Shadow Form (Dark Impulse Book 2)

by Edmund Hughes

  He was too angry for Jack to think he could talk any sense into him. And of course he was. This was the same man who’d taken up stalking Jack in his free time. The same man whose fiancée Jack had been secretly feeding off of and accidentally crossed over the line into infidelity with on more than one occasion. Jack couldn’t blame him. Well, he almost couldn’t blame him.

  The EMT said something to Bruce, but the sheriff’s deputy was too immersed in his power trip to pay the emergency worker much attention. He hauled Jack up by the shoulders and roughly pushed him out through the mansion’s entrance.

  “I’m innocent,” said Jack. “The bullets came from outside the mansion, Bruce. It was a drive-by.”

  Bruce didn’t listen, and he hadn’t been expecting him to. But Jack still knew that if he didn’t at least try to explain the circumstances, it would take even longer for his innocence to be proven. Bruce pushed him into the back of his cruiser and drove off down the slope.

  CHAPTER 30

  The trip to the sheriff’s office occurred in complete silence. It gave Jack the chance to take stock of the situation. His shirt was singed from Margaret’s fire magic, and his hands were covered with blood from holding her wound.

  The mansion was in as bad, if not worse shape, from both the chaos of their initial fight and the drive-by. He felt a little guilty at how much extra work the cleanup and repairs would be for Ryoko, and he knew how annoyed Katie would be at the bullet holes affecting the property value.

  Bruce parked in the lot around the back of the sheriff’s office, and then dragged Jack out of the car and in through the side entrance. He turned on the lights as he entered, which suggested that nobody else was inside. Jack was unceremoniously pushed forward, down a hallway, and then into a side wing with half a dozen empty jail cells.

  “You’re going away,” muttered Bruce. “For a long time. I’ve finally got you.”

  “Are you going to listen to my side of things, now?” asked Jack. “Because if you would, you’d know that I’m not responsible. I’m innocent, Bruce.”

  Bruce looked Jack dead in the eye. There was anger in the other man’s expression, but more than just that. Another emotion, one that was hard to place and even harder to dismiss. Bruce looked like he genuinely saw what he was doing as vengeance for the real and perceived damage Jack had inflicted to the normal rhythm of his life.

  “No,” said Bruce. “You are not innocent. If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that.”

  He took Jack’s handcuffs off him and roughly pushed him into a jail cell. The steel door slid and locked into place. Bruce shook his head at him one last time, and then disappeared down the hall, shutting the main door behind him. Jack was left alone in the silence, with nothing but his own thoughts… and his bloodthirst.

  There was a bench with a thin, plastic-coated sleeping mat over it against the back wall of his cell. Jack took a seat and tried to parse his way through his current situation. Eventually, he’d get a chance to talk to Sheriff Carter, who’d be more willing to discuss the nature of the evidence against him.

  Jack didn’t own a gun, and he certainly didn’t own an automatic weapon of the kind that was used in the drive-by. Between that and the bullets having come from outside the house, he was sure that he’d be eliminated as a suspect.

  He tapped his foot, feeling himself growing restless. The smell of Margaret’s blood was still a fresh, torturous memory. He probably could have taken a little from her. A small sip. She’d been losing it anyway. Why had he just let it drip onto the floor instead of sating his thirst?

  Because he would have done more than just sipped, he reminded himself. But would that have been so bad? By leaving her alive, he had essentially created an enemy for himself. She would come after him again, of that he had no doubt. She might even have backup from the Order of Chaldea with her, though given how their last fight had gone, Jack doubted that she’d need it.

  Jack winced. His jaw hurt, and it took him a couple of seconds to realize that he was grinding his teeth. His mouth was bone-dry, and his throat felt painful and scratchy. This was it. This was what it felt like to push himself too far and go too long without feeding. He’d felt this before, but this time, there would be no relief.

