The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

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Penina Spinka
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The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by Penina Spinka »

Author: Penina Spinka
Subject: The Beat – PG-13 – Posted March 30, 2009 - First 5 Chapters
Disclaimer: This is fan fiction. I do not own any part of Moonlight or its characters, but Sam Birchtree is mine. I hope you’ll like him as much as Mick does. The second 5 chapters will come with a new post.
Comments: Completed story of what happened to Mick St. John after Beth left him alone outside Josef’s Brownstone in New York City. Feeling alone, abandoned and unloved, he wants to do ‘something’ to take his mind off what he and Beth just learned. This is it.

***********

Chapter 1

Beth had cleaned up the glass shards from the assassin’s break-in, right through the brownstone’s bedroom window. She was now dumping them in the kitchen trash and probably taking it to the curb. Too bad we couldn’t do the same with the assassin. He was lying against the far wall where I’d dragged him after I broke his neck. Josef would have had access to the local NY contingent of Cleaners.

I removed the last slug from my friend’s back and plunked it down in a convenient ashtray on the dresser. I supposed it was decorative since no one smoked anymore, especially around here. Polly, Sarah’s day nurse, would never have smoked in a sick room if she smoked at all, which I doubted. Neither would any of the others. The woman on the bed was comatose. We certainly wouldn’t have need of an ashtray. Vampires didn’t get much out of smoking. We have a different addiction.

I handed my friend a glass of fresh blood to help heal his stake wound. He took it, and began to drink. His stab wound healed while he drank and some color returned to his face. He had looked more like a corpse than usual. The color was an improvement. Vamps try to look human most of the time. It’s easier to mix with the public. Josef set down his glass and said “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I replied.

“You ought to drink some yourself, Mick. You don’t look too good. When’s the last time you fed?”

“This morning before we got on the plane in Los Angeles,” I admitted. That was nearly 20 hours ago. He didn’t have to argue; he knew what I needed. He emptied a bag of blood into a tall whiskey glass. I took it and sipped slowly to keep from gulping. I guess I really needed it by then. I could have held out longer, but I wasn’t trying to prove anything. It was O+. I prefer A+ but beggars can’t be choosers. Even while he was here in New York, Josef managed to get the best, and by the best, I meant fresh blood. Of course, it would have come directly from the blood bank for Sarah. It tasted far better than the morgue blood I was used to.

For his beloved Sarah who lay on the bed as beautiful and youthful appearing as she had been when she slipped into her coma in 1955, nothing was too good. Too bad she couldn’t appreciate it. Josef had tried to turn her, but it didn’t work. She got stuck somewhere in-between. He had not wanted to share his failure with me, or his heartbreak over it, but circumstances left him no choice since Beth and I managed to track him down. If we hadn’t, I’d have a dead friend to mourn instead of a dead assassin to dispose of. While I drank, Josef tapped a number into his cell-phone. I nodded toward the body, raising my brow to ask the question. “Taken care of,” he said. “The Cleaners are on their way.” No one would find the body.


Beth returned to the bedroom, neat and clean, and smelling of lilac soap. She had scratched her arm on one of the shards. Her shower had washed it off, but her wound was still fresh. The smell of blood in the room was no longer a problem. Neither of us was tempted now. “It’s still seeping a little,” she said. “Do you have band-aids?”

Josef went to get one from the nurses’ first aid supplies. While he opened and applied it over her scratch, she looked at me. I knew what she was thinking. Josef’s beloved on the bed had written of their short affair and her love for him in a diary. I nodded to her unspoken question.

When he was done, Beth retrieved her coat and removed the book from its pocket. She held it out. “You should have this,” she said, pressing it to him. “She really loved you.” Josef couldn’t speak to thank her for it, but tears slid down his cheeks.

She asked if he was returning to L.A. with us. He told us he intended to remain in New York for a few more days, and then turned back to the bed and Sarah. We were no longer there as far as he was concerned. I wondered if their love was great enough that it allowed them silent communion. I hoped so.

Beth and I walked down Waverly Place looking for a cab to bring us back to Kennedy Airport for our flight home. I called out to attract a taxi. When the cabbie stopped to let us in, an idea popped into my head. What we had seen was so depressing; we both felt it like a weight. Beth might be thinking if she continued on with me, the same thing might happen to her as what happened to Sarah. I’m sure that’s what I was thinking. If all we had was this small moment in time, maybe we could make the most of this unexpected time in New York City. “Let’s do something.”

“Like what?”

“Something quintessentially New York.” I mentioned the Village Vanguard, suggested that we might listen to a few sets, have drinks, order a steak for Beth. Jazz reminded me of happier days. I’d spent time in New York, never to live, but to visit, to meet with friends, to see shows on Broadway and listen to jazz. It never failed to remind me of my living days to hear classical jazz. I was born in the ‘20s, grown up in the ‘30s, went to war in the ‘40s, and died in the ‘50s. I hoped the Vanguard hadn’t changed too much and it would have still have something that would speak to me.

“I didn’t leave things well with Josh,” Beth said. “I think I need to get home.”

I gave her a half smile. “Of course,” I said. How could I forget Beth was in love with someone else and that I was just her friend? I actually knew how I could forget. It was because I loved Beth more than life, or un-death in my case. Sadly, I could never tell her. Love is putting the other person first, isn’t it?

“But I’ll drop you,” she invited.

“I’ll walk,” I said. “This is a good town for it.” I couldn’t bear to be so close to her feeling the way I did, knowing she was walking away from me to another man. I got her situated in the cab and closed the door. I couldn’t help touching the window. She covered my hand with the window glass between us and gave me a sad goodbye smile.

Before the cab left the street, I began to walk through the night. They call us ‘night walkers’, don’t they? It seemed apropos the way the slight evening breeze picked up. That and my stride caused my long coat to flow behind me like a cape.

The Chrysler Building towered into the midtown sky a few blocks west of the Brownstone. I knew my way around New York as I walked downtown by the old skyscrapers. The Empire State Building came into view. Ten years ago, I could have guided my steps by the World Trade Towers, but they’re gone now. They were supposed to last forever like me, but you never know what tomorrow will bring, even for supposed immortals. I never liked their design, all steel and glass. Los Angeles is like that, always looking new. The old classics landmarks of New York remained. Buildings had character in the 1930s. They had a special meaning for me. I was young and alive when they were being built. I nodded to them briefly and kept walking.

I suppose it wasn’t very late for New York. After all, this is the ‘city that never sleeps.’ Things were always happening. I walked past a record store. Do they call them that anymore? Records are antiques like me now, and kids don’t know what they are. They ought to call them CD stores. Anyway, the store piped music out into the street. I would have been glad to listen to something light. Instead, they played Tom Jones singing that cheesy song, “Without love, I have nothing. Nothing at all.” I walked fast, trying to put the sound of that song behind me. I didn’t need reminding.

Greenwich Village came into view. It looked the same, but not. The old coffee houses were tourist attractions now, even more than they were in the 1950s when I first walked these streets. Tourists of every color and eye-shape wandered the sidewalks, pointing the sights out to each other when they saw something they had read about, or someone. Maybe they thought they’d see Woody Allen. It reminded me that I was alone and out of my time.

