Kiera Hudson & The Adoring Artist (Kiera Hudson Series Three Book 3) (16 page)

Chapter One

My name is Jack Seth and I’m a killer. I have a monster living deep within me and it’s a wolf. Sometimes that wolf comes to the surface – it kinda gets the better of me – takes over. Sometimes it’s difficult to find the right words, so you’re gonna have to bear with me. You could simply just fuck off and put this book down or delete it from whatever reading device you’re holding in your hands – but where would the fun be in that? We all secretly love a good killer; that’s why we name them. We big them up. Jack the Ripper. The Night Stalker. I heard about a cannibal who was nicknamed ‘Peckish Pete’. What the fuck is that all about? Whoever came up with that name must get their kicks hanging out in the emergency room. No fucking joke.  Like I said, I’m one of those freaks you guys love to name. Besides, for all I know, you could be a killer, too – perhaps you’re ‘Peckish Pete’ – if you are, take that spleen out of your fucking mouth and pay attention. I don’t want to be a killer no more. Without wanting to sound too much like a Michael Jackson song – I want to make a change. Why? Because no one came up with a nickname for me. No – I’m just yanking your chain. That’s not the real reason I don’t want to go on raping and killing – the real reason is that I got shown another way. I don’t know if it’s a better way – it’s just different. And who showed me this different way? I don’t know if that really matters, and besides, I don’t want to talk about her. Not because I don’t love the girl, but because I don’t want to think too much about the past. I fear that if I do, I might slip back into my old ways. You know, the ripping and the tearing, the fucking and the torturing. No, I really don’t want to go back to that. That old life – that old world is gone now. I got
pushed
out of it and I’m so fucking glad about that. Everything about this new place is different. It feels different – looks different – and there is something new about me, too. I don’t know how to describe how I feel. Like I said – sometimes I struggle to find the right words. And if I think about things too much, then my head starts to hurt and I get to feeling a bit crazy. That isn’t a good thing – I know that for sure. Crazy isn’t good because I get thoughts in my head. Those thoughts are too nice, and that’s what scares me. Yes – I can feel fear, too. I’m scared for all you fuckers out there, because if I had the chance, I’d jump right out at you and fuck with you… see what I mean? My mind runs away with me and I have to be quick to pull it back. And that’s the difference. That’s how I feel kinda new. Because in the old world, the one I stepped out of, I had no control. Those crazy thoughts would pop into my head and I would go with them. They would take over and that’s when I was at my best… sorry…
worst
. That’s when the wolf would show itself. At first I didn’t notice the changes within me. I saw them in my younger brother first. I saw a change in Nik’s eyes.

Nik had arrived at the station before me. He had died in the other world, just like I had, and found himself waiting at the station. He waited for me. You don’t need to know how he died, because if I told you I would have to think about
her
again and I don’t want to do that – it kinda hurts, and when I’m hurting… well, you can guess what happens… other people start hurting, too. What matters is that we both died trying in our own way to make amends for the many fuck-ups we had made. Whether either of us really made a difference by sacrificing ourselves, we will probably never know – but we tried, and that’s got to count for something. All you really need to know – to understand – is that death ain’t like you believe it to be. I’ve died twice now, and so has my kid brother – but I have yet to have the lights go out. A beautiful werewolf once told me that there are many different layers, and that dying is just like having the rug pulled out from under your feet. When you’re no longer standing on the rug, you fall into another layer. Some describe it as slipping through a crack, others stepping through a doorway, falling down a hole – I guess there are too many to mention here. For me, I pushed on some levers at a desolate railway station. That’s how I died, pushing on some signal point levers while a pack of bloodthirsty wolves tore my head clean off. But it wasn’t only the levers that got pushed – I got
pushed
too. And that’s another thing – dying isn’t just called
dying
. There are many different names for that, too. I like
push
or
pushed
–
she
liked that one too. Others prefer slipping, sliding, cracking, stepping, falling – the choice is yours, I guess, when you finally have the rug pulled out from beneath your feet and you end up in a different layer.

As for the layers – each one is different – but not so much from the last. I’ve heard the layers being referred to as
reflections
. I like that – it kinda makes sense, as each layer is a distorted image of the last. They are not true mirror images – it’s like they have been tweaked – altered – somehow. Slight differences, but big enough for you to notice them. And although this new layer me and my brother Nik find ourselves in looks the same as the last – there are those subtle differences poking you in the ribs telling you that things aren’t quite the same as the last.

