The Glass Vampire

by David Page

  “Are you serious, dude?” Bob broke their stalemate.

  “Yes.” Ray turned a withering gaze on the man. “Richard is part of this team, and I’ve had just about enough of you two flipping him shit. Chill out…. Understood?”

  “Yeah, man. No problem.” Bob crossed to his own pc, flopped into his chair and put on his phone headset.

  “Okay.” Stan shrugged and returned to his beloved computer.

  “All right, then.” As quickly as Ray’s ire had appeared, it vanished behind a solid wall of goodwill as he turned back towards Richard and smiled.

  As much as Stan's comments angered him, the pathetically obese human had a point. Vampires had grown complacent. The Department had been in existence since 1789, formed as a secret branch of the government with the ratification of the constitution, but he had not taken them seriously until it was far too late. If only he had not allowed his arrogance to blind him to the dangers they had posed….

  His email beeped, interrupting his self-reflection. Looking at his inbox, he discovered an email from 'Big River' entitled, 'All Hands.' He opened it and read.

  Reminder; All Hands IT Services meeting tomorrow at Noon in the auditorium. (Vampire Employees Excluded).

  Richard looked towards the ceiling as if something there could offer him peace. Not another meeting. The leadership of Big River, in their infinite wisdom, had deemed it important to gather their flock together at least once every month for what Richard affectionately called, ‘The Gathering of the Zombies.' Unlike actual zombies, however, these humans had voluntarily given up their freewill to their fearless corporate overlords. Although he was excluded from attending because of the daylight, he was still expected to sit through the agonizingly dull video rebroadcasts.

  "Oh, Christ, do we really need to come in for that?" Stan grumbled.

  "Yeah, I don't even get out of bed until two," Bob added.

  "We all have to be here with the exception of Richard." Ray held his hands up in mock defense. “Sorry, I know they’re kind of lame, but….”

  “Lame is the understatement of the century,” Stan shot back. “These things are excruciating.”

  “And endless.” Bob crossed his arms and then glared at Richard. “I think Richard should have to go with us.”

  “The auditorium is all windows.” Ray countered. “Richard wouldn’t last five minutes. And besides, he still has to sit through the rebroadcasts.”

  Less than five minutes on a sunny day, Richard thought, but kept his mouth shut. The sun was as deadly as it has always been.

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” Stan tilted his head and raised his chin defiantly.

  Ray frowned again. “Enough already.”

  “Jesus,” Bob curled his lip. “Richard gets all the special treatment."

  Ray turned ever so slightly, fixing his baleful gaze him. "Yeah, Bob you're right. I'm sure that spontaneous combustion in the sunlight thing is a real privilege."

  Bob's face turned beet red and he tugged at one of his dreadlocks like a nervous girl.

  Richard arched one eyebrow, again wondering at Ray’s never ending well of sympathy for him. But despite Ray's gallant attempt to stand up for him, the others would only resent him more now.

  The phones rang, interrupting his thoughts.

  "Oh man, it's Beth Bryant," Bob hissed quietly as if she might hear.

  "Shit," Stan added. "Our number-one pain in the ass."

  Richard looked at the caller ID and frowned. Beth had consistently been one of their most difficult customers. She was what Ray called a “Power User” who felt it necessary to launch and maintain myriad programs on her PC at one time. The inevitable result, of course, was that she constantly complained about the slow speed of her system and its frequent crashes. Despite her status among the group, Richard was not overly concerned. Next to what he had endured in the camps, nothing his job threw at him could ever touch him and dealing with such individuals was, after all, part of their job. It also occurred to him that if he helped his coworkers with this call, they might be more inclined to accept him.

  "Jesus, doesn't that woman ever sleep?" Ray asked.

  "I nominate Richard for this one,” Stan declared without looking.

  "I have no problem with that request. I’ll take it." Richard pressed the call switch, activating his headset and causing a window to appear on his monitor with a list of all of Beth's previous call information.

  "Internal helpdesk, this is Richard. How can I help you?" As a vampire, he had to appear twice as good as his human coworkers to keep his job. He made certain to always be courteous and helpful.

  “Richard… you’re the vampire, right?” Beth’s voice was soft, yet brimming with barely contained excitement.

  “That is correct.” Richard would never understand the human need to place everything into a neat little box; Saxon, Norman, Socialist, Capitalist, Vampire….

  "I think we've talked before," she added.

  "Yes, we have. What can I do for you, Beth?" Richard remembered everyone he spoke to. He was not sure if it was a vampiric trait or if he just had a good memory, but either way the result was the same.

  Silence.

  "Beth, are you still there?" He tilted his head to one side as if that might enhance his hearing somehow.

  The line crackled.

  "Yes, I'm sorry, my phone is having problems."

  "It might be on my end." Richard almost laughed. It was a given that someone from the Department would be surreptitiously monitoring his calls. He had become accustomed to the crackling. On more than one occasion, he had thought about putting on a show worthy of Shakespeare for the eavesdroppers. He imagined telling the person on the other end of the phone that he had recently regained his abilities and slain a dozen of people in a span of days. It would almost be worth it to instill the fear of a vampire’s full wrath in his oppressors

  "You should have the phone guys fix that. It's really annoying," Beth jarred him from his daydream.

