Work in Progress: Rafael & Sam, Part 1

This is a rough draft of a novella I'm working on. As you'll see, it's not your typical vampire tale. Fair warning: Adult themes and language (though we're not talking porn by any means.) The bars and "Comments" buttons mark scene changes.

Untitled
but I'm open to suggestions.

Sam never understood exactly what it was about the boy. Night after night, as he sat in the liquor store working third shift, the youth would walk slowly by the big windows. Occasionally, he would glance in, see Sam and wave. Usually, he just passed by. It got to a point where Sam could set his watch by the kid. Always 12 o'clock, every night, the boy's figure passed. Sam would study the youngster as he walked along. Longish blond hair, extraordinary blue eyes, and a face of almost feminine beauty made the sorrow that haunted the features all the more poignant. Finally, one night in mid-October, he could restrain himself no longer. At five minutes of twelve, he stepped to the doorway of the store and leaned against the frame to wait.

As usual, the boy appeared at the north corner of the store. Sam watched the way he walked. Despite having seen it so often, this new angle gave him new perspective. It was a walk of eerie grace, so uncanny that his booted feet made no sound on the concrete. As he drew closer, Sam could see that he was smaller than he first thought, barely coming to Sam's shoulder in height, even with the boots on. Finally, he was parallel with Sam, who spoke quickly.

"Hi, I'm Sam. I've seen you go by here every night. I thought we should get to know each other. What's your name?"

The youth leaped back, crouching ferally at first. Surprise and fear had, for the moment, erased all the sorrow. The eyes met Sam's searchingly, then, without any reply, the boy was gone. Sam, his head bowed, made his way back into the store. He sat down heavily on the stool behind the counter and tried to bury himself in the previous day's newspaper.

After that, when the boy passed by, he generally moved towards the curb and avoided looking inside. Sam continued to watch for him, often ignoring customers until the boy was gone. He was afraid to try talking to the youth again but he wanted more than just a passing glimpse. He found himself fantasizing about sex with this unnamed adolescent. Worse, he realized that he didn't care if the boy wanted him or not. He found himself determined to consummate the relationship.

Then, one night in mid-November, something happened. Sam was waiting for the boy to walk past when two young men entered the store. As he was occupied elsewhere, Sam paid no attention to them. Suddenly, he felt something cold and hard touch his cheek.

"Don't move, man, or I'll blow your fucking head off," A voice growled at him.

Sam glanced down the barrel of the .45 to meet the blue eyes of the masked man. "What do you want?"

The serenity in Sam's face and voice unnerved his assailant. "What the fuck do you think? I want all your goddamn money."

Sam nodded once and hit the "no-sale" button on the register. The other youth scrambled behind the counter, grabbed a plastic bag and began to strip the register bare. They were about to leave, the gunman grabbing a six-pack of beer, when a voice made them all turn.

"Give the money back. Now!"

It was a soft voice but commanding, despite its youthful tenor. To Sam's amazement, it was the youngster who haunted his dreams who spoke those words. All of them seemed frozen in place for the longest time. Then, as if the weight was too much, the short robber dropped the sack of money. The noise caused the taller one to fire at the blond boy. Sam saw, with horror, the .45 slug tear into the thin shoulder, blowing a huge hole out the other side. Sam, distantly, heard the sirens coming as the robbers fled. In shock, he stumbled over to the boy.

"Oh my God! Please don't be dead,--," He began then stopped as the youth slowly pulled himself to his feet.

Blood soaked the boy's shirt both front and back. He swayed unsteadily and Sam reached for him. "Don't do that. Come on, you need to sit down--."

The boy's eyes met his, tears welling in them. "No, I must go. The police-They can't find me here. I must leave."

In stunned surprise, Sam watched him stumble out of the store and back the way he came. Worry knotted his brain and the police found him seated behind the counter shivering uncontrollably. He answered their questions numbly until they asked him about the pool of blood by the door.

"I'm not sure," Sam said with a shake of his head. "There was a kid here but he got up and left. I don't know if he's hurt or how serious. He just walked away, said he couldn't be found here."

The cop stared at him. "Are you serious? Anybody who lost that much blood from a gunshot wound shouldn't be able to walk away anywhere! Is it possible he's with the suspects?"

