Abyss

Abyss

This is a rewrite of a story I won the Halloween Contest here at Lit many, many moons ago. It's expanded quite a bit and the characters are more fully drawn. Enjoy.

__________

It's a very good thing that the sun goes down so early in winter time. Otherwise the night classes I teach would be held very late. That could lead to suspicion, which is something an undead blood drinker like myself likes to avoid.

I take a moment to make sure my face is in place, literally. My natural features show what I am, a thing of nightmares. But one of my kind's talents is the ability to camouflage ourselves. So I appear quite human, if a little pale. It means we can approach our prey without panicking them, or teach them the history of the Enlightenment in my case.

A few quick paces brings me to the stairs. I head up them and walk along the hall checking classroom numbers. At Room 223 I open the door and step into the class. I'm almost exactly on time. "

Bon soir,

" I greet my new students.

The thirty odd seats here are about two third's full, which is a pleasant surprise. Although my books are well known inside the history profession they can hardly be said to be best sellers. It seems the small mid-western university I'm teaching a guest class for has a large number of history students. For I enjoy teaching history, I've seen so much of it.

I start into my introductory speech, identifying myself and outlining what I intend to teach in this course. I've just finished it up when the door opens and a number of people enter my classroom.

The first thing that strikes me is familiarity. I'd seen such groups when I lurked in Versailles just before the French Revolution.

The person in the lead is female with sandy blonde hair cut short, almost mannishly. Her face isn't exactly pretty but not plain either. There's a set to her jaw and an arrogance in her eyes that marks her as the leader of this group. Her garb is severe; black sweater, jeans and motorcycle boots. The young woman strides to an empty desk and slumps heavily into its seat.

The person immediately behind her is also female but as opposite to her lady as possible. This girl's hair is bright blonde and extends to the small of her back. Her features are far more than pretty and her clothes are exquisitely soft and feminine. Her robin's egg blue eyes stay focused downwards in a unmistakeable submissive posture. She takes the seat next to the leader of this coterie.

The rest of the people range themselves behind these two, some sitting, some standing. Their position is centered on the feminine girl. None gets too close to the leader.

"And you are?" I inquire of the dominant that's just entered.

"Mandy Richardson." Her tone is as I expected, arrogant and uncaring of my opinion.

That is indeed the name of one of my students. I memorized my class roster days ago.

"You?" I ask, focusing my gaze on the lady in waiting.

"Chris...Christy Coburn." Her voice carries fear and uncertainty. It seems to me that she's too often been punished for things, things she wasn't responsible for.

The rest of 'The Court', as I already tag them, I ignore. They are courtiers and so merely extensions of Ms. Richardson.

"I'd appreciate it if you arrived on time in the future," I tell Ms. Richardson.

She looks at me with flat eyes, masking her emotions. "I'll see what I can do." A slight hardening of the mouth and the way she leans towards me ever so little makes it apparent she intends to ignore me.

I react as any predator that has been challenged would, with body language that makes it clear I'm not backing down. We hold that tableaux for a moment then both of us relax. The gauntlet has been thrown and the contest has started.

* * * *

The university pub is not quite dim. There is just enough light to give the place with its dark wood and red satin walls an intimate air. This suits me. From the booth off to one side of the entrance I can scan the establishment. I need a meal and a venue such as this is perfect for a hunt.

There is a glass of red wine clutched loosely in my left hand. It's a necessary camouflage. I can't drink it. Indeed, I can't consume any human food or drink. But someone not imbibing here would be suspicious and suspicion is something I wish to keep far away from me.

My gaze runs over the patrons here.

That one?

I think.

No. She's pretty enough but I can tell she won't be that tasty. Bland and common.

The brunette? Perhaps, if I find nothing else.

That blonde? Ick! She'd taste as false as her breasts.

My mind made up I start to slide out of the booth.

The front door opens and another woman walks in. As I look at her something, something ineffable sweeps through me.

I can't seem to move anything save my eyes. They follow her as she stalks past. Everything about her is impressed on my consciousness.

