The Harsh Light of Day
Spoilers:
Content Rating: 15
Type: Other
Characters: Jonathan, Detective Jim Bradley
Summary: An insight into the mind of a killer.
Content Rating: 15
Type: Other
Characters: Jonathan, Detective Jim Bradley
Summary: An insight into the mind of a killer.
Content advice: this story contains some strong language, and descriptions of extreme sexual violence some readers may find distressing.
_________________________________________________________________________
I stood waiting in the shadows. Churches are full of shadows you know. Old ones are anyway. Lots of archways and nooks and places to hide. Of course, we can hide anywhere, things like me. We have a natural affinity for shadows. Out skin is pale as porcelain, but we can blend into any scenery. ItÂ’s a prized ability.
IÂ’d been to this church before. Oh yes, many times. There was something I liked there. A boy. A beautiful young choir boy. He was like nothing IÂ’d seen before. When he sang, he looked like one of the angels, painted so often in GodÂ’s house. And he sounded like one too. My hearing is extraordinary, so when I heard him singing I heard all that mortal men do not hear. Every tiny little sound amplified as if it were coming through a hundred stereo systems.
Sitting patiently I waited for the concert to finish. The boy, Daniel his name was, was always the last to leave. IÂ’d been watching him for a long time, as you can imagine. Sensing that the time was near, I brushed down my clothes; soft black velvet, with a flowing cape to match, and stepped out into the light. Thinking he was alone, Daniel gave a little jump. That gave me a thrill, to see the fear in his eyes, obviously mixed with the love anyone feels for my kind. Stunned by my eternal beauty, or maybe just accepting his fate, he stood on the spot as I walked to him.
Only when I took him into my arms and kissed him on the lips did he run. Now, this was positively orgasmic for me. There is nothing like the thrill of the chase for one such as myself. Of course, if IÂ’d wanted, I could have appeared directly in front of him and ended it there and then. However, I choose, much to the chagrin of others, to cling to mortal ways. Running after him I caught him at the altar, knocking him down with a flick of my arm, like swatting a beautiful fly.
This is when I took him. In his love for me he let me make love to him, struggling to excite me. Then, as I reached my climax, I did what my kind must do. I drew his blood and drank it. The life blood of one sustains the life blood of another. Piercing his jugular with my fang teeth, I sucked the sweet nectar from him, holding him tight to me. Too tight in fact, as in my infinite strength I broke his neck.
Then I fled. I left his body crumpled on the altar as an offering to the pathetic Christian God, and I left to find refuge away from the heat of the morning sun.
***
“That’s a nice story, Jonathan, but it’s not true, is it?" questioned the Detective, Jim Bradley.
The two men, accompanied by a WPC and a tape recorder, were sat in a small interview room. Drab magnolia paint covered the walls, broken up only by a wooden bar that stretched all the way around at waist height.
Taking a long drag from a cigarette he knew he shouldnÂ’t be smoking, Bradley scratched his stubbly cheek.
I really need to shave, he thought to himself.
Sat opposite him was the man who would only reveal himself as Jonathan. Normally, this man wouldnÂ’t have been extraordinary, Bradley had decided, but he had made himself extraordinary. Long blond hair was parted to reveal an unattractive and wholly uninteresting face pocked by acne. What drew attention was the one red eye and the one blue eye.
“Why do you wear a red contact lens?" Bradley asked
“I do not wear a contact lens, Mr Bradley. I have one red eye. It is but one physical manifestation of my supernatural origins."
The other remarkable thing about Jonathan was his clothing. All of it was made out of black velvet, even his cape. He looked like something out of a Halloween comedy. Except the blood covering his clothes was real. And not funny.
Bradley had been here for two hours now and was starting to get tired of the drivel Jonathan was spouting.
“Look, we know you aren’t what you say you are."
“Really?" responded Jonathan, looking amused.
“Really. You are so pale because you haven’t been in sunlight for five years. We asked your neighbours."
“You certainly don’t have supernatural strength, it only took two constables to arrest you."