I turned into 7th Avenue and there it stood on the corner, the Village Vanguard. A crowd was lined up at the door. I had no other destination in mind, just a place where I could forget about life for a few hours. I had no life to speak of anyway, so I got on the line. This is where Miles Davis, Hank Mobley, and Thelonious Monk played, where Pete Seeger and Ella Fitzgerald sang. Spirits of the greats hung around. I could almost feel them in the air. My vampire hearing picked up a sax inside that sounded like Joe Lovano. I could do without Bluesy lyrics tonight and relaxed into the cool jazz that floated up from the small room downstairs.

Some of the people around me were smoking joints. This was the place for it. I concentrated and listened, allowing my extra senses to pick up the flavor of the place. It was still real inside, a Mecca of the jazz world, not just a memory. The instrumental ended and a new band took the stage. A different sound began to emerge. This one had a beat that sounded kind of primal, like a wild heartbeat. Well, Vanguard is at the leading edge of change. It’s what the name means. It was still jazz, improvisation on a theme. Between the drumming sections, a singer came on. He had a great voice, smooth and melodic with a great range. I did not understand the words and wondered what language he had been using. The song ended with drums, powerful. I hoped I’d see the singer and the drum man when and if I finally got inside the club. They went on to another song and then another. I let the sound of the drums and that voice roll over me until it stopped.

When a different group took over, it was like wakening slowly from a dream. The beat continued in my head even when it was gone. I looked around and found my attention settling on a young man leaning against the building. He took in my expression and gave me a nod. I couldn’t help but notice his long brown hair combed back from his high forehead. He looked Native American and was dressed casually in jeans and leather. I might not be a connoisseur of male beauty, but he had it. I wondered fleetingly if he was a male prostitute out to score a rich patron for half an hour or so, and how much it would cost. What had made me think that? I wasn’t that lonely. I think I just wanted to connect with someone. I shook my head to regain my equilibrium.

He took a deep drag off his joint and held the smoke inside a while before letting it drift away. The sweet smell made me think of burning rope. He turned his cig and offered me a drag. “No. Thank you, though,” I said.

“You here for the music?” he asked. His voice was good, melodic, the kind that ought to be singing. I wanted to hear more of it.

“What else?”

“That was me singing inside and handling the sticks. I’m ready to go home, but I wanted to see how much of a crowd was left. Some friends are coming over to my place. You play don’t you?”

“That was you?” I gave him a small bow and he grinned. “Yeah, I used to play, but that was a long time ago.” How did he know? “Trumpet and guitar.”

“We’re gonna’ jam a little. Interested?” My watch said it was after one in the morning, but I wasn’t tired and his offer intrigued me. My long walk had worked off some of my excess tension and so had the mellow jazz from downstairs. The beat of the drums gave me new energy.

“Well, if you’re not inside, what’s the point of going in? Sure. Why not?”

We walked. I vaguely wondered if there would have been any danger to me walking through the dark, narrow streets with a complete stranger, if I had been human. As I was of course, that didn’t seem likely. That reminded me, he had not yet told me his name. “I’m Mick,” I said to start.

“Sam,” he returned and looked at me. “I’m Mohawk.”

“Oh,” I said, and decided against saying Vampire. “I’m from L.A.”

“Nice to know you,” he said, and we continued to walk together quite comfortably. I wondered what I was getting myself into. If I caught a cab before dawn, I could be at the airport during the worst of the daylight, awaiting my plane in the cool air-conditioning. I took another look at Sam, and decided going home could wait.

His friends were already inside when he opened the door. I hadn’t asked if he lived alone so any number of these men could be his apartment-mates. I heard the rents in New York City are as bad as in Los Angles or worse, and he wasn’t a headliner. He introduced me to his buddies as his new friend. It reminded me of when I played in a band myself, scoring gigs at the clubs and dives along Sunset Boulevard back in the late ‘40s, after the war, and the early ‘50s. Everyone was casual. Music and gigs, the occasional girl, whiskey and drugs were all that mattered. They asked me what I played, whom I liked, and I told them. Someone lent me a guitar, not too badly out of tune. I tightened the pegs a bit until it sounded better and joined in. It felt good and sounded good. I felt as relaxed as I had felt in a long while.

We were still playing when I felt the sky beyond the curtains began to lighten. That reminder of what I was made me think. I had to make arrangements and soon. Sam brought me aside, into the smoky kitchen. “Stay with me. You don’t have anywhere to go for the next few days, do you?”

I didn’t know how to take that, or why he should think so. “Stay with you?” I gestured to the apartment. “Where? Here?”

“No. I’m going up to the rez to see my folks. Some of the others don’t like me with my New York ways much, so it’s easier when I bring a friend. I tried to talk the council into making innovations – paving the roads, putting air-conditioning into the All Clans Longhouse, those kinds of things. They don’t know what to make of me, but some of them don’t like my ideas. They say if I want to play White, to go live with them.” Kind of like playing human, I thought.

“So why me?” I looked meaningfully into the other room where his multiple friends were still playing. “I’m a stranger.”

“That’s a good thing,” he said. “I’d like to show you my home. Besides, I have a few other quirks. They know about it at home and it makes them feel funny.”

Curiosity was going to do me in if I wasn’t careful. “Quirks? Like what?”

“Oh.” He said the next few words casually, but he watched for my reaction. “I was born into a family that passed down shaman gifts in their blood. It skips some, but I got a full dose. Mind-hearing is one of my gifts.”

I backed away from him, trying to think of an excuse to be on my way. “I don’t think staying with you is a good idea,” I said. “I’d better call a cab.”

He laid a hand on my arm. “Musicians sleep days just like you. We’ll all have to get to bed soon. We can leave by late afternoon, if you can take that much sun. The village is just a little over the Canada border. My car has reservation plates. They won’t ask for your passport.” I was staring at him. He had heard things I never said out loud and it was freaking me out. “I’ll drive you to Montreal Airport after our visit. In the meanwhile, I have a freezer you can use for your nap. We’ll turn it on it’s back.”

“What did you say?” Oh God, I thought. What do I do now? He’s been reading my mind. He knew what I was. Should I leave before he tells anyone else? How safe was I?

“Don’t worry. I have another friend. He explained his requirements. You’re safe here.” He pulled down a corner of his shirt to show me healed fang marks. Damn! A mind-reading Freshie Mohawk?!

I was rendered speechless. After that mental outburst, my thought processes probably stopped as well. He knew what I was and wasn’t running for the torches. I was grateful for that, but I still didn’t know what to do.

“It’ll be fine,” he added, still trying to convince me. “We can hunt together.”

“I don’t eat meat,” I said.

“Not a problem. I can provide what you need, or you can take it from whatever I bring down with my little bow & arrow.” He made a little motion of drawing back a bowstring and I wondered if he was joking. “You’re not opposed to deer blood, are you?”

I had to smile at that. I think the tips of my fangs showed, but since he could read my mind, what was the use of pretending to be human? “I don’t know. I never tried it.”

“My grandmother always saved some for the family when she butchered the kill. She added a little vinegar, but you’d probably like yours best straight up. There’s still my other offer,” he reminded me.

It became harder to hide the points of my teeth when I thought of that, but I told him the truth. “Better not tempt me. I’m out of practice feeding fresh. I might kill you.”

