ACT I

The music ended with a flourish and a roar replaced the musical din as voices in the crowd were raised in excitement and appreciation of the energetic performance.  I nodded my approval as I dawdled over my drink, watching as the young men set down their instruments and left the stage in sweaty triumph. 

I was avoiding my night’s work and I knew it, but still I lingered.  The band that played tonight in this fetid little bar was from England, and I was intrigued enough to tarry.  What were these English like, I wondered?  Perhaps I would learn something from these handsome youths. 

The comely young drummer went to the bar and ordered a drink, aloof and alone as he sipped his brew.  He would be an easy target, but I told myself I wasn’t interested and I forced my attention from him.

The youngest musician, an awkward and skinny boy, stood uncertainly for a moment, then gratefully joined the bass player and the left handed musician who beckoned, squeezing in another chair at a table filled with young Germans.  I listened in on their spirited conversation, which they carried out in half stilted-German and half stilted-English, combined with much laughter and gaiety.  Their talk was all about a Chuck Berry and a Carl Perkins, and about someone they called The King.  I didn’t think they were speaking of any European kings, past, present or future, either.

Young adults, I decided with an indulgent smile, were the same everywhere, from one end of Europe to the other.  They loved their innocent little pleasures, their rock and roll, their cinemas, their flirtations and their drink.  The English appeared to be no different. 

Ahhh, I thought with a bit of nostalgia, the sweet flame of youth! 

How long ago it seemed to me.  Yes, they were all so young.  I reflected that they could all be taken so easily.  I felt nearly protective of them and their innocent youth, then had to smile at myself for the absurd thought.  From what would I protect them?  Nay, from whom? 

Why, from myself, of course, I thought with wry amusement.  And from the other hunters who stalk the night.

I’d seen the other hunter in the crowded little building, of course, but we’d ignored each other after a bare nod of recognition had passed between us.  Still, she was a beautiful female, and I wondered upon whom she had set her sights?  I’d have certainly been watching her, had she been prey.  If I’d been hunting, of course.

Well, she was hunter, not prey, and no concern of mine.  Besides, I wasn’t hunting, was I?  No.  I had … business… to attend to this evening.

I felt as if I was playing the part of an old fool, yet I continued to linger.  My business would have to wait a little longer.  It was not something I was looking forward to, and it could wait.

No, that was a lie.  I did look forward to it, but I dreaded it at the same time.  The shame was overwhelming, but it had to be done, and the eagerness to do it was climbing.  Dread and eagerness, shame and enjoyment, they were all sides to the same box.  I couldn’t put it off forever, but perhaps for just a little bit longer. 

I knew I was being a coward, but I stayed seated on my barstool and looked around the crowded room.  As dark and noisy as it was in this little place, it was no match for my keen sight or sensitive hearing.  I could see as easily as if I had been abroad in the daylight.  I picked through the conversations I overheard, looking for … what?

To where had the last musician disappeared, I wondered?  Ah, there!

I watched them from across the room.  The strikingly handsome young man was dressed like his compatriots, in snugly fitted black leather trousers and jacket.  The pretty young woman with whom he flirted wore a blouse and skirt that had obviously been picked with care to flatter her pale skin tone.  His hair was a rich, dark auburn, styled carefully with the length almost brushing his jacket collar, the way they all wore it these days, and his nose proclaimed a fine Roman heritage, however far in the past.  Her hair was in curls of pale gold, piled carefully atop her head in a precarious tower.  It bounced gently when she laughed at a joke or a risqué comment made by her companion. 

They were both so young that it nearly took my breath.  How few years these youths sported, how few years lay ahead in their span of time.

As my eyes loitered on the pair, auburn head bent towards blonde, a conspiracy of whispers, a lifted eyebrow, a flirtatious sentiment?  A murmur even I could not hear in that crowded room.  The pretty girl’s eyes sparkled and she nodded, a blush tracing the pattern of her pale cheekbones.  An assignation, then. 

He exited the bar first and she tarried over her drink, her sparkling eyes darting about the crowd to see if anyone had noticed their rendezvous. 

My eyes caught hers and held them for a long moment.  She was very pretty, and I felt my senses stirring as I gazed at her.  I reined my hunger back and sternly reminded myself that I was not on the hunt tonight.  Instead, I smiled and gave her a knowing little nod.  She blinked and looked away, her cheeks flaming, her blood so close to the surface that I could almost feel its heat, even from across the room.  It would have been so simple to call her to me; it would have taken less effort than a thought.  But I refrained.  It would have been showing off, and it would have brought notice I wanted to avoid.  Anyway, she wasn’t what I wanted, not really.  She was … a distraction from my work tonight, nothing more.

But it would have been a simple thing.  She was so vulnerable.  They all were.  I wanted to tell them all to take care.  And I wanted to take them without any warning at all.  It would be easy.

My thoughts were quite revealing, I realized with a start.  I thought I’d best take care, my hunger was escalating.  I didn’t normally have too great a problem controlling it, but I’d spent the long week avoiding it, and it had caught up with me.  Avoidance never cures anything, and in this case, it had only made the stirrings worse.

I watched as the little fair-haired haired fraulien got to her feet and crept from the crowded bar, her eyes averted to avoid further contact with me.

Go peacefully, little fledgling, I thought, aiming the intent of my thoughts towards her departing back.  Fly to your beau and enjoy your tryst in peace.  But when you dream, you shall dream of me.

She looked back, startled, her face pale and still, her eyes luminous pools of emotion.

I was abruptly ashamed of myself.  The hunger had gotten the better of me.  By way of apology, I sent a soothing thought in her direction; your young man is awaiting you, hurry to meet him, all is well!  She caught my sending and I could feel her fear dissipate into uncertainty, and then it was gone.  A smile perked her luscious lips and she darted out the door.

Sighing, I turned back to my drink and noticed the eyes of the burly bartender upon me.  His normally taciturn face was split by a wolfish grin that might have been alarming had he been hirsute.  Instead, the dull and yellowed teeth showed to advantage under the dome of his balding pate.  His head stood directly on his shoulders without benefit of neck, and he smelled of the drink he brokered.

“Pretty girl, yes?” he asked bluntly, striving to be casual.  His eyes gave him away, though.  This was no casual question.

