John and Larry both reached out in a blind attempt to stop the slaughter.

Abigail’s fingers were ten tiny pythons around Lydia’s paling skin. Both bodies shivered and shook, Lydia tangled in death’s inescapable clutches while Abigail feasted on her fleeting life.

John and Larry were dead in their tracks, impotent witnesses to the destruction playing out before them. The child, so sweet just hours before, had been transformed, by them, into a killing machine.

John was frozen. His heart shattered as he stood in the shadow of the sentence he had condemned Abigail to endure. Yes, he had saved her life, but at what cost?

Larry fell back. He wanted to scream, but his mouth filled with vomit instead, which spewed in a fountain, burning bile through his esophagus and onto the cold cement floor of the warehouse. Suddenly, something in Larry snapped. Rage, anger, hate, he wasn’t sure, but it stormed toward the surface and splashed ice water on his inaction. He raised his pistol, aimed directly at the back of Abigail’s head, and marched forward.

John glanced up just in time. He instinctively reached out, and for the second time that night, delivered a blast of energy from his palm, sending Larry to a crumpled heap on the cement. The gun skidded backward across the floor and John descended on Larry in less than a breath. Unlike last time, John wasn’t weakened by the blast he had sent. However, the blast also didn’t do as much damage to Larry, who was on all fours, scrambling away from John and towards the gun that had slid across the floor.

“Stop!” John barked.

Larry turned and glared upward, his face flushed with anger.

John stared down, silent. Unflinching. His message was clear: do not fuck with Abigail.

Larry looked past John and toward Abigail, who hunched over Lydia’s ashen body. The electricity had nearly finished its course through her body and her body was rocking slowly as she murmured something Larry could not make out.

Something in Larry shifted.

Yes, he was still horrified and saddened that Lydia, one of the only women he was ever close to having loved though he’d never uttered the words or even admitted the fact to himself until this very moment––was dead. Yet there were other emotions churning the sick stew in his guts and brain, a blended broth of awe and curiosity. This was the first such transformation he’d ever witnessed. Though he’d known of a few instances where people had become feeders, they were rare, the stuff of whispered legend.

A thousand questions throbbed through his mind. He’d been obsessed with the arcane knowledge of Other World ever since he’d first seen one of the aliens, more than two decades prior.

John watched Larry’s face transform, his flesh fading from raspberry to blush, and finally to its normal doughy hue. He could sense Larry’s heart rate slowing, could even hear the man’s heartbeat, he noted with interest. He glanced over to the gun, which lay a good 10 feet behind Larry.

“We have a problem here?” John asked.

Larry shook his head. His eyes passed John, darting to something behind him. John did a 180 and found Abigail standing, facing them.

John braced for what was to come, for her to break down and cry or scream out in anger at what they’d done to her. His mind scrambled over the possibilities. What he would say to comfort her, to explain what had happened, or at least to say he was sorry. However, she wasn’t crying. She wore a marble slab of emotion.

After a long stretch of silence, her vacant expression changed slightly.

“What happened?” she asked, in barely a whisper.

______________________________

“What are you looking for?” Bob said, repeating the question that had rendered Jack speechless.

While Jack would normally flare up at anyone (no matter how high their ranking) who had the temerity to ask him such a thing, or dared to spy on him, he needed to tread carefully. Something big was happening, and for the first time in his professional career, he was at a disadvantage because he had no idea what was in play.

Jack figured honesty was the best policy since he had no idea how much they knew. “I’m remembering things, Bob. Things that don’t make a whole lot of sense.”

The other side of the line was silent.

Shit, I said too much.

Then, after a long silence, Bob responded. “Let it go, Jack.”

Jack wanted to do anything but let it go. He wanted to jump through the phone and demand for Bob to tell him everything. Right now!

“Listen, Jack, I get that you have more questions than answers right now and that it’s frustrating. However, I need your head in the game. We have a killer to catch. The man who, I might remind you just in case you’ve forgotten killed your wife.”

“I haven’t forgotten a thing,” Jack said, pissed that Bob would play that card. He was also somewhat pleased. If Bob was getting desperate enough to try such a cheap tactic, it meant one thing, Jack was closing in on something that they, whoever they were, didn’t want him to know.

“We’ll help you make sense of things, soon, Jack, I promise. But right now, I need to know you’re not going to be sidetracked. I need to know you’re not going to botch this up.”

Jack measured Bob’s words. If he responded too quickly, Bob wouldn’t buy the change of heart. Moreover, he’d likely lock down Jack’s ability to get any information at all, if he’d not already done so. Jack pulled a sigh from the depths of his belly and unscrewed the bottle of whiskey he kept on his nightstand. He took a deep swig and sighed a second time, half enjoying the show he was putting on for Bob.

“I’m just so tired,” Jack said, broadcasting utter exhaustion, “I just want to close this case and put an end to the nightmare.”

“I know,” Bob said, his voice soothing.

“You know, I haven’t cried since the funeral,” Jack said, in a moment of spontaneous honesty, surprising himself with his confession.

Bob was now the quiet one.

Jack continued, “My head hasn’t been right in a while, Bob. I’m not eating or sleeping. It’s no wonder I’m having such fucked up dreams. I just want to catch this guy, Bob, nail him to the fucking wall so my wife can finally rest in peace.”

“Do you need some time off?”

“No, Bob. Just let me get this monster and then we can deal with whatever else we need to deal with.”

“If you ever need anything, Jack, anything at all,” Bob said, “just ask.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, taking another sip, “Right now, I’m just gonna get some sleep so I can hit this tomorrow with fresh eyes.”

They hung up. Jack turned out his light and stared at the computer, wondering how else they might be monitoring him. He glanced at his window, the curtains closed, as they always were. He then rolled off the bed, dropped softly to the carpet, crawled toward the wall, and slowly pulled the bottom corner of the curtain aside just enough to steal a glimpse. There, about half a block down, he saw a van nearly swallowed by darkness.

“Well, hello there,” Jack whispered to his watcher.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Be sure to check out the Author’s Notes in the comments section following each chapter. Also, please tweet this post and help spread the word about Available Darkness and nurture online fiction.

The black van rolled along the highway beneath the bruised tangerine sky of early dawn. Larry looked in the rear-view for the third time in two minutes, searching for cops, feds or more gunmen, then stepped down harder on the gas pedal.

They were heading towards one of the many secret spots he kept scattered throughout the region. No doubt an entire team of feds was currently turning over the motel, scouring through every hair and fiber as they sorted through what was easily the biggest mass murder the area had seen in decades. Since most of the bodies were burnt to a crisp, the murders would be tied to John, intensifying an already white hot manhunt. Larry wasn’t too concerned about what was left behind. The motel and van (and even the van’s tag) were bought through an assumed name and neither his DNA or fingerprints were in any database, so it was doubtful that he left much of a trail.

While circumstance had forced Larry to abandon his surveillance equipment, which would no doubt raise a battery of questions as to who was living there and what in the raging fires of hell they were doing, he’d managed to retrieve the bank of hard drives where he kept nearly all his research. Of course, he had also grabbed the plastic totes from his van, which were essentially his portable survival kits, loaded with weapons, cash and a few other items of contraband he didn’t dare leave behind.