She's petite, slightly built, with rich auburn, shoulder length hair. Her cream skinned face is, sweet. There's no other word to describe it. She has sea green eyes full of intelligence and zest for life. Her nose adds a touch of impudence to her beauty while her lips are coral and a little on the thin side. Her shoulders slump a touch, her face is grim, showing exhaustion and frustration.

I lean back in the booth and watch as she takes a seat at the bar. The bartender slides a drink over without being asked. The lovely redhead takes a sip of the amber liquor and her back heaves with a sigh.

That unknown feeling twitches in my chest, as if my heart still beat. I feel as if I want to walk over and wrap my arms around her in sympathy.

Not possible

, is my thought then.

Something like myself can't offer comfort. The best I can do is as little harm as possible.

I smile then, a smile that reveals a little of what I am.

She'll be very tasty at least. I guess I've found my prey for tonight.

But it takes a minute to work up my nerve. To my surprise a part of me, that part that lives in the night, is unnerved. The woman makes that vicious hunter apprehensive. It reacts to her as if she was a deadly trap, something to be avoided.

I need not fear

, I tell myself then.

She's only human.

So I stand, pick up my wine, and saunter over to her. I approach with an easy stride. This hides the fact that I'm hunting. If I showed too much, or the wrong kind, of intention I'd remain in the minds of the people here. Anonymity means safety.

"Excuse me," I say when I'm standing behind and a little to one side of my prey. I use the voice of what I'm pretending to be, a Frenchman with very good English. I've found many women think it fascinating, which helps in my hunting. It disarms their suspicion.

She straightens and turns toward me. As she does I reach out with my power. It strokes lightly over her nerves; soothing, calming, enticing.

But the beautiful woman's expression is cross. "I'm really not..." she starts in a curt voice. Then her green eyes widen a bit and her mouth goes a little slack. A small "Oh!" escapes from her lips.

I know I didn't cause that, I didn't hit her nearly hard enough.

My reaction is the same as hers. This close the effect she had on me as she walked in is an order of magnitude higher. It warms me the way her blood would if I drank it.

For a moment neither of us do a thing. She blinks several times and a slightly befuddled cast shows on her features. I feel a similar twisting on my own features. I want to say something but I want it to be the right thing. I don't wish to make a bad impression.

"I beg your pardon," I finally manage to say. "I won't intrude." I take half a step back. Inside I feel some shock. I

don't

want to intrude if it offends this lovely lady.

"Please, sit down," she overlaps me. "Maybe company would be nice." Her voice contains a strong remnants of a Southern drawl.

Mississippi

, I think. As a vampire I have a facility for languages and accents. It offers camouflage and let us recognize our prey.

The strangest mixture of relief and nervousness wafts through me at her invitation. This isn't a hunt, and it's been so long since I've interacted with a woman I wasn't hunting I'm at rather an impasse. But I slide onto a stool next to her.

"I noticed you were rather ragged around the edges as you came in," I remark then. "I'd hoped I could help in some way."

"Thanks," the lovely redhead replies. "It's just the usual start of the semester overload. Every professor, T.A. and visiting lecturer has requests in for their classes. This book and that paper and this magazine and more and..." She stops abruptly and a guilty grimace shapes her mouth. "Sorry. I get cranky after three fifteen hour days."

"If I'm responsible for that, I apologize. I'm one of those visiting lecturers."

That statement garners me a raised eyebrow.

"Georges Belleveau," I tell her as I extend my hand.

"Oh, the history writer from Paris!" She takes the offered palm. "Diane Patterson. I heard through the grapevine that the university was surprised you accepted their offer. We're hardly the Sorbonne or Harvard."

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Patterson. It's been a while since I was in this section of your country."

Over a century ago

, is what I keep inside. "I wanted to see it again."

"It certainly wasn't the money."

"I'm wealthy enough I don't care about that. I didn't even take their offer of a place to live. I rented my own on the outskirts of town."

Diane does a little scan. I'm a bit of a stereotype of a vampire, dressed all in black; t-shirt, jeans, hiking boots and leather jacket.

"If it wasn't for that jacket," she tells me, "I'd never guess you were rich."

"I've never felt the need to show off."

Ms. Patterson gives me a small smile of appreciation. It seems she likes a certain level of humility.

