Samantha Moon: First Eight Novels, Plus One Novella

by J. R. Rain

  Because you are seeking answers, child. I have the answers.

  To everything?

  In a word: Yes.

  I let that sink in. Beyond the crystal walls, the shining white light seemed to grow in intensity, its radiance reaching through the walls and through me, too. My body felt cleansed. My body felt light. There was no judgment in this light. It just was. Pure and perfect and eternal.

  The smiling woman before me cocked her head to one side. You are here for a specific reason, Sam.

  I am.

  Tell me what’s on your heart.

  I thought of my son, of his increasing strength. What would happen to him? What other vampiric attributes would he take on? I thought of this and more, as fear and uncertainly coursed through me. As these thoughts filled my head, the light wavered along the peripheral of my vision. The woman in front of me faded, too. She nodded, and I knew she knew my thoughts.

  Release the fear, Sam.

  But I...can’t. He’s my son. I’m so scared.

  More darkness encroached and the light beyond dimmed.

  She gripped my hands even tighter. What do you want, Sam?

  I want my son to have a normal life.

  Then proclaim it. State it. Feel it. Believe it. Do not grovel for it. Do not beg for it. Instead...be it.

  But something’s happening to him.

  Yes.

  Something that I did to him.

  She nodded and held my hands, and for now, the darkness that had been encroaching along the edge of my vision seemed to pause, although it was still there. Seemingly waiting.

  Find the good in all things, Sam. Find the beauty. And you will find peace and joy.

  But my son...he’s so different now.

  We are all different, Sam. And we are all the same. Love who he is. Teach him who he is. Believe in who he is.

  And who is he?

  A magnificent being, as are you.

  I held back the tears. I held back a strong urge to let out a choking cry. It had been so long since someone had spoken to me in such kind, loving words. Since someone had given me such pure, unconditional love.

  But will he be okay?

  With his mother’s love, he can be anything. Show him love and strength, Sam. Not fear and worry.

  I nodded. The darkness began retreating, and as I lifted my head and opened my heart, the darkness disappeared completely. The woman came toward me and took my hands. She smiled at me comfortingly and lovingly.

  Open your eyes now, Sam.

  I did, and I was back on the boulder, with the wind blowing in my hair and dust covering my clothes. I sat like that for a few moments, coming back to my senses, back to my body. Shortly, I checked my cell. I had been sitting there for three hours. I stared disbelievingly at my phone. Three hours. It had felt like ten minutes.

  Something squeezed my hands, something unseen, and electricity surged through me. No, not electricity.

  Love.

  The feeling rippled through me again and again, then slowly disappeared, and I was left alone.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  It was late.

  I was perched on the ridge of a high gable next door to Robert’s Mason’s opulent home. Granted, the home I was perched upon wasn’t too shabby, either. The entire tract was filled with mini-mansions, all nestled in the hills high above Fullerton. The community was gated. In fact, there were even two sets of gates. Twice I spotted security guards rolling quietly through the streets in their electric golf carts. Never once did they think to look up at me. If so, they might have been in for the shock of their lives.

  I had spent the past two days reviewing missing-person files with Sherbet. In particular, looking for a connection to Robert Mason. Sherbet knew about my strange meeting with the ex-soap opera star. The detective agreed that if we could connect another victim to Robert Mason, then we might convince a judge to give us a search warrant.

  But so far, nothing.

  This was my second night of surveillance, too. Or, more accurately, my second night perched up here like a living gargoyle. The first night had been uneventful. Robert Mason had come home around 2 a.m., pulling into his garage in a slick new Jaguar. His windows were tinted, too dark for even my eyes. The lights had remained on inside the house for about an hour after that, in which I’d seen only one figure moving through the house. I had waited another two hours, then leaped from the perch, flapped my wings hard, and somehow managed to elude the two guards in their electric golf cart.

  Now I was back for a second night. What, exactly, was I looking for? I didn’t know. A pattern perhaps. Something that stood out. Who he was meeting with. Who was coming and going? Anything that I could follow up on.

  Tonight, the house was empty and dark. It was also well past the time he’d returned last night. Instinctively, I knew the sun was about two hours away, about the time I had abandoned my post last night.

  So, where was Robert Mason?

  I knew he lived alone. I knew he was divorced. I knew his ex-wife had a restraining order on him. I also knew that everything was leading to one thing: the secret door behind the mirror.

  So far, his house was proving uneventful, although I now knew the freaky bastard was prone to staying out all night. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t happening here, in this ultra-exclusive and highly-secured community. Poke fun at them all I want, the guards here kept strict schedules. Nothing much was coming or going without their knowledge. If Robert Mason was the killer, he was taking a phenomenal risk bringing any victims here.

  Unlike his theater.

  Which he owned and had total access to at all hours of the night.

  The golf cart came again. Two guards, sitting next to each other, huddled against the cold. I didn’t huddle against the cold. I sat like a demon, high above the housing tract.

  Waiting and watching.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  I parked across the street from my ex-husband’s strip club. Remarkably, a tear of shattered pride did not come to my eye.

