Dawn Unleashed

Chapter 1

The long hard winter had taken its toll on the city and its inhabitants. The streets were a slushy, wet mess thanks to a sudden spike in the temperature. Rivulets of melted sludge from the snow piles heaped against the curbs dribbled into filth plugged storm drains. Eager for the reprieve from winter's icy siege, dwellers of the magnificent city abandoned heavy coats in bleak shades of winter in exchange for colorful lightweight jackets of spring. Desperate for the deceptive hope that spring had finally arrived and the cold was finally at an end, the city was decked out in her Easter best for the auspicious occasion.

Spindly trees fooled by the warmth of faux spring began to show the first signs of life. Their dark budding branches stretched up toward the sky hungry for the warm brilliant rays of sunlight able to permeate the caverns of steel, glass, and brick. Flocks of pigeons clustered on the sidewalks pecking at invisible crumbs fluttered their wings in a noisy ruffle of feathers and cooing protests whenever a passerby would inadvertently hazard too close.

Cole stood at the curb, packed shoulder to shoulder along with everybody else obediently waiting for the traffic signal to change. The sound of the city around him was deafeningly loud after the long quiet respite of the woods. The endless influx of white noise was like an old song whose words had been forgotten, but the vague memory of the tune somewhat remembered.

He maneuvered through the city. His limbs moved in time to the to urban beat of the streets, keeping pace with all the busyness around him. Cole burrowed into his lightweight jacket and pulled the collar up higher against the biting wind gusting down from the towering rooftops above. The cold nipped at his cheeks and nose, turning them a bright, ruddy red, setting goose bumps across the back of his neck. Winter wasn't done with the city yet, not by a long shot.

His sandy brown hair flapped wildly in the breeze, the tips tickling the tops of his ears and back of his neck. He found himself wishing he'd planned ahead and worn his winter coat. Springtime was a deceptive bitch and still a ways off. He'd been fooled by the perfect blue of the sunny sky and was beginning to regret it. Cole jammed his fists into the pockets of his jacket to warm his freezing fingers and wondered if black leather was a better defense against the cold.

Six months seemed like a lifetime ago. Hell, it might as well have been, as far as he was concerned. The last time his feet had pounded this particular maze of concrete he'd been a different person. A kid. Months of training and mental preparation had transformed him. His body was strong and his mind sharp. He had worked hard to pack on the extra twenty pounds of muscle he now carried on his bulkier somewhat awkward frame. Somehow, he'd grown another inch and hovered precariously close to six feet tall in stocking feet.

John Mark preened over him like a proud papa at his success at turning him from a boy into a man. Not that he had needed John Mark or the brotherhood's declaration to know what he already knew. He was ready, finally ready for what waited for him when he returned and for what would come afterwards. He'd come back on the eve of his birth into manhood to give his girl, the city and all the people he'd left behind in it one final goodbye kiss.

There were some loose ends that needed tied up before he took the plunge. The sidewalks were a bustle of activity. People preoccupied by the busyness of life stormed around him thoroughly annoyed by the obstruction he'd created by doing nothing more than standing with his feet firmly planted smack dab in the middle of the sidewalk.

He paid the shoves and rude noises no attention. In the grand scheme of things an elbow to the ribs, a smashed big toe, and a few curse words muttered at him under harried breaths really didn't matter in the least. Cole stared down at the patch of gray concrete beneath his feet, memorizing every slight detail that marred the surface. His fingers wandered to the gold cross around his neck and gave it a squeeze. The slight prickle of pain from the sharp points of the cross poking into the pads of his fingers served as a reminder. As if he'd ever forget the cold, hard bite of the concrete through the knees of his jeans, the chill of death he'd embraced in his arms, and the smell of her blood as her life slowly seeped onto the sidewalk.

The city grew dim and the sidewalks quiet after rush hour died down. Cole's fingers and the tip of his nose were numb from the cold. The jacket did little to keep the chill of the memories soaking deep into his bones at bay. He knelt and pressed his palm against the sidewalk. With the warmth of the sun faded and darkness shrouding him the concrete was cold against his fingertips. The sidewalk was dirty and gritty. The stain of blood was invisible and for the most part unknown, but no amount of time, rain, or snow would ever wash this place clean.