Sam started to shake his head "no" again then shrugged. "I don't know. Jesus, man, I almost got killed tonight! I'm not thinking straight right now."

The cop chuckled a bit. "I guess you're not. Well, the owner's on his way and nobody will be coming in for a little while with us around. Why don't you go home and relax? We'll call you if we need you for a line-up, okay?"

Sam nodded. He went into the back room, grabbing up his jacket. He contemplated going out the front for a few moments then realized he had no choice. He grabbed the flashlight from the store's emergency kit and headed out the back. He had to find the boy and help him; no one else would.

Rafael dragged himself into the shack and suppressed a moan of agony. For a moment, he was fleeing occupied France again. He was shot by an old farmer for trespassing, taking shelter in a nearby cellar. It was there that Angelique found him. She was almost thirty, had been married for over a decade, borne six children and cared for him as she would any other child. His rapid recovery told her too well that he was not human but she did not betray him. Instead, she provided him with a change of clothes, a hot bath and a few coins then sent him on his way.

It still made Rafael shudder to think that Leandre had allowed one of those Nazi animals to touch him. It was one of the generals stationed in Paris who had discovered them as he and Leandre were out for a stroll one evening. Still, it was only because Mueller was so taken with him that he had escaped France, and Leandre.

"Let's run away together," Mueller had brought it up one evening after using Rafael's body. "We can contact an underground operative I know and go to England then to Venezuela. I have a tidy little nest-egg put aside. We could live in fine style."

Rafael had been about to refuse, the words on his lips, when he realized what an opportunity this was. A chance after 200 years to be free of Leandre, his petty cruelty, his games and, most especially, his pandering. Deep inside, though, there was fear and doubt. He disliked admitting that he felt anything for Leandre but he did love him, as impossible as that seemed. Leandre always cared for him though he thought nothing of being vicious when it suited his purpose. As a mortal child, Leandre made certain he was well-fed, dressed and educated properly. Rafael may have been born to filth and poverty but Leandre put him above it. Still, Rafael knew Leandre held little affection for him. He heard the words himself from Leandre's own lips, soon after Laurent had made him a vampire.

"You are a fool, Laurent. If you think you have hurt me by these actions, you are wrong. That boy was just a toy for me, nothing more. Kill him or keep him, as you wish."

With those words in mind, Rafael allowed himself to lose consciousness in the safety of his junk-heap hovel. Perhaps when he awoke there would be a rat or two. Funny, how the cats and dogs no longer strayed into the junkyard. The rats and mice seemed to come in all right, though. The last sensation to touch him was the feeling of the shoulder wound closing over.

As Rafael woke, the smell made him ravenous: Blood, fresh and heated, so rich it made his body burn with desire. It was only when the hand, callused, humanly warm, stroked across his cheek that he heard the voice. His eyes snapped open to see a young man kneeling beside him.

"Ah, shit! If only I'd gotten here last night," The voice choked off from the strength of its sobs.

Rafael realized then that his visitor was Sam. As gently as possible, he reached his hand up to touch Sam's wrist. When the icy fingers made contact, Sam cried out and leaped up, his eyes wide as the tears still ran down his cheeks.

"What the hell--?! You-You're alive? Oh my God! You are alive!!" He threw himself back down beside Rafael and started to embrace him. He stopped short. "But how? I mean, I saw you get shot. The size of that hole--I thought--you should be dead!"

Rafael was tempted to smile but he knew it would seem forced. Instead he levered himself up so that he was eye-to-eye with Sam and spoke in the gentlest tone he could manage.

"Bullets can only harm me temporarily. Only sunlight or the striking off of my head can kill me. I am what you call a vampire."

As Rafael waited for Sam's reaction, he studied him. Sam's hazel eyes tilted up slightly at the corners where his laugh lines were already visible. His high forehead--hidden by the generous brown hair--led into a straight, though once-broken, nose. The mouth was wide and expressive. The high cheekbones and solid chin reminded Rafael of a "movie star" he had seen once, years before. He didn't remember if it was Rudolph Valentino or Tom Cruise and he knew it didn't matter.

