From: mhickey@ux4.cso.uiuc.edu (No One)
Subject: STORY: Farewell
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana
Date: Sun, 24 Jan 1993 12:13:28 GMT

The following is the background story I wrote for my VtM character.
This is really my first attempt at writing fiction, so your input
would be greatly apreciated.  If there is enough interest, I would
be happy to post additional stories about the character.  However,
I won't be able to continue writing until I find out what happens 
to Demetre in the campaign.

Please feel free to distribute it, with headers intact.  Please don't
make any changes, though, and please, no sales for profit.  I reserve
all rights to the story and the characters contained therein.

Enjoy.




         		      _Farewell_

                         by: William G. Hickey
                        mhickey@ux4.cso.uiuc.edu



	The stairway creaked underfoot as the boy cautiously climbed
to the attic of the old house.  In this section of Chicago it was
unwise to travel alone at night.  Yet here he was, long past
midnight, delivering a letter to a strange man in the attic of a
house that had a reputation of being haunted.  He cursed his foul
luck and wondered aloud why He insisted on meeting here.
	"Ah, Michael, do come in."  A voice form the top of the stairs
invited.  
	Michael jumped, startled.  He glanced into the gloom at the
top of the stairs and wished emphatically that he had remembered
his flashlight.  For a moment he thought that he could see a set of
glowing eyes at the top of the stairs.
	Michael tried to reply calmly to the voice, "I can't see too
well.  Could ya turn on a light or somethin'?"  His voice cracked
in fear with every syllable, though.  In answer, he could hear some
tattered drapes being pulled aside and the attic was lit with a
beam of stark, white moonlight.
	Michael continued the last few steps up the stairs and sighed,
relaxing visibly.  The voice had indeed belonged to Him.  He was a
tall, richly dressed man who looked to be in his late forties.  He
stood now, looking out the window at the street below.  It almost
seemed as though he was watching for someone.
	He gestured at the table where there were ten crisp
one-hundred dollar bills.  "Leave the letter there.  I believe one
thousand dollars was our arrangement."
	"Uh... yeah.  It was."  Michael walked across to the table and
pulled a large envelope from his coat.  He placed it on the table
and reached for the money.  "Uh, sir?"
	"Yes, Michael?"
	"Well, you see, I was wonderin'.  How come you went to so much
trouble for this letter?"  He knew this wasn't probably a good
thing to ask, but curiosity had been gnawing at him for longer than
he could stand.
	There was a long pause and Michael looked over to the window
to be sure He was still there.  With alarm he noticed that there
was no silhouette in the window.  Michael nearly jumped out of his
shoes when from behind he heard the sound of paper being ripped.  
	He turned around in time to see Him finish ripping one of the
one-hundred dollar bills in half.  Frozen in fear Michael noticed
that His fingers ended in claws.  The reply was terse and final as
He said, "I paid you to retrieve letter for me, not to question its
importance."
	Those clawed hands reached out to Michael and placed the other
nine bills in his coat pocket.  "I suggest you get home now,
Michael.  Before I grow angry and further change the terms of our
agreement."
	As if being released from a trance, Michael animated and ran
back down the stairs.  His feet hardly touched the floor as he
sprinted out of the house, never hearing the laughter from the 
attic.  Michael kept up the pace all the way across the
neighborhood, forgetting, in his fear, that he had intended to go
home a different way.  Only when he was a block from home, did he
slow his frantic pace.  
	Looking over his shoulder, he tried to catch his breath.  He
could see no sign of pursuit, so he sat down against a nearby
building and hoped that no one had seen him running home.  He would
have to endure countless hours of teasing if anyone had seen him
running from the 'haunted' house, even if he had a very good
reason.
	Someone did see, though.  He had been outside the old house
and had followed the boy here.  He now stood in the shadows a few
feet away, watching.  His thoughts weren't on how foolish the boy
looked, but instead were on what had made Michael run.  "Wilkert,
I can see your mark of terror in that boy's eyes." He whispered to
himself.  "Soon, old 'friend.'  Soon..."  
	Back at the abandoned house, the man had seated himself at the
table and opened the letter.  Its paper was worn, and unfolded
noiselessly in his hands.  Its hand-written script was undeniably
Demetre's.
	His European contacts had informed Him that Demetre
mysteriously left Germany a few weeks ago.  In their search for
him, they discovered this letter in the possession of a gypsy woman
in Berlin that Demetre had been visiting for several months.  He
had insisted that the letter be sent to Him through His unusual
channels immediately.
	Valeria had answered a great many questions for His contacts
before she died, but there were still a few that remained
unexplained.  Not for the first time, He had to wonder why it had
been written at all, and why to her.  Furthermore, why was Demetre
in Chicago.  Perhaps the letter would contain those answers. 
Looking down at the pages before Him, He began to read.
	

