Hellmouth Series: A Day In The Life Of Part 1

Hellmouth #15  
"A Day In the Life Of..... Part One"  
  
It's been seven months since Locklear Taylor has gotten a serious wound or seen a hospital bed and while the normal human would praise such good fortune, Lock just felt antsy. No wounds means no action, no suspense. The unexplained high-mortality rate has hit a record low in Cleveland over the past few months, mostly because the major killings are all human and gang related. The hunting has gotten easier for the Hunters since the activity of the Board halted. The major demon population began to move out, each thinking that they were the next target of Lock's crew. Never had the demons been so afraid, not even in Captain Jon's days. The first two months after the Aldrich Manor incident and after the Hunters gained a very powerful new member to their ranks, the name of the great vampire Jules struck great fear into the demon community, and those demons that needed to stay close to the Cleveland Hellmouth have laid so low that the human community is able to flourish again without the degrading fear of what goes bump in the night.  
The effect has taken it's toll on the Hunters, however. Nightly hunts last a lot longer now that the vampires and various demons aren't hanging around, waiting to be "hunted." The negative side to that, besides the longer hunts, is that the vampires, who can easily pass for human, are hanging out more prevalently in the more populated areas, hoping to get lost in the crowd. Regulars are now being issued to go undercover in the club scenes, backed-up by posted Axe Units who've been leading the hunts as of late. The Regulars have been doing a sufficient enough job both luring possible vampires out of the scene (having regular "Opps, I spilled my water all over you" moments with holy water to test possible undead party- goers) and stopping vampires who are en route to drinking a likely victim before the feeding begins. However, the people that actually do get killed are taking a bigger toll on the collective conscience of those Hunters, who've been reveling in the new found bliss of realizing how much their work is having an effect on the community. Lock has found himself reminding his troops that as much as they've been trying, they can't protect everyone, and that they would have to weigh the many pluses over the few mistakes they've made.  
Lock hasn't come out of this unscathed, either. His relationship with Jules is more passionate now than ever, and he's not sure he likes it or not. They finally have something in common: they both enjoy the kill. Lock likes nothing better than the satisfactory sound of vampires dusting and he often imagines what his life would be without that sound. A scarier place, he assumes. Jules's love of the kill is only matched by her ability to actually do the killing, something that Lock cannot claim, and it is driving him crazy. The Hunters have been running like a well-oiled machine as of late, so nobody has really put much thought into how off Lock has been; he lost his job at the clothing store due to complete lack of punctuality and, oftentimes, his complete lack of presence. He took a few months off, completely dedicating his time to the Hunting, and he was never happier. Unfortunately, the income of donated funds wasn't able to support an additional man without Lock's steady income, so he took himself back to the butcher's shop that he, Gene, and Larson wrecked the night Jules "came out" as a vampire. Joe's Finest Cut Butchery had been almost completely redone, and Joe the owner couldn't have been more happy with the mysterious vandals who wrecked his shop, because the insurance money he collected from the encounter was just the boost he needed to upgrade everything in his shop, plus a little money left over for Joe to hire a new assistant, and Lock was more than happy to take the job.  
More than ever, Joe's shop was the new hotspot for collecting animal blood and selling it to the less social of the customers Joe sold to. Joe thought it was the exterior lighting he added to make his place stand out at night, but Lock new that the vampires were laying low and became more prevalent customers of Joe's. Lock took advantage of this fact, and he convinced Larson to agree to making Joe's a front for additional hunting, adding Nicholas and Aimee as a separate group operating nightly with Lock, following and keeping track of the sub-human, mostly nocturnal customers. Aimee didn't mind, happy at the thought of more frequent field-work; Nicholas thought it was just another way for Lock to keep him up even later at night, punishment for a comment he made a few weeks back about whether or not the new vampiric Jules was an even bigger "freak in the sack, if you know what I mean, wink wink," which Lock found little humor in.  
