Vampire Sun

by J. R. Rain

  I knew she was speaking to me. The devil bitch that lived inside me. She had been gaining some ground in my mind. What that meant, exactly, I didn’t know.

  But I felt it.

  And, for tonight, I didn’t care.

  Instead, I thought again of the new hires. The thought of anyone fearing me intrigued me. No, not quite intrigued me. Excited me.

  I swallowed, licked my lips.

  I felt my heartbeat pick up a little. It went from beating maybe five times a minute to twenty or thirty. Yeah, I’m a freak through and through.

  No, Sssamantha. You are a hunter.

  Yes, I thought. A hunter.

  I liked that. I would be a damn good one, too. No, I’d never hunted a living person for the express purpose of killing them, just for killing’s sake. Other vampires did this. Not me. Indeed, other vampires explored their true natures.

  Not me, though.

  Not until now. I needed to do something about that. I needed to hunt the living, to feel their fear, to taste their blood, and to live again. To really, truly live.

  I knew it was the demon bitch inside me, encouraging me, influencing me, possessing me...but I didn’t care.

  Not true, I thought suddenly, shaking my head. I do care. I care very much.

  Alarmed, I sat up. I had to care. I had to. Caring was the only thing that separated me from her. And the demon was a her, too. I sensed her repressed femininity. I sensed that she had been enamored with her own good looks, too. She had been beautiful once, I felt. Interestingly, I sensed she might have been a mother once, too, but I could be wrong. Either way, more and more of her was creeping through, bubbling up from the depths. Whether or not she controlled what came through to me, I didn’t know. Perhaps the information that came through was random. Perhaps not. Perhaps the information was carefully provided, controlled, designed to do exactly what it was doing to me right now: breaking me down.

  No, I thought. No, dammit. No one is breaking me down.

  The bitch inside me didn’t often express herself clearly by using complete sentences or stringing together a coherent thought. I suspected she couldn’t. I suspected our connection wasn’t complete, and so, only parts of her came through. Random, stray thoughts.

  More often than not, she came through via feelings. At first, I had always known it was her. At first, her bloodlust thoughts were easily distinguishable from my own. Now, not so much.

  Now, her thoughts felt natural, comfortable. Even worse, they felt like my own thoughts. This should have scared me. In the least, it should have worried me. But it didn’t, not anymore.

  She was a powerful entity. I would benefit from her presence in my life. She would benefit, too. She would live again, and I would have untold strength.

  “Now, dammit, get the fuck out of my head.”

  I stood, pacing, fighting her presence, recalling how the entity within Hanner had possessed her completely. Would that happen to me? What would it feel like to have another control my body? To speak for me? To act for me? To think for me?

  I paced in the small space behind my desk, careful of power cords. Why I had so many power cords, I didn’t know. I spotted a charger for my phone, my iPad, my Kindle and even one for a Nook. I didn’t even own a Nook.

  I avoided it, along with myriad of other cords that seemed to multiply behind my desk, all of which served some damned purpose.

  Except the cords weren’t what was really troubling. No, my mind was on possession. On, in fact, losing my mind. Of having it being stolen by another.

  “No!” I said, pacing faster and faster. Now, my foot did get caught in the Nook cord. I kicked it, and it came out. Along with all the other wires in the wall.

  Cursing—but thankful I had something to distract me—I went about plugging all the wires back in, praying I got them right. A moment later, when I had successfully turned on my computer again, there was Fang’s response, waiting for me in the AOL message chatroom.

  Hi, Moon Dance.

  Chapter Ten

  We hadn’t spoken in many months, not since Fang had shown up one night, here in my office, when he revealed to me that he had killed many.

  Fang had been, of course, compelled to kill by a very old vampire, a vampire who was now dead, thanks to Kingsley. With the old vampire’s death, the connection had been severed and Fang had come instantly to my rescue, and for that I would be forever thankful to him. That he had killed many while not compelled was cause for much concern.

