Youth's Night
#1 of Stories
Derek is a bat from the urban lifestyle, recently, he has received a message from his aunt, which reports his responsibility to keep safe the money of his sick, noble cousin in Eastern Europe.
?
The reward for such job sounds promising, yet the distractions for a young man are endless, especially in a big city.
It sounds easy, but there are ancient rivalities still afire in the depths of his family, and Derek is the only one that can put an end to all this hatred.
Youth's Night Reyon ©
The end of spring has always been a good moment to go out and enjoy the freshness of a dead winter's breeze, yet without being concerned about the problems related to the coldest of seasons. Derek, however, had other plans in mind: there have been many chances to explore the city where he lived, but he decided to stay in his apartment for the rest of the week. Outside there was a thick fog, which didn't allow the faintest of rays of light to pierce its grey armor, while the temperature kept dropping without any explanation. In fact, he had to stock the rest of his heavy sheets inside the closet at the beginning of the month.
The noise of a close humidifier filled his ears with echoes of dripping water, gently sliding along the glowing length of an engraved, opaque shaft of glass. The lively fingers of his kept preying over the edge of the glass he'd been holding for the past minutes; he had opted for a ice cold cocktail - not that he drank much, but the occasion required a proper drink. Indeed, the acknowledgment of the latest news had him both excited and worried; the dark circles around his eyes of crimson were a sufficient proof of such. Nothing of that range has ever happened to him or to average people in general.
Even now, a day after the arrival of the information, sitting on his favorite purple couch, over the lower side of his flat, his body showed away the entire amount of excitement growing in his chest. The same mix of techno music repeated the same tracks over and over, saturating the air with the exploding percussions which flowed outwards from the speakers. His right foot followed the rhythm, but his mind was somewhere else, beyond the usual world of clouds where our brains attempt to wander when we feel bored, or we fervently desire something.
Even the marked flavor of the cocktail wasn't enough to make him judder.
'Ugh, man. Why things have got to be so complicated?', his lips engulfed one more time the rim of the glass right after muttering these words in absence. On the contrary, his eyes were very well focused on the message he's been reading repeatedly over a dozen times. Beneath the transparent layer of his FurPad, a river of blue words flowed with each scroll of a finger. Once again, the scarlet pupils dissected every word very carefully:
To Derek:
With all the time you spend on that pad of yours, I thought the best way to contact you would've been with a virtual message.
** Read everything carefully, Derek, because you won't get another chance: your cousin, Andrei, has recently contracted a foul ill - the doctors said that there is little chance for him to fully recover. Therefore, the family has decided that you're the only one that can take care of his money for time being. Or, at least until he's fully recovered (don't get me wrong, if I were to decide, I'd burn every dollar, rather than deliver them to a dastardly punk such as yourself).**
These are the instructions: you'll recover the package on the second day after the arrival of this instant message. At this point - I am sure of it - you'll be surely asking yourself what is the catch, or what you should get from this; it is sufficient to say that if you shall keep the entirety of his money completely safe, you are bound to receive a proper reward.
Nonetheless, if even a single penny will be missing, be aware that you're going to eat prison food for the next twenty years. The address is written below. Do not be late.
Victoria
Derek sighed meekly, putting aside the pad. The address he read couldn't be right, since the building which it belonged to has been demolished a month ago, the journals talked about it; in fact, he should still have the article somewhere. It was something he couldn't help, in truth: every piece worth of attention was promptly cut off and glued in his personal book. With both his legs well stretched against the wall and a couple of cracks with the neck, Derek stood up from the couch he's been using for the entire day - he couldn't get a single hour of sleep, and yet he felt very energetic.
With a single swipe of his right hand, the curtains lodged on the outer corner of the flat exposed the urban view. To decorate this scenery, a slow sunset poured its last rays of molten strawberry atop the coarse edges of a couple of skyscrapers; at the left corner, the glowing, blue sign of a phone brand. Rubbing his eyes, Derek wandered towards the bathroom, half-closing the door behind himself. The burst of the shower filled the room with sultry steam, and few clouds were visibly coming out from the split of the door.
