Dark Corner Part 48

The vampire had used to be T-Bone, but it bore little resemblance to the kid Jahlil remembered. Its braided hair was messy and full of dirt. Dried mud was caked on its face, like war paint. Its eyes were bloodshot. Saliva dribbled from its lips, and glistening snot trailed from its nostrils.

A big, fake platinum cross dangled from the vampire's neck, the same necklace T-Bone wore all the time.

Jahlil's t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es felt as though they'd retracted inside his pelvis.

He had been out of his mind for leaving the police station to hunt these things. This was ten times worse than the vampiric mutts.

"Get it off me, get it off me!" Poke said in a garbled voice.

Jahlil raised the shotgun.

But the vampire and Poke were so close together that he didn't feel confident about blasting the vamp without hurting Poke.

"Let go of him, T-Bone!" Jahlil warned. "Or I'm going to nail you"

The vampire snorted. It jerked Poke higher in the air, lifting him up by his neck. T-Bone was several inches taller than Poke, and the height advantage allowed him to punish Poke with an excruciating stranglehold.

"Go ahead and shoot, you punk a.s.s n.i.g.g.a," T-Bone said, in a coa.r.s.e voice that sounded nothing like the kid that Jahlil remembered. "You ain't about s.h.i.t."

Jahlil's finger tightened on the trigger.

Poke's feet kicked in the air, feebly. He was screaming, but due to the choke hold, it came out as a high-pitched whine. The veins in his neck looked ready to burst.

"Last warning, let him go!" Jahlil said. He steadied his aim on the bloodsucker's head.

I've got to drop him now, he thought. Pull the trigger, man.

Glowering at Jahlil defiantly, the vampire opened its mouth. Ropes of saliva coated its fangs, like grotesque taffy.

Shoot him.

Swift as a snake, the vampire buried its teeth into Poke's neck.

Jahlil finally squeezed the trigger, the gun's hard recoil snapping through his arms.

The bullet cleaved across the top of the beast's skull, tearing away a chunk of scalp and hair. The vampire screeched. Its arm loosened from around Poke's throat. Poke slumped to the gra.s.s like a bundle of clothes.

But the vampire, though wounded, was not dead. It charged Jahlil, teeth bared, hissing.

Frantic, Jahlil pumped the shotgun for another shot-and it got stuck.

s.h.i.t!

He heard his dad's voice in his mind, admonishing him to oil and clean his firearms regularly, to maintain their effectiveness. Now, son, got to take care of your guns. Take care of your guns, and they'll take care of you.

The vampire ripped the shotgun out of his hands.

Jahlil spun, and, without thinking, dove into the open pa.s.senger side of the Oldsmobile. He slammed the door and mashed down the lock with his fist. Found the automatic lock and hit it, too, engaging the locks on all four doors.

The thunderous music made his teeth rattle.

The bloodsucker hopped onto the hood of the car, the metal creaking under its weight. It planted itself there on its knees, drew back its fist, and punched the windshield.

Jahlil screamed and covered his eyes.

Gla.s.s shattered, fragments spraying over his head.

The vampire shoved its long arm through the jagged rupture in the window. It seized the front of Jahlil's shirt.

Jahlil could not help thinking that the monster's dirtsmudged nails looked exactly like T-Bone's after a long day of basketball.

He wrapped his hands around the vampire's wrist, trying to break its grip on him, but it was like trying to loosen a steel vise.

The monster pushed its hand forward and closed its long fingers around Jahlil's throat.

Jahlil gagged. The thing's fingers were so chilly they might have been formed of ice.

I'm dead, this is it. He's gonna yank me out the window and suck me dry.

Like a powerful robotic arm, the vampire began to draw Jahlil forward. His body was too wide to fit through the hole, but he doubted that would stop the creature from forcing him through, sc.r.a.ped and bleeding.

As he was lifted forward, his chest pressed against the steering wheel, activating the horn. It blared a futile warning to the uncaring night.

