Inception (The Marked Book 1)

by Bianca Scardoni

  I nodded that I would, already fairly certain I wasn’t on the schedule next week-end anyway.

  “Don’t look now, but Nikki’s throwing spears at your head again.” Her lips barely moved when she said it.

  I had no intentions of looking at Nikki, now or ever again.

  “What’s the bad blood with you two anyway?” asked Ben as though he had just noticed the tension, even though it was thick enough to slice with a machete.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” answered Taylor, undeterred by the fact that the question was directed at me. “There’s only one Trace and two of them.”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “Way to fuel the fire.”

  “My bad,” she laughed unrepentantly. “No one heard.”

  “So essentially, Nikki’s tweaking out because our new little fish here,” he said affectionately as he swooped his arm around my shoulder, “is swimming around in her pool?”

  “Exactly.”

  “No, not exactly. I’m not swimming in anyone’s pool, least of all Nikki’s pool, nor do I have any intentions of getting in her pool.” I struggled to keep my voice at a whisper. “This whole thing has just gotten completely out of hand.”

  “I think you two should mud-wrestle it out,” said Ben, trying to make light out of the situation. “Winner keeps Trace.”

  I knocked his arm off my shoulder. “Pass.”

  “So what does Trace think about her anyway?” asked Taylor, leaning in closer to Ben. “He must have said something to you, you guys are like BFF.”

  “Contrary to what they keep telling you in Cosmo Girl,” he said, shuffling forward in his chair. “We actually don’t stay on the phone all night talking about our feelings.”

  “What?” she said, feigning shock. “What about the slumber parties? Don’t tell me those are a lie too.”

  “Only one way to know for sure,” he grinned. “Maybe you should come over tonight and find out.”

  “And do what? Stay up all night watching The X Files with you? No thanks, Skully,” she scoffed, picking up her cell phone.

  “Skully was the girl!” he said aghast. “And don’t knock it ’til you try it.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. The way they went back and forth, it was like a ping-pong match—only interesting.

  “Speaking of the unexplained,” he said, changing the subject. “Did you guys see the paper this morning? They found another body out by the Falls. Mutilated, just like the last girl. They’re talking serial killer.”

  “Shut up,” cried Taylor, her phone frozen mid-air. “Who was the girl? Oh my God, Ben, did we know her?”

  He shook his head. “They haven’t released her name yet.”

  “How many girls have there been?” I asked, taken aback.

  “This is the second.”

  I’m glad no one felt the need to mention this to me until now, being that I was new, and a girl. Was a small welcome basket with a news bulletin insert too much to ask?

  A cold chill traveled up my spine as an unwanted thought crept into my mind. What if this was vampire-related? What if there were vampires right here in Hollow Hills? What if this thing mutilated that poor girl and was still out there, hunting for its next victim at this very moment?

  Did vampires even do stuff like that—mutilate? Did they stalk their victims or were they randomly selected? I had no answers and felt completely sickened.

  “You don’t think it’s related to Linley’s death, do you?”

  Ben shook his head. “They didn’t say anything like that.”

  “Who’s Linley?” I shared looks between the two.

  “Trace’s sister,” answered Ben, somber.

  My heart sank.

  “But why would her death be related?” I asked thoughtlessly. I had always assumed her death was by natural causes. Some unfortunate, degenerative illness that took her away too soon.

  Ben answered before I could take the question back. “Because she was murdered,” he said, pained by the memory.

  “Can we please talk about something else?” said Taylor, frowning. “Anything else. It’s just too depressing.”

  The conversation quickly redirected to brighter topics like their week-end plans and upcoming parties, though my own mind stayed with Trace and his sister. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him; for his family to lose their daughter in such a horrible way.

  My eyes ventured across the room as I tried to steal a quick glance at him. He was sitting sideways on his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, tapping his thumb on the desk as Nikki went on about something he didn’t seem vaguely interested in. As if sensing my stare, his cobalt eyes flickered up to greet me, catching my gaze and holding onto it without abandon.

  I broke eye contact first, focusing my attention back in on Ben who was still rambling on beside me. When I looked back at him a few moments later, he was still staring at me with the same unreadable expression on his face:

  Distant. Guarded. Curious.

  His dimples pressed in and I swore I could see the semblance of a smile forming—a perfect, barely-there smile that caused my already erratic heart to jump a few more beats.

  “There they go again,” laughed Taylor, her voice jolting me out of...well, whatever the heck that was.

  I gave her a warning look and put my head down on my desk. I didn’t look back at him for the rest of the class.

  Rainy weekday nights at All Saints were fast becoming my favorite shifts to work. The place was a desolate wasteland save for a couple of regulars watching the game up at the bar and a few familiar faces from Weston. It turned out Mr. Macarthur wasn’t kidding when he said I’d be able to do my homework here, and that I wouldn’t be the only one.

  Taylor, Carly, and Hannah were all lined up in the banquet seat against the back wall. Their math books spread out in front of them like a tablecloth while Ben sat in the chair beside me; fidgeting, distracting me, and not doing his math homework.