Slowly, stiff from the cold and his crouch on the sidewalk, Cole pushed his weight onto to his feet, shoved his hands into his pockets to warm them, and moved on. He pulled into at a burger joint just off the expressway and ordered a substantial meal of greasy cheeseburgers just the way he liked them. Loaded to the point where the bun disintegrated in his hands and a mix of grease, catsup, and mayonnaise, with bits of lettuce, tomato, and pickle rolled down his chin. He savored every last bite, chewing thoroughly and washing it down with a chocolate shake chaser.

The food in his stomach filled the hollow spot, but did nothing to warm him.

The chill in his body had nothing to do with the falling temperatures of night or the long winter still exercising its hold on the city. Knowing what he was here to do, to say goodbye and anticipation of what would come tomorrow, the event he'd been training for all this time; sent him straight into deep freeze mode.

Cole climbed back into his borrowed truck, a big, sleek, black diesel model, and turned the heat on high, cupping his hands over the vents in hopes of trapping some warmth. He could feel their eyes on him as he pulled out and took the onramp back onto the expressway. The brothers were just doing their job. Keeping one human boy safe from things that went bump in the night. At least, they stayed out of sight allowing him what small measure of privacy they could.

This journey was important to him. So that he could put the things from the past where they belonged and in the proper drawer of his mental filing cabinet. The miles ticked by. The heart of the city became a glowing orange orb in his rearview mirror as he changed lanes and slowed to a stop at the end of the off ramp. He signaled and made a right turn to complete his trip down memory lane.

Cole still had a couple of hours to kill before he could complete his final task and tie up the last loose end. He knew exactly how he'd spend them, visiting an old friend. The slush of the day had frozen into a sheet of ice on the street. His tires skidded on the skating rink of a road. The street department didn't bother to salt this particular stretch of pavement. There wasn't any point. Nobody drove to cemeteries in the middle of the night.

The graveyard was quiet and dark. Cole scaled the wrought iron fence with an ease that surprised even him. Of course though, the ironwork wasn't designed to keep anybody out and the people inside of its perimeter weren't exactly going anywhere either.

Frost covered tombstones twinkled with glimmering bits of starlight beneath the glow of the fat, full moon overhead. He wandered through the tidy rows, checking the names carved on the stones.

Death was surreal in this place of neatly clipped lawns, silk flowers with their bows flapping in the gentle night breeze, and the orderly rows of tombstones. The names and dates chiseled with precision into the stones perched above the flat ground. Given all the efficiency and order of the graveyard. It was far easier to kid yourself and believe that death happened to somebody else and never to you.

Cole snickered as he paused for a moment at the base of David's headstone and wondered if his own tombstone might end up at the head of the empty plot beside David's grave. Nah, his stepfather wouldn't want to waste good money on a grave and a monument when there wasn't a body to bury in the ground beneath it.

The neatly manicured frost covered grass crunched beneath his feet. The warmth of the day had melted the snow pack and turned the ground to mush that had since frozen over. Cole supposed wandering through a graveyard in the middle of the night ought to creep him out. It didn't. The living were far more dangerous than the dead. There were no ghosts from the great beyond come to haunt him. The only ghosts that existed were the ones people concocted in their own minds.

The cold was a damp cold that sank down deep into his bones. He watched his exhales form puffs of white steam into the darkness of the night with morbid fascination. He was still in the ranks of the living. Shivering his ass off wandering amongst the dead with the intention of visiting someone who wouldn't really know or probably care if he were there or not. Finally, he found the grave he'd been looking for. Yeah, ghosts might not exist, but he sure as hell was haunted by the name chiseled so neatly into the stone.

Rachael. Fucking eighteen years old and her life was over before she'd even gotten the chance to live it. Not her fault and not fair either, but there it was.

In it for the long haul until dawn, Cole set up shop and sat on the ground. "Hello, Rachael. Been a while, hasn't it." The words floated in the darkness trapped in the steamy white cloud of his exhale. He paused as if in anticipation for her reply. She wouldn't answer him back. The dead weren't really here in this place of sorrow and remembering. Rachael was gone. Perhaps, to a better place or perhaps, to nowhere, as if she'd been, but suddenly wasn't anymore and the light that was her had been forever snuffed out of existence.