Like I said, it’s not just the world that is different. People are different, and you will be, too. Sometimes the changes in you will be for the better – sometimes for the worse. For me and my brother this time around, I’m hoping we’ve changed for the better. I think I might be right about that. Why do I think that – hope that? It’s in his eyes. And mine, too. At first I didn’t notice, I was too busy trying to take in the new world we’d been
pushed
into. We stood together on the desolate platform, the wind blowing tendrils of dust over the cracked landscape stretched for as far as I could see in all directions. The station was similar to the one I’d been
pushed
from; it was constructed of wood, and had a small waiting room and ticket booth. Both had a sign out front attached to a wooden pillar that towered high above. In both worlds the sign groaned on a set of unoiled hinges as it swung back and forth in the wind. In the world I’d come from, the sign had read:
The Great Western Railway
. Here, the sign read:
The Great Wasteland Railroad
. They’re the subtle differences I was telling you about. Subtle – but there all the same.

I looked up at the brilliant sun that seemed to spin high above. Its brilliance was so bright that the sky was white, as if saturated of all its colour. There wasn’t even a wisp of cloud. The earth looked scorched – like it had been set on fire and the flames had been left to rage until there was nothing left to feed on. The ground was cracked and blistered; the only thing bright on this flat, monotonous surface was the set of railway tracks that cut across the desert floor. They glimmered like two lines of silver as they stretched away from the front of the railway station.

The door to the station suddenly blew open, caught in a hot gust of wind. The sound of muffled chatter could be heard from within the waiting room. Those seated inside looked confused somehow – lost. Perhaps this was the first time they had fallen – got
pushed
– through a layer. They’d soon figure it out, I thought, turning back and looking at the railway tracks that disappeared into the distance. Untying the red bandanna that was knotted about my throat, I mopped the sweat from my narrow brow. My lips felt cracked, as dry as the desert.

“What do you reckon?” Nik asked, standing beside me, kicking sand and grit from his worn boots.

“About what?” I said, retying my bandanna and pulling the beak of my baseball cap down over my eyes.

“This place,” he said.

“Not much,” I said back, stepping down off the platform and onto the tracks.

“Where are you going?” Nik called after me.

“I’m going to follow these tracks,” I said, not glancing back, but looking into the distance. All I could see was where the white sky met the red scorched earth.

“Why don’t we wait for a train?” he said, the sound of his boots clomping along the platform ledge.

“I don’t think there’s been a train passing along these tracks in many years,” I said, pointing out to him the dry-looking weeds that grew between the sleepers and ballast.

“”So what are those people waiting for?” he said, hooking his thumb back in the direction of the waiting room.

“Fuck if I should know,” I shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Nik asked, jumping from the platform and onto the tracks. Chips of ballast sprayed up from beneath his boots.

“That they’ve been
pushed
,” I said, peering out from beneath my cap and into the distance. Something suddenly grabbed my attention, and I started off along the tracks.

“This place is dead,” Nik called after me. “Apart from us and those others back at the station, there isn’t anyone else here.”

“I’m not so sure,” I told him, moving forward on my long thin denim-clad legs.

“What do you mean?” Nik panted as he ran to catch up with me.

“See that?” I said, pointing into the distance.

“See what?” he said, screwing up his eyes.

With one long bony finger, I pointed into the distance. “Look, can’t you see that thin line of black smoke?”

Nik screwed his eyes almost shut. “Just about,” he said.

“That’s a fire,” I said, looking back at the tendril of smoke way off on the horizon. “Someone has lit themselves a campfire, which means we are not so alone in this world.”

Opening his eyes again, Nik looked at me. It was then that I noticed for the first time that the fire had gone out of his eyes.

