OV: The Original Vampire (Book #1)

OV: THE ORIGINAL VAMPIRE (Book One)

Preface

She then walked over a patch of grass. There was a sharp blow to the back of her head. She looked around quickly and screamed. There were suddenly five guys surrounding her. “Leave me alone!” She screamed. Another man punched her square in the jaw. “Oh my god!” She gasped. She felt hands pinch her skin as they pulled down her pants. “No, No, No!” Her voice was raspy, her vocal cords already torn from the first intense scream.

She began to swing wildly, but someone tackled her. Her nose filled with dirt when she did a face plant into the ground. She felt sharp nails on her inner-thighs, as she wrestled someone on the ground. She bit an ear and clawed someone’s eyes, but it was useless, there were miles of dumb flesh in the world, raping & pillaging without remorse. She screamed with absolute fight or flight. It seemed someone else screamed along with her, or it was an echo in her ears.

She felt her hands being pushed into the earth. She heard deep voices, “Fuck yeah, get her!” She twisted and turned, but there were hands all over her, controlling her.

Then, a warmer hand covered her mouth. She kicked until her heels made two holes into the ground.

“Stop it Josie, it’s me!” Vinnie looked down at her. His deep, brown eyes rained soothing love down onto her, a love she knew all too well. She still kicked a little, but they were like aftershocks of terror.

“I was getting raped!” She bellowed, as Vinnie cradled her. Her tears drenched his arm sleeves.

“There’s no one around Josie.”

“There were at least five of them. They mauled me with their fucking hands, animals!”

“It’s okay. Let’s get out of here.” Vinnie said.

They walked like an old tormented couple, disabled from a traumatic event. Her head was bent down, like a deflated debutante.

“What were you seeing?” He asked.

“There were five young guys. One kicked me in the head and I swear my left eye dislodged.”

“That sounds faintly familiar.” Vinnie said, as they walked.

“Oh Vinnie, look!” She pointed over to an empty field. “They’re getting married. Look at all those horses and people wearing top-hats, must be a wedding in retro.”

Vinnie realized she wasn’t kidding. The field was empty. He knew to walk on eggshells when someone was delusional.

“Yes, it’s magnificent.” He said, and held her hand, half expecting for her to run off.

The sky spiraled, like a Van Gogh painting, as Josie became speechless with her world. Jets flew over and left tracers and joggers flew by her at blinding speed, as she touched her face and felt her open mouth.

I.

Vinnie and Josie walked down to a logging rally from their
Poli-Sci class in Port Angeles, Washington on November 25, 1985. Class had just ended and emotions were high for the class about deforestation in their neighborhood of the Olympic National Forest. Vinnie mouthed the words: “Do you want to go?” to Josie, when the professor mentioned the logging rally during class.

Josie still had two classes to complete high school, but had enrolled in the Running Start Program, which e
nabled her to gain an Associate Degree from college while simultaneously graduating from high school.

Vinnie was twenty years old. It seemed he mostly sat alone. His long black hair made him seem Native American or East Indian. The fluorescent lights of the classroom made his hair shine with a
slightly bluish hue.

They walked towards the waterfront towards the Union Wharf, where hundreds of loggers and their families pumped their fists in the air, shouting in unison a particular pro-active foresting mantra.

Josie broke their quiet stride: “I’ve never done this before.”

Vinnie smiled to himself as they walked.

The sky was encased in a gray cocoon, a nine month condition which left the citizens of the Pacific Northwest either catatonic or destructive. Vinnie approached the last row of protesting loggers who wore Dick’s shirts and flannel coats, which made the loggers arms & stomachs look bigger.

Vinnie & Josie stood there, looking over to whoever spoke the loudest. Vinnie seemed calm, like he was watching just another
TV show. Josie looked up at him. She was excited that this day wasn’t unfolding like the countless others.

“Loggers need to feed their families, just like everyone else!” A man with a long beard yelled.

“No new state parks!”

“No new state parks!” The chanting began. It seemed as archaic as a witch hunt.

Over to the side, Vinnie noticed another young couple. The guy seemed to be sneering as he held his girlfriend in front of him. His bottom lip had a silver ring in it. The guy looked over at Vinnie then forward again.

“No logging
means NO jobs!” A woman holding a giant plastic cup with a straw yelled.

Vinnie looked at Josie. His eyes were dark and still, there seemed to be no pattern in his irises. He looked forward
, as his chest began to rise: “save the trees!” He yelled. He looked back at her and smiled. Josie didn’t have time to react to what he said. Her mouth opened. Her shock fed Vinnie’s confidence as he leaned towards her. He could feel her warm breath on his chin. Her eyes moved quickly, analyzing the mysteries of the opposite sex. His lips clasped gently onto her bottom lip, as he playfully tugged.

“Fucking hippie.”
The man in front of Vinnie seethed. The man turned around, faced Vinnie and spat. The spit was brown and burned Vinnie’s cheek. Josie shrieked. People looked back. Vinnie knelt down and placed his fingertips on the asphalt. Josie saw his lips moving, with the corners of his mouth turned demonically upwards. Within seconds Vinnie was off the ground, with his right hand covering the man’s mouth and his left hand holding the back of the man’s head. There was a crack, like knuckles popping, as Vinnie’s right hand moved one way and his left hand the other. The man toppled and fell onto himself like a pile of clothes. The smiling Vinnie from college was gone. Josie stepped back. Vinnie shook his head and began to laugh.

“I’m so sorry.” He confessed. His words didn’t match his emotions.
He then stretched out his arms as if crucified, as two policemen blurred past Josie and tackled him.

October 15
th
, 2000. Forks, Washington.

