Immortals' Requiem

by Vincent Bobbe (Jump Start Publishing)

  Cam lived just outside of the city centre, in Salford. His flat was in one of the poorer areas not far from the university, but he liked that. Nobody paid any attention to him, and he found he could lose himself in the transient population. The walk into Manchester took twenty minutes. By the time they got there, it was almost noon. Cam led them through the busy lunchtime crowds, to a pub near the town hall.

  ‘One of the better things the humans have come up with in the last few years is a relaxation of the licensing laws – some pubs are open most of the day. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Yes,’ Grímnir growled. ‘But my stomach is not my priority.’

  ‘Yes, I know. The Maiden of Earth and Water. I’ll get on that as soon as I can. First, we might as well eat, huh? This place does a nice all-day breakfast. My treat … no, don’t thank me …’ Before Grímnir could object, Cam walked into the dark pub. After a moment, he heard the big man follow him.

  They were soon settled at a seat by the window. Cam had a pint of Guinness in front of him and a whisky chaser. Grímnir was staring at a glass full of bitter. Cam had decided that he looked like a bitter drinker. A man sat close by, reading a paper and drinking a coffee. Cam dismissed him. Otherwise the pub was empty.

  ‘What is it?’ Grímnir asked suspiciously.

  ‘Beer. Drink up.’

  ‘I do not want beer, I want …’

  ‘The Maiden of Earth and Water … yes, I know. Listen, you are obviously not from around here. The fact is, I get the feeling that without me, you’re going to be quite lost. Am I right?’

  ‘I do not need you.’

  ‘Good, that’s great. Off you go then and leave me in peace.’ Grímnir stared at him furiously, and his fists clenched.

  Cam wagged a finger at him. ‘Ah, ah,’ he said in a chastising tone. ‘One thing you’ll find out around here is that senseless acts of random violence don’t go down too well. Settle down, and I’ll tell you what’s going to happen.’ Cam waited.

  After a moment, Grímnir visibly relaxed. Cam sighed in relief. ‘We are going to eat. Then we’re going to have a few drinks because God help me, I need them. Then you’re going to tell me exactly what’s going on. Once you’ve done that, I’m going to make a phone call, and I’m going to tell them what you told me. Then, I imagine some very important and humourless people are going to show up and take you off my hands. Okay?’

  Grímnir’s hard eyes locked on to Cam’s. They bored into him, full of suppressed rage. ‘Okay,’ Grímnir said.

  ‘Good, drink up.’ Cam swallowed the shot of whisky and gasped as it seared down his throat. Then he picked up the pint of Guinness and took a long swallow. Grímnir raised his own glass to his lips and took a sip. His eyes widened a little, and he took a longer drink.

  ‘This is good,’ he said. ‘Not as good as mead, but good.’ He took another swallow.

  ‘I knew you’d be a bitter drinker,’ Cam said glumly. ‘It’s written all over you.’

  Sam took the pills with water. There were two of them, and they were sour and gritty. Tabby sat at the kitchen table, reading the instructions. Sam went over and wordlessly hugged her. Her hand came up absently to stroke his forearm.

  ‘It’ll be okay, Love,’ she said. ‘It’s just a precaution, like the nurse said.’ Sam nodded and went to sit down opposite his wife. He picked up the bottles and read the labels listlessly. The first was Truvada, and he was to take one tablet a day. The second was Kaletra, which he had to take twice a day. The nurse had explained that he needed to take the appropriate drugs every twelve hours, without fail. If he didn’t, the amount of medication in his blood supply would drop to a level where it would no longer be beneficial.

  Together, the drugs worked to inhibit a certain protein that the HIV virus required to reproduce itself. The four-week regimen would mean that hopefully any small amounts of the virus that might have transmitted to him through the bite, would die without being able to replicate.

  The nurse had reassured him that it was practically impossible to catch the disease from saliva – a person would need to drink about four gallons of spit before they were even at risk. But if it was a homeless person and they were malnourished, the chances of bleeding gums were high enough for Sam to be put on post-exposure prophylaxis, just to be on the safe side. He was to be tested for hepatitis as well.

