Vampires Don't Cry: The Collection

by Ian Hall

  I awoke to the tapping of the door. Sun shone brightly around the edges of the dark curtains.

  “Yes?” I said groggily.

  “It’s me, Dave. Can we go into the office early? I’d like to get some more blood tests done.”

  “Sure, give me five minutes.”

  “Don’t take your meds yet, we want a clean sample.”

  With furrowed brows, I quickly washed and dressed. The questions were far too numerous to deal with, so I tried in vain to keep them pushed down inside myself. Difficult to do.

  We arrived at the Transperian Research building, and to my surprise, drove past the main entrance, and around the corner.

  Dave unlocked a glass side door with the swipe of a card and we were in the building.

  From the look of the layout, and the lack of personnel, I steeled myself against some form of forced intervention. I wasn’t sure about Dave’s physical ability, but I felt sure that I could outrun him if nothing else.

  “The office is just down here.” Dave led the way. I watched everything, took mental notes, and memorized every door and department we passed.

  Just as I felt sure I was losing my patience, we entered a carbon copy of the doctor’s room in Gregor. Two men in white lab coats were already there, sitting on the desk, drinking coffee.

  “Doctor Mather, and Doctor Jenkins.” Dave indicated them, “This is Lyman Bracks.” We all shook hands like long-lost friends.

  Well, I’ve never been so nervous. I expected them to spring on me at any point. We made small talk, but nothing else. When they had the sample in the vial, labeled and signed, Jenkins took it outside.

  “We’ll get the results very soon, Lyman,” Dave said.

  “Can I take my meds now?” I asked. “I’m pretty slow in the morning without them.”

  “Certainly.” Doctor Mathers took a clipboard, and settled himself behind the desk. “There’s water there.”

  “Lyman, is it okay to ask some questions?”

  “Yeah, sure, Doc. Fire away.” I mean, anything felt better than the awkward silence.

  “Eating okay?”

  “Pretty much. I haven’t seen it change.”

  “Type of foods?”

  “Oh, fresh red meat, kidneys. Anything with fresh blood.” I watched his expression change. “Just kidding!”

  Well, to be honest, it broke the ice. From then on, even Dave smiled sometimes. The doctor’s questions were incisive, but to start with, mainly just on the purely physical side of new life.

  “Have you felt better? Worse? Stronger? That kind of thing?”

  “I’d say that after my meds, like in about ten minutes, I’m a far stronger person physically. Walking, lifting etc. But I don’t think I’m better than before the incident.”

  “Heartburn, upset stomach?”

  “Nope.”

  “Any diarrhea? Loose stools?”

  “Nope, not that I can think of. I mean the usual, after Mexican food, say.”

  “Okay.” He looked up from the notes for a second and made eye contact. “I’m going to get a bit weird on you right now, but don’t worry.”

  I nodded.

  “Have you felt the need to feed on blood?”

  I shook my head. “Nope, never. That’s gross.”

  “Have you felt your senses change?”

  I gave him my best ‘puzzled’ look. “In what way?”

  “Well, see better, hear better, swat a fly better, anything?”

  “I can’t say I have,” I said, then stopped myself, to really think about the question. “I mean, if there’s anything I’ve been noticing, it’s that I can work better, you know, schoolwork and stuff. It’s a breeze. But that might just be me concentrating better, you know, trying to block out the bad stuff.”

  “Okay.” He placed the clipboard on the desk, and stood up. “I’ll see how Jenkins is doing; maybe speed things up a bit, you know, ‘more hands’ kind of thing.”

  And off he went leaving me and Dave together.

  Sheldon Newell was not the brightest vampire I’d ever met. I couldn’t figure out how he’d risen to the “second” position when he didn’t have the brain power to tie his own laces. Then again, knowing how Alan liked to screw with people, maybe Sheldon’s stupidity was his appeal.

  It certainly worked out to my advantage. That dude was scared shitless of me; he’d really bought this idea that I was the future Mrs. Alan McCartney.

  He practically fell on his face when I showed up at the door.

  “Mandy Cross! What brings you back here?”

