SCROLLS OF THE DEAD-3 Complete Vampire Novels-A Trilogy

by Billie Sue Mosiman

  So when Charles Upton requested to see Alan at his penthouse, Alan found the time to make it. Perhaps it was best to talk to the old man and give him the bad news—that there was little that could be done now—in person, in his own home.

  It surprised Alan when he was let into the extravagant apartment and ushered by a man in uniform into Upton's private bedroom. On the edge of the bed sat the old man in the last stages of his disease, but he was brimming with energy and excitement. He stood and greeted Alan, shaking his hand before resuming his place on the bed.

  Most people had trouble even looking at Upton. The disease had deformed his face, caused hair to grow in tufts on the backs of his hands and in spots on his upper arms, and then there were the open sores covered by bandages. Upton was so swathed with white wrappings that he looked like a torn-up accident victim.

  "Dr. Star! What a lucky last name you have. Has it given you any trouble?"

  Alan wasn't quite sure what Upton meant. Had his name given him trouble? As in grade school when kids could be unusually cruel?

  "Uh … I don't think so," he said cautiously.

  "Never mind, come and sit down. I have a proposition to put to you."

  Alan sat in an imported French ivory-and-gold chair that he guessed might be worth more than a Porsche. Money had never humbled him, but this kind of money, out of all proportion to common incomes, could daunt anyone.

  What Upton had just said intrigued him. Everyone knew Charles Upton had more money than God. Most of Alan's colleagues knew Alan sought capital for a new research center for blood diseases. Maybe Upton had found that out, and was about to finance his dream. Maybe today was not the best of times to give the bad news to the old man. It could wait … at least a little while. Upton's demise wasn't imminent. Yet.

  "What proposition is that, sir?" Alan asked.

  "What do you know about the vampire legend?"

  The first thing that popped into Alan's mind was, Oh, my God, he's lost his mind. It was possible the disease had affected his thought processes. Vampires, for Pete's sake!

  He cleared his throat and looked at his shoes on the beautiful carpet. They needed cleaning, his shoes. Actually, they needed throwing away. He should buy a pair of new shoes occasionally, it certainly wouldn't be a sin. He'd worn these leather loafers for years only because they were comfortable and he hated to break in a new pair.

  "Well?" Charles said, squirming on the edge of the bed. "Are you deaf?"

  Alan looked up. He was being rude, and it was irritating the old man. He'd talk about anything, he supposed. He had a little time before his patient rounds at the hospital. "No, I was just thinking. I don't suppose I know very much at all about vampire legends. I've never gone in for horror."

  "I hear you are looking for someone to back you for a new research center," the old man said, seemingly changing the subject.

  Alan brightened. "Oh, yes, I certainly am. Porphyria, for instance—if we had a facility where we could run more tests and try out more combinations of drug treatments, do experiments on DNA . . ."

  Upton waved him off and he let the sentence die. He frowned in confusion.

  Upton said, "I have no illusions that I am going to live long enough to benefit from your research, Dr. Star."

  "But …"

  "Yet I have a real proposition for you, regardless. How would you like to have that research center, paid for, free and clear? All the latest equipment money can buy, staff, a modern facility in the heart of this city?"

  Alan didn't know how to respond. Was he hearing the man correctly? Was he being offered all that, just out of the blue, out of the kindness of the old billionaire's heart? It couldn't be. There were always strings. This was Earth, not Mars. Millions of dollars were not invested without some kind of return.

  He thought his best bet in this instance was to reply calmly and carefully, just as if he were offered this kind of thing every day. "I would love to have that, sir. It would mean the world to me."

  "Well, that's what I'm offering. Naturally, I want something from you. You're not a stupid man. If you were, I wouldn't have called you and made the offer. I've done my own . . . research. You're one of the brightest physicians in the state. Just because you can't cure me doesn't mean I don't understand how brilliant you are."

  "Thank you, sir." Alan realized he didn't have to tell Upton he was losing the battle with porphyria. The man knew he was dying. He knew there would never be a cure in time. So what could he want from him?

  "I asked you what you knew about vampires. The legend of the vampire?"

  Alan nodded, wondering what that had to do with the offer of a research center.

  "I guess you've heard some of the other doctors who have been on my case refer to me as 'The Old Vampire.' Don't deny it. I heard them, so I know you must have."

  "That was an unfortunate . . ."

  "I don't want your sympathy, Doctor, and there's no point apologizing for those idiots. I'm trying to get you to understand where I'm going with the vampire thing."

  "Yes, sir." Now he was thoroughly confused. He knew Upton had fired and sued his last doctors for referring to him as a vampire in a rather cruel, mocking way in what they thought was privacy. But what …?

  "I want you to know, first of all, that this disease has not affected my mind," Upton said.

  Alan thought that might be debatable, but he kept his peace.

  "Secondly, I want you to know that, though I was furious with my last doctors and I have a lawsuit pending against them for defamation of my good name, I've come to look at myself as they must have. I know I look like a monster. I know that with my distorted face I could shame a special effects master. I'm not fooling myself. I'm sick, disgusting to look at, and dying. But what if …" He paused and Alan straightened in his chair. Upton was being honest with him and though he didn't know where he was going with his confession, it was intriguing to see a man so beset by fate find a way to face the truth about his condition.