I nodded cautiously in reply and lifted my whiskey to my lips in a pretense of drinking it.  I’d learned long ago that it was much easier to appear to be nursing a drink in a bar, than to sit without ordering anything.  People saw what they wanted to see, and a drink in front of a person, however untouched, was accepted as normal.  Sitting in a bar without a drink was... abnormal.

I turned my attention back to the barkeep as he made a coarse suggestion regarding a girl he purported to know.  Ah, that explained his attempt at appearing casual.  A bartender and a pimp, I thought with amusement, holding my glass and pretending to consider his suggestion.  He was a busy man, a hunter of another sort.

“Perhaps another time,” I replied.

He polished a glass with a dirty towel.

“You like boys better, perhaps?” he asked shrewdly.

I shook my head, but it did not matter to me.  I’d had both male and female in the past.  One was not better than the other.  But the females were… simpler, easier to explain.  It was more difficult with a man.  But what this man was offering tonight was not what I wanted.

“Where you from, old man?” he asked.

He was only trying to engage me in conversation so that he could sell me drugs or girls or boys.  Or perhaps he was trying to ascertain if I had money, wondering if I would be a mark for his thugs or friends, perhaps an easy target for a robbery.  After all, he saw only an old man sitting at the bar.  And that, of course, was as I wished it.  My carefully powdered hair gave him that impression, as well as the simple glamour I put over myself, a little bewitchment that made me appear old.  It was nearly second nature by now, something I did without much thought at all.  I’d had plenty of practice.  He saw exactly what I wanted him to see.

Rather than answer his question, I merely smiled and lifted my whiskey again, bringing it to my mouth and trying not to shudder at the touch of the liquid against my lips.  I drank neither whiskey nor wine, although a gently warmed snifter of fine brandy was a thing of beauty to enjoy.  Not to drink, of course, but simply to enjoy the heat and aroma; it was intoxicating to the senses.

“Want another?” the barkeep grated, eyeing me narrowly.

Ah, I’d overstayed my welcome and possibly affronted him by not answering his question.  I shook my head and carefully set the glass down within the ring of condensation it had left on the bar, its level the same as when it had been placed in front of me.  He’d probably serve it to another, or drink it himself.  Well, none could ever claim disease of me.  At least not pursuant to drinking from a glass I’d touched to my lips!  Mortals did not fall victim to me in that manner.

I stood up and pulled a few marks from my pocket, set them on the bar beside the whiskey.

“Nein, danke,” I replied.  “Guten abend.”

I left the squalid little bar and stood outside on the street, already chilled to the bone from the damp night air.  I watched the passing mortals on their business.  Cars slowly drove past along the dirty streets, and the local whores called out their wares and prices.  Drugs and money changed hands, and unspeakable acts were casually performed in vehicles or alleys. 

Humanity, in all its glory, surrounded me. 

I absentmindedly shrugged off the offers I received as I began to walk, then remembered to throw a slightly menacing glamour over myself.  I was bothered by no further offers as the whores reacted to the simple bewitchment and left me alone.  The footsteps that had unobtrusively followed me from the bar faltered.  Obviously the bartender’s friend, I thought in distaste, or someone else looking for an easy victim.  Rather than confront the fool, I projected slightly more menace, even sending a horrifying vision of the Christian hell into his thoughts, and I was ashamed of the enjoyment I derived from his sudden fear and confusion.  His footsteps broke into a shaky run as he retreated to safer hunting grounds and I dismissed him from my thoughts.

As I walked, I considered the little flaxen-haired blonde in the bar and toyed with the idea of interrupting her rendezvous with the young musician.  It would be a simple thing to do.  The fresh scent of her blush was in my nostrils and I had only to close my eyes to know where she was.  I stopped at a street corner shrouded in fog and did precisely that, closing my eyes and breathing in her emotions, knowing she was near.  This was as close to the hunt as I could allow myself.  The hunger coiled deep within me, raising its head and growling at the restrictions I put upon it.

My little bird walked timidly down an alley that lay only a block from where I stood.  Her excitement mingled with fear of the unknown.  I felt her alarm when a hand descended upon her shoulder from the shadows, but she relaxed when the musician youth came out of the dark and pulled her into his arms.  She relaxed further as he kissed her, and I experienced both their emotions, I was dizzy with the strong sensations.  The boy burned with a white-hot incandescent lust, fueled by his recent performance on stage; the girl’s lust was pale in comparison, but it was growing.  The touches, furtive and fumbling, grew bolder as the kiss grew more passionate.  His excitement and courage increased when he realized she would let him do what he wanted, her tumult climbed steadily at the attention from a boy she admired.

Their emotions were intoxicating and heady, a drug to my senses.

It would be so simple to take them both, I thought longingly.  All I had to do was to enter the alley and they would be mine.  The hunt would be easy.  Simple.  I could put off my business for another week, at least!

Instead, I again imprisoned my hunger, and it subsided with ill grace.

I regretfully broke my contact with the pretty fraulien and opened my eyes.  I nearly staggered from the loss of sensation, but I steeled myself against it and turned my steps towards home.

Leave the innocents to their sport, you don’t hunt them anymore, remember? I scolded myself.  You’ve put this off too long as it is, you should have done it a year ago, or even more.  It’s past time to complete the bargain.  Don’t be more of a coward than you already are!

Forty years, I thought as I strode along the pavement.  The fog swirled before me and behind, swallowing the hollow sound of my footsteps in wisps of intangible mist, the sound disappearing as quickly as had the years.  Forty years had simply passed in the blink of an eye.  Why I’d stayed in Germany through the war years, I didn’t know. 

No, that was an untruth.  I’d stayed because of her.  How could I leave?  It was simple, I couldn’t.  Thankfully, I’d appeared to be of an advanced enough age that I’d not been drafted into the German military, and certain well placed bribes had kept me free from the majority of the difficulties.  A little house in the country had been our haven during the darkest days of the war.  When Hamburg had been rebuilt following the bombing, it had seemed an ideal hunting ground to trawl as my despair had grown.

And now it was over.  An ending that followed the beginning set in motion so long ago.  A long ago that seemed like yesterday.

If you weren’t such a coward, you could make this the final ending, I told myself.

I thought about that as I climbed the stairs to our flat.  I knew I could never end it.  As wicked and horrible as my life was, I could not end it.