  "I'll do that.” He leaned back in his chair. If only it were that simple. “What can I help you with this evening?"

  "Can you take a look at my notes in the system? I called earlier today and my computer is having the same problem. I hate PC’s."

  Beth was a Mac girl. Richard sighed softly. This was not going to be a quick call. He looked at her most recent record in the database. Strangely, there was only one note. It said simply: If you want to fight back, come to my office now. There’s not much time.

  He jerked back slightly, eyes wide, and glanced nervously around the room. Much to his relief, his coworkers remained intent on their monitors. Looking back, he reread the message. If it were some kind of Department ploy, he doubted they would have approached him in this manner.

  "Did you see my notes?" Beth’s voice shook slightly.

  "Yes." Richard tapped his fingers on his desk lightly. He did not know what else to say. She was not the first person to offer him aid. All others who had tried were either dead or in prison. The truth was, whether she was a member of the Department, part of the group responsible for the vampire disappearances, or something else entirely, it mattered little. She was a human being who wanted something from him and therefore could not be trusted.

  "Good." The instant she said it, the notes vanished from the computer screen to be replaced with a description of a generic computer problem.

  "I'm sorry. I don't think I can help you with this problem." Richard's pulse quickened as he realized that every second he continued this conversation placed him in greater jeopardy. “Let me escalate this call to second-tier support.”

  "Richard, I know you're the tech for the job, but I think it would be helpful for you to come down and take a look in person."

  Richard positioned his hand over the call cancel button, ready to disconnect, but something held it there. His encounter with the teenagers moved to the forefront of his mind. They had insulted and humiliated him and they were not alone. Everywhere he went
, humans treated him like a second-class citizen, lower than the poorest minority. Nothing he could say or do could change their views of him or make his life any easier.

  He pulled his hand away as his mind worked fast for a suitable response. "Have you tried rebooting?"

  “Of course,” she answered. “It didn’t do anything.”

  “I'll see if I can come down and take a look." He decided suddenly. To hell with it; they could only kill him once. If there was even a chance of taking back what he had lost, then he had to take it…and hope that it did not end in pain...again.

  “Great. I’m one floor below you in the back corner towards Elliot Bay. Room 33-7.”

  “I'll find it.”

  “See you in a few.” The line clicked off as she hung up.

  Richard stared at the phone for a moment. “What have I done?” His voice was barely a whisper.

  “How’s our workaholic?” Ray asked from across the room.

  “Miss Bryant has requested that I join her in her office to examine her RAM. She thinks it might be defective.”

  Bob spun around in his chair, his dreadlocks arching outwards like tiny whips. “She’s a real piece of work. She has no idea how to use a PC and when it doesn’t respond the way a Mac would, calls us.”

  Stan grunted but did not turn. “No shit.”

  “So, what did you tell her?” Ray asked.

  “I informed her that I am not normally permitted to leave my post, but that I could make an exception this once. I assume that she will continue to plague us until we do something about this.” Richard swallowed. His lie sounded good.

  “Go for it, but you might want to bring earplugs." Ray grinned.

  "Yeah.” Stan snickered. “Just nod every once in a while as she spews useless information at you, then tell her you'll have to research her problem. That should keep her quiet for a day or two."

  “I'll keep that in mind, Stan. Wish me luck.” Richard stood, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead.

  Ray nodded. "Good luck."

  “Better you than me,” Stan piped up.

  “No doubt,” Bob added, spinning back to his computer.

  So much for the coworker pep talk. Richard removed his headset. “I shall return shortly.” He headed out of the cube farm, his gut twisted in anticipation of whatever plot Beth was about to reveal and how it might affect him.

  4

  Located on the far side of a forest of darkened cubicles, Beth Bryant's office nestled between a large diagonal crossbeam and an elevator machinery closet. A sliver of light escaped through the narrow window of her office door, projecting a rectangle on the carpeted floor and looking like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Richard walked swiftly down the narrow trail, keeping his attention focused on that glowing welcome mat. Only the whirring of CPU fans and the drone of the building’s ventilation system broke the silence.

  Beth’s door was open a crack, allowing light to escape around its edges, outlining its frame in a glowing nimbus. He jumped as a heavy clanging sound rose over a background of screeching, dissonant chords as a series of guitars, violins and other instruments he could not identify blasted from her room. He groaned. He hated Industrial music, not just because it lacked any kind of musical skill, but because the average person who listened to it was a vampire groupie. Richard was not sure who he detested more, the humans who had stripped him of his powers, or the silly children who dressed all in black, had multiple body piercings, and who seemed drawn to him like teenage girls to the latest boy-band.

  He repositioned himself so that he could look through the opening without being seen. Sure enough, a slender woman with long, unnatural black hair sat at a cluttered desk with her back to him. He could see the dreaded blue screen of death on her monitor. She had certainly done her best to give any unwitting onlookers the impression that she was having computer problems.

