Nate, baby, where are you? It’s been two days, and you missed your flight. Call me, okay?
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Baby, I’m getting scared. You haven’t called, and your phone hasn’t moved from the hotel. I know, I know, you hate it when I track you, but what choice did I have? No one has heard a word. Call me, please.
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Nathaniel, this isn’t funny. God, this… -sniffling- … I miss you. I’m scared. Where are you?
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I’m coming to find you. Just hold on, baby, I’ll find you. I promise.
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Running her fingers over the glossy picture of their prom, Esra traced the image of her fiancé tenderly. His blue eyes, blonde hair and chiseled features - he was everything she had ever wanted. Her Knight, her best friend, her life. Unable to handle the thought of him gone, she lifted the styrofoam cup of bitter coffee and took a sip before releasing a quiet sigh. “Don’t give me another ******** excuse, Daniels,” she whispered as the door closed quietly behind her, voice conveying her exhaustion. It had been twenty-three hours since she had stepped foot on Canadian soil, and she was no closer than finding Nathaniel than when she boarded the plane.
We’ll find him. We’re doing all we can. It’s going to be okay.
The excuses had been endless, and she had lost her patience within the first hour. She hadn’t taken time to rest, and instead had left the airport and driven straight to the police station, uncaring of her appearance. They had taken one look at her messy brown curls and her wrinkled attire and dismissed her until she pulled her badge from her jean pocket and slammed it on the counter. In a matter of seconds, she had gone from someone unworthy to finding herself rushed to their chief’s office, where she was greeted with the most sorry excuse for a man she had ever laid eyes on. Her hopes in finding Nathaniel had been dashed the moment he opened his mouth, but she had refused to give in. Now, she found herself seated, twenty-three hours later, worse for wear and still as desperate as before.
Even the coffee is incompetent.
Gritting her teeth, she kept herself in place as she felt the weight of his sweaty palm against her shoulder, his fingers squeezing far too intimately.“There’s nothing more we can do, Ms. Kane. We’ve run the course, asked everyone at the hotel. No one has seen him in over a week. If you want to return home, we’ll call you if som--” His words were choked off by the sound of her palms slamming against the heavy oak of his desk, and as he stumbled back a step, she stood and spun on him, her hazel eyes glistening with desperation and anger.
“No! Don’t give me that, don’t you ******* think of telling me to go home. Do you think I don’t know how this works? You send me home and you do nothing!”
As her voice rose, the man’s face turned a brilliant mix of red and purple, and he ran his hand against his balding skull, blunt nails digging into the revealed skin with irritation. After a moment, he seemed to gather himself, and some of the color paled from his complexion as he loosened his tie with two meaty fingers. “Now, listen here, missy. This is my station. My home. You don’t get to come in here and--”
“**** you.”
Snatching the photo off of the table, she brushed past him and slammed the door to his office open, the old, rustic hinges screaming with the force before it slammed shut behind her. Her heels echoed off of the tile, and as she wiped angrily beneath her eyes, she made her way down the cold, desolate hallway. She couldn’t - wouldn’t - settle for just getting by. There was no doubt in her mind that Nathaniel would be raising hell if the situation had been reversed, and she wasn’t going to stop until every damned stone was turned. Carefully slipping the picture back into her bag, she pulled her phone out and pushed her hand against the glass exit door, only to stop when a slender hand grasped her arm. Raising a brow at the young officer that pulled her aside, she opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off before she could form the first word.
“You should head for Harper Rock. Just be prepared for what you might find.”
Without another word, the man headed back down the hall, his hand curled against the nape of his neck. “Harper Rock,” she repeated under her breath, before shaking her head. She wanted to rush after him, to demand he tell her what he meant - but that all too familiar instinct warned her that he had told her all he was going to. Gripping her phone tighter in her hand, she stepped out of the precinct and slid her fingers over the screen to load the map app. When it flickered to life, she pressed and held the microphone button under ‘get directions’ and slipped behind the wheel of her beat down Chevy. Easing the key into the ignition, she drummed her fingers against the wheel as she listened for the robotic feminine voice to come to life.