A new side of Lock opened up in the first few weeks of his more applied approach to hunting, and that was what Larson referred to as "the gray area." Slaying demons the old-fashioned way has it's perks, and that is the idea that "all demons are evil, anything non-human or non-animal is a demon, and thus everything that doesn't look human or animal-like is evil and must be killed." Unfortunately, scholars do know that there are certain breeds of demons that are not evil at all, and even rarer are the demon breeds that are inherently evil, but certain members of their breed that choose not to be. There are even certain vampires out there that are soulless and have no reason to be benign, but they are. Lock loved not having the "gray area" because if he had to wonder whether or not a demon was evil enough to die, it would make his job absurd. It was Jules that made him see differently, or at least the idea of Jules; the idea that his girlfriend was a vampire but completely non-evil made him shudder at the possibilities considering the numbers of demons he and his Hunters have dusted, decapitated, or otherwise slain. He felt like a judge finding out that a man he sentenced to death may have been innocent. The vamps in the clubs, preying on victims should be killed, no doubt, so Lock never once lectured the Regulars or the Axe Units over the possibility that the creatures they have been hunting down nightly for years now may be gentle creatures. As for himself, Lock took a healthier approach now that he was less patrolling and more "real hunting"; Lock, Nicholas, and Aimee would follow the buyers of blood from Joe's and keep tabs on them, slaying them the second they witnessed evil activities.  
They found that the demons, specifically non-vampiric demons who drank blood for sustenance, were more likely to be at least closer to assimilation with humanity than the vampires, because the vampire is a breed of demon that is inherently evil, no strings attached. Certain demons weren't evil at all, and a rarer few were actually productive members of human society, able to appear human at will. On two occasions since they began investigating the purchasers four months back, they came across two non-violent vampires. Neither had souls; one of them had become fascinated and eventually fell in love with a human woman, and they made a go at it despite the circumstances and are currently married with two adopted children. The other was a recluse, a writer of amazing horror novels, but was, in himself, inexplicably uninterested in killing humans. Both vampires drank the pigs blood and lived life soullessly content without violence of any kind. Lock introduced himself and his group to both vampires, talking with them to try and get to know why they don't kill and eventually promised to leave them to their peaceful lives as long as they continued their passive ways.  
During these times, Lock has relied on Aimee a lot as a wall to bounce ideas and notions off of. Aimee looked up to Lock as a student would to a professor or a slayer to her Watcher, and Lock has been very thankful to have an open ear even though what little that does come out of him could very easily be him talking to himself. He's also looked to Nicholas as a more annoying version of the comedic relief that Gene brought to him, considering Gene hasn't been around a whole lot lately. Gene's chores around the house and the preparations for the eventual birth of what the doctor told him would be a boy has taken away all the time that he and Lock used to have for one another.  
Aimee has served as a double agent, working as the wall for Lock and as the spy for her Coven partner Ky, who has used her best friend status with Aimee to whittle out everything suspect that Lock said that may or may not pertain to her. It's been seven months since the kiss that changed her outlook on life, and she has tried everything she can think of to stop thinking about it and even more to ensure that she doesn't develop feelings for him. The way he's been acting has helped. In the eyes of Gene and Larson and just about everyone other than she, Lock, and her Coven, Aimee and Kelsey, Lock and she are the same now as they were before Aldrich Manor. She knows better. They've stopped having breakfast in the morning at the café down the street and they've stopped having the late, late, late night conversations on the couch at Station House. General conversation and forced smiles continue down the hallway to keep away any kind of friction in the ranks. The only real answer either of them have yet to find is what the problem is. Obviously, the kiss was and still is a big part of it. Moreover, his reaction to the kiss is what is driving her insane. Ky knows that there is a hint of feeling in there for her, but it wasn't until that hint showed its dreary head that she realized that he did with that feeling what he does with all feelings that he cant or wont handle: he pushed it away. At this point, she would prefer an honest, "Geez, Ky, leave it alone. I have no feelings for you, alright?" But he doesn't even give her that. He gives her silence. He gives her the shell that he is, the shell of a best friend she once had. Aimee, however, likes the attention from both sides, not to mention the feeling that she is stuck in some kind of soap opera.  
