Vampires Don't Cry: The Collection

by Ian Hall

  “Ooh,” Mandy winced. “Icky.”

  “Alan Rand?” I enquired.

  “That was his original name, before us.”

  “So you were with Amos when he did his Philadelphia Crusade?” Mandy asked. Man, she always knew the right questions to ask.

  “Well, not really.” She swapped a shared look with Finch. “We were kinda against him by that time.”

  “You turned against Amos?” I sat, shocked.

  “It was Donny Kelp who did it for me.” Valérie grinned and took a long hard swig of the bottle.

  Mandy and I both shook our heads.

  “He was just a kid, really, but it proved the last straw for me, the one that broke the camel’s back. I got out.”

  The histories took a few hours to get through. Boy I wished I’d had a freaking notebook; the tales were a bit on the wild side.

  Then of course, we started spilling our beans. I mean the stories were so linked, and Alan sat in the middle, constantly rearing his nasty little head.

  Lyman took over from time to time, dipping his brush into the paint pot of our lives, and painting it on the canvas. “If it wasn’t for Jackson Cole, I’d have never….”

  “Who?” Valérie snapped. She shot up in her chair and stood right in front of Lyman. For a sec I thought she was gonna take his ass downtown. If their stories were even half-true, these girls may have looked pretty, but they were killing fucking machines.

  “What did you just say?” Valérie demanded. “The name!”

  “Jackson Cole.”

  If Valérie’s face went from vampire-pale to death gray. I didn’t know what her affiliation to my foster brother could have been, but obviously there was history. Not that I wanted to deal with squabbles in the group; not this early especially. But all she had to do was utter one unkind word about Jackson and that bitch was gonna feel some pain.

  “Tell me more,” Valérie said.

  Lyman’s words seemed to come out so slowly. “Well, when I’d got hit by the Jasperine spear, Jackson Cole died giving me his blood. He saved me.”

  Valérie gasped, her hands covering her mouth.

  I’d had about enough. “What’s Jackson to you?” I demanded.

  But Valérie waved my question away. “Jackson Cole saved you?”

  “Yeah. Jackson is the vampire whose blood runs in my veins.”

  Valérie slowly sat back on her haunches, her hands still covering her face. “He survived.”

  It had been the most human I’d seen her, the most animated. Because of Jackson.

  “Jackson was my brother,” I said.

  When Valérie turned to me, tears were running down her face. “Tell me everything.”

  “Why?” I shook my head. She wasn’t getting shit out of me about Jackson without a freaking good reason.

  “Because I was the one who turned him.” Her voice had grown somehow smaller. For once she actually looked her real age of eighteen years. “He was Donny Kelp back then, and he was the reason I ran away from Amos. I gave him the name, Jackson Cole. A mix of President Jackson, and Nat King Cole.”

  “Well, the story of Jackson Cole, as far as I’m concerned,” Lyman began, “takes another beer.”

  Finch vanished. Seconds later, four more beers.

  So I told my side of Jackson, never drinking blood, staying nearby Alan, but never getting involved, and about how he saved Lyman’s life, even though he knew he’d lose his in the process.

  Valérie tearfully hugged me at the end. “He even found his faith again?”

  “I’d never known him any different; always spouting off about ‘God’ and ‘plans’,” I said, making a point to roll my eyes, though I could feel the smile on my lips and a tear on my cheek. “I even dream of him. Especially after reading so much of Bald Eagle’s book.”

  “Show me,” Valérie said, again animated, but far fiercer, more serious if that could be possible. “Bald Eagle?”

  “Not that fucking thing again?” Lyman railed, shaking his head furiously.

  “Just ‘cause you don’t find it interesting…” I cut back. Finch shot Lyman a dirty look, and he snapped shut like a clam protecting its pearl.

  “I just can’t believe that you do!” When he persisted, Finch sat on him, full face on and did a ‘shh’ motion to him. He looked both shocked and pleasantly surprised.

  I smirked. I’d become irritated at Lyman’s hoity-toity attitude and was kind of digging the female-solidarity bit.