Cole didn't know exactly where he stood in his beliefs in heaven and hell, but if anyone deserved the heaven he'd learned about in one of his rare trips to Sunday school as a kid, it was Rachael. In a way, he supposed it was kind of strange sitting in a cemetery at the foot of a grave in the middle of the night, talking to a headstone. The brothers didn't judge. They hovered in the backdrop of pines and winter bald trees intent to give him his space to do whatever it was he needed to do. After all, who could possibly understand the thin barrier between the living and the dead and the difference between the two better than a vampire? Paying the brothers as much mind as they paid him and pretending they weren't there at all, he talked on and on. Perhaps, he talked to nobody but himself, but maybe, she was listening.

The gray light of first dawn crept over the deep green of the pines as he finally emptied himself of things to say and sat there in peaceful silence. This was the dawning of the first day of the rest of his life, or the dawn of the last day of what was left of this version of his life, depending on how he chose to look at it.

Cole scrambled to his feet and stretched. His limbs were stiff and heavy from sitting on the ground. He gingerly hedged around her grave, not wanting to step on her and bent over the tombstone. The winged granite angel carved into the stone bore no resemblance to Rachael whatsoever. Rachael had been everything warm, bright, and full of life. The angel was cold and gray, and so very still.

Cole's fingertips were icy and numb as he brought them to his lips. He kissed the pads of his fingers and rested them on her headstone. "I miss you." The warmth of his fingers left a pattern of melted frost on the stone. He watched the beads of condensation reform into a thin layer of glistening ice crystals on the granite. He couldn't go where she was, wherever that happened to be. She'd left him behind without any choice but to forge ahead into the unknown.

Maybe, it was that way for all living left with the bitter duty of burying the dead and charged with the task of remembering them. He didn't know how these things went for other people. Only how they went for him and he would remember her forever. Forever. God... how that word hung over his head. Forever had a whole different meaning for him now.

This graveyard was the very essence of forever for humanity. The graves, the statuary, the angels, crosses, and the vague promises of better things waiting on the other side, had little meaning for the immortal. Death itself had no claim on him now, or it wouldn't, come moonrise tonight. Maybe, he should drop to his knees and pray. Maybe, he should simply turn his back and walk away, but it was truly too late for that. He would remember Rachael and honor what she'd died for. He had one last task to complete. A vow, he'd promised not to her, but to himself. Vengeance.

Chapter 2

The old neighborhood looked exactly as he remembered. Not much could have changed in just six months. Somehow though, everything seemed different to him. As if he were seeing the neighborhood and the houses in it for the first time. Hanging from a post in the front yard a For Sale sign flapped in the breeze. The windows of Rachael's house were the dark and blank, like the sightless eyes of a corpse. Her parents must have moved away and started over someplace else. He couldn't blame them.

The rose trellis he'd scaled to sneak into her window last fall was covered with dried twisted brown winter dead vines intertwined through the white latticework. Cole shrugged off the deep feeling of sadness for the things that would never be the same again and rolled his truck to a stop in front of his house.

His car, his baby girl, sat parked crooked in the driveway. As if someone had hastily backed her in and then left her to rot. Her tires, the beautiful, overpriced, low profile tires that transformed her from a thing of sheer sleek beauty into the queen of the streets were flat. A dried layer of muck caked her once gleaming candy apple red paint job. Across the windshield, someone, probably his little sister, had traced the words, 'Wash Me' with a fingertip.

Unused and unappreciated, the car that he'd treated better than any living being, slowly rusted in the driveway. The battery was most likely drained and he doubted that the car would even start after so many months of neglect. Cole gritted his teeth at the placard in the front windshield. The weather beaten orange and black For Sale sign was practically illegible beneath a layer of frost. He didn't care about the car as much as what her deliberate neglect and the for sale sign represented. His family had written him off.

The car, his prized possession, been purchased with blood money. Literally, blood sold for money. Pink. Flecks of vampire blood, dehydrated and mixed with food grade glitter and then divvied out to customers in little glass vials. Seemed harmless enough at the time. In actuality, Pink was more dangerous and lethal than Meth, more addictive than cocaine, everybody wanted it, and he'd been more than happy to provide.