Though the motel looked like homeless people were squatting there, Larry was always organized and prepared to leave the second that the shit hit the fan.

Larry now had two main concerns—switching the van he was in for another, and hoping he’d eliminated enough of the bastards to prevent them from regrouping too quickly. He was certain they were living on borrowed time. Sure as shit, the van he was driving probably had a half dozen tracking systems enabled, with red dots blinking on a monitor or ten somewhere. Fortunately, they were only a mile away from a chop shop where he placed an emergency order the minute they left the hotel.

Sometimes it paid to keep the right company.

__________________

In the darkened rear of the van, Abigail’s breath rose and fell, her body curled against John. No windows meant the heat John was feeling through the indented panels was mostly in his imagination. He was safe from the sun, and thankfully, Abigail was safe from his parasitic touch.

John had become so used to avoiding unintentional human contact that he flinched when Abigail had first leaned so lovingly against him. However, as she relaxed, then passed out almost immediately, he wrapped an arm around her, receiving as much comfort as he was providing. John’s sad eyes, swollen with salt, lost a tear to the top of Abigail’s head.

Her gunshot had stitched together entirely, the skin where the bullet had torn through her flesh was no less smooth than that of her cheek. A part of John was glad that Abigail had remained groggy; not yet lucid enough to receive an explanation of how he had managed to save her.

Larry had grabbed two fistfuls of pillows and a pile of blankets to make their accommodations a bit more comfortable, but John was too distracted, or perhaps too scared, to close his eyes. He didn’t mind turning over the recent events in his mind. It was necessary to try and pull order from the chaos, but closing his eyes seemed to give the images teeth.

From the bits of memories John had managed to extract from the agents, he knew the gunmen were part of a unit called Harbinger. Harbinger of what, though? The agents were as in the dark about their end game as John was, though crystal clear on how much their boss Jacob had paid them to kill enemies, silence opposition and unearth various artifacts with mythical properties.

Artifacts from Otherworld.

Why they wanted him, though, John wasn’t certain. At least not beyond anything outside the bristle of instinct. Perhaps he was the ultimate artifact, a man who once walked on another world’s soil.

John looked down at Abigail and felt a fierce need to protect her. Like a paternal drive, he imagined, to inoculate her from all danger. However, that aching need embittered the palette of his thought, tainted with wave after wave of unforgiving guilt. He had delivered his curse unto her, even if it had saved her life. He turned her into a vampire.

What would that mean for her? Would she also need to feast in order to survive? Had he turned an innocent child into an eager killer? Was she now immortal? Would her soul grow old as she remained fixed behind the mask of a child forever?

An endless underpass of questions tortured his insides as Abigail’s cool skin soothed his outer shell.

The only person with any answers was sitting up front, punishing the drivetrain of the cargo van. The only thing John knew with certainty was that there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do to ensure Abigail’s safety.

Soon as Larry killed the engine, John would find out everything he knew, whether Larry wanted to tell him or not.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Be sure to check out the Author’s Notes in the comments section following each chapter. Also, please tweet this post and help spread the word about Available Darkness and nurture online fiction.

Swallow enough pills and sleep eventually finds you. For Jack, it came quickly. His breathing relaxed and he found himself deep in his dreams, though he wasn’t in the bedroom of his youth. He was somewhere else.

Jack stood on a deck overlooking a pristine white shore, familiar, though only through the hazy fog of fragmented memory. He was more relaxed than he’d remembered feeling in a while. Chasing criminals has a way of owning you even when off duty. Prior to their mutual “I do’s,” Julia used to continually complain, both with words and dancing eyes, about his inability to unplug from work and just be happy.

Julia!

He remembered the shoreline; the pristine white sands of Aruba, where he and Julia spent three amazing weeks on their honeymoon. Which was, oddly enough, probably the last time he’d felt at peace. Julia had made him promise to take three weeks off from work, a luxury he’d never experienced, even though he’d probably built up a half year’s worth of vacation time. He didn’t want to. He had too much work and knew it would pile up without his constant attention.

“The world will still turn and the job will get done without you,” Julia had said.

And she was right. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he found his shoulders relaxing long enough to let him enjoy life. An epiphany, Jack returned home with renewed purpose. Life was his to create. Family first, a husband’s duty.

That vow lasted almost until the end of his first week back until Jack found himself buried alive with a case that kept him hostage to the office from early light to mocking moon. One case turned to two, then weeks to months and months to years until just like that, he found that he’d slowly surrendered his limbs to the shackles of fate without even realizing it.

Waves lapped. Jack took a sip of wine. Behind him, he heard a muffled voice from the other side of the double French doors of their honeymoon villa. Though he was deep into dream and memory, a part of him was also aware of the waking life in which his wife was long since dead. His eager heart sped in his chest.

It had been so long since she had visited his dreams. Even though he’d wake up sad, these brief moments were better than nothing. He opened the door and…

…was again a child, back in the middle of that awful night which had been blotted from his memory ever since, stepping gingerly into the darkened hallway. Downstairs, his father was still screaming at his mother. The shadow man was just ahead of him, at the landing of the stairs. He turned back and in that dissonant voice, warned Jack to wait.

And Jack did.

Moments later, he heard his father cry out, “What the fuck?”

The end of fuck was severed by a ripping sound followed by a wet thud and a splash which sent chills down Jack’s spine.

He’s dead.

While a part of him should have been happy that the man who tormented he and his mother would no longer do so, the reality of murder did not bring the relief he’d sought. Panicked tears welled inside and warm piss trickled down Jack’s leg.

His mother screamed. At first Jack assigned the sound to the horror of seeing her husband murdered. Yet the scream held an elevated fear which went far beyond the terror of a frightened witness, sharp as it was with the acid panic of self preservation.

“Hello, mother,” the man in shadows said in a voice of boots crunching atop vomit soaked gravel.

Then, the sound of ripping flesh and gurgling, followed by silence.

Jack waited, fear circling the drain of his throat.

She’s dead, you killed her!

The adult part of Jack was frozen as well. He remembered nothing of this night from his youth, these memories were not the ones of how he knew his parents to have died, yet he knew it wasn’t a dream. This was a truth he’d been hiding from, or … which had removed from his mind. Entombed memories were no less real for their burial. He urged his dream self to take a step forward, to unravel the rest of the mystery.

“Mommy!” young Jack screamed, bolting down the stairs and into the living room.

He saw the still smoldering corpse of his father, flesh still bubbling as his headless body twitched. Wherever his father’s head was, it wasn’t anywhere next to his body.

The next two things he noticed in unison.

The shadow man, now looking slightly more human in form, stood in the center of the living room with his arms outstretched, while his mother, throat slashed and blood soaking through the thin gauze of her night shirt, danced. Her arms were raised, her lifeless head rolling back and forth barely there and maybe only by a thread. Her feet hovered inches above the ground. The shadow man moved his arms wildly like a crazed marionette as Jack’s mother danced some perverse jig. The shadow man continued to vent a smog of chilling laughter during the macabre recital.

