Preface-

Death was fast approaching me as I lay on that familiar concrete floor, warm blood pooling beneath my weak body. It wasn't deja vu; more like going back in time and righting the wrong. I should have died here, on this very same cold patch of concrete, eight years prior. But deja vu wasn't on my side; I wouldn't survive this, no matter how hard I fought with the dwindling amount of strength left. Fate worked against me tonight.

My breathing was becoming more and more ragged. I could feel my lungs gradually shutting down, my senses drifting away, my throat burning from the venom.

"It'll be over soon" that velvet voice whispered in my ear. I could tell she was fighting non-existent tears--- even when it felt like my ears were filled with cotton, eyes blurred with fog.

It comforted me that her soft voice would be the last thing I heard before it went black. Ironically, I once compared her melodic tone with an angel's. An angel's voice would be the last thing I experienced on this earth.


Chapter 1-

My feet shuffled awkwardly down the sidewalk as the first harsh autumn wind blew through London. I felt it stinging my bare skin, the only inch of my body not covered by my bulky coat, too tight jeans, or battered canvas shoes; the only thing I needed to complete this mismatched protective ensemble was a hat to keep the escaping muddy tendrils out of my honey brown eyes. But that would have to wait; a rookie police officer's salary was next to nothing.

Another gust of wind blew, almost knocking me sideways. I've always been uncoordinated, "tragically clumsy" others would say. It was almost impossible for me not to trip on a daily basis, but I got by without a scratch or scar. No blood shed.

Only a couple more long strides and I would be home, allowed to sink back into depression, allowed to remove the semi-cheery mask I put on for the good town's people. Sure I liked my job, never enjoyed it, but it was enough for me to get up everyday and pretend to be happy. But pretending was taking its toll on me. It almost hurts to laugh or pull the corners of the hard line I called my lips up these days.

I looked up to the darkening sky, rain clouds drifting overhead. No doubt there would be a monsoon tonight, like every other night. It had calming qualities for me. Nature's lullaby my late mother would call it. Sometimes it even brought tears to my eyes---that's how pathetic I am. But I had my reasons to be an emotional wreck, no matter how cliche they may seem.

I rounded the corner, my pace quickening, shoes beating against the sidewalk. The tall decaying structure I called home came into view at last. I could see every chipped and faded brick of the old apartment complex. The few flower boxes that lined the windows contrasted beautifully against the weathered red; it gave it a homely feeling, or at least that's what I thought. Being astep above dirt poor never really bothered me much. I was too humble for my own good, not expecting much from life, appreciating what little I have.

Somehow in a lapse of time, I was standing on the concrete stoop, hand extended for the brass knob, eyes unfocused. Time didn't matter anymore for me. The sands in my hour glass were running out, so to speak. I knew when it would end, how it would end, but I had no control over the inevitable, just the knowledge. I even knew the exact time and place. The date even. Not so far off now. I could remember the day so vividly when I found out. It would be quick but very painful, torturous actually.

A look in the mirror was all it took for me to prepare for that day. It was only eight years ago that I figured it out. I remember being scared, confused. I thought I was going crazy from the latest tragedy in my teenage life. But it was no generic tragedy the normal teenager went through. I was on death's door, welcoming it with open arms, then I was pulled from it so abruptly I wanted to scream. I wanted to die and be with the person I loved more than anything in the world. But with my luck I survived and had to go through the worst time in my life.

Later I realized how she would feel if she saw me like that, miserable and mute. I would have upset her, no doubt. She always wanted me to be happy, even when our time together was gone. She told me to not waste my time wallowing and crying over something that was out of my hands. I agreed and sealed it with a kiss; that was how we solved everything. Her lips would mold to mine, pressing softly and passionately, moving to me jaw every now and then. Then my defense would be gone, lost to her irresistible persuasion. She was dangerous with that kind of sexuality. She knew my weakness, and that was her, mind, body, and soul.

Remembering her always brought the depression full force, worse than it already was. But it always brought hope that I would see her soon. I was practically counting down the days on the calender.

"Excuse me, sir" A soft, foreign voice broke me from my reverie.

I turned my head slowly to the dark alley and searched for the source of the broken English. It was too dark from the approaching storm, but somehow I saw her pale skin practically glistening in the light from the street lamp. She was young and beautiful, covered in a heavily padded jacket and expensive looking jeans; she looked out of place in this poor town, an alien.

I kept my eyes down, away from her eyes. "Yes?" I asked, my soft voice breaking.

"Could you tell me where the closest inn is?"

Then something odd happened, something I couldn't control; I felt the need to look at her pale face, straight into her eyes. It was a stupid impulse. I feared eye contact more than vampires for Christ's sake.

Her eyes were wide and an odd aqua color, but beautiful in their own way. They were mesmerizing, coaxing me to step closer. But I resisted somehow, stood frozen on the stoop, hand still reaching for the knob.

Had it only been a couple of minutes since she spoke?

I felt light headed---like I was floating on air. Then I saw flashes of scenes on front of my eyes. It was terrifying how real it was; the beautiful pale girl sprawled across a bed, her aqua eyes wide open, watching her attacker advance towards her from the open window...Her body still and dead, two punctures releasing warm red liquid, dripping to the wooden floor in a slow rhythm.

The death looked only hours away, not years, how I usually saw them when I was foolish enough to look into someone's eyes. With escaping death brought a curse. I could see the deaths of people I loved or people passing by. It was habit for me to stare at the ground or another fixed point where my cursed eyes couldn't see a face or form of life.

Should I warn this girl? Would it end differently if I did? Would it change her ill-fate? But was it my place to interfere? I didn't know. I only knew the curse that fell upon me when I survived. Would the same happen to this girl? I wouldn't let another person suffer. I would let fate run it's course---like the deaths I saw many times before. But could I live with that, knowing I could've saved someone? My own death would save me from the guilt, I concluded.