Dark Corner

by Brandon Massey

  Nothing is known of what became of Prince Diallo afterward...

  Franklin could not find any resources that provided further information on what happened to Diallo after he was sold to the mysterious buyer. The man dropped off the history storyboard completely.

  That is, until he turned up in the Hunter's family Bible, in which he was portrayed as a murderous giant.

  Immured in a cave, buried in a grave he may have dug himself, his corpse retrieved over a century and a half later by a man who claimed to be Diallo's descendant, a man who called himself Kyle Coiraut.

  Kyle Coiraut, who shielded his skin from the sun and displayed a supernatural ability to manipulate canines. Kyle Coiraut, who seemed to be responsible for the disappearances of two people in town.

  What did any of it have to do with a dead African prince?

  The key to unlocking the mystery was Kyle Coiraut. Why was he there? Who was he really?

  Or perhaps the proper question was: what was he?

  Franklin clicked on another Web browser window. He'd done a search on the phrase "allergic to sunlight." Two subjects appeared frequently in search results: xeroderma pig- mentosum, a rare genetic disorder that put one at extreme risk of developing skin cancer due to exposure to ultraviolet light. And vampires.

  Vampires.

  Franklin was an educated man. But the more he learned about the world, the more he understood that humanity's grasp of reality was tenuous. The world was full of mysteries that defied rational explanation. It was easy for one who lived in a technological society to dismiss many things as primitive superstition.

  But vampires? Not Hollywood characters, fictional creatures, or deranged people who sucked blood and dressed in black. But real vampires?

  It was madness.

  But Franklin could not dismiss it. So many bizarre incidents were occurring that he could not afford to dismiss anything.

  Set aside my doubts and imagine it could be true, Franklin thought. What if Kyle Coiraut is a vampire? He travels to Mason's Corner to retrieve Diallo's body from its earthen grave. Why?

  What if Diallo is a vampire, too? What if he had been trapped in the cave, hibernating like a monstrous bear, until Kyle Coiraut found him?

  The phone rang, and its shrill ring nearly tore a scream out of him.

  It was his wife. "Frank, the girl's starting to wake up. If you want to see her, hurry and get here before she falls asleep again."

  "I'll be there shortly, dear."

  Vampires in Dark Corner.

  Franklin hoped his suspicions were wrong. Dear God, he prayed that he was wrong.

  Chapter 12

  P'+unday, Jackson took a vacation from being chief. He U changed into ordinary clothes-a button-down shirt and jeans-and got in his off-duty vehicle, a Ford pickup. The truck did not have a police radio, and he left behind his cell phone, too.

  He did, however, store his .357 Magnum in the glove compartment.

  He drove by Belinda Moss's home and picked her up. He had asked her to prepare a picnic lunch for them. He had beer and soda in a cooler in the back.

  Belinda Moss did not fit the narrow image of beauty that was promoted on music videos, trendy TV shows, and magazine covers. She was a dark-skinned, full-figured woman with wide hips, and she stood barely over five feet tall. But to Jackson, she was gorgeous. He found her full lips erotic (and she was a heck of a kisser), and gazing into her dreamy brown eyes made him lose track of time.

  They had been dating for five months. Like him, Belinda had lost her spouse, though she did not have any children. They had known each other for their entire lives, both of them having grown up in Mason's Corner, and with her being the town librarian and involved in various affairs in the town, their paths had crossed often. In spite of how well they knew each other, Jackson often felt strange dating her, as though he were living the life of someone else. After Paulette died, he'd never thought he'd enjoy a meaningful relationship with another woman.

  But the loneliness of the widower's life had been too much for him to bear. Even as he admitted that he yearned for the companionship of a good woman, he kept his relationship with Belinda low-key, especially around Jahlil. Jahlil knew he and Belinda were involved, but he was not aware of the seriousness of the relationship. Jackson did not know how to tell him, either. Jahlil would interpret Jackson's relationship with Belinda as a betrayal of his mother.

  Chalk it up as one more problem he had with his son. He was taking a day off partly so he could get a break from Jahlil, too. The boy could handle being home alone for one night.

