Shrouds of Darkness

by Brock Deskins

  “She sounds like a remarkable woman. I hope you will consider building on this relationship. Maybe you won’t be such a rancid little prick to everyone.”

  “Don’t hold your breath, doc. If a little sex cured crazy, you would be running a whorehouse on the second floor. Costs about the same,” I tell him as I stand up to leave.

  “Are you leaving already? I’m sure we have plenty more talk about. You’re paying for the full hour you know.”

  I turn about abruptly. “What? I’ve been here like fifteen minutes!”

  “I bill for the hour and you ran off my other appointment,” he replies unabashedly.

  “I guess you don’t need a whorehouse upstairs, you do fine screwing people right in your office,” I mumble as I step out of his office.

  I’m not really mad. I know the score but we both like to play our little word games. I give Jeanine a fake smile as I step out then a feigned a look of shock when she raises her bony old digit and flips me the bird.

  As I step onto the sidewalk, a nervous voice speaks to me from behind. “You’re not like other people. You’re different.”

  My reaction is instantaneous. I spin around and catch the speaker by his throat, easily lifting him from the ground. I quickly see that it is the scared little man, Ronald, from the office.

  “What do you mean, I’m different? How am I different?” I demand, thinking that he somehow knows I’m a vampire, which may well mean the end of Ronald and all his troubles.

  “You’re different, you’re not scared of anything, I can tell,” he gasps out as he clutches my wrist with both his hands.

  I release my grip and he falls on his ass. “Most people aren’t afraid of everything.”

  “But you’re not afraid of anything,” he reiterates as he scrambles back to his feet. “Me, I’m afraid of everything. I can barely leave my apartment to come to this appointment and it’s only a block away! How do I be like you?”

  I’m impressed that the little worm has the spine to even approach me, given what he just said of his problems. He must be really desperate, or just really crazy.

  “Dying helps. What is it that made you so afraid to begin with? I can’t imagine you were always a complete chicken shit.”

  Ronald gulps audibly then relates his story. “A few years ago I was mugged by a man with a knife. He took my money and my driver’s license and said he now knew where I lived and if the cops ever come after him, he would come kill me. Ever since then I haven’t left my apartment except to see Dr. Morison. I lost my job, my wife, everything. Please tell me how to be like you.”

  I pause to think for a moment then motion to the narrow alley next to the doc’s office with my head. “Let’s get off the street and I’ll see if I can explain.”

  Ronald hesitantly steps between the narrow gap between the buildings as I follow close behind.

  “I just can’t go on like this anymore. I’m losing what little grip I have on my remaining sanity,” he babbles.

  He holds his hand with clenched fists against his chest, his fingers twitching about as if he is using a subtle form of sign language. When he turns to face me, the end of his nose disappears inside Shalonda’s massive bore. Every muscle in his body goes so stiff he cannot even fall down or release the piss that is desperately trying to escape his body.

  “This gun has a stock trigger pull of just under four pounds. I’ve modified it to nearly half that. From your vantage point, you could set it off just by breathing too hard.”

  There is no real threat of that since he hadn’t taken a breath and probably wouldn’t until he passed out.

  “Look at me, Ronald. Look in my eyes.”

  Ronald’s eyes uncross as he stops focusing on Shalonda’s heavy black barrel and looks at me.

  “Tell me, what would happen if I decide to pull the trigger right now?”

  The terrified man’s lips begin to quiver but no sound escapes them.

  “Come on, Ronald, stay with me. I need you to use your words. What will happen if I pull the trigger?”

  “I-it w-would go off.”

  “And?”

  “A-and I would die,” he wailed in a whisper.

  “And?” I continue to press.

  The man is confused as much as terrified as he answers. “I-I don’t know. Nothing, I would be dead and then there would be nothing!”

  “That’s right, there would be nothing,” I affirm as I ride the hammer back down and slip the big gun back into my deep coat pocket. “There would be no more fear, no more shrinks, and no more bad memories. There would be nothing. Now what is so terrifying about nothing?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing I suppose. What are you saying; that I should kill myself?”

  “I’m saying that death is going to come to you. It eventually comes for every one of us whether it’s today if a man stabs you and takes your money, tomorrow if a bus hits you as you step off the curb, or fifty years from now in your sleep. Death is the peaceful oblivion we are all rewarded with for suffering through all the bullshit we put up with in life. When you accept it as an inevitability, just like the sun rising and setting every day, when you can say ‘fuck you, death’, only then can you actually live and enjoy your life.”

  I watch Ronald’s entire countenance change right before my eyes. He relaxes his arms and stands up straighter.

  “I think I understand. I thought I was afraid of death but what I am really afraid of is life!”

  “You got it. Now repeat after me: fuck death!”

  “Fuck death!”

  “Fuck death!”

  Fuck death!” Ronald cries out enthusiastically.

  “Now what are you going to do, Ronald?”

  He pauses and thinks. “I think I’ll go to the zoo. I haven’t been there in so long. Thank you, thank you so much!”

  I flip open my phone as I begin walking back home. “Hey, doc, we really need to discuss your fee. This psychiatry shit is a piece of cake.”

