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

stopped pulling and held his breath, he heard the creak again. Shorter, weaker, but there. Down there.

Oh, hell no.

The hesitation of listening for the sounds allowed the door to pull back open again. It opened a little wider than it had been previously. The long triangle of grey light speared the darkness and touched a tiny corner of something solid. The object had a precise ninety-degree corner and was glossy black with a hint of silver, and was sitting on a stone basement floor. Brandt swallowed a glob of spit he had held too long in his mouth and let the door swing wider. As the little shaft of light grew larger, the object became clearer. It was some kind of a large box, all glossy black. On top was a painted crest, which could very well be the same family crest design that Brandt saw on the foyer rug. Around the box was thin silver trim, plus some bolts, nails, or pins of the same finish. And there was the hint of a polished black pole attached to the side. A pallbearers’ pole.

Oh good God, it’s a coffin. Brandt blew out a horse-snort through his lips. He had barged into the basement where the dead relatives were kept. This was going to be embarrassing to explain, and certainly, he had no business snooping around the family’s crypt, or whatever this was. He needed to shut this door and get his ass back up to bed. If his luck held, they may never know he even saw the basement. Slick, man. Hurry up.

The door was fully open and Brandt had to go down the first step to reach the door handle. As he did, he heard the subtle creak again downstairs. Like a coffin lid creaking? Yeah, right. Out of the corner of his eye, he could’ve sworn he saw some kind of movement on the coffin lid, but he was already irrational and rattled from a concussion, probably drug-addled, and certainly paranoid. Just close the door, Scooby-Doo. He grasped the door handle with both hands.

Something tickled his spine. It felt the same as when he had been locked in his room and he thought there was somebody with him. The tickle turned into a humming in his brain and his eyelids got heavy. Oh, for the love of… No, no, no! He wanted to slap his face with one of his hands, but he needed both to pull the door. He shook his head, trying to jog sense into it. Come on, pull! At least wait ‘til the door is shut to pass out. The door budged and he had to take a step backward, but his strength was ebbing. His body was becoming numb. The door handle was still in his grip, so he refocused his effort into pulling and the door swung a little closer to him, but he didn’t think he would be able to take the step back up to the top landing. Come on feet. Obey me, you pieces of shit! His feet wouldn't budge. In fact, he believed he was starting to lose his balance. A moment later he was sure. Whatever was stunning him, and this time he was certain it wasn't Lia, it was keeping his limbs from maintaining their balance. And his weight was closer to the basement side than the kitchen. Oh no. He could feel his torso lean toward the basement even as he figured this out. The door handle was still in his hands, but his fingers were uncurling and held no power. Still no response from his feet. Maybe if he could just fall forward onto the top step, he wouldn’t tumble down the stairs. But no, his torso wouldn’t obey either. He was a sack of useless human meat that had no ability to move, and he was about to fall down a long flight of stone stairs.

“Help!”

The entreaty was to no one in particular. Probably to God himself, but Brandt was not a religious person and simply did not know who to send the message to. He elaborated in his mind. To whom it may concern. I am about to fall down some stairs and bust my head open. Would the nearest deity, or convenient spirit, please be so kind as to save my useless ass? Thank you, sincerely, Me.

He squinted from the desperate effort to find some solution anywhere in front of him. There simply was none. His parting wish was that he could tell Lia he was sorry for blaming her for whatever was happening to him. He was resigned to expecting serious injury and multiple broken bones, if not death, when he saw something familiar.

Familiar and haunting. The eyes. The yellow glowing eyes that he had seen several times in his dreams, and in the blurry hallucination of his water rescue, were right in front of his face. They bore into him. He had no idea if he was still falling, or floating, or was already dead. Everything went quiet and seemed to fade away. Only the eyes remained. Brandt had no recourse except to look into those eyes.

They spoke to him. They told him to relax. He wasn't in control, what else could he do? Was he even falling anymore? He had no sensation of falling. Just the vision of those damned eyes. They had no substance, just glowing light as if they were made from pieces of the sun. He wanted to say something to the eyes, but he wasn't able to speak. The eyes spoke again. “Let go.” He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t trust the eyes. But he was tired of everything.

Screw it all. He let go.

CHAPTER 4

 

 

 

 

Brandt woke up in the bed in his room. Again.

This is a broken record. And once again, Brandt was surprised and pleased he was still alive and in one piece. His arms and legs functioned properly, and the usual pain was everywhere. He was actually happy about the pain because it guaranteed he wasn’t dead. For whatever reason, he had survived the fall down the stairs, or maybe never fell, or was caught by Batman and carried here again. Maybe his pleas to a deity were answered. The whole enigma was infuriating. For a while now, he felt that his life and death wasn’t his to decide.