That thought made me smile sadly as I turned the key in our door.  End my life?  That had ended over seven hundred years before.  But still I could not bring myself to end my wretched existence.

She was sitting on the sofa when I entered, and she looked up at me, peering over the tops of her reading glasses.  My hunger raised its head and I absently soothed it.

“My darling, you look beautiful this evening,” I said, and I meant it.  She looked heartbreakingly wonderful, clothed in her beautiful mortality. 

My sweet lover, my mortal victim.  My prey.

“You’ve been gone all week, didn’t find anybody that pleased you?” 

Her question was querulous, her tone filled with bitterness and jealousy.  It hurt me to know that I had caused her pain by staying away; I hadn’t meant to hurt her.

Another ending.  The endings were something that the hunter in me longed for, and yet, it was something I hated at the same time.  This event had played out so many times in the past, and each time, I swore it would be the last.  But I couldn’t bear the loneliness or the hunger, and I always broke my vow.

I shut the door behind me and gazed at this lovely mortal.  Her hair, once dark and lively, was now white and heavy with age.  Her skin, once resilient and youthful, was now translucent and shrouded with wrinkles.  Her eyes, once a vibrant blue, were now faded and cloudy with advancing age.  Her scent held the hint of approaching decay, the imminence of death.

For all the evidence of age, this mortal was still beautiful to me, and I loved her so that I thought I would faint from the emotion.  I’d found her forty years before, hurt and hopeless, and I’d nursed her back to health before offering her the arrangement.  I’d warned her of the consequences, warned her of the eventual ending.  But she’d only seen the luxury I’d offered her, the gilded cage that seemed so much more of a future than the life she’d led.  A gilded cage is still a prison, but she hadn’t seen that.

Over the years, she had become jealous of my attentions to others, the need for an occasional different taste.  She didn’t know that I only went to others because I was afraid my passion for her would extinguish her before her time.  Sometimes the hunger became too intense, and at those times, I would leave her for a little while and hunt, prowling the streets, seeking someone evil and foul, someone who would not be missed.

It was never very satisfying, but it did ease the hunger.

She’d railed against what she called my indifference over the years as well.  Ah, but if she only knew, it was not indifference.  It was regret, and a depth of sadness she could not have understood.  I’d been filled with regret as the years had passed, falling more desperately in love with her as the signs of age had begun appearing.  What she perceived as my distance was merely my anguish over her fading decline. 

If only I could stop the passage of time, just once.

This last week had been most difficult, as I’d realized it was time to leave.  Her age had advanced past the normal span, and she was weak, sickly.  I had, perhaps, even left my leave-taking too late.  There had been suspicious looks recently, as well, and I had to be careful, so careful.  I’d had too many close calls to ignore the prickling sensation along my spine, the warning of danger.  That danger was drawing close, and I had tarried here too long.  It was finished, over.

Oh, but I hated this, hated the ending.  I hated it and I loved it at the same time.  The hunger was coiling within my chest, deep and ruthless.  It would not be denied again tonight.

Sweet, sweet mortality.  Was I only in love with the idea?  No, the love I felt for this woman was sincere.  And the time had come to complete the bargain, the hunt.

“Come to me, my darling,” I whispered.

“Always ordering me about, like you were the grand duke himself,” she complained, climbing to her feet with a wheeze and a groan.  But she came to me readily enough.  I gently took her in my arms, with care for her stiff joints and brittle bones, anxious to cause her no pain.

She gasped at the shock of my cold flesh, but was soon sighing in pleasure at my touch as her warmth heated us both.  I stroked her hair and looked deeply into her eyes, the mirror of the soul.  Ah, sweet, sweet mortal, beautiful lover, lovely prey.  My heart, or whatever it was that kept me alive, was breaking.  The hunt was over.  For forty years, I had kept the hunger at bay, had attempted to live a normal life, and the ending of that was sweet and bitter at once.

Had she ever loved me?  Even once?  I knew not, but if I could pray, I would have prayed that she had loved me, even just a little bit.

I pressed my lips to her neck and gently pricked her skin with my teeth.  Her essence flowed across my greedy tongue, filling me with her rapture, each cell of her blood savored as it filled me with intoxicating warmth.  I experienced each shudder, each spasm, every little bit of her enjoyment, and still I kept on.  I tried to deny the rising euphoria, but it was useless.

For the past forty years, I had only ever taken a little bit from her.  I had tasted her as infrequently as possible, just enough to stave off the madness that would come if I completely denied my needs. 

But tonight I drew deeper than I had ever done before. 

This was the incomparable moment, the one for which I hungered, the one for which I waited in fear and dread and longing.  My hunger, so long denied any more than a little taste, was freed to do its foul work.  I gave my mortal lover ultimate pleasure, and took the ultimate treasure in return.  I closed my eyes against the shame that threatened to bend my knees, and took more of her weight as she sagged against me, her heartbeat thundering in my ears, her wheezing breaths filling my emotions with love and despair.

She felt no pain; I took pride in that.  I had long since passed the stage where terror and pain gave me pleasure.  I had given up the hunt of innocents for that reason, although their blood remained a sweet memory. 

Oh but this, this was the ultimate sacrifice, the ending of the bargain, and a thing for which I longed with a shameful joy, and from which I cowered in self-loathing.  

Her last labored breath was expelled in a sigh, and too soon the last bit of her blood traced across my tongue and sated my hunger at last.  I listened vainly for another beat of her heart, but even my uncanny hearing could detect only silence.  The absence of her heartbeat after forty years of hearing it, forty years of nearly feeling it beat within my own body, was terrifying.

I held her for a long time after she was gone, feeling her flesh slowly cooling against me.  I stroked her hair and remembered every moment of the last forty years. 

Had she ever loved me, I wondered again? 

Gone, gone, finished and done.  If I’d had tears to shed, I would have let them flow from now until the Resurrection, but that solace is denied to monsters such as I.  In the end, every time, I was always and forever alone, standing by myself with a cooling husk and another empty place torn from my… spirit.

How others of my kind handled this desolation, I know not, for we are solitary creatures.

But for me, the only way I could endure my existence was to live as a mortal did, taking a female or male into my life, and making the bargain with them.  They lived a life of secluded luxury, allowing me to feed from them as I needed.  When the ending came, when it was time for me to move on, when the hunger could no longer be denied, I promised it would be painless.

