The problem with borrowed time is that at some stage, or at some point, time wants that time back. Paul Miller knew this to be true. He also knew that the three centuries that he has been living would come to an end, by his own hands.
Gaffney’s Bar, on Dublin’s Cork Street, was about to be torn down to make way for a road extension, two hundred years of serving mediocre Ale’s, Beer’s and fine Spirit’s, was about to be wrecked into the ages. Due to the surrounding buildings Gaffney’s was in a constant shadow, making the spot ideal for Paul. Though this was not the only reason that Paul would spend opening to closing in the bar, and we are not talking about the food either. Paul had lived since the seventeen hundred’s and liked to be surrounded by items from that time, this bar had them in spades. If the owner, Eugene O’Neill knew what he had he would have sold them, and replaced them with some tacky nineteen fifties Rock’n’Roll memorabilia, Paul would have left.
The décor aside there was a reason that this bar made a perfect place to pitch for a day was that the clientele was minimal and no one would notice that he would not take a sip from his drinks. Sometimes, when the mood took him, he would glance inwards at his sense of humour, that he rarely let go, and think that the only plant in the joint became an alcoholic due to his force feeding of the plant.
Today though there was no inner glancing of happiness, today was the last day of business for Gaffney’s. There are roughly eight billion people in the world, but this bar was Paul’s place, tomorrow it would be gone.
In his mind, Paul wanted to remember all that he done that was positive in his existence, but for the most, all he could remember was his changing, his kills and the torture of being ever youthful and never once again being able to feel the natural warmth of the sun. Those he had loved had died at the hands of time, a disease he was immune to. In fact the only misfortune that a Vampire would have to face is the remembrance of the past, amnesia would be a grateful present to Paul.
Paul allows his mind to drift back to his twentieth year of life, when he still was mortal, and still had his own blood running through his veins, instead of the unfortunate who cross his path.
Twenty years old, and a notorious thief, stealing from those whose wealth was obvious, breaking into their houses and keeping his bounty. At the age of seven Paul’s father died, not before teaching his son a trade, pocket picking. But Paul wanted more, he wanted to expand the family business and steal himself a life that was worth living. He had stayed away from pleasures of the flesh to break the circle of family, he wanted something more something that he could call uniquely his invention.
The streets of Dublin, cobbled and cold scrapped at his feet as he walked barefoot to his first home. He had followed the socialite home the night previous and checked to see if the portly gentleman had had a large staff. This one had one member to his house hold, his father’s Butler. Aging and confused, he would be no match for Paul.
There was a plan in motion in the mind of Paul, to steal this night, to take from this gentleman all he could carry, and to do one wealth poisoned house each week for two years. At the end of the two years he should have enough money to leave Dublin a pauper burglar and go to London, England as a gentleman thief. He knew from observations of the rich that to be considered a gentleman all one needed to do was to walk showing grace with a cane and to tilt ones high-hat to a lady of measure, should one cross his path. This was his plan, and it was what his father should have done, but Paul’s father was not as ambitious as him. Though it is always the way and you can see it yourself even today that the son will always want to surpass the father in all achievements made. To this day that is true.
The plan worked well for the first year, and into the second year. But when the last job came, a house on Camden Street, Paul made a mistake. For a while he’s had his eyes on this house, no servants, and the owners only went out at night. To those of us that are living through the Buffy age, and the Angel age of television, we would know straight off that something wasn’t right with that situation. But to Paul there was only one thing that this read, an easy job, something that was needed at the end of his strokes.
Paul had enough to live for the rest of his life, most of the jobs paid off with more than he thought, but still he was committed to this plan, and committed to never being poor again.
This night everything went smoothly as usual, to a point, and Paul found more than he bargained for in one way or another. The artefacts that were in this house must be worth more than he had taken over the last two years, this was enough to make sure that he never would have to break in another house ever.
He broke in through the back window, near the kitchen and then made his way through each floor, the basement, the ground floor, and the darkness of the upper floors.
The upper floors had practically nothing in them, one single candle holder with a simple candle. The candle was placed centrally to light all the rooms, and gave off a little heat, that night was warm, but this house, in this house the higher you went the colder it became. The rooms were bare, but Paul and his canvas sack were determined to go further into the darkness, money had taken hold, and his fence would pay well for what he had gathered and maybe there was something else that would be worth more.
