The Life, Death, Life, Life and Death of Martin Keller (Dark Season V) Read online

  Dark Season V: The Life, Death, Life, Life and Death of Martin Keller

  by Amy Cross

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright Amy Cross, All Rights Reserved

  Published by Dark Season Books

  This edition released: December 2011

  http://amycrossbooks.wordpress.com

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment. If you enjoy it and wish to share it with others, please consider buying them their own copy. Feedback is always welcome, either in the form of Amazon reviews or at the website listed above. The author reserves all rights in respect of this work.

  Prologue

  My eyes open themselves.

  How long have I been sleeping? It feels like... years and years. Perhaps it has been even longer. I’m still not quite awake. I have to clear my mind, I have to remember where I’m supposed to be. Didn’t I leave myself a clue somewhere?

  I turn to look across the room. That’s good: I can still move my body. I was scared that... Wait, what was I scared of? I remember now... I was scared that the operation would destroy my body, that I would wake up crippled or that I wouldn’t wake up at all. But I seem to be alive.

  The question is: was the operation a success?

  I feel something rising up through my body. Something familiar. What is it? It’s a sensation I’ve known before, many times. It’s flooding my body, but I can’t remember what it is. Does it have a name? Yes, I remember now: pain. I’m feeling pain. The most intense, excruciating pain I could ever imagine, all through my body.

  I’m alive...

  I scream, and my voice is so loud that it scares me. It sounds as if there has been no noise in this room for so long. I keep screaming and screaming, aware that this is the only possible response to the agony that has taken hold of my entire body.

  I look down at my arms. Where I was once a small, skinny man, now I have huge muscles, held together with metal clips and stitches.

  What have they done to me?

  I hear a noise nearby, the sound of someone running over to my bed. I stop screaming and look down, just in time to see a large syringe rammed into my arm. After a moment, the pain starts to subside. I look up at the nurse and see her back away in shock.

  What do I look like? What have they done to me?

  “Mr. Keller,” says a voice. I turn to see Dr. Graves standing by my bed. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” he continues. “The most important thing is that the operation was a complete success. You...” He pauses and looks at the rest of my body. “You have exactly what you wanted”.

  I try to speak, but I can only nod.

  “The wound are healing,” Dr. Graves continues, “and there are no infections so far. I anticipate that you will be able to leave the facility within five or six weeks. Until then, you will need lots of rest and some therapy to help you regain the use of your body. As we discussed previously, none of this is going to be easy. And the pain will be extreme. Even morphine...” He seems nervous, almost scared. “Even morphine will not be able to hold it back for long. You will spend at least the next two weeks in unbearable agony. But you will survive”.

  I nod again. I know all of this. We discussed the operation extensively for months before he agreed to start cutting me up. He insisted over and over again that he had ethical concerns with carrying out such a procedure. I simply raised the price I was willing to pay him. One million dollars, then five million, then ten million. Eventually I offered him thirty million dollars and his ‘ethical concerns’ were miraculously eased. I was under his knife the very next day, just as soon as the money had cleared into his offshore account.

  All of that seems so long ago.

  I feel the pain starting to come back, starting to fill my body once again. It’s like a wave heading for shore, ready to break at any moment.

  “I can’t help you,” says Dr. Graves, clearly seeing that I am starting to tense my body against the oncoming agony. “You’ll just have to accept the pain for the next couple of weeks. I’ll monitor you twenty-four hours a day, and we’ll talk when you are ready”.

  The pain is stronger than ever. Although I clench my teeth, eventually I have to scream. But as the scream fills the room and Dr. Graves retreats, my mind is filled with a single, clear image: the last vampire, Patrick, with his neck being crushed in my hands, before I sink my teeth into his veins and suck out every drop of blood in his body. I have waited so long for victory; I can wait a few more months. But I finally have what I need: I finally have the weapons that will destroy him.

  My name is Martin Keller. I have killed thousands of vampires. One more to go...

  1

  “Who is that guy?” Shelley asks, squinting at something out the window.

  “Who?” I ask, turning to see a man sitting in a car on the other side of the road.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Perhaps he’s someone sitting innocently in his car?”

  Shelley shakes her head. She's always pretty paranoid, but this is worse than usual. “He was doing exactly the same thing when we were at the library earlier. He was sitting outside, watching us going in and out. And I saw him yesterday too, watching us in the park”. She turns to me. “I’m being followed!”

  “Or I am,” I say.

  Shelley laughs. “You’re not the one who’s investigating a mystery”.

  I give her a WTF look.

  “You know that haunted house?” she asks, staring out the window of the cafe at the man she believes is following her. “Someone lives there now”. She turns to me. “Someone moved in last week, and get this... Apparently it’s the person who used to live there years ago. Imagine that: moving back to a haunted house that you ran away from when you were younger. What kind of fucked up crazy kind of thing to do is that?”

  “Very,” I say, not really paying attention.