  “Leo? What do you mean? Leo, what have you done?” I hear him shout into his phone just before I end the call and drop my cell back into my pocket.

  I think this counts as my one good deed of the year. Karma can kiss my ass now; we’re even as far as I’m concerned. I actually feel rather good having helped Ronald out, but mostly I just like to screw with the doc. My real reward is knowing that Ronald won’t be making nearly as many appointments now and that will hit Dr. Morison right in his wallet. That’s what he gets for charging me a full hour.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I’m cutting through Forest Park on my way home when my phone starts to vibrate. Caller ID says it’s Marvin.

  “What do have for me, Marvin?”

  “Everything, of course,” the young hacker scoffs. “I pulled up all his contacts and cross-referenced their numbers with the service providers. I then hacked into those and got their addresses. Some of these fools actually have contract phones so those addresses are probably good, but even the prepays have registrations so I pulled those email addresses and snooped through them until I found some physical addresses to go with them.”

  “Good job, Marvin. I need you to send whatever information you have along with the phone to me. Use a courier and tell him there’s a twenty dollar tip in it if he can get it to me in the next thirty minutes.”

  “A’ight, I can do that but you need to call me by my street name, Mo’ Money.”

  “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, Marvin,” I inform him and give him a nearby address for the courier to meet me at.

  I cut off Marvin’s reply in mid-expletive. Just as I flip my phone shut, something hits me hard from behind and we both go tumbling to grass. I leap up just a fraction of a second faster than my attacker who immediately launches a flurry of strikes and kicks at my head and body.

  I’m caught by surprise, not just at the attack but by the attacker as well, but I still manage to block most of them though a few get through and land with enough force to rock me back.

  �
��I saw the bruises, you son of a bitch!” Roger, Katherine’s angry little brother, rages and dives at me once more.

  Prepared for his attack, I stop him in his tracks as he collides linebacker style into my midriff. I easily lift and flip him over my hip as I pivot and toss him several yards.

  The angry pup lands hard and rolls to a stop, glaring hatred at me as he readies himself to throw down some more. I can’t help but sympathize with him as my own anger at attacking Katherine deeply resembles his own.

  “Roger, stop! It was an accident and this is not going to help Katherine or your father.”

  His rage is still evident as he glowers at me, breathing hard, his fists clenched and held before him, but he does not continue to press his attack. He stands like this for a full minute before relaxing and dropping his hands to his side.

  “Fuck!” he screams as he kicks a metal barrel used as a trash can chained to a park bench, deeply denting in the side of it. “I hate it when she does this!”

  “Does what?”

  “Falling for some asshole that always ends up hurting her,” he replies unabashedly.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Roger. I tried to keep her at a distance but she is rather persistent.”

  Roger sits heavily on the bench and I take a seat next to him. “I know. That’s what she said. She doesn’t let herself get close to people very often. I don’t want you to think she’s some kind of slut or something that just hopped into bed with you out of boredom. It’s just that when she does choose to get involved with someone, she goes all in, holds nothing back, and it almost always ends with her getting hurt, although not usually bruised up and this soon.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t get close to people either. I think it’s that passion she has that got to me. Look, I’m not about to get all girly and talk about my feelings and shit with you about your sister. I’m as surprised and appalled about what all happened as you are, maybe even more so.”

  Roger nods in mutual agreement. “Kat tells me you don’t think my father is killing all these people.”

  “I’m not sure what to think right now, but one thing is for sure, it goes a lot deeper than just some werewolf getting in a frenzy. Vampires are involved and may have set up the entire thing, including your father. I just don’t know who or why. I’m expecting a courier with some information a few blocks from here that should serve to shed some light on things or at least get me closer to the truth. So if you don’t mind, time is really not on our side right now.”

  Roger takes the hint and stands to leave but gives me a parting warning. “If you hurt her, I swear, somehow I’ll kill you.”

  “If I hurt her, I might just let you,” I reply and stalk off at a brisk walk to meet my courier.

  The courier and I reach the coffee shop at almost the exact same time. He’s a typical bike rider, sporting spandex shorts, plastic helmet, and a windbreaker with his company logo emblazoned across the back. I acknowledge him with a wave and he peddles over to me.

  “Mr. Malone?” he inquires.

  I reply a curt, “Yeah,” as I show my ID and pay him the COD and the promised tip.

  He thanks me and smiles appreciatively as he hands over a large envelope with the evident bulge of the cell phone in the middle of it before pedaling off to whatever delivery is next on his list.

  I take a seat at one of the outdoor tables of the coffee shop and begin examining the contents of the envelope. I’m looking through the call logs when I young man in an apron and sporting numerous facial piercings interrupts me.

  “Good morning, sir, welcome to Perk Place Coffee House, what can I get for you?”

  “Some fucking privacy,” I growl in response without looking up from my stack of papers.

  “Sir, I am obliged to tell you that these tables are for customers only and if you want to sit here you need to buy something,” he counters in a voice that shows how much he has to force himself to be polite.

  “And I am obliged to inform you that if you speak one more word, I will tear your arms off and beat you to death with them.”

