I entered my place and closed the glass doors and rolled the curtains down. It was a nice and cozy place, pretty much bare except for some Ikea furniture and the mandatory paintings. I had a Bose music system, which I was proud of, and one of those brand-new Apple iPods that I have learned to love.
I saw the red light blinking on my answering machine, and I pressed Play. The machine made some noises, and then the digital recording started.
“You have three new messages. First message.”
I looked at the same unchanged face and expression I had been seeing for the last two hundred years—my reflection in a wall mirror.
“Hello, Mr. Von Klatas, this is Kate Livingston with JPMorgan. Your most recent transfer has just been received. If you have any questions, please feel free to contacting me at the number on my business card during office hours or through my e-mail at any time. We appreciate your business. Have a great day.”
I stood there, still looking at my reflection but not really seeing myself.
“Second message,” the machine continued.
“Mr. Von Klatas, this is Cameron, your agent in New York. I need to ask a few questions regarding your most recent property purchase. There are some discrepancies in some of the documents that I would like to discuss. Please call me back at your earliest convenience.”
I turned toward my room.
“Third message.”
“Hola Gitano, this is Frank. I got news. Call me as soon as you hear this, or as soon as you wake up.”
I walked into my room. I undressed down to my boxer shorts and then took my guitar and started to play an original song that I haven’t played in years, the same one I used to play for Christina when she was just a little girl. I thought about her.
I have promised to myself that I would go and see her, but I know that’s a long shot. She was twenty-seven when I left. Now she’s almost 40. I have kept track of her, though. I know she became a photojournalist for the Boston Globe shortly after her college graduation. I also know she’s divorced and living in Chicago with her young son.
I plucked at the strings, feeling the energy of the sun in the distance creeping up. I thought about my vigilante, about the old man and Lucy, about Jean and Amy, about that voice that was taunting me.
By the end of the night, when all my strength had left my body, I lay helpless in bed, waiting for that eternal darkness. There wasn’t any of Lucy’s smile or her voice, not even the feelings I had felt for her earlier that night. There was only the memory of one person, one face, one voice. The sweetest of all faces and voices—Kamille’s.
Hoping for a dream with her that I knew would never come. I let myself go to the emptiness of nonexistence.
Chapter 55
The Devil Does Wear Prada
March 8, 2005, 5:26 p.m.
Miami
I opened my eyes, feeling energized, happy, and alive. I jumped out of bed, ready to choose my set of clothes for the night. I went inside the walk-in closet and quickly selected a sports jacket. I grabbed a pair of pants, a shirt, and a pair of Prada men’s shoes. Then I went in the Jacuzzi.
My cell phone was vibrating on the night table next to the bathroom door. I looked at the caller ID; it was the old man. I turned on the faucet and set it to Warm water. Then I answered the phone.
“What do you have for me?” I asked.
“This is serious. There’s a major commotion among the spirits,” he said.
Suddenly, my life turned into a sci-fi drama. A bad one.
“I can’t care less about them. I want to know what it is,” I told him, watching the Jacuzzi tub fill up.
“You need to understand this is not like talking to a person. I get responses in a spiritual way,” Frank barked.
The old man doesn’t have any friends, and now he was about to alienate the only person willing to talk to him. It’s no secret that I have never learned to appreciate his sense of importance. As a matter of fact, at that exact moment, I would have loved to smash his face, literally, into the back of his skull.
“Frank, what is it?” I asked, making an effort to control my anger.
“Well, here it goes. This is not a presence but the presence,” he said.
“You mean, like . . . ,” I asked, fishing for words.
“I mean like the meanest evil living being that you can imagine,” he added.
I heard his words, and the overdramatic tone finally made me chuckle.
“¡Oh, me alegro de que te parezca gracioso! ” Frank yelled. “Oh, I’m glad that you find it funny!”
I could tell Frank had been drinking.
“Old man, I’m the meanest evil living being that I can imagine,” I replied.
“Well, sorry to ruin your ego trip, but this is something like you have never faced before,” he said, trying to tone things down.
“What do you know of what I’ve faced?” I asked.
“You may be right. But then again, this is what I call an apocalyptic event,” he added.
I was about to hang up and block his number forever.
“You have been drinking, haven’t you?” I asked.
“After last night? Like a pro,” he confessed.
Frank was many things but a liar was not one of them.
“You need to come here and read what is inside my mind, to see what I saw. It’s the only way you could understand,” he proposed.
His suggestion made me think for a moment. I considered the things I wanted to do that night, and whether I was ready to spend more time with him.
