I can’t do this.
As soon as the thought came, he released the wounded thug. The not-so-tough guy grabbed his neck, blood pouring from the wound and running down his shoulder, dripping onto the ground. He ran off into the night. The two other thugs, regaining consciousness and recovering as best they could, also started to run from this monster who had so completely dominated them.
Well, I probably could have handled that better, Scott said to himself as he stood there on the empty platform staring into the black night. The rain commenced once more. And I could have done without that.
The former Amalgamated Cast Parts factory and warehouse sat silently on the banks of the Columbia Slough, within walking distance of the Willamette River, not far from where the Willamette converges with the mighty Columbia River. The once-busy casting factory had been cleared of all its equipment, its CNC mills, presses, and dies, during the late recession, shutting its doors on almost 150 employees. The factory had then gone into receivership, its owners having made some very poor investments. The new owners, Detail Improvement LLC, only really existed on paper, as far as anybody knew. Detail Improvement had no other known investments or properties. The property was well maintained by contractors who never met anyone from the corporation; all the requests for service and payments were submitted to them by mail from a PO Box. Adjacent to the factory was an old wooden dock. It had been there long before the factory but had been maintained by one of the former owners, who liked to show off one of the perks of being an executive—a twenty-one-foot Chris Craft Capri, which he would pilot out on the two rivers, calling it his “floating office.” This provocative display of excess did not sit well with most of the employees and even less so with the Internal Revenue Service, which ended up seizing it after discovering the executive had failed to report the results of his financial mismanagement.
It was there that another smaller motorboat was docking this night as the rain splashed in the dark waters of the slough. The occupant stepped out of the boat and walked up the gangplank that ran up the bank from the slough, entering the grounds of the factory. An aluminum garage door in the side of the factory opened before the man, and he entered.
He saw several figures, some holding AR-15s or shotguns, all wearing the same dark-blue suit and black thin tie. His focus went to two of the figures in particular: a slightly older female with short black hair standing next to a well-built middle-aged man with no hair.
“Where is he?” the female demanded.
“Well, how do you do, Jack. I’m fine. How are you?” Jack answered.
“Answer the question: Where is he? Where is Scott Campbell?”
Jack had been hoping to skirt the issue. He knew his failure would not please the lady or anyone else present. “There’s been a slight…hiccup.”
“I am not interested in excuses, Jack. I am interested in results. Where is our deliverer?”
“Don’t get your panties in a bundle, Alice. Like I said, there’s been a bit of a bump in the road, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“The Council of Improvers would like to know what went wrong and what Mr. Campbell’s status is,” Alice’s bald male counterpart said.
“Mr. Campbell’s status is somewhat transient at the moment.”
“Transient? What the hell does that mean?” Alice asked.
“He’s been held over for examination. By an Inquisitor.”
Alice and the bald man looked at each other. Her mouth was agape. “An Inquisitor? How could you let that happen, Jack?”
“Well, at least he’s not dead. Not yet, anyway. The guy almost lost his head last night. Elizabeth herself was about to do the deed.”
“What stayed her hand? Elizabeth isn’t exactly known for her acts of mercy,” the man said.
Jack did not want to answer that question. He hesitated for a moment before finally answering, “Jeremiah.”
“Jeremiah?” Alice cried. “The legend among vampires? The one who is said to have been sired by an Old One, who has walked this earth for more than two thousand years? The one who betrayed vampire kind by working with Ministry? That Jeremiah?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah, the same.”
“Oh, how convenient! You managed to find the Redeemed One, only to deliver him to our worst enemies? That is absolutely brilliant. I salute your incompetence!”
“Don’t worry about it, Alice. Geez.”
“Don’t worry about it? Don’t worry about it? Don’t you tell me what to do, Jack. I am on the Council of Improvers. Without popular support, there is no way we can effect the change we need in the House, and you and I will both be as good as dead. Without our claim on the deliverer, how can we garner that support? Fund-raisers? Car washes? Selling cookies door to door? Huh? Is any of this reaching you, Jack?”
