The Blood Born Tales (Book 2): Blood Dream Read online

  BLOOD DREAM

  BY

  T.C. ELOFSON

  A Tim Anderson novel

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), businesses, or events is entirely coincidental.

  I dedicate this novel to the real Joe White. He is no secret agent, but he is a loving and devoted husband, musician, and friend.

  Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

  (Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act I, Scene II)

  Prologue

  After the Fact

  At dawn I lay in bed and looked out at my backyard. Spring was well established in the flowers and trees that formed a wall around my house, and beyond, the sun was polishing the sea. For a while I shut my eyes and thought of Jack Mitchell. I wondered what he would say about me now if he were here. Jack had died tragically some time ago and I was still saddened by that.

  I got up and built a fire and sat facing a window of blue sky while I nursed a tall goblet of orange juice. The cold glass was sweating in my hand and a runaway drop fell from its base, landing on my old, Hickory hardwood floor. At once, my black lab Zakk was there to take care of the spill. He was always making sure I never dropped anything of value. I smiled at him as he eagerly licked under my feet and then took to resting himself next to the heat of the morning fire. My daughter Merric rolled her eyes from her seat on the couch as she looked over at Zakk, and I could hear her thinking how ridiculous she thought her dog was. Her silly dog that seemed to not be hers anymore.

  Zakk hadn’t lived with me for more than a few months. In reality, he wasn’t mine. No, Zakk was my daughter’s dog. He had always been Merric’s. He was a gift from Kenny, my fellow detective in the Seattle police force, but after the last few days it was decided that maybe he should stay with me.

  When I say “it was decided”, I mean my ex-wife Sara pretty much told me that I would have to take care of Zakk, and I learned years ago it was pointless to fight with her over small stuff. Zakk had lived with Merric and my ex-wife for some time, but after a history of escapes through their backyard, I agreed he could stay with me. It was clear that Sara was tired of dealing with a dog that reminded her of me.

  I would gladly take Zakk. After all, he did save my life.

  Right, boy? I thought in my head and looked down at him. He caught me looking in his direction and was up in an instant, wagging his tail and ready for attention. I did feel bad taking him away from Merric. She really did love that dog, but I told her she could just come see Zakk here whenever she wanted and that he would always be her dog no matter what.

  Zakk looked up at me with his spotted tongue hanging from his jowls and again Merric was snickering and shaking her head at us. She acted like she didn’t know what to do with the two of us, flashing us a teasing smile. Those moments of happiness with her—before she began to grow away from me—are something that I have been holding onto for a while now. I looked over at her as she settled back into reading her teenage vampire book. I tried desperately to discourage the reading of bad vampire fiction, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She could be stubborn like me sometimes.

  So many young adults romanticize the teenage vampires in those stories. In reality, we are food to the vampires and wouldn’t last long if a meeting ever occurred. She could never know the truth about the real vampires that had lived among us and I wanted her as far away from these silly, unrealistic books as she could get. But I knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  Suddenly I felt the dog’s tongue on my hand and he got my attention again. I just smiled at him. You see, Zakk was an old cadaver dog, a cop just like me, and I think that the fact that he was a gift from Uncle Kenny made my ex hate him even more. Sara had always resented the loving relationship Kenny had with Merric.

  “That man’s not your uncle,” she used to tell Merric snidely. But he is her godfather and, no matter the title, Merric loved Kenny like family and she loved Zakk with a fierce devotion.

  My weathered, green house was tucked behind several large trees in a lush coastal subdivision of Seattle called Ballard. I stared into the low fire, feeling uneasy and lonely as I got up to add a good amount of juice back into my goblet.

  I wished that I could see Fabiana. I had missed her greatly these last few months. Yes, I got to visit her in the hospital, but not like I would like. That was a tricky situation there. You see, I loved her, even though I really didn’t know all that much about her. But I knew how I felt and I have learned not to deny those emotions.

