Prologue: Everything

No idea what time it was when he pulled me out of the ditch. Rain was running muddy down the sides, foaming and sloshing.

The rain was goddamn cold, but felt warm compared to my insides.

[i]She was starving, her eyes so much redder than the clay pouring into the pit. A few weeks ago, I would have said it looked like blood.

Now, I know better.[/i]

We stole a car. I don't remember how we did it, but it was a rusted old black hulk with a dead man in the back seat.

I don't know if we killed him.

The highway went on forever. We flew by green signs, grainily lit in the humid-again night. The music on the stereo was loud and desperate. I think she picked it.

Or maybe the man in the back seat did.

I think I saw it first. A sudden constellation of lights in the distance. Color and wonder and promise, strung between spires and bridges of cold gothic stone.

Everything I needed was there.

Her eyes lit up, not red this time but a gorgeous, natural color. The city sparkled in her eyes, and I thought, for the first time since I died, this is going to work out.

Everything I had was her.

"Another White Dash"

On the Road

Five hours out from anywhere worth being, London pulls Frankie out of a ditch. God only knows why, 'cept that he knew he had to.

[aside][b]Music:[/b] Butterfy Boucher, "Another White Dash"[/aside]

They drive in pretty much the only direction there is- towards The City. The highway is long and lonely and lined with trees. There are streetlights, but not enough, and they cast strange shadows across the faces of the two kids.

They pass verdant green signs and factories lit at night in ghostly pinks and blues, until the trees give way to an expanse of water and lights and towering buildings stabbing skyward and smokestacks choking black stuff into the air.

They cross a bridge and they're there.

The City.

The car starts making noises. Bad noises.

Breakdown

The car gives out in a run-down residential neighborhood. There's maybe an hour 'til sunrise.

London puts his hand on the girl's shoulder.

LONDON: You awake?

FRANKIE (unsteady): I think so.

LONDON: We've gotta move.

She takes his lead, for the moment, and he manages to get her out of the car, looking for shelter.

[aside][b]Music:[/b] Wang Chung, "City of the Angels"[/aside]

30 minutes.

They comb the alleys. The buildings look fifty, sixty years old. Storm cellars, London figures, they've gotta have storm cellars, right?

15 minutes.

They find one, but there's a dumpster blocking the stairs down.

5 minutes.

London manages to push it out of the way. Shit. Door's welded shut. Not well, though.

2 minutes.

London snaps off a piece of the banister, uses it to hack through the cheap weld.

He grabs Frankie's arm, wrenching her inside, just as the sun begins to rise.

London leans back against the door, breathing heavily for no practical reason.

The darkness is total. Good, but even they can't see in here. London reaches in his pocket, flicks on his old lighter to look around.

Frankie panics, trying to run away despite the tiny cellar. She crashes into blankets and empty crates, claws at the walls.

Shit. London turns off the lighter.

LONDON: "It's okay. It's okay. It's off now."

He catches hold of her.

LONDON: "Breathe. Calm down. Breathe."

She settles in his arms, forcing her lungs into the old familiar motions.

FRANKIE: "What. The. Fuck?"

LONDON: "Sorry. I forgot about that."

FRANKIE: "What...?"

London's starting to feel his hand go numb.

LONDON: "Look, I'll explain tomorrow. But as soon as the adrenaline runs out, you're going to go to sleep. We had to get out of the sunlight."

FRANKIE: "I know. Somehow." Pause. "I can't feel my fingers."

LONDON: "It's going to be okay. Just relax. Breathe. Go to sleep."

They collapse on the blankets and crates. Their sleep is dreamless and dead.

The Evening After

Waking up... it's like a single beat of the heart, the stolen life surging once outward from the chest to the head and the limbs.

Frankie is dazed. London just sits up, and fumbles in his pocket for a smoke.

LONDON: "I'm going to light this. Don't. Freak."

FRANKIE: "Okay, okay." Pause. "Who are you?"

He turns on the lighter. She flinches, but that's it.

