by Philip Henry
Frank’s face was frozen in the neutral gaze that all doctors are taught to have – whether the patient tells you they’ve cut their knee or they’ve got their penis stuck in a vacuum cleaner, the doctor’s expression should remain the same. He was silent for a few moments and then said, “Lynda, would you have a chat with a friend of mine? For me? He’s really very friendly and not at all intimidating. You don’t have to lie on a couch, you can sit on a chair if you prefer. It can be as informal as you…”
Lynda spotted a lay-by and turned the wheel hard and pulled in. The tires screeched to a stop.
“Did you pull in here so we could turn around and go home?”
Lynda had never seen Frank in full patient-patronising mode before and she didn’t care for it. “No, Frank. I stopped here so I can change out of this dress and you can use that phone box over there to call for a lift.” Lynda got out of the car and walked around to the boot of the car. Frank got out and hurried round to meet her. Lynda was unfastening the buttons on the back of her dress.
“Lynda, I know this all seems very real to you but you have to trust me, it’s not. I wouldn’t lie to you. You trust me. I’m Frank, remember?” He smiled stupidly.
Lynda let fake recognition dawn on her face and she pointed at Frank. “Oh yeah. I remember you now. You were having tea with the Queen of Hearts – The Mad Hatter, right? We met there. I had just chased a rabbit down a hole.” She pushed Frank aside and opened the boot of the car. It was empty. “Where are our suitcases for the honeymoon, Frank?”
Frank looked inside and then looked around the car finally resting on the numberplate. “Oh, this isn’t our car. This is Jeff’s. Remember he got one the same model after I told him what a great deal I got?”
Lynda slammed the lid down hard. “Great. Well, I can hardly move in this dress. I’m going to have to cut it.”
“Hmmm. I think it’s very significant that you want to destroy this symbol of our union.”
“No, Frank, It’s just practical. How am I supposed to fight a vampire dressed like this? I can’t run or jump or…” An idea formed in her mind and she opened the boot again. She lifted out the L-shaped tyre iron and handed it to Frank. “Would you agree that that is a perfectly normal tyre iron, Frank?”
Frank turned it in his hands and tugged on both ends. “Yes, it’s a tyre iron. What do you think it is, sweetheart?”
“If I prove to you that I’m a dhampir will you stop talking to me like I’m an imbecile?”
“You’re not an imbecile, you’re just confused.” Cue patronising grin.
Lynda exhaled. “If I can bend that tyre iron using only my mind you have to stop talking like that and believe me, and if I can’t we’ll go straight-jacket shopping together and I’ll yield to whatever treatment you think best. Deal?”
“That’s a good girl. It really won’t be so bad. A couple of months and you’ll be home again.” Initiate inane grin.
Frank was quiet when they got moving again. He couldn’t seem to stop looking at the perfectly straight tyre iron in his hand. He had been fixated on it since Lynda had used only her mind to bend the steel implement straight before his eyes. He hadn’t been able to speak. Lynda thought it would have been cruel to leave him out in the middle of nowhere when he was like that so she had put him back in the passenger seat and clipped his belt on. Before she had got back in she had ripped off the lower part of her wedding dress so it now just came to her knees. She hated doing it – she had lost a whole stone to fit into this dress. She had thrown the lower part in the backseat though she doubted that it would be able to be reattached. She dropped her veil in on top of it. Lynda got back in the car and adjusted the mirror. Her make-up had been done to perfection that very morning, her dark hair hanging around her shoulders in beautiful ringlets, her nails that she had let grow to this perfect length and hadn’t bitten – it was a hell of a lot of trouble to go to for a smackdown with a bunch of vampires.
The car had rejoined the flow of traffic at high speed. It was almost half an hour before Frank spoke. He let go of the tyre iron finally and it fell on the floor by his feet. The unbelievable reality had sunk in. He turned to Lynda and said, “I really shouldn’t have seen you in that dress before the wedding.”
knight with shining armour
Claire woke first that day and saw Tom snuggled up next to her. The curtains were still drawn but the sun was strong and she could see the tiny specks of dust floating in the air. The silk sheets felt cool and comforting on her skin. She wished she could just wrap herself up in those sheets and hold Tom. She wanted to forget about what was going on outside in the real world. That wasn’t an option. Even in this huge mansion with all its security cameras and unbreakable glass she was not safe from the vampires that wanted to harm her and Tom.
