Morris McCain then walked into the frame. There was no mistake – it was him. I glanced at Potter then back at the screen and watched as McCain crossed the room and began to shake Emily violently. I could see Emily was stunned or maybe it was shock. Although there was no sound, I could see by McCain’s actions and body language that he was shouting at Emily.
Emily appeared to be motioning him away by waving her hands at McCain and shaking her head. McCain then began to wave his arms and hands in the air and point angrily at Emily. I snatched another quick look at Potter and he looked coldly at what was unfolding before him.
I looked back at the screen and it looked as if Emily was trying to get off the bed. She was shaking her head and trying to move McCain out of her way, who was now standing directly in front of her and shaking his fists in the air. I watched as Emily managed to get free of her bed by pushing McCain in his chest to move him out of her way. McCain then punched Emily straight between the eyes. All of us flinched in our seats. Emily stumbled backwards, landed on her bed, then rolled off onto the floor. I watched as she shook her head wearily from side to side, as she tried to fight off oncoming unconsciousness.
Watching the video made me feel sick. I stared as McCain then set about Emily in a frenzy of kicks and punches. He repeatedly punched Emily about her head and I struggled to hold back my tears as I watched Emily desperately try to fight him off. She paddled her arms in a vain attempt to protect herself. Then, sitting astride her on the floor, McCain began to change. It was his hands that I first noticed. They seemed to grow into the shape of giant paws. His back arched and his clothes began to fall away in strips as his body took on the shape of a giant wolf. McCain rolled his head back, as his neck began to thicken, and his slicked, black hair which covered his head, started to cover him. His already bulbous nose twitched then protruded from his face forming a wet snout. Raising his giant paws into the air, he opened his vicious-looking jaws and lunged at Emily who lay beneath him. From the amount of blood that jetted from her and splashed the walls, her death was quick and within moments she had stopped struggling and lay motionless on the floor of her bedroom.
“That fucking animal,” Potter hissed.
Emily was dead, her eyes wide open. I looked at the screen and I felt goose flesh run up my back as I looked into her eyes. She had died looking straight up at her secret camera. It was like she lay there staring straight into my eyes.
We continued to watch as McCain leapt from Emily and stood there looking down at her for a short time, his giant tail swishing back and forth. He then sauntered out of camera shot, leaving Emily dead on the floor. Isidor forwarded the video again until McCain re-entered the bedroom. This time he was back in his human form, but someone or something had returned to the room with him.
“What the fuck is that?” Potter said, squinting at the screen.
“It looks like some kinda elf with a melted face,” Isidor suggested.
“That’s a small boy,” I gasped. “It’s a boy who’s suffered horrific burns to his face and hands.”
“This just keeps getting weirder and weirder,” Potter said. “I thought the world was pretty screwed up before it got pushed – but this takes the piss.”
We watched as the small boy with the burns yanked the blankets from Emily’s bed. Together, McCain and the boy laid them out on the floor. Then between them, they rolled Emily face down onto the blankets and covered her. They then rolled her over until she was wrapped tightly. McCain then took one end of Emily, and the boy took the other. They then carried her out of camera shot.
There was nothing else recorded on the camera. Isidor switched it off and turned to look at me, his face ashen. “What now?” he asked me.
“We go and rip that fucking arsehole’s lungs out,” Potter cut in.
“No!” I snapped and raised my hand. “We can’t do that. It won’t solve anything. We need to do this by the book if we are going to get justice for Emily and her sister Elizabeth.”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Potter spat, “but there doesn’t seem to be too much justice in this new world that we now find ourselves in.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I told him. “We follow the rules and do it properly.”
“I was wondering when Kiera’s rule book was going to come out,” Potter sighed. “When are you going to get it, huh? These animals don’t follow any rules – they’re nothing but dog shit.”
“Kiera’s right,” Isidor said. “We should tread carefully – we don’t want people to find out what we really are...”
“Says the Terminator impersonator!” Potter growled at him. “I should’ve guessed that you would side with Kiera. Why don’t you show some backbone for once...”
“It has nothing to do with what Kiera thinks or about how much backbone I have,” Isidor said, jumping up from his seat. “In case you’ve forgotten, my sister is trapped in that school with that animal. And if it hadn’t have been for Kayla’s backbone, you wouldn’t even have that tape. So back off, Potter, because you’re beginning to get on my fucking nerves!”
