World of Darkness World of Darkness: Attrition - The Order (Part 2) [FINISHED]

[Adrian Moss]

The Nights of January 6th through the 14th

“Hell No! I won’t do it.”

I jumped up out of the over-stuffed chair I had been sitting in, getting my latest instruction from my Warder.

“Sit down, Adrian,” he said in a terribly calm voice. “What I am proposing is typical practice in the Ordo Dracul. You must examine as well as embrace change. Sometimes that means you must embrace change in yourself and sometimes it means you must enact change in your environment.”

“Killing someone … at random … that’s just plain wrong.”

I’m babbling. I’m pacing back and forth. Suddenly I am imagining what life is going to be like poor, because I KNOW I’m not going to just up and murder somebody.

“That’s murder. That’s … cruel and I’m not going to be like that. That’s not the change I’m looking for. Hell man, I’ve known murders. I might very well have killed somebody if you had asked me as a mortal. Hell, I know I would of. I didn’t know any better, but now … I know that’s wrong – just wrong.”

He listens to me rant through steepled fingers. He’s studying me and I’m too angry to stop him. I keep pacing, waving my arms around, and shaking my head. It takes me a moment or two to notice he’s got the smallest of smiles on his face.

“Picture this then,” I hear that and I wait for the hammer to drop, “I want you to locate a kindred that will murder somebody… soon. Stalk them. Study them before they make their kill, as it happens, and once it has finished. Once the kindred moves on, stay with the body; see what happens when the body is encountered, who responds, how the death affects them, and so on. Chose someone and follow them as they go about their life. See how the death affects them then report back to me at the end of the week.”

Somehow, this doesn’t drive me crazy like the first request. I’m still going to see someone die and maybe I could prevent it. I should feel more outrage, but I don’t. I keep telling myself I have to embrace death to transform myself. Now that is more than an empty saying. What is that saying in Latin over this guy’s door? What can we take away from this change?

That suddenly seems to have a direct impact on my life. What am I going to take away from this and what is it going to cost me? It scares me. Maybe I scare too easy. Maybe I don’t want to see somebody die, especially because I’m going to have to watch it.

“Is that acceptable?” I’m lost in my revel.

“Is that acceptable?” he repeats calmly.

“Yes. Yes sir.”

I want to ask him if there is any way for somebody to not die, but I know that’s not a possibility. I’ve run to the end of the tether of his patience. It’s this lesson, or out and I’m not ready to give up on this goal for myself. I also still want to prove something to my sire. I want to prove something to myself. Can I really be this ruthless?

As I walk out, I see two other kindred sitting down in the library off the Warder’s study. Like me, they would want him to take us on as our Mentor. I also know I’m in last place. See, one of them is reading a book whose title is in Latin. She’s a silver-haired lady with an aristocratic face and genteel demeanor. The other is working away on his personal laptop and scanning in some passages from a stack of books. He looks like a college professor, brain hair gone long and glasses on the bridge of his nose.

I wouldn’t even know were to begin. I don’t know any other language. Hell, I don’t even know Spanish and I live in LA. I certainly have no aptitude for the occult. All I have going is my natural inquisitiveness.

The book reader looks up and gives me an emotionally empty smile that barely conceals her teeth. I’m apparently not worthy of the Scanner’s attention. I walk past them and head on out. I’ve got another assignment, my second, and I need to be going. Only when I get outside does it occur to me that I can probably do this case much better than they can – that I have worth.

[Adrian Moss]

It takes me two days to track the right kind of vampire down. He’s a kindred widely believed to be a killer – someone who empties his vessels, but not so far gone to the Beast to be sloppy … yet. We fear these kindred because they remind us what we all might become if we aren’t careful. We know that it isn’t a far step to becoming the kind of vampire that needs to be put down, permanently. In this case it is that we fear what we know – the Beast that is within each and every one of us, driving us to hunt, feed, and kill.

He is here to interact with some of the kindred he once knew. I can tell he’s tougher than me and far older. He’s also pretty much on the edge. There is not way he could pass among the humans anymore. He can barely pass for one of us and it shows in the body language of the vamps he’s talking too. They give him exaggerated space and overly slow body movements. He’s my killer all right.

