A Tear of Blood

By Julie Harris

Be careful what you wish for.

Charlie didn’t think her vampire story would ever be a bestseller, let alone a movie with Hollywood icon Michael Dunne playing her charismatic, troubled vampire, Annarchie. What Charlie doesn’t realize, until it’s too late, is that Michael Dunne doesn’t have to act in this movie because he IS Annarchie, the vampire she told the world about, and he’s been getting away with murder for centuries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julie Harris
• Release date: Feb 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507035900

Book preview

Prologue

––––––––

Living among us undetected may be creatures (not necessarily alien) with all the outward appearances of human beings. The mimic would, of necessity, be a lone wolf, likely living in a large, bustling city where the eccentric and the odd may flourish unhindered. For it is a curious fact of nature that that which is in plain view is often best hidden.

Alex Saunders, Quest Magazine, October 1969.

––––––––

18th century Ireland

––––––––

Hidden from the wind by layers of coarse cloth, the soldier’s face revealed only summer blue of eye, paling now from boredom and futility.

There was nothing of interest here, death had delivered its message long before the last snowfall. The hope for a survivor was again lost to the winter chill. Sighing, the soldier turned his horse towards the next village.

The scent of fresh, warm blood came to him across the frozen air, obliterating the nullity, the desolation. He tracked the source—human, female. He looked down at her, his expression void for a little while. She had tried, the fool, but there had been nowhere to run. His hunger intensified, rising, falling, omnipresent as he gazed down at her. Eventually, the soldier crouched and removed his gloves to touch the blue-hued, icy skin.

Not yet dead, the final boundary still uncrossed.  He turned her over. A beauty, neither a woman nor a child, hair the color of ripe wheat, the virginal body hacked by sword and left to die amid this arctic white.

The nuns of Kilkenny had suffered worse for less.

An unfitting sour finale to life.

There was a long-forgotten stirring from the wasteland within. The soldier didn’t understand until he touched her raw oozing wounds. Her eyes opened and flickered with terror, and he knew at that moment, his long search was complete.

An instant of raw searing pain touched him deeply before the torn flesh under his fingertips closed.

There is nothing to fear.

Chapter 1

––––––––

Present Day

––––––––

Michael Dunne slowed his bike as he rounded another bend on the steep, winding road and a teenage hitchhiker came into view. His hunger fired immediately as he drew alongside, stopped, and lifted his visor. Hi there, he said. I think I’m lost. I’m trying to find a place called Tambourine Mountain.

She vaguely pointed ahead. You mean Mount Tambourine.

Is that where you’re heading? he asked.

She nodded.

I’ll give you a ride.

She was indecisive for a moment and Michael waited a little while, engine idling, patient. He knew very well what she would do. He was never wrong.

The girl with the heavy back pack and blisters on her feet climbed on the bike behind him. Hardly sixteen, he thought, as hands wrapped around his waist and clung tightly.

A few minutes later, she tapped him, hard, and Michael slowed the bike, pulling up opposite a row of shops in the small Gold Coast hinterland town. He lifted his visor, took a look around. Quaint little place.

Thanks a lot, you’re a life saver, she said as she got off the bike.

No child, he thought. Your life will save mime.

She was in no hurry to complete her journey. something on her mind—there always was. This is going to sound weird but have I seen you before?

Michael shrugged, half heartedly.

Your voice, too. It’s familiar.

I get that a lot. What’s your name? he asked, impaling her with his gaze.

Jess, she said, almost shyly.

I hear there’s a lookout here somewhere. A view to die for.

Would you like me to show you where it is? she asked, a little too eager.

He replied with a smile. That’s all it ever took. She climbed on the bike again.

It was early morning, not many people about. He parked the bike at the lookout, removed his helmet, shook his hair free and turned to the life giver named Jess. Then a minibus arrived. A gaggle of seniors were setting up for a picnic breakfast. This would not do. It was too open and he had already been seen—in a crowd there was always one observer.

What’s your name? Jess asked.

Mike, he said.

Are you from New York?

Strike one.

Are you on holiday?

Strike two.

And then she realized the truth. "Oh my god. You’re Michael Dunne!"

He didn’t respond to the recognition. He breathed deeply. The air was clean here. New. It was sweet to the taste and gentle on the lungs, and yes, the view was spectacular. He turned to her and shot her a look reserved for photographers: looks which helped to get butts on cinema seats. Loving, dangerous, despairing and lost looks—depending upon his mood.

"Are you really the Michael Dunne?"

His smile was a little sad.

Oh, my God! You’re here to make that movie! She reached for her cell phone but he touched her arm.

