"Afterlife" part one

. 1 .

Times Square is empty. The buildings surrounding it are giant gray carcasses; shadows of the clean glass and reflective light they used to be. The whole city is like that now. Sitting here, on the edge of a hollowed-out window, high above the vacant streets, I find my mind wandering through the years. I try to count them; one hundred…two hundred….I flashback to when these buildings stood strong and shining…two hundred fifty…I see the fire falling from the sky…three hundred fifty…I see blue eyes that were once so alive; they don’t exist anymore…

He is dead and gone, lady…he is dead and gone….

I lose count.



Some stories are about people; their lives, their trials, even their demise. I always liked those stories.
My story, however, begins where yours might end. My story begins with my death.

It was raining.
I didn’t see the trucker coming at me, and I don’t remember how we hit.
I don’t remember being dragged out of my crushed ’73 Volkswagen Beetle.

All I remember was him. He was tall; I couldn’t see his face, only the fuzzy silhouette of his body against the flashes of lightning above.
He knelt over me; his face seemed miles away, but his voice, it sounded, was whispering in my ear:

“You’re dying”

He never asked me if I even wanted to be saved, if you could call it that. What he really did was send me to purgatory instead of the outright afterlife. No one ever tells you that purgatory is ten times worse than hell…so much worse.

I remember being swept into his arms, as if I weighed nothing at all. I remember the cold, how not even the smallest amount of heat emanated from his body; and how I felt him nuzzle my neck, as if he were almost uncertain.

I had multiple injuries; I was aware of this, was aware that my legs were mangled, my wrist splintered, my torso open and drowning itself in the rain. I knew my back was shattered; could that be why I felt nothing – nothing but a tingling cold yet burning sensation that originated near my jugular, but was now infiltrating my broken body.
I died in Fio’s arms, with the last of my blood being offered to the wet earth beneath me.

I opened my eyes.

The rain was gone, the angry clouds replaced by a ceiling I didn’t recognize. My eyes struggled to focus and adjust to the light. The colors around me were so vibrant and clear – as if I were seeing for the first time. I surveyed my surroundings without really seeing them. The bed I was carefully arranged on was large and soft, donned with expensive linens and pillows. I spread my fingers over the fabric – silk, ivory white silk; and ran through all the logical explanations of how I had arrived at my present situation.

There were lights; bright and fast approaching. I blinked; something hard pressed into my chest, there was a sickening crunch, the screaming of tires, the metal and fiber glass embracing coldly.
I pondered death, but could not make myself believe this prospect – though extremely comfortable and well furnished, this was a considerably nondescript form of heaven. Yet, survival seemed equally unlikely. I did not know where I was; could hardly recall if the accident was real at all.

There was pain. The rain fell into my eyes and mouth, choking me. I couldn’t move – waves of pain rushed over my body.
I retraced my steps. I heard my mom’s voice in my head, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be going to these college parties. You only have one more year, Carmen, and then you can go to all the college parties you want – so long as you keep up with your studies.” I snuck out. I drove the hour and a half up to Austin. I partied. But…I felt bad for sneaking out on mom. I left. I was already far out of town, when it started to rain…

I couldn’t see…

This room was so foreign; I could have passed out at the party I thought I had left. The plaster molding on the high ceiling matched those of the family room and any others I had seen there, but it was oddly quiet. Shock ran through me as I began to believe I was still at the house in the capital of Texas; the college party my mom had made all-too-clear a seventeen-year-old like me had no business attending. How long had I been asleep? I had to get out of there before my mom realized I was gone. I sprang out of the bed, my bare feet making no noise on the polished wood floors.

“Good morning, my little sparrow.”

