Vampire Dawn

by J. R. Rain

  As we walked along, I slid a hand along the rough paneled walls, risking splinters. I did this not for balance, but rather to receive psychic hits. I'd discovered that energy is stored in a location - in its walls, for instance. For me, all I had to do was touch such a wall to unlock a location's memory. Weird stuff, I know, but it works.

  And what I was seeing now wasn't pretty.

  Men and women being forcibly dragged along this very hallway. Kicking and screaming and fighting. Horrific scenes and sounds forever recorded - embedded - within these very walls.

  I shivered and, with a procession of ghosts trailing behind us, continued down the narrow corridor.

  * * *

  In the hallway before us, a partially materialized ghost - a fragment that looked barely humanoid - drifted toward me, unbeknownst to Sherbet.

  It swept through Sherbet, who was leading the way and shivered noticeably, and headed straight for me. As it did so, it took on a little more shape and soon I could see that it was a young woman. Or had been a young woman. Like the others, there was a massive gash along her neck.

  As I attempted to step around her - stepping through just seemed a little rude - she drifted to one side and blocked my path. She raised a hand. I tried stepping around her again and again she blocked my path.

  "Jesus, Sam. You dancing back there?" said Sherbet, turning and shining his flashlight over me. The light went straight through the girl and even caused some of her form to scatter like frightened fish.

  "I'm being blocked by a spirit. "

  "Of course you are. I should have realized. "

  The wound in the girl's neck was ghastly. Faint but ghastly. She drifted before me, rising and falling on the supernatural currents.

  I said, "She's warning us. "

  Sherbet was about to say something, then stopped himself. I was giving him a glimpse into my thoughts, allowing him to see what I was seeing, through my eyes. I heard him gasp a little. He backed into the wall behind him.

  As the old detective was working through his issues, I reached out a hand and touched the girl's hand. A cold shiver rippled through me, followed by something akin to an electric jolt. I whispered to her, "We'll be careful, I promise. "

  She was weeping now, into her other hand, and as I held her ethereal hand, which glowed in mine, I closed my eyes and wished very hard for her to leave this dark place, to leave and never return. When I opened them again, she was gone.

  "Jesus, Sam," said Sherbet, holding his heart. "You've got to warn a guy before you pull a stunt like that. I damn near wet myself. "

  "Sorry," I said absently. "Let's go. "

  He led the way forward and soon we came upon the same wooden stairs I had seen in my vision.

  "I guess we go down," said Sherbet.

  "Would be my guess," I said.

  "And away we go," he said, and led the way down.

  Chapter Forty-four

  At the bottom of the stairs there was another door.

  A light shone from underneath. More spirits were here. A lot more. I counted nine. Many were appearing and disappearing through the door. A few looked back at me.

  "This is it," I said, whispering.

  "How do you know?" said Sherbet.

  "Trust me. "

  It was all I could do to control myself. Yes, I've had cravings in my life. Sugar cravings. Food cravings. When I was pregnant with Tammy, I had ice cravings.

  This. . . this was no craving.

  This was a hunger. A yearning. A need. I shielded my thoughts from Sherbet. No man should hear such thoughts, especially a man I liked and respected.

  So much blood, so much blood. . .

  So fresh, fresh, fresh. . .

  Truth was, I had never been so close to so much blood. So much fresh blood. So much fresh human blood.

  I heard Sherbet's thoughts as clear as day. He was wondering why they would dump the bodies when the bodies could be disposed of down here. He had just decided that perhaps the killers enjoyed playing a cat-and-mouse game with the police when we both heard a noise from behind the door. The sound of a man grunting. Perhaps lifting something. Sherbet cocked his head, listening.

  And that's when a girl screamed.

  Sherbet jumped backward, startled. I didn't jump. I kicked. I lifted my sneaker and kicked in the door as hard as I could.

  Chapter Forty-five

  Oh, sweet Jesus.

