Available Darkness Box Set | Books 1-3

by Platt, Sean

  Duncan had to find a way out of the basement. He didn’t know where he’d go, but couldn’t just wait to be used as a pawn in Jacob’s game.

  Duncan was considering his limited possibilities when the door at the top of the stairway creaked opened and bright light from above pierced the gloaming.

  “Hello, Mr. Alderman,” Jacob said in the same cheerful voice that made Duncan want to rip the flesh from his face.

  Duncan said nothing.

  “How are you feeling?” Jacob asked, descending the steps. “Oh, wait, how silly of me. Why ask when I can simply tap into your head? Ah, let’s see. Seems you’re hungry. Is that right?”

  Duncan said nothing.

  “I can make you answer me, you know.”

  Sharp pain twisted through Duncan’s brain, as if someone were sliding a knife through his skull. He screamed out, clutching his head with both hands, as if he could pry the dagger from inside him, and somehow kick Jacob out of his head.

  “You can’t evict me,” Jacob said, reading his thoughts. “I’m a part of you now, Mr. Alderman. The pain ends only when I allow it to. Understand?”

  He nodded, eager to end his torment. Duncan wanted to vomit, though he surely had little to lose.

  “Say it,” Jacob said, his voice dripping with sick glee.

  “Yes!”

  “Good,” Jacob nodded. “Glad to see we’re speaking.”

  The pain ended and took his urge to vomit.

  “Now, I understand you don’t want to tell me where John is, and that you’re going to resist me. That’s OK, Mr. Alderman. I admire your loyalty. And fortunately, for you, I don’t really need to find him right now. I’m more concerned with the vessels, of course. But mark my words, a time will come when I ask you again. And you will answer when I do.”

  Duncan said nothing, glaring out from the shadows at the monster, standing at the foot of the stairs like a conqueror awaiting coronation.

  The monster sighed and stepped toward Duncan. “You look at me with such hate, as if you’re better than me.”

  Duncan said nothing, nor did he flinch when Jacob drew closer, stopping just inches from his mattress.

  “Get up,” Jacob ordered.

  Duncan held his stare, already disgusted with himself for his surrender. Jacob was chipping at his will, and while Duncan had little doubt he’d eventually be broken, he refused to make it easy.

  “I said get up.” Jacob narrowed his eyes at Duncan.

  He felt the thing inside him, worming its way through his brain until it found what it was looking for. One moment, Duncan was actively defying Jacob. The next, his body was rising from the mattress against his will, obeying its master.

  Jacob smiled, smug and disgusting. Duncan longed to reach out and slit his throat. Somewhere upstairs, assuming Jacob had not found and destroyed them, he had two Otherworld onyx blades which would do the job perfectly.

  “Wow, such violent thoughts, Mr. Alderman,” Jacob laughed. “You and I, we’re not so different.”

  “You’re a monster,” Duncan said, surprised he could speak since his limbs were ignoring commands to sit, strike, or do anything other than obey.

  “Correction, we’re monsters,” Jacob said, jabbing his index finger sharply into Duncan’s chest. “You and I are now the same. We are one. And soon, there will be many, many more. It’s pointless to resist. Why put yourself through the pain of denying what must be?”

  “You may have infected me, but I’m not a monster.”

  “We’ll see about that,. Jacob smiled, then turned and headed back to the stairs, releasing control of Duncan’s body.

  He was a rag doll falling to the mattress. Duncan ran his hands over his limbs, feeling his true self slowly return to, staring at Jacob ascending the stairs. He stepped through the door, then leaned back through the doorway and said, “Oh, that was rude of me to leave without offering you a meal. I’m so sorry. Where are my manners?”

  Someone else stepped through the doorway and was shoved by one of the Harbinger soldiers for hire: an attractive brown-haired woman — Duncan wasn’t sure of her name — in her mid-20s. Until a couple of days ago had been one of his housekeepers.

  She looked down, saw Duncan, then turned back at the top of the stairs where Jacob was closing the door.

