Requiem

Chapter 2 - Bill

Chapter 2 - BillThe Boeing 787 Dreamliner taxied on the runway of the DIA—Denver International Airport. He took Business Class so that he'd have comfort and privacy. The gentle blue, gray and white interior helped calm his nerves. Although the Dreamliner had carry-on luggage, he had little with him, just one bag.

Bill looked out into the darkness, watching the lights of the city and runway rush by, and then eased out of sight as he felt the familiar lift of the jet leaving the tarmac.

Bill had only two concerns about the flight. The first of which was possible fires on board related to the jet's lithium-ion batteries.

His second concern was the passenger seated next to him, on the other side of the privacy wall, occupied by a large businesses man on his way to Chicago. He'd said he was from L.A. almost right away, as if this made him important. He complained about the airline's on-board baggage requirements, the food, the fact that they only allowed two drinks, made a running comment about the stewardesses (who were bitches from hell), and would not shut the hell up from the moment he'd sat down, plus every fifth word he dropped the f-bomb. Finding the man boorish, and obnoxious Bill used his new powers to make the man go to sleep, and in ten minutes the man went limp, his head lolling back on the headrest.

Thankful, Bill smiled to himself and watched whatever movie was on.

Unfortunately the man began to snore. He put the headphones on in order to drown that noise out. Now, at least, he could think. After the vision of Nemesis, he had followed his inner voice, which told him he must get back home. The first place he had gone to instantly, with just a thought, was the Hyatt Place in Colorado Springs where he had been staying. He had made reservations for two weeks, as he had no idea how long it would take him to locate and snatch Sabrina.

He retrieved his luggage from the motel room. Although he didn't need to make any excuse as to why he had been gone so long (he had used a credit card and was checked in for the whole week), he had told the motel clerk that he had been in the mountains during a snow storm. He went into an elaborate story where he'd tried to hike out, fell and somehow lost his wallet and cell phone. He couldn't very well tell him his wallet had burned up with him, could he? Plus, he'd given Sabrina his cell phone in order to get in touch with his father. He felt fortunate that the car he had rented was still there. He had rented it for a week, so no one had bothered it. But he no longer had the keys. There were ways around that, however, and he used his new-found powers to open the door, and drive it to the hotel parking lot, and left it there.

Fortunately his other credit cards were in another wallet with his luggage, and he'd rented a new room for the day—to shower and sleep. He needed the time to compose himself after what had happened in the cave, and figure out what he needed to do and how to do it.

When he awoke midday, and found that sun poked in through the drapes, burning a hole in his arm. Sitting up abruptly, he moved away from the blaring sun and examined his arm where the sun had touched him. Nothing had happened. He did not smolder and other than a little redness, he was fine. Did I imagine it burning me?

Nemesis had been right. He was not a vampire. He could walk in the sunlight, and did not require blood to live. The throbbing in his chest from his near-panic told him he indeed had a heartbeat, like a normal human had—not like a vampire, which was one beat per minute. He felt for his pulse in his arm and counted fifty beats per minute. Not quite like a human, then.

What am I?

He rolled over, rearranged the covers and pillow, and eventually went back to sleep. It was as though he had not slept in weeks. His dreams consisted of his awakening in the cave as a vampire, and slashing the throats of the men and drinking their blood. Waking up sweat-drenched, he sat in the bed trying to steady himself. The images were hard to shake. He had killed those men. Guilt-riddled, he felt he should turn himself into the authorities. But something stopped him from doing so. It was called self-preservation.

“Why me?” He clawed his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. The lives of those three men who had been working on the cave-in swirled around in his head. He threw off the covers and headed straight for the shower, hoping to wake up completely.

After drying off and dressing, he found he was hungry.

But not for blood. For a nice porterhouse and all the trimmings. He could find a decent steak in Denver. After all, they bred cattle here.

Now, on the last leg of the flight, his mind played out the scenes in the cave once again. They were currently over Iowa, a stewardess had said so to a passenger who'd asked nearby.

Almost there. Will I find Sabrina at home? She wouldn't know I'm alive. So his thoughts went.

Once home he would still have to figure things out. He now felt relieved that he had not sold the condo in Naperville. When he had first come to Illinois to find the sibyl, and eventually came to Emma to ask for her help. She had welcomed him and insisted he stay with her. She knew right away where the sibyl was—living right across the street from her.

Bill knew everyone would think him dead and gone, since Sabrina had been present and would have told Emma. The news would have gotten back to his parents, his sister, everyone who knew him. He had feared all his accounts would have been frozen, or dissolved. But when he'd checked, his accounts seemed to be left alone. He'd had the wording of his will to read that no one could touch any of his accounts, or sell any of his property for one full year after his death—just in case. It was well known that as a Nephilim, one might return as a Vampyr and need money and dwelling.

He had returned. What now? Pretend he was the same old Bill Gannon? Or stay out of sight? He still had a lot to think about.