The Reformed Vampire Support Group

by Catherine Jinks

  ‘No,’ I answered, as realisation dawned. If the McKinnons knew where to find us, we were in big trouble. ‘Hang – hang on, Mum. Dave just asked me something.’

  ‘They never looked in my wallet,’ Father Ramon suddenly volunteered, referring to the McKinnons. ‘They don’t know my address.’

  ‘But they know mine,’ Dave growled, then plucked the phone from my hand. ‘Mrs Harrison? I need you to go to my house right now and pick up my laptop. My laptop and my address book. They’re both on my desk.’ He fell silent for a few moments, listening to Mum’s objections. ‘Yeah, I realise that,’ he finally continued, ‘but it’s not the slayer I’m worried about. It’s someone else – someone who does know where I live. And I don’t want him tracking down the rest of us.’ During the pause that followed, he began to gnaw at his bottom lip. ‘What do you mean?’ he said at last. ‘What phone call?’

  I glanced fearfully at Father Ramon.

  ‘When was that?’ Dave asked, before clicking his tongue at my mother’s response. ‘You’re kidding. Shit. Well, you did the right thing.’

  At this point I signalled my desire to have the phone back. Dave, however, ignored me.

  ‘No,’ he went on. ‘No, it wasn’t the slayer, it was – it was someone else. Bloke called McKinnon. We’ve got his car, and he’s got our truck. Let’s just say it’s a long story—’

  ‘Give me that!’ I exclaimed. ‘Let me tell her!’

  ‘Hold on, Mrs Harrison. I’ll let Nina fill you in.’ Dave passed me the phone, having recognised the futility of any further resistance. Unfortunately, it was too late. We had already lost the signal.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Father Ramon, who could see that I was upset. ‘We’ll be in range again soon.’ He looked up again, catching Dave’s eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘I should have fetched your laptop when I went to check your house,’ the priest said ruefully. ‘I just didn’t think. Naturally I assumed that if someone had taken Casimir’s address book, it wouldn’t do any good to worry about yours.’

  ‘You were right,’ said Dave. ‘It wouldn’t. If this loony has one address, he’ll have the lot.’

  ‘If who has one address?’ Reuben demanded. He must have felt that he’d remained silent for long enough. ‘Who are you talking about? Are you talking about Barry McKinnon?’

  The priest assured him that we weren’t. Dave mumbled something to the effect that it was a long story. I said to Dave, ‘What was all that about a phone call?’ And he hesitated.

  He’s never liked delivering bad news.

  ‘Your mum got a call about fifteen minutes ago,’ he revealed at last. ‘Some guy told her that he’d found your phone, and wanted to send it back. He asked for the address.’

  I gasped. Reuben hissed.

  ‘She didn’t give it to him,’ Dave added quickly. ‘She thought it might be the slayer.’

  ‘She thought it might be the what?’ Reuben yelped. But no one replied. I was too busy fighting the urge to panic, while Dave and the priest were turning things over in their heads.

  ‘It sounds as if Barry might be looking for Nina,’ was Father Ramon’s verdict. ‘The question is: has he got back to the house already?’

  ‘I dunno,’ said Dave. ‘It’s been at least an hour since we left, so …’ He shrugged. ‘It depends where he was planning to go with that van.’

  ‘Do you reckon he might come after us?’ I quavered. And Reuben gave a snort.

  ‘Of course he’ll come after us! I’m worth money to the McKinnons!’ Seeing my confused look, Reuben began to splutter with impatience. ‘You just don’t understand!’ he complained, then began to lecture Father Ramon. ‘They’d never have let you go. If I hadn’t killed Orlando, you’d be dead by now. I know how they think.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘I bet you anything you like they wanted to put you in the pit with me, next full moon, so the punters would have a show to watch. That’s if they couldn’t get another werewolf in time.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said the priest.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the werewolf. ‘They’re animals. They call me an animal, but they’re the real animals.’

  He went on to declare that if the McKinnons had been planning to release Father Ramon, they never would have used our orange van as a hearse. Clearly they had decided to dump the two ‘corpses’ they’d been saddled with, then dispose of the van and return to the house in their ute. But they had waited for nightfall to ensure that their activities wouldn’t be noticed.

