“NO! NO! NOT AGAIN!”
Xander pounds on the wall and the world shatters like a mirror. He is trapped as the shards swirl around him, leaving fragments of the horror in their path. The images of the monsters appear in the fragments, which grow spider legs and rise until they tower over him. He closes his eyes and when he opens them again he’s lying with his mother as she reads him a story.
As the melodic words of Dr. Seuss flow he looks up towards their source and cowers as her face begins to melt away and exposes an orb of maggots and flies that buzz at him and try to crawl up his nose and into his mouth.
As he fights the nauseating invasion, Kyle emerges, breaking through like a summoned demon, and stands in front of him. Kyle’s approach continues, and as he does he begins to grow into a monstrous creature.
Xander drops to his knees in tears.
The Kyle-monster’s laughter echoes as its face stretches until the mouth’s edges wrap halfway around its head, its teeth gapped and allowing dark horrors to spill out.
And still he grows; stretching into the darkness like a demonic balloon. His mother—the corpse—continues to read, unaware of her fate, and the growing monstrosity plunges its sharpened hand into her left breast again and again. Silence spreads and sucks everything into it.
Xander twists and plummets into the nothingness and sees salvation in the shape of a closet door.
It’s dark, and a sliver of light emerges like a gash…
The calm, quiet night shattered as Xander shot up in bed, screaming in rage and agony. The sweat-soaked sheets clung to his cold, clammy skin and he thrashed to get free from them, falling out of bed. The walls strained, groaning, as he released wave upon wave of energy that finally shattered through the windows.
Still screaming, the magical energy collected and hurled his bookcase across the room where it smashed into the wall, littering the floor with horror and fantasy novels. He stood and staggered backwards and bumped into his desk, bruising his hip. Heaving, he turned to steady himself on the surface only to have it crack in half down the middle. His rage poured forth and his energy picked up and whipped texts and pages in a furious tornado around the room.
He couldn’t control it.
He couldn’t stop it.
Behind him, his grandmother opened the door and approached him through the magical whirlwind, finally taking his left hand in her right. Xander felt the touch like a soothing chill that relaxed him. He felt his eyes flutter as tears formed and he looked into his grandmother’s face. She released his hand, looking back at him, boring into his eyes as if there was an answer to the madness hidden within them.
Xander collapsed on the floor and whimpered; the images of his dream already beginning to fade from his mind.
With his vision fading, he uttered the only thing left bubbling in his mind:
“Mom…”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tag/A Blood Bathed Lover
It had been a long time since Marcus had last seen Brad, and he sighed, working against a wave of nostalgia, as he picked the lock of his old friend’s apartment. When finished, he put his tools away and snuck in, stepping into the main hall. Before moving any further he checked his gun and adjusted the combat knife sheathed at his side. Finally, he set down the bowling bag by the door and moved down the hall.
When they were children they would often play tag in the park; darting around the playground’s obstacles for hours, laughing and screaming as their game grew more and more hectic. Often their mothers would be forced to separate the two in fear that their rambunctious antics would get one or both of them hurt. Later on, as the years passed, the two played high school football and, after graduation, joined the army together in hopes of putting their athletic talents to good use.
The army…
Marcus let out a quiet breath.
Their commanding officer had been a madman named Robertson. Most were put off by him and shivered under his cold stare as he had them run surprise drills in the middle of the night. During the day, Robertson was a softie, but more than four times a week he would wake the troops—driven by a ruthless energy—and push them to train in the middle of the night. His oddities set aside, Marcus and Brad felt motivated by the man and even came to know him as a close and trusted friend.
Looking back on it, Marcus realized that Robertson’s trust in them had run deeper than he’d ever thought possible.
One night, sitting over a round of shots, he’d confessed to the two that he was a vampire—a “blood-drinking monster” as he’d put it. When they refused to believe him he dragged them outside of the bar and drew back his upper lip to expose his fangs.
Brad, he remembered as he crept through the darkened apartment, had thrown up his shots and fainted at the sight.
Later, when both were conscious once again, Robertson had explained that he didn’t want to see their natural-born talents go to waste. He told them that, though it would piss a lot of other vampires off, he could change them. With the promise of becoming superhuman soldiers, Marcus, ever the enthusiast, was quick to agree and pushed Brad to do the same. Though it took a few hours and several more shots, the young soldier had finally agreed.
Marcus frowned as his probing eyes fell on a massive entertainment center with a big screen HD TV with surround sound. The sight interrupted his memories and he stared for a short moment, shaking his head.
So much for being a starving artist. He thought, Can’t believe how much the son-of-a-bitch has changed!
Though he’d tried to keep in touch with Brad as best he could, they had come to realize that the two of them had become too different to maintain the same relationship they’d once enjoyed. He had grown fond of being a soldier and the duties that came with it while Brad, on the other hand, hadn’t done well with the military scene. After a few months he’d disappeared; eventually hooking up with an artsy French vamp.
That was the last time Marcus had heard from—or of—his old friend…
Until the reports started piling up.
