by Mike Bennett
David drew on his cigarette. ‘You’re assuming I’m still going?’
The look of excited expectation on Lydia’s face slipped slightly. ‘Well, that’s what we agreed yesterday.’
‘A lot’s happened since yesterday, Lydia.’
Lydia hesitated a second, as if she were not hearing things correctly, then she said: ‘Look, if you’re feeling guilty, David, forget about it. Your family duty is done. If you go now, you could be back in your own life tomorrow morning: back with your students and your girlfriend and your AA meetings. It’ll be just like none of this ever happened.’
David closed the Resurrection Protocols document on the computer screen. ‘Yeah, well thanks, I appreciate that, but like I say, a lot’s happened since yesterday.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve accepted the job as guardian, Lydia. I promised John just before he died that I’d do it and – ’
‘David, any promises you made to John can be cremated along with him as far as I’m concerned. No one’s going to hold you to your word now.’
‘Yes, but, he really wanted me to do this, Lydia. I mean, me – me specifically.’
Lydia sat on the edge of the desk. ‘Oh. I see. That’s what he told you, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure that what he really didn’t want was a woman in the job? Remember I told you he had a lot of antiquated notions about all that sort of thing?’
‘Well, yes, he did mention that.’
‘What did he say?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes, it does. What reasons did he give? Did he slag me off? I bet he did, didn’t he?’
‘No, Lydia, he didn’t slag you off, he just said you were ... ’ he gestured vaguely, trying to think of a euphemism for “evil”. ‘Not quite ... cut out for the job.’
‘What?’ Lydia shook her head in astonishment. ‘Is that all the appreciation I get? My God, do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked for this family?’
‘I’m sure you’ve worked very hard, Lydia, and of course John must’ve known that too, but – ’
‘I’ve built up connections, David,’ Lydia continued. ‘Connections that frankly, John was jealous of. The Sect is a powerful organisation now, thanks to me. We have people with real power in the world. And I don’t mean like those silly little burgomeisters and bicycle-riding coppers of Dad’s day. Oh no, I have major industrialists, millionaires, commissioners of police and, and I even have a member of the British Parliament, for God’s sake!’
David raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? Who?’
‘Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?’ Lydia tapped the side of her nose.
‘I should know, Lydia; I’m the guardian now. I need to know this stuff.’
Lydia laughed contemptuously. ‘Ha! Do you seriously imagine for a moment that you could run an organisation of this complexity?’
‘Why not? I can do anything you can do.’
‘Oh, don’t talk rot, David. Until a couple of days ago you didn’t give a shit about the family or its business. I bet you wished we’d all just die and never trouble you again, didn’t you?’
David ground out his cigarette. ‘That’s ... that’s not true.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s not,’ David immediately lit another cigarette.
‘Oh, yes it is. You hate Underwood; you hate your family; and deep down, you hate yourself too. That’s the reason you drink, isn’t it?’
David looked into her eyes, angry now. ‘How dare you!’
‘Ahh,’ Lydia smiled and helped herself to one of his cigarettes. ‘I’ve hit a nerve, haven’t I?’
‘Of course you have, you fucking idiot; you’re being outrageously offensive! You don’t know me at all – other than from what you’ve read in some private dick’s book of times, dates and half-arsed speculations.’
‘Oh no?’ She lit her cigarette and eyed him knowingly. ‘I seem to remember I once knew you rather ... intimately.’
David pushed the chair back from the desk and got up. ‘That was a long time ago, Lydia.’
‘Oh, I see. All water under the bridge now, I suppose?’
‘Yes,’ he walked to the window and looked out. ‘We’ve got enough on our hands raising one member of the dead as it is. I don’t see any point in digging up any other skeletons. So let’s just work together and focus on the business at hand. There’s a lot to do before sundown.’
‘Oh, I know only too well what needs to be done.’
‘Really?’ David turned to her. ‘So how come your plans go directly against Underwood’s express wishes as passed on from him to our dad?’
She frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘How many people are coming tonight?’
‘Oh, this old chestnut. I see. Five minutes poking around in John’s computer and you think you’re suddenly the big expert, the high priest of the Sect?’
‘Well, actually, I think I may be, now that you come to mention it. But that’s neither here nor there. How many guests?’
‘A few.’
‘Thirty?’
‘More or less.’
‘It’s too many, Lydia. Even if you discount Underwood’s wishes, there’s no way we can fit thirty people down in that cellar.’
‘Oh, of course we can, at least thirty. Oh, it’ll be a bit of a squeeze, granted, but that’s no matter. David, I had this out with John a million times: if we want the Sect to work for us then we have to work for it. We need to strengthen our powerful connections.’
‘We don’t need powerful connections.’
‘Oh, you may not, perhaps. But he does,’ she pointed to the floor. ‘There are going to be times, many times in the future, when he’s going to need help from the highest echelons of society. Underwood can’t just go running around killing people willy-nilly anymore. We no longer live in a world where you can stick a picture on a passport with a piece of chewing gum and then go anywhere you please. Oh no, it’s all digital now isn’t it? Photos, fingerprints, shared information between security services and governments alike. It’s not enough to have a few bureaucrats in his pocket or police officials to turn blind eyes anymore; the world has changed in the last fifty years, especially since 9/11. So believe me, David, Underwood needs powerful friends – and I’ve got them.’
David hadn’t thought of this. He paced back and forth across the room a few times before nodding reluctantly. ‘Okay, I agree, you have a point.’
‘You mean, I’m right.’
‘Yes, you’re right, but nevertheless, Underwood supposedly stipulated that only a small crowd be present at the resurrection. John reckoned no more than ten.’
‘Oh, John! John was an idiot! He was simply parroting what dad told him without taking into any account society’s evolution. Underwood can’t expect to wake up in the 1958 he dozed off in. Things have changed. He’s waking up to the Internet and mobile phones, global warming and, and,’ she waved her hand trying to think of another example. ‘Coldplay.’
David nodded. ‘Yeah. What a wonderful world. Maybe he’ll just roll over and go back to sleep.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Lydia shrugged. ‘I quite liked their early stuff.’
‘Yeah, all right, forget about that. Just tell me, straight up. How many people are coming?’
‘I’ve invited forty-three.’
‘Forty-three? Ana said up to thirty!’
‘Well, she was quoting my last figure, but I’ve just updated her – we need to make sure there are enough canapés.’
‘No way! I agree, you have a point with the whole “changed world” argument, but John was right too: we have to respect Underwood’s wishes. Thirty people is too many; forty-three is just plain madness. I mean, it’s not a bloody Tardis down there.’
‘So what, you’re telling me I have to cancel people?’
‘Yes. You have to cancel people.’
‘Jesus Christ, David. I can’t, it’s h
umiliating.’
‘You don’t need to take the blame. You can tell them it was my decision.’
‘You?’ She scoffed. ‘They don’t even know who you are. Who are you?’
‘I’m the guardian, Lydia. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not sipping a diet Pepsi on the plane back to England. I’m here and I’m running this show from now on.’
Lydia’s face was turbulent with stifled rage.
David squared up to her, eye to eye. ‘So, please, cancel people.’
She folded her arms tightly across her chest. ‘How many?’
‘Well, I’m happy to compromise. How about we whittle things down to about … twenty guests. That includes us and house staff like Ana – ’
‘Twenty? I’ve got twenty people from Spain alone who want to come!’
‘Well, that’s just too bad, Lydia! Twenty. No more.’
‘Christ, you’re worse than fucking John.’
‘Lydia, please don’t speak that way about John, he was our brother and he’s just died.’
‘Oh, so what? His death should have been my ascension! Oh, but he didn’t want me, did he? Oh no, balls only in the guardian’s trousers – even when the ascendant guardian has none. It’s just not bloody fair!’
