Vampire of God

Vampire of God

By

Javan Shepard

Smashwords Edition

Isis is an imprint of Parker Publishing Inc

Copyright © 2012 by Javan Shepard

Published by Parker Publishing Inc

12523 Limonite Avenue, Suite #440-438

Mira Loma, California 91752

www.parker-publishing.com

All rights reserved. This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations, events and incidents (in either a contemporary and/or historical setting) are products of the author’s imagination and are being used in an imaginative manner as a part of this work of fiction.  Any resemblance to actual events, locations, settings, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-60043-135-7

First Edition

Manufactured in the United States of America

Cover Design by Parker Publishing Inc

Smashwords License Statement

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

In Loving Memory of

Lilly Ree Myrtle Jackson of Greenville S.C.

1914 – 2004

Beloved Mother & Grandmother

Dedication

I thank…

My parents, Oliva Shepard & James Shepard, for bringing me into this world.

The now defunct Black Mid West on-line writer’s group who were the first to critique my story.

The writer’s workshops in Bethesda, MD where I took my first writing courses. Where I learned my first draft (and subsequent drafts) needed a lot of work.

Janell Walden Agyeman, my agent. Who was willing to sign a rookie writer.

Deatri King-Bey, editor and writer extraordinaire. A fellow escapee of Decatur, Ill. I’m paraphrasing, but she told me that I spell like a 4th grader. I haven’t mastered tenses or clauses. And what I don’t know about women could fill a warehouse. But she still thought after several hours of painful editing this story could be published. She had more confidence in me than I had in myself. For that, I shall always be grateful.

Tiffany Y. Latta, a journalist who was willing to lend her considerable skills to the editing of my novel. The pride of Columbus, OH.

Scondi Ngube, my England connection. She helped me create a more European feel to my story. Long live the Queen!

Linda Bebout, for assisting me in editing early drafts.

My editor, Chesya Burke, whose concise editing improved my manuscript by leaps and bounds. I’m thankful that Parker Publishing assigned her to my novel.

Finally, I’d like to thank God, who is partly the inspiration for this book.

Chapter One

Even in Simone’s worst nightmares she never imagined her first journey to Africa would be to kill. To kill that which was unable to die. She had seen one die. Yet had no idea what caused its immortal life to end. In spite of the daunting task she had no choice but to complete this mission. Her soul depended on it.

Next, please, shouted the Nigerian immigration officer. Standing in front of her fellow airline passengers, Simone strolled up to the officer’s kiosk. The dark-skinned solider was dressed in fatigues and had on Ray Ban sunglasses even though they were inside and it was night. He reeked of cigarette smoke and chocolate. Simone handed him her passport. He inspected it a moment.

What brings you to Lagos, Ms. Tarry? he asked.

Simone hesitated. She still had not fully accepted the reason she was there. It seemed so insane. To save my soul.

I’m on vacation. I’ve always wanted to visit Africa, she said.

You traveling alone?

Yes.

Lagos ain’t a city a lovely woman should travel alone in. It can be dangerous at times.

I’ve made arrangements.

Anything to declare?

Nope.

The officer sized her up for a moment then stamped it.

Welcome to Nigeria. He waved her on.

Before Simone reached the baggage claim she stopped in the restroom. She turned on the faucet and splashed water on her face. The flight had been very uncomfortable for her. A raging headache caused by sensory overload pounded her head. The pressurized recycled air of the plane had a plethora of odors undetectable by humans that assaulted her sinuses. The constant smell of tequila and vodka from the drunks in the center aisles. She had to endure the odor of every bare foot. A baby’s diaper four rows back was never changed. She could smell the cold of the man who slept next to her on the plane. Worst of all were the tell tale signs of several women menstruating.

She stared at her reflection in the window. Strangely, the stress of the last two weeks did not show on her face. Her skin remained a healthy dark brown. She ran her hand over black hair that pulled back into a tight bun. Her full lips were a bright red even though she didn’t have any lipstick on. Her teeth were whiter than before her change. Simone’s hazel eyes were luminescent with the whites of her eyes shiny and clear. She sighed. The eyes would be beautiful to her if hazel were their true color. She patted her face dry with a paper towel and exited the restroom.

