Dark Duo, Away

October 15th, 1989.
Twickenham Stadium, London.

It was during the 1980s when Orville and Rose Voltaire decided to move to America.

The height of rock and roll was met with a unique sound produced by the now world-famous musician, Orville Voltaire—or, as he was more commonly known, Villy the Vampire. With his dark, Gothic style and his aloof, rebellious attitude, he quickly made a name for himself throughout the industry, as did his wife, his partner and manager through it all—and, after reaching a level of fame neither of them had imagined possible, the two of them decided to move away from the place they’d called home for many years, traveling from Birmingham, England to Hailview, South Carolina in order to fully start anew.

The reason for this change was simple; the two of them had, after a long, fun journey of living the carefree rock star life, finally decided to start a family.

Partners in crime through the thickest and darkest of troubles, and through the most fun and delightful adventures they’d known—Orville and Rose had come full-circle at last. The two of them had met during a war time. They’d abandoned their older, stricter lifestyles for a freer rock and roll life—and now, they felt as if they had outgrown the reckless life as well as the disciplined one, and they were ready to move on to the next and presumably final phase, the phase of settling with a family, moving to a brand new place, and living in a town where everyone around them would be a fresher face, which was something that—for reasons no one else in the world knew—most assuredly needed to happen.

Everyone in the world knew the inspiring and rebellious music of Villy the Vampire Voltaire, and people in both England and America spoke excitedly about when the next tour would be, or when the next Villy V album would drop. This was not something either of them could escape—but what they could escape was the entourage of familiar faces throughout their neighborhood, the people who lived next door, the communities and the families nearby them, the types of people who were able to peek into the everyday lives of the Voltaires. Orville and Rose were adept at keeping their deepest secrets hidden from the world—but, the longer they lived in one place, the harder it became to keep such secrets. Because of this, it was simply time to move on.

On this chilly October evening at the Twickenham Stadium in London—Orville’s final concert was underway, and he sang his heart out on the stage with thousands of screaming faces gazing back up at him amidst the lights and the deafening sounds, music blasting as a smog of smoke overtook the scene. He recited the lyrics to his best-known song—Demon in the Daylight—nodding vicariously and sending his long black hairs flying about as he did. His outfit black and tight with décor of silver spikes and studs, an overcoat on and his eyes painted with dark makeup, he chanted his lyrics with impassioned vigor.

“ Screaming, screaming, bloody fuckin’ mur-der-nobody stops you and no-bo-dy can hear-her ,” he yelled as he punched the air above the crowd. “ You sink your teeth in and the black blood in-vates-her-no need to pur-suade-her-you’re a de-mon in the day-light! ”

The crowd soon became swept away in the euphoria, many Villy V fans yelling the lyrics along with him. Near the edge of the stage, behind a dark curtain—Rose stood there, watching from the sidelines with folded arms and an ever present smirk on her face, her short crimson hairs styled in a smooth comb-over. She was a petite woman, wearing a silky black outfit, as she and Orville both often did, and her smile seemed to widen as the song reached its crescendo.

As the concert reached its peak, and as Rose continued to observe quietly from the shadows, another man appeared beside her, pocketing his hands and watching Orville as well. He was a blond in a slim navy suit, his hairs sandy and his eyes a bright blue, and he flashed a smirk as well, glimpsing between Rose and her performing, passionate husband.

“He’s not lost an ounce of passion,” the blond man remarked, nodding once at the stage. “Are we quite certain we can adjust to life elsewhere? Namely him …?”

Rose glanced over at him, then out at the stage again, eyeing her husband knowingly.

“It’s not as if he has to stop performing,” she said with a shrug. “He’s quite popular in America. I’m fairly certain he’ll never walk away from it completely, regardless of how well-off we are now. He’s just looking forward to being able to live in comfort now… and… so am I. I think all three of us will be well taken care of from now on, Will.”

The blond man, William, nodded in response. “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to continue working as his agent. I don’t exactly have the connections in America that I have here.”

“Oh… we’ll find something for you to do,” Rose replied, turning and smiling warmly at him.

William breathed out a laugh.

The two of them watched as Orville finished off his song with flair, and the crowd went absolutely ballistic just as the music came to an end.

