The Hollow Church

by Amy Cross

  "Busy?" he asks.

  "Very," I reply. "I've spent the past ten minutes frantically trying to avoid gaining an assistant." I turn to the girl. "What's your name, anyway? You didn't even introduce yourself properly."

  "Katie," she says with a faint smile. "Katie Chambers. I'm a third-year post -" Before she can finish, she starts coughing heavily.

  "Katie was sent to help me," I tell Detective Gregory, "despite the fact that I specifically turned down an offer to provide assistance. In fact, I gave very good reasons why I didn't want anyone to be sent, and yet... Here we are." I look over at Katie, who's still coughing. "She's not even healthy," I continue. "You've sent me a sick assistant."

  "She graduated top of her class," he replies. "She's like you."

  "I doubt she's exactly like me."

  "Can I borrow you for a few hours?" he asks. "I need your help with something."

  "Have you found more bodies?"

  "No, but I've got a lead regarding the people who might have been involved in kidnapping these people. I need someone from forensics to come with me, but it has to be kind of hush-hush since I don't exactly have a warrant. It's a sensitive matter. Would you be able to tag along and just cast your eye on this place?"

  "Why me?" I ask.

  "Because I asked around," he continues, "and apparently you're the best by a very long way."

  "Find something to do," I tell Katie, as I remove my gloves and apron, "but whatever you do, don't mess anything up. Maybe the best thing for you to do is just stand in the middle of the room and wait for inspiration to strike. You got that?"

  "Well, I could try to dissect the -"

  "Just stand and wait for inspiration," I say again, as I head over to the door. "Do you think you can do that? No touching. No examining. No magnification or dissection or any of that crap. Just stand in the room until I come back, and wait for your subconscious to notice something. Listen to the little voice in the back of your mind that usually gets drowned out by the noise of everyday life. Think of this as an experiment."

  "Sure," she mutters, clearly a little confused.

  "I'll be back soon," I add as I follow Detective Gregory out the door. I can't help wishing that people would just leave me alone. If no-one had bothered me this morning, I'd be a lot further along with my work. In fact, it might have been best if I'd locked the door to my lab and pretended no-one was home. I swear to God, if people keep crowding me like this, I'm going to snap again. Humans are possibly the most annoying species in existence.

  Mark Gregory

  "I know you graduated top of your class," I say as we park near the church down by Graves Park. "I know you graduated top of any class that's ever been held. I know you're widely considered to be the most gifted medical examiner in... well, in history." Turning to her, I try to break the ice with a smile. "So what's your secret? Are you just bribing everyone in your path?"

  "No," she replies, opening the door on her side and stepping out. "I've been sleeping my way to the top."

  Staying in my seat for a moment, I watch as Abby walks toward the church. So far, I've had no luck getting through the barriers she seems to have erected all around her mind. It's as if she's determined to make herself sound tougher and sharper than she really is, and while I wouldn't go so far as to say she's hiding her vulnerability, I am convinced that she's putting on a show. I feel as if I haven't met the real Abby Hart yet.

  Getting out of the car, I turn and look over at the church. With an elegant, slightly faded facade supported by thick stone columns, it's a cut above your average New York church, and it's hard to see why anyone would build such a place unless they wanted to intimidate visitors. Frankly, the building looks more like it belongs in Ancient Greece or Rome than twenty-first century New York. At the same time, it doesn't feel welcoming at all; it's almost as if the front of the building is daring visitors to come closer, and hinting that it would be a mistake to do so.

  "So you don't have a warrant for this, right?" Abby asks as I join her on the sidewalk. "You didn't bother gathering evidence and then going to a judge? None of the formalities? Isn't that just slightly illegal?"

  "It would be if this was an actual search," I reply. "Fortunately, it's nothing of the sort. It's just two people going to take a look around a church. If they start making that illegal, this country's in real trouble."

  "With blood swabs," she points out. "Most people pray when they go to a church, or take photos. We're going to check for signs of blood."

  "So we're two people with weird hobbies," I continue. "As long as we're discreet about it, there's no problem. Anyway, I've been very careful not to file any paperwork that even mentions this church. It's not part of any ongoing investigation. I couldn't get a warrant even if I tried. All I've got to go on is the word of a girl who, frankly, seems like she's half dead already." I pause for a moment. "Don't worry. There's no way you'll get into any trouble."

  "I know there's isn't," she replies calmly.

  "Right. I forgot. You just sleep your way to the top."

  She scowls at me.

  "Sorry, bad joke."

  She stares at me for a moment. "If I slept my way to the top," she says eventually, "I'd be a lot higher up by now."

  Smiling, she starts walking toward the church, leaving me to follow. There's definitely something a little strange about this Abby Hart woman. For one thing, her rise through the system has been extraordinary, to the point that I'd have a hard time believing it if I hadn't met her for myself. For another, there's no damn way she's been sleeping her way through the ranks. She's got this intense aura of intelligence, and although I've only just met her, I already feel like she's talking down to me. It's as if she views me as somehow being a lesser person, even a lesser intelligence. I definitely wouldn't like to get on her wrong side.

