2004. To his extreme irritation, Jacob was still alive, despite the fact that his head was rolling across the garage floor and making him horribly dizzy. Between spins, he caught glimpses of his body twitching and jerking on the other side of the room. Damn it! He'd paid a small fortune for that antique guillotine, too.
Well, if twisting his body into contortions worthy of Houdini in order to behead himself had not put an end to his miserable existence, he was damned if he knew what would. Jacob snorted in irony. He was damned, all right. Damned to immortality.
It took no more than a brief thought to reunite head and body. Sitting up, Jacob felt the not unpleasant tingling of his flesh reconnecting, veins joining, spine melding. Within moments, there was not even a scar remaining upon his recently severed neck. He felt no joy in the healing. To the contrary, he was exceedingly dismayed. Was there nothing that would bring him the bliss of death?
Rising to his feet, Jacob cast a disgusted look at the ineffectual guillotine and headed for the kitchen. He brewed himself a strong cup of Darjeeling, stirred in a heaping spoonful of sugar and added a generous swirl of milk. Tea was his weakness, and he preferred it British style. After all, he had spent several hundred of his 2,000-plus years in British held territories. He still retained a trace of an accent, and the odd British slang word would occasionally find its way into his speech.
The dark liquid heat soothed him, and Jacob carried the cup into the living room to settle into his favorite chair. Niu, they don't make furniture like this anymore! The easy chair was massive and overstuffed, roomy enough even for his large frame, and sinfully cozy. It had been custom made for him a couple hundred years ago, and Jacob had never since been able to part with it. He'd had it reupholstered numerous times as the fabric wore through. Currently, it was covered in a thick-napped widewale corduroy in a rich shade of brown. Jacob had recently found himself on an earthtones kick, much to his chagrin. He worried that his home might look a bit too '70s, with its browns and russets and trailing pothos plants in macrame hangers. Well, at least he didn't have any disco records. At least, not where anyone would find them.
He had been thinking lately that it was about time to move. He was getting restless, bored with this lovely townhouse overlooking Puget Sound. Bored with his job as a software engineer. Bored with his life. Jacob never stayed long in one place. 20 years max. Even that was problematic, what with his immortality and all. His friends would start to wonder why they were balding and saggy, but he still looked a fit 30ish. And despite his obsessive attention to detail, the random exsanguinated body would occasionally surface, creating a discomfitting media stir. Jacob would judiciously move on before anyone put two and two together and came up with 20-to-life.
Nutmeg wandered in, looking for an empty lap. A sable Burmese, Nutmeg was the most people-needy of all Jacob's cats. He had kept many who had been cuddly and affectionate as kittens, but, as cats so often do, had turned cool and aloof as they matured. Nutmeg had been his best friend and dearest companion for six years now, but still enjoyed — in fact, craved human attention. Leaping gracefully onto his lap, she seated herself and stared at him with her round golden eyes. Time to move, my friend. Mischief is afoot. Yes, Jacob responded silently. Time to move.
1984. The thick, warm elixir of life flowed down Jakobus' throat. With every drop, he felt strength and power swelling within himself. He drank greedily, and the lust to feed slowly subsided as his hunger was assuaged. When he was sated, Jakobus released the now lifeless body and reverently laid it on the cold pavement of the parking structure. He took a few moments to study his victim, a kind-faced male in his 30s. He seemed very average, middle class. But the gold band on his left hand disturbed Jakobus. That suggested a family, waiting in vain for Dad to come home.
Jacob had a personal rule: One victim at a time. Feeding on a family man created multiple victims beyond the unwilling blood donor. Jacob despised his irresistible need for fresh blood, indeed loathed it. But his will was not strong enough to resist the bloodlust when it rose in him. It was far stronger than the urge to mate, and Isis knew he struggled enough with that one. But if he must feed, at least he could have some scruples about his chosen victims. Tonight, in his desperation, he'd been careless. The wedding band had been hidden by the man's leather gloves, and, ravenous, Jakobus had acted rashly. Now he'd killed someone's husband, perhaps even a father. Osiris forbid!
Scowling with self-disgust, Jacob began searching the man's pockets for a wallet. He found it in the chest pocket of the coat. Cheap brown leather, embossed with saguaro cacti and stitched around the edges with darker lacing. Jacob's heart sank. This was a wallet some child had made at Boy Scouts or summer camp. For their father. Flipping the wallet open, Jacob thumbed through the photo sleeves. Chubby smiling babies, a gap-toothed toddler in braids, a freckle-faced Little Leaguer. He paused at a snapshot of a little girl dressed in an angel costume. Wearing a long white gown with trailing filmy sleeves, she clutched the handle of a plastic pumpkin pail in one hand and the crisscrossed straps holding her wings with the other. She was gazing at the camera with huge blue eyes, and her beautiful blonde hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back. She was breathtaking. The very embodiment of peace and purity — all that Jacob yearned for. He slid the photo from the wallet and slipped it into his pocket. Then he hefted the limp body onto his shoulders and headed for the river.