Stars swarmed at the edges of Jahlil's vision. He couldn't breathe. He was blacking out ...

A whoomp filled Jahlil's eardrums. Then, a howl of pain.

The vampire let go of him.

Jahlil dropped against the seat, dizzy. But he saw the vampire: it was on fire. It s.n.a.t.c.hed its hand out of the window and leapt off the car, screaming, covered in flames.

Jahlil tried to open the door, remembered that it was locked, popped up the lock, and rolled out of the Oldsmobile. Bent over, he sucked in lungfuls of sweet air.

The burning vampire stumbled to the edge of the yard, and collapsed on the ground. The stench of torched flesh poisoned the air.

Jahlil staggered to where Poke sat on the gra.s.s, near the porch.

"I got that motherf.u.c.ker," Poke said. The cigarette lighter lay in his hand. He blinked, sleepily. "You was right, he wasn't nothing like our boy no more. He was a f.u.c.king monster, man"

Gently, Jahlil turned Poke's head. A bite wound burned bright red on Poke's neck, like marks seared with a branding iron.

Soon, Poke would be one of them.

Across the yard, the vampire lay still, gray-black smoke twisting from its corpse and rising into the stormy night sky.

Taking in the loss of both his lifelong friends, Jahlil could do only one thing.

He lowered his head, and cried.

Although his fellow patients were in a haste to leave the premises, Franklin had the presence of mind to understand that he did not want to venture outdoors in this ridiculous gown. He opened the closet and found his regular clothes. He was grateful to find his favorite pair of khakis, and a shirt.

He closed the door, shutting out the commotion in the hallway. His female roommate had departed with the rest of the mob.

As he dressed, he admired the still, peaceful body of his wife. He had placed her on the bed after he had satiated himself on her blood.

Yes, blood. Finally, he could admit the object of his hunger. He felt no shame about his craving, not anymore. The pleasure that blood provided was too sweet, too nourishing, too fulfilling, to ever engender unwelcome feelings. Easier to despise a thirst for water.

He was aware of what he had become. He had metamorphosed into the blood-crazed monster that David (and himself, in his prior life) feared and conspired to destroy. The vampire!

How easy it was to hate that which one did not understand. Such behavior was typical of the ignorant and those who allowed unfounded fear to dictate their lives.

Now, he knew better.

Comfortably attired in his clothes, he approached the bed.

Ruby, as lovely as ever, floated on the tranquil waves of a perfect sleep. Bite marks blemished her neck. He had taken much of her blood, but had intuitively sensed when to cease drinking, to prevent ending her life. It was his earnest wish that she would join him in this wondrous new existence. Without her, immortality would lack meaning and purpose.

He lifted her warm hand to his lips, kissed her fingers.

He did not know how long it would take for her transformation to complete. Perhaps a day, perhaps sooner. She was safe, here. The master would not allow harm to come to those that obeyed him. And to disobey was as unthinkable as refusing to breathe.

He carefully tucked the bedsheet under his wife's chin. He kissed her cheek.

"Sleep well, my dear. I'll return for you soon"

He left the room, fastening the door behind him.

The dark corridor buzzed with activity. The valduwe (the unfamiliar but somehow fitting name came to his mind, like a memory of a dream) raced around in a frenzy, seeking to feed on any human in the vicinity.

Undisturbed, he proceeded down the hall, to the exit.

Upon pushing through the gla.s.s doors, two unexpected surprises greeted him. Number one: a street bicycle in good condition stood in the metal bike stall, unlocked. Number two: his old dog, Malcolm, was among a pack of hounds that had brought down a number of hapless humans.

"Malcolm!" Franklin said. He whistled.

Tail wagging, the dog trotted to him. Franklin scratched behind the canine's ears, something he used to do all the time in his prior life, much to Malcolm's pleasure.

