by Leo Romero
If anything were to happen, it was most likely on the streets, so once he was off them and in the relative sanctity of a store, the anxiety tended to calm. He stepped into the 7-Eleven, the heady aroma of donuts and hot dogs hitting his nostrils. He licked his lips as he followed that smell like rats trailing the Pied Piper. The clerk eyed him with the usual suspicion as he made his way past and to the back of the store to the drinks cabinet. He slid the door open and was hit with a blast of chilled air. He shuddered. He grabbed a couple of bottles of fruit juice and slid the door closed. He then trudged down the aisle, conscious of the security camera trained on him. He stopped and picked up a large bag of salted potato chips, a bag of tortilla chips, and a packet of chocolate donuts. He then stepped up to the counter and placed all his goods down. The clerk stepped over to the till, his facial expression unchanging as he began keying the items in. Eddie didn't make any eye contact with him, instead he stepped over to the left where he grabbed a cold burger from the mini fridge and took it over to the microwave oven. He placed it inside and warmed it up. As he watched the burger rotate, his mouth began to salivate. He was starving. His stomach growled like a wild dog. He couldn't remember how long it had been since it was full of food.
Come on, come on, he urged the timer. He wanted food so bad, he could hardly wait even a few seconds.
He couldn't watch the burger rotate any longer. He stopped the process, pulled out the burger and took a greedy chomp from it. Even though it had the texture of rubber, it tasted divine. It was warm on the outside and stone cold on the inside, but that didn't bother him. He needed feeding and needed it now. He swallowed the fat morsel without barely chewing before proceeding to take another bite. His eyes rolled up into his head. The first chunk hit his stomach and it released a groan of relief.
"Hey, you gonna pay for that, buddy?" the clerk said, snapping Eddie out of his gorging. He spun his head around, his mouth full of cold burger. The clerk was giving him a hard stare.
Eddie swallowed the morsel; it eased slow and jarring down his now stretched gullet. He breathed in hard to try and force it down, then made his way to the counter, his half-eaten burger in its box. He placed it down on the counter. "Sorry," he muttered.
The clerk took it and keyed it into the till. He threw it into a bag with the rest of the stuff. "Eight forty-nine," he then demanded.
Eddie reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out a beaten wallet. He opened it up. It was empty bar the single debit card he kept in there. He slipped it out and handed it over. The clerk took it and placed it into the card reader. Eddie had no idea how much was on that card. He just planned to keep using it until it eventually declined, whenever that time may be.
The clerk indicated for him to enter his pin. Eddie leaned over the card reader and thought hard, trying his darnedest to remember the pin number. The anxiety and the codes and the symbols and the words and the remnants of the venom dulled his mind, as usual, causing him to have to sift through the junk stored in his memory banks in order to find that number--that magical four-digit number that allowed him to walk away with the goods without him having to resort to stealing. Did it start with a one? A two? A three? He hesitated, his eyes closed. He could feel the stare of the clerk on him, scrutinizing him, making the ordeal that much worse. He knew very well the clerk's mind at any moment would be screaming 'stolen card! Stolen card! Stolen card!' like an air raid siren.
Behind his closed eyes, Eddie could see long branches of words swirling around. Methylhexa...
He tried to brush them aside to get to the numbers. 3x v6 7a 9b popped up--algebraic codes sometimes attached to the long words or separating them. But, they were the wrong numbers, he needed the code, the four digit code that unlocked the card in the reader. Then, he began to see something else. A shape this time. Not words, symbols, numbers, but a shape. Yes, a triangle. His eyes snapped open and a brief moment of clarity struck him that was akin to bursting through the surface of a deep sea. That was how he always remembered the code for the card. It was in the form of a shape. A triangle. It began at the apex. 2. Then came down to the base at the right. 9. Then across the base to the left. 7. Then back up again to the apex. 2. 2972.
His eyes lit up. Great! Now, I better plug it in quick before I forget it.