2004. As houses go, it wasn't that bad. Not that it was a true house, but Jacob had long ago fallen into the modern habit of referring to one's abode as a house, whether it be condo, trailer or an antebellum mansion. This particular "house" was in fact a duplex, and a rather attractive one at that. Cream colored stucco with blue fake shutters, mounds of flowering shrubs and a wrought iron fence enclosing the yard. The two sides were joined at their one-car garages, with a narrow strip of grass dividing the concrete driveway. The sides looked identical, except that his side was bare and forlorn, while the other was festively hung with wind chimes, begonias and a fabric flag featuring frolicking kittens. Jacob hoped that meant its occupant was a cat person. He firmly believed that any person who disliked cats was mentally unstable and quite probably dangerous. The last thing he wanted was a psychotic neighbor with a Rottweiler.
Walking through the front door into his new home, Jacob set down the cat carrier and released Nutmeg and Wasabi. Nutmeg immediately wound around his ankles, rubbing herself against his legs. Wasabi, an ill-tempered lynx point Siamese, yowled his disapproval of the entire moving process and streaked toward the open door. Jacob slammed it just in time to save the legs of any unsuspecting passers-by from a bloody shredding. Glaring venomously at him, Wasabi stalked off in search of drapes to climb.
He doesn't like it here, does he? Jacob thought to Nutmeg. She spat.
He doesn't like it ANYWHERE.
The furniture and most of his personal belongings would be arriving later, but Jacob began unloading the boxes he had transported in the Explorer. Essentials and things too precious to trust to anyone else's hands. When it's been 2,000 years since you've seen your mother's face, you're not too eager to trust the fragility of the wedding jar she left you to a bunch of neo-Neanderthal movers. Jacob gently carried the boxes inside and stashed them safely in the bedroom closet. Luggage followed, and a tote box of cat essentials. Jacob desperately wished his chair were there; a place never truly felt like home till the chair was in place. He wanted it right there, near the fireplace. He would sit in his chair and warm his always-cold feet before a roaring fire. Nutmeg meowed her approval. Tonight, he thought with anticipation. Tonight we will toast our toes by the fire together. Nutmeg smiled.
A big yellow truck was parked in her driveway, which really pissed Jess off. It's not like there was anyplace else to park on this street. Besides, she paid rent on that driveway just like the house. To her, some random asshole parking in her driveway was exactly the same as walking in and finding a total stranger sitting on her couch watching Jeopardy! Goddamn it. She'd kick their ass so hard they'd be shitting through a straw. Not that she actually would; Jess disliked violence in any form. But it sure made her feel better to say she was going to. Even if she wasn't quite clear what it meant.
She jerked her Ranger to a stop behind the moving van and jumped out. Two men were carrying a mahogany dining table into the duplex, and there were two more guys up in the back of the van.
"Hey!" Jess yelled, "You morons want to get this thing out of MY driveway?"
The movers ignored her, but a man came out of the duplex and walked toward her. Quite possibly the most beautiful man Jess had ever seen. A living, breathing example of Tall, Dark and Handsome. OK, when you never made it past five feet, ALL men are tall to you. But this guy had to be 6'3" at least. Dark, dark hair flowing around his shoulders. As he approached, Jess stared at his eyes. They were gray, nearly silver. Intent. Mesmerizing. And staring right back at her.
"I beg your pardon. As you can see, there's no parking on the street, and I've quite a lot of furniture to be unloaded. We'd hoped to be finished before you came home. Any chance we can leave the truck here until we've gotten the furniture inside?"
Aww man, a Nancy Boy. If only he hadn't opened his mouth!
"Buddy, I don't care if you've got Elvis' toilet in there. Get your damn truck OUT of my driveway NOW!"
Elvis' toilet? Was the woman quite mad?
"I'm afraid I don't catch your meaning, but — "
"What you're going to catch is my boot up your ass if you don't MOVE THAT FUCKING TRUCK!!!"
The Nancy Boy looked shocked. Backing away from Jess, he turned and instructed the driver to move the truck to his side of the driveway once he'd backed his own vehicle out. Jess nodded with smug satisfaction and stalked back to her Ranger.
Sliding behind the wheel of the Explorer, Jacob turned the key and shifted into reverse. Odious woman. Positively odious.
