Endless Night (Dylan Hart Odyssey of The Occult Series)

by Gilmore, R. M.

  Laughter built in her throat and spilled from her lips, tickling the hairs on my neck causing them to stand on end. “I believe you are the one who’s fucked,” she cackled and giggled as she rose from the floor. Her little finger came up and pointed to the center of my chest. Her voice came again, this time much deeper and in a language I didn’t understand. Her lips moved quickly, quicker than the words that spewed from her mouth. It looked like a horribly dubbed foreign film. But scary. Really, pretty fucking scary.

  A tingling started between my boobs and spread slowly outward. After a few moments, it didn’t tingle so much as burn. No, blister. Scorch. Fucking hurt like hell. A guttural scream came from somewhere in me and I bent over in pain. The tiny finger pointing at me, the odd voice coming from the little scary girl, nothing compared to the fear I felt as my heartbeat stopped. I coughed and sputtered, and tried to will it to start again, but nothing helped. Seconds felt like hours when you felt your source of life cease to function. My knees collapsed and my heavy body hit the floor with a thud. My mouth gaped and tried to suck in air and I felt a little like a fish out of water. A guppy to be exact. Suffering was not a strong enough word to describe what the little bitch was doing to me. She wanted penance, retribution for my actions, and she was taking her pound of flesh straight through my chest cavity.

  I riled, writhed, died on the floor at her feet but her power never wavered. Fiction or fact, it didn’t matter anymore, I believed. Against everything I’d ever known, felt, or learned, in that moment, I knew things existed that shouldn’t. Things most people would rather stay hidden behind the veil of falsity. Curses had power, whether you believed it or not. I didn’t, and look where it got me.

  My vision was hazing over at the edges. A fancy white vignette surrounded my view. A kinked smile twitched at the ends across Azelie’s mouth. A disdainful scoff followed and she dropped her finger. “Now, you believe.”

  My heart fluttered back to life and I gulped in air faster than my lungs would allow. Each felt as if it would burst under the pressure. Tears began flowing down my cheeks without my control. I hated crying, but dying was much worse.

  “Why?” my pathetic half-dead voice choked out.

  “You’re a nosey little thing. A good ally,” she squatted next to me coming almost to my level. “You, my darlin’, will be mine,” her smile spread wide across her face.

  “No, why them?” I asked, starting to come around again, not really making sense with my line of questioning.

  “Your mind makes up the visions. I only make sure they yours to see.” That explained the horrific things I’d been seeing, sort of, but it wasn’t what I was after.

  “No,” I shook my head, hoping she’d get the hint and tell me something before torturing me further. If I was going to die, I at least wanted to go out feeling some sort of satisfaction.

  Her face scrunched, “My blood?” I nodded. “Blonde, all I need is blonde. Very specific sacrifice. No blood on my hands, no, no, no. Police come with white goat, no, no,” she ticked her finger side to side and shook her head. “One sacrifice will do, but without the lamb, I need more life. More blood,” she softened her face and spoke to me like I was her pupil. “Blood makes the magic stick. Gives it life. Blood is life.”

  It’s always blood. Blood is life…

  “Why California?” My voice was hoarse and hurt a little coming out.

  “Easy. Very easy,” she laughed a healthy belly laugh. “Vampires. Oh, blame the vampires. Stupid Americans believe anything. Tha’s why I choose vampires, easy scapegoat. And easy zombie. Very…vulnerable. The young ones.”

  “You’re pretty open about it all now. Figure you’ll kill me anyway so why the hell not spill the beans?” I smiled, but it meant nothing. I only just wanted to get an idea of how long I had.

  “Oh, no, penance. You owe retribution.”

  “You keep saying that. Why aren’t you just exacting your pound of flesh?”

  “I don’t want your blood. Ha, brunette,” she lifted a lock of my hair. “I want you,” her tiny hooked finger poked me in my chest. “Your soul is in my pocket, your thoughts are mine. I have what I need to replenish what you stole from me.” She lowered herself to meet my eyes, “I have you.”

  My heart, though still beating, flipped and fluttered with her words. “Who took their heads?” I asked as I gulped down the fear that crept up my throat.