For Lock, today has been just like any other day. The schedule remains the same from the look of things: wake up, do the general hygienic chores, dress, breakfast with newspaper time, no work today (thankfully), work out, lounge around or help Larson out until nightfall, go hunting. The first three listings were easy enough, except the dressing part reminded him how much laundry he needed to catch up on and the stirring feeling in his stomach that told him without work today, he needed some new hobbies. Now for breakfast, he thought, walking into the kitchen area of Station House (he had been sleeping in a room there ever since he gave up his small, superfluous apartment right after he got fired from the clothing store). Jules was up, as she usually was at this time in the morning, and she had gotten into the habit of cooking everyone who stayed at Station House breakfast after she got back from her own patrols. She has already spoiled everybody at Station House, including both the Abbit Twins, plus Nicholas, Larson, and Antoine, not to mention whoever needed a place to stay when they needed it. She had a nightly routine herself, one that included a traditional hunt with whatever specified group was on the nightly roster, and then after catching all the traditional haunts, she would release them for the evening and do her own private hunt, usually one that ended with her investigating the graveyards and possible risings. She insisted on these nightly patrols because Larson theorized that deep down inside she relates her new-found strength and ability to use it for good to her femininity, thinking of herself as the slayer (or at least a valuable substitute). Larson and Lock never deterred the behavior, thinking that it could possibly be a sign that her soul was growing stronger and that it might fight away the demon in her, plus her patrols ended at sunrise every morning where she would get a head start on cooking the breakfast on her way to sleep away the inhibiting sunlight.  
Lock stretched his body and walked into the kitchen with hand extended, receiving his coffee in his left hand and a good morning kiss. He sat down in his normal chair with his coffee and sipped lightly. Antoine was next to him and gave him only a half-hearted raising of his chin, the best "hello" he could managed with a mouth stuffed with scrambled eggs. Nicholas sat back, leaning away from the table on the back legs of his chair, his forehead planted firmly against the kitchen table, a half- eaten plate of food in front of him.  
"I don't have to give you the speech about starving kids in third world countries, do I?" Lock said, choking slightly at his first words after taking a sip of coffee hotter than what his tongue was ready for.  
"Nope, but what about a funny anecdote on insomniacs?" he refused to lift his head up.  
"You cant be tired. We were home by two-thirty."  
"Yeah, but you're not stubborn," Nick finally pulled his head up and placed it on the table on top of his folded arms.  
"Apparently you still don't know your boss," Ky shot out, coming through from the side door, "and good morning people."  
"Well, you got me there," Nick added, much to the dismay of Lock who looked slightly offended, ".....but he's pullin silver to my gold in this competition. I stayed up all night with Aimee."  
"Are you two hittin it off or something?" Lock asked, a sarcastic smile on his face.  
"As if it were anything that interesting..... When we were coming home last night, she told me she was good at chess, and I told her I was good at chess, and then we got to talkin about who was better, and....."  
"You two argued about chess? After hunting?" Ky asked.  
"If you could call it hunting. I call it 'walking around for several hours following some dude and yelling really loud when a rat walks across your feet.' But no, she started attacking my chess strategies, so I threw down my proverbial gauntlet and she and I matched brains down in Larson's library all night."  
"And the victor?" Lock asked with little real concern.  
He placed his head back on the table, "She beat me, seven straight."  
"And the first five were in four moves," Aimee said, sashaying into the room as if she had a full night's rest.  
Lock's mouth dropped, "You got taken by the Fool's Play four times?"  
"There was some slight variation, but yes," Nicholas mumbled.  
"Well, after he got past the first four moves alive, he actually gave me a pretty good run," Aimee said, politely declining Jules's attempt to give her some French toast and instead grabbing a muffin and sitting down on a stool next to the kitchen centerpiece.  
"Locklear," Larson walked into the kitchen briskly, shaking a newspaper at his target, "I told you, I told you. This is definite demon activity."  
"What's up?" Ky inquired, concerned about Larson's stiff British fumbling.  
"'THIRD BODY FOUND FLAYED- POLICE INVESTIGATORS CLAIM FOUL PLAY.' Yeah, no kidding," Lock read, "You're right though. This definitely ain't status quo. Any ideas on what we're dealing with?"  
Larson wiped his brow with a kerchief and placed it back in his pocket, "Yes, well, I haven't really collected much since the first body was found, but I have a small list of local demons who do feast on or otherwise use human flesh. The problem is that most of these demons on my list aren't very likely to be as precise with the bodies. Most demons will take what skin they need and discard a mangled body, most of the time, but who or whatever did this took time and precaution to peel the skin from the body."  
