As Lionel squinted through the harsh glare of the naked 100-watt lightbulb, he began to recognize some of the intruder's features. The man was even bigger than he'd appeared in the dark, bigger than Lionel himself. He had short, neatly cut black hair parted down the middle. Crystal-clear blue eyes. A strong chiseled jaw. High cheekbones and a smile fil ed with rows and rows of perfectly straight white teeth-teeth that had al been filed to sharp points. His body was armored with thick muscle rippling beneath the yel ow polo shirt he wore.
'Joey? Is that you, boy? What the hel are you doin' breakin' into my garage?
Why ain't your ass in school?'
'I came to ask you a question.' Lionel Ray lowered the shotgun and stared at his son with that angry, disappointed, and somewhat bemused expression he used to get just before he would slap Joe around when he was a kid.
'Boy, it is way too late for games. What is this, some col ege prank or something? Some fuckin' frat boys dare you to break into your dad's garage, smash up my door and dent the damned garage door? I hope they've got money to pay for al of this or else it's coming right out of your hide!' Lionel Ray growled.
'How soon after they found me bleeding to death in the park did you realize that one of your chickens had come home to roost? How long did it take you to recognize Damon Trent as one of your victims? I guess he was one of the unfortunate bastards who managed to survive, wasn't he? How many were there? How many kids have you kil ed?' Tears streamed down Joe's face. His father just looked annoyed and slightly amused.
'Wel, you final y figured it out, huh? I tried to tel you before, but I didn't think you could handle it. It looks like I was right. Look at you, standing there crying like some old woman. I can't believe we're the same blood. But we are, aren't we? You've got my blood coursing through those veins, don't you? My curse.
'How many were there?'
'There were dozens! I don't know.'
'What did you do to them? Tel me everything.'
Lionel Ray cocked an eyebrow at his son. 'Are you sure you want to know, boy?'
'Tel me! I want to know what I am.'
'I would pick them up at parks just like that Trent kid picked you up. Sometimes I'd offer them a ride home or tel them that their mommy had sent me to bring them home. Sometimes I'd just snatch them. After a while it became easier to just snatch them off the street. Less exposure that way. Then I'd take them home. Yeah, right to this house. Down in the basement. I'd cut on them for a while. I didn't do sex with them. I wasn't into al that. I'd just cut on them. I liked to hear them scream.'
'Did you drink their blood?'
'What? No! You mean like that fat freak who did you? I wasn't some pervert. I just liked to hear them scream.'
'Did you kil them?'
'Some of them. Most of them, I guess. But I let a few of them go too. Mostly the real y young ones I let go. I knew they wouldn't be able to tel the police enough to send them after me. Most of them were too scared to say anything when I was done anyway. And if I was real y worried about them talking I'd just cut their tongues out or put out their eyes or both. I should have cut Trent's eyes out.'
'But why, Dad? Why did you do it?'
'For the same reason you tore apart that librarian at your school. Yeah, you didn't think I knew about that, did you? The minute those cops showed up at my door asking questions about you I knew you were the one who did it. Like father, like son. I did it because it feels good, boy! Doesn't it, Son? Doesn't it feel good to prey on those weak, pitiful little things? It feels like your body was designed for it, doesn't it? Like you're fulfil ing your purpose in life. Kil ing off the weak. Cul ing the herd. They ain't good for nothin' no way except screamin' and dyin'. You happy now, boy? You got al your questions answered?'
'Al except one,' Joe replied, staring down at the shotgun stil leaning against his daddy's leg. He was calculating his chances of crossing the garage floor and disarming his dad before he could raise that shotgun and squeeze off a round. Maybe he wouldn't even shoot?
Joe thought. After al, I am his son. But he doubted that. He knew his dad wel enough to know that the man valued his own happiness and preservation above any familial love or responsibility. He would shoot Joe dead if he thought his life was in danger.
Joe began inching closer to his father. The closer he was when he attacked the old man, the better his chances would be of avoiding a steaming hole in his chest.
'So ask then. What else do you want to know about your old dad?'
Joe was now only a few feet away.
'I want to know if there's a cure for what we are. I want to know how to end this.' Lionel Ray began to laugh. 'A cure? You can't change what you are, boy! There ain't no cure!'
'I think there is.' Joe leapt forward, springing for his father's throat. Lionel Ray tried to raise the shotgun to shoot his only son. He was too late. The blast went over Joe's left shoulder. Joe noted without emotion that his dad had been aiming for his head.
A few shot pel ets lodged in Joe's shoulder, bicep, and chest, slowing him a bit but not stopping him. He tackled the elder Miles. His entire body slammed into the old man with the mass and velocity of a stampeding horse. They col apsed onto the hard concrete floor with a wet smack as the back of Lionel
Ray's head cracked against the cement.
Joe bared his fangs and clamped them down onto his father's throat. There was something terribly satisfying about hearing the man's screams.
Chapter Forty-five
Detective Montgomery had cal ed ahead to his partner to meet the Hayward police at the home of Lionel Miles. He then cal ed the Hayward police chief and gave him a rundown on the situation.
'If he's heading home I doubt it's to reminisce over old times. He's got a major bloodlust going and if we don't get there fast you're going to have a body to clean up-and believe me, Joseph is quite a messy eater.'
The detective set his phone in the charger and waited for the chief to cal him back with what would hopeful y be some good news for once-like, that they'd captured Joseph Miles. He stared out his windshield, barely aware of the traffic, barely even seeing the road, thinking only about the big, maneating col ege kid as he raced down the highway back toward California. He'd been on the road for over an hour when he final y got the cal.
'We missed him. He must have gotten there just a few hours before us.'
'So what happened? Did he kil his father?'
'He did more than kil him. Much more.' The previously robust voice of the
Hayward police chief faded to a faint whisper. Montgomery recognized the symptom. The man was going into shock. Whatever he'd found at the home of Lionel Miles must have been more horrible than the detective had been able to prepare him for. Montgomery stomped down on the accelerator as the chief fil ed him in on al the ghastly details. Six and a half hours later, he pul ed up outside the home of the late
Lionel Ray Miles.
If Montgomery hadn't prepared the police chief for what he might find at the home of Lionel Ray Miles, he had prepared himself even less.
'Jesus Christ!'
Lionel Ray lay on the hood of his prized 1969 Lincoln Continental with his chest torn open and his heart ripped out. The gaping chest cavity had been fil ed with garlic and a rosary lay atop the piles of fresh cloves. A wooden stake, driven through the spot where his heart should have been, pinned him to the hood of the car. His head had been removed and lay on the floor at his feet, stuffed with cloves of garlic. The body was smoldering from where his murderer had tried to set him on fire. The Hayward police had arrived just in time to douse the fire before it did much damage. The entire street smel ed like roasted garlic and barbecued pork. The most disturbing thing was how delicious the aroma was. It made the detective even more aware of the fact that he hadn't eaten in almost twenty- four hours.
Montgomery knew that the arson had not been an attempt to destroy evidence but rather a way to ensure