Nigerian soldiers armed with AK-47s stood guard at points in the terminals of Murtala Mohammed International Airport. Like the immigration officer, almost all of them wore Ray Bans as if they were issued with their fatigues. After she retrieved her luggage from baggage claims she became unexplainably anxious. Hairs on the back of her neck rose. She turned around. None of her fellow travelers appeared to pose any threat. A man in a red collared white polka dot shirt leaned against the wall with his back to her reading a newspaper. A large Afro concealed the outline of his face. For a few moments she stared at him. The man never turned so she could not see his face. Simone continued on her way, but glanced over her shoulder several times. The man had disappeared.

Near the baggage claim gates stood a tall African man dressed in a black business suit. He held a sign with ‘TARRY’ written on it.

Hello, I’m Simone Tarry. She flashed her passport to him.

Welcome to Lagos. Let me help you with your bags, he said. The immigration officer had been correct. Lagos was no place a woman should go by herself. Before leaving America she’d met with a representative of the U.S. Commerce Department and they gave her a list of reputable businesses in Nigeria. A very short list. Among the businesses on the list was the security service this man worked for. She hired them to drive her to her hotel rather than take a shuttle or taxi by herself. Parked at the airport’s passenger loading area was a late model black BMW sedan. Another bodyguard awaited in the driver’s seat. The guard stashed her luggage in the trunk and opened the back door for her. She caught a glimpse of a handgun holstered under the man’s jacket as she took her seat.

Still heading for the Lagos Sheraton, Ms. Tarry? The bodyguard asked when he took the front passenger seat.

I am.

Sit back and enjoy the ride. It is not far. You are in safe hands, he said as the car pulled away from the curve.

May I ask why you are traveling alone, Ms. Tarry? Nigeria is no place for a woman traveling by herself, the driver said.

I wanted to. Neither bodyguard said anything else to her. It had become the norm for her to snap at people. In the past she would never act in such a way. She did not know if it was the stress or the unholy blood running through her veins. In truth, she didn’t care. Simone fondled the gold ankh dangling from her neck and reflected on the officer’s question.

Why am I here? Simone would never have come by herself. She reflected on the reason had traveled half way around the world on her own. Because of a woman she knew briefly. Who she thought was her friend. Never in her life had she been more wrong.

Three weeks earlier

Simone walked home from her tae kwan do class. It was late, class had gone long and the subway trains were delayed. Her shoulders ached and her legs dragged as she walked. An hour of kicks and punches had worn her out. Simone wanted to wrap herself up in her comforter and lie in bed with a glass of chardonnay.

As she passed the deserted playground park near her condo, her cell phone rang. The leaves of the trees and bushes had fallen off in preparation of the coming winter. The children’s play sets were empty.

She checked the caller ID just before she flipped her phone open. Hey, Geena, she said.

They cancelled the church’s food drive tomorrow.

Her pace slowed. What? Why?

I don’t know yet.

Simone sighed. Thanks for letting me know.

If I find anything else out, I’ll fill you in. So wassup?

I just got out of Tae class, ah’m heading home-- Simone heard the crunch of a boot on the empty street.

Simone?

Looking around she didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. I thought I heard something. But I don’t see nuthin

Geena laughed. Guuurl! You shouldn’t be walking around by yourself.

Up ahead, Simone could see the entrance of her condo building. Relief flooded her. I’ll be alright, Geena. I’m almost home--

A cold clammy hand grasped Simone’s wrist. An old haggard black man on the edge of the park tried to rip her purse from her. She used it to swat his hand away and planted her right foot in his groin.

Awwww! The man backed away.

She ran as fast as her legs would take her. Another man rushed at her taking her down. Mud splashed up onto her face and clothes. The man yanked her hair and she let out a blood curling scream. He nearly ripped the roots out of her head. The pungent body odor of her attacker assaulted her senses. His other hand groped her body. Simone tried to wriggle free but the mugger’s strength dwarfed her own. In desperation, she thrust her thumb nail up at his face. The nail struck him in eye.