He did just that, pushing in the code with a trembling finger. 2972. He then pulled his hand away and waited for the reader to tell him it went through. The wait was agonizing, causing his anxiety to ratchet upwards. He met the clerk's hard stare. He put on a twitchy grin. The clerk diverted his stare to the reader. To Eddie's extreme relief, the card reader was announcing, 'PIN OK'. He released the pent-up air from his lungs.
The clerk removed his card and held it out for him. "Thanks," he said.
Eddie took his card and slipped it back into his wallet. He made sure to tuck it all the way down in his pocket. If he ever lost it...
It wasn't time to be thinking about things like that now. He'd been away from the sleeping Father for too long now. He needed to get back and be by his side. With a full belly.
He grabbed his shopping bag and turned away from the counter. "Have a nice day," the clerk said in a bored voice as Eddie left the shop. But, Eddie only heard him somewhere at the back of his mind. His sole focus now was to get back to the basement and tend to the needs of the Father.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The door cranked open and the murk beyond spilled out onto the dirty concrete floor, enveloping Dom's feet in an instant like some kind of living ground fog. A musky, lived-in smell hit him; he turned his lip up in disdain. A tingle electrified his spine and he knew that there was a vamp inside the basement. Knew it in an instant. He shook off the sensation and pulled the door open some more. It creaked open, exposing the crypt beyond. He took a final glance back at Trixie before he turned and dived into the basement without a second thought. The murk swallowed him whole in an instant.
No turning back now.
He pulled the door shut behind him. Now with all the light blocked out, he was dumped in a sea of ink, every dark possibility lurking in his mind a reality. He knew he was trapped in there with a vamp, unaware if it was awake or in the confines of sleep, or standing right behind him, ready to--
He flicked his flashlight on and the whole room was lit up in harsh, bone-white light. His spun in a small circle, his wide eyes soaking in his new surroundings as fast as possible. The dusty cement floor was littered with trash; small insects and bugs crawled in and out of the debris. A rotten mattress was pushed up against the right-hand wall. He swayed his head around, seeking out more bedding. There was none. One sleeping place meant one fanghead just as Trixie guessed. But, it could be a red herring. There was still another door at the far end of the room to get through. Dom trained his flashlight on it. It was battered wood, a deep brown color even in the white light. His senses tingled. That door was the opening to the tomb, the resting place of the vamp who'd made this place their nest.
Careful, Dom, he told himself. There could be fangheads in there too.
He was glad his previous experiences were allowing him to cover all bases. He wiped the grimy sweat from his forehead and began his mission toward that door. Things popped and cracked beneath his feet as he went. He growled under his breath; he was making enough noise to wake the dead. He looked down at the ground for safe spots where there was no trash. He made big strides into those spots like Indiana Jones trying to avoid the pressure plates in a Mayan temple. One wrong step and it was poison dart in the neck time. Funny thing was, Dom had his own poison darts at the ready. He adjusted his grip on his dart gun, his palm slimy and slippery with sweat. He could hear his breathing; it was hot, intense. And it grew deeper as he edged toward that door.
A cockroach scuttled across his path. Dom flinched, aiming his dart gun at it. It melted into the shadows as fast as it appeared. Dom took a moment to steady himself. He didn't want to get reckless. He needed to keep cool. He got going, edging closer to the door with g
iant purposeful steps, avoiding any pieces of debris, sweat trickling down his back. He wished he could be anywhere else right then. In a nightclub, by a pool, hell, he'd take being back in the gym with Rufus getting his ass kicked. Anywhere but stuck in a dark basement with nothing but a creature of the night for company.
It'll all be over soon, he told himself. Think of the dollars, the dollars.
He sucked in a lung of stale, dead air before he took a final long stride into a safe spot just ahead of the door. On landing, he threw his arms out to regain his balance; he danced on the air for a moment like a sunflower in the breeze. He remained upright, steadied himself, and then focused on the door, which was now right ahead of him. He stared at the scratches on its worn surface, every tiny dent and chip with a story to tell. It was like the doorway to Hades. Unspeakable in its possibilities. Dom wedged his gun between his arm and chest while he wiped his sweaty hand on his combat pants. He then grabbed his dart gun again, swiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and blew out the air from his lungs.
