by Jerry Hart
But then he saw it for himself. Owen had killed the first one shortly after he and Chris met, and with a pencil no less. Right through the heart. Chris had encountered many unsightly things on the streets, all of which led to the creation of their enterprise.
He knew he had to tell the others what had happened to him tonight. He wasn’t going to make the mistake people do in the movies, where they became infected by something and didn’t bother telling anyone until it was too late.
There was a knock on the bathroom door. Chris opened it and saw Alyssa standing there, smiling that warm smile she always wore when she was sure someone needed cheering up. Chris saw her eyes settle upon his neck, the smile fading instantly.
“It was only a matter of time, right?” he asked.
* * *
“What do we know about these things?” Chris asked as he paced in front of the others. “What happens when one bites you? Where did they come from? These are the things we are still in the dark about.”
Owen, Alyssa and Daniel were sitting on the couch, pads and pens in their hands, but not writing anything. There was nothing to write, really.
“We’ve never had a chance to find out,” Daniel said. “All the people who have been attacked by these things have died. We do know the vampires aren’t very consistent—first they were leaving bodies everywhere. Then, bodies stopped showing up.”
“Exactly,” Chris said, still pacing. “We’ve never gotten a chance to find out. But our luck may have just changed. I was bitten by one of them tonight. We’ll have to keep an eye on me to see what happens.”
“You mean, use you like a lab rat?” Alyssa asked.
“Yes. It’s our only chance to learn more. While we’re doing this, I’m stepping down as leader of the group. Owen is in charge for the time being.”
“What about Stephanie?” Owen asked.
“She’s in the hospital,” Chris said. “She lost a lot of blood. She’ll be fine for now. Guys, we have to do this. Otherwise, we may never find out how real vampires function.”
“I don’t think they’re vampires,” said Owen.
“What do you mean?”
“Right before I killed Eric”—he chanced a glance at Alyssa—“I mentioned the word vampire and he claimed to not know what that was. It was like he’d been living under a rock his whole life or something.”
“If they’re not really vampires, what are they?” Daniel asked.
“I don’t know,” said Chris, “but I’m guessing I’m our best chance of finding out.”
* * *
Daniel didn’t like this idea at all. He ran his fingers through his short brown hair and stared intently at his laptop. He didn’t know what to look for. He used the search engine to look up vampires but none of the information he was reading was very helpful; they all referred to vampires as “undead creatures.”
From what the monster hunters had encountered on their few occasions, these vampires were alive. Their hearts beat; their blood ran through their veins. The only myth that seemed to hold up was their reaction to sunlight. It burned their skin slightly (Chris and Owen had seen it happen with the vampires they’d encountered on the streets), but not enough to kill them. Daniel imagined if they did indeed want to kill a vampire using the sun, they would have to hold them down for a few hours.
He laughed at this thought, and then looked around to make sure no one saw him. He tended to amuse himself often, but he hated when someone saw him laughing at a joke no one else heard. It was embarrassing. He saw Alyssa sitting by the large bookcase on the far wall of the condo. She was engrossed in a book; hopefully not one about cute little kittens and rabbits this time. She was too far away for him to tell what it was exactly, but he was sure it was relevant to their current situation. Alyssa was dependable; once she focused on something, she didn’t stop until the job was done.
He was pretty sure she would make a great girlfriend, but he never had the nerve to ask her out. He didn’t care about the gay rumor his brother had started. He knew she didn’t believe it, but he still didn’t have the confidence to take the big step. He flirted with her occasionally, but that was as far as his skills would take him. He looked back to the screen. For some reason, a news story popped up about a giant squid-creature terrorizing the Gulf of Mexico.
One monster at a time, he thought. Once we expand our operation, we’ll get to you.
He continued browsing sites.
* * *
Chris was sitting on his bed, staring at his reflection in the full-length mirror in his room. He looked the same, but he felt different. He wasn’t sure what it was. It was something deep inside.
He wondered if Stephanie felt the same.
He wondered if he should be with her right now, to comfort her.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn’t notice Owen standing in his doorway.
“How do you feel?” Owen asked.
“Different. I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel different.”
Owen sat down next to him. “I know I’m in charge now, and I hate to bring this up, but what do you want me to do if all of this goes south?”
“Do what you have to,” Chris said simply. “Whatever it takes to keep the team safe.”
“You are a part of the team, though. You’re the reason we’re all here, doing what we do.”
“I know, but there’s no telling what will happen to me. We should plan for the worst.”
“Is the ‘darkness’ taking you? You’re so emo.”
Chris laughed. “I didn’t say that. I was about to say it, though.” Of course he was being intentionally dramatic, but it was merely a way of masking his fear.
“Chris,” said Owen as he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “everything’s going to be all right. I promise.”
“When did you become the adult?” Chris asked with a grin.