  ‘Ten to one they reached their dump site, opened the van doors, and found you both gone,’ said Reuben, his gaze skipping from my face to Dave’s. ‘So now they probably reckon that someone else musta taken you. Because they won’t be thinking that you walked off by yourselves. They won’t believe that you’re still alive.’ Another explosive honk of laughter burst out of him. ‘I saw you myself, and you looked dead to me,’ he informed Dave. ‘Really dead. No pulse or nothing.’

  ‘But who could possibly have taken us?’ I queried, causing Reuben to roll his eyes.

  ‘A frienda yours! Who else? Someone who was hiding near the house when they left.’ His rapid-fire delivery was nearly as exhausting as the way he kept bouncing around on his seat. ‘Those bastards will be shit-scared,’ he announced. ‘They’ll figure that whoever broke into the van musta broken into the house as well. To save this bloke.’ He jerked his chin at Father Ramon. ‘That’s why they’ll be trying to work out where you all live. They’ll be wanting to track us down – you and me, Father. And this mystery guy they think let us out.’

  ‘But I’ve confessed to murder,’ Father Ramon protested. ‘It’s obvious that I won’t be reporting them. Wouldn’t they just prefer to let sleeping dogs lie?’

  ‘Aw, cripes. Don’t you listen?’ Reuben was almost beside himself with frustration at our failure to grasp the essentials. ‘I told you, I’m worth money! Big money! Last week they told me that some Yank promoter had offered them a hundred thousand dollars for me! And they turned him down! Because they can make more money off the punters!’ He revealed that each of the men we’d seen converging on Wolgaroo Corner the night before had paid at least $1500 apiece to receive a silver bullet in the mail. ‘That’s basically $1500 a ticket,’ Reuben announced. ‘Not to mention the bets that come in from people who can’t make it on the night.’

  ‘So this is a big business?’ asked Dave.

  ‘Oh, yeah. Especially in America.’ When Reuben fixed his attention on me, the effect was rather like being caught in a force-field. It was hard to look away, he was so dazzling. ‘Can you see why they’re going to come after us? No matter what?’

  There was a long, pensive silence, which Father Ramon eventually broke.

  ‘Maybe we should go the police,’ he murmured, without taking his eyes off the road ahead. ‘I mean – this is outrageous. Something like this shouldn’t be allowed to happen. And if the McKinnons are as dangerous as Reuben says they are—’

  ‘We can’t go to the police,’ I interrupted. ‘You know what will happen.’

  ‘We’ll be lynched,’ Dave agreed. ‘There’ll be a million slayers, instead of just one. They’ll start clubs. They’ll form vigilante groups.’

  ‘We can’t go to the police.’ Reuben’s support was completely unexpected. When the rest of us stared at him, he grimaced. ‘If the police find out about me, they’ll lock me in a bloody zoo!’ he exclaimed fiercely.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ the priest began. But Reuben had his own ideas about the rest of the world, and he wasn’t about to discard them.

  ‘It’s true!’ he cried. ‘The police will think that I’m some kinda wild animal! Everyone always does!’ His voice cracked. ‘Orlando’s own grandfather used to keep him chained to a tree! He used to feed him scraps and pig swill!’

  ‘Reuben.’ Dave cleared his throat. ‘Listen, mate—’

  ‘No one’s ever going to shut me up again! Not ever! Not in a zoo or a loony bin or anywhere else! Do you hear me? I’m going to kill anyon
e who even tries!’

  By this time Reuben was shouting and slamming his fists down onto his knees. I suppose that I should have been scared, but I wasn’t. After thirty-odd years of group therapy, I knew enough to hear the pain behind the anger. I could detect the fear that Reuben was trying to conceal.

  And I felt deeply sorry for him.