  I played my role to the max, acting all hoity-toity. “Aren’t you happy to see me, Sheldon?”

  “It’s an honor; please, come in…come in…”

  With no naked lady smack-dab in the middle of the living room to distract me, I really got a good look at the inside of the house this time. It looked even worse than the outside. An old, ratty couch with that seventies mustard-yellow upholstery; the stuffing even oozed out in places. You couldn’t see the top of the kitchen table; just a pile of rotting garbage suspended in midair by four wooden legs. This green, Formica counter separated the dining area from the kitchen; stockpiled with every kind of booze imaginable, and a collection of ashtrays that hadn’t been dumped in a year - if ever. And the smell of cigarette smoke just seeped out of the walls. I think they were supposed to be white but were stained brownish-yellow, like a smoker’s smile.

  Sheldon must have noticed how grossed out I looked, suddenly eager to make me comfortable as possible.

  “Can I pour you a drink, Miss Cross? Anything at all - name your poison.”

  Figuring Newell had never washed a glass in his life, I rapidly declined. “No, I’m not staying long.”

  “Shame,” he said, and it sounded sincere. “I get very little company out here in the sticks…at least not of your caliber, Miss Cross.”

  That seemed like as good a segue way as any to get to the point of my visit. “Alan doesn’t stop over much, does he? I think he’d want to keep a steadier finger on the pulse.”

  “Well that’s my job now, isn’t it? I keep my ear to the wind for any happenings in Winslow, and if a mess needs cleaned…I see to it.”

  Newell sounded desperate then. I wasn’t sure if he made a case for his importance or simply tried to ensure I wasn’t gonna have him knocked out of place once I made my supposed rise to power.

  I decided to be unconvinced. “Give me an example, Sheldon. How exactly do you ‘clean up?’”

  “Them vampires, what, think they’ve got some autonomy now that Alan McCartney’s been forced underground? No disrespect; I understand about a lover’s tiff, Miss Cross. But I dare say you caused some big ripples that Alan’s now got to let smooth out.”

  Good to know. Soon enough, there’d be some tsunami-big waves coming Alan’s direction, too. I fought hard to keep the smile off my face, but I managed all right.

  “What do you mean by ‘vampires that think they’ve got autonomy’?”

  “You know the kind - them that go off renegade ‘cause they think their leader ain’t paying no attention. Why, just last week that Lucy Jones picked up and swept town like a goddamn thief in the night.”

  My stomach took a nosedive but I kept my cool. “And how’d you handle it, Sheldon? Did you get the mess cleaned up?”

  I could tell he regretted his little slip. Newell became desperate. “Word came too late, Miss Cross. By the time she came up missing, she was long gone.”

  I exhaled my relief, hoping Newell hadn’t noticed. Instead, the stooge seemed to take it as exasperation. He tripped all over himself trying to make it right.

  “Not to worry, though. She’ll pop up on the radar sooner or later. Them solo flyers always do.”

  “I’m not interested in the whereabouts of a single vampire who’s gone off lone-wolf,” I snapped, hoping I could permanently cross Lucy Jones off Newell’s to-do list. “If there are vampires out there that want to scrounge around in garbage dumps, fee
ding off our scraps, then I say let them. Good riddance to bad rubbish is what my mom used to say. I’m more interested in the ones who stick around - the ones who are waiting for their chance to take over where Alan left off.”

  Newell looked like I’d just introduced him to the boogeyman. “Them wouldn’t stand a chance, Miss Cross. Once they made a move against Alan McCartney, they’d have me and all that’s loyal to get through first.”

  “That’s my point, Sheldon - how do you know who’s loyal? And how can you keep your eye on things squatting out here in this fucking no-man’s-land?”

  “I’ve got my runners back in Winslow, Miss Cross - and proven loyal each and every one. They report to me and me to Alan…”

  “Well. As you’ve pointed out, Sheldon, Alan’s availability isn’t what it ought to be right now.”

  His head fell to his chest. “No, miss, not these days.”

  “So, for the time being - you’ll report to me.”

