Dawn's Darkest Hour

He pulled the locket out of its resting place deep in his pocket and turned it over and over between his fingers. "Yessette." The dainty filigree work on the locket's golden face was worn and weathered with time. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the locket, as it looked then, brand new, glittering on its blue bow encircling her long, graceful, neck. The locket rested in the hollow of her throat on a bed of creamy, white skin, the color of milk. For centuries, he'd mourned her. He thought she and the locket were hopelessly lost, buried beneath an ivy-covered grave, long forgotten by all, save him.

Bianca stood in the doorway, studying Carter. He looked lost in a world unto himself. His broad shoulders sagged beneath an unknown weight. Locks of blond waves, the pale shade of milkweed, highlighted his aquiline nose and tensed, rugged jaw. Realizing, she was there, he hurriedly stuffed the gold object into his pocket. His eyes, pale as a winter's sky and cold as an ice flue, pierced her through. She shivered imperceptibly from the chill of their stare. "The last of the men is in position. We'll get whoever is doing this."

Carter leveled his stare at Bianca. As always, she was completely immune to the glower in his eyes. After their time together, she'd gotten used to him and his moods. As to whether he trusted her or not? How far could a condemned man trust his cellmate? "I think we both know who is peddling blood for pennies."

Bianca nodded. She too had her suspicions. "The question is to what ends." She was back to busting her ass to earn Carter's trust. Her devil had taken on a new face, one wrapped in familiarity and beautiful as any angel. As to whose right hand she sat. It mattered not. The seat was still the same.

"That is the only reason O'Sullivan is still alive. It does no good to pull the scab off a wound if the body remains infected. I want to rid the body of the infection. Give him enough time and he'll do our job for us. In the mean time, just contain the damage." Carter stood and buttoned his black silk shirt. These days, he had little use for color, when his life was nothing but a bleak, empty void.

"So we wait?"

Carter nodded, "We wait and in the mean time clean up after him." He secured the heavy, black leather belt to his waist and slid his favorite dagger into its sheath on his hip. "One would think by now O'Sullivan would have learned not to step on his own dick. I can't get rid of him, not just yet though."

"You have something up your sleeve?" Bianca asked. The blade zipped past her ear so quickly that she hadn't had time to get out of its path. Not even one hair stray hair tickled the back of her neck. The point of the dagger landed in the thick, maple paneling of the door behind her with a heavy thud. Its onyx handle wobbled from the impact.

Carter casually walked around the desk and pulled the blade out of the paneling. He tossed the clip on earring back to Bianca. "Always." He returned the dagger to its hiding place up his sleeve and left, gently closing the door behind him. Better to have his enemies terrified of him than left to plot against him. There was only one thing Bianca valued in this life more than diamonds, money, or position, her pretty little head. She'd be wise to think twice before she crossed him, if she wanted to keep it.

Bianca caught the earring and glared at Carter as he closed the door. The jewel was intact, without so much as a scratch on the gold. With trembling fingers she felt her earlobe and clipped the earring into place. "Bastard."

Chapter 3

Shayla kept up a brave front and forced the frown into a smile. In fact, she went out of her way to smile. She invested all of her newly found free time in her son and made him the only man in her life. Shayla took care of her son and of herself. She ate, slept, and got out of bed to dress and carefully tame her silky black hair and apply a light layer of makeup, perhaps more religiously than she ever had before. No way was she going to slide headlong into a pit of despair and let herself go. She was handling the break up with the grace that only the dumped and unwanted can manage.

She wanted to give into a good old fashioned crying jag and binge on ice cream. But, she wasn't going to. If Carter didn't want her, that was ok. On the day he left, she promised herself not to waste one more tear on him. Was she ever going to work up the courage to go out on a date and allow some man to fill the empty void in her heart left by Carter's absence? Maybe. Someday.

The last thing she needed right now was another man to bring her down while she gave her all to build him up. Carter could give any excuse he wanted to for leaving. But, she knew the truth. He was afraid. He'd given her his heart and she had given him hers. That terrified him. Deep down she still loved him and always would.