Jack screamed. The shadow man turned to him, surprised, and allowed his mother to collapse in an inanimate heap.

“Forgive me, a son should have one final dance with his mother, yes?” The trailing S, a serpent’s hiss.

Jack was confused. He longed to run at the monster, pound him, tear him apart, anything. But fear bolted his ankles to the floor.

“You don’t remember me, do you Jackie?” the monster said, drifting closer.

Jack wanted to turn and run. The adult Jack also wanted to turn away, tears streaming down his sleeping cheeks. Neither Jack could do anything but watch the mind movie that had no pause.

Finally, the child spoke.

“Why did you kill her?”

“Because!” the monster yelled, his voice sounding more boyish and human than before, “she left me. You all left me behind.”

“She’s not your mother!” Jack cried out.

“Ah, what have they done to you, brother? You really don’t remember me, do you? It’s me … Jacob.”

And just like that, the shape of the shadow man dissipated like spider webs in a tornado, and standing before Jack was a boy, not much older than he, wearing a black shirt and pants, coated in the fresh blood of Jack’s parents.

Jack was torn between confusion, anger and a sudden, incredible sadness. None of this was making any sense and his head felt as if it were going to split and spill its contents.

“She made you forget,” Jacob said, “but I,” and he pointed at his head and spread his lips in a lunatic’s smile, “I NEVER forget!”

The monster boy stepped forward and Jack took a step back, shaking.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you two. You‘re my brothers.”

Brothers? Two? Who else is he talking about? Adult Jack was puzzled, though his mind was too entrenched in the dream to work out the logic at play.

The monster headed to the front door, opened it, and disappeared into the night.

This was all too much for young Jack, what was he supposed to do now? His head hurt and more than anything, he wanted to march behind his mother right into the arms of death. Adult Jack was feeling the same feelings as he was experiencing this, in some way, for the first time. Part of him wanted to die right there in his dream. To spare him of not only this, but of living alone in this cold world without Julia.

But he couldn’t.

A tiny voice called from upstairs, “Is he gone?”

Jack glanced up at the four year old peering back between the banisters. A boy so young should not see such things.

Adult Jack was dumbstruck. I have a brother?

“Go back in your room, Johnny!” Jack shouted, tears twisting his voice into a gasp.

Confusion, shock and pain were twined like hair in a braid, but he couldn’t allow himself to shut down. Though he were just a child himself, he had to protect John. Family first, a brother’s duty.

__________

Jack snapped awake.

“John?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Be sure to check out the Author’s Notes in the comments section following each chapter. Also, please tweet this post and help spread the word about Available Darkness and nurture online fiction.

“You need to come with me,” the man said to John.

“No fucking way.” Larry lifted his rifle, aimed it at the man’s head and said, “Let her go.”

“If you shoot me,” the gunman said, “my finger will twitch, this gun will go off and she will die. It’s all very simple, really. Or … we can end this peacefully, John comes with me, you take the girl and this never happened.”

The man was Brock, John recalled from a sliver of memory he’d stolen from one of the squad. A real badass. He wasn’t bluffing – he would shoot Abigail without flinching if he thought all was lost. He had no compunctions about killing – anybody. Brock worked for the same man he saw in his vision. The one who took Abigail and then let her go.

Jacob.

“Put the gun down,” John told Larry.

Larry didn’t budge. “No way you’re going with him, John. Trust me, it won’t end well for you.”

Brock looked down at Abigail, smiled a sickly sweet smile, “Tell them Abigail, do you want to die today?”

She looked up at John, eyes now flooding in tears, and whimpered, “No.”

John, heartbroken, turned to Larry, stepping between Larry and Brock and placing himself directly in Larry’s line of fire. John looked his old friend in the eyes, they were wild and a bit scared, but also angry. Sweat drenched his brow and hairline. A single drop dangled from his ear.

“Let me go with him,” John said, “you take Abigail and watch over her till I come back.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Larry shook his head, looking past John and at the gunman, “the minute you go, they get what they want. And I can’t let that happen. YOU can’t let that happen. This is more important than one person’s life.”

John couldn’t believe what Larry was saying. How could he be so cold? Whatever the gunmen wanted, it wasn’t worth a child’s life, especially not Abigail’s! Pondering her death for even a second twisted something deep inside John’s heart.

“Larry,” John said, trying to influence whatever compassion might be resting in the man’s core. “She’s just a kid.”

Larry blinked the sweat from his eyes, doing his best not to look away from the gunman and Abigail.

“You don’t get it John, you would choose the same thing. You chose burial to protect this, to keep it from them.”

John wished he could remember something from his past life, anything. It was hell on earth wondering what was so important; serious enough to trade for the life of a child. He couldn’t imagine anything important enough, except … Hope.

“Is it … Hope?” he asked, mentioning his love’s name to Larry for the first time.

Larry’s eyes widened in recognition then froze on John for a moment as though trying to taste the right answer.

It was Hope, John decided. Dark despair dug its talons deeper into John’s brain. Something horrible was about to happen. He could feel it racing towards him like a runaway train, and he, fate’s passenger, with no control.

“Doesn’t matter, Abigail needs me. Needs us. Now.” John said. He turned to Brock, “What do you want me to do?”

“Get in the back of the van,” Brock said, pointing to one of the identical black-windowed black vans behind him, “there’s a special cell to ensure you won’t … well, you know,” he said nodding his head in reference to the dead bodies between them. “Once you’re inside, and I’m in the driver’s seat, I will let the girl go and bring you home. You will be perfectly safe. If we wanted you dead, we would’ve struck during daylight.” Brock glanced up at the sky. “The sun is going to rise any minute, we need to get on with it.”

“How do I know you’ll let her go?” John asked.

“If we wanted the girl dead, she would never have left our custody,” Brock sighed, losing patience with the exchange. “Shall we?”

John glanced back at Larry, who almost imperceptibly nodded his head yes, with great reservation.

John tried to signal to Larry not to worry. He would find a way out of this, he was certain, despite the overwhelming sense of dread pumping through his veins. Right now, this was their only card. Despite his powers, even if he could duplicate the energy blast he had managed to hurl at Larry earlier, he doubted he could do it any more quickly than Larry firing a round at Brock. Either way, Abigail would end up taking a bullet.

John began to walk towards the van. He glanced down at Abigail, who was sucking back a small sea of tears and snot. He winked, as if to say everything would be okay. The lie made her smile, for a moment anyway. Seeing the glint in her beautiful eyes, made him smile.

He prayed this would not be the last time he’d ever see her. In the past 48 hours she was the only person for which he felt anything remotely close to love. Without memories of his own life, she was his everything. Without her, he was adrift with reality’s compass broken and more alone than God.

__________________

Abigail watched as John approached the van. She knew she should be brave and do something, but what could she do? The soldier already warned her that if she tried to do anything stupid, a team of 12 more men, snipers, he called them, would, on his command, kill everyone in sight. She didn’t know if he was lying or not, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

“He can die, you know,” the soldier told her as they walked towards the motel a few minutes earlier, “if they shoot him in the head enough times, he won’t come back to life.”

