“She doesn't want you to know because she has this fantasy you guys might end up together again.”
“Stop it, Zane!”
Vincent could see the muscles working in Angelique’s face.
Zane took a step toward Vincent, who remained rooted in place.
“We both know that ain't ever going to happen, don’t we? You want to know why, sweetheart? Vincent knows what we did.”
Angelique’s eyes became ice-blue flames.
“Shut up...”
“He knows it was us…”
“SHUT UP!”
“He knows we killed Sasha.”
“I SAID, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
The words exploded from Angelique’s throat and she leaped at Zane. Eyes wild with anger, she back-handed Zane with devastating force, hurling him across the room. Zane slammed into the wall and crumpled into a ball. Angelique whirled toward Vincent but it was too late... The words were spoken and could not be unspoken. And Angelique knew it.
Vincent’s shell-shocked gaze daggered into her, his rage growing with every passing second. “Tell me he's lying.”
Vincent took a step closer, his voice a barbed whisper, drained of all emotion. “Tell me Sasha took her own life because she didn't want to go on living as a monster.”
It was Zane who answered. “That's the fairy tale they want you to believe. But it was Dracula who ordered her death.”
Reeling, Vincent leaned against the table for support. He had never experienced such a deep-seated betrayal. And in turn he had never felt such blind rage. The floodgates were open and beware anyone who stood in the path of what was about to burst forth. “Is he telling the truth, Angelique? Did you know about this?”
Vincent sensed the answer, but part of him just couldn’t accept it yet. Angelique met Vincent's eyes head on, fighting back her own churning emotions, jaw set tight. Thanks to Zane, there was no going back now.
“Sasha's ideas represented a threat to our way of life.”
“So Dracula had her killed?”
More a statement than a question at this point. Angelique had told Vincent all he needed to know but he still fought the truth. “That's impossible. What about the note she left behind?”
“A forgery to keep you from turning against the clan.”
Vincent considered it for a second, then shook his head. “Impossible. They were her words. Her handwriting.”
“She wrote the note to save you. If she hadn’t cooperated, Dracula would’ve turned on you too.”
The words hit Vincent at the center of his being. Angelique was telling him Sasha had walked to her death so he could be spared. Ice crept up in his throat as he phrased his next question. “The whole clan knew about this?”
“I'm sorry, Vincent.”
Vincent felt the strength leave his body, Angelique’s words draining his soul the way she drained her victims’ blood. All these years, Vincent thought Sasha left him but the master had taken her from him. And the clan had been complicit in this crime.
“The game's up! So stop playing dumb,” Zane said. “You found out what we did and cooked up this plan for revenge.”
Angelique glared at Zane with pure disdain. “You fucking idiot! Just look at him. I told you he had no idea.”
Vincent could feel Zane’s eyes boring into him. He must’ve made a sorry sight because the biker’s confidence was wavering. “If it's not Vincent, then who is pulling the strings here?” Zane asked.
Angelique didn’t provide an answer. Instead her eyes found Vincent, her voice displaying genuine emotion. “I'm sorry you had to find out like this. Dracula gave the order – the clan merely carried out his wishes. There wasn’t anything we could do.”
“You could've told me about Sasha.”
“I was protecting you. If it wasn't for me, Dracula would've gone after you too!”
Before Vincent could respond...
CRACK! The vertical window behind Zane vaporized into a shower of raining glass. A dazzling flash of sunlight shafted into the dining room, hit Zane and lit up the biker as if he were sprayed with napalm. His scream exploded across the room. Roaring in agony, he staggered away from the spear of light.
At the same time, Vincent and Angelique reacted, backing away from the broken window just in time as another window shattered and a diagonal slash of sunlight lanced the dining room, missing Vincent by mere inches. The stench of Zane’s cooking flesh filled the room.
