Terence from In the Blood, by Rick R. Reed
Terence is not expecting me when I drop by at dusk. The house where he and Edward live on Chicago’s Sheridan Road appears deserted, ghostly really, so I’m sure neither of them is expecting visitors.
But it’s dusk and I want to see Terence, catch him before he goes out for the night (vampires have such predictable lives!). It’s been so long since we’ve chatted and I wanted to be sure he isn’t too cross with me about how I represented him in my novel In the Blood. Not that I think I represented him unfairly (hey, when you’re gorgeous, heartless, and ruthless, there’s little a writer can do to mask it).
I knock and wait. The house’s windows, black, make me think of empty eye sockets. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this house had stood empty for decades. I glance across at Lake Michigan, which looks angry, flinging itself at the boulders along the shores. I do not even hear the door opening.
“Oh my! Look what we have here! It’s the little writer boy come to call. The one who thinks he knows all about us.”
The voice chills me; it’s deep, resonant, and has a way of penetrating more deeply than a human voice. Almost as if a cold hand grasped my shoulder and forced me around, I turn. Terence stands before me, in all his glory: alabaster skin, long blond hair, muscles sheathed in pewter latex and black leather. He is like a fetishist’s dream and a fundamentalist’s nightmare. And he actually is both of those things. He is, quite simply, stunning. And I, the “writer boy” can barely think of a word to say. Terence’s gaze has a way of doing that.
“Hello, Terence. I thought I’d stop by, see how you were.”
“Oh, concerned now, are we? After you exposed me to the world?” Terence steps back and I follow him inside the cavernous space. They have knocked down walls to make room for their eclectic and voluminous art collection.
He doesn’t offer me a seat and I stand, staring up at him. “Oh come on, my dear. You live for such exposure.”
Terence gives his best impression of a pout and I want to laugh, but I don’t. “Not when you make me look so horrible.”
I shake my head. “I was just reporting what you did. I’m not the one that killed the old homeless man while he was sleeping, or dragged the schoolgirl back to my lair and fed on her for days.”
“Oh hush! Just because you shop at a grocery and I do my shopping al fresco doesn’t mean we’re any different.” He smiles hugely. “We all have to eat.”
“I suppose. But do you know what? I wanted to tell you this. I thought you might be pleased.”
Terence cocks his head. “What? The only thing I’d be pleased with is opening up that pretty little throat you’ve got there. But they’d notice you missing too soon and our connection would lead them here.”
“Remember that. No, what I wanted to tell you is that many people who have read about you thought you were gorgeous and extremely sexy. More than any other character, women and men alike wanted a taste of Terence.”
For once, a glimmer of a real, human smile whispers across Terence’s features. I can tell he’s genuinely pleased. I know, that for Terence, it’s all about Terence. “Really?”
“Yes. They all want to be your next victims. They think it would be achingly romantic.”
“Hmph. They’ve got the aching part right.” He grins and then grabs me, inspired. “Tell me where I can find some of them.”
I slowly shake my head. “Don’t you know I never reveal my sources?”
Terence smirks. “Always with the conscience! Why don’t you give it up to me and become one of us?”
“What? And lose my ability to put fiends like you on paper? No way.”
“Well, if that’s how you feel, you should know that I have better things to do now that it’s gotten dark outside. I’ll thank you to be on your way. Lovely chatting with you.”
I turn at the door. “Try to pick on someone your own size tonight. Maybe someone just as heartless.”
Terence winks at me. “You’re no fun.” He waves his hand in my direction. “Off with you now.”
