by Leo Romero
Troy stared at the picture nonplussed. What am I looking at? And why was the old man so fascinated with it? Whatever the reason, Troy didn’t care; it was stopping a bullet from penetrating his skull, and that was the most important thing right about then.
Both Troy and Víbora watched on in bewilderment as Papa Esqueleto dramatically rose from his seat and took cautious steps toward Troy as if he were approaching a scorpion. He stopped a couple of feet away from him and thrust his neck out; now he resembled a turtle.
Troy flinched back. What in the hell is he doing?
“Mira,” Papa Esqueleto said, pointing a lumpy, knotted finger at Troy’s shirt. Troy glanced down. Papa Esqueleto was jabbing his finger at the patterns on Troy’s bright red Hawaiian shirt, specifically at one of the many white flowers printed all over it. Troy frowned. Papa Esqueleto then scuttled over to the tapestry. He pointed up at the figure holding the heads, explicitly at the white flowers depicted on its red chest and stomach.
Troy squinted his eyes and stared at the tapestry. “Huh?” he uttered in bemusement. He looked down at his red shirt, white chinos, and sandals, then back at the guy in the picture. No way...
Víbora stared open-mouthed at the tapestry, then at Troy.
Papa Esqueleto made a circle around the picture’s face, then pointed at Troy. “Rojo! Rojo!” he began shouting in excited bursts.
Rojo? Troy thought to himself. Red? Rojo means red, right? I think so. Then he remembered his ‘sunburn’ from the sunbed Dom and Trixie put him under. His jaw dropped.
“Es él!” the old man exclaimed, hopping on the spot. “Es él! El Sanguinario! El Sanguinario!” he repeated, clutching at his head as if the sky was about to fall right on him.
Víbora watched on, his brow furrowed. He glanced from the depiction to Troy, his jaw slack.
Troy straightened his back and grinned.
Víbora looked him up and down, his brow still furrowed.
Papa Esqueleto snatched the gun from Víbora’s hand. At first Víbora resisted, then when the old man’s anger intensified, he let the gun go and raised his palms in the air. “Okay, okay!” he said, backing off.
Papa Esqueleto cut a stern finger across the air. He pointed at Troy. “Es el Sanguinario. No kill! No kill!” he said in no uncertain terms. “No kill!”
Víbora briefly closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Si, si, señor. No kill.”
Papa Esqueleto threw the gun away to the corner of the room. Troy followed it with his eyes. He wondered if he could make a dash for it, take these two out, then escape. He licked his lips.
“Is that you, chico?” Víbora then asked, making Troy flick his eyes toward him.
Víbora was now staring at Troy in earnest. “In that picture? Is that you, amigo?”
Troy sniffed and straightened his back. “Si. Yep, that’s me,” he answered, now realizing his best chance of survival was pretending to be the thing in the tapestry. “I have returned,” he said in a deep, commanding voice, fist-pumping his chest. “El...” He turned his head to the side. “What was it again?”
“El Sanguinario,” Víbora reminded him. “The Bloodthirsty One.”
“Yes, the Bloodthirsty One!” Troy echoed. “That’s me. And I am very thirsty for blood right about now!”
Papa Esqueleto pointed at Troy with gusto. “He come!” he said with a loud chuckle. He clasped his hands together, joy and happiness painted all over his wrinkled face. He then came back down to earth. “Ahora, tiene que completar la Peregrinación,” he said in a slow, serious voice, bringing his fist down on the air.
“La Peregrinación?” Víbora echoed, pointing at Troy in disbelief, looking him up and down like he was a piece of dirt.
Papa Esqueleto gave him a vehement nod. “Si! La Peregrinación!” He then began rambling on in an excitable manner for a few seconds.
Troy stared at Víbora with suspicion. “What did he just say?”
Víbora sighed. “He say you have to go on the pilgrimage of the Unholy Mother to be united with her.”
Papa Esqueleto nodded his head firm. “La Peregrinación.”
