After Dark

By Sylvester Martins

As the black veil of night continued to deepen its grip around the immediate serene environment around him, Jason let out a sigh that resembled his shallow, dark mood. Even the black sky above seemed dissatisfied; almost disappointed, in fact. And as the moon peeked around the edge of a dark cloud, its feeble luminosity doing nothing to enlighten -- or to illuminate -- the deep darkness spreading across the horizon (which was probably the reason behind the sky's disappointed and dissatisfied look), his mood sank even lower.

The Vampire of Florida. That's what they called him. Which, sadly, wasn't far from the truth. He was a vampire. Or at least, not in the classical sense. Although he didn't drink human blood, his eyes and skin cannot be exposed to direct sunlight. Otherwise he would almost literally burn to death. Jason was born with Xeroderma Pigmentosum; a rare genetic disorder that made his eyes and skin sensitive to ultraviolet rays. If exposed to direct sunlight, the ultraviolet rays would penetrate his epidermis and irises, and almost literally scorch his flesh and retinas; rendering him instantly blind and Cancer-ridden. He would then die a slow and agonising death. So, he had accepted long ago, that he couldn't blame them for calling him a vampire. In fact, if he weren't him, he'd call himself that, too. But sadly, he was him. The vampire himself. So he couldn't call himself that. Or could he? What was that called? A paradox? He couldn't remember what they called such a figurative device. It was a figure of speech, that's all he could remember. And that made his mood sank even lower, since he only finished high school last year. So the knowledge he had gained was still suppose to be fresh on his mind. But then again, he had never really been a bright pupil at school. Although he never failed, he never really passed, either. That was because Jason, among many things, had a below-average intelligence. His IQ was 84. Which was close to borderline retardation.

He didn't go to a normal school; normal schools taught during the day, and he slept during the day, for obvious reasons (reasons he loathed with malignant vehemence). No. He didn't go to a normal school. Dr Gloria Maynard gave him homeschooling, but taught him at night. Then his mood suddenly sank so low that he felt the threat of tears piercing the back of his eyes as he thought about Dr Gloria Maynard. His mother. A genius. A brainiac. An Einstein. His mother had three doctrate degrees: one in Criminology, in Sociology and Philosophy. She lectured at the University of South Africa (UNISA), where she had graduated eleven years ago.

Jason could never understand how he couldn't have inherited his mother's intellectual capacity. His mother was a genius, for Christ's sake! She had an IQ of (and no one would believe it when he told them) one-hundred-and-ninety-six! Fifty-six points above genius! So, to say his mother was a genius would be an understatement. Not even the word 'brilliant' would do her any justice.

So how had he not inherited her genius? Actually -- and this made his mood sank even lower (if that were possible) -- she had told him how once, and it had something to do with DNA and genes, which, to this day, he could not recall what exacty she had told him (or rather 'lectured' him, since his mother could not 'talk'; not in the classical sense: everything she said sounded like a lecture). She even went on to explain how he had turned out to be a boy, and not a girl. Something about her X and Y chromosomes, and his father's (his father had been a gardener, and he had died in a bulldozer accident when Jason was only three years old) Y chromosomes interacting in physiological and biological ways. He actually remembers her going into greater detail about her father's diet, his genetic makeup and how it had affected his sperm cells and how that in turn had affected her ovaries based on her own diet and environment and genetic makeup blah blah blah. He had fallen asleep by the time she asked him whether he understood.

The truth was: Dr Gloria Maynard was better at being an android university lecturer than a mother. He remembered the time she had given him homeschooling, talking -- no, 'lecturing' him as if her were a slow chimpanzee, instead of her son. Her greatest gift turned out to be her greatest curse. She could teach well; always win at playing Bridge; and even beat her computer at Chess, but she couldn't love, laugh, have fun, or (and this broke him the most) be a mother. Tears started to well up in his eyes, and he bowed his head as the first tear fell into the soft, dark ground. And he cried.