  Unfortunately, Fabiana is somewhat lost at the moment. I don’t mean that literally. Fabiana is not your typical woman, to put it mildly. She had always been an immensely beautiful creature with a keen intellect. But all that seemed somewhat overshadowed by her massively powerful abilities. Abilities that were gifted to her by the blood of vampires.

  By the time we met only a few months ago, she was over two thousand years old and still as wondrous to behold as the day she was born to the blood, or blood born, as the vampires called it.

  I had never believed in vampires before I met her and, to be honest, I never truly believed until she turned me into one.

  But that is not what this is about. Forgive me. I’m beginning to ramble a bit.

  Fabiana was on a mission to kill the first vampire ever born. You see, it seemed that the blood of vampires worked kind of like a light switch. By cutting off the power at the source, the curse of the blood is ended, thus changing every vampire in the world back to a human.

  But there was one major drawback to this. When you become a vampire, your soul—the essence that makes you who you are, that holds your conscience— is taken from you. You no longer understand right from wrong. You know only hunger. But if you become human again, that soul is returned to you.

  Which would be a good thing, right? I mean, surely, having a soul is what makes us human.

  Well, this transformation back to the structure of humanity has had a bad effect on vampires. Once Fabiana became human again and her soul was returned to her, almost immediately she was flooded with massive guilt from what she had done in those two thousand years of assumed immortality. Within moments of regaining her human form, she became catatonic and her mind began to slip away. Now I feared what might become of her.

  I could still remember what that doctor said to me when I first took her to the Seattle Mental Health Hospital on the west side. He was completely dumbfounded by her brain scans.

  “The scans show a dramatic increase in synaptic interaction throughout all the sections of Fabiana’s brain. Much higher than normal human levels. Her synaptic activity is abnormally elevated, over sixty percent of the average. Her EEG, or electroencephalograph, readout is twenty-nine, which is average for someone at a heightened wakeful state. I would have expected to see some kind of lapse in the lower brain function, but I’m not seeing that in her. If I were to be so bold, Mr. Anderson, I would say that your friend is a medical marvel. I have never seen anything like it in my life.”

  Zakk rolled over in his sleep and brought me back out of my thoughts for a moment. As I took another drink of the cold orange juice and looked out at the sun hanging carelessly in the sky, I was reminded of Jack. For now when I see a clear sunny day, I can’t help but think of him. In fact, I am somehow reminded every day, in one way or another, of that bright morning in DC when Special FBI Agent Jack Mitchell was put to rest. I can still hear that damn bugle.

  The funeral was only a short while after his death, just a few months back. It was a calm morning at Arlington National Cemetery. The weather had b
lessed us with a gentle breeze and a blue sky, and rows of frost-covered grave markers ran up the hills in uniform patterns. Each practically identical tombstone was as white as snow.

  Our group had gathered under a grove of cherry trees that rained down soft white and pink petals over us as we stood, drained and weary, in front of Jack’s long wooden coffin. The honor guard was draping an American flag over his austerely beautiful casket.

  It had been a long few days and I was soon to be called in for questioning about his death. I had no earthly idea what I would tell the FBI. Whatever I could say to them, it would not bring back their friend and fellow agent. He was gone, killed by Cognatus, the origin of the race of vampires on Earth. And I missed Jack. Because when the day was done, I did think of him as a friend, or at least a respected colleague, no matter what I felt toward him during that investigation. I had to admit, Jack had always been good to me.

  I know at times that I fought with Jack, and I never did like his methods, but he always seemed to have a mania for the truth and the best interest of the law at heart. I respected that about him. Jack was always willing to help interrogate a witness or work a scene with me. But it wasn’t only that—Jack could tell if I was stressed and seemed good at knowing when I would and when I wouldn’t like to talk. I had always liked that.

