The Reformed Vampire Support Group

by Catherine Jinks

  ‘Before you do, you might want to cast an eye over this,’ said Father Ramon. He had picked up one of the books. ‘Someone’s been reading Harry Potter. And Philip Pullman. And Terry Pratchett.’ He cast a troubled glance in my direction. ‘I’d be very surprised if any of these books belonged to the McKinnons,’ he added. ‘They look like teenage reading to me.’

  Dave groaned. I was struck dumb. Father Ramon squatted down to examine the other books, but found no name scribbled inside them. I watched him leaf through one battered volume after another. The minutes ticked by. I checked my watch; it was already ten past twelve.

  By two o’clock, the mob outside was still howling enthusiastically – and I was half-dead from the strain of waiting. My nerves were shredded. The longer we sat there, the less likely it seemed that we would ever have the strength or speed to carry out our ambitious plans. In fact the very sight of Father Ramon filled me with a sudden, overwhelming sense of despair; he was actually reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, as if he had nothing better to do.

  ‘Maybe we should tell the McKinnons that we’re vampires,’ I blurted out at last. Seeing Dave’s jaw drop, I hurried to demonstrate that I wasn’t going mad. ‘They might not kill us if they think we’re worth money,’ I said. ‘We could offer them some kind of media deal.’

  ‘I dunno.’ Dave’s tone was doubtful. ‘What makes you think they’d go for the publicity? I didn’t see any posters up in town.’

  ‘They’ll be making quite enough money from their werewolf fights,’ Father Ramon quietly remarked, looking up from Harry Potter. ‘If you tell them who you are, Nina, you might spend the rest of your life as a captive, forced to fight against other vampires.’

  ‘Or you might be digging your own grave,’ Dave morosely pointed out. ‘There aren’t many people who’d think twice about killing a vampire.’

  ‘If I were you, I’d only reveal who you are as a last resort,’ the priest concluded.

  No one spoke again for a while after that. The noise from the pit became louder and louder. Dave had to lie down. Father Ramon rose and began to pace the floor, his attention divided between the sinister barred gate and his book. He obviously found the distant crowing just as ominous as I did.

  Then all at once silence fell. He stopped in his tracks. We stared at each other, listening hard.

  Once a relaxed murmur became audible, I knew. We both knew.

  ‘It’s finished,’ he hissed.

  ‘Oh my God.’ I jumped up. ‘Oh my God, oh my God!’

  ‘Give me that sheet,’ the priest whispered. But Dave said weakly, ‘It’s all right. Don’t panic.’

  ‘Don’t panic?’ I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘They might send those werewolves back in here, Dave!’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Dave had been lying with his arm draped across his bloodshot eyes. Now he uncovered them, and scanned the room. ‘Just look at this place,’ he murmured. ‘There are no scratches on the paint. No bite marks on the door.’ He flapped a listless hand. ‘If those things out there ever got in here, they’d tear the place apart. And they haven’t.’

  ‘There’s always a first time,’ Father Ramon objected. Dave, however, shook his head.

  ‘It would be too messy,’ he replied. ‘You can’t hose this place off – there’s no drain in the floor. Not like there is out there.’

  ‘You think we’ll be forced into the pit?’ I squeaked.

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ he assured me. But since he was on his back, in bed, with a raging headache and a pasty complexion, I didn’t find him very convincing.

  Father Ramon fetched the sheet. I went to stand near the door, while Dave sat up and pulled out his Swiss army knife. No one said anything; we were concentrating too fiercely on the sounds drifting into our cell.

  Five minutes passed. Then another ten. As the minute hand on my watch slowly measured out a complete circumference, I passed from a state of near hysteria to one of acute anxiety – until the length of our wait took the edge off my fear. Weren’t the McKinnons ever going to return? What on earth was happening? ‘Oh, man,’ Dave eventually remarked. He was still sitting on the bed, as if he couldn’t find the strength to get up.

  ‘What?’ I prompted, after he failed to continue. And he lifted his face to address me.

  ‘I was just thinking,’ he croaked. ‘Suppose no one comes down here until after sunrise?’

  I gasped.