  “Bon appétit.” Jacob laughed and closed the door, leaving Duncan to his meal.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Alderman?” the housekeeper asked, slowly approaching him, hands bound behind her. He looked down, past the length of her black dress, noticed her missing shoes, and wondered if Jacob’s men had taken them to keep her from trying to leave.

  “I’m fine. Are you?” Duncan asked. “Did they hurt you?”

  “No, but they killed Helga and Trina,” she said, her voice cracking with grief. She seemed on the verge of tears, perhaps finally glad to see someone she knew still alive. Little did she realize she’d only been spared to feed Jacob’s newest vampire. Duncan didn’t have the heart to tell the woman that he had no idea who Trina was, let alone know her name.

  “May I sit?” She stepped toward his mattress, the only place in the dark basement to sit, unless she wanted to use one of the dusty crates or boxes filled with stuff he hadn’t seen in years.

  “Yes, but don’t touch me,” he said sharply.

  “Okay.” She sat on the corner of Duncan’s bed and he fell back, as far as he could into the corner where the mattress met the wall. She looked at him confused, as if unable to understand his repulsion. Or maybe, he figured, she thought he was afraid.

  Her sudden nerves stirred a hunger inside him. Duncan could see a shimmering orange aura swimming around her. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but the parasite inside him was salivating, chewing at his insides. Duncan wanted to touch her, to draw her life from inside her, and feed. He wanted it more than a beggar starving for food, or a teenager with a hard-on desperate for somewhere to put it.

  Duncan wanted the life from inside her more than the air in his lungs.

  He closed his eyes and tried to drown his bloodlust.

  “Who are these people? What are they going to do to us?”

  He wondered why she’d said people. Had she not seen the monsters?

  “They’re going to kill us,” Duncan said, unsure why, except that he enjoyed the scent of her terror. Her colors went from orange to red. He closed his eyes to deny the parasite the joy of stoking the woman’s fear.

  “Kill us?” she asked, suddenly on the verge of tears. “Why?”

  Duncan struggled to keep his eyes closed, knowing he would reach out and grab her the second he saw her. He tried to think of anything other than feeding, disgusted by his irrepressible animal urges. He was a man of tremendous self-discipline. He’d worked for decades to master his every impulse from food to sex. Now it was as if some impetuous, psychopathic child had jumped into his driver’s seat and was taking control, eager to run him off the road just to see what would happen.

  No, you don’t have to do this. You aren’t a feeder. Or a monster.

  He thought again of his words to Jacob:

  You may have infected me, but I’m not a monster.

  “We’ll see about that,” he’d said with a shit-eating grin.

  Duncan now knew what he meant. Jacob was proving they were one and the same, forcing Duncan to acquiesce to his new parasitic instincts. He could almost feel the pompous fuck laughing upstairs, imagining Duncan’s struggle to control his hunger. It was like locking a starving vegan in a room with a juicy steak, knowing full well that no matter how much he claimed to love animals only his animal nature would help him survive.

  No, I am stronger than this.

  Duncan tried thinking of better things, like Caleb.

  Not Caleb now, wherever he was, assuming he was still alive since he’d vanished into Jacob’s portal. He thought of Caleb as a child, and how much he’d loved the kid. Caleb looked up to his Uncle Duncan, and gave the old man the closest thing to a paternal role he would ev
er have. He wished Caleb’s adopted father hadn’t felt so threatened, and hadn’t made Caleb feel guilty as a result. Hell, his dad had made Duncan feel guilty, and that was almost impossible.

  Duncan remembered going fishing with Caleb when the boy was 11 and first starting to notice girls. Caleb asked Duncan what to do when a girl didn’t like you like you liked her. He pointed at the lake. “See that lake?”

  Caleb nodded.

  How many fish do you think are in there?”

  “I dunno, maybe a few hundred.”

  “And how many fish do you think are in all the other lakes in the world? How many in all the seas?”

  “Millions?” Caleb looked confused. “Why?”

  “Let me ask you, Caleb. Remember that brim you nearly caught last time we were here? Just as you were reeling it in, it popped off the hook?”

