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Preface
He had always seen his brother as unbreakable, unchangeable, invincible. Something strong and firm—a rock. But as he was taken away to what would ultimately prove to be his doom—and for him, who knew what lay after death?—he saw that perhaps his brother wasn't as invincible as he had once thought.
For there was one thing that tugged at his breaking point. A pang of guilt stabbed him in the chest as the door shut behind him and he took one last look at his brother's tortured eyes. It was him. He, himself, was the one thing that kept his brother on the sane side of the fine line between sanity and insanity at moments like these.
The black clad figure holding his arm smirked and ordered the bulletproof car to move.
Chapter One
Joe Hardy stared blankly out of the airplane's window, his fiercely intense blue eyes unblinking and glazed over as if he were sleeping while awake. His chest rose and fell steadily, purely out of habit as he breathed in the millions of smells contained in the small cab of the plane. He could smell his brother, a good, outdoorsy smell, his blood warm and flowing appealingly through his veins, smelling sweet and repulsive at the same time, achingly familiar. He could smell the fat man in the seat in front of him, a mixture of greasy smells and mold, and Joe swore he could smell cholesterol in his veins. A sweet, floral, delicious smell wafted from someone on the back of the plane—the gorgeous blonde who had flirted with him before boarding the plane.
The smells both repelled and seduced his senses. He hated the burning they left in his throat, loved the delicious smell, and mouthed a silent thank you at his uncanny and supernatural ability to restrain himself. Sighing, he glanced at his brother who was sleeping, and thought with anxiety that perhaps he should have told Frank the whole truth. He shook his head wearily and forced his thoughts elsewhere.
He looked at his reflection in the window, still shocked at the drastic changes in his appearance after his experience in the insignificant town of Forks, Washington. The boy who looked back at him was not the boy he had seen in the mirror so many times before—this boy was pasty white with a tan undertone to his skeletal whiteness. His eyes were still blue, but even more shockingly so than ever before. He looked like an angel—beauty was prominent on his seventeen-year-old face. His skin was ice cold and rock hard. Although he didn't have to breathe now, a heart still thudded softly, weakly within his cavernous chest.
He heard movement beside him and deftly turned to his brother, who was just waking up from his nap. “Hey, bro. Nice nap?”
Frank shrugged and stretched as best he could in the limited space the airplane seat offered. “Fine, I guess.” He studied his younger brother with concerned brown eyes, causing Joe to grimace.
“Frank, I'm fine, stop fussing over me.”
Frank shook his head as he took in the drastic changes in his baby brother. “It's just so unreal,” he muttered, then smiled. “How much longer?”
“We'll be arriving in New York in about fifteen minutes,” Joe informed his brother dutifully. He hesitated. “Frank, I don't know if I'm going home.”
Frank's eyes widened in shock. “What?”
“At least, not yet. Not until I find a way to explain all of this--” he gestured toward his foreign reflection in the window extravagantly, “--to Mom and Dad.”
Frank shook his head agitatedly. “No, you've gotta come home, bro. I thought...spray on tan...long sleeve shirts...stay indoors on sunny days...?” His voice became more pleading with every strange suggestion.
Joe laughed dryly. “I tried some of that spray on stuff while you were sleeping, Frank.” He chuckled darkly at the memory. “The traces of venom in my skin melted it off within minutes. And I can't go around in gloves and sweaters all the time, or stay indoors on sunny days constantly—it's not normal, Frank! I've got to find some way to explain all of this before I go home, because everybody is going to freak when they realize that something big has happened to me...”
Frank shook his head even harder. “Joe, don't be ridiculous. You don't have to do this—we'll think of something. I know you can't tell the whole truth, but maybe you could fudge it a little...?”
“Do you want Aro, Marcus, and Caius to come visit the house, maybe have a cup of tea with our parents and Aunt Gertrude?” Joe asked coldly. Frank paled at the thought. “Besides,” Joe said softly, “even if I could think of something, I'm not going to take a chance with Vanessa...”
“What do you mean?” Frank asked, bewildered. “You're different from the others—not dangerous at all.”
Joe hung his head. “I lied a bit, Frank,” he said. “I told you that blood isn't appealing to me—well it's not, at least not as much as the others. But--” he hesitated, “--I am a vampire, Frank.” Frank cringed a bit at the word vampire and Joe pretended not to notice. “Even though I have more humanity in me than other vampires, I'm not immune to the smell of blood. Like right now—I can smell your blood—kind of rusty, coppery, and sweet.” Frank began to look a little uncomfortable. “My throat is burning because of the smell and my mind and heart are appalled that I find your blood so appealing. It's all very confusing, you see. And if there's any chance that I won't be able to control my thirst around Vanessa...” he shuddered. “Alice saw our first meeting and she knew that I wouldn't hurt you—wouldn't even think of it...but things are different when it is someone you are in love with...Edward said that Bella smelled so delicious that he almost killed her the first time he smelled her. I know I can contain myself with anyone else, but I don't want to take a chance with Vanessa.”
Frank groaned. “Joe, you are so obnoxious! Do you really think Alice and the others wouldn't warn you if you were going to murder your girlfriend? It's safe, Alice knows that! She knows the future, remember? Joe, you gotta come back!”
Joe scowled out the window and said softly, “I'll think about it.” He then closed his eyes and laid his head back.
“Joe, I know you're not sleeping—you can't sleep!” Frank hissed quietly. The corner of Joe's mouth twitched.
“You think that's funny?” Frank kidded, then punched his brother in the arm, forgetting how rock-hard his skin was now and yelped in pain, causing several people to glance his way. After everyone had turned back to their own business, Frank nursed his hurt hand and muttered, “Stupid vampire brother.”
