Young Blood: The Nightbreed Saga: Book 1

by Phillip Tomasso²

  It wasn’t going to be hard to turn her mother. She had proof, after all.

  “Have you been giving Ollie a hard time? Get down here.” Nancy pointed at a space on the floor beside her.

  She was no dog, but started down the stairs, her hand trailing along the banister. “Before or after he backhanded me?”

  “Excuse me?” Nancy said.

  Madison pointed at her face. “Ah, yeah. And then he smashed my head into the window. It was in the car. Just happened.”

  Nancy moved fast, meeting her daughter at the bottom of the stairs. Madison noticed age in her mother’s face. Wrinkles crept away from the corners of her eyes like a thirsty desert cracking under an unrelenting sun.

  “I don’t see anything,” Nancy said.

  Madison knew her cheek welted from the blow. She touched her face and felt around. The swelling was gone. The way her mother looked at her, she knew the redness from being hit or having her head slammed into the car window must be gone. It didn’t matter. She knew her mother.

  “After he hit me, he grabbed me by the hair and banged my head into the glass” Madison held the back of her head and demonstrated. “He told me I was going to keep my mouth shut and make him dinner.”

  Nancy turned away from her daughter.

  Oliver smiled, shook his head, and shrugged. Without saying it, he’d told Nancy he didn’t have a clue what Madison was talking about.

  “Well,” Nancy said, “I’m home now. Let me get dinner started. Maddy, how was your first day back to school?”

  “Excuse me?” Madison said.

  “Did you have the chance to get caught up staying after?” Nancy went into the kitchen.

  Oliver winked at Madison, and he allowed half his mouth to smile.

  She stormed past him and went directly into the kitchen. “Mom?”

  “Yes, dear? Dinner won’t take long. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  She wasn’t. The two cups of blood she drank before school still satisfied her craving. “Did you hear what I said? That man in there, your boyfriend, he hit me. He threatened me.”

  Nancy pulled items from the refrigerator. “You just got back from the hospital. I know you suffered some kind of horrible attack. The doctor wanted me to keep an eye on your behavior. I think in the morning we’ll give him a call. It might help to sit down and talk with him.”

  Madison didn’t want to believe the words she heard. A sense of abandonment surrounded her. She put her arms out, one hand clasped onto the counter by the sink, the other onto the island countertop. She straightened her legs to keep her knees from buckling. “This has nothing to do with whatever happened to me.”

  “We’ll let the doctor decide that. Hopefully he has an opening tomorrow. I have to work, but Ollie can drive you.” Nancy set food on the island, and removed a butcher knife from the block. “Honey, can you hand me the spice rack?”

  Madison closed her eyes. She counted, slowly, to ten inside her mind. Before opening them back up, she said, “I’m going to live with dad.”

  Nancy laughed. It was the exact opposite reaction Madison expected. “You can’t threaten me with that every time you get upset with me.”

  Madison could rattle off hundreds of times she’d been upset with her mother. “Name one time I ever mentioned going to live with my father. One time.”

  Nancy pursed her lips and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “You’re not going to talk to me like that. I work hard. And I won’t have it. If you think I’m kidding, you can–”

  “Go live with my dad? Good. I think I will. Life’s going to suck for Fat Ollie over there without my child support coming to you. He might have to go from a once-a-week cashier to something a little steadier and less embarrassing for a man his age.” Madison stormed out of the kitchen, past an open-jawed Oliver, up the stairs, and into her room.

  Living with her father meant changing schools. He was in the city. It didn’t matter. It would still be better than living in this hellhole.

  She got onto her knees, and she pulled the suitcase out from under the bed. There was no way she’d fit everything into one bag, but for now she packed panties, bras, socks, jeans and shirts. She’d get the rest later. She zipped the bag closed.

  She had a missed call from Neal. She needed to get a hold of her father. First, she called Neal back. “Hey,” she said.

  “You okay over there, or what?”

  “I had a blowout.”

  “With Ollie?”

  “And my mother,” she said.

  “Was it about the blood?” Neal said.

  “The bl–no. Not about that. But I do need one more favor.”

  “Don’t tell. Let me guess. You want to meet up with me and the Butcher, that guy from Wegmans, and it’s down some dark alley with rats the size of St. Bernard’s and wood pallets stacked against large green dumpsters.” He laughed.

  “Not quite,” she said. “This is a bit easier than that. Will you take me to my dad’s?”

  “You finally out of there?”

  “As soon as you can get here. I have gas money.” She hadn’t called her dad, certain he was at the firehouse. Once she got settled in at his place, she’d send him a text. The guys went to bed early, and she did not want to risk waking any of them with a phone call.

  “Not necessary. I’m thrilled to get you out of there.”

  Chapter 7

  Madison sat beside Neal in the minivan, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “I feel like somebody is following us.”

  Neal turned, taking his eyes off the road, and the seat belt strained against his chest. “Where? Is it my mom’s car?”

  “Not in a car.” The radio was off. Madison looked into the back seat. “I can’t see anything.”

  “But you saw something?”

  “No. Not really, not officially,” Madison said. “I didn’t see anything or anyone.”

