by Hunter Blain
He chanted something under his breath, and I could feel an ethereal hand slide over me without pausing. I felt it rest at where my arm had been lying. Smoke from the freshly seared John flesh still drifted in the air where the arm had been burned with the light.
After a moment, Locke took in a deep breath and said, “Well, that’s anticlimactic. Died like the coward you were. Your father would have been ashamed. At least he died like a man.”
I was stunned by what had just pierced my ears and ricocheted throughout my brain.
After realization set in, rage built in my chest, and my remaining hand, which was resting on my stomach, clenched into a fist, moving the dirt as I did.
Locke took notice of the sound, but couldn’t locate exactly where it was coming from.
“I still remember how he begged for your mother’s life, and yours. He didn’t care how much we tortured him as long as we let his wife and son go. I lied, of course, and promised I would free the both of you the instant he gave me his confession. He gave me everything and more.”
The weight of what he was saying crushed my chest and turned my guts into sludge. The only reason I wasn’t shaking with anger was simply because I had nothing left in me, plus the iron that had eaten most of my skin and pierced my chest kept me barely not-alive. All I could do was lay there, listening to his taunts about how he had killed my fucking family.
He continued, “After his official confession, I leaned over where we had him strapped to a table, and whispered in his ear exactly what I was going to do to your mother. I’ll give it to him though, Jonathan. He did not cry. He didn’t even tear up. Your father simply turned his gaze to the ceiling and stayed that way, jaw set, as we pulled his intestines out inch by agonizing inch.” Locke finished and stood still, expectantly.
Pressing his point, Locke continued, “I still remember the smell of searing flesh as your mother screamed and clawed, futilely,” he was almost laughing as he spoke, giddy with delight.
Tears welled and mixed with the dirt at the bottom of my eyelids, where the light had just stopped eating my flesh. My bottom lip trembled slightly.
“It was an amusing game, the cat and mouse we played. But then, one day, you just stopped playing. I was so disappointed. Didn’t you get all the clues I left for you? No? You don’t think,” he gasped in mock surprise, “that your companion, Ulric, found them before you and hid them, do you?”
Everything went still in my mind. My body went numb. I saw Ulric in my memories, always insisting on spreading out when searching for information. The only good leads coming from what I found. I knew he had prevented me from discovering the passage of time, but to actually hide information from me…to prolong the chase intentionally. That was a fresh bag of bullshit.
“Hmm. Oh well. I suppose this game is over too soon as well,” he said, and then started to make his way to the ladder. A foot stepped on my face, packing the dirt and mud into my empty sockets. I heard him climb the ladder and remove the cover. Then he was outside.
His words ran through my head over and over, etching themselves permanently in my brain. That son of a bitch had killed my mother and father. Tortured them first. Given my father false hope before crashing it down and prolonging his death. I had finally found my parent’s killer, something that Ulric had denied me for so long.
The sounds of the night filled the tunnel. I needed fresh blood with blinding ferocity. With Da still MIA, it was up to me—blood—to get myself out. I started moving my fingers up my chest like a man crawling on the ground. Kill. It took what seemed like forever—hungry—until I reached the white-hot iron that was stabbed into my chest. It didn’t budge. Now! Now! Now! The thirst was too much to bear. Throat, anyone’s throat, everyone’s throat. It was getting increasingly difficult to focus—feed, feed now—but I managed to push one of my nails underneath the metal sticking out of my skin and lift it forward a fraction of an inch. This gave me new vigor, and I moved my hand closer for better leverage, placed my finger underneath it again, and pushed with all my strength. The nail popped out, and a rush of energy flooded my body. Kill now! Kill now! Eat now! Eat now!
PS shoved me aside and grabbed the wheel, daring me to try and take it back.
I burst through my cavernous grave, oriented myself toward the ladder, and jumped through the ground, exploding to the surface and into the air for several feet. Once I landed—blood nearby, find, kill, eat—I smelled what I craved for survival.