Valeria,

	I am sorry that my sudden departure did not allow me to say
good-bye, but please understand that it is a matter of great,
personal importance that brings me to Chicago.  You deserve better
than this, as you have been a true friend to me these last months,
but I am afraid that time didn't permit me to stay in Berlin a day
longer.
	Many times you beseeched me to explain to you exactly what
troubled me and every time, I evaded your questions.  Perhaps I
should have told you then, but I didn't.  The truth is dark, and I
sought to protect you, and in a way me, from it.  You may call that
selfishness now, but when you finish this letter perhaps you'll
better understand.  
	What follows may be disturbing for you, but please believe
that is has never been my intent to hurt you.  I may die in Chicago
and never have the opportunity to explain my past to you.  So, hear
then my tragedy.

	The night was especially cold that Christmas Eve.  Looking
back on it now, it seems as though God Himself was trying to keep
me indoors.  Perhaps I should have stayed there, stayed at home
with my lovely wife and child.  We could have decorated the tree
like we had planned, or just listened to the fire crackling in the
hearth.  Anything would have been better than setting into motion
the chain of events that has become my existence.
	A storm was brewing over the Alps and I could feel it ready to
pounce at any moment.  When I left home, it was barely nine
o'clock.  Already, the temperature had dropped alarmingly, and gave
every indication that it would continue to do so throughout the
night.  There was to be a snow storm that night that has remained
unequaled since.  And yet, there I was, wandering to my agency on
Christmas Eve.
	I owned a small travel agency.  My good friend Fredrick and I
started it some years ago.  You see, my town, Mittenwald, was one
of those places that tourists seemed to love.  It had the proper
atmosphere, or so I was told by Americans on holiday.  Well,
Fredrick and I started the agency.  He handled the business and I
conducted the tours.  It was a good arrangement.
	Fredrick liked to deal with people.  He had a knack for it, I
suppose.  He also had a tendency to experiment with new ideas for
the agency.  So, when he called me that night, and said that there
was something very important that I had to come and talk about, I
can't say I was altogether surprised.  He could get so excited
about business things.  At the time, I doubted he even remembered
it was Christmas Eve.  I tried to tell him that it would have to
wait until later, but he was insistent.  I dressed for the
worsening weather, bid my family good night, and left.
	Often I have wished that I had stayed in my home that night. 
It crossed my mind several times on the way there, to simply turn
around and go home.  Damn me for being so accommodating...
	I should have just told Fredrick to wait until tomorrow, or
the day after.  I should have stayed with my wife, Anna.  We could
have decorated the tree as we had planned, or perhaps, opened one
or two gifts for Sabrina.  It was Sabrina's second Christmas.  If
you could have seen her...  She was the most radiant child I had
ever seen.  She had a simple fascination with the world around her
that more often that not got her into trouble.
	I was truly a lucky man.  Not only did I have a child that
gave me new reasons to be proud of her every day, but I had the
most beautiful wife in all of Austria.
	I do not jest.  To my eyes, Anna was easily the most stunning
woman alive.  It wasn't just beauty though.  She was the most
caring and compassionate of people.  She knew things about me that
I hadn't even realized yet.  I swear to you that she could have
softened the most hardened of hearts.  Perhaps love blinded me, but
I think not.  Only once have I been blind.
	Well, despite what I may have thought, I left home and arrived
at the agency.  The lights were on and I could see Fredrick talking
to a tall gentleman through the large front window.  Fredrick
seemed terribly excited and kept gesturing with his hands.  The
other just sat there and nodded now and then.  
	Fredrick hadn't mentioned a customer on the  phone.  I
thought, at the time, that perhaps this man was just in the agency
to escape the cold, and had found to his amazement that he was now
caught in one of Fredrick's sales pitches.  I couldn't have been
more wrong.  Eventually, it dawned on me the I had been standing
there for too long.  The cold has a simple way of reminding people
not to tarry.
	I quickly walked up to the door and entered.  Fredrick looked
up from his one-sided conversation when he heard the door open, but
the other didn't.  He just sat there, and without turning around
said, "Demetre, how good of you to join us."  Fredrick was quick to