  Danny and his partners of sleazeballs had cleaned up the place a little. The ugly cinder block building had been painted white. The dirt parking lot had been paved over. And a flashing neon sign now indicated that here be nude women. I shook my head sadly. Men slouched in and out of the club. Single men. Most didn’t appear happy. A big black guy stood at the front entrance checking ID’s. Music pumped enthusiastically from the open door.

  I sat and watched, my heart heavy. Above, the moon was half-full. The stars were out. No clouds. No wind. A perfect night to see desperate women exploited for dollar bills.

  I was feeling sick, and not because I was parked outside Danny’s house of flesh. Earlier, I had consumed a packet of animal blood. Pig blood, this time. The impurities in the blood always made me sick. My digestive system was designed for blood only. Not the bits of bone, hair and meat floating around in the stuff they sold me. I probably should filter the blood myself, but I honestly didn’t want to see what I was drinking. Better to tear the packet open, close my eyes, down the stuff as fast as possible, and will myself not to gag.

  Impurities or not, the animal blood never truly revitalized me. It satisfied a hunger, a craving. It kept me alive and functioning. But it did not energize me. Not the way human blood did. And that scared the shit out of me.

  There was really no comparison. My kind was obviously designed to consume human blood. And there was such a ready supply of the stuff.

  Mercifully, the animal blood kept my hunger in check, but I wondered for how long. Would there come a day when animal blood would no longer suffice? I didn’t know, but that thought alone was enough get me rocking in my front seat, holding my aching stomach.

  A few minutes later, with my stomach still doing somersaults, I pulled away from the curb, drove past the strip club, and was soon trawling through some pretty rough-looking neighborhoods. Most homes here were surrounded with low, wrought-iron fences. Most windows were barred. More wrought iron. Clearly, i
ron work was alive and well here in Colton.

  Five minutes later, while waiting for a light at a mostly empty corner, I watched a boy on a bike ride up to three young men lounging near a liquor store. The boy gave a tall black guy an envelope. The black guy gave the boy a baggie.

  Bingo.

  I pulled up next to them in a no-parking zone. I parked there anyway and got out. They stared at me. I was wearing jeans and a light sweater. They were wearing jeans and heavy jackets. The heavy jackets reminded me of the Michelin Man, or maybe something astronauts might wear in deep space. This wasn’t deep space. This was a hood in Colton and I knew what was inside their jackets. Drugs and guns. I had to act quickly.

  “Hey pretty lady—” one of them said, turning to me.

  But that was as far as he got. I punched him hard enough to lift him off his feet and into the liquor store wall behind him. While he was busy passing out, I turned and punched the lone Hispanic guy square in the nose. His head snapped back so violently that I thought I might have broken his neck. One moment he was standing there. The next, he was on his back and bleeding.

  The third guy was making a move to reach inside his too-thick jacket when I slapped him hard enough to get his attention, but not so hard as to knock him out cold. A few encouraging smacks later, followed by a knee to the groin, and I had the information I was looking for.

  Their boss was guy named Johnny. And he was here. At the liquor store.

  I smacked the third guy again, this time for selling drugs to kids, and sent him spinning into my minivan’s front fender, which he promptly bounced off of, leaving a skull-sized dent. He lay unmoving on the sidewalk.

  Now, how the hell was I going to explain that to my insurance agent?

  I headed into the liquor store.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  It was empty, except for an old black man sitting behind the counter. Apparently, he hadn’t heard the ruckus outside. He was casually flipping through a newspaper, safe behind his bulletproof glass which sported two deep fractures. Bullet impacts.

  I scanned the store. There was a back room, from which I heard voices. I headed toward it, passing a glass cooler and a Red Bull display along the way. The smell of weed grew steadily stronger as I approached the back door, which I promptly kicked in.

  There were two of them, both smoking and drinking and playing cards. Rap music played in the background. The room was just big enough for the two goons to sit comfortably. On the far wall, an open door led down a short hallway. Two big handguns were sitting on the table. They reached for them. I did, too. Unfortunately for them, I was faster.

  I pointed both weapons at them. “Don’t move,” I said.

  They didn’t move. I left the room and headed down the short hallway. There was a shut door at the far end. Yellow light under the door. I heard frantic shuffling inside.

  I picked up my speed, and threw a shoulder into the door and spilled into the room, rolling, coming to my knees and holding both handguns out before me as the only man came up from behind his desk holding a shotgun.

  He saw the weapons pointed at his face and made a very smart move. He set the weapon down on the desk and held his hands up. He was a handsome black man. Young, maybe twenty-five, maybe a little older. His teeth were perfect and he was wearing a nice suit. He looked, if anything, like a young man trying to be taken seriously. Trying to be something he wasn’t.

  “Sit down,” I said.

  He sat, watching me closely, curiously. Since there was nowhere for me to sit, I went around and sat on the corner of his desk, next to him. Our knees were almost touching. I heard some noise down the hallway, but I wasn’t worried about the noise down the hall. My inner alarm was not ringing. There was no real danger here. At least, not yet. The smell of weed was not so prevalent in the back room.

