Demon Vampire (The Redgold Series) (6 page)

Zack had fallen asleep on the bus. His eyes slowly opened as the older man continued to jostle him awake. “Where am I? What’s going on?” Zack was groggy, still attempting to settle back into his head and get his bearings. The dream he had was startling. Zack could still feel the wetness from the blood on his lips. He could smell the scent of cherries and lavender. It made him hungry for some reason.

“We’re at your stop, kid. This is the second to the last stop on my route and I know you don’t live that far downtown. You’ve been asleep for at least the last hour, I was getting worried.” The man was concerned. He was trying to make sure Zack was alright and yet still rushed him out so he could finish the night.

“I’ve been asleep for an hour? What time is it?” It hadn't felt like an hour. Zack rubbed his head.

“11:27 pm, don’t you have a curfew, son? You should get home.” The man helped Zack up from the seat. His skin felt cold to Zack, but somewhat youthful. Zack didn't know what to think of it, the man seemed to be hiding something. The man was in his late sixties and still driving a bus for a living. It wasn't out of the ordinary, not exactly. Zack decided to ignore it as the man helped him to become steady. Zack’s face conveyed the utter shock of the moment. He was supposed to be home an hour and a half ago. His dad was going to ground him, and John never did that. “Yeah, I've got to get home now. Thanks for getting me up, old man.”

“Of course, kid. Just let me drop you off at your door. I might be suspended if I’m caught dropping off a minor in the middle of nowhere after city curfew.” The old man chuckled. There was a hardy tone to his laugh.

The bus rolled a few streets forward until it came in front of Zack’s apartment building.

“It's here, thanks again.” Zack climbed off the bus.

“Sure kid.” The bus driver pulled away as he waived and closed the door.

Zack headed up to the third floor, leaping up the stairs since the elevator was broken. Apartment 310 was his place. Zack dreaded the impending talk his father was going to unleash on him. It wasn't the normal guilt trip that most parents would put on their children. John had a way of focusing purely on safety in a way that made the lecture so boring that Zack didn't want to disobey ever again. It was a simple, but very effective tactic. John was a quasi-master of reverse psychology. To compound the problem, Zack didn’t wear a watch. He was usually very good at telling the time. A natural at knowing how much time had passed at any given moment, as long as he had a reference point. He knew it was after eleven-thirty as he approached the hallway. Zack came up to the door and placed his hand firmly on the handle. The door was already open, it swung with the weight of his arm. Something was off, different about the apartment.

Zack smelled a rich, thick tomato sauce wafting in the air. John didn’t cook. Zack knew as much from all of his father's previous attempts at any and all types of simple pastas. John had firmly burnt a layer of ambiguous food on the cook top stove of their old place. John swore he wouldn’t cook again to make sure they wouldn’t jeopardize the next building they lived in. To suddenly smell good food rather than a blackened mess was very confusing to Zack. Knowing this, Zack approached the scented doorway with caution, unsure of what the occasion was for John to attempt such an undertaking.

The door flung inward, wide open. A somewhat young, brown haired woman in a pink cooking apron stood staring at Zack. She was genteel. Her face was small, her chin broad and cute. She had brown eyes and a soft face. At five foot five, she was thin, and very petite. She had on a white blouse and a tan mid-length skirt. Zack could swear she smelled like cinnamon cookies.

“Can I help you?” The woman spoke with a light North-Eastern accent. She was very feminine in the way she presented herself. Her shoulders propped back as she introduced herself. Prim and upright, she was unlike anything Zack was used to seeing.

Zack wiped the dust off the door and checked the number on the plaque. It was the right unit, this was his apartment. As much as he had slept, he wasn’t loosing it. Zack did live there. “And you are?” Zack asked with a hint of irritation in his voice.

“Zack! You’re home!” John ran up behind this mystery woman and ushered him inside before Zack could say anything else.

“Who’s this?” Zack meant to be curious. At the same time he came off as defensive by asking John directly.

