Into the Darkness

Chapter Ten

“Sit.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I sunk into a velvet upholstered couch in a decked out master bedroom. The 1900’s Victorian style carried through to this room, with a lovely chandelier twinkling in the middle, electric candles instead of wax, cream painted wood paneling up to the high ceilings, drapes, rugs, and the lot. It was beautiful. I was almost too tired to appreciate it.

The Boss had taken a seat to my right in a chair, his legs up on a footstool and his fingers intertwined on his lap. Since Jared was being stitched up and calmed down somewhere within the house, there wasn’t much I could do but wait. I had decided to trade the Boss for answers, mostly because I didn’t have much choice, but also because he seemed to think I had leverage.

 “How did you find this place?” he asked in a deep, calm voice.

“I thought I got the first question?”

That perfect face beheld me for a second, utterly patient. “Very well.”

He was humoring me. I was too tired to be indignant. “What are you?”

“To your kind, I am a fable, for the most part. A myth. A representation of me exists in stories and ballads, in histories, and within popular culture.”

I sighed tiredly. “I hate riddles—I can never figure them out. Can you just tell me like you’re talking to a five-year-old?”

“You’ve heard of vampires?”

I scoffed. “You’re saying you’re a vampire?”

His lips hinted at a smile. “No. Vampires aren’t real. I—my species—inspired the stories of vampires. We’re not unlike humans, very similar, actually; but yet, we’re not of the same race.”

I was not following along. “As in…you’re from somewhere else?”

“You use race to denote color, religion, difference in appearance, and other unimportant things. When in fact, those are just differences in genes. Not large differences, either. We, on the other hand, use it to denote somewhat…larger alterations to the fundamental principles in genetics. Our heritages, yours and mine, originate from the same place, but along that evolutionary road, there is a fork. We are on one side of that fork, you are on the other.”

“What if I don’t believe in evolution?”

“Then God wanted a little more diversity. Either that, or He has a sense of humor.”

“Oh, He definitely has a sense of humor,” I mumbled. I was proof.

“How did you find this place?” he asked.

“Wait, you didn’t actually answer the question. So you aren’t human, but you’re like human?”

“Correct.”

“What are the differences?”

“That’s another question.” His eyes twinkled mischievously, giving me a hot flash. “But I’ll answer. We, my species, are physically superior. We’re larger, faster, stronger, and have more acute senses. Our eyes work better in low light, like a nocturnal predator. Your kind thinks you’re hunters—you’re incorrect. We evolved as hunters. It’s the difference between a domestic cat and a lion.”

I opened my mouth to ask more questions, especially since it seemed humans got the crappy end of the gene-pool, but he held up a pointer finger. “My turn.”

I let my mouth snap shut. Fair was fair.

“How did you find this place?”

I shrugged, relaying the story of my night. As I got further along, the crease in his brow deepened. When my babbling came to an end, the only sound in the room was the ticking of a clock.