Tears of No Return (4 page)

He snapped his fingers, igniting the match, and soon after, the match book. He dropped it to his boots, which burst into flames. The fire raced up his legs, encompassing them within seconds.

Karen watched in terror as the man she had come to fear and then to understand danced within the fire. Flames engulfed his body. Before they could reach Josh’s face, he ran the knife across his throat. The cut was deep and his body jerked as the carotid artery split open. Blood gushed in streams of red. Karen wanted to look away, but couldn’t.

Josh staggered as the blood shooting from his wound slowed. He fell to the ground, his body still on fire. Karen guessed that burning was the best way to ensure that only ash and bone would be left for the scientists to find.

Karen had seen enough and heeded her new friend’s warning. Body and mind numbed, she turned the car around and raced back to the city.

Chapter 2

Morgan Hughes was cornered, chased into a filthy, graffiti-riddled, dead-end alley. His body burned on the inside as if he’d swallowed a gallon of acid. The garlic-drenched bullets had weakened him considerably. Bricks blocked his escape. Morgan spun around and faced the hunters. They approached slowly with the caution of a lesser prey.

The old man, Ben Morse, carried a crossbow and was flanked by his two sons, Robert and Jim. Each carried a long steel lance dipped in garlic paste, a Morse family recipe. As the group grew closer, Morgan’s nostrils began to sting from the odor.

“Looks like your time is up, bloodsucker,” Ben said. “Been a long time coming, but I told you I’d get you.”

Morgan hadn’t killed any innocents for at least a hundred years, long before Ben was even born. He had nothing against vampire hunters and actually understood why they hunted. Morgan had befriended a hunter many years ago after his secret was found out. They worked together taking out vamps, but the man was dead now, bitten and murdered by those he hunted. Morgan’s secret died with the man and he was at least grateful for that.

“You hearing me, bloodsucker?” Ben asked. He was a typical hard-assed hunter determined to stake every vamp he came across. For all his boastfulness, he was also one of the best at his job.

“I hear you,” Morgan said.

Ben raised his crossbow as his two boys drew closer, clearly readying to pin Morgan in place so that Ben could get a clean shot at Morgan’s heart.

Morgan cursed himself for being caught off guard. He’d avoided and escaped capture from Ben and his boys with relative ease in the past. But they were getting better and he was getting careless, a sin he couldn’t afford to commit again if given another chance. Not that he saw a way out of this predicament. He only hoped Ben’s aim would strike true if this was to be the end—the slightest miss and the garlic-tipped arrow would hurt like hell, leaving him to die slowly in pain as Ben prepared another.

The brothers lunged forward, swung. Both lances punctured through Morgan’s undead flesh, pinning him to the wall like a specimen readied for dissection on a board. The liquid garlic burned his skin off, as though his flesh where made of wax and exposed to the flame.

Morgan shut his eyes and fought the urge to cry out. Ben Morse laughed in response, aware of his agony. Morgan looked up, each brother seeming more confident now that he was under their control and at their mercy.

“Been fun hunting you, bloodsucker,” Ben said, firing his crossbow, sending the deadly arrow into Morgan’s chest, missing the heart by an inch. The pain was exquisite,
infuriating
.

“Sorry, guess I missed,” Ben lied.

Ben walked up to Morgan, withdrew a stake from his trench coat, and held it to Morgan’s right eye.

“A vamp like you deserves a fitter ending.” Ben tipped his head and gazed skywards. “Sun will be up soon.”

Morgan followed his slayer’s eyes. A small wedge of the horizon was visible beyond the alley walls, the sky a hazy blue with glimmerings of orange beginning to creep in. Ben turned back to face Morgan.

“I’d stay and watch, but I’ve got one of your kind trapped in a freezer back at the bar. Good luck in Hell, bloodsucker.”

The hunters stabbed Morgan several more times with garlic-laced knives, leaving him barely conscious. His captors exited the alley, all displaying proud grins, as the sun’s rays lit the brick wall a few feet above his head.

