The Weymouth Wanderer

The Weymouth Wanderer

March 18, 1947 – Weymouth, Dorset England
The sky was black with ominous clouds as Tristan looked through bleary eyes across the English Channel. He lifted the bottle of cider to his lips. This was not an uncommon habit to him. The war was over, and it had been a long and harsh event. It may have been over for the country, but it would never be over for him. He saw and committed unspeakable horrors that gave him nightmares every night he closed his eyes. The only way he could rid himself of the constant mental and emotional pain was when he had a bottle in his hand. He would do anything to get a drink. He had done anything to get a drink. He had lost everything in his world. His hope, his faith, and the love of his life. It was just another day of waiting for the storm to break as far as he was concerned.
          A cold wind chilled the air. He turned up the collar of his second or was it third hand jacket. He turned his attention to finding a dry place to wait the storm out. He had no real home. He hadn’t had a real home since he left for France. He couldn’t go back to his mother in this shape. His sweetheart had long since married another while waiting for him to get his life back on track. He had a son. Born while he was gone. He had never laid eyes on the lad. Though he carried a great amount of pain and guilt around with him, he also carried a good heart. Something of an enigma in one who had been so brutally scarred. He looked up to the heavens, his shoulder length brown hair blowing in the breeze. So many times he had prayed for God to help him. He then looked down to his feet. His shoes were worn, with just a few holes in the toes. 
          “I will take anyone’s help,” he proclaimed. Just then, the wind blew hard and the dark sky opened with a cold rain. Lightening flashed in the sky. A kindly old man opened the door to one of the flats behind him. He waved him inside. At first Tristan shook his head, but the man was insistent and Tristan disappeared inside never to be the same again.
Present Day
          Tristan stood at the entrance of his million dollar house on the sea taking in the midnight view for the thousandth time. It was a clear calm autumn night with just a hint of the moon peaking from behind the clouds. He could hear the music from the seafront pubs beckoning to him. Come dance with me they said. He looked down at his Rolex watch that had been keeping perfect time for the past 20 years. He smoothed his suit jacket and walked into the night.
          The music became louder as he strolled along keeping his eye out for his next victim. He remembered a time when he would fidget on his walks. His eyes would dart back and forth keen to make another dollar and another deal. A drunk couple dangerously close to one another passed by. He could smell the scent of desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from the need to be accepted. A need that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. 
          He was looking for something. The one thing that could keep him in good standing with the biggest loan shark of them all. He moved with a fluid grace that seemed almost otherworldly. Gliding by the first few gin mills on his route. He wanted something a bit different this time. His contract didn’t specify on the exact transaction he had to make. Only that he needed to make so many transactions a month. He shuddered at a brief thought of what might happen to him if he were to fail in his missions. At first he was nervous that he may not make his quota, but as the nights turned into years he realized just how vulnerable humans were. Not just men, but also women who craved what he could promise them. For just a few bits of money or some attention they were literally willing to give their souls.
          He spotted his prey, his most favorite of lost souls outside of the Black Dog. She was smoking a cigarette alone at one of the wooden table dotting the patios. She was beautiful and sweet like a ripe peach just waiting to be plucked. Someone at the neighboring table asked her for a light and that’s when he heard it. The sing songy sound of an American accent. He knew right away that she would be not only an easy target, but probably a most interesting quarry to spend his night with.
          He sauntered over to her table and asked her where she was from. Of course as predicted she replied the United States. He smiled and then he saw her eyes. She had deep brown eyes, the kind you could just get lost in. They chatted for a few moments and then he asked if she would like a drink. As predicted, she agreed to have a drink with him inside where a live band was playing rock music.
          It wasn’t long before he had her laughing and smiling. He felt as if he had known her forever. She was a blast from the past. She was truly enchanting. His head was spinning from the alcohol and the loud music that was pumping from every corner. He took her hand and asked if she would like to see his mansion. She looked at him skeptically, but she said why not you only live once. In a flash they were out the door and walking along the beach.
          He watched as the breeze raised her long brown hair. He just wanted to run his finger through it. He looked hard at her. The mysteries in her eyes were calling out to him to be the missing piece. As they walked along he almost forgot his purpose. As they approached the house he entangled his fingers in hers. Her lips were pink and pouty like a baby doll he once saw in the shop window when he was a child. He leaned in for a long and lingering kiss. A kiss that left him dizzy as he fumbled with his keys.
          Once inside her wrapped his arms around her in a frenzy. He wanted only to feel the warmth of return from her. He was just about to forget even his long well thought out sales pitch, but the sight of the contract he had signed long ago entered his mind. His body gave an involuntary shudder. He saw clearly the little old mans delighted smile as he traded his nights for money. He had to collect so many souls per month in exchange for superior senses, great strength, and what he had so longed for all those years ago money. If he did not meet his monthly quota of souls, he would forfeit his own and burn in the fiery depths of hell. He had agreed to do this as long as he was a living mortal man. 
          He had amassed quite a fortune, as his beautiful cars, clothes, and house told the story. He had spent years collecting all kinds of souls. He had collected young and old, men and women, wealthy and poor, as a soul was a soul and all were worth he same as far as the contract was concerned. Hundreds of people were even now burning in the fiery depths of hell because of him. 
          Just as he was about to speak, she put a finger to his lips. She came closer and closer to him. He thought she was leaning into to kiss his neck until he felt the teeth sink into his flesh. She sucked his blood greedily and came away with red lips. She simply smiled at him. She looked deeply into his eyes. She saw his life before, his pain and frustration, his desperation. She also saw his good heart. She heard his words echoing through time. I will take anyone’s help she her on the wind so many years ago. Not so many for her as she had walked the ages. She had been to Weymouth before many times. She loved it there. As she looked into his eyes, hers sparkling like a million diamonds, she whispered your contract is now broken and null. You are no longer a living mortal man. He began to shake as the vampire’s venom went though his veins like a knife. Taking away the last shreds of pain. He knew he had found his true mate. She was the Weymouth wanderer.