“You paid a lot of money for that thing that you’re hanging from.”
“I’ve got more money than brain cells, and call me Master.”
Piers thought about it but decided against it as he shook his head. “I won’t call you master.”
Dracula actually liked the fact that Piers was defiant, but with a slight wave of his left hand he made the author get up and dance the Irish Riverdance, finding it slightly amusing as his legs almost kicked himself in the head as he jumped around to the music in his head. It was embarrassing but the ability to make him do such a thing was impressive.
“All right Master, you win. How long have you been up there?”
“Several days. I don’t know. Time is like grains of sand on all the world’s beaches.”
“How the hell did you get way up there?”
“Flew up in bat form and then morphed. Has your imagination been dulled?”
Piers nodded as he was again permitted control of his own body. He returned to the sofa and got comfortable. “I don’t like being a bat, flew into a window last night. The vision is disconcerting.”
“You’ll get used to it, if you live long enough.” Dracula deliberately moved his right foot which started him swinging slightly, and that was not an attractive sight to the author. It was a living horror movie.
Piers Anthony had been turned in the comfort of his backyard in Florida one evening surrounded by evergreen laurels and beautiful palmetto palm trees. Dracula had flown down his quarter mile driveway as he had used it as a bit of a runway. Piers had been exercising with his bow and arrows at the time. He was pleased with himself, having managed a bullseye on the circular target, his first of the year. It was such a perfect shot that it could not have been more centered. He was in the process of gathering up his aluminum arrows with yellow fletching and his carbon shaft arrows with the white and red-orange fletching when he heard a whoosh and knew what was coming. With his camouflage bow slung over his shoulder, Piers had turned and waited for him to appear. Dracula had approached from the corner of the house and Piers assumed that he was coming for business as per their agreement.
“Piers.”
“Dracula. How’s business?”
“It really sucks.”
Dracula had been a tall dark and formidable presence in his black Armani suit; his florescent brown eyes instantly capturing the author’s attention. He had been a fan of his Xanth books and always badgering him to write more and more. The bargain was to write the vampire a Xanth trilogy exclusively for the Master, where no other was to set their eyes on them, purchased for a princely sum and a bite on the neck.
“Are you going to come down and talk to me or do I have to hang myself as well?” Piers asked a little annoyed. He turned his head to stare at the new colourful Tiffany Lotus lamp. “That’s not the original is it?” When he turned back the rope was swinging with Dracula comfortably beside him on the sofa.
“You should realize that I’m in no mood to listen to banter. Not healthy to annoy the Master.”
Piers studied his expressionless face. Dracula was frozen in time with the most perfect and handsome forty-year-old face that he had ever observed. It did in fact make him a little jealous. “Believe me when I tell you that it’s not banter.”
Dracula turned his head to stare into the author’s eyes, and even that gesture appeared to be a little threatening. Looking into those eyes could be like looking into the barrel of a loaded gun, depending upon how he wanted one to perceive them. Piers wanted to run away like a cartoon with smoke emanating from his fiery feet but managed not to flee. “Spew it then.”
“The planet is going to hell. Vampires are attacking humans in public, and of course it’s an unfair advantage. If I were you I’d get out there, kill several hundred vamps, and get the word out that the boss is back, and that such actions will not be tolerated.”
Dracula blinked several times. “Weren’t you a vegetarian before I turned you?”
“You know that to be the case.”
“So how’s that working out for you?”
The writer was annoyed at him changing the subject but there was only so much he could do. “I drink blood that is supplied to me for a price. I don’t kill anything.”
“Yet.”
“Ever. Although I must admit that there was this beautiful blond that I, ah, wanted to, ah.”
“Yes?”
“We’re getting off topic. Dracula, have you no comment on the situation? Good people are dying out there.”
“I have no opinion.”
He was silent for several more minutes. It was an awkward silence and Piers could feel him poking around inside his mind. The repeated sounds and sights of squeaky doors being opened and closed was also being shoved into his brain, with a scene of gore behind each and every door. The author crossed his legs and was aware of the Master’s arrogant smirk. He also knew that he was being purposely annoyed so that he would leave.
“Would you please get out of my head?”
“I’ve trained sheriffs, and I’m going to let them handle it.”
“That’s the problem, the vamp population has exploded, and there’s not enough law out there to handle the situation. Some regular law enforcement is actually refusing to respond to calls. Even guns are usually no match for vampires.”
“I can imagine, and I’m not even an author.”
In the time that it would have taken a camera’s flash to explode, Dracula morphed into a bat, transformed and again hung from the ceiling. It was a talent that only he possessed. “You know the way out.”
Piers stood wanting to say a lot more, but he also wanted to keep his head on his shoulders. “Kids are being killed, and I know you like kids.”
“They do taste quite scrumptious.”
“You’ve never touched a child and you know it.”
“You know the way out. Or I could show you.”
Piers cracked his neck loudly, and the adjustment felt good. He stared up at the noose and wondered how hanging there accomplished anything. “You could train a couple hundred more sheriffs, equip them with dogs.”