‘Life isn’t fair, is it, Lydia? I mean, I didn’t ask for this any more than you did.’
Lydia clenched her fists and let go a part-stifled scream. ‘So don’t take it! Pack your horse and cart and leave. I’ll take responsibility with Underwood. Believe me, I know what I’m doing, and Underwood will understand – even applaud it when he’s fully restored to us.’
David wanted to put his hands over his ears. More than that, he wanted a drink. He took a deep breath and spoke slowly, as if he were addressing a child. ‘Lydia, I promised John that I’d take this job, and for reasons of my own, I’m taking it. So can we stop this bickering and get on with what needs to be done?’
Lydia glowered at him.
David ignored her and went on. ‘As guardian, I’ll be overseeing all matters regarding tonight’s ceremony, and that includes conducting the resurrection ritual itself.’
‘Are you sure? He bites, you know.’
‘Yeah, well, he won’t bite me, will he? No Flinch shall bleed – it says that there,’ he tapped the computer monitor.
‘Oh, you know about that, do you?’
‘Of course,’ said David. ‘The founding promise between Underwood and Matthew Flinch.’
‘You mean, “Matthias”.’
‘Yeah – yeah, him. Underwood won’t bite me, or you. We’re both safe.’
‘Unless he decides to choke you to death, of course.’
‘He won’t. You see, I’ve thought about it: that’s more than a promise not to bite us, Lydia; it’s a promise never to do any harm to members of the Flinch line.’
Lydia smiled. ‘Oh, is it?’
‘Isn’t it?’
She exhaled smoke in his direction. ‘Stick around: maybe you’ll find out.’
‘Yeah, well, I will stick around, don’t you worry. Which reminds me, in his notes, John goes on about a “sacrifice”. So, what are you planning on using?’
Lydia inclined her head slightly. ‘Pardon?’
‘What are you planning to use as a sacrifice? An animal? A volunteer donor?’
‘Er ...,’ Lydia’s expression was a mixture of amusement and disbelief. ‘What do you mean, “an animal”?’
‘Well, you know – a chicken, something like that? Like Dad used to kill in his nutty rituals when we were kids?’
‘You seriously think we’re going to raise the Lord of the Undead with a chicken?’
David shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.’ As he spoke, something in her mocking smile sent a chill through him.
Lydia shook her head and laughed. ‘You see? This is what I mean: are you wilfully trying not to understand, or are you just genuinely stupid?’
David didn’t know what to say. He considered a moment then he said: ‘So, you mean you intend to use a person?’
Lydia gawped at him sarcastically. ‘Er ... yeah?’
‘So you’ve got, like, a donor? Someone who’s prepared to give some of their blood?’
‘No, but you’re getting warmer.’
David felt the skin on his back prickle. ‘You have someone who’s ... willing to die?’
Lydia tilted her hand in a so-so gesture. ‘Warmer.’
David was having difficulty reconciling the smile on Lydia’s face with the conclusion she was driving him to. ‘You mean ... you’re going to kill someone who isn’t willing to die?’
‘Bingo!’
‘But... that’s murder!’
‘Hello? Murder is the family business, David – in case you’ve forgotten. These last fifty years have been an aberration, a vacation from the norm. But now the holidays are over and the Flinches are back in business. Or, should I say, you’re back in business? Since it now seems that I can go back to my little estate agent life and just leave you to take care of all the murder and skulduggery.’
David sank down onto the sofa.
Lydia continued. ‘Unless, as I say, you don’t quite have the balls for it. In which case, no problem ... because I do.’
David stared at her in disbelief. ‘How? Lydia, how can you be so casual about something so horrifying?’
‘How can you not? I mean, it’s not like it’s some big surprise. You’ve always known about it.’
‘I guess ...’ He looked down at the back of his hands. ‘I guess I thought it would never actually fall to me to have to deal with it. I was the third in line.’
‘Well, fourth if we count me, but of course we don’t.’
‘I never thought I’d actually be in this position. I thought I could just go on and ... forget about it.’
