THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES (or sometimes, the discs)

Jonathon had been let out of the box. The 'puppet show' was over for the time being. He sat at a small table up against the wall of the vast chamber and conversed with the young doctor. He said - Hadleigh? Bailey? A bit heavy on the 'E' sound aren't we?......She said - That's not my real name. I have a lot of name tags. I got 'em in a box. Every morning I just grab one. People expext it. They bring 'em through here for a peek at the magic, politicians and military types I mean, and we gotta look the part. Not just them. You know we deal with all kinds here. It's a regular, Star Wars bar scene, no offense......Their heads come together and they kiss......He says - None taken. Where are we?.......She - Can't tell......He - Well, Doctor Franklin is here, so we must still be sommewhere in  the city?......She - Really, you think so?.......He - I would suppose so.....She - Then you don't know Dr. Franklin.....(he waits for more).....She ads - Let's just say that the wily fox manages to cover quite a bit of territory.......He - How?......She's about to respond, when a nearby portal opens and one of the anti-enchantment agents  enters, taking up position a few yards away. He adopts a threatening stance, arms crossed, feet squarely planted. You get the picture, real 'cop 101'......(see, Zebulon picks up things). The doctor can see him. He's right in her line of sight. Now Jonathon could theoretically sublimate right through him. That would be it, nothing left but thousands of minute, bloody morsels (bones included) splashing down onto the immaculate, shiny floor. But you know, who wants trouble? So they both shut up. Jonathon nods. He understands......He ads - Please tell me, who do I have to thank for this outfit? She smiles. He sports a well pressed, dapper set of fatigues, military all the way, except for his long, wavy dark locks........She - We're a governmental agency. Thank 'Uncle Sam.'........He yells out into the air - Thank you, Uncle Sam!!!.....His voice echos in the immense, white, windowless, clinical space. Other agents run in, weapons drawn. They look to Agent 1. He just shakes his head and they depart.......Jonathon and the young doctor laugh. She goes back to eating her sandwich. He studies every move, how she chews, how she swallows......She - Are you hungry? I mean, do you 'need' anything?......He - No, I can go for a month......She - And then?........He - Then I have to 'cull' somebody.......She - Cull?......He - Kill, kill them. I'm trying to be nice about it. Look, haven't they been working with captured vampires for years? Don't they know? Don't you know?.........She - We know. It's just that I've never seen it. Can I see it? I mean when you 'cull' someone........He (playfully) - And who would that be?.........She - We have prisoners. Human ones I mean. Bad guys. You know the drill.........He - I invented that drill. But let me ask you something. Will I be here that long? For a month, I mean......The agent shoots her a look. Jonathon picks up on it. She doesn't respond. The agent approaches. His heavy shoes resonate on the floor. He comes up beside her and whispers in her ear - It's time. You're needed on 'Level 4.'........ She nods, looks into Jonathon's eyes, throws out her lunch mess and exits........ The agent says - OK, 'sunshine,' back in the cage........Jonathon hesitates. The agent (enhanced with various cerebral chips) focuses on the metal collar around the vampire's neck. We hear a low, electronic hum, as it instantly heats up. Jonathon screams. The agent snaps his fingers and points toward the center of the huge room. Jonathon quickly crosses over the red line painted on the metallic floor annd takes up  position inside the 'box.'.....The agent gows impatient and growls - Gimme the uniform.....Jonathon takes it off and tosses it over. The agent kicks it toward the door. Then he turns on the magnetic field and Jonathon is suspended once more. But he screams - The collar! The collar! The magnets! It's heating up again!! He struggles to reach it. The agent watches him suffer for a few heartbeats. Then he refocuses on the heavy collar, causing it to instantly click open and clatter down to the floor. He holds out his hand, as it rapidly slides across the glossy surface and jumps up into the air, where he smartly grabs it. Jonathon catches his breath. The agent says - We got tricks too, 'sunshine.' Then he turns, snaps out the lights and leaves. The difuse light from up above reawakens, creating a column of weak, watery illumination in an otherwise pitch black chamber.......Jonathon exhales. His muscles relax........And from somewhere deep within this unknown complex, he hears a sound, as someone 'plays' a haunting melody upon an old, mysterious, crystal 'armonica.' This ancient devise, developed (or discovered) by Doctor Franklin before the Revolution has long been rumored to possess many .........But look, Zebulon is distracted. Search for it on the Google thing. They will tell you want you want to know.....

