The next morning he was awoken bright and early at five am by Paul opening his curtains. “What! What’s going on?” Jake said, jumping out of bed, images of creatures lurking in the darkness filling his mind. He had the same old nightmares again.
“Your tutor will be here in one hour’s time.” Paul said, “Do not make the same mistake you did last night. Get yourself bathed, and dressed properly! I will return in one hour.”
Not wanting to be hit again Jake did what he was told. He stepped into his very large personal bathroom and stripped down to take a shower. When he got out, the clothes he had laid on the marble countertop were gone. Angrily he stepped back into his room with a towel wrapped around him. He was beyond mad. First, they had left his suitcase back in Lubbock now they had stripped him of the only clothes he still could claim as his own. “Where are my clothes?!” He yelled out to no one in particular.
“I disposed of them.” Paul’s voice carried in from right outside his door. “Now put on something presentable before your tutor arrives.”
“But it’s Saturday! School’s out on Saturday!” Jake yelled back at him.
“School is never out here. You will be taught every single day from six am to three pm.”
Jake heard the butler’s footsteps proceed down the hallway. He dropped the towel around his waist in disgust and grabbed up the shirt and tie neatly laid on his bed. Jake shook his head in disbelief then dressed. Less than thirty minutes later a “properly” dressed Jake made his way downstairs, where Paul handed him a plate with two dry, nearly burnt pieces of toast on it. Jake picked one of them up and hit it against the plate. It was stale as cardboard. “What’s this supposed to be?”
“Breakfast. Not hungry? Fine.” Paul said, reaching for the plate.
Nearly starving from barely eating the entire day before, Jake jerked the plate away before Paul could take it. Grabbing up a piece in each hand he shoved them into his mouth as quickly as he could. “Sumting drink?” He asked through a mouthful of bread.
Paul disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a glass of warm water. Jake didn’t even bother arguing, but downed the entire glass then finished the last of his toast. After he was done Paul led him to a large room where dust covered books lined the shelves. A single solitary table sat in the middle of the dim room with a single green lamp sitting on it.
Sitting at the table with a worn black briefcase in front of him was an overweight, white haired man with a thick set of bifocals covering his eyes. He wore a tight fitting suit with a red bow tie. He nodded at Jake and smiled warmly. “Good morning Mr. Riker. I am Mr. Orwell. I will be your tutor.”
Jake turned around half expecting to see his grandfather wheeling up behind him. When he noticed there was no one but him standing there it dawned on him, the tutor was addressing him. “Uh, my name isn’t Riker. It’s Bishop. Jacob Bishop. But you can call me Jake.”
“I’m afraid you are mistaken.” Paul said, coming up behind him with a stack of books. “Your name is no longer Bishop.”
“What do you mean?” Jake asked spinning around to face him. “You can’t just change my name.”
“It is your grandfather’s wish. He is your guardian now and he has decided you need a name more befitting your new stature.”
“Unfreaking believable.” Jake said, rolling his eyes. “Just when I think this can’t get any worse.” Paul ignored him and walked out of the library, closing the doors behind him.
Mr. Orwell leaned across the short table and just barely above a whisper said, “It’s not all bad lad. Believe me, things could be a lot worse.”
HOW! Jake thought but didn’t dare say. Over the next six hours, he struggled to stay awake as his tutor prattled on about the great Roman Empire and Julius Caesar. At twelve, he was given a one-hour break for lunch but was not allowed to go outside. “It is forbidden.” was all Paul would say as he brought him a peanut butter sandwich.
Undaunted, Jake tried to sneak out anyway and ran smack dab into three armed guards who quickly escorted him back inside. To his relief they didn’t tell Paul. At three, he was released back to his room where he was able to play video games and watch TV until dinner, but Jake didn’t feel like doing any of that.
