Chapter 5 of the Jack Moore Chronicles The dancing,
crackling fire and the burning wood roused me
from unconsciousness, or so I thought. The snow
fell softly on the ground. A crow sat upon a
nearby tree. Its wings took flight when I spotted
it. Snow fell from the dead branch that the crow
took off from. My father sat at the old wooden
desk. passed down through generations. Scratches
lined the wood, echoes of the past. The colors
of the symbol on the desk remained as vibrant
as the day someone forged them into the oak.
The stark red and deep blue of the water stood
out. My father wore a sweater that looked itchy.
The gray of his long hair blended with his neatly
trimmed beard. He faced away from me. Yet I knew
it was him. It was as if I were a kid again.
The weight of the years vanished, as did the
pain on my forehead. My feet swung from the couch.
The word dad was on the tip of my tongue, but
I couldn't quite utter it. He adjusted his head
to the right, as if to hear better. Dad? The
word finally escaped. He didn't turn. His focus
was on the work that was in front of him. The
fireplace's warmth caressed my skin. I glanced
at it, and then could not take my eyes off the
flames. I thought about the flames increasing.
It was as if the words escaped my mouth and drifted
to the fire, translating into a language it understood.
The fireplace's warmth increased. As the flames
grew, the fire came alive. The blue of the flames
devoured the red. Wait! No! Stop! Stop! I yelled,
but the words fell on deaf ears. The flames surrounded
me in their warm embrace until all I could see
was red. All I could feel was heat. I closed
my eyes in hopes of waking up. Jack. Wake up,
a voice said in the distance. The drastic change
in temperature shocked my system. My skin was
flushed from heat. I was drenched in sweat. My
eyes opened to see Golding standing over me.
What the hell happened to you? He asked. I don't
know. I could feel blood gushing down my forehead.
I tried gathering myself, the heat fading away.
The detective put his hand up as an offer, one
I accepted. In that moment, I saw strength and
weariness in his grip. The man before me had
been through hell and back. He was more like
me than I initially thought, kindred spirits
of the devil. What the hell, Jack? The detective
yelled as he pulled his hand away from mine.
His face turned from worry to pain in an instant.
I looked down at my hands, and they appeared
normal to me. You just burnt the shit out of
my hand, the detective said. I was just as confused
as him. I was at least 20 feet from the barn.
The door was ajar. I thought about telling the
detective about the creature, but this didn't
seem like a good time. We walked back to his
car. We sat in silence as he drove me back to
Doug's. My head felt like shit between the normal
pain and the wound. I felt lousy as he drove.
I stared out the window, trying to comprehend
what happened. As I looked out the window, we
passed some trees. The dead branches twisted
and bent as if possessed by a demon. I closed
my eyes, trying to regain some kind of sanity.
After a count of five, I open then to find the
trees looking normal again. I've been higher
than a kite before, but this is new, and I'm
not even high. Did I hit my head so hard I'm
seeing shit? Was that vampire even real? Is this
real? Is Steven even dead? What the fuck is wrong
with me? I was rudely taken out of my self -pity
when Golding slammed on the brake. We were at
Doug's. What happened out there, Jack? He asked,
his voice more raspy than normal. He was rubbing
the burned hand with the other one. Your guess
is as good as mine. I was searching the ranch
like you asked me to do, and all I can remember
is waking up on the ground. I decided to not
tell Golding about the vampire. I didn't want
him to wonder how I got away from it. Hell, I
didn't even know how I did. Can you explain this?
He showed me his palm that had a scorch mark.
You know how the other victims were killed, right
Jack? The detective said, it wasn't a question.
Yeah, a hole blasted through them? Yes, scorched
through them by fire. I caught on to what Golding
was putting down. Not you too. Detective Moron
already wants to frame me for the killings. My
best friend was killed. He was like my brother.
I don't know how I burnt your hand, but I sure
in hell didn't kill anyone. Jack, you're trying
to be reasonable here. You know this ain't normal.
You try to be reasonable. Take care of your hand.
I slammed the car door and paid for it. The sound
burrowed in my mind. I must have gotten a concussion.
Golding rolled down the window on the passenger
side. You sure you can drive home? Yeah, I'm
fucking sure. Doug's was still open. despite
it being later in the afternoon. I walked in
to find the place empty. Doug stood behind the
counter, cleaning. What happened to you? He asked
as I walked in. Your guess is as good as mine,
I replied. Doug pointed to the bar stool that
sat on the other side of the counter. I sat.
Before I could say anything, a bottle of whiskey
appeared. Doug, you don't have a liquor license.
Well, I ain't charging you, so... They can't
charge me. Doug poured me a cup. As he did, the
blue long sleeve of his shirt raised, unearthing
a tattoo in the process of being erased. As my
eyes caught the tattoo, Doug covered it with
his sleeve. Who's the lucky lady's name you're
erasing there, man? Oh, uh, no, just a past I'd
like to forget. I was sure whiskey wasn't the
best remedy for a concussion. but the liquid
gold went down nicely. What happened to your
head? asked Doug, changing the subject. Me and
that detective went out to the ranch, and I got
knocked out or something. To be honest, not even
sure. Looking into Doug's green eyes and his
weathered face, marked with wrinkles like tree
rings revealing his age, I could sense his skepticism
toward my story. Has anything unexplainable ever
happened to you? Something that can't be real?
Doug took a deep breath and drank his whiskey.
There was something at that ranch, Doug. I saw
it. Saw what? I don't know, but it was fucking
horrific. It had red eyes and teeth sharper than
any knife. It couldn't have been real though,
right? I don't know, Doug. Maybe I really am
losing it this time. Maybe I'm just seeing shit.
But it felt real. Felt like it was going to tear
me apart. Doug took a deep breath and leaned
close. Jack, the world is full of things we can't
explain. I think you need to take a step back.
I know Steven's death hit you hard, but I'm telling
you, it's not good for you to keep doing this.
The weight of the past is something we all carry.
Doug rubbed his finger along his wrist with the
tattoo. You don't know shit, Doug. Thanks for
the drink. Let me know if you hear from Susan.
I didn't want pity. I didn't want understanding.
Just answers. I put my drink down and walked
away. Doug returned to cleaning the cafe. I could
hear Doug in the distance as he wiped the counter.
You're welcome. I walked outside, my whiskey
breath visible in the night air. I got in my
Saturn. It was dark and cold. My car's heater
was useless, just as I felt. I screamed. Fuck!
My voice reverberated in the confined space.
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