My eyes were still gone, but my other senses were sharper than any mortal predator. I used them to guide me. When in full hunter mode, I could see the blood of my prey in any light. The energy and heat given off pulled at my senses, like a snake tracking its next meal.
Hunt. There! Kneeling at the cold rock, holding the strong-smelling plants. Eat her.
I got closer, stalking her from behind. I leaped through the air and tackled my prey to the ground, sinking my teeth into her neck. I wasn’t delicate, and bit through half her neck. Blood sprayed out, coating the gravestone. Even in my literal blind rage, my consciousness, which had been thrown into the back seat, could read that the gravestone was for a young man of about twenty-five due to the outline of the still warm blood on the stone.
Changing position and moving my mouth to better catch the arterial spray, I drained every last drop. It wasn’t enough, so I pushed on the gaping hole in her neck and sucked with everything I had. Her body shriveled in my hands. I had to spit out chunks of vascular tissue that were ripped out, and dropped the body. The hunger still had control of me.
There was a car running on the path, and I leaped over to it, grabbing and then ripping the door off its hinges. My eyes were growing from the fresh blood, as was the stub at the end of my arm, which grew longer by the second.
As my eyes healed, I could make out a child sitting in the back seat holding a superhero action figure. He lifted the hero in defense, eyes wide and streaming tears. Snarling, I ferociously crawled into the car and reached into the back.
A small, powerful hand grabbed my belt and yanked me backward with enough force to send me tumbling in the air several feet. The seat I had been clutching came with me, ripped from the metal frame of the vehicle.
“John!” Da’s voice screamed at me. But not just at me. Inside my head. I always hated it when supes did that.
The booming voice stunned me, allowing my consciousness to wrestle the wheel back and gain control of my body. The horror of what I had just done started seeping in as the primal part of me receded into a corner of my mind.
In a booming voice, Da commanded, “Look at me, now!”
I lifted my head to see Da glowing white with plumes of energy blooming off him, arcing upward like a Jacob’s ladder.
He. Was. Pissed.
My eyes had fully healed, allowing me to see as my bloodlust wore off. I turned my head and spotted the shriveled mummy of a corpse sitting in front of…
“Her husband’s grave, John. In front of their now orphan child, no less,” Da scolded. The child was whimpering in the back seat. The air carried the smell of urine, furthering my shame. “Now this boy will have to endure losing both his parents with what you did this evening, causing untold psychological damage. You,” he pointed right at me, “are a monster.”
I sat there with my blood-soaked mouth hanging open in wordless surprise.
“I—”
“Don’t. You. Dare!” Da screamed.
There was a flush in my face, and I wasn’t positive if it came from the fresh blood or my overwhelming feeling of embarrassment and shame. With my tail tucked between my legs, I stood up and started walking away, head hanging low. Tears brimmed in my eyes as the surreal events that had taken place cemented into reality. It was all too much. Locke surviving the centuries and revealing Ulric’s betrayal sat at the forefront of my thoughts, making me dizzy.
I stopped walking and looked up from the ground with an expression of anguish blossoming on my face. I had just done to that boy what Locke ha
d done to me…Locke had made me into a monster.
No. I had done that on my own by letting PS off his leash. In my mind’s eye, I turned to stare at PS, who was hiding in the shadows. Only two rubies glinted where his eyes were. He was regretful, but for the same reason a dog was after being punished by its master for chewing the couch; he didn’t know what he had done wrong, only that the master was angry.
I looked up into the sky and vowed to never let PS take full control like that again. I would also have to find a way to ensure that child had a good life, declaring it my responsibility to make it right.
With both of my hands in full functioning order, I placed them in my pockets and sullenly walked away from the cemetery toward the church.
A montage of thoughts rushed into the theater of my mind, and I bore witness to the complete puzzle, now that the missing pieces had been found. Ulric hiding valuable information from me and knowing Locke had survived the centuries, if he had, as Locke had stated, left clues.
Locke. My modern-day bully. The pain in my ass that no cream would calm. I thought about all of our interactions since my move to Houston back in the ’90s. He had to have known who I was and what he had done to me.
