“Let it happen, give yourself to me. All you ever have to do, is acknowledge me. Your soul will satisfy my desires, my requirements.” The voice was commanding. It spoke as a god dwelling in the recesses of his senses. It continued. “Rip, tear, rend, and swallow the blood like milk.” The demon inside beckoned with a sadistic suggestion.
He was unsure, the deal was tempting, even acceptable in a sick flight of fancy. The power was enthralling. His confliction was disturbing, he was not a murderer. He knew as much, as he doubted his own integrity. It was tempting, wet in his mouth, keen on his fingertips. Absolute strength on a level unrivaled. The knowledge that no other being would ever be able to contest him. It was a spectacular promise. It was seductive.
The voice posed its question a final time. Its confidence was unrelenting. “Is my simple price so steep, so dire, costly, that you would die a fool's death to deny me the path fate has allowed me to etch in the stars?”
* * * *
Sleeping silently in a single twin bed tucked tightly away in the far corner of a small room was a young boy that quickly roused from a bad dream. Sweat beaded off his forehead to his short black hair as his breath eased. He believed this nightmare was behind him. Opening his dark brown eyes to a white ceiling. He lay motionless for moment. Thinking about the dream he had. The seductive nightmare that he couldn't look away from. He felt each sensation, every caress, every bite. It was a visceral dream.
The young boy sat up. His sheets fell to the end of the bed. His clothing the only layer keeping him cool through the prior night. A black cotton t-shirt, dark blue cotton sleeping pants, and a pair of white socks clung to his thin, average physique. His five foot seven frame small for his age. He lived in a mostly normal room for a teenager. Complete with a black study desk, a silver low-cost nineteen inch television. Some video games placed on a few small white shelves. A brown clothing dresser in the corner, rounded out the room. A single closet next to the foot of the bed held his limited wardrobe. The room was painted a light sky blue with a white ceiling for contrast.
Three pictures were hanging up on the wall by his small bed. The first was framed in a dark cherry wood frame. It was of his parents when they were younger. A tall young man with brown hair and a small thin woman with short nearly pure white hair. The flash of the camera gleaming red in her eyes and not his. The second was framed in a newer, cheaper case. It was of him as a boy, riding a blue sport bicycle for his birthday. The kind you might find at a local garage sale. He was eight, as it proudly proclaimed at the top of the photograph in black crayon. The third was in the same type of frame as the first, an expensive cherry wood. This one was of him and his father in a large field of farm wheat. He was ten. They were running as the picture was taken at the length of his father's arm. He appeared to be very happy and content in the scene. The wheat went on for miles past the view of them in the foreground. It was surreal compared to the other two ornate decorations on the wall. It calmed him.
It was the last days of May, spring had loosened its grasp on the season. Summer had come and begun to set in. It had been four days since the middle school he attended had let out. The temperature had risen, breaking into the high nineties on an average northern Florida day. The light had fled from the sky, though it influenced this boy's room little without a window present. He had been asleep through most of the day. The near absolute black providing a wonderful environment for rest.
The solitary boy that lay in the bed was Zack Giver. In the past weeks, he'd felt different from his callow history. At fourteen, there was a longing in Zack that needed to be filled. Something that he had to do, unknown to him that was pulling at his mind. There was no pressure, no consequence to his life choices. Zack required a calamity to challenge him. He wanted to get out of his own world and pursue a goal, a hobby, a person. Zack didn't want his life to become atrophied.
Zack had been going through a sudden change, a cultural shock of sorts. He had grown very little during the previous summer. His two best friends moved away. They had grown faster than Zack, nearly a foot taller. He was due for some catching up. Zack was developing a stigma against the idea of entering high school. He would be picked on because of his height, his frail nature, and his silver rimmed glasses. It was gnawing at him.
Zack sat up on the edge of his bed. He tried to remember the dream he had. Knowing that it was important, only Zack didn't know why. He was feeling restless, unable to stay in one place for too long. Zack thought he needed to be somewhere, to be doing something.