“The unholy what?” Troy asked.
“Her,” Víbora said, cocking his head toward the tapestry. “The Unholy Mother. Magdalena.”
Troy stared at the picture once more. He set his eyes on the thing holding the snakes. The Unholy Mother? She didn’t look very motherly to him. In fact she looked like the devil.
“She will complete your transformation to vampire,” Víbora added. “It’s prophecy.”
“And if I... don’t,” Troy dared ask, staring at them both from the corners of his eyes.
Papa Esqueleto seemed to understand what he asked because his response was to put his thumb up to his neck and then drag it across from ear-to-ear, his tongue sticking out; he even made a tearing sound for added effect.
Víbora looked at Troy and shrugged. “If you don’t, it’ll be your head we cut off, señor.”
Troy gulped.
Víbora laughed.
“Ugh, Latinos!” Troy grumbled to himself.
PART THREE
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Vincent switched on the TV to check up on proceedings. He didn’t trust the media reports of what was going on in and around the I-Sore Tower; he knew that Benedict and the Dragon Order would have hijacked all of the major media outlets after the demise of the Bloods, but it was about as close as he could get to the action without sending his own guys down there. Besides, he’d always learned that the major media networks actually told the truth one hundred percent of the time; the problem was they added a touch of cyanide to the reporting to send the viewership down dark alleys that ultimately led to dead ends. Vincent knew that in order to avoid the cyanide pill, you had to read between the lines, get a gist of what was being reported and swing their propaganda back the way it came.
He tuned into Chicago True News Network, where the host Janice Scott-Sinclair beamed at him with her plastic grin and perfectly neat clothing. Her beauty was as superficial as the words she was reading from her teleprompter.
“Hi, and welcome to Chicago True News Network,” she said directly to Vincent as if they were in the room together.
“On today’s news,” Scott-Sinclair continued, “what in the hell is going on in Chicago? Biblical floods, plagues of snakes, fighting on the streets. Are we in the end times? Or is it all just a storm in a teacup?”
Vincent shook his head. Oh, Janice, Janice, Janice...
“Here’s John Anderson reporting live from near Chicago’s Loop.”
They cut to a residential area on the outskirts of the Loop. The streets were hidden beneath a shin-deep level of water. The reporter, John Anderson, was wading through it in a pair rubber boots with his pants tucked into them. The look was totally out of sync with his perfect hair and perma-tan. He looked to Vincent like a buffoon. Behind John people were sitting on the roofs of their houses and hanging out of upstairs windows, generally looking bemused or wading through the water like it was the Florida everglades.
“As you can see, Janice,” Anderson began, “the whole area is flooded. The streets for over ten blocks look exactly like this. It’s like a scene from a disaster movie. People here are frankly dumbfounded by what they’ve witnessed. They’re just starting to react to the events of the last forty-eight hours. Their homes are flooded, and the forecast is more rain on the way, so there’ll be no time to clean up what’s already happened before the same thing happens again. Residents are trying their best to put up temporary flood prevention methods such as sandbags, but it all seems futile against the flooding. The state of Illinois has issued warnings and there’s anger and resentment that there aren’t greater guards against flooding in place already, but, Janice, Chicago very rarely experiences flooding on this scale and so to blame the governing bodies for this seems a little unfair. They were just caught unawares.”
Unawares really means unprepared, Vincent interpreted.
“John, what a
re the locals actually saying?” asked Janice.
“Well, let’s go grab an interview with one or two, Janice.” John then turned around and began striding through the water. A man in a Bulls top was wading through the water a few feet away, his pants rolled up to his knees. John stepped up to him and stuck the microphone in his face. “Sir, have you got time for a quick interview?”
“Sure, but I gotta be quick, cause I’m kinda busy right now.”
“Certainly. What are your views on what’s happening here?”
“Here? In Chicago? Man, it’s off the charts crazy. I mean we got all kindsa floods going on here. And snakes!”
“Snakes? Have you seen any?”