  Just to be on the safe side, Sam thought to himself wryly. He was looking at AIDS, for God’s sake; no matter how many times he was told he had a practically zero percent chance of being infected, it was a terrifying thought.

  Tabby could obviously read his expression. ‘Don’t worry; the hospital’s just covering its back. You’ll be fine.’ Sam wanted to bawl at her that it wasn’t going to be fine, that some psychopath had attacked him in the dark and bitten his throat out, that he was never going to speak again, and that he might have a virus that would kill him in slow agony. But he couldn’t, because his larynx was gone.

  The anger disappeared as fast as it had come on him. He reached out and squeezed Tabby’s hand, gazed into her cornflower-blue eyes, and smiled reassuringly.

  She smiled back. ‘We’ll get through this, Sam. We’ll get through it together like we always do. I love you so much, and I’m not going to let a few little things like this get in the way of our life. Okay?’

  He nodded, and an enormous rush of love surged through him. He did not deserve this kind, beautiful woman.

  They had met through a mutual friend at a party back at university. At first, Sam had barely noticed the doll-like girl who was hanging around the kitchen with a few of her friends. Sam had been desperately trying to impress a young woman, whose name he could no longer recall.

  He winced now at how he had spent the better part of the evening running back and forth to the kitchen, preparing the object of his desire complicated cocktails from a small book she had found on a coffee table. All the while, she had laughed and joked with her friends. How pathetic he must have looked to the rest of the party-goers.

  Eventually she went off with a tall young man with a rapacious gleam in his eyes, and Sam was left, dejected and drunk, with his cocktail shakers and a fridge full of beer. Tabby came over to pick up a bottle of vodka and then asked him to move from in front of the fridge. He stepped aside so she could get some ice. He could still remember their conversation as she made her drink.

  ‘She’s not worth it, you know,’ Tabby said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s not worth it. I’m on the same course as her. She’s not very bright, and the rumour is that the only reason she’s not been kicked out is because she slept with our tutor. I kind of believe it – apparently, she’s slept with everybody else.’

  ‘What’s it got to do with you?’ Sam snapped angrily.

  Tabby’s face set in a firm expression. ‘Absolutely nothing, but she’s not a nice person, and it seems a shame that you’d let somebody like that get to you. She’s a slut.’

  ‘That’s true – but she’s a slut who won’t sleep with me,’ he said dejectedly. ‘What does that make me?’

  Tabby laughed. The sound was bright and rich in the close kitchen. Sam couldn’t help but smile. ‘Why don’t you set your sights a little higher? You never know what might happen.’ She touched his upper arm gently, smiled at him, and then turned to walk away.

  ‘Wait!’ Sam shouted. She turned back to face him. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Tabitha,’ she replied.

  ‘I’ll see you later, Tabby?’

  She just winked and walked away.

  Sam still smiled when he thought about that meeting. She had seemed so assured, so totally in control of what was going on. They had started seeing each other soon after that, and Sam had been amazed to find that Tabby was a quiet, shy person. It was only after almost a year of dating that she finally admitted she had been attracted to him for a while before she spoke to him that night, and that it had not been a chance encounter.

  ‘I saw you there and my friend
s practically pushed me over to you. I didn’t know what to say. I don’t even drink vodka,’ she had confided one evening in bed. ‘I just wanted you to notice me.’

  ‘Well, you certainly succeeded,’ he had said and kissed her. That had been the night he had first told her that he loved her. Looking over at her now, all he wanted to do was tell her again, but he couldn’t. He looked around for a pen and some paper, but there wasn’t any to hand.

  The phone rang, and Sam automatically went and picked it up. There was a moment of silence as Sam, with a sinking feeling, realised he could not speak to the person at the other end of the phone.