  ‘You mustn’t worry about us,’ I said, before he could launch into another round of threats and accusations. ‘We understand how it is for someone like you. We’re vampires, remember? Everyone hates vampires.’ It was tough, having to say this aloud – especially to a stunner like Reuben – but I couldn’t fool myself any longer. I was a vampire, through and through. ‘The good thing is that there’s a lot of us,’ I continued, ‘and we’re in the same boat as you are. So we can help each other. We can figure out some way of defending ourselves without going to the police.’ As he peered at me through the dimness, I couldn’t help being struck by the amount of heat that was coming off him. Vampires don’t exude much heat. We’re chilly and cold-blooded, with dull cheeks and purple fingers. ‘Reuben, believe me, we’re no danger to anyone,’ I finished. ‘Just look at us. We’re sick. We’re feeble. We’re comatose during the day. We couldn’t lock you up if we tried – you’d make mincemeat out of us.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t.’ He sounded sullen. ‘You think I’m an animal, but I’m not. As a matter of fact, I’m a vegetarian—’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ was my hasty assurance. ‘I only meant … well, there’s no way we can make you do anything that you don’t want to do. Not us. We don’t have what it takes.’

  For some reason, this particular argument struck a chord. Reuben’s scowl yielded first to a pensive expression, then to a slow and sweet (though slightly crazed) little smile.

  ‘I dunno about that,’ he said. ‘If you wanted me to take you dancing, I reckon I would. And I hate dancing.’

  I have to admit that I was gobsmacked by this remark. It was completely unexpected. Vampires don’t normally attract even the most backhanded compliments – especially not from a hot guy like Reuben. Of course, he hadn’t seen anything even remotely female for a very long time; after five years of total deprivation, even a colourless, anorexic vampire with a lousy haircut must have looked good to him.

  I didn’t know how to respond, and was still racking my brain for a suitable answer when Dave spoke for me.

  ‘We don’t go out in public if we can help it,’ he flatly declared. ‘Especially not where there are lots of people.’ Disregarding my gasp of outrage, he concluded with a Sanford-like putdown. ‘You wouldn’t want to tire her,’ he said. ‘Physically she’s not very strong.’

  ‘Oh.’ Reuben pulled a funny sort of face that I couldn’t interpret. His smile slipped sideways. ‘Right. Gotcha.’

  He would have dropped the subject, then, if it hadn’t been for me. But I wasn’t about to let anyone belittle me as if I were a six-year-old child – not to a brand-new acquaintance. Especially not to Reuben, who had enough energy for two people.

  ‘Vampires aren’t allowed to have any fun, you see,’ I snapped, glaring at Dave. ‘Not according to some experts in the field.’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ Dave was trying to be patient. He kept his voice very quiet and even. ‘All I said was—’

  ‘Vampires have to sit around watching TV all night. When they’re not working at boring jobs, or cleaning bathrooms.’

  ‘Nina—’

  ‘I’m not a complete idiot, Dave. I do understand that I’m living with a handicap. I just prefer to pretend that I’m not, occasionally – if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Uh – speaking of handicaps,’ Father Ramon interposed, before Dave could defend himself, ‘what are we going to do if we don’t reach Sydney by daybreak? Because we won’t be able to hire another van in the middle of the night, and this car is all windows.’ As I surveyed the vast expanse of tinted glass that surrounded us, the priest reviewed our options. ‘Perhaps our best bet is to start searching for a hotel with very dark rooms. Or a twenty-four-hour service station that sells extremely big Eskies,’ he said. ‘But whatever we decide, we’d better be quick. Since this might take quite a bit of planning.’

  He was right, of course. We needed a couple of bolt-holes, as soon as possible.

  Otherwise Dave and I wouldn’t last all the way to Sydney.

  15

  It was Reuben who came to our rescue. As an aspiring motor mechanic, he had noticed that our vehicle’s spare tyre was mounted over its rear bumper. He had therefore concluded that there might be some extra storage room under the cargo floor.

  He was right. There was. And this dark, stuffy little compartment was just big enough to accommodate Dave – as long as he remained in a foetal position. What’s more, when we checked the load space behind the back seat, we discovered an enormous steel toolbox sitting on top of the cargo floor. This toolbox was promptly put at my disposal. Once emptied of all its clattering contents, it wasn’t a bad place to sleep; cramped and grimy, perhaps, but absolutely lightproof.

  All the same, I kept hoping that I wouldn’t have to use it. Every time Father Ramon stopped for a toilet break, or slowed down to pass through a slumbering country town, I would tap my feet and gnaw at my thumbnail. Buying petrol became an ordeal, not just because we didn’t have an ignition key, but because I begrudged every moment that we spent distracting dozy service-station attendants while Reuben got our engine running again.