As he lay on his bed, his mind began contemplating plans to escape. From what he could see there was no way out. The windows were all heavily barred. The only way in or out that he had seen was the front door but beyond that was two fifteen foot tall, electrified, razor wire fence. There was little hope for an escape, but his Grandpa Cort had taught him that even the worst of situations could be gotten out of if a man just took the time to stop, think, and plan. So that’s just what he did.
At dinnertime, he was once again escorted to meet his grandfather in the great dining hall. Again, they sat at the football field length table. Riker, as Jake had begun to think of him, seemed to be wearing the exact same clothes he had had on the day before. “Hmmmph.” he said, making a deep rasping sound in his throat. “That’s more like it.”
“More like what?” Jake asked, looking at him confused.
“Your clothes. That’s the way a boy should dress. Not like some bum off the streets.”
Jake couldn’t take it another second. He threw his fork down on his plate. “Why did you bring me here? I was more than happy at my Grandpa Cort’s house.”
“Who could be happy living with white trash like that? No heir of mine will be living in such filth.”
“My Grandpa isn’t white trash!” Jake yelled across the table. “He’s twice the man you are! What the hell have you ever done?” Jake asked his heart pounding in his chest.
The old man stared back at him. He took several long raspy breaths then tilted his cowboy hat back with one skeleton finger. “Boy.” he said, slowly. “Look around you. I’m the fourth richest man on this planet. I can buy anything or anyone I set my eyes on.”
Though he knew he would catch a beating for it, Jake couldn’t help himself. “Could you buy my mother’s love? Could you buy my father’s respect?”
Riker’s eyes blazed with fire. He had most definitely hit a nerve. “I don’t need his respect! You worthless piece of Bishop trash!” he yelled then began coughing into his already stained blue handkerchief. He spat a mouthful of phlegm into his rag. A long piece of it stretched from his chin down to his chest. “How dare you talk to me like that! I had hoped at least some of my blood ran through your veins. But I see you’re nothing more than a sniveling piece of shit just like your sorry excuse for a father. You will never see one penny of my money! You hear me boy! Not one penny!”
“You mean old bastard!” Jake yelled back, unable to control his anger. “I don’t want any of your money! And I didn’t ask to be brought here!” Paul’s hands were suddenly on his shoulders pushing him back into his chair. “Get your hands off me!” Jake said, trying to pull away from his grip.
Riker snarled at him. “You are dead to me! You hear me, boy? Dead!”
“Good!” Jake yelled back still struggling against Paul. “Then let me go home!”
“Oh no!” Riker said, grinning. “I can’t do that.” Jake could almost see the light bulb forming over the old man’s head as an idea took root. “I’ve got a much better idea. I’ll use you as bait!”
“Bait?” Jake asked confused at this strange turn of events. “I don’t understand.”
“They want you bad, boy! Real bad! All my sources connected to their world say they are looking for you. So maybe, just maybe I’ll just let them have you.”
"Who?” Jake asked, terrified that the answer would be what he thought it was. “What are you talking about?” he said, praying it wouldn’t be that. Please God anything but that.
“You dumb little snot! The vampires of course!”
Jake felt his heart leap into his throat. His own grandfather was about to serve him up on a silver platter to the one thing he feared more than anything else in the entire world. “Why would you do something like that?”
&
nbsp; “Oh I won’t just let them come in and take you. But I’d wager they’d be willing to do just about anything to get their hands on the son of the legendary John Bishop!” He said, followed by a combination of violent coughing and laughing.
“You’re insane!” Jake yelled at him. “You are totally insane! These monsters took my mother! Your daughter!” Jake shook his head in disbelief. “What could you possibly want from them?”
Riker stopped coughing and inhaled several long breaths from the oxygen tubes in his nose. “Stupid, stupid boy. My daughter died the minute she married that piece of shit John Bishop. But vampires could give me so much more!”
“Like what?” Jake stammered.
“The one thing I can’t buy, immortality!” he said, then turned his chair and wheeled away.