Chapter 3

Karen drove back to her apartment. The trip seemed instant; she remembered none of it, her body on auto pilot. She was in shock, she thought. More than mere nerves, an overwhelming feeling of loneliness plagued her in a way she’d never known before that night. She sat on her couch and cried.

She went to the bathroom, threw up after one final jolt of anxiety, then stood in front of the mirror above the sink.

“You have to get a hold of yourself, girl,” she said before squeezing her eyes shut and scrunching up her face. Opening her eyes, she willed her face to relax. “Look ahead, not back. What’s done is done.”

Karen left the bathroom after flushing the toilet. No matter what she told herself, she couldn’t calm down. She paced the living room. The quiet was too much for her nerves so she turned on the radio. The station was tuned to a local sports talk show, one she listened to regularly. The hosts’ voices instantly brought a level of familiarity and comfort to her. The feeling of loneliness slowly ebbed.

She went over the events of the morning in her mind, wondering how long it would take the military to track her down. Could they? Maybe she was in the clear.

She hadn’t promised Josh she’d go after the spaceship. And why should she have her life turned upside down if she was in the clear? The tire tracks. She’d left tire tracks in the dirt road where Josh died. That would be the first clue to lead the military to her. The second: the ATM cameras. An object she believed would help her might now doom her.

Karen raced over to her phone and dialed the bank’s number. A cheery sounding woman who identified herself as Debbie answered, gave the standard greeting, and finally asked, “How can I assist you today?”

Karen asked about the ATM, if it was up and running yet. Debbie, with an overly joyous tone, told her the machine was working. Next, Karen asked about the security camera.

“Could you hold please? I want to transfer you to the manager,” Debbie asked, not waiting for an answer.

Karen was tempted to hang up, but didn’t. She sat impatiently and was about to slam the phone down when the manager came on the line.

“Hi, this is Bill Warren, the manager of Corhoven Financial. You were asking if the camera worked at the bank?”

“Yes, I wanted to know if it was working properly. I think the machine shorted me and I wanted to take a look at the video with someone from the bank.”

“Ma’am,” the bank manager said. “Are you the woman who was attacked this morning?”

Karen felt as if she received a punch to her gut. Feeling her stomach churn, she held her breath for a moment, hoping the sensation of nausea would pass.

“The FBI is here now, ma’am. They’d like to speak with you.” Silence followed. Karen had never heard such stillness.

“No,” she mumbled. “I don’t know anything about that.” She looked around, and the room began to spin. She hung up. Her next breath came with difficulty.

Karen picked up the phone to call her best friend, Melanie, but stopped herself. She couldn’t risk endangering her best friend; she’d call her from a payphone later.

As the minutes passed, Karen’s heart rate galloped and her body felt hot. She wasn’t prepared for any of this. Who would be? Her mind raced for answers. Where should she go? Did she have hours or minutes to pack? The one answer she did know for sure was that she didn’t want to end up like Josh. She had to say goodbye to her apartment—her
home
, the place where she lived a content life.

Karen fought against the overwhelming emotions ravaging her body, but the pressure was too great. The air grew thick to the point she worried she’d have to chew on it to get it down. The walls, covered with pictures of the city’s landmarks, seemed to close in. She felt glued to the floor, unable to move, and again wondered how long she had before someone came and bashed her front door down.

What should she bring with her? Something sentimental? The watch Melanie’s mother gave to her when she graduated from college, perhaps? Something she considered an heirloom because Melanie’s family had become like her own. But the timepiece was still at the jewelers. Would she ever see it again? Her mind switched like the channels on a television to another thought: Would the military begin broadcasting her as a wanted criminal, too?

She willed her legs into motion, walked to the kitchen, and got a drink—a double shot of vodka. The Russian liquor burned the back of her palate, but felt good as it traveled down her throat and splashed into her stomach. She took another shot, closed her eyes, and let the liquid do its magic.

A minute later, she opened her eyes. Now she would be able to think.

She went to her computer and removed the hard drive then to the list of phone numbers to friends and family posted on the fridge, stuffing everything into a small shopping bag. Next, she hurried to her bedroom and began packing clothes: a coat, a sweater, a pair of jeans, sweatpants, underwear, socks, bras, and blouses. She had almost filled the suitcase when a sharp pain ripped through her mind.