It was almost midnight by the time Jason heard his mother talking. He lifted his head and looked toward her bedroom window. It wasn't his mother talking. It was the television in his mother's bedroom. She had suddenly turned up the volume for some reason. Most likely to make him aware that she was watching him sulking. But he didn't care. In fact, he had high doubts that she cared either. She doesn't care about anything. "Samantha Gross was last seen..." The female voice of the news reader on the television was saying. "...an abandoned building not far from her home. Police are urging anyone with infor --" He was suddenly filled with an inexplicable rage. His mother didn't give a damn about him! He stood up and shouted, "I don't care either!" Then he stormed out of the yard, six or seven tear drops in his wake.

He had no idea for how long he had been walking. It could have been minutes, hours. But he didn't care. He just wanted to put as much distance between himself and Dr Gloria Maynard as he possibly could. He stopped. He looked around him. Nothing about his environment seemed familiar to him. How far had he walked? For how long? In which direction? Wiping his tears on the nape of his sleeve, he turned around and tried to look for a landmark, something that could give him at least a sliver of a hint as to where he was. He found one. About a hundred meters down the road to his right, he saw a building of some sort. He couldn't make out whether it was a church or a librabry building. Fearing that he might be lost, and thinking it wise to wait by a landmark people recognised, while trying to call for help, he made his way toward the building. When he got closer, he noticed that it was an abandoned building. It was probably a church before it was seemingly burned down-- though the building was still standing. So it was burned, period. He thought. Not burned down. Who would burn a church? He wondered, but reminded himself that he was an atheist, so he'd probably be the first to arrive should someone announce that they were going to engage in church-burning. Despite feeling worried that he might be lost, he couldn't help but smile and -- and this almost freaked him out -- chuckle, as he thought about the term 'church-burning'. Focus. He told himself, straightening his face and looking around for anyone who could help him. There was no one in sight. The street in either direction was empty, and eerily silent. He could swear that he would be able to hear the sound of a needle fall on the tar road, should someone drop one. And someone did. He turned around, instinctively alert, looking left and right. No one. But what was that sound? Taking a deep breath and-- There. He heard it again, and he looked toward the abandoned building. From the front, the building looked like it was constructed initially as a house, judging from from the dilapidated design of the roof and front windows, and was then later converted into a church. This was evident from the modern design of a steepled tower to the left of the building, which looked younger than the building itself, despite the ruin it was in.

His heart almost literally skipped a beat as he saw a black figure from behind the building appear. He took a few steps back as he kept his eyes on the shadow. It stood still for a while, seeming just as surprised as he was to see someone else stalking the night while normal people should be sleeping by now. "Hello?" Jason tried, but still stood ready to bolt should the figure suddenly transform into a wear wolf. The figure seemed to relax and it made its way toward Jason. When it came into the light, Jason could see that it was another boy, which was round about his own age. He was white, just as tall as Jason, not skinny but lanky, and was wearing a black bomber jacket and a black jeans with black skateboard sneakers. He had green eyes and jet black hair, which was cut military style.

"What are you doing here?" Bomber Jacket asked by way of greeting.

"I'm fine, thanks, and yourself?" Jason said, hoping the joke would erase all ill thoughts from the stranger's mind. To his relief, Jason saw Bomber Jacket grin (he had brilliant white teeth). Then he gave a small chuckle and said, "If mankind were to acknowledge their fellow brothers' existence with such obnoxious and condescending deductive acknowledgements, man would indeed be in a poor way." Then, as if he hadn't said anything at all, he extended his left hand and said, "I'm Frank. But people call me Richard. And you are Jason, The Vampire of Florida. Nice to finally meet you."

For a moment, Jason stared at Frank aka Richard, almost shocked that he knew his name. He said, "How do you know--"

"Who doesn't know you?"

"Yes, I understand that I must be famous--"

"Not famous, just well known. There is a difference."

Jason took a breath and continued, "I understand that, but how did you know what I look like? I've never met you before; I don't have a Facebook, a WhatsApp, a Snapchat or Instagram account---"

"You forgot My Space; Outlook; Badoo; You Tube and--"

"Whatever, man, I don't have any of that. How did you know what I looked like, how do you know me?" He found it strangely suspicious that this stranger knew him, despite him being famous. In fact, many of the people who knew him have never met him in person. They've only heard about him. Almost no one knew what he looked like. But that was fine with him since he loathed his appearance.