The Killer goes by the name of Bruce. He’s been around for over a decade which is somewhat impressive too me. Too many of us young ones fuck up and end up dead. I know it could have happened to me less than a week ago and it could happen to me now.

The first thing I test with Bruce is whether or not he can track me when I follow him. He’s oblivious, or a really good actor. I put a hand upon one of my new revolvers to calm myself. When Bruce gets on a bus, I have to hurry to get on as well. Fortunately there is plenty of room. Bruce looks around. Too many people are here for him to kill them all, but enough that he can make everyone nervous. Humans draw strength from their numbers, but right now they don’t number enough.

Bruce gets off downtown Hollywood – my old stomping grounds. He looks around then heads for the Hollywood Freeway overpass. The homeless have forted up around the can-fires, so they aren’t easy prey. He stalks them none the less, seeing of any of them have to come out and relieve themselves. They huddle closer to the flames. Finally he moves to a position directly under the freeway and hunkers down.

Half past midnight gives him what he wants. It’s a woman, dressed like a waitress and most certainly heading home, or to a bus stop. She clutches her thin sweater to herself and walks with her head down, eyes looking this way and that. She looks to be in her forties, hair just starting to turn grey. In the pale distant light of the streetlamp her eyes look silver, and afraid. Her furtive glances up into the shadows don’t give away Bruce’s hiding place. I feel pity for her, but I stay my hand. I don’t call out. I kid myself it is too late already.

Bruce comes down on her like a practiced predator. He’s within arms reach of the waitress before she even notices. She barely gets an arm up before he bears her to the ground. She gets off a muffled scream. Bruce has a hand over her mouth and I think she bites him. It’s only fair because he bites her too. His growl is highlighted by her gurgle as the blood pours into him. He shakes his victim back and forth as she’s dying. He sucks and sucks and the waitress’ movements fade into a fatal slumber.

Once he has had his fill of her, he pushes up into a kneeling stance over the poor woman. He pulls out a knife and stabs it into her throat. He grabs her by the hair and slams her head against the sidewalk. Bruce then goes through her pocket book, takes her tip money and throws the wallet down the street. It’s all an act for the cops. Bruce gets up, looks both ways, and starts heading off down the street. He will probably go to a restroom somewhere and clean up. Then he’s taking the bus back uptown and putting this kill behind him. He will kill again in another three or four days. He’ll keep killing until he’s caught, a hunter kills him, or we are forced to deal with him … and I don’t think he cares.

[Adrian Moss]

I go down and observer her. I take notes on my Blackberry while making sure the shadows cloak me from prying eyes. I’m still making observations when I see two homeless guys coming down the roadway purposefully. I back away.

“I tell ya,” says the first one, “I heard someone cry out. A girl’s cry.”

“I believe ya,” says the second one, “but theirs a killer about. You know that. You know how they found MacAfee. No way was that a robbery.”

“There! Someone’s lying down in the road.”

The two men shuffle over to the dead waitress. They stand over her for a second or two then one of them reaches down and touches her. Her head rolls to the side.

“She’s dead alright,” says the first one.

“I guess we’d better get someone. Let’s go down the street and flag down a cop.”

The other man looks to him, hesitates and fidgets before saying “Okay.”

I can’t blame them. The homeless and the cops don’t historically get along. I also make a notation that the homeless are moving around in groups. Already Bruce has altered his environment. They leave me alone with the body. It looks so … empty and sad. I can almost feel my soul hurt.

It takes then thirty-two minutes to come back with a patrol car. I observe the officer and make my notations on his behavior. He seems more concerned than upset. Maybe he’s seen more than one murder like this. Maybe he doesn’t care about the underclass. I have to keep my suppositions out of my notes. I should try to keep it to what I know and what I observe.

It takes another thirty-six minutes for the coroner to show up. While they are unloading the gurney, the plain clothed cops show up. Everyone looks so grey and old. Maybe it’s the shift. Maybe it’s the lighting. I don’t know. I close in slightly so that I can get their conversations down. The cops go over the scene while the coroner moves the body out. I’m paying so much attention to their activities, I almost miss her arrival.

She’s got a short beige skirt on with a matching jacket. Her blouse is red. Her hand-held is silver and going to work as she moves around the crime scenes. I hear the cop tell her to keep back and hear her give her credentials – LA Times. She’s a reporter covering the City Desk. I know who I’m going to follow.