“And you do not have fangs. You drew that boy’s blood with a barbeque fork."
JonathanÂ’s look of amusement faded into one of rage, and then denial. Looking around the room for something to focus on, he found it. Starting at her feet, he looked the WPC all the way up and down, before blowing her a kiss. She shivered.
Fuming, Bradley reached over and turned the tape recorder off.
“What are you doing? You can’t do –“
Jonathan was cut off as Bradley reached across the table and slapped him hard across the face.
“You will not look at any of my constables that way again, is that understood?"
“I will do whatever I please," responded Jonathan.
Another slap, this time knocking Jonathan off his chair. Getting off the floor, he smiled. A predatory smile. The WPC shivered.
“I do bring out the best in people,"
“Finish your confession, or story, or whatever it is," said Bradley, making it clear it was an order, not a request.
***
After I had finished with the boy, I went back to the house I had made for myself in this lifetime. It was a tiny house, one bedroom, a bathroom, a living/dining room and a kitchen. It was enough though. I only used the bedroom. And you might call it a coffinroom, because thatÂ’s what I slept in. A gorgeous coffin it was, made out of solid oak.
When I woke up I knew straight away that something was wrong. I hadnÂ’t been asleep long enough. Worse still, it was still light!
As I lay in my coffin, terrified of the sun, policemen in body armour poured into my room and yanked me from my coffin. I couldnÂ’t fight back because the light had stunned me. I seemed to have reached a strength where the light could not kill me, but it certainly stopped me fighting back.
They arrested me, kept me in tiny little rooms and that infernal police officer, Jim Bradley questioned me for hour after hour. I tried to kill him once, you know. I jumped across the table and tried to bite a chunk from his neck, but he beat me to the floor.
“Take the miserable scum into the harsh light of day," he’d said. I hated, I still hate him for that.
***
“He’s well beyond help," said the Doctor, a psychiatrist. “He’s been telling me his story from the beginning, all through until you were finished with him, Detective Bradley."
“Yeah, he told me his story up until I arrested him. He’s obsessed with it. Sick fuck," said Bradley, shaking his head. “Did he tell you he tried to kill me too?"
“He did, yes. And I can assure you Detective, he will never see the harsh light of day again."
~
© Matthew Smith, 2004
_________________________________________________________________________
I stood waiting in the shadows. Churches are full of shadows you know. Old ones are anyway. Lots of archways and nooks and places to hide. Of course, we can hide anywhere, things like me. We have a natural affinity for shadows. Out skin is pale as porcelain, but we can blend into any scenery. ItÂ’s a prized ability.
IÂ’d been to this church before. Oh yes, many times. There was something I liked there. A boy. A beautiful young choir boy. He was like nothing IÂ’d seen before. When he sang, he looked like one of the angels, painted so often in GodÂ’s house. And he sounded like one too. My hearing is extraordinary, so when I heard him singing I heard all that mortal men do not hear. Every tiny little sound amplified as if it were coming through a hundred stereo systems.
Sitting patiently I waited for the concert to finish. The boy, Daniel his name was, was always the last to leave. IÂ’d been watching him for a long time, as you can imagine. Sensing that the time was near, I brushed down my clothes; soft black velvet, with a flowing cape to match, and stepped out into the light. Thinking he was alone, Daniel gave a little jump. That gave me a thrill, to see the fear in his eyes, obviously mixed with the love anyone feels for my kind. Stunned by my eternal beauty, or maybe just accepting his fate, he stood on the spot as I walked to him.
Only when I took him into my arms and kissed him on the lips did he run. Now, this was positively orgasmic for me. There is nothing like the thrill of the chase for one such as myself. Of course, if IÂ’d wanted, I could have appeared directly in front of him and ended it there and then. However, I choose, much to the chagrin of others, to cling to mortal ways. Running after him I caught him at the altar, knocking him down with a flick of my arm, like swatting a beautiful fly.