“You’d never get to meet my grandmother that way,” Sam said. “Let’s do the hunting thing. The drapes are opaque, but you let me know when you’re tired and I’ll show you where the freezer is. I think we’re going to be friends. Maybe, if I can talk my other friend into turning me, you can introduce me to the Los Angeles community. It would be nice to see another city. What’d’ya say?”

How could he be so calm? I didn’t feel any warning signals that he was luring me into danger. “Let me give that some thought,” I said. “Anytime you come for a visit, even if you haven’t been turned yet, I’ll be glad to show you around. We have some decent clubs too, but nothing like the Vanguard.” I shook my head at the strangeness of our conversation. “Deer blood,” I said, and exhaled sharply with a little laugh. “Your friends here, are they like you?”

“Indians?”

“Mind-hearers?”

“No. There aren’t that many of us. Of course, my grandmother will know, but she knows how to keep a secret.” He smiled.

I made my decision and wondered if I’d be sorry for it later. “You’re right that I don’t have anything more pressing to do at the moment. I was looking for something different to take my mind off other things, and this is really different.” I wonder if he knew what I was thinking if I wasn’t specific, or if it even mattered. “Should I just think at you or do you prefer your conversations out loud.”

“Out loud. It gives my head a rest. I think we have time for one more set before everybody’s too tired to play. I’ll draw the drapes. You take the guitar and I’ll take the drums, okay?” We went back to join his friends.
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Penina Spinka
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Re: The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by Penina Spinka »

Chapter 2

It wasn’t the cold that made my eyes frost over when I woke up. I forgot where I was and felt my panic rising. No light seeped into the narrow-coffin-like box I had apparently slept in. I felt with my hands against the lid feeling for a release latch and found none. I was locked, trapped. A mob could be outside waiting to kill me. Wait. I was a vampire. I should be able to force my way out. Before I could make my move, I heard footsteps coming closer. I tensed, motionless but ready to spring, ready to kill if that’s what it would take to be free.

“Mick? It’s Sam. I’m going to open the freezer now. Okay?”

I remembered now – he was the drummer from the Vanguard. I hated to think what would have happened if he hadn’t spoken. “Okay!” I shouted. The lid opened and Sam was smiling down at me. I sat up and looked around. We were in Sam’s bedroom. He didn’t seem surprised to note that I was naked. I’d probably undressed in front of him before I climbed in. Why couldn’t I remember the details? Vampires don’t get drunk or high on whiskey or drugs, but last night still seemed pretty much of a blur. Maybe it was Sam’s acceptance and the music. Oh yeah – there was that other thing. Sam could read my mind. That was scary.

“We’re driving to the reservation today. My clothes would be a little short for you,” Sam said. “Didn’t you bring any luggage when you came to New York?” he asked.

“Of course I did. My overnight bag is at the Ramada by the airport. I still have to check out and get my stuff. We’ll need to swing over there before we head north.” I had brought two changes of clothing, underwear and socks. I hadn’t brought any blood. The FAA has rules about liquids, and they’re especially scrupulous about planes headed for New York City. I hoped to stock up if it became necessary and I knew of a vamp friendly place. I hoped it was still in business because if it wasn’t, I had to hope Sam really was a good a good shot with his bow and arrow, or rifle or whatever he used.

I got up and pulled on my jeans from yesterday. That’s when I noticed the bandage on Sam’s arm. I sniffed. “You cut yourself.” As if he didn’t know it. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Sam walked to the dresser, and then returned to me extending a glass half filled with blood. “What kind of host doesn’t offer his guest breakfast?” he asked, all innocent, as though this was a normal situation.

“Damn it, Sam. I could have managed,” I said, but I reached for the glass. I’d have to ask him where he learned about vampire requirements, and by where, I meant from whom. “I won’t have you doing this twice a day for me. It’s not healthy. You’ll pass out and I don’t know the way.” He gave me a small smile, but the situation was too serious for jokes. I had to make sure he understood. “If I’m going to make this trip in any kind of comfort, and without worrying about you passing out, we’ll need to make another stop to pick up supplies. You do have a cooler, don’t you?”

“Sure. I have two.”

“Bring both of them, please, with Freeze Paks if you have them.” While he prepared for our trip, I found out he really did own the apartment. It was a gift from his other vampire friend, he said. He fixed himself a few sandwiches – peanut butter and banana, and baloney. He topped off his cooler with cans of apple juice, cookies and chips. I finally asked the question that had been bugging me since last night. “Who is your other vampire friend?” I wondered if it was anyone I knew.

“His name is Francis. He’s a diplomatic attaché to the UN from Rumania. When he’s in New York, he stays with me. Except for you, he’s the only vampire I know. He won’t talk much about himself, except that he explained his requirements. I see him a couple of times a year.” I could understand Francis’ attraction to Sam. I felt it too.

Sam went on. “He came down to the Vanguard one night a couple of years ago to listen to the jazz and we hooked up. He’s a good guy, interesting, but I couldn’t listen to his thoughts. He thinks in Rumanian.” He grinned. “I think he’s pretty old though. He talks about ancient history like he lived through it. I felt it anyway, that he’s been around a long time. I read feelings too.”

I nodded to tell him I was following. I’m able to do that myself with my increased senses. I can tell when someone is lying or scared, but that’s not much compared to what Sam can do. “It’s weird that a human is able to do that, but not unheard of,” I said. “Am I easier to read than most?”
With you, it’s like your thoughts are spoken out loud, like you want me to hear you. It must have been the beat of my drum that brought us together.”

That brought me up short. “Explain.”

“Last night I sang an old shamanic calling chant. The drumbeat is part of the chant. It’s kind of like a spell. I don’t know how to say it another way, but it puts out a call to help me find someone who needs me or someone I need. Maybe both.”

“Why were you looking for someone who needed you, last night?”

“That’s my other quirk,” Sam said. “I dream. They need me at home, and I was supposed to come with someone. I didn’t see who it was in the dream, but I wasn’t just checking to see how much of a crowd was left last night. I was looking to see if someone had responded to my music, and you were there, waiting for me.”

“Oh,” I said.

He took a look around his apartment, closed the drapes, picked up his cooler and slung his backpack over his shoulder. I took the empty cooler. With any luck it would soon be filled. I followed him out to the apartment’s underground parking. His car was a sky-blue Mazda, a recent model. “Good mileage,” he said although I hadn’t asked. Well, maybe I had. This quiet communication with Sam took some getting used to. We fastened our seatbelts. “Where to?” Sam asked.

I directed him to a vampire club I visited on my last trip to New York. It was in the basement of an old, but still classy, apartment building, something like the Dakota but not that famous. We try to stay under the radar. I found it and followed the signs to the parking garage. We were approached by a valet who offered to park for us.

“We won’t be long,” I said from the passenger’s seat. “Just a pick-up.”

“We deliver,” said the valet.

“I’m from out of town. I should be back in 10 minutes. Where’s your temporary parking?” He directed us and we pulled in. “Sam, why don’t you stay in the car?” I suggested, but silent alarm bells went off in my head. That never worked out well these days. “Better yet, come in with me, but stay close and don’t say anything.” I reached for the empty cooler.

He shadowed me while I approached the counter to place my order. There wasn’t much activity yet, but it was warming up. It was a nice place as I recalled - soft lighting, nice music, comfortable chairs with alcoves in the back for privacy. There was even a restaurant for the Freshies. It was nearly dark. The vampires would soon be in for breakfast before they headed off for work. It would get really busy later, after midnight, when vampires stopped in for lunch.