“I’II stop by later tonight,” I answered.
“No, no, not later! You need to see this as soon as possible,” Frank shouted again.
“Take a nap, you old fool. I’ll stop by later tonight after I feed,” I said in a strong, menacing voice.
“You’re impossible!” the old man said, this time timid.
That made me chuckle again.
“Just two things. Do not invite it in,” Frank suggested.
The Jacuzzi was almost full.
“You told me that it was the best way,” I said, remembering his words.
“Yes, but that was before experiencing the amount of evil anger that this thing carries with it,” he said.
“That sounds like my kind of spirit,” I added with humor.
“I’m not kidding! Just promise me that you won’t do anything until you see me,” he demanded.
“What’s the other thing?” I asked.
“Something kind of weird. Perhaps it’s nothing,” he said.
“What?” I insisted.
“The spirits, they were whispering a question—more like a verse,” he added.
“A question?” Now I was intrigued.
“Yes, they were asking something like, ‘Don’t you know the night has a name?’ They were repeating it over and over,” Frank said.
I heard his words and paused.
“I hope you can guess my name,” I whispered.
“I hate riddles,” Frank said without understanding anything.
“Go to sleep, you drunken bastard,” I said, this time with less energy.
“Please promise me you won’t do anything until you see me,” he begged.
“I don’t make promises,” I said before hanging up on him and leaving my cell phone on the night desk.
I got in the Jacuzzi, letting the warm water take care of my body. Then I heard the cell phone vibrating again. I lay back and enjoyed the water until the call went to voice mail. I closed my eyes, imagining how infuriated the old man must feel when he heard the voice mail greeting. The notion made me laugh, quietly.
*******
March 8, 2005, 10:45 p.m.
Miami
“Gnothi seauton,” said the Greek back in those warm nights so long lost in Larissa and yet still alive in my memories. Gnothi seauton. Or as it is known in modern English, Know thyself.
He taught me that the original inscription in the temple of Apollo was not what the world knows
today. This from a man who had actually seen and read the inscription on the temple walls when it was still complete more than 2,500 years ago. He used to go on and on about his history, and I won’t deny that sometimes I wanted to stab his heart just to make him stop. In fact, one time, I did stab him with an old Roman dagger that he kept from those ancient nights, but that’s a different story. I was different then—an infant immortal always pushing the limits of his maker.
It’s funny how things do stick in our subconscious even when we think we will never remember them.
Know thyself. The ideal of understanding the human behavior, the code of morals and thoughts. Because ultimately, to understand oneself is to understand others, the world inside and around us.
What we really are?
Take the old man, for example. He’s a man just like any other; but then unlike any other man, he takes pleasure in killing his own kind—not for sports or obligation but for sheer joy.
Is he worse than me? Is he worse than any of the rest?
Humans believe they are superior to anything and everything. They dictate society’s rules and guidelines regarding what is acceptable and what’s not. However, they kill just like the old man; but unlike him, some of them do it for sports, others for power, and everyone else out of obligation. Every time they feed from a vegetable or an animal, they are supporting a killing industry, because, indeed, vegetables and animals are living organisms too.
Know thyself. I’m a killer, who has to survive just like everyone else and chooses to feed from mankind. Sure, I could easily feed from animals, but why would I do so when I prefer the blood of my peers? It’s as simple as that, just like when a person chooses vanilla over chocolate because of the way it tastes. Just like that, I prefer human blood. I do not think about the feelings of others, just as people don’t think about the feelings of the cow whose meat they are eating in their burgers or the feelings of the fish that has been fried for their meal.
In a nutshell, we all are the same. The only thing that makes us different is our personal necessities. That’s the key word. The force behind conquest and mercy—necessity.
I do not know it all, but the little that I do know comes from that basic principle. Life is ruled by those with the biggest necessity. Only those strong enough will keep on living. And for as long they do, they will always need something or someone, and will do whatever it takes to get it. Despite financial success and recognition, above love and hate, beyond knowledge and common sense, we all need something. We all do. That’s what drove men to discover fire, to rule over every other species. That’s what drove the Greeks to study, what motivated the Romans to build roads, and that’s what will always bind us, despite our preferences.
Know thyself, said the Greek; and after more than two hundred years and countless aliases, I still know who I am. Born a Gypsy from a father called freedom and a mother called independence—no banner, no crown, no country, no religion. Free before I was truly free and still alive long after everyone who once meant something had died. I’m still Renzo, the son, the man, the thief, the lord, and the vampire. I still want more. I’m still hungry for knowledge, still curious about life; and there’s not a night in my existence when I don’t miss everyone who were once dear to me.