  “Others. All the others. One at a time,” she explained as if I should already know. “’Dis America, ‘cher. You can’t have bodies layin’ around. And witnesses are easier handled when they dead.”

  “And the hair?” Nothing made sense, but it all made perfect sense. It’s magic, silly girl. Why else?

  “Binds the spirits. Angry souls are not good,” she smiled again as if this all was a wonderful sunny day in the park.

  “And the heads? What purpose does that serve?” I wanted everything. All the bullshit behind the bloody mask. Really, the more I kept her talking the longer I had to devise a plan. Or, at least that’s how they did it on TV.

  “Oh, they vampires. You should know, you’ve taken a few heads yourself,” she looked me in the face like I was the dumbest little puppy she’d laid eyes on.

  Oh, that.

  “Yes, but they’re…” I argued.

  “There’s no difference. Make no excuses,” she was starting to sound angry.

  “No, I meant they’re not really vampires. Just killing them like normal people will work.” Probably.

  “So innocent,” she patted the top of my head and rose from her place next to my head.

  “I just want to go home.” I was playing to her softer side. If one existed. “Can I please just go home?”

  “You can go where ever you’d like.” I sighed, but she continued. “Where ever you run, I be there,” she stood over the top of me, staring down like I was a bug at her feet. “I am your thoughts. I am your soul.”

  I swallowed hard and fought against the fear that built inside me. All wanted was to go home. I wanted to be away from this place. Away from her and Malcolm and Cyrus and the lot of them. The girl leaned over the top of me holding some kind of piece of coal. A flick of her wrist and the charcoal was marking along my skin, creating symbols along my arm.

  A burst of adrenaline rushed through my veins and forced my tired muscles to function. I grabbed her wrist with my free hand. My legs lifted and kicked at the little frame that towered over me. The soles of my shoes landed square in her core and she flew backward. Her rosary now dangled from my fingers. She might have had magical powers and shit, but the bitch was still human. I could kill a human. Shit, apparently I could also kill vampires.

  As the woman tumbled to her ass, I shoved mine up off the floor and climbed to my feet. I didn’t waste a glance back at her. My little feet scurried across the carpeted floor and down the stairs with a bound. Cyrus still stood in his position at the foot of the staircase, motionless as a statue.

  “Cyrus!” I called to him. He didn’t turn toward my voice.

  My feet hit the slick wood floor, but the rubber of my Converse prohibited the slide I’d grown accustomed to. I spun around the banister to meet Cyrus’s eyes. They were blank, blanched nearly white, and dead.

  “Cyrus?!” I screamed in his face. Not a movement.

  I raised my hand and landed a slap across his cheek. Nothing. His droopy eyelids didn’t even blink under the sting of my slap.

  “Ugh,” I groaned in frustration. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

  My feet took off with a jolt and carried me out the front door and down the walk. At the end of the walkway, parked in the street where we’d left it, the shiny black car waited for me. I sent a little prayer up to the Big Guy for this miracle and barreled down the walk toward the waiting car. Along the concrete walkway squiggly white lines lead the way toward the car. Without stopping, I slowed a bit to catch a better view of the new artwork adorning the pavement. Crudely drawn snakes wiggled in white chalk designs un
derfoot.

  My soft soled shoes slapped the pavement, smudging the chalk drawings with every step. I heard cackling laughter behind me as I opened the rear door.

  “Run away, child,” Azelie called from the open doorway at the other end of the walk. “I witchu always,” her thick accent echoed through the night, sending prickling chills from my neck down the backs of my legs.

  “Go fuck yourself!” I yelled back just before I slammed the car door shut. “Drive,” I told the man behind the wheel.

  Azelie’s laughter filled the cab of the car even as we pulled away from the curb and headed off into the darkness.

  “Where to?” the driver spoke finally.

  “Home. I just want to go home,” I said, leaning my head back onto the headrest.

  I licked my fingers and rubbed vigorously at the black she’d left on my arm. It smudged, but didn’t disappear. I tried the same with the oily shit on my face. Using the drivers’ rearview mirror I could see there was nothing obvious spread across my face, but it was still oily to the touch.

  “Fuck it,” I whispered to myself and slid back into my seat.

