothed. Distant drag of something against my leg, flick eyes back to meet the petulant glares of interrupted lovers. Clink of glasses, beeping of a phone, hushed whispers…too much, too much….

Door, door… there! Slam against the door, sting in my palms and I don’t fucking care. Fumble at the knob, where the fuck is the air? Twist and I’m out, gasping for air I don’t feel….

Voices in my ear… stagger further from the music, dig my feet into the ground, stumble up stairs, further, shove through another door…, drop to my knees, gravel imprinting itself into my skin even through denim, cover my head and press it to the ground, trembling as anguish tears itself from my throat and memories consume me.

My hand freezes, cigarette halfway to my lips, as he stumbles quickly from the booth as if the devil itself was on his heels.  I start to follow him, thinking he might be slipping from my grasp, but when he climbs the stairs I know I don’t need to rush.  There’s only one way down from the roof and everyone I might need to worry about knows that I’ve already claimed him as mine.  He’ll be safe on his own for a bit.  Right now I just want to know what has him so spooked.

I slip out of my smaller booth with ease and move closer to his, looking to see if he’s left any clue to what sent him away with his heart pounding a rapid staccato in his chest.  I don’t see anything at first but I’m drawn even closer, wanting to learn more about my prey, to see the world through his eyes.  Slide into the booth and pick up his half empty glass, raising it to my lips to smell the potent whiskey.  The scent is familiar somehow, deep in the back of my mind, and I linger over it for a moment before finally tilting the glass, needing a taste.

But it’s all wrong, bland, lacking the rich flavor in my mind.  Normally alcohol is one of the few things I can still enjoy, the stronger the better.  But this evokes a memory long forgotten and the taste is just too wrong.  Shake my head and push the glass away.  This isn’t getting me anywhere.  Start to push out of the large booth but then I stop when something catches my eyes.  A small folded piece of newspaper, carelessly discarded on the seat.

He must have forgotten it.  It must have fallen out of his pocket.  Either way…maybe this is the final piece of the puzzle I’ve been looking for.  Turn the folded newsprint in my hand and slowly open it up, spreading it out on the table and my eyes quickly scan the article. 

October 15, 2006

Kelley Earnhardt Elledge dies from injuries sustained in crash

There was an accident, October 10, 2006.  A Stephen Miller, age 16, lost control of his car and slammed into a Chevy Tahoe, pinning it against a street light and over a gas main.  The young man and his girlfriend, Stacy Howard, age 16, were unhurt but the children in the Tahoe, Karsyn, age 6 and Kennedy, age 11 months, were killed on impact.  The mother, Kelley Earnhardt Elledge, age 34, was rushed to Charlotte Memorial with third degree burns covering most of her body.  She died leaving behind a husband, Jimmy Elledge, age 36, and a brother, Dale Earnhardt Jr, age 32.  I look over the rest of the clipping that shows pictures of the girls and times for the memorial services and then crumple it in my hand. 

Meaningless.

Completely meaningless, I think as I toss the crumpled paper to the side.  People die every day.  What’s the point in carrying around reminders of what you already know?  No matter.  He won’t need to worry about them much longer…not when he’ll be joining them before the night is out.

It starts as a whisper and soon grows to a roar. Words swirling around me, a multitude of voices I knew, voices I loved. Desperation tinges some, loss already tinges others. Accusation rings harsh in his voice as he corners me against the far wall…

It washes over me…hospital cafeteria superimposed over reality…. Push up and stagger but soon drop to the gravel once more…back to something solid, have no idea what, lean back…head thumps against the cold metal….

“Who gave you the right over her death? I’m her freaking HUSBAND! …fucked up childhood damaged you more than you’re worth."

Slam hand back against the metal and shove upwards, whirling to face a voice and a memory far gone…anger… grief hidden behind it. There’s no defense, never could be. Alone, always alone…

Gravel grinds under my feet as I whirl and make for the door, steps suddenly steady again. Only one thought in my mind. OUT!

