I posted an event on Goodreads. Here’s the link. EVENT
As promised, you can look at the following descriptions of seven characters. You can choose one more to be renamed, using your name, first and last.
We will decide on the name. If we don’t find a name we like, we’ll leave it as is.
Six females and two males. In the comment section below, put your name and the character you would like to name.
(From the viewpoint of Peter)
The driver didn’t have a cap, wore a black suit coat, and no tie. He was blond with faded blue eyes, and eyelashes and brows that were so light it didn’t look as he had any. He was about thirty with a bald head was so shiny, it looked like he had polished it. His complexion was very pale, as if he was either anemic or never went in the sun. Or … my heart rate picked up. We stared at each other through the rear-view mirror.
Finally, he said “You’re one of those vampire people in the news, aren’t you?”
I ignored him.
“My name is Ed Potter. Sorry, what I meant was, you’re the ones from that cruise ship and the pirates, right?”
“Nope, just regular folks,” I said. “Could you just watch the road?”
Ed got the hint and kept quiet. He stopped staring at me. I decided it was just paranoia, or a large dose of extreme exhaustion after all the time in planes and airports. The guy was just a very pale guy, and the black jacket made him look even paler. I gazed out of the windows. The Boston night was clear of clouds, with a full moon hanging over the city skyline. It seemed like years instead of just a little over a month. Then the reality hit me; we were finally home and it felt unbelievably good. I started to relax. However, as the limo got within a block of Jane’s house, I noticed a heavily lighted area up ahead in this otherwise peaceful, tree lined neighborhood.
“Jane, there’s something going on near your parents house,” I said.
We did a chase scene worthy of a movie, dashing down allies and screaming through red lights. Ed was quite a driver and, judging from the big smile on his face and the excitement in his eyes, he was really into it.
Finally, we lost them as we hid behind a convenience store.
Ed, said, “Thanks, that was fun. Really exciting. This job can be really boring. Good luck to you. Any time you need a ride, call me. Make sure you ask for me.” He reluctantly left.
NOREEN – The owner of a bed and breakfast in Boston.
She had a huge smile pasted on her face as she watched Mr. Ulrich climb the staircase. Noreen sometimes wondered at his strange habits. He had a permanent room on the third floor with the widow’s walk.
She wondered if he might have a rope to get to the ground to sneak out for some clandestine assignment. Because she never saw him come and go. He said he was some kind of broker, but she had read a lot of spy novels and wondered if he worked for a foreign government or maybe the CIA or NSA.
She had been tempted to peek in his room while he was out, but she worried that he might have some way of knowing she did – like pasting a hair on the doorframe or something.
In spite of her curiosity, she stayed out of his room. Besides, he was so nice and she was too busy to worry about the whole thing. Times were tough and she was glad to have him because he paid a premium rate for the room on a permanent basis. He would always tell her when he was coming or when he was leaving and he always left it spotless.
She smiled. Nice man. So elegant and handsome.
If I were only thirty years younger…
She bent her head down and went back to her bookkeeping.
Jane looked at the old man. “Oh my god. Someone find a medicine kit. This man is bleeding badly. I’m sorry. What’s your name?”
“George – George Johnson,” he said weakly.”
“Nick,” Peter said, “in that cabinet. Medical kit. Get it.”
He hesitated at my order. Then opened the cabinet and withdrew a large box with a handle and put beside the kneeling Jane.
“Okay, George. Let’s see that leg.” She rummaged through the medical supplies and found some scissors. “How did you get this?” she asked.
“There were two of them. I was in the hall outside the cabin, and I saw them attack my wife. I was so stunned, I could do nothing.” He began to cry. “They drank …”
I kept steering slowly into the pitch black night, with only the light of the moon setting in the west ahead of us. I kept turning to watch Jane as she carefully cut open the pants leg. We all saw a horrible gash and a knee swollen from the bad twist when he fell down the stairs. It mostly likely was fractured.
He said, “They drank my wife’s blood. They had claws.” His cry was a choke. “What could I do to save her? Nothing. Not against two men. I’m seventy. I ran. I don’t know why, but they didn’t follow me. Peter here saw me. We hid in his room. Then we ran. I fell on the stairs to the lifeboats and I gashed my leg. I don’t know on what.” Then he was silent, except for soft sobbing.
Martha said, “I still can’t believe how we broke out of that weird jail they made. It was like some kind of industrial transport container.”
Martha Riddick, from New Orleans, was the other one of the crew. She was pretty with large blue eyes, petite with light brown hair, still pulled into a pony tail. Like Sondra, her workmate, she had on her black uniform with white accents. They both had on their work shoes, while the rest of them were barefoot.
The band that held her ponytail finally broke and her hair had come completely loose. She looked at the girls ahead of her. They all looked like wrecks, skin all scraped, bleeding, clothes so torn they almost didn’t cover their bodies. Then there was poor Sonja. She had on some kind of thin fur pelt over her shoulders the pygmies had given her, but her skin was almost completely exposed because all she had on was some kind of skimpy baby doll nightgown. See through. Practically naked. No shoes. Her gorgeous pale Nordic skin was open to the sharp branches, mosquitoes, and the killer sun.
Martha wanted to be home in the worst way. She was used to excitement. New Orleans had it all: food, music and non-stop partying. Her folks were crazy artists with lots of odd friends, really fun people. All trying to be different. Anything normal was abhorrent to them.
But this situation definitely could not be called normal. Going to hunt and kill vampires on a dangerous rain-forested island, somewhere in the Indonesia, who knew where?