LONDON: "Name's London. What do you remember about last night?"

FRANKIE: "Working at the... no. I remember driving, trying to get in here before... before the sun rose?"

LONDON: "Right. We have to keep away from the sun."

FRANKIE: "I know. How do I know?"

LONDON: "Instinct."

FRANKIE: "I... need something."

LONDON: "That's instinct, too. You're hungry."

FRANKIE: "It's not like that...."

LONDON: "Yes, it is. You need blood."

FRANKIE: "What?"

London looks pained. He was hoping this part didn't have to be explained.

LONDON: "Frankie. You've been changed. Whoever did it to you, he did it to you bad."

Frankie shakes her head.

FRANKIE: "What did he do? What did he change?"

LONDON: "Frankie, you're a vampire."

FRANKIE: "There's no such thing."

LONDON: "There's us."

FRANKIE: "Shit." Pause. "What about you?"

LONDON: "'Bout a month ago, I had a... good weekend. She played bass. I've never been good at talking to girls."

FRANKIE: "You're doing okay."

LONDON: "We need to find food. Look, the girl who turned me... she told me a few things. How to get by. We both need to feed right now, and, looking at you, you need it more than me."

Deserted Parking Lot

Going topside, they look around until they find a parking lot guarded by a lone, sleeping Rottweiler. London sneaks up on the sleeping beast. It starts to wake, but he quickly cracks it over the head with a crowbar. The head wound is big, and bloody.

He sinks his teeth into the dog's neck, and drains it dry.

Frankie watches, leaning against a nearby car. The blood looks good to her, but... thin. Not what she needs.

London cleans the wounds, chokes the corpse with the chain it was leashed on, then smashes in the attendant's booth, taking the shards of broken glass and pelting the dead dog with them.

He smirks, or maybe grimaces.

LONDON: "And we just became 'those kids.' Nobody'll look too close."

Frankie nods, numbly.

LONDON: "Right. How do you feel about eating people?"

Rose Red

Having spent his life in clubs, it's not hard for London to find one. Rose Red is a converted warehouse marked with a fancy neon sign. Kids their age are lined up around the block, dressed in an assortment of goth, fetish, and party kid attire. What look like some local gangbangers are mixed in the crowd.

London looks over Frankie for the first time. He realizes she's still in a bloodied waitress uniform. He takes off his beat-up leather jacket and puts it around her shoulders. They get in line.

FRANKIE: "It's a little big."

The bouncer is a big white guy wearing a little bit of fat but a lot more muscle. His head is shaved and he's got a bit of a goatee going on.

LONDON: "There's a pair of sunglasses in the pocket, there. Hand 'em to me?"

London bluffs their way past the bouncer, mentioning the band he used to tour with, Rotschreck.

FRANKIE: "Nice."

LONDON: "It's what I do. Well, actually, it's not what I do. But I've seen it done enough times."

FRANKIE: "How do I do this?"

LONDON: "First time. It's your choice."

[aside][b]Music:[/b] Concrete Blonde, "Bloodletting"[/aside]

Frankie looks around, spots a guy at the bar. Late 20s, gang colors, looks like he might have been a tough guy one time. Now he's overweight and more than a little bald. Frankie slides up to him while London goes to get a drink.

Frankie looks up at the guy.

FRANKIE: "Hey."

Carlos almost chokes on his beer. Frankie can see the blood pump as his heart beats faster.

CARLOS: "Uh, hey."

FRANKIE: "You here with anybody?"

CARLOS: "Uh, just my friend and his, uh, sister. Can I buy you a drink?"

Frankie decides she'll have what he's having. It's a frothy, yellow beer, and it looks like it might have turned her stomach even when she was alive.

She chugs it in a single gulp.

CARLOS: "Hey, you really like to party."

She grins back at him.

FRANKIE: "Sure do. Wanna dance?"

[aside][b]Music:[/b] The Smiths, "How soon is now?" [/aside]

From his place at the bar, London watches as the drunk leads Frankie out on to the dance floor, slightly disappointed as Carlos shoves the two girls doing the fake lesbian dance out of the way.