Spending several minutes under the constant flow of a warm jet of water was one of his favorite hobbies, it gave him time to think and reflect about what to do next. The fragrance of the shampoo bought from the local convenience store had him relax furthermore, meanwhile his hands rubbed the edges of his ears, caressing each inner ridge with the feathery touch of his fingertips. He wrapped an azure bath towel around his waist; the room was just like a Swedish sauna at this point. The spray around his form casted a shimmering effect for a couple of seconds.
The mirror reflected a blurry image, a dark pattern of shadows and confused tonalities. The black wells at the center of Derek's irises shook for a moment while watching the spectacle. Snapping his jaw once, Derek used the left forearm to wipe away the condensation upon the smooth, reflective surface. Short, trimmed fur of raven black covered the entirety of his figure, except for a sequence of sinuous stripes recalling the darkest of silvers. His ears elongated for five inches, perfectly symmetric with their inner ridges of red.
His fangs were exposed by the constant panting, showing off their ivory colors. Pointy rows of natural lethality inhabited the warm cave. Almost like a grin, the series of silver stripes were extended all over the sides of his cheeks, moving in intricate patterns, until they finally conjoined with their sisters at the base of his neck. The interruption of his fingers was due the natural membrane that composed his vampire wings. Both of them had the same touch of silver, adorning the sharp curves 'til the height of the armpits.
Derek was neither muscular nor skinny, carrying an average lithe physique. When he approached the closet where he kept the majority of his clothes, what he could do was ruffling through a barricade of shirts and jeans, put thoroughly randomly on every side. The upper bar of iron was used to sustain the heavy sheets he stocked. Deciding to not spend too much time in trying to get dressed, Derek decided that a pair of combat-style grey pants and a black shirt would perfectly do for the moment.
The music player emitted a lonely click when Derek activated the button on the remote, promptly the sound of the loading disk changed into a pulsating sequence of soft beats, escorted by a parade of electrical slashes; the everlasting taste for the strong music couldn't simply fall when the night was so young. He headed for the desk where his laptop blinked in standby with an orange light. A couple of claps and the automatic lamp projected its cold, white light against the refined surface of grey plastic.
Alongside Derek's computer, several magazines about graffiti and an empty bottle of water, there was his book. The cover was made with leather, or so it appeared. Brown carvings abounded, while a single string of a darker tonality of leather was wrapped three times in order to close the book further. He sat atop the reclining chair he bought when he moved there; a sudden creaking noise filled the room when he stretched again his legs beneath the desk. The wiggling toes twitched languidly.
At the beginning of the next track, Derek unwrap the string from around the sleeve of the book, and opened its secrets. Each page was a mosaic of pieces of journals, articles about the memorable facts, or the strangest ones. The tradition was handed to him by his grandfather, whose passion for the knowledge of the worldly facts affected his spirit ever since he was a child. Some articles were already yellowed, but the one he was looking for should've been located near the end of the book. His flickering gaze passed through history: the end of hostilities in Vietnam, the war in Afghanistan and the first landing on Mars.
In a couple of minutes he found what he was looking for, the segment of a recent article to be exact. Derek took it from the national journal when one of the oldest buildings in his city was demolished after many years of service, in order to make place for a very high skyscraper. Many people complained about it, but when there's something going on that doesn't truly affect our routine, most people do not take seriously enough the importance of things, and they let them fade away between their fingers - the simple thought of that made him shiver in disgust and anger.
He didn't really care about the building itself, but the realization of the hypocrisy of the people was truly a hard punch in the gut. The memories of what happened years ago still lingered within the perimeter of his mind, and sometimes they still showed up to haunt his dreams, to turn them into harsh nightmares filled with silent screams and aching illusions. He shook his head in order to concentrate, then, he resumed reading the article. Strong and accusative words were used from whom the article was written. This is what it reported:
What kind of person would want to destroy a piece of architectural art such as the Goodweather Manor? The answer can be found if anyone who reads this article shows up in front of a mirror. Indeed, ladies and gentlemen, what has happened is utterly our own fault. The manor has served this city since its founding, and ever since it has functioned as provisory school, hospital, orphanage and even city hall.