The smell of cigarettes, deep fryer oil and urine wafted out the back door of the restaurant and into the alley where Josie stood smoking a cigarette. This was the tenth day in a row she had worked and she wanted to kill the next customer who asked for something besides what they ordered.

Josie’s hand, that clung to the cigarette, shook. There were scars
lighter than her skin on her hand that told horror stories, the same stories that the disenfranchised share over a drink, a line or a bowl.

Even though Josie had
worked in the bar for six years, she was on the bottom of the schedule, due to the disciplinary action taken against her on a few occasions for her erratic behavior. The other two senior waitresses had worked there since the logging boom of the Fifties. If Josie’s name was mentioned by an admiring customer, the senior waitresses would roll their eyes and state, “What a shame, that one.”

Josie tended to the same drunks every night. She huddled at the end of the dark bar, smoking cigarettes and trading stories. There was a haze of stagnant smoke that lingered above the bar, like a small scale version of Los Angeles’ skyline. The same songs played on the jukebox. When a sad song came on
Josie mouthed the words.

There was a loud crash outside the door. Josie and the drunks looked towards the light. The light shone through the smoke, like a weak sign from Heaven. Tom entered the bar, as Josie lowered her eyes.

“Hey babe,” Tom muttered.

“Was that you?” Josie asked.

“What?”

“You didn’t hear that loud crash, you were right there when it happened?” She asked.

“Just me ventin’.”

“Don’t take it out here at my place of work.”

“Oh shit.” Tom looked away as he asked for his usual drink. “When you  gonna cook me a dinner someday?” Tom asked.

“I’ve worked enough. This is day ten.”

“Shit. I work every day,” He said.

Josie didn’t remove his empty glasses. She wanted evidence of his abuse, towards her and the drink. Around drink four it began:

“You’re pathetic,” Tom grumbled. “How many guys you been with?”

Tom made random statements like these until the bar cleared and it was just them. Then it got worse. A few times, Josie’s head being pounded against the wall signaled the waitresses closing the dining room to call the police.

Josie’s years were getting harder and her happiness was getting thinner, like the age rings of a tree; the first few years the rings are large with a lot of growth, the last rings are barely visible, showing no growth, just days, months, years smashed together. Tom was just the icing of her misery.

A young blonde girl came into the bar and walked back by the pool tables. Tom’s lethargic stare followed her. Seven empty glasses. Josie cleaned the glasses when she noticed
in the mirror Tom missing. It was usual for Tom to stray. It was unusual that he needed no help walking after glass seven.

Josie looked down the hall and saw Tom leaning against the pool table where the blonde practiced her shot. He twitched his foot like a boy. Josie could tell he was interested, which only fueled her disinterest in him.

Tom held the blonde girl’s hand now. He was looking at her nails, or admiring her diamond ring. He laughed when he spoke. It was laughter Josie heard a thousand days ago, in the beginning. The beginning is just the beginning of the end, Josie thought.

She wiped down the bar and turned off the lights in the display case and behind the liquor. She was beyond dismayed.

“Come on Tom. Let’s go. I’m done.”

Tom didn’t respond.

“Let’s go!” Josie yelled.

He came down the hallway and held the edge of the doorway. His eyes squinted and his body swayed. She rattled her keys to indicate she was done.
He disengaged from the door and took a few quick steps, then veered into the wall. A framed picture of a smiling teen holding a trophy fell to the ground. It was cracked through his face when Josie picked it up.

“Come on Tom.” Josie said.

“Mmm. Alright.”

Josie unlocked the passenger door to the car and opened it ajar, then walked to the driver’s side. She waited. She watched Tom through the foggy windshield, contemplating each of his footsteps. He grabbed the door as it swung open and he fell down. The car wins, Josie thought.

He climbed onto the passenger seat. “Bitch, you better wait.” He said.

Josie grinded her teeth with each negative comment. Between Meth and Tom, her teeth were worn down. She turned the radio on. He turned it off. She looked at her phone. He took it away. He fumbled with the buttons, grew bored with it, and tossed it in the back.

She began to drive. The tires on the roadway grew louder the longer the silence between them lasted.

“You’re a bitch.” Tom mumbled. There was a string of saliva hanging from his chin. She pulled into the driveway and got out. Tom sat a few minutes before realizing they were home. She started the bathwater. She sat on the toilet and removed her shoes. There was a red spot near her big toe. She rubbed her feet. The steam from the hot water spiraled around the light. She looked at the crack in the middle of the door, memorabilia from last Thanksgiving.

The tub was full as she turned off the faucet. She heard a thud but ignored it. She slipped off her pants. Her legs were whiter than the porcelain claw feet of the tub. She looked deformed, like an Egon Shiele painting.

Another thud, this time it was closer. She heard Tom’s voice in the doorway:

“We never go out. Always come home. Just this. . .every fuckin’ night.”

“Tom, I work a lot. We can go out this weekend. Okay baby?” Josie said, trying to placate him.

Tom’s boots creaked on the floor, as she heard his boots come closer. He stood over her now. She was frozen still. Tom looked down at her. He wanly smiled. His eyes became empty as he reached down and grabber her hair. He lifted her out of the water. All her weight was held by her hair. She shrieked. It resembled a sound from a slaughter house.

She stood in the middle of the bathroom, face to face, naked and vulnerable towards Tom. There were a few strands of her hair dangling from his fist. The faucet leaked into the bath. There was a moth hitting the light. The house creaked. The only sound absent was Josie’s heart. Tom smiled: “We never go out.”

As fast as a cobra strike, Josie felt a flash of stinging warmth against her forehead. The pain was momentarily absent of a source. It couldn’t be from Tom, she thought. Tom smiled. All measurements of reality were abolished. Tom then broke down and began to whimper.