Mercy Brown: A Dystopian Vampire Saga, page 1
Mercy Brown
Part One
Tiki Kos
Edited by
Pinpoint Editing
Cover designed by
Ammonia Book Covers
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Appendix I
Appendix II
Appendix III
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Tihana Kos
All rights reserved. The scanning, uploading and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the Author is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes). Prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the Author at tiki_14a@hotmail.com
ISBN-13: 978-0-9959111-2-3
This book is for the invisible girls
1
Mercy
The obnoxious blare of the alarm caused an echo of ringing through my ears. I picked up the pillow next to me and slammed it down on the beeping machine. My lips rolled and I rubbed my eyes, trying to convince them to perk up. It was morning already; I felt as though I’d just fallen asleep.
My feet kicked off the covers and I pulled myself out of bed. All I wanted to do was get it over with as quickly as possible. I rummaged through the folded piles of clean clothes scattered across the room. As I shoved one against the wall, I pulled a long grey t-shirt from underneath and slipped it over my head. I couldn’t go wrong with the old Fleetwood Mac tee. I looked over my shoulder to see the alarm clock flash to eight. I was going to be late again, and on the first day. I didn’t want to get a detention.
I had just enough time to wash my face and slip on a pair of shorts before I had to start running to school. I pulled my cell phone out of its charger and sprinted down the stairs.
Once I reached the bottom, the stench of rancid beer tickled my nose. Dad groaned, lifting himself up from the brown and orange floral couch as if he were a newly undead zombie coming out of the grave.
“What time is it? Aren’t you supposed to be at school?” I grabbed the empty bottles of beer and threw them down into the kitchen sink. “It’s eight o’clock. Did you even eat anything when you came home?”
Dad shrugged and scratched his balding head. “I don’t remember.”
“You know the doctor told you to start eating healthy and stop drinking so much. Your liver is going to kick the bucket.”
His silent response was all too familiar—his favorite way to handle any situation. Scanning the nearly empty shelves, I grabbed an apple and threw it at him. “I need to pick up some groceries on the way home. Do you have any money left?”
He took a bite into the crisp apple and pointed to the counter. “There should be some in my wallet. Excited for your first day, kiddo?”
“Not really.”
“Well, you don’t have that much time left there, and then you can do whatever you want.”
“I guess.”
I sighed, opening the frayed brown wallet. Fifty bucks? I needed to find a way to stretch that for three weeks.
Dad wasn’t doing so well. He had recently lost his job at the car factory. Luckily, he’d found another, working the nightshift at the local garbage dump. I barely saw him. I tried to tell him how lucky he was to find a job in our small town. Goodsprings was teetering on a whopping population of 1,000. There weren’t a lot of career opportunities in the desert, unless you counted Ghost Tour Guide, but nobody wanted that job; you only got the occasional straggler lost, trying to get to Las Vegas, or the true believers. Those ones were the worst; they always wanted to spend the night at the Old Pioneer Saloon.
Crumpling the paper money, I shoved it deep into my distressed jean pocket. I stood up on my tippy toes, giving Dad a kiss on his sweaty forehead. The bitter taste of salt swept across my lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow—and don’t be late for work. You know that’s why Jimmy always gives you hard time, right? Don’t be late, and he won’t have anything to nag you about.”
He patted my shoulder. “You betcha, kiddo. Have a great first day of school.” I tried to stay positive when it came to talking to my dad, but I felt my voice always betrayed me.
I laughed, knowing all too well this wasn’t going to be a great day. I grabbed an apple and the smoothie I made the night before from the fridge, and picked up the tattered purple backpack slouched against the kitchen table.
“See you later, Dad.” He grunted an unintelligible response.
Just as I opened the front door, the mail man met me on the front steps.
“Ah, Mercy Brown. I have a letter for you.” He handed me a white envelope stamped in red—'RETURN TO SENDER’. “You must have sent it to the wrong address.”
“I guess so.”
I ripped opened the envelope and pulled out a card wishing a happy birthday to my little brother, Eddie. It was his fourth birthday a month ago.
He had been taken by the state and given to my aunt, Annie. I hadn’t seen him or heard any news for over a year. I guess she didn’t want me to know where they’d moved to.
When my mom married my dad, her family shunned her. They didn’t want to be associated with such a small-town person. Mary was from a wealthy family with great expectations. It must have been pretty disappointing to them, her marrying a deadbeat like my dad. Of course, Annie and whatever other relatives decided Eddie was young enough to be brought back into the Vanderkamp family. They’d hassled the state to find my father negligent—not that it was hard at that time, with him being jobless and an alcoholic.
