Vampire Dawn

by J. R. Rain

  "Of sorts? What does that mean?"

  Now I saw the sweat on his brow and along his upper lip. I also saw the fear in his eye. He waved his hands weakly. "Thugs. A local street gang, I dunno. They sort of run the area I do business in. "

  "They beat you up?"

  He shrugged, too prideful to admit to being smacked around, but not enough to come to his ex-wife for help.

  I said, "And by doing business, you mean that shithole where you charge lonely men to look at lonelier women's boobs?"

  "Yes, Sam. My strip club. "

  I shook my head sadly.

  "What, Sam?"

  "You used to be ashamed of your club. "

  He was pacing now, running his hand through his thinning hair. "Well, I'm too afraid to be ashamed. "

  "Sit down," I said. "You're making me nervous. "

  He sat, although his knee still bounced up and down. I said, "They're extorting money from you. "

  He nodded. "A grand a week. For protection, of course. "

  "Of course," I said. "So what do you want me to do?"

  He frowned a little. He hadn't really thought this through. "I'm not sure. "

  "Do you want them to stop picking on you?"

  "Sam. . . "

  "What?"

  "Fine. Yes. "

  "The price for keeping these boys from picking on you is. . . " I did some quick math, which, in my groggy state, took a little longer than it should have. I said, "The price is four thousand, two hundred and sixty-two dollars. "

  "Jesus, Sam. You can't be serious. "

  "Oh, but I am. Seven months of child support, plus my usual fee. Have the cash here on my table in one hour and you just hired yourself a bodyguard. "

  He looked down at his hands. His knee continued to bounce. Loose change in his pocket clanged. Finally, he nodded and stood.

  "I'll be back," he said.

  "We'll see. "

  He did come back. Funny what a little fear will do to a man. He handed me a white envelope full of money, which I counted in front of him. Once done, I grinned and held out my hand. He looked at it reluctantly, then finally shook it, wincing as he did so.

  After all, I might have squeezed a little too hard.

  Chapter Twenty-four

 

  I was sitting cross-legged on a large boulder, on a rock-strewn hill, high above the deserts outside Corona.

  I was, in fact, not too far from where Brian Meeks had been found. Or dumped. It was a quiet spot, miles from any major roads. Just me, the lizards, and the coyotes. And maybe a rattlesnake or two.

  In the far distance I could hear the steady drone of the 15 Freeway. In the near distance, all I could hear was the wind, moaning gently over the boulder and, subsequently, me. Rocking me a little. I let the wind rock me, as I felt the latent heat from the boulder rise up through my jeans.

  My minivan was parked on a dirt service road not too far from here. The service road had been closed off by a locked gate. Amazingly, the lock just happened to fall apart in my hands as I innocently examined it. Shoddy workmanship.

  So, what the hell, I let myself in.

  Now my jeans were dusty and my cute shoes were officially dirty. But I didn't care. I needed to be out here. Craving the solace, the peace, the oneness.

  I closed my eyes and rested my hands on my knees. My children were at home with the sitter, and so I let all worry for them disappear. I took a deep breath, not because I needed the oxygen, but because I wanted to center myself. Years ago, I had done yoga. I knew something about centering myself.

  Months ago, I had learned the art of automatic writing, in which one channels another entity to receive messages from angels, or the spirit world, or from Jim Morrison.

  Either way, the results were interesting, but now I was determined to go beyond automatic writing. To go deeper, straight to the source. And what was the source? I didn't know. Not entirely. But I was determined to find out.

  With my eyes still shut, I tilted my face up toward the heavens, and was met immediately by a mostly cool breeze laced with some tendrils of heat. I always welcomed heat, no matter how small or fleeting.

  I focused on my breathing, releasing my thoughts to the wind, where I imagined them being snatched up and escorted far away. To meditate - to do it right - I had to have my mind blank. As blank as I could make it.

  Breathing was the key. No, the act of focusing on my breathing was the key. Focusing on something simple. Mindless. It settles the mind. Relaxes it. Bypasses the ego. The ego, the fore-mind, that thing with which we use to calculate and imagine and worry and ponder, didn't like to be bypassed. The ego liked to remain in control.

  So I continued concentrating on the fresh air flowing into my lungs. Despite my best efforts, my mind drifted to my son and soon worry gripped me, but I released that thought, too. To the wind.

  Breathing.

  Flowing in and out.

  In and out.

  Over lips and teeth and tongue. . . deep into my lungs.

  I thought of blood dealers and corpses hanging upside down.

  I shivered and released that thought, too. Into the wind.

  My mind felt blank, although fleeting images sometimes crossed it. Kingsley. Fang. Sherbet. Strong men. Strange men. Sexy men.

