The New Night Novels (Book 1): Rippers: A New Night Novel (2 page)

     The hallway upstairs was only ten feet long. With no windows to illuminate the space and the doors to all three rooms closed, the area was dark. Leland worried his footfalls on the hardwood floor would cause creaks and squeaks. He didn’t hear much from the downstairs anymore.

     Thinking about the possibility of alerting anyone hostile to his presence made sweat gather in his palms. His slick hands trembled when he put one on the door handle to turn it.

     A shuffle and an angry snort from downstairs made Leland freeze. He heard a wet tearing sound that made him think of damp jeans being ripped apart: heavy, thick, and strenuous. He didn’t want to know what had made the sound.

     Steeling all the courage and bravado he possessed in his seventeen-year-old body, Leland turned the door knob and pulled the door toward him. The wood moved silently; no squeaking or whine elicited to give away his presence.

     Leland peeked his head out the door. He looked right, toward the stairs which led down. He didn’t see any of his family members. The wine rack against the refrigerator had toppled. Broken bottles were flung as far as Leland could see from either side of the limits of his vision beyond the staircase. The red and white liquids had mingled together with thicker, brighter puddles of crimson. The blood thinned out as the wine mixed into it, diluting the color and thickness but making it no less identifiable. Something ghastly had happened to his family members; Leland knew it.

     One tennis shoe inched forward into the hallway. Leland kept as much of his body as possible in the bedroom while he moved by millimeters. He was afraid to move, but he knew he didn’t want to stay in the house any longer. He needed to get out and get some help if possible.

     That reminded him: his phone was still in the bathroom. He turned, intent on retrieving the phone from the countertop when he heard a feral yowl from the bottom of the stairs. He froze, rendered immobile by the fear pouring through him.

     His Grandma clawed her way across the floor. Her left leg was broken in such a way that her calf extended outward from her knee at a sickening angle. Half of one cheek had been torn open and wept a mixture of blood and saliva onto the hardwood floor. Behind her, Leland’s mother knelt down beside Grandma’s injured leg and took it in both of her hands. She brought the limb to her mouth and put her already red teeth into the split flesh.

     Leland felt nausea climbing up his throat. His mother worried at the older woman’s limb until more blood squirted into her mouth. She didn’t seem to be aware of anything except her teeth in the meat of her mother’s thigh.

     As his grandmother still attempted to scrabble up the stairs to him, Leland felt he didn’t have much time to escape the fate his family members had met. Grandma’s teeth gnashed and a low growl rumbled out of her. The sound was far more predatory and threatening than any noise a seventy-year-old woman should be able to make.

     Another blood-drenched family member made her way to the bottom of the stairs. His Aunt Alexis wasn’t drawn to Leland’s scrabbling grandmother or his newly-cannibalistic mother. Instead, her gaze, minus one eye drowning in a shallow well of dark blood, was drawn to Leland where he stood immobilized in the hallway.

     An animalistic roar poured from her throat as she threw her head back and shrieked. The hunting call of a beast in Hell broke Leland’s paralysis. As she began to sprint up the stairs, he lurched forward to the last room on the top floor.

     Leland wrenched the door open as his aunt gained the landing. She skidded on the hardwood and slammed into the wall, leaving a smear of blood along the eggshell paint. Her nails dug into the wall, gaining her purchase to fling herself after Leland as he tumbled into the room.

     His aunt hit the door as soon as Leland pulled it closed. He jumped back with a yelp. There was no lock on the door. It had been a child’s room previously and he had no way to secure the door from the inside.

     Frantic, Leland dragged the stout dresser his Aunt Rose kept alternating seasonal clothes in. Glass perfume bottles and porcelain cats rocked and jostled atop the dresser. Many of them crashed to the carpeted floor as he wedged the piece of heavy wooden furniture against the door.

