The Bitter Watch

August 10

I write in this journal at this most inappropriate time because it may be the second to last thing I do. As for the reasons behind this rash statement, I will spell them out in the body of this letter. I say letter since, basically, that is what it is. A letter to anyone who may find it so that they will know the reasons for my actions. I will write what I can with what little time that I have so that someone may know my story.

I have all but forgotten that which defines true beauty. This particular tragedy though major for any individual, is even more torturous for me considering that until quite recently I believed the recognition and interpretation of beauty to be my greatest gift. I was an artist.

There was a time when my brush would ache for the canvas, yearning to feel the rough and yet inviting touch on every bristle. The sound, like fingernails on silk, emanating from the portrait yet to be created was like a song of angels celebrating the birth of a blessed child. The smells of the acrylics and oils wafted through the air and intoxicated like pheromones that would drive me toward rapture as I made love to the easel thereby siring an offspring like none other before and none ever again.

Imagine now a deception, an agreement made in an impassioned state when all else was forgotten. A deal was made whose cost alone took all that I loved. Then I endured the inevitable ramifications that grow from such a decision, like the after shock of a great quake. Not just the initial shifting of the plates that make up the land but the

remaining strain of earth and rock pulling and crying out for release until foundations are torn and structures destroyed leaving only desolation. Those who loved you remain, struggling in vain to pick up the pieces and build again.

I am dead to them now as I am to my art. With anger, and without muse all that now grows from the union of bristle and canvas is dark and without life. All passions now turn to regrets, and all joys to pain, finally all life to death. Blood covers my hands now instead of the paints that did so in times past.

Ten years of gradually unbearable nights have now passed. For ten years I have been without my gift. The urge to create still builds within me yet my inability frustrates and drives me mad so that every breath I take, out of habit since no longer out of need, tastes of ash. The air itself seems void of the pleasant smells that used to decorate it's movements.

There are certain smells that are only present during the day. One does not usually smell freshly cut grass at midnight. To the sun the petals of the most delicate flowers open as if inviting a lover into it's intimate embrace, turning toward it and wanting the warmth of it's touch. Yet, to the soft beams of the moonlight they close and shy away like the shallow people of this world who turn up their noses at any malady or disfigurement, not wishing to soil themselves.

All that surrounds me now is pain and death. What inspiration can I draw from that? What inspiration can I draw from the suffering of others, while despising my own existence? All around me I see the destruction of others lives, and I am painfully reminded that I must now be a party to that destruction. Like some ancient battlefield the bodies in my wake are strewn haphazardly staring at me with unblinking, doll eyes. They ask me why their time had to come so soon, and many that still lie before me waiting to die for no reason other than my whim and the hunger that drives me ask me that same question in my dreams.

I write these words, possibly as my epitaph for I go now to destroy the source of my curse and end the possibility of spreading this disease that would doom others to my fate. I may not return since failure is a strong possibility. Yet my cause, I feel, is worthy and so if I end my miserable semblance of a life in the pursuit of this cause it would be a good death.

I am the source. I am the one that he who wrote above wishes to kill. I granted him the gift of which he writes. Though he names it curse, such a thing has been sought after by far greater men under far graver circumstances. For millennia have they searched and for much longer have they desired this gift. Still, as it was mine to give and, at the time he was in need, I bestowed upon him the honor of immortality. In retrospect I may have misjudged his heart and thereby granted him a power that he very well could abuse considering that he has shown a predisposition to do so in the past. I write in this journal, which is not my own, primarily to show cause. However, I do have personal reasons as well and all of my intentions will be made clear by the end of this entry.

Ten years past was when I met, and was subsequently intrigued by him. He was disfigured you see. He had been terribly scarred, as well as crippled, in an accident while still in his youth. One factor in particular that may have magnified his pain was that he had once been quite fair. It became obvious to me that he was not made better by having “loved and lost” for the scar that marred his heart was fouler than any blemish upon his face.

