Better Ashes Than Dust (A Jim Baron Adventure)
Sept 4, 2015 8:19:00 GMT -8
J and Tennessee Whiskey like this
Post by RomulusGloriosus on Sept 4, 2015 8:19:00 GMT -8
Newspapers from the Seattle area lay in multiple sheets around the base of Jim Baron’s bed in the dark grotto beneath the Assamite mansion. Names and faces of various individuals, mostly elderly, stared up from the floor. Jim was seated on the bed, his back against the wall, with yet another list of names in his hand. His eyes scanned the page before finally stopping on one in particular, and his face became cold and expressionless. His hand did not shake, his eyes did not show emotion, he did not hold his breath tightly in his chest, or move a single muscle.
Cassius Freeman was the name in the obituary column to which Jim’s eyes were glued. The picture attached was that of an old African-American male dressed in a long coat. It was the face Jim had seen many times before. It was the face that Jim had seen hunting him in the darkness. It was the face that was burned into Jim’s mind, smiling behind the flames of his exploded car. Cassius Freeman was the name of Jim’s Hunter, and Cassius Freeman was dead. He had been killed by a falling shipping container that he had been illegally operating. His death sounded terribly gruesome, and completely self-inflicted. The man had a charm for explosives and for using the environment around him as a tool, and it was only a matter of time before it backfired.
Though it sounded self-inflicted, Jim could not be sure if this was actually the case. Oberon had first informed him of the Hunter’s death, and the manner in which it happened, but did not seem to imply that it was his doing. Still, for all Jim knew, maybe that was how the Assamites operated. Better to make the whole world think it was his own damn fault he crushed himself while doing his illegal activities than to make a whole spectacle of an assassination. Oberon hadn’t been paid anything to kill the Hunter, after all, so why would he have to tell Jim what really happened?
Still, Jim felt a piece of himself cringe as he read about Cassius’ wife, children, and grandchildren back home in Philadelphia. It was a piece of himself that Jim had slowly felt die over the past twenty years. Every brutal bar fight in which Jim had reveled in the glory of battle, every time Jim swindled another cocky son-of-a-bitch out of his money at the casino, every time Jim had broken into someone’s fancy car or stolen another five hundred from some person who had a little too much money, Jim had felt that part of him shed away from him like an extra skin.
Knowing that this man had a loving family back home made it clear to Jim that it wasn’t gone.
Why did this man do what he did? If he had all of that to lose, then why would he go out into the night and hunt vampires? This was never going to end well for him. Eventually either some elder vampire would destroy his body and mind or he would blow himself up. 'Or crush himself with a shipping container,' Jim thought. Why couldn’t he just have gone home? Why couldn’t he just have returned to his wife in Philadelphia and watched Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune or whatever it was old people do?
'Old people, Jim?' He thought to himself, 'How much older was this guy than you?' It had been nearly twenty-seven years since Jim’s death, and in many ways he still felt he was the age that he looked. 25, young, inexperienced, but still able to grow into the man he’s supposed to be. In the vampire world, that was true. If he had never died though, and assuming he hadn’t died the normal way between now and then - which, knowing the way he used to be, was likely - he’d be nearing the age of old brown recliners and game shows after the news himself. What made him any different than the Hunter by still being out ‘in the field’ getting up to trouble? What made it any different if he was crushed by the shipping retainer instead?
'Because I don't get that choice anymore.' Jim slid all of the newspapers off of the bed, leaving only Cassius’ obituary in front of him. It was a reality Jim had accepted that night at the Church, when Ruby had attacked Joleen. He didn’t get the promise that if he did good and didn’t run into trouble, he’d get to die at a ripe old age in his bed surrounded by family. He didn’t get the promise that he could keep Joleen safe until they were old and frail and one of them shuffled off the mortal coil. They’d both already died, they just didn’t get past the mortal coil. This second life promised either no end, or a brutal one. One night, he would either see Joleen be destroyed, or he would be destroyed beforehand. Alternatively, he and Joleen would survive forever, and when mankind had long forgotten its origins and the Earth was rotted away into stardust, he and his broodmate would be the last vestige of humanity, a terrestrial terror from an ancient world.