Down the stairs just like I was up, blurs of dark walls, nothing passing through my mind but making my way out. Shoving through seething humanity, it’s nothing but annoyance and more irritation as dancers have spilled out into the maze. Disgruntled party goers, random strangers, lovers, idiots, fucking don’t care. Drunk laughter, wandering hands, staggering steps mingled with indignant cries, all nothing to me. It’s their night on the town, it’s my despair and they won’t…won’t make it their own. Shove an over aggressive small dark haired man back into the crowd. Last obstacle and I’m gone.

Strides sure as the ground dissolves under me block after block, what I lingered over before flies past in quick snatches of cracked concrete and cascading light.  Reach the hotel and designer, polished glass reflects me but I don’t look. Can’t look. Smear the reflection with my hand, the surface colder than the chill I feel within, and enter this monolith that’s my home for however long I want it to be. Steel and stone, bones and flesh; together they both make marvels. It’s not the looks, not the structure, it’s what resides within that gives anyplace identity and warmth. Empty shells are what’s left otherwise, empty shells like me when purpose and love are sucked away.

I felt his anxiety even before I saw him come rushing down the stairs.  Stumbling, pushing his way through the club desperately.  One soul, lost to panic, amidst a sea of humanity who never even saw him.

But I did.

He’s like a shining beacon to me, this icon of despair and pain that leads me back to the glistening hotel where I first found him.  I pause in the courtyard, watching him as he bolts inside and I know I won’t be welcome past the doors.  But it’s not my demonic nature that bars my way.  Not this time.  No, this is a public establishment, and there is no mystical barrier that locks me out, no need for a personal invitation to grant my entrance.  This barrier is one of “class” and “status” that I no longer possess.
 
But that won’t stop me tonight.
 
The gates of heaven or hell couldn’t keep me from this magnificent prey.  He will be mine, and he will be mine tonight.  Lick my lips as he makes for the stairs and I swear I can almost taste his blood on my tongue.  I will conquer what still remains of this once mighty Earnhardt, and I will revel in the spoils. 
 
Take one look at the doorman glowering in my direction and ignore him completely, my eyes locked only on my intended.  I watch as he climbs the grand stair case and once he reaches the landing, that I know leads to an elevator; I realize my chance is now.
 
Without hesitation I make use of my inhuman speed and fly after him like a demon possessed, leaving the large wannabe bouncer behind, wondering where I’ve gone.  I take the stairs two at a time, my senses focused on one and only one and I catch his scent, easily following after him as I see him slip into a waiting elevator.  Push myself to the limit, even as I feel my long coat flaring out behind me, and slide through the doors as they start to close.
 
I stop short, staring at him in the harsh fluorescent light and wonder if he’ll even take notice of me.  A brief glance is all I receive and I move to the back of the elevator and continue to study him as he presses the number to his floor.  
 
Does he know me?  Surely not.  Surely he’d have said something because the entire world knows that I’m dead.  They just don’t know that I’ve become a walking corpse.  Eyes run over him, blatantly studying him as he stands with his back to me and I once again catch sight of his neck and the pale white scar that symbolizes his cheating death.  Pity tonight won’t be the same.

His gaze burns into my skin and I shift awkwardly in response. Please tell me it’s not a fan. I came here to be anonymous, not be reminded of my “storied” lineage. He doesn’t come closer and I’m used to his type of scrutiny. I shift and lean against the wall of the elevator, smooth silver scratched by millions, the railing pressing a belt loop into my skin. I can see him in the left side of my vision and I take the time to study him. He’s an odd contrast to the surroundings but so am I. He wears a floor length coat, scratched and nicked in places, long hair that doesn’t look right on him, dark scruff on his face and a worn look about him. Even with all of that dampening, his presence radiates and fills the small space.

