A Vampyre's Daughter, Jeff Schanz [read books for money .txt] 📗

"A Vampyre's Daughter" by Jeff Schanz (sample only)

A novel by Jeff Schanz

Copyright © 2018 Jeff Schanz

All rights reserved

**6 Chapter Sample Only**

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you.”

- Friedrich Nietzsche

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Mortality is one of the traits that makes us human. The ambition to solve mortality is another.”

- Pleonastus

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1

 

 

 

 

Grey. The dull, muted color was the only thing Brandt could see as his eyes slowly opened. No shapes or objects were distinguishable. Fog? An overcast sky? His body was as numb as his view, unable to determine if he was standing, sitting, or lying down. Brandt wondered if he was dreaming. It was like looking through eyeglasses that were the wrong prescription and smeared with water. He tried to blink away the haze, but the grey blurriness remained.

Guessing he may be lying on his back, he tried the normally mundane act of sitting up. That failed. Nothing moved. His body and brain seemed detached. Unable to see his legs, he hoped they were still there and tried to lift them. They didn't obey his request. What a weird-ass dream, he thought. He couldn't remember where he was, why he was there, and why he was lying on his back. Am I floating? He was rocking back and forth, up and down, right and left, like he was on ocean waves. If he was in the ocean, he couldn't remember why he would be there. The simple attempt to look around was met with excruciating pain and he managed to turn his head to the right with much more effort than should have been required. What the hell is wrong with me? At least he could finally see something besides vague, grey nothingness.

He saw that his hand was submerged in lapping water. Dark, foamy waves washed over it, his pale hand bobbing with them, fingers upturned to the sky. With difficulty, he managed to raise his arm above the oncoming wave, though he couldn’t feel his hand. At least his equally numb fingers wiggled on command. His hand flopped back down onto the makeshift raft he lay upon.

The material his raft was made of was something white, shiny, and buoyant enough to keep him above the water’s surface. The edges had shredded yellow fibers. At a glance, a very blurry glance, it looked like a torn piece of fiberglass from the hull of a boat.

A boat! His memories were as hazy as his eyesight, but that word sparked a sudden recognition. He had been on a boat. It had exploded. Why? The rest of the memory wouldn’t come. Tensing and straining to sit up, his torso still wouldn’t honor his brain’s command, and the stabbing agony in his ribs made the exertion unbearable any further. Then the buzz and tingle of impending unconsciousness started to course through him. No, wait. Not yet!

He stared again at what he assumed was the sky. It was still grey. Now, something was coming down from it. A dark shape, like a person in silhouette, was descending toward him. Something long and wide extended from the person. They looked like wings. Large, dark wings that bloomed to catch the air and slow down the descent of the person – or creature. What the hell is coming at me! Brandt’s eyelids were squeezing shut despite his efforts to resist. The figure loomed above him, viewed through mere eye slits. It leaned its face closer to Brandt, its eyes glowing an intense yellow. It looked like an evil Batman.

I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming.

Brandt’s eyelids could not be coaxed back open. The tingling in his body was now an electric surge that smothered him like a blanket, suffocating and halting all movement and function. He saw and felt nothing more.

 

 

Brandt woke to the sensation of flying. He opened his eyes, blinked twice, and was finally able to focus somewhat clearly. The tingling in his body had become the stabbing of numerous needles like his ribs were splintered and were poking through his skin. Nauseous and shivering, at least he was no longer numb, though he still wasn't able to move any extremity. He was face down, seemingly high above the ground, watching waves, rocks, dirt, mountains, and grass speed past far below him. Whatever was carrying him was moving fast.

There was a steady lifting and dropping rhythm to his mysterious flight. His body was tightly constrained by something, and he was unable to turn his head more than a few degrees right or left. He could only see the ground below him rushing past. He couldn’t see what was holding him, he just seemed to be suspended in the air like he was a fish in an eagle's talons.

There was also an odd smell of burning flesh and hair. He hoped it wasn’t him.

Far below, the edges of rocky cliffs dropped into the sea, with no apparent beaches. Ocean waves pelted the rock-strewn base, unrelenting in their assault. Brandt was trying to guess how tall the cliffs were when he started losing consciousness again. Oh, come on!

His eyelids had an agenda of their own. Trying to hold them open was a losing battle. His eyes closed and his body melted into unconsciousness once more.