The alarm clock on Zack's old mp3 player kicked in with an agenda. It blasted a fast paced song that he had loaded into it a week ago. It was by Buckethead, it was not a song you could easily ignore. Zack leaped to hit the snooze button on the music station. His concentration was lost. The moment of remembering the dream was gone. Zack felt he had something greater to do than sleep all night or wait for school when autumn came around again.
There was a knock at the door. It was Zack's father, John.
John Giver, was a pool designer that learned to be a landscape architect. With the decline of pools in the greater Gainesville area, he found it hard to pay the rent as of late. John was good at his job, too good in fact to not get any repeat business. His pools didn't wear down, they didn't need maintenance. All of his work was done so perfectly that when John finished, he never needed to come back. Florida already had all the pools built it would ever really need.
Forever optimistic, John trudged onward. His new career in landscaping paid well, however sporadically. Living each month with newfound opportunities in mind, John recently turned to Zack to help with a part-time job for the last few weeks of summer. He had told Zack that it will build character. Not to mention keep them from being evicted if business didn't pick up.
Zack squinted his eyes and sighed. “Coming. I just got up.” Zack drug his hands over his face, attempting to claw himself awake.
Zack wasn’t opposed to the idea of a part time job. He just had reservations about working a day job. He had no clue what type of occupation he wanted to pursue, or even what was available in town. Zack didn’t own a car, he couldn't even drive it if he did. Zack didn't own a bike, since it was stolen from him on the last day of school. He didn't have a way to get around town at all. Zack wanted to help contribute to rent, thinking it might help his father relax when it came to each bill that arrived in the mail. It was a problem. Zack worried what it meant for their future. He wondered if his dad would need him to work this side job permanently. Zack didn't want to hold a job into high school. He didn't need that level of responsibility. Zack was hoping he could quit at the end of summer. He had a lot on his mind. So many thoughts about what could be and what might be soon.
Zack took a deep breath, then laid back down in his small bed.
Three weeks earlier, Zack was pulled into the counselor's office. He was asked the simple question of what he wanted to be when he grew up. Zack didn't answer. He thought of everything he was interested in, but nothing came to mind. Zack recalled every grueling moment as the counselor disapproved, stood up, and told him to think about it over summer. Zack liked art, he was good with a pen. The career of an artist wasn't something that appealed to him. Zack was accomplished with a little poetry, he just didn't think he was good enough to sustain himself as a writer. Thinking it would be a good job to write poems for a living, he still researched it. Zack decided it wasn't for him when he found out it didn't pay well for even the most talented. That the best he could get would probably be at a greeting card company. He loved the guitar, but didn't like playing in front of people. Zack had no clue of what he would be happy with. In the back of his mind, he wanted to do something with his mind, but he couldn't figure out what. It was beginning to stress him more as the summer had already come.
Zack had to relax, take a breather. Go somewhere that he wasn’t used to, someplace to clear his head. He wanted to be alone for an hour with no one bothering him, that was his short term aim at least
. There was a local Gothic night club open at 8pm. It came to Zack's mind because of a flier advertising that it allowed minors. A place where a person could just sit and watch someone else play a game of billiards for the cost of a soda. Zack wanted that kind of solidarity. He wished for it. To be alone in a crowd of people. It sounded nice to him.
Physically, Zack was not mature. He lacked the necessary body to be attractive to the opposite sex. At five foot seven inches, he wasn't tall for his age. He wasn’t muscular, or athletic. Zack was merely lean, thin, and lengthy. A sharp, gaunt face with dark brown eyes and black hair gave him slightly above average looks aesthetically. His chin was broad, making a very masculine face that more older women liked than younger. He was always getting complements from the mothers of the girls in his class. When Zack would wait to be picked up by his dad a few years ago at the car loop at school. Thinking it was purely ironic that their daughters wanted nothing to do with him. Zack was fed up. At the time, he was too young to know what a cougar was. Later, when he was told about it, he still didn't like the idea. Zack's view was that people should be within about a year of each other. It sickened him to think that the girls in his class were dating guys four to five years older than him. Zack thought that if he did that with girls younger than him, John would be the first one to arrest him for doing something weird with a minor. Zack felt the entire dating scene for his age range was stacked against him. Put bluntly, he wasn't planning on meeting anyone any time soon.
