Tears of No Return (6 page)

“This is a chance to redeem yourself. Don’t screw it up. You’ll be helping to fight a greater cause.” The scientist sprang up and out of his seat. “It was great to meet you, I mean the real you. I never liked that nasty vampire in you one bit.” He giggled again. The man’s demeanor was catchy and Morgan felt himself wanting to laugh in response. The man headed towards the cell’s door.

“Hey,” Morgan called. “What’s your name?”

“Doctor George Rivera, right here on my nametag.” He pointed at his chest. “We’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

***

Through the coming weeks and into the following years, George Rivera and Morgan became more than just handler and soldier; they were family.

George was Morgan’s sole contact and the only person he reported to; visiting The Murphy Group lab only for routine checkups. They met once a week when Morgan was within reasonable distance while working, and once a month when he was on a long distance assignment. He was never without contact for long.

During Morgan’s down time or while waiting for the next assignment, he would stay at George’s home. The two friends—for that’s what their relationship grew into—talked about assignments, but more often Morgan would share his many confrontations with everyday people, vampires, witches, and monsters, giving George no need to visit the local movie theater. One day on a routine check-in with his handler, the doc had good news.

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I’ve been working on a permanent cure for you.” George said between sips of tea.

“Are you serious?” Morgan asked, practically jumping out of his seat.

“Relax. I’ve had some breakthroughs and feel I’m getting close. I’ve been trying to contact the priest who changed you, but haven’t been able to yet. He comes from a small order based in the Himalayan Mountains, but he himself lives and practices in the United States now. In the meantime, I’ve been going over the results of your first encounter with him. Until I have more news you needn’t mention any of this to anyone.”

George’s cuckoo clock chimed twelve times. It was late.

“What changed everyone’s mind at the lab?” Morgan asked.

George leaned forward, looking concerned. “No one knows what I’m working on. I set up a private research lab in my basement.”

“Really?” Morgan wanted to see it.

“Don’t even think about it.” George pointed a finger sternly in Morgan’s direction. “No one can find out. I’m not so sure they’re keen on finding a cure with all the efficient work you do.”

Morgan’s excitement waned. “You can’t do this. If they find out you’ll be locked up and I’ll never see you again. As much as I appreciate what you’re doing, I want you to stop.”

“I’ve taken extreme care in sneaking out my materials. If anyone ever catches on, or if I’m in danger, we’ll disappear together and leave all this behind. I was, after all, a military man once upon a time.”

The next week George failed to show up for a scheduled rendezvous.

Morgan went to George’s house where he found his friend dead—shot once in his head—beside the body of his wife, who had been murdered in a similar style. They were tied up and clearly tortured, the scene made to appear like a robbery.

Morgan could smell the men who did it and tracked them to a nearby motel. They were professional hitmen, former spooks, hired by The Murphy Group to do the job. He killed them both after getting them to talk, making sure the messy scene looked like no accident. He needed to send a message to those higher up.

Ready to explode, seeing only red, Morgan waited until early afternoon, when the sun was at its strongest, and went to the Murphy Complex. He burst through the doors and killed all in his path. Claws raked against the soft flesh of mortals. His fangs tasted human blood. Heads were torn from bodies mid scream. During his rampage, Morgan smashed computers, shredded printed data and files. In the labs he shattered reagents, ruined studies and tests, making sure to destroy all material relevant to himself. He spared no one, killing scientists and guards—except his most desired target, Commander Keegan. The bastard was nowhere to be found. Using Molotov cocktails and a few propane tanks, Morgan torched the building and watched it crumble to the ground, hoping Keegan was somewhere hiding inside, trapped and dying. And in a great deal of pain.

Nothing was left except for whatever material was kept in an offsite facility. Morgan was free; the tracking device in his bones unable to be used to find him. That was the price for The Murphy Group being a small and privately run organization. Morgan was more or less liberated of his duties, but would have to keep feeding. The assignments were over, but his job would own him if he wanted to live, forever giving The Murphy Group a circuitous route to building the body count of dead vamps.