Frank aka Richard also took a breath, smiled slyly and said, "In mentioning all the probable ways in which I could have seen your face, like me never having met you in person or on social media, did it even slightly occur to you that one other possibility could be that one of your family memebers could have shown me a photograph of you? Or the possibility that--"

"Shut up! You just sound like Dr Gloria Maynard! Well, did it ever occur to you that not all people with low IQ's are retards?" Frank aka Richard had a confused look on his face. Jason just then realised that he was being rude and inappropriate. He then sighed and said, "Sorry, man. Didn't mean to jump down your throat or anything, but it's just that..." He didn't know what it was. After a while he said, "Anyway, it would help me a lot if you could answer my question." Frank aka Richard didn't seem fased by his sudden outburst. In fact, he didn't look offended at all. If anything, he looked concerned. "I will answer your question after you have answered one of mine... Why do you call your mother by her title... the common noun, and not the proper noun Mother... or the pronoun Mom or Mommy?" Just as Jason was about to burst again, Frank aka Richard said, "Cool off, man... I'm just teasing you." He smiled, revealing brilliant white teeth. Jason chuckled for a while, despite himself. Then he said, "Anyway, what are you doing here in the middle of the night when you were suppose to be sleeping?" Frank aka Richard's smile faded. He lowered his head and kept quiet, seeming emotionally wounded. Jason furrowed his eyebrows and asked, "What's wrong? Was it something I said?" Frank aka Richard met his gaze, gave a weak smile and said, "I can't sleep." Jason was about to ask him what he meant by that when he continued, "I'm an insomniac. I have insomnia. Only mine is worse. And, like you, I don't sleep at night. Sometimes I'm awake for days. Then sometimes I get really tired and sleep for many hours at a time, but that is mostly during the day. So I mostly come out at night."

"Like me..." Jason said, feeling touched. "So you also don't have any friends... you're also an outcast... like me?"

Frank aka Richard gave another weak smile, extended his left hand and said, "Now you know how I know you? My friend?" Jason shook his hand, and for a while they just looked at each other in silence.

"Besides," His new friend said after a while. "Who could mistake your white hair?" Jason studied his eyes, wanting to make sure that he wasn't making fun of him. He wasn't. "Did you know," His friend went on. "All hair is originally white. They get colour from cells in the skin called melanocytes, which pumps pigment into the hair follicles." His new friend put an arm around his shoulders and indicated that they should get going. "So don't worry about your white hair, mate. At least your hair is the original colour of hair."

"If only my eyelashes and eyebrows weren't..." He smiled, for the first time feeling comfortable with his appearance. "Where are we going?"

"Do you drink?"

Before Jason knew it, him and Frank were at a nightclub, where they had bought themselves two beers each. At some point during the night, Frank had bought more beers for them (the exact amount of which would later stir much debate between the two) and introduced him to a girl by the name of Sammy. Sammy was a slender, tall blond girl with ocean-blue eyes, wearing a red tank top with blue jeans and black pumps. Despite the sign at the door that prohibited the entrance of persons under the age of 18 years, Sammy looked no older than 16. But Jason didn't care; Frank had secretly told him that Sammy was easy to get in bed. All he had to do was to get her as drunk as possible, and she would follow him like 'a lost puppy': his exact words. Jason liked the idea because he had never had sex in his whole entire, miserable life. And having sex for the first time with a hot, sexy blond seemed like heaven-on-earth.

