Sensitive to the Light Immortal Bloodlines I

Sensitive to the Light (Chapter 3)

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Dedicated to Mark for being an awesome, supportive friend and a great drinking buddy

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Just a note to say that this chapter may be disturbing to some, as it contains death, violence and blood (not necessarily in that order) along with heaps of other cool stuff.

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Daegan

Dusk was beginning to creep across the Brecon Beacons as I trudged once more through Castlewood’s main reception which was now almost empty aside from a few stragglers waiting for a taxi or a lift home.

I was just waiting for the sun to set.

It had barely passed four in the afternoon, yet only the bravest of the sun’s rays dared to slink through the troughs of the great mountain range.  I pushed back my hood and balanced my sunglasses on top of my head, turning my back to the light as I stared into the bruised sky, the blackened clouds tumbling through the discoloured hues of purple, blue and grey, each blending into the other before fracturing and separating once more.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, but I had no doubt that it would be closing in soon.  I felt the first spatters of rain fall against my upturned face as I turned back to my pickup truck, throwing my bag across to the passenger seat as I climbed into the cab.

The engine sputtered to life on the third twist of the key in the ignition.  I pulled the choke and wrestled with the gears until it begrudgingly settled itself into first as I drove out of the car park.

The weather seemed to be in synchronization with my erratic driving, the raindrops increasing in ferocity as I sped along the tarmac.  As I veered away from the main road onto the narrow country lanes towards Llaneglwys, the rain turned to hailstones, banging and shattering against the windscreen like bullets.  The lanes becoming narrower, more winding. I wrenched the gear stick from fourth into second, engine screaming, tyres spinning and sending the surface water flying until they found traction on the bend, lightning splitting the sky behind me, the thunder hard on its heels.

I swept around the final curve of the pitted unkempt road into Llaneglwys Woods, the ancient pine trees fighting to remain upright against the gale force winds as the truck shook and bucked beneath me, glass rattling as it bounced from pothole to pothole.

It was at times like these that I wished this heap of rust had seatbelts.

By the time I reached the decrepit farm I was currently calling home, both thunder and lightning were neck and neck, each battling the other for supremacy.  I had to throw my entire bodyweight against the drivers side door, forcing it open just enough to slide out as the wind whipped around me.  I was soaked to the skin before I could even draw breath.  

I existed for nights like these, these dark, violent nights. I revelled in them.

As if I were a lunatic on day release, I threw off my hoodie, my glasses, my armour as I flung my arms wide and pivoted, twirling and dancing as If I could move between the fragments of ice falling from the sky.  The elements were in a fight to the death now, thunder and lightning, lightning and thunder.  Laughter bubbled up inside me as I spun through the trees towards the ancient, ruined stones I called home.

Crashing through the great wooden doors I collapsed onto the tiled floor, laughing and giggling like a child, heart pounding like a jackhammer against my ribcage as if it could break through any second.  Until...

Fire.

I shot to my feet, racing towards the nearest window.  Peering through the warped glass, I saw flames leaping from the pines.

The lightning had won, thunder growling in resentment as it retreated.  I stayed at the window, just to watch the forest burn.  I knew it wouldn’t be long before it was swallowed by the storm.

Reality burst forth like a nuclear bomb in my mind.  I felt cold to the bone, as if my blood was frozen and there was nothing but ice running through my veins.  I shivered as I felt my way tentatively through the blackness until I reached the cellar.  Finally I found the generator.  As it roared to life its power crept slowly through the crumbling farmhouse, the muted lights casting the grimmest of shadows.

I grabbed as many logs as I could carry, heading back up the stairs towards the sitting room.  

This place should have its picture in the dictionary, right next to ‘decrepit ruin’.  I’d lost count of the number of buckets littering the floors, capturing the stray drops of rain seeping from the ceilings.  The sitting room had less buckets than the rest, along with a gargantuan hearth.  I piled the logs atop the glowing embers still smouldering in the grate and sat cross legged on the flagstones as I fed scrunched up newspaper piece by piece into the last remaining warmth it had to offer.

The logs caught.  The fire roared as I dragged a musty blanket around my shivering form.  Not caring about the mould and the mothballs, not even caring about the uncomfortable tiled floor I collapsed into a fitful sleep.