Please don’t do that, Jess.

But—

I just want to escape for a couple of hours, you know?

No, she didn’t know. Her first brush with fame would be her last anyway. Why did you give me a ride?

I like meeting the natives until they realize who I am and I’m back to square one.

I’ve seen all your movies.

With a sigh, he walked away, back to his bike.

Where are you going?

To find some place quiet.

I know a place, she said. It’s really private. It’s where I go to paint. And if it’s hot, I swim there, too. Not many people know about it.

Such an ideal invitation was too good to decline. Michael put the full-faced helmet on and looked back at her. You’ll have to show me the way.

Jess held extra tight on the ride this time but they flew through the township so fast that no one would have recognized her on the back of this star’s bike. She wanted to scream, I’m taking Michael Dunne to my favorite swimming hole and no one in the world knows except me! as she clung tight and yelled the directions. He rode the rough, winding, narrow road easily, deep into the Gold Coast hinterland, down steep descents, up steeper climbs until a narrow one-lame bridge was crossed. Here, she said. Turn left here. We have to walk.

He stopped the bike and killed the engine. He chose a huge spreading tree, one that hid his bike from passing traffic, but the road was so bad there wouldn’t be much passing traffic. His hunger was intense and he doubted he could wait until after her backtracking expedition into the Australian bush to fulfill it. Nicotine temporarily eased the pain. The last thing he needed right now was to sour her, so play along for a while he must. She’d be easy, this one. Most teenage girls were. Easy, vulnerable, and very, very sweet if he worked on them long enough. And a few minutes was all it ever took. Older females were a little more wary and demanding.

Jess left her back pack on the bike and led him deeper into the bush. At the top of a hill he looked down into a creek, wide in one part, shallow and rocky in most. Watch out for black snakes, she said as she traversed the long grass with caution. Snakes never bothered Michael. He tore off down the slope, leaping logs, weaving through the bush and stripping off his clothing as he went.

Jess could not believe what she was seeing. He was going to skinny dip! All she really saw of his glorious, well maintained body was his lily white bum as he jumped into the calm waterhole.

Jess stood on the creek bank and waited for him to appear. He did, bobbing to the surface, long dark hair plastered across his face. Come on in, honey, the water’s fine!

She loved his accent, she loved his face, she loved him and had done so for four years now. Well, she loved the part of him that showed on the wide screen and over and over on her TV thanks to the rewind on the remote control. Come on, Jess. Hell, don’t be shy around me, babe!

Jess, still hesitant, slowly pulled her sneakers off. Her blisters were raw and oozing. Then came the shorts. She looked into the waterhole where he was paddling around, having a wonderful time on such a stinking hot morning. And he wanted to share it with her. He was so nice, so friendly, so drop-dead gorgeous... She knew this day would never come again. Jess peeled her top over her head but that was all she removed. Michael liked what he saw, very much. His mouth went dry on sight. Oh, how he loved young flesh and what it contained.

If my father finds out about this I am dead, she said, arms folded over her breasts as if scared to show herself to the world. Or to him. In case he laughed. Like Gary had.

He’ll only know if you tell him.

What the hell, she said to herself and stepped out of her pants, too. Stark naked, Jess Lillee jumped into the very cold water. They paddled and splashed and played for a long time, laughing, cackling, fooling around, enjoying a delicious break from the humid heat.

He didn’t make any moves, not like Gary. This man, this wonderful human being, simply enjoyed her company. And before long, she forgot who he really was, until he said, as he floated and she floated and he held her hand, and rubbed at her wrist, You know I once shot a scene just like this.

"In Dark Eyes."

You saw it?

Four times at the cinema.

He laughed. You know, the water was two below that day. A summer scene shot in autumn. some things I’ve been asked to do— His voice faded as he looked up at the sun’s position in the sky. It was about eleven. Already? He swam to the edge of the waterhole and heaved himself out.

Jess watched from the water as he walked about naked, searching for his clothes. "You have to go so soon?’ she called.

Yo. Duty calls. Michael helped her out once he was partly dressed. I’ve got a production meeting at the studio. I’ve got to go. What’s your number? I’d like to see you again if that’d be all right. From the pocket of his jeans he took a pen and tiny notebook and he handed each to her. Her hand was shaking, and for a moment she forgot her number.

But this, too, he was accustomed to. It was all a part of the excitement, the rush—the rush of adrenalin that sweetened the blood. Those had been the magic words that rarely failed. I’d like to see you again. The soft, melodic accent and a special expression in the eyes was all it took.

She remembered her number, she even remembered her name. Jess reached for her clothes, mainly her bikini pants, but he touched her face and all her movements ceased. She knew what was coming now.