AN OLDIE BUT A 'GOODY'

Jonathon has been let out of the box. He's still in the same chamber, only not suspended anymore. The 'puppet show' (for the time being) is over. He sits at a table, conversing with the young doctor....Jonathon - Hadleigh? Bailey? A

MEMORIES OF THE PAST

Jonathon felt himself shifting. He was pivoting around a magnetic center point. They could do that. They could control him and change his position by adjusting the electron field. His eyes were opened now He could see as well as hear. There was a finely made young thing out there in the shadows. Her hair was tied back into a no nonsense bun and her lab coat was particularly white and crisp. She studied him with a cold dispatch, just like a microbe on a slide. From time to time she'd tap something out onto a keyboard and certain vapors would be added to his chamber. Then she'd observe his reactions and whisper something into a recorder, all quite clinical. One substance had an immediate effect. It excited him. And she noticed. She stared. It took her about twelve or thirteen heartbeats till she refocused and whispered something into her machine. Jonathon smiled at her. She swallowed and pretended not to see. But she saw. The light coming down from above grew just a tiny bit brighter. And she pushed the cart bearing her equipement just a tiny bit closer to his 'cage'. He spoke. He said - I am called Jonathon. What is your name?.......She did not answer......He said - I am no demon. This is not an exorcism. You may address me. You may use my name....This time she smiled. He could see it. Just a little one, but it was there. He focused on her name tag. God bless his vampiric vision. It said - Dr. Hadleigh Bailey. Jonathon said - How should I address you? Are you Doctor Bailey, or are you Lady Hadleigh?.....She laughed, a small laugh, more like an audible smile. He smiled back, attempting to nod his head in a chivalrous salute, but the electron field made it extremely difficult to do so. The doctor went back to playing with her buttons and he just hung there, waiting for their next interaction......Some time passed. New aromas and substances trickled into his presence. A shiny,little drone hummed its way down from the darkness, landed on his buttock and bit off an ever so tiny piece of his skin. Then it tucked this  precious cargo into a small slot, as it hummed its way back up into the void. Apparently, it was able to escape the magnetic field, for he saw it slowly fly over to his jailer and  come down for a soft landing right into the palm of her hand. She snapped open the lid and sniffed the contents. Then she closed it and put the drone into a drawer on the cart. Jonathon said - I hope it was to your liking?.......She smiled. And this time she spoke. She said - We shall see. We shall see. .... The doctor came closer. She stopped at what he assumed was the beginning of the field. She was about to speak. Her eyes looked different. She wanted to tell him something. But it was too late, for from somewhere in the shadows, he heard another voice. It said - Now, now, Tomas. Are you attempting to 'worm' your way into the good graces of my assistant?.....Jonathon felt the breath catch in his throat. He knew that voice. It had to belong to somebody who knew him as Tomas. An old friend perhaps? Someone from long ago? Who?......And then he found out. One of those electronic scooters, of the type used by humans in their dotage, rolled out of the darkness and into the light. And seated upon it was an old gentleman. He seemed to be approximately eighty or eighty five years old. His wispy hair was long and pulled back like some passed his prime rock promoter. Small glasses rested upon his nose. He wore a bright green, Philadelphia Eagles sweatsuit. The cunning, little vehicle rolled its way up to the edge of the field. The old man motioned towards the young Dr. Bailey and she lowered her head and left. Then he spoke again. He said - Well, Tomas, it has been quite a long time. Hasn't it?......... Jonathon (often known as Tomas) looked into the aged, jowly face and whispered - Can this be? Doctor Franklin? Is that you?......But the old reprobate only chuckled, as he turned around and rolled away......

