“My, oh my,” the man couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Is that any way to treat a long time lover? You’re trying to make it look like someone else killed your friend. But there is retribution to pay for such a crime, my dear man.”
He stepped back into the shadows when Stan started toward him, heading back to the cabin. With stealth, patience and in silence, he followed. When he returned to the house, Stan was on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor. The man laughed aloud in that human had only smeared it deeper into the wood grain, which would make it all the more detectable.
“You’re a clumsy murderer, Stan,” he commented.
Stan bolted from his knees and took a stance with the intruder. He perused the stranger, who was not only delectably handsome, but also had entered his home without as much as a sound.
“Who are you?! How did you get in here?!” the man drew his pistol from his pocket.
The mysterious man laughed again and slowly lifted a hand, drawing on his powers. “You’ll have no need of that, my friend,” he spoke softly to Stan. “Lower the weapon and talk with me.”
Stan couldn’t stop himself, as he let the pistol and hand drop to his side. He struggled against what felt to him to be a coercion of some sort. As hard as he tried to keep the pistol aimed at the stranger, he couldn’t. It became too painful to endeavor.
“Let it go and kick it away,” the man urged, still controlling the human’s mind.
Stan dropped the pistol and kicked it from him.
“Do you know what you’re doing, Stan?” he asked then.
“I’m cleaning up my mess,” Stan returned, as if in a trance.
“Yes, but you are manipulating the blood into the fiber and grain of the wood, which any forensic scientist will find easily. More easily, actually.”
He looked around and stepped closer to the human. “Do you have wine, my friend? I’d truly love some,” he suggested and Stan moved into the kitchen. He returned a minute or so later with a glass of wine that he handed to the mysterious man.
All the while, he wondered why? Why would he cater to this stranger so easily…so readily? Why couldn’t he fight whatever had hold of him? It was as if he had no mind of his own and was being played like a marionette.
“Thank you.” The stranger raised the glass to Stan then took a sip. “Ah, good wine, Stan.”
“Thank you, sir,” Stan answered mechanically.
“Why did you kill your lover, Stan?” he asked then.
The human searched his mind for an answer, but could only think of one.
“Because I love him,” Stan actually showed emotion as he dropped his head. The stranger could hear his heart rate skip a beat and knew that Stan had become obsessed with Casey.
“But, Casey, loved Joshua. You couldn’t stand the thought of it, could you?”
“No.” Stan’s voice quivered with emotion.
“You’d miss him.”
“Yes.” Stan shifted, uneasy with the thought. He didn’t want to think about it, really. Being without Casey would utterly destroy him…drive him to suicide. But he now had Joshua to take his grief and frustrations out on without reservation, until he couldn’t stand it any longer.
“I can help you there. You could join him.”
Stan lifted his gaze to the man. A glimmer of hope and curiosity brightened his eyes.
“Come into my arms, my love.” The man opened them broadly and waited.
He thought about it for only a moment before he moved slowly, uncertainty resounding within him. But he couldn’t resist the stranger or his power. He moved into the stranger’s arms that enveloped him slowly, cuddling Stan close to his rigid form. With ease, the stranger leaned his head down and brushed Stan’s lips with reassurance that all would be fine when it was over.
“You’ll thank me, Stan. I assure you of that.”
Finally, Stan issued a grievous sob. Remorse pummeled him unrelentingly. He canted his head, unaware as the stranger’s lips traveled down his throat. There was pain. Sharp. It was gone as quickly as it came. Then, he became aroused.
But how could he, when his lover was dead? Dead by his own hands. He had killed his own lover…his Casey. How dare he enjoy passion and arousal at such a time as this?
The lights above him became a blur. The world spun and he gasped for breath. Darkness shrouded him. His heart pounded in his ears. The beat slowed. He waned.
Then there was nothing.
He gently lifted Stan’s lifeless body into his arms and carried him out the back door. Having the forethought that his kiss of death could possibly awaken another fool to the world of darkness, he surmised within that he must dispose of the body properly in order to avoid such a blunder.
Once outside, he lifted into the air in search of a spot, hundreds of miles away that wouldn’t link him to the crimes that had been committed in the cabin. The last the mysterious man needed was a witch hunt on his hands.
He found such a place, near a small lake and nearby meadow. There, he undressed and dismembered Stan then buried each part of the man separately. It was a gruesome task, one that he carefully guarded himself from becoming overly excited about. If he allowed the beast its freedom, humanity as it was known, would be in grave danger. And he loved humans more than he loved his long, dull and boring existence as a vampire.
He often recalled his life, as a human, wishing he could go back there. He was of Roman nobility, a patrician, and a wealthy merchant, when Caesar Augustus ruled the throne. Although, he despised the way Augustus would often use his power of office to coerce the senate, he agreed with much of the ruler’s ideas.
The borders of Rome were expanded, taxation was reformed, roads developed with an official courier system, an army was formed and established, a small navy, an official police, fire fighters and the city was rebuilt. All of these and more were established and developed under Augustus’ rule.
The mysterious man enjoyed the privilege of building his own mansion, complete with a bath house, vineyard, garden and courtyard. Polished marble floors, would often spark him to saunter barefoot through his manor, just for the feel of it beneath his feet—walls that extended some ten to twelve feet high with archways, halls and balconies—and the convenience of all the modern amenities of that day and time. How he missed it all.
Yet, recalling it kept the beast in check and helped him maintain control of his thirst and hunger.
Once the task was done, he bathed in the lake, redressed and returned to the cabin where Joshua still hung from the rafter in the basement.
It was time they made their acquaintance and the man was eager to get to know the boy. However, he thought to find the bottle of wine in the fridge and the glass that Stan had gotten for him.
Silently, he opened the door and began down the long steps into the basement. At the moment, Joshua was still and quiet. But he turned his head and the man knew that the boy was aware of his presence.
“Who’s there?” Joshua called softly, his voice hoarse from crying. He could sense something strangely peculiar about the presence that invaded the basement. Not able to put a finger on it, he dismissed it for folly.