  “You didn’t see anyone, but you think they’re behind us now?”

  Madison shrugged. She knew she sounded crazy. Only reason she said anything was because she trusted Neal. She felt like whatever it was, it was inside the minivan with them. “Following us, yes.”

  Neal kept both hands on the wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead.

  Madison couldn’t get past the feeling. There was no rhyme, no reason to it. The sensation was strong. The hair on her arms were raised as well.

  “Why do you think we’re being followed?”

  “I feel it. I’ve felt it a few times today. But now, since getting in the minivan with you, the feeling is hard to explain. It’s a little overwhelming.”

  “But like you–we’re–being followed,” Neal said.

  “Like I wasn’t alone.” She shook her head. “Like I’m being watched.”

  “Are you losing it?”

  “I drank blood for breakfast,” she said, as if the answer explained everything. In a way, it did.

  He said, “So you did. I wasn’t judging you.” He eased the minivan to a stop at the red light. They would head east on Rt-104 over the Genesee River toward the Culver Road exit. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Oliver hit me.” Madison set her feet up on his dash, her knees pushed close to her face, and retold what had happened.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I will be. I just can’t believe my mother took his side.” Madison thought she might cry. She didn’t. She knew the anger inside her won out over self-pity. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She dropped her feet to the floorboard. “That’s it?”

  “I’d rather stay neutral.”

  “I don’t need neutral right now, Neal.”

  “I don’t like your mom. I never have.” Neal kept his eyes on the road, stayed in the center lane, and gave the minivan gas as he followed the car ahead of him toward the river.

  “You never liked my mom?”

  “I’m sorry. I never should have sa
id that,” Neal said. He loosened and re-gripped his hold on the steering wheel, hands at ten and two.

  Clouds slowly passed across the moon. Madison had no idea if it was a full, quarter, or half-moon. She just knew the thing was up there, and every once in a while she saw parts of it through Neal’s handprint smudged front windshield. She hugged her arms around herself. She wasn’t sure if she knew what to say or ask next.

  “She never put you first. Ever.”

  “She works hard.”

  “To support deadweight. It’s always been that way with her,” Neal said. “The two of you have often done without because she worked twice as hard to take care of three people. It has always driven me crazy. I’ve wanted you to move back in with your father since junior high,” he said.

  “I’d have gone to a different school. We’d never have stayed friends.”

  “Sure we would have,” he said. It was a lie. “I’d have sacrificed that for you.”

  Madison stared at where the moon would be the next time the clouds passed over it.

  “Does your father know you’re coming?”

  “He’s working until seven.”

  “Want me to pick you up for school?”

  She shrugged. “Not tomorrow. I’m going to stay home tomorrow.”

  Neal signaled a right lane change, exited Rt-104, turned right onto Culver, and headed south toward Empire. “I don’t blame you.”

  Madison didn’t need to give Neal directions. Growing up, when she spent weekends with her father, Neal often slept over too. The house was white with maroon shutters. The clapboard looked brittle and thirsty for fresh paint. So far Adam had ignored the silent pleas for cosmetic attention. The talk was big each summer. They’d get everyone together and have a house painting party. It hasn’t happened yet.

  Adam did mow the lawn in the summer and shovel the driveway in the winter. There was always a fresh filter in the furnace, the ducts were clean, and the wiring was above code requirements.

  The three-bedroom cape had two upstairs and one down, across from the small kitchen. Madison had the master room downstairs, the walls pink. She’d been ten when she helped her father paint them. He bought the house, moving out of an apartment a few years after the divorce.

  Adam’s room was upstairs, and they called the spare room Neal’s. Neal loved that he had his own room at their house. It didn’t matter, though. They never slept in the bedrooms. Adam finagled his schedule to have every other weekend off. Other firemen covered his shifts. He’d then have to work an extra shift before or after each weekend to pay back the time owed. He always said it was worth it so he could spend as much time as possible with his Madison.

  Saturday nights he’d cook dinner for them, usually a crockpot masterpiece. Madison loved the stew. It was always meaty, potatoey, and thick. Friday’s, however, were the best. They were reserved for pizza and wings, watching Netflix, and staying up all night. Of course, then they’d sleep all day–the three of them–in the living room. Madison always claimed the big couch, Neal the loveseat, and her dad would settle for the floor, a mattress of blanket layers, and claim that the cold hardwoods were good for his back.

  Neal turned into the driveway. “You want me to come in with you? I can hang out for a while?”

  She didn’t see her father’s Jeep. “You know what? I’ll be okay. I appreciate the ride.”

  “You all set with that other thing, seriously?”

  Seriously, she had no idea what he was talking about. It must have shown on her face.

  “The blood stuff, I mean. That’s not going to become a habit is it? Maybe it’s something we should talk about? I didn’t want to get all weird on you, but I think we can’t just pretend you didn’t drink two cups of animal blood like a junkie shooting up before school. I mean, we could, but I don’t think we should.”

  The more she thought about it, she guessed he was correct. The blood had a certain, if not peculiar, euphoric effect. “We can. We should. But not tonight. You deserve some kind of explanation,” she said.

