Vampire (van Helsing Diaries Book 1) by Cawdron Peter

Author:Cawdron, Peter [Cawdron, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2015-08-21T16:00:00+00:00

Dracula

Bram Stoker

Ellison lowers his head, acting more like a petulant child than an adult. His mood swings are alarming, even for someone with schizophrenia, especially as at the moment his moods seem to relate to the same persona.

I flick through the book. Several sections have been underlined. Notes have been scrawled in the margin.

“Can I borrow this?”

“No,” Ellison replies, but I’m not talking to him, I’m facing the deputy warden.

“If you think it will help,” he says.

“I think it will,” I say, backing away from Ellison.

“No, please,” he pleads as several of the guards come up beside me. “Please don’t.”

Suddenly, Ellison is deceptively calm, appealing to my reason.

“It’s mine. It’s my only book.”

“I’ll bring it back,” I say. “I promise.”

And his visage changes. Rage floods his face. His muscles flex and his face hardens.

Ellison lunges at me.

The guard next to me fires his Taser.

Ellison staggers back. Metal prongs tear through his shirt, sinking into his chest. A dull buzz emanates from the gun, but Ellison will not be deterred. He races forward with his hands reaching for me. Another guard fires, and a third.

“It’s mine!” he yells, falling to his knees and shaking with the shock of the Tasers, but he refuses to collapse to the cold wooden floor. “Mine!”

“We need to get you out of here,” the deputy warden says, taking me by the arm and rushing me to the door.

“MINE!” Ellison yells, as several guards beat him with batons. It’s as though he feels no pain. He doesn’t seem to realize they’re there, let alone that they are hammering him with hardened wooden batons. He keeps calling out, “It’s mine. You can’t have it.”

Beyond the gym, the prison is in an uproar. Prisoners bang on steel doors and rattle bars. Hands reach for me as I’m dragged down the corridor by the deputy warden, marching at a frantic pace. He escorts me through the guardhouse and out past the checkpoint into the entryway. Even from where we are, I can hear the prisoners yelling.

“That damn book had better be worth it,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say as he walks off, but my words are meaningless to a man trying to prevent a riot. He’s on the radio instructing the guards to get everyone back in their cells. Our wing was closed, but the unrest seems to have spread like wildfire to the other sections of the prison.

“I’m sorry,” I offer, but he’s already out of earshot.

I gather my belongings from the security desk and head out into the parking lot. Snow whips across the ground, carried by a stiff wind. Perhaps I’m imagining it, but I swear I can hear the howl of a wolf in the distance.

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