Nevertheless, I saw a glimmer of hope in his capacity for beauty beyond the corporeal. This talent was demonstrated most effectively by the artwork I spied upon the walls of the gallery I had walked those many years ago. I met him amongst the stunning portraits of such angelic perfection as to rival the finest creations of God himself. His confirmation that the works were his own began a conversation the would change our lives forever.

At first he seemed guarded and not at all inclined toward conversation. As I persisted he began to accept my indifference to his appearance as genuine and therefore allowed himself some verbal liberties. Before long it became as though a floodgate had been opened and all that was within him erupted forth in a stream of philosophies, dreams and convictions. I discovered that he had not spoken to anyone like this in a very long time. His eyes glowed in the newness of the friendship, for it developed so quickly that neither one of us knew it had happened before the deed was done. That evening we had become closer than many friends become in a lifetime. His passion was compelling and all that surrounded him was possibilities, though he was unaware of them. I thought to myself, “I could make such a being from this man that would shower the world with his beauty for hundreds of years. With his eyes he could capture the beauty in anything that surrounded him and with his hands he could draw it out and display it for all the world to marvel at.“ Such where my thoughts, and that was the measure of my infatuation with this man's potential.

The following day I could no more rest than could babes in the thrall of a Christmas morning just hours away. He had mentioned to me that much of the world goes unobserved by him due to his disfigurement. It would make those around him uncomfortable and therefore cloud his ability to find the beauty in the mundane. He would be unable to find the artistry in the things the rest of us see every day consequently defeating the whole purpose of subjecting himself to the silent ridicule. It was a vicious cycle whose escape had eluded my artist for years but I had the answer to his quandary. I had never decided in such a short passage of time to bestow the gift upon anyone. Truth be told I had only honored two others in my three hundred years of life.

The next night I came to him and told him of what I wanted to share with him, explaining of course the rules, advantages and disadvantages as they had never been revealed to me. After his initial disbelief and the requisite demonstrations of authenticity he was overjoyed and accepted with only minutes of consideration. I normally would have required another sunset's worth of thought from my prospective brother in the gift but, I could not stand to let another moment pass. So, I bit him, drained him, and fed him of my own blood.

That night and the following day we were both exhausted, he by the labors of his transformation and I by the creation of another such as myself. The night after was a different matter. He could not get to a mirror fast enough, once he had regained full command of his senses. The transformation had restored him to that which he would have become save for the violent twist of fate that took it away from him. Once the shock of his own physical beauty had lessened he was amazed at the acuteness of all that he felt. Every scent that traversed the airs was his to sample and every sound that danced upon the ears was sweeter still. Within the folds of the darkness in which he now found himself his eyes magnified the light of the moon to brilliance not unlike the sun.

He stayed with me for a number of days exploring some of his new abilities but, as it is with some who have been wronged in their past life, vengeance carried him from me. The vengeance he sought from those who had wronged him was as ill-advised as it was tempting. He was completely unrecognizable in his new form save for the bright green eyes that once searched for beauty, now searching only for retribution. All about him physically was changed. Yet his soul, or whatever it is that defines our existence, was blacker than the endless pit of his appetite that would never be filled regardless of how much vengeance he exacted.

A statement about the blackness of a man's soul however, must be quantified if it is to be taken seriously. I can only express to you what I beheld with my own eyes. He never returned to me after leaving for his vengeance. That, in and of itself, was against the very nature of the gift which is to learn more and thereby explore the possibilities of the newly discovered powers. As was my way, I kept close watch on him to ensure that nothing befell my new creation while he was still vulnerable. It was much like the way I observed him as he wrote the words in this journal, just moments ago, bending the light around me so as to appear more as a shadow , or shade, than as a definite shape. I suppose that this very talent led to the early legends of our kind becoming mist, smoke or even animals.