LONDON (under his breath): "Damn, fake dancing lesbians are my favorite type...What? Yeah, gimme another."

After a few minutes of bumping and grinding, Frankie grabs Carlos' wrist (God, that pulse feels so good) and pulls him towards the fire exit.

Just when she's nearly there, going to feed so soon, he stops moving. His other arm's been grabbed by a small, young woman with a frizzy expanse of brown hair on an eighties revival kick.

GIRL: "What you doin'?"

CARLOS: "I was just dancing with--"

GIRL: "WARREN!"

A lanky but well-built and slightly dangerous looking guy about Carlos's age walks over.

WARREN: "Carlos. You about to run out on my sister with that little tramp?"

Carlos does his best impression of thinking quickly, then puts his arms around both women.

CARLOS: "Nah, I was just thinking we could--"

But Warren's fist is already in the air. It's already moving. And it's just beginning to push in the drunk's nose when it's grabbed by London.

LONDON: "Hey. No need for any fighting."

WARREN: "Little tramp was moving on my sister's man."

LONDON: "That's my sister."

He squeezes Warren's wrist tighter, causing the fingers to slacken and whiten.

LONDON: "And I'm sure we can work something out."

London lets go of the man's wrist. Frankie looks horrified.

FRANKIE: "London!"

She turns and smiles.

FRANKIE: "Warren."

She grabs Warren's wrist and carresses it gently. He looks at her, the lights from the dance floor halo-ing his head, as if he's just seen an angel.

FRANKIE: "Come outside with me. Let's see if I can make it feel a little better."

Carlos and Warren's sister get back to arguing. London turns back to the bar, but he's blocked by the bouncer.

LONDON: "Uh."

BONES: "Hi. You fed me a line earlier, didn't you?"

LONDON: "About what?"

BONES: "Cute. Take it you don't have much cash. Saw you catch that punch, though. You lookin' for work?"

London thinks a moment.

LONDON: "Yeah."

The bouncer claps him on the back.

BONES: "Name's Bones. Come on, I'll show you the ropes."

Fire Escape

Frankie and Warren are making out under the light over the door. She can smell his skin, his sweat, the residue of the clove cigarettes... and his blood. God, his blood. She kisses down his neck, and bites.

Warm blood rushes into Frankie's mouth. Warren loses himself in the bite, and so does she. It's warm, good... no, it's cool, like plunging into a pool on a really hot summer day. She can't stop. You can't stop gravity when you're diving into a pool, you can't...

She drops him limp and pale on the rusting iron. She looks around in horror. Did anyone see?

FRANKIE: "Oh, god."

She rushes back into the club, finds London. He's near the door, smiling and bullshitting with Bones.

FRANKIE: "We have to go. Now."

LONDON: "Frankie. Breathe."

He turns to Bones.

LONDON: "I've got to get my sister home."

BONES: "She alright?"

LONDON: "Yeah, she just gets upset sometimes. Uhm, I'll see you tomorrow night?"

Bones looks at them, nods, and tosses London a small roll of cash.

BONES: "9 PM. Sharp."

Frankie pulls London out into the street.

LONDON: "What's going on?"

FRANKIE: "I think I killed that guy."

LONDON: "How do you feel?"

FRANKIE (breathless): "I feel great. But this is bad. If anybody finds him..."

LONDON: "Frankie, breathe. Where did you leave him?"

They find Warren's body on the fire escape, untouched. Mercifully, he's still alive. London rifles through the man's pockets, finds some pills. Codeine, looks like. He pockets a few, plants the rest in a more conspicous pocket, checks Warren's neck. Good, Frankie licked the wounds up. No evidence.

LONDON: "He'll be fine, and they'll blame this on the pills. Let's go."

Frankie's calming down, finally.

FRANKIE: "Right. So now what do we do?"

Suddenly, there's someone standing behind her.

