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03/26/2004: "David Parker's Journal: 15"

The wine in my glass was the deep purple of arterial blood in darkness.

I picked up the glass and breathed in through my nose. The complex aroma carried undertones of blackberries, chocolate, pepper. Not as intoxicating a bouquet as blood, of course, but delicious nevertheless.

I brought the glass to my lips, tasting with my eyes half closed, smiling.

Simple pleasures delight me.

Wine…

The lights on the far shore, sparling against the cold black waters of the Mississippi…

The candle’s soft glow on the tablecloth, freshly ironed white linen smelling faintly of starch and bleach…

I could be very happy if it were possible live a life strictly of the senses, enveloped only in sights, sounds, tastes, feelings – like the cool sensation of wine against my lips, liquor as soft and seamless as silk sliding across bare flesh.

Sensation is everything for me. It is thought that weighs me down, dragging me down, along with the regrets for what has been, or now is, or might one day be.

I have always had a tendency to be melancholy. Many musicians and other artists are manic-depressives, in my experience, and I think the label fits me well. I alternate between animated inspiration and inactive despair. The fact that I am a vampire only exaggerates my natural proclivities. The highs are much higher, the lows abysmally deeper. Everything is bigger, sharper, more extreme for the artist, and doubly so for the artist who happens to be a vampire.

And yet I never wish I were dead. Not even when I am at my lowest, when the Black Dog of despair has its teeth deep in my soul.

There are so many small blessings in life – the glass of wine before me, the comfortable feel of the fountain pen in my hand as I write these words in my journal, knowing full well that there may not be many entrees after this. In truth, this could be the last. The danger is great. I can feel it out there in the night, hovering in the darkness the way the chill hangs over water.

I may be a vampire who does not age or become ill, but I can still be killed. I could catalog the common ways of killing an immortal. Beheading. Burning the body to ashes. Complete dismemberment. Cutting out the heart. I have heard of vampires dying by having their hearts cut out, but it requires great strength to hold the victim still long enough to accomplish this grim purpose. Mortals could never accomplish the job. There is only one thing that can kill a vampire, the vampire’s only natural enemy: other vampires.

It is late. The lounge in the restaurant on the levee where I am sitting alone is empty but for the bartender, who is busy at the other end of the room with a crossword puzzle.

The exceedingly strange letter from William Benton is open before me on the table. I know it by memory and have since I first read it. The message is brief, and like all vampires, I have total recall.

“My dear Mr. Parker,

“If you are reading this – if, indeed, you have been born once to your mother and again to the Blood – then my power to see into the future has not deserted me entirely. You do not know me and no doubt will come by this message by some means that you will find disturbing and difficult to understand. Do not let this keep you from devoting your fullest attention to the dire situation facing you.

“Those who consider themselves the aristocrats of our race hold extreme views that put you and others in grave danger. The Sight tells me you are the only living Vampiri one who can stop them from what they are planning. Though I doubt you will have any inking of the conspiracy that has been growing from since before even my time, unless it is stopped, it will wipe out the greater part of our race.

“But allow me to get straight to the matter at hand: You, and the others whose names are not on the Napoleon List, will perish unless you do something bold. And by ‘you’ I mean you personally, David Parker.

“I wish to heaven the Sight would tell me what, exactly, you should do to stop this great crime from occurring. Unfortunately, I am unable to tell you if you even have a prayer of succeeding. The odds against you are overwhelming. Alas, the forces allied against me prevent me from seeing more. My powers are greatly weakened. The enemy is all about me, and my time grows short.

“Remember this last thing, my young friend. Though the vampires whose names do not appear on the Napoleon List are marked for extermination, these vampires are not necessary your friends. By the same token, is would be equally unwise to assume that all of those whose names do appear on the Napoleon List are your enemies.

“I have no choice but to pass over the rest of this in silence. It is up to you to decide how best to proceed. I wish you the best of luck and Godspeed.

“Your obedient servant, William Benton”

I waved at the bartender, signaling for another glass of wine, then picked up the letter from 1925 and slipped it into my journal. If I had any idea what this “Napoleon List” was, I might have some idea about what to do or where to start. Whatever the list was, it was obvious that my name wasn’t on it, and my life was in danger because of it.