Chapter 63
**VLADIMIR**
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Why out of any location in the world had Myra chosen Chicago as her new home? It was one of the largest cities in American, homing a population of nearly 2.71 million in one city. The air here smells weird, not a bad weird, more like n odd weird. It smelled fresh, but mixed with a combination of fog, fish and wind. It reminded me of a lake that I once visited as a child, a lake where my best friend and I would chase after each other on a hot summer day, fishing for our lunch, and then swimming in the water to cool off from the suns heat.
The smell which jogged memories of time spent with my best-friend, back before I was king, when the world was a simpler place, made me yearn for the peaceful tranquility Essie brought with her. I felt a sudden pull to go and visit her, she wasn’t far from her, but in the end decided against it. I didn’t want to meet my mate, smelling like another female.
My mate, Myra Faerie, today I would finally see her after ten years apart. What had she done in all this time? From what little information I was able to gather. She lived in a little studio on Clark St, right above the bakery she’d been given. I wasn’t able to gather much on her life, or who’d given her the bakery, but that didn’t matter to me. What mattered was that I was on my way to her now.
As I rounded the corner onto Clark St, her delicious scent hit me first, causing my blood to pump rabidly through my body, the beat of my heart to accelerate, and my fangs to elongate as the blood lust hit me, stronger than I remember it being from the first time I met her. I couldn’t meet Myra like this, she’d believe I was the beast she assumed I was in the past. If Myra saw my Vampire side, the way I craved her blood there would be no hope for us. Instead of walking into, *A Taste of Heaven,* I rounded the corner onto West Balmoral Avenue, looking for a desolate corner, one that would be hidden from cameras and out of the view point of someone walking down the street. A corner that would hopefully be occupied by an individual who no one would take notice of.
It didn’t take long for me to find a dark corner, the type of corner that would give any sane person nightmares. A corner befitting a horror movie. Tucked into the corner, squished up a cold brick wall, trying to stay warm with his own body heat and a threadbare blanket that had seen better days was an elderly man. His once blue eyes were now a dull shade of grey as if the soul they once held had left him long ago, his skin as wrinkled as a piece of paper that had been balled up and thrown away, and his hair, a dry white color looked like he’d seen better days. This man was one of the lost. One of many who’d lost to the riches of the city, who’d traveled down the wrong path, or who’d just run out of luck. Someone that no one would come looking for. I could drain this man of his blood, end his misery, and no one would care. There wouldn’t be a single soul who’d come and look for him.
Except I wasn’t that man anymore, in my younger years, I would have drained this man and not thought twice, ripping his throat open to make it look like a pack of wild dogs had gotten to him As I grew older however, I began to treasure life, especially human life. Beings that are so delicate and fragile, yet they build these monstrosities that could end their lives in a matter of moments. I’m not sure if I should be in awe of them or confused by their stupidity, but they are intriguing to say the least.
“Kick rocks yuppie.” The old man cracks, his Chicagoan drawl strong, making it hard for me to decipher his words.
“Do I look like a yuppie?” I ask gliding toward him, meeting his eyes with my own.
“You are the definition of yuppie.” The man croaks, spitting at my feet. “Just another one of them tourists coming here and littering out streets, paying big dollars to the multimillion dollar companies that have taken over this area, and driving us little people out of our homes, leaving us to wither away into dust, in the very city we helped create.”
I fought from rolling my eyes, no matter what generation I was in, all old people were the same. Back in my day, yada, yada, yada. There was no way this man could have helped create the great Windy City, he was maybe a twinkle in his father’s eye when the great industrialization in Illinois took place in the 1920’s, but from the sound of his voice, he sounded closer to being in his late 60’s early 70’s, not his late 90’s. There was no doubt this man had had a rough go at life, but even so he hadn’t begun to live his life until after the multimillion dollar companies made Chicago what it was today.
