Of A Darker Nature

  By

  Michelle Clay

  Published by Hot Ink

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Copyright © 2015 by Michelle Clay

  Cover Designed by Rue Volley

  Edited by Elizabeth A. Lance

  Though some of the places are real this is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and situations in this work are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead, or situations are merely a coincidence.

  No part of this work may be reproduced in any form, other than a brief quote in a review or article without the written permission of the author.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by

  Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.

  Emily parked her rusted-out Volkswagen Bug in front of the renovated Victorian and killed the engine. It had backfired twice before it gave in and finally died.

  The odor of embalming fluid drifted on the night air and mingled with the scent of rain. It did little to mask the odor of charred, cremated flesh that hung heavy like a shroud around the mortuary.

  Thunder rumbled overhead, and the wind howled a mournful song. The open front door banged against the side of the funeral home. Hanging pots swayed and jerked against their chains, their blooms ragged and torn. All but one of the terracotta pots lining the porch lay on their sides. Shards of pottery and soil bled down the steps.

  Dark red hair whipped around Emily's head and lashed at her face as she moved up the walkway. Behind her, leaves skittered across the street. The sound reminded her of the creepy things that might scuttle in the shadows. She was by no means a scaredy cat, but she took the steps two at a time and hurried inside.

  Scott, her boss, had sounded a bit flustered over the phone when he’d called. He asked if she’d read a body for him. He seldom asked her to use what she considered a bothersome curse, so it worried her now. Could the corpse be someone he knew?

  The foyer was dark and silent. Goosebumps rose on Emily's flesh. A few sheets of paper lay scattered across the floor, probably due to the draft from the open door. She cautiously moved toward the back of the building.

  “Scott?” Light poured from the workroom into the hallway and beckoned her forward. She moved toward it and swallowed the heartbeat that jumped into her throat. Nothing about the open front door or the eerie quiet felt right.

  A loud bang followed by raised voices echoed down the hallway. Scott's voice cried out in pain and was immediately followed by a creepy stillness. Emily was afraid to breathe, fearing the shadows would swallow her up. She crept down the dark hallway, aware of every sound the old wooden floorboards made.

  Her skin prickled as she inched along the wall. She pushed the swinging doors open and took a couple steps inside. “Scott? Are you in here?”

  Emily’s scream bounced off the sterile white walls. Scott lay in a crumpled heap in between the two work tables at the center of the room. On one table lay a grey-haired man. The drain tube was knocked away from his jugular, causing blood to pool around him instead of in the collection pan. The other table held a sheet covered lump. Bright red blotches bloomed across the once immaculate white cloth.

  A man in a leather trench coat stood between the two tables. His greasy, dark hair hung in tangled snarls. He dipped fingers into the blood that accumulated around the old man. He brought them to his nose and sniffed before flicking them with his tongue.

  Emily’s stomach lurched. She whirled, only to run into someone who had entered the room behind her. He was much more menacing than the guy using the prep table as a buffet. The blond’s pale cheeks were with blistered with abrasions that reminded her of a burn victim. His collar length hair appeared crispy at the ends.

  “Hello there.” Fingers of steel clamped her shoulder. The stench of smoke and decay filled her nose and burned at the back of her throat.

  Emily tried to dart past him, back into the hall.

  He knocked her against the nearest table instead. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

  The table’s bloody sheet slipped to reveal the fearsome cadaver that lay beneath it. His eyes were half open, but only one eye remained whole. The other had rolled into a white death stare. The hair at his temple was matted and blackened with blood. Contusions, too numerous to count, had darkened his skin to a dark eggplant color.

  Emily's upper body lay across the cadaver's bruised, mushy chest. One of her hands curled around his left arm. She tried to scramble away, but it was too late. Her skin had already made contact with the dead man.

  A glimpse of how he once had been, attractive and unbroken, flashed in her mind’s eye. Shiny black hair had framed a flawless complexion. He had possessed the most beautiful shade of pale blue eyes she’d ever seen. Something about him drew her like a magnet.

  Before she could stop herself, her mind questioned how he’d wound up on the table.

  The cadaver’s residual memories became darker, more sinister.

  Dark figures descended from the shadows. He'd unknowingly walked right into a trap.

  “Run!” he yelled at the man and woman behind him. He spun to catch up with his friends, but it was too late. At least ten shadows closed him in. He landed a few punches and kicks, but there were just too many of them. They crushed his body beneath a tidal wave of fists and feet.

  Emily jerked backward and screamed. Her head throbbed and pulsed with an ache like she’d never known. The cadaver’s memories were all too real. She clasped her head and reeled away from the table. This part was the most terrible thing about her so-called gift. She not only glimpsed what the dead saw, but experienced it as well.

  “What the hell’s wrong with her?” One of the men yanked her backward. The sheet slid to the floor, revealing the rest of the cadaver’s battered body. His left leg twitched.

  The blond sniggered. “Maybe she’s touched in the head.”

  “You.” Her words slurred, and she couldn’t see out of her left eye. Each breath she drew was shallow and burned her lungs. “You did this to him. Pete lured him in, so you and the others could jump him.” The poor guy hadn’t stood a chance.

