Closer: A Novella

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2012 Dannika Dark

No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author. You must not circulate this book in any format. Thank you for respecting the rights of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover design by Dannika Dark. All stock purchased.

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Acknowledgments:

This book is dedicated to a character that wouldn’t stop pacing around in my head until I told his story.

The heart is an anchor cast to sea,

That links you
closer
to destiny.

 

Iniquity pooled beneath Kane’s feet in shades of liquid burgundy against the gritty asphalt of the dark alley.
The tip of his black boots scraped against the shadowy surface. One of the laces sprang loose and touched the vile evidence of his evening walk. It was too dark to see the blood soaking into the tight weave of fiber, but when he lifted his foot off the ground, a drop splashed onto his other shoe.

Shit. My favorite pair
, he thought, dragging his eyes back to the crumpled body beside the brick wall. It’s not as if he had extra money in his pocket to buy new shoes, and now these were toast.

The middle-aged man was slumped over on his left shoulder like one of those crash test dummies after an accident.

It was against the law to kill a human.

The murder was so fresh that a bead of sweat still trickled across his balding head like a slow-moving insect. His right leg and arm were extended, giving him the appearance that he was trying to run. Only this worthless splinter of a man was going
nowhere
, except straight to hell where he belonged.

Kane glanced down at the pain and rage still dripping from his fingers in red liquid light, mingled with his own guilt.

Emotions are always rich in the end and the hardest to wipe clean. Death holds onto the threads, sinks into the crevices, and becomes an impossible emotional experience to erase.

Kane was a Sensor in the paranormal world. No unique physical characteristics made him stand out from anyone else on the street. His lifespan was longer than a human’s was, but what made him genetically different was that Sensors experienced the world through touch—something Kane avoided like the plague.

Last winter, he’d settled down in Cognito after years of traveling. Kane had lived in twelve states and must have had several dozen jobs since he’d left his troubled home as a teen, only to become trouble himself. It took a few years to shake some of that wildness out of him.

Cognito is home to more immortals and other Breeds than anywhere else in the United States. They’re bound by laws to keep the supernatural world hidden; it’s how social order is maintained. While he kept to himself most of the time, being around his own kind didn’t make him feel like such an outsider. It’s not that he didn’t like humans; Kane just felt like an impostor around them.

During his travels, Kane had discovered just how many different Breeds existed. The first time he’d met a Mage was in a New York City train station when he was looking for a place to stay. They didn’t work magic, but harnessed energy in the most unimaginable way. Then there were Vampires, and from his experience, most of them were jackasses. They had powerful dark eyes that could pull the truth out of anyone. Never look a Vampire in the eye if you know what’s good for you.

Most of the Shifters he met were decent and left him alone, except for the wolf packs that were difficult to get along with because they were territorial. Sensors have a lot in common with Shifters because both are able to have children and grow old.
Eventually
. Not all Breeds age the same; many have an extended lifespan.

Kane was in his thirties, but he looked much younger. He still had all the etchings of a man in the tiny lines around his eyes and the shadowy grooves of his cheekbones. It was great to dip into the fountain of youth and not age as quickly as all the humans around him. He watched his favorite bands at the local dive, played pool, and had no desire to become the man his father was.

Kane’s gift as a Sensor allowed him to lift emotions effortlessly. Objects retain traces of any intense experience, making a Sensor ideal for investigative work. But the real money was in memory exchange. A man could sell his memory of a sexual experience to a Sensor who would store that emotion and offer it to the highest bidder. Customers can attest that a quality Sensor can make the experience better than the real thing.

Transference is done by placing their hands on the chest for the best reception. Energy flows through their palms, creating a ruby-red glow. Sensors are an exchange service, and those with heightened abilities make some serious cash. Advertising was word-of-mouth or through samplers—usually candy spiked with emotions to give people a taste of their wares. The Breed looked at Sensors as a form of entertainment.

He tried it once when he was desperate for cash. Went into a Breed bar and discovered it wasn’t easy to collect emotional imprints unless you had something to offer. So, he stole one from a drunken man sitting against the restroom wall—barely conscious. Once he got him talking, he placed his hands on the man’s chest as he recounted a memory of a motorcycle chase. It was a painful experience because Kane was hypersensitive to emotions and felt them to the extreme. But he was hungry and needed a place to stay.