  The sight, although overwhelming, was not unexpected. Two human corpses hung upside down from the ceiling, suspended by ropes. Both were naked. Both had their throats cut open.

  Both had been completely drained of blood. The gashes in their necks had been cut all the way to the bone, nearly decapitating both men. They were heavily bearded. One had a lot of tattoos. Both were likely homeless men.

  Oh, sweet Jesus.

  My knees threatened to give. Hell, my whole world threatened to give. If I had needed to breathe, I would have been gasping. I probably would have fainted, too. Sherbet stumbled in behind me, making a strangled sound. But he kept it together.

  We both spotted the men with the girl at the same time.

  "Get the fuck down, motherfuckers," said Sherbet.

  There were two of them - the same two I had seen creeping around in my backyard. One was holding a wicked-looking knife. They had begun to make a run for it, but thought better of it. The one guy dropped the knife and got down.

  The girl was sitting in a chair and shivering violently. Shivering because she was completely naked. She was also maybe eighteen years and if I had to guess she was a runaway: bruises on her body, needle tracks along her inner arm. She was whimpering and rocking hysterically.

  So that's how they did it. Prostitutes. Bums. Or those without family and homes. Anyone who wouldn't be missed.

  From deeper in the room, I heard the sounds of running feet and someone cursing.

  "Get him, Sam," said Sherbet, nodding toward the sounds. "Get that piece of shit. "

  Now I was moving, flashing quickly through the cold room, around the hanging corpses, around a corner, and down a short hallway -

  Where, at the far end, Robert Mason was opening a door.

  I picked up my speed. The walls swept by in a blur, and I slammed into the ex-soap opera actor so hard that I drove him through the partially open door and into the room beyond, tearing the door from its hinges. We landed in a heap, with me on top, and I didn't stop punching Robert Mason and that beautiful face of his until I felt his cheekbones shatter.

  Chapter Forty-six

  It was late. Or early.

  I was sitting in the theater seats, in the middle row about halfway up, watching the spectacle unfold before me. Medical examiners poured in and out of the theater. Detectives interviewed theater workers.

  According to snatches of conversation I was hearing, many bodies had been dug up within an adjoining dirt tunnel.

  People came and went. Witnesses came and went. Reporters came and went. Covered bodies came and went.

  I sat in the row of seats alone, watching all of this unfold before me like a macabre play. A play just for me. Except there was no plot. No lead character. Just an endless procession of dead bodies.

  I had considered calling Kingsley. And I would, soon enough. Once I had processed what was going on around me. But I was missing something here. Something wasn't gelling.

  Everything seemed so matter-of-fact. So seamless. No hysterics. And why was no one interviewing me? Other than Sherbet giving me a quick update, he mostly ignored me, too.

  It was almost as if I wasn't there.

  As I sat and watched, cradling my jaw in my hand, seeing again and again the image of the drained bodies hanging in the air, someone sat next to me. I turned, startled. It wasn't easy to sneak up next me.

  There was, of course, only one person that I knew who could pull it off.

  Although Detective Hann
er's eyes were looking at me, I sensed she was also aware of all the activity still going on before us, too. Her eyes were always a little too wide, always a little too alert, as if she herself were always in a mild state of surprise. Too wide, too wild. There was something close to a fire just behind her pupils, too. Something that seemed to burn with supernatural intensity. Maybe only myself and those like me could see it, I didn't know. But it was there. These were not human eyes. She stared at me and did not blink. Not for a long time, at least.