  Now, of course, I was having a hard time remembering why the killing of innocent people had bothered me so much. After all, wasn’t killing in a vampire’s nature? Yes, it was. To kill and to feed and to grow stronger and stronger...

  Yesss. Good, Sam, good.

  I shook my head and ran my fingers through my thick hair. It was her, of course.

  “Not me,” I said, gasping a little. “Go back to hell.”

  I took a few deep, steadying breaths and looked again at the words on the laptop screen before me, framed around the AOL chat window.

  Hi, Moon Dance.

  I raised my fingers to the keyboard, and began typing...

  * * *

  Hi, Fang.

  He didn’t immediately reply. I waited a few minutes, my clawed fingers hovering over the keyboard. The image of a gargoyle perched on the ledge of an old building came to mind. For some reason, I smiled.

  No, she smiled. She liked dark things, disturbing things. Granted, gargoyles were hardly the things of nightmares. No, she was pleased that her thoughts were so quickly coming to the surface. That her thoughts were mingling easily with my own.

  I shook my head again, fought off a brief wave of panic, and typed: You there, Fang?

  A minute passed. My house was so quiet that I could literally hear my kids’ heartbeats. Anthony’s beat a little slower than Tammy’s. Was that because of the vampire blood in him? My heartbeat rate was only a fraction of that of a human’s. Had I committed my son to a lifetime of making excuses for who he was, and why he was different? Maybe. But the alternative was far, far worse. Better a lifetime of excuses than no life at all.

  Not too long ago, the thing within had tried to escape using another means: procuring all four magical medallions, medallions meant to help vampires battle that which lives within them. At least, that was what the alchemist Librarian had told me, and Archibald Maximus should know, since he had created the medallions in the first place. Like all things in life, there was a loophole, a way for something good to be used for something bad. Turns out, the collecting of all four medallions at once could also release the demons within. On a desolate island in the Pacific Northwest, I had been lured to my destruction. That hadn’t quite happened, and my son, who had actually consumed one of the medallions in a liquefied form, could live on.

  And live on he did, growing faster than other boys his age, stronger than other boys his age, and, if you asked me and his older sister, gassier than other boys his age.

  I almost smiled. The thing within me didn’t want me to smile. It didn’t like innocent jokes. It didn’t like humor.

  “Well, fuck you,” I said, and smiled anyway.

  And that was when the AOL chatbox flickered and the status read: “Fang950 is typing.”

  * * *

  Hello, Moon Dance.

  Fang and I used to have a strong telepathic link. So strong that we could often hear each other’s thoughts over a great distance. Now, since becoming a fellow creature of the night, that link was broken. He was inaccessible to me, and that was a loss greater to me than I was willing to admit.

  You are up late, Fang, I typed.

  Or early, he wrote back almost immediately.

  I smiled, pleased to see some of his old personality coming through. My last memory of Fang had been troubling at best. He was robotic, lifeless, and, if you asked me, lost.

  Now that I had him, I wasn’t sure what to say to him. It had been many months since we had last spoken, and many more before that whe
n our relationship was irrevocably changed. After some false starts, I finally wrote: Still a vampire?

  Or something.

  I nodded to myself. Yes, being a vampire wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. A host was more accurate.

  Where you living now?

  In L.A.’s Echo Park district.

  Still bartending?

  I almost, almost sensed him laughing, but probably not. He would have laughed at that, but not anymore.

  No, Moon Dance.

  Okay, I’ll bite. No pun intended. What are you doing for work these days?

  I don’t need to work, Sam.

  I nodded to myself, suddenly getting it. Hanner left you money. Probably a lot of money.

  Something like that.

  Of course, Hanner wouldn’t have had a traditional will, not when she was over a century old. Besides, whoever heard of a vampire having a will? More than likely, Hanner had simply given Fang access to her accumulated wealth. Probably the case with other vampires, with money being passed to each new generation of bloodsuckers. I was probably the only idiot vampire who actually worked. For all I knew, Fang was sitting on top of a pile of gold, stolen and stockpiled by the ageless and undead. No doubt stolen and looted from countless victims. Or, even better, just given to them by compelled victims.

