Vampires Don't Cry: The Collection

by Ian Hall

  The visitors began to move away from the windows, their curiosity sated for the day.

  Suddenly I found Dave in front of me. A thin businessman followed him.

  “This is Lyman Bracks, he’s our latest recruit, and has actually killed on his own already.”

  I looked up and shook the man’s hand. Dave continued the introduction. “Lyman, this is T.J. Candy, he’s the CEO of a company we’re thinking about acquiring….”

  I must admit for the first time that day, I lost my concentration. My hand shook with T.J. Candy’s, and Dave’s mouth kept on talking, but I didn’t hear a single word.

  I looked slightly down into the eyes of Amos Blanche, and only one thought pervaded my mind.

  I wondered if he could smell me.

  All the things I’d seen, I’d done or caused…and what I’d just walked away from back in Harris were closing in on me. Like I couldn’t get enough oxygen, the memories were constricting my lungs.

  Spike. I’d turned him so I could get control. Use him. Then, thinking I had this omnipotent power over the guy, let him loose. So, at least seven people in Utah were dead because of me. And, of course, Spike too lay dead, by my own hands.

  Sheldon Newell. He treated Harris like his own personal grocery store; and not just that - he didn’t just feed off those people, he tortured them. I could have stopped him. But, I didn’t. I needed to keep him alive for a little longer, and the guilt swept over me.

  Because of my plan, I couldn’t save the man chained up in the back room; but I could have put the guy out of his misery. Instead, I just shut the door and left him there.

  At the time it seemed as clinical as a math equation. Newell had proven himself my link to Alan. And my source to find other vampires like Lucy Jones - the ones who weren’t loyal, who wanted to free themselves from the mob and live peacefully with the humans. All the lives I could have saved by killing Sheldon Newell didn’t equal up to my personal quest.

  So, I just walked away. To suit my agenda, I just walked away.

  Just how much of Alan McCartney lived inside my skin anyway? How the hell could I have done those things and consider myself any different from him?

  Not only did I behave like Alan McCartney, I was beginning to think like Alan McCartney. Something he’d probably done to me intentionally to get me to go along with killing my parents and whatever else he’d had in mind.

  Seemed like it’d worked. Now I was just like him: a plotter, a schemer, a killer. A user. Just like Alan…

  OMG! Bingo!

  I could effing think just like Alan McCartney!

  That thought hit me like an oncoming semi. I hit my brakes and went screeching off road and everything. Luckily, nobody else drove on that highway or we’re talking major pileup.

  “That would have made a good opportunity for a free meal.” I grinned at my own humor.

  That Alan-ish thought got through my lips and to my ears before I could filter it. A gooey and sickly feeling but I knew the feeling of it. It was my link to Alan. My suspicion was confirmed, and my curiosity prodded. The very tool Alan used to tweak me and make me his were in my hands now. I could use them against him.

  Sitting in silence, I left the car idling and just sat there. Thinking.

  Before I knew it, I talked out loud to my eyes in the rearview mirror like they were some alter ego. Yes, a bit creepy but got me in the right frame of mind.

  “Why Sheldon Newell? He’s no more suited to the job of second then a fat kid watching the candy store.”

  Then the eyes started to talk back.

  “He likes killing, though. Sadistically. I’d bet he used to pull the wings off of flies as a little boy. Makes him a pretty wicked vampire…”

  “Yeah, but,” now I spoke in a debate with my reflection, “his head is an empty sack; you saw how easy it was to trick him. Newell’s not smart enough to be in charge of a whole group of vampires. Why would Alan give a guy that like any authority?”

  “He doesn’t have any authority!” My reflection said as if it should have been so obvious. “Newell’s a goon; that’s why Alan’s got him tucked away from everybody else. Feeds him a line of crap about being in charge…it’s just a scam to keep the crazy vamp loyal. No - it’s those ‘runners’ of Alan’s, they’re the real seconds…”

  I finally caught on to what my reflection was getting at. “Newell’s just a henchman. The ‘runners’ point him in the direction of the stick and he goes to fetch. Does the dirty work.”

