Blood Heavy (Blood Heavy Series) Page 3

  He remembered how lonely his father always seemed. Some part of him, clichéd though it was, still believed that it wasn’t the stroke that had killed him, it was a broken heart. He had tried to convince himself that his parents wouldn’t have wanted him to mope around in a continuous depression. They’d have wanted him to be happy, but despite acknowledging this, his guilt had never abated.

  The only thing he could think to do was to put the pendant on. He gingerly placed it over his head and around his neck, the chain cold against his skin. The act seemed to make Joe feel better. He smiled wanly and said, “Well, as far as jewelry on men goes that isn’t too bad. Your mom had good taste.”

  Jerry smiled back, “Yeah,” he nodded, and fingered the unfamiliar pendant once more.

  Before the resulting silence could become too awkward, Jerry spoke up again. “I’m gonna grab a shower, ok?” His Uncle nodded and turned back to the hockey highlights.

  Jerry tucked the pendant into his shirt as he walked up the stairs. He silently vowed that he wouldn’t take the necklace off unless he absolutely had to. The hot water of the shower sluiced over his back, removing the dirt and sweat of the last few hours. Keeping the necklace on him would be a good reminder that his parents’ memories couldn’t be washed away in a similar fashion. That he didn’t want them to be.

  CHAPTER 2 – PARTY MONSTER

  Warren – Minnesota

  Daylight was fading fast, and in Warren, street lamps were flickering to life. Almost all of the shops were now closed, except the supermarket and the ‘Big Build’ Hardware superstore that sat glumly on the edge of town. Only a few customers remained. They browsed the various craft supplies and the construction tools, whilst elevator style music played overhead. At one of the check outs, a boy called Brian Reese sat slapping price stickers on a few loose items. He was twenty-five and had a sort of nerdy-but-kind look to him. It was dull work, and when he heard someone walk up behind him, he was happy to leave it.

  “Welcome to Big Build, how can I -” Brian stopped speaking abruptly, mouth hanging open. Standing in front of him was a woman who looked as if she had fallen off the front cover of a Victoria’s Secret Catalogue: Long smooth black hair adorned her head and a tall hour-glass figure faced him nonchalantly. She was unusually tall, taller than Brian even; about six foot, maybe six one. “- help you?” he finally managed to squeeze out.

  “Hi,” she smiled sweetly, causing Brian’s guts to jump around. “I’m looking for replacement blades for a buzzsaw, can you help me?” She was well spoken, sounding slightly European.

  “Of course!” replied Brian, practically jumping over the check out. Normally he would just point a customer in the right direction, but there was no way he was giving a chick this hot directions. “Follow me.”

  “Thank you.”

  They set off together down the near-deserted store. As they were walking down an aisle heavily laden with hard hats and other protective gear, Brain noticed something rather odd: the girl was wearing black figure-hugging pants and a black shirt. This was all fairly normal looking, but she was also wearing black army-issue boots with thick steel toe caps. These didn’t seem to stop her gracefully strutting through the store. Eventually, they reached a section that was dedicated to what seemed like every kind of power saw that had ever been invented.

  “Do you know what make of buzzsaw you’ve got?” Brian asked.

  “Err, that one,” she pointed (rather arbitrarily, it seemed) to a small red handled tool on the shelf.

  “Okay, extra blades are right here,” Brian said happily.

  “I need to cut through some iron pipes with these. Are they going to be sharp enough?” she asked.

  “Sure, these things are built for just that,” he replied, grabbing a packet of blades from the side. They were wrapped in thick plastic, except for one small section which had been deliberately cut to expose the serrated edge.

  “Thank you,” she said, then very quickly reached out and snatched the packet from his hand.

  “Ahh!” Brian yelped and grabbed his finger. The exposed part of the blade had caught him and drawn blood.

  “Oh my God, I am so sorry! Are you okay?” she swooped down him, grabbing his hand and examined the slice on his finger. It wasn’t bad, but looking closely at it had caused a few drops of his blood to smear on her finger.

  “I’m fine, really, it’s no problem,” said Brian, who was more affected by her touch than the cut itself.

  She seemed to realize this because, looking him straight in the eye, she gave him a small, but definitely suggestive smile. Brian went bright red.

  “Do you have a first aid kit?” she asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s just over there,” he turned and pointed to the back of the store.

  As Brian turned to point, the girl swiftly licked the boy’s blood from her finger. Waiting, she felt the usual tickle of excitement in the pit of her stomach and a warm sensation at the back of her throat, but that was it. She had come all this way, and it wasn’t him. Disappointment burned bright for a few seconds.

  “I hope this hasn’t put you off buying the blades,” Brian chuckled, turning back, but she was gone. Completely vanished.

  Outside the store and out of the boy’s sight, the girl retrieved her cell from her bag. Dialing swiftly she held it to her ear, eyes scanning the area while it rang for several beats. Then someone picked up.

  “Claire?” a smooth female voice asked.

  “It’s not him,” Claire said in annoyance.