  "You haven't told me where we're going, Van," Belinda said.

  "Away from this town," he said. "Somewhere quiet."

  Belinda found a jazz station on the radio. The soothing sounds of saxophones, trumpets, and pianos filled the cabin.

  The day was humid, but gray. Earlier, the sun had disappeared behind the clouds and had not returned.

  He took 1-55 south, to Enid Lake. There were other lakes closer to town, but he wanted to go outside the immediate area, where no one would recognize him. He'd booked a night at a modest hotel, too. He didn't plan to go back home until tomorrow.

  As he drove, he and Belinda didn't talk much. He didn't like to run his mouth all day anyway, and she respected his tendency toward contemplative silence. She was a fine woman.

  At Enid Lake, they found a picnic table in a quiet, shaded area of the park, and unpacked the food and drinks. Belinda had brought her portable boom box; a Barry White song drifted from the speaker.

  Jackson turned down the radio volume. Belinda looked at him curiously.

  "Want to tell you why I had to take this trip," Jackson said. He put down his turkey and cheese sandwich. "I ain't been myself lately. Had to get away for the day and figure out what's gotten into me"

  Belinda's eyes were kind.

  "Van, you've had a lot to deal with lately, with all the crime going on in town. You're stressed. Everyone needs to take a break sometimes."

  "Yeah, but that ain't it. Doc Bennett called this morning, asked me about the young lady in the hospital that got bit by the dog. I laid into Doc like I ain't laid into anyone in years. It ain't my style to talk to folks like that."

  "It really does sound like stress, honey. Don't be so hard on yourself."

  "Naw, naw. You know what it is?"

  "What is it?"

  He sipped his beer, looked away into the trees. "I'm scared"

  Belinda took his hand in hers.

  "Doc Bennett's digging into something that's gonna explain why things ain't been right in the town," he said. "I can feel it, right here in my gut. Don't know what he's gonna find, but it scares the hell outta me to think about it."

  "Doc Bennett's a sharp man," Belinda said. "And you're a brave man. You can handle anything."

  "But I was too scared to talk to him," Jackson said. He shook his head. "Whatever's going on, I don't wanna know about it. It ... it ain't my problem."

  He couldn't believe what he had said. It was as though someone was working his mouth like a ventriloquist's dummy. He did not feel as if he were in control of his own thoughts.

  Lord, what was wrong with him?

  "You only need some time to relax, honey," Belinda said. She rubbed his hand. "Let's not talk about Mason's Corner anymore"

  He nodded and picked up his beer. He downed the rest of the can in a few gulps. Then he popped the tab on another.

  Belinda watched, her face creased with concern.

  "I'm gonna get drunk, sweetheart," he said. "Just this once. Can't stand to know what's going on in my head, gotta shut it down. Gotta shut it down and get some damn peace"

  Silently, Belinda reached across the table, plucked the truck's keys from where they lay beside his arm, and dropped them into her purse.

  Shenice Stevens had awakened, but to Franklin, she looked ill. Her skin had an unhealthy pallor, redness marred her eyes, and her voice was raspy.

  Including Shenice, there were five
people in the hospital room: Franklin, Ruby, the girl's mother, and her physician, Dr. Dejean, a middle-aged Haitian man who had practiced medicine in the town for many years.

  Franklin explained his presence by telling them that he was there to pick up his wife-a true statement, and enough for them to leave him alone to observe. The physician and mother were too focused on Shenice to worry much about him.

  "Can somebody close those blinds?" Shenice asked. "The sunlight makes me itch." She squirmed under the covers.

  Franklin pursed his lips, made a mental note to himself. Ruby lowered the venetian blinds on both windows.

  While Dr. Dejean checked the girl's heart rate, Shenice complained of being hungry.

  "I'm starving, Mama," she said. "When are y'all gonna bring me something to eat?"

  "In a moment, darling," Dr. Dejean said. He squinted. "This can't be correct"

  "What is it?" Mrs. Stevens said.

