by Jeff Seats
Ellie continued to sway in her canvas seat remaining fixated on the screen in front of her.
A little miffed, Paul tapped her shoulder and started to speak again, “HEY! I said . . .,”
Ellie finally looked up and saw Paul’s lips were moving. She shook her head and put a finger to her headset. “Use the intercom.”
For a second he didn’t quite understand, then the finger gesture and the mouthed words seemed to register. He toggled the switch on the chord. “Sorry. Never could get used to these things.”
“What did you want?”
“I was saying that a flight west is better than wasting time on control room detail. Right?”
Ellie gave him no response keeping focus on her laptop.
“Or fishing out rank underwear in a smelly locker.” Still, Paul got no indication that he had spoken so he switched his headset on and off, on and off. “Helloo? I said—”
“Christ! I heard you. You can be so annoying.”
“Sorry. You didn’t answer me.”
Ellie looked up from the monitor and into his petulant face. “I don’t know what you do with your spare time, but I try to make myself useful.”
“I work on the computer just like you.”
“You surf the web.”
“Right, just like you,” Paul said.
“I’m not looking for nacho recipes.”
“It was nacho pie, and you liked it as I recall. So what are you looking for?”
“What we talked about.” Ellie shifted the laptop so Paul could see the screen better. “I searched more alternative news outlets for anything that might lead us to where Vlad had gotten to. It stands to reason that a handful of vampires would need to feed every so often and they couldn’t have done so without someone taking notice of the aftermath and reporting.”
“Like the Dr. Gwen show.”
“Yes and other media outlets,” Ellie answered. “I ran a search for any news reports about strange murders. Stuck them all in here.” She started clicking, opening file folders. “Let’s see. Is this it?” She opened one and scrolled through the contents. “Nope. Oh, this one. No . . . Yes! See, all these articles are from the New York Times archive about those Night Stalker Murders when Theodore Roosevelt was police commissioner. You remember, from investiture.”
“Yeah, yeah. They ended up being caused by a nest of vampires. The CSC was created on the backs of the detectives Roosevelt put together to hunt them down.” Paul sat back with a satisfied smirk on his face. “I paid attention. But you might figure out a better way to name your files, so you don’t have to go through this Easter Egg Hunt again.”
Ellie playfully stuck her tongue out at him. “I know what I’m doing.” She clicked open another file folder. “Here’s another one.” She moused over one of the JPEGs, clicked, and a scanned image of a newspaper article appeared. Not an old one from the Times, but a contemporary clipping from a Seattle paper, the Emerald City Weekly.
UNIVERSITY STUDENTS DEAD
Bloody Crime Scene
and another— BODY FOUND BEHEADED
Drained of Blood
and another— HOMELESS MAN DEAD
Blood Removed There was a series of such articles, all written by the same reporter. The locations of the murders suggested this murder spree seemed to have its start in Seattle with several University of Washington students. The trail of death then moved into downtown and Pioneer Square and the stadium area with Boeing field next, and continued into Fife, Tacoma and Olympia.
The voice of the crew chief came over their headsets, “Vamp Town in five.”
Paul looked at him giving the thumbs up sign.
“Let’s show these to Alex. Maybe he can shed a bit more light on where Vlad might be.”
««« ‡ »»» THE TWO NEW field agents stepped down off the rear loading ramp of the Osprey and looked east toward the town they had had the misfortune of visiting once not too very long ago. The flight crew would be left to patiently wait for their return and the trip back to Mountain Home. Before they had split up, Ellie and Paul coordinated their watches with the pilot so everyone understood the craft would dust off at sunset, whether or not they were on board. The pilot gave the pair a cold stare to emphasize neither he nor his crew was authorized to remain on the ground of a vampire reservation after dark, no matter what the reason or who it was being left behind. Paul could tell the pilot would have done this without orders. But knowing the town’s inhabitants, who wouldn’t?
“Capiche?” the pilot asked earnestly. “Oh, yeah. We sure as shit capiche!” Paul gave Ellie a slap on the shoulder. “Don’t we partner?”