You won't see anymore its majestic height, the refined columns that were made by hard-working men, for hard-working men to appreciate, to say that our city was unique in the world. Nonetheless, the ignorance of its own people faltered, causing its definitive destruction.
Personally, I blame myself as every other person. Everyone is guilty, except the ones that have fought to preserve the beauty of a world that doesn't exist anymore, which can be found only in old books in our public libraries. Yet, to read about something that you could've felt with your hands is very different, and to be frank, disappointing.
Us citizen can only hope there won't be anything similar for time being. The progress is travelling too fast, and it is covering the statement of our predecessors without looking back. Let's just believe it won't crumble beneath our feet, once that the last piece of molded concrete has dried.
Derek's eyes analyzed every word with precision, he mostly agreed with the author. To be fair, he hadn't fought for that building, as a matter of fact he'd be the one that 'ruins' those. He always had the passion for graffiti, he grew between those and the sole thought of adding his own personal art to the ocean of urban street art appeared like a dream to the young bat. Closing the book with a puff of his cheeks, Derek pushed himself and the chair with the feet against the wall and whilst spinning of 180° degrees towards the other direction of the room, he stopped before the counter of his kitchen.
As the cold soda glided inside his throat, a shiver run through his backbone: he had just perceived something outside the apartment with his fine hearing. Without hesitation, he lunged onwards, grabbing his sneakers at the entrance. In matter of seconds, he was already outside the building running down the road. The lights of opaque white made the fog to appear like cotton floating in the air, the urban sounds echoed around the area, hitting the high walls of the buildings with thunderous impacts, while the slithering whisper of a thousand cars joined the symphony.
The bat's breathing was shallow and quick, as he started running to approach the direction where he firstly heard the noise.
It was strange, nothing of similar to whatever he had heard before. The ridges within the fluffy ears of his vibrated with raising strength at each step he made. The blood pumping in his veins made him warm overtime, and now that few droplets of water were forming beneath his chin he stopped to look around. Wiping away the accumulated dew, the noise was heard again by him. Percussions, guitars and some strange machines playing somewhere, He had to find the source of this music, that noise wasn't anymore.
After another couple of blocks, Derek stood before a construction site. In the middle of rusty lintels and tubes of steel, beyond the cheap covers that someone put there to establish a sort of clandestine camp, there was the band playing. Lights were put atop four pillars around the stage, with colorful led illuminating the scene around the stands, where various people - all dressed in S/M clothes - were selling food and drinks, with self-made t-shirts reading 'Terminators'. Derek's legs shivered for a moment, trembling with excitement. Before realizing so, he was already dancing among the crowd.
He had nothing except some dollars and his clothes, and usually you've got to pay to participate to such kind of events. However, this wasn't the case, obviously. Everyone appeared young, except for the people selling the t-shirts and the guys playing on the stage. The music resounded with power and emphasis, filling the ears and shaking the lungs of the dancers. The singer was wearing the same S/M outfit as the others, with boots of black leather and a pair of black shades. However, the true star was the girl playing the guitar.
She danced around the stage, wearing a skirt of black latex, with the edges covered in a red deeper than Derek's eyes. Pivoting on her heels, she exposed her legs covered by net stockings, with high boots that reached her shins. The red hair refined her foxy face, while the long tail of hers wiggled around, caressing from time to time the people on the first row. Derek couldn't help but feel jealous, and even if he wanted to get closer, he couldn't due to the literal wall of flesh between him and the white fox.
The night went on, he bought the few shirts that weren't too big for him, and headed closer the stage when people began to head off. Suspiciously, the lights went off all of sudden, before they got activated again. Apparently someone who drank too much stepped over the light wires. Derek's ears flickered lightly when he saw that the same girl that sung on the stage was now trying to connect the wires back, one after the other. Without wasting time, the bat moved in her direction, increasing the pace 'til he devoured the distance with some strides.
'Need some help with those?', uttered someone behind the fox. When she glanced past her shoulder, a sly smile took over her features. Facing Derek, she smiled away, standing up with a couple of pats on her thighs. Derek gulped a couple of times, and his attitude of cool guy dropped all of sudden. 'Why, I do. Are you the technician? Robb said you'd be able to fix this.' Derek looked around, moving a finger to point himself. 'Uh, well, no,' murmured the bat while coughing, 'you were amazing on the stage!'