  “Fredrick and Jason just called. It wasn’t the tax accountant either,” the voice said.

  “So it’s got to be the kid,” she sighed and tucked a strand of black hair behind her shapely ear.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m all the way up in Warren right now. It’ll take me at least a few hours to get to St. Cloud. And...I think I’m being followed,” Claire reported, scanning the area once more.

  “I know, the others were spotted as well and they’re still in Spring Valley. I’m not even in the state right now,” the voice said, sounding agitated. “We can’t risk going to the boy if Black Forrest are following us.”

  “Well, can’t you call someone they won’t be following? Louis is in St. Cloud, you know,” Claire suggested.

  “True, but they know we’re friends. They might be watching him too, and even so, Louis wouldn’t be able to handle a large attack…I did have another idea though.”

  “I’m all ears,” Claire shrugged.

  “Cassandra,” the voice said.

  That name made Claire cringe. She didn’t want that bitch anywhere near something this important.

  “Are you kidding me?!”

  “Got any better ideas?” the voice retorted.

  Claire sighed again and rubbed her face. “Fine! You call her! She won’t even pick up the phone for me anymore...and she won’t do anything for free!”

  “I know, I know. At least she’ll be able to keep an eye on him until we can find him though.”

  “Alright then. I’ll get there as soon as I can,” said Claire, before hanging up the phone. A second later, she was gone.

  St. Cloud – Minnesota

  The sun had sunk down beneath the tree-line and it was almost time to head over to Sarah’s party. Before they arrived, Jerry and Goose were planning a little pit stop. As the car approached a small house near the river, they asked the cab driver to wait outside. The house belonged to Roach, who peddled illegal substances in that part of town. He wasn’t a heavy hitting drug dealer, just a stoner with a lot of contacts. He spent most of his time wasted, courtesy of his own wares.

  Jerry and Goose had met him a few years ago when he was still a student at Newton High. He had graduated with unexpectedly high marks and often returned to the school to make sales. In the grand scheme of things, Roach was a small-time dealer, so where he had found the money to pay for his own house, was beyond them. Luckily, he also sold alcohol. A gormless looking guy invited them in, t
hen mumbled something and ran off to the bathroom. Having been to Roach’s place before, they trooped on through to the living room.

  As usual, the place was so smoky that a search light might have come in handy. Just visible was the big flat screen plasma TV that was paused halfway through an Xbox game. Roach was laid out on the comfy leather couch, a very large joint in hand.

  “Hola amigos,” His voice travelled through the fog, drawn out theatrically. He was a skinny guy with a long brown ponytail and a smattering of small hairs on his chin.

  “Hey Roach, can we grab some beers off of you?” said Goose, who was attempting (and failing) to wave smoke out of his face.

  “You’re too young to drink...you should smoke instead,” Roach replied languidly, offering the joint to Goose.

  “Err, no, we’re good thanks,” Goose replied, “Anyway, we’ve got a cab waiting outside.”

  “And my current state of stone-hood is delaying your departure…”

  “Yeah,” said Jerry.

  “Beers are in the kitchen. Twelve bucks for a crate,” Roach said dismissively.

  “Thanks,” replied Jerry and Goose together.

  They were about to leave for the kitchen when Goose did a double-take at the TV. “Hey, is that the new model!?” Goose asked, staring at the screen.

  “Yeah, 3D enhanced,” Roach drawled, “You ever watched 3D TV on weed? It’s awesome!” he grinned.

  “3D porn,” Goose said reverently, sounding like he’d just found the Holy Grail.

  “One day it’ll replace real women,” Roach replied in all seriousness.

  Jerry doubted it, but he did wonder how Roach could afford a huge 3D TV. He checked his watch. “Okay, we gotta go,” he said, “We’ll leave the money on the side for you.”

  Goose seemed to want to stay and watch some kinky three-dimensional sex, but Jerry dragged him out of the house and back into the patiently waiting car. The cab driver was quite unconcerned about the crate of beer, and they were soon back on the road to Sarah’s place. In the end, they arrived just before nine. They were the last ones there.

  It turned out, that when Sarah had said ‘a few friends’, what she actually meant were a few dozen friends. That’s how many had turned up. It must be so hard being popular, thought Jerry cynically, as they walked through the house, saying their hellos. Music was blaring out and everywhere guests stood in little knots, talking and drinking. Sarah’s parents were clearly successful, their home tastefully adorned with polished oak furniture, crystal chandeliers dangling elegantly from the ceilings. Jerry had heard a maid came twice a week, which luckily for Sarah, meant no need to clean up after the party was over. Eventually, they found their way through the crowd to the kitchen and dumped the crate down on the side.

  “Compliments of Mr. Roach,” Goose announced.

  “Thanks guys,” Sarah walked over. As expected, she looked great.

  “Sarah, baby, when cloning technology becomes commercialized, you’re first on my list,” Goose grinned, checking out her ass.

  “Sorry, she’s one of a kind,” Steve replied fondly, entering the kitchen, as Sarah reached over Goose for a beer from the crate.