I clenched my teeth and shouted at the ground, “He fucking knew who I was the whole time!” My fists where shaking in the air now with fury. “It was all a damn joke to him, and I was the punch line!”
I took in a deep breath and wrestled my emotions back to Zen. I was not going to let Locke control me, especially after what I had just done in the cemetery. I was in control, not that murderous fuck.
It hit me again, and I stopped in my tracks. Looking up to the black, starless sky, I asked myself, “Am I any better?” The wind blew cool across my skin in answer, further drying the blood of the innocent that matted my beard.
I became aware that I was walking down a public road looking like I had just pigged out at an all-you-can-eat BBQ which had run out of napkins. Bringing my hand up to my face, I willed blood through my palms and used that to coat my entire face, letting it hydrate the dried blood and intermingle with mine. After a moment, I willed all the blood back inside my hand again, leaving my face crimson-free. I ran my fingers through my beard to straighten it out, and adjusted the gray beanie still on my head. A slip of hair escaped through one of the bullet holes, and I mentally noted that I should see my dry-cleaning guy soon.
A few minutes after walking while lost in the thick forest of my thoughts, I looked up and realized I was approaching Valenta’s.
“Sign taken,” I said to the building.
Brushing the excess dirt off my coat, shirt, and pants, I put on a fake smile and entered the saloon.
There were two tables occupied by supes that stopped all conversation as soon as I entered. Valenta stood behind the bar with a scowl on his face, making a point not to look at me. I could feel all the other eyes moving up and down my body, piercing my upbeat facade.
I quietly walked to the bar and sat down in front of Val. His eyes were closed tight, and he inhaled deeply. After a few moments, I spoke.
“Hey, man. How’s business tonight?” I meekly asked.
His eyes opened and locked on mine. There was a white fire that blazed behind them, pulsing with the vein in his forehead.
“Ya stupid, undead fuck,” he spat. “You’ve any idea the shitstorm you’re in, boy?” His voice increased in intensity as he went on. “You let mortals see you, boy!” He slammed his fist on the bar, forming a crack down its length and sending glasses careening to the ground. I dropped my face toward the worn wood of the floor, defeated by those I called friend.
The other supes quickly got up from their chairs, dropped some money on the tables, and left. Murmurs lingered in the air until the door closed behind them, leaving only a fierce Valenta, and me.
His voice returned to its normal cadence and volume. “You’re dead, ya realize. Hope ya packed your bags, ’cause you’ve bought a one-way ticket off this mortal plane.”
His words stung, like a father telling his son how disappointed he was.
I clenched my jaw and leveled my gaze at him.
“Let them try. All of them. I’ll tear each and every one of those fuckers down. If they kill me, I’ll drag as many as I can down to the pits of eternity. And when I’m in Hell, I’ll slap the Devil in the face. Now give me a Lilith damn drink, Valenta!” I yelled and slammed down enough money to get the job done.
After the silence grew awkward, Valenta reluctantly poured my first drink. As he started to pull the bottle of my special mix away, I commanded, “Leave it.”
A show of disappointment crept into his face as he studied me. His eyebrows lifted, and his shoulders slightly shrugged in placation as he moved down the bar, picking up pieces of glass as he went. To him, I was already dead. Well, deader.
I floated the entire bottle within an hour, getting super schwifty wasted. Getting up to leave, I glanced over at Val, who was still ignoring me.
Trying to keep my balance, I pointed my finger at the spot where now two Valentas were standing behind the bar twirling in circles around each other, along with all the stools and the bar. My mouth hung open, unable to speak with the room spinning like a kaleidoscope.
I pushed my mouth closed with my hand and slowly turned to the door, teetering to one side or the other the whole way.
In the parking lot, I looked around and noticed it was completely empty.
“Schit,” I slurred, “Bhasterd had mah car towed,” not realizing in my hammered stupor that I had left the car back at the Batcave.
