by J. R. Rain
I went, sprinting quickly through a gap between the Thurmans. Two peeled off and gave chase, while the others converged on Kingsley. Allison, to my dismay, was now running swiftly behind me.
Unbelievable.
But they weren’t quite as fast as me. I suspected this was because the entity’s own great strength was spread among many, rather than focused on one.
When I looked back again, I saw that I was alone in the forest.
The storm, amazingly, had subsided somewhat, although thick drops still splattered against my face. The medallion was also still clutched tightly in my hand.
I thought of Allison as I ran. The entity had threatened to kill her. Could he kill her? I recalled the shadow that had risen up in Cal, the shadow that had strangled the life out of him.
Yeah, I thought. The entity could kill her.
I picked up my speed.
Trees swept by in a blur. Once, I tripped over an exposed root and tumbled, my momentum carrying me many dozens of yards over the moist forest floor. I scrambled to my feet, aware that my right arm was broken at the wrist. A helluva tumble.
The pain was intense, but brief. I held my arm to my side and picked up my pace, and by the time I was at full speed again, I was certain my arm had healed completely.
So weird.
I flexed my hand as I ran, and the last of the pain subsided.
So very weird.
The dirt road soon opened into the Thurman’s back yard. The manor beyond was brilliantly lit—and noticeably empty. Patricia Thurman was in there somewhere...and anyone else not blood-related. Undoubtedly, she would be wondering what the hell was going on.
And I thought my family was weird.
Far behind me, I heard the sound of running footsteps. Allison and another person were still behind me, following.
I paused briefly, then hung a right and headed for the massive stone edifice that stood adjacent to the property, and was surrounded by a thin band of trees.
The Thurman Mausoleum.
Chapter Fifty-one
The mausoleum looked creepy, even to a vampire.
Admittedly, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, or what, exactly, I was looking for. Yet, Kingsley had made a good point: destroy the man responsible for all of this insanity.
That was, of course, if the man responsible was still alive.
Official death records had reported the man’s death decades ago.
I tended to not question official death records.
That is, of course, until my attack seven years ago. Now, I supposed, anything was possible.
The mausoleum was situated about two hundred feet away from the main home, and was surrounded by a thick row of evergreens. Still, who would even want a mausoleum so close to a family vacation home?
I didn’t know, but it was perhaps someone who needed to keep an eye on the mausoleum. Or, rather, someone in the mausoleum who needed to keep an eye on the family.
Or both.
I shook my head at the insanity of it all.
Insane or not, the threat to Anthony and myself was real. And any threat to my kids was going to get my full and unwavering attention.
The mausoleum was composed of cement and plaster, its portico supported by two intricately carved Corinthian columns. Three broad stairs led up to what I imagined was a heavy front door and was, once I checked, locked.
I briefly wondered how Kingsley was faring against the Thurman clan. I could only hope they’d lost interest in him once they saw that I was gone. Either way, I was certain the big fellow could take care of himself.
Somewhere out there, crashing through the forest, was my friend Allison. My new and very close friend, who was, amazingly, distantly related to the Thurmans.
Go figure, I thought, and raised my foot.
I wasn’t sure how heavy or thick the metal door was, but decided to kick with all my strength.
Which I did now, slamming it as hard as I could just under the brass door handle. The door didn’t swing wildly open, and the handle didn’t explode off the hinges, either.
But something cracked and the door moved.
I kicked again, perhaps even harder, and this time, the door did swing open.
I stepped through the doorway.
Chapter Fifty-two
I was here on a hunch.
Kingsley’s hunch, actually. He believed that the entity was primarily focused through Conner Thurman. His theory did make a kind of sense. After all, my body was immortal, impervious to death, pain, or decay. All thanks to the dark entity within me.
Thanks to her.
So why wouldn’t Conner Thurman, who originally summoned the entity nearly a century ago, also benefit from the dark presence within him? Yes, the more I thought about it, the more I was certain that he hadn’t died.
Conner Thurman had been, of course, in the public eye. Had he been alive today, he would have been, what—I did some quick math, which was, of course, never my strong suit—and figured him to be around 125 years old.
He’d faked his death.
I was suddenly sure of it.
Yes, it felt right. Kingsley’s hunch felt right. Long ago, a channeled presence had told me to trust my gut instincts. Trust my feelings. I might be able to do many things, but I could not predict the future.
Not yet, anyway.
Yes, I’d had a few prophetic dreams of late. Dreams where I could, in fact, see the future.
But this wasn’t a dream. At least, I didn’t think it was.
These days, dreaming and reality often blurred. So much so that I continuously questioned my own reality. The only constant was my love for my kids. They were my rock. My safety net. My love for them was more real than anything. It transcended everything. All the craziness.
If not for them...I would have descended, I was certain, into complete madness.
I held it together for them.
But now, someone was threatening my son.