'Location, please.'
“Harper Rock, Canada.”
Landon's Possession
You were a vampire, and baby, I'm the walking dead
A flash of red and a blinding agony; the smell of black powder and smoke filled the air, and it was the last thing I remember of being alive; the last thing I remember of the world outside of this hell. It has been days. Maybe weeks? I cannot possibly know. The only things that I have known in this place are darkness and the ever present pull of madness, the powerful grasp of despair as it pulled me down into the black.
This cannot possibly be all that is left of existence, this terror; this maddening, bleak world of pain and suffering. The faces that I pass are like dreams, there and gone before I can so much as register that they have come upon me. I can still feel the pain in my head; even now. It is akin to a beetle, burrowing through flesh and tissue, digging its way through my skull and into the maddening recesses of my being, an itch that I cannot reach; a pain I cannot banish. I remember so much of this place, this shapeless, otherworld. I do not understand it; I do not know where it is; where I am, but I know. I know that I am here, and that I am experiencing a gnawing, unending surge of pain through everything that I can sense, a hunger the likes of which I have never known. In this place, I have no means to satiate that hunger, no way to banish that pain.
Madness has descended upon me for so long that I must have finally succumbed. This harsh, glaring light… it must be something fabricated from my shattered mind. It, surely, cannot be the sun. I would have died some time ago in that case. The color that just barely touches the glow of this offending glare; I have finally lost myself. It is finally done. There is no color here, and I am lost to my craving for life.
Alone and naked to the elements of the world around him, a confused and disoriented man lay on his back in the gutter, his eyes staring emptily into the sharp, crisp glow of the lamp above his head, shedding a ring of light around him, basking his pale, weak form in a harsh white light. Slowly, he lifted his palm to his face. The movement startled him, and he nearly jumped out of his own skin, flinching away from the shape of his own hand. The shockingly cold puddle of water that he lay in splashed with his movement, the dirty runoff washing over him as he sat up, pulling himself into a seated position and putting his palm to his brow, his thumb digging into his temple against the pain of the light. A quiet sound of sweet pain left his dry and cracked throat and he opened one green eye again, taking in the world around him.
It was dark, the light around him a small circle bastion against the darkness all around him, and not the sun at all. He filled his lungs, the cool air bit at his chest with icy teeth, his dry and cracked lips stung with the sweet sensation. Raw, his throat accepted all the air that it could find, drawing it into himself in the first breath he had taken in what felt like a dozen lifetimes. He tried his voice, and managed a cracked grunt as he placed his hands upon the tree at his side. The pads of his fingers found cold, featureless iron where harsh, rough, charactered bark should have been. He recoiled, and fell back into the water as his eyes shot up the tall, strange trunk to be blinded by the luminescent fruit that dangled by the single branch of this otherworldly tree. His arm shielded his eyes and he inspected the anomaly again.
His hand found the strange structure and his palm rested against its cold surface, once strong hands closing around the slender metalwork to lift him on shaky legs to slump tiredly against what he would later learn was a lamp post unlike any he had ever seen. He held his trembling hands in front of his face as he slowly regained his strength, and along with it the sharp and ever present hunger; his old familiar friend. Tonight, though, it was far from a companion. Tonight, the hunger was a domineering master and even his iron will bent low before its one and only command:
Feed.
====
There were only a few things Nathaniel Lincoln knew anymore. His mind was a red haze and a short list.
Blood was absolutely necessary.
Finding her was paramount.
Killing the pretenders was wrong; but it felt too good to give up.
He was finding it difficult to keep her face in his mind, the details coming and going in a mist of confusion, some crucial shape, line, or mark lost to his hunger only to be remembered again when he had fed, or when he saw someone with looks just close enough to draw his attention, to pique his ire. There had been dozens now. It couldn’t possibly be hundreds, could it? People would have noticed by now.