  “We have a problem, Johnny,” I said.

  “What problem?” he asked easily, smoothly, confidently.

  Johnny didn’t sound like a kid from the streets. He was well-spoken. Enunciated his words crisply. He also watched me carefully. No doubt his brain was having a hard time processing what he was seeing. A woman. A white woman. A lone white woman. Here in my office. I’m sure it wasn’t adding up. No doubt it wasn’t computing. And so he stared and waited and processed.

  “You’ve been threatening local businesses,” I said. “Extorting money from hard-working people.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You a cop?”

  I swung my feet a little. My sneakers just missed hitting the ratty carpet. “Nope.”

  “You with the feds?”

  I smiled. “Just little ol’ me.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Now, if I told you that I’d have to kill you.”

  He stared at me. I smiled sweetly. Sweat rolled down from inside his hairline and made its way into his collar. This wasn’t looking good to him, and he knew it. In fact, I could almost see the moment where he went from thinking this was surreal, to thinking his own life might actually be in jeopardy.

  “What do you want?”

  “You’re going to stop extorting from local business. Got it?”

  He sat back in his chair and relaxed a little. He said, “You’re kind of a badass, huh?”

  “Kind of.”

  He was handsome and he knew it. He gave me a bright smile and did something with his eyes that made them sparkle even more somehow. As if he could flip a switch.

  He chuckled. “You come in here, kick in my door, and tell me how to run my business.”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “You might be the craziest bitch I’ve ever met.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Now, why is that?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve got mad skills.”

  Now he laughed, a deep, hearty laugh, and showed a lot of teeth. Nice laugh. Nice smile.

  “Mad skills,” he said. “That’s good. Who are you working for, baby?”

  “An interested party. But I don’t say ‘goo goo gah gah’ and I’m not wearing diapers, so I’m not a baby.”

  “Okay, I get it. Now, if I don’t suspend operations?”

  “You’ll be seeing me again.”

  He held my gaze. I think I swallowed a little harder than I intended to.

  “Maybe that ain’t such a bad thing,” he said.

  “Just ask your boys outside.”

  He laughed again, shook his head. “You’re one freaky lady. Okay, you win. No collections. For now.”

  “Smart move.”

  I got up, headed for the door. As I was about to exit, he said, “Can I have my guns back? I do, after all, have a business to run.”

  I paused at the door and thought about it, then turned and set the pistols next to the shotgun. I said, “I’m watching you.”

  His eyes flashed. “I hope so, pretty lady.”

  I turned and left.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “Your son was in a fight today, Ms. Moon,” said Principal West.

  I was in his office with Anthony, who was sitting next to me. Anthony smelled of fresh grass, sweat, and blood. His clothing was torn, and there were grass stains along his shoulders and knees. There was a small spot of blood on his shirt. He breathed easily, calmly, staring straight ahead. He didn’t appear the least bit upset. This coming from a boy who used to cry if his sister gave him a noogie.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Your son, Ms. Moon, beat up a young man so severely we had to call an ambulance.”

  I gasped and faced Anthony. Now I could see the tears forming in his eyes. I didn’t have much access to my son’s thoughts, but I could read auras and body language, not to mention I just knew my son. Knew him better than anyone. And he was scared. Perhaps for what he had done. Perhaps for the harm he had caused. Perhaps for who he was becoming.

  The principal continued, “From what I understand—and this has been confirmed by nearly a dozen other students and teachers who witnessed the fight—the schoo
l bully, a kid nearly twice the size of your son, and two of his friends were picking on a girl. Grabbing her. Apparently one tried to kiss her. And that’s when your son stepped in.”

  Now my son looked at me for the first time. Tears were in his eyes and there was some dirt in his hairline, but what I saw most was the defiant look in his eyes.

  “She was crying, Mommy. She kept asking them to stop. But they wouldn’t. They kept picking on her. And no one would help her.” He looked forward again, clenching his little fists in his lap. “Everyone’s afraid of them, but I’m not.”

  No one said anything. The principal stared at my son. In complete disbelief, judging by the look on his face. A moment later, the principal continued the story.

  Anthony stepped in, pulled the main bully off the girl. And not just pulled. Threw, apparently. The other boys jumped my son. The fight was chaotic. Fists swinging, bodies rolling. No one would help. No one would jump in. It was a third grader against three sixth graders. And then something miraculous started happening. One by one, the sixth graders started falling by the wayside, rolling out of the melee, bleeding and groaning and hurt, until finally my son had ended up on top, leveling punch after punch into the older boy’s face. It had taken three teachers to pull him off.

  The principal’s voice trailed off and he looked again at my son with complete awe. Myself, I had never been prouder.

  “The leader is in the hospital. Apparently they’re stitching his mouth and replacing some teeth.”

  Outside, I heard some excited voices in the various offices. The principal rubbed his face and kept staring at Anthony. Finally, he sat back in his chair.

  “I’ve never seen or heard anything like this in my twenty years in teaching, Ms. Moon. What your son did...was very brave, very selfless, very admirable. But I have to suspend him.”