by Leo Romero
It all came down to what he did with the Eye.
He sighed and reached up for the solid silver pendant hanging around his neck. The one that contained the Eye. Stealing it from Leviah was more than a risk; if Leviah had caught even a sniff of him sneaking around his quarters, he’d have torn him to shreds and fed the remains to the seagulls loitering at the edges of the Chicago River. It was Veronica that told him to do it; her idea. She knew all too well the influence the Eye had over Leviah and the Order. Her vision was to bring the Order to its knees. Drake shared that vision. And he put the plan in motion. But now the Eye was in his grasp, and he could feel the vibrations, the darkly ecstatic thrum it emitted, he found himself caught in two minds.
The power was in his grasp. Should he just hand it over to Veronica? He didn’t trust her.
He clenched the pendant tight. It enveloped him in an aura of spite and sheer fearless rage that he never thought possible, even going full vampire didn’t hold the promise the Eye had. It was the conduit to pure evil, the telescope into the black heart, the grim void that he’d sought for so long even before Leviah had come and taken him to the dark place, given him that blissful taste of his unique venom and turned him to their side. Leviah placed his trust in Drake, making him his lieutenant, something the low-level street thug gangs of Chicago couldn’t even dream of. Those punks weren’t jack compared to the Order. And Drake then found out what real power was; his limited lifespan now limitless, the visions, the domination, the thrill of being part of a secretive organization. Being at the very pinnacle of it, with soldiers beneath him, helping to mold society in the way they saw fit, which was usually to humanity’s detriment. And why not? Screw em. What good were they? Bags of bones rotting away from the moment they pull their first pitiful breath. Drake nodded to himself. Yeah, Leviah and the Order’s vision was so much better than the Creator’s. more advanced, structured. It had a direction, a plan, something severely lacking on the other side...
And Drake had been full on with that plan until Veronica showed up with her alternate vision. “We can lead the Order,” she’d whispered into his ear, her voice taking on the delectable tone of a scheming harlot. “You can lead the Order,” she’d added with a lick of her lips. “All we need is the Eye...” That precious relic Leviah guarded like a jealous lover. And it was in his grip.
And now that he had it, and absorbed its ethereal jolts like a static charge, he was finding himself reconsidering. Why hand the power over to Veronica? The thing he’d risked his existence for? All that he’d gained attained, to lose it in an instant? No, he had three clear choices. One: hand the Eye over to Veronica and trust that she wouldn’t double cross him. Two: bribe Leviah; offer the Eye in return for even more power.
Or, three: keep the Eye for himself and take his place as the new head of the Order. Vampire King Drake. It sounded, kinda nice...
He’d need an army to take down Leviah, and that would take time. But, with the Eye on his side, he had collateral.
A shiver coursed through him; something that hadn’t happened in what seemed an eternity. The Eye was helping him to feel again. But it was all darkness. Hate, bile, jealousy, revenge. Exquisite emotions and states of mind that fueled rage, the very thing that destroyed armies and civilizations. Power itself.
He rolled his eyes to the left and gazed down at the lump sitting in the dirty, broken chair in the corner of the room. He was staring into the gloom ahead with blank eyes, his hands curled up into fists. Ready to protect his father whenever necessary. Nighttime had fallen and it was time to feed.
“You! Marlon!” Drake called in a stern voice.
Marlon’s glazed eyes rolled up toward him.
“Over here!” Drake ordered.
Marlon got to his feet and marched over to his master with the obedience of a well-trained dog.
Drake now rolled his eyes up to meet Marlon’s. He grinned. Big guys always made the best protection. He stood on tiptoes, before he grabbed Marlon’s jaw, and snapped his head back. In one swift movement, he thrust his open mouth toward Marlon’s pulsing jugular, sinking his teeth into the flesh. He immediately sucked out the precious life force before injecting his pleasure into Marlon’s system. The pendant containing the Eye bounced rhythmically on his chest as he fed, sending tremors of hate coursing through him.
Alongside the coppery taste of blood, the sensation was beyond bliss.