He studied her face. A pretty face. Pointed nose, freckles. Soft, dark hair, and bright eyes that were neither blue nor green. She looked a little like Kate did once, a long time ago. We’d better get going, but— The pain was becoming intolerable. The pain of hunger.

But? Jess asked.

You’re so beautiful, Jess. Can I kiss you?

She threw her arms around his neck and planted a hard, forceful kiss on his mouth. She felt the huge warm hands on her naked back, rubbing as he looked down at her and said, What about your daddy?

She whispered, He won’t know if I don’t tell him.

You little fool, he thought. Are you sure?

She nodded.

How old are you?

Old enough to know what I want.

He worked his magic, bringing her down gently into the long grass, playing. Yes, so easy. So easy... Michael brought her quickly to a peak of unmistakable ecstasy before he took his fill, and again and again till there was no more to give and even less to take. He looked down at her as she lay, eyes closed on the grass below him, lost in some teenage fantasy world. He could have joined her in it if he’d wanted, but time was wearing on, as only time could here in this place. He didn’t kill her—not right away. He almost changed his mind. He almost wanted to see her again, but he knew that the soul this one possessed was not the one he needed, not the one he’d spent centuries searching for.

Bliss. All Jess’s dreams had been realized. Michael Dunne, her idol, was not like Gary who grunted and groaned and as soon as he began it was over and it was all her fault. This man who’d starred in her daydreams raised on elbow to study her again. She reached out and touched tightening muscles of thigh, hip and belly. He had the most glorious body she had ever seen, and he was real, alive, and lying beside her. Watching. What are you working on? she asked.

A psychological horror, he said, flicking his cigarette butt. The nicotine wasn’t helping. It was too late for that. Her scent was too strong. "An erotic psychological horror." He dissected her body with his finger and watched as her skin shivered in the wake. Young, pale nipples puckered and engorged, deepening in hue to a very dark pink. His mouth was watering for a taste.

At the studios down off the M1?

Yeah. First rehearsals start in the morning. Damn the production meeting. I could stay here with you all day long. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. All day long, he whispered again, kissing her mouth, then her throat. Jess caught her breath. He was doing it again, playing ecstatic melodies on her skin, his tongue licking and biting and kissing and... Close your eyes and dream, little girl. Dream well. It’s all a dream. Your life has been nothing but a dream.

She could not help but close her eyes as his mouth moved from her breasts to her thighs and back again. An instant of pain, but was it pain? She was caught then, in a strange world of boats and mountains and mists and fogs; ancient ferries, captained by a strange-eyed man. Then all went gray, until the light came.

Michael’s pain diminished instantly. He sat back and lowered the girl’s body from his embrace. Oh, she had been so sweet. But weren’t they all? He sat for a little while looking at what remained of Jess Lillee. She wasn’t breathing, not that he could see at least. He felt for the carotid. There was still a pulse, it was weak. Futile. It would be a good way to die, he thought, floating away on some gentle wave of fading ecstasy. And he envied her. How he envied her.

He could sit and hold her until she died but he had other things yet to do on this fine, beautiful, hot Australian day.

Chapter 2

––––––––

The production meeting was scheduled for three in the afternoon and Charlie was nervous about it. So far, her experience of Hollywood was comprised of emails and contracts, and calls from a stressed-out American, Darcy Manning, one of the producers. Chris Williams was directing, and Charlie’s dealings with him weren’t so favorable. One light shone on the horizon though—Michael Dunne, star and executive producer, would be there.

The production company had settled her into a luxury apartment at Surfer’s Paradise, a high rise resort for the rich and shameless called Golden Palms. She’d be living here for the next eight weeks. It was nice enough, but it was not home. Charlie already missed her old dog, worried about her mother, and she wasn’t gone a full day yet.

The movie, the movie, the movie. It had occupied her every waking moment for months now. Her agent advised her to take the money and run, and she almost had, too, until woken at two am one morning, a year ago, by her cell phone. There was a message from Michael Dunne: what a joy it would be to work with her, blah, blah, would she please reconsider and write the screenplay?  In a fit of madness she said yes. At the time it had been a dream come true: her erotic vampire story being made into a movie starring a top Hollywood star. Well, that was last year, and since then her dream-come-true had turned into a nasty nightmare—and not for the first time she wondered if she’d made the right decision.

At 3 pm today she’d meet them all. It would be face-to-faces for the very first time. But it was barely midday. A local cinema was showing Dark Eyes, which was almost at the end of its incredibly long run. Apparently they decided to let it run a little longer now that Michael Dunne was in town.