Few people have the ability to commandeer a room by just entering it. My daddy was one and there was another but he…he was swallowed by the world, never to come back. Drift back into my own thoughts even though his gaze still simmers across my skin. Cross one arm across my chest and hold my chin with the other, a day’s growth scraping rough against my fingers. Vaguely I hear the floors dinging by and it’s so slow. Right now I just want to sink into the soft, sterile mattress and pray for an empty, dreamless night…even though I know I’ll fail. At least I try.

I hear the numbers count up and finally feel the elevator start to slow long before I’m sure he does and a predatory smile curls my lips.  It’s almost time.  It’s almost time and my mind whirls with how I want this to happen even as I feel the impending bloodlust wash over me.  My eyes flash briefly with silver as they lock on his neck and I have to force back my desire.
 
I know this one.  I know this one and I want to enjoy this.  I want to savor it.  He is a super star after all…just like I was.  And just like it was for me I’m going to strip it all away and devour him completely.
 
Smile again as I see the doors open and let him step outside, briefly considering just pouncing him right now and not even giving him a chance.  Just grab him from behind and sink my teeth into his neck, never even letting him see the face of his attacker.  But I can’t.  Not with an Earnhardt.  No. I want him to see who makes him end.  I want him to see who finally wins the competition that was always thrust upon us.
 
I wait until it’s almost too late, savoring the anticipation, and as the doors start to close I stretch my arm out in front of me, causing the doors to open once more.  Then I hit the stop button on the elevator to make sure we aren’t interrupted and call out to him as he starts to walk down the hall with a name I know will catch his attention.  Something I heard his “Daddy” call him on many occasions….
 
 “Junebug….”

My head whips around at the name I haven’t heard in so long. People stopped calling me “Junebug” the day they died. Too painful a memory they believe but in truth I would’ve loved the reminder. A rush of longing and I’m transported back to 2001 where around every corner I looked for his familiar face.

I know it can’t be him but, “Daddy,” still dies on my lips when I turn and see the unkempt stranger from the elevator before me. I give him a fuller glance; noting the ruined feel of the clothes, how everything seems to sink onto him and leave him sagging under its weight.

I’m embarrassed at the slip back to ’01, when I should’ve put everything behind me by now. I straighten from my slouch and fix him with a gaze. Military training, far ago as it was, is a boon to me now. I take my hands out of my pockets and lay them at my sides, slipping under the edges of my coat and into the belt loops. Gives me something to be prepared, alert to whatever this stranger wants.

Quiet, polite and cordial, media trained reflexes ground into me even in my grief. “How-how’d you know that name?” Or maybe not. The isolation from humanity has finally shown itself. I wondered when that would happen or if the media glare had seeped into my bones, crept in and dragged me almost willing into its disastrous embrace.

I shift my feet, stance growing more defensive as he doesn’t answer me. Only regards me with a cold leer, power and pain seeming to radiate off of him. The hallway narrows to the meager distance between us; the elevator gaping open behind him barely a reminder we exist in the world and the supposedly soothing light of the hall harsh to my eyes.

I take a step back, feeling the plush carpet sink under my weight. I can’t seem weak, can’t afford to. He knows me while I don’t know him. All I want to do is run, retreat and hide. Be the full embodiment of the recluse I’ve become in the few months since that day.

My smile grows as I can feel his unease and barest trace of fear at my presence, and I realize he still doesn’t know me.  I take a step forward, fully intending on exploiting this unexpected bit of power, and wrack my brain for the right words, the right way to twist the knife before my fangs tear at his tender flesh.  I feel my dark grin spread even more as my enhanced hearing picks up the softly whispered word, and I’m suddenly hit with memories of him before, the way he idolized his father, and I know that that’s the key.  That is how I can get him to let his guard down a little further.  That is how I can cause the emotion to rise even more and sweeten that blood that will soon be mine.
 
I take another step towards him, hands still buried in the deep pockets of my long coat, and tell him simply, “Because I heard him call you that a million times.”  Another step closer and I see him flinch.  “Junebug,” I linger over the word.  “That was his name for you.”  
 
