Beyond the club, a woman wondered over to a young man in a wheel chair and asked him if he had any change so that she could buy heroine. Across the street a man with a black cap had a body of a young girl in the trunk of his car. He was parked on the side of the street with a lit cigarette but wasn’t really smoking it. He found his next victim. An old man with long gray hair and a long frizzy beard walked steadily passed the mass of people and hailed a taxi. Inside his black jacket was a gun. The name Smith and Wesson was etched in small print along the handle.

   In a cafe a vampire sat alone at a table by the window. In his hands was a cup of coffee, black and untouched. He watched the old man climb into the taxi and within minutes they vanished into the blackness of the city, and possibly into the blackness of one’s soul. Could it have been his soul? Or the soul of death which awaited behind a door made of bones, not white as one may foresee, but bones of dripping blood-blood running in madness like a waterfall into a lake of fire and brimstone.

   The coffee shop was always busy on Saturday nights, full of people  young and old, loud and too damn loud, but the vampire was soothed by the voices- the various sounds that escaped their mouths and sharp tongues. Relaxing, yet taunting. Full of warmth and emotion. He fell in love with them all. Their sounds poured into his veins as if it were blood, thick and syrupy, and running down his soul, (if he had one). It was liquid fire burning his stomach, filling it for perhaps the first time in years. He grinned momentarily and faint dimples touched his cheeks, barely noticeable upon his pale face, which was ghastly radiant but still passable for human.

   His eyes were a golden green, dark, and yet held a glossy brilliance to them. They were large round jewels sunken in his skull, and the whiteness around them were even more dazzling, lacking depth and almost two dimensional. He had a wild mop of brown hair, fairly short which seemed to creep and tangle with itself. The vampire looked back out the window and watched a man walk by wearing a tied-dye shirt with long frizzled brown hair knotted into a pony tail. His side burns reached down to the ends of his jaw line and his thin beard grew like a weed on his chin. The vampire tasted the scent of his blood and held a steady gaze upon him. The man quickly glanced back and met the vampires tranquil eyes then turned around and continued walking. The vampire grinned as a young waitress who looked to be in her mid twenties asked him if he would like a refill. Without looking up he declined the offer. She smiled and went back behind the counter only to get bitched by an unsatisfied customer. Ah, the sent of blood swirled about the air like black smoke in a burning house. Sweet, sweet smoke. His mouth was crying for blood. Deep, rich blood pouring down his eager throat. And the voices! He wanted to take every one of these mortals back with him and play with them until death would steal them away.

   The vampire cupped his hands around the mug, which was still warm, and felt the heat against his cold skin. Blood. He saw his face in the reflection crazed for blood. Hot and satisfying liquid. Then he sensed something new in the air. Cold, decrepit and faint. The smell got stronger like a black thunder cloud rolling in from the sky.   It was an old smell, a stench he was very familiar with. He looked across the room and saw  another...like him. The vampire recognized him immediately, though was a bit surprised. He scanned across the room to see if anyone else had seen the new customer, (if one may call him as such), but know one seemed to notice, not the waitress behind the counter nor the man in the apron who was working the register. The vampire returned his sight back to the familiar kin, but he had vanished. He glanced around and saw him  standing behind the waitress smelling her blonde hair, then vanished again only to reappear sitting at the seat just across from him. The new vampire had no expression on his face, only evil floated in his eyes which were too dark for any humans.

   "They’re like pets to you," Jerard said.

   The vampire replied with a quiet sigh.

   "Well, do you see them as cows... ready for the slaughter? Or like dogs to obey your every whim."

   The vampire looked down at his coffee, savoring the last of its warmth.

   "Or perhaps you see them as sheep, ready for the fucking, eh?" He let out a whimsical laugh, grabbed the vampires cup out of his hands and set it on the table behind him. "Your coffee’s cold. Maybe you should order another cup."

   "Don’t do this Jerard. Not here, not now."

   "Do what? Why, can’t I have a pet too?"

   The vampire looked down at his hands where the coffee cup had been and said, "What the hell are you doing all the way out here anyway?"

    "The same reason as you," Jerard replied. "I’m starving. Call over  your pretty waitress."

   "I’m not here to just feed..."

   "And what exactly are you here, my friend?"

   "Thinking..."

    "Ah, thinking. Well that is what you do best. And you’re so damned good at it. You know what? I think we should kill her. What do you think?"