“Seen any? Snakes? I seen all kinds. Alllll kinds up in here.”
“Did they attack you?”
“Hell yeah, they did attack. Last night. Listen up, it bit me, right in the ass, right in my left cheek, and I was like, ‘whooo, baby!’ I was flying and rolling, and I was hollering like, ‘yeah, baby, give it to me again and again!’ I gotta get me some of that snake action, for real. You know what I’m saying?”
“Really? You mean the snake actually bit you?”
“For real. But, they only seem to come out at night, during the day they’re hiding or something. But, man, I was like on another level, you know what I’m saying, like high as a goddamned kite for hours afterward.”
“What was it like?”
“It was like I was on a cloud floating away into the sunset.” There was a dreamy look on his face. “And then I came back to earth, and I just wanted more of that good stuff, you feel me?”
“More? But aren’t you afraid of them now?”
His face pinched. “Hell no, are you kidding? I want one of them to bite me again! I’m on the lookout for more of them snakes, dude. I’m on a serious mission right now! So, if you don’t mind...” He then turned away and began clicking his fingers. “Here, snakey snakey,” he cooed. “Come to papa, snakey snakey,” he continued as he wandered off into the distance, wading through the water.
John turned back to the camera and shrugged. “Well, Janice, what can you say to that?”
Vincent listened to the interview with great interest. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed for Sun. One of the lab guys answered. “Hello? Felix?”
“Hi, Mr. Beauchamp.”
“Felix. These snakes that are all over Chicago are intriguing. Is there any way of capturing one and conducting experiments on them?”
“Well, I could find a snake charmer.”
“Hmm, I’m thinking more along the lines of a net of some kind.”
“I’ll get some guys on it. What is it specifically you’re looking for?”
“Vampirism.”
“In the... snakes?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay. Sounds... normal I suppose.”
“I’ve got a suspicion that’s all, and I need it confirmed either way.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Thank you.” Vincent hung up and turned his attention back to the TV news.
Miranda then entered the room, a small pile of papers in her hand. “Righteo,” she began, “paperwork confirming that those two choppers out there are ‘officially’ yours.” She held them out toward Vincent.
Vincent glanced down at them. “That was quick.”
Miranda gave him a sideways look. “Vinny... Who are you talking to?”
Vincent took the papers, then grabbed her hands. She flinched.
“Yes, I know who I’m talking to,” he said as he began moving her around in a small, slow circle. “Ah, remember when we used to Waltz until the early hours of the morning, Miranda?”
Miranda smiled. “Yes, Vinny. But, that was a long time ago.”
“And you haven’t aged a bit.”
“Neither have you.”
Vincent came to a stop. He stared at her brown eyes; at the small puffs that had developed beneath them. He remembered when she was young, fresh; those eyes were captivating, innocent. Regret swelled in his heart. Poor Miranda, another victim of these cruel creatures he’d waged battle against. He ran a finger down her cheek, a tear welling in his eye.
“I have aged, Miranda. On the inside. The pain of others is what’s aged me.”
“You’re worried about Trixie.”
“Yes.”
“She’s strong. And she’s got Dom with her.”
“I know. But, I’ve lost so many—”
Miranda placed a finger over his lips, hushing him. “She’ll be okay. I promise.”
Vincent hugged her, rubbing her shoulders. He wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Outside, the rain continued to pour.
Felix rushed into Eddie’s office with a black trash bag in his hand and an excited grin on his face. “Hey, Eddie, you wanna come help me with this?”
Eddie turned away from his laptop and stared at the bulging bag in Felix’s hand. “What is it?” he asked, not liking the look of that bulge.
“The security guys found one of those snakes by the river,” Felix answered, his voice loaded with enthusiasm. “Dead. We should do experiments on it.”
Eddie frowned. “We should?”
Felix gave him a wide-eyed, grave stare. “Oh yes. We should!”