***

In 1990, Morgan was shocked to learn that The Murphy Group had been re-established, becoming The Murphy Unit and a private part of the U.S. military devoted to the eradication and study of paranormal phenomena. Since that time, The Murphy Unit had developed into a top level scientific and military juggernaut with an unlimited budget and infinite resources at their disposal. Morgan wanted Commander Keegan dead, but was unable to get close to the man, who sent assassins after him.

As the years went on, The Murphy Unit kept Morgan constantly on the move, never letting him settle down anywhere for too long. Morgan had grown used to the Nomadic life, as annoying as it was, until one day his enemies relented.

He could only guess that Commander Keegan had died or retired, and the new head grew tired of wasting manpower on him. Or that something bigger had come along for them to focus on. Either way, he was relieved, but always kept an eye out for The Murphy Unit.

Chapter 5

Karen left the bank. She wondered what else could go wrong when she was incapacitated with pain again. This time, every cell in her body spasmed. The bottom of her feet burned against her shoes as if the soles had become hot irons.

She went down hard. Her knees collided with the pavement, each one feeling as if it had been bashed with a sledgehammer. Falling forward, she braced herself with her hands. Karen’s palms exploded with agony upon impact with the sidewalk. Blackness fell over her.

She awoke to find herself the subject of a large crowd; strange faces stared down at her. A man wearing a gray suit raised a cell phone to his ear.

“Are you all right?” he asked, pulling the cell away from his face.

“Yes,” Karen said, her skin no longer feeling as if it was on fire, but her head continued to pound. She knew it was the transformation taking place within her, and with that thought, she got to her feet.

“Miss, I think you should stay down and wait for help,” the man said. “I called 911. An ambulance is on the way.”

“I’m fine,” she said before pushing her way through the crowd. The man tried speaking to her again, but Karen ran off. “Please leave me alone,” she yelled. After a couple of blocks, realizing no one from the scene was following her, she hurried the rest of the way home.

She entered her building through the garage, making sure her car was still parked where she had left it, then took the elevator to the building’s lobby. From there, she rode to the twenty-first floor; the journey smooth unlike the rest of her day. After the doors opened, she turned left toward her apartment and heard voices, male.

“The bitch isn’t here,” one said.

“Wait here for her,” another growled. “I’m going down to check the building’s surveillance cameras and see when she last left.”

Karen raced back, but the elevator was now on the twenty-eighth floor according to the overhead numbers. She jabbed the button relentlessly as if pressing it harder and faster would let it know she was in urgent need of escape. The numbers began counting down. After chiming its arrival, the doors opened. Karen bolted inside and thumbed the ‘close’ button with harder stabs.

“Hold the elevator,” the man yelled.

The door closed just as she saw the right side of his massive chest enter her view. Letting out a bottled breath, she took the elevator to the lobby and returned to the garage. The doors opened on the level where her car was parked. Karen peered out, making sure no one was waiting for her. She walked rapidly to her car, her body upright and stiff. Pulling out her keys, she fingered the unlock button on her remote and heard the familiar chirp. Ready to jump in and tear out of the place, she felt her heart sink. The left front tire was completely flat.

Her first thought was that the men after her had done the deed but dismissed it—they’d have slashed all the tires. She glanced at the parking garage’s elevator, making sure no one was coming. Turning back to her car she stared at the flat tire. Leaving the car wasn’t an option. Besides being low on cash, public transportation was too risky. Taxis could be tracked and trains could be stopped. She would need the car to get out of the city and stay mobile.

Karen opened the car door and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat before heading to the trunk. She began emptying things, office folders and a blanket, onto the ground in order to get to the spare. Grabbing the tire iron and jack, she went to work. The car was up quickly; the lugs off within minutes. She had changed flat tires before, growing up during a time when cell phones weren’t so common.

