Chapter Text
He followed the insistent Xolo dog as it scampered through the dark, narrow, grimy, spider web of alleyways that made up the backstreets of Santa Cecilia. When they had set off, they had the dying light of the sun to guide them, though now the back streets were lit only by the faintest of the sun’s glowing embers. Now the light cast ominous shadows on the walls like they were walking down, and down into hell itself.
The creature ran across a busy, well lit street, accidentally scattering some marigold petals, slicing through the pathway like a knife. An irritated woman in full calavera makeup holding a large basket, yelled at him.
The smell of traditional and modern festival foods mixed together into a strange sweet and spicy concoction that permeated the air. However this didn’t quite mask the delicious smell of blood underneath.
The creature grimaced at his own nature, disgusted that his mouth almost salivated at the smell.
Far away, he could hear the jubilant cheering and laughter of the festival in the old mariachi plaza. Somewhere else in town, a terrified, frantic family were crying out desperately for a missing boy. Somewhere in the older parts of town, he heard a terrified scream. It was all background noise to him. After nearly a century, the creature was used to the audible emotional dissonance of the large town. There was always someone crying, there was always someone laughing. Life didn’t stop, because yours had.
The dog had found him while he had been playing a round of sevens with Marianna. At first, he had been irritated when the dog had interrupted him, as the racket the dog had made was enough to raise the dead. However, quickly this irritation became curiosity and concern, as the dog kept pulling, and pulling, insistently on his pant leg. The dog had never looked this desperate before.
The Xolo dog had found him a few years prior, and had become a near constant companion in his suffering. The dog wouldn’t leave him alone, unless his other owner was around. The creature knew nothing about the dog’s other owner, except he was human, alive and young --a child, young enough to ask questions without shame. The creature made a point of leaving whenever the other owner’s scent grew strong enough to be within 250ft.
When the dog was around the creature, it liked to curl up close to The Creature. It had no preference on available body part. The Creature had tried to get the dog to leave, both naturally or otherwise. Except either it was somehow immune to the thrall, or simply too stupid. Most of the time, the dog came and bothered him for attention, playtime or food.
It had been a month into The Creature’s acquaintance with the dog, when he had conceded and given him a scrap of meat.
As The creature ran with the dog through the streets, concern started to tickle at his brain. The dog had never tried to take him anywhere before. He only hoped that the dog hadn’t acted like a cat, and bringing him to something it had killed. Fortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case; as the dog wound through the back streets of Santa Cecilia, it would occasionally sniff the ground, as though following something. Was it tracking something? Why did the dog need him?
To his concern, the creature was increasingly aware that they were getting nearer, and nearer, his territory. He knew that if he was found near here... Things for him could get very, very bad, really fast.
Suddenly, at the end of an alleyway which opened up onto the old plaza, the dog stopped. It looked up, and started barking.
The creature rushed forward, and clamped his hands over the stupid dog’s mouth.
“No! Bad dog! Shush!” He hissed.
The dog wriggled his mouth free again. He looked up at the wall at the back of the plaza which was the boundaries to his property, drat!
The dog began to bark again. This time he looked up. He swore that his blood ran colder than before. The Creature held onto the dog head, if only so he didn’t dash forward himself. He no longer cared to quieten the barking dog.
High, high up the wall was him in his white charro suit. He hadn’t noticed the creature, or the dog, in the plaza below. However, he didn’t look very happy. His face was twisted in a vicious snarl, with spittle flying from his sharpened canines. The furious scowl immediately brought back too many unpleasant memories for the creature, and he subconsciously clutched at his abdomen. Despite his fear of the man who had once been his best friend, that wasn’t what scared him.
In his hand , which was stretched far over the wall, was a small boy. The boy was being held by his hooded jacket collar. The boy couldn’t be older than a young teenager. He was still so very painfully alive, his tiny heart beating like a small mouse caught in a trap. His fresh blood flowing faster through his body. His fear was radiating from him. The boy wore a red hooded jacket, dirt stained jeans, black boots and a white vest.