And it probably would have been, had Frank not left him in the lurch. At around 3 a.m. while the crowd began to disperse, Sammy was as drunk as she needed to be to 'follow him like a lost puppy.' Taking a hold of Sammy's hand, Jason made his way through the crowd, all the while looking around for Frank. When they got out of the club, Sammy was talking, but he wasn't listening to her. Partially because he was drunk, but particularly because he couldn't find Frank; and Frank was the only person he knew and trusted that would take him home safely (he didn't know the way home from the club). Not seeing Frank outside, he had almost forgotten all about Sammy when he decided to go back into the club to see whether Frank might be in the men's room. He felt a tug on his right hand as he walked toward the door and looked back. He saw Sammy and stopped, remembering him and Frank's plan to get Sammy in bed. At that moment (drunk and scared), sex was the last thing Jason had on his mind, so he told Sammy to go home. She looked at him, her eyes not really open or shut, but mostly droopy, her tongue between persed, red lips. She hadn't reacted to his statement, and he wondered whether it was because she was drunk or whether it was because she was blond. He repeated himself. Her eyes went wide, and she said, "Hell, man, my ride left our ago. You are my ride, ride... Right?" At that moment Jason's heart sank. He was in a strange place, crowded by strange people, saddled with a strange girl who was not just pissed-out-of-her-skull drunk, but whose ride home had also left her in the lurch like his new friend had left him. He pondered his predicament. "Where scar, huh?" The girl said, taking a deep breath. Then she repeated herself, "Where scar?" Jason thought that she probably meant 'Where's the car?' Also taking a deep breath to try and clear his mind, Jason looked around them. Many of the people who were in the club were now making their way out. Some of them were making their way around back toward the parking lot, others walked this way and that. He considered his options: he could ask some of the people with cars to take this girl (he had suddenly forgotten her name) home, and he could try to find Frank; or he could ask for a ride for them both. He had other options, but he was not a coward, and as such, wouldn't even consider the other options. One of those options being that he could wait for everyone to leave, and then go around back to sex this girl into oblivion. Chances were that she would probably not even remember his name or face the next morning when she woke up naked on the side of a road. But he reminded himself, he was not a coward. Although -- he took a double take -- having sex with this girl was probably not such a bad idea. After all, she was as drunk as a skunk in heat, so she probably deserved to be amnesia-sexed. Also, he had never had sex in his life, and he probably never will, considering his reputation and physical appearance. So, he should probably take this opportunity with both hands, or his hands would be all that would satisfy him should he let go of this opportunity. He looked at Sammy (he had suddenly remembered her name). She looked at him. He said, "Look, I came with a friend... He had a car... I mean he has a car." He considered his next statement. "He will come and take you home... With the car, but only if everyone left, and you and I are alone here..." He stopped. What kind of proposition was that? He could almost smack himself for being so stupid. But it appeared to him that he wasn't the only stupid one when the girl said, "Sure... We will wait. I will..." Jason couldn't believe his luck.

A while later, sitting on the pavement in the deserted parking lot behind the club, Sammy's head slumped on his lap, Jason felt cold. So cold that his fingers were numb, and his teeth were chattering.

He could barely believe what he was about to do. Sammy was fast asleep, puke dripping down the side of her face and on some strands of her hair. He had already removed her belt, and his right hand was inside her jeans, rubbing her buttocks tenderly. He was already hard but couldn't bring himself to do what he wanted to do for so long. "What are you doing?" A voice behind him said, making him rip his hand out of Sammy's back side so suddenly that the waist of her jeans scratched his middle finger. He turned around. Standing against the wall, Frank eyed him curiously. Jason felt a rush of relief consuming him. "Dude!" He spat out. Then he lifted Sammy's head and let it rest on the pavement. He stood up. Frank was still eyeing him curiously. "Where were you, man?" Jason asked, but Frank remained quiet, looking at him. There was something about Frank's silence, his look, and posture against the wall that sent a cold chill down his spine. Thinking that he was probably just paranoid, Jason sighed and said, "For a moment I was scared. When I couldn't find you. I thought --"

"She's out cold, you know?" Frank said ominously. Jason wanted to ask him who he was talking about when he continued, "Sammy. She's out cold... Unconscious. She won't wake anytime soon... If ever." A sly smile crept up Frank's cheeks that assured Jason that the cold chill running down his spine had nothing to do with the bone-gnawing cold breeze which suddenly filled the empty, dark parking lot. "What are you talking about?" Jason asked, hoping he imagined the sick, psycho smile on Frank's face. "You know what I'm talking about." Frank said, his smile fading.

"No, I don't know what you're talking about." Jason swallowed.

"You don't know what I'm talking about? Well, you see Jason, I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. Let me prove it to you: what were you doing to Sammy a while ago? Before you answer that, answer this: why didn't you plan to take Sammy home safely? Why did you wait for everyone -- who could have helped you -- to leave, so that you could have some alone-time with Sammy?" The psycho smile was back, and he stood away from the wall.Jason instinctively took a step back. He kept quiet, knowing what Frank was referring to. He had been planning to rape Sammy and leave her there in the parking lot. He shook his head, disgusted at himself. "But I didn't do it."

