The Reformed Vampire Support Group

by Catherine Jinks

  ‘We realised that you weren’t responsible,’ Father Ramon hastily assured me. ‘You and Sanford weren’t even awake then. We knew that Dermid must have done it – since he can still get about during daylight hours.’

  ‘And now he’s on the loose.’ It was a terrifying thought. What could we possibly do? ‘We have to find him,’ I said. ‘He’ll attack someone else, otherwise.’

  ‘Possibly,’ Sanford had to concede. ‘Though I suspect he won’t be plagued by very strong urges. Not after what happened downstairs.’

  ‘You mean he’ll be racked with guilt?’ Father Ramon inquired, eliciting a surprised look from Sanford.

  ‘Oh, no.’ Sanford dismissed the possibility. ‘I doubt he’ll even recall what he did, with any sort of coherence. But physically he’ll be satisfied. If you take my meaning.’

  ‘Oh.’ The priest lost even more of his already depleted colour, and I took advantage of his sudden silence to interrogate Sanford myself.

  ‘Where do you think someone like Dermid might actually go?’ I asked. ‘Do you think he’ll go to a hospital, or – I dunno – the police?’

  Sanford shrugged, in hopeless kind of way.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  ‘Yeah, but look.’ Reuben broke in with his usual excess of energy; it was like being buffeted by a powerful gust of wind. A nerve was twitching in the corner of his left eye. ‘This only just happened. Maybe a quarter of an hour ago? He can’t have got far.’

  ‘Yes, he can,’ I retorted. ‘He has money, remember?’

  ‘Money’s no good if you don’t know how to use it,’ Reuben reminded me, before addressing Father Ramon. ‘Anyway, even if he can use it, how often do the buses actually stop around here? How often do the trains run? Maybe we can catch him, if we’re quick enough. Maybe we should form a search party.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Sanford shook his head. ‘Not you. You won’t be going anywhere near Dermid. Not in his current condition.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No. You wouldn’t be safe. Neither would Father Ramon. This is vampire business. I’ll ask Dave to conduct a search of the area.’

  Sanford had barely finished speaking when Mum reappeared, holding her cordless phone. ‘It’s Dave,’ she announced. ‘He wanted to know what’s going on, so I told him. Now he’s asking if he should come over.’

  ‘Yes. I mean, no. Wait – give it here.’ Snatching at the receiver, Sanford began to pepper poor Dave with instructions. He told Dave to leave Horace locked in the bank vault and to bring George along for the ride. According to Sanford, George would be able to keep an eye on passing pedestrians while Dave was watching the road – and in any case, if George was left behind, he could easily be persuaded to release Horace. ‘You know what George is like,’ Sanford sorrowfully remarked. ‘Horace could talk him into anything. Now – listen carefully, Dave. I want you to take the main roads, because that’s where most people would look for a bus. You should stay alert for police vehicles, too, because if Dermid’s disoriented, or aggressive, he might already be attracting – what?’ There was a long pause, as Sanford listened to the voice at the other end of the line. ‘Yes. Right. Good idea,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll do that. And if you see him, give me a call. We need to handle this very carefully; we can’t just abduct him off the street, with a pubful of people watching.’

  He then went on to describe, in great detail, the exact location of his ‘emergency knockout kit’, which Dave could use as a last resort. ‘But only as a last resort,’ Sanford stressed. ‘Because you know what drugs can do to a vampire. And Dermid’s at a very advanced stage in his transformation – a syringe full of anaesthetic could make him severely ill.’

  ‘Like we’d even care,’ Reuben muttered, as Sanford signed off. ‘Sounds like poetic justice, if you ask me.’

  ‘No one is asking you.’ Without so much as a glance at Reuben, Sanford passed the phone back to Mum. ‘Dave recommends that we warn Nefley Irving, and I agree with him. Because there’s an outside chance that Dermid might be heading for Nefley’s place. So I’ll leave that to you, Estelle.’ When my mother opened her mouth, Sanford anticipated her protest. ‘It’s probably best that you ring him, since you’re the one he spent most of his time with. Just call directory assistance for the number.’

  ‘But why would Dermid want to go to Nefley’s place?’ I’m ashamed of myself for having made this inquiry; my only defence is that I still hadn’t had my evening guinea pig, and was therefore feeling more than usually wiped out. Sanford must have been similarly afflicted, to judge from the long-suffering manner in which he began to massage his eyeballs.