Paul let go of him and Jake jumped to his feet knocking his chair over. He didn’t even look back but ran as fast as he could upstairs to his room. He slammed the door as hard as he could with tears pouring from his eyes.
He had to find a way out. There had to be a way. The front door was too well guarded. The windows were all barred. A phone was his only hope. He would call his Grandpa Cort and teach Riker a thing or two.
Hours later, when all the lights in the house were finally off, Jake crept slowly through the house. After thoroughly exploring every room upstairs, he hadn’t found a single phone. Just empty, dusty, long unused guest rooms.
Ever so carefully, he crept downstairs. He hadn’t taken a single bite of food at dinner. Dining with a complete lunatic had caused him to lose his appetite. Now his stomach rumbled loudly. Might as well make a stop at the kitchen while I’m down here.
It was dark downstairs. Not a single solitary light was lit, but he didn’t dare turn on one on. Somewhere on the first floor was not only Riker’s room, but Paul’s as well.
Creeping through the darkened dining room, he walked through a pair of double doors he had seen Paul go through earlier that evening. On the other side was a massive kitchen filled with various appliances. It was hard to make out though as the kitchen had no windows. Searching along the wall, he found a row of light switches. He flipped them one by one until the kitchen was bathed in light. All of the appliances looked as if they hadn’t been used in years. He opened a row of cabinets to find stacks of plates coated in a thin layer of dust. Where’s the fridge? He thought looking around. A large door that could only lead to a walk in freezer stood at the other end near a large dishwashing station. Opening it, Jake stepped inside the chilly room. It wasn’t a freezer at all but a large refrigerator. Jake’s jaw dropped.
Hanging in rows four deep from the front to the back were dozens of bags of blood. “What the hell?” Jake exclaimed. “What is going on here?” He quickly stepped back through the open door and slammed it shut much louder than he had intended. Jogging quietly back to the door he flipped the light switches off and crept back into the dining room, fearful that someone would come to investigate the loud noise. A snack can wait! I’m getting the hell out of here! He thought to himself in a panic.
As he crept further into the house, he began to hear voices steadily coming closer. Jake quickly ducked through a door to find a dimly lit staircase leading into what looked to be a very small basement. He leaned close to the door listening. Paul’s voice accompanied by someone he didn’t recognize walked by and then out of earshot.
Jake dropped to the floor completely motionless. Then he began hearing something else. A strange high-pitched whistling and it seemed to be coming from the bottom of the stairs. His curiosity got the best of him and he began to ever so quietly to descend into the room below.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he couldn’t believe how tiny the room really was. It was barely eight feet wide and was completely empty; only a single swinging light bulb lit the small space. A small hole was on the left side of the wall. The whistling stopped as Jake stared into the hole. “Hello?” Jake said, his voice quivering with a touch of fear.
A grizzled, dirty face appeared smiling back at him with deep red eyes and long fanged teeth. It took Jake a few seconds to register what he was looking at. When he did, he fell back in terror. “What do we have here?” The creature on the other side asked, “Why if it isn’t a young lad! Has the greedy old corpse sent me a treat? Another one of his bribes?”
Jake was speechless. A vampire! A vampire!
“No, not a bribe . . . hmm . . . an adventurer then! Come to see the monster in the basement? Well then boy come along. Have a good look!”
His stomach spinning and his heart pounding, Jake stepped back to the hole and glanced inside. All he saw was an even smaller room without a single piece of furniture in it.
“Up here.” The voice called to him.
Jake angled his head up so he could look at the room’s ceiling. Hanging from it was an old man with a very dirty, long white beard. He smiled with a mouthful of fangs and began laughing. Jake stumbled back in terror. Riker had a vampire locked in his basement. Not just any vampire. Not some mindless, brutish grunt like the beast Marty White had become. This one was intelligent. This one was a Maker.
Chapter 11
Jake
The Riker Mansion
April 11, 1995 2:01am
Leaving the booming laughter of the Maker behind him, Jake ran back upstairs as fast as his legs could carry him. By the grace of God, he managed to make it back to his room without anyone noticing he had even been gone.