Eyes bore into him as the silence is broken only by his slightly quickened breath, the soft rustle of my coat, and the furious beating of his heart.  Beating that will soon slow as I drain away his life, feeding on his pain and insecurity that he has wrapped so tightly around him.  He doesn’t fool me.  I see right through him and I know the mere mention of his father still cuts him to the bone.

I take another step back, trying to avoid this man who delights over how my pain can be so easily summed up in one word. My eyes run over him and find traces of someone I once knew. I can’t tell who but if he knew my father that well, I had to have known him too.

Closer now I can see that the longish hair is greasy from lack of washing and there’s grime in the creases of his coat. Those eyes…did I know those eyes once? Blue, ferocious blue and they remind me of my father’s. I stare at his face, wanting to unravel the mystery of this stranger and what he could want with me…. But then….

Everything within me screams to run but my rational side takes hold and I retreat from him in slow measured steps. Every step he takes forward, I take one back, keeping the space between us even. I can just see the edges of the hall and hope my room soon comes into sight.

Half distracted as I am, I try to keep him focused on my words and not whatever he wants with me. A shudder travels through me as my past slides from his lips so easily in casual arrogance. I play a lie, stalling for time. “You… you must be wrong. I knew all my father’s friends at one point and you, I don’t remember. You’ve got the wrong hotel. Maybe someone at the desk can help you find the right one….”

I watch him back away, feel his rising panic even though I know he has no idea what he’s facing, and smile slowly, letting only the barest hint of silver flash through my eyes.  I continue to match him, step for step as I hear his heartbeat race faster, and I wonder how much longer I can draw this game out.  But then he speaks and I can’t hide my amusement.  
 
I laugh.
 
I really laugh…but there is no mirth in my tone.  Just a hollow sound where there should be joy.  But there is no joy at the memories I have of a world I no longer belong to.  There is no happiness in this face from a past that isn’t even mine.  No, this game has gone on too long and it’s time for the fairytale to end, and my face hardens even more than before.  He thinks he can toy with me?  Make ridiculous statements without a shred of truth and that I’ll allow it?
 
“Oh I knew him.”  My voice is cold as ice.  “I watched him die.”  Take another step forward as he starts to run out of hallway.  “I watched him live and I watched him die and you will never be him.”  Voice takes an almost mocking quality to it.  “I watched you die too, Junior.  I watched you die in the eyes of the world.”  My lips turn up in a cruel grin as I finally reveal my intentions and anticipate the terror.
 
“And now I get to write the final chapter.  Now I get to watch you die for real.”

I don’t care about his laughter; all I care about is getting away from him. Relief surges through me as I see the glittering number of my hotel room beside me, adrenaline soon follows, flooding my body and preparing me for whatever else may come.

I’m intent solely on escaping this…person…in front of me until his next words reach my ears. A low growl emerges from my lips and I’m not even aware of it. My lips curl into a snarl and my eyes blaze with grief mixed with hatred at this man who believes he knows me.

Hands clench and all thoughts of fleeing are gone. I take a step toward him, voice low. “You fucking don’t know me. You know nothing at all.” The only one who had was gone, gone and never coming back. “I never claimed to be him, never wanted to be him. Why the hell am I explaining myself to you?” Shake my head and stride forward until I press into his space, determined to add extra emphasis to each bitten off word. “You. Don’t. Know. ME.” Shoving him back with each word and step I take. Once I’m done….

I laugh, the sound brittle like a whip about to crack. “I died, I lived, I survived. Does any of it matter? I’m nothing more than the “legacy” of a legend. Family, friends, adoring fans? All I am in the end is the son of the Intimidator. The one with the personality, the party boy, and whatever the hell else people have called me.”

I know I’m too close to him. That I should back off and continue my tirade in the silence of my mind, instead of being this spectacle for him to see, but this is me.