The walk to the church was challenging. Did I say walk? I meant hammered stumble. Even drunk me questioned my decision to imbibe as much as I had, and Val had just let me do it. Of course, he had been operating under the assumption that this might be my last night undead. It wouldn’t take long for the footage to go viral and for a bounty to be put out on my head by the wardens of the supernatural community.
“Lhet dem come,” I said to a featureless black cat that was watching me from the shadows. Its eyes reflected the moonlight. “And when I dead, ill chock slahp tha Debil…wit mah dhick…on the fhace…wit mah dhick.” The cat yawned and sauntered deeper into the shadows, unamused with my antics.
While spinning to face the street again, I lost my balance and fell on my back.
“Dhidn’t fheel hit,” I said, turning my head to try and fight the dizziness.
Footsteps approached. I lay still, trying to triangulate on their position. They came closer, growing more prominent. When they stopped close by, I leaned up and threw my hands out yelling, “Boogity boogity boooooooo!”
There was no one in front of me. A hand rested on my shoulder from behind, and a familiar voice said, “Your friend told me where I could find you.”
“Fhather T? Is that ye?” I said as everything went black.
Chapter 26
Present day
My eyes fought to open. Usually, my preternatural sight let me see in the pitch black, but even after a few moments, my vision was filled with complete darkness.
I was lying on an old, twin-size bed that smelled of a forgotten closet filled with thick clothing. Sitting up, I tried to swing my legs off the bed and onto the floor when noticed a weight attached to my ankle. My hands explored the cold rock of the wall and found a metal loop where a chain was attached. The metal slightly burned my exposed skin as I grasped it to follow its length. It ended at my ankle, where a metal ring wrapped around a leather cuff.
“I wouldn’t play with it too much, my son. It’s iron,” an elderly, calm voice informed.
“F-Father Thomes…” I stammered, “What’s going on?” It was impossible to hide my confusion and building fear. The clergy had hunted vampires for millennia, so I knew Father Thomes could end my existence with little trouble, especially if I was chained to a stone wall with iron. “Why am I so weak if the leather is protecting me from the iron?” I asked almost breathlessly, exhausted.
“It’
s day, John. This was for your own protection, as well as that of the innocent.”
I didn’t respond, knowing exactly what he meant.
“A grieving wife and mother, John. In front of her child. Thank the Almighty that you were stopped before you took his life as well,” he scolded.
A light was switched on, blinding me for a moment. I shielded my eyes, not only from the light but to hide the tears that had sprung.
“I am afraid what you have done has set you back substantially,” he said.
Clearing my eyes and wiping my nose, I pleaded, “It wasn’t me, Father. I had no control.”
He stood up fiercely, glaring at me, and boomed in a commanding voice, “And you think that matters, abomination?” The fear must have been evident in my face because his posture relaxed and he regained composure. “John, we are free to make whatever decision we want on this plane. It’s the consequences we cannot avoid. No matter our intentions, we will always pay for our sins in the end.”
I turned my head away from him, ashamed.
“I am tired of everyone else telling me what I’ve done.” I turned and looked right at him. “I fucking know what I’ve done, old man, and you couldn’t possibly comprehend the eternal struggle that battles inside of me Every. Single. Night. The thirst that clutches at my every thought, clouding my judgment at the best of times, and taking the wheel of control away at the worst.”
Tears brimmed in my eyes again, and fury rose in my chest. I matched his ferocity as I stood. “How dare you pretend to know what it’s like, mortal. How about I throw you and a small child into the churning ocean with a tattered life vest and we see what decisions a drowning man makes.”
With that, his posture straightened and he wordlessly turned and left the room, flipping the light off behind him. The sound of heavy metal locks clicked into place. I was his prisoner.
The urge to scream after him to free me was almost overwhelming, but the futility of it kept my mouth shut. I knew he would never set me free unless I could assure him no other innocents would be hurt. The truth was, I didn’t mind hiding in his basement. None of the other supes would find me here, so it was just as good a spot as any to lay low.