Now that Derek was closer, he could observe her much, much better. Her features had something of rare, that sparkle which can drive anyone crazy if she'd decide to wink at them. Two big eyes of green, hiding the sly wicked thoughts of hers away from the generality of the people, her tail waggled about every now and then, while with a couple of steps she closed the distance with Derek. 'I am Adele.' She said with a malicious grin which hit the senses of Derek like a train at full speed.
'And, uh, you're talking about that little show? Hmmmyeash, I guess so.' Winking at him, Adele put one foot beside Derek's, trapping him between a fluffy tail and one arm that could've easily lifted the bat without too much struggle. Noticing the weird look that Derek was giving to her arm, Adele couldn't help but burst into a ponderous laugh; when she ended wiping away one tear with the index finger of her left hand she returned to observe Derek. 'Wot, you never saw a gal packing a punch in her arms before? Well, at least I'm glad someone has noticed I've done a decent workout.'
At this time Derek wasn't sure if she was just playing with him, or if he tried too much over something too big for him. This was the first time that he felt slightly frightened by a woman - regret was the key word in his mind. 'Is something wrong, handsome?' Startling all of sudden, Derek gave a confused look to Adele, whose giggle filled his ears like a soothing cream. His brain told him to say something, but his tongue felt dull and his mouth wouldn't open. How was it possible for him to be like that with a gal? Nonetheless, somehow he found the will necessary to put together an answer.
'I'm- Eh. It's just that I don't know what to say. You looked great with the guitar in your hands. Not that you're not looking good now! I meant-...Uh'. And he stood there like a complete idiot. Her breasts were right beneath his chin, while the warm breath of Adele landed directly against his neck, caressing the short fur of his with the feminine scent of a singer. 'Don't worry, I understand. If you'd like, I could sign an autograph for you, hm?' Derek was finally free once that she stepped away to find a pen. He gasped and panted, and although she was now meters away from him, her scent was still strong in his nostrils.
Without the time to even catch a breath of fresh air, there she was again; although this time she seemed to respect the personal spaces of Derek. He scratched his head with the right hand, not sure what to do now. When Adele's lips curled to assume an amused look on her face, she couldn't help but grin at his blatant awkwardness. Wiggling a red pen between two fingers, she perked an eyebrow, still smiling at him. 'So, what about I sign that shirt of yours? I didn't get your name.' The bat was only able to spell his name, before the fox lunged towards his figure while grabbing the lower edge of his shirt.
For a moment, he could feel the contact of her fingers atop the length of his shaft, which started drooling in desire the first time he saw her playing that black guitar. He looked at her hair whilst she wrote something on his shirt, and there he had the perfect view for take a naughty glimpse of the valley between her soft breasts. His cheek got filled with boiling blood, and his breathing became shallow one more time. He gave her all the time she needed; being so close to her made him feel the heat that poured from that curvy, agile body.
When she stepped back to look at her work, she nodded a couple of times, smiling at Derek wickedly. 'What do you think?' Derek lowered his gaze to check the autograph. His shirt had now various drawings of bleeding roses filled with thorns, they made the frame for what Adele had written: 'To my beloved fan Derek, the sweetest and dumbest boy I've ever seen.' He frowned at what he read, and the arctic fox couldn't hold back another laugh. She leaned over a tent made with plastic; however, Adele didn't consider the fragility of such material. The guitarist fell against the ground with a thud, and Derek rushed to her.
'Hey! Are you alright?!' Kneeling aside her figure, Derek was grateful for the thick texture of his pants that prevented the gravel below to bruise both of his legs; this wasn't the case for Adele. Her shins and her fingers were bleeding. The fox snarled in pain, but she was still laughing, a good sign. She's completely crazy, thought Derek.
'Hah, I'm sorry. Quite the silly move, am I right?' The snow white of her fur was now soaked in a deep red, yet Derek didn't waste time and promptly used a pair of scarves to stop the bleeding. Adele snarled again when Derek applied pressure on the wound, the sound was enough to make him judder in place. Being too busy with attending at her wounds, Derek didn't notice Adele's eyes preying over his features and bodies. She let out a smile, completely different from the ones she's used to make for the fans.
