Fanghunters Read online

  He stuffed his hands in pockets in a panic and rummaged. He found his wallet again, and... his fingers touched metal. He pulled his hand out to see his keys dangling from his grip. He closed his eyes and exhaled deep.

  About time I had some luck...

  He fanned the keys out, seeing one was for a Ford (I got a car? Shrug. Cool...). He picked the one that most looked like a door key, hoped for the best, and then pushed it in the lock. It slotted in smooth. He turned it and the door popped open, releasing the darkness beyond. He hesitated, took a peek into the slit he’d created, and then pushed the door open; he stood in the doorway like a phantasm. The dark hallway beyond stared back at him. He quickly stepped into the gloom, his feet landing on something soft. He looked down and saw the stacks of post underneath his sneakers; junk mail and letters addressed to him. Bills, statements, that kind of other junk.

  He chuckled and threw the door shut behind him. The faint musk of unaerated room hit his nostrils; the AC hadn’t been switched on in who knew how long... His sinus quickly adjusted and his hand instinctively moved to the section of the wall where the light switch was located. He found it and flicked it on, his eyes wide, his breath baited. The light came on and illuminated the hallway. Now, his head swam with memories. He was finally home, away from the madness; he’d be safe now.

  He staggered through his hallway like he’d just come back from a nightclub. He made it past the kitchen to the doorway on the right. He swung it open and flicked on the light inside. It was his bedroom, just how he left it. The first thing he laid eyes on was his bed; unkempt. There were clothes all over the floor, a set of dumbbells amongst them. He stared at everything in confusion. How did I end up in that basement? Who took me there? How did I find it?

  He wiped his grimy face and shook his head, unable to answer right then. He stepped back into the corridor and headed for the lounge. He pushed the door open and flicked the light on. His home. Just as it was. The TV, the sofa, coffee table, a laptop. His house plant needed watering. More bouts of déjà vu began smacking him from all angles and with it were fragments of life before the basement. Times he’d spent in this room, watching TV, surfing the web, eating lunch, drinking Bud. It became overwhelming. He went over to the sofa and collapsed into it, the weight finally off his feet. He rubbed his eyes. There were too many questions in his mind and not enough answers.

  Man, I could do with a drink...

  He got back to his feet and staggered to the kitchen. A pile of dirty dishes clogged the sink; empty takeaway packets lined the counter. He went to the fridge and opened her up. Waiting for him inside was a cold bottle of Bud, a rotten head of lettuce, long gone off bacon, and a half empty bottle of ketchup. He reached in, grabbed the Bud and held it up to his clammy face. It was cold, nice. He snapped the cap off with his teeth and took an immediate gulp. His taste bud memories were now racing as the cold beer flowed over his tongue. Man, how could he ever have chosen vampire venom over a cold Bud? How?

  He gasped at the refreshing taste. He nodded his head and held up his bottle to the grimy kitchen.

  “Welcome home, buddy,” he said with a rueful smile.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sleep wouldn’t come. Night crawled to dawn. Dom was sat on the couch in front of the blank TV, trembling, thinking about Eddie and Dad. He had to find them and try and explain to them where he’d been. They were probably looking for him, worrying, most likely resigned to the notion that he was dead.

  But, I’m alive and kicking, bro! I just feel, a little... crappy.

  It was the first time in who knew how long he hadn’t had a venom fix and already he was getting the shakes. He looked down at his trembling hands, that itch in his brain starting to gnaw again, starting to annoy. He found himself licking his dry lips in an obsessive compulsive fashion. His system wanted venom, but his soul didn’t. He ran his hands through his hair, brought them down his stubbled cheeks and chin, his stare fixed on the window. Outside, Chicago was starting to wake from its slumber. More and more cars were now running through the streets, the blare of cop sirens replacing the scant birdsong of the previous hour. Welcome back home, Dom; the city, the hive. At least down in the basement he was in his own isolated womb, cocooned from the concrete jungle.