Eddie puffed his cheeks. “Okay,” He said in an unsure voice, as he stood and followed Felix, who’d already scuttled down the corridor to an empty lab room. There was an anxious, excited motion to Felix’s walk that had Eddie nonplussed. What was he so excited about a snake for? It’s just a snake. The river flooded after the rain and it’s encouraged an influx of snakes to the area. Nothing strange about that.
Felix held the lab door open for Eddie, who strode in and stood over to the side with his arms crossed over his chest. “Well?” he said. “Let’s see this worm then.”
Felix gave him a nonchalant grin before he dumped the bag in a surgical tray sitting on a nearby table; it hit the metal tray with a meaty thud that made Eddie wince. Felix grabbed the bag and held it upside down. A coiled mass fell out from inside into the tray. Felix’s eyes lit up. He threw on a pair of surgical gloves, his eyes never leaving the thing in the tray.
“Oooh, baby,” he cooed as he gathered it up and held it high in the air. He moved to the side of the table; the snake’s head was inches from the floor. “What a beaut!” he declared, gazing at the intricate green and black diamond pattern etched along it. “Got good girth too!” Felix added. “Kinda reminds me of something else,” he said, rubbing his chin and raising his left eyebrow.
“You wish, nerd,” Eddie retorted.
Felix cackled like a witch as he went and slapped the snake down on a nearby dissecting table. It smacked the metal surface like a meaty salami. Felix clapped his hands. “Right. Scalpel,” he requested, pointing at the implements near to where Eddie was standing.
Eddie huffed. He grabbed a scalpel from the sideboard and handed it to Felix.
“Thank you, doctor,” Felix said. He stood over the snake and ran his gloved hand along it, studying the creature with careful eyes. He then flipped it over. “Ah-ha!” he said, pointing at a rupture around halfway up its pale belly. “So, we got a wound here in the heart area. By my reckoning, its heart has been pierced, which, in my opinion, is what caused death.”
“That’s great work, detective,” Eddie stated. “You should move into pathology.”
Felix looked up at him and grinned. “Hey, that’s not a bad idea. I love me some dead bodies to play with.”
“You’re a sick man, Felix.”
Felix cackled again before he grabbed his scalpel and sliced the belly of the snake open from chin down to tail. As the snake splayed, a nasty stench of death escaped the wound.
“Goddamn!” Eddie exclaimed, covering his mouth and nose with his forearm.
“That’s some stink, huh?” Felix said in a calm voice, virtually unaffected by the smell. He seemed more fascinated with the mass of black spongy material that had spi
lled out of the snake’s belly.
“See this?” he asked Eddie, jabbing some of the black stuff inside the snake with his scalpel.
Eddie peeked at the snake over his forearm. “Yeah.”
“This shouldn’t be black. This should be pink guts, ruby-red blood; stuff like that.”
“You mean it should be like that if you cut open a living creature.”
“Exactly! A living creature. But this was no living creature even when it was ‘alive’.” He picked at the black truffle-like substance with his scalpel; it held firm, tough like rubber. “Yeah, this is standard when dissecting vamps. We always find this stuff all around the major organs. It’s what makes em so hard to kill. Bullet proof. Literally. But luckily, not sharp-pointy-object proof.”
Eddie stared at it in disgust. “What is it?”
“Fybosponge.”
“Fybo-what?”
“Fybosponge. It’s a by-product of venom. Starts off wispy, then hardens and toughens on full transmutation. If you’ve been jabbed enough times, you’ll have this stuff in you too.”
Eddie gulped. “Really?”
Felix nodded. “Uh-huh. It’s what makes a vamp a vamp. It’s what kills you, then brings you back from the dead as one of them. A kind of life support after death.”
“Nice.”
Felix met his stare. “Don’t worry, pal. We all got a bit of this lovely stuff inside us around here.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. How else do you think we all got here? Just walked in off the street?”
Eddie nodded. “Okay, so let me get this straight. Are you trying to tell me that these snakes are vampires? Vampire snakes?”
