Heart of the Dead: Vampire Superheroes (Perpetual Creatures Book 1)

by Gabriel Beyers

  “I have a friend,” Jerusa said. “His name is Foster. He lives close by. Will you follow me to his house?” She felt a panic creeping into her voice, though she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was Alicia’s agitation transferring to her, though is seemed more than that. She felt as though some cosmic time clock had been set in motion and the seconds were rapidly falling away.

  Jerusa couldn’t look away from his intense green eyes and a strange sensation of falling overtook her. The budding trees, the whispering breeze, even the sunlight faded from her sight. All that remained was his resplendent face and Alicia dancing about like a jester in the corner of her eye. Though the man made no movement, Jerusa felt his warm, powerful hands caress the sides of her face, his fingers combing through her hair. A pleasant shiver cascaded down her spine and she gasped as if caught off guard by a kiss.

  Then the world of trees and light returned. The young man still took shelter behind the maple tree.

  “Thank you, but I must remain here,” he said. “I must stay and watch.”

  “Watch what?” Jerusa shuddered at the desperation in her voice.

  The man smiled, but offered no other explanation.

  “If I go to get you some clothes, will you stay here until I get back?”

  The man’s smile broadened, parting his lips and showcasing the set of perfect white teeth hidden within. His spectral green eyes seem to sparkle and glow as though they were the fount from which galaxies were born. Jerusa gasped as an acute dizziness overtook her. An irrational fear of falling into the man’s eyes, literally falling as though his pupils were twin black holes, forced her to look away.

  When the man realized he was the source of Jerusa’s sudden anxiety, he said, “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His voice was repentant, but Jerusa was the one that felt ashamed, though she wasn’t sure why. “I would love some clothes,” the man said. “If you will be so kind as to find me some, I will wait right here.”

  Jerusa chanced a glance at him and was in awe of the scene before her. The naked Adonis peering around the tree, the lush and living forest embracing him, the golden shafts of sunlight bowing before him, it was no less than a masterpiece of Michelangelo or Botticelli come to life before her.

  “I won’t be gone long,” Jerusa said.

  It took a great force of will, but Jerusa turned away from the man and continued down the gravel path that had once been the realm of trains. She often imagined those serpentine behemoths trudging through the forests carrying everything from coal to sundries to passengers only to be deemed obsolete by super highways and air travel, and it made her sad. Sad that something so strong and needed not too long ago was now quickly becoming a nostalgic memory. What did that mean for her, who had never been strong, never been needed, a girl who had been born with a broken heart, obsolete from the beginning?

  Jerusa cast the thoughts of her own insignificance from her mind and concentrated on the job at hand. The path skirted up next to a swollen creek for a short while before they parted ways. Someday, when no longer pinned under her mother’s thumb, she planned to come here, wade into the cool sparkling water and follow the current to some adventure.

  Not far past where the path and creek separated, a weathered and worn cattle gate crossed the trail, its green paint all but chipped away. Beyond the gate stood the ground still owned by the federal government, where the old steel lines and creosote-soaked timbers remained. To the right of the gate was the path leading from the woods and eventually to Jerusa’s home.

  Jerusa had the overwhelming urge to ignore the “NO TRESSPASSING” sign bolted to the gate, climb the rounded rungs, and hop over into that forbidden world. It seemed a gateway to another world, a door to Narnia or Terabithia or any other of the many worlds of her dreams. But those worlds also housed witches and monsters, and beyond this gate were dangerous men … at least according to her mother. Jerusa placed a wistful hand upon the cool metal of the gate, then turned right up the gravel path.

  The path spilled out onto a small playground for children that sat nestled next to the road. A mother pushing her toddler son on the swings nodded to Jerusa as she passed. Jerusa smiled, but neither spoke. She continued to the road, which was bordered by concrete sidewalks on both sides. A right turn would lead her home. She turned left.

  Jerusa continued until she came to a narrow driveway, not much more than two tire tracks lined with gravel, cutting a surreptitious line through the trees. The driveway rose in a gentle hill, making it impossible to see the land beyond, even if you were perfectly lined up.

