Chapter 16: Newly Born_The Scarlet Jane Files

I come to consciousness in a bed that is not my own. Lying on a stretcher, an IV drip attached to my hand, I open my eyes and try to move, only to have my vision swim with vertigo.

 “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Doctor Mitchell says, pressing his hands to my arms to hold me in place. “Don’t try to move, Scarlet. You’re very sick.”

 “Is this supposed to happen?” I ask in a voice that is barely a whisper.

 “It isn’t uncommon,” the man replies, only releasing hold of my arms when I refuse to move. “How are you feeling?”

 “Like hell.” I manage a laugh that burns my parched throat. “Can I have water?”

 “Of course. Give me one moment.”

 I close my eyes and try to fight back the waves of nausea rolling across me.

 Just breathe through it, I tell myself.

 “Just like Mama taught you,” I mumble.

 When I open my eyes next, I find Doctor Mitchell standing beside me, holding what appears to be a juice box, complete with a bendable straw that will allow me to drink without lifting my head.

 “Juice?” I ask.

 “Electrolytes,” the doctor says. “To rehydrate you and give you vitamins.”

 I part my lips and allow him to slide the straw between them, then suck down at least half the carton before drawing back.

 “Do you need anything else?” the doctor asks.

 “I don’t think so,” I reply before closing my eyes and sighing. “I’m sorry about the mess I made.”

 “The Trinity Chamber has seen its fair share of vomit.” Doctor Mitchell laughs. “Don’t worry about it, Scarlet. Just try and get some rest. You need to build your strength.”

 “Thank you,” I say.

 I close my eyes and listen to the sound of his footsteps as he exits the room—as a keypad is clicked and as a mechanical door sips open. When it closes behind me, a heating unit kicks on, and warm air cascades over my body, offering me comfort I couldn’t have asked for otherwise.

 Just relax, he’d said. You need to build your strength.

 Thankfully, I can already feel the effects of the nutrients coursing through me and the nausea dissipating. But as I continue to fall into sleep, I find that it isn’t the nausea or the idea of my world spinning that troubles me.

 No.

 It is the images flashing before my eyes.

 Of men covered in ice. Of creatures howling at the moon. Of monsters, half-rotten, drinking the blood of the innocent. These bizarre landscapes shower me with untold prophecies, with newfound dread, and threaten to drive me insane as I watch the plights of others, their struggles.

 I see one man lift his hand and conjure a shard of ice from thin air.

 I watch a bestial creature launch itself atop a deer.

 I witness the vampire that had haunted me during my initiation in the viewing chamber, holding a ragged doll I’d possessed since I was a baby.

 No, I think. No.

 I want to scream. To cry out. To launch myself from the bed and rip the monster’s head from my body.

 But I can’t.

 This thing—this phantom creature—is merely a product of my imagination, one I imagine is born from both the nightmarish aspects of my mother’s murder and the injection of the Trinity Serum rushing through my veins.

 The moment after the creature’s face vanishes from sight, I feel an immense pressure lift from my person.

 I am, above all, tired. My limbs hurt. My body aches. My internal organs struggle to keep up with my changing body. Even my mind, which I thought would be unaffected, continues to swim, revealing supernovas in the sky, animals as they crawl up from the deep.

 I need to sleep.

 Yes, I think.

 That’s all I need. Just a little bit of sleep. Before I wake up to face whatever happens next.

 Before—

 * * *

 When I open my eyes next, I feel as though an enormous amount of time has passed—not only because I feel far more rested than I had previously, but because my bladder feels close to bursting.

 With discomfort radiating through my midsection, I ease myself into an upright position.

 I am just about to beckon Doctor Mitchell from where he sits behind a glass panel when I sense movement in the room with me.

 “Hello,” Shadow’s familiar voice says.

 “Holy shit,” I reply. “I think I just peed a little.”

 “How are you feeling?”

 “In desperate need to use the bathroom. Can you get the doctor to unhook me?”

