Available Darkness Season 2

large man waiting upstairs with a gun on his wife.
    Cromwell swallowed. “She’s with one of our agents.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “A few years ago we had an agent get close to Hope, insert himself into her life. His entire job is to keep his eye on her, make sure she’s safe.”
    “What do you mean insert himself into her life?”
    “He’s dating her. They’re close.”
    Now it was John clenching fists and narrowing eyes. “What the hell?”
    “As I said, she’s safe. The agent is always with her, and if Jacob comes, he’ll be there to protect her.”
    “Are you really that stupid? Duncan Alderman with all his wealth and guards couldn’t keep Jacob away.”
    “Well, I’ll have to take your word on that, I suppose.”
    “He’s dead. And Jacob turned him into a vampire. So whatever protection Omega thinks it can offer is negligible at best.”
    John continued speaking, never moving his steady eyes from Cromwell’s definite surprise. “I’ve done everything Omega has asked, and will continue to do so. I’ll help stop whatever Jacob’s planning, but you have to help me find Hope, or I’m finished, and you can all burn in hell.”
    Cromwell nodded. “OK, let me see what I can get for you. The files are in my desk.” He pointed to a switch on the wall. “Mind if I turn on the lights?”
    “Sure,” John nodded.
    Cromwell stepped past him and flicked a switch.
    The light was immediate, blinding, and painful.
    The switch triggered some sort of ultraviolet lights Cromwell must have installed as a security measure to protect himself against exactly this sort of threat.
    John fell to his knees screaming, his skin burning.
    A gunshot thundered down the hall, followed by Tiny screaming.
    “Linda!” Cromwell shouted, running past John’s burning body to check on his wife.
    John’s skin was seared and his flesh bubbling. Every movement further ripped his gaping wounds as he struggled to stand and move toward the light switch to shut it off.
    The light was like a grand piano on John’s body, forcing him back to the floor. He pulled his jacket over his head to cover as much of his skin as he could, while pulling his hands back into the sleeves. John sat huddled, unable to stand, barely moving as he clung to life despite the bright lights above.
    Tiny continued screaming, the giant’s bellows loudly echoed by Cromwell’s wife’s. Another pair of gunshots ended Tiny’s screams.
    They killed him!
    John again tried to move, but every labored twitch led to a fresh torrent of pain.
    Suddenly, the world went dark, the lights, and power in the house, shut off.
    Larry!
    John heard footsteps growing louder as they came down the hall, then heard Cromwell standing over his baked body, panting. John let the jacket fall, though his every move was stiff and painful. Cromwell flicked at the light switch, trying to turn the lights back on, but nothing happened.
    “You stupid fuck!” Cromwell yelled at John as he leaned down and shoved the gun into his face. “Why do you always have to interfere? I never should’ve listened to Duncan!”
    John tried to speak, but Cromwell kept going, his pistol pressed hard into John’s temple.
    “I told the old bastard we should’ve killed you both years ago. But no, Duncan didn’t listen, and now he’s dead because of sentimentality! Sentimentality for monsters!”
    “Honey,” Cromwell called out to his wife, “bring me my cell phone.”
    Cromwell turned back to John. “You come into my house and put a gun to my wife’s head? You fucking fool.”
    Cromwell pulled the trigger.
    The blast sounded like a plane crashing beside John as impossible pain clawed through his right shoulder.
    He writhed on the floor, crying.
    “Do you know how much of a thorn in my side you’ve been, John? How much bullshit I had to tolerate because of you and Caleb? No more, and never again. The old man is dead. Now we’re doing things my way. The time for your demands are over. That means you’re going to do your fucking job, without the negotiating. No Hope. No deals. No protection for your friends. Jacob can have them all, I don’t fucking care.”
    John, doubled over in pain, glared up at Cromwell.
    The fucker is dead the minute I can stand.
    Cromwell aimed the pistol at John’s head. “Ah, you don’t heal so well when you’re hurt, do you? Neither did your big nigger friend upstairs.”
    John tried to reach out to see if he could feel any life left in Tiny, but his world