The counter attendant asked me for my order. “A six-pack of A Positive if you have it, please,” I said.

“Yes Sir. That will be $129.60, all taxes included. Cash or charge?” I pulled out my wallet and gave him my charge card.

“Thank you, Sir,” he said. Club attendants are discreet, not saying names aloud, but I’m sure Sam noticed mine, if not on my card, in my mind. My thoughts were an open book to him. American Express would know I had been in Manhattan. The name of the club would seem normal, just another branch of The Pulse in Hollywood. Business people make business trips all the time. For the next few days, as far as anyone was concerned, I was on vacation in upstate NY and Canada, doing some hunting and sightseeing.
Apparently, Sam’s friend Francis didn’t know about the club, or if he did, he hadn’t brought Sam with him. A few Freshies and fewer Vamps were coming in. We’d be long gone before it got crowded.

We returned to Sam’s car and I stowed the cooler in the back seat floor under a blanket. “Next, we go to the Ramada by the airport. You know the way?”

“Yeah.” He put the Mazda in gear to pull out of our space, but he looked over to me. “What was that place?”

“It’s a vampire club,” I said. I tried to make my tone very serious. What I had to say to him was important. “Never come here alone unless you want to be someone’s main course. You can’t count on a stranger having your welfare in mind. Or, if you can with the mind reading, you don’t know how much control they have. Accident happen, and I don’t want one to happen to you.”

“There are groupies lining up – men and women.” We drove past them back on the street. They were dressed to attract, showing too much skin for the weather. They’d be colder on the way home, lighter by a pint of blood.

“We call them independent willing freshies. Some of them are curious; some are addicted to the bite. I’ve heard it can be a pleasurable thing. It wasn’t in my experience before I was turned, but my sire was in a bit of a hurry, and then I was dead.” He turned to me, but immediately returned his attention to the street. “Once they’ve been bitten, they can’t go to the police because they’re an accomplice. They might form stronger attachments, but they might not. These encounters often turn out to be nothing but one-bite stands, like a fix for two kinds of addictions – pleasure and blood.” I shook my head and sighed. “I don’t use them much. I drink morgue blood. It’s not as good, but it’s safer for the humans. You have to think about your safety.”

He was watching for the Queens Midtown Tunnel signs, but his mouth formed a grim line in response to my warning. “You’re free to do as you wish, I think, but you don’t seem like you’d want to be part of the buffet. Francis couldn’t have an exclusivity deal with you, or you wouldn’t have had me over last night.”

“We’re just friends, like I said. He doesn’t own me or tell me what to do.”

“But it’s obvious he cares about you since he bought you your place. I’m starting to care about you too. I don’t want you to be used, then thrown aside. Hanging with the wrong vampires can get you killed.”

Sam nodded sharply. “Thank you for the warning,” he said. He showed his card at the descent to the tunnel and we were on our way. I was always amazed at how much tunnels made me feel as if we were sliding through time, like a black hole kind of, only it was white. We were headed away from the city, but it wasn’t rush hour yet, so we moved kind of fast. When we came out into the light again, Sam asked me why I wouldn’t drink fresh.

“It’s a long story – one I’d rather not talk about,” I said. He didn’t ask again. He could pull the story from my head if he wished, but I hoped he would respect my privacy.

He drove carefully and soon we were at the hotel. As long as I had to pay for another day, I took a shower. When I came out, wrapped in one towel, and drying my hair with another, I suggested Sam take a shower while I dressed. We had a long ride ahead of us. I had no way of knowing where we’d be sleeping tomorrow. I hoped I could find someplace cold and private when daylight came.
Read Sam stories by Penina My index: http://www.moonlightaholics.com/viewforum.php?f=560
Penina Spinka
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Posts: 226
Joined: Sat Jan 24, 2009 10:10 pm
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Re: The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by Penina Spinka »

Chapter 3

Sam got on the northbound Van Wyk Expressway. We don’t have bridges in L.A. to match the majesty of the Whitestone Bridge or the half dozen other bridges that span the Hudson River. We have nothing like the Hudson. The Los Angeles River is a joke. If it ever flowed freely, its water was directed away from its original course to supply the city. The beauty of the landscape, the outlines of the bare trees, and the stars, seen through my enhanced vision, held me almost as spellbound as had Sam’s music. It’s one of the perks of being undead. City traffic had dwindled when we began to cross the long and lonely Tapanzee Bridge. There were few other cars.

The span seemed to come out of nowhere. We were surrounded by woods and then, quite suddenly, it seemed like we were soaring over water. Even the air changed. I smelled the salt air of the ocean on the wind. I became lost in the grace and beauty of the bridge and the black water east and west of us. Stars blazed above as bright as the lights on the bridge.

“You look half-asleep,” Sam mentioned. “Didn’t you rest well last night?”

“Too well,” I admitted. “When I woke up I didn’t remember where I was. It’s a good thing you said something before you opened the freezer door. I was getting ready to kill to get out of there. I’m a little claustrophobic.”

“How do you manage at home?”

“I have a Plexiglas lid on my freezer so I can see out. It keeps the cold in but it lets me see where I am when I wake up. How does Francis stand that thing?”

Sam chuckled. “In Rumania, that freezer is the top of the line. He saw the same kind he was used to and bought it on the spot.” We were more than halfway across when, to my surprise, he pulled into the far right lane. I hadn’t noticed the uneven sound of a flat tire or anything at all amiss with the engine. He stopped the car and put one hand over his eyes. “Do me a favor. Look back at the bridge,” he asked softly.

I did as he asked, moving my attention up to the towers, and around to the girders and lights. The sides of the bridge were dusted with new snow. The girders resembled giant snowflakes, strong yet stunningly beautiful, and graceful. I wished I could describe it to Sam. There were few distracting lights on the shore so the bridge was all there was. The flowing river seemed like a black mirror except for a few whitecaps whipped up by the wind. Ducks and seagulls slept on the rolling water, their heads tucked under their wings. I looked back to Sam, trying to guess what was wrong with him. His eyes were closed and his breathing had changed. He had one advantage over me; he could hear my thoughts when I could not hear his. “Are you all right?” I asked.

“I’ll be fine in a minute.”

A police car drove up behind us, flashers spinning like crazy, to make sure no one hit us from behind. A highway patrolman exited his car and walked up to Sam, pointing his flashlight at us. Sam rolled down his window. “Are you having any kind of problem, sir?” he asked.
“Just something in my eye. We’ll be on our way in a minute,” he said. The cop told us to drive safely and returned to his car, but he waited for Sam to pull back into the driving lane before he pulled away.
“What did you have in your eye?” I asked, but I thought I knew.”

“Nothing actually. I caught a vision of how you see the bridge. I’ve driven over this thing a thousand times, but I never saw anything as beautiful as the way you’re seeing it right now.”

