The banging on the door was insistent. Ink rolled out of bed, glancing at the clock. It was 4:30 in the morning. He wondered passingly who was banging on his door.
Then his phone rang, and he glanced at it. It was Jack. This early?
He picked up the phone and started downstairs. “Hel–”
“Open the fucking door!”
He broke out into a run, hanging up the phone, and threw open the door. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Jack said, manhandling a body into the room.
“Holy shit–” It was the boss, Bomber. And he had something sticking out of his side.
“You got a cellar in this place?”
“Yeah, yeah -” He moved the couch with a shove and pulled open the hatch that led down into the cellar. He grabbed the flashlight that he left on an inside pocket of the hatch, and shined it down into the darkness.
Jack got downstairs and looked around. He found a table in the gloom and set the body down on it. Ink pulled the chain to turn on the exposed lightbulb just inches above their heads. “What happened?”
“Some bitch tried to kill him,” he said. “I beat the shit outta her.”
Ink looked at what was sticking out of him – it looked like a simple wooden stake. “She was strong.”
“She was one of us,” Jack said, almost a snarl. “She had left at the beginning of the year.” Jack passed his hand over his hair, and took a shuddering breath. “I’ll be back tonight, and I’ll…” He looked at Ink. “I’m gonna go make my goodbyes.”
“You don’t have to do that,” said Ink. “We can get some bad guy.”
He chuckled, though there was no mirth in it. “Kidnap a Family guy.” He started to the stairs. “You sure this place is safe?”
Ink gave him a look.
“Fair ’nuff,” said Jack, going up the stairs. “I’ll grab one o’ them purple shirts, an’ then I’ll be back tonight with him.”
“Are you going to be all right?”
“Dunno. Gonna be accused of rape, that’s for sure.”
“But what–”
“This bitch asked the Boss to meet her in a hotel. Then the Boss said if he wasn’t back by three to go to the hotel and get him. I knew you lived in IP.” Jack cleared the stairs and waited for Ink to shut the light off, climb up, put the flashlight away and close the hatch.
“You need a place to stay, too?”
“I got my places to lay low,” he said. “I’ll be back tonight.”
Ink shoved the couch back into place, and watched Jack leave.
Jack was true to his word, and came back that night with a airy bodybag over his shoulder. Ink wordlessly moved the hatch out of the way. “Got an Outcast instead. Din’t want you t’ think I was poaching.” He dumped the body onto the ground, and it moaned. “He’s still alive, though I knocked him senseless.” Jack unzipped the bag, and a dark-haired, tanned man lay inside.
He went over to Bomber, and touched the stake in his side. “Best get upstairs, Ink,” said Jack. “I’m gonna be wakin’ an angry tiger.”
Ink did as he was told, and stood holding the hatch open. Jack yanked the stake out, dropped it, and ran, stumbling up the steps. Ink slammed shut the hatch and Jack stood on it for good measure.
They heard an inhuman growl, then a thump, then a startled moan. The two men looked at each other. “Maybe I shoulda brought two.”
They waited. No other noise seemed to come out of the cellar. Jack stepped off the hatch. “Shh,” Jack said, and started to lift the hatch.
Something exploded out of the cellar, something fast, and it grabbed Jack’s throat with one hand, yanking him across the room and into the wall. Jack was stunned, and he felt the man rip his throat out–
This is the end.
“Boss!” yelled Ink, grabbing a hold of Bomber. Bomber tossed him aside, and continued to drink from Jack, who was fading fast.
Ink then got a heavy candle stick holder and slammed it against Bomber’s head. Bomber lifted his head, the wound in his head closing as he did. He turned slowly to Ink, and his eyes were red, then indigo.
“Ink…” He turned to Jack. “Oh, shit–”
Jack slumped to the floor, his throat exposed and bloody. Bomber tore open a vein in his arm and fed it to Jack, who drank. The exposed muscles in his throat moved as he swallowed, and the blood coated the wound. It healed, slower than Bomber, but much faster than a human.
Bomber swayed on his feet. He needed to hunt, and hunt quickly before the frenzy came back on him again. He knew he was in Ink’s apartment. He knew he couldn’t hunt until he was ten blocks from here.
Ink still held the candle stick holder as if it was a bat, ready to swing again. Bomber shook his head. “Need to hunt.”
Ink nodded once, and Bomber headed out the door. Ink ran to Jack’s side, avoiding looking at the blood all over his shirt. He checked the wound, then went to the bathroom and got some gauze to put over it.
When Bomber returned, Jack was sitting up in a chair. Jack still looked pale and seemed a little fuzzy. Bomber offered more blood to him but Jack shook his head. “I think I’ll stay here tonight, if that’s okay with you?” He glanced at Ink.
Ink nodded, and got himself some tea.
“So what happened?” asked Bomber, leaning against the couch.
Jack told him what happened while Ink made the tea. He also put on a small pot of coffee for Jack.
“Something was wrong about her,” Bomber said. “I knew she’d pull something.”
“She’s gonna accuse me of rape, an’ I beat the shit outta her.” He looked at Bomber. “I don’t wanna go to jail.”
“You won’t go to jail.”
((to be continued))