  The single person, who was responsible for the deaths of over fifteen women, was now my arch nemesis. Shit, I would even pin Diego and Sam on her. In a roundabout way, it was her fault. It was her fault I killed people. It was all her fault. All because she didn’t want to get her hands dirty sacrificing one herself? Not saying that was any better, but come on now, do your own dirty work. For what? Power? Greed? Somehow, that wicked voodoo bitch had orchestrated the serial murders of women in California, Nevada, Texas, and Lord knew which other states. Only girls were beheaded, bound and left for the vultures. Were there other Sam’s? Other Diego’s? Other stupid kids with nothing better to do than follow blindly? How did she find any of them? So many questions filled my always curious mind. This time my curiosity needed to save my life instead of digging me deeper into shit.

  My fingers twisted the beads of the black rosary as I rested my head and my tired eyes. I’d slept so long, yet felt so tired as if I hadn’t slept at all. It’d been two days since I’d seen the sun. An endless night of horrors and blood that seemed to stretch beyond my memory. Hours left until dawn, I yearned for the light of day. Away from the monsters, away from the witches, the ghosts, the vampires, I clung to the only thing I had in my possession. Faith.

  If it’s real, all of it, someone has some serious explaining to do.

  Chapter Eighteen

  My plane landed at quarter-to-four at the always crowded LAX. The lights of the city sparkled wildly, a lovely homecoming, but bittersweet. I was on a red eye flight back home after a terrifying encounter with a hell bitch and without my entourage to boot. I’d spent my flight white knuckling it with visions of fiery crashes and mile long plummets from space. All the while, the fear of darkness loomed over me. Everything in my rationale told me it was idiotic; things like magic and vampires were fiction and nothing more. My heart still felt the sting of that woman’s grasp and respected the existence of things otherworldly. My soul quivered in its skin sack for fear of contamination from that of greed-filled magic. Having all of your outlooks on the world split in three so suddenly, made you feel a little out of control, like at any moment you would teeter right off that deep end directly into insanity. And if I wasn’t careful, I’d get locked up with the others. The others who said things that should not exist in this modern world were lurking in the shadows around them. Waiting for their turn to strike.

  I thought I’d feel a sense of relief when I disembarked the aircraft. Relieved for the fact that my feet were planted firmly on the earth and I was no longer hurdling through open space at five-hundred miles an hour. That never happened. The sensation of being in air, seemingly free of curses and voodoo mamas had created a false sense of security. Well, secure from the likes of witches and vampires anyhow. Once out of the terminal and on my way to hailing a cab, it truly sunk in that I was all alone. No one in this town would believe it if I told them I’d been cursed in New Orleans.

  I was pissed at Tatum for not being more aware of my predicament. Malcolm could go fuck himself for all I cared, but that’s was nothing new. Cyrus weighed heavily on my mind. I’d left him alone in that house with that woman. Under her spell. White-eyed and dead. A zombie. A fucking voodoo zombie. I clutched Azelie’s black rosary in my hand and prayed to anything that would listen that my friend made it out alive.

  I dug my phone from my bag and dialed Tatum. She was my only link to the situation I’d left in my wake and, as far as I knew, completely unaware of any danger. Her line rang incessantly in my ear. The once tolerable call tone had been nixed months ago, leaving this generic ring behind. Even her fucking phone suffered under the weight of that ginger fuck. Her voicemail answered and beeped, letting me know it was time to talk.

  “Tatum, shit has hit the fan. I can’t explain everything right now. If you’re away from the house, go back right now. Cyrus is there and he’s in trouble. I ran away and took a plane home.” I paused for a long time, trying to figure out how to say what needed to be said. “Tatum, the person who killed those girls, the one who took Reggie’s head, she knows who I am. She wants me dead. She has Cyrus and I don’t know if he’s okay or not,” my voice shook with tears that clung to the edge of my lashes. “I need Malcolm to stop her from hurting anyone else until I can figure out how to fix this. I’m heading home now and I’m going to call Mike again. He needs to know.” I took a deep breath, “Tatum, if I don’t see you…I love you. Whatever happens, I love you. And thank you for pushing Cyrus. He’s a really good person regardless. Call me as soon as you can, please,” snot mingled with tears at the tip of my nose and I decided to hang up before shit got out of hand.

