Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

History prefers legends to men.

It prefers nobility to brutality.

Soaring speeches to quiet deeds.

History remembers the battle and forgets the blood.

Whatever history remembers of me, if it remembers anything at all...

it shall only be a fraction of the truth.

For whatever else I am, a husband, a lawyer...

a president...

I shall always think of myself as a man who struggled against darkness.

I leave in your trusted hands, my dear friend Henry...

this record that begins when I was just a boy.

Get on down there. Hurry it up!

Please, sir, no. There's been some kind of mistake.

I ain't no slave.

Let them go! Aaron!

Go back inside!

Let them go!

Will!

- Quiet! - He's my friend!

Look away, Abraham.

It's not our place.

Look away.

Abraham!

Thomas, help them!

Leave him alone!

Are you all right?

Did you strike my friend here?

He was beating my son!

Did you strike him, Lincoln?

They're not slaves, and you know it.

I suggest you get back to your work

before you find yourself led away in chains.

Until every man is free, we are all slaves.

Very well, then.

Since you're all so concerned with freedom...

you may consider yourself free from the burden of my employ.

And the debt you've been working off...

I'd like it paid in full with interest.

Now, please.

If you get one more penny from me, Mr. Barts...

it will come with a fist wrapped around it.

All right, Mr. Lincoln.

There are other ways to collect a debt.

No!

What's happening to her, Father?

Please help her! Please, I beg of you.

You've got to do something, Father.

Easy, child.

Look away, Abraham.

I've never seen anything like this.

Strange.

You promise me.

Let's step outside.

I'm sorry, I don't know what ails her.

Abraham.

Come and lie next to me.

I've been writing, Mama.

"Days are swift as an Indian arrow..."

"flying like a shooting star."

"The present day is here..."

"and then slides away in haste..."

"that we can never say is ours..."

"but only say..."

"is passed."

Mother?

Mother?

Mama once told me that I hadn't cried when I was born.

That I'd simply opened my eyes...

looked at her smiling face... and smiled back.

My light was gone.

- I don't know how he did it... - Abraham...

you promise me...

You promise me you won't go and do anything foolish.

Nine years later, my father joined her in death.

No longer bound by my promise...

I tried to fortify the nerve to pursue my vengeance.

Haven't you had enough?

A boy only gets this drunk when he wants to kiss a girl...

or kill a man.

Adam, let me explain.

Last one, Barts.

I'm not coming up here to clean up your messes anymore.

Yes, sir. I promise.

Every so often, I think about what it would be like to be in the South.

So, where's Henry?

Yes, sir. We've been looking all over, sir.

Searching high and low.

Low is more likely.

Just find him, Barts.

Oh, and send a fresh crop south.

We have a lot of mouths to feed.

Yes, sir.

"Yes, sir, no, sir. High, sir, low, sir."

For my mother.

That was unlucky.

Might have put me out of my misery.

Where the hell are you running to?

Don't much like chasing chickens.

Little boy, all grown up.

Come to avenge his dear momma.

There are two kinds of men, Mr. Lincoln.

Those that have the guts to pull the trigger...

and those who do not.

Powder, patch, ball.

Don't mess it up.

You weren't asleep that night.

Were you?

You dropped the ball, Mr. Lincoln.

Your mama's blood was sickening sweet.

I hope yours tastes better!

Might I suggest that we begin by...

closing the door?

Yeah, I'm sorry.

I didn't see anything!

Should we dive right in?

Or are you finding Gabrielle's egress too distracting?

I'm sorry, sir, but who are you?

Who I am is Henry Sturges.

And where you are is my home.

And what happened...

I saved your life...

during your rather pathetic attempt at taking another's.

What were you doing there, and...

how did you know I would try to kill Barts?

How?

I watched this boy carry out his first long-awaited mission.

Drunk, might I add.

And I think, "You have wasted your time watching this one, Henry."

"He's not a promising recruit."

"He is just a selfish boy with his heart set on vengeance."

And I realized, "This boy is a goddamned idiot!"

"I doubt he even knew his target was a vampire."

A vampire?

Yes. Immortal, blood-sucking demons.

Fortunately for you, Mr. Lincoln...

hunting them is something of a hobby.

But vampires are just myths.

Myths don't beat you senseless

after you've put a bullet in their brain.

Thank you.

No, Mr. Lincoln, vampires are real.

They exist in every city and every state...

in the Union.

If what you say is true, you could help me kill him.

I could pay you to kill him!

My services are not for sale.

And the word you are looking for is "destroy."

It is quite a feat to kill that which is already dead.

But you don't understand.

My mother was murdered.

And if I teach you how to murder her murderer...

so what?

How will that honor her memory?

How will that benefit the next boy whose mother is taken?

If vengeance is all you seek...

seek it elsewhere.

Teach me to fight as you do. Please, I'll do anything you say.

You promise to cast aside all notions of vengeance...

and commit to the life of a hunter?

You will have no friends...

no family.

I told him what he wanted to hear...

but all I cared about was killing the monster that took my mother.

I'm in.

Scottish Highland pistol.

And if one barrel isn't enough...

seven should do you.

The blunderbuss.

And if you lose your ball...

you can always stuff your pocket watch down the end of it.

So, Abe...

which one takes your fancy?

Actually, I haven't had the best of luck with shooting irons.

But...

I was a rail splitter.

I would like you to chop this tree down with a single swing.

That tree?

It's got to be more than a foot across. That's impossible.

But it isn't a tree.

It's what you hate most in the world.

So, tell me, Mr. Lincoln...

what do you hate?

I hate Jack Barts.

Then strike him down.

Well, clearly you don't hate him that much.

Tell me what you hate.

I hate that my mother was taken away.

Inadequate.

I hate that we were afraid.

And?

That my mother and father, everyone that we knew...

lived in fear.

Pathetic.

I hate that I was too small.

- Too weak. - Yes.

- And that you failed... - Yes!

- ...to protect her. - Yes!

And that you let her die.

Power, Lincoln...

real power...