“Fo shizzle!” Ellie gave a Paul an exploding fist bump, checked her watch one more time and headed toward the town. “Come on! We’re burnin’ daylight.” She called back as she quickly headed towards the city limits leaving Paul behind.
When he caught up to her, he asked, “The fuck’s a fo shizzle?”
“Don’t like Snoop Dog? Means ‘for sure.’ As in ‘I’m for sure as shit NOT staying the night here.’ The flight crew understood.”
They continued a few more yards and came to the edge of a street. The last time they had approached this same pavement encircling the four square blocks making up Vamp Town, they were passengers off of a lost, out-of-gas bus looking for help. Back then, this was just an answer to their collective prayers. Now, they knew what lay within those buildings behind the covered windows. They felt reasonably optimistic the bloodsucking inhabitants would treat them differently than the last time. After all, it was broad daylight. And, more important, Alex their leader had sent his reassurances they would be safe. Not that they were concerned, but not that they weren’t either. They both checked the time again. Sunset was at 7:42 p.m., and they wanted to be halfway back to the base by then.
“I wonder if the rattlesnakes ever get this close to town?” Paul asked grinning.
Ellie’s response was to stop, frozen in her tracks. “Rattlesnakes! Where?” She cautiously looked around until she saw the look on Paul’s face. “Asshole.” Then she punched him in the arm and crossed the blacktop, entering the town.
“Ow!”
The building Alex had directed them to for this meeting was one they were familiar with and had been inside during their previous visit. The sign on the exterior indicated this was the city hall/police station they had excitedly entered, hoping the local authorities could assist them. Ha! The joke was on them. Instead of walking into a functioning police station circa 2016, expecting to find at least a couple of small-town cops, they had entered a simulation of what the interior of a police station straight out of 1960s USA.
The room had desks and chairs, paperwork, desk lamps, wanted posters, even telephones. The presidential portrait of JFK was a nice touch. But when they looked at the paperwork, the pages were empty. The files were full of blank paper. The phones had no dial tone. The utterly unsettling aspect of the room was its lack of humanity. There were no personal items on the desks. No family photos or kids’ artwork. No sports team swag. No World’s Greatest Dad cups with dried coffee stains. Not even pencils with teeth marks. It was lifeless. A showpiece— like a museum exhibit or a film set.
Ellie and Paul stopped inside the building entrance and looked at the door to the Police Station and then at the one for the City Hall across the foyer. Paul couldn’t remember seeing this the last time they were here. Obviously, like a flock of lost sheep, their first course of action was to go to the police. But finding none, their next thought was to head back outside and scour the area looking for anyone who could help. The entrance to the City Hall was ignored in the mad dash to get out on to the street. Today they knew there was nothing behind “door number one” and Alex had summoned them to this building after all. So “door number two” had to be it.
Paul reached for the handle and turned it, popping the door open. “After you,” he gallantly said, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture as he bowed to Ellie.
“Chicken?”
she fired back as she entered.
The first thing that wasn’t hard to notice was the lush, dark fabric drape covering the opening from the inside. Once through the doors and beyond the curtains they found themselves in a disorienting black void. Instinctively they both reached out trying to feel something in their moment of blindness. Then the darkness was swept away. Another drape that had formed a light-lock had been pulled aside revealing Alex holding the curtain open for them.
Ellie and Paul slowly stepped into a dimly lit room. Expressive sounds of a piano and sultry sax greeted them; blending perfectly with deep shadows created by multi-colored lamp shades and directional spots tightly focused on selected works of art.
“Oh! Agents!” Alexei expressed in surprise as they entered.
“You remember us don’t you?” Paul stated. “We’re from the bus. You saved us.”
“Yes, yes.”
“I’m Agent Struthers, and this is Agent Mathews.” Ellie said.
“Of course Ellie, I remember you and you as well Paul. Welcome to my home,” Alexei announced graciously.
“You were expecting Liz and Craig. Weren’t you? They were away, and Commander Cole thought you wanted to talk immediately.”