“I lived, I conquered, I died. I paved the way for the damn sport and none of it fucking matters when I’ve lost everything that even mattered.” Laugh again, this time with the sound of death tolling in the sound. “You wanna kill me? Go fucking ahead. Maybe I can go tear up hell some ‘fore Daddy decides I’m worthy enough to join him up in Heaven.”

His rage shocks me and as he advances on me I wonder if he’s half out of his mind because even a human can sense the predator inside me.  He pushes me back, and part out of surprise and part out of wanting to see what he does next, I yield under the touch and take first one step back and then another.  My gaze is unwavering as I study him closer and I don’t miss the fact that he’s completely walking on the edge.  
 
The fear is still there.  Panic, bottled up inside and shoved back in the face of his rage that it actually makes me smile.  He’s facing death and still he’s more concerned with yielding under his father’s weight than bartering for his life.  He makes a beautiful martyr, but a martyr is not what I’m interested in.  I’d rather see what else this magnificent creature has to offer in the way of entertainment.  
 
And his pain.  His pain is exquisite.  As is his brashness and devil may care attitude.  I just wonder how far he’ll go before he begs for his life, a simpering pathetic weakling, just like the rest.  So instead of lunging for him and gorging on his life’s blood, I wait, unmoving, unflinching to see what he does next.

I step back and raise my arms to the side, leaving myself open for attack. I smirk at him and arch an eyebrow when he doesn’t move. “What’re you waiting for? You wanted a chase? Well you ain’t getting one tonight. You either face me like a fucking man or crawl back to the hole you came from. What’s it gonna be?”

I stop several paces from him but still easily within his reach. Some voice in the back of my mind is screaming in sheer terror but I push it aside. The angry desperation consuming me is almost a balm to my soul. Finally, something has taken away the never ending sadness draped over me and made me feel. Feel more than an empty hollow ache resting in the middle of my chest. Feel more than the dark coldness surrounding me day after day, taken me away from the never ending night’s embrace.

It’s odd it takes the threat of death from a stranger to feel again and I’m surprised I’m taking this so calmly. I always figured I’d go out behind the wheel of a car, not through some random act of violence. But then I have to wonder how random it is. He knows who I am but would he really go as far to kill me? He doesn’t have the look of someone for hire.

My eyes never stray from him, even though I seem to have a death wish, I’m not completely incautious. I watch him for any signs he might move towards me. I’m not trained in this but I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

Smirk widens as he still doesn’t move. Can’t stop the words from rolling off my tongue. “What’s it gonna be? You gonna play ‘God’ tonight or do I need to make a reservation for another time when you’ve finally got your act together?”

Chuckle softly at his words, a cold, devious sound that fills the silent hall and even gives him pause.  I can see the cracks in his façade as he tries to hold himself together with false bravado that is already starting to fade.  I grin at him again as I close the space between us and finally look directly at him as I let my human mask fall away.  I can feel the change come over me and with it a heightening of the senses that magnifies everything around me, including the raging bloodlust inside, and I know the game is coming to a close.  
 
I can smell his sweat, the alcohol on his breath and the faint traces of smoke and cheap women’s perfume from the club that still cling to his clothes.  My face changes, and I feel the familiar tightening of skin as the demon’s ridges become more pronounced on my forehead and the false blue fades from my eyes as they turn completely silver, enhancing my sight and making the world more vivid around me.  I can hear his heartbeat, stronger than before, pounding in my ears and echoing off the walls of the ornate hall and it just fuels my hunger even more as it mixes with terror at the sight of my demonic visage.  My teeth elongate, becoming razor sharp fangs in an instant and I grin at him as I draw my tongue across them and lock eyes with him.
 
“God you say?”  My lips curl up even more in a twisted version of a smile before becoming completely serious once again.  “There is no God.”  Eyes flash brightly.  “There’s only me.”