  His hands had begun to shake, and his temples pounded with a headache severe enough to make the edges of his vision pulse red. Jack was almost tempted to start banging on the bars and shouting out.

  But what was it that he’d even shout for? Even if Bruce had calmed down enough to listen to him, there was nothing that he could request that would help with his bloodthirst. He’d made his choice when he’d called an ambulance for Margaret, and now he would pay the price.

  Jack collapsed on the bench, feeling his headache growing more painful and oppressive by the second. He could deal with pain. Emanuel and his gang had riddled him with bullets the night before, and he’d been able to endure it. But this was different. This was a personal kind of hell. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried his best to focus on breathing.

  ***

  “You foolish boy,” whispered Mira. “How fitting that I come to you now, to see you like this.”

  Jack was still in his jail cell, lying on the bench. He could feel Mira’s arms wrapped around him, and as he turned his head to look over his shoulder at her, he felt her plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

  She was wearing an expensive red dress, diamond earrings, crimson lipstick, and black high heels. Her makeup was exquisitely done, and she had her blonde locks twisted up into an elegant and complicated-looking bun. Jack had just enough mental awareness to appreciate the fact that she’d chosen to present herself to him through her Blood Sight looking like she did, even if it was probably originally intended for another purpose. She was smiling, but the expression was weak, and her forehead was furrowed with worry.

  “Do I… look that bad?” mumbled Jack.

  “Worse than bad, I’m afraid.” Mira sighed, and stroked her hand across his forehead and hair. “Far, far worse. Don’t let anyone see your eyes until you next feed, even if you have to keep them closed.”

  “Damn,” said Jack.

  “How many days has it last been, dearest Jack?” asked Mira.

  “Last night,” he muttered. “But… I was injured. It took most of my strength just to heal.”

  “You must have been severely injured, if that’s the case,” said Mira. “You’re on the verge of going feral.”

  “Going… feral?”

  Mira nodded, still stroking his hair and face with her soft fingers.

  “It’s what happens when a vampire goes for too long without feeding,” she said. “Your body keeps a small amount of blood essence in deep reserve to burn through during an emergency. Much in the same way ordinary humans have fat stores from which they can survive off during times of starvation.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” muttered Jack.

  Mira sighed and slowly shook her head.

  “The analogy only goes so far,” she whispered. “When a vampire reaches the point where they begin operating off those deep blood essence reserves, they begin to lose touch with reality. You’re going to start hallucinating, Jack. And you’re going to lose control of yourself. You won’t be able to hold back from feeding at the next chance you get.”

  “I can stay in control,” he said.

  “No, you cannot,” said Mira. “What makes entering a feral state as a vampire dangerous is that all of your emergency blood reserve is burned at a rapid rate. You’ll be far stronger and faster than normal. More capable, and more violent. And all you’ll care about is getting a drink.”

  Jack didn’t say anything. He felt like he was already as bad as he could get, but the concern he saw in Mira’s face suggested that he still had further to fall.

  “There’s a reason why I gave you so much encouragement to take thralls, aside from the basic convenience,” said Mira. “Going feral… isn’t pretty. I wish I could spare you from what you’re a
bout to experience, my sweet Jack. Oh, how I wish I could spare you.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and cradled his head against her bosom. It took effort for Jack to remain still within the embrace. He felt twitchy and uncomfortable. The headache had faded a bit from what he’d experienced before, but it was hard for him to focus and think clearly.

  “Can you help me?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

  “Perhaps,” whispered Mira. “If I can find a way, I will help you. I promise.”

  She kissed him once on the forehead and once on the lips. Jack closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, she was gone.

  The throbbing headache he’d been suffering from before had faded, but what was left in its place was just as disconcerting. Jack felt hollow and numb, like the sensation of an injury before the pain kicked in. His vision moved in singular frames rather than a continuous movie, and it was hard to think through the malaise of whatever was happening to him.