Without thinking, Rafael laid a hand alongside the human's cheek and leaned up to kiss him. As their lips touched, Rafael felt his stomach growl as fiercely as any guard-dog. The warm aroma of Sam made him lightheaded as he tasted the salt of his flesh, the carotid thumping beneath his teeth. It was at that second he felt Sam's arms enfold him, tentatively yet eagerly. Sam wanted him but was afraid of hurting him. The realization nearly broke Rafael's heart.

"No," Rafael told himself aloud. "I can't. This-this is wrong."

He pushed Sam away and dragged himself to a standing position. The hunger made him dizzy. He reached for the wall but Sam grabbed him instead. He looked up at the human with surprise.

"Please, you need to leave," Rafael said firmly. "I'll be fine."

Sam shook his head and continued to hold the vampire. "I'm not leaving here until I get some answers. How did you get to be a-a vampire? I thought that was an old wives' tale. Were you made or--."

Rafael sighed heavily. "Created, the term is Created. It takes a vampire to Create another vampire. The vampire who Created me was Laurent. He stole my blood then gave me some of his to drink. Sort of a primitive blood transfusion, as it were."

"He stole your blood? Does that mean you didn't want to be a vampire?"

"I was barely more than a child," Rafael said gently. He sat down on an overturned bucket and Sam finally released his grip. "Would I have 'chosen' to be a vampire? I cannot say. I only know that I have been allowed few choices in my lifetime. I was born in poverty in a time and place when the opportunities of the poor were very limited. Please, I would prefer not to talk about it."

Rafael glanced up and met Sam's eyes. At first, he just held the vampire's gaze. After a moment, though, he looked away. Rafael felt a tiny smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Why am I so afraid of him? He asked himself. He reminds me of Leandre. And he suddenly knew why.

"There is a man outside," Pierre said from his lookout place by the door.

Rafael, though he had no idea at that moment that that would become his name, turned to look at the girl next to him. She was eight but she was the closest to an adult any of them had ever known. It was cold outside so the close quarters of their hidey-hole were comforting with their warmth. In retrospect, he would realize that there were ten children jammed into this tiny space. At the time, though, he just knew that they were "all" there. The girl brushed by him and pushed Pierre aside to look for herself.

"That's the man who followed us," She said softly. "Merde. What does he want with us? Oh, wait! He-He dropped a coin. Pierre, go get it, hurry!"

They all watched the oldest boy dive through the mouth of the hovel, snatch up the coin and return unharmed. "Look, it's a silver one! I've got a silver one!!"

"Hush!" The girl snapped. "He's dropped another. Pierre, let someone else have a turn."

It went on like that for two or three more turns. Finally, the girl pushed him toward the door. "Now, when he drops the coin, just run out and grab it then run back. Don't stop!"

He nodded. At that moment, he heard the unmistakable sound of metal hitting cobblestone. With a final glance at the girl, he dove out the door. For a moment, there was nothing but the coin. It glowed in the dim light of the alleyway. Though it was cold, he was in a hurry and the cold did not occur to him. He was about to grab for the coin when something told him to look up. He did in time to see the man grab for him. An attempt at evasion proved useless and he was lifted into the air by the man. He screamed. His fists and feet pummeled at the man. The man merely laughed at him and held him firmly. He went limp, in hopes the man would loosen his grip. But the man was not easily fooled. When he looked up, finally, they were many blocks away from his "pack", in a section of Paris where the residences gleamed. He knew then he would never see those other children again.

It was at that moment he felt the man's icy hand brushing the hair back from his face. "Rafael, little one, that is your name. Rafael. Say it."

For several long seconds he was silent. He glared up into the man's eyes. Slowly, the man smiled, a smile full of kindness and something else, something he did not understand at that time but would grow to be entirely too intimate with later. "Say it, little one."

"Rafael."

"So, who's he?" Sam asked, holding the gold-framed tintype up.

Rafael snatched the picture away. The blue eyes turned gloomy. "Don't touch that. He-He was special to me. Very special. Leandre made me what I am today."

Sam glanced around the cramped shed. His sneer was hidden but barely. "Oh, yeah, well, thanks a lot, man."

Rafael glared up at him. "Not like that! He took a street urchin and made a sophisticate. Leandre raised me, from just a few years of age. I-I miss him."

The boy's eyes, as they fell on the tintype, grew soft and Sam felt an ache arise in his chest. Cautiously, he reached out and touched the blond hair. "You loved him, didn't you?"