     Breathing heavily, Leland convinced himself he’d bought enough time to get the window open and get himself out of it. He stood on the bed and slid the pane to the left. The screen went next, and then he was able to force himself through the large open square. He landed awkwardly on the roof of the add-on. Having never made the jump before, he hadn’t realized exactly how much distance there was to fall. The air exploded from his mouth and agony replaced it. The pain stole his ability to draw more breath for the span of several torment-filled seconds.

     Rolling himself over, Leland was able to get off of the roof. He landed heavily beside the large window of the add-on. A thick, black curtain covered the glass from the inside, keeping the light out from the room where Drayton napped. Leland heard the young boy crying for his mother; great, terrified screams which Leland knew had to draw the predatory creatures his family members had become down to the basement.

     He thought about breaking the window. He thought about trying to pull it open quietly. Then he thought about what would happen if he got it open, got himself down into the room, and the bloodthirsty beasts that had replaced his family broke through the door. Drayton was louder than ever, crying for anyone who might be listening. Leland knew who would hear him, and he didn’t want another episode with any of them.

     As though he didn’t control his body or mind, Leland found himself running away before he’d made the decision to do so. His lungs burned, his legs ached, and his heart tore in the face of his cowardice. He’d left his family, at least Drayton, for death. With tears on his face, he chased the promise of life for himself.

Chapter Three – Jameson

     Jameson couldn’t define the way thirst pierced his throat. As though he’d made the effort to swallow sheets of sandpaper, and sadly succeeded, the skin on the inside of his neck felt rough and abraded. His maker had told him the thirst would abate at the end of the first week. It would no longer consume his thoughts and imbue his being with feelings of desperation and unquenchable hunger.

     Until then, he was isolated. He couldn’t be risked among the human population. Joselyn had told him he would not be able to contain himself if he smelled them, interacted with them. Their weakness would be the spice on his palate; their fear when he revealed himself as what he had become the perfect accompaniment to the blood which would give him sweet, sweet sustenance.

     Joselyn had turned him three days past. They hadn’t been separated since his turning until now. She hadn’t returned from her hunt the night before and her absence had begun to concern Jameson. Recently, she’d been interacting with other vampires; old ones. Jameson hadn’t met any of them, but he didn’t like the lines worry had worn into Joselyn’s ageless face or the fact that she wouldn’t talk to him about what they’d been doing.

     He fiddled with the cell phone she’d left him. The prepaid mobile didn’t have a service plan, and had only one number stored within it: hers. Joselyn had warned him not to call any numbers from the people he knew. They were few, but he was dangerous to them. He wanted to call Joselyn, but he didn’t want to seem needy and desperate. She’d taken a long time to decide to turn him. They’d dated for four years before she’d even revealed why she only came out at night, her peculiar appetites, and the darkness in her soul. Now her darkness was his. He was happy to share it with her for eternity.

     Nerves tense and patience exhausted, Jameson dialed Joselyn’s number. She hadn’t been in contact with him for over twenty-four hours. He couldn’t handle the thirst and worry anymore. It had only been a day, but in the grip of the thirst with nothing to distract him, it felt like the longest part of forever.

     “This is Joselyn.” Her voice was as bright and lively on the message as the burning blue of her eyes in person. He could almost taste her just by hearing the sound of her voice. “Please forgive me for missing your call. If you leave a message and your number, I’ll be happy to get back with you.” The sound of her lips pressing together in a kiss ended the message.

     “Joselyn, please call me back.” Jameson tried not to let his concern trickle into his tone. Leaving the message more brusque than usual and not adding his characteristic, “Love your sweet self,” he ended the call.

     Before he’d even placed the phone back on the arm of the recliner in which he’d confined himself, it buzzed with an incoming call. As far as he knew, only one person had the number.

     “Joselyn?” Jameson’s voice was hopeful as he answered the call.

     “Open the door!” Joselyn gasped into the phone. She sounded terrified. Something was wrong with her voice, but Jameson couldn’t focus on the abnormality through the fear he felt for her.