"Are there any other tell-tale signs of what happened? Maybe some bite marks on the necks?" Ky asked.  
"No," Larson returned, "No signs of vampirism. We could only wish it were that simple. The victims had broken necks, and the autopsy reports note that the breaks in their necks happened prior to the flaying, and those suspect flesh-eaters I have on my list wouldn't go as far as killing their victims before eating. Paralysis, maybe, but no killing."  
"Well, that's good," Lock said, realizing after he said it how bad it sounded when everyone turned and looked at him strangely. He finished his coffee and continued, "I mean it's good that we can go ahead and rule out vampires. Shorten the list a bit....."  
Twelve and a half miles outside of the greater Cleveland area, a couple had stopped on the side of the road, fixing a blown out tire. By the time they got the flat tire off, they could distinctly hear the sound of a man screaming for his life. It was a minor distraction, causing the woman to move back around and into the car and the man to hasten his pace on changing the tire. The screaming continued, eventually morphing into more of a brutal howl, still tortured but much more animalistic. At first the man thought that the sound was moving towards him, and he began fumbling the spare tire around and sweating profusely. Soon he began to understand that the sound wasn't growing closer and was instead growing louder. The woman inside the car stirred, making gestures through the windows and eventually rolling down the windows altogether to scream at her boyfriend to hurry up. The volume rose and the growls and howling turned to barely distinguishable words; they weren't very coherent in their contexts, mostly just childlike ramblings, but it was definitely the English language, further prompting the couple to think that they were hearing a murderer kill his prey. The man finished his hurried job, one that would require a tightening very soon due to the lackluster job he sped through, and the engine was cranked just as fast. The couple sighed in relief as they raced around the turn over-looking the small valley from which the noise rang. In that distance, a definite wooden shed broke the morning fog and it was readily apparent that it was the source of the wailing. The couple gawked at a large SUV limo that pulled up to the unkempt hovel. They didn't watch who stepped out, as their safety was the number one thing on their minds.  
The door to the shed opened out, pouring in the morning light. The screaming creature against the wall shrieked even louder as the sunlight stroked what little was left of his uncovered skin. The well dressed men, one covered head-to-toe in a thick black cloak, the other in a stylish business ensemble, walked in nonchalantly. When the door closed behind them, the cloaked man removed his covering, revealing intensely pale skin and long, pony-tailed white hair. His sleeveless white vest strapped-in on one side, moving all the way up to his jugular, and from his belt down he was strictly business, with a black leather belt, pressed suit pants, and black alligator-skin shoes. The other man was dressed far more traditionally, with a black-suited look that hemorrhaged money, everything about him rich with distinction and flavor. He stepped ahead of his pale- skinned partner and began to speak slowly, with great concentration put into both his choice of words and his pronunciation: "Are the skin grafts taking?"  
"Well, if he'd quit movin' around, this job'd be much easier," the lethargic man in the blood splattered white surgical coat stated. His eyes were bloodshot and his face had years on it that a man his age shouldn't have. His eyes told stories of desperate times and desperate circumstances, and even more disgust at what he was having to do now, "but yeah, they're takin'. Are you sure this guy wanted this?"  
"Absolutely," the suited man said, "He came to me in desperation, and he wanted a way to make something of himself. If you think this is bad, you should have seen the dilapidation this thing called a life prior to my finding him."  
"I thought y'all traveled in a pack," the mock-surgeon stated, "How come there's only two o'ya?"  
"The Board is gone," Jacob Manning solemnly acknowledged, "Two of our members are dead, and the third might as well be. He made a mess of things. His pet project here is going to clean up his sire's mess, and in return we've promised to assist him in finding that sire. I've given him the tools, and my partner Yossarian here has given him the means and the knowledge needed to fix our problems."  
The surgeon put down the large tool causing his victim's pain and he peeled off his bloodied gloves, wiped his head, and pulled off his goggles: "He's done. As long as he keeps these goggles on, everything should go as planned. I'm gonna need one more hide for patch-ups in the future. I have some trademark ways of keeping it fresh for as long as you need it, but you get me one more and that'll do the trick. Go ahead and tell Mr. Blond there to pick up Mr. Pink here and get the hell on outta here. And I don't take checks....."  
