Dark Corner

by Brandon Massey

  He remembered the psychic who lived on the outskirts of town, whom his father had visited: Pearl.

  Nia, too, had told him a story about her experience with the psychic. The woman had phoned Nia to warn her about dating her colleagues and not long afterward, Nia had been stalked by a fellow teacher.

  It is being revealed to you ... you must believe ... and be strong.

  A raw chill seeped into his bones.

  If Pearl was the one who had called him, why had she done it? What was she talking about?

  He looked at the old Bible.

  You are responsible ...

  Was he living in a bad dream, or what? What the hell was going on?

  He paged to another drawing.

  In this one, a Goliath with blazing eyes and massive hands curved like claws loomed over the ever-present black man, and the man, whoever he was, appeared to be afraid for his life.

  Although Kyle had learned patience in his long life, he wondered how much longer he could stand waiting for his father to awaken from his Sleep.

  Diallo had not opened his eyes once. He had not stirred. His breathing was regular, his skin was warm, and his eye movements indicated intense dreaming, all of which were encouraging signs. But he had not awakened.

  Kyle paced the mansion, roaming from one candle-lit room to another. Each day, he grew more restless.

  He was eager to leave, but he had to wait until his father awakened. It was not safe to move Diallo. He was certain that his father was slowly arising from his Sleep, and to disrupt the process might plunge Diallo back into the most profound depths of his slumber. They had to wait.

  Mamu relaxed in the living room, a chess game arranged on the table in front of him. His agent was characteristically calm, but he had every reason to be. Mamu's father was not the one at risk.

  A faint sound reached Kyle's sensitive ears. It came from the basement.

  He snapped his fingers, capturing Mamu's attention. "The cellar."

  Mamu got up so abruptly he knocked over his chair. But he was not nearly as swift as Kyle. Within a human's blink of an eye, Kyle had raced across the corridor and down the basement staircase.

  The sound reached him again. A low groan.

  Kyle approached the bed.

  Diallo's head whipped back and forth across the thick pillow. A moan grumbled from his chapped lips.

  "He is awaking!" Kyle shouted. He clutched the bed railing.

  Mamu watched from the opposite side of the bed. His eyes were bright. "Yes, monsieur. It is happening."

  Diallo screamed.

  His mouth contorted into a rictus of agony, saliva running from his fangs in thick strands. Veins stood out on his neck like steel cables. His strong hands, clenched in fists, ripped the bedsheets into shreds.

  Hearing his father's cry almost caused Kyle to collapse to the floor. He gripped the railing, desperately, to remain standing. Mamu's eyes were enormous with fear.

  Diallo's shriek lifted to an octave that made the windows tremble, and then his scream pitched into a thunderous growl that came from deep in his massive chest.

  Finally, he fell silent.

  And his eyes opened.

  Chapter 8

  ' - ou don't look good," Nia said to David when he opened the door. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm okay." He smiled weakly.

  He'd made a dinner date with Nia earlier in the week, before the surreal incidents had thrown his life into a tailspin. After he discovered the Bible earlier in the afternoon, a sickening dread overcame him, and he'd spent the rest of the day napping, as if he could escape his fear by burrowing into sleep. But bad dreams followed him. There was no sanctuary, not even in slumber.

  He'd considered canceling his date with Nia, but he hated to be a flake. At the sight of her, he was grateful that she had come. She was a balm for his troubles.

  "Are you running a fever? Let me check" She pressed her palm against his forehead, her brow furrowed with concern.

  "Really, I'm fine," he said. "I can prove it: I cooked dinner."

  "I thought I smelled something burning."

  "Ha, ha, very funny." He kissed her lightly on the lips. "Do you mind if we eat now? I'm starving." He had prepared a simple but tasty meal: chicken parmesan, pasta, broccoli, and Texas toast. He opened a bottle of chardonnay and filled glasses for both of them. They dug into the food with gusto.

  "I'm so impressed," Nia said, slicing a piece of chicken. "I've found a man who can cook. I bet you can clean, too"

  "My mama raised me well," he said. He sipped the rest of his wine, then refreshed his glass.