I lunge forward suddenly, hand fisting in his shirt as I grip his upper arm tightly with my other hand, and move for his neck as my demon completely asserts control.  Teeth easily shred the pale skin of the old faded scar and my world is suddenly awash with so much passion and emotion the instant his blood touches my lips.
 
Ambrosia.  
 
Sweet ambrosia is all I can think, as I greedily swallow down the thick crimson fluid, taking with it his essence and very being.  Overwhelming despair and sweet sadness influx his blood and I hear myself let out a soft groan at the ecstasy that is his world.  Fire, strength and passion flow through his veins and I suck it down hungrily, swallow after swallow and I don’t want it to end.  I don’t want the desperate pleas for life to turn the blood sour and negate all of his strength and intensity from moments ago.  I want it to continue.
 
I want more.

I freeze in horror at the transformation. The once human face is now one out of nightmares and B list movies; something impossible. But fuck…it’s staring me right in the face and I can’t move. His words stir my mind back to activity and the rage flows through me once more, along with a sense of resignation.

I can’t escape this creature or whatever the hell it is but I’m gonna put up a hell of a fight no matter what. No one can claim to fucking know me when they don’t. Reflexes kick back in but it’s too late. He moves faster than I can believe and that’s saying something with my occupation. Faster than I can react and when time seems to slow to allow for me once more, he has me in his grip.

I struggle but it’s useless, a soft gasp of pain as he sinks his teeth into my neck, and my pathetic attempts at escape don’t even cause a sound in the muted hallway. Pinpricks of pain…I’d expected something more excruciating; something more…an injury where movement was an agony…spoke too soon….

Agony sweeps over me…and he’s drinking…draining the blood from me…pain, pain like nothing else in my life. Not like losing Daddy, nothing like losing Kelley and the girls…something visceral, something real…I can feel the blood leave me, pour out of the wound in my neck and into his hungry feeding mouth. Hands clutch feebly at him and I thrash weakly, a token protest because I know….

Know I don’t really want to fight it.

It’s better. It’s more. It’s sweet oblivion. My momma…she won’t survive losing two children so close to one another…. “Momma…forgive me….”

Then I brush all thoughts of family from me and sink into the pain. Relishing it and welcoming it. Feeling it sweep through me and ease its soothing touch into every crevice of my beaten body. My heart’s given into the siren call, my body will soon enough, my mind fighting till the last and I need to utter the words. Need to, need to let this happen with my death blessing.

Soft, faint, murmured. “Take it…just take it all. Ain’t nothing better for me here….”

I drink him down and feel him sag against me, so I wrap my arms around him in a killing embrace.  Feel his struggles begin to cease and I slowly lower myself to my knees, cradling him in my arms as the pulsing flow of blood starts to wane.  
 
It won’t be long now.
 
It won’t be long until this idol of the world is nothing but a cold corpse on the ground.  And I wonder…will they all mourn him the way they did his father with tribute after tribute?  Will they televise his funeral in a mockery of the sacred event so teenage girls can watch and pull at their hair and cut their wrists in sorrow?  Or will he fade away in the night, a shadow of a legend, mere potential and nothing more?
 
Bite down harder in a vain attempt to make the blood continue to flow.  More.  Fuck.  I want more.  But even in the face of my brutality he doesn’t beg, doesn’t whimper, doesn’t cower as his life is drained away and never in my short existence have I met his equal.  Finally I can tell he’s almost gone and I pull back as he rasps against my ear and I look down at him, his face a pale shadow of the vitality from before.
 
“Take it…just take it all. Ain’t nothing better for me here….” 
 
His words stun me and in the face of his utter desolation and acceptance my demon recedes, unbeknownst to me, and I stare down at him with a human face once more.
 
“Junior…” I whisper softly and suddenly I want him to know it’s me.  I want him to see me.  But it may already be too late.  “Junebug,” I say a little more insistent as I stare into his eyes, life rapidly fading from crystal blue.