Karen stumbled to the floor, feeling as if she’d been struck in the head. She rolled over on her back, looking around to see if someone was standing over her. No one was. The pain intensified. Grabbing her head, she curled up and fought the urge to scream. She felt as if razor blades were slicing up the insides of her skull while someone pounded a hammer against her brain. She thought she was dying the most painful death imaginable, until darkness took hold and she fell unconscious.

A short time later, Karen woke. Her head ached slightly, but nothing compared to the pain she’d felt before passing out. As she slowly sat up, her bedroom swam into focus. She hoped the sudden onset of such tremendous pain was due to stress, but she knew better. She had no history of migraines; the pain had to be the
gift,
as Josh had called it. It was inside her, becoming a part of her; spreading throughout her brain and mutating its normal functions. She wished Josh had been able to stay with her and prepare her for what was to come.

Questions swirled around her head, giving Karen that anxious feeling of disorientation again. More vodka would be needed if she was to get through this. Josh had suffered worse. She wondered if that was why he seemed to have gone mad. Maybe it was simply having such powerful abilities and not being able to control them that made him crazy. She needed to stay focused and in control. She needed to get someplace safe. Somewhere she could relax and let the pain take its course without worrying about people breaking down the front door and carting her away.

She stood up and saw that it was 11:30 in the morning. An hour had passed since she blacked out. Feeling somewhat better, she concentrated on what she needed to do: pack up and leave.

In the middle of throwing toiletries into the case, Karen turned the radio to a news station. The first few stories were a mix of local muggings, stabbings, and a dog that was responsible for rescuing its owner from a burning building. The fourth story was interrupted by breaking news. The newsman spoke of a grisly scene out on Long Island. The escaped convict from this morning’s prison break was gunned down right after setting himself on fire and trying to attack police. Karen closed her eyes and shook her head.

It was all lies. And Josh had been found quickly, leaving nothing but her for them to focus on. She felt a small sigh of relief that there was no mention of a woman wanted for questioning in the case, but the government probably wanted her involvement kept quiet. Either way, she had to be careful. Eventually, they’d put a name to the face on the bank’s camera, if they hadn’t already. That she was certain of.

Karen had a suitcase full of clothes and other essentials. She stood at the apartment’s door with her bags and held back tears as she looked around. There was so much life left in her place and so much she couldn’t take with her: a vase she purchased in London; a painting of her and Melanie done by a local artist living in Brussels; a vintage cuckoo clock made in Germany with her initials carved into the side among the relics about to be abandoned.

She’d managed to rack up a number of wonderful items throughout her life. They were all material, but would not be easily forgotten. She said goodbye and left, locking the door behind her.

Karen rode the elevator to the lobby. She held her breath when the bell rang and the doors rattled open, expecting the police or government men to be waiting for her. She exhaled and let the tension out as she hurried to the parking garage elevator. There, she pushed the button and waited, her panic again building. Even though the lobby was filled with people coming and going, as well as a door man, she felt extremely vulnerable. The elevator finally arrived and she took it to the garage.

Karen hurried to her car, placing the suitcase in the trunk and her backpack on the passenger seat. She drove from her personal parking spot to the visitor’s section, which was located closer to the garage’s exit. Moving the vehicle to the visitor’s parking would cause anyone looking for her to assume she had left the building. She didn’t have a visitor’s pass, but the guards knew her car and would assume someone had parked in her spot.

Leaving the garage on foot, she only carried her purse and backpack.

The streets were busy and the amount of people milling about made Karen feel less anxious about being abducted. But she’d seen too many movies to completely relax. Images of a sniper’s bullet or a toxin rubbed on her skin by a passerby flooded her mind.

She arrived at a branch of Corhoven Financial. It was larger than the one she had been in earlier. She hadn’t planned on going inside the actual bank, but realized the ATM would only give her a maximum of five-hundred dollars per day. A larger sum would be needed. She would have to go in. The rainy day she’d saved for was upon her.