With the spare on—a full-sized tire—she hastily tightened the lugs. A small but comforting sense of triumph fell over her; giving her badly needed strength. The reprieve, however, was short-lived. Upon lowering the jack, the elevator door chimed. Karen froze. Panic fell over her.

On her knees, she couldn’t see past the car parked next to hers. She left the jack and crawled to the car’s rear, peering around the bumper. The man from upstairs stepped out of the elevator. He must have seen her on the security camera.

Karen scrambled backward, the jack only halfway to the ground. She’d never lower it in time.

“Karen,” the man called. “Karen Lakemire.” The man’s voice was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure she was there. “Karen, I’m Special Agent McKlintock. I’m here to help. I’m not going to hurt you.” The man’s voice sounded closer.

Karen opened the passenger door. The car chimed in response—a dead giveaway to her location. “I have a gun!”

“Now why would you need a gun, Karen? I’m here to help. You may have been infected with a virus. We need to get you to a hospital.”

“Don’t come any closer or I’ll blow your head off,” she said, getting down to the ground and looking under the car. She saw shiny black shoes. He’d stopped walking. Maybe he believed her about the gun.

“Karen, this is only going to happen one of two ways: you come with me and let us help you, or you’re going to be taken by force. We can’t let you into the population, infecting others. Either way you’re coming with me.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, and began to rock the car, pushing her weight against it, hoping to knock the jack down. She needed to get the car to the ground and finish tightening the bolts.

“I don’t believe you have a gun, Karen. I’m coming over there, unarmed.”

Karen heard the man’s footsteps, as if he’d purposely made them louder than they needed to be.

“Well, I do have a gun and you’ll find out when you get here,” she said. “Josh gave it to me.”

The man’s footfalls stopped. “Josh was a sick man. I’m betting he told you a lot of things. I can assure you that they were all lies. If you don’t come with me you’ll end up like him.”

She climbed partially into the car, leaving her feet in contact with the pavement, and began pushing against the ground, trying to get the jack to fall. The very real threat of being captured or killed stoked her fear. The agent would be upon her soon. Grunting, Karen threw all her energy into the effort. The car lurched forward, crashing to the pavement, freed of the jack.

Pulling her feet inside the vehicle, she closed the door and turned the key in the ignition.

The car wouldn’t start.

Chapter 6

Morgan made it to his house in downtown Poughkeepsie. He needed a fresh supply of vampire blood, but as it was just after dawn he would be forced to use his emergency ration. He opened the freezer and took out the frozen blood popsicle. The older the blood, the less nutritious—and palatable—it became. Still, Morgan devoured the frozen blood. His supply was running dangerously low. He needed to restock his freezer.

He spent most of the day sleeping, rose at sundown, showered. While dressing, he realized it was time to move. The area’s vampire population had been decreasing since his arrival, and now with the Morses around it would dwindle further. He decided to head south, relax in a small town for a few days and not worry about hunters or vamps. He was long overdue for a vacation.

There had to be more to life than simply killing vampires. He would need to find The Murphy Unit and the priest who helped make him what he now was, if the man was still alive. But until then he would take it easy.

Morgan didn’t like what he had become, but it was far better to have his soul back—if that’s what had truly happened—than to be an evil, oversized, blood-drinking mosquito. The life of an anti-vampire wasn’t his choice, but he had to admit, in a way, he was glad the Murphy bastards had captured him.

He could have killed himself and been done with his life. The thought had crossed his mind more than once, but he was on a path he’d come to accept. He believed in reason and fate. And whatever fate had in store for him, he was set to see it through. Maybe this was punishment for all the lives he had taken and the suffering he had placed on the living.

His current situation was one that he could use to help right the wrongs inflicted upon the world. He’d never met a good vampire; they were all evil. It was his responsibility now to protect humans from them, whether he liked it or not. He would do his job until the day a true cure could be found, and at that juncture he would have the choice of staying his current path or becoming human again.