The Body Snatcher

Part One: The Gathering

"Everything alright there, sir?" the barkeeper asked of his elderly guest. "You're looking mighty pale."

The man took a deep gulp from his bourbon shot before even looking back to the barkeeper, his sunken eyes glaring at the intrusion of his privacy. There wasn't much time left to him, an hour, perhaps even less. John Reed's life was ending fast. Clutching his chest as another spasm passed, he tossed the glass back to the barkeeper for a refill.

"I'm effing fine," John replied as a full glass was handed back to him, "Mind your own business."

The barkeeper scowled as he went to tend to the red-headed girl at the other end of the counter, and John continued to scan the room. Somewhere in this crowd was the perfect one, the one he had been looking for these past few weeks. He had to be here, because there was no time left to search anywhere else.

He saw the brown-haired lad in the corner with his friends, but then saw the girly can of light beer in his hands and began to wonder. He saw the blonde-haired and blue-eyed man, tall and rigid like his Norse ancestors, but his rippling muscles wasn't what he was looking for either.

"Now is not the time to be picky," he muttered to himself, "Just get it the hell over with!"

Fortune smiled upon him as he noticed the raven-haired poet in the corner. His black pants and turtle neck made him look like a horrible cliche. Somehow though, John knew that young man reading his thick book alone was exactly what he was looking for.

Suddenly he cried out as another spasm went through his chest like tiny knives. John then collapsed on the grimy tile floor in agony as the barkeeper screamed for someone to call an ambulance. There were only seconds left now. His left arm numb, he grabbed the nearest concerned person with his right.

"Bring that boy over to me!" He demanded while motioning to the poet.

Without question his order was obeyed and the poor sap was dragged over by nearly everyone in the bar, the confusion written blatantly on his pretty young face. The boy then kneeled by his side, aided by the hands pressing him down to better listen to John's last request.

"What can I do?" he asked, obviously never having dealt with any kind of death besides what is romanticized in the poetry he both read and wrote.

With his right hand he held onto the boy's chin and forced their eyes to meet. Not a word was spoken between them for several moments, but their eyes remained locked firmly together. Soon, the elderly man's hand fell to the floor, and John Reed was no more.

The young man stood up slowly, as if unsure about his position in life now. No one even noticed that his bright hazel eyes had darkened to a nearly black tint. As a seemingly kind gesture he turned to the barkeeper and paid the remainder of the old man's tab and his own, taking notice of his new host's name on the identification.

"Elliot Dover," he said to himself while walking back to his table. "Not something I'd choose for myself."

"Hello there," a kindly woman's voice drew his attention, "That was a lovely thing you did for that poor man."

Turning to face the voice, he found an enchanting red-head, the same that had been at the end of the counter before. Her curves were deliciously hidden underneath her oversized trench coat. From her looks to her intoxicating scent, everything about her drew him in.

"It was truly the least I could do," Elliot faked a brave smile, "But I'm not sure how I'll do tonight, all alone after this."

She looked at him with great sympathy and patted him reassuringly on his sleeve, her eyes warm with compassion. He knew then that she was hooked on him. Why ever should she not be? After all he had centuries of practice behind him when it came to wooing women.

"Would you like to take a walk together?" she offered hesitantly, her sweet innocence was almost too much, "Maybe that will help you feel more at ease."

"That, my dear," Elliot replied while he offered her his arm, "Sounds like a wonderful idea."

"Asha," she said as she accepted it, "my name's Asha."

"Elliot," he answered, taking a moment to remember the name of his new host, "Elliot Dover."

Together they walked outside into the frigid night air. Though he couldn't see her face in the dark, he imagined her precious cheeks flushed with blood as the wind blew her long, soft locks out of her face. How he dreamed of kissing those cheeks.

It had been so long since he had held a gorgeous young woman, being elderly had major setbacks in that area. Just about the only thing you could look forward to was a cheap meal at Denny's. Yet now he had his chance again, and he was going to savor every moment.

Before long they had found their way to a small park in the middle of the town's main intersection. Inside the fence he could hear the creaking of the swings in the far corner, and the rustle of the leaves in the giant tree. It was a blessing that had long been denied him in his old host.

She tugged on his arm eagerly as she led him down the winding dirt path. Clearly she already had somewhere in mind as she held his hand firmly in her own. Elliot didn't care, so long as he got just what he wanted from her.

The old fountain loomed ahead, impossible to miss with its giant statue of a thin nude lady surrounded by a dozen flying birds. Asha urged him to join her on the edge of the granite basin, but he had other plans.

Bending over he kissed her cheek, only partly disappointed that it didn't glow with the warmth he had imagined. He planted many kisses on her face and neck as he slowly stripped off her coat, kissing each of her shoulders and down her arms as it slipped freely to the ground.

"Oh my love, you are so cold!" he whispered, his voice full of passion, "Don't worry, I'll be sure to warm you."

Asha laughed deeply, not at all the girlish giggle he had expected, nor the contented sigh of a pleasured woman. It almost had a sinister undertone. Before he had a chance to think on it, Asha had thrown him against the nearest tree trunk, her eyes glowing brightly in the dark.

"Believe me," she said between her spurts of laughter, "You wouldn't want to know what it would take to warm these hands, Sir Body Snatcher."

"I do so loath that horribly generalized title," he growled in reply, realizing she was one like him, "Makes you think of Mary Shelly's Igor, both disgusting and contemptible. Hardly the impression I strive for."

"Personally I don't see the problem." Asha answered. "I've only just met you, and I find you to be all of that."

"Technically," he continued, ignoring her insult, "I am what you might call an Astral Projector."

"Really?" Asha snorted.

"Yes, really." He replied. "By definition I have the power to exert my consciousness outside of my physical form and..."

"Exert that same consciousness into another 'physical form' and cause the death of the consciousness previously in residence?" Asha finished.

"You know," Elliot began as he walked out of her grasp back to the fountain, "That would be exactly like an 'astrally challenged' person to think of it as dying. The consciousness is pure energy, which can only be changed. Never killed or destroyed. It's just like switching outfits really."

"Stealing an outfit would be more like it." Asha retorted.

"Call it what you will," Elliot shrugged off her comments, "But you cannot condemn what you cannot understand."

"Sure I can," Asha laughed, "Everyone else does, why not me?"

"Well," he growled under his breath, "If you are so turned off by my practices, then why the devil are you here?"

"If only I could runaway, slime bag," Asha began, "Your putrescence is beginning to sink in past my comfort level. But there is a deal to be made here."

"I'm listening." He answered.

"Louie has..." She started.

"UGH!" Elliot interrupted with a grunt, "I thought you had to be with that old gaffer! You are simply too pretty to be that innocent."

"That 'old gaffer' has an offer for you and yours," Asha continued, "And you would do well to listen."

Asha pulled out the manila folder from under her coat that had been tossed to the ground and handed it to Elliot. He read its contents thoroughly, making sure not to miss anything in between the lines. After several moments he looked up again with a smirk on his face.

"Jonas," he read from the page, "You want us to go after Jonas? Perhaps your sense of humor isn't as underdeveloped as I thought. For even you must know that there is nothing to gain from this." With a snort he shoved the folder back into Asha's hands.

"Just as well, I figured you for a coward from the beginning." Asha replied as she began to walk away. "I just thought the prospect of possessing an immortal's body might appeal to your less than admirable tastes."

"Wait a moment!" Elliot screamed running after her, "Did you say immortal body?"

"Well as the hope is to rid them of their 'consciousness' that would leave a hefty pile of meat around for the taking." Asha coaxed after turning to face him.

"So," he exclaimed, "Where is this meeting again?"