   The vampire glared at Jerard then turned to the window. A homeless man limped by while talking to himself under his breath. Jerard casually pointed at the bum out the window and said, "How would you feel if I killed him instead? Or perhaps that old man who left in the cab not too long ago. You know he has a gun and plans on killing his wife and then himself?"

   The vampire straightened up and uttered, "You were following me."

   "Oh, Michael." Jerard rolled his eyes.

   Michael opened his mouth to speak but quickly changed his mind and just looked at his friend.

   "The coven house is so boring this time of night. And the city, San Francisco, looming in the night like the moon. How beautiful it can look so far away, but as you getcloser it becomes hideous... monstrous. But the people! They’re so intriguing. I now know why you venture out here. Like the murdering, suicidal old man for instance. Now he would be fun to kill. Then lay his headless corpse next to his wife in bed. Hah! She’d go insane when she’d wake up. Funny though, she’ll always love him and would never know that he came home that night to kill her."

   Michael grinned and shrugged.

   "Oh well, fuck it. Damn bastards need to die anyway."

   Michael ignored him and said, "Come on, lets feed and get back. We only have a few hours left."

   "No, no... what’s the rush? I like it here. Cozy." He grinned.

   "And besides, I want to meet your lady friend."

   Michael stood up, moved the chair back under the table and said, "I’m going." He reached for the door and glanced back at Jerard who was watching him. Michael gestured for him to come then left the coffee shop and proceeded down the street. Jerard slowly followed with indifference.

   The two vampires walked passed the crowded shops and restaurants and the people who filled the streets. Jerard was about to ask what Michael was up to, returning to the coven house or out to feed, but his question was answered when he eyed the man in the tie-dyed shirt, his back to them and walking along side a girl who had short, brown hair and a little over weight. Michael and Jerard continued to follow them, hiding in stealth within the shadows. They eagerly waited until the crowd thinned and the only people left on the darkened street were two kids chasing each other through a parking lot and a homeless woman carrying a shopping cart full of cans while talking to herself in a preacher tone of voice. The couple held hands and spoke of trivial things; parties, getting drunk and high, and of humorous episodes of South Park. Cartman shooting fire out of his ass. Cartman getting hit by the school bus. Cartman getting axed by Santa Claus. Hilarious.

   They stopped and stood where a trolley could pick them up to take them uptown and from there to a bus terminal. Michael sensed them getting nervous and reasonably so, after all it was past two in the morning and the surrounding silence was creeping down upon them. A car with a broken headlight sped past and disappeared around the corner, and that was the last disturbance they would hear... well except for their blood chilling cries. Michael slid from out of the crevasse of an abandoned building. He was buried in his black trench coat- his hands lifelessly inside the pockets. He appeared shy as if he were lost in the city damned. He crept up behind the couple and forcefully took the man in his arms. His muscles clenched as the man in the tie-dyed shirt tried  to regain control like an animal caught by poachers. The girl cried out hysterically, though she had put up a good fight as well. She swung a knife from her pocket and slashed Michael across his belly. Michael hissed, wrapped his arm around the guy’s neck and bit into his throat. Blood spurted out like grapefruit. the girl froze in horror, wide-eyed. Blood had got all over his face and jacket. Her lips moved, forming the words that she didn’t have the strength to say. The vampire drank heavily then dropped the corpse onto the sidewalk and looked at the girl in a calm fixation. To the girl his eyes looked  sleepy and lifeless. Blood drooled down his lips and chin. The girl tried to back off, she wanted to run but fear captured her muscles... killed her instincts. Michael grabbed onto her jacket and pushed her into the depths of the shadows. She screamed as a pair of pale hands shot out and grabbed her. Within seconds there was only dead silence. Shortly after, Jerard stepped into the light holding the body of the young girl, blood streaming down his crazy smile.

   "Ah, that was delicious!" Jerard exclaimed.

   Michael turned to him and said, "Come on, help me get rid of the bodies."

   "Well that’s no fun..."

   "Be creative," Michael replied as he looked upon the knife wound inflamed across his stomach. Already his "dinner" had started to bleed out.

   "Well, since you put it that way," Jerard snickered then grabbed the arm of the female corpse and ripped it off. It made a sound of tearing flesh and a loud pop as the bone gave way. "Oh, I like this," he spoke to himself.

   Michael ignored him and dragged the male corpse down the street a ways and opened a man-hole cover. He then tossed the body down and slipped the lid back into place.