  “So you gotta find out who the real second is. That’ll be the guy with the direct line to Alan. You find the second…”

  My reflection’s thought and mine suddenly gelled back into one. “I find Alan.”

  Lyman and Mary-Christine were due back the next day. He’d told me to stay away from his house but, I had some research to do. I wanted to know exactly what I dealt with in respects to Sheldon Newell before I went calling again.

  As I pulled back onto the highway, I got this strange sense of satisfaction over the idea of seeing the Helsings again. I mean, clearly I’d been spending way too much time alone.

  Once back in Gregor I parked my car two streets away from Lyman’s place. I made my way down the block at a decent clip - like a human-style jog. Definitely not in that vampire warp or anything.

  So, I was visible and that turned out to be a bad call on my part. I’d only jogged a few yards, when I became aware of a car following me. No headlights. At first I thought maybe it was Lyman’s PI but I could catch a whiff of the driver through the cracked window; not Reynolds. But, also not vampire.

  Then I got the unmistakable odor of vinegar. Helsing. Shit.

  I took off in a streak and circled the block in a few seconds, sniffing at his window as I passed. By the time I’d made it twice around, the driver had just begun to register that I’d disappeared. The headlights blazed to life, followed by screeching tires. He set off on a wild goose chase and so I shimmied up to my attic window and crawled inside.

  I’d have at least the rest of the night and part of the day tomorrow to get some digging done. I settled into the safe room. It didn’t take as long as I’d figured.

  Sheldon Francis Newell. The damn Blanches hadn’t even bothered to change the guy’s name. They must have been pretty sure he was well hidden; or maybe it was ‘cause Sheldon wasn’t bright enough to catch on to a new name.

  Whatever the case, it made my research that much easier.

  In 1935, Arkansas, a Sheldon Newell got convicted of murdering his parents and three teenage sisters. He was twenty-five years old. Camden Newell, the father, was a respected senator of his time; Sheldon’s mother and sisters, members of the social elite.

  I had to read between the lines of the stuff on file, but it turns out he’d been born with moderate mental retardation and unspecified physical disfigurement (that had to be the eyes). Sheldon had been considered a huge embarrassment to his family and subjected to a lifetime of mistreatment and abuse, probably at the hands of his father. Sheldon had been kept away from the public eye and confined to a single, windowless room of their house. Often going days without food.

  Early Spring of that year, Sheldon managed to break out of his chamber, ransack the home, and hack to death each of his dainty siblings with a hatchet. Mrs. Newell was found drowned in her elegant claw-foot tub. Mr. Newell had been slit from throat to privates, most of his organs removed - the liver presumed eaten.

  Sheldon was ruled incompetent to stand trial and whisked away to one of those asylums society sent his kind to be forgotten. Eight years later, a gentleman presenting himself as Newell’s uncle arrived and petitioned for custody, which seemed to be quickly denied.

  Five days after that, Sheldon Newell escaped from the asylum. A nurse and two guards were mauled in the process.

  One of the articles even had a picture of the “uncle.” Definitely Amos Blanche but going under the name Eli Combs. Underneath the photo lay the caption: Wanted in Connection to the Escape of Shel
don F. Newell. I found no other information linking Blanche to Newell; but my mind was already churning.

  Sheldon Newell had been a homicidal maniac as a human. His story obviously got Amos’s attention; so much so he decided to bring him into the mafia. Turned him and facilitated his breakout. Got me to wonder how many more of these natural born killers Amos had collected over the years and put in place as his henchmen.

  I mean - Hannah and Barton certainly fit the bill. Now Newell. There were bound to be others.

  I looked at the clock; Lyman and Mary-Christine wouldn’t be back for hours yet. I was going crazy to unload all this on them. And wondering if they’d had as interesting a weekend as I’d had.

  Amos Blanche in the Flesh

  Well, the rest of the weekend was instantly spoiled. As soon as I’d left Amos’s side, I grabbed Mary-Christine and got her to check him out. She validated my premise immediately, but we were never in a position to actually pass the information to her mom or dad.