  “How’d you know his name?” Blondie demanded.

  Pete, the dirt bag in the trench coat, tried to pull her away from the corpse. Pointed canines glistened in his mouth. “Unlucky guess? Who cares?”

  “What do you want?” The corpse’s memories faded from Emily's mind, along with the residual pain.

  Pete moved toward her. “We’ll start with you.”

  The fangs and pale complexions made sense all of a sudden. Like her co-worker Beau, they were caught up in a sick game they’d created. These men believed they were vampires! Even the fangs in their mouths looked real. The only difference was, Beau wasn’t nearly as terrifying.

  Pete shuffled in front of Emily. Hair shadowed his unshaven face. A reddish brown splatter had dried on his chin and darkened the sleeves of the trench coat. His grin exposed a discolored tooth next to the right fang. “Maybe we could have some fun with her first?”

  “There’s no time.” The blond sounded irritated and nervous. “Let’s take care of Marcus first.”

  Pete cleared his sinuses and spat on the floor. His eyes roved over Emily once more. “Seems like a waste.”

  The blond’s grip tightened on her arm. “We’ll take her with us. Carry out.”

  Emily’s heel smashed Blondie’s foot, and she
jabbed him in the ribs. No one was taking her anywhere, not if she could help it. The blond lunged for her, but she spun just out of his reach. She skidded past a tool laden cart and swiped a scalpel. She flung the rest of the tray at Pete's head.

  Blondie snarled. “Where are you gonna go now, huh?”

  She pointed the blade at the duo. The maniacs had her pinned between them and the twitchy cadaver.

  Her gaze slid down to Scott’s crumpled form. She nudged him with her foot. “Scott, wake up!”

  Blondie’s scarred face split into a smirk as he pounced. Emily’s scream echoed off the enclosed walls and the blade slashed downward. It didn’t have the effect she had hoped it would. If anything, it only angered her opponent further.

  Blood dribbled from his wrist, but he didn’t seem to notice. His hand lashed out to knock the pitiful weapon away. The other closed around her throat. He hauled her off her feet and held her at face level. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

  Emily’s gurgled pleas went unheard as his grip threatened to crush her larynx. Her fingernails scratched uselessly at his hands.

  “Change of plans,” Blondie hissed.

  Pete’s dirt-caked hands jerked the skirt past her knees. The fabric protested with a tortured rip. “Don’t be stingy, Trent.” His nails scraped and pinched as he tried to grab Emily's legs.

  Pete turned to knock the cadaver from the table. It struck the floor with a solid smack.

  Emily landed a kick to Pete's stomach. It threw him backward against the other table. The momentum of his body tipped it onto two legs, but it and the old man lying on it didn’t topple over.

  He threw Emily onto the cold steel where the dead man had laid only moments ago. She kicked, screamed, and thrashed against their rough hands. Pete wound a hand in her hair and forced her head onto the soiled headrest.

  Everything seemed to happen all at once. Pete pinioned her arms above her head. Trent leapt up onto the table to lean over her.

  “This is gonna hurt. A lot.” His fangs were inches from her face. They looked frighteningly real.

  Emily screamed and tried to buck him off her stomach. Trent remained perched there like some macabre bird of prey.

  “Why do you get the first taste?” Pete’s breath smelled like he’d eaten cat shit for dinner followed by a dirt chaser.

  Her legs kicked wildly and she twisted her body. No matter what she did, Trent kept her pinned.

  “Face it, you’re fucked.” A wicked glee sparkled in his eyes.

  She lifted her head, tried to smack him or bite him, anything to stop this madness. Pete’s grimy hand tangled in her hair and forced her head against the squishy headrest. The other remained clamped around her wrists. She jerked so hard against his restraint that her shoulders ached.

  Fingers twined in Trent’s hair from behind. Someone yanked his head back, and a quick slash with the lost scalpel followed. Trent’s hands flew to his slashed throat, and he made ragged, bubbly noises. Blood spurted between his fingers, and he fell out of sight. He left a trail of blood behind as he crawled and gurgled toward the doors.

  “You gonna fight me, Marcus?” Pete released Emily's wrists and backed away in a hurry. “Do you think you’re up to it?”

  Finally, Emily glimpsed her rescuer. The naked cadaver stalked around the end of the table. A look of unadulterated hatred warped his mangled face. The thermometer, still stuck in his left side bobbed with each step.

  The cadaver looked like a creature from a horror movie. The side of his face had healed somewhat, but one eye remained cloudy white. The other bled into a blue so dark Emily couldn’t tell where the iris began. His lip curled as he tore the thermometer from his body. It skittered across the floor and rolled to a stop near Scott.

  Pete lunged at the cadaver, but his grime covered hands had trouble holding onto the naked man.

  Marcus stepped in a puddle of blood, slipped, and dropped to one knee. Pete kicked him in the ribs.

  Marcus snatched his leg and gave it a violent twist. A pop echoed throughout the room, followed by screams of agony. Pete fell away as the dead man staggered to his feet.