“She was correct,” Alexei said, readjusting himself to changing expectations. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
“Wow,” Paul said as he gawked at their surroundings.
“This is quite the place,” Ellie added in agreement.
“You were, perhaps, expecting a vampire’s lair with dripping stone walls, flaming torches, and cobwebs?”
“Is that Ellington?” Paul asked, ignoring the remark by focusing on the music playing in the background.
“Thelonious Monk. Round Midnight.”
“OOOh, yeah,” Paul answered like he knew, but had momentarily forgotten the name of the musician. But he didn’t.
Alexei went over to the stereo and held up the album cover. “Genius of Modern Music. 1947. Not that Ellington is anything to sneeze at, but I’m partial to the bebop.”
Ignoring the album cover altogether, Paul moved in to check out the sound system and whistled as he touched the tuner. “Marantz 4270 Quad. Nice.” Then he looked at the turntable. “Dual 1229. Sweet.”
“I do have a fondness for quality,” Alexei stated. “I see you do as well.”
“My dad had a great set-up. Mom never got newer equipment after he died, never needed to. I listened to some great audio growing up.”
“There is a certain richness and warmth in the music when listened to through tubes. Not cold and precise like that digitized noise available on CDs or MP3 files.”
The room they were standing in was a complete opposite of the police station next door. They later learned this whole town had been erected under the guise of it being an A-bomb test site —built to see how structures would hold up to a blast and then how the radiation could affect what remained. But in this case, it was a town created to house creepy creatures that prowled the night, a jail for all practical intents and purposes.
This room, City Hall, on the other hand, was packed with many fascinating objects—not objects, possessions. This room was, very definitely, a place where someone resided. The variety of the types of items indicated someone with eclectic tastes had assembled this collection. And while the room was quite full, the items were not placed haphazardly, everything looked as though it had been set in a specific location, in a precise manner, for an intended purpose.
The general decor included a hodge-podge of various, comfortable-looking furniture types. All classic designs from French Empire to Art Deco to Mid-century Modern. Expensive looking Tiffany shade lamps, and finely crafted oriental carpets. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the perimeter of the room, filled with volumes of books, both new and old, some appearing ancient. The windows were covered in dual layers of richly brocaded, heavy, dark-colored fabrics, which kept all sunlight from sneaking in from the outside. Impressive pieces of bric-a-brac cluttered tabletops—globes, clocks, semi-precious stones and geodes, pinned butterflies, dried flowers and pressed leaves.
A small museum worth of paintings was scattered about the walls, set on easels and propped up against pedestals, which supported all types of sculpture, from ancient to abstract. In a corner was a modern desk with a flat screen monitor and a computer tower. In fact, there was so much to see they completely forgot for the moment they had entered a vampire’s refuge.
Noting the agent’s reactions to his environment, Alexei said a little defensively, “I have been living here for quite some time.”
“No! Nothing to apologize for,” Ellie blurted out. “It’s just that—”
“You didn’t expect a blood-drinking monster to be interested in the things that make life worth living.” He held up his hand to halt Ellie from interrupting. “Because even though you don’t want to acknowledge this small fact, I am alive. My people, here, in the confines of this reservation, LIVE. Vladimir and his followers are living. Vampires, for all the hurt and pain they bring to humans still are ALIVE. However, you are partially correct in your misguided perceptions. Sadly, we vampires seem to focus on that which sustains us physically. But humans—humans bring so much more to the world. I and others appreciate these gifts even though we cannot contribute.” Alexei rotated around in his comfortably cluttered home, arms outstretched. “These paintings and sculptures, literature, music, films, and objects of science and the natural world I have assembled here are all the result of the creativity and curiosity humans bring to life.”
“You are probably not aware of this, how could you be?” He paused standing in front of a small painting on an easel and admired it for a moment before continuing. “Some of the world’s greatest art collections were assembled by vampires. Being a long-lived group, we have accumulated vast amounts of wealth, which among other things, has been used to collect and save many valuable treasures. Some collections have been loaned or donated to museums all over the world.”
