2003

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As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
I take a look at my life and realize there's none left
'Cause I've been brassing and laughing so long that
Even my mamma thinks that my mind is gone
But I ain't never crossed a man that didn't deserve it
Me be treated like a punk, you know that's unheard of
You better watch how you talking, and where you walking
Or you and your homies might be lined in chalk
Gangsta's Paradise
I feel like that, I have spent years running and fighting. Having Molly 8 change my face, changing my name has given me space to breath. Space to find my humanity. I was a pretty evil monster for a while, with very little I wouldn't do to achieve the goals I wanted. Goals of revenge, of taking what was mine.
Now that I have begun to return to the edges of sanity, I am ashamed of some of the things I have done, and I wonder how I retain my soul while solving the issues in front of me. Can you battle monsters and not become one yourself? Can you destroy the creatures of the night and not find yourself stalking the shadows a danger to all mankind around you?
I am sure John would laugh at me, he has made peace with the demon inside, and rides it to full efficiency for his desires. But even there, can I knowingly work with a creature who I know is killing the population around me? Do I live with the blood of his victims on my hands?
Listen to me, a self righteous bastard. His victims. What about my own? What about the blood I take to survive? I don't feel bad about the flesh I eat, because at least it is from the dead who don't care. As long as I am not eating the living...I can console myself that I am not just some sort of zombie holding the population in check. Though I do during the day sometimes dream of that amazing taste of fresh, hot flesh, and the pulsing salty elixir that fountains forth when you bite deeply into a neck. The horror is that I have to push that part of me back, for it would be all to easy to feast on every human I meet, knowing the pleasure that would come from tasting their last moments of life.
Enough of the soul searching, I need to concentrate on the mystery that is Sancerique. Why did he or his partners attack my family? Do I need to return to Chicago to figure it out? Or do I man up and ask him straight up? All questions with difficult answers I am sure. Was the whole process designed to get me to come to New York? And if so why, and who set it up? What do I do if it turns out Donatello is behind all this? The thought has crossed my mind more than once. While he treats me like a lost son, I don't wonder if he doesn't feel disappointed in me that I don't step more willingly into the evil existence he leads. And what plots does the old monster have in mind for me? I feel obligation and nausea from dealing with him all at the same time.

May 26, 2003

I awoke to a silent house, the old teacher and the kids gone. Nothing seemed out of place so I didn't worry about it at first, but all my danger senses were on high alert. I tried to convince myself that I was just being jumpy, so I took a walk down the street to the neighbor lady's place that has been hitting on me. She thinks my name is Carter, I didn't want the kids to have to remember a fake name, so I am using their fathers. My family wasn't there, but I stood and talked with her and the neighbors for a while, like normal people.
Which is just weird.
There hasn't been anything normal for me in a long time, and I keep looking over my shoulder wondering when the FBI or someone is going to kick the door in and take the kids away. So far so good, and I act my way through a beer before pouring it into a plant. The Libbie Platt seems really bent on letting me know that she wants to get close. Reminds me of what John has been saying lately about getting the kine to love you before you feed on them...making it a beautiful hunt. She has no idea that I am a murderer many times over that drinks blood and eats flesh...

After an hour or so I decided that Ms. Stoddard and the kids were not going to show up. I extricated myself from the warmth of human interaction, turning my senses back on to watch for trouble. All was quiet in Middle Village, and I was beginning to think I was being paranoid when I checked my mail.

Inside the mailbox I found an envelope of expensive paper, with the name "Torsten Metz" in a flowing script, heavy ink. The back flap was sealed with wax, a strange little symbol pressed into the wax. Inside the paper was again heavy parchment, expensive.

Written in the same flowing script:

    Del Monico's at 10 PM. Dress is proper, suit, hat and tails.

