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lostbetweenvampiresandmusic · 19 hours

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On the edge of Santa Carla, at the other end of town, was a small wooden cottage. Inside the cottage, you wouldn't find much. Just the absolute necessities. An old, rather uncomfortable bed. A table with a large crack in it, with two chairs surrounding it. An old stove that was only held together by hope and wishes, a small bathroom where it wasn't a question if there was warm water but if there was water at all. It didn't sound like much, and it truly wasn't, but for Miss Johnson, it was exactly what she needed. She didn't have time of luxuries. Ever since her husband died, she had felt a new freedom growing inside her. She had used it to learn the things she had never dared to learn before. Magic.

Every single night, she became better. Every time she practised, she became stronger. But still, to actually see something when laying out the tarot cards - that was new. As she sat at her broken table, placing the shiny new cards in front of her, she couldn't focus on the true meaning of the cards. Instead, she saw flashes. Flashes of horrors she wouldn't dare mention to anyone. She saw how her beloved Santa Carla would burn, how everything in this town would be destroyed. And she also saw - and this terrified her the most - how most of the citizens lost hope.

On the other side of town, at the end of an old road, was an old, white house. It had a porch, a white picket fence, beautiful flowers growing in the garden - everything about this house seemed to say 'the person living here is very normal, I promise'. And yet, if you took your time and stopped to look, you would notice weird things. There were scratches on the wood holding the porch roof up. Deep scratches as if someone had hold on for dear life. Then, by one of the windows, you could see the faintest light pink streak going down to the ground. Someone had done their best to scrub it clean, but still on must wonder: had that been blood? And what about the small white flowers growing in the garden - why did some of them have brown spots on them? Yes, if you truly looked, you'd conclude that this house wasn't that normal. It just tried really hard to be.

Inside the house, there lived a man. No one had ever seen him during the day, but most people didn't question it. He was rich, and yet he had still chosen to move to Santa Carla. He had chosen to set up a videostore here, giving the people something they didn't have before. No, pretty much everyone in town knew of him, had spoken with him, and had decided that they liked the man. Max had always enjoyed that facade. Let people trust him, let them complain to him about how bad the town is getting with all those tourists, and let them think he's just a kind gentleman. The more they believed he was totally normal, the longer the killings of him and his boys would go unnoticed.

As he went into the kitchen, grabbing a flash with blood out of the fridge, his eyes fell on the old yellowed calendar hanging on the wall next to it. March second. A small smile appeared on his face. Even though he didn't remember exactly how old he was, he did remember the day he became what he was now. The change had been painful and could only be described as bad - but he was grateful for it. He certainly made the most of his undead life. As he sat down with his cup of blood, contemplating whether he should mix it with coffee again but deciding against it, he couldn't help but think about the strange yet wonderful thing it was to become a vampire.

Getting changed into a vampire was something unique for everyone. Sometimes, a change went smoothly, the newborn embracing their immortality as if it had always been a part of them. Often, this happened between mates, when the former human knew what they were getting into - and more importantly why. Love was a powerful motivator to turn someone into a successful vampire.

Sometimes, the person changed had some issues, often of the moral kind. It meant they didn't mind being a vampire per se, but they didn't necessarily like to deal with the side effect - they did not want to kill. This happened when they were lured into the change, tricked and frightened - or when they were only promised the gloriousness of immortality and not shown the harsh reality of the price one needed to pay for it.

Those kinds of changes were rather usual. Often, when someone was changed, they responded to it by one of those two ways. But, sometimes, a change brought more challenges along. He himself had not had an easy change, being forced to do so after almost being killed. The lack of life left in him had meant that the change was torturous for him and that when he awoke as a vampire, he was more bloodthirsty than anyone could have predicted. He needed to make up for the blood he lost, so to speak.

The same thing happened with his boys, one of them almost dying of an accidental overdose. It had been in the early sixties, and some malintended drug dealer had sold his boy some bad stuff. He'd taken the drugs, and he quickly realised something was wrong - but as a human, he couldn't do anything about it. Luckily, Max had saved him just in time, but the change had not been easy. Far from. There was a reason Santa Carla was known as the murder capital of California, and this was why. A bad change. It always happened when someone was in a stressful, hurtful, and dangerous situation, being forced into a dark unknown.

Yes, Max knew all about changing. He knew the best ways to do it, the worst ways. Above all, he knew how to deal with freshly changed vampires who had a difficult transition. In one way or another none of his boys had faced an easy change, and he had helped all of them through it.

He looked up as he finished his cup, seeing Thron enter the house, his tail wagging lazily. In his mouth, he held a letter. Max smiled, stroking the dogs head.

"Thank you, Thorn."

Putting his cup down, he decided to go upstairs to the study so he could truly focus on the letter. He had recognised the handwriting, and he assumed it wasn't a friendly check-up. The study was different from the rest of his house. It was a dark room adorned in an old-fashioned victorian wallpaper. Where his downstairs floor was modern and filled with modern curiosities, upstairs, he focused more on the times that had passed. Times he had lived through, and times he could still appreciate - style wise anyways. He was staring at the letter in front of him. An old friend of his, a man named Lucien whom he had helped through the change, had written him. He opened the letter, his eyes scanning the page.