The biker lurched forward, finding an area untouched by sunlight. His eyes locked on a tapestry covering one of the walls of the dining chamber. Zane must’ve realized that it represented his best chance at survival. He whisked the tapestry off the wall in one quick motion and wrapped it around his smoking form, the heavy fabric sucking up all oxygen and extinguishing the flames. Zane was doing the best he could to extinguish the flames, but would it be enough to save him?
Meanwhile, Vincent's eyes ticked back and forth. His soul was a wreck but his survival instincts took over, galvanizing him into action. He wanted to make Angelique and Zane suffer for what they had done to Sasha, but his vengeance would have to wait. First he had to make it out of this chamber of light alive.
Based on what he could tell, there were two ways out of the dining room. Intermittent pools of sunlight ruled out one of them.
Vincent’s gaze shifted toward the second exit.
He decided to make a go for it.
He took a few wary steps, then… CRACK, CRACK. Two more windows near the second exit shattered, drenching the remaining escape path in sunlight. Vincent stopped in his tracks.
Angelique flashed him a look. “He knew where Zane was standing! He must be watching us!”
Vincent nodded and scanned the ceiling for surveillance cameras. He spotted none – they must be miniaturized spy-cams of some type. He exchanged a quick look with Angelique. The inevitable confrontation between them would have to wait. Getting out of this death chamber was the first order of business. From the look on Angelique’s face, she had come to the same conclusion. Her eyes traveled toward the remaining windows. Four on each side of the room. One quick glance confirmed her worst suspicions. “He rigged all the windows with charges,” she said.
Vincent nodded and backed away from the window, knowing that if it should explode too, he would be burned to a crisp. Almost as if the killer could read his thoughts, another window erupted.
Light lanced narrowly into the center of the room, then widened as it headed right for Vincent. He darted aside, rolled across the floor and hit an oasis of shadows still untouched by the sun. Vincent looked around and found himself caught inside an ever-expanding web of searing, blinding light. His gaze traveled across the room. He spotted Zane's charred form. The biker's eyes narrowed with pain and grim defiance and he said,“Fuck it!” Using the tapestry as a shield against the encroaching beams, Zane dashed across the room. His scream of sizzling agony cut through the air as more waves of light hit him, but he managed to make it through the second exit. The scars would be terrible, but they would heal in time.
As Zane vanished from view, trailing smoke in his wake, Vincent couldn’t help but feel some grudging respect for the biker vampire. Zane was an asshole and a meathead, but no one could say he was lacking in the balls department. But then again, circumstances coupled with desperation had made many a man grow a pair.
Zane had gotten away - good for him - but the web of light was still closing in on him and Angelique. To a mortal, it was just sunlight. But to a vampire, the light symbolized death. “Fear the light!” the voice had warned. The words were indeed prophetic.
Vincent looked up and saw a window just feet from his position. If it should break too, he was done for. And considering the vampire killer was watching them, chances were good he’d be thinking the same. The assassin was playing a game of chess and so far, he was making all the right moves. A change was in order. Vincent had to find a way to turn the situation around, and he had to do it fast.
If he just made a go for i
t and barreled through a pool of light without the protection of one of the heavy tapestries, he would never make it. And even if he followed Zane’s example, he was certain to sustain serious damage. That would make it all too easy for the killer to finish him off once he was licking his wounds in some dark corner of the chateau. No, Vincent had to get out of here, but he needed to do it in one piece, his strength intact so he could counter his opponent’s next move.
There had to be another way out of the dining hall...
Vincent’s mind worked furiously and ran through all the options.
His eyes combed the chamber. Scoping...
His roaming gaze locked on the large fireplace that dominated the center of the room. It represented a possible way out of the dining room. Now he just had to get there before the killer triggered the final window and blew him away in a wave of lethal sunlight.
Vincent swapped a last glance with Angelique. His gaze held a final promise.
If I make it out of here, I’m coming for you!
It was a promise Vincent intended to keep.