  I released those thoughts, too.

  I felt myself relaxing as I did more deep breathing. I didn't need to breathe, granted, but oxygen in this case wasn't the purpose here. The purpose here was to relax my mind. To calm it. To calm it so completely that I could access. . . what?

  I didn't know.

  But I was about to find out.

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  Breathe in, Samantha.

  Just breathe.

  It's easy. Yes, so easy. Do you see how easy it is, Sam? Focus, child. There now. Good, good. Just focus on your breathing. You're almost there. Good, good.

  Good. . .

  It took a moment for me to realize that the thoughts in my head were no longer my own.

  Welcome back, Samantha Moon, said the voice.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I knew I was still sitting on the boulder overlooking the desert, but I also knew that something very, very strange was happening to me.

  The strangeness boiled down to a feeling. I felt unhinged, disconnected from my body. I knew I was sitting cross-legged on the hard surface, but I felt as if I were somewhere else, too. Not necessarily above my body. Somewhere else. Where, exactly, I didn't know. As I thought about this, I suddenly felt a jolting wave of dizziness.

  Ground yourself, Sam, said the voice.

  I knew something about grounding, having done it back when I was doing the automatic writing. Quickly, I imagined three silver ropes, attached to my ankles and lower spine, reaching all the way down into the earth - down, down - all the way to the center of the earth, where they fastened themselves around three massive boulders. Grounded. To the very earth itself.

  Very good, Sam.

  Instantly, the feeling of separateness ceased. I was back in my body. Although my eyes were still closed, I began seeing light appear at the peripherals of my vision. The light continued filling my head, growing steadily brighter, so bright that I was suddenly sure it wasn't coming from inside my mind after all. Surely it was coming from somewhere beyond me. Above me. Around me. Within me. From everywhere.

  And from within that light I saw a vague shape materialize. A woman. A glowing woman. Her face and body remained indistinct.

  Baby steps, Samantha. I'll reveal more later. Once you've gotten the hang of this.

  Hang of what?

  Speaking to me.

  Who are you?

  Everything and nothing.

  I don't understand.

  You will. In time.

  The light coalesced into a room made of crystal. Now the burning white light shone brightly beyond, refrac
ting through the crystal, exploding, washing over me. For the first time in a long, long time, I didn't shrink from the light.

  Where am I?

  The woman stepped closer to me. She was, in fact, a lovely older woman. Roundish. Happy, smiling face. Pink cheeks. She looked like anyone's kind grandmother. Serenity surrounded her, radiated from her.

  You are in a safe place, Samantha.

  What's happening to me?

  You've bypassed the physical world and entered into the spiritual.

  But I'm still sitting here on the ledge.

  Yes, Sam. The spiritual is never very far away. In fact, it's closer than most people think.

  I don't understand.

  You will. In time.

  You keep saying that.

  Because it keeps being true.

  So I'm in the physical, but also in the spiritual? I'm in both places?

  You are more than your physical body, Sam. The body is the physical receptacle of the soul.

  Except my body can't die.

  Not anymore. Not in the traditional sense.

  Then I'm a freak.

  You are the result of entities long ago attempting a shortcut, entities who lived in fear.

  Lived in fear of what?

  Dying. Their creation - the vampire - lives on to this day, as do similar creations.

  I never asked for this.

  Not overtly, Sam.

  What does that mean?

  It means that, on some level, you did ask for this. On some level you did ask to become more than you were, stronger than you were, faster than you were, braver than you were.

  And this is the answer? To turn me into a ghoul?

  It was an answer. An answer that you would accept.

  But I'm living a nightmare.

  You are choosing to live a nightmare, Samantha Moon. Choose differently.

  I grew silent, fully aware that I was still sitting on the boulder overlooking the desert, but also aware that my mind - or spirit - was in this crystal room. I'm certain the sensation would have disoriented me, if not for the grounding done earlier. The woman moved a little closer, her hands clasped before her. She seemed content to watch me sweetly, lovingly.

  Who are you? I asked, thinking the words. And please, no cryptic answers.

  Now the woman in front of me disappeared. So did the crystal room. I was given a view of the universe, which spread before me in every direction. I sensed everything, saw everything, felt everything. I also sensed a glorious presence that infused everything, a presence from which all things were born.

  Is that you? The thing that which is in all things? Everywhere and nowhere?

  A good way of looking at things, Sam.

  But, then, why are you talking to me?

  As I thought those words, I was once again back in the crystal room. I sensed that if I would open my physical eyes, all of this would disappear and I would be back on the boulder, alone in the desert, and no doubt wondering if I had dreamed all of this. So, I kept my eyes closed. Yes, tightly closed.

  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 tw
o 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.