Charlie decided the movies it would be. Dark Eyes for the sixth time. Chris Williams had directed this one, Darcy Manning had produced it and Michael Dunne starred in it. Charlie’s story, A Tear of Blood, was the trio’s next project, only this time she would share the screenwriting credits with Chris Williams who would call the entire project his even though it was Charlie’s story to begin with. But that was Hollywood and most audiences only remembered a movie because of who was in it.

Charlie knew she shouldn’t complain. She’d worked with Chris, at a safe distance of a few thousand miles, over the past months. He shared her vision. Where she could climb into a character’s mind, Chris could display it visually on screen. By email, Skype or phone he seemed an arrogant prig, but she felt it best to withhold any judgments until she actually met him. Besides, it was not the director she most wanted to meet. It was Michael Dunne. Because if Michael Dunne could not capture Annarchie, the vampire, to satisfaction, the movie would fail.

This time Charlie was determined to overlook her hormone rush at sight of Michael Dunne on screen, and decide whether he could truly act or not. For the sixth time, she bought her ticket to see Dark Eyes. Charlie chose the seat at the very end of the back row.

For a quiet midday matinee show in the multiplex, there were still fifty or so heads in front. Add one more to that because of the person who chose to invade her personal space by sitting next to her when not another soul sat in the back row. Worse, he was a rustler and a squirmer: a movie goer from hell. Charlie was trapped now, and a little annoyed. He had an entire cinema to sit in, why choose her personal space to invade? The squeaking of leather. What was he, a bikie? Charlie inwardly moaned when he put his feet up on the seat in front. His left booted foot jiggled. That was enough. Charlie grabbed her bag and attempted to stand, move. He didn’t put his legs down.

Excuse me?

Why? What’d you do? he asked.

American. Charlie took a quick look at his face in the dim light. It was familiar.

Oh. Want me to put my feet down? Sorry. He took his feet off the seat in front.

The movie was beginning, the credits rolling. One of the best scenes she’d surely miss if she moved now. Damn it. Charlie sat again quickly and leaned as far away as she could.

Michael Dunne’s character came stumbling from the dark fog, a shard of wood in his chest.

That’d have to hurt, the bikie beside her whispered, leaning close.

Do you mind? she spat. I’m trying to watch.

He pulled a face she could not see very well in the darkness and cringed away.

Today, she had sworn she would not get captured for two hours by the story. Today, she was here to study—study the cuts, jump cuts, edits, dialog, pacing and continuity. But this R rated feature with a few of the best erotic scenes ever filmed could not be ‘studied’ now, especially when she wanted to do this alone and had chosen the end seat of the very back row for that reason.

Then he slurped on his Coke. He didn’t pick it up. He leaned down to it and rattled the ice about for a better slurp or three. Charlie closed her eyes and prayed for tolerance, her least outstanding attribute. This is an omen, she thought. In a couple of hours I’ll be surrounded by Americans. I have to get used to this.

Do you mind? she whispered without looking at him. She was edgy enough, she really didn’t need this right now. He looked up from where he was taking another swig of his Coke, his face very close to her leg. Too close. something about his face in the dim light was familiar to Charlie.

Do I mind what? he asked.

"Keep the noise down for fuck’s sake. I’m trying to watch this.’

You’ve seen it five times already, Charlie Grayson.

How do you—

Do? I’m fine thanks. You? Oh, that smile. It captured every cell of her being. Any word that may have emerged was frozen solid. I couldn’t wait till this afternoon to meet you. Hi. I’m Michael Dunne.

Charlie glanced at the screen and there he was, so much larger than life. She looked back at the person sitting next to her. Lucky that the scene playing now was a day shot—she saw his face properly.

It certainly was Michael Dunne. Admired by millions world-wide, most of them female.

How’d you know I’d be here? she asked, whispering.

Shush. I’m trying to watch the movie. He extended his box of Maltesers towards her.

Charlie shook her head. No, thanks.

All left now was to watch the movie whilst its star sat beside her. An indescribable experience. For the first half hour she could not believe that he was actually sitting beside her, his feet up again, and mostly quiet.

So much for the escape. So much for taking her mind off the afternoon’s meeting. So much for trying to think of something bright and sparkling to say to Michael Dunne the moment their gazes locked. All this time she’d half hoped he’d be a typical Hollywood star. That he’d be a real pain in the arse. But he wasn’t. He could have been just anyone sitting beside someone else in the cinema, slurping Coke and eating Maltesers.