Kane walked to another bar—uncertain of how to go about it—and asked around. With only one memory in his collection, there were no takers. Finally, one guy offered him enough to pay for a decent meal and a bed for the night.

“This better be worth it,” the Shifter warned.

Kane nervously touched his chest and released the memory. Unfortunately, physical contact caused him to feel the experience all over again—something he hadn’t anticipated since it was his first time dealing. Kane grimaced as a smile spread across the Shifter’s face and a look of exhilaration filled his eyes.

Never again
.

Not long after that, Kane ran into a guy in a tattoo parlor who hooked him up with work as a deliveryman. It was a Breed company run by a couple of Shifters, and it was the kind of job where he didn’t have to interact with people outside of a random signature or two. Lifting boxes also saved him the expense of paying for a gym membership since the heavy shipments toned up his arms. It wasn’t the best-paying job, but it had its pros and cons. It was enough to swing rent, and that’s all that mattered.

Kane had realized in his twenties that he was different from other Sensors. They developed a way to desensitize themselves from touch—like turning down the volume—but Kane found it impossible to shut off. Even the light brush of a hand triggered an avalanche of emotions that felt more like a violation of his senses.

That’s why he always wore gloves.
Almost
always.

His fists clenched in an attempt to expunge the emotions still tethered to his bare skin from the kill. Had he worn them while committing the crime, they would have been as good as a confession if they fell into the hands of another Sensor. Plus, they were his favorite pair and he didn’t want them muddied up with this unplanned incident. He’d never killed a man before.

Kane didn’t leave the house that night with the intention to murder. He was strolling out of the corner market with his dinner in a paper sack and made a detour to the newspaper stand. His pocket jingled as he fished out a few coins. Kane glanced up as a pretty blonde dashed across the intersection. When she slipped into the back of a taxicab, her skirt blew up. He grinned, always enjoying the moments when people assumed that no one was watching. That’s when a man bumped into Kane and spilled his change.

“
Shit
. Watch where you’re going,” Kane barked out, expecting an apology.

One of the quarters bounced into the street and rolled into the drain. Kane pressed his lips together tightly and glared at the man. He liked reading the comics late at night in bed while eating a bowl of cereal and wearing nothing but his grey sweatpants. It was one of the perks of being single. Not to mention that he needed to look at the classifieds and find a new place. His landlord had refused to fix the air conditioning and then raised the rent on his lease. That’s why he was now having a difficult time making ends meet.

The bald man lifted his pointy chin and gave him the finger before disappearing into a narrow corridor. Kane set his bags down ready to give that little shit a piece of his mind.

“Hey, where do you think you’re running off to?” Kane said, grabbing his upper arm. “You owe me a quarter.”

They were in the middle of a dark corridor and a dog barked in the distance. Kane sized him up, realizing this guy might want to start a fight even though he didn’t look like the type. He was stocky in build, but shorter than Kane. Beady eyes glared up at him and a hand wrapped around Kane’s bare wrist. The human pulled himself free and walked away.

That one touch set a chain of events in motion.

Kane’s hazel eyes glazed over and he saw a wake of bodies in his mind. He was standing face to face with a serial killer. Death was not just a stain on this human’s hands; it was a bold tattoo. So many young women—so much pain.

Men like that didn’t deserve to suck the same air as the rest of them.

Kane was faced with a choice: letting a murderer walk the streets who would victimize even more women, or doing something about it. The memories of violence assaulted his senses and he stood on the brink of a decision that would alter more than one life. There was no evidence he could use to bring this man to justice in the human courts; these crimes would weigh on his conscience if he didn’t do something.

Now
.

He stripped off his gloves and tossed them on the ground, making a comment that stopped the human cold in his tracks.

“
I know what you did to those girls.
”

The man slowly peered over his shoulder and his eyes widened. When he started to run, a dark side of Kane surfaced and exploded into action. He reached for the switchblade in his back pocket—one he’d only ever used to slice apples.

“Come back here,” Kane growled, quiet rage funneling through his soul.

Something compelled him to take action—maybe it was the voices of the victims crying out for justice. Without a second to think, Kane sliced the man’s jugular in a single motion with the sharp blade. Blood poured from the mortal’s neck and he stumbled to the ground, taking only moments to die.

Kane was numb.