The fact that I always fell in love with my mortal lovers may simply be a flaw in my character.  But I could not enter into an arrangement such as this with someone that I despised. 

Oh, my lovely and sweet mortals, with your too short span of years, I have loved each and every one of you.

I finally and reluctantly moved, knowing daylight was only a few hours off.  I had a long way to go, and much to do.  I picked up the shell that remained of my lover and gently laid it on the bed.  I had one more duty to perform.

I went to the kitchen and took the stake of ash from its hiding place in the cupboard, then pulled the butcher knife from the drawer, hefting their weights in my hands.  I wondered why I didn’t just end it here?  Why didn’t I just use the stake on myself and finish things?

Because you’re a coward, I told myself.  And however would I cut mine own head from my body after using the stake on myself? Fire would be a better choice.  Ashes to ashes.

Alas, I could not end it.  No matter how wretched my existence, I could not end it.

Resolute, I returned to the bed and did what was necessary to ensure that my former lover would not become one such as I.  Whether such an action was the stuff of truth or fiction, I cared not.  I had determined long ago that I would not be father to a new generation of monsters and I would do whatever was necessary to prevent that occurrence.  There were too many hunters in the world as it was, and I did not want to contribute to their numbers.  It was part and parcel of my arrangement, and I had always kept to my end of the bargain. 

Besides, my lover was past any degree of pain, and what I did would not hurt her any further.  I, who had no soul, could not bear to hinder another on its flight, and if this little thing would allow my lover’s soul to fly free, then it was something I would do, no matter how unpleasant.

The grim task accomplished, I carefully packaged all incriminating evidence in a bundle and wrapped my lover’s remains in a soft blanket.  The cleaning was quickly finished, as there had been minimal disturbance and no blood; all this was second nature to me, I’d done it so many times. 

Nearly one hundred times now, I thought with alarm.  And I’d loved each mortal, each sacrifice.  Had any of them loved me?

A note to the landlord was left to allay suspicion, stating that we were traveling to warmer climes “for the frau’s health.”  A letter would follow in a few months with the sad news that the change of climate had been insufficient, and neither of us would be returning to the city.  The neighbors were advised of our departure by note as well.

I quickly brushed all powder out of my hair and let the glamour of age slip from me.  Anyone seeing me now would see only a robust thirty-year-old man, the age I’d been when I died.  Not even the bartender or the little blonde girl and her musician lover would recognize me as the old man who’d sat at the bar nursing a single small whiskey while the band played.

I exited our home for the last time, carrying my lover and the incriminating bundle, and took everything to the auto.  Turning the key, I started up the motor and drove off down the street without a backward glance.  Part of my duties this past week had been to locate a final resting place for my lover, and that hallowed ground was my destination.

I tried to keep my thoughts from straying as I drove, tried to avoid the grief that threatened to overwhelm me.  I knew that madness lay in that direction, and I shuddered to think of the two times in the past when grief over my mortal lover’s passing had overwhelmed me.  I reached my arm across to the back seat of the automobile and gently touched my lover, wrapped in her blanket.

“Danke shoen, my darling,” I murmured.  “Auf weidersein.”

I pulled up along the road outside the little country cemetery and carried my lover’s body through the gates.  It was a pretty area, with trees and birds and flowers.  I hoped she would have liked it.  I wished I could weep.

I stood over her grave and mourned until the first pale light of dawn streaked the sky.

Although the myth lingers that we must return to our coffins during the day, the truth is that we simply become very tired during the daylight hours, and prefer to sleep.  For now, though, my lover’s final gift would sustain me during my journey.  This was the ending of the bargain; my lover’s ultimate sacrifice would give me the strength and sustenance to begin anew in another place, some other city, some other country wherein I could start over.  My journey would take me to a big city this time, a place in which to lose myself.  A place in which to lose my grief.  A place in which to forget my shame.

A place in which to begin the next hunt.

Exhilaration warred with anguish.  The final gift always affected me so; I was buoyed up, ready for the new beginning, even as I mourned the ending.

Today, my lover’s gift would take me across the waters to my new home, a country I had never visited before.  I hoped the newness and excitement of the city would ease my suffering.  Everything was already in place; the passage on the ship, a flat and an automobile waiting, my bank accounts transferred and ready for me. 

All that remained was the hunt.  I simply needed to bide my time until I came across someone who would suit my needs.  My lover’s gift would sustain me until I found that someone.

Another ending, I thought bleakly as I forced myself to turn away from the grave.  And another beginning to come.

Had she ever loved me?  Had any of them?

I started the auto and drove away, headed across the continent on my way to France.  From there, I would take the ship to England, and I wondered about my new home as I drove.  Who would I meet?  Who would I love? 

Who would I hunt, in the city called London?

ACT II

I stared morosely into my untouched drink and wondered what I was doing here.  England was always damp and always cold.  And the English people were touched with that damned coldness as well.

No, that wasn’t true, not really.  I was simply lonely and depressed.  Imagine, a seven hundred year old monster feeling lonely and depressed!  It was incomprehensible.

Coming here had seemed a good idea at the time.  I’d nearly overstayed my welcome in Germany and the journey to some place new had seemed to me a possible solution to the depression that always came upon me after my lover’s death.  How wrong I had been.

I ignored the jostling I received as a man sat next to me at the bar.  Brooding, I contemplated my drink and wondered where I should go, for England was not where I wished to remain.  Italy?  No, the memories I had of Venice and Rome were still too fresh.  Spain?  No, the last I’d been there, I’d nearly been stoned as a witch.  Of course, I doubted they stoned people these days, but one could never tell.  No, I’d need to give Spain a few hundred more years before I was over that fright.

I sighed.  I only knew I didn’t want to stay here.  I’d been in this godforsaken country for less than a full year, and yet it seemed as if that was longer than two lifetimes.  It had all started out so well, I’d arrived and made myself a home, found a lover to share my life and everything had been quite adequate.  Then my lover had the misfortune of being killed in an automobile accident.  I missed her, but not dreadfully, as I hadn’t fallen deeply in love with her.  That came over time; ten, twenty, thirty years.  We’d only been together for six short months, not even an adequate time to get to know one another. 

No, I hadn’t been in love with her. 

But I missed her all the same.  She had kept my loneliness at bay, had provided me the semblance of a normal, mortal life.