  The city sounds continued to buzz in his head like flies while the cravings for venom got worse. He needed to get off the couch and do something. Eddie and Dad popped in his head again. His heart grew heavy. He wished he could contact them, could remember where they lived, their cell numbers, something. Anything. He’d scoured the apartment for an old cell that might be lying around, but there was nothing. There wasn’t even a trace of any of them on any social websites. It was like they’d all disappeared. All three of them.

  He grabbed his head again and clawed at it, wishing for assistance from somewhere. Anywhere.

  Come on, dude, you mean you can’t even remember where you grew up? Man, that venom must’ve really did the trick, huh?

  Come on, think, think, think...

  Then like divine intervention, something popped into head, those old, deep rooted memories dredging up from the black hole kicking in again: 58 Bachman Road.

  He nodded slowly. Yeah. Yeah, that’s Dad’s address...

  My old address.

  He stared at the TV with a slack jaw, the frown embedded in his face staring back at him from the blank screen. Yeah, that was where he grew up. 58 Bachman Road. Edgewater. North Side.

  His jaw raised itself back up into a grin. He chuckled. Good work, buddy. Now, let’s go find Dad.

  He checked the time. 6:34 am. Not too early for a surprise visit. He shot up from the couch, venom cravings and shakes suddenly a distant memory.

  Within twenty seconds, he was out the front door.

  *****

  He found his beat-up Ford parked in the small parking bay adjacent to the apartment block. It needed a clean, but that wasn’t important right then. He got in, and at any other time, that homely feeling would’ve engulfed him once more, but other things were at the front of his mind. He started her up, pulled out, and hit the road. Acting on instinct, he crossed the streets of Chicago, a hot excitement coursing through him. On his way, he cut off a couple of drivers to the sound of their horns. The noise passed right over his head. He was eager to get round to Dad’s, eager to hug him, eager to see the look on his face once his son turned up at the front door. He tapped the steering wheel with anxiety while waiting at reds, took any shortcuts he recalled, overtook any dawdling cars. He wanted his normal life back and there wasn’t any time to waste.

  Eventually, he reached Edgewater and he turned into Bachman Road, the road he grew up on. The familiarity intensified as he rolled along the street, his heart hammering, until finally, he pulled up outside 58. He parked, killed the engine, and stared at the house with baited breath.

  We’re here, buddy...

  He nodded and smiled.

  Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation? Go see Dad.

  He jumped out the car, throwing the door shut behind him. He sucked in a huge breath as he jogged up the path, the grass either side of it neatly trimmed, just how Dad always liked to keep it. Now there were no nerves. It was pure excitement surging through him. It fizzed through his stomach like electric eels. He neatened his hair and his dirty clothes.

  How am I gonna explain where I’ve been?

  The question suddenly popped in his mind, bringing with it a slight dread. Yeah, how was he gonna explain all this off?

  It’s not the time, Dom. First, make contact with Dad. All that other stuff is for later.

  Good thinking...

  He slowed as he reached the porch. He stepped up to the front door, butterflies now fluttering freely in his stomach, half from nerves, half from excitement. He knocked on the doorbell and the door duly opened. He threw on a smile, just for Dad.

  The door swung wide, and Dom was ready to embrace his dad and let the tears flow, and tell him how glad he was to see him, and how
much he’d missed him, and—

  But, instead, his eyes fell upon a stranger. A younger man than Dad. But, not much younger. Dom flinched in surprise. He frowned, just as the man standing in the doorway frowned too.

  Dom went to speak, but no words came out.

  “Yes?” the man at the door asked.

  Dom looked him up and down as if hoping it really was Dad, but he knew it wasn’t. He knew. He cleared his throat. “I’m, er... looking for John Dempsey,” he said to the bemused man at the door.

  The man shook his head in response. “Dempsey, Dempsey…” he repeated to himself while he searched his memory banks.

  Dom watched him, a deep sense of anticlimax setting in.

  Then a sudden spark seemed to go off in the guy’s head. His eyes widened. “Oh, you mean the people who lived here before we moved in, right?”