  "Her heart rate. It's thirty-one beats per minute. That's the heart rate of a patient who is virtually comatose. Obviously, she is awake and alert."

  Franklin frowned. He didn't like this at all.

  "Please, bring me something to eat," Shenice said.

  "Ruby," Dr. Dejean said with a sharp nod. Ruby hurried out of the room.

  Franklin moved to the foot of the bed. The doctor fussed over the heart rate, taking it again, while Mrs. Stevens fussed over the doctor.

  Franklin focused on the girl. It was heartbreaking to look at her. She was only a shell of the vivacious, pretty young lady that he remembered seeing around town.

  She has an aversion to sunlight, he thought. Unnaturally low heart rate, red eyes, pale shin.

  The data was persuasive. He decided to take a risk and test his theory.

  "Tell me about the man and the dogs," Franklin said to her.

  The doctor and Mrs. Stevens gaped at him as though he had wandered out of a mental institution. But Shenice raised her head, and her eyes shone with a strange glee.

  "The man is the master's son," Shenice said. She spoke in a monotone, as if repeating words she'd learned from rote memorization. "The dogs are the master's servants"

  Jesus Christ, Franklin thought. It's true.

  Acceptance of the impossible washed over him, like cold water.

  Mrs. Stevens looked terrified. "Baby, what are you talking about?"

  Shenice blinked. Her eyes became clouded and confused again. "Umm, Mama, when can I eat?"

  What is happening here? Franklin thought. She appears to be vacillating between various states of consciousness, like someone in a trance.

  Dr. Dejean was looking at the girl oddly, too.

  But Mrs. Stevens only cooed and patted her daughter's hand. "Ruby's going to bring you something to eat, sweetheart. Just hold tight."

  Ruby entered the room, carrying a plastic tray laden with food and water.

  "I couldn't find an orderly, so I brought her something to eat myself," Ruby said.

  Shenice's eyes blazed when she saw Ruby, but the girl did not appear to notice the food. She began to sit up.

  Gripped by a premonition of doom, Franklin snagged his wife's arm before she approached the bed.

  "Stay away from the girl, Ruby," he said. "All of you, get away from her!"

  They stared at Franklin as if debating whether to get away from him, instead.

  Shenice hissed.

  Suddenly, her gaze was feral and deadly.

  She drew back her lips from her teeth. Her fangs glistened like razor shards.

  "Why are you fucking up my flow, Doc?" she said. "Who sent you here?"

  Franklin took a step backward. Shenice tore away the bedsheet and sprang up. She stood on the mattress, her gown billowing around her legs.

  Shock had paralyzed the doctor, Mrs. Stevens, and Ruby. But Franklin grabbed a knife off the food tray Ruby held.

  "Stay right there, Shenice." He brandished the blade. "Ruby, go get help. We've got to subdue the girl. Go now!"

  Ruby dropped the tray and fled out of the room.

  Shenice cackled. The sound made Franklin's blood run cold.

  "Can you inject her with something, Doctor?" Franklin said in a shaky voice. "An anesthetic, anything?"

  Dr. Dejean stuttered. "Uh ... let ... let me see" He moved away from the bed, patting his pockets.

  Mrs. Stevens reached for her daughter, hesitantly. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  "No, get away from her!" Franklin said.

  "My baby .. ." Mrs. Stevens cried.

  Serpent-quick, the girl seized her mother by the neck and lifted the woman in the air with one arm. The woman gagged, her legs kicked. Shenice tossed her mother across the room as if she weighed no more than a Barbie doll. Screaming, the woman hurtled through the air and crashed against the wall. She struck her head and blacked out.

  She has superhuman strength, Franklin thought. With only a knife to protect himself, he didn't stand a chance against this fiend.

  Dr. Dejean had finally pulled out a syringe. His voice quavered. "Stay still, young lady. I only want to help you."

  "You aren't pumping any more drugs into me," Shenice said. She leapt off the bed. Dr. Dejean lunged at her, driving the syringe forward like a lance, and she snared the doctor's wrist. She squeezed. Bones cracked with a brittle snap, and the doctor howled. The girl yanked the syringe out of his hand, raised it high, and plunged the needle into the man's eye. Wailing, he collapsed to the floor, the syringe protruding from his eyeball.