EL RIO VAMPIRISMO

Thus flows the river of vampirism, at least in these parts. The human retainers are snug in their Jersey Pines refuge. Baylah still holds court with her rich 'husband' at the shore. Sarah and the 'children' (the elves and cherubs) lie suspended in their nebulous limbo, prisoners of the mysterious 'Papa.' But Annie, the six year old child vampire (one who should have made common cause with the younger elves) enjoyed her new existance as Papa's favored princess. Their lodgings deep within the bowels of the University Museum on 34th Street had been somewhat enlarged and beautified. There was an old bed in storage. I believe it once belonged to the spoiled daughter of a Roman noble. Annie liked it. Just like Goldie-Locks, she knew it would be just right for her. So some of their new 'familiars' dragged it out, dusted it off and set it up in another little  used space that opened onto their lair. Other what-nots and gee-gaws followed, till the chamber glowed like a robber's den. She loved it. And if she loved it, Papa loved it. They still went out every night, ripping people apart, stealing bling from burnt up corpses and in general just having a grand old time. Papa would tell her stories as they strolled through the city, or rode in their shiny, black car. He shared tales of his life long ago. Being privy to such tales was like witnessing the arc of all human (and not so human) history. She heard of mammoth hunts on the frozen plains of an ice-age Europe. And arcane rites performed deep within the torturous caverns buried under the fertile woodlands of some dark, rich forest. Papa was the Blood Lord then, a revered seer, who shepherded his tribe through the centuries with a wisdom gained over millennia. He saw things, strange things now unknown to every other soul upon the earth. The thickset, sturdy ones, the gnomes and trolls of the mountains, the ones we now call Neanderthals, were his neighbors. And he became adept at their method of communication, built on melodious trills, simple words and fluid gestures, heavily leavened with a layer of telepathy. To us, it would be magic. To them it was only natural. They hunted the great aurochs (or-ox) a massive, ivory colored bovine standing seven feet high at the shoulders and with horns like Odin's spears. Papa would go out with them, if the hunts were by the moon. He'd race over the plains, vaulting through the air and landing secure upon the back of the giant beast. Gragging hold of the horns, he'd lean forward and give it a little nip, just a bit, right on the neck, to show it who's boss. And it would slow down, snort a few times and begin to circle. The mortals would eventually catch up and reverently surrounnd it. Then they'd offer it bunches of fragrant grass, spiced with certain compounds known to bring on a type of sleepy euphoria. The beast would lay down. Papa would slide off its back, join the others and lead them in a few prayers designed to thank the gods for opening up their larder. One by one, they'd approach the animal and with sharp, flint blades slash practiced cuts deep into its hide. The blood would flow. The great, watery eyes rolled back, as the noble aurochs passed over into the spirit world. Then they'd howl like wolves. And the women who were with them (some, hunters in their own right) rushed forward to begin butchering the dead carcass. After a while, Papa would lead them back to the village, accompanied by haunting melodies issuing forth from an assortment of horn flutes and simple drums. thus was the creation of human culture. And he was there for it all. At times, when the stories were over, he'd think about Jonathon and discover that his hatred was beginning to temper. It was beginning to lessen. He was free now. That pain, at least, was over. and he was starting to mourn the 'loss' of his son. He suffered feelings of contrition about his treatment of Sarah and the children. Who knows? Maybe some night he'd do something about it. To lessen the pain, he'd drop Annie off (she loved poking about in the museum) and then go ravish some waiting beauty alone in her carefully decorated apartment. Lately he'd been allowing them to survive. I guess that's a sign. I guess he's beginning to mellow.........