  Upton continued, "I'll just blurt it out. I've done some study into the vampire legends, and some of them seem to indicate that it isn't all a myth. There might have been people who lived after death. Who came back to life. I know it's fantastic, but … what if it's true? How many medical marvels do we enjoy today that would have seemed fantastic to us fifty years ago? Twenty years ago! And if there were vampires, real vampires in the past, what if there are real ones living and moving around among us today?"

  Alan was flabbergasted. He hadn't expected this. Not anything like this. Though Upton claimed to be in his right mind, all indications were he was suffering from psychosis. The thought of his dream research center coming true faded like bright cloth left for a month under the hot Texas sun. He couldn't take money from a madman. He couldn't use him that way.

  "I see how you're looking at me," Upton said, scowling. "You think I've lost it. Well, think again, Dr. Star. I'm as sane as you are. I did not live sixty-eight years and amass the fortune I have today by being a flake."

  "But, Mr. Upton, we're talking about fictional creatures, horror movie actors, not reality."

  "What if you're wrong?"

  Alan tried to consider it, but every time he tried to think about fictional vampires as real he wanted to burst out laughing. That would be worse than rude; that would get him booted out of the apartment. "If I'm wrong?" he said.

  "Here's the deal. I don't have time to waste trying to convince you of anything. I've read the literature. You haven't. I'm going to send along what I have with you; my man's got it packaged and waiting in the other room. Take your time reading it. Meanwhile, here's what I propose. You'll have nothing to lose and a great deal to gain. No one has to know anything about all this, not a soul. Not my partner in my business, not my butler, no one. It's strictly between you and me."

  "What do you want from me?"

  "I want you to search out and find me a vampire. I want the thing brought to me. I want it to give me my life back. I refuse to die."

&
nbsp; There it was. On the table. A dead man's hand, aces and eights. Alan flinched in surprise and tried to compose his face. He couldn't look at the old man again. He stared at the floor. His shoes needed cleaning at the very least if he wasn't going to replace them.

  "Dr. Star?"

  Alan glanced up.

  "You may think me insane if you like. That's your prerogative. What I'm offering is simple. I'll write you a check to cover any kind of medical facility you want. I don't care if it costs four million or forty million." He waved his hand to dismiss the spending of money that very soon would mean nothing to him. "In fact, once you start work for me on this, I'll fund the buying of the land and have construction begin right away. You pick the architect, and I'll write him a check. All I ask is that you do as I say. You search, put on an honest search for me. If I die before you find a vampire, I'll leave enough in my will for you to finish your research center. You're not going to lose on this. No one will ever know why I have given you the money. Your reputation as a doctor of medicine will remain pristine.

  "But I will demand your complete loyalty and will expect you to devote yourself to what I ask."

  "But my patients . . ."

  "Let me be perfectly honest with you, Alan. I know this means you have to take time off from your real work. I know this might take more time than you want. But I don't have any choice in this matter. If you share your time with me and the hospital, you may never find what I need. I'm asking a great favor. I'm willing to pay for it. When this is over, you can return to your work, all the richer."

  "But I don't know how I'd start. I mean, where would I look? Don't you need an investigator instead? Someone professional, who knows what to do?"

  "Except for me and my partner, David, I'd say you're one of the smartest, most intelligent men in the state of Texas. I wouldn't have come to you if you hadn't been. You'll find a way to do this. You're not a private investigator, but you have a wonderful mind. You know how to research problems, it's your business. You know how to track down symptoms and diseases. Turn those traits to tracking down a living vampire, and I expect you'll turn up something. In fact, I believe it to the tune of forty million, if that's what it takes."

  Alan sat biting down on his tongue. He couldn't say no, and he couldn't say yes. If he said no, there went his dream in a puff of smoke. He'd never again find someone willing to build him a research center, and if he tried to do it on his own he would be a very old man before he got the money and the credit.

  If he said yes, he'd be saying yes to a crazy project that made no real sense. He'd be playing into the psychosis of a desperate, dying man.

  "I don't know if I can do this, sir. I want to help you, but since I don't believe there are such creatures as vampires, it would be immoral of me to say that I could try to find one in order to get the funding I need."

  "That's what I thought you would say. I'm glad you said it because it proves you're an honest man. Now let's forget it and move on. Take the literature home and read it. Call me in a couple of days and tell me what you think then. Tell me I'm insane then. Tell me you don't believe it could be true. If there is one speck of hope, I'm willing to gamble. After all, Doctor, I'm dying. I have nothing to lose and a new life if I win. So will you read the works and call me? Say you'll do that much. It costs you nothing but a little of your time."

  Alan felt sorry for him. He was touched by the old man's fervor and incredible life force. He thought that money might save him, that myth might be made reality, that he might find a way to beat death. He hoped never to meet a man as desperate as this again.

  "All right, I'll read it," he said, pity overwhelming his good sense.