   "There," he whispered under his breath and sighed.

   Michael returned and saw that Jerard had a leg in his hand and was waving it furiously as if he were trying to ward off an invisible force. He let it go into the sky and both followed it across the sky land on the roof of an old warehouse factory.

   It hit the tin shingles with a distant clang.

   "Nice," Michael uttered. "Now what are you going to do with the rest of it, Einstein."

   Jerard shrugged, "Umm, I don’t know."

  "Look, you got blood all over the place. In a few hours there’s going to be people swarming all over. What do you think they’re going do when they see it, drink it?"

   Jerard flicked blood on Michael in a teasing effort then giggled and  replied, "I’m sure we’ll find a way."

   "No, I’m sure you’ll find a way. Come on, pick up those... parts and let’s get out of here."

   Jerard bared his fangs at Michael and hissed. Michael only gazed at him. Jerard’s features were dark; short black hair- neatly trimmed, deep black eyes that revealed his mischievous nature and dark tanned skin of Latino descent though with a yellow pallor. His jacket hung loose on his body- black leather with studs along the back shoulders. Ah,so young he was. Not even 3 years of age. Michael remembered his death and birth. All of the coven was there. Jacqueline, Gallich, and Antonia watched with evil interest- a newborn brought into the Coven of Black Roses. The three parent vampires raised him slowly, first feeding him their blood then the luscious blood of mortals. He was wild with them... evil. Jerard gave no mercy, just pounced on those defenseless mortals and literally tore them to pieces. Blood and flesh everywhere. The others vowed not to release him among the cities of the living until he was older, but now he was out..escaped passed the elders, Michael guessed. The two had become friends but now Michael needed  to distance himself from him.

   After all, loving as he might be, he was still a nuisance. One would feel like a baby-sitter around him, and Michael’s patients was running . He needed the city, the mortals, the coffee shop... the waitress. Among the mortals was like a cleansing; a life away from life... no matter how dead that life may be. Michael needed something else for a while. A change. Well, Jerard certainly livened things up a bit, he thought to himself.

   Perhaps, but what are they going to do about the corpse, or what’s left of it? Michael didn’t know. He didn’t want to put Jerard in an iron fist. Though he didn’t want the police discovering the dried blood and find some poor shmuck to blame for the crime. Michael turned from Jerard and studied the roof tops. Maybe Jerard didn’t have a bad idea after all, the problem was that majority of the roofs were angled and most of the flat one’s were back where they had come, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to return to a residential area with severed limbs in your arms.

   Michael thought for a moment as Jerard tore out the intestines of his victim. He eyed the roof across the street where Jerard had thrown the arm. Not bad but still, the arm will probably end up in the rain gutter, it will rain and the drain will clog. Somebody will climb up to take a look at it and find the arm. Not good at all. Of course by then most of it would be eaten away.

   "So, any idea’s?" Jerard said as he sloshed the intestines onto the sidewalk.

   Michael turned around in horror and cried, "Idiot! Pick that shit up! Pick up the torso too, come lets get the hell out of here."

   Jerard picked up the parts and started to follow. Michael turned to him and shouted, "The head! Pick up the head!"

   "I can’t, you pick it up," said Jerard as he held the dismembered corpse out, showing he couldn’t."

   Michael growled as he grabbed the head by the hair, then said, "Leg. Where’s the other leg."

   "Uh, down that way," Jerard nodded toward the end of the street."

   Michael sighed, "Okay, we’ll get that later, but first we got to find a place to ditch this stuff. Come."

   Michael and Jerard came to an abandoned house, though by the looks of it, it seemed as though mortals had been around recently. Michael smelled their faint presence. It was a crack house. The two ditched the bloody mess inside a wall and closed it up as much as possible. The sheet rock was pulled closed like a door and a two by four was secured in place, acting as a barricade.

   Jerard stared at Michael as they stood outside on the driveway. He had a crazy grin that stretched across his face and laughed mechanically. Michael studied him, knowing he was plotting something in his twisted mind. And he knew what it was. The waitress; he wanted her too but for obvious reasons. Michael reached out and grabbed Jerard’s jacket so fast that Jerard almost fell to the ground. Pulling him up to his face, Michael warned him one last time not to go near her. Jerard snickered, then quieted down after he realized it was no joke. Michael meant what he said.

