He looked older the night I saw him in the street. He was older; it had been years since I last saw him, but he looked older than he should have done. His eyes, piercing blue as usual, shone out through the darkness. His friendly smile had gone… his friendly face was now stern. They say it does that to you.
He was lost. Gone forever. The night they got him.
He still recognised me, at least he appeared to anyway when he looked at me… or rather, through me. He stopped for a second, and then barged passed, without saying a word.
He slipped away into the shadows without looking back.
That was last month.
I’d rather see him like that, than like this, if I’m honest, but I can’t think that way.
I knew it would end like this. It always does. The stake through the heart is the only way. Seeing him lying there, on the beach, as unsettling as it is, is the best thing for him. He’d ceased to exist the night he was turned; he’d become a living zombie, feeding nightly off the blood of his own victims, sometimes creating his own vampires to carry on his bloodline… to carry out his hunting.
They all end up like this.
At least he looks now like he did when I knew him years ago, and not how he did in the street. Not much good to him now, however, but at least he’s free.
But, I still have my job to do. I have others to catch. Others to free from this curse. It’s them or me. One day, I know they’ll get me, but until they do I will continue with my own hunt… we have to keep this world safe.
***
This short story has been written in response to a painting created by Gabriel Garbow, which shows the final scene. Click here to visit his blog – he has some fabulous pieces of work over there!
The Mansionic Perspective 
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