So why not look for another victim? I asked myself.  Why sit in a human bar and stare into your drink like a simple mortal and weep nonexistent tears into your untouched beer….

“Excuse me?”

I didn’t bother glancing at the man next to me, too sunk in my morass to even care that I was being addressed.  But he persisted.

“I beg your pardon, but you seem rather depressed.  May I buy you a drink?”

I shook my head, not even bothering to voice a reply.  I didn’t care that I was being rude, I simply wanted to be left alone. 

“Come along, things can’t be all that bad,” the voice continued cheerfully.  “Would you like to have a chat?  Sometimes it helps to talk things through.”

I looked up then, ready to snarl at the man and tell him I wasn’t interested in his offer, but the kindness in his eyes stopped me before I voiced my refusal.  He took me by the elbow and picked up my untouched glass, then steered me to an empty table, setting my glass down upon it and holding a chair for me.

“It’s a bit more private over here,” he said in answer to my unspoken question.  Bemused, I sat down, then watched as he sat across from me.  A lovely young mortal, with a bit of a curl to his light brown hair and a slight smile curving his lips.  A nice specimen, to be sure, and his assertiveness made me curious as to his intentions.

“Brian Epstein, at your service,” he said, holding out his hand to grasp mine.  His eyes widened in shock at the cold touch of my skin.  “Good lord, man, you’re freezing!”  He snapped his fingers and caught the barkeep’s attention.  “A pot of hot tea, please,” this Brian insisted, ignoring my murmured protest.  “Quickly,” he added to the man’s retreating back.

“Thank you, but you needn’t….” I began.

“You’re… German?” he asked hesitantly.

“Well, I’m from… near there,” I replied. 

No need to tell him that my homeland had vanished in conquest hundreds of years before.  I suddenly realized that I was suffering from homesickness!  I’d never been this far away from my home, spending most of my long years on the continent near my homeland.  And now I was homesick.  How astonishing.

“I see,” he continued, breaking into my thoughts.  “I’ll be traveling to Germany next month, perhaps you could tell me … well, errrm, have you spent any time in Hamburg?”

“I used to live there,” I admitted with reluctance.

The young man beamed.  “Then we have something in common.  It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr….?”

I hesitated, then shrugged inwardly.

“Hunter,” I offered and we shook hands once more.  “A pleasure, Mr. Epstein.”

“Please, call me Brian, Mr. Hunter,” he insisted with another smile.

What did the English call it?  In for a penny, in for a pound?

“Just Hunter, please,” I replied with an inner grimace. 

Hunter was a name I’d added many years after my death.  An affectation, I suppose.  I’d been known by so many names in the past seven hundred years that it felt refreshing to actually claim something familiar here in this unfamiliar England.  A strange, strange country wherein I was completely alone, wherein I knew no one and no one knew me.

But I was no longer alone, was I?

I smiled at my young, mortal companion. 

The man tending bar announced our tea was ready and Brian went to retrieve the pot.  This English gentleman, for young gentleman he certainly was, insisted on pouring tea for me, doctoring it with milk and sugar that would go untasted.  He pushed the warmed cup into my cold hands, his fingers lingering on mine just a moment longer than necessary to complete the job.  I looked into his eyes and saw his intent, his bravely hidden hope. 

Oh, these poor mortals with their secrets and their fears, their hidden shames and desires.  Well, perhaps it was time for me to find a new lover.  Since my last lover’s death, the hunger had been kept satisfied with an occasional murderer or rapist, but the part of me that stubbornly longed for close human contact had been suffering.

I engaged the young man in conversation for the evening, drawing him out and learning of his life.  He carefully danced around the subject of lovers and friends, never straying too close to what I wanted most to discuss, but I learned much of him during the evening. 

Regretfully, I realized that he wouldn’t do, his life was far too busy with his work, and he would almost certainly not accept my usual arrangement.  Still, perhaps a little taste wouldn’t be harmful to either of us, and it might banish my loneliness for a night.  Or two.

“Would you like to come to my flat?” I asked abruptly.  Cut to the chase, I think they called it.  I smiled at his shocked and wary expression.  “To see my record collection,” I added quickly.  “I… I have quite a few operas and classical records that might interest you.” 

It was the truth and it was something I held in common with this Brian.  Music was a great love of mine.  I thought that the invention of record players and recorded music was one of the greatest accomplishments of mankind in the past five hundred years.  The first time I’d heard the chords and tones issuing forth from the machine, I’d required one to be delivered immediately, and had set about buying every recording I could find.  Sadly, many of those records were long gone, left behind when I’d had to unexpectedly leave the country in a rush to save my… life.

“Well, perhaps… errrr, yes, I believe I’d enjoy seeing your collection,” Brian said in a rush, his face flushing at his boldness.  Or at mine.

The scent and heat of his blush was intoxicating.

We walked side by side and continued our conversation on the way.  I tried to project a calmness onto him, for he was jumping at shadows.  Had this poor boy been so trod upon that he thought the worst of everyone, I wondered?  It was obvious to me that he was expecting me to either attack him and beat him senseless, or hurt him in some more sinister way.  And yet, still he came with me.  I marveled at the resiliency of this mortal man.  Poor sad youth, so full of hope and fear.

I led him up the stairs to my flat and opened the door, ushering him in with a smile and a nod.  This Brian Epstein was a very nervous young man, I decided as I hung my jacket.  This would never do.

“Make yourself comfortable, why don’t you?” I suggested.  “Can I get you anything?”

“No, no, thank you,” he replied, shying away from me, anxiously looking about at my paintings on the walls of the flat.  “That’s a lovely piece, errrm, M.. Mr. Hunter, lovely indeed,” he remarked, stumbling over my name as he moved close to examine one of my favorite pieces.

“Brian, please call me Hunter.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t possibly call you by your surname, errrm, errrr….”

“I actually prefer it.”

“Well, errrm… well, of course, then… Hunter,” he replied, trying out my name to see how it tasted as it crossed his lips.

Brian abruptly turned back to the painting and babbled on about its colors and depth; meanwhile, I put on a record.  Very soon, the classic sounds of Tchiakovsky filled the flat.  But still this Brian chattered on, almost as if he were afraid of any form of intimacy at all.  Had the poor boy been so victimized by his homosexuality that he feared everyone and everything?