Love was in full bloom all around her. Her sister, Ruby, had reconciled with her husband, Hanning, and they were a happy family again. Shayla was happy for them. Torr and Erica found one another after years of separation and were expecting their second child. Shayla wished them her best. But, for her, there was not much worthy of celebration. She had much to be thankful for and she was. The days were long and drawn out. The nights, almost painful, it was then, alone in her bed, that she missed Carter the most.

Carter was in her heart and in her head. In their short time together, they'd shared both body and soul. It hurt to have her love thrown back in her face because of his fear. She was surrounded by love, the love of her family and friends, but she didn't feel it. The only thing she did feel was the bleak emptiness of Carter's absence. In time, she'd been assured the emptiness would fade. Carter's awareness would no longer be hers. Inexorably linked as they were, she caught random glimpses into his life and felt his emotions as acutely as if they were her own. Perhaps, that was the most painful of all. As certain as she suffered in her silent longing for him, as deep as the chasm of her loneliness, so was his. He missed her too.

No amount of herbal tea was going to ease the ache that he left behind. No amount of time was going to patch the hole in her heart. She could be rid of him for once and for all. Sever the link completely. But, not without losing him all together. To her, it was better to have a tiny sliver of him in the dark shadowy regions of their combined consciousness than to lose him completely.

Chapter 4

O'Sullivan drummed his fingertips on his desk. He had so many worlds to conquer and so little time. Business was better than ever. Was humanity really that miserable? He chuckled silently. Of course they were. Otherwise, he might as well be peddling Popsicles from a cart in the middle of winter.

The strange journey to America's Heartland still plagued his mind. What were those people? They smelled unlike any other humans he'd ever encountered and so delicious. They were something beyond ordinary. Of that he had no doubt. The question was...what? He intended to find out. To solve his riddle, he needed cunning and more than a fair share of ingenuity. Both he had in abundant supply.

What of the little boy? Evan. What of the woman and the infant, that Carter should defend them so vehemently? There was definitely something about them. To find the answers would take time and patience. Luckily, after centuries of waiting he'd developed both into an art form. Finally, the pieces were starting to fall into place, after so very long. Soon enough, he'd have the pieces exactly where he wanted them. Finally, the game would at long last be over. Maybe he'd spare the trio, so close to Carter's stagnant heart. Just for fun, add them to his collection of things he'd taken from Carter over the centuries.

"You said we'd see Carter soon," A feminine voice pouted from the corner of the room.

"We will, Yessette. We will," O'Sullivan answered, condescendingly. He crossed the room and patted her little blonde head, gently he lifted her face to meet his eyes. "Now, don't I always keep my promises?"

Yessette beamed at his gesture. So rarely did he even acknowledge her presence anymore. "Yes, you do."

"Then you must be patient, for just a while longer."

Chapter 5

There were a lot of things that David had forgotten about high school. He didn't know if he so much forgot them or if he willingly had blanked them from his memory. The hallways were familiar to him. He knew what was beyond every corner. He found his classes easily enough. In ten years, the lay out of the building had not changed a bit. Nor had the stench of cafeteria food that always permeated the air or the smell of cheap industrial grade paint and floor wax.

He handed his admission slip to the teacher and watched her scribble her signature on the paper. Hastily, she mumbled something that resembled a welcome and pointed him to an empty seat in the back of the overcrowded classroom. David slid into his desk and scanned the students as they filed in and filled the vacant seats around him.

Being the new kid had its disadvantages. He was automatically an outcast. The school year had already begun two weeks prior and the social cliques had already filled their ranks. None of these kids looked like drug dealers. No one ran around with a neon sign over that pointed him out as the one he was looking for. He'd have better luck trying to find a needle in a haystack than to find a dealer in the designer jean clad youth of this school. Yet, one of them was the one he was looking for. He just needed an in.

He opened his textbook and flipped through the dog-eared pages stained with the sweat of dozens of scholars who had used the book prior to him. He really could care less about classical literature. But, he had to fake it until a means presented itself. He turned when he felt a gentle tug on the sleeve of his hoodie. "You can share my notes if you want."