 “Give me a moment.”

 Shadow stands, exits the room, approaches Doctor Mitchell, whose eyes are intent on papers spread out before him. It doesn’t take long for both men to reappear—and once I am disengaged from the IV drip, I dart into the bathroom as if my life depends on it.

 Upon finishing, I step out of the space to find both men staring.

 “What?” I ask, almost dumbfounded by their expressions. “What’s wrong? Have I grown a second head?”If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

 “How are you feeling?” Doctor Mitchell asks. “Have you experienced any further nausea? Any discomfort? Seen any hallucinations?”

 “Hallucinations?” I ask. “How did you—”

 “You were thrashing in your sleep. I had to administer a sedative to make sure you wouldn’t hurt yourself.”

 That explains why I slept so soundly, I think.

 I nod and say, “I’m feeling all right.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, I add: “I feel better than ever, actually.”

 “Good,” Shadow then says. “Mister Delacroix would like to see you as soon as you are ready?”

 “For what?”

 “Your next test.”

 My next test? I think.

 What is he talking about?

 I’d assumed I’d be done with them after being injected with the Trinity Serum—and that, after all I’d been through for the past few weeks, I’d be allowed to venture into the field to search for the monster that murdered my mother.

 But this makes sense, I tell myself.

 Now that I am imbued with Supernatural power, I will have to learn to control it.

 So, with a nod, I clear my throat and say, “I’m ready whenever you are.”

 “Then let us go. The Guild is awaiting you as we speak.”

 * * *

 We arrive at the Training Chamber to find that it is filled with a contingency of men and women. Armed to the tooth and nail with swords, pistols, daggers, staves, and other weaponry, they lift their eyes only when I enter the room—and only when Victor Delacroix, dressed in metal armor and holding a wicked trident in his hand, steps forward to approach.

 “Scarlet,” the leader of the Guild says as he comes to stand before me. “I expect you’re feeling better now that you’ve had a chance to recover?”

 “Yes sir,” I say, instinctively aware that I should address him with respect. “I feel much better now.”

 “Good,” Delacroix says. “Because we’re not ready to test the serum’s effectiveness on your body.”

 “What?” I ask. “What’re you—”

 I don’t have time to finish.

 A moment later, the door to the viewing Chamber opens, and two men step out—

 But they’re not alone.

 No.

 The creature they lead by a noose and rod is one I am already familiar with. Tall, gray, with tears in its cheeks from where it had previously mutilated itself, the Sanguine laughs as it centers its gaze on me and attempts to lash out. The combined strength of the two Hunters is too much for it, however, and it merely jars its neck as it tries to reach me.

 “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice cold, devoid of emotion.

 “You’re to fight this creature to the death,” Victor Delacroix says, “and prove your newfound abilities to the guild.”

 “You expect me to fight the vampire?” I ask, only to receive a wicked laugh from the creature in response. “Oh, fu—”

 The creature—whose vocal cords have since decayed—attempts to speak, but only garbled nonsense comes out. Its ensuing laugh is enough to raise the hairs on the back of my neck, however.

 “This Sanguine has been starved and is consumed by bloodlust,” Delacroix says. “It is much weaker in its current state but should prove to be a formidable foe for a new Hunter.”

 How? I think.

 Or better yet: why? Why throw me to the wolves now, after I have just come out of recovery? And why have me face the thing that has filled my waking thoughts, my sleeping nightmares, for the past three weeks?

 It’s a trial, I tell myself. A test to ensure you can kill the monster in the field.

 Unable to refuse myself any longer, I turn and make my way to the fall wall, where I pull a short sword whose length is inscribed with silver runes.

 It’s a pure metal, I think. It should be weak against it.

 But would the old Hollywood stereotypes be enough to combat a creature like this? An alien not of this world?

 I don’t know, but I don’t have time to dwell on it for long. The Guild is waiting.

