Damned and Cursed (Book 2): Witch's Kurse (9 page)

Martin managed to crawl to the door.
 
He reached for the doorknob and opened the door a crack, which was unfortunate for him, when he heard a voice behind him.

"Where are you going, Marty?
 
The fun's just starting."

Jack assaulted him without mercy.
 
He kicked him in the stomach, the ribs, the head.
 
Grabbing a broken leg from the end table, he beat him without slowing down.
 
Jack's immortality, his curse, meant he never felt fatigue.
 
He didn't even need to breathe.

Martin tried to cover up and pull himself forward.
 
He coughed up blood as his hand reached the screen door.

Jack shoved his face against the jamb.
 
He slammed the door on Martin's skull.
 
Twice.
 
Three times.
 
He tried to get a hand up to protect his head, only to get a broken finger for the effort.

"Please…" Martin begged.
 
"Please stop."

Jack imagined Martin's victims used those very words, many times.

"No."

Hoisting Martin to his feet, Jack kneed him in the groin.
 
He grabbed Martin by the shirt and spun him back inside the living room.
 
Martin crashed into a bookshelf behind the couch and pulled it down on top of him.
 
Various knick-knacks and books fell on him as he collapsed.

Jack strode toward him, to continue the assault, when movement caught his attention to the left.

Kara was on her side on the floor, in obvious agony.
 
Wrists still cuffed behind her, she cried and bawled as her chest heaved.
 
Her shoulder didn't look right under her shirt.
 
The remnants of the end table were around her.
 
Dried blood was caked over her lower stomach, with a few drops on the hardwood.

Jack paused a moment, to survey the scene.
 
The living room was in shambles.
 
Two mortals lay on the floor, in various degrees of pain.
 
The only thing left to do was drag Martin to the police station, deliver him to one of the many detectives he slipped large amounts of cash to every now and then.
 
The teenage girl didn't fit into that plan.
 
He could simply leave her be.

What would Tiffany do?

He frowned and clenched his fist, annoyed at the thought.
 
It was a simple mantra he tried to repeat to himself, ever since the nine-year-old Tiffany fell into his life.
 
He hated mortals.
 
Their short-sightedness, annoying ability to naturally sleep whenever they wanted, their ever-worsening taste in music.
 
For two centuries he had to put up with them.
 
But the most fun he'd had in his life, besides hunting evil with Victoria, the vampire he thought of as a sister, was the past few months he'd spent with Tiffany, his adopted daughter.

Now, as maddening as it was, a simple goal of his was to be a good father to her.
 
He wondered what she would do if she were in between a man that deserved a beating, and a girl that needed to be tended to.

Jack knew the answer, as much as he hated it.
 
He sighed as he glanced down at Martin, who still lay sprawled on the floor.

"We're not done yet," he said.

He unleashed his senses on Kara.
 
Cute girl, probably popular with the boys.
 
She liked to keep herself in shape.
 
Her legs were much toner than her upper body, either the result of track or soccer.
 
Left handed.
 
She had a hell of a dye job, as her hair wasn't naturally blond.
 
Two marks on her nose told Jack she wore glasses, no doubt the result of staring at the screen of a cell phone like it was a portal into another world.

He helped her into a sitting position.
 
Her breathing still hadn't relaxed, and he imagined it wouldn't for a while.
 
The knife Martin dropped lay several feet away.
 
Kara's eyes widened and she recoiled against the couch as he grabbed it.

"Calm the hell down," he said.
 
"Sit still."

He sliced the duct tape around her ankles and pulled the strip away from her mouth.
 
She let out a huge breath, nearly hyperventilating.

"Oh my God oh my God," she repeated between sobbing.
 
"Thank you thank you."

Jack winced as she leaned her head against his shoulder.
 
It was bad enough a knife was pressed into his shirt.
 
Now a teenager was spreading her tears all over it.

"Okay, okay," he said, fighting his impatience.
 
"Deep breaths.
 
Just imagine you're home painting your nails or something, whatever the hell it is teenagers do."

He rose to his feet and approached Martin.

"Give me the keys to the cuffs."

Martin could barely speak.
 
He spit up more blood.
 
"They're-they're in the kitchen."

Jack picked up a loose, heavy book and slammed it across Martin's face.

"Bullshit.
 
You keep them on you at all times, so you can keep your little illusion of control.
 
Hand them over now.
 
It'll spare you some pain."

He fished in his pocket and handed over the keys.
 
Jack knelt next to Kara and unlocked the cuffs.
 
Her right arm fell at her side as she leaned forward and hugged Jack tightly with her left arm.
 
She trembled, and Jack managed to fight off the instinct to shove her away.
 
Instead, he tried to pretend she was Tiffany, and gently patted her back.

"Uh, it's okay," he said awkwardly.
 
"Everything will be okay, I guess.
 
What's your name?"

"Tina.
 
My name's Tina.
 
But that crazy asshole kept calling me Kara."
 
Tina tried to turn to shout.
 
"You hear that, you bastard?
 
My name's Tina!"

Jack laughed.
 
"Whoa.
 
Some attitude.
 
I like it.
 
Let's take a look at you here."

He lifted her shirt just enough to see her cut.
 
It'd be fine, it wouldn't even need stitches.
 
There would probably be a tiny scar, a reminder of how close she came to a very different outcome.
 
His gaze settled on her arm.

"Your shoulder."

"I can't move it.
 
It hurts."

"Dislocated."