So she remained silent. What little fight she had stayed dormant. And as John walked towards the van, she wondered if she’d made the right decision. Wondered if there was anything she could do to make a difference. In a few moments, they would have him. God only knew what they wanted, but she couldn’t see it ending well for John. These men looked like government soldiers who might experiment on him or … worse. The gun tightened against her head, as if the soldier could tell what she was thinking and meant to dissuade her.
____________________

Larry watched as John walked towards the van. The fact that he trusted these men, was further indication of how much of his memory remained blank. Larry could think of at least five different things the old John would have done to neutralize the situation. But Larry wasn’t about what could have been, he was about being prepared and making things happen.

And he still had one ace up his sleeve he was eager to lay down.

Prior to getting out of the van, Larry retrieved a watch he’d made and strapped it to his left hand. While it looked and functioned like any other digital watch, it was also a trigger to detonate a nearby series of explosives. The gunman briefly lifted his hand from Abigail’s shoulder to retrieve something from his pants. A remote which opened the side of one of the black van’s side doors. He instructed John to climb inside.

Larry saw something stirring in Abigail, like she had her own ace she was itching to play. Shit, he had one shot at this and couldn’t afford to have another variable in motion. He narrowed his glare at her, and when she looked into his eyes, he shook his head no.

John climbed into the van and looked back at Larry, a vow of I’ll figure something out written on his face. The odds of that happening were much dimmer once they had him, though. John had no idea about the power of the forces he was dealing with. The door slid mechanically shut and the lock clicked into place.

“Okay,” the gunman said, “we’re walking back to the van. Once I’m inside, I’ll let her go. The inside of the van is lined with ultraviolet lights. If you try anything, I will end John’s life in an instant.”

Shit. Larry figured the soldier had something up his sleeve, but had no idea what. His window to act was about to slam shut.

_____________________

Abigail followed the soldier’s instructions carefully, walking backwards slowly, his hand—the one with the remote—on her shoulder and gun now at her back. As she attempted to keep her balance, her mind raced, searching for anything she could do. She watched Larry’s face in search of another subtle glance or shake of the head to indicate direction, but his face was a stone mask.

The soldier instructed her to turn with him as they drew closer to the van, navigated around it and towards the driver’s side door, which had been left open. Abigail’s nerves were frayed, waiting for whatever was about to unfold. Dread, fear and hope were waging war inside her body, her head growing dizzy and her stomach swimming in a stew of sick.

Suddenly, Abigail stumbled backward, her foot getting caught up with the soldier’s. Rather than breaking her fall, the soldier stepped back, as she spun her arms, trying to find some balance before hitting the ground hard. The soldier aimed his gun down at her, his eyes narrow slits.

The chance she’d been waiting for, a moment to help her beloved angel, happened amid an instant outburst of tangled noise and rolling waves of sudden heat.

The motel room door behind them exploded open in a fiery blast. A second door, further back, detonated in a blazing echo. The soldier, stumbled forward then spun around, diverted briefly by the eruptions. Abigail took her chance, scrambled to her feet and ran towards Larry as gunshots rang from behind.

“Goddammit!” the soldier yelled.

Larry was also taking his chance and fired repeatedly at the soldier. Almost instantly Abigail realized the error of placing herself in the crossfire. Breathless, and heart pounding, she didn’t know what else to do but run as fast as she could to Larry as bullets whizzed past her, slamming into the pavement and spitting up chunks of asphalt.

And then one found her.

Pain splintered her chest as she was thrust backwards to the ground.

Oh God, no.

The pain was intense, like wet fire spreading through her chest. She writhed on the ground, attempting to get up before giving up. It was all she could do to turn and look back towards the van, praying that John remained safe from harm. After that, she could not move, laying stomach down on the ground, head frozen in place, eyes on the van.

The pain was soon gone. As if she’d reached whatever limits of anguish a person were allowed before something in their minds finally flipped the shut-off switch. Abigail’s eyes caught glimpse of the spreading pool of blood coming from her like ink in the darkness of pre-dawn. She wondered how so much blood could spill from a single body.

Shots continued to ring out, then stopped altogether. Abigail watched as the soldier fell to the ground. She tried to turn to see Larry, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, and it was all she could do to keep her focus on the only thing she could see—the van. It shook wildly, a mostly muffled scream from John. Did the soldier make good on his threat?

Something else entered her field of vision. Larry, crouching down, looking at her. His eyes harbored deep sorrow—as though he was looking at a dead girl breathing.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching out to touch her cheek, though she felt nothing.

He leapt up and raced towards the van, his footsteps like echoes from somewhere far away as sound dissolved along with her other senses. Darkness, like a gauze, distorted almost everything in her vision as her life bled out onto the ground of the motel. She watched as Larry ran first to the fallen soldier and then to the van’s door.

Open the door. Please…

All she wanted was to see her angel a final time before she died. She fought to hold tight to the world, to keep her focus.

As Larry opened the van door, Abigail lost the battle and succumbed to the darkness.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Be sure to check out our new feature, Author’s Notes in the comments section following each chapter. Also, please tweet this post and help spread the word about Available Darkness and nurture online fiction.

She watched as John attacked a soldier, sinking his teeth into his throat and then leaving the man a burned heap. Abigail sat paralyzed, horrified and fascinated all at once. Though she’d seen the aftermath of John’s feeding, this was the first time she’d actually seen … it.

Pain crawled up her throat as her eyes fought back tears. For the first time, Abigail was not only afraid for John, but seeing his unbridled glee for the feast, some part of her was afraid of him.

The gun in her hand suddenly felt powerless against the narrow-eyed juggernaut of fate.

_______________

Brock was now 40 yards behind the girl in the car. He lowered the night vision goggles on his mask, confirming she was indeed alone, her attention bolted on the old motel. Brock bit his lower lip, flipped up the goggles and crept slowly towards the car.

____________________

John stood over the two corpses, invigorated and oddly … euphoric. His hungry eyes wandered the parking lot for a second before his ears pricked to the sound of a few gunmen approaching from behind. He lifted his hands in the air and slowly turned around, a predatory smile spreading on his face. John threw his head back and quietly dared them as if he, not them with their assault rifles and deadeye aim, held all the cards.

“I’ll give you the same chance as the others,” he leaned forward and whispered, “run.”

One of the men barked into an unseen radio, “Alpha Seven to Alpha One, do you copy?”

The radio’s silence washed the man’s face in sudden worry. There was a small fissure in the cool of his voice when he repeated the call.

“He’s dead,” John said without emotion, though he had no idea if Alpha One was indeed one of the men he’d taken, one was named Sergei and the other Christian. Bits of their memories now intermingled with his own, a too-confusing brew that had yet to settle. “I killed him. And you’re next unless you run.”

Two of the men that flanked Alpha Seven stepped forward, one yelled, “Hands behind your head, drop down to the ground!”

Though part of John was still very afraid, there was something in him, a bloodlust, which thrust him forward without regard for his life. The gunmen’s bodies were so warm and appetizing. Their fear excited John, making their desire to take their lives even more intoxicating. Hunger, twisting like a dark parasite, coiled then expanded somewhere inside his guts. Wisps of blue and magenta aura surrounded the men, beckoning John to draw from their wells. His fingers tingled in anticipation.