“A long time ago. You didn’t notice until now?”
They laughed. Chris was relieved when he realized he felt a little better.
“This was a really close call,” he said to Owen. “They seem to be getting closer each time we go out there and face these things.”
“Are you getting worried?”
“Yes. I don’t know what I would do if I ever lost any of you guys. Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake in starting us up in the first place.”
“Fighting monsters, you mean?”
Chris looked at Owen and nodded. “We’re all still kids, practically. I just wish I knew where all these monsters came from.”
Owen had a troubled look on his face. “I keep wondering that, too.”
“Maybe they came from space,” Chris teased.
Owen gave a distracted grunt in response. He looked seriously worried now.
“What’s wrong, Owen?”
He shook himself back to the here and now. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were from space, to be honest. I mean, if they’re not vampires, what else could they be?”
“You still don’t think they’re vampires?” Chris asked skeptically.
“Eric said he wasn’t.”
“And you trust him?”
“Why else would he say it if he wasn’t?”
“To confuse you.”
Owen sighed. “Well, it worked. But I think he and the others are something else. I really do.”
“Okay, Owen.”
He stared at Chris for a moment before leaving the room without another word. Chris suddenly felt like a jerk with his condescending tone, but could think of nothing to say as his friend disappeared into the hallway. He would make it up to Owen somehow.
CHAPTER 5
Not caring about anything at the moment, Les tossed his bag of quarters haphazardly to the floor. It was late and he was exhausted; tonight had been too weird for him. He rubbed his big belly and lay down on his bed. The walls of his room were covered with posters for videogames, anime, and movies—pretty much anything considered popular.
That’s not to
say he was a slave to popular trends. In fact, Hero Saga was not even a popular videogame, but he loved it anyway. The only reason the arcade kept the machine was because Les kept it well funded every week.
His grandmother disapproved of so many posters. She insisted it covered up the beautiful color her husband had painted the walls before he passed away. She was fond of the color cyan, but Les didn’t care either way. He didn’t bombard the walls with posters to cover up the color. He merely liked being surrounded by his favorite things—it made him feel good and whole, and he needed that.
Speaking of whole, he suddenly couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten. He’d completely forgotten after the encounter he’d had with Michael. Since he walked to and from the arcade, he’d worked up an appetite. He always had to walk or take a cab to get places because he didn’t have a car and Grandma had forbidden him from driving hers (she disapproved of him “spending so much time playing those god-awful ‘vidya’ games”). It didn’t bother him so much since he lived right down the street from the place in which he spent much of his time, but the walk had taken a bit out of him.
As he tried to work up the energy to get up from bed to make a sandwich, he cursed himself for mentioning he lived nearby in front of Michael. That guy had been too weird.
Les got up from his bed and headed to the kitchen. He knew his way around so well he didn’t feel the need to turn on any lights.
He froze for a moment in the hallway just outside his room. He could have sworn he just saw something move in the living room, in the darkness. He could also swear he felt something else in the dark, a presence dispelling the air around it. But what?
He was about to flip the nearest switch to turn on the living-room light, then his stomach growled. He patted his belly, then stared into the dark living room for a few more seconds. He could still feel the presence, but he almost didn’t want to know—see—what was standing there, watching him. Just make the sandwich and get back to your room, dummy!
Once in the kitchen, he grabbed the handle on the refrigerator door and opened it. Then he froze upon seeing the horror that waited.
There was a head inside the fridge!
Its dead eyes were rolled up so the whites showed, its mouth wide with what Les figured was its last scream of agony. He was about to scream himself when a hand rested on his shoulder. He slowly turned and saw a dark figure behind him. Les could barely make out the features because he was blocking the light from the fridge, but he could tell the figure had a finger to its lips.
“Don’t scream, Les,” said the figure. “We don’t want to wake up Grandma.” Les recognized the voice immediately. It was Michael. Les nodded in compliance. Michael removed his hand.
Les was no longer paralyzed with fear. He slowly turned back to the fridge. Marco Garcia’s eyes continued to stare upward as if they were trying to look at the contents on the shelf above.
“What did you do?” Les asked, turning back to Michael.
“I gave him a choice, and in the end, it came to a fight.”
Les looked at the head again. “Looks like you won.”
He walked very quickly to his room a moment later, his heart beating painfully. Michael was right behind him. Les wanted more than anything to just slam the door behind him and lock the bastard out, but he was sure if Michael could rip the head off of someone, he could probably break down a door, and Les didn’t want to give him any reason to be angry. He waited for Michael to enter the room, and then closed the door behind him.
Michael looked around the room in awe. There were the life-sized replicas of Aslain and Norrack in the far corner of the room in front of Les’s closet. They were facing each other as if they were battling to the death. Aslain was wielding what looked like a real sword and Norrack had a battle-axe held high over his head, ready to strike.
