Mikayla: Book One: Angel of Darkness

By John Martinez Hulsey

Living Dead Girl!

She's a vampire with a soul, but still one who must feast on Human blood to survive.

So when you're a vampire with a soul, whose blood do you feast upon? Those who deserve to die!

Evil doers beware...The night belongs to the Angel of DarknessMikayla!

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 31, 2001
• ISBN: 9781462086283

John Martinez Hulsey

John Martinez Hulsey is a native of San Antonio, TX. This is his first venture into the realm of Splatter Punk. www.JohnnyVeins.com

Book preview

Contents

PROLOGUE

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

BLOODY LITA

This is dedicated to my Mikayla.

THE DIRECTOR’S CUT

PROLOGUE

No sound was heard except for the steaming water, which dripped, from a rusted faucet. The frantic stress of the city, which lay on the opposite side of the brick wall, seemed nonexistent. There was nothing but the constant, rhythmic drip—drip—drip, adding to the already brimming tub of water. Steam danced across the water, like empty spirits ascending upward, as slight ripples moved ever so carefully across its calm surface.

Her mind worked with feverish intensity and speed like a machine producing likely scenarios and solutions, while maintaining the order and psychological organization needed in such situations. Her mind was one of her many assets, an eclectic collection of philosophy, history, theology, science, art, and literature.

She relaxed in the tub for almost twenty minutes—motionless, savoring the quiet surroundings, letting the intense heat of the water cleanse her, both physically and mentally. When the time felt right, she pulled the plug from the drain, stood, and began to pat herself down with a fluffy, red towel.

The cracked tiles were slippery beneath her bare feet as she walked across the floor. She turned to face the mirror, her reflection blurred and unrecognizable due to a layer of condensation across the mirror’s face.

Wiping the surface clean, she tied the towel around her waist, examining herself in the mirror. Her eyes ran across her chest.

Displayed across her left breast and coiling down over her perfectly formed abdomen was a tattoo, which had been done, in a traditional mythological style. It depicted a scene from an ancient Japanese tale—a young woman, delicately beautiful, being savagely embraced by an overpowering dragon. Jade scales decorated its backside. Long, white whiskers draped from its jaw and neck. Its fiery eyes examined its victim with intense lust. The dragon’s many limbs tugged at her, pulling her towards him. The brilliance of the colors was matched only by the scene’s strength and sheer degradation of human resistance.

She gave the rest of her body a quick look over, staring hard at the sinister reflection of her own eyes. Eyes…hardened by years of distress and pain, abandoned by emotions such as compassion and love—burning only with the darkest luster of black. Vengeance, betrayal, fear, and hunger for whatever was to come…were the only qualities she saw. They were the eyes of which no living being could penetrate. There was no escaping from her own icy glare. She could read every sinful thought and past action from her soul as if they were illustrated in a book.

Sweat began to appear across her brow, her frigid heart beating faster as her breathing increased rapidly. Suddenly, with no warning, she drew back a fist and released it, letting it fly at the mirror. The glass spider-webbed with the impact, dividing the reflection amongst itself a hundred times fold.

She slowly drew in one last breath of steam, letting it fill her lungs to their fullest capacity, before exhaling. With the tugging of a chain, the light bulb’s glow quickly faded to black.

Day had become night and night had become day. In the night, she was all-powerful; no human could surpass her strength. Only the sun she feared. Its doomed ultra-violet rays brought with them the kiss of death.

On a hot and rainy August night, the cool drops of rain sizzled as they hit the scorching summer street. An obscure mist rose where the water and the earth kissed.

The rough crunch of someone stepping off the street and into the loosely gravel paved alley brought the mistress of the night to complete observance. Like a shadow she moved into the darkness of the back street. With a growing thirst that tortured her ravenous insides, she began to dream of herself sitting beside a pool in the moonlight, and sipping on a tall, cool glass of blood.

There she inhaled heavily a heavenly scent of impostor CK one and nervous solicitude. Eau de cologne of fresh blood. She could almost taste the thirst-quenching cocktail.

