Christmas Moon
I gasped.
I might be a creature of the night, but that doesn't mean I don't get startled. My first instinct was to dash toward the door of my office, which is what I did, blocking the stranger from further access into my house. One moment I was sitting at my desk, downing a packet of cow blood, gagging, and the next, I was standing guard at my office door.
"I didn't mean to startle you, Samantha."
"Of course not, asshole. Which is why you appeared suddenly in my office. You have five seconds before I throw you through that wall."
I was a mixture of rage and confusion. The adrenaline-fueled rage for obvious reasons. The confusion because my inner alarm system had been completely bypassed. What the hell was going on?
I kept an ear out towards my kids, listening hard, but all I could hear was Anthony's light snoring. Tammy wasn't snoring, but I could sense her there in her room, curled up in her bed, one arm tucked under her pillow.
"Your extrasensory skills are progressing rapidly, Samantha."
"What do you mean?" I asked, perplexed, angered, wracking my brain for an explanation of how he had appeared so suddenly in my office. I found none.
He watched me from the corner of the room, hands folded in front of him, smiling serenely. His blondish hair seemed to lift and fall on currents of air that I sure as hell didn't feel.
He cocked his head slightly to one side. "Your image of your sleeping daughter, of course. Your psychic hit is completely accurate."
"Who the hell are you, goddammit?" I asked.
"God never damns, Samantha."
"You'd better start talking, mister. Or Ishmael. Or whoever the hell you are."
He smiled again, so warmly that at any other time, he might have won me over. Any other time, that is, other than appearing in my office in the dead of night, while seemingly knowing the details of my sleeping daughter.
"Who do you think I am, Samantha?" he asked.
"A dead man, unless you start talking."
His hair, which hung just over his ears, lifted and fell again, and I was beginning to wonder if I was dreaming. The light particles that formed brilliantly around him seemed to disappear into him, which was a first to me.
"You have grown stronger over these past seven years...and more violent, too. The violence is part of your nature now, I suppose, but my hope is that you learn to suppress it. Violence has a way of getting out of control, controlling you." He stepped slowly out of the shadows of my office, away from the bookcase, and stepped around my old recliner. When I don't use the office for work, it's my escape from my kids, where I come to read...or sometimes just to cry, although no one knows about the crying.
"Who are you?" I asked again.
"I am that which you think I am, Samantha."
"How do you know what I'm thinking?"
He smiled, but did not answer.
I waited. He waited. My conversation with Fang came roaring back. I shook my head in disbelief. Ishmael smiled even broader and held out his hands a little.
"You're my guardian angel?" I said, unable to hide the disbelief from my voice.
He continuing smiling as he stepped around my recliner. "You sound incredulous, Sam. This coming from someone such as yourself."
"Such as myself? And what would that be? Exactly?"
"A vampire, Samantha Moon. At least, that's what this present generation calls your condition. It has, of course, been called many other things, over many centuries. Admittedly, the curse has flared darker and stronger in this generation."
"I don't understand."
My head was spinning. "Called into existence from where?"
"From the nether-sphere, Sam. From out there. From the great soup of all ideas and thoughts and creative expressions."
He continued toward me and I held up my hand. "I think you should stop right there."
He did stop. Next to one of my client chairs. "I will not hurt you, Sam. It's against my very nature to hurt you. In fact, quite the opposite."
"Opposite?"
He nodded once, sharply. "My nature is to protect you."
"Because you're my guardian angel."
"Yes, Sam. Because I'm your guardian angel."