I exist in the invisible zone between reality and myth, where night is eternal and man is no longer superior.
It is humans who, by necessity, will always fear me, because I do to them what they do to what they consider lesser creatures—making me, in fact, their upgrade. That’s the look I see in their eyes when they finally see the real me, when they see something that shouldn’t be, because my existence is a testament to the end of their rule of all things.
I’m the one who walks holding his head high among them, before whom they lower their eyes. I’m the teacher, the student, the keeper of the mystery of immortality—because I’ve defeated death, because I’m truly alive.
It was because of my necessities that I found myself this night among these young creatures laughing and drinking. I saw them lying to themselves while life itself escapes from their bodies every second of every minute of every hour. It was the necessity of that ever-constant fading energy that brought me to them. The truth is that they would never look better than there and then; and I want to steal everything I could from their energy, their beauty, and their youth. Everything!
It is beyond the understanding of most men that every single living creature has its own life tone. From the small bacteria to the biggest of mammals, all of us have a different frequency of energy that comes from within our core. That, together with their scent, is what makes every single one of them unique to my senses. Just as a parent knows who his child is through his distinctive scent. Even if that parent is blind, he or she will recognize the child. That’s how I perceive all living creatures.
Still, I don’t remember how I got there.
It was just a club like any other, and like in any other club, I was invisible, happy, and completely drunk with the intoxicating energy coming from so many young bodies. A group was talking near me, something about something. I didn’t care. The only important thing was the fact that I was among mortals, and they didn’t mind that at all.
Then it happened, the numbness, the crawling sensation, but ten times stronger. Finally, it was there, in the same place I was. I turned into my real self while scanning my surroundings, showing my fangs in the darkness. A pretty girl saw me and had an expression of awe on her face. Women will always be drawn toward evil.
“Come outside, Gitano,” the voice inside my head said, challenging the loud music.
I felt the source, turned, and walked toward it, toward the club’s emergency exit.
“Come out. I’m waiting,” the voice invited.
It was hard for me not to move as quickly as I knew I could. I walked fast through the exit and beyond, ending up on the sidewalk. I looked all around. I felt the location of the presence, and I followed it.
It didn’t take me long.
I walked a couple of blocks until I reached an empty street. There I felt a powerful concentration of energy covering the entire universe around me. Never before had I felt such power. My heart was beating wildly, and my senses were going on overdrive, asking me to be on the defensive. I felt and heard the engine of a car behind me, but I didn’t care to turn around, paying more attention to the powerful force around me than the two men inside the car. The vehicle stopped next to me almost silently, and one of the passengers walked out.
“Don’t move!” he demanded.
I didn’t have to turn to know that the man was holding a gun pointed at my back. He grabbed me by my jacket, forcing me to look at him. He was trying to shake me off, but I refused to move. But his constant movement made my shades fall. My eyes found his, and I could tell he saw a raw fury in them because, as though hit by an invisible fist, he dropped his hands.
“Let me see the wallet,” he shouted, trying to take control of the situation.
Slowly, I tried to get closer, but he took two steps back. A wise move.
“What took you so long?” I asked through my fangs.
My eyes scanned the man’s body in an effort to identify the source of the energy in him, but I could not find anything. Whatever the force might have been, it wasn’t coming from him; rather, it surrounded us. In a rage, I reached for his neck, before he could react. I overpowered him with ease and sank my fangs deep in his flesh, looking for blood. I felt his vain efforts to break free from my embrace and heard his heart beating wildly, pumping blood, providing me with the nourishment I craved. Then I heard his companion shouting at me as he stepped out of the car, but I didn’t move. I stood in a trance as I drank my victim.
Then it struck me stronger than before, making me dizzy and forcing me to let the man fall to the ground. His body hit the ground hard followed by a loud grunt, and almost immediately I saw him crawl towards his friend. I was disoriented. I turned to the right, looking at the far end of t
he street. And then I saw it. The energy force was concentrated in one specific point, moving toward me. Then I noticed the figure—the unmistakable silhouette of a young woman slowly walking out from the shadows. Without even caring about the men left behind, I started walking in her direction to meet her halfway.
I saw a pair of striking brown eyes staring intensely at me. My own eyes scanned her body with a mix of curiosity and amazement. Her body, now a few feet away from me projected no heat, yet the energy inside of it was unlike anything I had witnessed before.