  It wasn’t until we reached the mountains that I finally admitted defeat. We weren’t going to reach Sydney before daybreak. So I took off my coat and crawled into the stinking toolbox, while Reuben shook his head in wonderment.

  ‘You couldn’t pay me to do that,’ he said. ‘How can you do that?’

  ‘I don’t have much choice,’ was my sour retort, which didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. With his customary vigour he swung around to address Father Ramon. ‘Won’t she suffocate? How’s she going to breathe?’

  ‘I don’t breathe. Not during the day.’ It did occur to me, however, that the few minutes of consciousness preceding my blackout might be a bit uncomfortable, once I was sealed inside my small and airless resting place. We therefore decided that Reuben should sit near me, in the back of the vehicle, until my breathing stopped. Then he would quickly shut the toolbox lid.

  ‘What happens if you do get caught in sunlight?’ was one of the questions that he asked me, as I lay waiting for the inevitable. ‘Do you get burned, or what?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘Are you sure? I mean, how do you know what’ll happen if you’ve never even tried to go out in the sun?’

  ‘It happened to a friend of a friend,’ I replied. In fact, it had happened to the vampire I mentioned earlier: the one named Ethel, who was infected by George Mumford. After her own family exposed her to the sun, Sanford had been forced to clean up the mess. And ever since, he’s been firmly opposed to publicity of any description. ‘It’s a kind of cellular breakdown. All your peptide bonds dissolve.’

  ‘Oh.’ Reuben didn’t ask what peptide bonds were. Maybe he was scared of looking stupid. I have to confess that I didn’t really know what they were myself. I was just passing on what Sanford had told me. ‘So you haven’t seen daylight since … when?’ he inquired.

  ‘Since 1973.’

  ‘Man.’ Reuben sounded awe-struck. ‘And I thought five years was bad!’

  ‘You mean they never let you out? Except at night?’ I couldn’t see his face from down in my box, so I don’t know why he fell silent at this point. Perhaps he was speechless with fury. He might have been fighting back tears, or distracted by something on the road. Whatever the reason, he didn’t immediately respond.

  And by the time he did, I’d already blacked out.

  When I woke up, it was the worst awakening of my life. I felt stifled, as if I barely had the room to inflate my lungs. There were cramps in every limb. My head was pounding.

  But Reuben
had kept his promise to leave the toolbox latch unfastened. With a single shove, I managed to free myself. The lid fell back, the air rushed in, and I sat up like a jack-in-the-box, coughing and moaning.

  It was several seconds before I realised that I wasn’t in a car any longer.

  ‘Dave?’ I rasped, looking around. My toolbox had been dumped on the concrete floor of a garage, between the McKinnons’ four-wheel drive and a grey sedan that I recognised as belonging to Father Ramon. The garage itself was full of cobwebs. Junk was piled high against the walls; in the dimness I could just make out a rusty tricycle, a wooden stepladder, a roll of carpet, a lampshade, a wardrobe, a fireguard and a stack of vinyl records.

  Suddenly I heard a thump from inside the McKinnons’ vehicle – and it occurred to me that Dave must still be in there, tucked beneath the cargo floor. ‘Oh! Wait! Hang on!’ I cried, surging to my feet. Almost at once, however, I fell down. After being folded beneath my chin for so long, my legs weren’t being very cooperative. ‘I’m on my way! Don’t panic! I’ll be with you in a jiffy!’

  But by the time I was more or less upright, Dave had already crawled out of the car. He too was having trouble with his legs; he hung off the tailgate as he waited for his knees to stop trembling.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Okay. I guess.’ Considering what I’d been through. ‘I need breakfast, though. How about you?’

  ‘I’m all right,’ he said hoarsely, glancing around. ‘This is Father Ramon’s garage.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah. I recognise those.’ He indicated the pile of dog-eared album covers. ‘I brought them here for a charity sale. He obviously hasn’t sold them yet.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Old Air Supply records? Who on earth would buy those?’

  ‘Lots of people,’ he rejoined, sounding slightly miffed. ‘They’re collectables.’

  I gave a snort. ‘Well, it’s good to know that there are sadder things in life than being a vampire,’ I said. ‘You could be someone who collects old Air Supply records.’