I clenched my fists and stepped deeper into what was, in fact, my first mausoleum. It was cold, yes. Dark, yes. No windows. Correction, two stained glass windows situated high above. The floor was a highly polished marble, now made slippery by my soaking-wet Asics.
Hunch or not, one thing was for certain: my inner alarm was ringing loud and clear.
Here be danger.
I was in a sort of long hallway with a high ceiling. On either side were shelves of some sort. The walls and shelves were composed of the same marble as the floor. Along some of the shelves were vases and flowers. Spaced along the walls were various plaques, all depicting names and dates of births and deaths.
My footsteps squished. Water dripped from me. I wasn’t breathing, and so there was no echo of breath.
The tomb was silent.
Or should have been.
I cocked my head, listening in the dead of night.
Yes, there was a sound from somewhere.
Footsteps.
I paused, and verified the footsteps were not my own. Indeed, they continued on, echoing within what sounded like a stairwell. My hearing was good, granted, and the acoustics of the tomb enhanced the sound wonderfully.
Someone, somewhere, was coming up a flight of stairs. I was sure of it.
A flight of stairs that were directly ahead of me.
I remained motionless. I felt my normally sluggish heart pick up its pace.
Directly ahead of me, further down the narrow hall, a shaft of light suddenly appeared as a door opened.
Despite myself, I gasped.
A figure stepped out.
A figure I immediately recognized, at least from the pictures I’d seen. Conner Thurman. He looked remarkably good for being 125 years old.
I was careful to guard my thoughts.
“I see you found my home away from home, Samantha Moon,” said a clipped and cultured voice. “Or, rather, my home next to my home.” He chuckled lightly.
“You live here?” I asked, finally finding my voice.
“Often, although I get out as well, generally in disguise. But, yes, you could say that this is my sort of home base.”
Was I talking to Conner Thurman or the entity within? I didn’t know. Perhaps a little of both. Conner was a tall man who appeared to be in his mid-forties—likely the age when he had first been possessed by the entity within.
I noted he was not smiling, not like the others. Also, I couldn’t see his aura, nor read his mind. He was completely closed off to me. Like Kingsley, or Detective Hanner, or the other immortals I’d encountered.
Yes, I thought. He is the source.
The source of the curse.
His family’s curse.
Also, I was certain that Conner Thurman—the real Conner Thurman—had been overtaken completely by the entity within. Where the real Conner Thurman was, I didn’t know, but I suspected he was trapped within, watching helpless within his own body.
Similar to the way the entity within me watched from within my body. Trapped within me—and wanting out. To possess me fully, similar to the way the entity now fully possessed Conner Thurman.
“Who are you?” I asked. I was aware of movement outside the mausoleum. I suspected Allison and perhaps some others had arrived. For now, they stayed outside. Undoubtedly, they were being controlled by the entity before me.
“I am a renegade of sorts, Samantha Moon.”
“What do you mean?”
“You could say I don’t play by the rules. I create my own rules.”
“What rules?”
“The rules of life, death and our immortal souls.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I, and my sister within you, have challenged the powers that be, so to speak. Successfully, I might add. We have effectively removed ourselves from the soul’s evolutionary process.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, I’m sure you don’t. You see, there are universal laws in place that govern not only this world, but the worlds beyond. Others before you have created these laws, laws that govern your soul’s journey through life and death. I happen to not agree with these laws, Sam. I happen to have a rather rebellious streak within me. You see, I like to do things my way. And so does my sister, and so do many others like me.”
He began circling around me, hands clasped behind his back. He went on, “You see, we have figured a way out of this rat trap, Samantha Moon. And you can join us. Forever join us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Give my sister the freedom she seeks, and you can share in our eternal journey.”
“And if I refuse?”
“There is no refusing, my dear. You will become one of us or nothing.”
I found myself backing away. There was the scent of something repugnant wafting off him. An actual smell of decay, perhaps. My inner alarm seemed to be blaring off the hook. Yes, I was in serious danger, I got it. I willed my own alarm to quiet down. Sometimes, the damn thing went off so loud that I couldn’t hear myself think.
“You killed George Thurman and Cal Thurman.”
“Yes, I kill when my hosts become problematic or useless.”
“What will you do with my son?” I asked.
Conner Thurman stopped pacing and faced me. “Unfortunately, Samantha, your son consumed something very important to me. Something very important to the process of releasing my sister. But not all is lost.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sure you have figured out by now that I will need all four of the medallions to release my sister.”
I said nothing, already suspecting where this was leading. I clenched my fists.
“You see, I had a willing host. My host—Conner Thurman—permitted me to take possession of his body. And I gladly did so. Oh, yes. My sister’s release requires aid, if you will. That’s where the medallions come in.”
“But why the medallions? I don’t understand.”
“The medallions were created to aid those like you, Samantha Moon. The combination of all four together was not foreseen, and not predicted. At least, not by those who created them.”
