Available Darkness Season 1

than a grave.
    John would have gladly taken the tomb instead.
    “Abigail!”
    John filled the empty room with his hoarse voice, but only a dull echo bounced back.
    Where the hell are they?
    Pain hammered against his skull as a ravenous need burned through his body. The deep yearning was close to hunger, but more insatiable and far less reasonable, clouding the edges of every thought. He HAD to get out now.
    He had to feed.
    He writhed and squirmed, trying to free his arms from the goddamned prison of fabric and buckles, but the constant motion only seemed to tangle him further. Panic and rage flooded his senses like a shot of adrenaline as he shook his entire body in a vain attempt at escape.
    “Damn it!” he screamed, spittle raining from his mouth.
    “What did you do to me?!” he bellowed, hoping that bastard Larry was within earshot.
    He began breathing faster, and more shallow, as raw panic needled his brain, whispering that he would die right here in this spot if he did not break free RIGHT NOW.
    He shook again, this time kicking his feet into the floor and sending his chair flying back into the wall. His head bounced against the drywall with a dull thud.
    “Fuck!” he screamed.
    Where are Abigail and Larry?!
    With a flare of anger, John vowed to tear Larry to shreds if he’d done anything to harm the girl. Then he had an idea — he could try to connect to Abigail. Perhaps, if he could concentrate long enough, he would be able to sense her, to at least know if she was okay. Unfortunately, his mind was a tumultuous mix of panic, pain, and hunger, flashing through each phase with equal intensity, making slow, deliberate thought nearly impossible.
    He glared up at the monitors, showing the news — still — of him.
    Isn’t there anything else happening in the fucking world?
    Two of the screens weren’t displaying news, though. They were closed circuit monitors, one which showed the parking lot of the motel and the other which showed the rear of the building. From his viewpoint, he could see the entire parking lot. Larry’s van was missing.
    It’s okay, they’ll be back … no, they fucking left and you know it … you’re going to die right here. They left you to die. He and Abigail left you alone. To die.
    John closed his eyes, trying to shake the anger from his thoughts. It worked, even if only temporarily. He found himself thinking of Hope and the dream, and suddenly, he was awash in the emotions that he woke to, sadness and misery. John could feel tears wanting to burst from his eyes, but his face felt frozen, taut, like it was going to crack from the pressure building within.
    Suddenly, a beeping sound.
    John glanced up at the two closed circuit monitors. Flashing boxes along the bottom read, “ALERT.”
    That’s when John saw four black vans pull into the parking lot. Panic returned to seize control of his senses. He began to writhe again in his jacket in another attempt to squirm free.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 2 — Larry, John, Abigail, Brock

    Larry

    The newspapers were full of people who needed to die — corrupt politicians whose actions indirectly led to the deaths to their constituents, unscrupulous businessmen who took ungodly sums of money while robbing the pensions of their employees, and the general scumbags who beat, robbed, raped, and killed those weaker than themselves — a world of wolves fat with prey.
    Though there was no shortage of people who would enhance the world with their absence — people who deserved a verdict harsher than any the dubious legal system would impose — there were none which were also local and within easy reach. A shame really, because Larry, now that he’d given it some thought, rather liked the idea of vigilantism by vampire.
    Justice, it seemed, would have to wait. This morning they might have to be the very wolves who preyed on the weak and innocent. If they didn’t find someone for John to feast on, he was dead. And Larry couldn’t allow that to happen.
    “I wish I were a vampire,” Abigail said, tossing the paper to the floor, “I would just roam the night, helping people and killing bad guys.”
    “That would be cool,” Larry said. “Though I can’t imagine you’d dig on the loneliness.”
    “I think I’ve had enough of other people for a while … well, except John.”
    A chorus of beeping abruptly rang through the van’s cabin. The alarm he’d set up at the motel began its cry on his cell phone.
    “Shit,” he said, awkwardly