As I watched him however, in the manner I have already described, I came to realize that he was not as vulnerable as I believed him to be. I saw him luring his prey as any of us would have had we no other option, and that is where the similarities ended. I could almost feel the malicious intent with which he tore his prey apart. He did not feed upon them until he had sufficiently tortured them, tearing at them like some wild animal without any sense of pity or mercy. I was able to over hear, and see enough to determine that the most brutal of the killings were reserved for those that had openly crossed him. These were mostly females that had rejected his inept advances, not knowing the malice with which he would revisit them. He would pound upon their face and chest like some enraged ape. He raped and beat his frustrations out of their bodies while the room filled with their screams followed shortly by the cracking ribs, skulls and the sound of raw wet meat slapped with an open hand. When he finished with them, jaw bones where dislocated, noses had been shattered, and nothing but moans, blood clotted gurgling and twitches came from the now unrecognizable bodies that lay before him. He killed as though he hated all the world and the pleasure he took from such killings was grotesque to the point of nausea.

I regret now, the terrible power I have bestowed upon this haunted soul for it is now a plague upon the earth. What I must do, in such that I will not kill him, is to attempt to bring him back. I will not become the animal in this scenario and kill for it's own sake that which I will not feed upon unless I am given no further recourse. I must teach him the moral principles inevitably incurred with his new power, and the proper execution of his new station.

I pray that I can show him the true nature of this life and the purpose for which I created him. I hope beyond all reason that I can convince him that he hates because he has hated all his life. No matter what life he leads he will never be satisfied until he comes to terms with himself. I am obliged to this task for with out me he would simply hate and be friendless until change came over him or death took him. Now he can destroy many lives prey and predator alike since his actions are sure to lead to our discovery.

Any and all who read these words may now know why I write when I would rather have these events never to be discovered. I seek to illustrate that my kind are not evil. We act and live out of necessity, feeding on the weak, lost, and those who would find a greater peace in death. Does that make us judge, jury, and executioner? Perhaps, but when the machines keep the thread of life from unraveling is it the individual clinging for life, or those that love them clinging to their memory? We are death but we are not hate, or malice, or vengeance. We possess a power that requires great responsibility. On the rare occasion that a rogue is created we all have a vested interest in seeing that rogue dealt with. If I succeed then my artist will grow into something made to enrich the world in which we all dwell, and if I fail he will grow no more.

I anguish over the thought of failure, for if he cannot be made to see and therefore start the long road to regaining the soul he believes I took away, he will continue with his original plans to slay me and I will have no choice but to defend myself. He, my creation whom I love, will die at the hands of his creator.

Times Dispatch

August 11

Mutilated Body Found in Library Court Yard

The badly mangled remains of what could barely be described as human were discovered late last night in the Courtyard of the Richmond Library. A couple out for an evening walk said they heard what could only be described as angry shouting followed by animal like sounds. The body was so badly mutilated that the Medical Examiner had difficulty identifying the remains as human until closer inspection.

The Police are not releasing any details but sources close to the investigation say that there is only evidence of two individuals at the scene yet the damage to the surrounding areas seems too much to be caused by just two people. Another factor still baffling the authorities is that, judging from the wounds, it is still unknown whether the damage was caused by a weapon or an animal or perhaps even a combination of the two.

Officials are not ruling out local gang involvement considering the viscious nature of the slaying. Sources state that the scene had some of the tell tale signs of a new criminal element from El Salvadore that has been waging a methodical war with the organized crime in the area. As of yet the police have no solid leads on the killer and advise that people avoid walking alone after dark

Whatever the cause of death turns out to be it is safe to say it was not natural causes, and whoever, or whatever committed the act is still at large.

****************

Chief Medical Examiner’s Report

August 11

Time of Death: Inconclusive

Body temperature readings too low to be of use in determining time of death. This could be attributed to the massive evisceration and blood loss. Cellular deterioration was accelerated perhaps by a drug or chemical not yet identified. Blood tests are pending.

Cause of Death: Massive blood loss and internal injuries

Internal examination revealed two fingers pierced the victims heart. The fingers, still being attached to there respective arm belonged to the second body found within the first.