PART THREE
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dom threw a stick of gum in his mouth and chewed, the action helping mask his nerves. From the abandoned garage where he’d parked his car, he kept his eyes on the front garden of 1428, and the two fangheads in their regular positions. He checked the time: 1:21 pm. It was almost time to strike, and he was feeling it; the nerves, the anxiety. He managed to get zero hours of sleep the night before. Instead, he lay in his bed for hours just staring at the darkness, wondering exactly what was going to happen today. How events would unfold. He envisaged a million different scenarios, some victorious, some failures. He tried to play out every possibility in his mind, hoping to avoid any nasty surprises. The truth was that he had no idea what was going on inside that derelict, boarded-up house. It was a box of tricks, a mystery, but one he needed to solve. Today.
He glanced at his reflection in the rear-view. He looked pale; bloodshot eyes stared back at him, dark rings hanging under them as if he hadn’t had a lick of sleep for ten years. On top of that, that nasty tingling had started up the moment he neared the house. That venom detector. It trickled and tickled down his spine like the delicate fingers of a specter. He tapped the steering wheel, his jaw working up and down like a piston, his stare fixed on the two guards in their deckchairs.
Come on, he urged. Go...
They stayed as they were. Dom huffed. He wished he could just cut the next hour out of his life, and then continue from there. Preferably with the vamp’s body in his trunk on the way up to Beauchamp’s mansion. He checked the time again: 1:23. What felt like an electric eel suddenly squirmed in his stomach. He took in a deep breath and jigged his knees up and down to get the blood flowing through his legs. He knew he would be nervous, but not this bad.
Just be like Arnie in The Terminator. Storm in there, smoke the guy, then march triumphantly out.
Yeah right. He wished it were that easy.
He stared hard at the fangheads. Come on, isn’t it Big Mac time yet?
They just sat there in their deckchairs like they were at the beach. Man, those assholes had to really be hooked on that venom to do that all day, every day. The realization that he was just like them only last week made him shiver. It was mind control; pure and simple. Dom shook his head in disbelief, expelling air from his lungs.
He then ran jittery hands through his hair. He didn’t know how much more tension he could take. The only good thing was that the street was empty. No hobos, stragglers, or loiterers to bother him. He just watched. And waited. Watched and waited for that magic moment when they’d leave.
And then it would be on.
*****
Craig checked his watch: 1:27.
Time to go. He turned his head to the side to meet Jeff’s almost telepathic stare. Craig tapped his watch. Jeff nodded.
Craig shot up from his seat and cracked his knuckles. Jeff eased himself up from his chair more tentatively. He put his arms across his chest. “You know, Drake would kill us if he knew what we were up to,” he said in a low voice, his eyes darting left and right.
Craig flipped his hand on the air. “Relax, he’s snoozing, so he’ll never know.”
Jeff puffed his cheeks and nodded. “Yeah, maybe I’m just worrying too much that something will happen to him while we’re not around.”
Craig grinned. “And that’s exactly why he gets Marlon to sleep up there with him.”
Jeff met his stare. “Cause he’s twice the size of us?”
Craig shook his head. “No, cause he knows we’re a couple of slackers. Now, let’s go.”
&nb
sp; A twitchy grin spread across Jeff’s face. Craig set off, watching the streets with edgy eyes. Jeff followed, scratching his armpit.
They hit the sidewalk and headed away from the house.
*****
Dom’s heart jumped into his throat. The two fangheads just got up to leave. Right on cue. He watched them, jaw slack, bending his head down below the steering wheel, just his eyes peeking out over the top of it like he was the world’s worst spy. All he was missing was a fake mustache. In a few seconds, they were on the sidewalk. A few seconds more and they were turning down the street on the next block. Then, they were out of sight.
Dom’s eyes widened. This was it!
He sprang into life. He immediately pulled down the lid of the glove compartment and grabbed the metal stake and rubber mallet, stuffing them into the belt of his jeans. He then closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Calm down, buddy. Just calm down.
He tried to let his mind go blank. Blank. Blank. Blank. Nothing in it. He exhaled, opened his eyes again, and in the next instant, he flung open the door, letting in the sound of the outside world, which was dead silence. He stepped out onto the dirty concrete and then threw the door shut behind him. The sound reverberated all around him. Now, standing on the street, he quickly realized that his legs were numb and shaking.