“Oh, okay. You’re on the Council of Improvers. That’s sweet. It really is. But you are forgetting something: I am the Council of Improvers. I am the voice of the common vampires. Don’t you tell me what we are risking here. I put my ass on the line for you, for the cause, and look at the gratitude.”
Alice and the other man stood silently, not sure how to answer. Jack continued, “Besides, I’ve got this. It’s under control. Like I said, don’t worry yourselves. There’s more than one way to skin a cat, and I’ve got a few dozen. So don’t freak out on me. This thing with Jeremiah, hell, I’ll figure it out.”
“Well, I hope you do. For all of our sakes. Because this revolution will be over before it starts,” Alice said.
“Okay, okay. I dig. In the meantime, we need to focus on building up our ranks. As you have mentioned, Alice, we lack support among the local vampire population. There is an obvious solution, which for the life of me, I’ll never understand why we avoid.”
“No!” the other man said. “We cannot accept your acolytes, Jack. They are not and cannot be made official members of the vampire population. Most of us look upon them as dogs.”
“Dogs? Well, now, that just hurts my feelings, Dave, you calling my kids dogs. I swear, you guys are starting to sound more and more like Father. I thought the idea was freedom from the petty bureaucracy that Father and all his kind have built up. But I guess that’s not the case.”
“Jack, be reasonable. We need standards,” Dave said.
Alice nodded. “Yes, Jack, we need standards. We cannot accept your unregistered sirelings. It would simply not be acceptable to the mainstream vampire population. What we need is legitimacy. What we need is the Redeemed One.”
“Okay, okay. Message received. Like I said, I’ve got this. Campbell will be ours, sure as God made little green apples. But seriously, guys, you need to let go of your old prejudices and consider accepting my kids. Trust me; you’re gonna need them.”
Jack turned, walked out the roll-up door, and headed back to the dock. The small boat engine turned over, and he sped away in the damp night.
“He is dangerous, Alice. He could jeopardize the cause,” Dave said.
“Dangerous perhaps, but he’s been useful. He’s very much like a bulldog. If we keep a loose chain on him, we can bring him to heel, should the need arise. But right now I think we need to trust that he knows what he’s doing.”
CHAPTER 18
The office door was ajar. Mason was sitting behind his desk, reading his multiple e-mails and checking for notifications from other agencies, when Grace and Kevin entered the office, giving a brief rap on the door before entering.
“Oh, good morning, guys,” Mason said. “I’m just assembling today’s duty roster. I have got a ton of e-mails. I hope I can clear my inbox before it gets completely full. Hey, it looks like we had another cougar sighting earlier this morning, except it was a little more involved. Looks like someone got mauled.”
“Damn.” Kevin whistled. “A cougar mauling?”
“Yep. Got a note here from Gresham PD. Seems this guy was just out walking at about one in the morning when he got attacked by a cougar. Sounds like it took a chunk out of his neck.”
“Ouch,” Grace said. “Gresham? This didn’t happen in a populated area, did it?”
“Actually, it did. And you know they’re pretty serious about hunting this cat down. Once a wild animal gets a taste of man flesh, he doesn’t go back.”
“Yeah,” Kevin said. “Poor guy. Did he survive?”
“Apparently, he’s in stable condition. And the poor guy? Turns out it’s Anthony Howard. Grace, I know you’ve had some run-ins with him.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Howard is a major-league asshole. Ran with some white supremacist gang. We were looking at him for that assault down in Estacada.”
“Yeah, well, anyway, turns out he had a bench warrant out of Washington County for failure to appear on another assault charge. So it looks like big kitty was trying to do society a favor.”
“Serendipitous,” Grace said.
“Seren-whati-pous?” Kevin asked.
Both Grace and the sergeant gave him blank stares. “Kevin, didn’t you attend college?” she asked.