John stepped forward, staring down Alpha Seven, almost daring the man to take a shot. The man refused to break his stare even as John stood just inches from him.

A shot rang out, and one of the two flankers was hit in the back of the neck and fell to the ground screaming. The remaining gunmen spun around, each facing a different direction, weapons aimed into the fading darkness, searching for the shooter. They both flicked down goggles on their masks but not in time. Two more shots rang out and the top half of Alpha Seven’s head disappeared in a splash of blood which missed John by a drop. The other man was hit in the leg and fell to the ground, still clutching his gun, and looking for the gunman.

Suddenly Larry appeared, climbing over the top of his van, which was turned on its side. He jumped down, rifle slung over his shoulder, hair as wild as the look in his eyes. Apparently John wasn’t the only one invigorated by death dealing.

“Hot damn, that was some shooting,” Larry said as he quickly ran forward, paused with a slight grin, then finished the two wounded gunmen with a pair of head shots.

John dropped quickly to the ground, laying hands on one of the men’s corpses to capture the last bit of life as it fled his body. The stream was different, weaker and not as satisfying as the others. It was also full of pain. John flinched as he felt the first gunshot which hit the man in the leg. He tried to pull away, but couldn’t break the connection as he continued to feed on the last of the man’s life, his memories and his pain. As the corpse burned, John continued to twitch, pain splintering his entire body.

He relived the man’s final moments, seeing through the dead man’s eyes. He saw Larry barreling towards him, gun drawn, aimed and…

An explosion went off in John’s mind as he jumped back from the corpse, broke the connection, pain twisting through his body as something else, far darker and lonelier wrapped itself around his mind. He felt himself falling into a void, his body finding velocity as it crashed towards an unknown doom.

Suddenly, a tether snapped him back to reality. Larry’s hand on his shoulder, his voice in his ear, “Hey buddy, you okay?”

John nodded. He was not okay. An overwhelming sense of doom had taken root in his head, pressing on him from outside and within. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something horrible was going to happen.

“Abigail?” Larry said, looking up and past John.

“Where’s Abigail?” John asked, still groggy.

“Here,” a voice said from behind.

John turned to see one last gunman standing about 10 yards away, one hand gripping her shoulder tightly, the other holding a pistol dug into Abigail’s temple.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Be sure to check out our new feature, Author’s Notes in the comments section following each chapter. Also, please tweet this post and help spread the word about Available Darkness and nurture online fiction.

You asked – we listened. Since so many of you have commented, emailed and tweeted demanding more than one chapter per week, we figured what better time than Halloween to serve up a double dose of Available Darkness? Come back on Saturday for the bonus chapter, which is practically as long as two chapters, so it’s almost like we’re doing three chapters this week!

And all we ask in return is that you help us promote Available Darkness – especially for Halloween weekend, when people might be looking for a good scary read. Please tweet, email, or just tell a friend. And for all you new readers, or shy ones, we’d love to hear what you think. Please leave a comment or email us and let us know what you think.

And lastly, a sneak peek at the book cover below.

Abigail!

John filled the empty room with his hoarse voice but the only thing that returned was the sound of his own dull echo. Where the hell are they?

Pain hammered against his skull as a ravenous feeling of need burned through his entire body. The deep yearning felt somewhere close to hunger, but more insatiable and far less reasonable; clouding the edges of every thought. He HAD to get out now. Had to … feed.

For the second time in as many days, he woke up confined. This time by a jacket rather than a grave. John would have gladly taken the tomb instead.

He writhed and squirmed, trying to free his arms from the goddamned prison of fabric and buckles, but the constant motion only seemed to tangle him further. Panic and rage flooded his senses like a shot of adrenaline as he shook his entire body in a vain attempt at escape.

“Damnit!” he screamed, spittle raining from his mouth.

“What did you do to me?!” he bellowed to the empty rooms, hoping that bastard Larry was within earshot.

He began breathing faster and more shallow as panic needled his brain, whispering that he would die right here in this spot if he did not break free RIGHT NOW.

He shook again, this time kicking his feet into the floor and sending his chair flying back into the wall. His head bounced against the drywall with a dull thud.

“Fuck!” he screamed.

Where were Abigail and Larry? With a flare of anger, John vowed to tear Larry to shreds if he’d done anything to harm the girl. Then, he had an idea – he could try to connect to Abigail. Perhaps if he could concentrate long enough he would be able to sense her, to at least know if she was okay. His mind, however, was a tumultuous mix of panic, pain, and hunger, flashing through each phase with equal intensity, making slow, deliberate thought all but impossible.

He glared up at the monitors, showing the news – still – of him. Isn’t there anything else happening in the fucking world?

Two of the monitors weren’t displaying news. They were closed circuit monitors, one which showed the parking lot of the motel and the other which showed what John presumed to be the rear of the building. From his viewpoint, he could see the entire parking lot. Larry’s van was missing.

It’s okay, they’ll be back … no, they fucking left and you know it … you’re going to die right here. They left you to die. He and Abigail left you alone. To die.

John closed his eyes, trying to shake the anger from his thoughts. It worked, even if only temporarily. He found himself thinking of Hope and the dream, and suddenly, he was awash in the emotions that he woke to, sadness and misery. John could feel tears wanting to burst from his eyes, but his face seemed frozen, taut, like it was going to crack from the pressure building within.

Suddenly, a beeping sound.

John glanced up and the two closed circuit monitors had red bars along the bottom which read “ALERT.”

That’s when John saw four black vans pull into the parking lot. Panic returned to seize control of his senses. He began to writhe again in his jacket in another attempt to squirm free.

____________________

The newspapers were full of people who needed to die; corrupt politicians whose actions indirectly led to the deaths to their constituents, unscrupulous businessmen who took ungodly sums of money while robbing the pensions of their employees, to the hundreds of people who beat, robbed and raped those weaker than themselves.

A world of wolves fat with prey.

Though there was no shortage of people who would enhance the world in their absence, people who deserved a verdict harsher than that which the dubious legal system would impose, there were none which were both local and within easy reach. A shame really, because Larry, now that he had given it some thought, rather liked the idea of vigilantism by vampire. But justice, it seemed, would have to wait. This morning, they might have to be the very wolves who preyed on the weak and innocent.

“I wish I were a vampire,” Abigail said, tossing the paper to the floor, “I would just roam the night, helping people and killing bad guys.”

“That would be cool,” Larry said. “Though I don’t think you’d enjoy the loneliness of such an existence.”

A chorus of beeping abruptly rang through the cabin. The alarm he’d set up at the motel began its cry on his cell phone.

“Shit,” he said, awkwardly scrambling toward the back of the van.

On the monitor, he could see the four vans which had breached the motel’s parking lot.

Abigail was behind him. “What’s happening?”

“John has company,” he said as he bolted back to the front seat and gunned the engine. “We need to get back there now.”

Staring at the monitors, Abigail stumbled forward to the floorboard and rolled into the back of the passenger bucket seat as Larry kicked the van into motion. She sat up, holding tight to the back of the seat.

“Who are they?”

