King's Blood: Vampire Lust (A Serial Novel, Part 3) by Day P.J

Author:Day, P.J. [Day, P.J.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Published: 2012-04-08T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Five

I felt a deep resonant pressure on my chest, my head, all down through my waist and my legs, the weight cemented me into the bed. Something held my lips apart, like tiny clamps. One by one, stretching and pulling on my cheeks. A shadowy oval hovered over my head, unknown at first, familiar on direct approach. Milton’s gleaming eyes were dark as onyx, as deep as the Mariana Trench.

“Hello, Jack. Sorry about your unsuccessful night.”

I couldn’t speak, since my tongue was wiggling freely in space.

“I want to apologize about the other night. It was, well, very, very messy.”

My panicked eyes, the only communication tools at my disposal, darted left to right, as I scanned for my exact whereabouts.

“Your friend is either an idiot or just too damn loyal for his own good.”

I tried yelling at Milton. Only sounds of incoherence and primal panic were produced, as I continued to be incapacitated.

“See, there is a giant miscommunication. I mean, I’m trying my best here. Scaring you like we did last time didn’t help. We attempted to marinate into your hopes, dreams, desires and all that did was send us down the wrong path. We tapped into your subconscious, learned a few things about you, but it has made matters worse,” he said, in his squeaky child-like voice, but with the inflections of an intelligent man three times his age.

There was a faint melody beginning to play in the background.

“Ignore that, please!” Milton yelled, as he rolled his eyes. “As I was saying, there is some potential here for a mutual benefit. We can tell you things that would change your life, and in exchange you can tell us about the...”

The melody grew even louder, Forget about your house of cards, and I’ll do mine repeating itself seemingly in a loop, ad nauseum.

“...dammit, stay with me, Jack. Listen, this can work...”

The infrastructure will collapse, voltage spikes...

Surprisingly, Thom Yorke’s haunting snarls sounded extremely intelligible in my imprisoned state.

“Your REM cycle is a piece of shit, you know that. You average around a couple minutes of it and then it’s over, you wake up...” Milton stated, in rapid frustration. He continued, this time, his voice trailing off, consumed and overtaken by the the song. “The cormorant...the neck squeezed...stay away...” Milton’s voice first relegated to a dull faint, then to nothing, and suddenly, an overwhelming swoosh.

I woke up drenched. I coughed. My phone played Radiohead’s “House of Cards” for another five seconds, then it stopped. Sure as hell, I never chose that song as a ringtone. Holly slowly rolled over and with squinty, morning eyes asked, “Everything okay, did you have a nightmare?”

“I hope so,” I said.

“God, my head,” Holly complained, grabbing her head and slamming it back down on her pillow.

My phone annoyingly rang again, potentially making me do the unthinkable to one of Radiohead’s most majestic tunes; deleting the fuck out of it from my phone.

I jumped out of bed, the clock said 7:15 a.m., way too early for my blood. It was Alan.

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