General Comments:

The autopsy was difficult due to the massive tissue damage on both victims. The arrangement of the bodies indicates that the assailants attempted to make it look like one victim was trying to consume the other. Rigor may have set on the inner body which would explain the fingers penetrating internal organs and piercing the outer body’s heart probably when the assailants were forcing the second body into the first.

The exact entry point through which the inner body was inserted is unknown and cannot be explained. However, there have been recorded cases of this type of body manipulation from reports in parts of the Central America. The victims are arranged in a configuration to instill fear in the local population by blaming the incident on a legendary creature knwn as the Chupa-Cabra. All injuries and body manipulations seem consistent with those stories and reports.

All the documents were in order. He’d read them over twice, to be sure nothing was missed. There would probably be more to come over the next few days, and he would have to somehow, acquire copies of them all. Sometimes it seemed to him that it was all for nothing. This time at least, some of those same types of documents filed by someone just like him in some other God forsaken city probably around this same God forsaken time in the morning, had given him an out. He was able to explain the unexplainable, and stem the panic that would follow if people really knew what was out there. He closed the file and slid it into the manilla envelope. The date, according to the Aztec Calendar, the catalog number, and incident report number already scrawled across the front.

Stepping out of the car he felt it immediately; the night, or morning depending on what end of the clock you were measuring from, was sticky and hot. It still amazed him that at four twenty in the morning it could be this muggy. He shook his head and added one more item to the long mental list of things he hated about living here, then made his way to the gates. Stepping up to the entry mechanism he couldn’t help but smile a little just before he snorted up as much phlegm as he could muster and spit into the small receptacle below the monitor and speaker on his right. He heard the speaker click and hum to life just as he wiped the residual spittle from his lip.

“When are you going to stop doing that?” came a voice from the speaker that he recognized immediately.

“When you stop asking me for my I. D. seeing as how you can see me right there.” He tapped on the camera’s lens as he spoke leaning forward to make a ‘this is stupid’ facial expression into the camera. He swore under his breath when the chain around his neck snagged on the entry mechanism as he tried to turn away from the camera knowing he had lost all kinds of cool points.

“Put your badge away before you hurt yourself,” said the voice from the speaker sounding less than enthusiastic and almost weary about the prospect of having to host this meeting. “You know it doesn’t mean anything here.”

He removed the badge and chain from around his neck and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans just as a green light came on just above the place where his spit still glistened. A buzz and click came from the gate and he pushed through knowing even in the dark where he was headed.

All that was needed to pass the entry mechanism was a DNA sample and just about everyone else contented themselves with a stray hair from an arm or head. That however, just didn’t seem to yield nearly the same satisfaction as a good loogie that he knew someone was going to have to come out there and clean up before dawn.

The nondescript walkway led to the nondescript door of a nondescript row house. Another buzz click and the door at the top of four stone steps opened about halfway shedding soft light on the stoop. Walking through and closing the door behind him he immediately smelled it, the sterility of the place. If he was forced to put the smell into words the first thing that would come up was the exact opposite of fresh cut grass smells like. Where as you could almost taste the life that was the earth after a good mow on a sunny day, here it was as though no smell existed at all. The faint aromas from the candles that were set up for his benefit alone in an attempt to avoid offending his senses made the place tolerable. Even still, no matter how many times he entered this or any of the other buildings like it he always curled his lip on reflex and instinctively blew air from his nose to try and dislodge the queer lack of scent in the air.

“I do apologize for any discomfort Wolfgang.” The voice from the speaker now clearer when not filtered through electronics spoke from the candle lit room at the end of the hall.

“I’ve asked you not to call me that.”

“It is your name Wolfgang. Do you not appreciate the irony of it?” said the Speaker man. “I would expect, given your penchant for sarcasm, that you would rather enjoy the …humor in it.”

Wolfgang Aldous Regnum never cared for his first name. For that matter he didn’t care for his middle one either, so he would introduce himself as Ray. That rarely worked, and the moment his real name got out people would just call him Wolf.