“It’s either the good guys or the bad guys,” Larry said, “my money’s on the bad guys.”

“What do you mean?”

There are two different groups of people who want something John has, Larry explained. Something he doesn’t even know he has.

“What is it?”

“A memory both sides want,” Larry said.

“So why doesn’t he give it to the good guys?”

“Because,” Larry explained in as simple as terms as he could, “the good guys aren’t necessarily the ‘good guys.’ They’re just a little better than the bad guys.” Larry shrugged. “And maybe worse. The bad guys only want the information, but the good guys want to prevent the bad guys from getting it. And the only way to really do that is to kill John.”

Abigail turned back to the monitors and watched as the van doors opened and a small army of men spilled from the aperture with weapons drawn. She cried out.

“They’ve got an army,” she cried out.

“How many are there?”

Abigail counted, “I see 12.”

“Fuck,” Larry cursed as he raced down the highway, hoping he could reach the motel in time.

TO BE CONTINUED… TOMORROW

Be sure to check out our new feature, Author’s Notes in the comments section following each chapter. Also, please tweet this post and help spread the word about Available Darkness and nurture online fiction.

“How about that one?” Larry waved his finger at an old man slowly peddling an ancient-looking 10-speed in the dark, likely on his way to a job that had been swallowing his soul one sip at a time. Two plastic grocery bags dangled from the handlebars, heavy with a cheap prepared lunch or perhaps pages to turn while whittling away a break.

“No,” Abigail said, sitting beside Larry in the van, clearly uncomfortable.

They were parked beside two other cars, both broken down by the looks of it, at the far end of a gas station/convenience store still about an hour away from lighting its canopy. From their position, they could see the station and a small strip plaza, which was also not yet open. They’d hoped to find some wayward soul up to no good.

Unlike Larry’s disastrous motel headquarters, the van was immaculately clean and well organized, despite its outer appearance. Along one wall of the van stood a built-in table with a few monitors and onboard computers and a chair. The opposite wall held a long row of dark heavy duty plastic totes which drew Abigail’s curiosity, though she’d refrained from asking about their contents.

Larry had allowed Abigail to continue holding the gun, while also giving her a quick lesson in aim and handling. He had both a .45 of his own and a stun gun, which he was ready to use as soon as they found the right person to accompany them back to the motel.

They’d been sitting in the parking lot for nearly 20 minutes, but the bicyclist was only the second person they’d seen. The first had been a heavyset woman in her late 40’s, out for an early morning run. Considering that the nearest residential area was at least a mile away, Larry suspected she was on her way to the all night doughnut shop a bit further up the road. Abigail had cast a vote against her as well. Fortunately for the jogger, the wages of sin by way of donuts was not worthy of execution via vampire.

Abigail had hoped this would be easier, half expecting they’d catch someone committing some sort of heinous sin that she and Larry could stop in the nick of time, knocking the bad guy cold and bringing him back for John to feed on. Unfortunately, there was never a bad guy around when you needed one.

“We’re gonna need to find someone soon,” Larry said.

“Fine, but not him,” Abigail said pointing at the old man as he slowly faded from one patch of light on the deserted highway and into darkness.

“It’s okay,” Larry said, “He’s too old anyway. He probably wouldn’t have done much to quench John’s hunger. Younger people have a lot more life force to feed on.”

“So,” Abigail said, “I’d be an ideal meal, then?”

Larry wasn’t sure if she were making a dark joke or verbalizing her fear.

“Yeah,” he agreed, matter-of-factly.

Abigail swallowed the knot in her throat.

“I don’t suppose you know anyone around here who needs to die, do you?” Larry asked, “Maybe an old boyfriend who pissed you off?”

“Boyfriends?” Abigail laughed.

A pair of headlights swirled into view and grabbed their attention, as a white van rolled into the station and idled beside one of the station’s doors. A short man hopped out, tufts of brown and gray hair curling around his balding dome. He wore khaki knee-length shorts and a faded yellow tee shirt with black spots peppering the front. He slid his van’s side door open, retrieved a bundle of newspapers, then dropped the pile next to the gas station doorway.

Abigail and Larry exchanged glances.

“Too high profile,” Larry said, “he’d be reported missing before the hour was up, soon as the cops at the donut shop down the street realize their coffees are cold and they don’t have their papers yet.”

“No,” Abigail said, “I don’t want to take him. I have an idea. Can you give me some money?”

“For a paper?” Larry shook his head. “No way, missy. You’re picture is all over page 1 A, I can guarantee you that. That dude gets one look at you and the cops will be here in minutes. We wait until he leaves.”

“Oh yeah,” she said with a frown. She began tapping her feet on the floorboard and Larry rolled his eyes. Kids.

The delivery man left and Larry sprinted to the station, grabbed two papers and returned to the van.

“Okay, what’s your big idea?”

Abigail was frozen, the pictures on the front page sending a chill through her body. One clearly showed her wide eyed terror as she stood by the side of the freeway, the other far more blurry shot had been snapped just as John was moving from one victim to the next.

“Earth to Abi,” Larry said, snapping his fingers, “what’s your idea?”

She shook the moment away and started to explain, “It’s like what you said before. Let’s find someone who really deserves to die. I mean, people do bad stuff all the time, right? And most of them don’t go to jail, I bet.”

Larry looked at her, wondering what kind of hell a kid goes through to become this jaded so early in life.

“Well, chances are good that if they’re in the paper, they’re probably in jail, or maybe hard to get to.”

Abigail glared, “You have a better idea?”

“Not really,” Larry said.

“Then let’s find someone who needs to die,” Abigail said, clenching her jaw and unfolding the paper across her lap.

__________

Four black vans with their lights off rolled out of the darkness and into the parking lot of the motel simultaneously, quiet save for the sound of tires crunching over debris on the littered pavement.

Squad leader Brock Tyler was anxious to get the ball rolling. “We’re here,” he radioed his boss. “It looks like he’s alone.”

“Good,” Jacob responded, “then go in and bring him home.”

Brock gave the command and at once, all the van doors slid open and 12 men in black paramilitary body armor prepared to descend onto John’s hotel room, weapons drawn.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Be sure to check out our new feature, Author’s Notes in the comments section following each chapter. Also, please tweet this post and help spread the word about Available Darkness and nurture online fiction.

Baldwin stumbled through the doorway and into his darkened house; a cavernous hollow in the deep dead of night. It was close to dawn and he was exhausted. While Bob waved the carrot of promotion, he’d not been nearly as forthcoming with details as Baldwin would’ve liked. There was a process, Bob said, which would be starting soon – though not until this case was officially closed. In other words, if Baldwin wanted to know everything, he had to catch the killer he was already hunting.

Baldwin wasn’t sure why Bob had bothered to call the meeting. Sure he filled him in with some sensitive details – that he was in fact hunting something not human. A pretty big fucking deal, no doubt. But something wasn’t adding up. Why withhold other pertinent information? Why promise him a promotion he wasn’t bucking for? Bob was putting the squeeze on him, a gentle one, but a squeeze nonetheless. But why? It wasn’t as if he needed more motivation than catching the man who murdered his wife.