Chapter Two

Like me, my younger brother Nik was a killer. He had a wolf living in him too. We had both endured the Lycanthrope curse. We were nothing more than werewolves, plain and simple. At least that’s what we had been in the old world – but here, I was beginning to wonder if we still were. You didn’t have to witness a person change into a wolf to know that they were a Lycanthrope – you only had to look into their eyes to know. Our eyes glow a brilliant yellow, like two hot suns. Sometimes when the curse was strong upon us, our eyes would seethe like hot coals, as if our very brains were on fire deep within our skulls. Our victims could see their own deaths if they looked into our eyes. They could see themselves being tortured, dismembered, and fucked by us. But our stare had the power to fix our victims in a trance. They would enjoy the butchery they witnessed. And just like us, it would turn them on. They would be so aroused by what they saw in their killer’s eyes, they would readily give themselves to us, even though in their hearts they knew they would be slain.

But as Nik stood between the tracks, staring at that thin wisp of black smoke on the horizon, I could see the fire had gone out of his eyes. They were no longer the colour of a burning star, but a golden hazel – the same colour as Ki…
hers
. We were related to
her
– so it would only make sense that our eyes were the same colour once the fire had gone out in them. The three of us had all shared the same mother.

But why had the fire gone out? Had the wolf left, too? Had the curse been lifted? Was this mine and Nik’s reward for sacrificing ourselves for
her
and her friends? I didn’t know and couldn’t be sure. Pushing my cap to the back of my head, I took Nik by the shoulders and stared into his eyes.

“What’s wrong, Jack?” he asked, sounding confused.

“Your eyes,” I barked at him. “There is no fire in them.”

My brother stared back at me, his brow creasing. “Nor in yours, Jack,” he said.

“My eyes are not burning?” I asked, feeling excited, but fearful all at once.

“No,” he said with a shake of his head.

Releasing my brother, I staggered backwards, nearly tripping over the tracks. I rubbed at my eyes with the balls of my long emaciated hands.  

“What does it mean?” Nik asked me.

Lowering my hands, I looked at him, his long brown coat flapping about like a sheet in the warm breeze. His white blonde hair was snatched back from the sides of his face by a sudden gust. He looked youthful; he looked his age. Sometimes it seemed like we had been alive forever as we fell through the layers. I had to remind myself that Nik was just eighteen. I was older not by much – in my mid-thirties if I did the math – but I looked a lot older. The anger and hate I had let live deep within me had eaten away at me from inside out. I was nothing more than a collection of bones held together by a thin covering of skin. My unnatural height only made me look thinner and more stretched. Unlike Nik’s thick hair, mine had grown thin – dry, like straw. Nik had lived with the curse for less time than me, and the damage to him hadn’t been so great. So if the fire had gone out of my eyes, then perhaps… no, I wouldn’t dare to think of that. I would never regain my youth – that had been taken with every life I had snuffed out.

“So?” Nik asked, breaking down my own personal thoughts.

“So what?” I eyed him.

“Why do you think the fire has gone out of our eyes?” he asked, a parched piece of scrub rolling past in the wind.

Without answering him, I looked into the distance. The smoke still trailed up into the now darkening sky. It was at least a day away. Depending on which direction the fire starter was traveling, then we might catch up with them sometime tomorrow, but not today.

“C’mon,” I said, turning my back on Nik. “Let’s try and cover some ground before it gets dark.”

We walked in silence. My long legs striding out beneath me, my cap pulled once again down over my eyes. Nik trailed behind, lost to his own thoughts, just like I was lost to mine. I had wanted to answer Nik’s question. I had wanted to tell him that I believed the Lycanthrope curse had been lifted from us. I wanted to tell him that we were now free men in this new world we had been
pushed
into. But I couldn’t tell him that because I didn’t know if it were true. I had raised Nik since he was just ten years old, and that seemed like several lifetimes ago now. He had been young enough to grow to love me like his own father – and I had accepted that role. So, I didn’t want to lie to him – give false hope to the boy I loved as if he was my own son. I would wait. I didn’t even know where we were.
She
would have said it was more important to know
when
you were… I pushed her from my mind.

The white sky had now turned gunmetal grey, and the first spattering of stars had appeared overhead. It was cooler now, but the wind had picked up and the sand was whipping about us. Tiny grains jabbed at my taut skin and stung my face. I pulled the bandanna up, covering the lower half of my face. The smoke in the distance was now blurred away behind the growing sandstorm, and I knew if we walked much further, we might stumble off course. Whoever had lit the fire wasn’t going anywhere tonight. We could pick up the trail again tomorrow. Whoever they were, I hoped that they might be able to tell us a little bit more about this bleak and barren world Nik and I found ourselves in.