  Jerusa followed the driveway over the hill, through the trees, until she came into the fifteen acres of open land where the tiny stone house stood hidden from the world.

  The house sat in the center of the open ground, surrounded by a lush carpet of grass as immaculate as any golf course. The house itself was built from slabs of dark brown sandstone with crisp white limestone accenting the corners and window frames, all quarried from the ground on which it stood. Built a century ago, the detail and craftsmanship of the masonry spoke of the earlier generation’s desire for quality over quantity. A one-acre pond, the remains of the quarry, sat behind the house near the woods, sparkling in the sunlight. It was a place of serenity and privacy, a place one could escape the modern world that was late for everything while on the road to nowhere.

  That is why Foster Reynolds chose to live here.

  Jerusa jogged up the driveway to the front door. Despite her health condition, multiple surgeries, and her mother’s overbearing opinion, Jerusa was actually in quite good shape. Channeled mostly by her mother’s fears, Jerusa ate only the healthiest of diets, and due to her mother’s insistence that she be in moving vehicles as little as possible, Jerusa walked almost everywhere she went. The driveway was long, though, and by the time she reached the front door her borrowed heart was beating hard.

  Jerusa stood for a moment, relishing the pulse in her chest. They say that a heart is given only a certain number of beats and when that number is up … well, you know. Before the transplant, Jerusa had been terrified when her pulse rate went up for fear that she would expend her allotted beats. Though she couldn’t prove it, Jerusa believed it was her mother who had slipped that little gem into her psyche. But now, with her new heart, she often ran just so that she could feel it thrumming within her. It was humbling to think that she was only alive because of another’s death.

  Jerusa looked around for Alicia, but she was nowhere to be seen. She was close by, Jerusa was sure of that, but the ghost was almost as upset with her for coming to Foster’s as she had been when she had spoken to the naked man. She wasn’t much impressed by the men in Jerusa’s life. In fact, Thad was the only boy Alicia had given her approval to.

  The thought of Thad brought a strange swirl of unfamiliar emotions to Jerusa. Though she couldn’t explain why, she felt sort of guilty about talking with the naked man in the woods. As though she had performed some act of infidelity. But that was ludicrous. Thad had never actually asked her on a date. According to him, it was more a playful ruse to annoy Kristen and Jerusa’s mother. And though the naked man — she was trying her best to banish that image from her mind — had watched her with the most fascinated look settled in his glorious eyes, he had not shown any of the peacock-strutting that boys his age displayed when they are attracted to a girl.

  A stupid grin seemed to be etched into her face and she was giddy to the point of giggling like an idiot. One would think she’d never seen a boy before. What had gotten into her?

  “You’re not thinking of breaking into my house, are you?”

  Jerusa turned around as Foster Reynolds came jogging across the open grass from the woods.

  Though Foster was in his forties, he looked more like a man in his late twenties. Jerusa wasn’t sure if it was an unhealthy desire to roll back the clock that drove Foster to obsessive diets, workouts, and even plastic surgery, but she didn’t believe it was something so simple as a
mid-life crisis. Foster had endured terrible loss. Getting older was small potatoes.

  Foster wore a tank top shirt and shorts that revealed his well-toned and muscular body. Foster wasn’t as large as the weightlifting juiceheads on TV, but he could boast a set of six-pack abs and dancing pecs, which he revealed when he lifted his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his eyes.

  Jerusa scanned Foster’s body, not because she was attracted to him — she never had been — but because there was something different about him that she couldn’t quite place.

  “I don’t need to break in,” Jerusa said. “I know where you hide your extra key.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Foster said, stepping onto the porch. He opened the door and invited Jerusa in. “I’ve been meaning to get rid of that.”

  The craftsmanship of the house’s interior matched the quality of the exterior. Dark polished hardwood floor lined every room, save for the kitchen and bathrooms, which were marble. Dark, hand-carved crown molding hugged the wood-paneled ceiling and decorative woodworking encased every doorway. It really was a gorgeous house. Too bad Foster was a terrible decorator.

