Available Darkness Season 1

supernatural, he was a skeptic, a man of logic.
    “Look,” Bob said, “there’s a lot of shit out there that we can’t explain. For the most part, we live with it. Let things lie. And that was the case with these feeders. Yes, we knew about them, and some of them knew that we knew, but they kept to themselves and didn’t leave many messes for us to clean up. You could say we had something of a truce with them many years back.”
    Once the corpses started piling up in public places, the Omega team began seriously investigating the creatures and destroying any evidence which might get people talking. Which was why Bob was all the more pissed to see footage of one of the creatures all over the news tonight. They’d have to do some serious spin control if they hoped to contain the story. There was a strong possibility that they’d have to call into question the credibility of some of the witnesses. And if that didn’t work, they’d have to eliminate them, Bob said — for the greater good, of course.
    “So this guy I’m chasing — he’s a feeder?” Caleb asked, still uncomfortable using jargon that belonged in a tattered paperback horror novel or low budget flick.
    “Yes,” Bob said.
    “Who is he?”
    Bob took a moment, as if still uncertain how much to tell Caleb.
    “His name is John Sullivan, or at least that’s the name we know him by. He’s a lot older than he appears and has killed scores of people we know of and likely many we don’t.”
    “Is this the guy that killed Julia?”
    “Yes,” Bob said, carrying the bottle of vodka to a chair opposite Caleb.
    “Why is he killing, or feeding on these people? And why my wife? Why send letters, taunting me?”
    “He’s not just a feeder,” Bob explained, “he is part of a cell, looking to bring this arm of the agency down.”
    “A cell of feeders? They’re organized?” Caleb dropped the folder. “How many of these fuckers are we talking about? And why would they target us?”
    “There’s enough to make our lives difficult, though we’re thinning their numbers when we’re able to find them. As for reasons to come at us, I’ll get to that in a bit.”
    “Is Sullivan the head?” Caleb asked.
    “No, he’s more like an enforcer, doing the dirty work for people higher up the chain than himself.”
    Something wasn’t adding up for Caleb. If the Feds knew of the feeders and the two coexisted for some time, why would they call attention to themselves? They had to know things would get ugly. And why would they target his wife? Something was off and Caleb’s instincts weren’t going to let him leave until he had better answers.
    Bob told him to hold on, disappeared for a moment into a side room, then returned holding a small black velvet bag. He handed it to Caleb.
    The bag was light, two items shifting inside it as Caleb pulled the black drawstring. Inside were two circular stones, a deep shade of crimson. He touched one and a slight spark shot from the rock to his hand causing him to jump in his seat and drop the stone back into the pouch.
    “What are these?”
    “Those are Artifacts, and they’re part of the reason I think the feeders are coming for us.”

    * * * *

CHAPTER 9 — John

    John stood outside the boarded door of the motel room. Once closer, he noticed that the boards were on a hinge, easily pulled back to reveal a door behind. From the other end, John could hear the faint murmur of an old sitcom. He smiled at the slight recognition and could almost remember the actor’s face. But then the room’s occupant, a man with a somewhat raspy voice, laughed, and John felt a nervous wave roll through his gut.
    He glanced back at the truck, saw Abigail’s head peeking over the dashboard, watching him intently. He smiled at her, though he wasn’t sure if she could see his face in the dark and at that distance.
    John knocked on the door, and wondered, not for the first time, if he was making a mistake. What if the person waiting for him was the same person who left him buried alive? John tried to ignore the nagging doubt and after a moment with no response, he knocked a second time, harder.
    The TV went silent and John heard movement.
    “Who is it?” a man’s voice asked. John could hear the caution, and perhaps fear, wavering in his voice.
    “It’s John.”
    From the other end, John heard several thumps, the crash of aluminum cans, some more thumps and then the door opened slightly. A short young man with wild brown hair,