And then he touched her hand and held it, softly. Charlie tried to pull away but the grip tightened. Defiant. The movie on the screen faded, and so too did time. Another movie replaced Dark Eyes, this time it played on the screen of Charlie’s mind.

A four poster bed, glistening white, in a room crowded with flowers, roses, ethereal colors and scents to match. She saw a woman by a window. A breeze billowed her transparent silk gown, lifted her hair from her shoulders. A feeling unlike any known before descended in soft waves, gentle, rhythmic waves...

The next thing Charlie knew, the end credits were rolling. She woke to the reality of an emptying cinema. There was no one beside her. For a moment, she wondered if anyone had been sitting there. Maybe it was all in her imagination?

Charlie picked up her bag and stood up but she moved too quickly. Her head swam for a moment. Dizzy, she seemed to step into non existent holes. Once outside, she breathed in the early afternoon air. It was hot and humid. For a long time she wondered where the hell she was but gradually sense returned.

She fumbled in her bag for her car keys and tried to remember the way to the car park as she made her way amid the pedestrians crossing at the lights. For a few moments, nothing seemed quite real. The car park was still full as she walked on, trying to remember where she’d parked her car. Finding it eventually, she unlocked it and her index finger objected violently. She looked. How had she done that? Just under her fingernail, a puncture.

As Charlie opened the door and bent to throw her bag across to the passenger seat, the roar of a large bike frightened her so much that she cracked her head on the way up. She cursed. A big black Kawasaki roared by, brake lights flashing. A blue-jeaned, black-jacketed rider, face hidden by a dark, full-faced visor. Charlie watched till the bike disappeared down the winding ramp. Scare me to death next time, she whispered and threw her bag down. On her driver’s seat, a single red rosebud. It was not there when she parked three hours ago. And she had locked the car.

Charlie got in and studied the rose. A bud, not withered from the heat, not browning on the edges of the petals. She held it to her face. The scent alone was enough to return her instantly to that white room, strewn with roses—a marriage bed from long ago.

And she knew whose bed it had been, too.

She’d written a book about it. A book which, starting tomorrow, would become a movie. I’ve lost the plot, she said to herself, and put the rose on the passenger seat. Her finger hurt again when she turned the key.

Charlie drove out and glanced at the time on the clock in the dash. She had thirty minutes to get to the studios. Once on the motorway, she listened to Loreena McKennitt, sang along to the haunting Gaelic songs as best she was able but each note returned her mind to that white room. That was me, she thought. That woman I saw, she was me. The one in billowing silk. The emotion was so filling, raw, overflowing...

On she drove to the studios, lost in a dream, over the speed limit, and still being overtaken by impatient drivers. She’d have to get used to this, coming here every day. Up at five, to the studio by six. Her finger was throbbing, and so sore that she couldn’t bear any but the slightest pressure on it. She reached for the rose on the seat, blindly. It wasn’t there. She looked on the floor. Not there. She could not stop, not yet at least. I’m going mad, she thought. I must be.

No, it was real. I smelt it. I touched it. It was real. She looked in her rear vision mirror. A big black bike.

It roared past a moment later, frightening her again because it swerved in too close for comfort. This time the rider lifted his hand, a greeting. Brake lights flashed on and off. The bike took the exit to the studio and Charlie followed. After clearing security, there was one available parking space, next to the black Kawasaki. The rider was lighting a smoke. Charlie emerged from her car, determined to remain cool and impassive. Had it really been Michael Dunne next to her in the cinema?

Did you enjoy the movie? he asked.

Christ, she thought. It was him. Yep. You?

No. I don’t like watching myself. Follow me, Charlie Grayson. I’ll personally throw you to the lions. He offered his hand. Oh, that smile. Charlie couldn’t resist it. His fingers engulfed her hand and held tight. Michael Dunne led her into the production meeting.

She didn’t remember very much of it except that her fears were not justified. It was more of a family gathering than a meeting as such. Darcy Manning was as nervous and stressed in life as he was on the phone and he seemed worried that Charlie wouldn’t be comfortable in her luxury apartment. Chris Williams chain smoked. He was an arrogant prig. And Michael Dunne sat at the huge conference table and watched her every move. If Charlie expected to meet most of the cast she was disappointed.

The meeting disbanded at seven thirty and as Charlie walked back to her car, alone, she felt good. Very, very good for the first time in months, it seemed. Her thoughts though did not rest on tomorrows as they always seemed to. No, tonight, her thoughts centered on one person only. It certainly wasn’t the director of photography—Charlie couldn’t even remember his name. She drove back along the highway towards Surfers on remote control. It wasn’t until the lights near the Spit that she realized she was even driving. Michael Dunne was still on her mind. She