She shook her head and was forced to climb over a huge log that crossed the path.
She thought about her parents. They must be frantic. Her mother was a painter and her paintings sold for a bundle of money. Her dad was a trombone player and jazz was his forte. He was good. But she wasn’t artistic. Had no talent in the slightest. College turned out to be boring. She quit. She had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. She had gone to work for the cruise lines only because it sounded exciting.
She slapped at a mosquito and then tripped as her foot got tangled in a vine.
She smiled, Yes, this was way over the top.
Then she screamed.
A snake, a huge snake, was coiled on a tree only feet from her. It had her in its sights and its little tongue flicking in and out. She stood frozen.
One of the pygmies hit the snake with a knife, slashing off its huge head like he was just slicing vegetables for lunch. No big deal.
No, this is WAY over the top.
She was a raven-haired stunner, probably the oldest at the table – maybe twenty-six. She had a full head of jet black hair that billowed around her face in waves and down her back, contrasting her white, to-die-for gown. “Well, I have a degree in marketing. I had been doing apprentice work at an ad agency in Chicago. I quit. Dead end. When I get back, I’m going to New York and look for the big fish.” She laughed. Her bright red lips glinted in the lights.
It didn’t take an Einstein to figure out that this was completely insane. She looked over at Jane and Remy. They marched along with a look of … what? We’re the new sheriffs in town? And we’re going to get you bad guys? And we’re going to kick your ass? Come on vampires, try something – make my day!
She laughed at that.
Well, what else could they do? Keep hiding in a cave?
(FROM THE VIEWPOINT OF CAROL)
Suddenly, she heard a key turning the lock.
Then she heard the girls shout, “Linda!”
She looked up and saw Linda rushing into the room, naked and had on old fashioned holsters with two guns in it strapped onto her hips.
“Where’d you get the guns?” Carol asked.
Linda smiled. “Leon’s private collection. Antique western six-shooters. Quiet! We’re out of here. Put some clothes on.”
Carol was saying … “Well, yeah. Like, I just graduated from high school? My parents are here with me, you know?” She did a long eye-roll at the word parents. “Anyway, they want me to go to college, you know? I’m like, oh my GAWD! College? I’m SO not like academic, you know?”
All of her statements were questions. She was probably eighteen, but seemed younger. Short, brunette, big hazel eyes, and beautiful. She let out an exasperated sigh. “But, like, what I really want to do is be a cosmetologist?”
She was saying all this to Nick, but turned to Jane. “Anyway, umm. Like, what does a forensic toxicologist do?”
Jane smiled at her. She was so cute.
She felt swept up with the song, dimly aware that Carol, the teen, was speaking in her fast, hyper clip. She tried to focus.
“… Nineteen pirate attacks in these waters in just this year. They hide ships, take the stuff, and hold the crew for ransom. But my parents said the pirates take mostly tankers, you know, like cargo ships? Mostly? I mean, oh, my gawd!” she screamed. “Nineteen pirate attacks just this last year. I mean it was all, you know, oh my gawd. I was like so terrified. I didn’t want to come on this cruise, but it was all like, you know, my parents said – she lowered her voice. ‘No, dear. They don’t attack cruise ships.'”
Molly laughed. “You and me both. Hate it.” She looked like the sweet girl-next-door, with a large chest. She had on a light green gown with small white polka dots. A little on the plump side. Very pretty with a round face, pink cheeks, a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and flawless skin.
Molly Herman, from San Antonio, Texas, said in her Texan accent, “We were just runnin’ through that jungle, not knowin’ where the hell we were goin’, you know? All we could think of was gettin’ as far from their camp as possible. If we hadn’t run into these here little people, we probably would’ve starved to death or been eaten by somethin’. I mean, where the hell are we? We have no idea how big this here island is, you know?” She was buxom with a small waist and had a very pretty round face, freckles across her nose, and light brown hair frosted with blond highlights. Her light green gown with the polka dots was in better shape than the other girls’ dresses, but all were filthy and in shreds. “Now you’re sayin’ they can read our minds?”
IRENE (She owns a restaurant on Union Island in the Caribbean)
Drago was a bit taken back at the beautiful Italian greeting. “Come sapevi che ero italiano?”
She laughed and shrugged. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand you,” she said in English with an American accent.
“How did you know I was Italian?”
She laughed again. Her laugh was like a melody and Drago found it entrancing.
“I play a little game with myself each time a new customer comes to my restaurant and try to greet them in the language of their home. I have memorized over one hundred greetings, and I have a seventy-nine percent correct record.” The smile never left her face.
“Then my presence will have helped your record.”
“You have, and I thank you. What is your name?”
“I am Drago. I am from Naples. I am here on business and am finding your charming restaurant delightful.”
“Wonderful, Drago. My name is Irene, originally from Los Angeles. My departed husband and I came here ten years ago to get out of the rat-race. After he passed away, I bought this restaurant to have something to do. Oh dear, all this talk, would you like a table?”
Drago ate a spectacular Caribbean Curry Crab dish with a fresh salad and two glasses of a wonderful Italian white wine, Arnelis, which reminded him of home, and finished with a demitasse. After he paid for the meal, he chatted with Irene for a few minutes and made a point to tell her he would be back. He was quite taken with this lovely lady. She looked as if she was about his age, fiftyish, and she had a nice figure and a mass of light brown curly hair. Her complexion had a rosy glow, and her smile took his breath away. But it was her light, up-beat personality that struck him the most. She reminded him at lot of his Cosma.