  ‘Suppose the McKinnons get here and find the pair of us dead to the world?’ Dave continued. ‘We won’t be able help Father Ramon. We won’t be able to do a thing.’

  ‘Oh, but …’ I checked my watch, for perhaps the hundredth time that night. ‘We still have a good two hours, at least. Anyway, he said he’d be back soon.’

  ‘But what if he isn’t?’ Dave closed his eyes for a moment. ‘What if something’s cropped up?’ he faltered. ‘What are we going to do if the McKinnons walk in and decide that we’re already dead?’

  I had no idea. My mind was a blank. And Dave must have had the same problem, because he slumped forward mutely, massaging his eye-sockets.

  It was Father Ramon who supplied an answer to Dave’s question.

  ‘I tell you what I’m going to do,’ the priest announced. ‘I’m going to pretend that I killed you both.’

  Dave snorted.

  ‘I mean it.’ Father Ramon’s tone was perfectly serious. ‘I’ll say that I smothered you to save myself.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Dave groaned, and I exclaimed, ‘That’s stupid!’

  ‘No, it’s not. It’s our best chance.’ Lowering his voice, the priest began to argue his case. ‘We’re only in danger because the McKinnons are worried that we’ll tell the police what they’ve been doing here,’ he said. ‘But if I have your deaths on my conscience, I won’t be telling anyone about anything. Will I?’

  He went on to explain that he would write a confession, which he would offer to Barry as insurance. Then he would drive away with our ‘corpses’, promising to remain silent about the McKinnons’ activities as long as the McKinnons remained silent about the cold-blooded murders that he had committed to save his own skin.

  ‘I’ll demand that you be thoroughly wrapped up before we take you outside,’ he finished. ‘I’ll pretend that I’m worried about people seeing you.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘It’ll work, Nina. I’m sure it will. In fact, it’s our only hope.’ He frowned. ‘What else are we going to do? What else can I possibly say? Can you think of anything?’

  I couldn’t. Though I tried and tried, I was unable to come up with an alternative plan.

  I was still racking my brain when, at 6.57 AM, I suddenly blacked out.

  13

  I woke up at 5.29 PM and didn’t know where I was.

  That’s always a terrible feeling. It hasn’t happened to me often, thank God, but it’s one of those nasty events more likely to befall a vampire than a normal person (unless, of course, you’re a normal person who’s a drunk or a drug addict). For a second or two I lay in total confusion. My face was covered, and it was very dark.

  Then something moved beside me.

  ‘Who – who’s that?’ I quavered.

  There was a brief silence.

  ‘Nina?’ came the muffled response.

  ‘Dave?’

  ‘Shh!’

  I could feel him struggling, and when I tried to raise my arms, I understood why. Something was binding them. I was wrapped up like a mummy.

  So was Dave, to judge from the way he was thrashing about.

  After a moment’s blind panic, I realised that my bonds were fairly loose. I was able to bend my elbows and slide my hands up until they were level with my shoulders. Then I tugged and clawed at the shroud that enfolded me, working away until I’d dragged it off my eyes.

  I found myself staring straight up into Dave’s shadowy face.

  ‘We’re in the van,’ he whispered.

  ‘What?’

&nb
sp; ‘Shh!’ He was kneeling beside me, plucking at the rope that encircled my chest. Frantically I began to wriggle out of my cocoon, which had a familiar smell; apparently someone had rolled me up in the Windex-covered bedsheet.

  ‘Where’s your phone?’ Dave hissed.

  ‘I don’t know … let me see…’ I thrust aside a great swag of cotton, before searching the pockets of my coat with unsteady hands. ‘It’s gone,’ I informed him, very quietly.

  ‘So is mine,’ he breathed. ‘Someone’s taken them.’

  ‘Are you sure this is our truck?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Dave, and when I looked around, I had to agree with him. Though my wristwatch didn’t provide much illumination, I could still make out the double doors in front of me, and the sheets of black plastic that lined every other visible surface.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked, in hushed tones. ‘Do you think Father Ramon’s trick worked?’

  I was referring to the priest’s fake homicide scenario. Dave must have understood that, because he shrugged.

  ‘I dunno,’ he softly replied. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Except that we don’t have our mobiles,’ I fretted. ‘Why would he have taken them away?’