Joe snorted in laughter, knowing at this moment that there was no way he could not go home with his brother—they needed each other.
Frank and Joe travel to the town of Paradise, Colorado at the request of their father to investigate a gruesome murder and meet up with their most cunning—and twisted—foe yet, who has power no one has ever dreamed—a power to turn the entire backwoods town against the boys with a wave of his hand. Crossover with Ted Dekker's "Showdown".
Joe was about to turn away, bored, to try to find a way to sneak into the church, when something Black did caught his eye.
The black-clad man roared at the mirror, and when he did, his skin flapped back over his skull as if a wind had just blown his face right off. Joe lay on the ground, staring in the window, frozen with shock and disbelief as the bare, ivory skull turned its head and the black, calculating eyes swiveled in their sockets and locked on his face.
Chapter One
Paradise, Colorado
June 1, 2009
Sally Drake shivered as she propelled her car onward to Paradise. Something was different, strange. Pushing the gas pedal a little harder, she watched as the speedometer climbed from fifty to sixty, then let her mind wander.
Johnny had sounded so urgent on the phone. She briefly closed her eyes as she remembered her thirteen-year-old son’s panicked voice, cutting in and out as her cell phone lost signal on the desolate, lonely road leading from a nearby town where she shopped for groceries.
‘Mom, Cecil’s dead! This stranger killed him! Everyone’s acting weird, and the sky’s gone all funny!’ He had then spouted off something about eyeballs and skulls, but of course, that was his imagination. However irrational Johnny had seemed, though, there had been a note of true panic in his voice, and his first words still haunted her.
Mom, Cecil’s dead! Sally hoped and prayed that this wasn’t true. Cecil Marshall, the old, mute man with a heart bigger than Colorado, and a love for Johnny like that of a father? The old man who had bonded instantly with her son, both outcasts, the mute and the boy with the crooked leg who limped and ran funny? Dead? Surely not. And to think of him being murdered. Impossible.
Her cell phone chirped. Still preoccupied, she snapped, “Yes?”
“Oh my goodness, Sally, you will never believe this!” Katie Bowers’s loud, unpleasant voice boomed over the speaker. Sally could see the curvy strawberry-blonde sitting on a stool in Smithers Saloon, a large beer in her red clawed hands—each sharp nail at least two inches long—having just heard some ridiculous story about one of the locals, ready to spill it in one long, drawn out, extremely exaggerated story.
“Katie, I’m sorry, I have to concentrate on driving…”
“No, Sally, I need to tell you—you need to get home before it gets dark!”
Sally gripped the phone a little tighter. “What’s happened?”
“Oh, it’s not what’s happened, but what’s going to happen!” Katie squealed.
Sally rolled her eyes. “So now you can read the future, huh?”
Katie laughed loudly. “No, but I know someone who can. Stranger came to Paradise this afternoon. Said God told him to!”
Sally’s breath caught in her throat as Johnny’s words echoed through her mind. This stranger killed him!
“Stranger—did you say God told him to?”
“Yeah—he’s a preacher, and a strange one at that. Hottest preacher I’ve ever laid eyes on. He walked into Steve’s bar like he owned the place, started talking about how he was going to bring grace and hope to our little town. He said there’s a meeting at dusk in the church, and we’d better be there—everyone! Course, I wouldn’t miss it, but, you know, he kinda inspires some fear in a person, you know! Anyway, Sally, it’s gonna be great, you’ve gotta hear what this guy’s got to say!”
Wearily, Sally replied, “Are you sure you’re not over exaggerating?”
“No, tell her, Paula.” Paula Smithers? If Paula Smithers said something was true, it probably was.
The sweet voice of Steve Smithers’s wife, now shaky and shocked, answered, “We’re still at the bar, Sally. It’s true, all of it. This man claims he’s the real deal—like a prophet or something. But I don’t trust him. He did…he did some very strange things. I’d get down here if I were you, Sally.”
Steadying her shaking hands, Sally nodded, then remembered that Paula couldn’t see her, and said, “Alright. Tell Johnny to sit tight. He called me a few minutes ago really shook up.”
“As he should be. Didn’t Katie tell you what happened to Cecil?”
Ice cold fear gripped her heart. “No.”
“Died of a heart attack. From what I hear, Johnny was close to the old man, and the only person around besides Johnny when it happened was the stranger. Stranger claimed it was too much excitement, but it makes you wonder. Still, hard to imagine a preacher killing anyone, especially a defenseless old man.”
Sally’s voice shook. “Johnny seemed to think differently. He claimed that the stranger killed Cecil.”
“I know. A few minutes after the stranger left the bar, Johnny came pounding inside. We wouldn’t let him in, of course, since he’s only a kid, but he kept babbling about how the stranger had plucked Cecil’s eyeball’s out and left him to die. Don’t know where he got the idea, though. When we found Cecil, there were his eyes, in their sockets like they’re supposed to be, no sign of blood.”
“Probably his over-active imagination,” Sally said in a forced-calm voice. “Thanks for explaining things a little more clearly, Paula. For once, the crazy story Katie told was the truth.”
Paula chuckled. “She means well, though.” There was a pause. “I think. Hurry home, Sally, but be careful. Bye.”
“Bye.” As soon as Paula hung up, Sally pulled her car off to the side of the deserted road, reached into her purse, and began thumbing through her address book, muttering the names she had listed as she went along. “Bowers…Marshall…Hampton, Hardy!” Still trembling, she dialed the out of state number on her cell phone, hoping her old high school friend hadn’t changed his number since she saw him at that class reunion last year. The phone rang several times, and then a voice she didn’t recognize answered, “Hardy Residence.”