  He stared at his shadow, which fell across the cell’s back wall behind him. It took him a couple of seconds to realize what was off about it. The proportions were wrong, and it was unnerving to look at it and borderline grotesque. The hands were jagged, like claws, and his head had taken on a bulbous, monstrous shape.

  The shadow slowly lifted a hand on its own. It twitched it at Jack once and then contorted, falling to the floor and seizing uncontrollably. Jack felt his heart racing uncontrollably, and he tried to turn his gaze away from the sight. A hallucination. Mira had said that he would hallucinate.

  Viscous, black-red blood began to ooze into the room, seeping from every point of entry it could find. Jack watched as a thin pool flowed underneath the door connecting the jail to the rest of the sheriff’s office, dripping toward him as though his cell was somehow at the bottom of a slope. Dripping toward him as though it recognized him as the one who’d been responsible for spilling it.

  The blood smelled familiar, but it wasn’t Katie’s or Ryoko’s. It wasn’t the blood of the people he’d killed, the man at the storage yard, or Monty. It wasn’t even the muted, regular scent of Mira’s blood. It was his own.

  The memory was on the edge of his awareness, wavering in and out of the grasp of his mind like a fading dream. Jack had been in pain, half crushed by twisted metal and showered with glass. His mother had been thrown free of the wreckage during the crash, and she lay dying in the road in front of him. But he was still inside the car. Alone, in pain, with only his own blood to keep him company. He’d lost so much. Too much. He had…

  The memory ended abruptly, and it took Jack a couple of seconds to realize what was wrong with it. His parents had died in that car crash. So why had he been in the front passenger seat? Where had his father been? Had he been thrown loose, too?

  His shadow continued to slither across the floor, still twisting and fidgeting, as though barely keeping a seizure under control. The blood had spread to completely cover the floor, and the effect made it look like the shadow was swimming in a sea of blood. Was that his shadow, or was that him?

  CHAPTER 31

  “Jack?”

  It took a second or two for Katie’s voice to reach him, and even longer for him to remember the context of the situation. He was still in the jail cell, lying on the uncomfortable bench bed. It was hard for him to think clearly, and he could only barely remember the advice Mira had given him through the Blood Sight.

  “Katie…” he mumbled. He didn’t look in her direction at first. When he finally did, he kept one hand mostly covering his face and eyes. He couldn’t let anyone see his eyes.

  Katie was standing next to Bruce, and both of them were draped in surreal auras as a result of Jack’s hallucinations. Bruce’s face was streaked with blood, and his eyes had turned into jet black pits. He seemed to hunch, rather than stand upright, taking on the appearance of a demon or imp at the behest of Jack’s subconscious.

  Katie, on the other hand, was angelic. She was dressed in casual clothing, jeans and a low-cut black blouse, but she seemed to radiate light. Her brown hair rippled and flowed on the air, almost as though it was weightless, or fluttering in the wind. And her neck…

  Her neck seemed to taunt him. So perfect and flawless. Like a glass of cold water, dripping with condensation on a hot summer day.

  “This happens, sometimes,” said Bruce. “Some people make a fuss when they finally get thrown in a cell. He’s faking, Katherine. Don’t bother giving him any sympathy.”

  “Shut up,” said Katie. “Jack isn’t like that. I need to talk to him alone.”

  “Like hell,” said Bruce. “This isn’t a game. You need to get over whatever drama the two of you shared as kids. He’s going to be charged with a crime this time.”

  “I need to speak with him alone,” said Katie, her voice taking on the stern, commanding tone that Jack was so familiar with.

  For a moment, he thought Bruce was going to buckle under the pressure. The sheriff’s deputy glanced back toward the door for a moment before grabbing Katie by the arm and pulling her a few feet away from the jail cell. The two of them had a whispered conversation, both growing more frustrated by the second.

  “This isn’t about you and your stupid insecurities!” snapped Katie, raising her voice back into Jack’s earshot. “He’s my friend. I need to make sure he’s okay, and I can’t do that with you breathing over my shoulder.”

