If Link had known the many ways his name could be used as a weapon, he would have disarmed it. Holstered up his given name Charles instead, maneuvered it through his childhood like a ghostly shadow.
Charles had been a nice enough name. He shared it with his father. Yet instead of bracing him against the normalcy of his lineage, his parents drifted him towards his middle name. First proclaiming him Lincoln , and then clipping it down to Link . Because that's what people did; made deliberate from actual names. Roberts transformed into Bobs. Katherines dissolved into Kates. It was natural to shrink them into manageable pieces that fit better on the tongue. Names were nothing more than bite-size candy bars. It just so happened that Link had to get used to chewing his more thoroughly.
By the time he had survived his younger years, he had done this. Had found a way to smooth out the sharper points of the acidic taunts, and how to jump clear of all of the raised eyebrows when people discovered his name. Now deeply settled in his late thirties, and looking way more like the Charles of his future than the Link of his youth, he wore his nickname as a sign of rebellion instead of an anchor.
Eventually - or at least that's what he always told himself - he would talk to a proper therapist about all of this. Then he would accept whatever advice they gave to him as they wrote down expansive notes about how everything that made his mind run ember hot and then ice cold came down to early parental mistakes and later sexual repression. Until then, his vivid imagination created a long couch and a more rigid straight-backed chair for musings with Dr. Levine.
Her honey-blonde hair would fall in smooth ripples onto her delicate shoulders. Her first name would upfront and sensible. Stephanie. No, chop it down like his own. Stevie.
"So, tell me Link," Stevie would say, " Do you know what drives you to rob people?"
"Because they exist."
"Sorry. Did you say something sweetheart?"
The elderly waitress smiled as she placed a heavily manicured hand on Link's right shoulder. Her grip sent nonverbal messages that she was paid far too little to care as much as she did.
"No... just talkin' to myself. Bad habit."
She squeezed his shoulder a bit tighter and refilled his coffee before heading back to the giggling group of teenagers just behind him. Link appreciated the noise. It was nice to have distractions that stopped his arms and legs from needing constant movement.
Stevie would tell him to get a better hobby. Like fishing, or bowling. Something normal and expected. Not sitting in a diner on a Thursday night, waiting to terrify the city.
It wasn't like Link even needed the money. He had a job that he tolerated just as much as anybody else that he knew. His boss was fair-minded. He even got to eat for free on his shift, which absolutely helped with the bills. At first it was more about just stopping the tedious days off, to give him something to do with his thoughts and his hands.
Face obscured with hoodie? Check.
Find a random stranger walking the dark streets on their own? Check.
Stick a gun in their face? Check.
Demand their valuables? Check.
Run off into the night like a low-rate supervillain? Check.
His method for not getting caught was more about luck than about real cunning and skill. Days off at the restaurant never had any real pattern that the already-overworked police force could wrap their theories around. Plus, what kind of weirdo mailed back the victims' photo IDs and credit cards?
Link, obviously.
He was smart enough, however, to not keep souvenirs of his crimes. That was way too serial-killer-like. Be more Charles Lincoln Neal and less Charles Milles Manson. Instead, he held the memories like photographs. Back safe, in the darker crevices that only saw the light of day when the bulky envelopes got heavy on the way to drop off points. Then, it was time to have more imaginary conversations with Stevie.
Tonight, the plan was different. The marks of latest areas Link would take out his compulsions on were learning to stay in dense little packs. Their eyes and pockets were more often protected nowadays as they scampered like ants back to their little hills. So Link had relocated his terror to the west side of the city.
The west side was much colder than any other part of town. Most people chalked this up to vampires crowding the area. With their sweeping long coats they would wear to protect such fragile skin, they seemed to stir each molecule of chill from the air around them. Cool in both temperature and in natural swagger. No wonder copper sippers got laid so much.
Link huddled against the sharp cold as he headed over to a set of brick apartment buildings. His hoodie was up, gun pressed inside the front pocket along with the receipt from the diner. The steady footfalls of his boots crunched rhythmically as he made his way towards a shadowy spot to wait for his next rush. Already adrenaline was trickling into his muscles as he stood, still as a statue.