  The casket had to remain closed due to his horribly gruesome death, and no one felt worse about the circumstances of his passing than my best friend and partner, Detective Kenny Johnson. Kenny took several small, weathered steps out to Jack’s final resting place. He dipped his head low and at first seemed unable to speak the words that he wanted to say. Needed to say, really. They were trapped inside him, incapable of escaping his tightened throat. Kenny was choking on sadness but he would not cry. Not my friend, no. He would never let strangers see him like that no matter what. I had only witnessed him cry on two occasions. He was not one to give in to spurts of emotion. But when he did finally release his feelings, it was a powerful and somewhat overwhelming thing to see. I can say that because I have known and loved him for so long. Kenny has been my best friend for as long as I can recall.

  “I knew Jack Mitchell. He was a good man,” Kenny began. “He earned my respect and friendship. And I am very selective in choosing whom I call a friend. Jack had a selfless commitment to his work, first in the military, then in the FBI. One week ago, he made the ultimate sacrifice by giving his life to save mine. And in that brave act, he showed me what greatness we are all capable of. May God’s mercy and love shine on Jack Mitchell as he takes his place beside the Lord.”

  As I heard those kind words from my friend and partner, I wondered at that moment about our creator. If there was a merciful God somewhere up there, why wouldn’t he have saved Jack? Why would he have allowed creatures as evil and vile as vampires to exist at all?

  “Stand by!”

  The order came loud and stern from the director of the FBI, who was clothed in full dress blues. Then the honor guard, composed of five men holding polished nickel and chrome M1 grand rifles, raised their weapons into the air, ready for the command.

  “Ready. Fire!”

  And though I knew it was coming, the concussion of the blasts rocked my sense of composure. And then it came again.

  “Ready. Fire!”

  Once more the crack was loud and unnerving. Then it came one last time.

  “Ready. Fire!”

  The sound of the final shot dissipated into the rolling hills of Arlington. Somewhere in the distance a lone bugle sounded, and as the soft melody of “Taps” flowed down to me, I knew it was real. Jack was really gone.

  Chapter 1

  2:00 p.m., May 4

  Outside the Seattle Mental Health Hospital, a storm had reached its peak. Rain was lashing out of the impending thunderstorm. The wind was a screaming warning for what was coming. The branches of nearby trees whipped and scraped violently at barred windows. The lights went out and then came on just as fast. The old building was filled with shadows from the flickering fluorescent bulbs overhead and seemed to tell a story of the disturbed and mentally unbalanced who resided behind the locked doors of that psychiatric fortress.

  Somewhere inside, a woman was cowering in the recesses of her mind. But even her consciousness was crowded by images that she would rather not see. Visions of pain and death spanning over the centuries and stretching across the globe crashed against her psyche like a constant tsunami. She was a less-than-innocent witness to countless atrocities and torments that were now crusted hard onto her newly returned soul. The violence was as clear in her mind now as it was then. She was Fabiana of Olisipo, the former vampire, a once-immortal blood collector powerful at the height of the Roman Empire.

  She could remember how it used to be for her. Fabiana could recall how she used to look at the humans that stumbled through life, unsure and without purpose. But now…? Now the great vampire Fabiana was merely one of them. She was human and cursed into eating and sleeping and defecating all over again. Is this what she fought to be? Is this the life Fabiana so desperately battle to get back?

  Yes.

  In her mind, she could see them just as they had always been. She could see mortals in an attractive light. They were so fresh, so exotic and yet so luscious to observe. These mortals—they looked how wild birds must have looked. Free and unable to be tamed or swayed back down to earth. So full of fluttering, rebellious life and winging ahead to a future ahead where anything was possible. Even love. Even forgiveness.

  And now Fabiana was human and all those things that she had envied in the living creatures of this world were now hers to relish and explore. She even had the love of a man. And he was a good man. But there was one problem with it all. Fabiana had lost her mind. She had slipped into a state of such mental confusion that she was having trouble hanging on at all. It was the guilt, you see. The guilt of having her soul returned.