introduce me to Maximillian Wilkert.
	I could not have know that man's sinister intent.  At the
time, he looked like any ordinary man.  Granted, his manner of
dress suggested that he was wealthy, but I never would have guessed
what he was capable of, much less, planning to do.
	We all sat down and Maximillian proceeded to tell me that he
had once taken a holiday in this area, and was impressed with my
knowledge and understanding of the wilderness.  He too harbored
great love for the wild and wanted to insure that I would be able
to continue and perhaps enhance my understanding.
	As I sat there dumbfounded, he went on to tell me that he was
prepared to issue me a trust fund of what would amount to be one
thousand two-hundred dollars per month.  All I had to do was meet
him in Bern, Switzerland three weeks later to finalize the
transaction with his bank.  I stammered my thanks and promised to
be there.  He then asked if I wanted to bring my family along, and
that if I did, he could provide a private plane to take us to Bern. 
He even went so far as to say that we could vacation there for a
while.
	It should have struck me as odd that he knew about my family. 
I understand now that he had been watching me for months, but even
then, I should have wondered.  You see, I never discussed my family
when conducting tours, and he had claimed to know me from a tour. 
As fate would have it, I didn't catch that, and for the next hour,
we made plans for my vacation to Switzerland.
	Wilkert politely excused himself and left, saying that he had
some other business to attend to before the night grew late.  I
thanked him again and wished him a merry Christmas.  Fredrick and
I then proceeded to question one another about this mysterious and
generous fellow.  Before long, the conversation turned to what I
planed to do with my new found 'wealth.'  I, of course, had come up
with numerous plans, already.  Most concerned purchasing various
gifts for Anna and Sabrina, that until now, I had been unable to
afford.
	Throughout the next few weeks, I wondered about my good
fortune.  Life hadn't been particularly kind to me in the past. 
Why now had it taken this sudden, unbelievable turn?
	Do not mistake me.  I have always considered myself lucky to
have had Anna and Sabrina in my life, however short a time it was,
but what had happened because of Wilkert was so unexpected.  I
suppose that until then, I had always been convinced of life's
hardship and few absolute joys.
	My parents had fled Romania when the Iron Curtain fell.  I was
still only an infant, and times were tough.  Even such basics
necessities as food and education were often hard to find in post
war Europe.  Nevertheless, my parents were hard working people, and
we survived.  They made certain that I learned both English and
German.  In fact, they never again spoke their native tongue once
we moved to Austria.  My father died in the mines when I was seven,
my mother when I was sixteen.
	Fredrick's parents took me in and made certain I didn't starve
on the streets.  It was then that I met Fredrick and our friendship
began to grow.  Late at night, when the rest of the house was sound
asleep, he and I would stay awake, making plans for our futures. 
Then, when day broke again, we could be found getting into no end
of mischief.  
	A few years passed, and Fredrick went off to college in
England.  I had been working during my stay with the Karkmanns, and
had earned enough money to move out.  I stayed in contact with the
Karkmanns and wrote regularly to Fredrick.  
	His parents died when he was completing his final year of
school.  It was my responsibility, as his last remaining 'family,'
to relay the news.  I wished that I could have traveled to London
in person to comfort him, but my pittance of a salary didn't allow
such luxuries.  He heard of their deaths by the same means you now
hear my story.
	When he returned home later that year, he decided to spend his
inheritance on a small shop in the center of town.  He wanted to
run a business of his own.  I suppose it was a continuation of his
parent's dream.  They talked often of doing just that when they
retired.  I agreed to help him, and soon we were in debt up to our
ears.  It was in this way that we started our travel agency.
	It wouldn't be until years later that I would meet Anna.  As
it happened, she was on one of my wilderness tours.  From the first
moment I saw her, I was quite stricken.  Words could never do
justice in describing the love I felt for her.  Often, I tried to
express these feelings, more or less failing.  Somehow, though, she
knew.  Within a few months we were married.
	Then began the only truly happy, and all too brief, period of
my life.  Our marriage was wonderful, and only improved with the
addition of Sabrina to our family.  Everything was going fine. 
