A Stormy Night: Stories to Read by Candlelight

Punctual

Fritz's shoes clapped against wet pavement, and his coat flapped in the strong breeze that rattled what leaves were left on the branches of barren branches. He had an appointment, and Fritz was always punctual. It was a quiet, nearly abandoned part of town, with dark lit alleys and flickering street lights that cast his shadow across the ground in a long stretch. Somewhere, a cat hissed and a trash can fell to its side, causing a loud clatter, but Fritz was startled by the sound. He hung a right into an alley after looking both ways to ensure he wasn't followed, and pulled the brim of his wide brimmed fedora down low over his brow. He stopped short of his destination and pulled his gun from his holster, a .45 revolver. On his belt, a variety of bullets were organized, and he checked the cylinder, ensuring it was loaded before he carefully replaced it to its holster and flapped his coat down over it. He shook his left wrist from his coat sleeve and checked the time. He was right on schedule, and he turned to his right and traveled further down the alley. After a series of brief turns, he found himself in front of a door, which he shoved open, allowing it to swing inward as he stepped through. A series of faces met his eyes, none of them pretty.

"I'm looking for Lance," he said to his captive audience, flipping his coat back to reveal his weapon. The bartender stopped polishing his glass and nodded to a curtain that led behind the bar. Fritz walked back and followed the man through the cloth barrier, and was met by an arm flying across the door frame and connecting with his chest. He grabbed the arm quickly and used it to throw the man against the door frame. The bartender looked at him with fire in his eyes and bared his teeth, two, sharp points where canines would be. Without hesitation, Fritz drew his gun and placed the barrel underneath the man's chin, his finger on the trigger.

"Easy, Fritz," Lance said from behind him, "everybody's gotta have some protection." Fritz turned his head slowly to meet Lance's gaze, but didn't lower his gun,

"Vampires?" He asked, shaking his head and pushing the barrel closer to the things neck, "That's the best you could do?"

"It's hard times," Lance said, running a comb through his thick, black hair, "you know that." Fritz inhaled, replaced the hammer on the revolver, and placed it back on his waist before letting the bartender off the wall and slunk back into the bar.

"What can I do for you, Fritz?"

"You know why I'm here," he replied, flipping his coat back over his gun, "you broke the rules." Lance waved a hand a sighed,

"A man has do do things to survive," he said, going to a table near a shelving unit and pulling out a chair, "even if those things are...Questionable." Fritz shook his head as he pulled out a seat,

"M.R doesn't appreciate you doing 'questionable things,"Fritz said, placing his hands on the table, "they're starting to think all you lycans are all the same." Lance shook his head and his eyes went a firey blue,

"Well," he started as his fingernails scraped at the edge of the table, "if M.R didn't force us to live on the outskirts of this town, eating what we can find and running around the back alleys like a bunch of monsters, maybe we wouldn't have to eat people!" Fritz shook his head, and Lance continued,

"We lycans were once a fearsome creature, lurking among the dark woods at night, and now look at us! Crammed into stone passages and damp man made shelters not even fit for a human!"

"So you admit it, you were the one that killed Luarline?" Lance shook his head, and as his eyes returned to their normal, dimmer color, he calmed himself and said,

"I don't know who that is. And I haven't eaten in weeks." Fritz nodded,

"But you know who did?" He asked. Lance's face went pale and his body seemed to go cold with fear.

"Lance?" Fritz asked, standing slowly, "Do you know who killed Lauraline Jones?" Lance didn't respond and Fritz soon became aware of a cold that overcame the room suddenly. He stood rapidly, the chair he was sitting in flying back and falling over, and he placed his hand on his weapon before a deep, monstrous voice filled the room,

"Who?" It seemed to ask from everywhere, "Are you?" It spoke in broken sentences and Fritz gripped the heel of his revolver tightly,

"Fritz, badge number 001," he said aloud, "I'm here with M.R following up on a kidnapping and possible homicide."

"Hmmm..." The voice seemed to inhale deeply, "M.R has no right to be here." The voice spoke slowly, putting space between his words, and Fritz responded,

"I was sent here on diplomatic grounds," he said, "tell me, who are you?"

"You mean," the voice said, taking a deep breath, "what am I?" Fritz nodded, unsure if the creature could see him or not. Lance stood quickly, but his eyes rolled back into his head and they were replaced by two black orbs,

"I do not have to tell you that,"the voice said, "for I'm sure you already know." Fritz nodded slowly as Lance's body gesticulated toward him,

"Damn demons," he muttered to himself, then, "what is it you call yourself?"

"I will not tell you!" The voice shouted through Lance's mouth, "You have no right to be here!" Fritz shook his head,

"I'm here with M.R, I'm going to ask you very nicely to leave Lance's body," Fritz said, staring into the eyes of Lance's demon-filled body.

"Or what?" The demon asked, smiling through Lance's lips. Fritz shook his head and his hand hesitated for a moment to pull his gun.

"Lance, I'm really sorry about this," he said, reaching down onto the table and picking up a shot glass of whiskey and downing it, "but Mutual Respect sends his regards." Without another doubt, Fritz drew his gun and shot once, twice, three times at the demon with bullets dipped in holy water. The room was filled with a thick, black cloud as the demon left Lance's body and a the floorboards split open in a small, glowing circle and the smoke was pulled into it. He holstered his gun as the hole in the ground sealed itself back up, and he hoisted Lance to his feet.

"Sure am sorry about that," Fritz said as he grabbed the lycan's arm, "but I had to do what I had to." They both glanced down as the wounds sealed themselves up slowly and Lance looked back up at Fritz,

"Let's just be glad you weren't using silver," he said as he patted at the warm blood that had soaked into his shirt, "then things could have gone poorly." Fritz nodded and brought Lance to the chair across the table and sat him down before taking his seat across from him.

"It's never my intention to hurt my informants," Fritz said as he ran a thumb along the rim of the whiskey glass.

"Oh, I'm sure of that," Lance said in a voice that made Fritz raise his brow, "just as it is my intention to protect the 'creatures' as you call them, that have protected me." Fritz reached for his gun but felt himself becoming weary as his vision faded in and out and he looked down at the whiskey glass.

"Why?" Fritz asked as he pulled his gun and aimed it shakily at Lance, who stood,

"Lauraline Jones was a necessary cost," he said as he wiped his hands on a towel that the bartender handed him from behind Fritz, "a cost to keep my kind alive." He looked to the bartender and reached under the flesh of Fritz's neck and produced a small piece of metal,

"Dispose of his tracker," Lance said as he slowly transformed, "I'll give you the body a little bit later." Fritz lost his vision and slowly, his hearing until finally, he slumped over onto the table without another word.