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The Judas Effect Series: Story #10 "Judas Black: Gut Rot Whiskey"

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I know it’s been a while so here you go.

"Judas Black: Gut Rot Whiskey"

Vampires kill to live... to survive. My take on it is that since their hearts don't beat and they don't breathe the body needs fresh blood to keep going. Obviously their bodies do not make their own blood cells, and they do not eat regular food. The essential building blocks of life are unavailable to them and so they derive their sustenance from human blood. Similarly since their bodies lack basic nutrition and proteins they are highly flammable and susceptible to things like the sun's ultraviolet rays and, my favorite, fire. Vampires are like parasites, but there is another organism that derives all it's sustenance from blood. Can you guess what it is? The answer is easier than you think. Babies, in utero derive all their sustenance through their mother's blood stream by way of the placenta and umbilical cord. It is helpful in my profession to think of vampires as babies as sick and degenerate as that sounds.

I am scared to death of vampires but not scared at all of babies. When a vampire rears up at you, teeth gnashed, shadows swirling or some other "special effect" power looming and it's easy to lose your nerve. Focus on their weaknesses and you might be able to pull that trigger without shitting yourself. I hunt and kill vampires for sport and for my own enjoyment. My name is Judas Black but everyone calls me Jude. Don’t laugh about my name my parents were huge bible thumping Beatles fans. Not only that but I have killed for less. I am a vampire hunter. I also happen to be a vampire myself. Funny you say? Yeah it is, but not funny 'Ha ha', more funny like weird. For simplicity’s sake I will refer to myself as Jude and the vampire who created me as Judas. Yes we have the same first name. Let me take you down memory lane.


It was a cold night in Chicago, a real fucking cold night. The year was 1995 and I was 25 years old. It was mid January. The news man said minus ten with wind-chill but it felt like minus one hundred and falling. The wind sliced through my torn Levis 501 jeans tearing at the delicate flesh beneath with its visceral claws. Old man winter was doing me no favors that night as I trudged along Michigan Avenue in my Nirvana T-shirt, grey flannel shirt, hooded sweatshirt and trench coat. I hadn't gone out in a few days and the weather just got worse and worse. That night I had to leave the apartment, I was compelled to do so by some unknown force or maybe I was just bored, hungry and tired of those four blank white walls. I tried my Harley Fat Boy but the freezing, melting and refreezing process going on all week had trapped the front wheel in ice. I paused a minute to consider my options, check myself in the side view mirror and adjust my gun belt and knife holsters so I was sure they wouldn't show from under my worn black leather duster. The idea of zooming down the drags of downtown with wind-chill slicing at my skin right through my leather was less than appealing so I left the bike there and started walking down Michigan avenue south toward the loop.

The "Magnificent Mile" they call it, fuck that, there is nothing "Magnificent" about Michigan Avenue. Unless you think watching people spend disproportionate sums of money on things they don't really need is "Magnificent" or even bears mentioning. The "Magnificent" things in Chicago happened underneath, above and away from the city streets in the pedways, subway tunnels, clubs and parking garages. Really fucked up and logic defying things happen in the pedways under the city. Down there, filthy homeless derelicts huddle together for warmth, they wait for some unsuspecting bystander to come their way and give them a hand out or sometimes their designs are less friendly. Down there, sauced up tarts give their bosses sloppy blow jobs, knees in the filth, in a last ditch effort to improve their station in the office or to save their jobs. Down there is where my life ended and my story really began...

As I said before, it was extremely fucking cold. As such, I sought respite from the bitter winds of the "Windy City" beneath the street on Lower Michigan Avenue, below street level. For blocks I walked undisturbed. I came upon an especially dark and menacing corner. A poor unfortunate shivered beneath its tattered, piss-soaked rags huddled near the Billy Goat Tavern door. At a glance I could not tell if that unfortunate under those rags was a man or a woman. It held out its shaking, frostbitten hand and asked me to spare some change. I have always had an underlying feeling of guilt when dealing with "transients" but that doesn’t mean I'd ever give one of those drug addicts a dime. I offered a rather quick "Fuck off" as a reply and quickly made for the stairs to get back above ground and hail a taxi.

Someone had other plans. My foot no sooner hit the first step when I felt the all too familiar sting of a blow to the back of my head. I was sloppy, my training failed me someone managed to sneak up on me and bludgeon me on the head. It was an amateur mistake; I probably deserved to die there. It was the transient he split my head with a gut rot whiskey bottle. I felt shards of glass in my scalp and my own blood running down the sides of my face as I dropped. The world began to fade and the last thing I remember was the transient looming above me, rifling through my pockets as the world went black.