  He knocked on the doorframe twice. She tilted her head to one side, then turned back to look at him without lowering the volume of her music. Her beauty surprised Richard and he found himself staring for an instant at her delicate facial features, perfect lips, and dark brown eyes. As a keen observer of humans, the honest innocence Richard saw there surprised him more than anything. It contradicted her black lipstick, her diamond-studded nose-ring and the short, low cut dress that clung to her slim, athletic form. A chill ran through him. It had been years since he had been with a woman, vampire or otherwise.

  He smiled, doing his best to act like an attentive support rep. She motioned for him to enter with a wave of one delicate hand. He stepped inside, committed at this point to at least hear what she had to say, and closed the door behind him.

  The rest of her tiny office consisted of one small wooden chair and a tall shaded antique lamp. A poster of the original black and white Dracula movie hung behind the door reminding Richard of his distaste for Bram Stoker. Although he had never met the man, they had lived in London at the same time for a number of years. Had he known the effects Stoker’s work would have on future generations, it would have been a simple thing to kill him. He sighed. Victorian London was long gone, along with any such opportunity.

  "Have a seat, Richard." She motioned to the second chair.

  Richard shrugged and did as he was told, wondering who she represented and what she might ask of him. For a moment, however, she simply stared at him, tugging gently on her hair as if it aided in her thought process. Finally, she leaned forward.

  "Aren't you going to ask me what my message meant? Why I wanted to see you?"

  Richard kept his eyes focused on hers. "Let me hazard a guess. You and some of your cohorts are going to celebrate the powers of darkness and you want to know if I'll join in with the evil festivities."

  “Um… no.” She smiled, displaying perfect teeth. "You don't really believe I'd go through all this trouble just to invite you to some kind of lame vampire wannabe party, do you?"

  "I am not certain of your motives." He shifted his weight forward so their heads were mere inches apart and stared up at the ceiling looking for any sign of surveillance. He did not expect to see anything, but it never hurt to look. "What's your game?"

  She followed his gaze. "The music and the electric junction box next door should block any listening devices. You're safe here for the moment.” She motioned with her right arm towards the far wall. As she did so, a glint of metal on her chest caught his attention. Risking a casual glance, he saw a good-sized silver cross nestled between her breasts hanging from a sturdy looking chain.

  A spike of pain shot through his head causing him to stagger. A memory came unbidden into the forefront of his mind; a memory he did not know was his…

  ***

  "You are safe here," the lady in the red, velvet dress said. Ancient oak trees swayed gently in the moonlight behind her.

  Richard didn't know her name and didn't care. His men were all dead, killed in the ambush by the rebel Saxons. They lay scattered around the clearing among the remains of the enemy. Several swords jutted out of the earth, cracked shields lay atop a few of the corpses. Richard bit his lip, fighting back remorse. Some of those knights had been his friends for years and now, through an act of treachery brought about by his own actions, they were dead.

  The gash in his thigh throbbed. The bandages the woman had used to staunch the flow of blood had grown red. A wave of dizziness washed over him, but he managed to make his way over to the nearest oak tree. He leaned back against its thick trunk and slid to the soft grass, his legs outstretched. He let his sword drop to his side, unsure how he had maintained his grip on the blade through his entire ordeal. He had lost his shield near the beginning of the battle. He looked at the wreckage strewn about, but could not see it.

  As if sensing his tension, the woman in red placed a cool hand on his. "Relax, Sir Knight. I've tended to your wounds, and the last of the traitors have fled."

  "Fled?" He remembered facing the last four soldiers. He had struck one of them down and then b
een wounded himself. After that, there had been only darkness.

  "Yes. They will not return." She smiled revealing the whitest, most perfect teeth he had ever seen.

  For the first time since he had found himself standing with her in the forest, he studied her. Long light brown hair framed a face of flawless symmetry, perfect skin and the deepest, green eyes he had ever beheld. She leaned over him, and he caught the scent of lilacs.

  "Who…who are you?" He felt shy under her gaze.

  She leaned in, bringing her lips close to his. Her flowery scent filled him with warmth and sudden yearning. The pain of his wounds and his exhaustion faded as his heart beat swiftly. He rose to meet her lips, but she pulled away, pressing a restraining hand on his chest. "Rest now, brave sir knight."

  “My name is-”

  "Richard." Her lips did not move and her voice sounded all wrong…

  ***

  Richard blinked, surprised by the intensity of his vision and baffled by the fact that, until now, he had no recollection of those events.

  "Richard?" Beth prodded.

  "My apologies, I was…lost in thought.” His brain worked furiously to try to understand his vision. He was sure he had never seen the woman in red before. Despite that, he knew he had met her and that those events had happened a thousand years ago, when he had still been human. His breath caught in his throat as he wondered if he had finally found her or at the very least some of his lost memories of her.

  "We want to help you, Richard."

  He thought back to the rebel’s ambush and could almost smell the blood, sweat and death of that distant battlefield. His men had fallen alongside the enemy one by one until only he and one of the attackers remained. He had killed the last man and then somehow managed to stagger through the forest and back to his castle on foot. His memories were hazy at best as if his mind had been blanketed by a vampire’s hypnotic powers. He shook his head, trying to clear the dizzying thoughts that flitted through his mind like moths in a dusty attic.