The thought that he'd ever dealt that poison rankled him. Something good had come out of all the bad he'd done though. He wasn't that self-centered, snot nosed punk he had been, not anymore. The months of pushing himself well past his physical and emotional limits had made certain of that. Cole Zimmerman, at least the Cole Zimmerman that everyone remembered him as didn't exist any more.

The parking space beside his car was empty. His step dad still worked the early morning shift. Good. Running into Bill Zimmerman was not exactly what Cole had in mind. The two of them had never gotten along. Cole carried the man's last name, but nothing else of that prick was inside of him. At first, things had been pretty good, but when his half-brothers and sisters came along that quickly changed. Things between the two of them escalated to a fevered pitch just shy of pure hatred. No doubt, selling the car was his step dad's idea and more power to him.

Cole frowned at the house with its dilapidated shingles and peeling paint. The guttering he used to scale just outside his bedroom window hung haphazardly by a couple of loose screws. The same shabby curtains that had been hanging there for as long as he could remember still covered the windows. The driveway was dotted with winter brown weeds poking up through the gravel. The screen in the screen door was torn to shreds left to flutter like tattered black wings in the breeze. Without the blood money he'd sold his soul to earn, the house and most likely his family had started to fall to the wayside. He had no grudge against anyone under that roof, with the exception of his step dad and if his family could use the money selling the car would no doubt provide. They were welcome to it.

The house's windows were still dark. The hour was early and nobody was awake yet. Cole gripped the cold metal of the drainpipe that ran along the roofline and down to the ground. The thing was loose as a kid's front tooth and wobbled precariously as he shimmied up the slick pipe to his bedroom window. He hesitated for a minute before easing the window open and climbing inside. Was it still his bedroom or had one of his siblings claimed the space? He sure as hell didn't want the entire house awake. What he had to say was between him and his mother.

Cole clamped down on the thought that someone had gone through his things, carelessly cramming them into cardboard boxes. Boxes hell, if his step dad had anything to do with it, his stuff was probably in a dozen trash bags, moldering in a landfill somewhere. It was just stuff. Stuff he'd left behind. CDs, clothes, and a few trinkets, nothing that really amounted to much. He wasn't here for the car or his stuff, just a brief visit to tie up the one remaining loose end from his former life.

Gingerly, he inched open the bedroom window and slipped inside. It was like visiting a museum or something. Everything, all his stuff, was exactly where he'd left it. Even the mound of dirty clothes he'd kicked into the corner a lifetime ago was still there. Oddly though, it wasn't the heartfelt homecoming he'd envisioned in his mind. It was just a sad reminder of who he'd been back then. When he stopped to think about it, the Cole Zimmerman he'd been wasn't really that likable of a person. In fact, he'd been a real asshole. He opened the bedroom door and eased down the hall. Very careful not to wake the twins, he ventured past their room and into the open door at the end of the hall.

His mom slept curled up on her side, bundled up in a worn, faded comforter that had seen more than its fair share of winters. The mattress sagged wearily beneath her slight weight. All that was visible from under the mound of covers was a tuft of her blonde hair. Gently, he tiptoed over to the edge of the bed, careful not to startle her as he eased his weight onto the mattress. If she cried out, the whole house would snap awake and steal this moment that he'd intended for just the two of them.

He owed her an explanation. With Rachael's death fresh on his heels and the decisions her murder had led him to, he'd vanished without a trace. His mom, Jessie Zimmerman, deserved so much better than to never know what happened to her oldest son. "Mom," Cole said softly, timidly reaching out a hand to shake her awake. She stirred and mumbled something intelligible and fought to remain in lost in her world of dreams. "Mom, wake up."

Jessie thought she had to be dreaming the same dream she dreamt over and over again. She heard Cole, gently calling her name. She could feel his fingers through the rough flannel of her nightgown, gently shaking shoulders. She didn't want to wake up and be faced with the reality that this was just a dream. Her son was still missing. He was just a runaway and would come home when he was good and ready to. At least that's what the police, Bill, and everybody else kept telling her.