Wolf made his way to the highbacked leather chair in the far corner of the room and sat without being asked, knowing it annoyed the Speaker man. “I appreciate the candles though. It does help a little.”

Speaker man just smiled and made his way over to his own chair positioned next to a library that held books older than the building that stood over them.

“I brought you the reports,” said Wolf holding up the manilla envelope.

“Just set them on the table next to you.”

Wolf did as he was asked and just looked at the speaker man expectantly. The silence was almost deafening. He could even hear the sound of the candle burning on the mantle next to him.

“Is there some other reason why you are still here Wolfga... I mean Detective Regnum?”

“I was able to get the journal out of the house before the other officers knew it was even there.”

“I suspected as much or you would have informed me immediately.” Speaker man spoke casually as though whatever was said was unimportant to him. “Simon’s entry was written for our benefit any way and the scribblings of his creation where just that, scribblings.” Speaker man’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Did you read it?” A slow and sinister smile spread across speaker man’s lips. “I wonder. Did you feel any kinship with the creation?”

“He was given options. There is no kinship.”

This was not why Wolf was still there but he was trying to soften the mood before he got to his request and this line of conversation was not helping. “The Medical Examiner is going to be a problem sooner or later.” Wolf said trying to change subjects.

“Really?”

“He bought the explanation, but he is asking a lot more questions than he used to.” Wolf was fidgeting with the envelope on the table. “He still loves being in the know which will keep him swallowing these stories for a while. Oh, by the way thanks for the info about the Chupa Cabra stories and autopsies you found. They helped.”

“Lucky for us the legends became twisted enough to be useful. We haven’t had a real Chupa Cabra problem for quite some time. Furthermore, they do not kill in that manner. The legends grew on the Southern continent, mostly form incidents involving your kind.” Speaker man smiled as he said it knowing the disdain Wolf had for what he had become.

Unconsciously, Wolfs’ hand went to the back of his neck, his eyes downcast as his fingers ran across the scarred flesh on the back of his neck. The feel of the torn flesh brought back the nightmare of teeth, fur and the yellow eyes he would never forget.

“Now that Simon’s …uh, creation has been dealt with, and since I don’t have to watch him anymore, I was thinking I could transfer.”

“You mean transfer out of my district, don’t you?” said the Speaker man with a knowing smile.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to my friend,” Speaker man said still smiling. Then he let his face grow dark and he frowned almost as if in pain. “Simon was good for this world.” He was looking at the floor in reverence as he spoke. “It is a pity that he had to die trying to rid the world of his mistake. But, it is the risk we take whenever we choose to bring someone over from the mortal side in the hopes that they will make the world better and serve it well.” Now Speaker man’s eyes flicked open and he was looking, almost disdainfully at Wolf. “It is just as sad that greater care is not exhibited by your kind when selecting those who will be changed.”

“I was not selected. I survived.”

“With your kind there is just naked lust matched only by your savagery and your disregard for….”

“I was not chosen!” Wolf yelled his words trailing off into a low menacing growl as he sat bolt upright in the chair as if ready to bound across the room.

“Of course not.” Speaker man spoke in calm tones once more. “You have no loyalties to any race nor any love lost for any of them either.” Speaker man stood up slowly, making sure that he made no threatening gestures not so much out of fear but more so because he preferred not to stain his imported rugs with the guts of this misfit who he was forced to handle as though he were an equal. “That is why you were asked to join us in watching over the actions of the others like us. To help police them if you will pardon the pun, and to clean up the inevitable messes that turn up every so often.”

“Well there are no other criminal immortals registered in the greater Richmond area so can I be transferred now?” Wolf said with no small amount of sarcasm in his words.

“You will be transferred when I am done with you Regnum,” Speaker man rolled the ‘R’ and lengthened the ‘U’ pronouncing the name in its Latin form, “until then you will watch the night … and I will watch you.”