  “He’s your friend?” said Bruce, dryly. “I’m not stupid, Katherine! These past few days… The way that you’ve been… I’ve given you so many chances to be honest with me.”

  Even in the state he was in, Jack could see the way Bruce’s words hit Katie. Her face flushed red, and she closed her eyes, looking ashamed. It was so unfair for that particular conversation to be happening right then. Unfair for Katie. Unfair for him. Hell, even unfair for Bruce.

  “Jack.” Katie walked back over to his jail cell, apparently thinking better of committing to the argument. “Are you okay?”

  Jack coughed, trying to clear phlegm out of the back of his throat.

  “I’m excellent,” he muttered. “As you can probably see.”

  He let out a short, slightly crazed laugh. Katie’s frown deepened.

  “I’m trying to help,” she said. “There’s just… so little I can do. You might have to hold on for a while longer, okay?”

  “Sure,” said Jack. “Not like I have much choice. Ryoko?”

  “She’s waiting in the other room,” said Katie. “Bruce wouldn’t let her come with me to see you. He said there was no point.”

  She folded her arms and shot a glare at her fiancé.

  “Promise me that you’ll hold on?” asked Katie. “Sheriff Carter will be here soon. He’ll decide what happens next.”

  “I’ll hold on,” said Jack. He put as much confidence into the words as he had left. Which unfortunately wasn’t all that much. “I’ll be okay.”

  Katie frowned, and she seemed unwilling or unable to take any solace from his words.

  “That’s enough,” said Bruce. “I told you that you could make sure that he isn’t dead. You’ve done that now.”

  Jack didn’t miss the look of anger and annoyance Katie shot at Bruce, but she didn’t argue. The two of them left the jail. Jack watched the door close and then melt into a waterfall of oozing blood. He closed his eyes again and tried not to let it bother him.

  Time passed at a crawl. With each breath Jack took, he felt a sliver of his sanity melting away. Blood was all that mattered to him anymore, manifesting in his hallucinations, his thoughts, and his reality. He needed to get out of the cell. He needed a drink.

  He could feel himself losing control. Mira had told him that his body would burn through the last of his blood essence as he turned feral, using it to provide himself with one last burst of strength. He could feel it in him now, and it was nearly overwhelming.

  The metal bars of the cell weren’t that thick. Jack slowly waded through the blood over to them. He clo
sed his fingers around cold metal, and felt a dark smile spreading across his face. He didn’t have enough blood essence left to attempt to use Shadow Form to slip through them, but if what Mira had said was true, he wouldn’t need to. He’d be strong enough to break the bars, soon enough. A part of him knew he could only wait for so much longer before losing control.

  What would happen then? Was this a state he could come back from? Or would this be the beginning of him turning into the monster that so many people already believed him to be?

  The jail’s outer door opened, the hinges letting out a high-pitched whine. Jack still had enough awareness to sit down on the bench and shield his eyes again. He watched through the slits of his fingers as Sheriff Carter walked over to his cell.

  “Jack,” said Sheriff Carter. “How are you holding up?”

  It was a surprisingly hard question for him to provide a sincere answer to.

  “Not so well,” said Jack. “I wasn’t expecting it to be like this.”

  Sheriff Carter grimaced and nodded.

  “I haven’t done right by you,” he said. “Or by your grandfather. Peter was so proud of you. I guess I expected you to fall into his place here. In some ways, I think you have. But he’s got some big shoes to fill, and maybe… it hasn’t been healthy for you to try to fit into them.”

  Sheriff Carter shook his head, looking toward the wall to the left, instead of into Jack’s cell. Jack realized that the man was expecting him to say something, or at least make an attempt at being present for the conversation.

  “I didn’t know him,” muttered Jack. “I really didn’t, not outside of what little I remember from my childhood. But I know enough to know that… we’re different people.”

  “We’re all different people,” said Sheriff Carter. “I still think he would have been proud of you.”