Damn, that can't be good. I grab some weapons, then climb in my car. I drive into Manhattan, that rat maze of streets. I have a pretty good idea of where I Del Monico's is, and if I remember right that suit place where I ran into Donald Werther and Key Benjamin is only a couple of blocks away. I will need a suit, I have never needed tails and a hat. I get downtown and park in front of the suit store. Inside are the triplets who run this place. They are all medium height, athletically thin with a close cropped beard and mustache. The only real way to tell them apart in my perspective. Looks like tonight I can pick the brother with a red tie, a green tie, or a purple tie. They are all with customers, but a young man dressed in a very similar style comes up to me. He has a family resemblance. I introduce myself, he has me take a seat and pulls my "file". The man in the Green tie comes over after glancing at the file in the young mans hand, smiling effusively. I explain what I need, and the time frame I need it in. He pales slightly and then nods, "Of Course, whatever Sir wants." They outfit me in a beautiful suit, with gloves, hat, tails, and a walking stick. When he has it completed he asks me how I am going to pay, and I tell him to send the bill to Donald. I'm sure he will pay it and not even notice, I have Key giving him such great sex that he doesn't do much more than smile these days.
I get a cab the rest of the way to Del Monico's. My little car would be very out of place and would cause comment. A cab is at least neutral. Any visiting dignitary can take a cab. The cabby is a friendly Indian guy, working hard to ingratiate himself with me. When he drops me off he gives me his card, and I tuck it away.
The maitre d took my name and immediately escorted me back through the assembled exclusive clientele to a dining area with closed mahogany doors. Inside it was lit by candles and little else. My family was seated at the table, with what appeared to be a dwarf at the other end. A very hairy dwarf. He was dressed to the height of fashion, and smiled a Cheshire smile when I entered.
"Ah, Mr. Metz, how kind of you to come. You'll forgive me if I had my chauffeur pick up the rest of you family before you awoke for the evening."

"I see that, and I appreciate your kindness at inviting all of us to dine with you." I replied, trying to hide the anger and fear that racked my system. I didn't know this little prick and I already wanted to kill him. But time has taught me a little caution. 15 years ago I would have just opened up on him with my Uzi and hoped he wasn't ready. But again, I had others to think about.
"Allow me to introduce myself, I am Lord Ephraim Wainwright. I am one of the Tremere of the city." Tremere! Oh shit. This can't be good. I don't know much about them, but what I do know is that the Tremere are major bad mojo, and that they hate practitioners of Necromancy like myself. "I wish to congratulate you on your bold move against Oleg. That old Tzimisce deserved a good punch in the nose." He said while doing a bemused golf clap.
"It was nothing, really. A mere warning to those who would move into my domain." I replied dryly, a hint of warning in my voice. "You are too modest. It takes some real guts to take on an elder like Oleg." He said. A wine bottle lifted off the table, floating from the warming pad it sat on to near me. "Would you care for something to drink?"
I wasn't really hungry, but it would have been rude to turn him down. I nodded and lifted a glass from the table. The bottle came to me and poured warm blood into the beautiful crystal glass. I gingerly tasted it, and it smelled good. Taking a seat I looked my family over, they all seemed fine, but in a daze.
"Your family is fine Mr. Metz. I merely invited them here, and should I ever need to again, I can invite them at my whim. But let us talk about more productive things. It would be a great boon for House Tremere if you should keep up this war you have started with Oleg."
I jumped at the term war.
I hadn't wanted to, but it was the echo of the thoughts that had been going through my head for most of the evening. Hard to call blowing a hole in someones haven anything else. No matter how I wanted to justify it, John and I had taken the first step in a violent conflict, calling the tune for the dance as they say. Damn my temper, and damn my willingness to stir the pot. When would I think about these hostages to fate I couldn't hide very well. Obviously everyone knew what we had done.

We sure stepped in it blowing a hole in Olegs haven.Seems like everyone in New York knows we kicked the old bastard in the nuts, which wouldn't matter in the old days, but now I have hostages to fate.