 

 

When Brandt woke again, he was no longer moving. There was a gentle breeze against his face, nothing like the wind that had whipped by when he was flying. He was lying on his back and looking at something white that writhed and twisted above him. The white thing was a curtain hanging from an open window. It was a mix of linen and embroidery, partially sheer and illuminated by mild morning light, dancing against the same breeze that brushed his face.

Brandt attempted to get into a sitting position. A searing pain shot through him the moment he tensed to try. He bit back a cry, took a breath, and retried the effort by easing himself up slowly. He got halfway up before his strength gave out, but he managed to tuck his elbows underneath him, which was enough to prop himself up to look around.

He was in a spartan room. The only light was from the open window above him. The walls were bare whitewash with widely spaced wooden spars. The ceiling above him was made of dark, aged wood. To his right was a plain, natural wood writing desk, with an unlit candle on it. Directly in front of him was a chest of drawers, also natural wood, with an old-fashioned ceramic washbasin on top of it, and a folded towel. To either side were two chairs. On the left was a rocking chair, wooden slotted and beautifully crafted, and on the right was a simple schoolhouse chair, also made of wood. No decorations hung on the walls. No light switches, or light fixtures, or air conditioning vents, or electrical outlets were visible anywhere. The whole room seemed like something a monk or nun would call home.

Brandt examined himself. He was still in his jeans, socks, and black t-shirt, but no sign of his sneakers. His t-shirt was torn in several places. Considering he didn't recall what had happened, or how he got here, he was glad to see he was in one piece. He was tucked inside a thick white comforter on a single bed with an old-fashioned iron rail at the foot. His body was shivering uncontrollably, his teeth clacking together despite his efforts to keep them quiet. A disconcerting hum buzzed in his head, reminiscent of his last fainting spell while he was flying. Taking a deep calming breath, he fought to stay awake. He moved his feet and found them to be adequately responsive, although heavy and cumbersome like they were both sprained and swollen. He wanted to get out of bed and head to the door, though every part of his body argued against trying it. Wherever he was, he was stuck there for a little while at least.

He wasn’t home, he wasn’t in anyone’s house that he knew, he wasn’t dreaming, and he wasn’t in jail. And if he was in heaven, heaven was boring. And if this was Hell, then it wasn’t so bad. With careful effort, he turned enough to see out of the window. Outside was the ocean with no landmarks visible, and a grey overcast sky and fog that hid the horizon. Where in the hell am I? And how did I get here? The question brought back the most recent memory.

Batman. Or some dark figure that had glowing eyes and big wings, and apparently can fly, had carried Brandt here. Or not. You were hallucinating, bud. He had been rescued by someone who just looked like… doesn’t matter.

Rescued from what? And from where? And to where? Come on, think.

His brain was not fully cooperating yet. Images and fragments slithered around in his skull that lit a few fires of recollection. He had been on a boat. The boat was traveling at top speed. There was somebody else in the boat with him. Who was driving? He didn’t remember. They were west of the California Channel Islands National Park, near open sea. Was someone chasing them? Were they chasing someone? The boat blew up. Brandt remembered jumping off the boat as it exploded. The force of either the water or the explosion hit him extremely hard and everything went black. Then he awoke lying on a piece of fiberglass wreckage, staring up at some Batman figure dropping down on him.

He sighed. He knew it couldn’t have been Batman, so what the heck was it? Someone must’ve saved him, picked him out of the water, and flew him to wherever this was. Was he back on the mainland? All the closest ports were several hours away from the distance he had traveled. Had he been unconscious that long? And if he was on the mainland, why would he be in this monastery-like place instead of a hospital?

He re-scanned the room and did some quick calculations. No electricity, no running water, sparse furnishings. Brandt knew that there were minimalist cabins used by park service personnel on one or two of the California Channel Islands, and maybe a lighthouse on one. They might have a portable generator, but certainly no electric lines or plumbing. And the few people that temporarily resided there would probably use their generators sparingly. For the most part, the islands were uninhabited, with park personnel being helicoptered in and out only when needed. So, was he in one of those island service cabins? It made as much sense as anything else. Certainly more than being rescued by Batman.

So, then what, or who, was it that you saw?

Brandt tried to clear his head.

Airplanes and helicopters fly. The Coast Guard has helicopters. A man lowered down on a winch might look like someone dark and mysterious if the light silhouetted him. The wings? If the Coast Guardsman had a long stretcher-type harness, and he held it sideways, it may resemble wings in Brandt's blurry vision. Once in the helicopter, if Brandt was suspended near the edge of the open door, he might be able to watch the ground below him. And then the Coast Guardsman would've taken him to the nearest shelter to warm him up and get him out of