  Sickened and terrified, Franklin looked to the door. What was taking Ruby so long to get back with help? Even as he raised the question, he answered it in his head: it was a Sunday afternoon, and they were in a small hospital. There were few people on duty at that hour. Perhaps not enough people to subdue this vampire. She possessed the strength of several men.

  That decided him. He took off toward the doorway.

  But she was as fast as she was strong. Before he could get out, she seized his arm and threw him. He slammed against the wall, pain rattling through his shoulder, the knife spinning out of his fingers. He slid to the floor. But he did not lose consciousness. He almost wished he had.

  The vampire whammed the door shut and angled a chair underneath the knob, effectively barricading the door against easy entry.

  Although it hurt to move, Franklin crawled to the knife, grasped it once again.

  "Please, don't hurt us anymore," he said. Was there a trace of humanity left in her? Or had she succumbed completely to the inhuman urges?

  "So hungry," she said. She hugged herself, digging her nails into her flesh. Her body shook, as if she were experiencing a mild seizure. "Hungry ... didn't want to ... hurt anyone ... so hungry."

  Shouting voices, outside. Fists pounded against the door. The knob twisted back and forth.

  "We'll get help for you, Shenice," Franklin said. "Please, lie on the bed. We'll feed you."

  "Can't, can't, can't." Her head whipped back and forth, her hair swinging in her eyes. "Must feed ... must feed ... need blood. Oh, God"

  She began to sob.

  Franklin carefully got to his feet. He was not far away from the door.

  He could not allow her to bite him. That was his greatest fear. He would rather let her kill him than allow her to bite him.

  Tears ran down the girl's face. She clenched her hair in her fists and shrieked.

  He ran to the door. He kicked away the chair, and it spun away, turning end over end.

  He wrenched the knob and flung open the door.

  Behind him, Shenice screeched.

  Eyes wide and frightened, Ruby and two male orderlies retreated from the doorway.

  Franklin dove outside the room, but Shenice's hands hooked over his shoulders, like claws. He hit the floor on his stomach, the girl attached to his back.

  "Get her off me, get her off me, get her off me!"

  Her breath hot against his cheek, her teeth plunged into the side of his neck, like a double pinprick.

  He
howled.

  The men wrestled the girl off him. But she dipped her head and bit into the forearm of one of the men. The guy shouted in pain, and both of the men lost their grip on her.

  Weeping, blood dripping from her chin, Shenice raced down the hallway. The men chased after her, but she soon vanished.

  Franklin's puncture wound throbbed. Coldness pulsated in his neck and inched through his bloodstream, as if ice water had been injected into him.

  Ruby knelt and cradled Franklin's head in her lap. She was crying.

  He grasped his wife's hand, held it tight.

  "I can already feel it, the numbness spreading through me," he said. "Give me an antibiotic, something that may slow the infection. And phone David! I must speak to himbefore I am not myself anymore"

  David and Nia had moved to the kitchen. He sat at the dinette table, the crutches propped against a chair, while Nia prepared dinner. King lay near the refrigerator and watched Nia with great interest, alert for a morsel that might drop to the floor.

  David reviewed the letter for perhaps the tenth time.

  Dear Mr. Hunter,

  I have followed your career with great interest since the publication of your first novel. Your formidable talent has been evident from the beginning. The world of letters has been enriched tenfold by your work, and will continue to reap the benefits of your genius long after you have departed.

  Now that I have generously stroked your lion s ego and engaged your attention, shall I commence my purpose for this correspondence?

  My name is Elizabeth. I have been informed by my associates that you seek an audience with me. I find this discovery rather serendipitous, as for some time, I have considered holding an audience with you as well.

  The reason for my interest? I am intrigued by the recurring themes that I see in your literature. Need I restate them? You know your obsessions.

  There are answers, Richard. You will uncover them, in due time. But you will require assistance.