The slight illumination of moonlight brought her midnight snack into focus. His bouffant pompadour bounced with every stride, as he strutted through the alley. A face, lightly tanned by the sun’s rays, which she could no longer appreciate except through the memories she had of when her and her family lived in Mexico—but that was when she was a small girl. He was a stallion only she could treasure. His anxious eyes dubiously envisioned the strangers of the night, who may be following.

He passed by her with a glimpse into the twilight. She broke away from the shadows. An arm’s length away, she could hear his heart pumping. She could feel his vital fluid of life flowing. She could smell it waiting for her. Inviting her. Whispering her name…Mikayla…

The smell of his invigorating life aroused her, as she sauntered in his direction. He was only inches away from her gentle touch. Now millimeters away from giving her what she needed to survive. Her mind screamed with desire the color of blood.

But suddenly, she found herself pulling back, her arms and legs weakened. A low cry escaped her lips. He turned and stared into the darkness, eyes wide with fear. He was blind to her presence, and with a low sigh— he turned away and hurried from the back street.

She tasted her own dead existence as it ran between her tightly clenched teeth, and watched the tender morsel disappear into the shadows and beyond.

She didn’t know how much longer she could go on like this.

Alone. Frightened. She was the Angel of Darkness…Mikayla.

The angel of the night awoke every night at the last stroke of twelve, and found herself bleeding from the mouth. Stranger still was that it was not her own blood, but that of some innocent victim she had just feast upon. Some poor soul she had left dead on the hot streets of San Anto. An innocent, who would go down in the record books as another victim of homicide.

She had not always been a blood-sucking femme fatale. When she was eighteen, living with her family in the Aztec city of Tenochtitlan, she came down with a life-threatening blood disorder. It was agreed by some of the priests in the city that her only chance for survival was a blood transfusion.

So, Mikayla’s twin sister, Hex, being the good sister she was, volunteered her own warm existence for the transfusion. But something unexplainable occurred, and now she had an undesirable craving for blood and viscera. Forget a super-sized number three Value Meal, just give her a heart and a pint of the red stuff and she was ready to disco.

She didn’t like being that way, however. All those innocent souls that she had destroyed. All those she had hurt with her undying appetite for the hot, red flames of life. She was so confused, outraged, and lost. She didn’t know what to do. She was no longer human, but now one of the living damned…

I can’t go on anymore, God—which is why I pray to you. Please help me, she would cry every night. But her prayers were never answered.

She had rented out a small, yet quaint apartment a year ago under a false name. Her landlord didn’t expect a thing, as long as she paid her dues on time.

Mikayla was draped across the bed, as she listened to Social Distortion’s, Ball and Chain. Even though it always made her cry, it was her favorite song. It reminded her of a time in her life when she could love someone, and someone could love her back. Who would love her now, knowing all she wanted to do was suck their warm existence away?

Though she could not survive without fresh blood, she deeply regretted feasting upon the innocent. Hence, she decided she would only prey on those who deserved to suffer and perish. Robbers. Baby killers. Rapists. Wife beaters. And murderers. She was a vampire vigilante, of sorts. And even though the Angel of Darkness killed, in her eyes, she was not a murderer—she was a survivor.

No mere mortal could resist her beauty and charm. And she was as beautiful, as she was charming, as she was deadly.

She had the shapely body of a centerfold, with gorgeous long red curls that flowed in the night’s breeze like the dark red flames of hell. She had unsurpassed excellence and beauty. Mikayla was a phoenix…the red phoenix.

Snaking its way through downtown San Anto, was a river with the same name. High-class hotels, nightclubs, restaurants, and saloons could be seen bordered along its sides in all directions. It was one of San Anto’s major tourists’ attractions—second only to the Alamo.

Four A.M.—after the restaurants had closed, and the club’s and saloon’s crowds had dwindled down to three or four, a monster of the night set its sights on a victim.