The scent of the boy’s boots reminded the creature of his daughter’s home, and he was sure that he had seen this boy around her house, once or twice. Maybe he was the child of a neighbour? He hoped he was. The boy was crying now, confused and he kept alternating between pleading for his life, and insulting him for all he was worth.
The Creature’s cold blood boiled in fury, he had destroyed him enough, but apparently he wanted to scare little boys too. Did that man ’s cruelty know any boundaries? There wasn’t a scrap of decency in that man . He truly was a monster .
The monster said something to the boy, and put him on top of the wall.
The creature in the square let out a shaky breath, he hadn’t realised he had been holding. He had been so worried that he was going to-
A white suit clad arm appeared, and pushed the boy of the wall.
He fell,
Down,
Down,
And down.
There was a sickening crunch.
Numbly, the creature was aware he had let go of the dog’s head.
He had actually killed a child.
Whimpering, the Xolo dog ran to the boy.
He had left him alone with his daughter.
The dog licked the dead boy’s face. Then it whined and pawed at the boy. The Creature was about to shout at the dog, and tell it off for attempting to disturb the dead, when he noticed the boy was breathing.
A noise from above, laughter, snapped him out of his horror. He was looking down at the desperate dog. He laughed once more, turned away and left the boy to die.
The creature stayed hidden in the shadows, hoping that that monster wouldn’t look down again, and smell him. He didn’t. In fact, his scent became fainter as he walked away.
After thirty seconds, the creature dashed to the small boy.
Before he even reached the boy, he could smell blood. Briefly his bloodlust overcame his brain, and all he wanted was to sample some of the boy’s delicious, fresh, blood. Instinctively, his canines extended, and his protesting thoughts faded to the back of his mind.
It would be so easy to thrall the boy, and take a small taste of that delightful blood. It was so tempting. He hadn’t eaten in a while, because sometimes he was foolish and didn’t like to drink the sweet red nectar. Now food had literally fallen from the sky, delicious and fresh. The blood smelled very good. The boy’s blood was so, so fresh, so good, so fresh-
His brain and common sense yanked control away from his instincts. This boy didn’t have the time for him to fight the urge to drink his blood. He needed to act fast. This boy was dying. In his mind’s eye he saw the boy’s body bounce, once again, on the plaza’s cobblestone floor.
*
He looked at the boy, and gathered as much as he could from his senses, while fighting the bloodlust in his head. The boy was still very young, either twelve or thirteen. When the boy had fallen he had screamed, and his voice still had a child’s lilt to it. His face was still youthful and round, unblemished from the trauma that life could throw at you. It took him a moment, but he matched the boy’s scent with the same one that clung to the Xolo dog, confirming the boy was the dog’s other owner.
His breaths were coming out it shallow pained attempts -there was an abnormally strong smell of blood coming from the boy’s mouth. He looked like a baby bird that had fallen from his nest. His neck was twisted at a wrong angle no doubt his back or neck was broken. Also his shoulder was dislocated, and one of his legs was broken.
*
Immediately, the creature felt terrible. The boy was but a baby to him. He had been going to drink the boy’s precious blood. The boy’s face stirred an image of another, much younger child in his head.
He purposefully swallowed his bile. If he threw up here, he would be able to smell it, and track him down. That would be bad for him, the boy and the dog.
The fall hadn’t killed the boy. However, it was clear to him that if he left the boy alone, he would die. That didn’t settle well with him, but what choice did he have? If he tried to run the boy to a hospital who knows what damage he’d do. If he called an ambulance, they might not arrive in time.
Then, unwarranted, a thought popped up in his mind. It was a stupid idea.
He could always turn him.
A cold pinch of fear entered his brain. He had never turned anyone before, but he did know how to do it. Would he be able to do it without succumbing to the urge to feed? Would it work? It could just kill the boy faster. What about the boy’s family? They’d be worried if he never came home, or worse what if he went home, and hurt them accidentally. Could he live with himself if that happened? What if the boy felt terrible afterwards, and hated him?
However, there was very few choices that could save the kid at this point. The boy’s breathing was getting shallower and shallower: he was running out of time.