Five minutes from Bob’s estate, Baldwin called his second in charge and said he’d be out of commission for the day. Not exactly the best way to kick the investigation into overdrive, but it had to be done. He was falling apart and needed time to mend, a few hours to do nothing but lower his lids and surrender to the dark.

He fell into bed, not even bothering to get undressed, reached into his pants pocket and retrieved the only tether he had to peace of mind. The pills that made all his thoughts disappear… at least for a little while.

Jack Baldwin quickly fell into a peaceful slumber, a blissful smile on his face.

_______________

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Larry said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Killing someone isn’t a big deal?” Abigail asked, not quite believing what she was hearing. They’d been debating his proposal for nearly half an hour already.

“It’s no different than feeding a snake. Sure, you don’t want to kill the mice or rats because they’re cute, but you know if you don’t put the cute and fuzzies in the tank, your snake is going to die. Same thing here, we just need to bring someone here for when John gets hungry.”

“I don’t like snakes,” Abigail said, her arms crossed, “and people aren’t rats.”

“Apparently, we don’t hang in the same circles,” Larry joked, but the joke fell flat; Abigail giving him the silent treatment.

Finally, she said, “There has to be another way.”

Larry suddenly rushed Abigail, wrapped his arms around her from behind, closed his hands over hers and pulled the gun up, aiming it straight at John’s head.

“No!” she screamed, tears flooding her eyes as she tried to free herself from Larry’s sudden grip.

“This is the only other way,” Larry whispered in a soothing voice that seemed at odds with his quick, abrasive actions. “If you want John to die, then pull the trigger now so he doesn’t suffer.”

Abigail trembled, unable to say anything, as she looked at her angel’s face, so calm and peaceful. His eyes moved again under their lids and she wondered again what dreams he was dreaming and if, perhaps, she was in them?

_________________

The boy clutched his pillow tightly as the shadow in the corner subtly shifted, dark charcoal barely outlined against the inky black backdrop.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” the shadow said, its voice strained and fragile as if it were made of fibers which might crumble to nothing in the slightest of breezes. Despite the voice’s brittle quality, the shadow seemed to exude an incredible force of undiluted strength, which gathered in his room like a slowly churning funnel cloud, absorbing every available shadow and casting itself into an impossible shroud of darkness.

“Wh.. What?” was all the boy could manage.

Downstairs, his father piped up again, screaming incoherent curses at the boy’s mom.

The shadow’s head, if it indeed had one, spun quickly towards the boy’s bedroom door.

“Ah, father is quite mad tonight, eh?”

The boy’s bottom lip trembled as the shadow swirled even faster, as if gathering a solid mass of twisted knots of sinew, forming into something.

“You … won’t need to … worry any long … er,” the voice said. The shadow man drifted towards the doorway, shadows trailing him along the walls, floor and ceiling like floating streamers tied to an automobile.

“No!” the boy cried out, “don’t…”

The shadow stopped and turned, fixing its eyes, if it had such things, on the boy.

“Surely … you want him to stop … hurting you … yes?” it asked.

A million thoughts raced through the boy’s mind – what was this thing? Why did it apologize for being so late? Was it The Devil who had come to answer his many silent prayers for his father’s death? The boy was awash in guilt, fear and confusion. The monster waited, its shadows swirling around it like wisps of inky smoke caught in a holding pattern … waiting for the boy to give the command.

“It can … all … be … over,” the thing said, its voice seemingly weaker, giving the boy the impression that if he didn’t act now, this thing, whatever it was, would go away forever.

“You stupid cunt!” his father screamed, followed by a sickening thump of his fist on the boy’s mother.

Now or never.

“Kill him,” the boy said, his eyes suddenly steel marbles of clarity and conviction.

The monster flew from the room, its form tightening into an ever more human shape until the boy could clearly make out the features of a face, and two, impossibly blue eyes. It turned to the boy, the shadows of its face rising in a smile.

“You w … won‘t regret this … Jack.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Be sure to check out our new feature, Author’s Notes in the comments section following each chapter. Also, please tweet this post and help spread the word about Available Darkness and nurture online fiction.

Abigail reached out to grab John as his limbs turned liquid and he started his collapse to the floor.

“Whoa, there,” the pudgy man said, grabbing the girl around the waist and pulling her back. “You don’t wanna’ touch him.”

Abigail took a tentative step back, gun still in both her hands and pointed at the floor. The man felt John’s neck for a pulse, shook his head, then dragged him across the floor and propped him against the wall.

“You … can touch him?” Abigail asked.

“Yeah,” the man said, standing up and rubbing the front of his head which was already turning a bright shade of red from being knocked to the ground. “John and I go way back. My name is Larry.”

He offered his hand out to shake. Abigail ignored it.

“It’s okay,” Larry said, “I’m not one of them.” He waited a moment before withdrawing his hand.

Abigail looked over at her fallen angel while keeping one eye fixed on Larry in case he made any sudden moves. She wasn’t yet sure she could trust him and hoped he wouldn’t ask for the gun, even though most of her felt silly holding the heavy metal in her tiny hands. It wasn’t as if she knew how to shoot. She imagined missing her target and having the gun used against her. She wished she could just make it disappear so nobody would be able to use it.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“I think so,” Larry said, “do you … know what he is?”

“Some kind of vampire?”

“More or less,” Larry said, “but with touch rather than biting. He feeds off the energy of our souls. Only now, he just shot all his energy at me.”

“Are you okay?” Abigail asked, courtesy in her voice but nowhere else.

Larry smiled, “Yeah, I’ve had worse. Now that he’s more or less running on empty, he‘s out cold for a while. He should be okay. But, we’re going to need to take precautions.”

Abigail watched as Larry moved towards the back of the hotel room, kicking empty soda cans aside as he waded through a sea of trash. What a pig, Abigail thought. Larry swiped a stack of newspapers off of a black trunk, flipped it’s fasteners open and thrust his hands inside. Abigail tightened her grip on the gun as her eyes dilated in anticipation. Larry retrieved a rough looking white jacket with long sleeves and an assembly of straps and buckles. Whatever it was, it didn’t look good.

“We need to restrain him,” Larry said.

“Why?” Abigail asked, nerves tickling the back of her neck.

Larry dropped the jacket in front of John. A heavy thud echoed in the room as the metallic buckles banged against each other and the floor. He turned to Abigail, squatted on his haunches and folded his hands in front of him.

“Listen, I know you don’t know me from Adam and you’re probably scared. But I need you to trust me when I tell you this one thing, okay?”

Abigail glanced at the gun in her shaking hands then back up at Larry. She nodded, her head barely moving.

“When John wakes up, he’s going to be very hungry. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Abigail thought she did, but at the same time, knew she was missing a finer point somewhere. She shook her head no.

“John’s tank is empty. If he doesn’t feed as soon as he wakes, well, our boy could be seriously hurt. And let me tell you, when he is that hungry, he becomes something else entirely.”

Abigail didn’t like where this was going. The acid in her stomach agreed.

“He will feed off of the first person he sees. Won’t matter if it’s you, me, his own mother, or all three of us and a birthday cake; the hunger overrides everything he knows. Which is why we need to strap him up. To protect ourselves.”