I went into the kitchen and poured a glass of red wine, walked back to the living area and handed it to him.  He took a sip and smiled tightly.

“Thank you, it’s lovely.  Aren’t you having any?”

I shook my head.  “I don’t drink wine,” I murmured.

“Errrr….  And this painting is quite nice as well, H…Hunter,” he responded nervously, moving away to stand before another painting and preparing to wax lyrical over its attraction.

I’d heard enough of his tense babble about my paintings.  I silenced his chatter with a touch and led him to my bedroom.

***

Brian was gone when I awoke late the following afternoon, and I wondered if he’d enjoyed his evening.  There hadn’t been a lot of talk, but he’d been a pleasant companion.  I think that he’d been abused in past relationships, for he’d seemed surprised by a gentle intimacy.  Humans and their preconceived notions!  I’d lived enough years to know that no single way of life is better than another, and if one is lucky enough to find love, it should be cherished as a flower that blooms ere it fades.

I drew a heavy robe around myself and adjusted the heater vents.  This blasted England was colder than the dead of winter on a Moscow street corner!  I decided upon an opera to warm me and moved over to pull a favorite from my collection.  As I moved to put it on the player, I saw his note.

Dear Hunter,

Thank you for a lovely evening.  It was not quite what I
expected, but I’m glad we met.  I don’t believe I mentioned it,
but I have recently begun to manage a band of young musicians
who are quite up and coming.  They’re playing tonight at the
Heswall Jazz Club in Cheshire.  It’s a bit of a drive, but I
thought perhaps you might stop in and we could have dinner after
their performance.     Yours, Brian

I sighed and set the note aside as I put on my music.  He’d mentioned his young men, not once but several times during the early part of the evening, and his involvement with them had been my prime factor in deciding he would never do.  He was too involved with his life and work to ever accept the mostly secluded life I could offer him.  If I had been inclined to offer it to him, which I wasn’t.  It had been an eye opening evening for me, insofar as what I’d learned from Brian of the antiquated laws Britain maintained regarding homosexuality.  They were positively medieval!

The soothing arias issuing forth from my record player did not command my appreciation this afternoon, and I wondered at my mood.

Don’t be a fool, I scolded myself.  Be grateful for the evening and let it go.  He will never do, and you know you cannot take him as a casual lover more than thrice without danger.

Still, I shortly found myself dressed and away from my flat, bundled against the cold.  I hailed a cab from the corner rather than attempt to drive myself to an unknown location.

“Whur to, gov?” the driver asked as I settled myself in his vehicle.

“The Heswall Jazz Club in Cheshire,” I replied shortly.

He eyed me in a measured manner.  “Long way, it’ll cost ya.”

“Is there heat in this godforsaken auto?” I asked by way of reply, pulling my coat closer around me.

He nodded slowly and cranked the little heater up a notch.

“Then drive on, man, you’ll be paid well for the journey,” I assured him, reaching into my pocket and tossing some pound notes over the seat back.

The burly fellow examined the notes without comment, then pulled his auto out into traffic.   I settled back for the ride, wondering if I knew what on earth I was doing?

***

I shook my head in bemusement.  The Heswall Jazz Club was a little backwater basement of a pub, some ways distant from London, filled with mortal children of teenage years and some loud music being performed by a band on stage.  I paid my five shillings entry fee and pushed my way into the club, wondering again what on earth I was doing.

“Hunter!  I wasn’t really expecting you’d come!”

The voice came from behind me, and I turned and smiled at my companion of the previous night.  Brian was visibly excited, flushed with excitement.  I could smell his blood so close to the surface, and I absently reined back my hunger.  My host took me by the arm and led me through the crowd to a small door to the right of the even smaller stage. 

No, I admit to exaggeration here.  The stage was marginally larger than the door.  It would have to be, to hold the drum kit belonging to the performers.  I had to laugh, I hadn’t been in such a dark and tiny club since I’d been living in Hamburg!

“Come along, I’d like you to meet the lads,” Brian pulled me through the door and closed it behind us.  The wood between the crowd and us barely muffled the din of the bodies on the other side of the door as I realized I’d thought the band on stage was his band.  It appeared I was mistaken.

He led me to what looked to be a closet door, but was actually the door to a dressing room that was even smaller than the stage.  Four young faces were studiously looking into the mirror as the youths fussed with their hair and jackets, and I began to laugh.  The world was becoming smaller every day.  These were the young musicians I’d seen in Hamburg the previous summer, the evening before I left the city.

Brian appeared puzzled by my laughter, and I quietly explained my amusement.

“I have seen your friends before, once, in Hamburg.”

Brian proclaimed himself delighted, and he introduced me to the young men, calling their attention from the mirror.

“Boys, this is a friend of mine, Mr. Hunter.  He knows you from Hamburg.  This is John Lennon,” he added, pointing out the nearest lad.

I shook hands with the boy, remembering when I’d last seen him.  He and the pretty little fraulien had been engaged in an intimate… conversation… in an alley near the club where he’d been performing.  I remembered the strong emotions he’d given off, and how pleasurable it had been to lose myself in them, even for just a moment.

“’lo,” he said, his eyes squinting in puzzlement as he reacted to the chill of my skin.  “Friend o’ Brian’s, eh?”  He gave me a knowing, yet quizzical, grin, but didn’t say anything further.

“This is Paul McCartney,” Brian continued. 

The round-faced boy with the dreamy eyes reached to shake hands with me before turning back to the mirror to fuss with his hair.

“How do you do?” I asked rhetorically, but his back was already turned and his mumbled reply was brief.

My sensitive ears easily heard John’s barely discernable comment to Paul as they shrugged into their jackets.

“Brian’s friend,” he muttered suggestively, his eyebrows speaking volumes.  Paul’s lips twitched as if he were trying to restrain laughter.

“Pete Best.”

I turned my attention to the handsomest lad in the room; he held his cigarette aside and shook my hand.

“A pleasure,” I assured him.  He nodded and put the cigarette back to his lips, taking a deep drag, blowing it out in evident pleasure as the noxious fumes circled his head, seeking escape from the close little room.

“And this is George Harrison,” Brian continued, and I shook hands with the skinny youth, the last of the four.