  Dave didn’t answer; he was already crawling towards the only exit, leaving a dim tangle of rope and fabric behind him. As I groped around for my sunglasses (which seemed to have vanished, along with my phone), he gave one of the doors a tentative push.

  To my utter astonishment, it swung open.

  ‘Shit!’ Dave jerked back, sucking air through his teeth. All at once he was silhouetted against a silver-gilt landscape of stones and saltbush. My heart sank when I saw the corner of a tin shed. Our van was still parked where we’d left it.

  ‘Shh,’ Dave warned, placing a finger to his lips. He thrust his head outside, glancing around with great caution. At last he gave me a thumbs-up.

  When I hesitated, he beckoned urgently.

  ‘Quick!’ he muttered. ‘Before anyone sees us!’

  ‘But where are you going?’ I was confused. ‘Isn’t Father Ramon supposed to be driving us away? Shouldn’t we be waiting right here?’ Seeing him frown, I added, ‘We were all wrapped up, just like he promised. The plan must have worked.’

  ‘If the plan had worked, we’d be back home by now,’ Dave retorted, under his breath. ‘And we’d still have our mobile phones.’ He craned his neck once more, scanning our immediate vicinity. ‘I think we should check things out before we decide what to do. Otherwise we might end up making a big mistake.’

  He was right. I could see that. So I followed him out of the van and helped him to close the door as quietly as possible. A stiff breeze soughed through the branches of a nearby peppercorn tree, masking the crunch of our footsteps.

  Dave put his lips to my ear.

  ‘I’m going to sneak around and make sure that nobody’s in the driver’s seat,’ he buzzed. ‘You keep an eye out.’ Before I could protest, he was edging along the side of the van, keeping its bright orange bulk between himself and the McKinnons’ kitchen window. I recognised this window because it was all lit up; a golden glow poured through the familiar pineapple-print curtains drawn across it. Apart from the moon, it was the only source of illumination in an area that must have been about half the size of Switzerland.

  I was feeling a little woozy at this point. Nevertheless, I had the presence of mind to notice that our van was no longer surrounded by other vehicles. I could see only a dirty white ute parked nearby, next to a plum-coloured four-wheel drive that fairly bristled with antennae and bullbars. I was trying to memorise the ute’s numberplate when the pineapple-print curtains suddenly disappeared. Someone had snapped off the kitchen light. Within seconds, a screen door banged as Barry and his son emerged from the house, talking loudly.

  But by that time I had already ducked out of sight, so I didn’t witness their exit. I only heard it.

  My retreat was so abrupt that I ran headlong into Dave, who seized my arm and dragged me behind the tin shed. Though I’m convinced that we must have stepped on loose gravel and dry sticks, we didn’t alert the McKinnons. They were too busy arguing with each other about who was going to drive the van.

  In the end, Barry prevailed. He secured the van for himself, while Dermid agreed to drive the ute. Not once was Father Ramon mentioned by either man. As engines fired and doors slammed shut, I pinched Dave’s elbow. I suppose that I was seeking reassurance, but I didn’t get it. The look on his face made my stomach lurch.

  Like me, he must have been wondering if Father Ramon was dead.

  ‘Just wait,’ he whispered. And that’s what we did. We stood there, frozen in the shadows, until our van and the McKinnons’ ute had roared off into the night. Only when the sound of their engines was just a faint and distant hum did we finally emerge from our hiding place.

  But even then Dave remained cautious.

  ‘There might be someone else inside,’ he muttered, squinting towards the house. I did the same.

  ‘Are we – I mean – do we actually need to go inside?’ I queried. It was little more than a rhetorical question, because I knew we didn’t have much choice. Father Ramon might still be in the house, along with a phone, or a gun, or even the key to the remaining vehicle.

  Outside the house, there was nothing. Nothing as far as the eye could see.

  Dave cleared his throat. ‘We’ll arm ourselves,’ he suggested gruffly, stooping to pick up a piece of discarded fence post. ‘You take this. I’ll find something else.’

  ‘We shouldn’t go in together.’

  ‘What?’