I froze. His voice was like a light in the dark – or maybe more of a slap in the face. That smooth, deep sound held me there. Chills ran up my spine as I heard him walking behind me. I slowly rotated, looking over my shoulder to find the man that I knew was real – was my savior. On the other side of the room, stepping out of the shadows with inhuman grace was a man maybe in his mid-twenties; his hair was curly and black and formed a perfect mussed halo around his beautiful face. His eyes were a muddy crimson and his skin glowed like ivory. He grinned at me wolfishly as he approached, clearly noting my speculation, which ultimately succeeded in making me short of breath and my knees weak. I tried to break myself from that gaze, but I could not move an inch.

I wanted to inspect him, to listen to him, to gaze at him until I fully understood why he was so irresistibly provocative.
I wanted to touch him.

He reached the side of the bed, fingers trailing along the patterns of the bedspread, but his eyes were always on me, always smiling. A warm vibration began somewhere deep inside me, growing in intensity until I found I was shaking all over and breathing far too hard.

He stopped; inches from my face. His hand found its way into my hair and he cocked his head to one side, grinning at me in that hungry yet casual manner. With his other hand he traced my quivering lips as I closed my eyes, surrendering to the magic he was weaving around me. I felt myself falling onto the soft mattress once more as he brought his wonderful lips to my ear.

“You’re mine now my little sparrow. I’ll never let you go.”

I didn’t even know who this man was, but I had no control over myself as he lifted my sweat-shirt over my head. I could hardly breathe,

“Who are you?”

“Fio”
And his lips were on mine, sweet and cold. At the moment I couldn’t register the strangeness of a cold kiss. A dead kiss.

“Don’t you even want to know my name?”

“Sparrow.” He breathed between kisses; one hand caressing my collarbone.

“No, not Sparrow.” I managed to pull away from his soft and icy lips. He looked down at me; catching my breath, breaking his spell. I looked him over again; he was unearthly beautiful, with those strange eyes, that incredible grin, and I started falling into him again when I noticed it: two abnormally sharp, elongated fangs hiding behind those perfect lips - a wolfish grin, indeed.

Here I drew back, and here he noticed my gaze lingering on that animalistic smile. His expression changed as I sprang for the other side of the large bed, flipping over the edge. It could not have been more than a second as I recovered and stood there, about to sprint to the door on the far side of the room, but he was upon me; taking hold of my arms in his strong hands. I yelped in pain at the pressure he so easily exerted in that grip, but…how the hell could he have gotten around the bed at such a speed? Too fast, too fast – superhuman…no…not human at all. I was dreaming, no – I was in Hell, soon the demons with pitchforks would spring from under the bed, and the angel in front of me was most likely one of God’s fallen hosts. I didn’t know how close my ravings actually were.

Yes, dear, he is not human, but he is not demon, either…at times. He is most certainly undead.



Sometimes I wish I could speak to myself then as I am now; most times I wish I could tell myself to listen to my parents and stay home – The party is a washout, anyway. Stay home, be safe, go tell your mother how much you love her. I could almost laugh at my fright, now. For the speed and strength Fio expressed that night was really quite miniscule – slow and weak compared to his normal standards, compared to my own, even. I could almost laugh.



“Now where are you going?” his voice was in my ear again, his gaze stern, daring me to oppose him now that I knew how much stronger he was than me.

“What are you?” despite the futility of the action, I had begun to struggle, to fight against him.

“What do you mean, my pet?” he grinned again, he seemed amused. Those teeth glinted at me; I was shaking all over. “I thought you’d like them,” he sounded disappointed, “but I can put them away if you’d like.”
I stared in disbelief as he retracted his fangs. I blinked, trying to sort out if they had really been there at all. He chuckled, a deep reverberating sound from his chest,

“Now don’t you worry, you’ll be able to do that too. It just takes practice.” His grip loosened as he studied my reaction. I, too? What does he mean? Then my eyes grew wide and my hands flew to my mouth. Beneath my trembling fingers I felt the prolonged, sharp teeth between my front teeth and my canines – which had grown longer, too. What was happening? Who was this creature in front of me – what was he? What was I?