He had taken off his glasses to keep his appearance as generic as possible. His slight squint wouldn't be noticed when people had the barrel of a gun to stare at instead. Soon enough, the soft sound of stubby heels on pavement met Link's ready ears. A small woman was approaching him with her head down and hands in her short coat pockets. A large blue purse dangled from her right side.
The yellow ringlet hair should have been a warning sign. To proceed with caution. Danger ahead. But Link never paid attention to rules.
Shocking how fast it happened. He had barely gotten the pistol out of his pocket before the flash of the blade connected with the side of his neck. The smooth rip through the tender flesh as white hot as a needle, his heart stuttering more from surprise than from pain. By the time the shock passed, he was on the ground. His fingers pressed against the flowing wound and vision blurred on the heels of his grim reaper running away.
He was just able to twist himself to a fetal position. A crimson river flowed through the dirty alley. Link swallowed, but there was never going to be enough air. A chair holding Stevie materialized in the middle distance. Notepad in her hand.
"You've looked better."
He scoffed and did his best to shake his head. It was better this way. Cosmic justice finally called him to task.
"Wish I wasn't makin' such a mess to clean up after."
Stevie frowned, and then more notes scribbled down. The steady drips of blood sounded like raindrops if Link closed his eyes. So he did.
" You're worth more than that," she muttered softly.
"Easy for you to say," Link countered, with just a hint of a smile. "Ain't even real."
It's not like Link never thought about death. It was a risk that came with the territory. He just hadn't expected it to be so cold and relentlessly calm. Or for his senses to be heightened as the darkness inched its way in. Even now his nose could smell the grime in the cracks of the stained sidewalk, ears could hear the steady beat of his heart as his body tried to figure out what was going so incredibly wrong.
"Why can't I just hurry up and die already?" Link whispered to Stevie's soft eyes. She bit her bottom lip as an answer. The notepad fell abandoned by her feet.
"I'd like to know the same thing," a voice called from behind, and Link twisted himself just enough to see a very tall figure wearing both a long coat and serious expression. Rhett scanned Link's fallen form from his feet to his glazed-over eyes.
"No offense, but I'm kinda busy here," Link said with a tiny wave of his hand. Rhett quirked an eyebrow.
"Busy?" Rhett mused. "Talking to yourself as you waste the perfect good carotid artery. Humans will never cease to disappoint me."
Rhett sneered as only a seasoned vampire could. A calculated blend of menace and cockiness that people like Link could never begin to imitate. Yet there was something else that flickered behind the cold stare: a vague interest. Rhett had seen a whole lot of suffering in his long time after being turned. Death had a way of dissecting the soul so that what was left over was honesty in its rawest form. But the human leaking onto his shoes wasn't begging for mercy. Instead, a sound so small hovered from his broken throat and around his mouth that Rhett had to lean in close to make sure he was hearing it for was it was.
Laughter.
"You're insane," Rhett rasped, though his eyes were rapt. His large hands pressed against his long legs to keep his balance as he almost admired the human.
"Yeah, probably..." Link giggled, then coughed a bit more. "But I've always been a glass-is-half-full kind of guy."
Rhett rolled his eyes, but didn't turn away from the growing crime scene.
"So... you're an idiot."
Link laughed again. "No. At heart, I'm an optimist."
Rhett rolled his eyes again. "Practically the same thing."
The color was all but gone from Link's face at this point. The steady stream from his neck slowed to a trickle.
"Let's fully unpack what's happening," Rhett said smoothly as he stood back up. "You're about to die all by yourself in a place where even rats won't live. You're also a robbing piece of trash who doesn't even put fucking bullets in his gun. Please tell me the bright side of this, for you?"
For the first time since meeting the man in the long coat and short beard, Link can feel a quake of the unknown shiver through his body. The smile had gone to join the coagulation of blood. Rhett had a piercing stare that Link knew - even though vampires had stopped truly hunting centuries ago, Rhett could devour him at any moment.
"At least I'll have someone pretty to look at while I go, right?"
There was such a stillness in the air that for a very small moment, Link wondered if Rhett had even heard what he'd said. Then the slight itching was on the back of his skull, asking for entrance.
Link's eyes narrowed in confusion, but the vampire's face was like stone. The gaze deliberate. Almost desperate. The itching more insistent. And then Link mumbled okay before the weight of so much loss blood finally pulled him down.