Okay, let's do this!
With a trembling hand still gripping his dart gun, he reached out and touched that door. It was stone cold. A shiver joined the venom tingle. He pushed against it; it held firm. He reached down and took hold of the handle. He pulled it down; it squeaked like a mouse. He paused, praying that whatever lay beyond hadn't picked up on the sound. After a second, he applied pressure and the door came ajar. An even deeper dark spilled out. Dom turned his flashlight downward, wary of shining it inside the next room and alerting his host. He eased the door open; the hinges remained friendly, staying as quiet as a statue. He peeked around the corner. All he could see was darkness. He poked his arm through the gap, shining the flashlight on the wall over to the left. Now the whole room was illuminated in a dull haze. It was a small chamber. Clear of trash. He brought his head around and over by the far wall which was bare bricks.
There was a motionless heap just ahead of it, laid out on another mattress.
Dom's eyes widened. It was a sleeping figure. Human or vamp, he couldn't tell, but he had a good idea.
And the best thing was, they were alone. And only one of them was awake.
He knew he had to get moving quick. It looked like there were no fangheads around to impede him. He needed to verify vamp, make the kill, then get out.
He stepped through the doorway, his flashlight pointed downward just enough to show him the path to the far wall, without disturbing his sleeping friend. He crept along like a cat burglar, his breath drawn, globules of sweat sprouting from almost every pore on his body. The tingling up and down his spine increased to a hum the further he delved into the darkness, and he knew he was approaching a vamp. It was like a radio station coming into focus as if the vamp was emitting a signal, and he was the antennae designed to pick up on it. The closer he got, the louder the signal grew. He tightened his grip on his dart gun, the images of the Drake job now prominent in his mind. The way the vamp had set up a trap, using a decoy to distract him. Dom approached with caution, just in case...
As he drew closer, he could see the outlines of a body, fingers interlocked over its chest.
Dom's heart skipped a beat. This was no trap. The vamp was right there, sleeping.
Just go over there, put the muzzle of the dart gun on his chest, pull the trigger, and leave.
Yeah, that was all he had to do. As simple as that. Put the vamp to sleep forever and then get out of Dodge. He stopped for a second to gather himself, the intensity of the venom tingle fast becoming a hindrance. It seemed to be worse than normal when near a vamp. Different somehow. More... vivid.
He didn't have time to waste thinking about it. The vamp could wake or his brood could come back, however many fangheads that may be. He got moving again, the vamp asleep on that mattress getting ever closer. It was like approaching a sleeping lion. At any moment, it could rise and attack. It could even be playing dead; luring its prey into a snare, a false sense of security. Dom shook that thought off. The vamp was asleep and at its most vulnerable and that was that.
He drew closer, now past halfway in this sea of concrete and darkness. Too far in to run back.
The vamp then twitched and Dom stopped dead. The only thing moving were his eyes, darting left and right. He waited for what felt like an eternity in no man's land.
Stay still! Stay still! he shouted in his mind to himself. The vamp thankfully calmed and Dom's chest relaxed. He took a few more tentative steps forward his breathing ragged, his legs trembling. He took one more step, brought his other foot level, and now he was looming over the mattress and the creature. His tingling intensified into a strong buzz like a metal detector hovering over a pot of gold. It buzzed up into his head and consumed it for a brief moment like a fugue. He came to again and something was hammering in his mind like a pneumatic drill. There was a familiarity, a knowing, a strong sense of connection like...
He shone his torch down on the face of the sleeping vamp.
His jaw dropped. What the--?
His mind swam with déjà vu. It can't be.
But it was. The vamp he was gazing down at was the Father. The vamp that had enslaved him in a similar basement for who knew how long. He stared in bemusement at the scars running across his cheeks; the ones he'd inflicted while making his escape.
He watched as the creature slept, wondering what putrid dreams he was indulging. Dreams of blood and gore and feeding on young, unsuspecting victims, enslaving them in a haze of venom.