"I read one of your books," she goes on. "It was a really good read. Your portraits of the people in Versailles were brilliant, so informative. Where'd you learn those things?"

"Thank you," I tell her. Then I spin her a tale of my family library, and family contacts, and how I spent years reading obscure letters and papers to fill in almost unknown people of The Enlightenment.

In actuality, I spent years in the cities of Europe as a courtier, and one of the undead. But I can't let any human know that.

My companion asks more questions when I'm done. I answer them for I so rarely get to just, talk, about myself. Then I inquire of her and listen raptly when she speaks. I find being with Diane Patterson both relaxing and exciting, emotions that always seemed mutually exclusive in the past.

Our talk leaves ourselves and travels to current events. We speak of our thoughts on a particular piece of news. Mine is quite European; hers, American; but we listen rather than judge.

That leads to history again, followed by philosophy then we segue into culture.

We're finally interrupted by the bartender. "Closing time, folks. It's after one."

Diane and I blink at each other. We'd completely lost track of time.

"Oh, great," my companion sighs. "I've got another long day tomorrow."

"Then we should go." Without thought I pass a credit card to our server telling him, "Put both tabs on that."

Diane smiles. "Normally, I'd insist on paying my own, but, thank you. Sometimes I like being treated."

"

De rien

. It's my pleasure."

It's just a couple of minutes before we're standing outside. "May I escort you to your car?" I ask the lovely lady I've spent a wonderful evening with.

"I walk here," Diane tells me. "It's about twenty minutes." She pauses, then looks at me with her face turned a little away from me. She swallows and says, "I'd like it if you were willing to walk me home."

In response I crook an elbow. That's followed by a moment's consternation. It's something I haven't done since, well, since the last woman I loved died. I find it surprising that I did what I did without thought.

The lovely lady slides her hand into position, lightly laying her fingers on my forearm. Then she blinks and a befuddled look drifts across her features. Then she looks up and smiles at me.

And so we head on our way.

The walk takes a bit longer than the promised twenty minutes but it is an enjoyable time. We switched between comfortable silence and comfortable conversation. For just short while, I've forgotten what I am.

We stop in front of her apartment building. Stepping away from each other we smile. Diane's mouth twists and she frowns a little. It seems she can't make up her mind about something.

So I do it for her. "

Bon nuit

, Ms. Patterson. I've had a lovely time. Go to bed and sleep well. I'll try not to add to your work load tomorrow."

"Thank you, Mr. Belleveau. You're a very interesting man and thank you for a lovely night."

Without thought I pull out a pen and small pad I carry. I scribble my phone number on it.

"How can you see that?" Diane asks as I do.

With a little concern I note how dark it is. As a creature of the night I can see quite well in light that would be impossible for a human to see anything in. "I've written this number so many times I don't need to see it." I turn a little to let the illumination of a nearby street lamp fall on my writing. I pull the pad closer to my face my face and squint a little as if trying to make out what is on it.

"I got it right," I tell her, rip off the sheet and hand it to her. "If you wish, we can do this again."

She doesn't reply at once, and a tiny shiver of fear wafts through me.

"I'll think about it," she replies then.

"Of course." I take her hand and pull her fingers to my lips to lightly brush a kiss across her knuckles. There's a moment's resistance from Diane, but she's smiling when I lift my gaze back to her face.

"

Bon nuit

, then. I do hope I'll see you again."

"Good night."

I watch until she enters her building and then head down the street. I'll confess to some anticipation.

She didn't say, "No."

* * * *

An hour later I'm on the other side of town, outside the university environs. The houses in this suburban area are small, old and well kept. Most everyone here works at the school in one capacity or another. It's a good place to hunt now that all the restaurants and bar are closed.

I still have a warm smile on my face. Diane seems to be caught in my thoughts and her presence fills me. For a moment I grow concerned. I shouldn't care about a human, but I do. I shrug it off. I've had human friends on occasion and when it was time to leave, I left and didn't look back.

I make a quick scan of my surroundings. There is no one to observe me. I make doubly sure I can't be seen by drawing the night in around me. A cloak of shadows surrounds me and to an outside observer I'm no more than a mist barely distinguishable from the darkness.