“If I come down there again you won’t like it.”
“If I come down there again you won’t like it!” Piers mocked.
Piers blurred to the door almost as fast as a bullet, and then exited onto the sidewalk at a human’s pace. He crossed Martin Street and headed down the forest path and into the forest. The sun felt hot but satisfying. How could he get the Master back into the game? Piers wanted time to think and the forest was a pleasant enough place.
CHAPTER SIX
HARRIS AND TANNER MILLER were genuine brothers of the notorious variety, known to the law since they were fourteen for terrorizing their neighbors. Shooting houses and car windows with their pellet gun was a favourite pastime at four in the morning, especially during the summer months when they didn’t have to get up until way past noon. Hanging cats was another favourite pastime. The single mother that had raised them had been interested in the bottle more than the two hellish things that had come out of her. Alcohol had an appeal like nothing else. Beer for breakfast suited her just fine, and on some days for lunch as well.
The two miscreants fed off one another, both mentally and with similar cruel intentions. Their brains soldered with hatred and irreparable things. Their minds could only be changed with a lobotomy. The painful cries of others made them laugh. When Harris said that they should do something with a knife; Tanner would suggest they do it with a gun. If Harris wanted to specifically beat someone unconscious, then Tanner would want to stab the victim in his insentient state. They were two creatures without sympathy for anyone or anything. And they loved destroying public property.
Sunday afternoons were spent sitting on the curbstone and bouncing ideas off one another for the week ahead. What viciousness could they get away with? What faces could they instill with absolute fear? As the brothers grew older their visions also developed into more sinister ideas. They
commenced to think of murder and how incredible it would be, to actually be responsible for putting someone in the ground.
So it came to be that the two had stopped an eighty-three-year-old gentleman from re-entering his small brick house on the second of January one bitterly cold and windy night, after he had brought the garbage out. They had planned the assault for a week, and how they were going to appreciate it. They thought it to be a work of genius and for days they were absolutely giddy with anticipation. They blocked Simon repeatedly and he simply didn’t have the strength to fight them off. The wind had been strong and relentless that evening. A punch to his solar plexus halted his feeble calls for help. Within hours he had succumbed from the elements. They had been as excited as they were certain that it had been the perfect crime. The unflawed offense had always been their heart’s desire. The perfect crime made them impeccable criminals in their horrid hearts. They went to his funeral as he had been a neighbour, and that had been the butter on the already delicious pancake.
The brothers were sired by the serial killer John Dawson that had finally been caught and executed in Texas for the brutal killings of an entire family of five in Austin. And John’s father had been a killer as well, though only once, and so it seemed that whatever nastiness that ran through them was either in their genes, or taught from one hateful generation to the next. It appeared that the foulness of their actions was steeped in their blood. They had never wanted to be anything but transgressors. Their sole ambition was to be the best of the worst that humanity had to offer. They had not been brought up in the normal sense, but had been beaten up with sticks and belts until the pain had turned to pleasure.
They were both short in stature but solid individuals that always carried concealed weapons, mostly knifes although they did own a small collection of stolen guns. The guns were rarely used as they preferred the more personal hands on approach. Harris was slightly taller, and both had that look of trouble. They both had dragon tattoos on their forearms like Kwai Chang Caine from the old Kung Fu television series, and their heads were always shaved bald. Tanner had an additional tattoo on the back of his head that stated, “How do you like me now.” They both had distasteful blue eyes and no normal person wanted to be captured by them. They both had crooked noses from previous battles with one another, although Tanner’s was a bit more distended and freakish looking.
It was not healthy to acquire the interest of either brother.
They were perpetually on the lookout for crimes to commit, valuable things to abscond with, and ideas of the most notorious nature. People to kill and crimes to commit were regularly tossed around, with future aspirations of becoming vampire killing machines. How great would it be to have the power of a vampire? Tanner dreamt of it and was always disappointed to awake to his reality of being simply human. They went through vampire scenarios of blood and slaughter as normal folks planned vacations.
They had killed and tortured a poor rich fellow and were disheartened when all his credit cards had been equipped with security chips. The amount of money that had been potentially available to them had them salivating for a time, until they discovered that the numbers provided were incorrect. Even under torture that well-heeled fellow had provided the brothers with false information, and Harris had stabbed Tanner in the shoulder over it. Harris had stated repeatedly before killing him that the rich fat guy hadn’t been telling the truth; he could see it those rich blue eyes.
The brothers had graduated to pushing drugs years ago at around the age of sixteen, but they were now up against a gang that had taken over their area, and although they were robust individuals never inclined to back away from a fight, they were also aware that they couldn’t battle twenty Chinese thugs. The first warning had been heeded, lest they end up in the East River with cement blocks tied to them. But they had come up with a devious plan that was sure to get them a shit-load of money. They knew that everyone had a definite breaking point, especially when it came to family. It was a definite weak point in almost everyone’s shield. The rich were not easy targets, but with their daughters and sons in danger their wallets would open and the money would be spit much like the government printing money.