The small room suddenly felt smaller. “He wouldn’t hurt me,” Abigail said, her voice coming out more childish and whiny than she wanted.

A smile spread across Larry’s face. There was something in the smile, not mocking her statement, but rather some sort of genuine kindness which matched the gentle gleam in his hazel eyes. Though he looked a bit gruff, Abigail suspected Larry was secretly a teddy bear when it came right down to it.

“I don’t know what happened between you guys,” Larry said as he pointed to the rows of TV screens and computer monitors replaying news coverage of ’the kidnapping’ just beyond the doorway, “or how you came to be traveling together, but you don’t know what John is capable of.”

“He’s good,” Abigail persisted, “that’s all I need to know.”

“Yes, he is good. But he’s not always in control of himself. And when he’s not, he’s not the John you’ve gotten to know. He’s…something else entirely.”

Abigail looked at John’s face, so serene and peaceful laying propped against the wall. His eyes moved beneath their lids and she wondered what his dreams were showing him.

“I’m going to restrain him now and I need to know you trust me. You can even hold the gun if you want.”

Abigail looked down at the gun, considered handing it to Larry, but then thought better. “Okay, you can restrain him. But if I don’t like what I see, I’m not afraid to use this.”

Larry looked at Abigail for a moment, as though tasting her words, or perhaps feigning to take her seriously. Then he smiled that warm, friendly smile. “Deal.”

Larry reached around John and awkwardly dragged him by his armpits into the other room and lifted him onto a chair before sliding the white jacket over John’s arms. The sleeves were much longer than John’s arms and Larry pulled the leftover length behind John’s back where he fastened the buckles. Abigail felt claustrophobic just looking at the contraption. She could practically feel the breath growing tighter in her lungs.

Once finished, Larry rolled John back a few feet, then turned his attention to Abigail.

He glanced at one of the monitors behind him which showed the time. 5:40 a.m. He closed his eyes tight and then started pacing the room, mumbling under his breath as if trying to work something out.

“What is it?”

“It’s almost morning. Which means we can’t bring John somewhere to feed. Which means … we need to bring someone here.”

Abigail stared at Larry for a moment before the meaning of his words clicked into place.

“Oh my God, are you saying we have to bring someone here to die?”

Larry nodded, “If we don’t, John won’t survive the day.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Be sure to check out our new feature, Author’s Notes in the comments section following each chapter. Also, please tweet this post and help spread the word about Available Darkness and nurture online fiction.

“I asked you to what?” John said, trying to make sense of Larry’s confusing statement.

“You came to me two months back, begging me to wipe your memory and bury you alive. You said ‘they’ had found you and that you needed to protect someone.”

John’s mind was still a blank slate.

“I don’t get it, how does burying me protect someone? Who was I running from and who was I trying to protect?” An idea flashed through his mind, the woman in the memory delivered by Abigail, but John didn’t want to give Larry any information which could compromise him, or Hope, wherever she was. If she were in fact safe.

“You didn’t say who,” Larry said, “but you did say the only way you could make sure they couldn’t read your mind was if it was wiped clean. And that involved a spell and for you to die … well, temporarily, anyway.”

Larry looked at John, then shook his head and grabbed the other chair. He sat, rolled closer and leaned forward to explain.

“You’re not a human, John. You’re from another dimension, one that was once connected to our own. Think of it as an Earth Two,” Larry said, making a globe with his hands, “except this Earth is called Otherworld, or properly, orbis alia, a place where stuff like vampires and fairies and all sorts of other crazy shit isn’t the stuff of fairy-tales.  Over there, it’s all real.”

John stared at Larry, trying to determine if he was insane or just fucking with him. Given all that had happened tonight, John supposed anything was possible. But fairies?

“You are a feeder, you need to feed off the life force of others in order to live. It’s a lot like the whole ‘vampire thing’ – you suck the life from people and can die if exposed to sunlight. You’re also close to immortal, meaning you age super slowly, though don’t ask me how old you are, because you’ve never told me. Well, you were immortal, I should say. Then two years ago, you found a solution, to become human, for lack of a better word.”

“You mean, I wasn’t a feeder anymore?”

“No,” through hundreds of hours of meditation, spells and rituals, you’d suppressed it. You were able to live just like anyone else, go outside during the day, you were even able to touch people without killing them.”

John looked at his hands and realized how quickly he’d felt the weight of his curse and how he longed to lose his deadly touch.

“And you were the happiest I’d ever seen you,” Larry continued, “even though you’d gotten sick a few times and could feel the effects of aging. You said it was all worth it.”

She must be special, John thought.

“How did we meet?” John asked.

“I was a P.I. and we met about four years back when you needed me to look into a … personal matter. Soon enough, you hired me on full-time to take care of various things and help you get out of all the jams your condition sometimes got you into. In return, you taught me some magick from time to time.”

“Which is why you’re immune to my touch?” John asked.

“Not exactly,” Larry said, “it’s a long story, but suffice it to say, I’m the only one who is immune. So, anyway, two months ago you came to me in a panic. You were a lot more secretive than usual, didn’t want me to know what was going on, saying it could put me in danger.”

“I need to know everything you know,” John said.

Larry leaned forward, the smile gone from his face and his cheeks.

“There are some things you told me not to tell you, no matter how much you begged or threatened. Otherwise, you said, things could get dangerous for everyone. Hope you understand.”

John glared.

“You have to trust me,” Larry said, “or at least trust yourself.”

“Can you tell me who is after me?” John asked, “because I don’t think I was able to…”

Suddenly, John heard footsteps approaching in the next room.

Larry leaped from his seat and grabbed the gun from his waistband with surprising agility, especially for a fat guy. He ran into the room, gun drawn. As John followed, he saw the target – Abigail, standing in room, confused, eyes wide as Larry descended on her with his gun.

“No,” John screamed. He meant to scream, ‘she’s with me’, but all that came out was an incoherent yelp, his mouth betraying his brain. He reached out desperately to grab Larry’s shoulder and pull him back, but Larry was too far ahead, gun drawing down on Abigail too quickly for him to do anything but be a helpless witness.

A sharp pain shot through John’s brain, spine, and then his extended arm as a bolt of blinding energy shot forth from his hand and slammed Larry forward with the force of  a powerful ocean wave.

Larry flew forward, scrambling to the ground as his gun fell on the floor in front of Abigail. She quickly grabbed it and handed it to John, who was shaking, frightened and on his knees, suddenly exhausted.

Larry sat up, rubbing his head, “what the hell?”

John aimed the gun at Larry, finger tight on the trigger, the gun a bit wobbly in his hand, “She’s with me.”

Larry looked at him, then up for a moment, “Ah, she’s the girl on the TV, the one you kidnapped.”

“Woah,” Abigail said to John as she stepped cautiously towards him, “I didn’t know you could do that.”

John looked up and smiled at her, “yeah, me either.”

Then John noticed that the gun, still trained on Larry, was shaking violently in his hand.

“Dude, you might want to sit down,” Larry said as he started to come towards John.

“Wha?” John said before the world spun black and fell in around him.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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