“Yeah, four years on a football scholarship.”
“I see. Anyway, Sarge, I was able to trace the identity of that ESP76254 who posted that YouTube video the other day. Turns out his name is Eric Samson Pong. He’s a senior at Cleveland High.”
“That’s great detective work, Grace,” Mason said. “Not that it really needed to be done.”
“But the video: Wouldn’t it be a good idea to get some kind of confirmation that it’s genuine?”
“Why?” Kevin asked.
“Because! Isn’t this important? Wouldn’t you like to know the truth about what happened at the mall?”
“Grace,” Mason said, “the truth has been well established here. Beyond a reasonable doubt. With the suspect’s own confession. This isn’t even going to trial, only to sentencing.”
“There is something wrong here, Sergeant. And I want to know what it is. Please, give me leave to pursue this lead. I’m on to something. I know it.”
“Yeah, you’re on to something, all right,” Mason said. “And maybe in the course of your investigation you can also find out what happened to D. B. Cooper or who really killed JFK.”
“Sergeant! Just humor me here. Let me follow this up. I have a feeling about this one. You know my record. Have I ever let you down?”
“Yeah, okay. Go ahead. But it’s low priority, really low priority. So keep it on the back burner for now, okay?”
“Okay. You won’t regret this.”
“I already do, Grace.”
She left the office. Kevin gave Mason a wide-eyed glare and then followed Grace into the squad room.
Thursday went normally at Simeon College’s IT desk, meaning it was still mind-numbingly boring and soul-shatteringly frustrating. Zed and Robin were both typically pleasant, but both had departed at their normal times, leaving Scott alone, as was usual. Al was still avoiding him. Every time he passed nearby, Al took pains to stay away from him. Scott thought of an appropriate comparison to that of a mean little boy who had been poking the junkyard dog with a stick, only to have the dog break its leash and chase the punk down, teaching the boy a much-needed lesson in humility that he would not again violate.
Scott was relieved that he did not hear of any fight or assault at the light-rail station late last night. He even called the local police and asked for a brief rundown of the latest crime log (he gave them the story that it was for his blog, a lie that proved unnecessary). Scott did see a story about a cougar attack that was broadcast on the local noontime news. He wondered if that could have been him. He thought that he looked nothing like a cougar. Now, if he were a forty-year-old female, the comparison might have been appropriate.
Scott did consider the possibility that this news still might reach the House. Or perhaps they were the ones who had cooked up the cougar attack as a cover. The comfort he found in the cougar story was crushed by these other thoughts. Concern, boredom, and frustration are not good feelings to have in combination, especially for a vampire.
Soon enough, his shift passed, and Scott headed out the door of the IT building to his new baby. From a distance, he noticed the tall, well-muscled, bald black man leaning on his beloved piece of automotive Americana. That guy better not be scratching the finish, Scott grumbled to himself. “You’re leaning on my car,” he said.
“Apologies,” Jeremiah responded. “I suppose that since I am to be responsible for you, I should properly introduce myself, since we have not had a formal introduction.”
“Yeah, you’re Jeremiah, right?”
“That is correct.” Jeremiah extended his hand. Scott, being polite, shook it.
“Yeah, that’s great. Well, I gotta go home now. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Wait, Scott. We should talk.”
“Okay. Talk.”
“As your sponsor, I have the responsibility of teaching you, disciplining you—”
“Yeah, that’s nice. I don’t need a teacher, and I don’t need to be disciplined, thank you very much.” Scott searched his pockets for his car keys. The damned things were elusive.
“Then perhaps you might accept a friend.”
“I’ve got friends.”
“Not friends like me. Scott, there are things you must know. About the world of the vampire. About your new life.”