  ‘Hello,’ said a voice. It was Mr. Milton, Sam’s boss. Wordlessly, he handed the phone to Tabby, who was smiling at him ruefully.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. Sam listened to the one-sided conversation. ‘Oh, Mr. Milton … Yes, he is here … I’m sorry, we quite forgot … He is here, yes … No, I’m afraid he can’t speak right now … No, you misunderstand. He can’t speak. He’s physically incapable. With everything that’s happened, we completely forgot to call you … No, we’ve just got back from the hospital … Yes, the hospital … I’m afraid Sam was attacked last night. He was badly injured, and there’s some damage to his throat. He won’t be able to come into work … Of course, he’ll let you know as soon as he can … Thank you, Mr. Milton. I will. Goodbye.’

  Tabby hung up the phone and turned to face him. ‘He says to take as much time as you need and keep him updated.’ Sam nodded and sat back down heavily.

  His wife walked over to him and pulled his head to her stomach, where she hugged him tenderly. ‘It’s all going to be okay, Love. How about a cup of tea?’ Sam nodded. Tabby went over to the kettle and filled it with water.

  As she set about the process of making the drinks, Sam wandered over to the kitchen window and looked out over his street. It was a long road, full of semi-detached houses. Large gardens fronted each property, and hedges wound up the road in both directions. Leafless trees grew out of the pavement every thirty feet or so, and in the winter sunshine, the bricks of the houses glowed ruddy red. Cars and vans were parked along each side.

  The house he lived in had been redeveloped and segregated into three large apartments. He and Tabby had two bedrooms, a large living room, a kitchen, and a bathroom, all on the same floor. It was cosy, but then it was all the two of them needed.

  They had spoken about children, and Sam had been excited about the idea; he could think of nothing more wonderful than starting a family with Tabby. It would have to wait, now. His mood darkened as he thought about the drugs he was now on, and the threat they represented. He would not be able to have unprotected sex with his wife until he got the all-clear. That was six months away. Assuming he actually got the all-clear. Rage burned through him, and he slammed his fist down on the windowsill.

  A shout from further down the road caught his attention. He looked towards the noise and would have groaned if he could have. A large group of youths, maybe fifteen of them, boys and girls, were making their indolent way up the street. They were about sixteen, and for some reason they had chosen Sam’s street to hang around on. It seemed as if they were there most nights. They were loud; their swearing echoed around the otherwise quiet residential area. They threw litter all over the place, rode bikes, and kicked footballs that scratched cars and damaged flowers. They brought beer and spirits with them and got drunk, throwing themselves through the hedges, squealing with laughter. Often, they fought with each other like dogs.

  Old Mrs. Nicholas from across the street had remonstrated with them when a tennis ball had slammed into her window a few months ago. Since then they had made a point of throwing stuff at her house and shouting abuse at her. The poor old lady, a widow in her early seventies, was terrified of them. He saw her curtains draw shut as the crowd closed on her house. Sam had called the police on more than one occasion; a community support officer would turn up an hour or so later, take names, and move the crowd on. It was useless. They came back the next day or the day after, drunker and angrier, and the residents inevitably found damage to their cars or property.

  Better to just ignore them and hope they went away. Sam stepped away from the window and sat back down at the table. ‘Oh, those thugs are back, are they,’ Tabby said. ‘I hope they leave before we go to bed; I think both of us could do with a decent night’s sleep.’

  Tabby placed a steaming cup in front of him. Sam stared down into the murky brown depths with loathing. He hated tea. He always had. He only drank it for Tabby’s sake.

  Life was too short to be drinking tea, he decided. He opened his mouth to tell his wife how much he disliked the stuff … but nothing came out. Nothing would ever come out again.

  ‘What is it, Love?’ Tabby asked anxiously. Sam just shook his head helplessly.

  There was a shout from the youths outside. An obscenity. Sam picked up his tea and took a sip. It burned his lips. Sam sighed glumly.

  The rape was quick and impersonal.

  After her kidnap, Sarah had been dragged down deep into the abandoned train station. She struggled, tried to fight, but her captor was too strong. In the inky blackness, she could not see where she was going.

  Blind and terrified, she was subdued and pinned down. A strange noise had come from behind her, a whisper like ripping fabric. When it stopped, she was dragged to her feet. Something cold and wet touched the back of her neck, like a dog, slobbering on her. The fluid was thick and viscous and burned slightly.