  Before...?

  “Er... I guess so,” Dom tentatively replied.

  The man shook his head, a look of sympathy now emerging on his face. “They left, son,” he told him. “Sorry.”

  Dom looked down at his feet, devastated. “Oh. Okay, thanks...”

  “Relatives?”

  Dom looked up to meet his eyes. “My family.”

  Now the man at the door looked down. “Oh.”

  “I... lost contact with them. You don’t know where they went do you?”

  The man shook his head. “Sorry, son. I don’t...”

  Dom nodded his head in understanding. “Well, thanks anyway. Sorry to disturb you.”

  “No problem. Hope you find them.”

  “Yeah...” Dom said with a disappointed sigh. He turned away, taking in a lungful of air. He looked up at the grey sky, just as he heard the door close behind him. He promised he’d find them. He promised.

  He trudged back to his car, his shoulders slumped as if God had just thrown a cinder block on each one.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The rest of the week was a frenzy of venom withdrawal. He paced around the apartment in a hot fugue, desperate to work out his next move. The venom cravings weren’t making it easy; they were too strong, too hard, especially at night. His skin itched, his brain demanded like a spoiled brat. The saving grace was that venom wasn’t readily available as say booze or smack. In Chicago, it was easy to score an eight-ball of coke, but vampire venom? That was a little more tricky.

  He knew a place where he could get a fix, though...

  He was perched on the edge of his bed, rubbing his upper arms, a chill coursing through him as the venom hunger bit once more. He rocked back and forth, his mind urging him to make the trip. Go back across town to that basement. Knock on the door, say sorry you messed up, you won’t do it again, just calm that itch...

  It would be easy. Hey, if he said it nice enough, the father might even give him a double dose. His eyes rolled to the ceiling. That would be nice... He’d have to apologize to the guy he cracked a bottle over too. Hopefully, he didn’t hold grudges...

  He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He knew it was a bad idea. He’d managed by some stroke of good fortune to get the hell outta there, and now he was contemplating going back? Was he crazy? The cold truth was that he had nothing to get the hell outta there for. Dad and Eddie were gone, nowhere to be found. Not a trace and he had no idea where to find them. He had no cash, no job to go back to, and an irate landlord demanding payment or it was cardboard city time. Maybe that basement was all he had, maybe that was why he ended up there in the first place. The only refuge for a loser like him. At least there he had a permanent home, a purpose, a function. At least there was someone there who loved him. The Father. And at least Dom loved him back. Well, the venom part at least. The venom destroyed all the negative crap in his life, blotted over it like a kid with a crayon. He didn’t know how long he could last living with the itch and nothing else going on in his life.

  He flopped back on his bed and sighed, rubbing his hot eyes. All the while, that itch was gnawing away at him. Go back there. Just go back, there’s nothing for you here. The Father needs you. He wants you. He loves you. Just go and wash the pain away, take the itch away. Go back to where you were happy. Go back. Go back. Go back...

  And never leave.

  Dom’s eyes snapped open to a gloomy room. He shot up to his feet and marched to the front door.

  *****

  Nightfall descended by the time he reached the basement.

  The whole journey he felt like a junkie gagging for a fix. The edginess, the anxiety had engulfed him and he was biting his nails, his eyes darting everywhere, taking in everything. He walked with a purpose, his stride rapid and unflinching. It was the journey he’d made the night he escaped but in reverse. Anticipation had been rising in his stomach from the moment he left the apartment block. It had grown and blossomed the closer he got to that basement. Entwined with it was a depressing resignation. A sense of failure; he’d managed to break his binds, now his situation was so desperate, he was willing to run and have them tied back on. He watched Chicago pass by with heavy eyes.

  At least I won’t have to worry about anything...

  I got nothing to live for anyways...

  The bus dropped him off at Oakland, just as a shower of rain began pounding the surrounding concrete. He trotted off down the streets, hoping the Father wouldn’t be too angry with him. The degradation greeted him like a brother; like Eddie would have if he could’ve found him.