LIFE WITH PAPA

Papa and Annie watched from a distance. They saw the men from the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau take Jonathon away. Annie just looked. Papa mouthed a silent - Good for him. His face didn't register any emotion. But he was glad it happened. They were dressed like any other pair of well off Center Cityites. He had on one of his cashmere overcoats, the designer suit, the silk scarf, substantial shoes, the whole works. She looked like the real life baby doll of some over indulged fashionista. Everything said quality, but with a dash of taste and style. No one would ever suspect a thing. They strolled away from the police action. She raised her mittened hand. He took it . How would they entertain themselves? What manner of mayhem could they cause? Papa asked her if she wanted to terrorize a few more naive, single career girls, but she didn't want that anymore. It was too easy. Besides, this was a Saturday and none of them were home anyway. How 'bout a cop? Nah, too obvious. Some stupid, little wannabe thugs out for a night of trouble on South street? She stopped, admiring her reflection in a window. Being a vampire agreed with her. Look how thick her hair was now. She flipped it back, as she adjusted her stretchy, headband-ear-muff thingie. Then she giggled. Papa said - What, you like that idea? She shrugged. He said - You do. I can tell. Come on. It's South Street then. He hailed a cab, not too difficult when you looked like some buff, polished Richard Gere. Or was that Alec Baldwin? I don't know. This contemporary crop of players all seems so alike to me. Now ask me about the actors they had in those old 'divine' epics back in Babylonia. The lives of The Gods and all that. They were something. And the action sequences! Those guys knew how to use a sword, let me tell you. Hands flew. Heads flew. Slaves were cheap, you know? So the money men didn't care. Just so the crowds were happy..No, just so the king was happy, if you know what I mean.  And the crowds waiting just inside the Ishtar Gate (that's where they staged it all) were unbelievable. And the falafel wasn't too bad either. Aaach! Those were the days. But Zebulon digresses. Papa and his little girl had a very enjoyable time on South Street. They knew just how to troll for dinner. Some cheap, little nobodies swigging beer (probably brought from home, for they could ill afford the tarriffs on this thoroughfare) started with their usual repatoire of taunts - Yo, dude! Yo, look at the faggot and his rat faced (urppp!) piece a shit kid there...... Sure they were drunk. Sure they were bitter. But remember, this is Papa we're talking about, not Jonathon. He doesn't care. You walks the streets. You takes your chances. So he lowers his gaze and makes like he's trying to rush off. Annie acts the part of the frightened child. She looks down at her feet and holds on tight. They turn down a pitch black alley. The juvvie hall alumni follow. Papa starts to trot a little faster. Annie 'struggles' to keep up. The junior varsity mafia gives chase. Soon everybody's running. Papa slows down. The alpha-roach catches up and slams him into a brick wall. He starts shoving his hands into the cashmere pockets of the coat. Into the fine worsted wool pockets of the suit. Annie makes like she's going to scream. One of the other two slaps a greasy mitt over her mouth to keep her quiet. They pull off the watch (a knock off). They snatch the fat wallet (filled mostly with singles).  The leader makes a move. He goes to smash Papa across his chops. But the hungry vampire makes a quicker move. His strong, kid-gloved hand grabs the skinny weasel by the throat. He lifts him up off the ground and squeezes. He squeezes real hard. You know he's good at that. Blood begins to dribble out of the kid's ears. He starts to kick. Papa smashes his head against the brick wall. And that seems to make him remember his manners a little. Annie spins around like some tasmanian devil. No, I mmean it. Just like a tasmanian devil. She sucks the nearest eye right out of its socket. The former owner crumples down onto the piss-slicked concrete. Number three makes to run. She vaults into the air, locking her arms around his shoulders and her teeth into his neck. Then, like a cat, she settles down to enjoy her nightly repast. And Papa finishes his stringy morsel too. Some old crone slams open a third story window and yells - Hey! What you doin' down there,  you lousy kids???....Annie yells - Drop dead, you old bitch. Then she hurls up a rock. The prune-faced hag slams down the sash and douses the light. The two killers giggle at each other, lock hands and wander off. Annie will go back to the museum, where the guard-familiars let her fiddle with the mummies (both Egyptian and Incan), while Papa continues on for shall we say a 'more stimulating' encounter. Who knows? Perhaps tonight  he'll even let her live...... .