  ‘You need to get some blood into you, Nina,’ he remarked, leaving Reuben to answer my question.

  ‘Those pricks parked their ute outside Nefley’s place,’ said Reuben, kindly jogging my memory. He was shifting from foot to foot, like someone desperate to relieve himself. ‘Which means that old dickface might go back there to get it.’

  ‘Except that it’s not in Parramatta any more.’ Father Ramon was looking more and more like a vampire: not only pale, but ill and haggard. ‘It’s sitting in a laneway near Central Station.’

  ‘In which case,’ Sanford declared, ‘you should get onto Nefley as soon as you can, Estelle. If I were him, I’d vacate the premises. It’s hard to know what Dermid will do, if he can’t find his car.’

  There was a brief pause. From the glum expressions around me, I deduced that ghastly visions of possible worst-case scenarios must have been flitting through a lot of neighbouring minds. Father Ramon, in particular, seemed to be strongly affected. ‘Maybe I should go over there and help Nefley,’ he proposed at last. ‘Since he probably can’t drive—’

  ‘No,’ said Sanford.

  ‘His arm’s broken. He can barely walk—’

  ‘He can catch a cab, Father.’

  ‘Anyway, if the worst comes to the worst, he’s got a whole heap of sharpened stakes in his living room,’ I pointed out. As everyone turned to stare at me, I expanded on my argument. ‘Plus he’s got a gun full of silver bullets, and a notch in his belt. There’s no need to worry about him, Father. I reckon if Dermid does show up there, he’ll be lucky to get out alive.’

  Sanford blinked. The priest swallowed. Then they exchanged a long, grave, resigned sort of look, before Sanford finally cleared his throat.

  ‘I think we’d better ring Nefley right now,’ he mumbled, ‘and tell him to come straight back here.’

  But when Mum dialled Nefley’s number, no one answered.

  27

  Though Sanford was reluctant to leave Barry McKinnon in my mother’s care, he didn’t have much choice.

  ‘I can’t let Father Ramon go to Parramatta all by himself,’ was Sanford’s reasoning. ‘It’s bad enough that he has to drive there in the first place. I’m not about to make him get out of the car as well – not if Dermid’s anywhere about.’

  My suggestion that Dave be sent to Nefley’s flat was treated with something very close to contempt. Dave had a job to do, Sanford informed me. Dave would be looking for Dermid in the immediate neighbourhood. ‘Which means that someone will be close at hand, if you need any help,’ Sanford advised my mother, as he was exiting the house. ‘Not that I think you will. There’s not much you can do for Barry, at this stage – not now that his wound’s been dressed. Just keep his feet elevated and make sure he isn’t too hot.’

  ‘You’ve already told me all this,’ Mum rasped, exhaling a cloud of cigarette smoke. She was standing at the top of the stairs, glowering down at Sanford. ‘I’m not deaf, you know.’

  ‘If you’re not deaf, why are you still smoking?’ was Sanford’s tart retort. ‘I must have warned you off it a hundred times.’

  ‘And I’ve told you a hundred times to mind your own business.’ Mum’s gaze shifted across the chequerboard tiles of the vestibule, until it came to rest on Father Ramon. ‘Take care, Father.’

  ‘I will,’ he promised.

  �
��Sure you guys don’t want the gun?’ asked Reuben, who had stationed himself near the front door, rifle in hand. ‘You can have it if you like.’

  Sanford shook his head. Father Ramon murmured, ‘I don’t think so, Reuben. Thanks all the same.’

  ‘You might need some firepower,’ Reuben warned. ‘We still don’t know what’s been going on back at Nefley’s.’

  Sanford heaved an impatient sigh. ‘A gun will cause more problems than it will solve,’ he said.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Out where you come from, Reuben, you might be able to lug small arms around with impunity. Here in Sydney, it’s a perfect way of attracting far too much unwelcome attention.’ Sanford turned back to Mum. ‘We’ll keep you posted.’

  ‘Don’t be too long.’

  ‘If you hear from Dave, tell him to call my mobile,’ was Sanford’s final directive, before he donned his sunglasses and disappeared into the night. Father Ramon followed close on his heels; when the door closed, Mum gave a sniff and said, ‘Right. I’m off to bed now.’