  I could do something similar, I knew. I could, with some training, stand outside the local Bank of America, and compel all those who came and went to empty their savings accounts for me. In fact, it would probably be easy to do.

  Indeed, the entity within me perked up at this line of thinking. Yes, she and her kind were used to living this way, of manipulating and exploiting and destroying.

  I pushed her out of my mind, or as far out as I could.

  So, you do nothing, then? I asked him. Just sitting around and drinking goblets of blood?

  Oh, there is much I do, Sam. Some things I can talk about, some I can’t.

  You are setting up another blood bank, I wrote. No, I might not be able to read his mind anymore, but I was also a trained investigator who happened to be pretty good at her job.

  Yes, Sam, but it’s not what you think.

  And what am I thinking?

  That we are killing people, draining them dry, like Robert Mason did in Fullerton.

  And Hanner, I said. Let’s not forget her role.

  Indeed, her role had been to help the murders slip through the cracks, to help the police forget, to hide and manipulate the facts.

  Fang was writing something, and then paused. I knew this because the words “Fang950 is typing” had been flashing in the upper corner and then it quit flashing. I really didn’t know what he was going to write, but a part of me thought he might have been about to defend Hanner.

  He loved her, I suddenly thought. He loved her and he’d killed her...

  Killed her for me.

  I knew that Hanner and Fang had been close. I knew that she had taught him the ins and outs of vampirism, something that had never been taught to me. Hell, it still seemed I was learning something new every day.

  Yeah, it stood to reason that the very creature who had turned him, trained him, and fed him in his early days would be the object of his affection.

  I got it. I understood it. I was sure it would have happened to anyone.

  But that didn’t stop me from feeling jealous.

  And yeah, I got all of this from a simple hesitation, a simple pregnant pause. It might as well have been pregnant with twins.

  Whatever that meant.

  Anyway, after his telling hesitation, he started writing again. The Hanner operation was flawed, he wrote. Most of the victims didn’t have to die.

  Most? I wrote. Wouldn’t it be more human to say that “none of them needed to die”?

  Yes, of course. I was loose with my speech. Or with my fingertips.

  I nearly asked what else he was loose with. It was a damn good thing Fang couldn’t read my mind.

  Then again, why was I feeling jealous? Fang had, after all, practically thrown himself at me. But our timing had never been right. And then, the dumbass had to get himself turned into a fellow creature of the night. Yes, but the Fang I had developed feelings for wasn’t the same Fang I was corresponding with now. At least, I didn’t think it was. Who this new Fang was, well, I would just have to wait and see.

  So, how are you running things differently? I asked, typing.

  It’s an underground blood bank. We pay the humans for their blood.

  How do you recruit them?

  Someone who knows someone. Word gets around in the right places.

  Addicts, I wrote. It wasn’t a question.

  Drugs don’t affect our system, Sam. You should know that. And if you didn’t, you do now.

  I could almost—almost—hear Fang’s enthusiasm. Yes, he was finally a creature of the night. The thing he had wanted most in the world. More than even me.

  You’re recruiting crackheads, I typed.

  Not all are addicts, Sam. Some are normal people, everyday people. They give us blood and go home. There’s no reason to kill anyone and draw attention to ourselves.

  Are you doing it for the money?

  No, Sam. I don’t need money. Not anymore. But others who are working for us—the humans—yes, they are very much doing it for the money.

  You’re working with crooks?

  In a word, yes.

  And this is why I haven’t heard from you? I wrote. Because you were putting together this...operation?

  There was a long pause, and then this: I had my reasons for being away, Sam. Yes, I was putting together this operation, but mostly...

  He stopped there, so I finished for him: Mostly, you were mourning her.