The room dims and narrows and shrinks. My vision blurs and everything I can see from this awkward angle in his arms becomes nothing but a blur of mixed color. The faint thump of my heart grows slower with each passing second and I’m ready. I’m ready for the other side, ready to see them again no matter how brief it may be.

My eyes flutter and I’m willing, so willing, to accept the peace being offered to me. I can’t feel my body, can’t feel anything but the stinging pain of his lips suckling on the wound at my neck. Can’t feel the worn leather jacket bunched around me, can’t feel anything but cold and peace, the sense of finally coming home. The cold isn’t unexpected. I haven’t felt warm since that day in October when my world came crashing down around me once more.

Soft whispered words above me, words that try and call me back to myself.  Words too familiar, too hard to ignore. My eyes only open to narrow slits at this moment, an indistinct blur…it whispers….

Junebug.

I rasp with the remaining strength I have, “Daddy…don’t be mad…I’m coming….”

Darkness reaches out and offers me a hand, I gladly take it and I’m stepping down the path to the Garden of Eden or maybe the garden of Hell. No matter; the lady beside me whispers my fondest desire, granting me the wish of seeing my family before I go. As I smile at her, the painful years seem to fall off of me, my eyes flutter closed for the last time. My features relaxing, settling into the smooth contours of death, a sleep unlike any other and so relaxing it brings me back to the sweet innocence of childhood.

I blink at his words, his eager acceptance of death and something inside me snaps.
 
I don’t want him to go.  I don’t want this creature so brave in the face of death to slip away.  He’s too precious.  Too perfect and I act completely on instinct and feel for the first time since my turning.  I want…I need…and there’s no stopping my actions that I don’t even understand.  I don’t question the pull as it feels like his blood is burning inside me, and without thinking I morph once again and bring my own wrist to my lips.
 
Tear into the flesh violently, crimson stain rises to the surface, and I press it insistently to his lips.  Force his mouth open and watch as the blood slips over his lips and runs down the corner of his mouth.  No.  It’s not enough.  It’s not enough, I know instinctively and press the wound more firmly to his parted lips, letting our powerful intermingled blood slide down his throat.
 
“Drink.  Drink, Junior.  Fucking drink,” I curse him as I shake him in my arms and something akin to panic fills me.  “Drink.  You have to--”
 
Soft suction at my wrist as his lips unknowingly start to move against my skin.  Hold him tighter in my embrace, possessively, as I encourage him to drink more, to take my darkness inside.  “That’s it Dale, that’s it.  Drink it all.”
 
Suddenly a hand comes up, clenching my wrist and holding it tight as the pull becomes harder and I feel the drain of my own blood, but still I don’t pull away.  I watch, enraptured, as he drinks from me, taking my strength, my power into him with each swallow until it becomes painful but still I don’t stop him.  “Take it…just take it all,” I tell him, not even realizing I’m echoing his words from only moments ago and the pain increases, turning me inside out and the thought crosses my mind, isn’t childbirth supposed to hurt?
 
I endure it all until it’s almost too much to bear as my vision blurs and I tighten my grip on him.  But then it’s receding, pain melting away as his hand falls limp to the scarlet carpet and his lips no longer move against my flesh.  Stare down at him in wonder and one thing echoes through my mind.
 
What have I done?
 
One more look at him limp in my arms.
 
What I had to do.
 
Run my hands over him, riffling through his jacket until I find his room key and pull it out, turning it over in my hand.  Glance up at the door beside us and then take him in my arm as if he were weightless and stand, still holding him close.  Adjust him against me and then work the key card, opening the door to reveal a plush room adorned in golds and scarlets, and carry him inside.  Kick the door shut behind me and carry him over to the large king size bed and lay him down gently as if he were the most precious thing in the world.  And he is.
 
He’s my Childe.
 
And the entire world will burn before pain touches him again.

“Sleep my Dark Prince.  Sleep my Childe.  You’re no longer alone.”