George mumbled a greeting but said nothing more than that.  It wasn’t shyness, but something else.  What?  I stared into his clear, dark eyes and was surprised at what I saw there. 

The boy had been hunted in the past.

I thought for a moment of the female I’d seen in the Hamburg club the previous summer.   She had been on the hunt that night, hadn’t she?  If this young fellow had been the hunted, he was a very lucky youth to have escaped with his life.  I smiled politely as I murmured something pleasant and released his hand, then turned back to face Brian.

The sight of the John Lennon boy watching me with narrowed eyes made me pause; the look on his face left me with a stirring of unease.  The sly humor he’d exhibited upon my arrival had vanished, and his expression was watchful and uneasy, full of disbelief.  He shifted his eyes to look at Brian and pointedly, although briefly, stared at the small mark I’d left on Brian’s neck the night before.  The mark was mainly hidden by the young man’s jacket collar, but just visible. 

John returned his gaze to me, and the glare he leveled at me held unmistakable challenge… and unmistakable fear hidden behind the bravado of youth.  Brian was saying something about finding me a seat for the show, but I didn’t pay him any attention, caught by the challenge in the younger man’s eyes.  There was definitely fear hidden beneath the surface, but more determination than I would have expected to see in one so young.  Determination… and recognition.

This John recognized me for what I was, I realized with a touch of shock.  He knew I was a hunter. 

I smiled gently and nodded, to try and allay his fears.

Fear not, I projected soothing intent towards him.  None of you are in danger from me.

His shock at my projection was expressed by only a slight flaring of his nostrils; he apparently caught my sending with ease but quickly hid his surprise.  He darted a glance at Brian, then returned his lethal glare to center on me in an unmistakable challenge.

I subtly shook my head.  No, Brian is not in any danger.  Sadly, it was true.  Brian was not the partner for whom I searched.  His life was too busy, too chaotic.  He would never do.

John’s eyes narrowed further.  It was quite easy to read his rank disbelief and skepticism, but our silent conversation was interrupted.

“Hunter, I don’t believe you’ve listened to a word I’ve said,” Brian good-naturedly scolded.  “Come along, we’ve got to find a table for you before they’re all filled.”

He pulled me from the dressing room and the door closed behind us with a creak of its hinges.  I heard the creaking hinges again as Brian led me to the hallway door, and the prickle up my spine told me we were being watched.  I looked back as we exited into the club, and my keen eyesight caught John standing in the shadows, the door cracked open as he stared after us.

I wondered if he would tell the others about me.  Or if he would try to convince Brian.

***

Although I protested the need for dinner following the show, Brian insisted upon it.  Not surprisingly to me, John proclaimed his hunger and intent to join us.  I assumed he’d either not convinced the others or had kept his silence.

Brian was obviously surprised but pleased with the company, but I could only think John of as our chaperone, and that made me smile.  I bided my time, ignored the suspicious glares, chatted amiably as they ate their dinners and pretended to sips of my tea that obviously fooled John not one whit.

“What did you think?” Brian broke into my thoughts.

“Pardon me?”

“Of the lads!  They’re fantastic, aren’t they?” he enthused.

“Yer just sayin’ that ‘cause we’re puttin’ some money in yer pockets,” John interjected the sly dig.

“Oh, yes, of course, John, all of two pounds for tonight’s show, just enough to buy all of us dinner and pay into the gasoline kitty,” Brian answered with a laugh.  He sobered when he turned back to me.   “They are good, aren’t they?”

He’d said he’d only just begun to manage the band a few months before, and his plea for reassurance was apparent.

“Yes, Brian, they’re very good,” I replied.  “And they’re much better than when I saw them in Hamburg last year.”

“They’re going back, you know?” he went on.  “I’ll be flying there with them, we’ll be leaving next month and I’ll stay for a short time to ensure to their comfort…..”

The conversation continued, but I couldn’t help but notice John’s grimace at my mention of the German city.  Curious.  I continued to bide my time as they finished their meals.  I hadn’t long to wait, as Brian excused himself for a moment and I was left alone with the younger man.

“You keep yer bloody hands away from my friends,” John hissed as soon as Brian was out of earshot.

Ah, a well placed frontal assault.  No dancing about the subject with this young man. 

The steady flood of his chaotic emotions had been overpowering during the dinner.  Fear, anger, certainty and uncertainty combined, revulsion and a measured degree of resolution.  I could nearly read his very thoughts, they were so strong.  Yet his face never revealed his inner turmoil, nor his voice.  He had sat through dinner, eating his chicken pie as if nothing was amiss, his mask impenetrable, his small talk casual. 

It was… impressive control… in one so young.

I smiled in appreciation of my opponent.  “John, I assure you, you and your friends have nothing to fear from me.”

He laughed briefly.  “Bloody well right we got nothin’ t’ fear,” he agreed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver cross, dangling it on a chain from his hand and looking at me with a pronounced air of satisfaction.

I smiled at him and reached for the cross, enjoying the look of panic on his face as I touched the metal.  I brought the small piece of silver to my lips and kissed it, then returned it to his hand, touching him and curving his warm-blooded, nerveless fingers over the little ornament.  I patted him on the arm in sympathy.

“It’s an old wives tale,” I assured him.  “I can say the Lord’s name, I can attend church if I wish, I can even cross water.” 

Of course, I didn’t tell him that crossing water made me ill, and it had taken me weeks to recover from the wretched trip across the Channel to England.

“I have no fear of the Son of God,” I added quietly, looking pointedly at the bit of chain dangling from his fingers.  “Or of any other talismans.”

“But… but…” he sputtered.

The fear and shock in his eyes was growing stronger.  I could see memories crossing the plane of his face, and I interpreted what I saw.

“If you’ve had an experience with one of my kind who reacted to a crucifix with fear or disgust, then you obviously met up with a very young creature, or one who believes the old tales,” I remarked.

He didn’t say a word, but his face was ashen.

“You were fortunate,” I continued gently.  “We’re rather hard to destroy, and even harder to thwart.  It seems you and that youngster in your band were fortunate to escape.”

“How th’ fuck d’ya know ‘bout George….?” John whispered, his voice a mere thread of sound.  I decided that had he a fraulein sitting in his lap, even she would not have heard his words.  My hearing picked them up quite easily.

“I can see it in his eyes,” I explained. 