  I glance up and see that he is actually stupid enough to ignore my warning so I grab the stainless steel cocoa shaker off the table and crush it like a beer can. The idiot squeaks in appreciable fear and seeks safety indoors.

  I finish flipping through the papers and start looking through the cell’s contacts, putting names, numbers, and addresses with the entries on the pages when I am once again interrupted, this time by the manager with Shrapnel-face standing several paces behind him.

  The manager clears his throat, both to get my attention and to try to get his words past the obvious fear he is trying to hide. “Sir, threatening my employees and destroying Perk Place property is unacceptable.”

  “Not nearly as unacceptable as that comb-over,” I fire back as I continue to scroll through the contacts screen.

  “I must insist that you pay for that shaker and vacate the premises immediately or I will be forced to call the police!”

  I look away from the small phone screen and up at the nervously sweating manager. “How much does that tin can cost?”

  Assuming I am actually cooperating, he stands a little straighter and replies, “$9.99 plus tax.”

  “And how much do you think a skull fracture costs, calculating in the time lost from work and the perpetual drooling the resulting brain damage may cause?”

  “I don’t understand,” his words say, but his body language shows he knows exactly what I mean.

  “It’s not a complicated question. It’s based on the basic business acumen of cutting one’s losses. If that is also too complicated for your community college education to comprehend, let me break it down for you even further. Fuck off before I add you to what may be a rather long list of people I have to kill today. Do you understand that?” I ask him nonchalantly.

  I think it is the matter-of-fact tone as much as the actual threat itself that sends him and his moronic lackey running away. Whatever the reason, I am glad for the moment of peace. I pick a name with frequent calls and texts, and begin typing.

  Yo, Mikey, U feed lately?

  I despise the concept of texting so much I feel dirty right now, but a phone call is out of the question. I need to ascertain two things right now: is Mikey a vampire and where can I find him?

  Fortunately I do not have long to wait before getting a response.

  T-dog, what up? Yeah, ate some prosti near the docks last night but down 4 w/e. Where u been?

  Problems, bro. U at home? Meet u there in a few.

  I slip the phone into my pocket after Mikey confirms he is home and will wait there for me. Thanks to Marvin getting me billing and registration information from the various phone accounts, I know right where to go.

  “I smell donuts and an undeserved sense of importance,” I remark as I stand, turn around, and face the two uniformed cops that are behind me.

  “The manger says you are threatening his staff and destroying property. What’s that about?” one of the cops asks.

  “A simple misunderstanding I think. I was simply giving Captain Comb-over a lesson in business sense.”

  “Did you break that canister?” the other cop asks, indicating the crushed shaker on the table.

  I look from the cops to the manager and flip a twenty onto the table, deciding I have better things to do than continue picking fights at a coffee shop.

  “You know,” the cop remarks as I drop the double sawbuck onto the table, “it would have been a lot less hassle a good deal cheaper if you had just bought a cup of coffee.”

  “Yeah, but what’s the fun in that?” I reply with a smile and tip of an imaginary hat.

  Fortunately, the cops also have better things to do with their time than pursue a verbal threat, much to the manager’s protests. I hear them giving them manager the same advice I did about cutting his losses as I walk away.

  I have a cab drop me off a few blocks from Mikey’s apartment in the Bronx. I
have to wonder why it is that if Mikey and his crew are operating out of the Bronx, why are they hunting in my ward? Of course, I am going on the assumption that there is a grand conspiracy going on and not just a few random vampires getting uppity.

  It’s a pretty shitty part of town, which is good because this is not likely to be a subtle interrogation and the people around these parts are not prone to calling the cops unless the bullets start coming through their walls.

  Graffiti covers the walls and trash litters the stairs I ascend. Mikey lives on the fourth floor of the six-story complex. A few children, mostly black and Latino, are terrorizing the halls but they quickly disappear into the apartments when they see me. I’m not a regular and people living in places like this have a sixth sense about impending danger.

  I find the door I am looking for and give it a quick, soft rapping with my knuckles while standing to the side of the peephole.

  “T-dog, that you?” a muffled voice inquires from inside.

  I hit dial on my phone and hear the corresponding ring from just on the other side of the door. That is all the confirmation I need. A quick sidestep and kick sends the door, a good portion of its frame, and Mikey tumbling into the center of the tiny, filthy apartment.

  I leap through the ruined portal, sword in hand, and thrust it through the young man’s chest and spine, pinning him to the floor like a bug in a collector’s display case. Mikey looks up at me, his eyes wide, filled with terror, and begins crying out.

  “Oh God, who are you? I can’t feel my legs!”

  “That’s because I severed your spinal cord between the T2 and T3 vertebrae. If you were human, you would probably have a hard time just breathing right now. If you answer my questions, you will probably get better. If you don’t, you will definitely get a whole lot worse.”

  “Who are you, what do you want?” Mikey wails.

  I pick the door up off the floor and set it back into place as best I can while I answer the question. “I’m the guy that gets called when vampires get out of line. You and your friends have been getting out of line. Didn’t anyone explain the rules to you?”