“You can see what I see? This can get dangerous,” I said. “Maybe I’d better drive. I’m used to my vision. If it’s going to distract you…”
“I’m fine now,” he said. “Really. I’ve learned to turn off my gift when it gets in the way of something I’m doing, but that was too much. There’s nothing else quite this spectacular between here and home. I’m ready to drive again.” The cop car kept with us until we were off the bridge and back on the regular expressway. Then, he peeled away from us to follow more promising subjects. “How can you stand for everything to look this amazing?” he asked. “How do you get anything done?”
“You learn to live with it, so to speak,” I said and with a chuckle. “You know what I mean. It must be like listening to your own music or hearing other people’s thoughts the way you do. The bridge looks amazing to me, but you’ve seen it so often, it hardly affects you, ordinarily anyway. I suppose your drums and chants don’t affect you either since you’re the one playing.”

“Actually, they do,” he said.
We drove until 3:00 in the morning, when Sam found a picnic area and pulled into a parking space. There were very few cars on the road and a few overnight truckers. He exited the car and stretched. I followed him, looking around, listening to make sure we were alone. There were trees and a rest station. While Sam made his way to the men’s room, I carried both coolers to the picnic table for our meal. There was snow on the ground. We were driving into a cooler climate.

When he came back, I was half through with a bag of A+. I sipped it slowly, letting the blood bathe my throat with relief from my building thirst. We hadn’t brought any, but here was no need for a glass here. It was truly a fix I both craved and needed. I don’t argue with the essentials of what I am and what I live on any more, just how I deal with it. More than 22 years ago, I found a way to survive that didn’t involve killing, a way I could live with. There’s that word again. Sam looked awfully tempting, but the days when I followed my basest instincts were long gone.

He flipped the top of a can of apple juice and drank half without a breath. You’d think it was blood to a vampire. He drank the rest in a second gulp and opened another. “I was really thirsty,” he said. “They ought to put yours in flip-top cans.”
I looked at him. “I was on a case a month ago. I became delirious. I’m a P.I. Did I mention that?” He nodded. “I had an assignment in the desert, in the daytime, and it was not going well. I was in the sun too long even before I lost my car. I imagined I saw a can of blood in a snack machine next to the tomato juice.” He laughed.

“I never met a human quite like you before,” I said. “Doesn’t anything offend or bother you?” I was thinking of my blood addiction. Even Beth, once she knew the truth about me, wasn’t that easy about it.
“Cruelty offends me. People who use other people to gain their own ends offend me. People forcing their beliefs on other people – that offends me.” I had to nod at that. Maybe it was what made me different from most of my own species, if you could call it that. “Taking innocent lives offends me,” Sam said.
“Me too,” I replied. Sam wasn’t all jokes and music, or even all curiosity. He had a serious streak. He ate one of his sandwiches and we got back in the car. I found myself respecting him the way some vampires would never respect a human.
About six o’clock in the morning, we pulled into a campground. It was still dark this far north, but there was a hint of dawn in the east. “We’re not going to make it through to my folks tonight,” Sam said. “I think we ought to go well into the forest to find a place to rest for the day. My tent and sleeping bag are in the trunk. You can see better, but I know the trails. Will you follow my lead?”
“Sure,” I said. I’d been doing it since we left the hotel.
We hiked pretty far in before Sam was satisfied that we wouldn’t be interrupted. I heard the sounds of a running stream nearby. He had brought along a disassembled shovel in his backpack. “I have an idea,” he said. “The ground is pretty cold. You could dig a trench to sleep in and I could set up my tent over it so no one would think to look.”
That could work. The air was cold, in the 30s I guessed, and the earth would be colder. I took the shovel and set to work. In a few minutes, we had the snow moved aside and I dug my narrow trench. Vampire strength and speed is useful. I stood with my back to a tree when he pulled the tent stakes out of his trunk, crossed my arms over my chest and waited. He put up his tent with the speed and ease of long practice. The canvas covered the trench and he set his bedroll next to it.

Completely trusting, I undressed and climbed down into my earthen bed. Before I slipped away, I wondered again how I had come to trust this human man with my life and safety in so short a time. While I slept, I was vulnerable. Sam had used a hammer and tent stakes to put up the tent. He had everything recommended in Van Helsing’s How to kill a Vampire manual, if there really was such a thing, right at hand. I should have been frightened and wondered why I was not. I wondered vaguely if I was still under his spell.

I could nearly hear my best friend’s Josef’s voice shouting, “Warning! Warning!” It was like the robot on Lost in Space, but I’d already trusted Sam with things about myself I never told anyone else. I even described my freezer. Beth had never seen that room, my lair, as she’d probably call it, unless she peeked that night I was tracking a serial killer. She found other things then, but I didn’t smell her presence in my hideaway. I felt the sunrise glowing red overhead like a ball of fire, and then I was out.

It was late afternoon when Sam woke me, a few hours before sunset. The late sun didn’t bother me as much as the morning did. I went down to the stream, washed as well as I could, and then dressed. Sam handed me my cooler. We sat companionably in the shade, not speaking. He drank his juice and ate some cookies. I drank a plastic bag of blood – just two friends having brunch. “We’ll get there tonight,” Sam said. “There’s one stop I need to make first. I think they’ll still be open. It’s Thursday, right?”

“Right.” I didn’t ask; I’d see where we were going when we got there.

“I’ll explain later, but don’t ask questions inside, okay?” It was like the reverse of yesterday when we pulled up to the Vampire club. The sign said “Deer Farm”, but there were odd characters afterwards, foreign letters, but not in a language I knew.

We walked together to the office. The man behind the counter gave Sam a big smile. “Hey! Shmuel!”

“Dovid! Ma Nishma?” Sam responded.

“Kol BeSeder. We haven’t seen you around here since last summer.”

“I was working in Manhattan at that place I told you about. I’m heading home to the reservation for a visit and I need a deer butchered. Can you save me the blood? A couple of gallons should do.”

The bearded man at the desk wore a small head covering. I suddenly realized what he was. The man looked at me, and then said that they usually sold the blood to a fertilizer place. “We can’t use it; you know that.”

“I know. It’s traif for your tribe, but not for mine.” The man nodded. “Do you have a very clean container? We have to keep it fresh and I don’t want it to coagulate before I get it home. Keep the deer whole except for the stomach and the guts, would you please? And wrap it in something to keep it cold.”

“Sure. Do you want to help me round up your deer and hold him down? You know what you’re doing.”

“Yea. I’d like for my friend to watch this. He’s an expert.”

The man looked at me quizzically. “On kosher slaughtering?”

“No. On blood.” The man led us to the back.

We were back in the car with the deer and a white plastic-topped bucket. Sam put his car in gear and we took off into the gathering night. “What did you say to each other when you first came in?”

“The usual. ‘How’s it going? Everything’s fine’ – that kind of thing. We were speaking Hebrew. I help them during their busy season and they pay me in meat and blood for the tribe. I also learn a little. Kosher means acceptable according to Jewish Law. Deer is kosher if it’s slaughtered correctly. Ritual slaughterers like Dovid, slice through the windpipe and let the blood gush away. This time, he saved it for me.

“Kosher butchers have customers who pay premium prices for the rare treat of kosher venison, but they have a commandment against drinking blood. The Bible says blood is ‘life’ and it belongs to God, so people who keep the law are not allowed to consume it. They even roast liver to make sure all the residual blood is burned away. Dovid told me that. Francis says in the really old days, people in his country thought vampires were gods so it was perfectly logical that they drank blood. No one questioned it back then. That was before they developed a bad reputation.”

