Sunday, February 3, 2013

Son of a Preacher Man: Hunter, part Five

Jack groans as he slowly rouses back into consciousness, glaring about the darkened room in search of something new to focus on. The room is fairly devoid of anything worth studying, save for a long table of instruments obviously designed for torture, as well as another prisoner hanging from the rafters by a set of verdigris ridden chains. The man, if you could even call him that even more, seems devoid of intellect, with glazed over eyes and no visible reactions to Jack’s questions throughout the day.

He merely hangs by his arms and stares off into his own little world.
A small machine is hooked up to his side, a tube running into a well-kept opening in his side, slowly pumping in with a low whir a nasty looking paste. Hanging from a pole, an empty bag is connected to him via an IV, set into a shunt that’s been shoved into the crook of his elbow. The brown stains within the bag, and around the shunt tell Jack that whatever is being pumped into the nearly comatose man is blood, fresh blood for the Vampire to drain.
How clever…
Jack twists and writhes, trying to loosen the grip the chains have about his wrists, to no avail. The Vampire had him bound up well and good.
What could the creature be playing at? He’d enlisted, or more likely enchanted, a young man to dress up like a werewolf to draw him out. That meant the Vampire was well aware of Jack’s existence, as well as his presence.
“Why didn’t he just kill me? Why go through all the trouble?” Jack mumbled to himself, his voice hoarse and dry.
“Because, you’re a rare treat.” Mumbled the other man, his voice as dry as aged paper. “He’s been feeding off of me for the last few months, keeping me alive for his own fucked up idea of justice.”
“Justice?” Jack repeated, now thoroughly confused. While not a novice when it came to hunting Vampires, he’d never had the chance to learn about what they did when they weren’t out killing and pillaging. They never seemed too interested in material goods, and almost never took captives.
Truth be told, Jack really didn’t know much about Vampires outside of how to hunt and kill them.
The emaciated prisoner continued on, head lolling about as he forced himself to stay awake. “Yeah… dirty Jew has me here as punishment, you see. He took me from my home in the dead of night after murdering a few of my friends. I woke up strung up like this, where he’s been pumping stolen blood into me in between his feedings.”
“Stolen blood? Who’s he been stealing the blood from?” Jack asked, desperate to try and figure out why this Vampire was acting so different from his brethren.
The man shrugged as best he could. “No idea mate, but he couldn’t have bought it or anything. I mean, who actually sells blood to a strange man?”
“You’d be surprised Oleg, you’d be surprised.” A voice echoed out from the shadows, an ebon figure melting away from the darkness to take on the shape of a thin man. As the inky night slipped away from him, pale skin began to gleam through the ebon curtain until the form of the Vampire was finally revealed, dressed in a simple if not well made black suit.
“Good evening to you too Shylock,” Oleg grunted, forcing his head to stare into the glowing eyes of the foul beast, “Here for another midnight snack?”
“Fortunately for you, I am. But I won’t be taking it from you.” The Vampire, Shylock, replied with a wide smile as he stared at Jack with a look full of hunger. “This one will be more than enough for the next few days, I should hope.”
“Fuck you!” Jack snarls, moving against the chains as best he could, the links straining against his wrists painfully as he lashed out with his legs.
“A tempting offer, but I’ll have to pass.” Shylock succinctly replies, his voice even and low. “I do have a few questions for you, provided you are interested in answering them for me?”
“Go to hell you piece of shit!” Jack answers with every bit of venom he can muster.
 “I thought that would be your answer… so I decided to take the necessary steps to motivate you.” Shylock replied without even a wayward twitch. Turning his head slightly to the side, he let out a low whistle, as if calling a dog.
Walking as if on numb legs, body quivering and shaking as she moved, came a little girl from the darkness. Eyes glazed over and arms held stiff at her sides, she looked every bit the image of innocence. Jack could see a faint flicker of fear behind her dull eyes, and seethed inwardly at how helpless he truly was.
“Meet little Holly. I borrowed her from her mother a few hours ago to help motivate you to answer the questions I have. I trust you understand the gravity of the situation now?” Shylock placed his spidery hand on her head, almost lovingly running his fingers over her hair.
“Why bother? You’ll just kill her after you kill me, right?” Jack growled.
“Heavens no, I would never stoop so low to slay a child.” Shylock replied as if insulted, pulling the dazed child close to his side. “She has her whole life ahead of her, plenty of time to grow into a suitable meal for me years from now.”
“Then what’s the threat here? If you don’t plan on killing her than how are you going to motivate me to spill my guts, eh?” Jack sneers, feeling as if he defeated the monsters heinous plan.
“I love your choice of words, dear hunter, I truly do.” Shylock smiles, revealing a mouth full of surprisingly normal looking teeth, all pearly white and gleaming in the darkness. Fishing into his pocket, he pulls a tarnished switchblade, casually flipping the rusted blade out of the sheath with a flick of the wrist, before pressing the weapon into the tiny girl’s hands. “No, I have no designs towards harming this child… my designs are for the child to harm you, should you choose not to be forthcoming with the answers I need.” 

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