  Foster had very little furniture, mostly old garage sale pieces. Dusty old books lay strewn about the floors helter-skelter, as did exercise equipment and free weights. A flat-screen TV hung on the wall, but the only thing Foster ever watched was workout videos.

  “I’m glad you came over,” Foster said. “I’ve been trying to contact you for about two weeks now.”

  Jerusa rolled her eyes. “You know my mom. She never gives me my messages.”

  A dry smile flickered on Foster’s face. There was definitely something different about him, but for the life of her, Jerusa couldn’t figure out what it was.

  “I was going to swing by your house this afternoon,” Foster said. He turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. He offered one to Jerusa, but she declined.

  “You were going to come to the lion’s den, huh?” Jerusa smiled, but a panic had seized her heart. Foster knew what kind of woman her mother was and how much she disapproved of Foster and Jerusa’s friendship. For him to risk a tongue-lashing of that magnitude, it had to be important. “What’s up?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  “I’m leaving town,” he said. His mouth was turned down in a frown, but Jerusa could see the excitement brewing in his eyes.

  “When?” Her throat felt suddenly dry and she regretted turning down the water.

  “This evening, most likely.”

  “When are you coming back?” Jerusa knew the answer to that question, too. It was written in the pucker of his mouth, the furrow of his brow.

  “I don’t believe I will be coming back.”

  When they had first met, Foster had warned her that he wasn’t long for this town. It was just a way station for him to rest and complete his journey to physical perfection. Jerusa looked at Foster, willing the flood of tears to subside, and that was when she noticed what was different about him.

  “You’ve cut your hair.”

  Foster’s sandy blond hair had always been shoulder length — though when they first met he had been balding. His latest surgery had been a hair transplant. It was the procedure where the doctor cuts a strip of skin from the back of your scalp then replaces the dead follicles with live ones. Now Foster had a head full of lush hair, trimmed short and parted. Something else was different about him.

  “Did you shave your body?”

  Foster ran his right hand across his smooth chest and down his hairless left arm. He flashed her an embarrassed little grin. “Yes. Don’t ask why, though.”

  Jerusa shook her head. “I don’t want to know.”

  Foster was such an enigma. He was a man of knowledge and wisdom, world traveled, sophisticated. Yet, he lived like a fugitive and behaved like a narcissistic megalomaniac. When Jerusa had first been introduced to Foster’s quest for perfection, she’d thought that maybe he was competing in a body-building contest or some type of male beauty pageant. Later, she rode the theory that Foster’s transformation was for his love, the elusive Shufah — a woman he spoke very little about. When Jerusa confessed her suspicions, Foster denied it. He claimed their love transcended the physical.

  When Jerusa had pushed him about the purpose of his quest, all he would say was, “I’m going to be in this body for a long time. Beauty is my only hope for survival.”

  It was an odd statement, to say the least. But Jerusa left it at that. Perhaps it was the anguish that had been in his eyes as he spoke the words. Or maybe she was tired of his riddles.

  “Is it Shufah?” Jerusa asked. “Are you leaving to be with her?”

  Foster held her gaze. “Yes.”

  “Can I meet her?” Jerusa turned so that she could wipe her eyes without Foster seeing. “I mean, if she is going to steal you away, I should at least get to see what she looks like.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said, his voice gentle and meek. “She will be arriving after dark and then we’ll be going.”

  “Going where?”

  Foster held his peace and walked to the window to bathe in the sunlight.

  Alicia materialized in the room, perhaps drawn by Jerusa’s melancholy spirit. The ghost in the prom dress had never been a fan of Foster and many times refused to enter his house. When she did enter, she often stood in the corner with her arms crossed over her chest. Now, however, Alicia drifted about the room in a slow walk, searching this way and that, as if trying to locate a strange noise or smell out a foul odor. She moved to a nondescript door in the kitchen that led to the basement and passed through the wood as if it were no more tangible than smoke.