David turned to his left and smiled at his helpful neighbor. "Thanks." Nervously, she twirled her blonde hair between her index and middle fingers. Her cheeks burned with a bright, pink blush that made her look even younger and definitely more innocent than her seventeen or eighteen years. She had big, round eyes, too heavily outlined with black eyeliner that did nothing but hide their green color. Her mouth was a cupid's bow, smothered by a thick layer of sticky gloss. Her cheeks were rounded with youth. She smelled of bubblegum and unlived dreams. She had yet to come into her own beauty as a woman. But, David could see it, hiding beneath the bad makeup and layers of baggy clothes.

"I'm Rachael."

"David." He scooted his desk closer to hers. Smiling at the cherry red blush that spread across her cheeks. Yet another reason to hate Bianca. He would have liked Rachael, back in the day. Maybe, might have even had a secret crush on her and admired her from afar. She represented every thing that had been robbed from him. Everything that he had been and would never be again. She was so damned young, like a rosebud in springtime, yet to unfold its petals to the sun.

Rachael felt the heat spread over her neck and across her cheeks. The new kid was so hot and he was copying her notes. He sat closer than any boy ever had to her. She pretended to pay attention to the teacher and coolly ignore him. But, she kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. Don't do or say anything stupid, she thought as his pencil scratched away on the paper. If she embarrassed herself in front of him, her life would be over.

David heard the rapid fluttering of Rachel's heart. Fresh blood sprinted to the surface of her skin through a network of dilated capillaries. God, he was hungry. The scent of her made his hunger all the more acute. He pushed the pencil as fast as it would go, copying her scrolling handwritten notes. Unwelcome fangs poked out from their hiding place in his upper jaw. He rammed the tip of his tongue against their sharp points and tried like hell to think of anything else but the smell of human blood.

Before he'd finished copying down the last sentence, he scooted his desk as far away from her as he could get. He sat, cockeyed in the middle of the aisle, willing his hunger to go away. He did not kill.

The pencil snapped under the strain of his grip and clattered noisily to the floor drawing all eyes to the back of the room. Pretending not to care that he'd interrupted a very bad rendition of Pride and Prejudice, he shrugged and bent to pick up the broken pieces. Thankfully, the bell rang before he blew his cover. He was up and out of his seat as quickly as he could go without tipping anybody off. He needed fresh air, lots and lots of fresh air.

Rachael slammed her book closed in dismay. He hadn't even bothered to give her a second glance, just like every other boy in the school. She shoved the book into her backpack and shuffled off to her next class. This was her final year of confinement in the wretched shit hole called Westville High. She couldn't wait for it to be over and her real life to begin.

Nora closed the planner on her desk and erased the chalkboard. The next hour was hers to do with what she wanted. She walked down the rows of desks and scooted the wayward seat back into the neat line along with the others. There was something about the new kid. Something that had her rattled and took her back to her high school days. He reminded her of somebody.

She couldn't remember everything to its exactness. One day he was in class sitting across the aisle from her and the next, he wasn't. He disappeared without a trace. His family tried, the senior class tried, the whole city rallied in the search. But, he was never found, almost as if he'd never existed at all. To her and a handful of others, he had though. She studied the name she'd scribbled in her roster. David Russ.

Quickly, she dismissed the whole thing as coincidence. They had the same unruly, wild shock of dark brown hair. They had the same wide cheekbones and pouting expression. They were similar in size and build. They had the same first name. But, David Russell, for all intensive purposes, was dead. The new kid, was just another student in the endless barrage of students that had came and went and would come and go over the course of her years as a teacher. Before she retired, many, many years from now, there'd be a long list of kids that would remind her of David either by physical attributes or mannerism. This kid was just the first.

Her mind ticked away ridiculous possibilities. What if? What if what? If David were alive, what were the odds that he'd look exactly as she remembered? He'd be ten years older and he certainly wouldn't be one of her students. She was being absolutely idiotic. But still, there was something about this kid. Something very different and very disturbing, she just couldn't quite put her finger on it yet.

David exhaled a relieved breath as the bell announcing lunch finally rang. His butt and his mind were completely numb. What were they teaching kids these days? That answer was easy enough. The same shit they'd tried to drill in his head ten years ago. He shuffled along with the rest of the herd into the cafeteria. The stench of food that had sat under warmers for far too long turned his gut inside out.

