Noir

Part Eight

He was at Obsidian, he'd gotten wasted, drowning his debilitating heartache. He hadn't felt like waiting for a woman, the act tarnished by the last who he had lost, therefore he opted for the stage, where three women joined him. He sat idly, emotionless still, void of spirit. The act of fornication had become boring in itself, tedious. He'd spent his life acting out his morbid fantasies, and now they had grown old. But, as unfortunate as that was, he knew of nothing else.

The women kissed at his body as he stared on into oblivion, thinking of Julian. Oh how he would have loved to partake in this performance.

He left his stupor, kissing the women back, throwing away his personal cautions, though it was lackluster and mechanical.

He took the women slowly, languidly, abiding his time, a stark contrast to previous encounters, all due to boredom. His endurance was strong, lasting until all three women were satisfied.

They clung to him, pining, claiming he was the best they'd ever had. He felt pride, but it was faint. He took one of their hands, kissing it, wanting to play the romantic. They were all beautiful, enigmatic in their own way. Of all the women he had seen in his years, they were better than most, and, for that, he took it as luck upon him.

"Come home with me," he addressed them, the mistake he had made with Rose. But there was no longer any threat.

They looked to one another, nodding their heads when they had agreed amongst themselves. Though they had just sated themselves, they could all use a bit of company, Lucas at the forefront.

He led them on their walk, the women hanging on him with broad smiles. There was no conversation aside from gestures, the man sharing a cigarette with each. He already enjoyed the company, their presence overthrowing the crippling loneliness of which he had been under.

When they neared the mansion they all released sounds of astonishment.

"You live here?" one asked in wonder.

"Indeed I do," he replied with the smallest hint of a smile.

She beamed at him.

They entered and they all gaped.

"It's absolutely beautiful," another said. It was the exact words of Rose and Lucas' chest tightened.

He led them to the foyer and he offered them wine, filling their glasses high. They all looked so delighted, radiant in their grins. He sipped on his maroon nectar, studying them.

"What do you do here all alone in this place?" the third one questioned.

He almost deflated, but he didn't want to spoil the fun, "I write poetry. I read."

One made an interested sound, "May we read some?"

He actually smiled, "I assume none of you read the paper."

They all laughed, shaking their heads.

His chest convulsed with a laugh he suppressed, "Then perhaps."

One sidled up to him, playing with the hair on the back of his neck, "You're quite handsome. How charming that you would take us home."

He smiled, "It could be your home. You all could live here."

She pulled back, surprised, a look that said she wasn't sure if he was serious. She looked to the others and they all took a long drink.

"I would live with you," said another one, and they all nodded.

He felt an excitement well up within him, a hopefulness that he would no longer be lonely, that he could fill his life with that of taking care of these women, of doting on them, of providing for them. A family he'd never wanted before.

They carried on with conversation, getting drunk off wine.

Lucas brought them to the large bed he and Julian had shared, the bodies gone and the bedding changed. They slept together, and although Lucas didn't sleep, he didn't mind feigning.

He spoiled them, buying them dresses, learning to cook so they could be fulfilled in their cravings, making love to them with sweet desire. He grew attached, loving them equally. But he didn't dare reveal to them that he was a vampire.

He would roam the streets at night, feeding off unsuspecting victims, claiming to his brides that he needed fresh air, to think of his next writing.

But on occasion he would take them out and they'd accompany each other to the theater. Lucas had grown to enjoy plays, for their sake.

It was a warm summer night when they left the theater for the last time. Laughing and holding one another, happy, content. Lucas pulled one to him and kissed her on the head.

They turned down an empty alley, and that's when they saw the thug. Lucas stopped. He turned to usher the women back the way they came, but suddenly a gunshot rang out and he felt the sting of a bullet enter his back. He fell, though he wouldn't die, he still didn't want his wives to know of his vampire status. If they knew, surely they would leave him.

He told them to run, but they refused, crouching down to him, attempting to lift him up. But that's when another shot rang out, and one of the women fell. Lucas crawled to her with an exclamation of her name. But he knew he had to stop the thug. He stood and turned, striding to the man and when the man shot again he did not fall, instead grabbing the gun and breaking his arm.

What he didn't account for was two other thugs stepping from the shadows, moving behind his wives, holding knives to their necks. He attempted to get the gun in time, but before he could aim they had slit their necks.

He shot them all before crawling to the woman who had been shot, holding her in his arms.

She said I love you for the last time.

He screamed, crying for the second time in his dreadful existence.

He rushed home, determined to end his life.

Going into the foyer, he took from the fireplace a lamp, filled with oil, the flame burning bright. He smashed it to the carpet, allowing the flames to run up his leg until they finally consumed him. He screamed in pain, the heat harsh and unforgiving, the greatest pain he could have ever imagined. But just as the sun did not scorch him, the flames did little to defeat him.

He was doomed to live out eternity in anguish.