Certainly, I could have used more money, but then, we weren't in
dire straits, either.  We were comfortable.  We were happy.  Then
Wilkert intruded on my life.
	He came bearing gifts of generosity, but they only served to
mask his purpose.  His plan, I am ashamed to admit, worked all too
well.  Soon, Anna, Sabrina, and I were being dropped off at the
airport by Fredrick.  I had taken Wilkert up on his offer to have
us flown to Bern on his private plane.  We bid Fredrick farewell,
not knowing how final those good-byes would be, and boarded the
small plane.
	I have seen Fredrick only once since then.  He didn't notice
me, and we have never spoken again.  For all intents and purposes,
he believes me dead.  In a way, I suppose, I am.
	It still shocks me to think of the trouble and expense
Maxmillian went through to get at me.  To the end, he kept up his
charade of good intentions.  Even his stranding us in the
wilderness was done in a manner concealing his intent.  
	The flight was uneventful, and rather pleasant, until we got
over the Alps.  At this point, the plane began to list to one side. 
At first, I dismissed it as turbulence, but soon we were losing
altitude at an alarming rate.  I told Anna to get her seat belt on,
and left the luxurious cabin.  
	When I entered the cockpit, I learned to my horror that the
pilot was dead, the instruments smashed.  What's more, we were
beginning to dive towards the mountains.  I did try to gain control
of the damaged aircraft, but I couldn't right the plane.  My feeble
attempts failed, and we plunged from the sky.
	In the end, I could only watch helplessly as the mountains
raced up to meet us.  I remember the impact.  I can still see the
window rushing towards me, and then going grey, as a myriad of tiny
cracks appeared on its surface.
	When I awoke from unconsciousness, I was several yards from
the wreck.  There were a few fires raging nearby, hungrily
consuming the trees in the area.  The blaze had begun to melt the
snow around the shattered plane, creating small rivers of freezing
water and keeping the fires from spreading out of control.
	Blood poured down my face from the cuts across my forehead. 
Never before had I felt so cold.  Shock and the water I had been
laying in produced a most uncomfortable condition for me.  As I
tried to stand, I discovered that my ankle was sprained, possibly
broken.  When the pain subsided , I tried to get my bearings.
	I began to call out to Anna.  The only answer I received was
the sound of burning wood.  Limping about, I frantically searched
for my wife and child amid the destruction.  I found them in the
crushed cabin of the plane.  It had split apart from the nose and
tail, and lay twisted between two trees.  To my surprise and joy,
they were still alive.  
	Anna, though unconscious, still clutched Sabrina to her. 
Neither was hurt seriously, so I began to look for a survival kit,
or anything that might help us endure the approaching night.  I did
find it, but for some reason it was empty of supplies.  Cursing our
luck, I gathered what wood I could, and made a small fire near the
plane's ruined cabin.
	By the time I finished that task, Anna was beginning to
awaken.  I helped her move closer to the campfire and we began to
discuss how we would survive.  We hadn't packed any food, but a
quick search produced our luggage.  Without food, we couldn't hope
to live for very long, and with my damaged ankle I couldn't hunt
effectively enough for three.
	We decided that I should try to find help.  I changed out of
my wet clothing and bundled Anna and Sabrina in numerous sweaters. 
With that extra protection from the cold, at least they wouldn't
have frozen to death.  Time was important, though.  The weather
could worsen in a moment, and trap us in the mountains with no food
and no way to find help.  I kissed them both good-bye and limped
off.
	I walked as fast I could towards a pass in the hills east of
me.  The farther down the mountain side I traveled, the thicker the
trees began to get.  Soon, I couldn't even see the smoke from the
crash.  Too soon, it was night.  
	The woods had been a second home to me for years, so I had no
reason to be afraid.  Yet, there was something bothering me.  I was
convinced that someone was watching me.  I tried to speed my pace. 
By the time I noticed the eyes following me through the darkness,
I was practically running.
	Those eyes were red.  They bobbed in and out through the trees
flowing me, stalking me.  Exhaustion and the pain in my ankle
dropped me to the ground.   Glancing over my shoulder, I could see
my hunter closing in on me.  I turned and tied to crawl, producing
and amused growl from behind me.  
	He was close now.  I could almost feel his fetid breath on my
neck.  Nearly screaming in frustration, I began to grope about for