Then, William frowned, sighing and turning fully to Rose.

“By the by,” he said, his tone and visage both darkening. “Do you remember when that fanatic arrived backstage and brandished a knife at Villy?”

Rose faced him, her smile fading.

“Well… evidently, the solicitor for that situation referred the case to a barrister,” William informed. “And that barrister is here now.”

Rose gave him a long, vacant stare, all emotion vanishing from her expression.

“I don’t see why any lawyers of any kind should still be bothering us about that anymore,” she murmured grimly. “That nutter’s disappearance isn’t exactly a great tragedy, is it? And it’s not as if they can connect us to it at all.”

“Well… the man’s family seems to disagree,” William reported. “And might I say… if they have found some way of connecting you two with the case, then the whole thing could complicate our moving plans quite a bit. I would advise you both to… well… deal with it.”

At that, he turned on his heel and marched away.

Rose grimaced as she watched him go, adjusting her folded arms and turning her attention back to the stage, observing as Orville finished his show with a bow and a final fist in the air.

When the show was over, Orville sauntered off the stage with a swagger. He approached Rose, and she gave him a smile and a kiss, just before handing his elegant, decorative cane to him and sliding his sunglasses out of her pocket. He took them both, placing the rounded sunglasses onto his face and thumping the cane lightly across the floor as they ventured backstage, marching through the darkened walkway and steadily leaving the deafening crowd noises of the stadium behind, the shouting ambiance slowly fading away.

The two of them walked between a few other people, and Rose glanced at them in passing, waiting until they were out of everyone’s earshot before she spoke. She then turned to her husband while they walked, speaking in a hushed tone and telling him everything that William had just told her.

Orville slowed to a stop in the dark, narrow walkway, halting just beside an office door. He paused there, his fingers, which were covered with several shiny rings, now tapping anxiously on the crimson-colored orb atop his cane.

“What’re they coming to us for?” he grumbled.

“I don’t know,” Rose replied with a sigh. “But I imagine the boy’s family is desperate to pin his disappearance on someone, and we’re just the convenient villains. We were the last ones to see him alive, after all.”

“He shouldn’t have pulled a knife on me,” Orville griped, making a face, his brow hardening above his sunglasses. “Then he might’ve lived to see someone else again.”

“ Hush , Villy,” Rose hissed, glimpsing around and shooting him a look. “We need to speak to this man in private, and we need to set things right. Otherwise, we might get caught up with more legality here, and we won’t be able to go. Is that what you want?”

Orville frowned, sighing deeply.

“Excuse me,” someone else chimed in.

Both of them turned—seeing a middle-aged man in a light gray suit standing behind them. The man had short dark hairs that were just beginning to turn silver, and he nodded once at them, tipping his hat and offering them a smile.

“Are you Mr. Voltaire?” the man asked, raising his brows at Orville.

Orville merely stared at him, his mouth drifting agape, ogling the man as if he’d never heard such a ridiculous question before.

“Are you Sherlock Holmes?” the rock star chided, opening his arms and gesturing to himself up and down. “C’mon, mate. Y’think I just dress like this because I feel like it?”

“That is why you dress like that,” Rose remarked, flashing a curt smile at him, then turning to the suited man. “He dresses like that at home and everywhere else. Don’t let him fool you.”

The suited man paused, then managed a laugh, nodding at her. “I see. Well… my name is Donald Carrington, and I’m currently running an investigation. Have you both got a minute? I need to speak with you about a missing person’s case.”

Orville and Rose shared a brief glance.

“Certainly, Mr. Carrington,” Rose said politely, stepping to the side and grasping the knob of the nearby office door. “Let’s step in here for a moment.”

She opened the door—a bright fluorescent light washing out of the room and into the darkened backstage walkway—and she stood against the door for a second, allowing Orville and Mr. Carrington to walk inside before her. Once they were in the office, she slipped in and quietly eased the door shut behind her.

The three of them now stood in a small, isolated office room, containing a single desk, a bookshelf, and not much else, aside from a few portraits along the wall and a clock posted above the desk adjacent to them. None of them knew whose office this was, but it was unoccupied, and it worked well enough for a private conversation.

Orville meandered over to the desk, turned around, and sat lazily against it, placing his hands on his cane and perking his brow at the man before him.