  “The lights are on, and people go in and out late at night,” she continues. “During the day it still looks abandoned, but there’s stuff going on after it gets dark, like -”

  “Wait,” I say, “are you stalking this person?”

  Shelley looks slightly offended by the suggestion. “Not stalking,” she says, “investigating. I’m investigating, to see what’s going on. If I don’t, who will?”

  I nod. “You’re right,” I say. “If you weren’t standing under a tree across the road, watching this house day in and day out, noting down details of even the most boring things... no-one would be doing it. Thank God for you, Shelley”.

  She stirs her milkshake with a straw. “Don’t think I miss your sarcasm,” she says. “But crazy shit happens all the time, and they rely on the fact that no-one’s watching what they’re doing. They rely on the nonchalance of people like you, Sophie!”

  “Well if only there were more crazy people like you,” I say.

  “It’s not just me,” she says. “Rob helps”.

  I open my mouth to say something witty and incisive, but I decide to hold back. After all, some targets are just too easy. “Glad you’re keeping busy,” I say. And the truth is, if all of this had happened a year ago, I’d have been right there with Shelley, helping her out. These days, however, I have other things on my mind. Real things, like vampires and werewolves and things that go bump in the night.

  I glance out the window. The man is still sitting in his car. Shelley’s right about one thing: he does seem to appear wherever we are these days. In fact, I think I saw him near my house this morning...

  “You want anything else?” asks the waitress, who has come over to our table.


  “No thanks,” I say, before Shelley can order another huge milkshake. “I have to get going. Just the bill please”.

  “Bill’s been paid for you,” says the waitress.

  Shelley and I exchange a puzzled glance.

  “By who?” I ask.

  The waitress shrugs, then drops the receipt on the table. “Someone phoned it in,” she says. “Fuck knows who. Wish they’d start picking up my tab”.

  I take the receipt and look at it. Realising that there’s something written on the back, I turn it over. Scrawled in barely legible handwriting is a simple phrase:

  We need you.

  I stare at it for a moment. There’s only one person this could be. I crumple the receipt up and put it in my pocket.

  “I’ve really got to go,” I say to Shelley, standing up. “Seeya tomorrow”. I grab my coat and rush out, half walking and half running along the street. After all, I’ve never been summoned by Vincent and Patrick like this before. This is the first time they’ve ever seemed to actually need me to turn up. Why didn’t they just come and find me like they usually do?

  As I turn the corner and head towards the road that leads to the forest, my excitement dips a little and I can’t help wondering if something is terribly wrong. And there’s something else: I’m pretty sure I’m being followed.

  2

  Blood pours from his face, from the hole I punched in the front of his skull. I look down at my hands, which are covered in little shards of broken bone mixed in with mashed flesh. Feeling a little pity for him, I let go of his head and, once he has dropped to the ground, I step on his skull and completely crush it.

  Humans are pitiful things. I realise that now, having been one. They die so easily. When I was a human, I never thought about strength and power. But now, with these implants in my muscles, I am stronger than any human could ever imagine. And with the syringes in my mouth, I am deadly, able to kill with a single bite. Okay, I’m still not quite a vampire, but I will be one soon, once I have got hold of the dead body of the last vampire.

  I will rip that body apart for its secrets.

  I look down at the body of Dr. Graves, and I immediately feel regret. I should never have been so merciful, not after what he did to me. I should have drawn out his pain, I should have made him suffer for many hours. Instead, I ended his life fairly quickly. Should I have killed him at all? It occurs to met that he might still have been useful one day. But perhaps when the pain has subsided, I will think differently. After all, Dr. Graves was the only surgeon who was willing to help me. I look down at his destroyed head. Was I too quick to punish him?

  I walk through to the hospital’s main corridor. Everyone has evacuated. They heard rumours that I was up and awake, and they wisely decided not to hang around. For months, they had been hearing rumours about me. I even heard some of them talking one day, outside my window. They were discussing the ‘monster’ and ‘superman’ in room 406. They talked in hushed tones, as if the mere mention of my name might bring my vengeance to them. Now they have run at the first sound of my name. It’s a shame I won’t have more targets to kill, to test my new strength. But there’ll be time for that later.

  I go through to a bathroom and find a mirror. Shockingly, my face looks almost completely normal. But then it was never my face that needed help. I look down at my arms, which show the full extent of the brutality to which the surgery exposed me. Criss-crossing both arms are scores of broken lines, with small metal staples holding together pieces of skin and flesh. In some places, gaps briefly open to show exposed bone. I will have to get used to this. All of this is my life now.

  But it’s what I wanted, isn’t it?

  I move my face closer to the mirror. I am preparing to smile, even though I fear what I might see. Nevertheless, now is not the time for timidity. I crack the biggest, widest smile possible, and immediately I see that the main part of the operation has been a success. Although my brain is wracked with agony, I cannot help but feel a little pleasure at what I see reflected back at me.

  I am ready now. Ready to fight again. All that remains is to find him.