  I waved my hand toward the action on the stage. "You are a part of this. "

  "As are you, Sam. "

  "I don't know what you're talking about. "

  "You have partaken of many who have been slain here, Sam. Do not deny that you knew otherwise. "

  "You told me the blood was from willing donors. "

  "Some more willing than others, Sam. You knew this. I told you this, often. "

  "You did not tell me you killed these people. "

  She tilted her head a little. It was not a human gesture. It was, if anything, something alien. "I did not kill these people, Sam. I was a buyer only. And, perhaps, an active supporter. " She grinned and spread her hands. "Of the arts. "

  "You covered up his crimes. "

  "Of course, Sam. He was of value to me and our kind. "

  "Sherbet knows," I said. "I told him about you. "

  The fire in her eyes briefly flared. "I know, Sam. I've removed the memory of your conversation. " She motioned to the others moving across the stage, the policemen, detectives, medical workers. "As I have done with all here tonight. None will suspect our involvement, or the involvement of our kind. In fact, most are not aware that we are sitting here, watching them. "

  "But how?"

  "It's not very difficult to do, Sam. With a little training, you could do the same. Especially you. "

  "What does that mean, especially me?"

  "You are particularly. . . gifted. "

  "I don't understand. "

  "You display a wide range of. . . abilities. "

  "I thought all vampires do what I do. "

  She shook her head. "You thought wrong, Sam. Very few can do what you do, although most of us possess typical gifts. "

  "Typical gifts?"

  "The ability to influence thoughts and change minds, minor psychic sensitivity, although only a few of us can transform into something greater. "

  "Can you?"

  "Sadly, no. You, my dear, are a rare breed. "

  "Why?"

  She studied me for a long moment. Never once did she blink. "The reason is the person who changed you, of course. "

  "Who was he?"

  "One of the oldest of our kind. "

  "Why did he change me?"

  "I don't know," she said, but as she spoke, the fire in her eyes dimmed a little.

  "You're lying," I said.

  She laughed hollowly. "Do you see, Sam? Most of our kind would not have detected a lie. Tell me, how did you know?"

  "Your eyes. "

  "What about my eyes?"

  "The fire in them. . . it went out a little, dimmed. "

  "What fire?"

  "Just behind your pupils. "

  "You can see a fire there?" she asked.

  "Yes. "

  "Interesting. "

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because I see no fire in your eyes. "

  "Fine," I said, turning a little more in my seat. "So, I'm a fucking freak among freaks. That has little to do with the issue here. "

  "And what is the issue here, Sam?"

  "The killing of innocent people. "

  "The killers will go to jail. Sherbet will be a hero. In fact, he thinks he came here alone, that he acted alone tonight, that he stumbled upon the secret door behind the mirror, alone, that he stopped both killers, alone. " She paused and stared at me. "He has no memory of you tonight, outside of your phone call to him. "

  "Jesus. "

  "Does Sherbet still know about me?"

  "Yes, although it was very foolish of you to have told him. I can only go back so far to remove memories, as you will someday discover yourself. Already you are becoming more and more like us, and less and less like them. "

  "No," I said.

  "Oh? Do you not feel the stronger effects of the sun? Are you not able to venture outside as long as you could before?" She paused and actually blinked. "Someday soon you will never be able to venture out into the light of day. Ever. And your hunger for blood - human blood - will become insatiable. "

  "Stop it, goddammit. "

  "I will stop, Sam. But then you and I will have this talk again soon, and you will curse the day that you stopped such a productive output of blood. You will curse the day that something so useful had been wiped out. "

  I shook, my head, and kept on shaking it.

  "I was like you, Sam. A mother. Full of love and hope. Hope that I would someday be normal again. Hope that this would all turn out to be a bad dream. That was a long, long time ago. Now my son is long dead. The hope is long gone. And I am hungry. Very, very hungry. "

  Solemn voices filled the theater. Police personnel continued pouring across the stage. All looked shell-shocked. All looked numb. Sherbet was speaking to someone urgently. My detective friend never once looked my way.

  "There has to be another way," I said.

  Hanner reached out and touched my arm. Her fingers were ice cold. "Someday you will see that there is no other way. " She paused, then leaned in and whispered into my ear. "Someday soon. "

  She stood and was about to leave when I said, "So, this is it. You walk away from this?"

  "Yes," she said. "And so do you. "

  Chapter Forty-seven

  I was in the desert again.

