Drayton, the Taker (A Drayton Short Story): Drayton Chronicles, #1

By Tony Bertauski

Drayton once believed he was a vampire. He doesn't know what he is. Or why he has lived for thousands of years. He takes not his victim's blood but the silky essence of their soul during their last breath. Often mistaken for the Angel of Death, his victims sometimes ask for forgiveness. Sometimes he delivers.

After all, he is not without sin. 

Drayton finds Andrew Drummond dying on the roadside. He absorbs the last of his life, but not before Andrew demands vengeance. In those last moments, Drayton understands what Andrew desires. He sees all of his hardships, the crosses he has been forced bear. Drayton will find the source of his suffering. He will show his transgressor Andrew's pain. He will show him the depth and taste of true suffering.

INTERVIEW WITH THE AUTHOR

Did you ever think you'd write about vampires?
Nope. Drayton came out of nowhere when I was at a community theatre production of Dracula. I figured that an immortal vampire would more likely become compassionate and wise as he grew older. Twilight put a different spin on the vampire genre, much different than Nosferatu. Drayton's nothing like Twilight. Or Nosferatu.

What's a downside to writing a character similar that's similar to you? 
Predictable. Boring. If every book I write is similar, it ceases to surprise the reader. That's what I loved about Drayton, he was just the opposite of me. This paranormal being was fearless not out of bravado but the wisdom brought about by countless years of immortality. I called him a vampire because it was the word that fit him the best in his early years, but he became something much for that. Whatever a vampire becomes after the gore and bloodsucking, sort of like the caterpillar and butterfly. 

Do your characters ever resemble you in your beliefs?
Some do. But there are others that are just fun to go the other way, especially antagonists. I do find it interesting, even courageous, when authors can write very demented, sick and twisted antagonists. It's very revealing to show the world what's bouncing around in your head.

What do you think is the most important aspect of writing a character?
Letting him or her grow in my head. It's when I'm driving to work, taking a shower, or lying in bed that they come to life. It's also one of the most gratifying elements of writing. I've enjoyed letting this vampire walk through my mind, leaving his short stories behind.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: DeadPixel Publications
• Release date: Jun 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513083988

Book preview

Chapter 1

Punk-ass bitch.

Blake ignored his Thoughts. When you hear something like that a million times, it loses meaning. Or it sinks in so deep you don’t even notice it, like a clock ticking on the wall.

The Thoughts lived in Blake’s head from the very beginning. When he was five, he talked back to them. He’d be up in his attic room playing games with them, like Chutes and Ladders. They were friendly, told him he was smart. That he was a good boy. The Thoughts were Blake’s best friend. His parents figured it was just an imaginary friend. That it was normal. Healthy, they said.

But the Thoughts changed when Blake was eighteen, wanted him to do things he didn’t want to do. Wanted things he shouldn’t want to do. That’s when Blake started ignoring them, but he’d lived with them all his life. And they didn’t like being pushed aside. He tried to make them go away with booze and dope and sometimes that worked, but they always came back. Some say Blake Barnes just up and went crazy one day. If you asked Blake, he’d tell you he just couldn’t take it anymore.

Motherfucker.

Now he was on his back. Snow had drifted over him. He was beyond cold. Shivers had racked his body like electricity, but that was over now. They ended… he couldn’t remember how long ago they ended. How long had he even been lying in the snow? Two hours? Eight? Funny, he didn’t know that, either.

Blake had maxed out his credit cards buying climbing gear in Portland. The debt collectors could kiss his ice cold ass. He also bought a Range Rover. It had in-dash GPS, satellite radio, seat warmers and a dashboard that talked. Fucking classy. He drove up to Mt. Hood and left it at the Timberline Lodge with the keys in the ignition for some lucky bastard. Finders keepers.

The sky was gray when he left the automobile running in the parking lot. The top of Mt. Hood swirled with clouds driven by searing wind that could clean the chrome off a set of Craftsman. He had started the climb without seeing a single person. Nobody in their right mind would climb in that weather. Unless they had the Thoughts living in their head.

About a thousand feet up, Blake passed two retreating climbers crusted with snow. They warned him. Called him crazy. Me? Crazy? One of them grabbed Blake. It’s suicide, man. You got a death wish? The climber tried to force him back with them until Blake connected with a right hook above the guy’s ear. Pain lanced the back of his hand. He broke a knuckle, but it was a sweet punch. Put that asshole on his back. Made the Thoughts giggle.

Go on, kill yourself, the guy said.

We will.

Five hundred more feet up the mountain, the blizzard was all around him. The wind had scrubbed his cheeks raw and flattened his lungs. He thought maybe he remembered the sulfuric smell of Devil’s Kitchen, maybe even made it to the base of Hogsback Ridge before time got hazy. Or maybe he fell down after he clocked that climber.

It won’t be long now.

Freezing to death ain’t so bad, really. At first it sucked, sure, but after the body ate up all its energy, there was nothing left to shiver and everything went numb. It was kind of pleasant, really, like half a dozen pills. The Thoughts were still muttering because those motherfuckers never shut up, but even they were getting drowsy. Maybe they would go to sleep for once. That’s why Blake took the trip, after all.

A hang glider appeared in the snow. Blake had been comfortably numb for a long time, even thought his eyelashes had crusted over, but there it was, a