I knew they would never take me.
I pushed the card deep into the side pocket of my backpack and hurried down the stone steps.
The air was so hot and dry I could feel droplets of sweat building up on the crown of head. Even though I had lived in Nevada my whole life, the heat still bugged me.
I arrived at the bus stop just as it began to pull away, and waved my hands at the driver.
“Wait!”
She smiled and slowed the vehicle down, then opened the side doors. When I hurried into the bus, I yelled a thank you. There was no way I would have been able to make in on time by running.
When I sat down the blue cushion chairs, I heard little a girl whisper, “Look, Mommy, it’s the vampire.” I didn’t turn around.
The comments didn’t bug me as much anymore. I suffer from porphyria, or what the crazy folks around here like to call the ‘vampire’s curse’. I’m not actually a vampire; I don’t suck anyone’s blood or hate garlic.
During times of stress, I have attacks. These usually include paranoia and sensitivity to light.
People don’t like it when you’re different. They’re always scared, or want to punish you for something you can’t control.
There was a point we would have crucifixes nailed to our front tree, or bulbs of garlic scattered on the lawn. The pranks escalated quickly, especially near Halloween. But these things, I could handle. What I couldn’t were the rumors that accused me of being the reason my mom and sister died, that I must have drank their blood and killed them.
That pissed me off.
My family was just like any other; we were just very unlucky. Both my mother and sister died of Tuberculous.
You know the saying lighting won’t strike the same spot twice? Well, that’s a lie. I can’t tell you what the chances were of my family playing host to two extremely rare diseases. What I can tell you is that it has ripped us apart and made us the town freak show.
“Mercy Brown, it’s your stop,” the bus driver called out to me. I knew the people who sat watched me get off and hurry down the street. If I had been brave enough, I would have turned around and flipped them the bird, but that would have gone against my ‘stay invisible’ plan for the year.
2
Mercy
I hurried down the road to arrive at my destination, Goodsprings High. At first glance, you would think the building had been abandoned for a few years, with the rickety doors, missing paint chips and dirty bricks.
At second glance, you would notice the teenagers and adults going into that same building. The school was surrounded by a broken fence that, every year, some fool cut their leg on—or some other body part.
Every election was the same; the mayor would promise our children deserved a clean and inviting learning environment, but he had yet to follow through. One would think the folks of Goodsprings would have stopped re-electing a crook for the past seven years and elect someone who would actually do some good.
When I entered the school, a tacky cork billboard welcomed the students for another fantastic
My best friend, Amanda. My lifeline. I’d spent the whole summer counting down the days until I could see her again.
“Tell me of the outside world. How was Seattle? Did you have a lewd affair with a hipster barista who refuses to drive cars and only rides vintage bicycles?”
Amanda raised her eyebrows from behind her pale pink frames.
“The only affairs I indulged in this summer were ones written down on paperback.” Of course, Amanda would always choose books over boys. Her love of them was deeply rooted in her soul; her mother and father ran the Goodsprings Weekly.
“How was the library?”
She swished her body, the slinky summer dress hugging her tiny frame. “It was incredible. I felt like Belle in the Beast’s castle. Books everywhere.” She throws her hands up in the air. “They had everything, Mercy. When we move to Seattle, I’m going to hassle that library until they have to hire me.”
That was our plan after graduation: move to Seattle and start living our lives. Amanda had known since she was a child that she wanted to be a librarian. I had no idea what I really wanted to do.
As we walked past the lockers, Amanda bent her head and whispered, “Don’t look behind you. Things 1, 2 and 3 have arrived.” The overpowering smell of expensive perfume filled the hallway as the sound of high heels clanked on the floor.
“Look, the undead freak and super nerd are back. I hope you girls had a wonderful summer. I sure did when my parents took me to Paris.”
I turned around to see Trinity and her minions. She was captain of the cheerleaders, sporting over-processed blonde hair and outfits that could pay my father’s mortgage for the entire year. The two girls, Brittany and Suzy, following behind her were almost clones. Suzy loved to correct people if they made the mistake of spelling her name ‘–ie’ instead of ‘–y’. They acted as if ‘–y’ ending names were far superior to any other.
During the sixth grade, Trinity tried to recruit me into her cult. I will admit, at first, the perks of the friendship were amazing. She had the best toys and her parents let her stay up late. That was, until the last sleepover. In the middle of the night, Trinity started her period. It was a horror show. To save her the embarrassment and shame of the trivial incident, I took the blame. One would think that would strengthen the friendship, but it did the complete opposite.