She carefully extricated the arm that Tom was lying on without waking him and tiptoed to the ensuite bathroom. The small room was luxuriously, but tastefully, fitted out in gold and marble. She gave herself a quick wash and stared into the mirror, silently telling herself to stay alert and stay strong. It would be the only way she and Tom would be safe. They had to leave the area. They had to get as far away as possible and that probably meant not seeing Xavier for…how long, she didn’t even want to think about. She was sure that Xavier would put Tom’s welfare first and that was what she had to do, too. She walked back to the doorway and watched Tom sleeping. He must have been exhausted and confused by the events of the past couple of days. Tom usually didn’t sleep well in strange beds. He never wanted to stay over with his school-friends and his sleep at the hospital had been fitful. She would have to wake him soon. They were burning daylight and November nights drew in quickly.
Their host had told them the previous night to sleep as long as they needed and come down when they were ready. They could have breakfast and then discuss where to go from here. Their host was enthusiastic and Claire feared that it would be difficult to convince her that it was best for Claire and Tom to go on alone. It’s not that she didn’t appreciate the help; she just didn’t want to be responsible for any more deaths. It felt like anyone who got close to Xavier, Tom and she was in danger and a lot of them died very grisly deaths. Claire just had to be thankful but forceful with her host. She and Tom would take breakfast, she would change the dressing on Tom’s leg, and then they had to be on their way. If their host offered anything to help them, Claire would take it. This was no time to be proud. All of Claire’s possessions had gone up in flames and she had precious little money on her person. There were bank accounts of course, still bulging with cash but that all took time and paperwork to get hold of. Claire imagined her host would be as generous with money as she had been with her home. If it wasn’t for her intervention Claire would no doubt be in a cell right now trying to explain why she had stolen that car from outside the hospital.
She had left the hospital grounds driving as fast as she could and with no idea of where she was going. She had ended up heading into Portrush. The road was empty and she had floored the accelerator. She rounded a sharp corner and was on the outskirts of the town when she saw the police car parked across the incoming lane of the road. She released her foot from the pedal and the car began to slow. She almost turned as soon as she saw them, but a few seconds of consideration convinced her that stolen cars aren’t reported that quickly. It couldn’t have been any more than ten minutes since she had taken the car. No, she would be fine. She could bluff her way past these cops, who were probably looking for drunks or boy-racers. She slowed the car to the speed limit and then braked gently as she approached the fluorescent-clad policeman waving her to stop.
She put on a smile and wound down the window as she pulled alongside the officer. “Hi there,” she said brightly.
“Hello. What’s the name, please?” he asked officiously.
Real or fake? Real or Fake? “Claire Ford. And this is my son, Tom,” she answered, turning to Tom and smiling. The officer noticed the bandage on Tom’s leg.
> Tom saw him looking and spoke up. “I was bitten by a big, black dog.”
Claire turned to the officer. “That’s right. He was. Just got him patched up.”
The officer’s face tensed. “Were you at the hospital this evening, Mrs Ford?”
Claire’s heart quickened. He knew. She may have only stolen the car ten minutes ago but they had been fighting in the corridor for quite a while. She opened her mouth hoping something would come out. The officer saw the guilt in her eyes. He reached for his gun. “Can you step out of the car, please?”