  The taxi to the dinner was not secure, with the driver sitting in front, and as soon as we arrived at the restaurant, we were guided to a private function suite in the rear.

  The single long table lay already set, and to my horror, name cards were positioned at every chair. I knew it was going to happen, and yes, to my disgust, Dave had positioned Amos between us. He smiled his ‘father knows best’ smile, but I could have throttled him then and there.

  I made small talk, waiting for the soup to arrive, then I had a bit of a brainwave; I could turn it to my advantage, and turned to the weasel-like man.

  “So what do I call you, sir?” I began with some confidence. I’d taken my meds in the car and felt pretty good. “Is it Mr. Candy or T.J.?”

  He grinned, but I could see no glint of friendship in his eyes. “T.J. is fine, Lyman, if it was good enough for my friends on the street, its good enough here.”

  “Dave mentioned a little takeover. Is that happening soon?”

  “Oh, I expect it’ll be on the cards for a while, you know, nothing certain, so don’t go buying shares yet,” he laughed.

  “I’m not exactly at that level yet, T.J. Are you situated here, in Atlanta?”

  “No, no. We’re in New York, but once we get our new offices built in Phoenix, we anticipate a stronger bond between us and Unicorps.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of the crime down in Phoenix?”

  “No, not at all. Part of our business footprint falls within the police department, we anticipate only great things.”

  Dave took over the conversation, and Amos turned away. Mary-Christine, who sat opposite, just nodded to me. I smiled.

  A little later, T.J. brought up the subject of my own vampire takedown, and I described it through most of the main course.

  “I’ll soon find out,” Amos grinned again. “My name is second from the top of the execution rota. Dave here was kind enough to push me up the list a bit. It’ll be intriguing to find how you guys do it in the mid-west.”

  I looked surprised. “Surely not much different to New York?”

  “You guys have more style, and of course the security here is superb. Unicorps, Atlanta, puts poor New York’s Helsing facility to shame.”

  “So have you performed one yourself?” I asked, my brows furrowing in interest.

  “No, I’ve always been busy, the timing never seemed right. That’s why Dave kind of nudged me up the line a bit. Hopefully it will be soon.”

  “You’re second from top, you say?”

  Amos nodded, and turned to talk to Dave.

  The rest of the dinner went by without much further addition to my information, and the party broke up earlier than I expected.

  The four of us ended up in Dave’s hotel room, and Dave passed Roni a bottle from the mini-bar.

  “Mary-Christine and I have something to tell you both,” I announced, and in great detail we explained the connection between T.J. and Amos Blanche.

  After we’d finished, they sat for a moment, their eyes puzzled. Dave stirred first. “But we know Blanche is dead.”

  “With respect, sir, we don’t know squat. The Diaries don’t actually tell us that, and you know how cunning these vampires can be.”

  Dave immediately dialed on his phone. “Chris? I want a new profile built on T.J. Candy. Yup, the whole thing. Brand new. Don’t trust anything they’ve given us; I want it all from confirmed second sources. Thanks. Yeah, Monday is soon enough. Thanks.”

  He flipped the phone shut.

  “As you can see, I’m having it looked into. Not that I don’t trust you two.”

  I shook my head. “You have T.J. Candy checked all you like, you’ll find Amos Blanche looking back at you.”

  Using my early morning as an excuse, I got out of their room for a bit of a roam. My meds were wearing off, and I wanted out into the fresh air, even though I thought it a bit chilly. When my meds were low, I seemed to find the outside more appealing. I thought of phoning Mandy, but it felt like being unfaithful to Mary-Christine, so I kept on walking, taking in the sights and sounds of the nightlife around the hotel. I walked around for a bit, and I was actually on my way back, when I saw Dave Muscat, coming out into the parking lot, on his phone, talking animatedly. I headed off to one side, and soon crouched behind some large shrubs, my curiosity activated. Dave’s got closer and closer.