"Okay, I think everybody here has the gist of things, Larson. Go ahead and tell the Wednesday and Thursday night crews on the roster that they're pulling double duty tonight so we can put an extra search out for whatever's doing this. Jules is going with whoever's scheduled tonight."  
"Locklear," Larson broke through the delegating, "If the newspapers are correct, then all three bodies were found no further than a half a mile outside of the King's Summit development over in the hills North-West from here."  
"That sounds so familiar..... Anyways, that's as good a point as any to start looking'. Nick, Aimee: we're goin' there tonight. Ky..... Ky?" He searched around the kitchen and couldn't find her, finally spotting a telephone wire stretching from the wall jack and around the corner to the other room. Lock walked to the swinging door and pushed it open, spotting Ky with the phone to her ear, leaning in the recliner. "Ky," Lock interrupted. "What?" she shot back, a hint of annoyance to her tone.  
"You're running the Wednesday crew, right?" he asked, his face containing a hint of apology.  
She bit her tongue, embarrassed about the snap now that she knew it was business. By now I should have known better, she thought. "Yeah," she whispered unintentionally.  
"You cool with running a shift with your people tonight? We need extra people on this 'flaying' case."  
"Yeah, that'll be fine," she commented lowly, still a little embarrassed about her actions.  
"Great. Pick a side of town and tell the Thursday night crew to take the other side," Lock finished, heading back into the kitchen.  
"Wait Lock," she halted. Apologetically, she held the phone receiver towards him, "It's Gene. You wanna talk to him?"  
Lock thought about it a little and shrugged his shoulders, "Sure, thanks." He took the phone to his ear, "Sup?..... Yup..... Uh-huh..... Naw..... You?..... Cool..... Aight..... Lata'....." He handed the phone back to Ky. She held the phone in her hand and stared at him blankly. He smiled and walked back into the kitchen. "Wow," she spoke into the receiver, "You guys have some deep, intellectual conversations, dontcha? I can only hope that one day I'll be able to keep up with y'all."  
Hours passed and the sun went down. It just so happened to be Monday, the day that Lock, Aimee, and Nick ran the main patrol along with their nightly surveillance. They began early, along with a small crew of Axe Units and Jules. A few other crews, mostly Regulars, did their regular searches at the clubs and in the business districts, while Lock and the main crew concentrated on the normal haunts in the garment districts. More hours passed and the vampiric activity was sparse, as usual. Jules found a small crew of three fangs, easily put out of commission when the Axe Units helped her sweep through. At four in the morning, Lock broke the crew up and sent the Axe Units home. Jules kissed him goodbye on her way to the graveyards, as she knew there was a possibility that a man attacked two days ago was going to rise. Nicholas mouthed-off his normal complaints, this time about how it was unfair that they had to start the search of the North-Westside so late at night. Lock didn't bother answering his babbling or humoring him; he simply smiled at Aimee (content as she could be) and motioned the two out of the van with him, outside the gates of the King's Summit subdivision. Lock could clearly recognize the gates, but the memory was right out of reach of fully remembering when exactly he remembered them from. They climbed the fence and slowly snuck away from the security guard at the booth, who was counting sheep so hard he'd might as well have been adding wool. Lock searched the area and again recognized many of its landmarks, a surprising fact considering all the houses looked so similar and benign they could have called this place Stepford.  
"Catchin' anything?" Aimee asked.  
"There's something about this place..... I have no idea, but I recognize a lot here. I just don't have a clue where I recognize it from," Lock said, looking around belligerently.  
"It's a pickle," Nick said off-hand, a yawn erupting out of his last word.  
"I'm kinda wondering if it was a good idea to let Jules leave," Lock said, "She mighta been useful, you know, if she could get a positive sense on the blood. It would make finding a hotspot a whole lot simpler."  
"I have something that could help," Aimee said, coyly, "It's kinda steep, though. There's an old Roman-derived spell called bloodlust. I'll be able to sense any blood that's been spilled in the last month, maybe more. The only bad part is I wont have control of my body; I'll be kinda like an animal."  