The next floor up there was no candle, even the moonlight seemed to be reluctant to come in, moments passed and Paul went back down to take a candle with him. The reluctance of the moon was in question and the answer was given as false, someone had painted over the window with a heavy black lead paint. The room’s here were full with crates. At least twenty. There was something about this moment, in hindsight, that should have made Paul turn and run from that house, but he didn’t and paid the price for it.
He learned that that small crates in house’s often held the most valuable assets of the rich, being hesitant to place to much in one place, or to mix and match there prized possessions. So he moved to the smallest of the crates, which was not that small. With his crowbar he opened the crate, though he need not have used it, the top was heavy not secured, but the leverage was needed due to the weight.
Taken aback by the sight of a pre-teenage girl laying in straw, pale as a ghost, dead to the best part of the world. He placed the bar away and leant forward to feel for vitals, he had seen a Cleric do this to his father, he didn’t know what he was looking for but still he knew enough to try.
The next few seconds stretched, the sudden leap, the bite, the shock from the loss of blood and the dust from the floor as Paul hit it hard. The girl was still stuck on the side of his throat sucking all the blood from him.
In a dream we can’t tell the real from the fake, Paul prayed that this was a dream. Light came and through the haze of Paul’s eyes the pain came, what blood was left in his system was trying to pump it’s way through his veins. The light came from his attackers ‘family’.
A voice, Paul couldn’t tell which of the shadowed predators it came from, but it was soft and touching on that of a woman, though there was a mystical gravel in that voice too.
“She is too young to finish him off! We should leave him here, we leave for England tonight, he is a liability.”
Another voice, male, older, though that same gravel quality came through.
“It’s true, young Anna, never begin a meal that you cannot finish. Leave him here, break the windows, let the light finish him off.” Paul could hear them breaking the glass. The young girl spoke.
“We can’t kill him, the Elders would not allow it.”
“He is not one of us, he is a thief, we are nobility, he has no place with us. And the Elders have other worries.”
And that was all that Paul could remember about that, a waitress in Gaffney’s was standing in front of him waiting for his order, it was lunchtime.
“I’m waiting for someone, I’m not hungry yet, maybe later.”
“Don’t leave it too long, we’re leaving soon.”
Paul laughed inwardly at that. The door opened to the ladies toilet and Davida walked out. Davida was Paul’s first changeling, two hundred years ago. She was a street walker, it is true that prostitution is one of the oldest occupations in the history of the world, except for being a Vampire. At the time Paul was short on cash but still wanted to be with this lovely girl, tall, long legged and with a real nice body, he offered her life eternal, back then he still believed in that, she accepted and since then they have not been too far apart, in one country or another they would only be a day or so apart, if at all. As Davida sat down beside him she knew what he was thinking.
“Paul, it’s a load of bollocks, you’re just in a slump, you’ll break out of it.”
Paul raised a hand to the bargirl, who started to pour a pint of Guinness.
“I don’t know, Davida, I’ve been around for three hundred years, I’ve seen everything a human and vampire could, I can speak many languages, but what’s the point, tonight I have to go out and kill someone, take a life. That’s what I’ve done for three centuries, our kind has done it for thousand of years, I just can’t go on.” Paul had practiced that speech over and over in his mind for a few days. Davida was not impressed.
“You are too human, even now, a century ago we would have come into a bar like this a killed each of these cows” Davida’s passion for the kill was still evident to Paul, the night after he changed her, she showed ease into the kill, and she was not biased. She could kill woman, man, child, beast, race after race, and species after species, she killed showing no mercy.
“That’s the point, I can’t kill, and either I die of starvation, or I go out my way.”
Davida showed her concern by standing up. Walking over to the bar and killing the bargirl, then the two elderly gentlemen. Paul was unmoved. Davida then went to bolt the door of the bar. After she was done, she stepped over the blood coming from the men and sat back down.
“Prove a point?”
“I can’t believe that you just did that.”
“That took no effort. A broken neck to the girl and ripping out the throats of the oule farts. We are the only species that matter.”
“Honestly, you could be one of the Elders.”
“Paul, don’t do this…… please! What am I meant to do when you are gone.”
“You’ll survive, you don’t need me. My time has passed, years ago, there is nothing left for me, except redemption.”
Davida rose to her feet and walked towards the ladies toilet.
“I’ve got to go back to the Elders, tell them that it’s futile trying to reason with you, they won’t be pleased.”