The mirthless little chuckle surprised Sam. "Foolishly, yes. He kept me as an amusement--but that is another story. Please will you leave now?"

"Sorry, no can do," Sam shook his head. "You don't seem to understand, kid--."

"I am not a kid," Rafael spun around to face Sam. "You don't seem to understand. I am 150 years old. I have lived through wars and rumors of wars. I have seen humans born and buried. I have taken the lives of evil men who wished to hurt me and reveled in it! My physical aspect may be that of a child but I assure you, I am not."

There was a long silence. Sam blinked at him, his eyes wide and his face pale. Rafael broke the stare that kept Sam speechless. After a moment, Sam took a step backwards. Rafael closed his eyes and waited for the sound of fleeing footsteps. This had happened before. He told someone the truth about himself, revealed what he was, and the person fled in terror. It was so easy to attract them with the way he looked. But when they learned that the mind was infinitely older than the body seemed, they shrank in horror.

Instead, this time, he felt Sam approach. As the man's arms slid around his shoulders, he heard the voice rumble quietly in his chest. "I apologize. Forgive me. I think I have a lot to learn."

Rafael looked up at him then, amazed. In Sam's eyes, there was no fear. In fact, there was a little confusion there, genuine affection and the tiniest bit of self-amusement. Tenderly, Sam leaned down to kiss him. Again, the memories returned full force.

He had just celebrated his 10th anniversary with Leandre. The occasion had been marked with a glass of wine and a fine meal. The night was unusual in that Leandre did not bring any patrons home for him to service. Instead, he accompanied Leandre to the opera then they took a long stroll by the Seine. Several times, he thought Leandre was going to say something to him but each time, Leandre stopped himself. That was last night, however. Tonight, Leandre had locked him in the apartment and gone out alone. Rafael had tried to restrain himself but the tears started anyway. Leandre would never love him now. What sort of fool was he that he ever believed such a thing possible? He blotted his face with his sleeve. At that moment, the door burst open.

"Rafael, attends!" Leandre's words were slurred as he leaned against the doorjamb.

"Master?" Rafael rose to his feet, his voice unsteady as he watched the man stagger about the apartment.

"Ah, Rafael," He focused unsteadily on the boy. "Come here."

Rafael hesitated. He had never seen Leandre drunk before and it frightened him. When he failed to move for several more seconds, Leandre's irritation got the better of him.

"Come here, boy, now!" He snarled and leapt forward, slamming the door closed behind him. As Rafael reluctantly approached, Leandre seized his arm to pull him closer. Rafael felt the fingers bruising him but held back the tears.

"Please, master, you aren't well--," He began to whimper.

"Shut up!" Leandre snapped, slapping Rafael lightly across the face. The blow stung the boy's cheek but, for Rafael, it was worse just to have been struck. Leandre pulled him closer, beginning to finger the shoulder-length blond hair. "Such a pretty boy! That's why I picked you, you know. Such a pretty, pretty boy."

Leandre seized his chin, forcing his face up. Rafael tried to twist away, sensing what was impending. Instead, Leandre's mouth came down hard on his. The strength of the older man's lips parted Rafael's and he shivered, nearly gagged, as Leandre's tongue invaded him. Leandre's hand gripped the back of his hair, close to the skull, as he began to unbutton the boy's shirt.

"Please, Master," Rafael whispered. "I don't--."

"Quiet!" Leandre's face was flushed, his lips trembling from the forces within him. "You knew this would happen. You are my property and I can do with you as I wish! My beautiful Rafael. I have wanted you for a long time, my beauty. Those eyes, that skin, that hair! My exquisite one."

Rafael gasped as the shirt slid from his body. Within moments, Leandre had undone his trousers. Rafael stood before his master as naked as he had been at birth. Rafael felt blood rushing to his face as Leandre leered down at him. He remembered how common he felt after Jean-Claude's rape; how frightened he had been at Leandre's reaction. But Leandre had behaved towards him as he always had. The only difference was that, now, he brought men to the apartment every few days and let them use Rafael as they wished. Tonight, however, it was all to change. All at once, the urge grabbed hold of Rafael. Slowly, he met Leandre's golden eyes.

"I love you, my master. I swear it."

Leandre stared at him, his eyes narrowed. "What? What did you say?"