“So, how does that happen when all of you are here?” Paul asked trying to understand.
“Please, you know full well not all the immortals heeded my call to honor the treaty. Some of those ‘Free Radicals,’ which you call them, were among the most ancient members of the families with the largest fortunes. And while respecting my authority, they chose to remain comfortably ensconced in the safety of anonymity in the outside world; keeping out of the spotlight. Others used ‘familiars’ to manage their affairs while they remained in residence with me. They saw, unlike myself, that the pendulum would swing back one day and vampires might again walk freely out in the world.”
“Okay—” Paul chose to ignore the suggestion vampires might be allowed to be released from the treaty’s obligations and focused on what he was seeing around him in this room. “—but I’m not sure I understand why you seem to have a soft spot for humans.”
“It is sad, Agent Mathews, that you choose to only see us as the enemy.”
“You do exist by drinking human blood.”
“Point taken. But that does not mean we do not value the contributions humanity brings to the world.”
Paul didn’t like this answer; justifying why vampires are good for human life. He could just as easily argue that Fascists, Nazis, the Khmer Rouge—or any number of strongmen—also sought to control people for the betterment of humanity.
“I know what you are thinking. Yes, Vampirism is a scourge brought upon humanity eons ago. But vampires are not born. We are created. We remember our lives from before. And in a small gesture to that life not lived we have chosen to take advantage of our immortality and payback, in small ways, for the lives we must take to sustain our existence. Well, not all of my people.” He hung his head for a moment and continued in a more distant tone. “Others have taken a darker path.”
Ellie opened her mouth to interject, “But how about—”
“Please let me finish the lecture. Agents Wright and Adams have heard it, as well as the ones bef
ore them. Now, as the new the new members of the CSC it is your turn.”
Paul looked to Ellie and mouthed the words more shit duty.
“Sorry. But it beats the alternative.” He smiled and winked showing the slightest tip of fang protruding below his upper lip.
“Take all the time you need,” Paul quickly replied with a nervous grin.
“Thank you,” Alexei said hoping they understood his joke. “Not even we know the origins. Perhaps we have always been competing species since the first tetrapod dragged itself onto land. But answer me this. If vampires had wanted to wipe out humans, don’t you think we could have done so centuries ago? And probably should have too. But it is in our self-interest for humans to thrive. Yes, blood is in that mix. But in retrospect, none of these achievements that I can appreciate would exist without human creativity. You see, when some of us were turned, we were painters, composers, and poets. But when we became immortal, we lost the creative spark. We can appreciate, intellectually. We can even still practice those varied arts and crafts. But the thing that makes a painting beautiful—worth appreciating—that is lost to us for eternity. So without the ability to create, which humanity brings to this world, then there would be no Monk, Beethoven, Leonardo, Balanchine, Shakespeare . . . Slim Whitman,” He smiled. “Joking aside. An existence without all this would be like living in a bloodstained slaughterhouse. A slaughterhouse, I am sorry to say, my brother now wishes this world to become.”
««« ‡ »»» “WHATCHYA GOT GOING on over here?” Paul asked as he and Ellie walked over to a couple rolling pinboards and a large layout table. The surfaces were covered in layers of clippings, illustrations, and photos of the sun and the moon along with technical data and astronomical charts. It looked like a cluttered police detective’s office, with all the clues and photos of the victim and suspects splayed out to always be in view. In fact, this was what was missing in the lifeless police station on the other side of this building. Its disorderly existence was startling in this museum.
“A small passion of mine,” Alexei said as he joined them. He turned on a light to illuminate the boards. “Over the past several years I have been yearning to see a sunrise. I mean, not just watch it, but experience the sun as it fully develops out of the east and climbs high into the sky without the fear of immolation. My insufficient substitution is to go out and witness the millions of stars—all suns in their own right—as they appear in the wake of our setting sun. When you and your fellow passengers stumbled into this town, I was watching the moonrise, seventy miles east on top of Vinegar Hill. But the sun . . . the sun is the focus of my imagination.”