I was fascinated at the way Sam described things. “In ancient Egypt, cats were honored, if not as gods, as something special. In the Dark Ages, cats were demonized and people blamed them for the plague. Of course, the more cats they killed, the more people died. Cats and people can live together. So can people and vampires, when there are rules.”

“Makes sense to me,” Sam said. I had not expected to ever be discussing this with a human. I hadn’t expected Sam to be such a libertarian and a scholar of history, but there was a lot about Sam I never would have guessed. He was no Freshie, in it for the thrill, but a student of history and the supernatural. No wonder he was interested in us.

I’d learned a lot in my 85 years, but tonight I learned something new. “So vampires can’t keep kosher. Good thing I was raised Catholic. How did you find out about this place?”

“Internet. I can’t visit home without presents. You didn’t really think I was going hunting in the dark, did you?”

I lifted my hands in surrender. “I had no idea,” I admitted. “I’m just a tourist in your life today. You said some of your people think you’re too modern. What will they say about purchasing kosher deer meat instead of hunting it?”

“Times change. My grandmother knows that, but some won’t accept that we should live any differently than we did generations ago. It’s a different world. By the way, would you like some deer blood now or would you prefer to wait until we get to my family’s house? They’ll want to toast you, our guest. They’ll be curious to know if you have the stomach for it. I won’t say anything if you don’t.” He winked. I wouldn’t have caught it without my special vision.
“I think it can wait,” I said. My friend Logan has been known to drain cats. It would take more than ingesting deer blood to make me sick, but I wasn’t that anxious. We got to the reservation about 10 o’clock. The roads were kind of paved with gravel and the tires complained. We pulled up at a two-story, ramshackle house. Children ran out into the road in pajamas to see who was coming. People started calling Sam by name and all the lights came on in the house. The next thing I knew, a middle-aged woman was embracing him. Sam introduced me to his mother. A very old woman hobbled to the door with a cane. “Sammy!” she said.

He kissed her cheek. “Let me introduce my friend Mick to you and then we’ll unload the car,” he said. “Mick. My grandma. You can call her Mrs. Birchtree.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Birchtree” I said politely and touched the rim of my cap. So this was Sam’s famous grandmother. She smiled, but then looked at me uncertainly. She nodded her head towards her grandson who had gone to unload the car.

“Sam does find the strangest friends,” she said softly, but she smiled me a welcome anyway.
Read Sam stories by Penina My index: http://www.moonlightaholics.com/viewforum.php?f=560
Penina Spinka
Freelance freshie
Posts: 226
Joined: Sat Jan 24, 2009 10:10 pm
Location: Sun City Arizona, USA

Re: The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by Penina Spinka »

Chapter 4

Mrs. Birchtree’s voice was old, but commanding. “Sons, carry the deer to the back for the women to skin. The hide will make someone a good coat this winter, or maybe two coats for the twins. Daughters, butcher the meat and put some on to simmer overnight in the largest pot. The rest can go into the freeze house.”

“What about the blood?” asked Sam’s mother.

“Carry the container into the kitchen. I think we should welcome our guest properly, if he’s up for one of our customs. The children haven’t had any in so long; they’ll be forgetting what it tastes like. I’ll get the vinegar.”

Sam had the white container pressed against his chest, but when he heard what his grandmother had said, he looked at her without speaking. She lifted her chin. “Of course,” she said in his direction. “I’ll just stir it and warm it up a bit.” Sam continued into the house with it while a couple of the men carried the heavy deer carcass between them.

I carried our coolers and my overnight bag from the car to the house. “Come along, Mick,” Mrs. Birchtree said. She walked me inside, down a short hall to the kitchen allowing the door to close behind us. Through the kitchen window, I saw children, men and women walking to the back porch to watch the skinning and butchering, and to carry the chunks to the stove. It was a kitchen that spoke of warmth and togetherness, like mine when I was young, like the one I hoped to have one day when I was alive. There was a table long enough to seat twenty or more. It seemed Mrs. Birchtree’s big family all lived and ate together.

Sam preceded us to set the gallon tub on the table. “The container has a plastic liner. The blood is clean enough, but strain it if you want. Stir it first.”

“You don’t have to tell me how to prepare blood,” his grandmother said. “Go take care of your guest. Come back when he’s settled in.”

“Okay, Grandma. Mick?” I followed him, carrying my cooler. Sam’s room was in the back of the house. He was expected. The bed had been freshly made. When we got inside, Sam closed the door and turned to talk to me. “We’ll be up most of the night with the family. As for sleeping arrangements...” He opened the window and a chill entered the room. It was cold enough for me. “It won’t feel like spring around here until late May.” There was still snow on the ground and there was little sign of a thaw. “I’ll use my sleeping bag under the quilt. Will you be okay in here if I put a clean sheet on the floor? Or would you rather have the bed and I’ll move to the floor? You’re my guest.”

“I’m used to hard surfaces. Won’t your family wonder about the chill factor in the house?”

“This room is in the back. I’ll roll up a wind catcher to put under the door. Are you ready to meet the family?”

“Not yet. From the words and looks between you two, I’d say your grandma and you can communicate without speech. What about the rest of them?”

“No. My mother has a little skill and one of my cousins has a lot, but he’s untrained. Grandma can tell there’s something different about you, but she’s not sure what. I told her no vinegar in your cup. You aren’t the first musician I’ve brought home for a visit.” He gave me a crooked grin.

“Am I the first vampire?” I mouthed the last word in case anyone was listening. The old woman might have picked that up, but Sam was assured me she could keep a secret.

“Yes, you are. Francis never had time to come up to the ‘rez’ with me, but Grandma knew about my connection with him.”

“No objections?”

“She trusts me not to take up with someone I can’t trust.”

I nodded. “Okay.” I felt like I had stepped into the Looking Glass or Wonderland. Even though I was on vacation, that didn’t mean I could change my habits. I guess being what I am makes me a little paranoid, but being careful goes with the territory if you want to survive. There was something more on my mind. Sam was about to open the door to return to the kitchen, when I took his hand to prevent him from moving. His pulse sped up and he gave me a tentative smile. What did I think he wanted? I closed my eyes for a moment, still not believing it. “No. Just stand still and listen to me.” He nodded and I released him.

“You said you invited me because you saw us together in a dream. I can see why I needed you at this juncture in my life, but I haven’t figured out why you needed me. There has to be a reason, doesn’t there?”

“I think so,” Sam said. “Dreams can be messages or hints of the future. We have to follow their direction if we can.”

“All right. I’ll assume there was a reason your music affected me and made me decide to come here with you. I have to find out what that reason is before I can be directed by it. I’ll do whatever your custom says guests are supposed to do unless it’s something that I can’t do, like eat. I may have to lie. You will back me up?”

“Of course.”

“I want to learn everything I can about what’s going on in this village or rez, or whatever you like to call it. Did you get a normal call or did your grandma send you some kind of mental message to tell you to come here now?”

“She called me on my cell a couple of days ago. She said it could wait until I finished my gig and could take a few days off, so it wasn’t that much of an emergency. I think my being here will bring things to a head pretty soon though.”

Several thoughts sped through my mind. “Don’t open your window. Just leave it unlocked so I can get back in if I need to. Before I go, you’ll have to tell me how to block my thoughts in case there are more mind-listeners like you out there.”