  ‘Are you?’ I still wasn’t dressed, so I hadn’t strapped on my watch – but the cuckoo clock on the landing told me that it was only 7.15. ‘Isn’t it a little early for that?’

  ‘Not when you’ve had about four hours sleep in the last three days,’ Mum growled. I was draped over the banisters at this point, and as she trudged past me towards her bedroom, she added, ‘You can keep an eye on Barry yourself. I’ve had my fill of gastric cases. And don’t wake me up unless it’s an emergency.’

  ‘You don’t think this is an emergency?’ I called after her. ‘There’s an unreformed vampire on the loose, Mum. It’s serious. I mean, it’s really serious.’

  Mum paused on the threshold of her room, twisting the door-knob with one hand while her other hand was occupied with her cigarette. ‘Nina,’ she replied, ‘over the last week, I’ve had a basement full of vampires using up all my hot water, I’ve had a killer jumping out of an upstairs window, I’ve had a mad bloody kidnapper knocking holes in my ceiling, and I’ve had a werewolf eating me out of house and home. Not to mention the damage to my downpipe, and my bathroom door. It’s getting so that I can’t tell the emergencies from the daily routine, around here.’ Suddenly she erupted into a fit of coughing, which left her limp and teary-eyed. ‘Tell Reuben if he wants dinner, he can open a tin,’ she said at last. ‘And tell him to go easy on the bread, or we won’t have any toast for breakfast.’

  ‘Mum—’

  ‘There’s only one guinea pig left downstairs. You’d better grab it before someone else does,’ she finished. Then she retreated into her room, slamming the door behind her.

  I suppose that I could have said sorry, but I didn’t. There are only so many times you can apologise for being a vampire. I did, however, take her advice about the last guinea pig, which was looking decidedly unwell – listless and mangy, and much too thin. Sometimes guinea pigs in that sort of condition can leave you feeling a bit off-colour; there are vampires of my acquaintance (Gladys, for instance) who wouldn’t have touched the thing. But I always find that the relief of being able to tell yourself that it was ‘a merciful release’ far outweighs any physical side-effects, when you fang a sick guinea pig. So I shut myself in the bathroom and did what I had to do, conscious all the while that Reuben was prowling around the house, his ears pricked and his curiosity inflamed.

  ‘I guess you’ve gotta be really careful with the dead ones,’ he remarked, as I thrust my zip-lock bag full of lifeless guinea pig into Mum’s freezer. ‘Or someone might call the RSPCA.’

  I grunted.

  ‘Where do you get them from?’ he inquired, and I said, ‘We breed them. George breeds them.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  ‘Speaking of dinner, Mum says you can open a tin,’ I continued, trying to change the subject without being too obvious. ‘There are tins over there, in the pantry.’

  ‘As long as they’re not in the freezer!’

  ‘Ha-ha.’ (I’d heard that joke before.) ‘So do you know how to … you know … do everything?’ It had occurred to me that Reuben probably hadn’t used a stove, or washed a dish, or seen a refrigerator since he was fourteen years old. ‘Do you want me to open a tin for you?’

  The flush that mantled his face made his eyes look greener than ever.

  ‘I’m not a complete retard,’ he snapped, before regretting his sharp tone and proceeding in a more conciliatory fashion. ‘What I mean is that I used to live in a normal house, once.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I can remember what to do. I can remember how to use a tin-opener.’ He set his gun down on the table, then padded across the cracked linoleum towards the pantry. ‘My mum was such a lush, I’ve been cooking since I was six,’ he continued, peering at my own mother’s selection of tinned soups and stews. ‘My brother just wanted to eat corn chips all the time.’

  ‘When are you going to contact your brothers, anyway?’ I asked. ‘Soon?’

  Reuben didn’t answer immediately. He kept his gaze fixed on our selection of tuna. ‘Maybe,’ he said at last.

  ‘Are you going to tell them what really happened to you?’

  ‘Maybe.’ His voice was strangled; he ducked his head, as if he were surveying the condiments on a low shelf, and I suddenly caught a glimpse of the fourteen-year-old boy lurking beneath his hardened, prickly, nineteen-year-old carapace.

  I realised that, after being imprisoned in an underground tank for all of five years, Reuben hadn’t been given a chance to grow up properly.