  "Thirsty?" she said.

  "I want to sleep like a log tonight."

  "What's bothering you? And don't tell me it's nothing. It was obvious something was wrong the second you opened the door."

  He pressed his lips together. He decided that he would tell her what was happening. He would share a few things, but maybe not everything. Keeping all of his emotions and thoughts bottled up was threatening to make him implode. Getting drunk would provide only a temporary solace.

  "Let's finish dinner, first," he said. "I have to eat, and if I start telling you before I finish, I'll lose my appetite."

  A short while later, they had left the kitchen for the living-room sofa. He'd brought the wine with him. Across the room, King settled near the doorway like a sentry.

  Perhaps the chardonnay had lubricated David's tongue, because he told Nia everything: the theory that his father had faked his own death (leaving out the fact that Reverend Brown had told him so, as he'd promised the pastor that he would keep his identity private). The photograph his dad had taken at the Mason house. The visitation from his grandfather's ghost. The illustrated Bible. The disturbing phone call.

  Nia listened silently throughout his telling, her hand resting on his thigh. Her touch comforted him. He wished he had confided in her earlier. Sometimes, he was tortured by his own self-reliance.

  "You've been dealing with so much," she said, once he finished. "I knew something was wrong, but I had no idea that it was anything like that"

  "What do you think?" He faced her. "Honestly."

  "I believe everything you told me, first of all," she said. "We've only known each other for a little while, but I think you're a rational guy. I don't think you've been hallucinating any of this stuff"

  "Thanks" He smiled. "I needed to hear that"

  "About your father ... I'm not sure how him maybe faking his death is connected to the other things that've happened. I think he could've done it. But I'm not sure what it has to do with everything else. Has to be a connection, though"

  "I think so, too. I get the feeling that my dad is tied into everything, somehow, and I only have to find the link."

  "And the ghost, and the Bible, and the phone call ... well, it sounds like someone has plans for you, David."

  "That's what worries me. I have some kind of responsibility to fulfill, and it's related to my family. But I can't figure out what I'm supposed to do"

  "According to the caller, it's going to be revealed to you," Nia said. "I betcha Pearl was the one who called you, too. It sounds like her."

  "I thought it was her. I'm going to see her tomorrow, so I can talk to her face-to-face"

  "Why don't you? Sounds like a good idea."

  "I'll be right back, I want to show you something." He went into the master bedroom, where he'd left the Bible. He brought it into the living room and placed it on the coffee table. "Check it out"

  He pointed out the simple family tree on the inside cover, that began with William Hunter and ended with his own name. He showed her the illustrations, too.

  Her eyes were thoughtful. "This is really something. And you're right-these definitely aren't scenes from Bible stories."

  "But it looks like each scene is part of a story. They seem to be arranged chronologically."

  "I think so, too," she said. "First, you've got this muscular man, looks like he was a slave, leaving his shac
k, armed with this knife. Then he's fighting some wild-looking people. After that, he and some other guys are going to an Indian camp, like they want help .. ." She flipped pages. "Here, we've got seven dudes, three blacks, two whites, and two Indiansa rainbow coalition of fighters, really about to make a move on a cave that looks like it's guarded by some vicious dogs. Next, they're actually in the cave, with the main guy holding a torch and leading them, and there are only four men left ... hmm, maybe something happened to the other three guys. Then, the guys are fighting these savages from before, who look like they'd been caught sleeping. Now, in this last one, the hero is about to fight this giant, and it seems like they're deep in the cave"

  "There's one more at the back," David said.

  Nia found it. "Okay, they are in a cave. The walls are crumbling down, trapping the giant inside. The hero is running away."

  "Whoever he was," David said. "Unfortunately, my greatgranddad didn't write name tags on these characters"

  "It's like a fairy tale," she said. She tapped the book. "This giant, along with the crazy-looking folks that the men were fighting ... they look kinda like monsters, don't you think?"

  "Yeah. It's the men against the monsters."

  "Right, and we both know that monsters aren't real. So maybe it's all fiction."