Claire reached forward with both hands and grabbed the officer’s jacket lapels. She yanked him forward hard and smashed his face into the top of the door-frame. Blood exploded from his nose. He was dazed. Claire pushed him back as hard as she could. He stumbled backwards, lost his footing and fell hard on the grass verge. Claire turned and saw the cop’s partner had drawn his gun and was running straight at her screaming for her to get out of the vehicle with her hands up. Claire slammed the car into gear. “Head down, Tom,” she said quickly. Tom crouched over and put his hands on top of his head. Claire hit the accelerator and raced at the oncoming policeman. He fired one shot. A small hole was punched in the centre of the windscreen and cracks spider-webbed out from it in all directions. The policeman tried to fire again but hadn’t time. He dove to the side just before the she hit him. Claire snaked the car around the police cruiser and hit the brakes. She slammed the gear-stick into reverse and stood on the pedal. The rear-end ploughed into the police cruiser and pushed it off the road and into the ditch. She put the car in gear again and started forward just as the policeman got off another round. The back window vanished in a hail of glass and cold air rushed in. As she raced from the scene she saw the policeman take aim again but he did not fire, maybe because there was other traffic on the road. Claire saw him in the mirror speaking into his radio and then running to the aid of his colleague.
She had to get rid of this car and quick! Every cop in Portrush would be looking for her now and she was headed towards the town centre. “You OK, Tom?” she said at the little bundle sitting next to her. Tom released his hands from the back of his head slowly and raised himself up.
“I’m OK, mummy.” He said, looking around himself. “Wow! Is that a real bullet hole?” he put his little finger into the hole in the windscreen.
“Yes it is. We have to get rid of this car.” Claire turned left at the roundabout at the end of the street and took the car under the huge stone arch and into the car park overlooking the sea. It was a long, poorly lit car park and a favourite of lust-filled teenagers in cars. Thankfully it was empty at the moment. Claire took the car right up to the end and parked it sideways to the car park’s entrance, so a casual observer wouldn’t notice the damage to the front and back windows. She got Tom out of the car, took him by the hand and they both walked back down the car park to the entrance. If John Law happened to look in here now they would be done for. There was only one entrance and nowhere to run. Claire walked quickly and Tom limped along behind doing his best to keep up with her. They passed under the arch and hesitated as Claire surveyed out the streets. It was safe as far as she could see. She had two choices: turn right, the empty road that led to Portstewart, or turn left and try to get lost in the crowd (if there was one) on the streets of Portrush. Option two seemed the smart choice but it had one major drawback; to get into Portrush town centre from here she would have to walk past Portrush Police Station.
She weighed up the two choices in her head. The road to Portstewart had no hedges or trees where they could hide in a hurry. She had to go into town. She turned to Tom and said, “OK, don’t rush. Just act naturally. And try not to limp too much. It’s a dead give-away if they’ve got our descriptions.”
“OK, I’ll try.”
“Good man,” she said and ruffled his hair. They walked slowly towards the dark imposing building, surrounded by high fences and security cameras. It seemed quiet. There were no cars in the yard of the station. Inside was probably abuzz as all the officers in the field were put on alert. Claire thought that she had chosen the right way to go. This was most likely the one place that the police wouldn’t be looking. It was like a wanted Christian wandering around outside the lion’s den. They were moving slowly because of Tom’s attempt to conceal his injury but eventually they turned the corner. They were walking away from the police station now, though still easily seen if anyone should be looking. When they were a few hundred yards from the station Claire quickened their pace again.
They passed the nightclub at the end of the street and Claire was propositioned by a group of skinny, intoxicated teenage boys as she waited for a gap in the traffic to cross the street. They were really maddening and Claire would have had words with them if Tom had not been with her. They crossed the street finally and continued into the heart of the town. The boys’ jibes continued as she walked away. They shouted their offers of sexual services and laughed at their own bravado. Claire almost turned back. Two minutes with her in this frame of mind and they would all be lying in an unconscious heap on the ground. The events of the night must have raised the adrenaline levels in her body to an unbelievable peak. Usually when something like that happened she would smile and give them the finger or totally destroy them with some cutting remark, but now all she wanted to do was fight. She wanted to hit someone hard and repeatedly. Claire hadn’t heard Tom speaking as the boys’ remarks faded behind them. They walked past the church and stopped at the kerb. Again Claire looked for a safe gap in the traffic. Tom tugged at her hand and she was shaken from her furious reverie.
“What?” she said.