“Okay, enough already,” I said. “This constant bitching isn’t going to get us anywhere, nor is crashing into that school and killing McCain.”
“So what do you suggest?” Potter snapped. “We sit and wait for McCain and the Munchkin lookalike to rip apart another young woman?”
“No,” I said staring back at him. “We take this video to Banner and...”
“Are you for real, sweetcheeks?” Potter barked. “You said yourself that Banner was a waste of space. If we go marching into his station with that video, he is going to make us feel about as welcome as a fart in an elevator!”
“We have to try, Potter,” I snapped. “Isidor is right. We can’t risk revealing who and what we truly are. This place is messed up enough without throwing Vampyrus and half-breeds into the mix. We take the camera down to Banner and if he’s not willing to help us...”
“Then what?” Potter asked me.
“We deal with McCain ourselves,” I said.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Kayla
I wasn’t in pain, but I could feel myself going taut as if I were turning brittle somehow. My throat was burning up and my stomach was cramping. I had the flat of one hand pressed against my chest, and I could feel the blood pumping from the wound was already starting to congeal. Feeling the sticky red stuff between my fingers made my stomach ache and I wanted blood more than ever. But I felt so heavy, like I was made of stone somehow.
“Oh my god, what have I done?” someone said close by me. “What have I done?”
I forced my eyes half open, and I could just make out Sam hovering beside the bed. “Kayla what have I done to you? You look like you’re turning to stone,” he cried.
“My bag,” I whispered. “Get my bag.”
“Bag?” he asked confused. “What bag?”
“Beneath my wardrobe,” I mumbled. “There are some glass tubes – pink stuff in them.”
I closed my eyes again and listened to Sam rummaging around beneath my wardrobe. I heard my bag slide across the room and the zip open. “There aren’t any tubes,” he panicked. “What are you talking about?”
“There is a cut down the side of the bag...” I wheezed. “Look in there.”
I heard the sound of the glass tubes clinking together as he fumbled for them. Then he was at my side again. “Open one,” I gasped, the cramps in my stomach now agony. The sound of the cap being unscrewed beside me was almost deafening.
“Now what?” he gasped.
“Give some of it to me,” I whispered.
I felt Sam’s hand slip behind my head as he tried to raise it off the pillow, but it seemed too heavy for him to budge. So he placed the brim of the tube against my lips. I opened my mouth and he poured in some of the Lot 13. It tasted bitter and sweet as it rolled over my tongue. I swallowed, then took some more. Almost at once, the cramps in my stomach began to ease, and I felt my whole body begin to soften. The blood from the wound in my chest dried beneath my fingers.
“Is it helping?” I heard Sam ask, taking the empty tube away from my lips.
I lifted my free hand off the bed and it no longer felt like it were tied to a giant weight. The knife that Sam had plunged into me was still sticking from my chest, so wrapping my fingers around the handle I pulled it out.
Sam made a gasping sound. Then, before he knew what had happened, I had sprung from my bed. Without being able to control the change within me, my fangs were out, as were my wings and claws. I sprang through the air towards him. With a look of horror on his face, I pushed him in the chest, sending him smashing into the wall. Then I was on him, one claw around his throat and the other holding the knife just an inch from his heart.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again!” I hissed into his terrified face.
“What are you?” he wheezed, my claws so tight about his throat that it was difficult for him to him breathe.
“You don’t really want to know what I am,” I warned. “You don’t really want to know the truth – you couldn’t handle the truth.”
“You looked like you were turning to stone, just like that statue that chased us,” he gasped. “What happened to you?”
“I don’t know,” I said, feeling scared.
I loosened my grip on him, and rubbing his throat, he said, “I was right, though, you are different. You’re not like us.”
“Just get out,” I barked, and turned my back on him.
“Are you a vampire?” he whispered, just in case someone might be listening.
“No, I’m not a vampire,” I snapped. “Now get out.”
“What are you then?” he asked, coming towards me.
I turned to look at him, and flashing my fangs and letting my wings tremor, I said, “I’m dead, that’s what I am.”