“This is really nice,” Michael said.
“Thank you,” Les said nervously. He didn’t know where this was going. What he wanted more than anything was for Michael to just leave and never come back. He wanted to call the cops and let them deal with it. But what about the head in his fridge? And where was Marco’s body? He was certain the cops would have a few questions about the head. Les would tell them it was Michael, of course, but it wouldn’t end there. They wouldn’t believe for a second there wasn’t more to it. Les wouldn’t have blamed them, either.
Michael sat down at Les’s desk and spun around in the chair, giggling like a kid. Les slowly sat on his bed.
“How did you know I lived with my grandma?” he asked, remembering what Michael had said in the kitchen.
“I know everything.”
Les remained silent for a moment, terrified by that notion.
“I saw all the pictures in the living room,” Michael finally added with a smile.
“Why did you come here?” Les asked, trying not to sound frustrated.
“I’m looking for someone,” Michael answered, still spinning.
“Who?”
Michael stopped spinning. “I don’t know yet.”
“How can you look for someone if you don’t know who it is?”
Michael thought about this for a moment. “I can’t. That’s why I need your help.”
“My help?” Les was astonished. No one ever needed him for anything. Well, that wasn’t quite true: Grandma once needed him to give their dog, Skittles, a suppository. That had been an unpleasant experience. “Is it a guy or a girl?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Are they in this state?”
“Yes. In this very city. That I do know.”
“In San Sebastian?” he asked Michael, who nodded in reply. Les was getting caught up in his questioning. He felt it was time to ask the big one: “Who are you?”
“The answer to that question would drive you insane.”
Les didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“Earlier today, I asked if your dad was the devil. You didn’t say anything…” Les continued delicately. “Is he?”
“He is if you want him to be” was all Michael would say.
There was a knock on the door. Les jumped to his feet and came face to face with his grandmother. She stood in his doorway, much shorter than him. Her hair was silver and very thin; her skin hung off her arms. She was wearing a dull gray nightgown.
“Lester, who do you have in there?”
“Just a friend. What are you doing up so late?”
“My arthritis was botherin’ me, so I decided to walk around a bit,” she said, rubbing her knees. “It’s a bit late for comp’ny, doncha think?”
Holy crap, it’s com-PA-ny, Les thought. His grandmother had one of those thick country accents he despised.
“We’re just going over Hero Saga strategies,” he said. “We’re almost done.”
She tried looking into the room but Les only had the door opened a little and was blocking the rest of the gap with his body.
“All right. Don’t forget to take out the trash in the mornin’.”
Morn-ING, he thought.
“Okay, Grandma,” he said.
She went back to her room. Les closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief. He sat back down on the bed and watched as Michael started spinning again.
“Why are you looking for this person?” Les finally asked.
“My brother said we need their help with something.”
“With what?”
“If I tell you, you won’t help me.”
Les was suddenly afraid to press on any further. He already knew he didn’t want to help Michael find the person who was so important to him.
And what about Michael’s intentions with this person? If I tell you, you won’t help me, he’d said. He made it sound diabolical.
“Do you want to kill this person?” Les asked.
“Not at all.”
That was something. Les felt a little better, but not much.
Suddenly he remembered something: “What should I do with the head in
the fridge?”
Michael stopped spinning again. “I’d get rid of it before your grandma finds it.”
Les stood up to begin his task, but then turned to Michael. “Why did you put it in there in the first place?”
Michael thought for a moment before saying, “I saw it in a movie once and thought it would be cool.”
“You must have some crazy parents, if they let you watch movies like that.”
“I don’t know about my real parents, but my foster parents were pretty cool.”
“You’re adopted?”
Michael nodded. “My foster parents were killed.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“They died trying to protect me from crazy people,” Michael said somberly. “I miss them.”
“Crazy people?”
Michael nodded again. “The people in our town tried to kill my brother and me when they found out who we were, but our foster parents protected us.”
Les thought about that. Why would people want to kill Michael because of who he was? What was he, exactly? Les was too afraid to find out, so he dropped the subject. For now.
CHAPTER 6
Owen was in total darkness and the humming noise was soothing. He didn’t dare open his eyes. He knew if he did, he would see the same thing he always saw. Green, always green. He didn’t like that. He liked the soothing hum, though.
But he had work to do.
He opened his eyes and saw the objects that lay before him on his worktable: a set of tools and an orb.
The orb.
Owen knew of its importance, but not what it would be capable of … He couldn’t seem to remember. All he knew was that it was important.
But he had more work to do. He had to finish his project. He studied the orb; it was dark red, made even darker by the green sheen of the room, and appeared to be made of marble. He ran his long, pale fingers over the surface. It responded with a low rumble from within. He released it from his affectionate grip; he had to be careful not to activate it. Not yet.