The victim, a young woman around twenty or twenty-one, had a full night of partying and drinking. She was intoxicated to the point of impairment of physical and mental abilities. The monster, a male around twenty-five, was aware of his victim’s inebriation and moved in for his nightly attack.

The monster crept up behind the victim, grabbed her, and forced her to the paved pathway that followed the river. He began to tear open her clothes, as the frightened girl tried to fight him and scream for help. But before he could rape the innocent beauty, some mysterious force froze him.

He covered the girl back up with her clothes, helped her to her feet, and sent her on her way. The girl ran and ran until she disappeared into the night. It was like he had a change of heart. But he had no control over his actions—it was the Angel of Darkness. She had come to feast. The tables had suddenly turned—he was the victim, and a beautiful woman was his aggressor.

As he laid on the pathway defenseless and under Mikayla’s spell, he asked, What are you?

The angel of the night leaped into the air like a lioness and landed on top of her prey. She licked the side of his neck, marking the area where she would sink her teeth in, then whispered into his ear, Listen, the moonlight sings of my love to you, and of my lust for what is carried within your pathetic little rapist’s veins…

What are you going to do to me? he cried.

Drag you screaming to hell, she hissed, before sinking her teeth into his right jugular and sucking his failed existence away.

Releasing her bite, she licked the leftover blood that dripped from her lips, and smiled up at the moon. The Angel of Darkness finally pronounced that from that night forward she would swim upon the night’s currents—as the night’s guardian…

Evil doers beware. The Blood Queen has been reborn. Welcome to Mikayla’s World.

CHAPTER 1

KIDS OF THE BLACK HOLE

In the beginning there were four of us; Graso, Evil, Kayla, and me— Xavier. But call me X, or X-Man. We had all been friends since the ninth grade. We’d been out of school for about four years now. Anyway, every weekend we would meet at a downtown punk club called the Black Hole and we’d party to the break-a-break-a-dawn…

Graso (Greasy)—Not only was he one of my best friends, but he was an average lookin’ twenty-one year old. He had greasy, black hair that reminded me of Ralph Macchio from the Outsiders. And he dressed punkish; large, baggy jeans, an old mechanics shirt—he worked at his dad’s shop—and an old pair of black and white creepers. He was the rowdy, tough one in the group. And although he was one of my best friends, he was also one of my worst. Read on…I promise this will al make sense, eventually.

Evil was a bleached blonde, with side burns from hell. He had a kinda James Dean look happenin’. He always sported folded up 501’s, thick, black work boots, and a nice button-up shirt. He was as cool as he was smooth.

Kayla was pretty, sexy, cool. She had long, reddish-brown hair. And a great bod, but she never showed it off—always sportin’ baggy, street threads and black, suede Doc Marten boots. She was tough, too, probably tougher than Graso. But she was the smart one…she kept us in line whenever we started actin’ like trouble. She was our Guardian Angel.

And me—well you’ll learn about me as you read on.

We all met up at the Black Hole at about a quarter till nine. And as usual, we sat at a graffiti covered picnic table right outside the main entrance to the club.

How’d y’all get here? I asked my boyz.

The bus, Graso almost laughed. None of us had much cash, or jobs that paid real well. We should have stayed in college—but it wasn’t our thing. I was the only one with a car, but don’t ask me how I got it.

Somethin’ wrong with ya’ll’s boards? Kayla smiled—she always ragged on them cause their skateboards were their only means of transportation. I was hers, however.

Evil shook his head no, as he and Graso pulled their boards from under the table and laid them on top. Evil then replied, We had to skate about a mile cause we got off at the wrong stop.

Are you serious? Kayla asked. Ya’ll are both Bob’s. Bob was short for baboso–which is Spanish for fool, which they both were.

Y’all could of rode with us. Ya’ll know ya’ll don’t have to ask, I said.

Yeah, Graso replied. But we wanted to get here early.

Besides, Evil added, we knew ya’ll were busy chowin’ down. What did ya’ll have, anyway?

Fettuccini, Kayla answered. It was bad ass. She smacked her lips