Mr. Carrington sighed, adjusting his hat and clearing his throat before he spoke.

“Well… I’m certain I’m not the first person to speak to you about the disappearance of Mickey McNamara,” he started. “Would you mind telling me everything you recall about your encounter with him?”

“Mind? No,” Orville replied. “What I minded was him showing up after my show and pulling a blade on me. He started ranting on about how I was a devil-worshipper, and how I was spreading Satanic themes in my music. He was shaking, rightly nervous about what he was about to do, and he told me that my whole vampire stage theme was the devil’s work… and I was just stood there, thinking… how daft can you be?”

He reached to his chest, grasping the elegant silver cross hanging from around his neck and holding it upright for the barrister to see.

“This doesn’t look like it’s upside down , now does it?” he chided with a laugh. “And d’you know how the lore of vampires is distorted and exaggerated? They’ve really got nothing to do with the devil… and it’s not like touching a cross is bloody kryptonite to ‘em.”

“Well. Vampires are also a thing of fiction,” Mr. Carrington remarked.

“Right, well, that too…” Orville shrugged, releasing the cross and leaning back against the desk.

There was a pause, Rose stood against the door with crossed arms, watching the two of them and listening silently.

“I don’t care for it,” Orville said simply. “I don’t care for all the propaganda, suggesting that anything dark and brooding must be evil and Satanic. I like the look, so I look a certain way. I like the shtick, so I present a certain way. I dunno why that’s so fuckin’ wrong.”

“Well, to be fair… some of your lyrics might lead people to think a particular way about you,” Mr. Carrington commented. “And… so would some of your behavior in the past.”

The Voltaires fell momentarily silent.

“You’ve had a long history of drug abuse,” Mr. Carrington continued, his tone now serious. “You’ve been arrested under multiple other circumstances, some involving assault… and you frequently taunt and mock anyone who tries to question you about it. You give others the impression that you’re simply a rebellious and careless celebrity who will act however he pleases… and who believes he is above the law. Well… I am here to tell you… you’re not .”

Another silence fell, this one longer and graver than before. Rose stared at the back of the man’s head expressionlessly, and Orville gazed directly into him from behind his small sunglasses, both of them thinking along similar lines; with the tone change in this man’s voice, and with the steady darkening of his visage, it became clear to both of them that Mr. Carrington was something of a biased party. He, like many others in the world, was a person who did not like, admire, or care for the usual behavior of the Voltaires. The media often painted the two of them in a negative light, and many people in the world blindly believed everything they heard about them—but this was something that both of them were fairly tired of.

And, as the tension in the room seemed to amplify, Orville’s face fell stony, glaring at the man with an odd, subtle shift in demeanor, his fun, aloof stage mannerisms now gone without a trace, his hands tightening atop his cane, and his expression harder than before—the face of a knowing, disciplined man, a man who did not suit the rock star persona at all.

“You think you’re so wise,” Orville murmured grimly, his voice now soft and severe. “You think you’ve got me all worked out… just a bloody junkie vagabond, riding from town to town, partying like mad and breaking the law without a care in the world.”

“That is precisely what you are,” Mr. Carrington snarled, his polite façade vanishing at once. “And I have reason to believe that the disappearance of Mickey McNamara is something you are directly responsible for. I intend to make you face justice, one way or another.”

Orville’s eyes flickered over the man’s shoulder, glimpsing at Rose for a second before landing on the barrister again.

Rose made an understanding nod, turning and locking the door with a faint click .

Mr. Carrington wheeled around at the sound of the noise, giving Rose an odd look before facing the musician again. When he did—Orville was no longer leaned against the desk. Now, he stood fully upright, planting his cane to the floor beside him and staring fixedly into the man.

“Justice,” Orville mumbled, taking a slow step forward. “What exactly is justice to you? That someone should be allowed to try and kill me, just because his extremist bloody beliefs told him to? Or that I shouldn’t be allowed to defend myself against him?”

Mr. Carrington’s face became even graver.