He stood in silent thought, still holding her head in his hands. The weight of her bloodless corpse pulled down on the shattered neck as he twisted it this way and that in his pondering. He looked down at the girl, his thumb running beneath one wide, lifeless green eye. Green. Only green. He should have known it before he could even see her eyes, though. She was smaller, this girl. Much paler, too, and younger. Possibly nineteen at the most. Face twisted in a frozen mask of terror, her lips were parted in her final scream that had fallen silent long ago. It wasn’t her, just another of the pretenders; another false goddess that needed to be destroyed.
With a disgusted grimace, he tossed the broken corpse to the asphalt, her head bouncing off the hard surface with a crack before she fell still, limbs twisted akimbo. He pushed his hands against her skirt, wiping the blood from his palms before he turned away from her, leaving the corpse behind in the alley.
Was she ever going to come? Was he wrong about her? He had truly believed that, above anything else, when he hadn’t come home, that she would come for him. Perhaps he had her all wrong, after all. He ground his teeth in agitation and pushed the back of his palm across his lips. The blood was long cleaned away from his flesh, but he could still feel its essence linger on him, bolstering his strength with the life of the wicked falseness of these cheap imitations. A guttural sound left his throat as he cleared away the lump and moved back into the street to resume his nightly crawl of the city, seeking the woman he prayed to the night for religiously.
“You will come.”
===
“Scheiße!”
The German expletive leaped from Zelda’s lips before she could contain herself. Quickly, the tall, elegant woman stopped and began to search through her bag. She pawed at her things as the pair walking with her stopped and turned to her, watching her with curious stares. She gave an agitated sigh and threw up her hands in defeat. “They aren’t here. I need to go back to the club.” She shouldered her bag and took the shorter of her two companion’s hands and pulled her close, touching a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Take Maria to the car, and I’ll be right there, ja? I left the keys, I am sorry.”
The blonde gave her an annoyed look before she shook her head and gave a light laugh. “You are always being so forgetful, Zelda. I wonder if there is anything between those pretty ears sometimes.” She pat her shoulder and slipped away from her, turning to the woman with her, she gave a wide smile and linked her arm with hers. “Come, Maria. My wife seems to have need of a return to the club. I’ll walk you to the car.” The taller redhead looked from the short blonde to the tall, and smiled. Zelda didn’t like the way her sharp green eyes sparked at the idea of her absence, but she had little choice but to retreat, making her pace as quickly as she dared in her heels.
She rushed, her heels clicking in the silence of the late night street side. She dipped her hand back into her purse and found her I.D. with relative ease, considering the mess she’d made searching for the keys, and showed the fake card to the man at the door. “I left my keys inside. Can you please check with the bar?” The heavy mountain of a man took her I.D. in his hand and squinted, his heavy, dark brows hooded his chocolate eyes as his tongue ran over pink lips, his ebony skin smooth and young, shining with a sheen of sweat as he lifted a hand to his ear and muttered into the mic he wore in his jacket. A few moments passed as Zelda stood in uneasy silence, before the heavy man waved her inside.
She was in and out, and hurriedly rushing back toward the car. She already knew what she was likely to find, and it was hardly something new to her. What she didn’t expect was to come around the corner to see her wife lying on the sidewalk, her eyes half lidded in a fitful unconsciousness. Maria was pushed against the brick wall of the building they had passed, a man as nude as the day he was born had nearly lifted her from her feet and was pushing his face into her neck. It appeared to be some kind of assault, as Maria worked her lips, trying to form words as little but soft, choked sounds left her. She was frighteningly pale, her shirt and jacket ripped open and hanging at her sides as she thrashed.
Zelda watched, stunned, as those green eyes she’d wanted to gouge since the night had begun watched her, frightened, and fell still. The light left her stare and the man pulled away from her neck, his face slick with her blood. The redhead fell to the ground in a lump of boneless flesh as the behemoth turned on her.