  I pulled the book from my bag. “Written by a guy called Tomas…

  “Tomas Lucescu?” Valérie snapped.

  “Yeah,” I said cautiously. “Do you know of him?”

  Valérie grinned that ‘knowing’ grin again. Guess it was proving to be a night of some major revelations. “Oh, we’ve met a couple of times. But you have a book of his?”

  I handed over the binder. I’d become so engrossed that I’d missed the first parts of Finch and Lyman getting it on. Holy crap, did he not have any morals anymore?

  Genesis to Revelations

  The interest in Jackson Cole sure pricked up my involvement, but when Mandy started about Bald Eagle’s book, I lost it. “Not that fucking thing again?” I snapped, shaking my head in dismay.

  “Just ‘cause you don’t find it interesting.” She flashed at me. Well Finch whirled on me and gave me the biggest ‘shut the fuck up’ look I’d ever had. Man she sure looked pretty when she got mad. But, of course, I couldn’t leave it there. I turned from my little Finch to see Mandy getting the book out, Valérie all acting interested and stuff. “I just can’t believe that you do!”

  Suddenly Finch was astride me, her finger to her pursed lips, just inches from mine.

  Man, did I shut up.

  Then, incredibly slowly, she moved in on me. Her finger touched my lips and pressed hard against me, pushing my lips back onto my teeth. But as soon as pain began to register, she slipped her tongue around the side of her finger. Boy, that girl could kiss.

  I knew that Mandy and Valérie were somewhere in the room, but I didn’t care a jot. I kissed her like the most tender snowdrop, and loved every minute of it. Of course, with her astride me, pushing those delightful nubs at me, it didn’t take long for me to rise to the occasion. Finch gave her hips a shimmy, and sat back down.

  I lost myself completely.

  Her mouth felt small, both exciting and almost forbidden. As if I relived having my first kiss behind the bleachers with a thirteen-year-old Susan Cready. But of course, this girl on my lap had more birthdays than me and Mandy put together, and boy she proved it right there. I sat, enmeshed in her mouth, until suddenly, she pushed herself up, and calmly set off in the direction of the kitchen.

  When she returned, she passed us all a fresh cold one, and sat back down on the sofa like nothing had ever happened.

  I sat confused for a moment, then felt all eyes on me. Well. Not on me. On my trousers.

  Oh boy did I have the erection of a lifetime, tenting for all to see.

  I crossed my legs, embarrassed. “Oh yeah, why not just all get your jollies on poor geeky Lyman, huh?”

  But as I swigged the beer to cover my humiliation, I smiled inwardly. Whatever the reason for Finch’s assault on me, even if it had been just to shut me up, I’d enjoyed every fucking second of it.

  “So, Lyman,” Valérie said, snapping me out of my reverie. “Technically you were turned by Jackson, and I turned him in 1958. So we’re vampire related.”

  “Eh, yeah. I think ‘technically’ is the right word.”

  “So do you think that would play with us or against us if we teamed up together in Phoenix?”

  Ooh. I had actually looked forward to pushing Finch in Phoenix, and the recent dalliance on the sofa hadn’t done anything to dampen that particular fantasy. “Not sure. Maybe we’d be just too close?” I hoped I’d got the casualness just right.

  “Can you do the fast vampire stuff?”

  I shook my head. “But I have grown a mite str
onger than I was before.”

  Mandy laughed. “I’ve hit him a few times, forgetting he’s not a vampire, and he just bounced back.”

  “But no speed?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “But the meds make it almost impossible for a vampire to detect you?” Valérie had turned very serious all of a sudden.

  “As long as I take them right. If I miss or go late, I start to smell like an ‘old’ vampire. I’ve been told that a lot.”

  She turned to Mandy. “Dream?”

  “What?”

  “Okay, I’m going back a bit, but you said you dreamt of Jackson before the carnage at the farm?”

  I shot a look at Finch, but she gave me a pretty good ‘don’t spoil this’ face, so I sat back and listened.

  Lyman looked like he’d just got hit by a bus. I just grinned.