  “Well, that’s where the cloning comes in,” said Goose, “We could each have a Sarah, maybe even swap em’ round every once in a while...” Goose continued; a faraway look in his eyes.

  “Hey! Standing right here!” the girl in question complained.

  “Sorry babe, but three times as much of you wouldn’t really upset me,” Steve grinned, and kissed her.

  “Cloned or not, I’ll take whatever I can get at the moment,” sighted Jerry, cracking open a beer and taking a swig.

  “Ah, here we go. Another bout of teenage angst,” Steve moaned. “You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get off your ass and get a girl Jerry!”

  “Easier said than done, Steve. All the good ones are taken!”

  “Hence my cloning idea,” said Goose.

  “You don’t need to get a clone, Jerry!” Sarah laughed.

  “Seems like I do. I mean, come on, Sarah, you’re a chick, why can’t I get a girl?

  “Well, you’re smart, not bad looking at all, and you’ve got a great sense of humor…”

  “So what then?” Jerry asked, slightly perturbed.

  Sarah shifted uncomfortably for a second before answering. “You’re a great guy Jerry, and I think it would be hard for you to find a single girl at this party that didn’t consider you a friend...but...well, that’s all they think of you as. You’re the perpetual nice guy. You're like a crash net, you're safe and secure and people only sort of need you when they're falling...I don't mean that in a bad way! Really, you're like protector! A guardian! You just have to make the transition into something beyond ‘the nice guy’,”

  “Well, that was honest. If you work out how I can do that, let me know, alright?” he said, gulping down slightly too much beer and swallowing hard.

  “I could go get some of my girlfriends to give you make-over if you like?” she said, giggling, “but that would only change your outside, the rest you have to do for yourself,” she smiled.

  “The make-over could be fun though,” said Steve in amusement. “We could put a pretty little dress on you, a little mascara...”

  “Find you a nice lesbian that would be shocked and appalled once she took your pants down,” Goose joined in.

  “Haha! Yeah, we could do that, but on the other hand, bite my ass!” Jerry growled, as the others burst into laughter.

  “If that’s your thing,” Goose shrugged, and Jerry made as if to deck him.

  “Whoa! Comin’ through!” someone shouted.

  Two guys came rolling into the kitchen, one of them practically carrying the other, whose mouth looked ready to explode. They shot straight for the sink.

  “Oh, come on! Already? How many shots has he had?” Steve asked, as the guy puked up into the sink.

  “That guy can’t hold his liquor,” said Goose sagely.

  “Good thing the sink can,” Jerry noted, backing away quickly and cringing.

  A few moments later, the boy stood up from the sink. He looked pale and was breathing hard. “I’m okay, I’m okay...need some fresh air...” he mumbled an apology and staggered out. Two steps later, he was clutching his stomach, eyes bulging. He span straight back around and flew towards the sink again, but not before knocking Jerry out of the way, who fell backwards and tried to steady himself on the counter. A sharp burning sensation tunneled through his palm like lightening.

  “Ahh! Shit!” he yelled, grabbing his hand, a kitchen knife spinning away onto the floor. Blood was pooling in his palm fast and was already trickling down the inside of his arm. It was a nasty gash, and it was bleeding heavily. “Damnit!” he hissed, grabbing a towel and wrapping it against the wound.

  “Shit!” Sarah shrieked, “Jerry, you alright?!”

  “Yeah, just peachy,” he replied shakily.

  “Let me see, let me see” Steve barreled in between them. He carefully examined Jerry’s hand. “Ah. I think you’re going to need stitches, this is pretty bad.”

  “Great. That sounds like fun.”

  “Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital,” Steve was already fishing in his Jacket for his car keys.

  “Baby, are you sure?” Sarah asked, looking a little concerned. “You’ve been drinking, remember?”

  “I’ve had two beers, I’ll be fine. I’ll drop him off and come straight back.”

  “Hey, party in the emergency room and everyone’s invited,” said Goose, before seeing the looks on peoples’ faces. “Or, I could go with him and you guys can stay and have a great time...” he groused.

  Jerry got into the back of Steve’s blue Ford Focus, holding his wounded hand tight to his chest and trying not to get blood on the upholstery. Steve ducked in behind the wheel and started up the engine, while Goose fastened up his seat belt, riding shotgun. They drove down the street, back in the direction that Goose and Jerry had come from.
The hospital was only about ten minutes away.

  Reaching the end of the road, they took a left, cutting through a quiet suburban area, where virtually identical houses lined both sides of the street. Most of them were dark and empty, or hidden behind large trees that had been planted in the sidewalk. Only the street lights lit the way, lighting the interior of the car with a soft glow at regular intervals.

  “Please don’t bleed all over my seat, Jerry. Blood stains never wash out.” Said Steve, anxiously.

  “So sorry if I’m inconveniencing you,” Jerry replied between gritted teeth, trying for sarcasm despite the pain. “You know how I love to slash myself open every once in a while.”