     Jameson shot to his feet and launched himself for the door. His new speed lent itself to him crossing the distance of the living room and kitchen in less than a second. He took the doorknob in his hand, twisted, and wrenched the thick metal open.

     Joselyn stumbled inside. Before he saw to her, Jameson slammed the door in the faces of the three men pursuing her. They were bloodied, feral. They looked like what Jameson had been warned he could become if the turning process failed. Like vampires lost to any of their human personalities and moral compass, the men after Joselyn seemed like rabid beasts.

     Jameson locked the door and turned to Joselyn. The steel was thick and reinforced. No matter what the men did to it, they weren’t getting through with any effort short of smashing a vehicle into it.

     Joselyn was on her hands and knees. She gasped with the effort of her run. Jameson knelt beside her and put one hand on the small of her back. The pattering of liquid drew his attention to the floor.

     Blood soaked the carpet. With every breath, more crimson splashed from Joselyn’s torn throat. Her arms shook with the effort of holding herself steady and after another second of trying to remain upright, she collapsed against the soaked carpet and was still.

     Jameson turned his maker over with shaking hands. He could still hear breath puffing from her lips. When she was turned to face him, he saw that her chest was as much of a red ruin as her dripping neck. Nestled deep in the flesh against her exposed heart, a slender metal cylinder had been lodged as though shot with extreme force by some projectile-firing weapon.

     When Jameson moved to withdraw the metal so Joselyn could heal, she gave one small shake of her head.

     “Too…late,” she choked out around the blood in her mouth. “Take…pocket.”

     Jameson felt around in her left pants pocket, where she’d weakly waved her hand. From within the folds of fabric, he withdrew an unmarked flash drive.

     “Don’t…drink,” she warned him in a whisper. “Poison…”

     Even with the ominous warning, her blood drew him as nothing ever had. He wanted nothing more than to lower his face to the destroyed skin and press his lips to the rich, life-giving liquid.

     She hadn’t chosen him just for his handsome physical appearance or the attraction she felt for him. Jameson was as strong of will as he was of body. Though her exposed blood made him feel as though he could never be complete unless he sated himself with the taste, Jameson leaned back on his heels and looked down at Joselyn’s still form.

     He closed her blank blue eyes and rested her pale hands atop her stomach. The men pounded on the door. They snarled, demanding entrance with their guttural shrieks. Who were they, he wondered. What had they been doing chasing after Joselyn? Who had killed her?

     The answers would not be forthcoming, no matter how long he sat on their living room floor with her dead body. He stood and made his way toward the bedroom they had shared together for three years. The flash drive he gripped in his hand went into his own pocket. He decided he would pack his laptop with him, and try to figure out what Joselyn had likely died for later, when he’d sorted through all of the impossible thoughts and feelings bound to assault him once the numbness dissipated. 

     He was a newly-made vampire. The promise of immortality had been given to him just days before. And now his maker was lost to him; torn and battered and poisoned in such a way the immortality she’d offered him seemed a mirage of an oasis in an unending desert. What was life without Joselyn? And what was the promise of immortal life if she’d lost her own mere days after granting Jameson his?

     The questioned tormented him as he packed a small bag of clothing and toiletries. He ensured his laptop, charging cord, and other important components were tucked safely in the black briefcase he used to transport them before leaving the bedroom.

     What to do with Joselyn? He looked down at her when he reentered the living room and fought the tears which threatened. So many things seemed unfair to him in that moment. He gritted his teeth together and felt the merciless throbbing of his fangs. Having been forbidden from drinking of his maker seemed the cruelest torment. Hers was the only blood he’d taken since becoming a vampire. Though it hadn’t even been two days since his last feeding, the ravenous monster within him which called for blood and only blood convinced him he would shrivel up and die in the face of his enormous thirst. Joselyn’s presence had been stolen from him, and so her ability to sate the terrible ache of blood hunger.