“D’you think you’re a perfect hand of law and order? D’you really believe you’re doing some honest good in the world?” Orville challenged, gently cocking his head. “Well… let me tell you something, my friend. I was only a boy when Queen Victoria said that no civilization is complete without the dumbest and most defenseless of God’s creatures within the sphere of charity and mercy. I only became a man fighting the Central Powers in the Great War, and then I was meant to march against the Nazi regime just after they told us we wouldn’t have to fight anymore. I know what it means to stand with authority and believe without a single bloody doubt that I’m doing the right thing… but I know for a fact that, in both wars, I killed many, many people who didn’t deserve to die. At least Mickey McNamara did .”

Mr. Carrington fell still and silent, staring back at him wordlessly.

“I really don’t care for the propaganda around me… and I don’t care for being lectured by a simple-minded normal person who isn’t even aware of the real class systems in play,” Orville stated. “Oh… and vampires aren’t a thing of fiction , by the way. They are one of many classes in the real world. Vampire Class, Werewolf Class, Psychic Class, Holy Class, Demon Class… the list goes on and bloody on. There used to be people in charge of keeping track of these things, once in a blue moon… but, well, every class has been dying out for ages. Largely because of people like you. People who believe that everything strange or different from them must be the devil’s work, and they react with fear and ignorance. But… y’know… I did get two good things out of my time serving. I got discernment… and I got the most brilliant military nurse in the world working on my leg after it was shot to shit. Haven’t gotten rid of her since.”

Rose flashed a smile and breathed out a laugh at hearing this.

“She turned out to be part of the Psychic Class… and now,” Orville said, cracking a smirk and tapping his tongue to one of his sharp, elongated canines. “She’s part of mine .”

Mr. Carrington spotted the bizarre fang in his mouth, his face slowly draining of color.

Orville laughed, taking another step forward.

“I am very discerning regarding who I make my dinner plans with. It’s always someone who’s… deserving,” he uttered, raising a finger as Mr. Carrington moved back. “So… here’s the thing. Anyone who imposes false justice over us, and halts our plans, and ruins our lives… that’s something I’d call deserving. We need to have our plans unimpeded… and we aren’t gonna be held up by a façade of justice. So… I will give you one warning… right now. Walk away… leave us be… and don’t ever seek me out again. Do I make myself entirely fuckin’ clear?”

Mr. Carrington stood rooted to the spot, gulping roughly and pausing for a moment before forcing himself to speak.

“You’re mad,” he muttered wispily. “You are actually as mad as a hatter.”

Orville grinned, chuckling breathlessly and licking his fang again.

“You need to be locked away,” Mr. Carrington determined, waving a finger at him. “I will make sure you get put away for this. Mark my words.”

He turned to leave—coming face to face with Rose, who still stood with her back to the door, adjusting her folded arms and blocking his path.

She made a flattened sort of smile, sighing and shaking her head.

“I’m so sorry, dear,” she murmured. “But… that was the wrong answer.”

She then turned away, closed her eyes, and chose not to watch as Orville grabbed Mr. Carrington from behind—yanking him back and sinking his fangs into the man’s neck, planting a hand over his mouth and muffling his screams, draining him until he finally fell limp and silent.

Eventually, when Rose faced forward again, seeing her husband holding the now motionless body of Donald Carrington, she frowned and let out a deep cloud of breath.

“I think it’s time to go, dear,” she said gently to her husband. “I think we need to… go away for a while.”

Orville lowered the body, glancing down at it for a moment, his long hairs dangling over his face. Then, he laid it down on the floor, straightened up, faced his wife, and nodded.

“Okay, love,” he said in a soft, sincere voice, one that hardly sounded like it belonged to a man who’d just taken a human life. “You’ve never led me wrong. Never doubted you…”

He stepped over the body and moved toward her.

Rose gave him a warm, loving smile.

“Never will,” Orville disclosed, stopping before her and pulling her into a close embrace.

“Our babies will understand,” Rose mumbled, her voice muffled in her husband’s collar. “We’ll all just have to… go into a deep sleep… until the world forgets about us.”

“They’ll grow up outside the world,” Orville knew, placing a hand on her head. “And that’s the best thing for them…”

“Will’s got his work cut out for him now,” Rose knew, cracking a smile and releasing a laugh.

Orville nodded, adjusting his grasp on her and released a long, heavy breath.

The two of them hugged for a long, somber moment before they eventually set off to put their plan into motion.