  I hear a noise in the next room. I walk through and find myself in the kitchen. At first, I assume I was mistaken. But then I hear something in the room with me. Something breathing. I walk around the room and eventually I find a young female nurse cowering on the floor. She looks up at me, terrified.

  I recognise her. She bathed me sometimes. She showed me exceptional care, and she was quite tender at times. I came to like her. But this is a test. If I do not kill this human, I will never be able to say that I have broken free of the spell of humanity.

  I look into her eyes for a moment. And once I have fully embraced her fear, I raise a foot and stamp down on her face. My foot goes straight through her skull and out the other side. I am astonished, once again, by my strength. I knew that I would have enhanced abilities after the operation, but the results are stunning. I can kill a human with such ease, as if they are bugs.

  And let’s face it, they are bugs.

  I am no longer a human. I am so close to being a vampire, it thrills me to think of the strength I shall demonstrate. I have turned my back on humanity and I have become a superior being. All humans now appear weak and dull to me, and vampires are - almost - my equal. And once I have killed the last vampire, I will be the only one left, and I will be the seed for a new vampire race.

  3

  Once I head into the forest, I seem to lose the person who’s following me. I keep glancing over my shoulder, but there’s no sign of anyone. Nevertheless, it’s hard to shake the feeling that some set of unknown eyes is keeping watch over me. Being ultra paranoid, I even keep glancing up at the sky, expecting to see a helicopter or a drone, but again - nothing. So I’m pretty sure that whoever’s following me is elsewhere for now, perhaps cursing himself for losing his target. I relax a little. Still, the mere fact that someone is on my trail means that something’s not right.

  After a while, I jump down a small ridge in the forest floor and wait. If someone’s following me, I should see them come straight past on my tail. But after a good five minutes, there’s no sign of anyone. I start to relax. Although I clearly need to remain paranoid, it’s probably safe to carry on.

  I reach the entrance to the tunnel, ready to head underground to Patrick and Vincent’s home. First, I take one last look around at the forest behind me. I’m checking for anything unusual, anything that hints someone might be watching. But there’s nothing. If I really was being followed, I’m pretty sure they didn’t bother following me all the way into the forest. They probably figure this is the last place they’d catch me doing anything interesting.

  They’d be wrong.

  I head down the tunnel and eventually I reach the chamber where Patrick and Vincent’s house sits. The house literally fell from a street above, coming through a sink-hole and landing in the cavern. Clambering over the rocks, I get to the house and head into the study, expecting to find Vincent waiting for me.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask as I walk in. “I think someone -”

  I stop dead in my tracks.

  A man turns and smiles. But it’s not Vincent, and it’s not Patrick. It’s a tall, handsome man in his 30s, maybe a young-looking 40s, wearing a neat suit. He looks like some kind of government agent, except something about his smile tells me he’s no such thing.

  “Sophie Hart,” the man says with a slightly harsh, gravelly voice. He steps towards me and reaches out to shake my hand. “I’ve been dying to meet you”.

  I stare at his hand, which he withdraws when he realises I’m not going to shake it. He’s still smiling, which unnerves me. I immediately start trying to work out what’s happening. Who is this guy? What’s he doing down here? I thought I was the only one who knew about Vincent and Patrick...

  Something is seriously, seriously wrong here.

  “I’m sorry,” says the man, turning on the charm in an attempt to get me to relax. “I expect this is a
surprise. Let me introduce myself properly. My name is Martin Keller, I’m a... Well, I’ve known Vincent and Patrick for many years”. He takes a deep breath, keeping his eyes fixed on me. “I must be honest, I’m almost offended at the thought that they never mentioned me”.

  I nod slowly, already planning my escape. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong, this guy shouldn’t be down here.

  “I’ll be straight with you,” he says. “I didn’t realise you were so... quiet. Don’t you have any questions?” He stares at me. “You know, if you don’t say something soon, you’ll really start reminding me of good old Patrick”.

  “Got to go,” I say, turning to leave, but I feel his firm grip on my arm, holding me back.

  “You’re completely free to go,” he says. “But I must insist you answer one question”. He tightens his grip a little. “Where are they?”

  He’s leaning in close now.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, immediately realising how unrealistic that sounds.

  “Patrick,” Keller says. “The vampire who lost his tongue. And his father, or... the man who acts as if he’s his father. Of course, Vincent isn’t Patrick’s father at all, is he? In fact, it might be more appropriate to say that Vincent is Patrick’s son”.

  I can’t take all of this in. Vincent’s an old man. He’s Patrick’s father. That’s what they’ve always told me...

  “You seem surprised,” says Keller. “Could it be that the vampire and his child haven’t been entirely honest with you?” He’s still gripping my arm firmly, forcing me to stay. “That must hurt. To find that you’ve been lied to all this time”.

  Nice try, but I know what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to make me question my loyalty to Vincent and Patrick. But why? What does he want?

  “Think about it,” says Keller, letting me go. “If you want to talk, I’ll be right here. Just come and find me any time, okay?”