  "And you'll call me afterward?"

  "Yes. But I really can't promise to do this, Mr. Upton."

  "Just think it over. Think about the people you could save if you have a research center to work on discoveries that would cure them. Think about the future, Dr. Star. Think about children who get porphyria and what they are going to have to face. Do it for them."

  It was certainly tempting. Upton had no close relatives he cared for and his money, when he was gone, would do little good in the world. Why not just take some of it now and use it to help mankind? But he'd be lying to himself and to Upton to get it, wouldn't he? Well, he'd read the old man's papers and books. He'd do what he promised.

  "I'll read the material," he repeated.

  "Thank you. I think after you see what I've found, you'll be convinced enough to pursue this for me. Even if you aren't convinced . . . forty million dollars could do a lot of good."

  Alan was alone in the private elevator that took him to the lobby of the Upton building. In his hands he carried two heavy polyester satchels of books. What could the old man have found? How could he possibly have sold himself this bill of goods?

  Out on the sunny street in his car, turning toward the hospital where he was due for a consultation, Alan glanced at the bags of books taking up the passenger seat. This was crazy. This was really daft.

  But he'd do it. Upton knew how much he longed to do research, to man his own facility, to coordinate a staff of qualified researchers to help him unearth the remaining questions in hematology.

  He would at least look at the books. As daft as it might be, he wouldn't be able to help himself.

  Vampires, he thought. Oh, God.

  Chapter 8

  Dell spent hours with Mentor listening to his advice. Sometimes her mind wandered, and she focused on the sounds outside the house. Sometimes she heard sounds inside the house, too. A June bug trapped at the window in the kitchen. A lone roach, antennae wriggling, on the floor beneath the refrigerator. The electricity in the wires inside the walls—that bothered her the most. It was like a background hum in her ears that wouldn't go away.

  Nevertheless, she picked up most of what Mentor said to her and took it to heart. She could not try out her newfound supernatural powers that involved great physical strength right away. She could not show her exuberance in front of humans as they'd think she'd gone mad or was suffering from manic attacks. She could not ever let anyone know what had happened. She could not begin to act differently around her friends. She could not let them know she could read their thoughts if she wanted.

  There were so many things she was supposed to not do that she wondered exactly what she could do.

  "You can go on living your life as you always have," Mentor said, intercepting her thought. "A human lifetime is a gift."

  "That's going to be nearly impossible. Living like I did before," she said, thinking of eating hamburgers and fries, slurping down milkshakes, going to football games and dances and to the mall to shop with her friends.

  "It will in the beginning. But after a few weeks, you'll adjust."

  "The funny thing is," she said, "I thought I'd feel . . . dead. I thought I'd hate being this way and I'd want to. . . die for real. I didn't know I'd feel so alive and thrilled about it."

  "This feeling might pass, Dell," he warned. "There will be times when you'll feel just the opposite. Times when life will be unbearable."

  "It's hard to believe that."

  "It is now, but you'll have to trust me. Our emotions tend to swing widely, leaving us hanging on stars or dropped into the lowest pit. You'll call for me if that happens, won't you? When you think you can't go on?"

  "Yes, of course, I will," she said.

  "Good. Then tomorrow or the next day you will need to return to school. As a Natural, you're going to take up your old life and carry on. The sun will not harm you, the night and darkness will not call to you. You've chosen the path that allows you the greatest freedom in this world."

  "I won't . . ." She could hardly say it. She tried again. "I won't try to . . . harm anyone, will I? I mean, I won't be like a Predator, will I?" Already she yearned for one of the blood-filled bags in the refrigerator. It was like a thirst that never ended. Her throat was as parched as a mesquite tree in a dry plain in the middle of a West Texas summer. />
  Mentor took his time answering. He was probably listening to her thoughts, weighing her need. Finally he said, "I can't promise that you'll never be tempted. At times, all of us fight the urge to just take what we want when we want it. It's so easy that way, you see. It's something you'll have to wrestle with and overcome."

  "Your conscience is strong, Dell. Your humanity still resides inside you. Murder isn't something your mind will accept, though your hunger might grow strong. But there will be times when hunger overpowers the heart and your mind may get confused. It's at those times you'll be most vulnerable to committing an act against man. If you ever give in, even once, the next time will be easier. So you must never give in. Do you understand? Never, no matter what provocation or how weak you think you are or how great your need for sustenance."

  "I didn't really think that would ever happen," she said sadly. "And this urge will be there all of my life?"

  "I'm afraid so. It's the nature of our affliction. Unfortunately, it's part of being vampire, any kind of vampire."

  She thought long and hard about what Mentor had said once he left. A horrible thought occurred to her. She called her mother into her room and shut the door.

  "Mom, I have to ask you something."

  "Anything, darling."

  "Mentor told me I'd have urges now and then to drink blood from a human."

  "That urge will come less often as you live this life."

  "Well, what I wanted to ask is …" She wasn't sure she actually wanted to know, but she had to ask. "I wanted to know if you or Daddy ever wanted to drink from Eddie or me before we … we got sick."