Split

Split

  J. J. Westendarp

  Split

  by J. J. Westendarp

  Copyright © 2011 J. J. Westendarp

  The Eternal War

  Novels

  Spiral X

  Shorts

  Split

  For Jen

  You've always believed in me.

  Acknowledgments

  As usual, it would be remiss of me to think that I did this without any help.

  So, special thanks to Robert and Sean for reading an early version of this and offering suggestions as to how to make it better. And it is better even if I didn't take every suggestion. A huge thank you to Ronnell for creating the awesome cover. It has exceeded every expectation. As well, I would like to thank Fires of Heaven and Patchtimer for being extremely supportive of me in my burgeoning writing career, and Kindleboards for giving me yet another forum to spend my time with. Every writer needs procrastination destinations, and you guys provide it in spades.

  Last but not least I want to thank my wife. This was her idea and she graciously allowed me to take it and mold it into what you see before you. Your support and dedication to helping me build my career as a writer is the very reason I am able to keep going.

  Author's Note

  A long time ago I made a promise to myself that if I ever made any money off my writing, I would donate a portion of whatever I made to charity. With that in mind, 10% of what I take home from the sale of this book (and every book of The Eternal War series) will be donated to Child's Play.

  Since 2003, over 100,000 gamers worldwide have banded together through Child's Play, a community based charity grown and nurtured from the game culture and industry. Millions of dollars in donations of toys, games, books and cash for sick kids in children's hospitals across North America and the world have been collected since its inception. More information on this worthwhile cause can be found at www.childsplaycharity.org .

  I started writing as a way to enhance my own gaming experiences. Fan Fiction, if you will. I still game as much as I am able, and will always view myself as a gamer. And as a gamer, this is the most worthwhile cause available to us, a way to present the gift of gaming to children who could really use it, if only to forget their situation for a little while.

  Even if you end up not liking this book, I hope you can take some comfort in knowing part of your purchase will go towards this great cause.

  One

  Erika knew it was coming. She knew it was coming the moment her head had hit the pillow only a few hours ago. Still, the ferocity Mitch displayed when banging on her door caught her by surprise. He had always seemed very calm and collected to her, as if there was nothing in the world that could faze him. Apparently, she had been wrong. It wasn't as if she didn't deserve the reaction either. Deep down she knew she'd messed up. She’d messed up bad. And now Mitch was here to tell her all about it.

  She thought about waiting him out. Maybe if she did, he would go away thinking she wasn't home. After a few moments though, she realized he wasn't going anywhere. After all, where else would she be? She had no friends, at least none who still lived in Buffalo, and she had no family. All she had was this little house in Riverside. The driveway was bare except for the snow that had blanketed it over the course of the winter. Nowhere to go, no one to be with. Mitch knew as much, so he was here.

  Even still, she let a few more minutes pass, just in case, before she finally decided to get up and answer it. It was easier said than done. Moving even the slightest bit hurt so much she wanted to cry. She didn't though. She accepted the pain as her penance for the reason Mitch was here. As she pushed the covers off and reached for her robe, she saw the bruises already forming on her arms and legs, black and blue and purple reminders of the previous night. More would be forming underneath the extra large Sabres shirt she usually slept in. The frigid air in the house added to the discomfort, and as she slipped the robe on, her face was continuously pinched in pain. Once the robe was on, she pushed her feet into her slippers and turned to look into the mirror on her closet door. Not a pretty sight, not by any means, but presentable.

  When she reached the top of the stairs heading down, she took a deep breath and shouted, "I'm coming!" The banging stopped. Her head thanked her. She worked her way down the stairs as fast as the pain would allow, until she was standing at the front door. She could see Mitch through the curtains covering the glass. Even obscured, he looked pissed. Erika steeled herself for what was to come, and opened the door.

  Mitch didn't yell at her, a stark contrast from the level in which he had abused her door. He simply held up the front page of the Buffalo Morning News and pointed at the headline. Three Men Dead in Riverside Mystery. "I don't think I have to ask," he said calmly, "but is this your handiwork?" Erika pursed her lips and nodded. "I thought so." Mitch walked in as he folded the paper. "I thought we talked about this," he said, setting it on the table by the stairs.

  "We did," said Erika as she shut the door. She turned to look at Mitch, and almost recoiled at the look of disappointment in his eyes. Anger she could have dealt with as it was the emotion most prevalent in her life. Her parents had always expressed anger at the things she had done. Genuine concern hadn't been a part of their feelings when dealing with their only daughter. A point emphasized by their sudden departure two years ago. After all, why be concerned about someone whom they didn't care about? Mitch's concern was something she had never experienced, and that he was concerned enough to be disappointed in her hurt more than his anger would have.

  "I'm sorry," she said before she walked down the short hallway to the kitchen. Grogginess was as much her enemy as the pain, so she started putting together a half-pot of coffee. Mitch followed her and kept talking.

  "What you did was stupid and reckless," he said. "Sorry isn't going to cut it."

  Filter. Grounds. Water. Start. These simple actions kept her focused on something other than the pain and Mitch's disappointment. "I know," she said as she watched the first drips of coffee plop into the pot. "But at least I got three more of them," she added, trying to spin her recklessness into something positive. She didn't look at him. Couldn't look at him. Even the sigh her comment elicited hurt.

  "You're lucky the police only think it a very strange occurrence for three men to all die from apparent heart attacks." He paused, then asked, "Did you at least follow my rules?"

  Erika nodded. "I kept my hair tied up and wore gloves. Whatever forensics they use won't be able to find anything linking me to what happened." The pot was a quarter full, halfway there. The smell was already doing a lot to wake her. It was also something else to focus on.