  “I don’t think I ought -”

  “Ought to what, Sheldon? Ought to piss off the vampire that’s going to be Alan McCartney’s right hand?”

  Those crazy eyes of his were bobbling every which direction. I wondered at this odd creature. I mean, if this was the sharper, more sophisticated vampire version of Sheldon Newell - what kind of imbecile had he been before turning?

  “I didn’t mean no offense, Mandy Cross.”

  “None taken. This time. And I’ll be checking in with you, Sheldon - very regularly. If you catch word of anything shifty in Winslow, or here in Harris - any vampires that don’t really belong to Alan - I expect a full report. Don’t try to handle it yourself; I’ll be calling the shots until Alan’s ready. As far as you’re concerned, my authority is as good as his.”

  “Of course, Miss Cross.”

  Satisfied that my fish had been hooked, I rose, ready to make my break out of that stink-infested dungeon when a small sound from the back of the house caught my attention. As I closed in toward it, I noticed for the first time a different smell mingling in with the trapped smoke and whiskey. Blood; human…but, only barely.

  “What’ve you got back there?” I demanded, motioning for the door.

  Newell made no motion to stop me; he simply smiled all embarrassed like he’d forgotten his manners or something.

  “Oh, would you have a hankering for a bite to eat before you go, Miss Cross?”

  I opened the door slowly, hoping to God I wasn’t about to discover a whole room filled with orphaned babies. What I did find just might have been worse.

  At one distant point in time, it had been a man - definitely Mexican, probably illegal. His clothes were tattered down to rags, skin hanging from bone. Barely alive enough to have shifted from one butt cheek to the other, but Newell had the guy chained to the wall by an eyehook and metal cuff around the ankle.

  I wondered if it was the baby’s father. A whole family just disintegrated to suit Alan McCartney’s cause.

  Just like the woman, this man was blank-eyed and brain dead. I figured Sheldon must bleed and re-bleed his victims hundreds of times to get them to such a state.

  Everything in me wanted to release my supernatural fury and strangle Sheldon Newell with his own intestines. I don’t know how I did it, but I kept up my ruse of the unflappable Mandy Cross - Alan’s ruthless would-be mate.

  “Midnight snack, Sheldon? I don’t see the point of keeping it in chains when it obviously can’t fight you off.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “Guess there ain’t no need of it no more, Miss Cross. This one’s pretty much had it.”

  “What’s with the whole chamber of horrors anyway? Any decent vampire would just kill the human and be done with it. Why reuse the same ones so many times?”

  “Necessary evil, I’m afraid. Slim pickins ‘round here for the time being. Never know when the next meal’s coming through.”

  “I thought that was the whole point of you being in Harris - first dibs.”

  Newell’s eyes brightened. “And so it is, Miss Cross. Once summer rolls ‘round, there’ll be a new crop comin’ through near nightly. Fresh n’ healthy - nothing like this poor bastard.”

  That painted a pretty picture. In a few months’ time, Sheldon Newell would have a whole houseful of illegal immigrants, alive but rotting…chained to some wall in his house.

  If I hadn’t needed him alive so badly, I would’ve spared the world his existence right then and there. It killed me to do it, but I closed the door and left the man to Sheldon’s torture; I figured he was beyond feeling it anymore anyway.

  Newell looked like a hostess whose guest had refused their cooking. “Sure you wouldn’t like a bit of refreshment before you’re off?”

  I tore a page right out of Hannah’s book. “Do you really think that hunk of meat is a fitting meal for Alan McCartney’s woman?”

  He flinched and backed away two steps. “No, Miss. But, the cupboard is otherwise bare…so to speak.”

  I reeled my fish in a little more. “Serve me well, Sheldon, and I’ll give Alan a good report about you when he’s back. You’ll never have to settle for these kinds of conditions again. It’ll be summer year-round.”

  “Thank you, Miss Cross,” he said as I turned my back on him.

  I didn’t bother with a reply; I got the hell out of there fast as I could.