  “Yeah!” Caleb laughed.

  “You didn’t get all bent out of shape about that, right?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. I figured I’d catch another one.”

  “Exactly,” Duncan said, holding up a finger. “It’s the same with girls and women. There’s no shortage, and never will be. Getting hung up on only one will end in nothing but heartache.”

  “But she’s not a fish, she’s a girl. A beautiful girl. She’s smart, pretty, and even likes soccer!”

  “Yeah, but there are plenty more out there too, son. There’s always someone else. Trust me.”

  Caleb’s line went taut as another fish bit on his line, almost on cue, as if to prove the old man’s point.

  Duncan couldn’t remember what happened with that particular girl, or anything about her outside their shared conversation on the lake. There had been many girls in Caleb’s young life until he finally met his wife. Duncan never once considered that he might’ve been wrong. There was always someone else to occupy a space in your heart. Maybe that sort of realization could only come after living through centuries and watching everyone you love die, until you finally stopped allowing people to get close enough to miss them.

  Now, sitting with no one to care one way or the other if he lived, Duncan wondered if he’d been wrong from the start. Some people, whether lovers, or someone welcomed into your family — there were some people whose absence could never be replaced.

  The housekeeper’s voice cut through Duncan’s thoughts, and his attempts to forget she was easy prey beside him. “Can you untie my hands, sir?”

  “I’m afraid not,” he said, meeting her eyes.

  She paused, then asked, “Why not?”

  “Because if I touch you, you’ll die.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  She scrambled to her feet. Her aura darkened to deep crimson. Something in her scent changed and stirred his hunger further. He also found himself sexually aroused, which only disgusted him more.

  “The man who brought you in here, did you see him burn anyone by touching them?”

  She nodded, shaking, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “That man is a monster. And now I am, too.”

  She stared at him, unmoving.

  “What are you, fucking stupid?” Duncan barked. “Go away!”

  She turned from him and ran up the stairs, as fast as she could with her hands tied behind her back. She banged her head on the door and wailed, “Please, please let me out!”

  Her fear escalated and stirred Duncan’s inner monster, like a stomach growling over the scent of baking bread. His cock was rock-hard.

  Duncan was at the top of the stairs a second later, surprised by his speed, once he surrendered to the creature’s will and let it guide his actions.

  The housekeeper screamed.

  Duncan reached out and silenced her forever, drinking her soul, feasting without thinking of the monster he’d become. He ingested her life force and memories, finally learning her name: Melora.

  Nineteen

  Abigail

  Abigail stood, unable to move, staring at the charred bodies in bed.

  “Oh, God; God; oh, God. What do I do?”

  She spun in a circle, looking around the room as if the answer might pop out, maybe from the closet. She thought about calling Larry. Surely, he could help her cover this up.

  No way. He’ll freak out, and want to leave. No questions asked. Take no chances. Adios, Katya.

  Abigail looked down at the burned corpses again, wondering if the police would tie the murders to her. Or worse, what if John’s agency was investigating.

  They would definitely tie it to her.

  Unless they think there was a fire.

  Abigail ran from the bedroom and bounded down the stairs, through the dark living room and to the garage. On the ground, beside the lawnmower, she saw it: a big red gas can.

  Please be full, please be full, please be …

  It was.

  She picked it up and carted it into the living room, running back up the stairs as fast as she could, gas sloshing all along the way.

  Okay, where do I start?

  She thought of Bobby. She’d killed him first, even though she held no memory of doing so. She went into the boy’s room. Seeing his charred body triggered a store of memories, and a fresh wave rolled through her mind.

  Bobby found a tiny, filthy dog with a broken back sprawled in the middle of the street outside his house, and cried until his mom agreed to make Dad find a vet.

  He was trick-or-treating too many streets over. He got lost, bag snatched, then beaten up by three boys, ironically all dressed as members of the Justice League: Superman, Batman, and the Flash.

  Bobby petted his mom’s head for who-knew-how-many hours after losing his baby sister, two months before Rebecca was supposed to be born.