Get it together, buddy, or you die here. Today!
Think about what these things did to you. And he did. He’d been bitten, pumped full of mind-controlling venom, kept in a basement as a slave. And one of the creatures that did it all to him was in that house. He nodded his head in understanding, suddenly feeling stronger.
Payback.
He scanned the area. The street was still thankfully empty. No passing cars, no kids on bikes, no hobos searching dumpsters. Nothing. And now no fangheads. Just him, a bunch of derelict houses, and a sleeping vamp. A shiver juddered through him just as he got moving, hitting the dirty sidewalk, zipping his leather jacket up to obscure his vampire-slaying tools. He had a quick glance across the street at 1428, the empty deckchairs in the garden, and his route over there. He started to jog towards them, his heart hammering like Woody Woodpecker had sneaked into his chest and was pecking away. He puffed his cheeks out in regular bursts. His stomach was turning itself inside out over and over like the local baker kneading dough. It was torture. It’ll all be over soon, buddy, he kept telling himself as he approached the house. He tried to think of good things: things like blondes in bikinis, beer, and money; especially the money he was gonna get from that millionaire limey for pulling this off. Money to get his landlord off his case.
He made it across the street, 1428 just a little way up. By then his heart was going at a million miles an hour and tasted like a nugget of hot lead. He wiped grimy sweat that had the texture of olive oil from his forehead. His mouth was as dry as a lizard’s back. His mind was going in so many different directions he was almost dizzy; coupled with that was the tingling in his spine. He wanted to shake it off, get his thoughts clear on how this was gonna play out, but it was impossible. He just had to roll with it as best he could.
As he approached the house, his eyes glued to it, he slowed to a walk, not wanting things to appear too blatant, wanting to play it cool. On finally reaching it, he stopped and stood at the head of the front yard, the empty deckchairs staring back at him as if he’d just strolled onto a ghost beach. Somewhere in the near distance, a crow cawed. He took a look around him. The next door house was all boarded up too; ugly graffiti covered the boards in ineligible black scribbles. He gazed from it over to the steel shutters obscuring the upstairs window of 1428. The bastard was probably sleeping in there right now. The thought made him shudder. He had a final glance over both shoulders; he was still alone.
Time to go in...
He steeled himself, then took his first tentative step into the yard. The second he did, his breathing seemed to stop and his heart began to hammer so hard, he could hear it; a bass drum in his chest. As for the house itself, it now dwarfed him. It appeared to be bending over him like it was about to swallow him whole, chew him up, then spit the remains out in the back yard for the crows to come and peck at.
Come on, buddy, get a grip, he kept telling himself. Get a grip...
He felt every muscle in his body tense as he moved past those two empty deckchairs rippling in the breeze. The two guards had left their weapons by their sides: a cosh, a hammer, a crowbar. Dom gulped. He definitely didn’t wanna get into a brawl with those two. He sped up slightly, focusing on the house. He finally crossed the garden path and made it onto the porch, his sneakers silent on the old wood. Now the cawing crows were distant, a million miles away like God had muted the world. All he could hear was the tomb-like silence coming from inside the house. A steel shutter covered the front door. It had been pulled away and pushed back so many times, it had been bent and weakened, meaning that he could get past it with ease. He sized the sheet up before he reached out and grabbed it. It was razor cold. He then eased it towards him, biting his bottom lip. The sheet squeaked quietly and scraped a little on the wooden porch. He winced. A slice of darkness spilt out of the gap he had made, bringing with it an ancient, musky, smell that somehow reminded him of old churches. He took a peek into the murk, finding that he was unable to see all the way to the rear of the entrance hall.
It’s very dark in there, was his first thought. He took in another deep breath and squinted his eyes; the darkness inside grew darker. What the hell am I doing? he suddenly asked himself as he stared into that abyss. Why am I doing this? Turn around, go home and think of something else while you’ve still got the chance cause once you go in, you might never come back out. He mulled it over. Then shook his head. There was no turning back. Go home to what exactly anyway? Loneliness? Isolation? Eviction?