  “No, I appreciate it, T.J.” The words drifted towards me. “Yeah. I didn’t put much credence to the rumor. Active imaginations must be kept in place, and that’s what school’s for. Pause. No, I do believe him to be a few sausages short of a barbeque right now. He’s had a lot to deal with. Pause. No, I do appreciate it, T.J. Those funds will cover Mary-Christine’s college tuition in full. Pause. No, there’s nothing to thank me for. Getting you put near the top of the list was an easy thing to do, and let’s face it, there’s plenty vampires out there. It’s not as if the next guy’s going to have to wait long. Pause. Nah, goodnight to you too, T.J. Night.”

  I expected him to run back inside. But he stood, no more than twenty feet away, looking out into the night. Then he dialed.

  “Conrad? Anything? Pause. And did you follow her?” he began to kick the sidewalk, kicking stones from the garden back into the shrubs where I hid. “Are you sure it was her? Pause. Mandy Cross? Pause. Okay, get the pictures printed. We need to step this up a bit. Get cameras on both the front and the back door, and get another guy from the pool. I want double duty on this. I need to catch these fuckers, and I need to catch them in the act.” He flipped the phone without saying ‘goodbye.’

  Then he went back inside.

  My fingers were dialing before I knew it. “Mandy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you in the house?”

  “Yes, guess what I found out?”

  “It’ll have to wait. Mandy you have to get out of the house; Dave Muscat knows you’re there.”

  “Crap. The car outside.”

  “Yeah, looks like they saw you, and they know who you are. They have photographs.”

  “Ok, looks like another road trip. Oh, and Amos Blanche, looks like he changes his whole persona every thirty years or so.” She sounded smug.

  “I know. I had dinner with him tonight.”

  Well. The question of how Lyman’s weekend had gone had been answered. Breaking bread with Amos Freaking Blanche? What the hell was that all about?

  A story for another day, certainly. So I’d found myself in a bit of a pickle. The Helsings had gone all-on cloak-and-dagger and I’d been spotted. Fabulous.

  But, it felt my own fault. I shouldn’t have been so careless.

  No. Wait a minute. It was Lyman’s fault. If he’d have told me the Helsings were staking out his house, I wouldn’t have let myself get into this predicament. Must’ve been what that PI deal had been all about. Later I’d have to give that boy a good scolding about keeping the lines of communication open.

  For now I found myself back in an all-too familiar situation. On my own with nowhere to g
o. Lyman had just given me the boot. I mean - where was I s’pose to go? After reading all that crap about Sheldon Newell, I wasn’t exceptionally anxious to pay another visit to Harris.

  In time. But sure as hell not now.

  It was four o’clock in the morning. I hadn’t had fed since…well, for a couple days. After my previous fast, I knew how dangerous that could be for a vampire. Sunrise lay still a couple hours out; I figured if I was going to find sustenance, this would be my best chance.

  I started thinking about that little stretch of highway I’d stopped on during my way back to Gregor. It was way out there in the country but hardly traveled. And I distinctly remembered a herd of cows milling around in the field behind some rickety wooden railing.

  Hamburger it is. I took off west.

  Turns out at that during the wee-small hours, that little highway became a lot more traveled. Eighteen wheelers dominated the road, coming both directions. So, I was pretty much screwed out of any chance to nonchalantly hop the fence and take down a cow, all unnoticed.

  However, it would be pretty easy to take down one of those truck drivers. Damsel in distress on the side of the road? Please - we’re talking easy pickings. I smiled, knowing that was the Alan in me talking; unfortunately, I seemed to be having a hard time ignoring him…

  As I wrestled with temptation, I soon realized that I had bigger problems than hunger to deal with. Namely the little black car behind me, darting in and out of the formation of semis.

  “Fucking Helsings!”

  I jammed the pedal to the floor. The needle went flying and rubber peeling. If it weren’t for my vampire reflexes, I probably would have gone right under the truck in front of me. But, I banked right, crossing over the median and into oncoming traffic.

  Horns were blowing. Bright white light burned through my eyes, then separated and became four distinct orbs. Two trucks, side by side. Each took a sharp turn to avoid me.

  The driver in the right lane careened off the shoulder, plowing through the nothing fence and into the field beyond. The one on the left turned too hard. I watched in slow motion as the entire rig fell on its side and slid over the median into the westbound lanes.