Tina didn't have time to utter a single word before Jack grabbed her arm and yanked.
 
Tina's eyes widened and then clenched shut as her shoulder popped.
 
He covered her mouth to stifle the scream.
 
She shouted into his palm for ten seconds as she gripped his arm with her other hand.

"Oh God," she said.
 
"That fucking hurts."

Jack wiped the saliva from covering her mouth on her shirt sleeve.

"I'll bet it does."

"You-you saved my life."

She reached forward to hug him, but Jack declined, holding up an arm to block her.
 
One half-hug was enough.

He wasn't fond of touching.
 
Only a few people could get away with it.
 
He enjoyed the occasional daughterly hug and kiss from Tiffany, and the not-so-occasional marathon under the sheets with his girlfriend, Erica.
 
Every great now and then, probably an average of around five decades or so, he'd hug Victoria.

And that was it.

"I didn't really save your life," Jack said.
 
"I consider this more an investment in my daughter's future.
 
But hey, whatever.
 
You're welcome.
 
Tina—" Mortals were generally more receptive at hearing their names.
 
"Do you want to know why Martin grabbed you so easily?"

"Why?"

"Because of this."
 
He pulled her cell phone from his pocket and dropped it in her open hand.
 
"For Christ's sake, try looking up from it every now and then.
 
Check out the world around you.
 
It's not so bad."
 
He hesitated.
 
"Well, yeah, it actually
is
pretty bad.
 
But still, the cell phone isn't always your friend.
 
Especially that old, crappy model."

"Yes-Yes, sir."

He smiled and nodded.
 
"Manners.
 
I'm impressed.
 
Are you still with me?
 
We've got one more thing to talk about."

"What?"

He gestured with his head to behind the couch.
 
"I'm going to take that piece of shit to the police station."

Tina took a deep breath, gathering herself.
 
"Okay.
 
I'll go with you."

Jack raised an eyebrow.
 
"You would?
 
Your life would get turned upside down.
 
Media camped on your lawn.
 
Reporters everywhere.
 
Cops, lawyers, judges, courts.
 
You'd do all that?"

"Yeah, if it made sure that animal never did this again."

"Wow.
 
You're really stronger than you look, Tina.
 
But none of that's necessary.
 
I know this will sound weird, but all you need to do is get your backpack over there, and walk home."

"Are you kidding me?"

Jack shook his head.
 
"No joke.
 
The cops will have all they need once they see this place, dig into this guy's history.
 
There's no need to get you involved.
 
And, to be honest, I don't need you telling the story of how some guy came and rescued you."

He slowly helped her to her feet, to get her moving.
 
He retrieved her backpack from the floor and slipped it over her good shoulder.

"This…doesn't feel right."

"It's okay," Jack smirked.
 
"I know all about doing the right thing.
 
You go, stop at a friend's house, get cleaned up, whatever.
 
And give the cell phone a damn break."

She stopped at the front door, and for a moment, Jack imagined she was Tiffany.
 
He shoved the moment of weakness away.
 
Tiffany was the reason he tracked Martin in the first place.
 
Jack was waiting for Tiffany at school weeks ago when he first noticed Martin, slowly circling in his car.
 
It didn't take much to see he was trouble.
 
The other parents didn't notice.
 
They were either too stupid or involved in their own meaningless lives; Jack wasn't sure which.

But he was certain Martin wouldn't harm another child, and his stare would
never
fall on Tiffany.

Tina surprised Jack by forcing another hug on him.
 
He frowned as he extended his arms and she sniffled against his shirt.

"Thank you," she said.
 
"I don't even know your name.
 
I'll never forget you."

"Shit, I hope that's not true.
 
Take care of yourself, Tina."

Jack closed the front door behind her.
 
He enjoyed Judge Judy tearing into another mortal on TV behind him.
 
He turned back to the fallen bookshelf, and saw exactly what he thought he would.

Martin was gone.

A trail of blood across the hardwood led around a corner to an open door leading down.
 
Martin had pulled himself along, as quietly as he could.
 
Jack ignored him while he tended to Tina.

"This isn't exactly a fair game of hide and seek," he shouted into the dark basement.
 
"Let's pick up where we left off, shall we?"

Jack took the steps one at a time, not in a hurry at all.
 
Only the light from the first floor let him see.
 
The stairs trailed off into a wall of darkness.
 
He was certain Martin was hiding in some nook or cranny somewhere, ready to attack.

His nose wrinkled as an odd scent reached him.
 
A mustiness with a mix of cleaning chemicals.

There was a light-switch on the wall next to him.
 
He flicked it upward, bathing the basement in a soft glow.

A rare moment of surprise and awe found its way to the two-hundred-year-old.

It wasn't so much a basement as it was a dungeon.
 
Chains and other various restraints were everywhere.
 
A tiny cage sat in the corner, just large enough to fit a person.
 
A bowl of water sat against the cinder-block wall, next to a mattress made of hay.
 
Large harnesses hung from the joists above that Jack at first thought were more restraints, but he recognized them as suspensions used in different sex acts.

Martin came out of nowhere.
 
He shouted as he swung the baseball bat, cracking Jack across the temple.
 
The blow did no damage, but the force spun Jack around and made him stumble.
 
He regained his footing and glared at Martin.
 
Martin was backing up a step, cocking the bat back, ready to strike again.

"Are you shitting me?" Jack said.
 
"You tried to stab me, throw a knife at me, and you think that puny toothpick will do something?"