“Tell me what is it you desire?” I asked the old man, stopping just inches away from him, using my vampiric allure to bring him in closer.
“To go back in time and change the choices I made when I was desperate. I don’t know if you know this but….”
Ah here it goes, the stories the old folks tell.
“…kraft was acquired by the National Dairy Products Cooperation, which my family held stock in. My dad passed away a few years late, when I was just barely turning sixteen. Mama started hooking to keep food on the table, but still not enough money was brought in. I dropped out of school and stayed home to take care of Mikey, Donna, and Baby Drew- he was a sickly little one- and then worked night shift at a grocery store down on Riverdale, just about a ten minute walk from the house. Baby Drew died that winter it was a cold harsh one, and we didn’t have enough money to keep the house warm. Mama fell into a deep depression.”
My heart went out to this man. No one deserved to have a childhood filled with this much sadness.
“With me being the only one working, there wasn’t enough money to keep everyone fed and to pay the mortgage, we were so close to losing the house when a letter came for Dad regarding his stocks. It was 1935 at this point and we’d just entered into a bull market. His investment had shot up from $10 to $2000. It would be plenty to pay our back mortgage and a few months forward, making it to where I could use my income for the small things like utilities and food. Mother was too depressed to consult about the matter and Mickey and Donna were still too young to give their input so the decision was on me, and I chose to cash in on the stocks.”
I could see the regret in the old man’s eyes before he closed them and took a deep swallow, when he opened them they were littered with pain.
‘The money did help, my family lived without worry for two months, then one night I came home and someone had broken into the home. Mama, Mickey, and Donna lay peacefully on the couch. At first it looked like they were cuddling, watching a movie. I was so happy that Mama had decided to come out from her room, I thought maybe she’d kicked the depression, but when I made my way to the front of the couch, with a blanket to cover my family, I was met with a nightmare.”
The old man starts to choke on his words, his face wet with tears of regret, “They all had their throats slit, blood dripping down the front of their shirts. Someone in the neighborhood had learned we’d come into a bit of money, maybe Mickey or Donna, had said something, who knows, but the wrong person had heard about it, and they’d broken into our home and stole more than money from me.”
He looks up and stares me in the face, venom in his eyes as he recalls I’m sure was the most painful of his childhood memories.
“So yes, my desire would be to change the past. I would still sale the stock, but I would get the hell out of this great Windy City.”
The man spits on the ground, cursing Chicago under his breath, and when he looks up at me he freezes, his body paralyzed. What he sees isn’t the yuppie who walked into the lone alley, what he see is a blood thirsty predator.
I lean in gently whispering in his ear, promising to take away all the pain, before I sink my fangs into his jugular and drink my feel. His blood is bland, it’s taste reminding me of the verbs used by humans to describe the smell of blood; iron coated in rust.
When I pull back the old man is in a daze, I stare into his eyes as I compel him to forget. Forget meeting me, forget his father’s death and the murder of his family. I planted a new memory in his mind, one where his father and mother were happy and lived long healthy lives. A memory of his sister running off with a young man who served in Vietnam, and his brother dying a war hero. As for the old man himself, well he’d tried to startup a business on his own, but had failed miserably and ended up on the streets, too embarrassed to ask his sister for help.
Before I left him, I tossed a few hundreds into his bag, hoping that by the time he came too, they’d still be there. I released him from my compulsion and laid him gently on the ground, wrapping my coat around him like a blanket, and using his as a pillow.
“Sleep my dear friend.” I whispered, “Sleep peacefully without worrying the nightmares will haunt your soul when you wake.”
***AUTHOR's NOTE***
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Hello Dearest Readers,
Thank you for taking the time to read Vladimir & Myra's story in the Unexpected Series. I hope youre enjoying it so far. As of right now this story is ongoing and is currently being written/revised. My plan is to update once a week with each update being a bulk upload of at least 3-5 chapters. Please leave comments and let me know what you think of the story thus far. xoxo Marriah