“Tell them that they can sue me.” Paul made light but Davida was heavy. Davida walked through the doors, then down to the sewer system that she entered through. It was coming late in the day, and on this day the night fell early.
Giving the plants their final dose of alcohol from his glass Paul took to the streets, he wanted to give his eyes the benefit of seeing Dublin one last time, before the docks, before the sunrise.
He made his way to the heart of the city, Dublin’s O’Connell Street, I say heart but it’s really the stomach, on O’Connell street you have the best and worst of the city. All types of fast food joint, serving the muleing public barely edible food, to the delights of Flannagans restaurant, which has long survived the battle for good food on the street, at this point in time there are too many of the battery feeding of the American chains, Flannagans served food that Paul heard nothing but good about, he wished that his digestion system could tolerate the divine menu served. He stopped to look at the menu, a 10oz sirloin steak with your choice of vegetables, the price was something that never bothered people when it came to good food.
The street is wide enough to facilitate the middle isle, which housed the Anna Liva fountain. Donated to the city from a tyre manufacturer, the centre of the oblong water spout was the figure of a naked woman that people in Dublin kindly refer to as the Floozy in the Jacuzzi, this was one of the rare nights that the city fathers had decided to put the water on, there must be someone important in town. As the water poured around the Lady, Paul remembered the other name for the figure, the Whore in the Sewer, he would draw the comparison with Davida, but she was his friend, and so it remained a personal joke.
He knew why she killed those people in the bar, knew that she did it because she was unwilling to let him fulfil his plan. For that he could not fault her.
Back and forth between O’Connell Street and Grafton Street, the centre for buskers and street performers, though tonight there was a lack of theatrics on the street.
Paul decided on the basis of his forthcoming action that a last meal would be ill advised.
The decision to leave the world was taken with one hope, to redeem his soul. He had killed for the centuries for no reason other than to stay alive, with bouts of guilt he would go for days without releasing the hunger inside. Vampires justify to themselves that this is just natural selection, survival of the fittest, Paul put it in the box of his Irish upbringing. If he didn’t feed then it would be suicide, and to the Irish there still is a certain stigma placed on the act. He could make himself believe that killing, as part of his life elongation, in his mind slaughter of innocent people was preferable to the end of his own existence at his own hands. At the moment that he made this decision, for a brief time, he thought about ringing the Samaritans, but they would want to know why he felt like this, and as soon as he would mention the fact that he was over three hundred years old and a Vampire, the phone on the other end would be slammed down, those highly trained and patient people had little patience with people wasting their time. This was the only way that he could have a chance, sure it was suicide, but it was a instinct, a small evil to stop a bigger one, if there was a point system in place for souls, this should put his back on the score sheet.
Early morning and the stores were starting to open, to catch the early morning trade. Paul made his way to the docks and as he reached his small rowing boat he could see that Davida was waiting beside the jetty, He was pleased.
“There is no way that I can stop you is there ?”
“Only by killing me, either way, my goal is complete.”
“I can’t watch you do this, but I want you to know that, that part of me understands, maybe it’s part of my humanity that remains. I’ll miss ya. You’re a thief, and stole my heart, and now you continue. By doing this you steal the last of my human soul.” The female Vamp could not cry, though she wanted to, badly. Paul moved in, he knew his girl, knew when she needed a hug. With his arms around her he whispered softly to her, one last time.
“I don’t expect the Elders to understand this, you might, in time, everything on this planet has a time, this is mine. I love you.”
Paul jumped into the boat and started to row, he could not look at Davida again, for her sake, deep down for his. Davida mouthed his last words back to him as she turned her back on him, her natural enemy was starting to show its force. Her last glance of her sire was from the shade of the manhole cover and slowly let the weight push itself down.
The first time in three hundred years Paul felt the heat. He ran through his turning again in his mind. It seemed to flash quicker this time, three hundred years in the place of the few minutes, Einstein at work. Past the Liffey to the sea, three minutes now till the sun was at a level that was high enough to burn through Paul.
The Golden waves calm, no wind, no rain, for once, and Paul making his choice perform its task. He rowed around so that he could feel the warmth on his face, this time it was from the origin of heat. He pushed the oars out.
As he lay back on the boat, he allowed the sun the privilege that it was denied for the centuries past, to let its presence be felt on Paul’s frame.
Time passed and flesh turned into ash, and the only way that we’ll know if Paul’s soul was given a reprieve is to die, but not like him, to wait for our time, the only thing that we know is that it will come.
The end.