“Zack, you didn't fall back asleep, did you?” John called out to Zack.
Zack rolled towards the wall. “No. I'm up.”
Since Zack was six, bad vision had plagued his life. He could barely see his hand in front of his face, or even the detail in his fingertips at arm's length. Unfortunately, Zack had wonderful hearing, a fact John knew well. Eventually, Zack would have to get up. The round silver framed glasses he wore were on the nightstand next to his bed. Not the most stylish pair, it was given to Zack by his dad from when he was younger. It was a hand-me-down pair with the latest prescription in it. It was a family heirloom originally passed down from his grandfather. Zack's father said that they were made of nearly pure silver. Zack considered them priceless and kept them in good condition because of it. Polishing them with a special cloth each day.
When it came to Zack's looks, his complexion was the only thing he was proud of. It was pristine. It couldn't be made fun of. Not that it would have any effect on the outcome of this night. He wasn’t there to put himself out, only to get out of his little apartment. As Zack sat in his bed, trying to remember the name of the night club on the flier his friends had given him the week before school ended. Zack drew a blank.
John finally walked in. “Zack, I know that look. You can't remember the address, can you?”
“Maybe.” Zack wasn't admitting anything.
“You’re going somewhere tonight aren’t you? Do you need a ride?” John offered.
John Giver wasn’t a traditional father. He was more of a friend to Zack than a strict parent. Offering him transportation and money for odd jobs around the house. Doing the dishes or vacuuming the carpet instead of a weekly allowance for mandatory chores was the norm around the Giver household. Regardless of his parenting, John knew his son, perhaps a little too well for Zack’s personal comfort level. They had been there for each other as friends and family since Zack’s mother left when he was two. Zack had helped John out of the deep depression that his mother left him with. Without knowing it, Zack was there for his dad. Later when Zack got older, John always knew what to say to calm him down and stop the tears from whatever had upset him that day. John chose to never speak of his ex-wife, only omitting to her when he needed to answer a question about what she was like. Zack never nagged his father too much about it. Zack’s perception was that he didn’t have a mother, only a dad. Living with a single parent made Zack more self reliant in his own mind. Able to stand tall in the face of events that would normally emotionally damage the average individual.
John looked almost nothing like Zack, begging an answer more times than not of what his mother looked like. John was six foot three inches tall, and had naturally light tanned skin. Distant Italian as he described it, ran through his blood. There was barely a trace of it in Zack. No clear feature to show how John was connected to him. Zack did have John’s sharp chin. John had very light brown hair and blue eyes. A stark contrast to Zack. Followed by years of small scars from young to adult acne, John did not resemble anything near to what one would think when picturing Zack’s father.
“So what are you going to wear out?” John walked over to Zack's closet. He opened it wide and thumbed through the many dark shirts and pants in Zack's wardrobe.
“What do you mean? I’m going in th-“ Zack pulled on the chest of the black shirt he had slept in. His voice was a mild lull, innocent sounding. It hadn't dropped to a lower tone yet. A fact that Zack didn't like.
John interrupted Zack. “-That? I know you have no time for a girlfriend right now, but one day you might.” John sat down next to Zack.
“I don’t get it.” Zack didn’t understand what his dad was talking about, what he was trying to talk about. Usually Zack knew John had a solid point to anything he mentioned, so he prepared himself to listen for an eventual result.
John laid it down. “In a few months you’re going into high school for the first time. Over the next four years, there’s a good chance girls will be on your mind. Trust me.”
Zack wasn’t tracking, just nodding.
John continued. “I don’t plan on moving in the next four years, at least not out of town that is. The impression that you make at this school will endure until you graduate. It’s important you make a good one.”