A PRISONER OF THE NATION

Jonathon focused. How long had he been out? Not long, maybe a few hours. He could do that. He could detatch himself from events around him and drift off into a snug, balmy state. Many vampires had that ability. I suppose it comes from the long years spend entombed 'alive' suffered by many of the breed. A kind of life-eater hibernation. He was completely bare and susspended within a magnetic field. The room was dark. He could not see the walls, but 'felt' the space to be very large. A beam of weak, tenuous, watery illumination coming from above bathed him in a milky glow. He could feel the tingly hum of the electric field as it danced through him.And he listened and he waited. There were others in the room. Their whispering voices came through to him - Is it dangerous? Will it hurt him?......No, that doesn't have any effect on him. His cells aren't alive. Relax. It's better this way......What do we need all this for? I don't get it. I don't get it......Well, you want him to break free? You know a lot of 'em can pass through almost anything. 'Sublimate' I think they call it. But they need something solid to push against or push on. And this brand new piece of technology doesn't provide him with that......Look at him. He just floats there, like, like a fly in amber.......Exactly. and hopefully he's stuck there just as tight.......How old is he?.......Well, from visual examinations, surface indications, the docs say he's about eightteen to twentytwo.......No, no, I mean how long do you think he's been a vampire?.......We're not sure. Now they did notice that little tattoo he has on the inside of his left wrist. Somme good luck symbol, an old one. Wait, let me bring it up (tap, tap, tap) Says it was popular around the Mediterranean Sea approximately one thousand years ago and, here's the kicker, hasn't been seen since. Contemporary historians know of it from recentlly discovered, mummified corpses found in the Atlas Mountains of North Africa...........Shit! So you're tellin' me that Antonio Banderas looking dude is over a thousand years old!?..........Well, I think he's more like that kid from Entourage, but yeah, I am. And not only that, we think he's from Spain.........How do you know?.........Look at his skin tone. Not too dark. Generally Eiropean. Probably a Muslim or a Jew...... Come on, how do you know that!?........ Jesus Christ! Take a look at him! The guy is 'cut' for God's sake. Ain't no Christians doing that one thousand years ago. Christ!!......So where does this all lead?........What do you mean? We learn from them. They had a couple a few years back out west.............Where? You mean Area 51?............No, Elizabeth Taylor's house! Where do you think I mean? They learn from them. They learn. We got some information on severe weather hibernation techniques. We got other stuff. We'll get some from him too........And then what? What do we do with him? What, keep him like an exhibit or something?..........Yeah, exhibit. We could show him to all the big contributors. Man, that would be some ticket. Wouldn't it?....Do they do that?...........No, you dim wit. They don't. The last ones, the ones at 'Elizabeth Taylor's house,' they burnt 'em. They incinerated them........Why?..........I don't know. Who cares? It was just a hobby.......................And Jonathon heard the whole thing.