 As is Amelia Vanderoof, apparently. She stands on the second level that leads to the sensory deprivation chamber and watches me with indifferent eyes. “You will combat this creature until either you or it dies,” the woman says. “To effectively kill a Sanguine, one must remove its head and then destroy the parasitic creature housed within its brain. Do you understand?”

 “I understand,” I say.

 “Good.” Amelia gestures to the Hunters. “Stand ready, and prepare to release the creature. Be ready for anything.”

 The men restraining the Sanguine edge it toward the center of the room, dangerously close to where I stand. As it nears, I take note of its rotting face, its gray skin, its teeth that I can see gnashing away at the gaps in its cheeks. The tips of its fingers have been stripped to bone and are sharpened to points that could easily eviscerate me should they reach my body.

 Just like Mama,

 is the thought that runs through my head.

 That alone is enough to fuel the rage in my heart, the fire in my being.

 Nearby, the Hunters holding semi-automatic rifles train their weapons on the creature as I step forward.

 “Now!” Amelia cries. “Release the creature!”

 The collar is disengaged.

 The creature springs forward.

 I barely have time to dodge before the vampire is upon me.

 Spinning, and holding the sword steady, I turn to face it as it hisses and bares its elongated teeth at me.

 “Come at me, you dead bitch,” I say.

 The creature screeches and bolts toward me.

 I sidestep its advance and slam my elbow into the creature’s chest with enough force to crack its ribs. It screeches—more out of rage than pain, I imagine—and claws at me, attempting to sink its teeth into any visible flesh it can. It doesn’t have the chance to do so, however; for when I pull away, I tear a chunk of its thinning hair from its head and slam the sword into its gut, twisting it about until I disembowel it.

 The creature laughs as its guts spill onto the floor.

 I pale and nearly retch as the stench hits me.

 The creature retaliates by swiping at my face.

 I, somehow, am able to dodge aside with Supernatural speed.

 What the hell? I think.

 Is this what Emily Bane had meant when she said the serum would provide me with powers to fight the creature?

 I can’t stop to think.

 Within moments, the creature is freeing itself and jumping toward me once more.

 I spin, kick it in the head, and send it sailing across the room. I can’t help but smile as it impacts the wall with a grizzly snap.

 “Come at me!” I scream. “Come at me!”

 The creature turns, screeches, bolts toward me.

 It’s stupid, I tell myself as I watch it slip on its distended intestines. It’s not smart enough to gauge my reactions. 

 However, what it lacks in foresight it makes up for in blind abandon, which I know can be even more dangerous than a sense of self-preservation.

 As it draws nearer—and when a breath is all that remains between us—I raise my sword and slam it into the creature’s neck.

 Its spinal cord is severed, the neck freed from its body.

 As the creature’s head lands with an audible slap of wet and bloody flesh, I flip the weapon in my grasp, throw myself to my knees, and slam the sword into its skull.

 Bone parts beneath blade.

 Brain parts under pressure.

 The parasite inside—which I can barely see writhing in a sickly attempt to escape—is destroyed.

 I pull the blade from the vampire’s skull. Stab once, then twice. Then I stand and slam my foot into the pulpy matter that remains.

 Then I turn to face those who silently look on.

 “Congratulations, Miss Brown,” Amelia says, clapping three times before lowering her hands to grasp the railing before her. “You have officially proven yourself competent enough to join the Guild of Hunters.”

 Shouts and applause follow.

 The Hunters standing by surge toward me.

 I did it, I think as they clasp my hands, my arms, press their palms to my back. I’ve become a Hunter in record time.

 But it doesn’t take long for the happiness surging through me to turn to rage.

 As the men and women around me continue to praise and congratulate me, I think of my mother and how the creature is still out there—likely still hunting, stalking, and killing more people.

 My hand tightens around the sword.

 No.

 This isn’t over. Not by a longshot.

 Now that I am a Hunter…

 It is time to hunt the creature that killed my mother.

AliNovel

Chapter 16: Newly Born