   Jerard’s face became still, as if he were a statue color-coated brown for an Egyptian temple. A god perhaps, but not this one. No, Jerard was a devil. Cruel and merciless.

   "Why are you so protective of her?" Jerard asked as he unclasped Michael’s hands from him. "Look, tomorrow night we can find out where she lives and kill her at home. We can ditch her body in the bay, or burn it, or-"

   "I am protecting her because she is mine, do you understand?" Michael growled.

   Jerard narrowed his eyes, they looked like two shiny slivers of glass.

   "What is she too you? She’s just as human as the rest. What makes this one so damned special?"

   "And why should I tell you. She is mine, do you understand?"

   Jerard raised his hands in the air, gesturing that he had given up. Michael considered him a moment longer, unconvinced, then released him. How could he possibly hurt this beautiful creature? Jerard bowed dramatically before him, (face almost touching his knees), and disappeared with heavy laugher hanging in the streets.

   Michael returned to the coffee shop the following night. Before he had left he saw that the others had chained up Jerard to the wall on the lower section of the house, (which actually was a pretty good sized mansion that housed over 20 some vampires). The whole room had been filled with chains hanging from the ceiling like barbaric curtains draping a dungeon. Jerard was hanging from the wall opposite the door, chains snaking down his body. He was screaming madly and laughing wildly. Michael was in distraught but left the matter well alone. The others did it for a reason and Michael convinced himself it was better this way.

   Michael sat at the same table, looking out the window. The man who had the girl in his trunk was back, smoking a cigarette that wasn’t lit. The man had his eyes on a young girl in a skimpy blue outfit that screamed, fuck me. The blonde waitress set the cup of coffee on the table Michael was sitting at and asked if he would like anything else. Michael smiled and shook his head. The waitress smiled back and returned to the counter. Even though poor Jerard was draped in chains, he still expected him to appear next to him with laughter, and tease him about the coffee he didn’t drink, or the waitress he loved and wouldn’t love. A human life he pretended to live, although he was far from living, and as human as the black cup of coffee he held in his hands.

   He followed her home and hid in the shadows of her house as she peeled off her clothes, took a shower and got ready for bed. She fell asleep within minutes, dreaming of dark monsters and sexual fantasies. Michael watched her until dawn then quickly retreated across the Golden gate bridge, past the hills that overlooked the city and into the great house where his family awaited his return. Their faces grim and eyes mournful. They were looking at him as if they had seen a ghost and as the sun rose the room cleared. Michael was the only one standing then he too vanished before the light hit the room.

   Michael awoke as his coffin was lifted and thrown across the room. He toppled out and quickly got to his feet. Antonia and the others seized and carried him into the room of chains. Michael cried for the others to listen and why this punishment had fallen upon him, but there was no answer. Even Antonia wouldn’t look at him. She had a saddened look carved across her face as her eyes remained fixed on the chains. Another vampire tore off his shirt, revealing the horrible wound from the night before. The vampire stabbed his fingers inside him then brought his hand to his lips and sucked on Michael’s cold blood. Michael howled in anguish and fear flooded his emotions. The blood began to drain out his body and onto the floor. In given time he would be drained to death, but why would the others let it happen. Why were they doing this, God why? Hordes of vampires began to drink the blood pouring out from his stomach. They were like rats feeding upon a carcass. Or bees upon the sweet honey that nectars life. They left him there, bleeding and barely lifeless. He cried with the little strength he had- a dry sob that echoed within the tarnished room.

  The night slowly turned into day, the moon replaced by the fiery sun that unleashed its wrath upon the earth. The room was windowless and damp, but nonetheless Michael knew the morning had arose. He fell asleep almost instantly. His sight grew fuzzy then dark. No dreams invaded his subconscious as he laid there against the wall like a corpse cruelly mutilated like the woman who was unfortunate enough to be Jerard’s victim.

   When Michael opened his eyes he saw Antonia standing before him. She smiled and sighed in relief to find him living still. Michael stared at her through sleepy eyes, and as she silently approached him he began to sob again.

   "Ah, poor Michael. I’m glad you are still alive."

   "Help," he Muttered through parched lips. "Help me."

   Antonia unchained Michael from the wall and he plunged hard to the floor unable to move. She slit her wrist and poured her blood into Michael’s mouth. He crawled up her body and drank feverishly.

   "Go to your city, tonight. But after this day you can never return there again. It is forbidden." Antonia’s voice was like a strong whisper.

   "What?" Michael muttered.

