Torment by Jeremy Seals Page A

shoulder.
    They were halfway down the lane before Kate realized
they weren’t heading towards town.
    “Hey!” She exclaimed, trying to sit up.
    “Shut up,” Moorland growled. “Jesus Christ, what a
mess you made.”
    The patrol car sped recklessly down the dirt road,
kicking up dust. Kate jostled around at every bump, struggling to not slam her
head into the ceiling or doors. She clawed at the handle-less exits, cold fear
kicking the vibrant hope at survival she’d felt moments ago out on its ass.
    Skidding to a stop just behind Gary’s disabled van,
Moorland beeped the horn twice and waited, knuckles white on the steering
wheel. Sweat was running down his face. He chewed ceaselessly at his lower lip.
    Basil appeared to the Sheriff’s left. His sudden
emergence from the high grass made Moorland jump. The vampire grinned at his
fright, indicating that the officer should roll his window down with a twirling
hand gesture.
    Moorland cracked the window. “I brought her, just like
you asked. We’re even, right?”
    “Yes, yes,” Basil smiled. “I cleaned up the…what did
you call them? Hippies? Yes, hippies that were brewing drugs in this old house,
now you return a lamb to me. I consider the debt paid.”
    “Good!” Moorland exclaimed, voice girlishly high in
his fright. “I’ll open the back door and you grab her, okay?”
    “Very okay,” Basil said. “Oh, and I regret to inform
you I’ll be leaving soon. I thank you for your hospitality. You’ve been more
than kind.”
    “Sure, sure.”
    Kate heard the locks disengage to her left and right.
She tried to push them open, wanting to at least make an attempt at escape.
Nothing happened until Basil opened the door and yanked her out into the night
screaming.
    He held her up by one ankle, waving a good-bye to the
Sheriff. Moorland gave a curt salute, reversing so fast the cruiser almost went
into the tall vegetation bracketing the rough driveway. The vampire howled
laughter.
    “Now my little one,” Basil whispered, lifting Kate so
that her femoral artery was at his lips. “One last snack before bedtime.”

Pigment
     
    “A sleep study is just what you need,” Dr. Bell told
the exhausted looking young man sitting on his exam table. “I think it will be
the best way to tell us why you’re not sleeping well.
    “Are you sure?” Eric asked. His eyelids felt so heavy
that it was a struggle to keep them open. “That’s what you said about the blood
work, urine screening, and the oxygen measurement device, which cost me an arm
and a leg!”
    “It’s the next logical step. Nothing has showed up on
the other tests. The O2 meter showed a slight decrease in oxygen, but nothing
too terrible. The sleeping pills I prescribed obviously aren’t working. It’s
the only thing we haven’t tried.”
    “I know, I know. I’m just really tired and really fed
up with being poked.”
    Dr. Bell patted Eric on the shoulder. “This should
show us what’s going on when you’re actually getting to sleep. I wanted to get
a study done in the first place, but the insurance company made us jump through
other hoops before they’d approve it.”
    Eric nodded, resigned to the procedure. Judging from
the pictures he’d found on Google of what exactly the process was, it wasn’t
going to be fun. However, if it could reveal why he’d quit recharging while
sleeping, then the whole mess would be worth it.
    He made the proper arrangements with the front desk,
scheduling the sleep study for the following night. That done, he slowly walked
to the bus stop. The five minute stroll felt like miles. His muscles wobbled
with fatigue.
    The illness had nearly pushed Eric to his breaking
point. Nearly a month had gone by since he’d began waking up each morning
feeling as if he hadn’t slept at all. It wasn’t really an issue of going to bed
and staying asleep. That all happened just fine. Actually feeling restored was the
problem. Every aspect of his life was slowly going to ruin. If