  No such luck, buddy. Eddie’s probably as dead as you by now.

  He turned onto Matheson, knowing that was the street where the basement was. He passed by derelict homes, boarded up windows, trash covered sidewalk. He stepped through it all, what was once a thriving hub of life, now a dead zone of destitute poverty.

  Man, what happened to this city?

  I don’t care anymore. Not my problem. It’s all over for me.

  He stopped dead, and keeping his head bowed, took in a deep breath of dirty air.

  He was home. His real home. He slowly turned his head to the side, to be greeted by the building that stood atop the basement. His basement. His home...

  He stepped up to the railings and took hold of them; they were icy. He moved to the head of the steps leading down to that basement and peered into the darkness below. He took a look around. The coast was clear. Just a rain-swept, dirty street. He set off down the steps, his feet scratching across the cement, the sound echoing all around him. The darkness swallowed him once he reached the foot of the steps. He stood amongst the wet trash, the sound of falling rain hammering all around him while he stared at the door leading to the basement. He reached out a trembling hand for the handle, hoping it wasn’t locked. It wasn’t. The door came open, releasing more darkness from beyond. He became still, his heart stopping dead.

  Once you go through this door, there’s no turning back.

  He closed his eyes, the venom cravings fizzing behind his eyelids.

  He nodded. I know. I know...

  Time to say goodbye to the world...

  He threw his eyes open, then the door; it swung away with a loud creak. He stood in the doorway, his chest puffed out, his arms outstretched, the rain pounding down around him. His wide eyes took in the whole scene, with the expectation of falling upon the Father and the other fanghead, who’d welcome him home.

  They searched the whole room. It was empty.

  Dom’s jaw dropped. No...

  He stepped drunkenly into the basement, his head rolling in its socket. “Father?” he said in a loud voice. He was answered by silence.

  A familiar musk hit his nostrils and his head began swimming. “Father!” he repeated, but his voice was wavering.

  He threw out a hand, finding the light switch. He flicked it on. The hollow chamber lit up in an instant. His pupils adjusted. A horrible anti-climax set in, just like back in Bachman Road. He looked around; the floor was smothered with the usual litter: hamburger cartons, soda cups, torn remnants of old clothes. His eyes fell upon the old septic tank. The
Father’s crypt. He darted over to it, with an involuntary gasp. He gripped its edges and looked into it, hope rising inside his chest. It all came crashing down once he saw that it was empty. Crestfallen, he turned away and faced the litter-strewn floor. He surveyed it with apathetic eyes. They were gone. And so was his last chance...

  Something by his feet caught his attention. He frowned. He craned his neck in closer, then bent down on his haunches. He stared down at the pieces of torn photo strewn over the ground. With a trembling finger, he picked a piece up and held it to the light. Caught in the section of torn photo was Dad; Dad’s smiling face in the sunshine. Something then displaced the gnawing anxiety in Dom’s heart. Love. Love for Dad. His lips trembled alongside his hand as he wiped a tear from his eye. Was he really alone in this world? Where was Dad? Where was Eddie? He rummaged around, finding more torn photo. He found pieces of Eddie. While he stared at his smiling brother, his fingers fell upon the dog tag hanging around his neck. Somewhere, somewhere out there Eddie had a similar tag around his neck. Brothers.

  Where are you, little guy? Where are you?

  He suddenly gripped the dog tag tight, just as more tears squeezed from between his eyelids.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  He got back to his apartment once more, weariness and dejection usurping the venom cravings. He opened the door to find a letter lying on the doormat. Dom picked it up and checked the front. Written on it in hard block capitals was: ‘MR DOMINIC DEMPSEY’. Dom opened it up and removed the letter. He knew straight away it was something angry. ‘NOTICE OF EVICTION’ it read.

  And it didn’t get any better.

  ‘To Mr. Dominic Dempsey. Notice is hereby given that you are in default in payment of rent. You are hereby required to pay the amount of rent due, or to leave the premises within seven (7) days after the service of this notice.