===
The woman on the ground was still breathing, but she was plainly unconscious. That was good. He wouldn’t have to harm her, too. The redhead had laughed, had taunted him and goaded his ire until he could control himself no longer. The thirst was too strong in him, and her laugh had been so harsh, so horrible and grating, that killing her had been a service to the world. What he hadn’t expected, however, was to turn and see the statuesque woman standing at the corner, her long fingers clasped at her slender neck, her voice lost to fear. Landon grimaced at what this may look like, and passed his hand through his hair, before he pushed it along his face, wiping away the cruel woman’s blood.
The third woman stood there, like she was a statue. He hadn’t time for dealing with her at the present, his nakedness more obvious than he cared to contemplate. He looked between the two at his feet, and moved to the redhead, pulling her jacket and slipping it, with her shirt, free from her slight, limp frame. He dropped the fabric over his lean shoulders, his body emaciated and small from his long slumber and starvation, the clothes fitting him neatly as he worked at the woman’s pants. He lifted his head away from her immodest undergarments, and looked to the woman still frozen in fear.
“Excuse me, madam. If you have a moment, could you tell me what place this is?” He felt the button come loose, the garment releasing its grip on the redhead’s hips and he began working the slacks down her legs. “Women dressing as men, women with such garments…” he nodded his head to her, her dress falling just to her thighs, and to her unconscious wife, her dress falling shorter than that. “And these lights… this road, I do not recognize the material. Am I in England again?” He looked at her, the confusion clear in his startling green eyes as he pulled the pants from the dead woman’s feet, letting them fall to the asphalt as he stood, sliding his legs into the material. The slacks were a charcoal color, pinstriped with a white, like the jacket, and also fit him neatly in his withered state. He could feel a little of his strength returned to him after the redhead, but it would be time before he was himself again.
He ran his thin hands together as he stepped away from the exsanguinated corpse, and held his hands out to the silent woman. In a flash, he was on her, his hands gripping her arms. His eyes stared into hers, green battling against blue, until her pupil dilated, nearly engulfing the entirety of her irises as she stared into his eyes. “I am your master, now, Human, and you will obey. You will forget everything you saw here, and you will go home. Tomorrow night, you will come here, to this spot, and you will tell me everything that I want to know.”
With that, he shoved her away, letting her fall limply onto her ***, sitting in the middle of the sidewalk and staring after him as he turned away from her, leaning down as he passed by the redhead and plucked her hat from her head. The brush of motion pushed her sideways, bare back scraping against the rough brick until she landed on her side with a muffled thump. He placed the pinstriped fedora on his head and turned into the night, putting as much distance between himself and the scene as he could manage, without drawing attention to himself.
This world was so strange, so new… he had all night to indulge his curiosity, to learn all that he could before the dawn rose over him and forced him inside.
One man can change the world with just one bullet, when he puts it in the right place.
Hey, girl. Haven’t heard from you in a few days - just checking in. Any leads?
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Esra, it’s been four days. This isn’t like you, girl. Where are you?
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Es! I’m getting really freaked. Where the **** are you? Call me.
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Kane, it’s Rowlands. Park is concerned for you, and I know that you wouldn’t do something so ******* foolish as to get yourself killed, so return my call ASAP. This isn’t a goddamned request.
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ESRA NOELLE ******* KANE. Call me, please. Girl, please be alright. Please, don’t be dead.
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Darling, I know I’m the last person you want to hear from right now, but we’re worried about you. It’s been a week, and no one has heard a word. This isn’t like you. If you don’t call me - then call Park, please. Let someone know you’re alright. It’s going to be alright, I lo-- [voicemail ends]
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Esra, it’s your mother. I’ve had Keiko and Benjamin both at my door in the past twenty-four hours. I know that you are worried about Nathaniel - we all are - but this is too much, darling. Please, come home. We miss you.