  “We need more popcorn, Jem,” said Ben, shaking the wicker basket in my direction. His brown eyes glistening as he grinned.

  I was just about to tell him that if he wanted some popcorn, he needed to get off his cushioned backside and get it himself. And then I remembered I worked here, and it was actually my job. I took the basket from him and went to refill it at the popcorn machine by the bar where Zane was spinning the rumor mill with an older blond woman I’d never seen before.

  They were talking about the murdered girl in town, but I could only make out little pieces of it before my head jerked up at the sound of the entrance door crashing open.

  Nikki drifted through the threshold with scowling Morgan in tow as thunderous flashes of lightning illuminated the pitch-black night behind them.

  As if Nikki Parker didn’t look scary enough before, now she had special effects.

  I walked back to the table at a slightly more accelerated pace and dropped the basket in front of Ben just as Nikki and Morgan made a beeline for the table. By the time they started peeling off their soaking rain coats, I was already halfway to the employees only area.

  Trace was leaning against the stainless steel counter talking with Sawyer when I walked into the kitchen.

  “What’s up?” he asked, noticing my frazzled expression.

  “Nikki’s here,” I said simply as though that should clear up everything. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be cleaning the washrooms.”

  His eyes widened.

  Yeah, that’s right. I’d rather scrub a toilet than be in the same room with Nikki Parker. And I wasn’t even on washroom duty. I thought it said a lot, and in the moment, it definitely felt like the better choice, though nearly thirty miserable minutes later, I was silently vowing to never again make that idiotic mistake.

  I knotted up the black plastic garbage bag and towed it down the hall to the back exit, pushing hard into the door with my shoulder before stepping out into the cool, quiet night. The crisp breeze danced around my skin as the sky adorned itself with flashes of light, boi
sterously threatening to pour over us again. And with the way I felt in that moment, I almost wished it would.

  I dragged the garbage bag across the wet concrete over to the dumpster just a few feet away from the door and mindlessly threw back the lid. Unprepared to handle the stench of rained on garbage, I dropped the bag and covered my exposed orifices as the putrid smell assaulted my nose.

  “Dammit!” I let out a string of curses into my hand as I staggered backwards, away from the foul odor.

  In my rush to clear the area, I slammed back into something hard—unmoving. I turned around and immediately felt the blood drain from my face.

  This was bad. Really bad.

  And all I could do was stare at his fangs.

  12. CRUEL INTENTIONS

  I tried to scream out for help—God knows I tried—but it was like my voice had been ripped out of my throat by the bony claws of Fear itself, leaving me mute and defenseless.

  I stammered backwards, instinctively putting as much distance between myself and this thing as I possibly could. His fangs were fully protracted, face shadowed by his hoodie, but I could see his black eyes and they were wild with a primordial hunger that made my stomach wrench. He rushed into me fast and aggressive, forcing me further back until I stumbled over the garbage bag and fell onto my backside, crashing headfirst into the dumpster behind me.

  The full thralls of panic began to cut through as his shadow descended over me like a thick, dark cloud of poison that pulsed to destroy every living cell in my body. I let out a scream from the deepest part of me, and for a brief moment, could hear my own shrilling, desperate cry for help as though it belonged to someone else—just before it got swallowed up by a clash of thunder above.

  I opened my mouth again to scream but instead tasted his brackish hand as he clamped it over my mouth and shoved me down hard, slamming my head against the cold, wet concrete. I barely had time to register the searing pain before he repeated the hit, this time causing my ears to ring out like a wailing police siren. I knew I wouldn’t be able to withstand a third.

  I thrashed my legs up and propelled my foot into his torso. Surprised, he staggered back a step though he was right back above me before I had a chance to make a move. His gangly fingers clawing their way to my mouth, to my neck, tugging away strands of hope each time they made contact with my skin.

  I kicked at him again and again, fighting back tears as I tried to wrestle him off me, to knock him back long enough to make my escape, but he took each hit with a smile, demoralizing my every effort. I wasn’t strong enough. My limbs were just too clumsy, too frantic, numbing from the panic. I was starting to shake, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before I froze up with fear.

  And then my foot slipped.

  One misstep was all it took before I felt his cold lengthy fingers wrap around my neck, squeezing my larynx as he pulled me up off the ground. I hurled my legs back and forth, wild and uncontrolled, fighting with every ounce of strength I had left to get him to loosen his grip around my windpipe.

  “Feisty little bitch, are we?” he growled nauseatingly as he brought his other hand up and circled my throat with double the pressure. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

  The air ceased. I couldn’t breathe!

  I clawed at his hands with rabid fervor, digging my nails into his icy skin as I desperately fought for oxygen, for freedom, but it was futile. His hold was unrelenting, his lips upturned in glee. I was slowly suffocating to death and the sick bastard was enjoying every second of it.

  My vision started to blur, darkness overwhelming the outer corners as though I were being sucked into a vortex. The realization set in that at any moment now, I was about to lose consciousness and become a comatose unhappy meal.

  It was in that moment that I felt something ignite in me. Something unfamiliar, something primal and desperate, and without any bearings, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I swung my foot all the way back, garnering the kind of momentum only desperation could muster and then blasted it forward, plunging my knee deep into his crotch.