It was easy for me to see it in young George’s eyes, but very hard to explain my sight to this frightened youth.  He took a deep breath and stared at me in challenge, strong resolve pouring off him in waves, his shock and fear either forgotten or simply pushed aside for the time being.

“If you even think about touchin’ George, I swear I’ll ….” 

His fierce outburst trailed off in confusion as he apparently remembered my treatment of the cross he carried.  I shook my head sadly.

“John, I swear to you, I have no devious plans towards your George.  And none towards Brian, either,” I added as he opened his mouth to speak.  His skepticism was apparent.  “Yes,” I admitted, “we enjoyed an evening together.  But he’s not….”

I hesitated.  How hard it would be to explain my needs to this fierce young boy!  Better to not even try.

“He’s not what I’m looking for,” I finished lamely.

“Then you bloody well stay away from ‘im, an’ you pack it in now,” John shot back.  His furious gaze lifted to squint into the distance behind me.  “He’s comin’ back.  Tell ‘im yer not seein’ him anymore.”

“It’s simpler to handle this type of thing in private,” I commented, amused at his protective demeanor.

“I’m gonna take a piss, shove off whilst I’m gone,” he whispered hotly, climbing to his feet just before Brian returned to the table.  “Be right back,” he told his friend and manager with an easy smile that belied the fury in his eyes.  “Don’ leave without me, Bri.”

John sauntered away, his glare trained on me for as long as I was within his sight; I could feel it leveled upon my back.  I had to admire the youth, his resolve was strong.  It’s not an easy thing to face down a creature such as I, but he’d been determined.  Although he and his friends had nothing to fear from me, he didn’t know that.  My words could have been empty lies, as far as he knew.  Twice lucky, this lad.  Would his luck survive a third attempt?  I gave myself a shake and wondered why I’d thought that.

I smiled as Brian took his seat opposite me.

“So, did you and John get along while I was gone, Hunter?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.”  I coughed experimentally, suddenly at a loss for words.  “This isn’t the easiest time to talk, Brian, but ….” 

I was floundering about, looking for something to say, and coming up empty handed.  An unusual experience for me, assuredly.  As I looked beyond my companion for inspiration, as my gaze alighted upon a lovely mortal woman enjoying dinner with her companion, I fell upon the one explanation Brian would probably accept.  His vaunted British backbone would prevent a scene, and he’d accept my explanation with the legendary stiff upper lip of his countrymen.  I gave a silent apology to my recently deceased lover before I spoke.

“Brian, as much as I enjoyed your company last night, I’m afraid I can’t allow it to happen again.  My … wife recently passed on, and I found myself in a very weak moment yesterday.  I’m not….  It’s not my way…”

I fell silent and hoped he would pick up on my admission.  His sympathy was like salt in a long-forgotten wound.

“My dear Hunter, I am so sorry, I had no idea,” he said hurriedly.  “I… I suppose I quite understand.”

I nodded while avoiding his searching gaze and wondered what he’d thought of our lovemaking.  Perhaps just that I had a little idiosyncrasy, or had just gotten a bit rough.  I wondered if he had enjoyed himself, or if he’d even liked me.  Love was out of the question, he’d met me a bare twenty four hours before.  He’d certainly forget me twenty four hours hence.

The loneliness was suddenly overwhelming.

Unable to endure this very mortal scene any longer, I stood up abruptly, and reached for my coat on the nearby rack.  “Goodbye, Brian.”  I started for the door, tying my coat tightly about me.

“Hunter?”

I turned back against my will, met his level, sympathetic gaze.

“Yes?”

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

I think if I could have wept, I would have done so at that very moment.  The emotion in his voice was raw, flowing over me like a balm to my spirit.

“Thank you, Brian,” I managed to say, then resolutely turned away.  I was almost to the door when I heard John return to the table.  I lingered out of sight for a moment, thinking to torture myself needlessly.  Their voices, in low whispers, came easily to my ears.

“You awright, Eppy?” John asked.

“Yes, fine, thank you, John.”

“Sure?  Ya look like somebody kicked ya in th’ balls.”

“John!  I’m sure I don’t look like that.”

Brian sounded shocked, and I could hear the grin in John’s voice when he replied.

“Where’s yer friend?”

“He’s… he had to leave.”

“Good.”

A pause, and I could hear them gathering their coats.

“John, did you and Hunter speak of anything while I was gone?” Brian asked hesitantly.

“Nah, jus’ th’ weather, th’ band.”  John’s reply was casual, nonchalant. 

“You’re quite certain?”

“Yeah.  Look, Brian, he’s a dangerous sort, ya oughta steer clear from ‘im.”

There was a long pause before Brian replied, and I listened to the sound of coats being tied about bodies, wondering if there would be any word of defense from my erstwhile lover.  Probably not.  I turned towards the door, but Brian’s voice stayed my flight.

“No, you’re mistaken, John.  Hunter is a lost soul, that’s all, alone and friendless.  He’s….”

Brian’s voice dropped very low, and I had to strain to hear him over the noise of the little restaurant.

“He’s someone I could have cared for.”

I heard John snort a laugh.

“Nah, yer th’ one that’s mistaken, Bri.  ‘e was just a pain in th’ neck, that’s all.”

I couldn’t prevent the smile that broke out on my lips, and I hurriedly left the restaurant when I realized my erstwhile companions were walking towards me.  A cab and an alleyway were both fortuitously close; I chose the relative warmth of the cab.  I climbed in with a terse instruction to the driver and we were off ere the door to the restaurant opened again.

I occupied myself on the drive with the memory of a cultured English voice.

He’s someone I could have cared for.

On such glimmers of hope has mankind survived… and thrived. 

I was apart from mankind, and yet I was still some part of mankind, wasn’t I?  I pulled my coat more tightly around myself and wondered if hope does indeed spring eternal.

He’s someone I could have cared for.

Cheryl Mortensen has been a Beatle fanatic since the 1960s, but somehow went on to other things in the late 1960s, only rediscovering her passion for "all things Beatle" in the late 1990s (and on into the new century).  She is a computer programmer and an avid photographer. (Concert photos of bands and performers is her favorite area -- ask her about her Ringo pictures!!)  Cheryl lives with her husband of many years (Mike), her German Shepherd (Sorsha), and a bunch of fish in the tank and the pond that they've never bothered to name.