John closed the door. He positioned himself next to the woman, placing his left hand on the small of her back as a supportive gesture. “This is Diane. She’s my-“ John was cut off.

Diane finished John's sentence. “-His date.” The awkward silence in the room was palatable.

Zack heard the floor creek, breaking the tension as he tried not to smile. The situation was funny to him. He knew it must have been uncomfortable to them. Zack coughed and resumed a more appropriate facial expression.

Diane continued. “You must be John’s son, Zack. I’ve heard so much about you. It’s very nice to meet you.” Diane formally curtsied. “I need to finish up dinner, we’ll all talk then.” Diane left for the kitchen.

Zack didn’t know what to think. Normally, his dad told him about the dates he was going on. Especially the ones he was planning to bring home. In times when there might be more than that, Zack would have to usually impose on a friend's house at the last minute. Besides that, Diane wasn’t John’s type. The usual round up that John was able to pull in, measured between five-eight and five eleven. Not even an average woman was tall enough for John's tastes. Anything below five six gave him back pain. Hugging and other activities as John put it were difficult with someone so much shorter than he was. Zack could have cared less as to why John didn't want to date an average woman. It wasn't his business. Zack did see one benefit, At five foot five inches she was shorter than Zack. Maybe John wouldn't talk about all of his growth spurts at the dinner table while Diane was around. Zack thought that there was at least one person that had to look up to him.

John guided Zack to his room for a talk.

Zack knew what was in store and began by attacking first. “Who’s that? Another girl who won’t return your calls a month from now?” Zack decided to be preemptive, hoping his dad wouldn't think of the time if he got angry about the surprise date.

“No, I told her everything about you and my past. She knows I was married.” John ducked into Zack's room a little more. He put his back to the door as he whispered. “I really think she’s a keeper, this time.”

“Whatever you say, dad. It’s your life, but my rest. Make sure you take it outside.” Zack was on a firing streak and wasn’t letting up. Zack didn't like the idea of having to cover his ears to drown out the sounds of the bed post thumping the wall in John's room. Diane's presence wasn't welcome.

“You’ll make due.” John lowered his eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Zack was appalled at what he was hearing. “Am I supposed to be happy my dad's getting frisky with some Betty-Crocker girl?”

John knew exactly what it sounded like, he meant it that way. “You’ll make due, or we can have a talk about why you came home so late. Which will it be?”

Zack lowered his head. He had nothing to repute that with.

“There's a good son. Try to get some sleep.” John started backing out, moving towards the kitchen.

“I’m not sure I can, knowing you’ll be in the other room. What if I need to go to the bathroom?” Zack and his dad lived in a small two bedroom, one bath unit. The only toilet was next to the master bedroom. A location that Zack cringed at the thought of what he might hear while getting up to merely pee.

“It won’t be like that, Zack. Diane and I are taking things easy. We’re going to be staying up all night, talking and eating only. We want to take this slow. You don’t need to worry. You should get some sleep regardless.” John was hurrying Zack to bed.

“You only want to go back to Diane.” Zack wasn’t easily fooled.

“I'm not saying you're wrong. But I am saying that you should remember what time you made it home. We can talk about that if you’re still feeling chatty.” John was quick to quip.

Zack didn’t say a word in return. Only an affirmative nod as John stepped away and shut the door.

Depressed and jarred over the dream Zack had on the way back, he didn’t feel like taking a nap. He was tired. Zack's eyes heavy from the day he'd had. The ice helped Zack more than he realized. John didn't notice the black eye because of it. The swelling had nearly disappeared. Zack checked his face in the mirror on the wall. It was almost healed. As good as that was, the idea of his father in the next room retorted him from simply resting easily. Zack felt parched, heavily thirsty after sitting down on the edge of his small bed. His stomach was empty, he was craving something new. Zack couldn't put a finger on it.

Then it happened, Zack's face went flush, faint. He blacked out. Zack fell back onto his bed, cold and silent.