He stepped closer, and I stepped back. I sensed great strength within him. I suddenly very much wished that Kingsley was by my side again.
“Fortunately, the magicks contained within the particular medallion that your son consumed are not lost.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Yes, you do, Samantha Moon. You understand all too well.”
In a blink of an eye, he was behind me, reaching around my throat, one hand clawing up inside my sweater. I struggled but was shocked by his strength, his speed.
So strong, so fast.
His hand continued up over my stomach, over my breasts, up near my throat.
“You see, your son must now...” he began, whispering harshly in my ear, his fingertips now pressing into the flesh of my upper chest, “be consumed completely and totally. Every inch of him. Every drop of blood. Every hair on his head.” He was breathing harder, faster. “And trust me, Samantha Moon—trust me when I tell you that I will enjoy him very, very much. But first—”
I screamed, and not necessarily out of fear or anger, but because his fingers had dug deep into me. He threw me away as an excruciating pain ripped through me.
Stumbling into the hallway wall, I gripped my chest as blood poured between my fingers.
I looked back in horror as Conner Thurman held in one of his hands the medallion that had recently been under my skin, a medallion that was, even now, draped in my own bloodied flesh.
“One medallion down,” he said, turning to face me, “and three to go.”
Chapter Fifty-three
“Lucky for you, Samantha Moon, that I need to keep you alive. You are, after all, graciously hosting my sister.”
I braced myself against the polished wall, even while blood from my chest continued pouring free.
“This may sound, ah, rather ghoulish, my dear, but all that precious blood of yours will not go to waste. I will have one of my—for want of a better word—Thurman minions gather it up carefully for me later. Waste not, want not.” He laughed.
The pumping blood quickly slowed to a dribble. I could literally feel the wound closing underneath my palm.
I gasped and stood straight.
He pointed to the disc-shape bulge in my front pocket. “It would be so much easier, Samantha, if you would just give me medallion number two.”
“Fuck you.”
“For some reason, I thought you would say that.” He cocked his head to one side. “Forgive me, sssister,” he said, the word hissing from between his lips. “For what I am about to do.”
He leaped forward so fast that I had only enough time to turn my head. Still, the blow sent me spinning, and rocked me unlike anything I’d felt before.
And it had only been a partial blow.
I searched for the wall, couldn’t find it, stumbled and fell.
He ran up to me, and in one smooth and horrible motion, kicked me full-force in the ribs, hard enough to lift me off the ground and hurl me deeper into the hallway, where I tumbled two or three more times.
I tried to gasp, but couldn’t. Shards of rib bone had punctured my lungs. I was bleeding internally, and badly.
“My sister and I have decided that, perhaps, it would be best to keep you down here with me, Sammie. Oh, does it surprise you that I am still in communication with my sister? Oh, it’s easy enough. She’s accessible to me through your dream state. So, yes, we have prepared a special place for you down here, beneath my family’s mausoleum. With the dead.”
He came up to me and, if possible, kicked me even harder, a blow that sent me crashing into the far wall and succeeded, I was certain, in breaking all of my remaining ribs. Blood poured from my mouth, from internal injuries that no one had any right to survive from.
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t comprehend. I didn’t know, entirely, what was happening anymore. The pain was so intense—and happening faster than
my own body could repair itself.
“But you have proven to be particularly worrisome, Samantha Moon.”
I tried absently to push him away but I was certain that my arm was broken as well. He grabbed me by my bloodied jacket and lifted me up to my feet.
“Let me explain the source of my worry,” he said, and then threw me against the nearby hallway wall. My head hit hard enough for me to have briefly passed out. Just briefly. Already, I could feel him lifting me up again.
“I haven’t quite figured out why you, of all people, seem stronger than all the others. Yes, my sister within is a particularly evolved dark master, but that doesn’t explain it, either. Do you see my dilemma?”
He backhanded me so hard that I was certain my jaw broke.
“You seem to have developed talents that far outweigh the others. Why, Sam? Why?”
He dropped me to the ground, where I slumped into a bloody and broken heap.
“Yes, we need to keep you here where I can keep an eye on you, while we fetch your son. Or, as I refer to him, medallion number three.”
He turned and faced me.
My thoughts were scattered, incoherent, shattered. I might have been having a form of a seizure. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t function. I could barely see.
And as he began walking toward me, to deliver a blow that I knew would either kill me or render me completely useless, something appeared in my thoughts.
A single flame.
Chapter Fifty-four
Within the flame was a creature that I knew all too well. A creature much bigger than me, and much more powerful. A creature who was, in fact, also me.
The creature seemed to be waiting impatiently, and as the blurred form of Conner Thurman prepared for his final blow, the creature in the flame rushed toward me.
Filling me. Taking over me.
Becoming me.
* * *
The transformation was nearly instant.
My clothes burst from my body as I rapidly grew and contorted. Soon, I was something that didn’t belong in this world, nor any world, stronger and bigger than I had any right to be.