A short nap.

Twenty-five years. That's how long I've slept, hidden in a chamber beneath my mansion in the Hollywood Hills. This was no mean feat. Documents were signed and large sums of money exchanged hands before I could get my rest. This takes a bit of explanation, so I ask that you be patient as I tell you in detail what happened.

It started with Eddie Carbone, who embraced a con artist named Sean McCullough.

Eddie was what some might call an "entrepreneur" who headed an organization that excelled in manipulating and skirting the laws of the United States. His main source of income was phony charitable organizations. As long as a mere 5% of the donations he gathered went to that which he was chartered, he could keep the rest. And how could he lose with the name "Disabled Veterans Assistance Program," also known as D-VAP? Oh, it was perfect! His employees wore shirts with the name of his group, and the marks bought into all four words. "Disabled Veterans?" Those were the two that grabbed the public's attention. "Assistance Program?" Well, whatever Eddies organization was helping the vets with, it could be nothing bad, especially when all of the employees on the street carried laminated licenses.

Working the wealthiest corners in Hollywood, Eddie had 50 men and women on the streets, each bringing in around $1,000 a night. His men would take home 10% of the take. That precious 5% was set aside to be distributed on the second Friday of each month. That left Eddie with $42,500 a night to himself. From his personal income, I was given 10%; that's $4,250 for a variety of services that I provided.

Along came Sean McCullough. Twenty-eight, handsome, smart, and simply going through a rough time. This kid came to Hollywood expecting his good looks to carry him onto the silver screen. Unfortunately, he had all the acting skill of hunk of granite. That is, he wasn't talented enough for directors and producers. He had plenty of acting ability to fool Eddie.

Embraced in 1923, you'd think Eddie could spot a con from five miles away. Add his natural 40 natural years to the 60 unnatural, and one could easily say he had plenty of experience under his belt. I was embraced the night of May 5, 1864, and I was 27 at the time. That was 146 years of experience on my part, and Sean even fooled me on the few times I met him.

He had charm. The kind of charisma that could be used to sell prescription glasses to someone without eyes. I couldn't help but wonder why this kid couldn't get a job acting. Was he running his mouth off too much to be considered for even bit parts? Whatever the case may be, I received a disconcerting call from Eddie in July on 1983.

Eddie: Chuck! How's it going?
Me: Good, as long as you don't need me to draw up another half dozen legal documents for you.
Eddie: Nah, nothing like that. I wanted your opinion on something.
Me: Gods above and below! If it's about a woman again, you should know better.
Eddie: No, no. It's this kid working for me...Sean. You remember him?
Me: Pretty boy...Doe eyes...Three horror stories about his life for every good one, right?
Eddie: That's the one. What would you say if I said I was thinking about embracing him?

Here's the deal. In the circles we move in, you don't even mention something like this unless you can give three extremely good reasons to want to do it. I can't say Eddie's reasons were the best, but they were good. First, the personal boost would probably improve the kid's outlook; even as a fledgling, the embrace is enough to change anyone's life for the better...as long as he keeps his head on straight. The next reason was kind of a requirement: know the subject for at least three months. In that time, Sean had been a good boy, and was actually bringing in more money than the rest of Eddie's employees. Finally, Eddie was thinking of promoting the kid to a kind of enforcer to watch over the others. Having someone on hand that was faster and stronger than anyone that'd harass his employees was an all-around bonus, and would stop Eddie from having to get his hands dirty.

I played it safe by avoiding any kind of real commitment. I didn't know Sean, and I was busy cleaning up a mess in Vegas at the time. I told Eddie that he knew whom he had to call for approval, and left it at that.

That approval was given...unfortunately.

Sean turned out to be one of those people who knew the truth about us and never even hinted that he held such knowledge. He played Eddie like a concert pianist, and Eddie was 88 keys waiting to be manipulated.

Once Sean was inducted into our exclusive club and received the "tutorial" on proper behavior, he started writing his own rules. For three days, Hollywood lived under a reign of terror, with reports of some kind of cannibal slaughtering innocents at random. Age, sex, race, religion...None of it mattered. Sean was blood-hungry, and he didn't give a damn if there were witnesses.

Eddie had plenty of people to call in, but our long association made me the one he trusted most. It was also part of my job to keep such incidents under wraps. So I caught a flight just after sundown, and Eddie and I went Sean hunting.

Remember when I said Sean was smart? Well, he was...but not that smart. He established a kind of "game trail." Even the cops caught onto it early, and they paid for it with three very messy corpses.

Eddie and I formed a simple plan. I would play bait. When Sean moved in, I would keep him mildly entertained while Eddie moved in to eliminate his rogue sireling. To be sure Sean would come after me, I used my rather rare talent of "tailoring." That is, I can alter my appearance to enough of an extent that I'm not easily recognized.

Our plan worked. Sean came at me...and it seemed there was no stopping him. Keeping to his own set of rules, he committed what we consider one of the greater sins. He successfully got me locked up and began to feed on me!

From there, I can recall only bits and pieces of what followed. I remember Sean's head coming off, and Eddie dragging me away from the whole messy scenario. He had to help me hold a pen to sign some legal documents, and promised to take care of my financial affairs until I recovered. Then he put me to "bed." The last thing I remember was him closing the lid and saying, "Don't worry about it, Chuck. Get all the rest you need, and we'll talk soon.

Neither of us had a clue that I'd take a nap for 25 years, waking in July of 2008.