Brad’s head was wanted for crimes against the mythos community. According to the many files, he’d been grave-robbing from burial grounds.
Teeth.
Bones.
Organs.
It seemed that there was nothing that he wasn’t willing to make off with.
But that was just one act of treason in a list of many; a list that Marcus hadn’t bothered to memorize all of. He did know, however, that Brad’s biggest crime had been advertising the existence of their kind to the human world.
That alone called for a death penalty, and Marcus figured it was the least he could do to ensure that his old friend died a quick and clean death.
He clenched his teeth as a floorboard squeaked and he stopped several yards from the door of his target’s bedroom. The light was still on in the hall, and he knew that if he got too close his shadow would show from under the door and give him away. He stood back and listened, preparing for the right moment to strike.
****
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Erika beamed as she wrapped her arms around Brad, something that never ceased to get her stolen blood pumping. The darkness’ hold on the room was relinquished for a moment as her lover lit a match and brought the dancing flame to the two cigarettes already held between his perfect lips. He was motionless—a still-life statue of the perfect man illuminated by a single flame as it flickered and threatened to die and steal the image away.
The cigarettes took the flame and Brad shook the burning match to death, leaving only the twin embers hanging from his lips as evidence. Erika inhaled then, taking in the combined scents of fire and tobacco and, of course, Brad as she accepted one of the offered cigarettes. The first drag after love making—like the first drop of blood after a long fast—always tasted best.
Careful not to touch the tip to Brad’s chest, she once again lay her head down against it and thought of her history of past romances—if th
ey could actually be called that. It had never been like this, though. She giggled at her fortune and, though the darkness would’ve stolen the sight from a human’s vision, she saw Brad glance down at her and smile longingly. She closed her eyes and pondered how she had come to be lying on a god’s chest; rising and falling with each of his breaths.
She had fucked and been fucked her entire life. Others around her had preached, time and time again, that the term was vulgar and offensive but she knew the truth:
Fucking was fucking, no matter what title it is given.
“A lay by any other name,” she would say to them with a laugh.
That all changed after she met Brad.
Their first meeting, strangely enough, had been in a gay bar. She had been going there for some time because the music was kick-ass, the drinks were strong and cheap, and she was never hit on.
Brad had been there with a nervous friend who had just come out after fifty years. All Brad had to do was keep an eye out and make sure that his friend’s adventure didn’t turn sour. Brad had obliged—eager for a chance to just be out of his apartment.
Erika had known from his wardrobe—a pair of plain jeans and a faded jacket—and the non-neon drink on the counter that he was straight, and she had known from his scent that he was a vampire.
And he was cute to boot!
He’d kept his bright amber eyes locked on his mug in an attempt to not send any unwanted messages, though his untamed mass of light-brown hair seemed to work against him in that effort.
Finding a cute, straight man in a gay bar was a good night; finding a cute, straight vampire in a gay bar…
Erika had decided then and there that she wanted him and hurried to the ladies’ room to put on some lipstick and push up her tits to be sure to get the right kind of attention. She had inspected herself with all the scrutiny of a woman determined; her raven-black hair hanging in silky waves around her face and hugging her neck. Once she was satisfied, a green eye winked at her in the mirror and she’d approached her target.
“If I told you I wasn’t a man would you hold it against me?” she had asked, leaning over the bar so her assets lay visible on the counter.
Brad, noticing the offering, wet his lips before smiling the kind of smile that made for a damp night, “Actually, that’s the only way I’d hold it against you.”
That night, after several hours of deep conversation, Erika had made love for the first time.
Damn if those preaching bastards hadn’t been right about everything!
Brad, it turned out, lived a good life selling photographs and paintings. The market for the dark and bizarre had certainly grown a great deal, and all of Brad’s pieces—depicting the nightmarish beauty of their kind—sated the ever-constant hunger for that flavor. Her favorite piece, “A Blood-Bathed Lover,” showed Erika lying in a bathtub filled with blood and had been tweaked so that all but the blood was black and white. She liked to look at the image of herself bathed in crimson, skin whiter than a china doll’s, and found the overall effect both stunning and tasteful. Despite numerous offers from eager buyers, however, Brad had refused to sell it.
Finishing his cigarette, Brad crushed the filter in a ceramic ashtray he’d sculpted into the shape of a screaming, fanged mouth. She watched his movements with silent awe before handing him her own diminished cig to see the same fate.
With the glowing embers gone, the only light came from the golden frame of the hall light shining through the edges of the closed door and the digital clock across the room that told her that it was almost quarter-till-three in the morning. With a soft sigh, Erika shut her eyes and focused on the sound of Brad’s heartbeat.
****
Brad’s voice.
Confirmation of target.
The woman, whoever she was, was an innocent, and Marcus wasn’t so bloodthirsty that he’d exterminate her for fucking a traitor.
No one night stand was worth the death penalty.
With the gun gripped in his right hand, he checked his watch:
Oh-three and forty-three hours.
No better time, I suppose.