‘With a little help from your friends, Jack Daniels and Johnny Walker?’
David nodded.
‘Do you miss them?’
‘Sometimes, yeah. They make the forgetting easier, at least in the short term.’
Lydia came over and sat down beside him. She laid a hand on his knee. ‘David, please. I’m offering you the opportunity to carry on forgetting, with or without alcohol. Underwood doesn’t have to be in your future – not as long as he’s in mine.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate that, Lydia. But tell me,’ he turned to her, his expression grave, ‘where is this sacrifice of yours?’
Lydia frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Where are you keeping them?’
‘You don’t need to know. I think it best if you just leave all that to me, don’t you?’
He got up. ‘Take me to the sacrifice.’
She stood up and blocked his way to the door. ‘David, for fuck’s sake, just go! You’re not cut out for this.’
‘I’m the guardian, Lydia, and I’m ordering you to tell me where the sacrifice is.’
‘No, I won’t! You’re going to spoil everything.’ She pushed him. ‘Why don’t you just go back to fucking England!’
David staggered a little. He realised his fists were clenched. He took a deep breath and relaxed his hands. Then, after correcting his posture, he walked past Lydia and out into the hall.
Lydia ran after him. ‘David? Just wait a minute! Maybe you’re right; maybe we could just drain him a little bit.’
David stopped with his back to her. ‘Oh, it’s a “him” is it? So where is he?’
‘He’s not here,’ said Lydia, unconvincingly. ‘He’s somewhere safe, where he can’t be found.’
He turned on her. ‘Don’t lie to me, Lydia. He’s here somewhere, in an outhouse maybe, or somewhere down in the cellarage?’
Her eyes shifted from him for a second.
He smiled. ‘Ah, so he’s down in the cellarage, is he?’ He turned and headed in the direction of the east wing of the house and a passage down to a part of the cellar that was separate from Underwood’s crypt, a storehouse where they had always kept logs
and hung Serrano ham.
‘David!’ Lydia hurried after him. ‘You can’t just do this! We need that boy. He’s young and strong and full of good A Rhesus Positive.’
He strode on ahead of her. ‘He’s a person, Lydia.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, stop being such a prig!’
He reached the cellar door. It was locked. He turned back to Lydia. ‘Unlock it.’
‘I don’t have a key.’
He reached up on top of the doorframe and found the key. ‘Oh, here it is.’ He unlocked the door and pulled it open. Coolness rose to meet him, and something else: the bitter smell of excrement. He looked at her, anger etched deep into his brow.
Lydia shrugged. ‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake, what did you expect, The Ritz?’
David flicked on the cellar light and from below a voice cried out in surprise. David pushed past Lydia and descended the stairs. There was a shuffling sound and David saw a shape stumbling in the shadows along the far wall. The layout was similar to Underwood’s crypt with a single bulb hanging over the centre of the floor.
David approached the figure slowly. ‘Hey, it’s okay now. You’re going to be alright.’
The young man reached towards a wooden table. He picked up a sack and pulled it over his head, but in the seconds before he managed to hide his face, David recognised him. He turned to Lydia.
‘Jesus Christ, Lydia!’ he hissed. ‘That’s the kid in the posters at the airport!’
Lydia put her hand over his mouth. ‘Shhh, keep your voice down. He’s English, he’ll understand you.’
‘Have you gone completely mad? There’s a fucking manhunt going on for this guy!’
‘Oh, it’s no big deal, a couple of posters in an airport or bus terminal here and there. He’s a middle-class junkie, a rent boy. Those posters were put there by his family. The police themselves couldn’t care less.’
David stared at his sister aghast. ‘Oh, and that’s all right, is it?’
‘Well, it’s not a problem if that’s what you’re asking – though I suspect it’s not.’
‘You’re bloody right it’s not.’ He looked at the young man who now stood with his back turned to them. ‘What’s the bag for?’
‘So he can’t see our faces. That way, when we let him go, he won’t be able to identify us.’
