by David Lee
At a signal, the blood red banners dropped from the ceiling to the stage; the crowd surged forward subliminally hungered at the sight. Music blared from speaker stacks, Wagner dubbed to the best parts. At the triumphal moment, Jason signaled and searchlights swept the crowd, dazzling the pathetic creatures who howled at the pain, dropping to the floor to escape the white hot heat burning retinas through clenched eyelids. Across the chamber the Vampires covered their eyes with glasses. Fashion forward Jason had secured a supply of Julbo glacier glasses from REI that provided the otherworldly menace he adored along with protection from the burning light.
Oliver crossed the stage, ignoring the swelling susurration from the crowd. Stopping in the middle of the stage, three spots hit him, casting sharp shadows of his open legged stance against the bloody backdrop. Silent blowers engaged, rippling the shadowed curtains so that they resembled nothing so much as rivers of blood flowing down the rocks. On cue, images of war and death, dismemberment and mutilation played on the rippling red screens; across the frenzied crowd video projectors played bloody corpses, using their bodies as screens.
After a moment Oliver stepped forward, raising his arms and booming his voice, welcoming his brothers to their day of freedom, telling them emancipation had arrived. He thanked them for their sacred solidarity of struggle while he was imprisoned but now, now that he was free, he had returned to lead them to their rightful place in the world above where food was free and abundant and they could feed as they desired.
This was, thought Jason, too much, but you would not have known it from the response Oliver received. Repeatedly throughout his performance Vampires surged toward the stage, only to be repulsed by his thugs. Weakened by years of neglect and malnourishment, he and his cohorts easily handled the mob but, he thought, once they have tasted humans we might not be able to contain them, as he smashed his baton into the face of a particularly aggressive Vampire. Oliver continued for over an hour outlining his plans, exhorting the masses and railing against the Queen and her despicable minions. It was, Jason thought, as much pep rally as ego adoration moment.
Finally, Oliver reached the ultimate moment in his performance and his assistants wheeled out the cage, forcing the delirious Vampires to make way by liberal use of the cattle prods purchased special for the occasion. Once they’d forced a way into the middle of the hall, Oliver intoned his love for them, promising always to be there for them, to lead them and feed them forever. As they expectantly looked toward the stage, the cavern went black and then a single beam lit the crimson shroud covering the cage. “For you, my brothers,” screamed Oliver, and the shroud was pulled off and the cage opened upon the humans kidnapped for the purpose.
For a moment all froze, the humans in terror, the Vampires in shock. Then tentatively, at first one then another Vampire reached out to touch the plump naked flesh of the Humans. Those further back could not touch but could smell the Humans, and they crowded closer until a Human shrieked, breaking the spell and Oliver crowed, “eat, eat, they are for you,” and instantly a swarm covered the hapless Humans and the starving Vampires first tasted Human blood in an orgy of feeding. As the swarm of Vampires covered the Humans, Oliver continued speaking, “Taste the future,” till the Humans were reduced to a pile of obscene bones.
“What’s your next trick going to be?” asked Jason, as Oliver left the stage, “This will be hard to top.”
“I own them,” replied Oliver, “every one of them is mine.”
Unnoticed in the frenzy of the mob, anguished rats slipped from the cracks scurrying off into the tunnels to report what they’d seen. Their minds warped by fear and revulsion, the accounts they gave made little sense, lacking precision and facts. Ratman had little to communicate when next he met Arabella except the concepts of many and terror. That, and Oliver was back.
In the caves under Highland Street the plastic sheets flashed alive with images of horror. Jacked into the nightmare, Trogs in the midst of horrible dreams agonized. Unable to disconnect, with no one to look out for them, they passively lay surfing the data wave to hell.
CHAPTER 13
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, annoyed again.
“What’s so ridiculous? I just asked you to go get something to eat,” said Jesse, wallowing in the chair she’d pointed at when he came in. “You do eat, don’t you? I mean besides the, you know.”
Stopping in front of the windows with the view of the entire harbor she said, “I don’t date cops,” slow and explicit in case he might think there was room for negotiation.
“And by ‘you know,’ I take it you are referring to blood?”
He wiggled around in the chair, sliding his hands along the metal framework. He felt like he was lounging and he liked to be sitting up, especially when she was standing. “Right, like regular food.”
“Stop squirming,” she said. “What is the matter with you? If you have to go to the bathroom, raise your hand and I’ll give you permission. Otherwise, sit still.”
“I feel like I’m sitting in a bucket in this thing,” he groused. Looking around the room he could see a chair that resembled a curved S lying on its side and two boxy leather chairs. Over by the window was a wood and leather chair that looked real and it had a matching ottoman. He really would like to sit there and admire the view, if he could just get out of the damn chair she put him in.
“Why don’t you have a couch,” he blurted out, astonished that someone could furnish a room obviously meant for sitting without a couch.