He took a deep breath and jumped into overdrive. As the world slowed down around him, he cleared the rest of the hall in an instant and pulled back his leg, kicking the door.
As the impact cratered the wood, sending cracks weaving across its surface and tearing it off the hinges, the door flew outward in a blur. Then, with the superhuman speed falling back into the laws of physics, it slowed to a crawl before freezing in midair. The two vampires, lying in the bed in front of him, had just begun to turn their startled gazes towards him, their movements frozen in contrast to his superhuman speed.
Marcus’ eyes took in the whole scene in an instant: Brad sitting up with the woman’s head resting on his chest. He frowned. He needed Brad’s whole head to bring back as evidence of the kill and a clean shot to his heart was impossible without putting a bullet through the girl’s skull. Seeing no other options, he lined up his shot before dropping out of overdrive and pulling the trigger four times.
****
Erika’s eyes flew open at the sound of the chaos that had erupted in the room. The door lay in splinters on the floor as a strange vampire appeared in the doorway, eclipsed the light from the hall like a demonic vision, a smoking gun gripped in his hand.
“M-Marcus?” Brad’s voice was a struggled gurgle and Erika turned to face him and gasped. There was a sickening sound of tortured and labored breath as Brad tried to inhale despite multiple bullet holes on the right side of his chest. Wheezing, he stared, wide-eyed, at his attacker as he holstered his gun and approached.
****
Hearing his name hurt like hell and Marcus had to tighten his jaw to keep his composure. He put his gun away and hurried towards the bed as he grabbed the knife’s handle. When he was close enough, he gripped Brad by the hair and pulled it tight enough to expose his neck for a clean cut.
The knife sported a long, curved blade that he stabbed into his target’s throat. He swung his arm wide, getting from just below Brad’s chin to the back of his neck. The ensuing blood spray caught him across the chest and was accompanied by a wet sound as the head, with a sharp tug, popped free.
The girl whimpered as Brad’s body collapsed into the blood-soaked sheets and Marcus looked at her. The shock in her eyes was visible, and he wondered, for a moment, if she could see the pain in his own. He thought, only for a moment, that their relationship might have been more than a fleeting one, but didn’t entertain the thought long. It only made the pain sting that much more.
With no soothing or reassuring words to offer the girl, he turned away and walked out the door with Brad’s head.
****
Erika looked at Brad’s body.
Brad’s perfect body.
She sat over him and cried, thinking of the eternity they’d spoken of having together and weighed it against the mere decade they’d been given. Though his killer was long gone, she still held the bloody comforter over her naked body. Finally, she lifted Brad’s lifeless hand that only several hours before had caressed her with warmth and love and pressed her lips to it.
“Immortal love for eternal spirits,” she choked out.
With nothing left to do, she got dressed and took “A Blood-Bathed Lover” from above the bed and bit her lip as the image filled her vision.
She no longer felt beautiful. She no longer felt anything but a driving and ever-growing hate.
For a moment she thought of killing herself; of finally seeing the sunrise and watching it travel over the sky while it took her piece-by-piece. While she welcomed the idea of an entire day of scalding torture over the seconds of hell she’d been given, she couldn’t bring herself to join Brad just yet. Her life was now a weapon, and she had revenge to plan.
****
Marcus took the first shot of many, laying his hand down on the bowling bag sitting on the counter beside him. He knew that he’d have to call for a cleanup crew to take ca
re of the body, but for the time being he wanted one last drink with his friend.
CHAPTER NINE
Strength vs. Grace
October’s spell had touched the trees, taking the dull greens and turning them to vibrant yellows, browns, and reds. It was Saturday and Xander’s grandmother sat on the front porch in her whicker rocker sipping iced tea.
She could feel Xander’s tension inside the house as he woke up, his mind still on edge from his nightmare. It had taken a lot of energy to calm his rage and she was both proud of his heritage and terrified by his potential. All the same, she felt sorry for him and all he had gone through. She had seen the cuts and bruises that were left from the school kids that picked on him and was constantly reminded of the bullying problems that his father had suffered so many, many years ago. She often wondered if telling Xander about his father would help him in some way, but had decided long ago that she wanted him to live a simple life.
Inside, Xander’s waking mind tried to grasp the strange dreams he’d had the night before; dreams of losing control and tearing his room apart with his magic. Nervous about what he might find, he scanned his bedroom for any signs of the destructive forces he’d unleashed, only to find everything exactly as it should have been. Then, after a long moment, she sensed his acceptance that it had all been a dream.
She sighed and returned to herself and took another sip of her tea.
Yes, she felt sorry for her grandson and everything he had gone through, but she was more concerned about what was coming. There was no doubt in her mind that her son’s comrades were looking for him. But, despite their deceptions, she also knew of the others that were coming for him.
She sighed; the time was coming, and though this upset her, she had to admit that she wouldn’t have been able to protect him from their world forever. Nevertheless, she’d made up her mind to care for him as long as she could.
Noir: A Crimson Shadow Novel Page 6