Family Don't End In Blood

May 15th, 2013

I've used so many names in the past couple of years that any number of them feel more comfortable departing from my lips than my own. My parents wouldn't like that. When I was raised by them, they were all about embracing who you are. But things change. That would do me far more harm than good these days.
I flip my hair back and raise my head to study my new appearance in the crusted and cracked mirror of the equally crusty bathroom of my dingy motel room in Sargent, Nebraska. "Golden Touch," as the box perching on the sink calls it, though in reality it has the tone and quality of unwashed corn silk, does not suit me. However, I am so used to things not suiting me that it seems as if nothing does anymore. I try to keep my gaze fixed on my hair as I run my fingers through it and toss it over my shoulders a few times, but they inevitably and predictably flicker back to the reflection of my own eyes. These are not the eyes of Special Agent Irene Winters or Detective Violet Harker. These are the eyes of Autumn Jackson, my real name. No title, no special ranking. Just Autumn. This hair doesn't match my eyes, or my name. This isn't me.
Good. I force the thought through my mind, digging the nail of my index finger into the skin on the side of my thumb. I can't be me. Not anymore. "Me" died almost two years ago when my parents were killed in their sleep by a Wraith, leaving behind a hole on the backs of their heads, leaking blood and gray matter. I grip the edge of the sink, shaking myself out of the past. This won't do. I still have half a nest of vampires to kill.
Last night, I tracked two of the remaining vamps to a nightclub on the city limits, where I overheard them muttering to each other that their brothers and sisters were getting killed off. That there were too many close calls. That there weren't that many people in Sargent anyway. That it would be better for everyone if they rested up and skipped town the following night. This is my last chance. If I can finish off the rest of them while they're distracted with wrapping up their affairs in Custer County, I'll be in good shape to get back on the road myself. Maybe head back home for a few days.
I almost hate myself for having somewhere to call home. When I'm on the road so much, unable to afford being attached to my own identity, it seems far too sentimental. But it's the house where I was born. What can I say? Maybe I'm trying to cling to the last scrap of my faded childhood. My parents moved to California when I was 4, but they kept the old suburban house in Ohio. It's the perfect place for me to have somewhere to lie low. It's been long enough that no one remembers me, and with the economic recession, most of the neighbors are different anyway.
I try and keep the reflections to a minimum as I shrug on my leather jacket and pack up my scattered papers and maps. I sling my old duffel bag over my shoulder and head for the lobby.
The old, pot-bellied man who owns the place comes shuffling out of a back room and squints at me over his dusty glasses, his eyes lingering on my new hair. "Checking out, Miss...?"
"Willis," I respond, thankfully taking that split second to pull the corresponding credit card out of the front of my wallet.
He nods and swipes my card through his dirty old machine that looks as if it has been purloined from a supermarket. "Good thing yer leavin' today, what with those...disappearances. Wouldn't want anything to happen to a pretty girl like you."
I smirk to myself as he punches in some numbers with his brittle old fingers and hands me my card back. "Thanks a bunch, sir. Have a good day." I carefully slip the credit card into the back of my fat wallet. Delilah Willis doesn't need to come back for a while. Next up: Natasha Parker.

"You just wait. The others will find you," the last one had hissed at me as I held him down on the ground, about to bring down my blade on his neck.
Let them come, whispers a voice in the back of my head as I toss the burning stick towards the barn full of slain vampires and hop in my car, starting the engine and turning away from the crackling of the fire.
I drive for maybe ten minutes down the empty stretch of back-country road, my window down and the cool wind blowing my newly dyed hair back from my face. Crickets chirp all around me, much louder than they are in Ohio, now that I am so much further from urban populations. Let them come, the thought repeats in my head, though I'm not sure why. Then I realize that I have no rush of post-hunt adrenaline. I have no fear of what will happen if and when another nest of pissed off, revenge-seeking vampires tracks me down. I simply feel...weary. I want to be back home.
Tears streak my vision, and another scene comes to mind, one much more recent. A girl with platinum blonde hair lies in a pool of blood. So fragile. So broken. Completely lifeless. I swallow the panic rising in my throat once again and drive on.
A few moments later, the sky lights up, blazing orange and yellow. My first thought is of the fire I set so far behind me, to cover my tracks and destroy the bodies. But no, this looks like...a meteor shower. Like none I've ever seen before. The streaks of light hurtle like missiles towards the ground, and I hear distant thuds as a couple of them make contact in the fields beside the road.