Fuck! He let her go and clasped his hands over his face. With all her God given strength she shoved him into a bush. Her soaked clothes and the wet mud weighed her down when she tried to get up. The world seemed to move in slow motion. She couldn’t get away fast enough. Her sneakers squished as they sank in leaf covered mud. A blow to the head knocked her off her feet after only a few steps. Her body spun around before she fell down on her back and she blacked out.

Simone heard ringing in her ear. Her head throbbed. The bitter taste of blood filled her mouth. Her tongue felt a gash on the inside of her cheek. She felt mud on her face and caked in her hair, and saw mud on her clothes. She grunted in pain as she sat up and surveyed the area. The park was empty. The men were gone.

Her phone rang again and she leaned over to reach for her dirt covered purse. Then her cell phone rang again. Geena, she answered.

Simone! What happened? You were on the phone, then the line went dead.

She staggered up to her feet. I...I was mugged.

Oh, shit! Where are they? Are you safe now?

Taking another look around, she didn’t see anyone. I don’t see anyone. I don’t know. I gotta call the police. Hanging up her phone, she closed her eyes and took another breath. She was about to dial 911 when she realized a strange woman stood beside her. I…I was attacked.

The woman didn’t answer.

Staring at the woman she waited for some kind of reaction. Didn’t you hear me?

I saw them knock you down from the edge of the park, the woman finally answered in calm voice. There were two of them. I shouted for the police and they ran away.

Simone put her cell phone in her pocket. You saved me?

Yes.

Simone reached out and grabbed her arm. Thank you. Thank you. What’s your name?

Shadia.

A flood of light brought Simone back to the present. Out of nowhere high beam headlights appeared behind Simone’s car. The light filled the passenger compartment. The car’s headlights began rapidly flashing off and on.

Simone’s driver accelerated. The other guard unholstered his weapon. The light did not hinder her vision when she looked back. It was an old Mercedes, three men were in it, including the driver. They have rifles! she yelled.

Rifles? How can you tell? a guard asked. The Mercedes pulled closer on the driver’s side.

Get down! the bodyguard shouted.

She ducked her head down on the backseat. She heard automatic gunfire and popping noises of bullets penetrating the car body. The rear windshield exploded. Glass fragments showered down upon Simone. The car violently swayed from side to side. A loud bang echoed through the car and the front end sank.

Shit! The tires! the driver yelled. The car shuddered up and down. Simone was tossed around the back seat like a rag doll. Her head hit the door and she nearly fell off the seat. Without warning the car came to an abrupt stop. She heard airbags explode as her momentum flung her into the back of the front seats.

My God, she whispered. Her hands ran along her torso and legs to check for injury. Corrosive chemical smoke filled the car cabin. She grabbed the top of the front seat and pulled herself up. Both of her guards were dazed but alive. The smoke was from the miniature explosions that had inflated the airbags. The windshield was completely shattered and the front of the car had faced a ditch.

Get da fuck out! A harsh Nigerian voice shouted. Two men stood on both sides of the car. Their AK-47 automatic rifles pointed at the men in the front. Her bodyguards staggered out of the car.

Bitch, get out! The man on the driver’s side aimed the gun at her. Simone stepped out, her hands trembling as she raised them over her head. The carjackers Mercedes had pulled up alongside them. The other gunman led the guard from the passenger side over to the driver’s side.

Keep ya hands up, he ordered. The other Nigerian strapped his rifle over his shoulder and quickly rummaged through their car. The carjackers’ driver remained in the running Mercedes.

A long streak of blood flowed down the side of her driver’s face. The other guard had a welt on his forehead and could barely hold up his arm. The Nigerian grabbed the bodyguards’ guns and cell phones. He removed Simone’s luggage from the BMW and put it in the carjackers’ trunk.

Your purse, he said, his hand held out.

She handed it to him.

Da necklace, he demanded. Simone grabbed her key and stepped back. He pointed his gun at her head.

Give me it, cunt! She looked him in the eyes.

No. You can’t have this, she said. At that instant, Simone felt a pressure in her head behind her eyes. Like a mild headache. The man lowered his weapon. His eyes glazed over and the tension left his jaw. His mind looked as if it had been wiped clean. Simone tilted her head in wonder. What’s wrong with him?