'Thank you, Derek. I can make it to the car now, you're an angel.' Adele leaned closer to Derek's cheek, giving him a little peck. The bat blinked twice, shaking his shoulders in excitement. He was about to answer, when the wolf that played with Adele on the stage approached with haste. Observing the scene, the blood and the bloodied hands of Derek so close to Adele's wounds, he began growling in anger. Derek made a few steps back, while Adele tried to explain: 'It's not how it looks like! He helped me, Victor!" The gray wolf must've been seven feet tall minimum, with a pair of arms that looked more like pulsing trunks.
Oblivious to whatever Adele said, Victor charged head on Derek, who quickly jumped on the side thanks to his lighter physique. The humongous predator planted his paws against the gravel, turning with his drooling maws at Derek. It's strange how you can pass from an aroused state of mind into a complete abyss of terror in a few seconds, and this was exactly the case of the black bat. As Victor prepared another charge, Adele attempted to stand up whilst supporting herself with an iron bar she collected beneath a little pile of rags. Derek turned on his heels and began running, feeling humiliated.
The bat could feel the heavy stomps of Victor coming ever so close. How the fuck is he so quick?! He turned a corner and found himself in front of a lamppost. Deciding to use an accelerated course of strategy, Derek waited - with his heart trying to escape from his ribcage - behind it. Victor turned the angle at full speed as planned, and his face met a thick bar of metal. The bulky predator fell on the ground with a loud groan, holding his snout with both hands. 'You fucker! Come here!' Not one to take challenges, Derek fled as fast as he could towards his apartment, disappearing in the night.
The bat covered dashingly the corridors which lead to the entrance of his flat. Without hesitation - the keys trembling in his hands - he opened the door with a bash of his shoulder. Without looking back, he slammed the door behind. Derek leaned on the wall, still breathing with fatigue. 'Fuck, that was close...' Looking down to his hands, he still had the curdled blood of Adele drooling between his digits. Had an officer saw him, he'd have probably been mistaken for a murderer, and adios with the reward of Aunt Victoria. No more parties before this story is over.
The obnoxious beeping of the digital alarm clock reverberated throughout the across the otherwise silent apartment. Derek slurred in his bed, observing the flat ceiling; the usual outside tossed its sick glowing of blue onto each piece of furniture. He had slept the entire day, but the memories of the matters that had place just a day before couldn't be easily washed away by a long slumber. The scent of dry sweat lingered in his clothes and with a face he began undressing. Each naked step brought him closer to the door of the bathroom, whilst the player began speaking in jazz.
After the shower, with still the towel wrapped around his waist and another one rubbing the side of Derek's neck, the bat approached the old clothes, which rested beneath the spot beside his single bed. Swiftly, he collected the bruised pants and the dirty black shirt which Adele had signed. Derek couldn't help himself, and ignoring the dust accumulated over the surface of the garment, he began inhaling the lingering scent of the white fox. It tasted like cherries. Tilting his head on the side, Derek exhaled a melancholic sigh, observing the fine signature of the guitarist.
And it was exactly there, the spot beneath the lower petal of the upper, bleeding rose that lured his attentive sight. The thorns had a strange form, different from all the others present in the drawing. The shirt was thrown atop the illuminated desk; the strong, white light aimed precisely on the point of interest. Derek sat on the chair, still attempting to dry his short fur. The bat elongated the surface of the shirt, 'til the message put there leapt under the lineaments of a code. The first row of thorns was made of small numbers, that put together formed a string of numbers.
Smart fox.
A smile bigger than an arch was suddenly formed upon the brow of the bat, who couldn't hold back his happiness. He was at the same time excited and shocked, on the alert, yet so alive. Derek didn't spend a moment contemplating what he had in front of himself and instead headed to put down the number directly on his phone. Just a moment before tapping the green option to make the call, another beep slithered around the ridges of his ears. Indeed, it was time to collect the package. Derek began cursing under his breath, dressing so quickly that he forgot to put his jacket.