“Picture a sealed barrier around your mind. You place it there for protection. You can send out thoughts and feelings too. Those who receive them probably won’t notice where they came from. My gift won’t work against anyone who knows that. If I have enemies here, they know that and sealed their minds against me. I won’t be able to hear them or influence them. Being an outsider, they wouldn’t suspect you.”

I nodded, taking his instruction to heart. A lot might depend on it. “Listen,” I said. “I’m going to walk the periphery of this town when the rest of you go to bed. I can hear whispers behind closed doors. I’ll walk in others’ footprints or on the gravel. I know how to blend with shadows. If there’s some intrigue going on that involves you or your family, I want to know about it. You said in the really old days, vampires and people lived symbiotically, to the benefit of both groups. How did you mean that?”

Sam pressed his lips together, trying to remember how it had been told to him. “Your people weren’t called Vampires yet. That word is middle European, and only a few centuries old. Back a couple of thousand years before the Common Era, people who knew them called them Protectors and thought they were gods. Giving them blood was a form of worship. In return, the Protectors used their great strength and speed, and their other abilities to help their worshippers. They were advisors to the kings, leaders in times of war. The oldest sons and daughters of the royal family were made devotees to the Protectors, and later, if they were near death at a suitable age, they were brought over.”

I whistled, struck by how my kind might have lived in those days. “Too bad I was brought into the tribe several millennia too late to be a ‘god’. I can only imagine the responsibility.” It must have been overwhelming and humbling. I couldn’t help but wonder what we had done wrong to make it change so badly for us. It was a lot to ponder, but I think the modern religions might have had something to do with it. The one invisible God didn’t allow for other immortals.

The next religion to make an impact would have been worse. The influence of his acolytes of their favorite god executed on the cross, the one who rose to walk again, probably sounded a death knell to vampires as gods. I wondered if he might have been one of us. That gave me more to ponder, but I had to admit my musings were not going to answer the world’s most fundamental questions. It didn’t matter in any case; we were where we were. I continued to live to do whatever good I could do to make up for what I was, and tried my best to do as little harm as possible.

“Whatever people thought back then, I hope you know we were never gods in the first place. I can see how more primitive people could make that mistake. The immortality. We don’t age, but we can be killed. Gods can’t be killed; not real Gods.”

“I guess not.” Sam looked at me hopefully, as if unprepared to let go of some of his theories. “Maybe you’re demigods.”

“I doubt it. I don’t feel particularly god-like. In any case, I’m here now and you know what I’m capable of,” I reminded him. “I might be able to do something that can help you and your people; be a Protector, if that’s the word you like. Let’s go to the kitchen. Your grandma and the rest of the family are waiting for us. I’m ready to meet and greet your family properly.” I hoped I wouldn’t screw up.
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Penina Spinka
Freelance freshie
Posts: 226
Joined: Sat Jan 24, 2009 10:10 pm
Location: Sun City Arizona, USA

Re: The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by Penina Spinka »

Chapter 5

On our way to the kitchen, Sam said the family would take their accustomed seats around the long table while the younger folk pulled up stools or stood. “The oldest get to sit,” he whispered. “We respect elders here.” I guessed I would have a seat waiting for me. There were two empty chairs on the men’s side. We took them and watched Sam’s grandmother measured a small amount of blood into the cups set before her. From the smell, they already contained vinegar. She spooned the warmed up blood into them from the pot with a soup ladle. I watched this process wide-eyed. The cups were stirred, and then passed down the table to the waiting recipients.

Mrs. Birchtree took a separate cup from a cabinet and, as Sam had silently requested, did not dilute the blood with vinegar for me. Grateful for this special consideration, in spite of my hesitation and doubt I would do my best not to offend my hosts. In this gathering, I had to guard my thoughts. Eyes half closed, I concentrated on building a barrier to shut in any thoughts that might give me away. I projected that I was a musician from Los Angeles, afraid of embarrassment at my inexperience with native customs, and hesitant about this ordeal. It was the truth, if not all of it.

Sam said, “Mick’s never sampled deer blood, but he says he’ll do his best to keep up with us.” The combined smells of simmering deer meat, vinegar and warm blood filled the air. I tried not to gag.

When each had their cup, the oldest man present, Sam’s father Mr. Birchtree, lifted his. He said, “In honor of my son’s visit, we are dipping into an old tradition. In generations gone but not forgotten, our warriors and matrons drank the blood and ate the flesh of our enemies. Because of this we were given the name Mohawk, eaters of men. It was not what we called ourselves, but it struck terror into the hearts of our enemies and helped us win battles. We retain that name today to outsiders, but we know who we really are, the Haudenosaunee Nation of Ganeogaono.” The people nodded, having heard this many times before. It was for my benefit that they recounted it. I noticed sidelong glances to see how I was taking this information about cannibalism. I thought my diet was strange. I kept my expression curious, and politely stoic.

“Although those days are gone, we still value the sacrifice of life. Tonight we honor and thank the spirit of this deer whose flesh and blood will strengthen us. We drink to give thanks to our ancestors as well, for their examples in times of adversity. We also drink to honor my son Sam and Mick, his friend, who has joined us at this table. Let our lives be lived as the Creator directs, in accordance with his rules. Let him guide us to merit his protection and inspiration. Drink.”

The family lifted their cups and swallowed the vinegar laced deer blood. Many of their eyes continued to stray to me, the foreigner, the White Man in their midst. When I sniffed at the deer blood, the children smiled encouragingly, knowing this was new to me. They were ready to laugh if I begged off, but doing so would have shamed Sam. I can do this, I told myself. I first dipped my finger into the cup and licked away the drop of blood that clung to it. A small child tittered. “You can do better than that,” Sam said with a chuckle. “If I can drink this, you can. Go ahead. Blood will make you strong.”

Good grief! I thought. Shame me into it. I had been wondering what my human English ancestors would think of this form of taking bread with the natives. Then I pictured Josef laughing at me. What was the big deal, after all?

I lifted my cup, saluting Mrs. Birchtree and all of them, then opened my lips to tip the cup back. When I set it down, it was empty. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and licked the remainder off my knuckles. It was hard for me to keep from laughing at myself. The children broke into a pumping of their fists in the air. By their grins, I took it for a sign of approval. Some of them applauded. I had passed their test.

“Well?” asked Sam’s father. “What do you think of our custom?”

“It’s the first time I’ve encountered it,” I admitted. It was actually more palatable than I imagined it would be. Shield held firmly in place, I hoped, I compared deer to human blood. I assumed it was an acquired taste, but it would serve my needs for the moment and allow my supply of human blood to last longer. I got a fleeting memory of the deer being separated from its companions, a swift sensation of something sharp, then darkness. There was something to be said for kosher slaughtering. I didn’t sense pain from the animal whose blood I drank. I went back to my analysis. No free radicals from exposure to food additives, no caffeine or drugs. I think we were intended to subsist on human blood by whomever created us, but this was actually pleasant, if taste were my only requirement. Organic blood.

“It’s different.” My statement generated smiles and nods from the adults and peals of laughter from the children. The tension of the moment had finally dissipated because I did what should have come naturally. Sam had to ask if I wanted seconds.

“Tomorrow,” I said, “if there’s any left.” I was in no hurry.