The creature shook his head, trying to shake out the insane thought. This boy could only be thirteen at most, he should have his whole life ahead. He shouldn’t have to face a choice like this, or worse be unable to decide leaving the choice in the hands of someone like him.
The creature glanced around, there was no one else around. The boy was running out of time, out of options. He had to decide, whether this kid ‘lived’, or died.
The creature decided that despite this being a no-win scenario, he couldn’t live with himself if the boy died, because of him. He stepped forward, and kneeled down next to the boy.
Gently, he swept the boy’s hair of his forehead. Back when he had been alive, and home and safe, and the things that haunted the night were just nightmares, he had done the same for his little girl.
Could he actually do this?
The boy let out pained whimper, which steeled his nerves.
The boy needed him to do this.
The upside of living for a long time is that you came across a variety of people, such as doctors. That’s how the creature learned if you wanted an intravenous injection to work quickly, you had a choice of neck, upper arm/ shoulders and the inside of his elbow.
The creature didn’t really want to touch the boy’s neck. He feared if he did, he could kill him, so he had a choice of arm or shoulder. Deciding closer to the heart was better, he shuffled around the boy until he was near his left shoulder.
He quickly pulled down the arm of the boy’s hooded jacket, and picked up his arm, studying it for a vein. He noticed one on the side of the upper arm, only showing up faintly against his skin.
The boy whimpered in pain. The creature swallowed in disgust at what he was about to do.
However uncomfortable he felt, it didn’t mean it needed to be uncomfortable for the boy. He grimaced, and figured that decent society would agree that if he thralled the kid now, it would cause more good than harm, and alleviate some of the boy’s pain.
“ ¿Oye Chamaco? I know you can’t exactly agree to what I’m about to do, but it’ll stop the pain, s í ? Lo siento. ” He said to the dying child.
Grimacing, he ignored the unpleasant memories thralling brought to him.
He hummed quiet tune, enthralling the child away from his pain. Once again, he had to swallow bile, but this time at the haunting phantom memories in his mind.
The creature was a vampire, he had to get use to this again… eventually.
Shaking, he let his fangs sharpen again. He opened his eyes, and focused on the boy’s vein. Carefully, he brought his mouth onto the boy’s arm, and bit down.
The vampire could taste the kid’s blood in his mouth. He resisted every urge he had, so that he didn’t drink more than he needed to. He held his fangs inside the vein for a minute, before removing them carefully.
He knew he had started to cry. He didn’t want to do this, but he didn’t want the kid to die either. In his head, the memories of enthralling people and biting their neck for blood made him want to vomit. His proximity to his house terrified the man, dredging up many other memories.
The child flailed in his arms, as his body going into shock. The vampire gently shushed the barely conscious child.
Carefully, the vampire spat on the two puncture marks on the boy’s upper arm, which closed the wounds up spectacularly fast. They’d scar of course, they always did. He then glanced down at the side of his own elbow, where two similar marks were
Wincing, he scratched from the side of his right hand, down to the joint on his wrist.
It took a moment, and some fist clenching, but blood welled up alongside his hand. He then guided his hand to the kid’s mouth. He clenched his fist, so that enough blood would reach the side of his hand, and go into the boy’s mouth.
It was obvious that the boy wouldn’t consciously swallow the blood on his own, so the vampire desperately pressed the suggestion onto the boy’s subconscious enthralled state.
Drink Chamaco. Please, drink. You’ll die if you don’t. When you come to, I’ll explain everything! I don’t want you to die. Please, drink! Please, you can’t die. I promise, I will do everything I can to fix this! Please, please, I can’t let you die. Please little one.
The vampire sighed in relief, when the boy’s adam’s apple moved swallowing the vampire’s tainted blood.
While the preliminary transformation took place, he sat next to the boy. To ward from the cold, he brought his knees up to his chest. The xolo dog lay the other side of the boy, pressing his back against the child.
After a while the vampire gently combed his right hand through the boy’s damp hair, like he had with his daughter. He hadn’t let go of the boy’s hand, which was still in his left hand from the arm inspection. He clung to the child’s immobile fingers.