Jim did not know which of the two he preferred. But he knew he would have preferred dying peacefully surrounded by loved ones than being crushed by a shipping container, or in the passenger seat of your car being drained of blood by a hitchhiker. “You got what you asked for, man,” the Gangrel said to the picture in the newspaper, “I hope you had a blast.”
He pinned the obituary to the wall above his bed. Jim would keep it there in memory of the first of his enemies that he outlasted, until the paper crumbled away and turned to dust - just like Cassius Freeman.
Cassius Freeman was the name in the obituary column to which Jim’s eyes were glued. The picture attached was that of an old African-American male dressed in a long coat. It was the face Jim had seen many times before. It was the face that Jim had seen hunting him in the darkness. It was the face that was burned into Jim’s mind, smiling behind the flames of his exploded car. Cassius Freeman was the name of Jim’s Hunter, and Cassius Freeman was dead. He had been killed by a falling shipping container that he had been illegally operating. His death sounded terribly gruesome, and completely self-inflicted. The man had a charm for explosives and for using the environment around him as a tool, and it was only a matter of time before it backfired.
Though it sounded self-inflicted, Jim could not be sure if this was actually the case. Oberon had first informed him of the Hunter’s death, and the manner in which it happened, but did not seem to imply that it was his doing. Still, for all Jim knew, maybe that was how the Assamites operated. Better to make the whole world think it was his own damn fault he crushed himself while doing his illegal activities than to make a whole spectacle of an assassination. Oberon hadn’t been paid anything to kill the Hunter, after all, so why would he have to tell Jim what really happened?
Still, Jim felt a piece of himself cringe as he read about Cassius’ wife, children, and grandchildren back home in Philadelphia. It was a piece of himself that Jim had slowly felt die over the past twenty years. Every brutal bar fight in which Jim had reveled in the glory of battle, every time Jim swindled another cocky son-of-a-bitch out of his money at the casino, every time Jim had broken into someone’s fancy car or stolen another five hundred from some person who had a little too much money, Jim had felt that part of him shed away from him like an extra skin.
Knowing that this man had a loving family back home made it clear to Jim that it wasn’t gone.
Why did this man do what he did? If he had all of that to lose, then why would he go out into the night and hunt vampires? This was never going to end well for him. Eventually either some elder vampire would destroy his body and mind or he would blow himself up. 'Or crush himself with a shipping container,' Jim thought. Why couldn’t he just have gone home? Why couldn’t he just have returned to his wife in Philadelphia and watched Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune or whatever it was old people do?
'Old people, Jim?' He thought to himself, 'How much older was this guy than you?' It had been nearly twenty-seven years since Jim’s death, and in many ways he still felt he was the age that he looked. 25, young, inexperienced, but still able to grow into the man he’s supposed to be. In the vampire world, that was true. If he had never died though, and assuming he hadn’t died the normal way between now and then - which, knowing the way he used to be, was likely - he’d be nearing the age of old brown recliners and game shows after the news himself. What made him any different than the Hunter by still being out ‘in the field’ getting up to trouble? What made it any different if he was crushed by the shipping retainer instead?
'Because I don't get that choice anymore.' Jim slid all of the newspapers off of the bed, leaving only Cassius’ obituary in front of him. It was a reality Jim had accepted that night at the Church, when Ruby had attacked Joleen. He didn’t get the promise that if he did good and didn’t run into trouble, he’d get to die at a ripe old age in his bed surrounded by family. He didn’t get the promise that he could keep Joleen safe until they were old and frail and one of them shuffled off the mortal coil. They’d both already died, they just didn’t get past the mortal coil. This second life promised either no end, or a brutal one. One night, he would either see Joleen be destroyed, or he would be destroyed beforehand. Alternatively, he and Joleen would survive forever, and when mankind had long forgotten its origins and the Earth was rotted away into stardust, he and his broodmate would be the last vestige of humanity, a terrestrial terror from an ancient world.
Jim did not know which of the two he preferred. But he knew he would have preferred dying peacefully surrounded by loved ones than being crushed by a shipping container, or in the passenger seat of your car being drained of blood by a hitchhiker. “You got what you asked for, man,” the Gangrel said to the picture in the newspaper, “I hope you had a blast.”
He pinned the obituary to the wall above his bed. Jim would keep it there in memory of the first of his enemies that he outlasted, until the paper crumbled away and turned to dust - just like Cassius Freeman.