"But you were thinking about it. That's my point. And not only did you think about it, but you also wanted to do it. That's way you came up with this plan. Which wasn't a bad one, might I mention, but not a good one, either. For several reasons, which I won't divulge into now since we don't have much time."

"Time for what?" Jason asked. Frank's smile dissipated almost as suddenly as Jason looked toward Sammy. Then he remembered something. "you said Sammy won't wake. What did you mean by that?"

"Manipulate her into coming with us? Where to?"

Frank scoffed. "It would appear," He began. "That common sense is not so common, after all. Let me try another tactic: What do the names, 'Jason' and 'Richard' have in common? Now, since you're not a very bright chap, I'll give you the answer. What these two names have in common is that they are both the first names of psychopathic serial killers..." He paused to let this sink in. Then he said, "The horror movie, Friday the 13th? The name of the psychopath in that movie is Jason. The name 'Richard' is the first name of a twentieth century serial killer... Richard Ramirez... Whom they dubbed, 'The Night Stalker'. Are you connecting the dots yet?" Jason froze, realising where Frank aka Richard aka The Night Stalker was going with this. He must have seemed confused because Richard went on. "Do you believe in fate, Jason?" He didn't want him to answer. "There is a reason and a purpose for everything that happens. Nothing happens by chance or free will. Free will is an illusion. There is a reason why you have the name Jason; there is a reason why my second name is Richard; there is a reason why we met tonight..." Jason's mind was reeling. Everything started to make sense now. The abandoned building, where he had met Richard was the same abandoned building the news reader had mentioned where the missing girl, Samantha Gross, was last seen. Oh my God. Jason thought. Samantha... Sammy... He must have spoken the names out loud because Richard smiled and said, "Connecting the dots, I see... But you have forgotten Samira Govender. Went missing two weeks ago. She was my first victim. Samantha my second. And now Sammy, my third, which will officially make me a serial killer... Remember, a serial killer is a person who has killed three or more people with the same modus operandi. After tonight, I will be known as a serial killer. The Night Stalker of Florida. But then I met you. And everything changed. The Night Stalker of Florida. The Vampire of Florida. Can't you see, Jason? This is fate. Fate brought us together. And the two of us together? The possibilities are endless. You and I, whom society have condemned, made outcasts of. We can make them pay for what they did to us. I'm talking about vengeance, Jason. Power, valour... immortality... Join me, and you can have it all." Jason didn't know whether it was the alcohol playing with his mind, but he thought that Richard was slowly losing touch with reality. It wasn't just in what he was saying, but also in how he was saying it. It was as if he was gradually becoming psychotic, losing touch with what is real. He continued, "Join me, Jason. Here," he removed his left hand from his bomber jacket pocket. He was holding a butcher knife in his hand. The blade was about the size of hunting knife, but even in the gloom, the knife seemed sharp enough to pass for a surgical knife. "Quick, Jason." He said with urgency. "We don't have much time." He stepped closer, offering the knife to Jason. Jason said, "What do you want me to do?" He couldn't hide the tremor in his voice. What happened next happened all too fast for Jason to register to react in time. Before Jason knew it, he was suddenly pushed backward by a tremendous force, the back of his head slamming into the concrete, followed by a gush of air being expelled from his lungs by the force with which his back hit the ground. For a while, Jason was disoriented, and didn't know which way was up. He heard scuffling, then the sickening sound of a knife slicing through meat. He lifted his head and saw Richard on top of Sammy, stabbing her repeatedly and vigorously. He scrambled to his feet and threw himself on top of Richard, trying to grab the knife. He felt his head colliding with something hard, and he lost his balance again. He was on his back, and someone was on top of him, holding him down. He heard screaming. A high pitched, female screech. Then he felt a warm liquid splashing his face, all the while fighting the dead weight bearing down on him. It took him a while to notice that Richard wasn't fighting with him. He was trying to cover his face and body with Sammy's dead body. And when he opened his eyes, he knew why. He also knew why Richard had repeatedly told him that they didn't have much time: it was 6 a.m. The sun was starting to rise.

The End