She's in need of help. Help I can't give her. I'm not even sure you can, seeing how horribly she was forced into this. It was different for her. She couldn't fight it. She couldn't even try to resist. As little choice as we had, she had none.

He sighed. His friend had not given him the full details, but it sounded serious. The words played over and over in his mind. As little choice as we had, she had none. He didn't know what it meant. Was she tricked more horribly than his boys had tried to trick Michael Emerson? Was she force-fed the blood? If he allowed himself to think about it, he could come up with horrible scenarios, none of which would be helpful. He thought for a moment before sighing deeply. Yes, this girl, whomever she was, absolutely needed some help. He picked up the phone, dialled the number of his friend, and waited for it to ring.

"Yes?" A gruff voice spoke from the other side.

"Is she with you?"

"Yes."

"Bring her here. I'll see what I can do for her."

He hung up the phone, not waiting for a response from the man on the other side. He looked at the clock, noticing the time. He had to go to work, tell his boys about the new arrival in town, and make sure the new girl would have a room to comfortably call her own.

The night passed by slowly. The store was a little distraction for the task he would have later on. He had talked with customers and talked with his employees - telling them all that he'd adopted a girl and that they wouldn't be seeing as much of him as they did now. It was not really the truth, but it was close enough. It would erase any questions anyone would have when they'd see him with a new girl. The word would spread around town, and hopefully, no one would bother them and give them time to deal with their own personal affairs.

As he closed the shop, at one in the morning, he felt the presence of his boys. As much as they despised each other and could literally drink each others blood at times, there was an understanding between them. The boys didn't like control and commands, but they understood the value of a facade. Max allowed them to do what they liked and didn't use his powers as a sire on them unless it was absolutely necessary. Besides, they knew that if Max was serious about something, it was bad. Even though they would never consider Max as their father - a subject that was a little touchy for the older vampire - the boys would realise at times that his seniority also came with wisdom and knowledge, causing them to sometimes ask him for advise. In turn, Max would help them get out of legal trouble - and more often than not, prevent it from happening in the first place.

"What girl?" David stood beside his car, smoking a cigarette. Paul was dangerously balancing on his bike, and Marko and Dwayne just looked at him, probably waiting for him to fall. Max knew it was all an act. In reality, they were listening. They too wanted to know more. Apparently, the boys had been close enough to the store to hear Max explain to Maria or a customer that there was a new girl coming to town,

"She's a fresh one and had a bad change. I've been asked to help."

"When does she arrive?" Marko asked. Even though he looked bored, Max sensed a certain exitedness in his voice.

"Either today or tomorrow. I'll leave it up to you if you want to get involved or not, but-"

"We'll give her a chance to settle." David nodded. He looked at the boys, who agreed with him. A bad change also meant that one would be dealing with intense fears. Every single sense was heightened, and to be overwhelmed while in such a state wasn't pleasant. They'd all experienced that.

"Good. Make sure to stock up on some blood. If she happens to stop by, she can feed without endangering herself or us."

"One time," Marko mumbled under his breath, earning him a friendly shove from Paul. "A guy goes on a killing spree one time-"

"We all did that, just not in this town."

Max chuckled at Paul's answer, before cutting in. "It's just better to be careful."

With that, the vampires went their own way. The boys back to the cave, and Max back to the house. He had to make sure he had a sunproof room ready.

"I found someone who could help you."

The young girl, who couldn't be older than nineteen, looked at him. Her hair was on the wavy side but tangled. There were some dark bruises on her skin that were now turning a dark green mixed with a near, invisible yellow. Her dress was covered in dirt, and some of the fabric around the hem had been ripped. The man in front of her, Lucien, had saved her. Or at least, got her out. That was two days ago now, and in that time, he had tried to get her to talk to him. She didnt, talk that is. She didn't know why she didn't. All she remembered was a voice commanding her not to ever use her voice. Still, even if she could speak, she didn't know what had happened to her or why. She didn't know why she felt different, why everything hurt, why the sun had burned her hand, and why she could hear everything now. It was frightening.

"Did you hear me? I found someone who can help you."

Her gaze was questioning. If he had found someone, it meant she had to go away. What if that someone would also hurt her? What if it didn't help? What if he couldn't explain to her what was happening and -

"He's a good friend of mine and lives two hours from here. You will still be able to see me if you want. If you don't, that's also okay. You need to feel safe, alright? But he can help you, help you understand, and help you come to terms with what you are. I know it scares you, but it will help you."

The girl nodded, biting her inner cheek.

"I know you don't like the idea."

She sighed, turning away from him. She grabbed the things she owned - a leather-bound notebook and a pen he had gotten her - and looked at him as she scribbled something down on the pages. He refused to listen to her if she just motioned toward something.

Can we go?

The man nodded, leading her out of the crypt they'd been staying in. "Yeah, let's go."

Next chapter > (available on May 12th)

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