  “Blood test came back with some good news attached to it.” I stood in the corner of the observation lounge as it slowly filled. “Seems the vampire blood has stopped rising in level. They were worrying about it saturating the Helsing gene, but they’ve hit an impasse.”

  Mary-Christine seemed excited and hugged me close. “So you’re getting better?”

  “I’m not sure it’s as simple as that, Mary-Christine, but right now, the war is at a stalemate; the meds are keeping the vampire stuff at bay, and that’s great news.”

  “Yes, it is.” And she hugged me again.

  “But the vampire blood hasn’t gone away, has it?” To be honest, even Dave’s growing antipathy towards me had thawed slightly after the verdict. Once the news had been delivered, he took me through the back of the center into the observation lounge; none of the long, double doors, no elevators. Almost as if I was accepted back in the Helsing set-up, and I enjoyed every minute. I might even have said I relaxed, but I also determined never to forget how fleeting their trust had been.

  As the crowd gathered, Dave approached, smiling as he came. “You two have to mingle a bit more.” He grabbed Mary-Christine by the hand. “Come on, Lyman, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  Well, the someone turned out to be a board member of Unicorps, who seemed to be totally informed of my condition, because his questions were friendly enough, but succinct.

  “First Helsing in history to be ‘turned.’” His voice didn’t carry past the small group. “So we’re watching you closely, my lad. Is David here keeping you in the best condition?”

  “Oh, yes, sir, the new medication regimen seems to be doing me the world of good.”

  “And this morning’s lab results seem to show their affect.”

  Man, he kept up to date. “Yes, sir.”

  He handed me a business card.

  Howard Weeks. CEO Grundec Systems Analysis, Unicorps.

  “If you have anything to tell me, bad or good, you don’t hesitate to come directly to me, understand? My door is always open for you.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand. Thanks.”

  As he walked away, I felt the honesty and integrity of the man linger, altogether a weird feeling. I pocketed the card to look up at the high eyebrows on Dave’s face. “You made an impression. That’s good; he’s the top man in America, just came back from Eastern Europe. He’s obviously taken a keen interest in your case.”

  “Seems so,” I said, watching him pass to the next group flawlessly, like a dancer in a choreographed stage routine.

  Ten minutes.

  The intercom played across the crowd, and they began to cross to the w
indow to be assured of the best viewing. I stayed behind a little bit, people-watching. There were the familiar faces, and a few new ones. Thirty-six people this time, much more than before, then the door opened, and another man walked in. Roni Muscat spoke to him as they crossed to the windows, so I couldn’t see him properly, and to be honest, I didn’t give it much thought at the time.

  Mary-Christine came over. “You okay?”

  “Oh, hell yeah. I’m just kinda basking in the good news about the blood. I just hope everyone will be a little less jumpy from now on.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you imagined most of it on your own.”

  I smiled and crossed the room, pulled gently by her hand.

  We were far to the right, but we could still see.

  Bound to the wooden table was a man, maybe thirty. Obviously sedated, his movements were slow and lethargic. He lay naked, but for a pair of shorts.

  The door to the lab below opened, and Hideo and a woman walked into the room. I knew the routine. I had done it myself last year; Jim Creary.

  “We are here to witness the execution of Victor Peace.” Hideo’s voice sounded clear through the PA. I smiled and took a deep breath. It felt good to be accepted again. It felt a good place for a Helsing to be. “He is a Blanche vampire, known to have been turned by Judy Miller in 1961.”

  The lady moved to Victor and injected something in his neck. Within moments, he could focus, then he began a torrent of abuse against Hideo and his helper. To be honest, I could see why they had sedated him. The words were meaningless compared to the fifty years of killing, murder, and carnage that Victor had probably perpetrated.

  Stake in place. Bam. First blow, Victor screamed a mighty last roar and strained against his bonds, but to no avail.

  Bam, second blow. Dead.

  It felt almost second nature to me.

  Slowly, before our eyes, the body of Victor Peace decayed, and moments later he poured from the table in bones, pieces of bones, and brown powder that was his body. In pieces small enough to pass through a colander, Victor Peace poured straight into the blue tub, ready for incineration.