  Wiping tears away from my oily face, I stomped through the bulk of L.A.X. in search of an exit. At four a.m., the cabbies were all lined up along the walk waiting for the first all-nighter to hop in their yellow cesspool of phlegm and old urine. I didn’t care. I just wanted to be in my own house so I could be crazy in private.

  I had nothing with me aside from my canvas bag. I’d packed in such a hurry so it didn’t take much to slide into a stinking seat and mumble to the driver my destination. I prayed Tatum brought the rest of my shit with her when she came home in twelve hours. If she came. I could have run to the police. Fuck, I could have had the driver take me back to find Tatum and Malcolm. But I didn’t. I didn’t care about anything or anyone but myself. In a time of sheer fear, it was perfectly acceptable. I’d made an enemy in that town and I needed out and fast. There was rarely a better option than leaving the direct turf of said enemy in times of war. Trust me. I was pretty good at making enemies. A talent I had.

  The driver spoke nearly no English which worked for me, I wasn’t really into talking. Azelie’s black rosary now dangling from my fingers, clicked against the armrest in the door. Mike hadn’t called me back. He had no clue I was home, or in trouble, or in need of his assistance. I was home, yes, but I was so much more alone than I had ever been. In a way, being home by myself caused more fear than the aspect of coming face to face with that big bad voodoo mama again.

  I closed my eyes, but it only took a few seconds before visions of dead girls danced in my head. I opened my eyes and watched the scenery pass me by. Bright lights made way for suburbs and I knew I was close to home. We turned onto a side street and I knew there were only a few blocks left until home. A heavy sigh pushed from my lungs and I let my head fall back again. Something pulsated in my peripheral and my head turned into that direction instinctively.

  Sitting upright in the seat next to me, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, a headless and naked body sat next to me. A squeal popped out of my mouth and my body flung itself backwards as far as it could away from the corpse.

  “No drunk in cab!” the driver yelled from the front seat in broken English. A woman screamed in his backseat and he assumed she’s was drunk. Must be Hollywood.

  A large bit
of wood protruded from between two naked breasts. Hands bound with black hair lay still in her lap. My breaths came heavier and heavier over the few seconds that passed. My eyes told me the stake in her chest was moving, but my brain wouldn’t believe it. Up and down, in and out, as if moving with sets of breaths. I stared at the chest, trying to make out what I was seeing. My eyes trained on the woman’s chest missed the movement coming from lower. Hands flung up into my vision and reached out for me. Fingers tense and wriggling around bands of knotted black hair.

  I screamed. I screamed and flailed and screamed some more. My hands slapped through the hands that reached out for me. The hands and arms dissipated like smoke only to reform a second later. The car slammed to a stop and my body flew forward with the momentum. My head slammed into the back of the passenger seat and knocked me senseless for a minute.

  “Get out. No drunks in cab. Out of my cab. Out!” The driver yelled irrationally from his position behind the wheel.

  The body had disappeared completely, for which I was thankful, but I was still a few blocks from home and now without a ride. My eyes sat wide on my shocked face. Unlike my normal self, I exited the vehicle without saying a word.

  My ass slid from the seat, legs shaking when my feet hit the ground. I slammed the door shut with gumption just seconds before the cabby sped off. He didn’t even wait for his money. Apparently, I’d scared the big tough Los Angeles taxi driver. At least I wasn’t the only one that wanted to get the hell away from me.

  Still shaken, I took off on foot toward home. The neighborhood was dark at that ungodly hour just before dawn and I felt so alone in my own thoughts. I clung to my stolen rosary and prayed I’d make it home without another visit from my headless friends. If there were eight dead girls, my mind would show me eight. Right?

  Fuck that. Fuck that. No. No. No! I am not doing it! Listen here mind, you stop it! Now! No more dead bitches!

  My feet hit the pavement with light slaps and it seemed it was the only noise filling my ears. I passed an alley to my left and tried hard to not let my eyes wander in that direction. I tried not to let myself think about blue dumpsters and headless broads.