"Are you cool with doing something like that?" Lock asked.  
"Well, I eventually want to sleep tonight, so, yeah," she smiled, obviously a little afraid, "Just make sure that you both get an arm and hold me back. I'm pretty sure I can pull myself back out of the trance, but if I'm in for longer than ten minutes, somebody knock me out." Lock and Nick shared a look of discomfort between one another and followed her directions. Aimee twisted her bag around her waist to the front, opened it up, and pulled out two very thick candles and a small, gross smelling bag, a substance of which Lock or Nick wasn't sure was legal. She sat down and crossed her legs, ordering the two simpletons down on both sides of her. Nick made a comment that the owner of the property they were squatting on wouldn't appreciate them burning down the side lawn. She shushed Nick furiously, a bite neither men thought her kind, innocent self had. She flashed an apologetic smile and began whispering a few Latin chants, a few lines Lock picked up on were things about "preserving and strengthening one's self." A protection spell, Lock thought; evidently, Aimee was slightly more afraid of this spell than she had initially led on. She finished her lines and smiled again, "Okay, fellas, I want y'all to hold on to my hands tight, and when I start buckin' around, go ahead and grab my arms and don't let me get away, but lead me around so I can get a view of things. And if you can, blow out these candles..... They're kinda expensive....." She poured the mystery bag o' stinkiness on her hair and down her body, making Nick gag and make faces that Lock couldn't help but laugh at. She shushed them both again and stuck up her index finger like a teacher getting the class's attention. She started saying things out loud, words of a language Lock couldn't recall ever hearing before. In that moment, Lock realized how proud he was of Aimee and how much she's stepped up to the plate since he called her up a little more than seven months back; she has really grown into her own as a part of the group.  
Her muscles tightened and her legs extended, standing and bringing the boys up with her. Her eyes had tightened and turned a blackened shade of red, pupil-less. Her body shook, just as she had said, but she seemed much more controlled than what Lock and Nick had anticipated. She gritted her teeth together tightly and pulled her arms in, balling her fists so tight they turned white. Nick blew out the candles quickly and replaced his hold opposite Lock, holding tightly to Aimee's elbow and leading her wherever her body guided. They walked a few blocks down and every house they passed made Lock's head flare, memories rushing back to him, yet he still couldn't exactly place them. Dawn would be here soon, bringing in the daylight, and that meant that they were running out of time for tonight's search; sure, darkness only meant the end of the line for vampires, but most demons preferred the cover of night and would be long gone before Lock and company could find anything. Passing a house six blocks down from where they started, a light switched on hanging over a house's porch. A robed man stepped out and walked in his slippers towards the morning newspaper that was stuffed in his paperbox. He stopped short and looked at the trio, his face twisting as if he couldn't quite understand what was going on. Unsure of the situation, he called out, "Hey! Are y'all the new Johnson family that moved in down the street?" Aimee growled viciously through her gritted teeth and her red eyes flared at the man's voice. The man looked at the two boys carrying her, thinking that they may be the reason for her reaction, and he stopped dead on Lock's face. Lock saw him and he knew exactly where he knew that man from. "You," the man said, and he grabbed his paper and hustled inside, the noise of the locks on his door locking ringing out and echoing around the neighborhood.  
"What was that all about?" Nick asked, as confused as the man first was.  
"Wait.....," Lock began, "I know exactly where we are. This was the place I pulled myself out of after Fabini kidnapped me. Mickey beat my ass and chased me through the forest there. That guy is the one that found me. He kinda threw me in a cab and ran off....."  
"Oh Lord," Aimee said, coming out of her trance, "did you guys knock me out?" Nick shook his head "no" and helped balance her. She grabbed her head tightly and continued, "My head is coming apart. Now I know what Ky feels like. I may have to see a doctor tomorrow....."  
"Aimee?" Lock chided.  
"Sorry. Yeah, this right here seems to be the hotspot. I could see a trail of DNA walking up into those woods. In fact, I could see something fresh; it looked like some splotched blood-foot tracks or something. Kinda gross."  