  "A tall tale," he said. He sighed. "Maybe you're right."

  "Make-believe, sweetie." She closed the Bible. She smiled. "Don't worry yourself about this. Focus on the other things which I'm going to help you figure out, by the way."

  "Thanks for giving me some perspective," he said. "I'll stop worrying about it."

  Still ... why did he have the nagging feeling that he should be worried?

  As Kyle stared at his father's eyes, he gasped.

  Diallo had the deepest, blackest irises he had ever seen in a vampire. Like bottomless pits.

  Mamu, too, emitted a sound of surprise. He clutched the bed rail.

  Diallo slowly blinked. His face crinkled into a grimace of confusion.

  "You are safe, Diallo," Kyle said. He wanted to touch his father, to reassure him, but instinct warned him to keep his distance.

  "Safe, monsieur," Mamu said.

  Before Kyle could stop him, Mamu reached forward and rested his hand on Diallo's arm.

  What happened next was the most incredible act of savagery Kyle had ever witnessed.

  Moving with startling speed, Diallo sprang upright, simultaneously seizing Mamu's arm. With a wrenching jerk, he ripped Mamu's arm out of its socket as easily as a hungry man tearing a drumstick out of a roasted chicken.

  Warm blood spattered Kyle's face. He cried out and stumbled backward.

  Mamu collapsed against the floor. He murmured a silent mantra of agony, blood gushing from the ragged stump of his arm.

  Diallo tossed aside the man's bloody limb. He leapt out of the bed, the IV tube attached to his hand tearing out of his flesh. The IV rack clattered to the floor.

  Without slowing, Diallo pounced on Mamu.

  He was so fast. Faster than Kyle had ever moved. His father's movement was a blur to even Kyle's vampire vision.

  Kyle retreated to the far wall. Fear tightened like a garrote around his throat.

  He had never foreseen that his father's awakening would happen like this.

  Knelt over Martin, Diallo had fastened his mouth against the man's neck. He sucked the blood greedily, moaning in animalistic pleasure.

  Revulsion roiled through Kyle, quickly replaced by sorrow. Mamu was lost to him. He had been an honorable man, an excellent agent, a true friend. Kyle regretted that Mamu had been the unfortunate victim of his father's raging hunger.

  But death was eventually inevitable for a man. His father was greater than a man, his life worth far more to Kyle than a dozen Mamus.

  Satiated on the human's blood, Diallo whirled around. He immediately spotted Kyle.

  "You do not wish to attack me," Kyle said, shakily.

  Blood dripped down Diallo's chin, covered the front of his silken bedclothes. His onyx-black eyes blazed.

  He appeared to be every bit of the murderous monster that Mother said he was.

  But he is not a monster, Kyle thought. I will not believe it.

  Diallo roared. He charged across the room.

  Kyle moved, narrowly avoiding getting crushed in Diallo's arms. He darted to the other side of the basement with all the speed he could manage.

  "You do not move like a man," Diallo said. His voice was deep yet ragged from disuse. He drew up to his full height, his head only inches beneath the ceiling. He coughed. The spasm rocked his body.

  Kyle had to get his father in the bed again. In spite of Diallo's explosive burst of violence, he was weak and vulnerable. He had not fully recovered from his hibernation.

  But he didn't dare to approach Diallo yet.

  "You do not move like a man," Diallo said again, as if considering the thought. "Are you a vampire?"

  "I am your son!" Kyle cried.

  Diallo blinked. He appeared to be confused.

  "I do not have a son"

  "Lisha is my mother," Kyle said. "You must remember her."

  "Lisha!" Emotion contorted Diallo's face. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he dropped to his knees.

  Slowly, Kyle walked closer to him.

  "She was pregnant with me when you last saw her," he said. "You never knew. She didn't tell you"

  Diallo raised his face. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  "Lisha ... you," Diallo said, weakly. "I feel Lisha ... in you"

  Kyle could not hold back his emotion any longer.

  He embraced his father, and wept.

  Diallo held him close for a long time.

  Kyle wanted his father to return to bed, but Diallo refused.