  ‘No offence, or anything,’ I went on, choosing my words with care, ‘but I think you should get some kind of counselling. Because what you went through – it’s bound to have messed you up a bit. It would have messed anybody up a bit.’

  He stiffened. ‘You think I’m messed up?’ he said, glaring at me.

  ‘No more than I am.’ When this failed to appease him, I decided to elaborate. ‘Why do you think I go to a vampire therapy group every Tuesday night? I’m not there for the laughs, Reuben.’

  He snorted. ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Even though – well, it’s pretty funny, isn’t it? A vampire therapy group.’

  ‘I only wish it was.’

  ‘Dermid won’t join something like that,’ he assured me. ‘Not in a million years.’

  ‘If a million years is how long it takes …’ I replied, with a shrug. When Reuben frowned, I reminded him that Dermid had all the time in the world to change his mind. ‘He’s not the same person. Not any more. He’s a vampire.’ I tapped my bony chest. ‘Do you think I used to be like this? No way. I was completely different. Completely. I used to have fun.’

  ‘You do seem really old, sometimes,’ Reuben conceded. ‘I mean, the way you talk and stuff.’

  ‘That’s because I am old. I’m fifty-one.’

  ‘Fifty-one?’ His expression almost made me laugh. ‘Jeez, I didn’t … I thought …’ He trailed off, then rallied bravely. ‘Well, you don’t look it,’ he avowed. ‘In fact I hope I look as good as you do, when I’m fifty-one.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’ I probably sounded more abrupt than I’d intended, because he gave a little start. ‘You might think you do, but you don’t.’

  ‘I was just kidding, Nina.’

  ‘It’s always the same thing, day after day. Year after year. The fatigue, and the pain, and the nausea – they never let up. You always feel hungry. You always feel thirsty. You never go anywhere or meet anyone—’

  ‘Whaddaya mean?’ he interrupted. ‘You went to Cobar, didn’t you? You met me!’

  ‘Yeah, but—’

  ‘Seems like you’ve had a much better time than I have, lately!’

  ‘I guess so, but—’

  ‘Try being a werewolf, and see what that’s like!’

  The phone rang then; it made us jump, and put a stop to our exchange. Sanford was on the other end of the line. He told me that he had reached Nefley’s place, but that no one was answering his knock. What’s more, Ne
fley’s garage door was open.

  ‘It has his number painted on it, so it must be his,’ Sanford explained. ‘And it’s empty. There’s no car inside.’

  ‘Maybe he doesn’t have a car,’ I hazarded.

  ‘Oh, he has a car. He mentioned it to Father Ramon.’ There was a brief exchange that I couldn’t hear properly. Then Sanford said, ‘Ah.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘According to Father Ramon, the McKinnons kidnapped Nefley at Dave’s house. So the car might still be parked near Dave’s.’

  ‘Then maybe he’s gone to fetch it,’ I speculated. ‘Nefley, I mean.’

  ‘In his condition?’

  ‘Well – he hurt his left leg and his left arm, didn’t he?’ I was thinking back to my brief glimpses of Nefley Irving, trying to work out whether he was right- or left-handed. ‘He could probably drive it back, if he’s got an automatic.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Nina.’

  ‘I’m not being ridiculous!’ It irked me that Sanford was falling into his old habit of treating my every utterance as if it were the babbling of a three-year-old. ‘He’s probably right-handed! And you only need one foot!’

  ‘Don’t you think it would be a lot simpler if he asked a friend to bring it back for him?’ Sanford asked, in the kind of wearily patronising tone that he always adopts when he thinks I’m being dense. It raises my hackles every time – especially when he’s the one who isn’t thinking straight.

  ‘What makes you think he even has any friends?’ I demanded, before it occurred to me that we were being sidetracked into yet another bout of vampire-ish bickering. And since I was determined not to fall into that trap, I made a heroic effort to change the subject. ‘So are you going to stay there, or what?’ I asked.

  ‘Maybe for a little while.’ After a long pause, he added, ‘If Nefley’s gone to fetch his car, why leave the garage door open?’

  I pondered for a moment. ‘Because it’s hard for him to get in and out of the driver’s seat?’

  ‘Good point.’

  ‘Sanford – what are we going to do if Dave can’t find Dermid?’