  Suddenly I knew what Catholics must feel like before they walk into that little booth and start fessing up. It wasn’t anything I would have ever brought up on my own; but Valérie’s point-blank question kind of dragged it out.

  I slunk back into the sofa, feeling oddly unsure of myself.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  Lyman lounged back, hands clenched behind his head like he was ready to go away on some vacation from reality. Finch had really worked a number on him.

  I took my time, trying to recall as much detail as I could. The memory was a bit murky, to say the least.

  “Things got pretty confusing for a while the day before Hipshaw Farm. I think it was a dream.”

  “Just try,” Valérie said.

  “It was the night before we moved in on Alan’s compound. The Helsings were slipping that crud into my food, so I fell into this really hard sleep; I thought I was awake, though.”

  I paused, looking for any “ah-has” on Lyman’s face; to his credit he remained blank-faced.

  “In the dream I was outside the barn, looking up at the clouds. I remember everything just looking really defined, crystal-clear – the moon was freaking huge! And there were all these funky shapes in the clouds. Well… I’m watching the clouds and they turn into this giant horse; it goes galloping across the sky then bursts into a pack of dogs…”

  Finch sat up in her chair, her interest piqued as I recalled the rage-induced animals Alan had unleashed on the Helsing army; the effects at the time had been devastating.

  “You mean you glimpsed Alan’s plan ahead of time?” Finch asked.

  I couldn’t tell if there had been just amazement in her question or a bit of condemnation; like I should have warned the Helsings before the first wave came trampling out the barn doors.

  I felt I had to put the record straight. “That part of the dream didn’t really stick with me at the time; even now it only comes back at me in little flashes… I had no idea that it was some sort of premonition.”

  She let me off the hook with a wave of her hand. “There’s no way you could have known; I mean, how often do we really pay attention to what we dream about?”

  I did all the time, but didn’t need to give Lyman something else to scoff at.

  “This one was very vivid,” I recalled, trying to recapture what I could.

  Lyman was suddenly serious. “I’m sure it was and I don’t think it was really a dream at all, Mandy. Sure – the images came to you while you were sleeping, but I don’t think they started in your own subconscious…”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Think about it – you were linked to Alan McCartney and he was feeding you subliminal messages; he got so deep inside your mind, you actually believed his messages were your own thoughts… and that’s while you were awake!” He leaned up a bit, speaking in a stage whisper. “What if Alan was also completely unaware, of course, passing information that he wouldn’t have wanted you to have?”

  “You’re saying my dream was just like an echo of Alan’s thoughts?”

  Lyman nodded. “Good way of putting it. Kind of makes me wonder what else you might have buried in your mind – information you’re not even aware that you have!”

  The new idea sparked a new energy in Lyman. He got up and began to pace the room, wild-eyed, babbling incoherently to himself. Valérie and Finch watched the exchange between the two of us.

  “I’m not so sure,” I cut in. “There’s more to my dream; the part I remembered right after I woke up.”

  He stopped. “Okay. Let’s have it.”

  “Jackson was there. He was going on and on about God having a plan and all that usual crap. The thing I remember most was him telling me to let go of my hate; that couldn’t have been a subliminal from Alan, it’s not an Alan thing to say. Alan loved hate – he even loved the fact that I hated him!”

  Again I caught Valérie and Finch swapping glances. They’d not seen Lyman in one of his serious phases.

  “Okay,” he said. “But that was probably just your own mind mixing with the thoughts he was sending. And the fact that Jackson was the one saying it makes total sense. First, Jackson was just that kind of guy from what I’ve heard of him. Second, when we were out there, so close to his grave, even I had Jackson Cole on the mind… like I just couldn’t shake the thought of him.”

  I smirked belligerently. “And you don’t consider that paranormal? You didn’t even know where Jackson was buried until after the fact.”

  The master-debater seemed at a loss for words.

  “It is weird,” he said at last.

  “Para-weird then.”

  “I’ll give you that,” Lyman conceded with a chuckle, then proceeded to stare me down like he had x-ray vision.

  “What?”

  He chewed his lip in thought. “Just wondering what else is hidden in that head of yours.”

  “You said you buried Jackson,” Valérie said. “But he’d have disintegrated.”