A second later, he exploded into motion and sprinted across the room at full tilt, a dizzying rush of motion. From the corner of his eye, he could see the charges going off behind him, glass shattering, sunlight descending…
Vincent hurled himself forward just as a nearby window exploded. Light rippled like molten lava after him as he dove into the fireplace and scrambled with inhuman speed up the chimney. Sunlight flooded the hearth below him.
Vincent never looked back, staying focused on his climb. Driven by a singular purpose - he had to get away from the light at all cost!
Vincent kept tearing his way up the chimney. He suddenly noticed an entrance to a hidden passageway inside the chimney. Dracula’s chateau was a place of mystery, with too many secret passageways and escape routes to count. The master hadn’t survived without being prepared for all eventualities. An effective back-up plan was always in place. It failed him in the end, but only after centuries of eluding his enemies. So why should Vincent be surprised to find the entrance to a secret escape tunnel hidden within the shaft of a chimney? To Dracula’s paranoid way of thinking, it would make perfect sense.
Vincent pulled himself through the small opening and peered inside. Using his vampire vision, he scanned the tunnel that extended before him. Vincent had no idea where the tunnel might lead, but he also knew his options were somewhat limited at this point. Returning to the dining room meant certain death and if he kept scrambling up the chimney, he’d emerge on the roof and be fully exposed to the sun.
Vincent made up his mind and decided to take his chances with the tunnel. He had no idea where the passage would lead him, but he was willing to find out. Vincent eased his way into the dark opening, becoming one with the blackness.
***
In another part of the castle, a figure cloaked in shadow faced a bank of monitors and observed Vincent on a closed-circuit video system. On a black-and-white monitor, Vincent could be seen climbing the shaft, then turning toward the secret passageway - the silhouetted observer was tracking Vincent’s every move.
The image froze. Rewound. And played again. And again.
The spectral figure manning the security system had waited a long time for this moment. Vincent was on his way. Skeletal fingers stabbed the REPLAY button. The skin of the stranger’s hand was mottled with pink scar tissue. It was the hand of someone who had sustained horrible burn wounds.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ZANE STUMBLED INTO the vast chamber adjacent to the dining hall, his body trailing smoke. He was greeted by a forbidding collection of medieval weapons – he had ended up in the chateau’s armory. Suits of armor lined the room and stood guard like spooky sentinels from another age.
Holy fucking Renaissance Fair, Zane thought for one dizzying moment, before the pain swept all other thoughts aside. The flames were extinguished but the fire still seemed to be raging across his body. Zane yanked the heavy tapestry that had saved his life off his broad shoulders. The sunlight had mercilessly lashed all exposed areas of his body, tattooing them with charred black patches. His leather jacket had melted and fused with the skin. He had sustained first, second and third-degree burns - it would take a long time for his wounds to regenerate and for the agony to subside.
Zane was able to shut out the agony but he was less successful in silencing his hate-filled thoughts of vengeance. Vincent wasn’t the only one who could keep a promise. A few years back when Zane was still one of the walking dead (in other words, human), some rich kid had tapped Zane’s motorcycle with his expensive sports car. The biker made him regret the careless transgression. One look at that baby-faced college punk and Zane knew daddy must’ve footed the bill for his ride, a prize for some run-of-the-mill accomplishment like graduating College. Fuck, Zane would have had gotten a dumbass waste-of-time-and-money degree himself if a bow-wrapped Porsche was waiting for him at the end.
The kid was courteous as he exchanged information and instructed Zane, with a sheepish grin, to call his insurance carrier – they’d take care of the damage. The punk handed Zane his business card and flashed a perfect smile, thinking the matter resolved. As the kid and his sun-kissed girlfriend strolled into the dive bar Zane had just stumbled out of, he glared after them with hatred. The kid had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and thought a fat check could solve any problem or get him out of any jam. But tonight he was going to learn otherwise. Tonight Zane was going to give him a taste of the real world. It was a dangerous jungle out there and one didn’t provoke certain predators without facing the consequences.