A stale, dim light had replaced the strong day’s radiance in the room, appearing to be evening, which meant that his adventure and subsequent nap had notched up another half day. Totaled up, his naps here were longer than all the sleep he got in his last entire tour of duty.

As he sat up to consider the bizarre excuse for a life he was living, he noticed Lia asleep with her head resting on the writing desk. A leather-bound book was open next to her. She looked peaceful and angelic. How long she had been watching over him? Long enough at least to fall asleep while reading. He felt like he needed to tell her how thankful he was that she was taking care of him, and how sorry he was for even considering that she could’ve caused his blackouts. No, instead you keep fainting from some glowing-eyed creature that invades your semi-conscious dreams like Freddy Kruger. Tell her that.

Brandt almost wanted to. He wanted to believe that she could somehow help him understand what he was experiencing, but he had no idea how to broach the subject. Plus, he didn't like discussing his mental state with a stranger and didn't want to seem weak or crazy. He needed to figure this out on his own. Right now there were two guesses: One, his brain was suffering the effects from a concussion, causing him to occasionally blackout and invent a weird hallucination of a yellow-eyed creature; or two, there was a yellow-eyed creature running around this house knocking Brandt unconscious and putting him back in bed. Given the two choices, the first was pretty obviously the saner. It still didn’t feel right, nor did it explain everything. Something strange and disturbing was happening to him, and he had no idea how to reconcile it, He no longer had any suspicion that Lia was involved in it at least. The explanation for whatever was happening to him would need to wait for a better moment after he cleared the air with Lia about some things.

She appeared to be fast asleep, but stirred as he adjusted his comforter. She stretched and sat up in her chair. Her striking blue eyes blinked the sleep away as she smiled languidly.

“Hi,” said Brandt warmly.

“How are you feeling,” she asked. No hint of anger or question about why he had been out and snooping in the cellar.

“Feeling embarrassed and stupid,” he said. “And thankful I’m in one piece.”

She nodded, looking uncertain, but didn’t seem upset about anything.

“Listen,” he said, wanting to get this out before he was asked, “I’m really sorry if I caused more trouble. I was tired of being cooped up and had the dumb idea to explore.” Almost the truth. “I know I shouldn’t have, and I didn’t help myself or you by doing it. I didn’t even mean to set foot in that basement, it was a mistake. I was curious and opened the door, and then it was too heavy to close. And somehow I fainted again. I’m really sorry you had to drag me back up here again. You’ve been incredibly sweet and I’ve been a dumbass.”

“It’s all right,” she said. There still didn’t seem to be any disappointment or irritability in her tone at all.

“Actually, I – uh, didn’t just roam around the house. I went outside too. I was kinda panicking about being locked in and worried that your dad may want me gone, so I was looking for a way to go home,” he said.

“Oh, I know.”

That’s it? “I know?” Brandt must’ve had a bewildered look on his face because she seemed to acknowledge his confusion.

“I saw you,” she said pleasantly.

Brandt’s bewilderment was not appeased by her admission.

Lia stood up and walked to the bed. Walked? She seemed to glide everywhere she went. She sat down on the bed and pressed her dress against her knees. She flattened her palm gently on his forehead. Her hand was freezing at first, then instantly warmed like it had a little electric heater inside it.

“You have a small fever,” she said, looking directly into his eyes. Her gentle, childlike manner belied that she was in complete control. Her eyes pierced through his, causing a shudder in him, and her gaze shifted to her own hand. “I like to sit up on the mountain. It's beautiful up there. I can see miles and miles away from my vantage point like I am on top of the world.” She brushed the stray locks of hair from his forehead. “I was able to watch you. I expected that you would be anxious to leave and may venture out to find a way off the island. I left your shoes at the door for you in case you did.” I now officially feel like a piece of shit. And I also gotta respect her predictive skills. She cocked her head to the side and glanced out the window, then said, “When I am up on the mountain, I like to think I can see anything coming long before it ever gets here. It makes my father feel better. He needs to know I am safe. You will be safe here too.”

Brandt had no idea what to say. But this girl, and her father, and this place, and the dream bat creature, were overloading the capacity for comprehension in his bruised brain. She seemed to realize this as well.

“You don't need to sleep, but you will need more rest until your fever dissipates. You may have stressed your injuries, though I don't think anything has changed significantly,” she said, then shifted