ATTACK OF THE SLAVERS

Jonathon and the girls were lingering over their nightly sponge baths. Aura looked particularly fetching in her new, gold choker. It went so well with her rich, olive skin. Sylvia's was a bit different, her skin I mean. She had a rosy glow and for that reason prefered jewelry of a lighter shade, say white gold or even silver. She wasn't fussy. He dipped the cloth into a bucket of warm water and dribbled it over their skin. Then he took special care with the sensative places, so they'd be clean and fresh. The sisters appreciated his ministrations. And they were equally diligent when it was their turn. Bath time was a happy time. On that, they all agreed. What would they do tonight? How would they fill the hours? Silvia wanted to visit the book shops. Trips to the surface were special treats. Aura felt the same way. She favored pizza joints, any pizza joint. Red hot and cheesie. That's how she liked it. Not too much in the way of calzones and pepperoni specials underground. You can  bet on that. Their mole-daddy didn't exactly approve of their nocturnal safaris. He understood just how dangerous it was up there. But the girls were good girls. So let 'em have a little fun. Jonathon dried them off real nice. And they covered their nakedness with sharp, little outfits he'd brought down for them. Not like hookers. Well, not exactly like hookers. They tidied up their semi-secluded refuge, blew out the sterno and were about to leave when they heard it. Off in the distance, probably at least three city blocks away, came a sound. Footsteps, it was footsteps. Lots of feet in strong hard boots. And voices, loud voices. They were shouting - OUT! OUT! EVERYBODY OUT!!.....The cops were clearing the tunnels. They came down every once in a while and made a big show of it. The city had a squad devoted to 'homeless management' and the mole people came under that banner. But the 'grubs' (what the city called them) knew what to do. They'd just scammper a little bit further down into tunnels even the cops didn't know about. Only this time it was different. After a few heartbeats, Jonathon picked up more invaders closing in from at least two other directions. He hurried the girls on and they began to run. It was hard in the dark, but this was their home and they were pretty sure of themselves. Other mole people were making for safety too. Some tunnels, the old, narrow ones, filled up fast. Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! Why can't some people just move!? But they couldn't go any faster. Some of them were old. Some of them were sick. Others were crippled. You don't get too much of that 'altruistic' medical care when you're a mole-person. The cops, or whoever they were, closed in. Kids began to scream. Tear gas bombs went off. Others collapsed. But their tormentors never flinched. Come on. Come on. Herd this cattle along. They were being driven up toward the surface. Up toward the vans. And this time, there was no escape. Sure, a couple made it down to the inky black, hidey-hole level. But only a couple. Soon the first victims stumbled out onto the street.They clambered up through some sort of open manhole and stood there coughing and shivering in the cold night air. Snot ran down terrified faces. Mothers grabbed children. It was impossible to wander off. They were surrounded by police vans, fierce, barking canines (who were in fact just a type of slightly domesticated wolf) and bully-boys swinging clubs. Well dressed Center Cityites stood just beyond the yellow tape, clucking and sucking their teeth to their heart's content. Tisk, tisk, tisk...about time. Now Jonathon could have escaped. He could have torn off and sublimated through any one of them...more than one. He could do it. He was sure of it. But he'd learned his lesson. No more big gestures, especially public ones. No minutely shredded bodies, lingering upright for just an instant before splashing down onto the sidewalk. No free shows. Not since what happened after that big 'spiritual' hoo-haa he and Baylah staged. Let 'em wallow in their own hypocracy. They want God? Let 'em find Him on their own. In truth, he didn't really think they wanted him at all. He heard a whisper. Some guy was sharing a secret with one of the cops - That one. The trim one. The one with the loose, black, curly hair... One of the bully-boys raised his club and pointed it at him. He shouted - You, in the leather jacket! Over here!!.....Jonathon turned to reassure the girls. Then he walked over. Some men wearing dark glasses materialized from out of the glare and shadows. A cop bellowed to them - This one?!......A dark glasses guy nods. Then a beef trust in blue strong armed him into some van. Not a police van. This was a bit larger. And it was square and black. The walls were made of lead. They threw him in. Locked a thick, heavy metal collar around his neck. Whacked him with the clubs a few dozen times and left him in the dark. He felt the powerful engine spring to life. He felt the vehicle move. They took him away. A few seconds later, the heavy ring around his neck started to get hot, real hot, red hot. He screamed in pain. A tinny, little voice came forth from a speaker placed high up just under the roof. It said - Just wanted to give you a taste. That's all. We could burn  you up, if we wanted to. But we don't. So calm down and don't make any trouble.......Jonathon calmed down real fast. The neck ring cooled off. In fact it  got real cold and soothing...... The voice started up again - See? No harm done. I think you're gonna cooperate real nice.......especially if you want them two, little tootsies of yours to come out of this with....all their body parts intact.........Then silence, only silence. He slumped against the side of the van and sat there, as the men from the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau sped off with him into the darkness.............