* * * *

“Are you sure you gave him enough?” An older man’s voice spoke, completely unfamiliar to Zack. Possibly in his late fifties. He sounded upset.

“Yes, I gave him twice the regular dose needed for someone his size. I have done this before you know. Don't worry, It won't kill him.” Zack recognized the second man's voice as the bus driver. His tone was different. He sounded somehow younger than he was. It was the same voice, only quicker.

Zack was having trouble opening his eyes. His lids were shut tight, as Zack squirmed. All he was able to make out were blurry shapes and a faint red light coming from above him.

“Did you test the sample? Does he have it?” The first man’s voice was impatient and charged. He wanted an answer from the other man.

“It will take time to know. These tests aren't instant you know. We’re talking about more than 300 years of latency with this one. It won’t emerge until after the thirst has become a biological need. Even then, it might take some time. Be patient. You've waited this long, haven't you?” It wasn't only his voice, the bus driver’s syntax, words, and tone were all different. It was still the same person, Zack could tell as much, it was the man that helped him of the bus.

Zack pondered as to what was going on. What they were talking about. Why he couldn't open his eyes. Zack strained hard to reopen his eyes.

“At least we know he is a vampeal. That in itself is good news. It means it is still viable.” There was another voice. Zack noticed the slight young undertone to it. There was something adolescent about it. High pitched and boyish, nothing like the rest.

Zack managed to open and clear his eyes to see a shut cabinet door. The wood was old and rickety. Zack surmised that he had been put into it after he was picked up at his home. He was searching for an answer to what was going on. Zack must have been drugged while he was on the bus. Then someone kidnapped him and stuffed him in this old cabinet.

Zack was starting to get worried about his dad now, and Diane. He knew that if someone had taken him, they would have gone through the apartment. That they must have gone through his dad to get to him. Zack wasted no time, quickly attempting to push open the old double doored cabinet. His arms met with great initial resistance. It was closed tight. Zack went at the door again. A bright light began to shine through. It was blinding. While Zack's eyes tried to adjust to the sudden radical shift, the doors faded. Zack pushed as they disappeared into a thin mist. Zack fell forward, onto his face. He was on the floor of his bedroom. The lights were off. Zack darted around to the other side of the bed to pick up the clock. He scrambled, grasping to see what time it was. It was a little past seven in the morning.

The phone rang in the total darkness.

Zack's mind was still in his dream when he picked up. “Hello?” Everyone that actually knew Zack either knew that he was never up at this time of day, especially on a weekend, or they didn’t know him at all.

“I know what you are Zack.” A young woman’s voice answered. Zack was still in the process of waking up, and couldn’t discern if he knew her or not. The voice was soft, warming to him. It felt familiar, yet new.

“Did you kidnap me last night? Are you the one that took me and laid me in bed?” Zack was trying to be livid with her. The problem was that he was groggy. He sounded drunk, making accusations to a stranger about what happened the night before.

“No, but I might if you’re nice.” The female voice was being playful.

“Hold on. What?” Zack's head was pounding. His face was sore and swollen now. It hurt as he placed his left hand on it. Leaning on it accidentally.

“Don’t joke like that, Zack. It doesn’t become you.” The voice was friendly. She knew him even if Zack didn't.

“Who is this?” Zack was calming down. He was trying to think who this might be.

“It’s ‘K’, from last night.” Her voice was soft, inviting.

“How did you get my number?” Zack didn’t give her anything more than a name to go on as he ran out on her last night.

“That’s what you ask me? Not ‘how are you doing?’ or an ‘it’s nice to hear from you, I’m glad you called.’ Does it truly matter how I got your number? Or are you upset with the fact that I called you so early?” K was irritated, clearly. She wanted Zack to explain his attitude. She had no idea what happened to him after he left the club.

“Well, I didn’t give it to you. I wanted to, but I hesitated.” Zack was getting shy, remembering how he felt the other night. “You're just so-” Zack stopped.