For an instant, it occurred to me that I might just be following her because she was a girl. Some deep seated impulse made me chose woman over men as companions … and subjects of inquiry. I didn’t have the time to spare it much more thought. I had to move to keep out of her way – that is her camera’s way. I might be hidden from the mind’s eye, and give a fuzzy image, but I could still be seen after the fact. That would not be good.

[Adrian Moss]

Everyone does their business professionally, almost clinically. The detectives gather clues, they find the purse (actually a uniform finds it when told to canvas the area), and they get down her vital information. They check the body before the ME moves it to the waiting van for transport downtown and autopsy. The ME’s handle the body like, well, like its work. They put her in a bag were she looks so pale and pathetic. A tiny part of me wishes I had done something. This is not my finest hour.

I follow the girl around as she waits for the cops to clear out. She is making her last notations and heading over to the homeless guys.

“Which one of you saw the victim?”

“I saw it happen. That man attacked her. He was like jumping all over her, took her to the ground and got on top of her. He was like some animal.”

“There was no sign of sexual assault. What do you think he was doing on top of her? There was no sign of him biting or clawing at her.”

“Oh, he was biting her alright. I saw it.”

She studies the man while my undead heart jumps into my throat. This isn’t good. The girl puts up her blackberry and thanks the two homeless guys for their help. Then she heads off toward her car. I almost bump into her as she crosses the street. She hesitates and pulls her blackberry out. She makes a call to someone named Syd, saying she’s coming back in with not much. She makes the rest of her way to her car. I wait until she’s gone before heading back to the bus stop. Time for me to get my car.

I catch up to her about an hour later. Google tells me were her offices are and it’s pretty easy to sneak in comparatively. You would think it would be harder than two guards and a few avoidable security cameras. I merely have to stroll the hallways and follow the signs to the City Desk. The make it so easy. She, her name is Lucy Wynk, is typing away on her story. She still has her Blackberry on her desk hooked into her system. She also stopped off to get something to eat – some kind of submarine sandwich and a diet cola.

I look over her shoulder and read the article as it comes out. There isn’t much. A woman is murdered for small change down in West Hollywood. No details. No identity as of yet, just a sad life ended early by persons unknown. It’s a sad epithet for the poor waitress. There is no way for me to tell anyone she was the victim of a monster. I can’t tell people about the monsters around them. They would only kill me for my troubles anyway. Such is the game we play with the mortal world, we who live by darkness alone.

After that, I just have to hang out in her office, concentrating on not being seen, which gets harder the more bored I become. Lucy goes on to do other articles. Around three o’clock she gets another lead from her police scanner. There has been a shooting up in Glendale and it’s her job to go investigate. There is no sign that the waitress’ murder has affected her at all and that saddens me. Her death has passed through this woman’s life like … like the dinner she’s just finished up. It’s in the trash and forgotten.

My lesson isn’t over yet. I have to track Lucy for a week, seeing if anything about the waitress’ life impacts hers. Every night, after I’ve hunted, I track her down and keep her company until around five. After two nights of this, I feel like I’m wasting my time, making my observations and recording them for posterity. I’m so bored; I’m looking over her shoulder as she types. I have to be remembering to stay out of her light sometimes.

That is when I see it. She is filling away the report of another murder. I see her move a copy of her report over to a file I hadn’t noticed before. It is titled UML. What’s that about? I wonder. She calls it in as always when the urge comes over me to figure out what this is about. Could this be a clue – a break I need to make this whole assignment worth while? I move in on her once she has put the blackberry up. I bump into her like a pro. I can’t believe my luck right up until I realize I’ve broken the Rule. I’ve interacted with what I was supposed to observer. I hope it’s worth it.

I can feel her eyes upon me as I hurry past into the night and heading for a corner. Belatedly she checks her pocket, but I’m almost gone.

“Hey! You! Come back here,” she shouts as she comes racing after me. I reach the corner firsts and I’m gone into the darkness. I can tell because she stops racing after me once she follows me around the corner. She stops and looks around then starts cursing.

“I hope you choke on it,” she seethes. Lucy turns around and stalks back to her car. I make my way to mine.