Zane studied the address on the business card for a moment before his smoldering gaze returned to the scratch on his motorcycle’s front bumper, his world awash with anger. He swung onto his dented hog and took off into the night. But he hadn’t headed home that evening. At least not right away. Instead, he sought out the address on the business card, a luxury apartment in a swanky part of town. He parked his hog and waited near the entrance of the luxury condo. Three hours later, the young man and his golden girlfriend returned, still buzzed from their brief trip to the wild side.
The moment the kid unlocked his front door, Zane peeled from the shadows, knife in hand, and pushed the suddenly terrified couple into the living room of their apartment. The place was perfectly furnished; no cheap-ass IKEA shit was good enough for these two.
Zane was ready to party. Once he was done with the couple and his drug-fueled lust for violence was satiated, he left the apartment complex, returned to his pad and knocked back a couple of brewskies before going to bed. He slept like a baby. By the time the next morning rolled around, the whole sordid affair was forgotten. The sole reminder was the small scratch on his front bumper that, Zane admitted to himself with a sheepish grin, didn’t seem too bad in the light of day. Why had it put him in such a state the other night? Must’ve been the meth coursing through his veins – it tended to distort shit and could blow small things way out of proportion.
The incident did illustrate one important point about Zane’s character – if you chose to fuck with him, you’d better be prepared to pay the piper. But this whole wretched affair had gone way past a simple scratch on his bumper. The killer had fucked up his face and the price Zane planned to exact in return would be terrible indeed.
A thumping behind Zane made him flinch.
It emanated from the top of a nearby staircase, where the chateau’s sleeping quarters were located.
Zane trailed the noise and inched his way up the stairs. He had climbed a few steps when the rhythmic pounding repeated itself and the mysterious source of the sound stood revealed…
Dracula’s coffin.
It barreled down the staircase – bang, bang, bang - heading right for Zane. The biker leaped from the path of the incoming coffin at the last moment. It blew past him and crashed into the stone floor of the armory. The impact whipped the lid open and a shrieking swarm of bats billowed out, their cloud of
membranous wings enveloping Zane.
Zane did his best to ward off the panicked creatures as, from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a new arrival on the scene. The figure bore down on him with quick strides. The cloud of bats obscured details but Zane could make out one crucial element - the figure was wielding a silver stake.
WHOOSH! The shimmering stake cut through the whirlwind of flying vermin and punctured Zane's heart in one brutal yet precise motion. The biker took a few steps back, exhaled a stream of black blood, and crumpled to his knees. Reality slipped out of focus. The cloud of fluttering bats grew thicker, the darkness beginning to expand. The killer loomed above Zane. The biker peered up at his assailant in stunned disbelief.
“You!”
No words followed. Only silence as the world was erased in blackness.
***
Vincent crawled through the stone bowels of the chateau, not knowing where the tunnel would ultimately lead him. Time had lost all meaning and for one claustrophobic second, it felt as though he’d been buried alive. Vincent could feel the damp rock closing in on him; it was as if Dracula’s castle had swallowed him whole and would never release him. But a powerful compulsion drove the former Texas Ranger onward. A new need blazed within him and kept him going…
Vincent wanted answers. Wanted to know who had engineered this nightmare party. Wanted to stare into the killer’s eyes.
To get what he wanted, he would have to be strong and maintain his focus. He couldn’t succumb to emotion. His unwillingness to give up quickly paid off. After a stretch of time that seemed like hours but was closer to fifteen minutes, Vincent emerged in a small chamber. He was met by a nearly preternatural silence and for a brief moment, Vincent just stood in the darkness, basking in the silence and enjoying the reprieve he’d been granted from the violent drama being played out throughout the chateau. Memories of Sasha made for uneasy company in the dark. His body was bowed with grief. Zane’s words had reopened wounds that had never healed in the first place. Only now did Vincent understand what had happened to his beloved, and the knowledge pained him. How could he not have seen it earlier? How could he have believed Sasha would leave him without saying goodbye?
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