  “And you’re definitely not going to school tomorrow, because if you want to, I’ll come get you. That’s not a problem.”

  She put a hand on his arm. Her breath caught in her lungs.

  She felt his pulse.

  It throbbed through his shirt and coat; it banged against her palm. She pulled her hand away. “I’m not going tomorrow. I need a little time. My head’s all messed up right now.”

  “Have you talked to Katie?” he said.

  “Just in school, in English class,” she said. “She doesn’t know anything about. . .things.”

  “Like your diet?”

  “Exactly. I don’t want to keep secrets from her, but right now–”

  Neal’s eyes were not on her.

  “Neal? What is it?” she said.

  He held his arms up “I feel it. I feel that.”

  “Neal? Feel wh–”

  Madison spun around. The temperature inside the minivan dropped.

  “Let’s get out of the van. I’ll walk you in,” Neal said.

  # # #

  Madison rummaged through the dresser in her room, changed into pajama bottoms, and put on one of her father’s department t-shirts. The microwave beeped. She left her clothing on the bed and went into the kitchen to retrieve her mug of hot cocoa. She loved the recliner in the living room. The black leather was worn smooth, where it wasn’t cracked. A Miami Dolphins blanket covered the cushion. She sat, legs under her, and set the mug down on the end table beside the lamp. Actually, drinking the cocoa didn’t seem likely, she’d made it more for nostalgic effect. Thumbing the remote, Madison turned on the television. Her eyes kept looking toward the picture window. The feeling of being watched had subsided, but she wasn’t comfortable being alone. The last thing she wanted to do was call her father. She still needed to tell him she planned to move in. While he’s always indicated she was welcome, she worried it might have just been something to say. She did not want to be a burden.

  She reclined the chair, her feet crossed at the ankles on the raised leg rest, and stared absently at the television.

  “Madison?”

  She opened her eyes. Her father knelt beside her. She must have fallen asleep.

  “Dad.”

  “I did not know tonight was my night?”

  The TV was off. The sun was out. She’d slept soundlessly through the night.

  “I was going to call you. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “We were up most of the night, a lot of EMS runs,” he said. She loved his work stories. It wasn’t like he was a pen pusher. Even the EMS stories made her laugh. There was one time her father and another fireman assisted the ambulance with carrying a flu patient on a backboard down a narrow staircase. Her father was at the head, while the newer recruit carried the feet. The patient was a heavy woman in a poop-stained nightgown. Diarrhea ran rampant and flowed down the backboard. They had the woman on an angle. The fireman at the bottom could not do anything but close his eyes and hold his breath as the watery fecal excrement splashed onto the chest of his uniform.

  “I was hoping I could stay with you, Dad. I want to move in.”

  Adam opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it.

  “Do you not want me to live with you?” Madison knew she held her breath waiting for her father to answer.

  “I’d like nothing better,” he said. “You know that.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come live with you from the start. I wanted to, I really di–”

  He shushed her. “I know that. I’ve always known that. Your mother needed you. I needed you, too, but it was different.”

  She nodded. She didn’t trust herself to talk. It wasn’t different. They both needed her, both wanted her.

  “I’m guessing your mom knows?” he said.

  She didn’t know if she should tell her father about what happened. It would upset him. She did not want him to do anything and risk his job with the city. Feeling gu
ilty if he was arrested for beating up Oliver would be an understatement. “She knows.”

  “You have to get ready for school. I can give you a ride.” He looked at his phone. “It’s almost eight. You’ll be late.”

  “I was planning to stay home today.”

  She saw he wanted to ask more questions, but refrained. “I’ll call you in sick to school.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I was hoping to grab a little sleep. If you want, we can go for breakfast first?”

  They always went to the Princess, where the food was served fast, and the prices were better than reasonable. The waitresses knew both Adam and her. First name basis. The sausage, bacon, and cheese omelet with hash browns and rye toast came for Madison without having to order. “I’m not really hungry, but was hoping I could borrow your Jeep?”

  “Don’t crash it,” he said, and kissed the top of her forehead.

  She kicked the footrest down on the recliner. Adam stopped by the stairs.

  “Everything okay, though?” he said.

  “It will be,” she said, giving him the most honest answer she could muster.

  “Can we talk more, maybe tonight?”

  She smiled. “We can.”

  “Good night, beautiful.”

  “Good night, daddy.” She watched him go up the stairs. She listened for his bedroom door to open and close. She remained on the recliner for a moment before getting up and retrieving her jacket from the hook on the back of the front door. She rifled through the pocket, removed the item she wanted, and went to her bedroom.

  She took her phone from the charger and looked at the screen. Two missed calls from Neal. Three texts from him, as well.

  She went to her contacts, entered a new one for The Butcher and then she called him.

  And hung up.

  Then she hit redial.

  And ended the call.

  Then her phone rang. She looked at the ID. The Butcher. She answered, but said nothing.

  “You hang up on me again, no blood for you.” The gruff voice she recognized. The man coughed. “And if you don’t talk, same thing. No blood for you.”