[Adrian Moss]

It’s a long, lonely drive back to the Times Building. I’m anxious to get into her files; nothing sexual there at all. She parks in the building garage while I grab a spot on the street. She’ll take the elevator up while I’ll take the front way – again. That is the nature of our relationship, separated but not alone. My thoughts are with her. That sounds kind of creepy.

I’m in the office, half listening to her phone conversations. She hasn’t bothered to report her blackberry stolen because, I bet, she never expects to see it again. I mean to surprise her. The files inside UML (Unsolved Murder List) are just that – a list of murders that the LAPD haven’t solved. They were similar in form, lone people attacked by knife, or bludgeoned to death. All out late at night, from the fringes of society, and hardly missed. There was no hint of supernatural involvement in her observations. I find that comforting, but I also find her investigative knack to be somewhat … concerning. She has a sharp mind. How long can it be before she steps away from the Daylight World and sees what is really going on?

I slip her blackberry into her pocket when she goes to the women’s room. She only notices it when she is ready to go out on her next assignment. Her jacket has a certain weight to it that attracts her attention when she puts the jacket on. Her hand goes into the pocket and comes out with the device. She “hmmms” for a second and looks around.

“I must be losing my mind,” she quips as she heads for the door. I follow her like her loyal shadow. I tail her to the crime scene, watch her as she works, and take off at five as always.

The next day I catch her column in the Times’ website and it makes me smile. So much of what she reports is her first impressions of the crime. It takes me back to the waitress and I re-read what she had to say. Is there any difference between the waitress’ report and the latest victim? Very little I can see. It is as if the waitress has fallen through the emotional cracks and disappeared. It makes me contemplate my own mortality and what little contributions I make to the world around me. Who would miss me if I disappeared tomorrow? I think I’m getting one of the points of this lesson.

Most of us allow ourselves to live unspectacular lives. We can be replaced and forgotten in a few hours time. I wonder about my youth and what I’ve learned and I realize that as much as I’ve grown in the past year of my unlife, it is nothing compared to what I want and need to do. I want to make a difference in people’s lives, so I need to get to it and do less planning to get to it. I don’t want to be a waitress.

How does this tie into my life? How does it tie into what has happened already in this short year? What impact have I had on Amber’s life? Well, I’ve endangered it, but I also allowed her to interact with her new Boss and that has made her life much easier. I hope that’s the case anyway, but would Amber miss me if I’m gone tomorrow? Probably not. She hates leeches and that’s all I am to her. Same goes for Sarah. What about Declan and Ariel? Am I just a leech to them?

I put that introspection aside. I still have a case to create, but I decide I’m going to take a chance and stay at Gwen’s. I’ll put my life in her hands while the Sun hangs hatefully above me. God, what a dumb way to die?

[Adrian Moss]

When I wake up, I’m still alive. Gwen is close by watching me. She hands over a cup of coffee for me to smell. I have grown to like the smell of coffee the same way (almost) I love the smell of sweat on a woman. Still it reminds me that I have to hunt and get back on the case. Gwen tells me that she’s typed up my case files and updated my computer. Wow. Sadly, this isn’t a night I should be feeding on her and she looks a bit crestfallen. She likes the Kiss; likes it a lot.

I shower, dress, and get my things all the while Gwen talks to me about things – about upcoming classes, my case, going to meet her folks, and us going out some time. I remind her that we have to be cautious. I’m not ashamed of her, but I am worried that someone might hurt her to get at me. It’s almost the truth. The truth is that I’m afraid how my few friends will react to my making a ghoul. I’ve stolen someone’s free will after all. I’ve made her my slave, thrall, whatever you want to call it.

I leave her with a kiss and some spearmint gum in my mouth. I like to chew gum. It hides the dead breath. I put on the police scanner and head towards the Time’s building. It’s harder to find a spot this early at night, but I manage. I’m up to her office without too much trouble and I’m spying on her. Tonight she’s polishing up some articles for another, daytime journalist. Like me, she is at the bottom of the pecking order and has to do grunt work. I wonder if she understands what she does as well, or as little, as I do.