a weapon.  My hands came down on a thick branch.  So armed, I
rolled over and prepared to fight like a trapped animal, for that
is precisely what I was.
	You can imagine my shock, when I saw who had been hunting me. 
As I lay there, brandishing my feeble club, I looked up into the
eyes of Maxmillian Wilkert.
	He stood a few feet from me.  A smug, rather triumphant, smile
on his face.  I remember acutely what he said to me then. 
"Demetre, have you given up so soon?  Where is your fighting
spirit?  Have you lost your will to survive?"  When I remained as
I was and said nothing, he went on, "It seems, I need to motivate
you.  Perhaps, if I turned around and sought my prey in the other
direction."  He motioned behind him, in the towards the plane, in
the direction of my family.
	With a scream of outrage, I sprang into motion, swinging the
branch at his knees.  I felt it impact.  I heard the crack as it
broke.  He shrugged off the blow as though it were merely a sting,
and struck me in the face.  I fell back onto the ground.  The cuts
on my forehead reopening.  New wounds bleeding from that thunderous
strike.
	I struggled to remain conscious.  Shaking my head to clear it,
as a great weight pinned me to the forest floor.  I opened my eyes
and saw to my horror, Wilkert sitting on my chest.  His mouth was
open and he looked up at the stars above.  I could see his teeth
growing, his face taking on an appearance closer to beast than man.
	I cried out in terror as he descended on me.  His fangs
tearing into my throat.  I tried to fight him off, but my attempts
became weaker in seconds.  Soon, I could barely lift my arms.  My
vision blurred as cold was began to seep into my body.  I could
feel my strength, my life, dwindling like the flow of my blood.
	Then, suddenly, he stopped.  Raising his bloody mouth from me,
he rolled up his sleeve.  Then, running a clawed finger across his
wrist, he created a deep cut.  Lowering his arm to my lips, he
instructed me to drink.  I hadn't the strength left to fight.
	As I drank, all thoughts of revulsion forgotten.  At first,
his blood strengthened me, healed me, but then as his foul ichor
began to flow into my limbs.  Pain such as I have never known
wracked my body.  I began to scream in agony, as the fires inside
me grew.  I could hear his laughter and I fell into
unconsciousness.
	When I woke, the pain and Wilkert were gone.  Grasping my
throat I found it intact.  Relief washed over me.  Perhaps I had
dreamt Wilkert's attack, but as I looked about, I saw the blood on
the snow, my blood.  Then I felt it.  The hunger.  An all consuming
and growing need deep inside me.
	Rising, I tested my ankle.  It felt a little weak, but somehow
it had healed.  Not questioning my good fortune, I began to sniff
the air.  I could smell blood.  I listened and could hear the
beating of a distant heart.  Without another moment's thought, I
raced off in the direction of my prey.
	I had to have blood.  The beast inside me had to be satisfied.
The hunt was on.   I ran through the woods without a thought about
where I was going.  All I knew was that there was sustenance
awaiting me.  I could sense it, feel it.  The air rushing past my
face carried ever increasing scents of blood.  It drove me wild,
and I sprinted faster.  Soon, I could hear the drum-like rhythm of
not one, but two hearts.  My excitement grew as I realized that two
vessels awaited my hunger.
	My frenzy induced race, ended at the plane's wreckage. 
Although I didn't realize it at the time, my wife and child were my
prey.  By the time I reached them, my animal hunger had driven the
last vestiges of humanity from me.  I was no more human than a
starved wolf.  
	Anna and Sabrina survived the crash, but they did not surviv
me.

	I have come to Chicago to enact my revenge on Maximillian
Wilkert.  I must try to come to terms with what I am, what I have
done.  I can think of no better way than to confront my 'father.' 
I have come to kill him or die trying.  Either way, I win.  I
destroy the monster that ruined my life, or I destroy the monster
I have become.

						     Farewell,
						     D.A.


	He sat back in his chair at the abandoned house, and pondered
what he had read.  How long ago was this letter written?  A week? 
Two?  Was Demetre already in Chicago?  Damn.
	He threw the letter down on the table and began to pace the
attic floor.  His wandering took Him to the window, and He gazed
out at the street.  A form below caught His eye.  Yes, there was
someone approaching the house.  The figure walked slowly into the
light of a street lamp revealing his features.  Demetre looked up
at the attic window and they locked eyes.
	"So, my son, we meet again."  Maxmillian Wilkert whispered.
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