  Pete lunged for him again, fangs aimed for Marcus’s throat.

  Marcus curled fingers around Pete’s lower jaw. He gave it a sharp twist and broke it with a snap. Pete’s pained screams rose above Marcus's chuckle.

  Emily clambered off of the table. She crashed to her knees beside Scott’s body. She placed a hand on his chest. Beneath her palm, his chest rose and fell steadily. His heart thudded slow and steady. “Scott? Please wake up.”

  Pete lurched to his feet. He gathered Trent and ran for the door. Emily noticed the dead man’s bare feet on the other side of the table. They pointed in her direction. Every zombie movie she’d ever watched sprang to mind, but the dead men in those films never had such sexy feet.

  Oh my god, what am I thinking? He’s dead!

  He rested his hands on the table between them. His blue eyes, both whole and healed now, stared down at her. They were darker than when he’d lain on the table. The smallest wounds on his face and upper body knit together. She stared, fascinated and frightened.

  Realistic fangs dimpled his lower lip.

  “What did you do to me?” He took a deep, measured breath.

  Her voice was no more than a whisper. “Please, for the love of all that’s good and holy, don’t eat me.”

  Marcus gripped the edge of the table, and his knuckles cracked. He shut his eyes and hung his head for a moment. Dark hair swung over his eyes.

  Emily couldn’t tell if he was still looking at her or not. Had her attention not been focused on this beautiful nightmare, she might have missed his whispered words.

  “I am not a monster.”

  Emily huddled on the floor and snuck covert glances at him. He sure didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a cover model for a skin magazine.

  The dead man crossed the room to the sink where he bent to wash the blood from his face and hands. There was a black pattern that covered his entire back, but from her vantage point, Emily couldn’t discern what it was. It started at his shoulder blades and ended just above the curve of his well-formed ass. She had no time to contemplate it though because he turned to cast another glance in her direction. Pink droplets dripped off his chin and ran down his chest.

  He took an unsteady step in Emily’s direction.

  She scrambled to her feet and wished she’d grabbed the sheet to cover her lower half.

  “Are you okay?” It sounded stupid, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. He was dead one minute, then he wasn’t. What the fuck was she supposed to say?

  A smile or maybe a smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. He took another step and his right hand raised toward her. Their fingers clasped, and the breath stilled in her lungs.

  Emily’s feet moved with purpose, even though she didn’t fully comprehend what she was doing. He pulled her closer, or maybe it was she who closed the gap between them. She stared up at him with eyes full of awe and wonder. His free hand rose to her throat, but she didn’t flinch away. Cool fingertips cupped the back of her neck. They stood so close their bodies almost touched. His head lowered and her eyes closed. Her senses came alive and she even rose on tiptoes to reach him.

  Voices at the front of the mortuary forced him to pull away. Their gazes met for the briefest moment. Disappointment or maybe annoyance flitted across his perfect features.

  He turned away.

  “Wait.” She reached for him, unsure why she was doing so. He was a stranger, a once dead stranger.

  He darted out of the workroom without so much as a backward glance. Everything that had happened crashed over Emily with terrifying intensity.

  The toe tag lay forgotten beneath the table. Emily snatched it up and pressed it against her heart. She didn’t know how her John Doe had come to be at the mortuary, but she owed him a debt of gratitude. Maybe one day she’d be able to thank him for saving her life.

  Althou
gh he had a lump the size of a Buick on the back of his head, Scott declined medical attention. He returned from the upstairs living quarters with a pair of black scrub bottoms. “Do you want me to call your sister?”

  Emily dropped the sheet she’d grabbed to cover her underwear-clad bottom. She stepped into the too large scrubs and cinched them tight. They bunched around her ankles and dragged on the floor. “No way. If Liz hears about this, I'll never hear the end of it.”

  “Good. I didn’t want to talk to her.” His pinched features melted into relief.

  Scott and her sister had dated their senior year of high school and the following year. He’d asked her to marry him and she’d agreed. A week before the wedding, Liz came home upset and claimed she never wanted to see Scott again. “He isn’t the man I thought he was,” she’d said, but wouldn’t elaborate. Emily was eleven at the time, but Scott still treated her like a kid sister to this day.

  They waited in Scott’s office while the police searched the mortuary and the alley behind it.

  Emily grabbed Scott’s hand. “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should go get checked out.”

  “I should have protected you. You could have been killed,” he whispered.

  Detective Denise Hahm returned from her inspection of the alley. With notebook in hand, she nodded toward Scott’s office. “Mind if we finish?”

  Scott ran through his story once more for Hahm. “I received the body of a man who should have been sent to the city morgue. There was some kind of mix-up with the paperwork.”

  “And you didn’t see your attackers?” Hahm scanned the notes she’d taken.

  Scott shook his head and appeared troubled. “I came into the workroom and didn’t even have time to turn on the light. They overpowered me. I never even smell— er, saw them.”

  Hahm looked at Emily with a skeptical raise of the eyebrow. “You say the body got up and fought them?”

  Emily offered a solemn nod. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but that’s what happened.”