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Vampire for Hire #2 Bonus Scene
The Bleeder and Other Stories
In "The Bleeder," Leo Dershowitz is an unsuccessful artist with minimal talent. But all that changes one day when he finds the macabre source of his artistic muse — and now nothing will stop Leo from creating his masterpieces. In "Deal With the Devil," a private investigator gets the wrong end of a deal gone bad. Or does he? In "The Back of Beyond," a lonely bar at the far edge of the world gives the owner much more than he bargained for. Plus a bonus scene from the novel, Vampire Moon, sequel to Moon Dance.
**Reading Sample**
Leo Dershowitz stood in front of his painting and frowned. It wasn't quite right. He had a firm image in his head of what he wanted and this wasn't it. The color was wrong. And the shading was off. Yeah, that was it. The shading.
The problem was, the clear image in his head was fading, becoming hazy around its edges, amorphous.
Which meant only one thing.
He must be scabbing over again. He hated when that happened.
Leo looked down at his right arm, which hung over a white plastic bucket, inside of which was splattered with blood. His blood. Sure enough, the gash in his forearm was threatening to close. The steady flow of blood was nearly being cut off by a thick, congealing scab.
Using a very clean surgical knife, Leo deftly flicked away the scab, which broke off and fell with a splash into the bucket, itself partly filled with a finger or two of his own hemoglobin. Now, once again, sweet blood pumped freely from the gash just below his elbow, flowing rapidly over the many horizontal scars that lined the inside of his arm. Leo always thought the scars looked like piano keys.
Even though he had performed many such blood-letting rituals before, the site of so much blood at once gripped him briefly with nausea and an old fear. The fear of dying.
What if I bleed too much this time? What if I pass out and never awaken?
Leo knew the If he passed out while bleeding, there was a very good chance he would never awaken. That he would bleed to death.
Then don't pass out.
Good idea.
But Leo had learned long ago to ignore such inhibiting fears. He had to ignore them. Because the moment he began to bleed, the moment the life-force flowed from his wounds, a magnificent vision would appear. A vision that hovered tantalizingly in his mind's eye. Clear as day. A vision that only lasted for as long as Leo would bleed.
And now, as the blood dripped steadily from his dangling fingertips, the vision, which had been losing it sharpness with the congealing of his blood, came starkly back into focus.
Leo had a painting to do.
He touched the tip of his paintbrush to his palette, rolled it gently, applying the perfect measure of light desert auburn mixed with pure white, and turned to the half-finished painting before him. And for the next hour or so he transferred the burning image of his mind to the canvas, twice more knocking away the damnable coagulating scabs.
And when the painting was done, when the bucket was splattered with his blood, Leo nearly wept at the painting's beauty....
* * *
Three months ago, Leo woke up from a dead sleep and knew he was going to die.
It was in the middle of the night and his heart was racing madly. In his dreams he saw a fragmented image, the sort of image that only occurred to him when bleeding. A vision. Leo quickly realized the relevance of this.
A vision had come to him without bleeding. This was big.
**Reading Sample**
Leo Dershowitz stood in front of his painting and frowned. It wasn't quite right. He had a firm image in his head of what he wanted and this wasn't it. The color was wrong. And the shading was off. Yeah, that was it. The shading.
The problem was, the clear image in his head was fading, becoming hazy around its edges, amorphous.
Which meant only one thing.
He must be scabbing over again. He hated when that happened.
Leo looked down at his right arm, which hung over a white plastic bucket, inside of which was splattered with blood. His blood. Sure enough, the gash in his forearm was threatening to close. The steady flow of blood was nearly being cut off by a thick, congealing scab.
Using a very clean surgical knife, Leo deftly flicked away the scab, which broke off and fell with a splash into the bucket, itself partly filled with a finger or two of his own hemoglobin. Now, once again, sweet blood pumped freely from the gash just below his elbow, flowing rapidly over the many horizontal scars that lined the inside of his arm. Leo always thought the scars looked like piano keys.
Even though he had performed many such blood-letting rituals before, the site of so much blood at once gripped him briefly with nausea and an old fear. The fear of dying.
What if I bleed too much this time? What if I pass out and never awaken?
Leo knew the If he passed out while bleeding, there was a very good chance he would never awaken. That he would bleed to death.
Then don't pass out.
Good idea.
But Leo had learned long ago to ignore such inhibiting fears. He had to ignore them. Because the moment he began to bleed, the moment the life-force flowed from his wounds, a magnificent vision would appear. A vision that hovered tantalizingly in his mind's eye. Clear as day. A vision that only lasted for as long as Leo would bleed.
And now, as the blood dripped steadily from his dangling fingertips, the vision, which had been losing it sharpness with the congealing of his blood, came starkly back into focus.
Leo had a painting to do.
He touched the tip of his paintbrush to his palette, rolled it gently, applying the perfect measure of light desert auburn mixed with pure white, and turned to the half-finished painting before him. And for the next hour or so he transferred the burning image of his mind to the canvas, twice more knocking away the damnable coagulating scabs.
And when the painting was done, when the bucket was splattered with his blood, Leo nearly wept at the painting's beauty....
* * *
Three months ago, Leo woke up from a dead sleep and knew he was going to die.
It was in the middle of the night and his heart was racing madly. In his dreams he saw a fragmented image, the sort of image that only occurred to him when bleeding. A vision. Leo quickly realized the relevance of this.
A vision had come to him without bleeding. This was big.
98 pages, ebook
First published January 1, 2010
11 people are currently reading
114 people want to read
About the author
J.R. Rain
686 books1,727 followersJ.R. Rain is the author of 110 novels and counting. He lives on an island in the Pacific Northwest, where he's hard at work on his next novel... and fighting off sparkly vampires.
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
July 12, 2013
I absolutely love everything J.R. Rain has ever written and will buy anything he writes. He is one of my all time favorites now who has earned my trust. I know that when I purchase a book from him that it's going to be a blast and these stories were alot of fun to read. He has a great imagination and there's just something about his stories that speak to me. The Bleder and Silo were both very interesting stories and I cant wait for the second half of Deal with the Devil (it was originally written for a graphic novel but the company fell through). The Back of Beyond was a fun tale also. Honestly I think that Black Rain: 17 Dark Tales is a much better value. It's 4.99 and has all of these tales along with a whole bunch of other ones some of which are just great: the one with the sentient refrigerator come to mind. But if you don't want to pay that much then these tales will do you just fine. Both collections are enjoyable though so just sit back and enjoy yourself.
Displaying 1 of 1 review