A vampire here! He thought to himself as he struggled to shove a large wooden desk up against the door. A vampire! This can’t be happening . . . this can’t be happening . . . Jake struggled and panted as he pushed even more furniture against the door. When he was done, he wrapped a shirt around his neck for protection grabbed a blanket off the bed and fell into the furthest corner of the room.
Why in the world would the old man have a vampire locked up in the basement? His grandfather wanted to be a vampire. That much he had made clear. So it didn’t make sense to Jake that the he needed him for bait when a Maker was literally right under his feet. It just didn’t add up.
Jake wrapped the blanket around himself and crouched in the corner, his heart pounding with fear, his eyes watching the door for even the faintest movement. What if it gets loose? Will a desk, a chair and a couple of bookcases be enough to keep him out? He seriously doubted it. The blood! That’s why he has the blood!
He didn't sleep the entire night. Every time he dosed off he would hear the house creak and would think the Maker was in his room preparing to feast on him.
Paul knocked at his door at five a.m. but Jake refused to come out. He wasn’t going anywhere until the sun was up. Paul knocked harder and harder and even tried to force his way into the room. He became highly enraged when he couldn’t budge the door. Through all of the butler’s threats and curses, Jake remained completely quiet. There were far worse things in this house than an angry Englishman on a power trip.
Jake remained locked in his room for the next three days. After the second day Paul didn’t even bother to try to get him out, he knew he had to come down and eat at some point.
On the third day, Jake’s eyes were red and his stomach long since empty. He only slept when the sun was high in the sky and even then, he barely dozed off. When he actually did sleep, he would jump from some nightmare and wake himself up. He stayed hydrated by drinking from the bathroom sink, but the pain that had settled into his stomach was near unbearable. Letting out a deep sigh, he rose from his corner and pulled the furniture away from the door one by one. Walking down those steps was the beyond terrifying. He knew when Paul found him it would be very bad. What happened next was worse than he could have imagined.
The moment his foot left the final step, Paul had him by the hair and was dragging him through the house. He tossed him roughly into his grandfather’s study, where the old man sat in his electric wheel chair. He wheezed loudly as Jake landed at his feet.
“You just made a big mistake, b
oy.” The old man pointed at him with one of his boney fingers. “A big mistake.” He reiterated. He nodded to Paul.
Jake’s body twisted in pain as the thick leather belt hit him square in the back. He screamed and tried to escape but two of his grandfather’s guards were quickly there to hold him down. Paul swung again and again. Tears and snot poured down his face as his consciousness faded. The last thing he heard before passing out was the hacking laughter of Richard Riker.
A week later, after his cuts and bruises were healed enough for him to walk again, Jake made his way down the stairs dressed in his new clothes. He ate his dry breakfast without daring to look Paul in the eye.
He sat down at the table and buried his head in his books. “Let me know if this little miscreant misbehaves.” Paul smiled. “I will be more than happy to correct him if he does.”
“That’s quite enough, Paul.” Mr. Orwell said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Leave us.”
“Do not suppose to give me orders you fat porpoise!” Paul yelled. “If you ever speak to me that way again I will have you removed from these premises!
Mr. Orwell placed both of his hands on the table and leaned forward until he was mere inches from Paul. “Do not threaten me you little English bastard. I am not an eleven-year- old boy, and I will not be bullied by the likes of you. This library is my domain. You will not threaten my student and you will not enter this room again unless invited. Am I understood?”
“We shall see about that.” Paul said storming from the library.
“Thanks for that.” Jake nodded to Mr. Orwell. “I hope you didn’t just get fired.”
Mr. Orwell snorted. “Paul thinks too much of himself. He is little more than a puppet that Riker enjoys controlling. Now young man, let us finish our lessons.”
C.O.T.V.H. (Book 1): Creation Page 15