  “That’s what I’ve said, quite a few times.” I’d almost forgotten the other girls were in the room, I’d been concentrating so much.

  “Turned in fifty-eight?” Finch nodded. “He’d have just turned to dust.”

  “Alan did,” I said. “And he’d been turned about the same time.”

  “Yeah, eight months is nothing over fifty years,” Valérie said.

  Finch brought four new cold beers through from the kitchen.

  I took mine and gave the cold drink a small sip, savoring the chill. “Well, I’ve often wondered about this. How did you get him out of the house before the police arrived?”

  “I just carried him away. I left him at his house, went back to clear up anything else we’d missed, and drove his car back.”

  Valérie slugged some beer. “And the only difference between Alan’s death and Jackson’s was Lyman’s blood.”

  “Can we have a taste?” Finch asked, a cheeky smile on her face.

  “No you fucking can’t,” I rounded on her, but she’d gotten close, and whispered under my nose.

  “Come on, Lyman, who can it hurt?” She kissed the edges of my lips lightly. Then I felt a pressure at my neck, and knew by default that Valérie’s teeth had pierced the skin.

  “Ewe!” she shrieked, pushing me away. “That tastes nasty!”

  “Is this a ladies excuse me or something?” I shouted, but of course, Finch, being super trained, just vanished in front of me. Then I felt another suckling at my neck, and I slapped her invisible head away.

  I tried hard to bring up some kind of personal violation, but to be honest, an idea came to me. The only thing I could think of was an invisible Finch blowing me off.

  Typical me, I’m afraid.

  “So Jackson took your blood?” Valérie asked, looking from Mandy to me. “It must have hurt.”

  “Oh he screamed like a demon,” Mandy said, throwing herself back on the sofa.

  Finch sat beside her. Man, what thoughts that put in my head. “So what if we leave tomorrow, and call in on Jackson’s grave, see what’s left. Investigate this, put the story to bed, so to speak.”

  It seemed sure
ok with me, and I kinda nodded, not being able to think of a single objection.

  Valérie powered up her laptop, and soon seemed to be crunching numbers, routes. “Five hundred and thirty miles, give or take the odds. And we’d pass by Phoenix; we could get ourselves into a hotel, ready to join the university.” She turned to us. “Fancy a road trip?”

  “Sure.”

  And that’s how Lyman Bracks shared his passenger seat with three beautiful girls on a Sunday. We took turns in two cars, and swapped partners every pee stop. And for once, it was the guy who dictated those; seems those vampires can hold it forever.

  We checked into a hotel in the north side of Phoenix, about a five minute run from the University, and settled into rooms for the night. It proved too late in the day to go north to Flagstaff, so later that night I found myself in the room with Mandy.

  “Finch likes you. Have you noticed?”

  I must have blushed because I felt my cheeks turn hot. “Get out.”

  “No, seriously,” she persisted. “She wasted no time in getting her tongue down your throat when Howard called the game over.”

  “That was just a ruse to get me to shut up.”

  “Oh, don’t you bet on it, boy. We women know these things.”

  “Come off it, Mandy!” I argued, but my heart wasn’t in it. “She’s twice my age.”

  “And twice the experience.”

  I folded my arms and closed my eyes. Silence. When I opened them, at least five minutes later, Mandy lay on her bed, her nose firmly into Tomas’s journal.

  I shook my head, watched local television for an hour, then went to bed.

  For once, sleep came instantaneously.

  I dreamt fitfully, and I know I turned from side to side many times that night. What didn’t help was Mandy’s constant light on, reading Bald Eagle’s bloody book.

  I’d read the same part maybe twenty times, and now I devoured it word by word. Lyman’s disturbed form lay just feet away, and he wrestled with many demons that night.

  The Combining was an art I brought with me from the old country, a nuance of the vampire condition strangely lost to the new age of vampires found in America. I’ve shared my knowledge of it with only a select few, and not necessarily the most worthy. Combining is a potent weapon, one I would not want turned against me. When I share this miracle, it is only with those incapable of appreciating the magnitude of its potential.