  "This place was built by an offshoot of a secretive Cathar sect," Abby explains as we walk up the wide stone steps that lead to the main door. "They were persecuted throughout history, so they often built their churches in the style of other, more accepted faiths. In some cases, they even enacted the ceremonies of those other faiths, in order to cover up the truth of their denomination. Whereas most groups stood firmly and ended up being slaughtered, the Cathars were willing to disguise themselves. They were a little like hermit crabs in a way, adopting the shells of others as a kind of survival strategy. Of course, they ended up being castigated throughout the world and viewed as vermin. Thousands of them were killed, maybe even millions, but some people think pockets of them are still around. You can't blame them if they don't want to advertize their presence."

  "You've been reading up," I reply, trying to work out when, exactly, she had time to do any research.

  "I like to know the real history of the city," she continues, "especially when it comes to people like this. They lived among their enemies, and they had to keep their true nature hidden. Eventually, the Cathar side of their practice died off and they embraced the Catholicism that, up until that point, had just been an illusion. Or that's what the history books say, anyway. Maybe they just went so deep undercover, no-one's spotted them since. Either way, this church has been Catholic for at least a century. If there are any Cathars still worshiping here, they keep everything very quiet."

  As soon as we get inside, it's clear that this place isn't used very much. There's dust everywhere, and the only sign of life is a row of candles flickering on a bench to one side of the large, drafty nave.

  "You think anyone's home?" I ask.

  "Apart from God?" she replies.

  "You believe?"

  She smiles. "I like to keep my options open."

  As we make our way toward the altar, I can't help but notice that Abby already seems to be getting to work. She retrieves a set of swabs from her pocket and casually dabs the tops of some of the pews, before surreptitiously checking the results. I have to give credit where it's due: this woman knows her stuff, and she works fast. After a moment, she casually reaches dow
n and runs a swab across the stone floor.

  "Anything?" I whisper.

  "I'd tell you if there was."

  When we reach the altar, I turn and look back across the church. There's something very austere about the place, and the cold stone walls make the building seem extremely unwelcoming. Still, it's something of a leap to reach the conclusion that this church could have anything to do with the bodies found in the abandoned building. I'm starting to think that this trip might have been a waste of time, but no matter how meager the lead, it's all I've got right now. If this falls through, I'm back to square one.

  "Anything?" I ask, as Abby swabs the altar.

  "I'd tell you if there was," she says again, sounding a little annoyed.

  "So these Cathars," I continue, walking over to the pulpit. "They'd just fake their faith in a completely different religion, and then they'd perform their own services in private?" I pause for a moment. "Maybe I'm being cynical, but that doesn't sound like faith. Surely they should have -"

  "Let themselves be murdered?" she replies. "It was an act of faith. They felt it was worth doing anything in order to achieve their goal. All they cared about was serving their god, and they knew there was no point throwing their lives away just to prove some kind of point. They had faith in their purpose, and in their mission. Everything else was just a distraction as far as they were concerned. They didn't feel compelled to prove their faith by committing suicide."

  "But they didn't trust God to protect them?" I ask. "Isn't that kind of a central tenet of most religions?"

  "They did what was necessary," she says firmly as she passes a swab over the top of the altar. "I guess they rationalized it later."

  I watch as she works for a moment. "Anything?"

  Sighing, she flashes me a deathly stare.

  "I guess you'll tell me if you find anything," I continue, walking over to one of the pews. It's getting harder and harder to believe that there's anything unseemly happening in this place. As far as I can tell, it's just an old, dusty church that no-one bothers to visit anymore. Reaching down, I wipe a thick layer of dust off the nearest seat, and after a moment I realize that there's dust everywhere, as if no-one has sat here for a long time. There's even dust in the air, floating slowly through the patches of light that shine through a set of large stained-glass windows. If a church could die and start to decompose, this is what it would look like.

  "No blood," Abby says, walking down from the altar. "Not a trace. No-one's had so much as a nose-bleed in here."

  "I guess this was a waste of time," I reply, glancing back across the wide open space. "Seems like nobody's home, too."

  "If it's all the same," she continues, "I need to get back to my lab. I don't trust that assistant you sent to work for me. There's no way she'll be willing to just stand and wait for inspiration to strike. She's probably already interfering with the bodies. It's going to take me all afternoon to undo whatever mistakes she's been making." She starts walking to the door, but suddenly she stops and turns to me. "You notice anything unusual about our footsteps?" she asks.

  I walk over to join her, listening to the sound of my feet against the stone floor.

  "Almost like there's a hollow space directly below us," she continues.

  "Probably just a basement," I point out.

  "Must be pretty big," she replies, and I can see that her interest has been piqued. Walking over to a small door over by the side of the entrance hallway, she pulls at the handle but finds that it's locked. "If you ever come back with a warrant," she says, turning to me, "you should make sure it includes the basement. Just to be sure."