I drift down a driveway, making no sound as I go. My steps take me along the backs of the houses and I check each room for potential prey. My focus is sharp, all my senses tuned. I'm on the hunt and I will feed tonight.

There's no need to worry about any watchdogs alerting the inhabitants. Any animal save a human can sense something like me and they run or cower. They know a monster is nearby, a monster they can't stand against.

For several houses I find nothing save children. I don't even consider those. A child will grow into adulthood soon enough and lose their innocence. I won't be the one to expose them to the horrors of the world.

Finally I find a woman, somewhere between middle-aged and young. She's asleep, alone, and her bedroom shows no sign of a man.

I take a moment to consider how to take her. Breaking in is a bad idea. It leaves too much evidence. I need a way to draw her out.

That's when I notice the smell of cat. It's recent and strong. As I move towards the back door of the house it grows stronger.

Perfect.

I stand on the back stoop, stand to one side and bring my plan into action. My fingers scratch across the screen door. I do that for several seconds, pause and then continue. After my third scratch I can hear, "Damn it, Jeffery. Mommy needs to sleep. Why can't you pick a more convenient time to want in?" Footsteps sound and the inner door opens.

The next instant I move. The woman starts a gasp that stops as I meet her eyes. She's mine now, under my control, blank as a sheet of new paper. I step inside, push her back a couple of steps and then I gather in my arms. My fangs sink into her neck and I draw her delicious blood into me.

Mon Dieu!

Feeding is orgasmic for a vampire. For us there is far more than blood in the taste. There is all the components that make up a human being. My prey's emotions, her loves, her joys, her

life

passes into me to energize my dead body and black soul.

My prey groans. A sound that contains as much ecstasy as pain and fear. A vampire's bite triggers those parts of the human body and psyche connected to physical pleasure. It guarantees they won't run, and that they are befuddled when I'm done with them. Between that and my mesmeric ability I can bend her mind so that no memory of being victimized remains.

The woman shivers in my arms, groans again and I can smell that she is becoming aroused. Her taste changes, loses the complex texture it had contained. Instead the predominant feature becomes raw lust. The sudden intense change makes me suck harder at her vein. My emotions grow to become nearly as overwhelming as hers.

I could do this forever.

But I don't. A small, rational piece of me keeps watch and makes me pull away long before my meal is in danger. Partly because bodies are likely to raise questions. No vampire wants humans to know we exist. Mostly because I don't like hurting anyone. I may be a monster but that doesn't make me selfish or cruel. A quick lick of the wounds on her throat heals them as if they never existed.

"You only had a dream," I tell her as I gaze into her eyes once again. "A very pleasant one involving a person you've often fantasized about." With that, I leave her house, closing the screen door quietly. I'm three steps away when I hear her gasp as my hold on her mind breaks. She mumbles in confusion and then giggles. The inner door closes as I vault over her back fence.

Once back on the street I turn in the direction of my small rented cottage. I've got a lesson plan to work on.

And a smile grows on my face as I think about Diane Patterson.

* * * *

"The gap between the Second and Third Estates during this point of the Revolution was wide and almost uncrossable. They might as well have been in separate countries. This inability to communicate other than by shouting exacerbated the crisis."

I remember too well that horrible time both as human and vampire. Memories return and they still frighten. A revolution is a horrible thing.

I'll never tell that to my students though. They think I'm merely imparting what I learned when I wrote my books.

"That isn't true!" The interruption comes from an unexpected source; Mandy Richardson. She hasn't been participating much. It's almost as though she believes she'll pass despite her lack of effort.

"

Pardon, Mademoiselle

Richardson?"

"There were members of the nobility who sided with the bourgeoisie. The

Chevalier de Vaudemont

worked with them. He helped the two sides communicate."

"I'm afraid not. The

Chevalier

was a spy. He was reporting to his colleagues what the Third Estate was up to so the nobility could counter or neutralize them. He spread disinformation so that the bourgeoisie were ineffective. He disappeared not long after The Terror started. It was assumed the Jacobins killed him."