  Bobby’s memories softened from boil to simmer, and Abigail stared down at his charred remains feeling as if she’d lost a close friend, despite not knowing the boy for more than a few fleeting seconds inside her dream. She imagined a different life where she met him not as a vampire, but as a girl instead — a life which would never be, and was agony to think about.

  She uncapped the gas can and shook it over his body, like she was watering the lawn.

  The gas was pungent, burning her throat, as Abigail went from his room to his parents’, spilling a trail of fuel along the way. Once she reached their room, Abigail poured the gas all over his parents, making sure to save at least a little for downstairs. She emptied more gas in a line down the stairs then in front of the couch and in a long wavy line running along the front door and window until the can was empty.

  Abigail went into the kitchen, searching for a lighter or matches.

  She pulled out one drawer after another, heart pounding, utensils rattling and drawers banging back into place.

  Hurry, hurry, hurry …

  I’ve gotta get home before Larry notices I’m gone.

  Finally, Abigail found a junk drawer and seized a green plastic lighter from inside.

  Yes!

  She ran upstairs clutching the lighter, afraid she’d drop it. She froze in front of Bobby’s room, unable to move.

  What have I done?

  She stared at Bobby’s body again, trying to figure out how she’d managed to get inside the house to begin with.

  Was I sleepwalking? And if so, what’s to stop me from doing it again?

  She thought of the incident in the restaurant, overcome by memories, and the overwhelming sadness she’d not only experienced through her victims’ memories, but that which she inflicted herself.

  She thought of Bobby’s father screaming:

  What are you?

  She swallowed, tears streaming her cheeks.

  I’m a monster.

  Abigail moved closer to Bobby’s burned body, then sat on the bed beside him, allowing the gas on his sheets to seep into her pajama bottoms. She lay on the bed and let the gasoline soak into the back of her shirt. It was ice cold — ironic given
its flammable properties.

  More memories raced through her mind, more misery, more sadness.

  She raised the lighter above her, staring at the little gray wheel, then realized she’d never lit a lighter, though she’d seen people do it plenty and it surely seemed easy enough. She ran her thumb along the wheel, waiting for fire.

  Nothing.

  Abigail looked closer, and saw a plastic red tab, probably there so kids didn’t accidentally start fires. She pressed down on the red tab and started to run her thumb over the metal wheel again, bracing for death.

  Abigail wondered if she’d die quickly. She hoped so. Life was too damned hard, and all she wanted was for the pain to finally end.

  Suddenly, Abigail heard a voice in her head that wasn’t hers, or any one of the many memories rattling inside her.

  “Abigail?”

  An unfamiliar girl’s voice she couldn’t remember ever hearing before.

  She opened her eyes and moved her head to search the room, but saw nobody.

  “Hello?” Abigail called out.

  “Don’t do it,” the girl’s voice said.

  Abigail realized the voice was in her head, like John’s used to sometimes come.

  Who is this? Abigail thought-asked.

  “My name is Talani. I’m a vampire, like you.”

  How do you know I’m a vampire? Abigail thought, suddenly afraid. Someone out there knew her secret. Someone she didn’t know. How could Talani speak to her? Was she nearby, Abigail wondered, knowing as she did that Talani could read her thoughts and fears.

  Leave me alone!

  “Relax, Abigail. I’m just like you. I’m only 15. You and I are a lot alike.”

  You don’t know me, Abigail thought, feeling violated, wanting to run off and be left alone. She tried to shut the girl from her mind, but didn’t know how. She never had to defend herself against an intruder to her thoughts. Before now, only John had communicated with her like this.

  “I just wanted to tell you, you’re not alone. There are others out here like us. Good people, forced to hide from the world because of what we are. I don’t want to intrude on your life. I don’t want anything, really. I wasn’t even going to bother you, but I felt your pain. I couldn’t sit and do nothing, especially if I could make a difference. I just want you to know, you’re not alone. Don’t kill yourself, Abigail. I have to go. I can only do this for a little bit at a time. But please … ”