"I-I said I love you, m-master," Rafael realized he was trembling wildly though, despite his nakedness, he was far from cold. "I only want--."

"Quiet!" Leandre roared, the word ringing for minutes afterward in the silence of the room. "You can't love me. Nor should you. Get away from me!"

He gave Rafael a push and sent him sprawling across the floor. The marble was icy to his flushed skin and Rafael scrambled to his feet. He turned back to look at Leandre, taking a step or two towards him. "But-But-- . . ."

"Go to bed," Leandre said finally, his words emotionless, his back turned dismissively. "Now."

As the kiss ended, Rafael felt something break loose in his chest. Before he understood, Sam was holding him while he cried. Sam made no sound, just rested his cheek against the back of Rafael's head. His best efforts to stifle the sobs in vain, Rafael finally surrendered to them. How long had it been since he had allowed himself to express any emotion? He didn't remember at the moment but he was certain it was many years. Finally, he found the place inside him where the grief was escaping like wine from a capsized decanter. He imagined himself righting the bottle and stopping it. As he did so, he managed to still the sobs. He wiped the tears from his face with his hands.

"Better?" Sam asked gently.

Rafael shrugged. "I can't be sure. I've been alone--lonely for a long time. It just seems that everything came to the surface at once. I apologize."

"Don't," Sam replied. "You're human--or at least you once were. You can't escape your feelings. Believe me, I've tried."

At his wry chuckle, Rafael looked up. "What?"

"I didn't want to come here, you know," Sam replied. "Hell, let's be honest. I've never thought of myself as-well, as gay but, I gotta admit, I can't stop thinking about you. Not to mention my dreams. Jeez, I never knew myself, really knew myself, until I first saw you. God, that sounds clich� but . . ."

"No," Rafael said after a few seconds. "It's from your heart. How can that be clich�? Please, Sam, you must go. I-I'm afraid I might do something--to you--that I would regret. As you pointed out, I was only human once. My self-discipline is not at its highest at the moment."

Sam reached up to open his shirt collar wider. "If it'll make you feel better, go ahead. I'm 'clean.'"

"What?" Rafael pushed away from Sam. "What are you saying?"

Sam grinned. "I'm saying, have a bite, as it were. I don't mind and I don't have any diseases. I'm 'giving myself' to you. What's the matter? You a vegetarian?"

"No, but I-I don't know how. I mean, I know 'how' but it would leave you dead. I don't want to kill you, Sam." Rafael withdrew to the farthest edge of the room. He refused to look at Sam, afraid to encourage him.

"But didn't you say that Leo-guy drank your blood?"

"Laurent. Yes, he did but that was because he Created me. I don't want to Create you."

"Why not?" Sam shrugged. "I've got no family, no friends to speak of. I sure as hell don't want to work at that liquor store the rest of my natural life. I'm good-looking, aren't I? And I'm not too old, right? I'd be a regular 'Vampire Lestat'."

"No, I can't. I'm sorry. Please, Sam, I need to eat and to rest. You need to leave now."

"C'mon, make me a vampire," Sam said, coming as close to Rafael as allowed. "You said you were lonely. Make me a vampire and I'll stay with you forever!"

Rafael shook his head. "Out of the question. If I would, you would run off and leave me, just like all the others."

"Others? What others?" Sam got a determined look on his handsome face. "No! I swear to God I'd stay. Look, you were made into a vampire and yet you stayed with Leandre."

Rafael frowned. "It's not the same. I was a frightened child and my Creation was an act of revenge against him. If-If he could have prevented it, he would have. But the point is only moot; I will not transform you."

"Then make love to me," Sam whispered, his hands seizing the small shoulders and drawing Rafael against him so that he could bury his face in the blond locks.

For a long moment, Rafael contemplated doing so. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to him so kindly, been so good to him. He wanted the companionship, that was certain. Still, there was too much temptation. Sam smelled so delicious, it would be nearly impossible to stop himself if the blood-lust seized him.

"Please," Sam whispered, gently touching Rafael's ear with his lips.

Rafael closed his eyes then said, "All right."

Sam grinned and pushed Rafael to arm's length. "There's just two things. First, let's go back to my place. At least I don't feel like singing Jim Croce in my neighborhood. And, second--what is your name?"