"We gotta hurry," Lock said, and he took off into the woods. Nicholas looked at Aimee, she nodded that she was okay, and they quickly followed their chief. Lock flew through the forested area, his mind replaying actions almost eight months past. He followed the trail that his memories provided him, noting branches he broke and shrubbery he tore threw and the leaves next to the tree he used to cover his body with, hiding from that monstrosity. Nick and Aimee ran as fast as they could, but neither had the field training and physical attributes that Lock had. They turned every corner and hopped every shrub they could, slowly losing him in the darkness of the moonlit forest. On the cusp of being too far out to see Lock, Nick was the first to notice Lock leave his feet and go barreling into the tree in the opposite direction. Nick tried to stop himself but couldn't, and he was caught by the throat by the same thing that knocked Lock out. Aimee stopped her self just in time and, as if by muscle memory, she flexed a quick barrier up and blocked the offense of the beast. The thing threw Nick at Lock as he was trying to rise and turned its attention to Aimee. He threw three punches, two of them dodged by the witch and one blocked by her field again. Aimee grew some distance between her assailant and reached in her bag, pulling a out a small handful of a pungent red powder. "Pyri!" she screamed, tossing the powder in front of her, igniting the air into a powerful burst of flame.  
The sudden burst of light illuminated the animal, large and obviously bruised and swollen everywhere on its hairless body. In the corner opposite Lock, a small boy moaned, wounded severely on his head but not fatally. Nick made it bag to his feet and pulled out his machete, taking a few hapless swipes at the monster, only to be knocked back down again. Lock jumped in and nailed it with a severe elbow shot to its face and it groaned, stumbling back. A bush caught fire from Aimee's pyrotechnics, and she could fully make out the very large human form on their adversary, the only demon part of it being the mass amounts of stitches, what looked to be a patchwork of flesh so awful they looked like gills on a fish. Aimee thought of it like a disgruntled Frankenstein's Monster, prior to learning how to read and talk. It grunted and moaned with every blow Lock delivered, and despite the obvious pain the monster was in, it never once backed down, cowered, or otherwise shown any signs that Lock was gaining ground with it. Aimee thought quick that it might be an unfortunate vampire, and she reached around to find her holy water. Throwing with all her might (and a slight bit of a magic touch to speed up the throw), Aimee chucked the glass vial at the beast, having only the effect of a mild punch when the glass shattered and the water dribbled off. The monster tired of Lock and sent him flying the other way, crashing kidney-first into a tree. The fire in the bush spread to a fire in the tree, and the forest became a flickering crimson glow of light. The monster stepped forward to Lock's broken body against the tree and craned its neck, staring.  
"Locklear?" it asked, inquisitively.  
The words pulled Lock from near-unconsciousness and caught his attention. "..... dear Lord, I knew it. I knew it was you....." he whispered, choking his words in a layer of fear that startled even Aimee as she tended to the wounded little boy. The monster turned and sniffed the air; sunrise would be here in a matter of seconds. He slowly turned and stumbled ten yards away towards the remains of what was a decrepit wooden cabin, a palpable wall knocked down and the interior destroyed. The light from the sun slowly crept over the sunrise and through the needles and leaves of the trees in the North-Western forest. The gargantuan staggered into the hut and slowly drug its sharpened claws down the side wall, taking immature teeny-bopper posters with it. It knelt, bending at the knees in a crouch, and examined a small child's toy on the ground; it was a teddy bear. It stepped out of the shadowy cabin just as the light of the sun spread across its skin, highlighting everything Aimee had witnessed plus the dreadfully dirty bear. Lock glared at it; standing tall and spreading its frame in the sunlight, the beast deeply took in the scent of the peaceful outside air. Lock couldn't find the strength to inhale, in awe whispering, "..... Mickey, what have you done?"  
The vampire stretched his skin, now evident where the skin of the newly flayed victims had gone, and drenched himself in sunlight. He wore only the goggles on his eyes and a smile on his face, though the "skin outfit" he wore covered everything, making him look like a sadistically tortured and stitched-up nude Ken doll. He clutched his teddy bear and glanced at the unmoving captain. "Sorry Locklear," he said, smiling but not once having anything other than a truly earnest tone, "I don't really have time to play right now. I needed to grab Cuddles so he could help me. We have things to do." 


End file.