But Malcolm did not allow himself to be stroked for long. He whined, licked Franklin's fingers, then dashed off to rejoin his pack.

Franklin rolled the bicycle out of the stall. He mounted the saddle.

He pedaled across the sidewalk that led to the parking lot. He pa.s.sed Kyle, the master's son. Kyle stood at the end of the path, hands clenched behind his back, viewing the action.

Kyle did not look at him-Franklin understood that Kyle did not need to see him in order to sense he was near-but Franklin gave him a wide berth. Instinct warned him to keep his distance from vampires like Kyle. It was a bit like a child exercising caution in the company of a stern adult.

However, he would obey any commands Kyle issued. The master had granted his son authority over them.

But for the time, the valduwe were allowed to roam.

Franklin pedaled across the parking lot and onto the road that fronted the medical center. His leg muscles were strongstronger than they had ever been in his prior life, even in his youth. He felt as though he soared on the wings of the gusting wind.

And oh, the night! Night had never been so beautiful, so deep, so liberating.

He did not have a destination in mind, but something would suggest itself, soon. He was growing hungry again.

David, Nia, and King were the only ones in his Pathfinder. The rest of the team members had piled into other vehicles to make the five-minute drive to the hospital, where they hoped to stop the vampires' advance.

David clenched the steering wheel. "I know I'm being overly optimistic, but I'm hoping that Franklin is still asleep there. I don't want to have to do this to him."

Although David did not say what "do this to him" meant, Nia did not ask for an interpretation. Both of them had been present at Jubilee when the team had destroyed the vampiric deputy in the cellar.

"Everything's going to be okay, David," Nia said. In spite of her rea.s.surance, her own voice wavered. David noted that her fingernails, which had been painted and manicured when he had first met her, were bitten down to nubs, the nail polish chipped away.

Even King displayed signs of stress. The dog did not move around the backseat looking out windows as he normally did when riding. He sat ramrod-straight, brown eyes watchful, ears raised.

Wind blasted across the town, pummeling the trees and tossing debris through the air. Several trees, snapped in half like matchsticks, obstructed the roads. The street lamps were dead, and the homes they pa.s.sed were dark and abandonedlooking.

Thunder clapped. Jagged blades of lightning split the purple-black sky.

Rain had not fallen yet, but when it did, David was certain that it would come in a torrent.

At the next intersection, he turned right, onto Coldwater Lane. The hospital was less than a mile away.

I'm stalling, he realized. I'm putting along at twenty miles an hour. I never drive this slowly.

But G.o.d, I don't want to see Franklin.

Nevertheless, he had a duty to his team. Poke behind too long and they would have to fight without him. He was supposed to be the leader.

He pressed the gas pedal more firmly.

Ahead, on the left side of the road, a green Taurus was parked in a driveway. David would not have paid it any attention, but the interior light was on, as though a door was open, and no one was visible inside the vehicle.

He slowed to take a closer look.

A low growl rumbled from King.

"What's the matter, boy?" Nia said to the dog, but her attention was riveted on the car.

Feeling as though he had been cast into a slow-motion sequence in a film, David inched past the Ford, and even as he saw the spectacle on the other side of the car he had known that this was what he would discover. A young woman in a blue dress lay on the ground beside the open pa.s.senger door, bags of spilled groceries surrounding her body. Franklin Bennett, his balding head gleaming in the light, knelt over the woman, as though giving her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation-except his mouth was attached to her neck. A blue bicycle lay on the front lawn, rear wheel jutting in the air.

David's jaws locked, his teeth grinding together. He had pressed the brake to the floor.

Beside him, Nia had stuffed her hand in her mouth, as if holding back a scream.

Keep on driving, a soft voice whispered in his head. Pretend you didn't see this. This man is your friend, your elder. You can't hurt him, and you know it. Go on, keep driving. Nia won't mind, either.

He well might have given in to the temptation to drive away, but King began to bark.