What da hell wrong wit’ you? his partner wanted to know the same thing. He pointed the gun at her.

Han’ it da fuck over! Simone saw the coldness in this one’s eyes. He wouldn’t ask again. She stepped aside and wrenched the barrel of the gun from his hands before he fired a shot. In the same motion she kicked him in the groin so hard he went airborne. She swung the butt of the gun into the mouth of the other gunman. The man’s body shot back and bounced off the Mercedes then crashed on the ground.

Simone leveled the gun at the driver in the Mercedes.

Get out and leave the keys, she yelled. The driver jumped out of the car so fast he lost his balance and fell. He got up and ran down the road. Simone recognized the shirt and Afro. It was the man who had been reading the newspaper at the airport. She speculated how she foresaw he was a threat, but the two carjackers at her feet reminded her she had more pressing matters. She handed the rifle to the driver.

We can take their Mercedes. I don’t want to wait for the police, she said as she picked up her purse.

What about our car? the driver asked.

It’s not going anywhere. You can come for what’s left later, she said.

They just stared at Simone, neither saying a word.

Are you going to stand there all night? she asked.

The bodyguards looked at each other. The driver shrugged his shoulders. They stepped over the man she had kicked in the groin. He lay on his side curled into a fetal position. His hands cradled his testicles as he lay next to a pool of his own vomit. In the car, the trio took the same positions as they had in the BMW. Simone reached into her purse and handed each a twenty dollar bill.

I think it would be better we say you fought them off.

How did you do that? The driver asked.

Simone didn’t respond. Not because she chose to ignore his question. She simply had no idea.

Drive, Simone said instead.

Again the bodyguards glanced at each other then did as she ordered. The driver started the car and pulled back onto the road. As they approached the hotel the driver began to laugh.

What’s so funny? his partner asked.

The driver took a moment to gather himself. She hired us for protection.

For the first time in two weeks Simone smiled.

The Sheraton Lagos Hotel had luxurious modern comforts and four restaurants in its lobby. It relieved her to see that it was everything the Internet advertisement said it would be. This trip had already started badly.

Will you need anything else, Ma’am? the bellboy asked as he placed Simone’s luggage on the bed in her seventh floor room.

No thanks. Simone handed the teenager a tip.

Thank you, Ma’am. She closed the door and went out on the balcony. Her eyes could see the crashed BMW down the road even in the darkness.

A seed of doubt sprouted in her mind.

Am I deluding myself? The Washington police couldn’t dig up anything about Shadia yet. What chance have I?. Simone held up the ankh around her necklace. If the carjackers had only wanted her purse she would not have acted as she did. She had her credit cards and passport in her back pocket. Yet she had to keep it. It was important to Shadia so it was important to her.

What did she use you for? Simone’s mind shifted back to the first time she laid her eyes on the damn necklace.

After her attack Simone took three days off from work to recover physically and emotionally. She told her neighbor, Michelle, a church counselor about the attack but not her family or any of her co-workers. She did not want anyone’s pity and a part of her blamed herself for the mugging. If she had not been talking on her cell when she passed the park she was certain they would not have gotten the jump on her. Michelle’s and the counselor’s best efforts to convince her otherwise had failed at first. In her time off, she prayed, spoke with her church’s counselor and played with Nicky, her pet dog, to rehabilitate her damaged psyche.

On her first day back at work her company’s receptionist greeted her as she entered the company’s fifteenth floor suites as she always did.

Good morning, Simone.

Morning, Jill. She was determined to leave all her troubles at home this day. She passed office cubicles as she walked to her window office.

Morning Denise, Simone said to the heavy-set white woman she shared her office with.

How’re you? Feel better?

I do. Just a head cold, that’s all. Simone settled behind her desk then turned on her computer eager to return to her daily routine.

Throughout the day she focused only on work. She completed all of her assignments and did not realize that day had changed to night until she leaned back in her chair for a good stretch. A bright crescent moon hovered in the sky. The Washington Monument, lit up by powerful lights at its base, dominated the night skyline. Past the monument, she saw the lights from airplanes at Reagan National Airport. Fear touched her heart. She would be out at night for the first time since her was assault. Memories of her attack