BRIMSTONE: "Well, little lady, I think you start by explaining yourself to me."

The Streets

London was looking right at Frankie. And yet, the stranger snuck up there without him noticing at all. The man's skin is tanned and weathered, and he's imposingly tall. Salt and peppered dreadlocks hang down his neck, to the collar of his long, brown, leather coat. The coat's as weathered as him. He speaks in a long, southern drawl.

LONDON: "Who the hell are you?"

The man smiles a slow, relaxed smile as he lights a cigarette. Frankie realizes that he doesn't make a sound, except for the talking.

BRIMSTONE: "Folk call me Brimstone. What's your name, son?"

LONDON: "Jack."

BRIMSTONE: "And how long are you planning on staying around here?"

LONDON: "Haven't decided. What's it to you?"

Brimstone smiles again.

BRIMSTONE: "You might say I'm the sherrif hereabouts. Legitimate cops don't come 'round here very much, so I keep order in the community."

He whistles. A young man steps out of a nearby alley and walks over. He's wearing a coat much like Brimstone's, but he's shirtless. His bare chest has a ragged tattoo of the numerals "999" on it. He's also carrying shiny new pistols on his hip and in his shoulder holster.

FRANKIE: "Get that done upside down?"

The "sheriff" laughs.

BRIMSTONE: "Funny story, that. This here's my deputy, Trip9. Trip did ten years for alledgedly killing his folks. Did that himself while he was in there. He ain't too bright, but he's a good shot."

Trip9 smiles- seems that's a compliment, to him.

BRIMSTONE: "Now, Trip and I don't want to see any more of your... kindred 'round here."

LONDON: "Then let's cut the crap. What do you want?"

BRIMSTONE: "I'd like to come to an arrangement. You kids are leeches, and you're from out of town. You'll need someplace to spend the night. Someplace safe. Tricky to find someplace like that- you never know when a building might not really be abandoned."

LONDON: "And a fine, upstanding man like yourself might be able to help us find someplace."

BRIMSTONE: "Just so happens I know a place."

LONDON: "No such thing as a free ride."

BRIMSTONE: "No. In exchange, you don't bother my local folk. An' if some of those uptown kids that party 'round here might have accidents, you make sure they don't get found in the neighborhood. You pay your taxes, help out the community from time to time... I think we'll get along just fine."

London and Frankie stare him down hard, but they deal. Twenty dollars and a slip of paper later, they have someplace to check out. Brimstone walks off into the gathering fog.

FRANKIE: "He wasn't one of us."

LONDON: "No, but he's not right."

FRANKIE: "He could just be crazy."

LONDON: "Crazy and guns aren't a good combination."

FRANKIE: "Should we check it out?"

LONDON: "Not yet. I need something first, I'm still too weak."

FRANKIE: "So we find another dog?"

London looks at her a moment.

LONDON: "No."

The Waterfront

The West River Waterfront is lit up way too bright for London's tastes, even if flourescents and neon don't much resemble the sun.

Elbowing through the crowds is a good way to work up an appetite, too. London sets Frankie by a seafood place and heads off to find a donor.

LONDON: "Are you gonna be alright?"

FRANKIE: "I feel something. We're not alone here."

LONDON: "I know. But we need to do this."

Frankie keeps her eyes out for rival predators, while London looks for prey.

He finds a lonely girl named Melissa at one of open-air bars. She's drinking what appears to be an amazingly complicated drink, but also looking dejectedly at her cell phone.

LONDON: "Is something wrong?"

London chats her up a bit, finds out she was stood up by some friends- because they have dates. He uses a little trick he's picked up- the trick, the one that makes him the coolest thing she's ever seen. The one he fell for himself.

Pretty soon they're back to her car, and she's ready to take him back to her place. He checks on Frankie real quick, and sends her back to their new lair- they'll take Brimstone's offer, for the moment.

And then he's off to show Melissa a good time and steal a few pints in the bargain.