“Chairs are architecture, sofas are bourgeois.”
“Oh, of course.”
“The man who designed all these chairs,” indicating the room, “said that. You’re sitting in the LC1; that,” pointing for the benefit of the uninformed, “is the chaise lounge, the LC4, and these two are easy chairs, LC3’s.”
Pointing at the one that looked like a classy recliner and ottoman, like a docent volunteering her afternoon at the museum, she said, “That one was designed by a husband and wife team named Eames.”
Bracing his hands on the steel tubes so he could hoist himself up, he said, “This one feels like it was made out of an erector set.”
“Yes, it’s one of his first. He used bolts to hold it together; since then, the tubes are welded.”
Collapsing into one of the boxy chairs he said, “Oh, this is like a real chair.” Snuggling down into the leather he said, “After shooting you, I thought the least I could do was take you out, buy you lunch.”
“Time out, big boy, the only reason you’re here is Finkelstein.”
“I can help.”
“Thank you,” she replied, “But, I don’t need much from you, a little intelligence is all.”
“Well, we could talk about it over lunch as well as here,” he said persistent.
“No police,” she replied, her voice gone flat, “Let’s get that settled.”
“Ouch,” Jesse said. He tried his boyish grin on her, the one that always worked with women. “Sounds like discrimination.”
Looking at him, “No cops, it’s a simple rule.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Cops lie.”
“That’s it, thought you’d been around some, thought you knew how things work,” patronizing.
“I know how things work; the problem is, you don’t”
“That doesn’t mean I lie.”
“Oh?”
“It’s not telling lies when it’s your job”
“You lie to the press, you lie to protect fellow police officers, you lie in court when you are under oath?”
“Wait a minute. Now you are accusing me of a felony; perjury is serious if you don’t know.”
“Testalying, I believe it is. It is a joke with the Courts and the District Attorney and the police.”
“Prove it.”
“I don’t need to, I only need to avoid it.”
“You don’t understand what it is to be a cop,” defending himself, ‘the pressures we have
, the people we deal with every day, they’re all cheats and thieves; that’s how we do our jobs, protect the public.”
“Ever seen the film Dirty Harry? You know it?”
“Of course, it’s a classic, love it.”
“Cop as victim, of course you do.”
“Wait a minute, lady.”
“It’s alright, but that’s why I don’t do police,” she smiled sweetly.
He looked at her, his baffled face more attractive to her than what he thought of as his boyish, cute look.
“No, I do my job, I protect citizens.”
“Means and ends?”
“At least you see I’m doing good when I lie.”
“If you understood maybe, but you don’t.”
“You know I’m a damn good detective, whatever else you think of me, I can do my job.”
She looked at him.
“The Department doesn’t care what I do, as long as I don’t get in trouble. I’ve got nothing to do, so you might as well use me.”
She continued staring.
“I will never lie to you.”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t get it,” he replied, “I only wanted to get something to eat. I’m really hungry.”
“This is not a date, we are working,” she said getting her jacket.
“How’s about Italian?”
“Eww no, garlic.”
“Garlic, so that part’s true, garlic and Vampires?”
“Bad breath,” she said, “gives you bad breath and I’m going out later.”
“Out, like working on our case, out?”
“Out, like I have a date, out.”
“Oh, so you do go on dates? Vampires date?”
“This one does.”
“Is this guy a Vampire or a regular guy?”
“Ortega.”
“What?”
“He’s a ‘none of your business’ guy.”
“OK, Italian it is, my treat.”
CHAPTER 14
The late afternoon drizzle damped the grey light, making the walk from the Library to Pioneer Square quite comfortable. After so long in the dark, his eyes were painfully photosensitive and he habitually wore the darkest Ray-Bans available. He liked the look, dark ovoids with the classy gold rims.
Still learning his way about the City, Oliver marveled at what the Humans had been up to during his internment. The alterations to downtown were so astonishing that at times he lost his way on the streets, old landmarks replaced by ghastly towers. Many of the buildings were what they called postmodern and were hideous. The weather, though, comforted him with its continuous cozy damp as he meandered through puddled sidewalks, studying the architecture and hunting, always hunting. Today a gray light pleasing to the skin highlighted the angles and ridges in buildings and streets, the gloomy daylight casting small shadows oblique to his way.
The parochial city he’d left had grown up in his absence and gussied itself with ugly and tall buildings without discernible meaning. Nowhere was this more evident than the disappearance of the downtown library. In its place was a jutting, angled, overhanging lattice of glass. Lacking majestic stairs leading to a formal entry, the structure felt oddly uninviting, as if part of the fun was finding one’s way in.
Inside were vast, impersonal airport concourses bounded in cement, areas furnished for children were everywhere and garish colors marked this or that passage leading to improbably forlorn red walls. Bored police lounged about and one even had a desk at the top floor where the glass floor cantilevered into space over the sidewalk stories below, and tourists longed to scramble out onto the delicate lattice so their families could snap death defying pictures on phones. Huge and impersonal, the place dwarfed literature. He went there often.