  Yes, Sam.

  You loved her.

  In a way, yes.

  More than me?

  Not now, Sam. I’m not ready to talk about any of this now. Please.

  Fine. Sorry. I collected myself, took in a deep breath and wrote: So, how, exactly, does this operation work?

  We’re more efficient now, he wrote. And we have a consistent, steady supply of blood.

  Are all of your “suppliers” willing suppliers? I asked.

  I’m not going to lie to you, Sam. Not to you, not ever. Some of our sources will never know what happened to them.

  These would be your fresh sources?

  Yes, Sam, he typed. Those who provide blood straight from the vein, if you will.

  Where do you find these sources?

  Same place, he typed. They are simply led to a special room...

  Where a vampire is waiting.

  Yes.

  Who feasts from the victim, and then compels them to forget.

  Yes, but those are only rare occasions. Mostly, we collect blood in these facilities. It’s win-win, Sam. No bodies, people get paid. Everyone is happy.

  I should have been repulsed, disgusted, alarmed, or at least concerned. I was none of these things. I was, if anything, greatly intrigued. And I didn’t even think it was her who was intrigued. No, the person I was now, the thing I had become, saw the useful practicality in Fang’s enterprise.

  And, I reasoned, was my arrangement with Allison much different? She permitted me to drink from her, not for monetary gain, but for extra-sensory gain. To increase her sixth sense. We, in effect, used each other. If there was ever a codependent relationship, this was it.

  Yes, for vampires to exist, we needed blood. But we didn’t need to kill and draw attention to ourselves. Fang had figured out an efficient enterprise. I admired him for it.

  Lord help me, I admired him.

  I have to go now, Sam.

  Okay, I wrote. Talk later?

  Of course. Goodnight, Moon Dance.

  Goodnight, Fang.

  And with that, he signed out.

  Chapter Eleven

  I was back in the City of Corona.

  This time, I was at the Corona Police Department. The city, which boasted more than a hundred and fi
fty thousand people, also had, unfortunately, a thriving homicide department.

  Detective Jason Sharp was exactly that: sharp. Or, more exact, angular. His young face segued into a pointy chin. His cheekbones were to die for. At least, for a woman. His nose was long and arrow-like. He looked a bit like a drawing come to life. He wore a white, long-sleeved shirt buttoned snugly at his throat. His Adam’s apple rested directly on top of his collar. It bounced and bobbed seemingly with a will of its own. Next to his Adam’s apple was a thick, carotid vein. It pulsed every now and then. But that might have been my imagination.

  Detective Sharp was busy bringing up a file on his computer screen. I couldn’t see his computer screen, although I could see it glowing in his eyes—eyes that flashed and darted in their sockets like butterflies on crack. If I had to guess, I would say Detective Sharp had some serious A.D.D. going on. My son’s eyes darted around like that, scanning everything, seeing everything, absorbing everything, reading everything. I always suspected my son had A.D.D. My son was a gamer. I wondered if Detective Sharp was a closet gamer, too.

  I said, “You’re new to the case.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who was the original detective?”

  “Renaldo,” he said.

  “And where’s Renaldo?”

  “Parkview Cemetery.”

  “Dead?”

  “Gee,” he said, glancing at me. “You must be a real detective.”

  “I was an agent, too,” I said.

  “Federal?”

  “Yup,” I said.

  “Sorry if I sounded like an ass.”

  “Oh, you did.”

  “It’s just that some blowhard private dicks come in here with all sorts of swagger—and don’t know shit about what they’re talking about. I didn’t know you worked for the feds.”

  “Now you do.”

  “Now you’re on your own?”

  “I am.”

  “Happy?”

  “Turns out I like working for myself. I happen to be a helluva boss.”

  He laughed. “I couldn’t do it. I need someone riding my ass all day. Otherwise...”

  “Otherwise, you would play HALO all day.”

  “You sound like you’re judging me.”

  “My son plays HALO,” I said.