The Blood I Seek (Bloodlette Short Story)

[Paragon Vanguard]

( https://forums.homecomingservers.com/topic/13502-jerrin-bloodlette-vampire/?tab=comments#comment-151960  Origin story, not needed for this short story)

 

 

                                                                                                                       

The Blood I Seek

   A Jerrin Bloodlette Story   

 

 

 

I met him, just the other day. He was pale and cold, and while this describes his appearance perfectly, it also describes his mood. I do not wish to get too far ahead of myself, but I must describe to any reader who he is, even before I tell the tale. He told me his name was Jerrin Crimlette. An odd name to be sure, but I chose not to question him further on it. I knew there was something special about him when I met him, something different, yet at the time I could not say for sure what it was. Many have lived tragic lives and are brooding and downcast, and Mr. Crimlette was definitely that, but there was more. 
 

The first thing one would notice of him is his hair. A dark, almost crimson color. It hung to his shoulders, perfect in form. His skin is pale, and makes one think of the first frost of the year. When he shook my hand, he felt cold, as if his blood was not delivering the warmth that it should. Mind you, these are not aspects that I have not seen on others, but I have never seen ones form match their personality as I did him.

 

We were at a ball hosted by one of the high societies of Paragon City, no doubt to impress some politician or other powerful person. It is unimportant at this time who hosted a party for whom, and I must leave their names from this. I will say that he enthralled any who spoke to him. It was hard to take your eyes from him, or to pull your attention away to speak to others, that is, until he pulled his own attention away. Maybe my years of reporting and writing allowed me to see this, but the others went on with their nights and their conversations, some looking back to him almost in hopes that they would draw his attention again. That is saying much as these parties always bring in some of the heroes of the city, who themselves would draw much attention. 

 

In contrast, he did not seem to want the attention for long. He knew the power he had over others, but it seemed a reluctant power, and it seemed at times an unwanted attribute, as if he was simply wishing to have a real conversation with someone. Sadly, it did not happen, and as the night moved on he seemed to speak to fewer people. I caught some of the conversations, and none were really worth retelling. He spoke of how things were going in the city. He spoke of how his own business investments were doing, depending on whom he was speaking to. It was apparent that he was quite wealthy, but I have no idea where his wealth comes from. As a reporter it seems odd I had no knowledge of a man that garnered so much unwanted scrutiny. 

 

The night grew long, as they do for these parties, until it was no longer evening, but early morning. I had made my own way around the party, speaking to some I know, being avoided by others who had no desire to speak to a reporter. Yes, I was there working the party, but not really in need of an angle or any such. It spoke for itself. The rich gathering to speak of how rich they were, the popular and beautiful being tugged along by the rich. The heroes being invited because a party is not a party without some of them mixing with high society. Heroes are a true novelty among this group.

 

My mind wondered back to Mr. Crimlette even as the party began to dwindle, and eventually I found him, the attention of two debutants focused sharply on him, as he charmed them with some conversation. I had a feeling he could have been insulting them and they would have still looked on him with such awe. Or was it lust? There was something about this man, and I found myself wanting to speak to him again. It wasn't the same emotion that the two ladies were experiencing, but my curiosity about who he is was just as strong. As he made his way from the ballroom with the two ladies, I followed at a distance. I felt like a creep, wishing to take a peep at something not meant for my eyes, yet I knew there was something besides sexuality going on here.

I carefully entered the bedroom, one of so many on this top floor, that the three entered. It was very large, as large as some apartments, and it was easy to hide behind the many pieces of cloth that hung about. The ladies were giggling as if intoxicated, but also saying things that I cannot write, telling that they were neither debutantes nor ladies. Needless to say they were very much in anticipation of the experience they would soon share. Mr. Crimlette's back was to me. The ladies could not take their eyes from him, so I was secure in my hiding place. One was laid across the bed, exposed and reaching for him, the other was rubbing his back and biting at his ear. He bent over, as if to kiss the one laying down. She moaned, as if the two shared more than a very long kiss. When he lifted his head, she had stopped moving, as if she had fallen asleep, no longer interested in the night's escapade. Her friend pushed Mr. Crimlette to his back, the two alongside the sleeping girl, and climbed on top of him. She began to kiss his neck, but suddenly stiffened, as if ecstasy had rendered her immobile. She too fell over, as if asleep, with Mr. Crimlette sitting there, his lips now blood red. I wanted to run, but I could not. Something kept me there, as if my legs simply would not listen to me. Maybe it was my fear, or maybe it was him, because his eyes soon found my hiding place and bore into me, red and dangerous now. 

 

"I am Jerrin Bloodlette, though you would not know the name," he said to me, and I could only listen. "These women, as you will find out soon enough, are not suppose to be here. They are in fact members of the Carnival of Shadows, young members, not very dangerous really. However, they were here for a reason, as was I. I was here to find them. I found them. Had I not enthralled them, they would have enthralled some other, a target of some desire. I will not get into that, as it has nothing to do with you, and it is something you do not wish to know, I assure you. However, you will write your story, minus my name. You will point the authorities in the right direction." 
 

Jerrin Bloodlette wiped his mouth, and buttoned his fine shirt up, preparing to leave. 
"W--wait. Why did ....are you some kind of hero?" I foolishly asked him. 

His cold eyes looked on me, and I found myself locked in his gaze. He was no hero. 
"I am looking for something. I found this information as I was looking for it. Had I not, I would have fed on someone else tonight. Someone less, deserving. When I am hungry, it matters little. The blood I seek," he replied. He was deeply saddened by what he was, it was apparent, but he also was resigned to what he was. 

I have printed the part of the story he wished me to print, leaving out what he wished me leave out. I have not caved to The Family, nor any other gang in my reporting of truth, yet, in this case, I knew it was not my life only that was at stake, but my mortal soul was in danger, were I to release more of this story. Instead, I have kept it on a flashdrive, for what reason I do not know, but well hidden. If you are reading this now though, I beg if you stole it do not release it, ever. If it has been released, then I am, most probably, dead, and found my own life flow the blood that he sought. 

Edited October 15, 2020 by Paragon Vanguard