This is when I took him. In his love for me he let me make love to him, struggling to excite me. Then, as I reached my climax, I did what my kind must do. I drew his blood and drank it. The life blood of one sustains the life blood of another. Piercing his jugular with my fang teeth, I sucked the sweet nectar from him, holding him tight to me. Too tight in fact, as in my infinite strength I broke his neck.
Then I fled. I left his body crumpled on the altar as an offering to the pathetic Christian God, and I left to find refuge away from the heat of the morning sun.
***
“That’s a nice story, Jonathan, but it’s not true, is it?" questioned the Detective, Jim Bradley.
The two men, accompanied by a WPC and a tape recorder, were sat in a small interview room. Drab magnolia paint covered the walls, broken up only by a wooden bar that stretched all the way around at waist height.
Taking a long drag from a cigarette he knew he shouldnÂ’t be smoking, Bradley scratched his stubbly cheek.
I really need to shave, he thought to himself.
Sat opposite him was the man who would only reveal himself as Jonathan. Normally, this man wouldnÂ’t have been extraordinary, Bradley had decided, but he had made himself extraordinary. Long blond hair was parted to reveal an unattractive and wholly uninteresting face pocked by acne. What drew attention was the one red eye and the one blue eye.
“Why do you wear a red contact lens?" Bradley asked
“I do not wear a contact lens, Mr Bradley. I have one red eye. It is but one physical manifestation of my supernatural origins."
The other remarkable thing about Jonathan was his clothing. All of it was made out of black velvet, even his cape. He looked like something out of a Halloween comedy. Except the blood covering his clothes was real. And not funny.
Bradley had been here for two hours now and was starting to get tired of the drivel Jonathan was spouting.
“Look, we know you aren’t what you say you are."
“Really?" responded Jonathan, looking amused.
“Really. You are so pale because you haven’t been in sunlight for five years. We asked your neighbours."
“You certainly don’t have supernatural strength, it only took two constables to arrest you."
“And you do not have fangs. You drew that boy’s blood with a barbeque fork."
JonathanÂ’s look of amusement faded into one of rage, and then denial. Looking around the room for something to focus on, he found it. Starting at her feet, he looked the WPC all the way up and down, before blowing her a kiss. She shivered.
Fuming, Bradley reached over and turned the tape recorder off.
“What are you doing? You can’t do –“
Jonathan was cut off as Bradley reached across the table and slapped him hard across the face.
“You will not look at any of my constables that way again, is that understood?"
“I will do whatever I please," responded Jonathan.
Another slap, this time knocking Jonathan off his chair. Getting off the floor, he smiled. A predatory smile. The WPC shivered.
“I do bring out the best in people,"
“Finish your confession, or story, or whatever it is," said Bradley, making it clear it was an order, not a request.
***
After I had finished with the boy, I went back to the house I had made for myself in this lifetime. It was a tiny house, one bedroom, a bathroom, a living/dining room and a kitchen. It was enough though. I only used the bedroom. And you might call it a coffinroom, because thatÂ’s what I slept in. A gorgeous coffin it was, made out of solid oak.
When I woke up I knew straight away that something was wrong. I hadnÂ’t been asleep long enough. Worse still, it was still light!
As I lay in my coffin, terrified of the sun, policemen in body armour poured into my room and yanked me from my coffin. I couldnÂ’t fight back because the light had stunned me. I seemed to have reached a strength where the light could not kill me, but it certainly stopped me fighting back.
They arrested me, kept me in tiny little rooms and that infernal police officer, Jim Bradley questioned me for hour after hour. I tried to kill him once, you know. I jumped across the table and tried to bite a chunk from his neck, but he beat me to the floor.
“Take the miserable scum into the harsh light of day," he’d said. I hated, I still hate him for that.
***
“He’s well beyond help," said the Doctor, a psychiatrist. “He’s been telling me his story from the beginning, all through until you were finished with him, Detective Bradley."
“Yeah, he told me his story up until I arrested him. He’s obsessed with it. Sick fuck," said Bradley, shaking his head. “Did he tell you he tried to kill me too?"
“He did, yes. And I can assure you Detective, he will never see the harsh light of day again."
~
© Matthew Smith, 2004
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