  By the time we get back to the car, I'm starting to feel as if I'll never catch a break in this case. The fact that I put so much faith in the claims of a rambling homeless girl is, in itself, kind of depressing, but what makes the situation even worse is that now this far-fetched lead has proved to be a dud, I'm left with nothing. Whoever chained those people up and drained their blood, they seem to have orchestrated the perfect crime, and I can't shake the feeling that they might be doing the same thing again, somewhere else in the city. Sure, I could come back with a warrant and demand to see the basement, but it'd just be another waste of time. It's clear that the church has been ignored for years.

  "This is the right place," Abby says suddenly.

  "You said there was no blood," I reply as I start the engine. "You said -"

  "Did you see how much dust there was?" she asks. "It was half an inch thick in some places, even on the floor. No-one had disturbed that place for months, maybe even years."

  "Exactly -"

  "And yet the entrance hallway was clean," she continues, "and I've passed this place a couple of times in recent weeks and seen people going in and out. They're not going into the main part of the building, but they're definitely doing something in there."

  "The basement?" I ask, turning to look back over at the church.

  "For that," she replies, "I think you might need an actual warrant."

  "I don't have the evidence," I tell her.

  "I'm sure you'll think of something." She pauses. "Maybe it's vampires."

  I smile awkwardly.

  "What?" she asks. "Don't you think it could be? Maybe they're real after all?"

  "I doubt it," I reply uncomfortably. "If that's our best lead, we're really screwed."

  As I ease us into the mid-morning traffic, I can't shake the feeling that maybe she's grasping at straws. There's no way I can get a warrant to search the church based on Clare Stamler's ramblings and the simple fact that there's a lot of dust on the pews, so right now it looks as if the investigation has hit a dead-end. What I need right now is a miracle. I need some kind of forensic development that puts me back on the right track, and somehow I doubt that track is going to lead back to the church.

  Abby Hart

  By the time I get back to my apartment, it's 1am and I feel as if the day has been ruined. With my new assistant hanging around, I was forced to work at a slow human pace, which means I got nothing done, and I'm pretty certain that Detective Gregory thinks the church is a waste of time. This is the problem with working among humans: their minds are too slow, and they stumble with achingly dull pace from one idea to the next, seemingly incapable of taking the vast leaps that are required. While Mark seems like one of the smarter humans, he's still got all those tired old human frailties and weaknesses. When he looks at the big picture, he misses the detail, and when he looks at the detail, he misses the broader view; he can't see everything at the same time, and consequently he's left stumbling around in the dark.

  Plus, his mind is closed to the possibilities. Based on the scent I've detected on him, he's definitely been in contact with a vampire at some point in the past few years, but maybe he doesn't realize what happened. He certainly doesn't seem to believe that we exist.

  The Book of Gothos is my only true friend. I still don't even know how it ended up in my possession. I simply opened my front door one day and found it resting against the jamb. As far as I'm aware, the book was in my father's possession for a long time but eventually ended up with Benjamin and the Watchers. After the final confrontation with Benjamin, when the Watchers' facility in Dedston was destroyed, I gave the book little thought and simply assumed that it had been burned. I have no idea who could have rescued it, and I certainly don't know how they found me in New York or why they decided to leave the book with me. I guess I have a guardian angel. Whatever the truth might be, though, I'm glad the book is here with me. It's a useful reference work, if nothing else.

  After pouring a glass of red wine, I sit over by the window and start leafing through the book. Eventually I find the section I'm looking for, concerning the use of blood in vampire lore. There are lots of different types of vampire, of course, each with their own traditions and their own rules, but blood is pretty much a constant: it's used as a restorative agent and as a source of strength. I still remember the very first time I drank human blood, back in
the Callerton forest after I'd killed Donna. The feeling of strength was immense, almost too much for my body to handle, and I've learned over the years to be a little more careful. Just a few drops of blood are enough to keep me strong, and drinking a whole body's worth would be dangerous. It's hard to see why someone would be farming blood in such massive quantities, and I'm pretty damn certain it's not just for personal use. There are -

  Feeling something brush against my shoulder, I turn and look across the room.

  Nothing.

  I set the book down and walk over to the other window. I've been sensing a presence for a while now, as if there's something watching me at all times. I've already searched the Book of Gothos in an attempt to find out what it might be, but I've come up with no answers. It doesn't seem to be dangerous so far, but that doesn't mean it's entirely benign. I don't like things I can't see, and right now I'm overwhelmed by the sense that someone or something is here with me. Whatever it is, it follows me all the time, and even though it has never made a move, I can't stop worrying that at some point it's going to make its true purpose clear. Then again, I guess maybe I'm imagining the whole thing. Living in this city, I'm constantly spooked by the fear of finding a vampire around every corner. I guess it's possible that my mind is playing tricks on me.

  Finally, realizing that there's no point letting myself get too freaked out by this thing, I take a big gulp of wine and return to the Book of Gothos. There has to be something in here that'll give me a clue about the bodies and the church. Vampire mythology is so vast and so rich, I feel as if I'm still only a fraction of a way toward understanding anything at all. I wish I had someone to ask, someone who could guide me, but all I've got is the book. I guess one day I'll know more, but at the moment I feel as if I'm totally lost and -