The vampire could only wait, and hope. He had done everything he could to help the boy. It was the waiting that was always the worst. The vampire knew he was painfully exposed, and vulnerable should anyone decide to harm the boy. The air in the plaza seemed colder than normal. With his right hand, he pulled his waistcoat tighter around his middle. He glanced down at the recuperating boy next to him. He didn’t have a coat that he could put over the boy, and was still cautious about his neck, so instead he shuffled closer to him. After a moment, he zipped the hooded jacket up, and rubbed the boy’s arms, and hands, in an attempt to keep the boy warm.
When he was done, he continued to comb the boy’s hair with his hand.
The Vampire whispered any comfort he could possibly give this broken, suffering child. He told him about his daughter, his wife and his music. He even sung gentle tunes to the boy. He even sang his daughter’s song, and it did nothing.
He had removed the suggestive properties of the thrall as soon as the boy had drunk. He slowly removed the rest so that the child didn’t go into shock from any pain he was in. The vampire apologised to the unconscious boy the entire time.
He was painfully aware of how he was acting towards the unconscious child. He knew there was something little bit insidious about a monster like him, comforting a small, dying, lost, boy. However, a part of him felt more at home, looking after the boy, than he had felt in a long time. He was surprised he still knew how to, and how quickly his old paternal instincts kicked in. He reflected on how, according to vampire societal constructs, the boy could be called his now, he had been the one who turned him into a vampire. A part of himself hated that: the kid had a family; not that he could go home of course. Another, guilty, larger than he would admit, part of himself revelled in getting a second chance, if only briefly. He was under no delusions, this kid was going to hate him for what he had done. Nonetheless, before then if anyone hurt the boy, they would see how truly terrible the vampire was prepared to be.
For half an hour there was no visible improvements. That’s when the vampire noticed that the boy’s resting heart rate had gone down to 20bpm, and his body temperature had dropped by quite a few degree. For a few seconds he thought the kid was dying again, and touched the boy’s cheek in panic. Then he realised that the boy’s breathing had got a lot better, and he could no longer hear bone grind against bone. The boy no longer stank of blood.
The vampire was looking at the boy’s face, for a sign of consciousness, when the boy’s fingers flexed, and grabbed his hand. The vampire looked at his hand, and laughed. The boy had made it. It had worked, he’d survived!
The vampire sat, and watched as the boy slowly came to consciousness. When he eventually woke up, the vampire almost chuckled at how much emotion the boy showed in his face, then chastised himself. The boy was a little bit like him, and wore his emotions on his sleeve. First there was a wince of pain, then confusion, then elation and then finally panic.
The boy looked at his hand. Then he followed the arm, and looked the vampire straight in the face. He yelped and pulled it away. He leaned away from him, terror racing though his large brown eyes. He then attempted to sit up, but he winced, and lay back down.
The vampire immediately moved to help ease him back down.
The boy looked at the vampire, “Who are you? Am I dead?”
“Be careful, chamaco. You need to lie down for your body to come to terms with what happened. Give it two minutes! Then we need to move,” the vampire said, glancing up the wall.
“Why? Who are you?”
“First, who are you? I think that’s what they usually ask if you’ve taken a knock to the head...”
“I’m Miguel R- I’m not sure what my surname is anymore. I don’t think I’ll like the answer. That’s not a concussion thing, more of another thing. I am twelve, and I want to be a musicó , but my family won’t let me. Now who are you, and what’s going on?”
“You’re family sound sensible, really,” the vampire muttered.
“That doesn’t sound like a name.”
“Are you like this with everyone you meet, Chamaco? ”
“Depends, if they tell me their name?”
The vampire paused for a moment. He could tell the boy, and get him to trust him, but he may overhear them, and that would put them in danger. Was the danger worth the trust? His two sides warred with himself. Eventually, he made a decision.
However first he had to tell the kid his change in circumstances.
“I will, but first I need you to know I’m sorry. You can’t panic,” The vampire said.
“Why?” Miguel asked, sounding young and scared.
“I’m a vampire, and I didn’t have a choice, you must understand that,” The Vampire swallowed. “I turned you to save your life. You were dying. You survived because I... you’re now a vampire. Oh, and my name is Héctor."