Excerpt from Diary of Judas Christian
Dated January 20, 1995:

I had been watching and following you for months by then little hunter. I watch your every move. I see the way you laugh at the bar with your victims and all the while they are none the wiser. I have seen the women you keep time with. The ones you just fuck and discard like wet naps. The smug way you seem to feel you're above it all. I have watched you kill others of my kind. Female vampires you lure with promises of sex, males you start fights with, all the while you know they mean to kill you or "let you in on the joke". That's what I call the act of making a new vampire. All mortals not in the know are like the patients in that "Awakenings" movie with Robert DeNiro. They are like statues, comatose and unresponsive but you Jude, you are in on part of the joke at least and so you hunt my kind.

Yes, that's you little Jude, you little shit. You aren't even worth my time but, as fucked up as it sounds, I need you. You've become my darkest obsession... a rather unhealthy, irritating one obsession at that. I don't know when my intentions changed from ripping your offensive tongue from your pouting little mouth and eviscerating you into making you my companion and nurturing you for the next century or so; but, they did and it really chafes my pampered ass.

So, I followed you that night. I watched from my Mercedes as you shivered and cursed at the cold. I laughed at your 'oh-so-you' frustration with some unknown boogey-man or god thing that makes the weather shit ice balls with the sole purpose of pissing you off. Oh poor little Jude. I cackled as you fell to the ground when that homeless man hit you in the head with that empty bottle of rye whiskey. Ha! What a fitting end for you... death by hypothermia. I smiled so brightly my face hurt when he took everything he could off your prone, helpless little body. I saw the alarm in his eyes when he found your huge knife and H&K pistol. I watched as he ran off to get his next fix, leaving you to die alone, cold and frightfully underdressed for the occasion. I waited a few minutes, to make sure you truly understood on some subconscious, base level, the frailty that was your "human condition". I should have killed you but I couldn't.

I picked you up, cradled your cold, disheveled form in my arms and carried you to the leather bound safety of my Mercedes. I gave you the blood there, on the Corinthian leather of my car. You were already dead so I had to. I figured you would appreciate the irony as you were to be re-born in much the same fashion as you were conceived back when Mommy and Daddy did the baby dance in the back of your grandparent's Chevy. There in the backseat, conceived in darkness and "let in on the joke". As you shivered and died only to be reborn in the back seat, I hopped into the front seat and sped off to find your first victim. I'm not without some sense of justice or maybe it was irony I was after.

I pulled up outside the closest liquor store and waited for your attacker to emerge with his ill-gotten bottle of Courvoisier. Ah... even derelicts can behave "Nouveau
Riche" when they hit the jackpot and get a fist-full of cash. When he came out I asked if he wanted a ride and offered him twenty dollars to fuck me in the back seat. Who could refuse the chance to fuck a goddess like me? I would have paid millions to see the look on his face again as he climbed into the back seat expecting a hot piece of ass and wound up staring face-to-face with you, his death made flesh.

I watched as you pulled him by the lapels of your own leather duster into the back of the car. I nearly had an orgasm as you ripped into his throat with your new fangs. I watched as you gulped his life from his neck as he thrashed his legs. I was so proud of you when I saw his feeble body lose its outrage as he succumbed to your grasp. Unfortunately, I also smelled his spilt blood mingle with the scent of his alcoholic urine as his body voided itself. Then slowly, his body slid out of the car and into the gutter.

You turned to me with an outraged hiss. A hiss! You little fucker! So, I grabbed you by the nape of your neck and slapped you hard enough to knock you unconscious. We drove in silence to my place in Gold Coast where you would prove to be the most incorrigible and thankless of all those I "let in on the joke". Oh Jude. Oh my sweet, beautiful and tragic Julian. If I had known what you were to become, I would have let you freeze to death on those steps that night. I love you, Jude. You're a rebellious, ungrateful little bastard and I love you for it.

Judas would have you believe that she was always the good guy in all this. She would have you believe it was so utterly humanitarian the way she "rescued" me. Exactly how is it a rescue to make someone into exactly what they hate? It wasn't exactly like she said in her journal but its close enough. I spent nearly a decade under her watchful eyes and at her mercy. Some nights she would let me go off on my own. Some nights she would force herself on me and beat me mercilessly. Some nights she would not speak to me at all. On special nights I would be dressed up “nice” and we would visit some other vampires or socialize at the Spy Bar or Club Neo. None of those suck heads seemed to notice I used to hunt them. Not even Dorian, the one calling the shots, noticed who I was. I had killed dozens of his whelps and it was all smiles when I’d see him.

Of all the vampires Judas had whelped I was the only, and am the only one, still alive. I thank my easy nature for that. I also thank my very British ability to kiss ass. Even after she would rape me or beat me so bad I could not stand I always thanked her and that is dedication. I always loved Judas, she was and is; my lover, my abuser, my mother, my friend, my enemy, my one and only. Toward the end of 2003 she began leaving me alone for days, sometimes weeks, and even months at a time. As it stood in 2005 she had been gone for eleven months when my un-life got real interesting.

To Be Continued…
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Writer's Mood:
contemplative contemplative
Bauhaus: "Bela Lugosi's Dead"
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