It had already been considered that it could be a regular cash flow that would put daily smiles on their gruff faces, and perhaps the only plot necessary to make them rich beyond imagining. They were encouraged that it was one of their finest ideas that they had ever originated. The more it was contemplated the prettier it looked. It had all the elements of the perfect crime. The brothers were also cognisant of stories about the rich buying their way into the world of biters, and they were so looking forward to the absolute carnage that they could cause that it was delicious food for their everyday fantasies. The plan was to strike small towns and to literally suck the life out of them. They salivated at the amount of sheer terror the two could imbue with such strength at their disposal. They would purchase their way into the world of vampires.
Thirteen-year-old Shenna Fisher walked home from school as she didn’t reside very far from it, and she had convinced her parents, especially her father who was a retired senator, that it was safe enough. She had red hair and was a ball of energy with her Justin Bieber backpack. Her father was away fishing bass on Lake Tohopekaliga south of Orlando Florida and having a great time. She thought she noticed the old Ford Taurus several days in a row parked on the street with an unkempt fellow and a handsome well attired man always slumped in the front seat. There was a peculiar vibe every time she noticed that Ford, though it was probably a product of her overactive imagination. She ran past the vehicle into the red brick house with her math book in hand knowing that her mother would be home in less than an hour.
Shenna turned and was immediately fearful of the two men that stood there. She screamed but they were on her in less than a second. They knocked her down and taped her mouth. They rolled her into a carpet and Tanner sat on the girl. Harris went out to the car and watched and waited until a clear path from the house to the trunk of his car was available. They were never happier than when they were in the process of committing a crime. It made the brothers feel as though they were untouchable, and that had been the case.
Harris strolled into the living room where Tanner was sitting on the old brown leather sofa, which was cracked from years of abuse. He told him that the girl was secured and clapped his hands together with force. A little dance was performed at the idea of the riches that was to come. Tanner looked proud as he nodded. He was finishing the last beer. He placed the empty bottle down hard on the coffee table and then waved the note at Harris and commenced to read it aloud:
Two millions dollars in untraceable cash
Or every night when the clock turns to eight
Your lovely daughter will experience some
Good old fashioned rape
The two shared a high five. They were so proud of the note that they could burst. “That is on the nose. Every damn night as the clock gets close to eight, they’ll be mentally tortured and they’ll have to give us the money. That is sooooo tight!”
“I know,” Tanner agreed. “Genius writing if I do say so myself.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
IN A DILAPIDATED HOTEL off I-95, four biters with their hands on the hilts of their Japanese Wakizashi swords surrounded Thelma Gordon on the stained queen sized bed. The nineteen inch blades were not to be utilized this night. A single roach climbed up the wall behind her and stopped, almost as if observing the goings-on. The room had a slight odour of pesticide that obviously hadn’t done its job. It was quiet as they waited for a response. She was disillusioned with things in general and her mangled life in particular. Thelma wasn’t frightened of the vampires, although she knew she would become so if she was to face the end at their fangs. She rubbed the back of her own neck and was aware of their prying eyes; she started to scratch. Their tactics of intimidation had not been as effective as they had anticipated.
The television was on CNN but the box was
so old that the anchor Wolf Blitzer was barely recognisable; he may as well have been an alien selling the latest ray gun. The bible that came with the room was in perfect condition, as if it had never been touched, yet someone had placed it beside the box. Once Thelma had been a beautiful and talented pianist, having been quite adept on the keyboard, but those days were long gone and now seemed to belong to someone else. She wouldn’t recognize herself in the mirror if she could go back twenty years. Her facial attractiveness was perceptible if one looked hard enough and with some imagination, beyond the scars, dirt and melted and matted brown hair. Her sunken eyes were sad things to behold. Thelma had fallen asleep with the curling iron. She had multiple scars on her left cheek from a long ago battle with a lady of the evening, and had been held down by the pimp and forced to endure the indignity of the olive wood handled Italian switchblade. She was in her early forties but could easily pass for a senior.
Thelma was almost always high on drugs, and this night was no exception.
Matt and Joshua stood on one side of the bed, with Luke and Noah on the other, all dressed in dark suits as if they were about to head out to the office. Luke cracked his knuckles out of habit but no one seemed to mind; he had mesmerising blue eyes that the ladies found irresistible and inch long brown hair. But the foursome waited patiently for the leader of the group to arrive. They could do nothing without his express permission. They had failed at extracting information and waited impatiently. Thelma lay prone in her bra and panties with a look of dissatisfaction, and her body wanted another fix. Her mind wanted someone else’s life to jump into. Her haggard face was not a pretty sight to behold.
Matt looked toward the door and then swung it open. He could sense his approach. “He’s here.” They were relieved as the time had appeared to have slowed to an uncomfortable crawl with dissatisfied faces all around.
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