Admirably situated downtown, there was access from different streets, and the building had an underground parking facility accessible to him from an adjoining utility vault, when his activities required discretion. Best of all, the entire library was an extraordinarily popular destination, providing a rich supply of potential lunch partners. He found the least uncomfortable chair in the most detestable color in the jungle section, adjacent to a hostile purple rug. The chair provided a convenient seat to view the escalators and electric powered sidewalks parading in front of him, rather like the cafeterias that were once popular where your selections ran on a conveyor belt and you selected your fancy at your whim. Instead of wilted sandwiches and molded Jell-O, there were businessmen, the occasional waif and, for dessert, the incomparable backpack toting co-eds.
Other than the coliseum erected farther downtown, this was his most favorite spot to sit and visit. The coliseum was an exciting venue for local blood sport, and he had recruited a Human with season tickets, keeping him as his personal blood slave and immensely enjoying the spectacle when the local barbarians played a home game. I really must sample one of the athletes, he thought, although the disappearance of such a high profile Human would engender too much publicity. Still, perhaps one of the visiting barbarians could be taken from the streets. He’d noticed that the athletes took every opportunity to avail themselves of the local women, and most were very lax about personal security, relying on transient notoriety to protect them.
Today, he needed lunch. While it was true that most Vampires could happily subsist on a monthly feeding, he was unable to curtail his desire. During his long deprivation he thought only of revenge and food. Now, as he plotted the death of the three he was free to dine whenever hungry but, unfortunately, was never truly satisfied. After a feeding, no matter how deeply he drank, he craved only the next victim and the next taste.
He’d restricted himself to compliant Humans, but his needs were so deep and his lusts so violent that the Humans had suffered such grievous injury that they had to be terminated. To so abuse another Vampire’s Human was a disturbing violation of ethics, and he’d already accumulated obligations to two Vampires, obligations that could only be fulfilled by providing each Vampire with a suitably trained replacement. Or, thought Oliver considering the problem, the demise of the two Vampires in a way that did not reflect badly on him.
Today, though, was a training day, no time to dilly-dally about, surveying the menu. He intended to toughen and educate the cadre he’d chosen, teach them so they could teach and lead the others. The whole group had gone soft; without him to nurture their development they lacked basic hunting and killing skills. They simply had no knowledge or appreciation of their heritage, a void in their education that he intended to fill, that and a bit of the old mind indoctrination. At the library, one of his joys was discovering the writers of his dark period. George Orwell was one of his favorites, explaining and codifying the duplicitous use of language and its power over men. He’d learned so much at the wonderful library and now it was time to put it into practice.
What he had in mind involved a variation on an ancient Vampire ritual. As long as Vampires relied upon Humans for sustenance, they had sought to enliven dinner by first playing with their food. Like felines and killer whales, a bit of sport before feeding stimulated the appetite and there was nothing like the stew of hormones produced in a crazed victim to properly season the blood. Long ago, it had been a simple matter to abduct a villager or two, loose them in a forest and run them down. The modern world had changed all that, but he was adaptable.
Recruiting prey had been easier than he thought. There was an endless supply of men and women, boys and girls with paranoid fantasies in this modern society. Strangely enough, the safer their society became the more threatened they felt. They stockpiled guns to protect themselves from friends and foes and carried concealed weapons, even though the incidence of public violence was at an all-time low.
Some thought illegal aliens were at the back door, others that the government was at the front; most believed in violent crime, although none had actually witnessed any; many loved murderous video games, an invention that truly astounded Oliver; and many fervently believed that someone wanted to take th
eir guns away as prelude to internment in concentration camps. They had their own television network trumpeting fear around the clock under the guise of news.
They were marvelous and Oliver couldn’t wait to eat one. There was something about their ignorant paranoia that stimulated his appetite; he was sure their warped brains would produce a chemical stew with a unique bouquet.
They hung around gun shops and shooting ranges, got tattoos, owned houses in the suburbs, played paintball, their children went to school except for the ones who didn’t and they all were convinced of an existential threat lurking just around the corner. Oliver concentrated on the gun nut subculture and was quickly able to identify three young men and one woman who hallucinated the glory of battle. Why they didn’t enlist in the military and satisfy their atavistic impulses in any of the available wars escaped him, but they all professed a desire to experience the real thing and Oliver had just the opportunity for them.
Of course, the glorious hunt was strictly forbidden and had been replaced by a bastardized simulacrum where pet Humans decorated with feathers and horns ran laughing through the Underground, pursued by Vampires who accumulated points for the order in which they touched the runner. Oliver was appalled by the degeneration of Vampire society and longed to return to the days of glory when to be a Vampire meant you were a noble, a savage who killed what he wanted and took his fill, as was his due. No favor begged, no quarter given.