New Haven

Frankie forces the door on the old theatre. It's a tiny, cramped space, half full of disordered folding chairs pushed up against the edge of a tiny orchestra pit, in front of a not-much-bigger stage.

Right off, she sees why Brimstone thought of the place- there's a cramped storage area under the stage, and the padlocks and chains can easily be moved to the inside.

She's sitting on the edge of the stage when London gets back a few hours later. He's got presents- he took Melissa's phone number, her spare key, some outfits in Frankie's size, and even a shirt she apparently had left over from an old boyfriend.

He sits down next to Frankie. They chat for a while- she tells him about growing up, he tells her about life on the road.

FRANKIE: "So what do we do now?"

LONDON: "I don't know. We make a home."

FRANKIE: "Here?"

LONDON: "Maybe. You got a better idea?"

FRANKIE: "I want to find the bastard who did this to me. And make him pay for it."

After securing the storage area as best they can, Frankie finds a corner and curls up for sleep.

FRANKIE: "London?"

LONDON: "Yeah?"

FRANKIE: "Thanks."

London just looks at her.

LONDON: "Any time."

He holds her hand, and they drift into their dead slumber.

Rose Red

London shows up at 9-something the next day. Bones introduces him to the manager, Jimmy. London mentions that his "sister" is looking for a job, and she manages to overpower Jimmy's objections.

Bones goes to cover the door, while London watches the floor. Around 11, when the place is really starting to move, Frankie takes a break and walks over to London.

FRANKIE: "Remember that feeling I was getting at the waterfront?"

LONDON: "Yeah."

FRANKIE: "I'm getting it again."

London closes his eyes for a moment.

LONDON: "Fuck. Me, too."

Frankie narrows it a little bit. The monster inside her gets just pissed when she looks at a guy over on the far side of the dance floor.

He looks out of place- young, but with a conservative haircut and a jogging suit, of all things. Every time someone looks at him funny, he just looks right back and they seem to forget about him.

Everybody but Frankie. When her eyes settle on him, he walks over.

London snarls involuntarily as the man gets close. The man puts up his hands in an effort to look inoffensive.

JOSEPH: "Hey, don't get scared. Here."

He zips down his jogging suit for a moment, revealing a Roman collar.

JOSEPH: "See, I'm a priest. My name is Joseph. We don't need to fight."

LONDON: "Says you."

FRANKIE: "You were on the waterfront last night."

JOSEPH: "...yes. And I guess that makes you my problem."

FRANKIE: "How so?"

JOSEPH: "You're from out of town. Don't try to snow me, I can tell- if you were locals, you wouldn't be down here in Redwood."

LONDON: "Why's that?"

Joseph explains the area's unfortunate history. A few years ago, the vampire who'd been given the place as a hunting ground got gluttonous. The local people noticed him- and they got help.

JOSEPH: "A man named Brimstone came along. I'm not sure how, but he killed our... cousin. Ran a pole through his heart and watched while he burned up in the morning light. As you can imagine, the Prince was pretty angry. But he and Brimstone ended up coming to an arrangement. Brimstone took the dead kindred's territory, and we stay out."

LONDON: "Brimstone was willing to cut a deal with us."

JOSEPH: "Well, isn't that something. You'd better pray the Prince is as accomodating."

LONDON: "Why would I care?"

JOSEPH: "As much as young kids like you may not like to think it, we're all in this together. There are laws that rule us- some from God, some from the Prince. But all of them have to be obeyed. That's how we stay a-- how we survive."

Joseph pauses for a moment, then turns on Frankie.

JOSEPH: "Who was your sire?"

LONDON: "She's under my protection."

JOSEPH: "You turned her?"

LONDON: "No."

JOSEPH: "Well, fine, who sired you?

LONDON (quietly): "She played bass..."

Joseph looks at the two of them, with an expression of annoyance on his face.

JOSEPH: "Orphans. Great. Well, I guess I'll have to introduce you somehow."

FRANKIE: "To who?"

Joseph gives her a world-weary smile.

