Hollywood,1948

 

Chapter I

"Quiet on set!" yelled the studio director. As an eerie hush fell upon the crew of filmmakers, their star a beautiful young woman, she was perhaps nineteen or twenty, and was dressed in a beautiful silver evening gown, a black feather boa adorned her right arm while it slung lazily on her left arm. Her blonde hair ran down one side of her face, concealing the eye. She had a small black spot that was quite noticeable on her left cheek. Her black pumps just made the outfit complete.  She walked on the set, which was supposed to be an upper-class nightclub and had a seat at the bar, where she happened to find a martini glass.

"And...Action!" yelled the director, signalling of the cameraman to begin filming.

As the film began shooting, a handsome young man, with jet black hair that shimmered in the light, walked on to the set, and walked to the bar and sat at the bar next to the woman. He signalled the bartender to bring him a drink. Suddenly smitten by the woman, he moved the stool closer to her and tried to strike up a conversation.

"Well, I have never seen a beautiful woman like you here before, are you new in town.?" he said with a confident smile on his face.

Pretending not to see him, she responded in a very vague manner;

"No I'm not, what about y-" before she could finish her sentence, she turned to face the man, she saw a handsome man with a piercing gaze, and a wonderful smile. Before she could think, she embraced in a passionate kiss with the man she hardly ever met.

"Cut" he yelled through his megaphone. The pair instantly pulled apart, now had looks of disgust on their faces. The girl walked away from the set to her chair, and dug in her black handbag, dug for a handkerchief and wiped the smeared lipstick from her face. Finally, the filming on her latest romance film called Twas Love at First Sight wrapped. It was nearly nine o'clock at night and the girl was beat. She heard the doors open, and in walked a man about forty-five wearing a black stripped suit and had a dark brown fedora on his head and a cigar in his mouth. His name was Christophe Porter. Everyone believed him to be her agent, because he was always around her, when she went to a premiere, on interviews, and he occasionally escorted her to the studio, but mostly the night filmings.


He had a bigger purpose in her life as her watcher. The guardian and guide to the slayer which she was. He has been very supportive of her career as an actress, he wants her to know what a life separate from fighting evil on a nightly basis feels like. The man helped her into her fur coat and escorted her out to their black '44 Chevy. He helped the girl into the car and grabbed a small satchel from the back and handed it to her.

"No, Porter not tonight, I've had a long day." she begged her watcher. She had her arm supported by the arm rest and held her head up using her hand to avoid falling asleep.

"You have a duty to mankind Francine, you cannot ignore your calling." She knew that when he began the destiny speech again, she couldn't win the argument of whether or not to go on something as simple as going on a hunt for the evil undead. She reluctantly told him to hurry and get in the car before she got cranky. Gosh, sometimes she wishes she never had a destiny

They pulled out to a fuel station, and Francine took the satchel into the restroom and opened it to see that Christophe had put some street clothes in there. Nothing to fancy, just a nice simple t-shirt with some denim jeans and her combat boots, which she was given as a souvenir of the war, which thankfully had ended three years ago; yet she wasn't called until six months ago. She rubbed the blush off of her cheeks and did the same to the dark coloured lipstick on her lips. When she had finished changing, she looked like a young girl trying to pass for a boy. She reached in the bag and removed a small pewter crucifix which was put on a beautiful golden chain. She clasped the necklace on and went outside, trying to keep her other clothes as neat as possible.

They pulled up to a largely populated cemetery in the centre of the city. This cemetery usually had all the action. Francine took a deep breath, grabbed her weapons bag from the back seat and took off into the night. For a California spring night, the air gave her a rather harsh chill down her spine. She carried the bag as if it were a lunch pail she was taking to school. Francine wandered aimlessly through the cemetery until her eyes came upon a fresh plot. The deceased was a woman, who appeared to have died at the rather young age of twenty-nine. She knelt down to read the gravestone, she had only read the name before an ivory hand reached up from the fresh earth.

"Here we go again."

The creature sprang from the ground like a jack in the box. She stood up and took a stake from her bag, before tossing it aside. The vamp charged at her, she ran backwards, grabbed a tree for support before throwing her leg into the air and gave him a kick to the face, before he could blink again, the other leg came swinging not too far behind. She regained her footing, the stake still firmly in hand. He charged at her, sending punches aimed at her face, she blocked them all then sent him flying backwards with a swift upward thrust with the palm of her hand. He was still lying on the ground trying to get up when she went to stake him. She forced the stake down, but the vamp caught her arm, and hurled her over his body. She managed to safely land on a soft patch of grass near her bag. She grabbed for the small axe and stood up to finish the fight. She landed a good punching combo on his face before cutting his head clean off his body, and watched as he turned to dust.

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Her penthouse was in the good part of the city. Where all the swanky clubs and restaurants were located. The great movie stars frequented these places when they were in town filming another movie for the masses. She walked into her apartment dead tired, so tired that she felt like dropping on her bed and sleeping through her twenties. She just toddled through the penthouse into her grand bathroom, where a nineteenth century rug of crimson from the orient adorned the floor, her walls were made up of white ivory tiles. She reached and turned on the light, saw that she had a gnarly bruise with a slight cut on her shoulder blade from the collision with the tree in the graveyard.

She was so tired she ignored the stinging that emanated from the cut as the air came in contact with it. She turned off the bathroom light and immersed from the darkness in a slinky silk nightdress with a matching robe. She opened another door adjacent to the front bathroom door and behind this door lay her bedroom. Without having turned on a light she strode to her bed, and pulled up the covers and got in. This was the best feeling of all right now. She wish that she could just stay in here forever and leave the world behind.  But as she was well aware of, tomorrow was another day.