  This time, a little further out. In fact, about eighty-five miles out. I was in the hills above a small town called Pioneertown. A fitting name if ever there was one. Pioneertown had street names like Annie Oakley Road, Rawhide Road, and Mane Street, as in a horse's mane. Rebellious.

  In all, it featured a few dozen homes, a post office and an inn, all of which I could see from my position high upon this cliffside ledge.

  Sunrise was about an hour away. My minivan was parked about a thirty-minute hike away. I was sitting on an exposed ledge with no hope for shade. Doing the math, that meant I had thirty minutes to decide if I was going to do this.

  And I was determined to do this.

  Seven months ago, I had leaped from a hotel balcony. Truly a leap of faith. I was either going to fly or fall. At the time, I had been at wits' end. My kids were gone, my house was gone, and my cheating bastard of a husband was gone. I had nothing to lose. And so I had leaped. . . and the rest was history.

  Now, my life was a little more stable. I had my kids, my house and a boyfriend who seemed to care for me, a boyfriend who happened to be a fellow creature of the night, even if it was only one night of the month.

  The desert birds were awakening, chirping in and around the magnificent Joshua trees which were scattered across the undulating hills below me.

  Although my personal life had stabilized, something else was unraveling: my physical body. Perhaps "unraveling" was too strong a word. Perhaps even the wrong word. Perhaps the better word was progressing. Progressing inevitably to a full-blooded creature of the night, unable even to step out into the light of day.

  But I had to step out into the light of day, dammit. I had to pick my kids up from school. I had to watch little Anthony's soccer practices, even if from afar, even if from the safety of my van.

  I had to.

  I had to, goddammit.

  I couldn't lose that. I had lost so much already. Watching my son play soccer from my minivan was not too much to ask for, was it? It was shitty, yes, but I at least had that.

  My feet hung over the ledge. Directly under ledge was, I think, a small cave, because I could hear critter
s moving around inside. These days, I didn't fear critters, even the slithery ones with rattles on their tales. Unless their fangs were composed of silver spikes, or their poison of molten silver, I was good to go.

  I checked my watch. Fifty minutes until sunrise. I could still turn around and head back to the relative safety of my minivan, which was parked under the shade of a rocky overhang.

  So, why had I come out here? All the way out here? The same reason I had leaped from the balcony seven months ago.

  No turning back. I was going to do it.

  Or I was going to die.

  I held in my hand the emerald medallion. The golden disk was nearly as big as my palm. I absently ran my thumb over the embedded emeralds, which were arranged into three roses. A cracked, leather strap was threaded through a small hoop in the medallion.

  Behind me soared the San Bernardino Mountains. The east-facing San Bernardino Mountains. If I was going to see my first dawn in seven years, I was going to do it right. I was going to do it high upon a hill, facing east, with nothing - and I mean nothing - blocking my view.

  This is crazy.

  Already I was feeling the first stages of exhaustion. Already I was feeling a strong need to lie down somewhere comfortable and prepare for the comatose state that was sleep.

  Instead, I sat here on the ledge, and, as the eastern sky turned from black to purple, as the brilliant flares of light that illuminated the night for me began to decrease, I knew that soon there would be no going back.

  No going back.

  Ever.

  Forty minutes to sunrise. I had ten minutes to make my choice. I found that I was breathing fast. Filling my lungs and body and brain with oxygen. Except these days I didn't need much oxygen, if any. These days it was an old, nervous habit. A remnant of my humanity.

  And what was so great about humanity?

  My kids, for one. And daylight, for another.

  Thirty minutes. I began rocking on the ledge, forward and backward. If I wanted to comfortably work my way back to my van, then I had to leave now.

  Now.

  Except I didn't leave. Instead, I continued rocking, continued holding the gold-and-emerald medallion.

  I suspected the sun would kill me. Perhaps not right off. But soon enough. I suspected it would quickly render me incapable of movement and, once unable to move, I would just burn alive. In complete agony. Right here where I was sitting.