JOSEPH: "To everybody. Look, in the meantime... there's a few laws you need to stick to. First, the Masquerade. You don't let anyone know what you are, you don't leave any evidence. Second, you don't make any more of... us. Third, you don't drink the blood of any other kindred."

FRANKIE: "Why would I do that?"

JOSEPH: "You're happier not knowing. The Prince has got two decrees of his own you'd better remember, too. Don't sleep, feed, or do violence under the sign of the cross. And you may only cross to the islands in the harbor between midnight and one."

LONDON: "Stupid laws."

JOSEPH: "He's the Prince, even if he is a pious idiot. And I'm a priest, saying that. Listen, I'll find you again when I've got things under control. And remember, I'm not your friend. I'm just doing my duty."

They watch Father Joseph carefully as he leaves the club. Frankie goes back to the bar.

Cindi, the other waitress tending the bar, waves to London. A wiry guy in a leather vest is giving her trouble- colors look like he might be one of Carlos's buddies, only he's still a tough guy.

London yanks the guy out of Cindi's face.

LONDON: "Right. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

GUY: "What's your problem?"

Some of the guy's friends are starting to come over. Their vest match, and so do some of the knives they're carrying.

London draws on Melissa's blood. He stares into the thug's eyes, and he pushes.

LONDON: "Last chance. Walk away."

And then, for good measure, London socks him in the jaw.

[aside][b]Music:[/b] New Order, "Confusion" [/aside]

Unfortunately, the guy's buddies are starting to move in on London. Frankie slides a shot down the bar, and London swallows it theatrically, giving the bangers a "come and get me" look. London catches Bones out of the corner of his eye, but the head bouncer is just watching him, arms crossed.

LONDON (muttering): "Right. Time for a little test."

The thugs move in on the vampire. He dodges and throws a few punches, drawing them in a little closer. Then he grabs the nearest man by the arm, takes his knife, and tosses him into another. He elbows down another thug, bashing his head against one of the bar stools.

By now people are starting to make bets. Frankie somehow insinuates herself as the bookie, and even Cindi slips her a ten.

One of the thugs gets behind London somehow, stabbing him in the back. Trying to conceal the injury, London smashes him back against the bar, then slashes him shallowly across the chest.

As the blood splatters, London's perceptions narrow. Everything is black and white. Except the blood. Everything is out-of-focus. Except the men he's fighting.

Meanwhile, the guy who started it all has recovered his wits, and he's advancing on London, knife in hand. Frankie vaults the bar, then tosses London a cue from the pool table. He catches it, and uses it to block the lead thug's knife. A feint with his free hand draws a high slash, letting London duck under and sweep the banger's legs out from under him - he hits the floor with a crash. London accents with a shot to the gut with the butt of the pool cue, leaving him bleeding, nauseous, and out of the fight.

London smiles, breathing heavily for show, as his vision settles back to normal. The thugs friends start to haul him away.

LONDON: "Thank you for the dance, gentlemen. As always, Rose Red appreciates your patronage."

Bones walks over to him.

BONES: "Nice work. Just keep down the mess next time."

LONDON: "I'll do what I can."

BONES: "Something came for you. From Brimstone."

LONDON: "And what do you know about him?"

BONES: "A few years back, someone was snatching grandmas off the street in broad daylight. The cops wouldn't touch it, and the toughs couldn't find him. So they hired this mountain man or whatever- Brimstone- and he found the guy. Stabbed him, dowsed him in gasoline and left him up on top of a building to burn. Called him a grendel or a gangrel or something. Anyway, after that he cut a deal with the gangs. He keeps order, they pay him off. So far, he's kept up his end."

LONDON: "Uh-huh."

BONES: "Anyway, that weird Trip9 guy of his dropped this off."

He hands London a red envelope. The vampire goes to the bar to open it. Inside is a large, metal key... and a note.

"Hello, son. Here's the key to your hidey-hole. There's one other copy, and yours truly has it. I'd be happy to pass it along, if you're willing to do some community service."

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