  At long last my brain was beginning to function. ‘We should split up,’ I proposed, in a very small voice. ‘I’ll go to the front door first. If someone’s inside, he’ll be concentrating on the front door—’

  ‘Which means that I can sneak in the back, through that open window over there.’ Dave didn’t seem to approve of my plan. In the faint wash of moonlight I could easily make out his troubled expression. ‘I dunno, Nina,’ he said. ‘I dunno if we should split up. You’ll be all on your own …’

  ‘So will you,’ I rejoined. ‘And you must be feeling just as sick as me.’

  ‘Yeah, but—’

  ‘It’s our best chance.’ I was convinced of this. ‘Anyway, all the lights are off. I don’t think anyone’s inside.’

  ‘Except maybe Father Ramon,’ Dave mumbled. We exchanged another long, anxious look. Then Dave handed me the fence post.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You try the front door. I’ll find an axe or something, and go round the back. This place is bound to be knee-deep in things you can hurt people with.’

  ‘Dave?’

  ‘What?’

  I swallowed before speaking. ‘Where do you think the were-wolves are?’ My question hit him like a punch. His whole body drooped. It was apparent that the werewolves had momentarily slipped his mind.

  I felt bad about jogging his memory.

  ‘They must have changed into people by now,’ I said, making a feeble effort to comfort him. ‘And if they haven’t, they’ll be locked up somewhere. Even Barry McKinnon wouldn’t let them roam around loose.’

  ‘Oh Christ, Nina.’ Dave put out a hand, propping himself against the corrugated wall of the shed. His voice was ragged. ‘I dunno. I dunno what we’re going to find in there. Maybe we should just start walking.’

  ‘No.’ That was out of the question. ‘We can’t. It’s too risky. The sun might rise before we get anywhere.’ I took a deep breath, and squared my shoulders. ‘Let’s just get this over with,’ I exhorted, with a courage born of pure desperation. ‘Before Barry comes back.’

  I can’t pretend that I waltzed up to the McKinnons’ front door with steely eyes and a kick-ass attitude, like Zadia Bloodstone. In fact, to be perfectly honest, I nearly didn’t make it at all. At one point I froze in my tracks, too scared to take another step. But the thought that Father Ramon might be bleeding to death somewhere underground finally propel
led me forward; after a brief, internal struggle, I somehow made myself cross that creaky veranda, and turn that tarnished doorknob.

  When the latch clicked, I couldn’t have been more surprised. It had never occurred to me that the McKinnons would drive away without locking up their house. Perhaps people in the country are more honest than people in the city. Or perhaps securing your property is the kind of thing that you forget to do, when you’re about to get rid of two human corpses.

  I gave the door a gentle shove, wincing as its hinges squealed.

  ‘Nina?’

  If I had died of shock, right then, it would have been Dave’s fault. As it was, I almost fainted. He had armed himself with a shovel, and his big, shaggy, ill-defined figure would have terrified even Zadia Bloodstone.

  I suppose he must have been on the point of letting me in.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ I hissed. ‘You practically gave me a heart attack!’

  ‘Sorry. The back door was unlocked.’

  ‘Is anyone here?’

  ‘Not that I can see.’

  ‘Have you checked downstairs?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘What about the bedrooms?’

  ‘I had a quick look. They’re empty.’

  ‘Are there any lights on?’

  Dave shook his head.

  ‘Then we’re safe,’ I decided. ‘If you’re a normal person, you don’t walk around in the dark.’

  ‘Let’s check downstairs,’ he said.

  I followed him along a high, dim corridor lit by two dangling bulbs. The rooms that we passed obviously hadn’t been painted (or even cleaned) in years, and they were full of really horrible things: animal skulls, pig-shooting magazines, bloodstained clothes, chewed apple cores. There had been no attempt to match curtains, repair blinds, or make beds.

  The whole place smelled bad.

  ‘Right,’ whispered Dave, upon reaching the kitchen. ‘I’ll check the basement while you stay here and keep watch.’

  ‘There’s a light on down there.’

  ‘Yeah. I can see that.’

  ‘Be careful, Dave.’ My voice cracked; I didn’t want to be left on my own. ‘Don’t open any doors unless you know what’s behind them.’