“Life? Seriously? You call this living? To have to live on human blood? And find that you actually like it? To have feelings that you’ve never dealt with, feelings of power and violence and lust so strong that you know you’re going to give in to it, that you have no choice? I almost killed a man last night, and that’s not bragging! I had a life. It was a boring and pointless life, but it was mine, and it was real. That was taken away from me. This? This isn’t life. But you’re Jeremiah, the super vampire. What would you know about it?”
“I know you were not given a choice. That your life was stolen from you. I am sorry about that. I wish there was something I could do to prove that I mean what I say. And I wish I could take back what Jack did to you, to give you back what you have lost. But I cannot. You are here now. Like it or not, this is your reality. This is the path that has been given to you. You did not ask for it, but it is yours.”
Scott’s temper eased somewhat. The elder vampire’s words may not have been comforting, but they were honest.
“Okay, fine. I have a path. And now I’m supposed to be some kind of vampire savior. Like I needed the extra pressure. I’m no savior, Jeremiah. I’m no hero, no champion, no dark warrior. I’m just me. I’m just Scott Campbell. I’m a nobody with a crappy job and a divorce, and I was quite content with that. Being a nobody, that is. Not the crappy job. Or the divorce.”
“You are allowing the Tormentor to speak to you. Clear him from your mind.”
“How did you know about the Tormentor?” In his mind, Scott told Tommy, that little bastard, to get ready for an ass whipping.
“All men have one. The Tormentor is a parasitic demon who empowers itself by sucking the energy from its host. But the host gives its energy almost voluntarily. Thinking that the voices it hears are the voices of truth, of angels, of God even, they find themselves agreeing with those voices. The Tormentor encourages depression, self-loathing, and mediocrity, all negative emotions. This negativity empowers it. And it is almost universal. Some are more successful than others. But ultimately, the Tormentor in itself is powerless to affect change; when confronted, it often flees or hides. But it never completely goes away. I have had my own Tormentors. Everyone has.”
“Oh well, that’s really great.”
“Remember, you are strong; the Tormentor is weak. However, it is persistent. You must be on constant watch against it. And that is how you defeat it.”
“Defeat it? You mean, I can make the little runt my bitch?”
Jeremiah smirked. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose. And here is your first lesson. I have more to teach you. By the way, you are driving.”
“What? Where are we going at eleven o’cl
ock at night?”
“Somewhere. I think you will be interested in this place.”
“I was taught to never give rides to strangers.”
“Oh! Did anyone ever tell you that a stranger is a friend you—”
“Haven’t met yet. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, get in.”
Scott opened the passenger door for Jeremiah. The large vampire entered the muscle car. Scott got in the driver’s cockpit and turned the key in the ignition, causing the massive engine to roar to life, like the growl of an otherworldly monster set upon its prey.
Neither Scott nor Jeremiah noticed the car parked in the far shadows of the lot. It was an old black Chevrolet Caprice, a former police car. Nor did they notice the occupants: two vampires dressed in dark tones, one of them armed with a camera with a telephoto lens. They nodded to each other, turned on the engine, and left the lot to follow the Mustang from a distance.
CHAPTER 19
Saint Michael’s Catholic Church is a smaller-size Romanesque stone structure in the southeast of Portland, not terribly far from Simeon College, located on a bluff overlooking the Willamette River. There is an extensive and very old cemetery on its grounds, which lends a rather forbidding atmosphere, especially at night. When fog comes wafting off the river below, it seems to settle in the churchyard, heightening the ominous sensation. Naturally, some locals say that the cemetery is haunted; it would not calm the already edgy neighbors to say that they were correct in this assumption. The ghosts, however, were not aggressive for the most part, and most seemed merely residual rather than active and restless. That was about all Saint Michael’s was known for, as the parish was rather small and not particularly active. The local archdiocese didn’t even have much information on the church, other than the names of a parish priest or two and the caretakers. A small rectory sat adjacent to the church, connected to it with a stone arch breezeway between the two buildings. Supposedly at least one of the parish priests lived there, but no one ever saw him.
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