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Kane, Rowlands again. I’ve given you time. Two ******* weeks of time. You’ve got the entire precinct worrying over your ***, so I’m sending Rhodes and Park to look for you. I swear to ****, little girl, if you’ve gotten yourself killed, I’m going to be seriously pissed.
Voicemail Full
Clutching the phone tight, Esra bowed her head until it rested against the gritty brick of the rundown warehouse and took an unsteady breath. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. She wasn’t supposed to be thousands of miles from home, searching the dark and deserted streets for him. He was supposed to be with her, their feet bare and the sun warming their skin as they fought over stupid, inconsequential plans for their wedding. Instead, she was tucked into a shadowed corner, with only the dim glow of a failing street lamp to support her. Breathing in a lungful of crisp, cool air, she clasped her arms over her chest and dug her slender fingers into her biceps, nails nearly tearing through the thin fabric of her shirt. The embrace offered her little comfort as she stared at the mangled corpse at the mouth of the alley, her lifeless green eyes glaring at her with accusation and her mouth open with a scream that would never be heard.
“Goddamnit, Nate, what have you done?”
The words were hoarse, and as she pushed herself upright, she shook her head. She couldn’t count how many times she had asked herself that question, only to be met with silence as her answer. “God help me,” she whispered as she forced herself forward, her steps unsteady as her legs threatened to give from beneath her. Lord, please give me the strength I need. Guide my hand, because I’m not sure I can do this. With that silent prayer, she knelt at the woman’s side and brushed her trembling fingers across her cheek, only to snap her hand back in a flash.
Warm.
“****.” Leaping to her feet, she wasted little time in drawing her weapon, the weight of Beretta M9 comforting her in a way that not much else could. As the world faded into silence, she pressed her back to the wall and closed her eyes. There was no sound, no air - in a split second, it was as if the world had ceased to exist, leaving the two of them alone, with only the stars to judge them. “Nathan,” she whispered, and her voice seemed like thunder as it broke through the quiet. Without opening her eyes, she knew that he was with her. She could feel him, that familiar spark in the air that seemed to ignite life inside of her, warming her as it had for so many years. Yet, now, it was followed by an icy chill that crept up her spine and twined itself around her heart, reminding her of all the horrors she had witnessed. All the death and pain caused by his hand.
Hands that had caressed her.
Hands that had held her.
Hands that had saved her.
Pain, as sharp as a dagger, exploded in her chest as the memories assaulted her mind, and she slammed her skull against the brick and grit her teeth. “God, give me strength.” Opening her eyes, she peered into the darkness, though the alley was as deserted as before. The street light still flickered lazily, causing the crimson halo beneath the victim’s head to shimmer, and continued to offer her little service, as if it was mocking her. “How can you live with the things that you have done, Nathan? You’ve become someone I don’t recognize,” she spoke, her voice gaining strength as she tore her gaze from the woman to the empty street. Bracing herself, she pushed from the safety of the wall and into the open, her grip steady - and her heart in her throat.
“It’s clear what you want,” she continued, though her voice lacked conviction as she spun in a slow circle, her search growing more frantic with each second that passed. “You have killed so many, Nathan. Innocent girls, all because they resemble me. Some,” she motioned towards the twisted body at her feet, “less than others. You’re grown careless, haven’t you? The madness is taking control, isn’t it?” Silence was her only answer, though she hadn’t expected more than that. He had always been a coward - loyal and charming - but still a man that buckled at the first signs of a threat. Throwing her arms wide, she stopped her slow circle and gave a defeated laugh.
“Here I am, darling. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that what these ******* calling cards were all about?”
Shaking her head, she lowered her arms back to her side and ran her fingers through her loose hair as the wind whipped the chocolate strands carelessly around her face. “Answer me!”
Landon's Possession
You were a vampire, and baby, I'm the walking dead