  His guttural cry wailed out around me as the death grip on my neck loosened without his permission. His knees buckled from the pain, forcing him into a slow descent towards the ground.

  This was my opening. My one and only chance.

  I threw him off me like a rancid, diseased carcass, and ran back to the exit door. Grabbing at the handle and tugging frenetically, I pounded on it, begging it for my escape—for my safety, but it denied me each time, refusing to budge even an inch. The stupid thing had locked from the inside and I was probably going to end up dead because of it.

  I peered over my shoulder and saw him stammering back up to his feet again. Without thought, I raced off in the opposite direction, screaming out for help as another clap of thunder rolled out above us. I didn’t have a chance to try again before I felt his merciless hand entwine itself in my hair and yank me back before throwing me down onto the unforgiving concrete. I hit the ground fast and hard, like I never stood a chance in hell of making it out of here alive.

  Alone on the street in the dead pitch of night, I looked up into his ravenous black eyes and fought back the urge to spew as I realized I had only made this more exciting for him, aggravated his hunger for the carnage. He was the predator, and I, always the prey. No matter where I was or what I did, nothing could stop this horror movie from playing out its gruesome scenes. This had been my fate all along.

  I closed my eyes tight and sucked in a breath, too exhausted do anything else but shield my face with my quivering arms as he growled into the night and then dipped to the ground beside me. I couldn’t believe this was going to happen. I couldn’t believe this was how I was going to die.

  Little flashes of my father began to pepper my mind, leaving tiny droplets of hope that maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe now I’d be able to see him again and I wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. We would be together again, safe and happy and away from all of this horror and bloodshed. Every flickering memory of him made it easier for me to resign myself.

  “Ay!” I heard a man’s voice shout out. It was sharp and edgy, vaguely familiar. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I rolled my head back and saw Trace trudging towards us with a large, wooden baseball bat in his hand. He seemed taller in this light, stronger with that weapon. Better than any one person has ever looked before.

  The vampire straightened out instantly. His palms were turned out to Trace as he backed away, moving deeper into the dark alley and inching further and further away from me. He didn’t say a word as he retracted, though it seemed fairly obvious that he was afraid (or unwilling) to do this all over again with somebody else. Somebody his own size.

  By the time Trace reached my side, the creature was already gone, having disappeared into the shadows from which he had come. Trace tried to take off after him, but stopped abruptly at the sound of my bloodcurdling scream that begged him not to leave me alone out there.

  “Shit. Are you okay?” he asked, dropping the bat onto the ground as he crouched down beside me. The poignant sound of the wood clinking against the concrete echoed around us.

  I sat up unsteadily, dazed, terrified, still shaking from the unquantifiable fear. I was fighting hard to hold back the geyser of tears that lurked just below the fragile surface.

  “I’m fine,” I lied. I was so not fine.

  Trace clasped the top of my arm and helped me up to my feet. His warm hand lingered there, waiting to make sure I had my balance, and I let it, as I wasn’t even sure of it myself.

  Everything felt unreal, like I was having an out of body experience, like I wasn’t even connected to myself anymore. Only to the memories of what happened, and to the part of me that was holding the visions together disjointedly. I stood there dumfounded, my mind racing as I looked around, canvassing the street, the wet concrete, replaying the scene in my mind—the attack—and how close I had just brushed up against death.

  I looked
up at Trace who was staring down at me silently, his arresting blue eyes painting tracks all over my face.

  I needed to get away from this place.

  “Where are you going?” he asked brashly, pulling me back by my elbow as I tried to take off for the door.

  “I’m going inside.” My voice sounded hollow, distant.

  “Inside?” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you want to talk about this? About what just happened?” He ticked his head once towards the now-empty street. The one the vampire had disappeared into.

  I wasn’t sure how much of my hooded attacker Trace had actually seen, but at this point, it didn’t even matter. The way I saw it, I had two options here: I could take the risk and find out—confide in him about what just happened to me, about what has been happening to me for months now. I could tell him all about the fang-bearing creature that just tried to kill me and all about the one before him, and maybe even about the sadistic fairytales my uncle’s been churning, and then sit back and hope to God that he believed me and didn’t think I was bat-shit crazy.

  Or, I can skip that tired song and protect myself. Lie like my freedom depended on it.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I said easily. “The guy was a freaking pervert. God only knows what he wanted to do to me. Honestly, I’d rather not talk about it.”

  I tried to leave, but he caught my arm again. “Jemma—”

  “Trace, please. Let me go,” I pleaded, trying to shake myself loose. “I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t make me talk about it.” I could feel the strain in my eyes as I struggled to hold back the waterfall that ached to break free, threatening to unleash with it all the secrets I’ve been carrying inside.

  He pumped his jaw several times as he exhaled long and hard through his nose, searing me with those hypnotic eyes.

  “Fine.” He let go of my arm.

  I made it halfway to the door before stopping. When I spun back around, he was still standing there watching me, the wooden bat hanging loosely from his fingertips. His eyes were heavy with emotions I couldn’t quite put together.