The night was chilly, but the fog disappeared mystically. Nonetheless, the bat found himself regretting to not have taken the jacket. His fur was all straight and sharp, yet he marched on. It took twenty minutes and a strong willpower to get to the bus station in time for the last Pullman headed for the Goodweather Manor: there wouldn't be another one for the night, thus he would be forced to get home by foot. Derek sat on the second row, by the left side: he always liked to observe the city flowing like a river. The lights were ever so different from each other, and the forms of the buildings were capable to make him dream about dozens of possible graffiti.
Gradually he began spotting graffiti around the corners, in the alleys and under the bridges of the highways. The camera of his phone was expensive enough to allow him to make some decent photos, but the best way to understand a piece of art, to his saying, was to visualize its forms in your mind. The bus took an hour to cross the city, due to the multiple stops that it was forced to make. Derek had to get down at the last one. He wasn't used to visit this place after many years, he remembered the various stories he and his friends experienced between the streets all around him.
Derek began to tread in the direction of the address. The moon and the stars illuminated the scene, due to the lack of functioning lampposts. For Derek, this was a rarity to experience, since he had lived near the center of the city for the most part of his life. However, it wasn't time to admire the cosmos. The obvious warning of Aunt Victoria kept pounding in the head of the black bat as he proceeded. Aunt Victoria had always been an independent woman - she never got married, but instead she always appreciated to take care of her nephews, Derek and cousin Andrei.
Andrei still lived in Europe, and Derek remembered the times when he had the chance to spend various holidays there. The cold was the part he remembered the most, he couldn't stand the coldness of the Far East. Andrei's mother died when she gave birth to her son, thus Aunt Victoria took care of him ever since. Derek's mother and Aunt Victoria didn't have a good relationship, even though they were sisters. It seemed like Derek was the mean used by his aunt to hurt her sister. She always preferred Andrei, she gave him the best parts of dinner and oftentimes Derek had to sleep without one.
The education of Andrei had been applied to him as well when he frequented the big mansion where Aunt Victoria lived and hosted his cousin. The bed time arrived very early, and the nights were so short that he believed to spend more time in bed than being actually awake, and the rules applied to them were truly insensate, made for people that lived centuries before. Yet, their aunt was immovable on those cardinal points. They also had to take the water from a well, luckily some servants were present. Aunt Victoria seldom let them play, so Andrei and Derek had to disguise themselves as children of the servants, who were always very gentle.
However, the holidays with Aunt Victoria weren't so bad. Andrei and Derek grew very close, and the fact that they couldn't see each other 'til the start of the holidays made them very attached to each other. Andrei was the heir of a big fortune in the family, and since Derek's mother abandoned the noble life of the European style, he was the only option possible. The news of him growing ill filled the bat's heart with sorrow, and the desire to see his cousin one more time devoured his heart. Thinking about it, a question raised pretty spontaneously: why didn't Aunt Victoria guard the money herself?
Derek kept walking in the direction of the fallen building, trying to find a solution to this riddle. When he stepped past the black gates of the manor, the answer hit him without advice. He leaned over a column, catching his breath. His hands clutched into firm, shaking fists filled with rage; the knuckles cracked under the pressure while the sharp nails dug into the bleeding palms. Everything was clear now. How could he believe to that story? Aunt Victoria had planned everything so perfectly; Derek was a simple mean, a tool to achieve her revenge.
The money never left her home, and the message was written two days before the destruction of the manor. She purposely waited to send the message after the news of the total annihilation of the evidences, and now her mechanism was working at full speed. There he was, standing still in the middle of a ruin, while the cops were surely trying to locate his position. She knew that if the money would appear stolen by him, he'd be arrested and sent in jail. With Andrei too sick to take the lead of the family, and Derek imprisoned, Aunt Victoria would become the new heir of the entire fortune.
Derek sighed in despair, trying to find a way out of that situation. He looked left, then right, attempting to put together his thoughts. Fear took over his senses and the rationality, and he began running without knowing the direction. The alleys, filled with grey fog appeared so intimidating and dark, as if monsters lurked within the shadows and waited for him to pass close enough to be taken and devoured. The sound of police sirens echoed in the distance.
He won't get home tonight.
First Chapter Ended