Just kill him and go! an abrupt voice inside him shouted, stirring his dulled senses back into life.
He got into character asap. Father or no Father, it was a vamp that needed putting down. Just wait till Trixie and Vincent hear about this! He aimed his dart gun at the Father's chest. His hand was shaking.
He hesitated.
Just do it!
He went to pulse the trigger when the Father's eyes flicked open. Dom froze, gasping, his heart stopping. The Father's lips parted, exposing fangs that Dom knew all too well. Fangs that had injected venom into his veins on numerous occasions in return for his blood. Fangs that were now causing his cravings to become unbearable.
Extreme nausea overcame Dom. He spun away to the side and retched, the contents of his stomach spilling out all over the concrete floor. His head spun and whirled like a carousel, the whole situation throwing him this way and that on a tidal wave of negative emotion.
Get a grip! Get a grip!
But it was no use. He'd lost all control. He let out a loud heaving noise, following up with a series of heavy coughs that reverberated through the bare chamber. He knew he had to regain control, had to get it together before the Father fully rose from his slumber and attacked him in his vulnerable state. But he was embroiled in too much chaos, choking on his own raw emotion.
Call Trixie. Call Trixie! that voice inside him screamed. CALL TRIXIE!
He dropped his gun in the darkness and snatched for the radio from the side pocket of his combat pants. He managed to fumble it out. He was about to flick the button and begin his SOS call when a snarl behind him froze him solid. His blood ran cold, shivers danced across his bones. He turned slow, holding up his flashlight. He gasped in horror.
The Father was bolt upright and staring right at him.
Eddie made it back to their street having just polished off his cold burger. He snapped open a bottle of juice and drank deep, the sensation of quenching his thirst more satisfying than quelling his hunger. Juice spilled down his cheeks as he guzzled, just now realizing how thirsty he was. In literally seconds, the first bottle was gone. He wiped the residue from his lips and cheeks, letting out a gasp of satisfaction. The burger was already making itself at home in his empty stomach. It would be enough to see him through for another few days at least. He got moving again, throwing the empty bottle into a trash can he passed by.
He reached into his shopping bag, pulled out the other bottle of juice, and cracked it open. He took another gulp, still fe
eling thirsty. Maybe it was the salt that burger must have been loaded with. He made it to his street and turned into it. Although the food and drink was helping to suppress his anxiety, the words were beginning to peek through the shadows.
Methylhydroxylate. Hydroxycilicate.
He could see their heads poking out of the grass like worms and checking both ways to see if the coast was clear. Eddie was glad he was nearing home. He'd rather be in the dark of the basement tormented by the words than out on the streets where he was vulnerable. He wanted to get back quick, so he put his head down and upped his pace. He strode with a purpose, taking regular sips on his drink, trying to get back home and quench his thirst at the same time. He went past the burned-out deli at the head of the street and past the first few buildings. A few more and he'd be home. He took another sip of--
He stopped dead in his tracks, his bottle of juice up to his lips.
His eyes were fixed on something up ahead. The Land Rover parked on the street. There was something not right about it. It didn't fit with the area. It was too... nice. Too clean. And it was parked outside the basement. Eddie's heart began to beat harder and faster, his senses alerted. He lowered the bottle and looked up at his building. It was silent. In the distance, the sound of a police siren cut through the air, then faded away. But that Land Rover remained where it was.
I don't like it, I don't like it. No, I don't, he thought to himself with a rapid shake of his head.
Eddie replaced the cap on his bottle and gulped the juice he had in his mouth. He just knew something wasn't right, his instincts were screaming at him above the white noise of the words floating in his mind. That vehicle was like a cheetah stalking a gazelle. The way it watched him, the street, his home. He inhaled deep, then began edging towards it, keeping his ears and eyes open. As he neared the Land Rover, he veered across the sidewalk toward the row of buildings. He approached with his head down. If something was up, he didn't want to act suspicious. His heart began to hammer harder in his chest; adrenaline flooded his body, his fight or flight response kicking in.
