Carnage Incarnate

 

        Carnage was his specialty and his passion. And what was really cool was that he got paid for it, although there probably weren't many vampire hunters around. Most people didn't believe in such things. Victor knew better. It was probably that close brush he had with a "near-dead" state that motivated him. Too bad it had to be the woman he loved that turned him into this life of violence and blood lust. How was he supposed to know what she truly was? After all, she couldn't help herself. He did have a delicious looking neck; he was aware of this. "Who wouldn't want a bite out of this?" he thought to himself.

        Victor was getting ready for another night out on the town. He arranged his dark wavy hair in its normal fashion and donned his Italian leather coat. His piercing blue eyes were always bait for the females, along with his wonderfully playful smile. He could easily have made a masterful vampire himself, but the whole "dead thing" and drinking blood didn't really appeal to him, especially the fact that he would have to "kill" to eat. Not really his cup of tea. But off he went, into the night, wooden sticky thing in hand, or under coat, which ever he preferred.

        One might expect Vampires in Los Angeles. After all, there have been enough movies and television shows about it, but this isn't L.A. Nope, not even close. This was the East Coast, the city of "Brotherly Love", that's right, Philadelphia. Enough of a population to support the vast and ever-growing vampire breed; for now, that is. Victor wanted to take a "bite" out of that minority.

        So off for a nightly stroll he went.

        "Let's see who's hanging out at the regular spots," he thought out loud. "I'm sure I can find a victim or two to add to my list."

        The night was fairly cool. He could see his breath as he walked. He loved it, the crispness in the air, the chill that kept him awake and alert. He especially loved catching one in action, the steam rising from the victim’s neck as he plunged a wooden stake through the back of a vamp's heart. Aaaahh, he reveled in the fantasy of it all.

        He opened the door to the "Raven", a popular place amongst the living and the dead. Nice place, actually. It had old world charm to it, like a British pub of sorts. There was even a lovely wooden crossbow that adorned the overhang of the entrance way; almost as if the owner placed it there for odd sorts of emergencies. Victor approached the bar. "The usual, Fred," he spouted. The bartender grabbed a bottle of his best cognac and poured it into a heavy crystal glass.

        "Only the best for you, Victor. After all, ridding the world of darkness should earn you something." The bartender grinned. He was a nice looking fellow, a bit older, maybe in his fifties, but he had definitely been around. His long grey hair was pulled back into a braid. He fit in well with the establishment.

        "Anything going on?" Victor asked as he sipped his cognac. It was warm and soothing going down his throat. He would first let it run just over the tip of his lips before allowing it to flow freely into his system. He wanted to savor every drop. "So sweet," he thought.

        "You know who’s back in town," Fred said while looking up from a bar glass. One eyebrow raised at a time with a glint in his eyes.

        Victor paid no heed. "I can handle it," he replied emotionlessly.

        "Whatever you say, Victor. You're the chief."

        "I'm gonna take a stroll. Call me if you need anything, Fred."

        "Will do."

        Victor placed a few dollars on the bar and headed out the door. It didn't take long for trouble to brew; the locals got used to his rounds, and they enjoyed taunting him.

        "Victor, darling," a seductive voice called from behind him. "You looking for trouble tonight?"

        Victor turned around to find a beautiful redhead leering in his direction. Spike heels, leather skirt, and gorgeous brown eyes. Who could resist her?

        "Now I'm not going to jump to any conclusions, beautiful," he replied. "I don't believe we have met, and I'm not sure we should enter into any sort of commitment so soon."

        The woman drew closer to him, pressing herself softly against his side. She smelled incredible. "You don't even know my name, Victor," she said with a soft, alluring tone. "I have heard much about you. You are a killer, no?"

        Victor's eyebrow went up and his hand went under his coat. "So tell me your name."

        "Sandra." She circled him like a tiger.

        "Well, Sandra, what's a pretty girl like you doing alone on a dark street?"

        "Who says I am alone?"

        He paused and noticed that coming out from in between the cracks in the walls were several beefy looking fellows, sporting freshly brushed fangs.

        "Now, fellas, do we have to keep meeting like this? Then again, the night is young, and I am hungry."

        The battle ensued.

        Sandra watched as Victor took them on, one by one hurtling them through the air and catching them each with a stake as they pounced upon his chest. One, two, three then four piles of dust lay in the street. Victor stood, shook his coat, and turned to face Sandra. She was standing in front of a vacant store, her back to the glass. The only thing reflecting was the wooden stake held up high in Victor's hand.

        "Now, my dear," he turned his neck until it cracked, gleamed into her eyes, "I am hungry, and you look delicious."

        She turned to her side, catching the view of the wooden stake reflecting in the glass just out of the corner of her eye. Slowly her eyes moved from the glass to Victor. Trembling fear enveloped her.

        Swiftly he came.

        "God, I love my job." The steam rose from her neck.