Chapter Two - Bloody Tears of the Damned
In his suave disguise, Darula planned on bewitching the finest wench in London.
He was in his hansom carriage, watching the streets outside through his darkly tinted windows. He thought that perhaps he would take in a so-called "movie picture" which was said to capture life in amazing motion. There was a daguerreotype of just this sort playing at the nearby nickel arcade, a scandalous bit of pulp entitled "Enemy of the State". It was starring that colored boy who was so popular with the inscrutable youth of the day.
He instructed his carriage driver Igor to pull the carriage over at the cinematory. He pulled his green great coat about his shoulders and emerged beneath the awning of "General Amusements". He purchased a ticket for the outlandish price of six pounds and settled into his seat for the moving picture. London seemed so different these days, with its horseless carriages and lack of cockney urchins. He longed for a return to things past, but this was something he knew would never happen. For while he remained immobile in the present and forevermore, the world changed around him, bound on the future. The past forgotten. He began to weep just as the incredible dancing fops shaped like snacks came on the screen with their yowling soft-shoe jackanapes. He began to cry harder at the wonder of them, so bright and colorful unlike him, the popped corn spilling whimsically around the lobby on the screen while it sung a heartfelt tune about throwing your trash away. Darula could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks but he did not care.
"Dude shut the fuck up," said an unpleasant churl in the seat behind him. "If you cry like that during the movie I'm going to kick that fag hat off your head."
Darula shot him a baleful gaze and then stifled his crying, bottling up his sadness and submerging it in the seas of his soul as he so often was forced to do. Then, amidst the softly flickering light of the moviemaphone Darula saw her, like an angel on wings of passion hijacked by lowly Slovenians and flown into the bunker of his heart.
She had dark brown hair pulled back in a French braid beneath her smart and sassy blue cap. Very ladylike. He admired her big brown eyes, and then she looked at him. He lowered the lenses of his glasses and sent thoughts of passion out to her. He made his mark and embedded himself deep within her subconscious. She grew uncomfortable and left hurriedly, but he did not pursue, for he already knew where she made her home. He enjoyed the rest of "Enemy of the State" although twice he broke down and cried because the moving picture reminded him of how sad his unlife was. After the film ended he was kicked in the back by one of the scoundrels who harassed him, which prompted more crying as he hauled himself into the back of his carriage.
"Missy," he whispered the name. He had pulled it from her mind when their eyes met as easily as one might pull a spoon from the bottom of a bowl of pudding. Although, if you attempted to do this with just your eyes it might be fairly difficult if not impossible. Unless you were telekinetic, and then you could just bend the spoon and make it fly out of the bowl and stop a frog's heart.
"Take me to Missy," he instructed Igor, and then realizing that Igor did not have his amazing vampire powers he explained where to find her.
In vapor form, Darula's tears were shed as tiny clouds that drifted away from his face.
Like hot steam rising suddenly from a bag of microwave popcorn, Darula erupted from the door cracks of his carriage. He drifted slowly towards the second floor window and then began to seep into her bedchamber through slight imperfections in the weather stripping.
She was asleep, looking twice the angel with her lips slightly parted and a soft snore emerging from her bountiful bosom. Darula was impressed with the flowers and pink wallpaper and the all-pink motif she had decorated her room with. Darula drifted above her on the bed and begin to transform back into his vampire shape. He willed her awake and her eyes opened beneath him. She was not afraid, because using the powers of his vampire mind he commanded her not to be.
Missy looked so much like Sexybelle that Darula could no longer take it, he began weeping as he pressed his cold lips to hers. She shuddered beneath him and he wanted to ravish her nubile body, but his tears had overcome him and he lay sobbing on top of her. His cold breath sent chills racing up Missy's spine as though it were a race track for spine-tingling greyhounds and someone had released the metal rabbit bait. She stirred slightly but felt herself attracted to the strange man lying atop her.
Unable to see through the tears Darula did the only thing he could and pissed his pants. Of course the only fluid in his body was blood so he bled his pants, but it emerged rushing red out of his bladder like the urine of a chronic alcoholic. His bladder emptied, he regained some composure and grew embarrassed at his outburst in front of his beloved. He bit her on the neck, sinking his fangs in, still choking back tears. He drank her blood, saltier than the Dead Sea, and planted his undead disease inside her.
Then he shamefully fled.