The Cainite Order

CHAPTER 1

इन थे बेगिन्निन्ग

CHAPTER 1

"In the Beginning."

The rain beat hard against the house on a warm spring night in Akron Ohio. Beathen (1) Faulkner was trying and failing miserably to find something to watch to take his mind off of the night's events, but as usual there was nothing on television but infomercials and reality shows. Relaxing for the first time after a hellish twelve hours shift. The late shift at an all-night restaurant near a group of bars could get psychotic around last call. Between the drunks and certain employees, it was almost enough to make you jump out of the kitchen and start slapping stupid people.

"My food is cold!" Maybe you shouldn't have come back a half hour after we called your name. "Why isn't my food ready? I've been waiting thirty minutes!" I'm sorry your food isn't done the second it's ordered your Highness, I'm only a cook and don't know how to bend the laws of Physics for you. Also it's been three minutes at most you drunk. The stressful shifts mixed with the proximity to taking his depression medication made this time of the day the hardest on Beathen. Years ago Beathen had been diagnosed with depression that manifests as severe outbursts of anger, and the pills did help to quiet the rage brought on by the mouth breathers. He only wished the pills made him like his job more.

Beathen ran his hands over his oblong face and he could still feel the grease from work caked all through his dark goatee. "Ugh!" he sighed, "I need a new career!"

"Is that you Beathen?" called Aunt Clara from upstairs.

"Sorry Aunt C. I thought you were sleeping"

"That's alright dear; I just got in a little while ago. I went out for drinks."

"Well at least one of us had a good night."

"Sorry you had a bad night. Don't let it get you down sweetheart. I'm going to bed now dear, good night!"

"Night Aunt C."

No matter how long he lived with his great aunt he still couldn't get over the thought of her going out for "drinks" at 88. He had to admit that if he hadn't known her age he never would have guessed it. She looked to be in her early fifties at the latest and could still move with the grace of someone a fraction of her actual age. Her timeless facial features helped with hiding her true age. As much as he hated it, several of Beathen's friend's asked about his hot Aunt all the time.

The one time he had decided to go out with his aunt and her friends he needed half a day to recover. Thinking they would be going to bingo or playing bridge, he was more than caught off guard when they ended up at a club he had never heard of before. Working in restaurants had taught him how to not only drink, but how to drink most anyone under the table. He had become a borderline alcoholic like many people he knew in food service because of the stress and easy access to booze. That night with his great aunt and her friends had shown Beathen a whole new level of drinking he wasn't sure he would survive. The most embarrassing part of the night wasn't being held over the toilet by his great aunt, it was being carried home like a sack of potatoes by a man who was barely five feet tall. Rory was the man's name. At least that's what he thought it was, he couldn't really remember much of that night after the second shot. Aunt Clara had consoled him by saying that her friends were impressed that he kept up as long as he had. Beathen was still trying to figure out how he had matched them drink for drink for what seemed like hours. The group of elderly friends, out of pity, took him home first.