“I’ll make sure to save you some,” said Sam’s grandmother. “Now, it’s time for children to be put to bed. The adults have things to talk about.” The children lined up for a good night hug from their grandmothers and great grandmother before their mothers took them to their houses. I saw now that this was not the home of them all, but rather, where they met for special events.

When the room was cleared of children, only the first Mrs. Birchtree, her elder sons and daughters, Sam and I remained, and one other. “I’ll tell you why I asked you to come home now, Sam,” his grandmother said. “As you know, it’s past time I retired. The Turtle family has a son they want installed as head shaman of our community. They want to challenge Sam for the position.”

When she paused, Sam jumped to his feet. It was the first time I saw him angry, “But Sam doesn’t want the position. I just want to play my drums. You know that.”

“Sit down and listen to your grandmother. Ask permission before you speak,” said his mother.

Mrs. Birchtree waited until Sam sat down. “As I was about to say,” she said, “Sam is not interested and we have other people in the Birchtree family with promise. In the meanwhile, I don’t want anything happening to Matthew.” Everyone looked at a boy sitting at the far end of the table. He seemed about 13 or 14, very serious, and a little frightened. “The next head shaman of this community doesn’t have to come from our family. There’s plenty of accumulated good sense here and in other families. If anyone can’t put the interests of all of us first, no one is forcing them to stay.”

Without looking, I knew those words affected Sam. I felt his inner turmoil. Again, it was feeling he communicated, not words. He was agitated and worried. He raised his hand, looking at his grandmother with respect and love. “Sam?” she asked, giving him permission to speak.

“Has anyone threatened Matthew?”

“Not out loud, but I’ve sensed things. There have been accidents that looked like accidents, but I don’t think they were. I called you here to see if you could sense more than I can, and discover where the threat is coming from. I’m getting too old to do this any more. I’m teaching Matthew, but as you know, training goes slowly.”

She left it unsaid that Sam had not wanted shaman training and had been more resistant. Had his innate gift not been so strong, I guessed he would rather have been out playing with his cousins and friends when his grandmother called him aside. “Let there be another shaman from another family, if that person puts the interests of all of us first. I don’t argue with that. We should have someone in our family here for us, to advise, to look into our hearts, interpret our dreams and help us reach our goals.” There were nods all around the table.

A few others added what they had seen or words they had overheard. No one spoke of negative intensions, but there had been hints of bear traps set too close to the road and poisoned thorns. Matthew had come close to having a foot crushed, but his friend had pulled him away in time, before any harm could be done.

Sam again received permission to speak. “Let me think about this some more. I’ll try to listen with my inner ear, but I don’t know if it will do any good. Mick is sensitive. Because he’s a stranger among us, he may see and hear things differently than I would. He might catch something I miss.” A few people looked at me more intently. I lowered my head, hoping they weren’t seeing anything I didn’t want them to see.

The family was finding it hard to stifle yawns and there was little more that could be said tonight. It was near three in the morning. “We’ve had a long drive,” Sam said. If you don’t mind, I think Mick and I would like to get to bed now.”

“We’ll speak of this again.” Sam’s grandmother wished everyone a good night and the family stood up to stretch and head back to their own rooms or homes to settle down for sleep once again.

When Sam and I were alone, he let part of his guard down. It was more of a relaxation of tension. “I guess I’m here to guard Matthew until the election.”

“Election? How does that work?”

“General council meeting. The elders will question them and vote. Anyway, you did fairly well with your block, but you could have done better. Are you really that squeamish?” I couldn’t think how to answer, but I lowered my eyes, embarrassed. “I didn’t expect that. You’ll have to do better than you did with your mental shield. I could have sworn you thought drinking blood was weird.”

“Drinking deer blood for me is weird,” I said. “There aren’t that many deer walking the streets of Los Angeles.”

“Try the block again. Do it now.”

I pictured a brick wall around my brain. “Make it sound proof,” Sam said, “Audio tiles on the inner walls – like in a sound studio.” I knew what that meant and did so. “Now. Think of the year you were born.” I did. Sam nodded. “Good for you. You made it work that time. I didn’t get it.”
“1922,” I said, proud I had not projected. Sam exhaled sharply and shook his head. “What?” I asked him.

“You look about thirty. I guessed you were older than you look, considering your change, but you and my grandmother were born the same year.”

“If I had lived and aged, if I was very lucky and if I watched my cholesterol, I would be getting ready to die pretty soon anyway. Human life is finite.” What would I look like today as a human 85-year-old? Maybe I should have thanked my ex-wife for imposing this life on me. Then again, I still wish she hadn’t. “Direct me to where the Turtle family lives. I’m going to take that walk I mentioned to you. Remember to leave your window unlocked, but close it behind me.” I went to open it.

He pointed out the way. “Won’t you need your coat?” All I had on was my dark shirt and black slacks, with dark shoes.

“Not really. It’s for show. Remember, I sleep naked in a freezer. See you later.” I rested on the sill for a moment, before dropping lightly into the yard. I heard Sam close the window. When I looked back, he was staring into the dark, but already the shadows had swallowed me up and he couldn’t see me looking back at him.
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Re: The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by librarian_7 »

Penina, I'm so glad to see you post this here. It's a superior story, and I hope it finds both new and repeat readers.

Thank you for bringing it here.

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Re: The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by Lucy »

Beautiful ending to a nervous wreck of a night!

:clapping:
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Re: The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by bluedahlia3 »

Oh Penina, I'm so glad you're here and you posted this. I loved it the first time I read it and it's a great re-read. Wonderful story, well crafted and filled with adventure. I was always so mad that the ML Writers left Mick wandering alone around NYC, after the hand kiss, and this solves the whole issue. Thanks so much for adding it to the library. :dracula:
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Re: The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by francis »

Penina, I love your Sam stories. Please post them all here, they are too precious. :rose:
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Re: The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by coco »

Penina I'm so pleased to see this here. I adore this story.

Please do post the rest here :rose:
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Re: The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by Penina Spinka »

Dear L-7, Lucy, Coco, Blue and Francis,
Thank you for sending comments. I'm happy that you found this posting of The Beat. It's a little edited and improved. I think I was wrong to post 5 chapters at once. I'll post the next - chapter 6 now. If there's interest, I'll continue and move all my stories into MA. There are 10 chapters in both The Beat, and in Possibly Sam. New Day finished at 17. I hope they please you. Penina
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Re: The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by wollstonecraft61 »

This was recommended in the Coffeehouse, and I am glad I read it. Superb!!!! :clapping:
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Re: The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by Penina Spinka »

I don't know why, but I thought Sam didn't have any readers on MLA. Since you want more and I've written much more, I will rectify the situation and post my stories here too. I'd say the stories are better edited now that they've been through my local writers' crit group. I will also look for the Coffeehouse to say when a new chapter is up. I hope that is the right way.
Thank you for writing. Penina
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Re: The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by jmc »

I came from the Coffee House, too.
I was a little concerned for Mick, putting his trust and life in a stranger's hands. These big, scary vampires are really vulnerable! Loved the scene on the bridge.

:reading: Thank you.
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Re: The Beat (PG-13) chapters 1-5

Post by coco »

Back for a re-read via the Coffee House Penina. :wave:

I just love everything about this story. Mick & Sam are wonderful. :clapping:

*off to read more* :thumbs:
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