“I said, where are we going?” the boy asked.
Claire had no idea. She stepped back from the kerb and leaned on the church railings. She looked around slowly from her left to her right. As her head completed its 180-degree turn she saw the Arcadia at her extreme right. She smiled thinly. “Let’s go down there and think about it,” she said to Tom. They crossed the street and walked down the steps and along the seafront to the Arcadia. The outside had been repainted to cover Kaaliz’s graffiti. She looked inside and saw sheets draped over all the furniture: the repainting of the interior had begun, too. The Arcadia looked nothing like she remembered it. Even the windows looked so alien after all those years of bricks instead of glass. Tom let go of his mother’s hand and wandered over to one of the benches behind them and sat down. Claire walked backwards, still looking upon the place she had called home for so long, until her legs touched the bench and then she sat down beside him.
“What is this place, mummy?”
“Somewhere your dad and I used to come.”
“Do you think daddy’s all right?”
“Yes. I’m sure he’s fine.”
“What are we going to do? We can’t stay around here, can we?”
“No, we can’t. Are you sad about that?”
Tom thought for a moment. Claire saw he was trying really hard to look adult and the thought made her smile. “I’m going to miss all my friends.”
“Yes. I’m sorry, honey.”
“Daddy said he wouldn’t go to the island. Does he always keep his promises?”
Claire smiled. “All daddies do.” Tom looked comforted and cuddled up close to Claire. The question had worried her deeply. When Tom came out with some random statement like that it always turned out to have great significance. About eighteen months before Tom had told Claire that she should make up with her friend Joyce. Claire and Joyce had met at Salsa classes and had got on so well that they abandoned the dancing and went out to a pub instead on a Tuesday night. The group grew to six women eventually and Tuesday night was renamed “Girls’ night out.” They drank, they talked, they gossiped and they had fun. The core of the group was always Claire and Joyce, until their falling out. Joyce got herself a boyfriend, Nick. As soon as Claire met Nick she sized him up for the opportunistic, free-loading low-life he was. He had come on to Claire and several of the o
ther girls in the group and Claire had had enough and told Joyce exactly what she thought of her boyfriend. A huge row ensued. Harsh names, accusations and drinks were thrown that night, and Joyce left the group. A couple of weeks later Joyce found Nick in bed with her flatmate and the truth was exposed. Joyce had been too proud to call any of her old friends and they felt awkward about contacting her, so time had just passed.
When Tom suggested that Claire make up with Joyce it was out of the blue, but Claire realised it was something she should have done a long time ago. She called Joyce that day and met her for coffee. They talked, they laughed, they cried and reinstated their friendship. They left the coffee shop that day and hugged at the door. It was the last time Claire ever saw her. The following morning while walking to work Joyce had been hit by a car swerving to avoid a dog in the road. She was killed instantly. Claire tried to convince herself that it was a coincidence how Tom had chosen that day to tell her to make up with Joyce, but it never felt like a coincidence. She was sure that Tom knew what was going to happen and didn’t want Joyce to die before they had made up. She had worried for a long time about it and finally convinced herself it was a coincidence. But there had been other things that happened that convinced her Tom’s advice was accurate too often to be coincidence. And now he was saying that Xavier shouldn’t go to an island. She couldn’t think of any reason why Xavier would go to any island but something deeper scared her. Of all the things that Tom had apparently foresaw, he couldn’t stop any of them from happening.
A sharp shout in the distance behind them made Claire jump to her feet. She hadn’t heard exactly what had been said but she recognized the authoritative tone. She turned and watched the street above the seafront. Then she heard another shout, “You two, check over there. You, come with me.” A second later Claire saw two men dressed head to toe in black move quickly but cautiously around the corner and edge along Causeway Street. They both had machine guns wedged into their shoulders and the barrel of the gun turned with every movement of their heads. Claire bent down to Tom and gave him a serious look and put her finger to her lips. Claire watched the men sneak on down the street, checking every doorway and entrance. When she couldn’t see them anymore she led Tom quickly up the grass slope to the street.