Besides, he was working against the clock and he didn’t have time to waste thinking about crap like that. He steadied himself, then carefully eased past the steel sheet. He stepped onto the bare floorboards of the entrance hall, suddenly feeling like the world’s most stupid burglar who was about to rob an empty house.
Now, he found himself swallowed whole by the inner darkness.
The crows outside were now muffled, the silence surrounding him now amplified and it was an uncomfortable feeling like being sent on stage in front of a silent and expecting audience for the first time while they waited for the act to start. He felt exposed, out in the open in a place he didn’t know jack squat about. An alien in a foreign world.
Get upstairs and kill the vamp! his mind shouted at him, kicking him into gear. He scanned the gloom ahead of him, locking his eyes on the flight of carpetless stairs over to the left, just visible in the light spilling in through the ajar sheet/door. Dom reached into his jacket and pulled out the metal stake from his belt, letting it dangle by his side. It felt heavier than it did before as if it had morphed into an anvil. The passage he was in led straight into what looked like the kitchen with a closed door embedded in the right-hand wall. Suddenly, he was asking himself if the vamp could be in that room. He’d just assumed that he would be upstairs. Bedrooms were usually upstairs and this asshole would be sleeping. Yeah, but, this was a vampire and this was a derelict house. He could pick his bedroom anywhere he wanted. He checked his watch. In the sparse light, he could see it was 1:32. It was only a few minutes beforehand when he was in his car, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. But one thing hadn’t changed and still remained the same. He didn’t have much time. He had to get moving upstairs.
But if the target is in that room downstairs and you get stuck on the upstairs floor? Suddenly things were going a bit wonky.
I haven’t planned this as well as I thought I did...
And another thing, it would be pitch black further in the house, and he didn’t think to bring a flashlight with him. He could just about see the end of the front hallway because of the light coming in from the entrance, but inside those rooms, it would be like nighttime, cause the windows were all boarded u
p.
An idea hit him. Maybe the lights work.
Hmm. He spun his head left and right to see the outline of a light switch on the wall next to him. He reached out and flicked it. Nothing. Great. He huffed as he reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out his lucky Zippo, the one Mary Lou from Kentucky bought him as a parting gift, even though he didn’t smoke. Well, what could you do when God got your bra size and your IQ level ass backwards? Poor chick... Cute as hell, though.
Dom sparked it and held it out in front of him, suddenly grateful for Mary Lou’s unintentional genius foresight. It lit up the surrounding walls and floorboards in a small yellow circle, illuminating the way for him. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. Now he could finally get going.
He allowed for another of those deep, steadying breaths, just as a drop of sweat dripped off the end of his nose and hit the floorboards with a small duff sound that seemed a lot louder in there than it actually should have.
Christ, this isn’t going well at all!
He decided to take off his jacket and dump it on the floor to help him cool off. He could get it on his way out.
If you get out…
Now in only his tee, he took a cautious step forward, his breath baited, his neck craning his head around this way and that as if he expected something to jump out of the darkness. Now, every horror movie he’d ever seen whirled around his mind in vivid images like a self-destroying movie reel of torture. His mouth was sand paper and his face an oily mask. He wiped it with the back of his hand. The trusty Zippo in his hand illuminated a small area ahead of him, revealing that the kitchen most probably contained no nasty surprises. But, you never knew… By then, he’d nearly made it to the door. He carefully placed his feet down on the floorboards, almost tiptoeing along, his teeth embedded into his bottom lip, turning it white. Now he was deeper into the hallway, he could hear his breathing like he was Darth Vader, the sound of the crows now a dull drone somewhere in the background. He could smell the stink of himself coming from the sweat patches under the arms of his tee, which was now plastered to his back like Velcro. He stopped by the first door and listened for a second, his eyes fixed on the stairs. He didn’t like them being empty like that, it was the same effect as watching a lonely swing in the park swaying to and fro on the wind as if a ghost kid was riding it. There wasn’t a sound coming from inside the room, but that meant nothing. If Mr. Vampire was asleep in there, he wouldn’t be making a peep. Well, there was no choice, he had to go in and check it out.