  "And the gun?"

  "I couldn't."

  "Why not?"

  "I'm still not comfortable using it," she said. Mitch had been teaching her how to use a Beretta subcompact handgun to protect herself, but her aim was shoddy and she felt it was more dangerous for her to have it than not.

  "You could have taken it without ammunition. The sight of a gun is enough to scare some of them into avoiding you. The last thing they want is the attention a gunshot will get, even if the bullet can't hurt them." He sighed again, and the sound of it cut her. "We've been over this."

  "I know."

  "No," said Mitch, "you don't. You really don't. Otherwise, you wouldn't have gone out last night and we wouldn't be having this conversation."

  The pot finished brewing. Erika pulled a coffee mug from the cabinet above the brewer, emptied two pink packets of fake sugar into it, then added a heaping spoonful of chocolate creamer before finally pouring the precious dark liquid in. "I said I was sorry," she finally said as she stirred the ingredients together. She turned to look at Mitch, and he was sitting at the kitchen table with his head down as he considered his hands. "I was
careful, and I'm still alive," she said, pushing a little. "That's what counts." She set her mug down and crossed the kitchen to grab an ice cube out of the freezer. When she had finished stirring it into the coffee, she took a sip and found it perfect. She waited for Mitch to respond as she let the liquid warm her from within.

  "How do you kill them?" he finally asked. He sat back in the chair and crossed his arms.

  "I don't know," she said, shrugging. "When I figure it out you'll be the first I tell."

  He snickered and said, "I don't mean how you kill them. I mean how do you normally deal with them? I want to make sure you know."

  Erika sipped at her coffee and contemplated telling Mitch to leave. She didn't need his questions or his disapproval at the moment. Did she deserve it? Probably. He could scold her later though. When she was feeling better. However, it was probably better for her to answer his questions and get him out of here without any hard feelings. It was how she normally handled these things. No hard feelings, no reason for anyone to think ill of her, especially someone who seemed to care about her.

  "Sunlight is the most obvious," she said, "and there's always decapitation if you're good enough to pull it off. Find a way to get them to walk across holy ground, if they're not paying attention, or you can use the old standard of a holy stake through the heart."

  "And what's the difference between a stake and a holy stake?"

  "A stake will only piss them off. You need a stake that has been soaked in holy water and blessed by a priest for it to be effective."

  Mitch nodded. "Good. You have been listening. So tell me again why you went out without me last night?"

  "I don't know," she said. The words came out short and clipped. "Maybe I just felt like it," she added before downing the rest of her coffee. She thought about making another cup, then opted not to. Caffeine had a tendency to make her jittery if she had too much, more so than the average person. One cup was more than enough to wake her. She turned the pot off without bothering to ask Mitch if he wanted any.

  "I felt like it," repeated Mitch. "You know, part of being an adult is avoiding the impulsive decisions that cross your mind."

  "In case you haven't noticed," said Erika, "I'm not an adult." She was getting annoyed. It was one thing to be concerned for her. It was another to suddenly feel as if he had the right to tell her what she could or couldn't do.

  "Apparently."

  "What do you want from me?" she asked. The frustration in her voice was palpable.

  "I want you to follow my rules."

  "We went over that, and I did. What else?"

  "I would prefer if you didn't go out looking for them unless I'm with you. You're reckless and you still don't know how to properly defend yourself." Mitch leaned forward and made a frustrated sound as he shook his head. "I offered to help you because I think you have potential, and that's on top of whatever it is you're able to do to them when they try to feed on you. Now, I can't help you if you run off to put yourself in harm's way every time you feel like it."

  "What if they can't kill me?" she asked, defiance in her voice.

  Mitch abruptly stood and walked over to her. He grabbed her arm and pushed the sleeve of her robe up to expose the bruises underneath. "They don't need to feed on you to kill you, Erika."

  "Get your hands off me," she said through clenched teeth. Mitch let her arm fall and stepped back with his hands up. "I accepted your offer to help because I didn't see any other choice," she said as she pulled her sleeve down. "But if all you're going to do is saddle me with rules and act like you're my father, then I think we're done."

  "Done?" Mitch looked incredulous. "Erika, if I don't keep training you, one of these days you're going to end up dead. You stop now, and it's going to happen sooner rather than later." He paused and Erika could see him trying to calm down. "Look," he said after a moment, his voice back down to normal levels. "I'm only trying to look out for you. I don't pretend to know what you've been through since your parents left, but I'm not them."

  He was right. He wasn't. Erika looked at him, and saw he was genuinely concerned with her well-being. She didn't know how to react to it, and panicked a little. "You should leave," she whispered.

  Mitch's eyes opened wide and he sputtered a little before he said, "Why?"

  She shook her head and said, "I'll call you when I feel up to going out again, but for now I need rest and for you to go."

  He stared at her, adding to the discomfort of the moment, then nodded. "Very well." He started down the hallway toward the front door, then paused and turned back to her. "I'm serious about you needing to continue your training. So please, I'm only a phone call away." Erika reluctantly nodded, and Mitch left.

  For a few moments, she simply stood in the kitchen and let her thoughts echo around in her head. It was long enough for the chill in the house to combat the coffee, and helped bring the soreness and pain to the front of her mind. She forced herself to go back upstairs and crawl into bed, making sure to down a couple of aspirin in between. The coffee had her going, so she pulled her comforter up and turned on the television to see what was on.

  She flipped through the channels for a few minutes before she decided on the children's shows available on the public access channel. Then she settled in and put Mitch out of her mind.