Zack wasn’t nodding anyone, he was completely lost now. Somewhere his dad made a quick left turn in the conversation, and Zack kept driving on forward. “But it's summer.”
John realized the expression and sought to make his final point. “The night club you are going to will probably have some kids from your new high school. Your first impression might be tonight, well before school starts. You need to wear something that will help you to stand out, in a good way.”
“That’s exactly what I don’t want to do. I’m going there to relax, to be able to think. Not to be bugged by random strangers that might like me.” Zack peered down at his clothes. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Zack was wearing a short sleeve black shirt. The same sleeper pants he had slept in, which completed the ensemble. Zack wasn't wearing socks, only white sneakers. He hadn't even thought about taking a shower. He didn't see anything wrong with going as he was.
Thankfully Zack's dad did see a problem with it. “It’s fine if you want everyone there to think you’re homeless.” John partially rolled his eyes. “You have a hole in the left pant leg, Zack. You need to get changed.” John reached into Zack’s closet and tossed out a dark gray long sleeved shirt, black slacks, and a pair of black dress shoes he'd worn once for a funeral last year. “Here, you’re going to wear these.”
“But I'm telling you it won’t matter. I’m not trying to look good, I’m trying to blend in.” Zack’s logic was sound, except that he didn’t realize exactly where he was going. The Gothic night club was all about what you are wearing and what your attitude was. The people there didn't have to approach you. The idea was to blend into the subculture by standing out in a unique way. Going plain was as bad as wearing a dunce hat to a formal dinner party.
“The kids at this club are going to be dressed very well. Some will be in elaborate costumes. To blend in, you need to dress accordingly. Trust me. I was your age once.” John had a smile on his face, a sense that he was steering his son in the right direction. John had his younger days. “How do you think I met your mother?”
“Dad, that was in 1990. Things have changed a bit.” Zack contested.
“Put them on. You'll thank me later.” John told Zack. He stepped out while Zack changed in his roo
m. “Hey Zack.” John said through the door.
“What is it?” Zack answered as he was peeling off his shirt and shoes.
“Why don't you go with your friends?” John suggested.
It was a Friday night. Normally Zack would be out with friends. Last year they both suddenly announced they were moving away so that their dad’s could get better jobs in different cities. Leaving Zack in a lonely situation. Most kids lost a few friends making the transition from middle to high school, in Zack's case, he lost them all. He had no one to hang out with anymore. Bringing someone was impossible.
“You know the answer to that.” Zack sighed.
“Yeah, sorry. I keep forgetting they're not here anymore.” John apologized.
Zack wanted to clear his head about it all and get there. He slipped off the sweat pants and old underwear. Popped on the new pair and took his time in putting on the pressed clothing his dad picked out. As busy as John was, he always made sure Zack’s clothes were ironed and put away. Zack even went the extra mile and went to the mirror to put some gel in his hair. A slight spike to his already short black hair cut was the final touch before heading to the night club. Though he still hadn’t remembered what the name of the club was yet. Zack's mind was too scrambled to think of it.
John waited in the space between the bedroom corridor and the kitchen of the apartment. The decoration was minimal. It lacked a woman's touch. Something that hadn't been in the Giver home for many years. The living room was adjacent to the kitchen via a breakfast bar. John had prized his movie collection and its entertainment value over a big screen television. A fat twenty seven inch tube television lay in the center of the room on an old coffee table that had been passed down from John's father. A tan fabric couch situated on the other side of the kitchen bar faced the TV. The carpet was a dark brown, stain-absorbent color. The only appealing feature of the whole apartment were the windows. Four large panes covered the entire gap from the kitchen to the far wall where John's movie shelves were. Their view was of the Gainesville tree line and the surrounding apartment complexes that littered the horizon to the east. The third floor offered sunlight that flooded the living room each morning and a sunset was in perfect view every night.
Demon Vampire (The Redgold Series) Page 2