Thus, the vampire rumors began.
Brittany eyed my outfit. “I don’t think they did much. Mercy looks like she had a wonderful shopping trip in the Salvation Army.”
Suzy snapped her fingers. “That was a good one, Brittany.”
I didn’t want to start a fight with them; I just wanted to survive this year and disappear from Goodsprings. It wasn’t worth speaking up, and I knew they’d keep bugging me even if I did.
Trinity flipped her perfectly curled hair over her pink dress. “Come on, girls. Let’s not waste any more time on these freaks.” I rolled my eyes, watching the trio clink down the hallway like a herd of gazelles turning into the room. Amanda flung her hair back.
“Really, Brittany. You are soooo funny.” I mimicked Trinity’s voice the best I could. “Like, we have so much better things to do with our lives, like help each other destroy our like, hair and fill our like, genital warts prescription.”
Amanda hooked her arm with mine. “Don’t forget that we like, have to plaster our faces with makeup to cover up that we’re not humans, but like, soulless robots.”
I chuckled as we walked through the red door into our first period classroom. “You would think after twelve years they’d come up with new insults.” We sat at our usual desks in the back corner of the classroom, filled with teens throwing papers and chattering.
Amanda scoffed. “You really think an original thought has ever passed through their airhead brains?” I shook my head, hanging the straps of my backpack on the plastic blue seat.
Mr. Rogers shuffled through the classroom door, carrying a pile of textbooks. He slammed them down on top of the wooden desk in the corner of the room. “I know you all have a lot of catching up to do. Settle down and take your seats.”
A wave of obedience filled the room; each student took their seat, the chattering turned into whispering, and the clicking of text messages being typed out was the most prominent sound in the room. Mr. Rogers flipped through his leather-bound notebook.
“Well, it seems we have a new student joining us this year. I want you all to give Sebastien Balaur a warm welcome, and try to make him feel at home.”
The classroom door creaked. Sebastien stood in front of the class with long slicked black hair and stormy dark eyes. His skin was oddly pale, especially for the desert. His black jeans and long-sleeved shirt made him stick out like a sore thumb.
Mr. Rogers pointed to an empty seat in the front row. I heard a roar of whispers about him. He’s so cute, and Look at his nice clothes. The teacher cleared his throat and shot a look at the whispering girls. “We’re glad to have you, Sebastien. It says that you come from a small town in Canada, near the Rocky Mountains. Is there anything you want to share about living with our next-door neighbours?”
Sebastien placed his leather satchel around his chair. The bag looked out of place, as if a mere fiber from it was too expensive to even be seen in Goodsprings High. “They have incredible health care.” His voice was cool and deep, sounding so much older than the typical high school boy. A couple of students snickered, and Mr. Rogers nodded.
“Indeed they do. Now, the theme for this year’s English class will be folklore. Can anyone give me an example of what folklore is?”
Amanda raised her hand high up in the air. Mr. Rogers pulled out a blackboard pen, nodding towards her.
“Folklore deals with a variety of things. Fairy tales, curses, legends, lullabies.”
“Anyone else?” He continued to walk back and forth in front of the board, waiting for an answer.
Trinity raised a hand and her perky voice twisted. “Vampires.”
Mr. Rogers jotted down the answers. “Very good, Trinity.” She turned towards me with a sour look on her face. I wanted to tell her that if she kept staring at me like that, her face would become wrinkled and stay like that forever. “You know, we have our own vampire expert in the room. Right, Mercy?”
The students turned to look at me and snicker. I wanted to transform into a snake to slither away. There went any chance of making a new friend in Sebastien—and it only took five minutes for him to find out I was a freak. He turned, watching my reaction.
Mr. Rogers ignored the comment. “Folklore is essentially beliefs or stories passed down from generation to generation. Now, for your first assignment, I want you to write down what your favorite parts of folklore are. It could be a person, a story, a curse.” As all the students jotted down Mr. Rogers’ lecture, Sebastien continued to stare at me. I ripped off the corner of my paper and scribbled a note to Amanda.
The new kid is staring at me!
I folded the paper, placing it on her desk. She looked up from her notes, scribbling something down in reply and throwing it on my lap.
He’s dreamy. Who knew there were so many dark and brooding boys in Canada? Interesting.
I rolled my eyes, ripping the paper into tiny pieces, leaving no evidence behind. The bell rang and the students began to pile out of the room. As Sebastien made his way towards me, I felt my heart pound. Was he really going to talk to me?