We are out on another police report around midnight. This is ‘shots fired’ thing. It turns into a hostage situation with someone wounded in the streets. With my senses cranked up, the smell of blood is intoxicating. The scent of fear in the air is palatable too. I can’t decide if I want to flee, or feast. I like the feel of existing on the edge. It is the closest I can get to feeling alive outside feeding. I make a notation on this, just in case it is important for later. You never know.

We finish up around five. I have to make my way home even though sunrise isn’t for another hour and a quarter. I’m cautious that way. Some would say paranoid – fearful. I would rather live with the name-calling. It is a small price to pay. Even if they call me a coward I would rather think I was smart enough not to challenge the Sun. I have two more days of this and then I turn in my lesson to the Ordo Dracul. I hope I’m not missing out on what this lesson is about. I take these thought to my daily sleep.

[Adrian Moss]

I’m done with this. If there are any greater ripples of this woman’s death, I can’t see them. It almost seems pointless – a pointless loss of life to a Monster that is going to get away with it again. This is not what I want to be about. I want to make a difference. I want to protect people.

What if I become the Monster? What then? Maybe the lesson is in that; that I may become something that exists solely to feed and kill. It sends a shiver up my spine, yet I can’t deny that there is that possibility. I will change. What I change into depends both on me and my environment. Maybe I’ve done the wrong thing with Gwen. I can’t take it back now. I don’t have that power and by the time I could get it, it would be way too late. I have to let go of my regrets. I have to see the change.

The waitress died. The reporter recorded it. The police filed their reports and the coroner reported in their files. The waitress is still dead. She impacted no one’s life that I could find. I’m going to see what else remains of her life here on this last day.

I find her address in the reporter’s column on the net. I go by the apartment and stake it out. No is alone. The report says she lived alone. It didn’t list relatives. Well, people do move to LA to get away from it all. I try to break into her apartment, but I make too much noise and a neighbor gives a shout out. I don’t fall into the shadows in time and have to make an inglorious retreat, or …

“Hello, can you help me?”

“What do you want?” he says suspiciously.

“I wonder if you could tell me more about your neighbor – your former neighbor, Ms. Reiz?”

“It looked like you were breaking in?”

“Actually it looked like someone was, but that’s not important.”

He stares at me.

“I’m doing a follow up article about Ms. Reiz’s death and I wonder what you could tell me about her?”

Why not go for the direct question?

“Will she be missed?”

“Missed? Nah, I barely knew her. She kept to herself; listened to TV most nights she wasn’t working – real homebody.”

“No friends? Anyone she was close to?”

Now the man yawns. I can here the TV inside his apartment calling to him.

“No one I saw, but I didn’t see much of her.”

He starts to close the door.

“Well, thank you for your assistance.”

And thank you for nothing. This is another dead end. Did this woman impact anybody? Will I ever find that person? I think about going to the dinner, but that is going to be too taxing on my vitae and to obvious. What do you say? “Hey, is Ms. Patty Reiz around?” or “Where’s Patty?” and they don’t recognize me. This report is going to suck.

I walk back into the study when summoned. I stand there silently with the printed report in one hand and the burned CD in the other. It strikes me as funny that I now can’t get to my new guns without dropping something. I don’t’ screw up so badly that I laugh. That would be … inappropriate. He takes only a few seconds to finish up his business and look up at me.

“The problem with the information age is that there is so much information.” He faux moans to me. His eyes have a twinkle to them. He extends a hand out.

“Well, let me see what you’ve been up to.”

I place the folder and CD in his hand. He puts the CD down and starts going through the pages of my report. I want to jump out the window.

It takes him nearly half an hour to read through the notes.

“Hmm … your report, Adrian, is sterile and unimaginative. You chose our subject to follow poorly, but you did keep up with her in an … adequate manner.”

I look down.

“The silver lining to this is our observations you make about yourself. The concept of change, both good and bad, isn’t lost on you. That is the first, small step. You have a long way to go before you are a Master, but you are farther than others I can think of.”

I blink a few times. I think I just got an ‘Atta Boy’.

“Now, I believe we both have other business to get to before the sun rises. I’ll see you soon. Be careful and be watchful.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

I have to stop myself from bowing; wrong group of Vampires for that. I turn on my heels and head out. I ignore the same two kindred sitting around the place. For the first time I think the Ordo Dracul may be an alternative for me outside the cutthroat politics of the city … and I won’t have to be lonely doing it.