  Jerusa wandered into the kitchen, feeling a bit like a waft of smoke herself. The solid oak table was littered in empty Chinese food boxes and crumpled chocolate bar wrappers. A couple of drained wine bottles stood on the counter near the sink.

  Though these items were professed favorites of Foster’s, he had sacrificed them in his quest for vanity. It seemed Foster had fallen off the wagon, but as Jerusa looked a bit closer, a terrible image invaded her mind. It was a last meal, like those given to the condemned.

  “Are you in trouble?” she blurted out.

  Foster appeared in the doorway. “Trouble?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me. What are you running from?”

  “Little rooster,” Foster said, invoking his pet name for Jerusa. It was a name she longed to hate, but could never quite bring herself to ask him to stop calling her that. “I’m not running from anything. I’m running to something. You’re just going to have to trust me on that.”

  Foster reached out and touched her cheek.

  “Listen,” he said. “I know things are bad with your mom. I want you to know that you are welcome to use this place if you need to get away.”

  “What, you mean like live here?”

  “If you’d like.” He turned and waved a hand at the piles of clutter. “Feel free to throw out all of this junk and make the house your own.”

  Jerusa felt dizzy. “I can’t afford this place. I don’t have a job. I don’t even have a car.”

  “The house is paid for, along with the utilities. I have a trust that takes care of all of that. You’ll need to scrape up the cash for sundries, but that shouldn’t be too much trouble.” Foster tossed a set of keys to Jerusa. “The car in the garage is yours, too. I’ve already signed over the title. I wasn’t sure if I’d see you, so I sent all the documents to you in the mail. You might want to get them before your mother does.”

  Jerusa’s jaw dropped, and though she knew it was cartoonish, she couldn’t close her mouth. All she could say was, “Why?”

  “Why give you all my earthly belongings? Because you’re a good person, little rooster. You never once judged me for my weirdness. And you’ve had a lot stacked against you. If you can find the courage to break free of your mother, the house and car will be waiting for you. I wish I could do more.”

  Jerusa darted across the r
oom and clutched Foster around the chest. He wrapped his arms around her and laid his cheek on the top of her head. Never before had she been so happy and so sad at the same time.

  Foster placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away. “Maybe once I’m gone, Alicia will finally feel comfortable inside this house.”

  “She’s already inside,” Jerusa said, now weeping freely. “She’s in the basement.”

  A wave of panic crossed Foster’s face, but it was gone before Jerusa could confirm it.

  “You better get going,” he said, pulling his eyes away from the basement door. “This will have to be goodbye for now. I’ll write to you when I can.”

  “Before I go, can I ask a favor?”

  Foster nodded. “Of course.”

  “Do you have any extra clothes that I can have?”

  “Anything you want. I’m leaving all this behind.”

  “Great,” Jerusa said. “I need a shirt, pants, socks, shoes and maybe some underwear.” She wasn’t sure if her new woodland friend would wear another man’s underwear or not, but it seemed rude not to offer.

  “May I ask why?”

  Jerusa wasn’t sure where to start. “I met a naked man in the woods.”

  Foster raised an eyebrow. “You mean like Silvanus, the Roman god of the woods? That kind of naked man?”

  Jerusa laughed, not because Foster’s statement was funny, but because she had sensed something divine about that strange man in the woods, and one of her first thoughts had been that she had met Apollo. “I think he’s been robbed or attacked. He seems disoriented. I told him I’d bring him some clothes. Maybe I can convince him to go to the hospital.”

  “That might not be such a good idea,” Foster said. “He might be dangerous. What does Alicia think of him?”

  “She acts about the same as when I’m around you, so he can’t be all bad,” Jerusa said. “So can I have the clothes or are you going to make a liar out of me?”

  Foster smiled, but his concern remained visible in his eyes. “Technically, I’ve bequeathed to you this house and everything in it. The clothes are yours to do with as you wish. I’ll go pick something out for ol’ Silvanus.”