  No. Not returned. More like pushed. Maybe one would go so far as to say forced back into her body. It was a heavy soul. A soul weighed down by so much remorse that no human in this world could possibly comprehend the weight of it on her mind. As a vampire she had killed and destroyed so many innocents that now she couldn’t deal with the memories of it.

  Fabiana didn’t want this anymore. She didn’t want to be crazy and, most of all, she didn’t want to be in this place any longer. This hospital where they never stopped asking if you’re alright and if you “just want to talk about it”.

  Well Fabiana didn’t want to talk about it. And as Dr. Walter stood in her room, her young, thin face seemed concerned about her new patient. She was carefully scrutinizing every gesture of this disheveled Italian woman while Fabiana fantasized about killing just one last time.

  “Fabiana, are you alright? Do you know where you are?” asked the doctor. “You’re at the Seattle Mental Health Hospital. Do you know why you’re here? Do you remember what you did? You were hysterical. It took six people to restrain you.”

  The doctor’s voice was smooth and calm as she spoke to Fabiana. It was infuriating. Fabiana would not give the doctor her eyes at first. She did not want the words that were coming at her, but the doctor, as nice as she was, would not stop recounting the events leading up to Fabiana’s hospitalization.

  “I was trying to warn them,” Fabiana told her, finally making eye contact. The look in Fabiana’s expression chilled the young doctor. At once, she wished she had not walked into the small room where she now stood with a cold, sharp feeling creeping up her neck. As the young patient looked at her with piercing eyes, the doctor wanted—no, needed—to know who Fabiana was talking about.

  “Warn who?”

  “Everyone,” Fabiana replied. “Forget it. It was stupid.”

  Fabiana wanted the conversation to discontinue, to just taper off. Again she took her eyes away. The doctor was making her feel uncomfortable. The room was making her feel uncomfortable. That cramped, impersonal room of white walls and linoleum floors felt as if it was getting sm
aller and smaller around her.

  “What were you trying to warn them about?”

  The doctor was being as nonaggressive as she could without giving into Fabiana’s desire for silence. Dr. Walter had been more than a little aware of the file on her new patient. Fabiana had suffered from delusions of immortality and had an uncanny ability of knowing when someone was being untruthful with her. In fact, at practically every turn, Fabiana was somehow able to get the upper hand with the physicians and orderlies that worked in her ward of the hospital.

  All Fabiana truly wanted was to be left alone. Really the only person she had a desire to see was the detective that had brought her here. Timothy Anderson. He came to see her often enough and was always happy when he got to talk with her.

  “Look, I get it.” Fabiana brought herself back to the matter at hand. “You think I’m crazy. If I were you, I’d think I was crazy too. But it’s all true,”

  Fabiana could read her new doctor’s every thought as she sat on the edge of her bed. She absent-mindedly fingered a ringlet of her black hair that was just as dark as it had always been when she lived in Hispania in the Empire of Rome over two thousand years ago.

  “It’s okay. You can tell me. I’m here to listen,” the doctor said, trying to persuade her to reveal a little more.

  Fabiana’s eyes narrowed into white slits and she looked into the doctor’s mind with little effort. Dr. Walter’s thoughts were a disjointed mix of personal strife and confusion over what she was listening to. It seemed clear that she did not truly believe Fabiana. Not really a surprise. No one believed her. She had gotten used to the feeble, closed minds around her.

  Fabiana leaned forward and talked very softly. The air chilled for the young doctor once more as Fabiana look at her again.

  “The end is coming… The apocalypse.”

  “Fabiana, I don’t like you talking so darkly. When our sense of reality is challenged—really challenged—it can take some time to regain our footing. Now, putting the weight of the world on your back will not help in your recovery. I’m concerned that you are so disturbed about such dark issues, Fabiana. Focusing on things like ‘the end of the world’ is not conducive to recovery. Getting better should be your number one goal. Don’t you want to get better and spend more time with your friend Timothy?”