Through the large wall of plate glass windows the outside world beckoned. Sun glittered like diamonds off the shiny, metallic surfaces of parked cars. He'd just as soon skip the dried out scoop of something plopped onto his plastic plate and be out there rather than trapped in here with the alluring smell of fresh, untapped human blood. He pulled a crumpled five-dollar bill out of his wallet and paid for the heap of inedible food and promptly scrapped the contents of his tray into a smelly trashcan. He was starving. But it wasn't like he could eat what was on the school cafeteria's menu. Even if he could consume food, he wouldn't have eaten that wad of crap the cafeteria cooks passed off as lunch anyway.

Teachers were posed at the doors, idly chatting to one another as they guarded the only exit from this small portion of hell called the cafeteria. The tattered backpack made a hollow thump against the long bench seat at the back of the cafeteria. David pulled out his battered Econ book and flipped it open to a random page. When he'd been in high school he hadn't missed an assignment. Sometimes he even did extra credit to ensure his A average. He had plans back then. Get into a good college. Major in something meaningful. Find a job. A wife. Have the two kids and the picket fence. Live a moderately satisfying middle class existence...then die an old man in his bed. Boy, had those plans been flushed down the proverbial crapper. The spine of the book cracked in protest as he slammed it shut and shoved it back into his bag.

He glanced at the clock on the cinderblock wall. The color was almost as nauseating as the food. Piss yellow was not a color that inspired much of an appetite, in him at least. Blood red would have been better, as far as he was concerned. God, he was hungry. The students, the teachers, everyone in this godforsaken hellhole had no idea how much like sheep they really were. He could tear through the entire school and drain them all before anyone got the chance to call 911. The tips of his fangs sprung out of his gums, aching with the desire to put the thought into motion. Damn. He. Was. Hungry.

Intriguing as the thought of draining the entire senior class was. He reminded himself that he was here on a mission. Someone in this school was dealing in Pink. And someone was buying it. His job was to find out whom and put a stop to it.

Bits and pieces of meaningless conversations filtered into his range of hearing. He didn't give a damn about the blonde cheerleader or the outrageous boasts about her boyfriend's biggest attribute. He could give a crap less about the in depth discussion about the differences between warp drive and hyperspace. He didn't care about the teachers' plans to drink themselves into a coma after work tonight. None of this shit was relevant to what he wanted to know. Brooding and hungry, he pulled a notebook out of his backpack and doodled idly on the cover. In fifteen minutes, the bell would ring and the second half of his visit to purgatory would begin.

Chapter 6

Rachael closed the book she'd been pretending to read and glanced over at David. His long legs straddled the bench. His shoulders curved forweard in a slouch as he carelessly scribbled with a pen on the cover of his notebook. She liked that he was left handed, like her. He sat alone in a sparsely inhabited corner of the cafeteria. As the new kid he was the worst of the worst social outcasts. Worse than her even and that was a hard feat to accomplish.

She had no friends, to speak of. A few girls that copied off of her in Spanish class and the boy that shared her table in Biology, who happened to be a bigger social outcast than she was. As if such a thing were even possible. She pretended that she was ok with not having any friends and that somehow being a loner put her above the petty barbarism of high school societal cliques. She was, as her mother often put it, her own island. Not that high school mattered much to her. It was just one of the required tortures that her parents forced her to endure.

Just thinking of her mom and dad was enough to make her cringe. There was no way she was their biological daughter. Rod and Amy Taylor were perfect. Absolutely, nauseatingly, perfect. She'd begged her mother once to confess the truth. That she was adopted. After seeing hours of footage, her birth captured in dazzling color on an old VHS tape, Rachael never asked again.

Rod and Amy lived in the best house in the neighborhood. Rod and Amy had meaningful jobs. They drove the right cars. The Taylors hosted big parties and had important friends. Rod and Amy smiled fondly when they spoke of their high school glory days and didn't want their not so perfect daughter to miss a single second of the best days of her life. There really wasn't anything they could do about it though, not any more. She turned eighteen in September and she went to high school instead of taking the GED out of courtesy to them.