  Two tiny prongs touched either side of her neck, like twin needles, and then they were driven into her flesh. Coldness washed down her spine from the puncture wounds and settled at the tips of her fingers. Slowly, that coldness began to make its way up her limbs. Sarah tried to fight it, but it was futile; the awful paralysis crept insidiously through her twitching body. She collapsed back to the floor and tried to scream, but nothing came from her constricting throat.

  Lying in the darkness, Sarah blinked. Her eyelids seemed to be the only muscles in her entire body that were working. As the darkness collapsed on top of her, and claustrophobia threatened to tear her sanity away, she heard the slow thudding of her heart, and felt a moment of insane thanks that it had not been frozen too.

  Then, powerful fingers grasped her by the hair and dragged her mercilessly down stairs and along slick, stinking floors. Sarah tried to put her feet down, to prevent any further scrapes and bruises to her already abused legs and back. It was no good; the paralysis from the wound in the back of her neck held her, and her captor seemed to take a perverse pleasure in tugging her along the floor.

  Eventually, he gripped her by the scruff of her neck and yanked her to her feet. She sensed open space all around, and she could feel an empty chasm in front of her. For a few seconds, she dangled precariously over that hidden void and then a firm hand had shoved her in the small of the back, and she fell forwards.

  Falling in darkness had been the worst part of her ordeal up to that point. She could still feel the air hissing past her face. Without sight, she had no idea how deep the drop was, and her stomach leapt up inside her, cramming itself up beneath her breastbone. The feeling of weightlessness made her gasp in fear. That awful blind fall was etched indelibly into her mind.

  It ended with an abrupt impact that jarred through her body, rattling her bones and causing her to bite her tongue painfully. She lay in a small pool of water at the bottom of the hole, needing to wail and sob her pent-up terror into the darkness.

  Slowly, the paralysis that gripped her slipped away. She wasn’t sure how long it took; in the darkness, time ran differently. Maybe a couple of hours, she thought.

  When she could move again, she touched her ankle and grunted in pain. She must have twisted it when she fell. It wasn’t broken, but she wouldn’t be walking on it for a while.

  Crying, Sarah had crawled until she reached a slick, stone wall. Using the wall as support, she pulled herself upright and balanced on her uninjured foot. She hobbled slo
wly along the wall until she worked out that she was in a small circular pit. She held her hands up as far as they would go, but she could not reach the top.

  Falling back to the damp floor, she had hugged her knees and wept. That was when she knew she was going to die – what else could she possibly have been taken for? She sat in the darkness and started to conjure up in her mind all the terrible ways they might kill her. Guns and knives, needles and saws, teeth and cigarettes … all these things featured somewhere in the awful visions that she spun for herself in the darkness. A horrible idea sprung from nowhere: maybe they intended to bury her here alive.

  When she heard the scrape of a foot somewhere above her, she almost cried with relief. ‘Please,’ she begged, over and over again. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’ Whoever was standing at the lip of her pit stood in silence for so long, she thought that maybe she had imagined the sound. Then there was a sense of movement above her, and a second later, the sound of naked feet splashing in the muck at the bottom of her hole.

  Somebody had jumped down into the pit with her. Sarah pushed herself back against the wall and covered her crying eyes with her forearms. A strong hand grabbed her hair and wrenched her to her feet. She wailed as she was forced upright and then pinned, face first, against the slick stone. Her ankle throbbed in an unremitting agony. She was forced to stand there, tasting the mouldy water that clung in a fine dew to the sides of the pit.

  Long fingers reached from behind, squirming their way between her legs. They grabbed at her knickers, pulling them roughly down to her knees. Then she felt a swollen phallus press up at her.

  It had been painful, and her flesh had torn at the few short, brutal thrusts it had taken for her attacker to ejaculate. His breathing was calm and measured, as if he took no pleasure from what he was doing. His breath had been hot and rotten on the side of her face, his skin warm to the touch. Then he was finished, and she slumped back to the damp floor with blood and semen running down her thighs. Her attacker was gone, though she didn’t know how he had climbed out.