   "You heard me. Now go."

   Michael nodded and left the house. He drank heavily on the blood of tourists and bums before crossing the Gold Gate, and as he reached the city streets he remembered his bloody wound. He lifted his shirt and saw that it had healed. There was no scar and no sign that it had even been there. "Mother’s blood," he said out loud to himself.

   Finally he walked down the street among the people of the night and every night there were new faces, well except inside the coffee shop. He entered and sat down by the window, waiting for the blonde waitress. He couldn’t wait to see her angelic face again. That would make up for the horrible night he spent in that room all chained up and drained of blood.

   Michael gazed across the crowded floor, searching, but couldn’t find her. He walked up to the counter where the man in the apron had been working the register and asked if he’d seen the waitress. He shook his head and told him that she didn’t come in tonight, that he had heard nothing from her and was worried. Fear washed over Michael’s face. He turned for the door and saw Jerard standing in the doorway. He had something in his hands and he was waving it around for Michael to see. Suddenly fear transformed into horror.

   "God, no," he whispered.

   He ran toward Jerard with lightening speed and saw that it was hair he had been waving in his hands. Blonde hair. Michael growled furiously and chased after him. Jerard was laughing, teasing.

   "You would have liked her Michael. Oh, she tastes so good!"

   "You didn’t! You didn’t!"

   "Don’t worry my friend, she’s still alive. She’s waiting for you!" Jerard taunted.

   Michael pursued him through the city and reappeared almost instantly in front of a house like two ghosts haunting the evening. The house seemed to cry out to him as if it were plagued with spirits. What had happened that night when Michael was chained to the wall? Michael didn’t want to know, but he had to nonetheless. For the first time... well the second time in his life he felt powerless. The first had been when he was brought to the house and sacrificed by Antonia in a blood-feasted orgy eighty years ago. She was strapped in leather like a young vixen with whips and, yes, chains.

   Jerard stopped by the front door and grinned wickedly. Michael stood in the street, panting. "What did you do, you bastard."

   Jerard laughed, waving the blonde hair overhead. Michael noticed blood dripping from it and his eyes lit a fury red. Jerard hollered with excitement and ran into the house, Michael quickly followed breaking the door from the hinges and smashing it into the wall. They flew upstairs and stopped as they entered the bedroom. The blonde waitress was laying on the bed with blood covering her now bald head. It was horrid.

   Michael backed up into the wall, eyes wide and mouth open. The woman turned over to her side and looked at him. Oh, she was still alive!

   "What is she to you!" cried Jerard. "What is she!"

   Michael rushed to Jerard, grabbed him and launched him across the room. He crashed through a door and landed on the bathroom linoleum. Michael then picked up the blonde scalp from the floor and held the soft hair in his hands, feeling the texture that will never be again. A moment of silence passed over him. He would take the young lady to the hospital, she was still alive and they would help her. Michael turned and looked at her. She was watching him and shaking violently, and as he approached her a fierce shrill escaped her throat, so loud that he had to cover his ears.

   "Please, stop! I’m here to help!" Michael cried. The girl shrieked again and suddenly Michael saw Antonia standing beside him. All the others were there too. Jerard had risen from the floor and approached the bed.

   Antonia shoved Michael against the wall and pinned him as the others, including Jerard, ravaged the woman. She cried hideously as they tore off her arms, legs, and head. Her guts ran across the bed and blood sprayed all over the ceiling, the walls, and each other. Michael was drenched in it. Jerard grabbed one of the legs and swung it around, smashing the phone, pictures and lamps. They drank heavily leaving nothing but an unrecognizable heap of flesh. The vampires paraded throughout the house spreading blood, flesh and bone. One had her brain and was smashing it against the walls.

   As the vampires slowly left the house, leaving Michael and Jerard together in the same room, Jerard quietly approached Michael. Michael was sitting on the floor against the wall and was staring into space in disbelief. He was whispering to himself, a name, over and over again.

   At last Jerard asked, "Who was she Michael? Tell me. What was she to you? Just a mortal to fall in love with? Come, there is no reason to stay here now. Forever you will stay with us. We are your family, no her... not them."

   "Her name was Nicole," whispered Michael. She was... everything to me."

   Finally he looked up at Jerard with empty eyes and said, "She was my Granddaughter. My beautiful, young Granddaughter. She was the only reason why I existed, not you, not any of them. She was the last of my family. She was... my love."