  "I must walk and use my legs again," Diallo said. He draped his arm across Kyle's shoulders. They shuffled in a circle around the candle-lit basement. Kyle held his father around the waist to keep him balanced.

  "Speak to me, my son. We are in a strange place. How long have I been asleep?"

  Kyle hesitated. Then he answered: "One hundred sixtyeight years"

  "No!" Diallo said. "So long. But I had feared that I would sleep for an eternity"

  "What do you remember of your life?"

  Diallo sighed heavily. "I remember all of it. As I slept, I relived my life in dreams. Are we in Mississippi?"

  "Yes, we are close to the cave in which you were sleeping"'

  "I have lost so many years, so much living." Diallo stifled a sob.

  Sorrow clutched Kyle's heart. He could not fathom the disorientation that his father experienced. It had been said that for a vampire to recover emotionally and mentally from prolonged Sleep was more difficult than the physical rehabilitation process.

  "Tell me everything that has happened," Diallo said. "Spare nothing."

  "To explain everything that has occurred in the world would require weeks, Father. I will give you the highlights."

  Kyle described how he and his mother, Lisha, left America when Civil War broke out, to seek refuge in the African country of Liberia, a haven for many blacks who fled America. They spent decades in Liberia and other African nations, and eventually immigrated to Paris, where Lisha lived to this day.

  Diallo began to weep again.

  "Lisha must despise me for what I have done," he said. "She did not come with you"

  Kyle did not know what to say. He could not repeat his mother's cautions about awakening his father.

  "I owe Lisha my life," Diallo said. "She saved me from a life of slavery. She taught me so much. She made me a vampire."

  "Mother loved you," Kyle said.

  Diallo's body trembled. Gently pushing Kyle away, Diallo stood on his own. His liquid-black eyes captured Kyle's gaze.

  "But Lisha never understood," Diallo said. "I am a warrior."

  "Father, the slave trade ended over a century ago. You could not imagine the weapons that humans possess in this age! The power
that they wield."

  Diallo laughed. "Power? When I am well, I will teach you power."

  "Father ..." Kyle was again unable to speak. How could he explain that there was nothing to fight for? That the injustices for which his father believed he was fighting had been remedied? And that, most of all, as vampires, the business of humans was none of their concern?

  Diallo was trapped in his mortal memories. Persuading him to relinquish his old passions would be perhaps Kyle's most daunting challenge.

  Diallo wobbled and slumped against Kyle. He breathed heavily.

  "Help me lie down," Diallo said. "I must rest, then feed again."

  Kyle helped Diallo onto the bed. His father reclined against the pillows.

  A small cooler sitting nearby held several packets of blood. Kyle retrieved one and pierced the top. He handed it to his father.

  "Drink this, Father. It will nourish you."

  "What is it?" Diallo frowned.

  "Blood," Kyle said. "Human blood. In this age, we live on blood that has been packaged like this."

  Diallo looked doubtful. Kyle demonstrated how to squeeze the packet and draw the fluid between the lips.

  Diallo frowned, tried to mimic him.

  He vomited explosively.

  "I cannot feed on this!" Diallo flung the packet across the room. "The blood tastes foul."

  "But you must adapt to it," Kyle said. "It is a safe way for us to nourish ourselves. We cannot hunt and kill prey, Father."

  Diallo dropped against the pillows. Sweat had broken out on his face.

  Kyle again attempted to feed him the packaged blood. Diallo gagged.

  "I need live prey," Diallo said. "Bring me a human"

  "You don't understand what you're asking me!"

  "I need a live human" Diallo coughed. "Or I fear I will die."

  Kyle paced. His father demanded the impossible. He had not hunted a human in decades, and found the idea inimicaloffensive, even-to his nature. He was not a predator. He counted humans as his friends and confidants. How could he prey on them? Mamu had been like a brother to him.

  His gaze flicked over Mamu's corpse.

  Father needed to feed on him. Now, he needs another. Mamu's death caused me sorrow, but I shall go on, for it was for a great purpose, my father's survival. What would it hurt me to kill a stranger to keep him alive?