The Hollow Church

by Amy Cross

  Mark Gregory

  Today

  "Come on," Duffield says, slamming a pile of papers on my desk. "You're not still feeling sore, are you? It's over. Time to move on, buddy!"

  Moving the papers aside, I continue to look at the images from the Shinzo Aka raid. It's been twenty-four hours since the operation finished, and thousands of photos are now being shared throughout the force, purporting to show the cult's compound being searched while bodies are removed. The FBI insists that the case is now closed, and Agent Elba has been trumpeting his 'success' at every available opportunity. To judge from media reports, you'd think that the FBI had swooped in and immediately dealt with a complex case that we'd otherwise never have been able to solve. Unfortunately, I'm convinced that Abby Hart was right when she said that the real perpetrators are still out there somewhere.

  "Apparently they were into this weird vampire shit," Duffield continues, leering at the the latest images of dead cult members. "I was talking to Symons down on the fourth floor, and he reckons there was, like, lesbian stuff going on. Like, naked women covered in blood, wrestling and fucking on altars. That's what all the blood was for, you see? They were bathing in it before their big wrestling matches, and then they'd fight and bite each other. Probably smeared it all over their bodies."

  "You don't seriously believe that, do you?" I ask.

  "Why not?" he replies with a shrug. "These people were totally fucked up. I mean, they genuinely thought they were a bunch of fucking vampires. Who knows what kind of other crazy shit was going on their heads?"

  "So that's what this was all about?" I ask, staring at him. "All these deaths were due to a bunch of idiots in New Jersey who wanted to watch naked lesbian blood wrestling?"

  "You got any better ideas?" he replies.

  Not even bothering to answer him, I keep looking through the photos.

  "Is this gonna become an issue?" he asks after a moment. "Please don't tell me you're gonna get all weird about it and start pretending the case isn't solved. It's over, Mark. The FBI got our asses on this one, so let's just breathe a sigh of relief and move on. There's no way anyone's gonna blame us. How were we supposed to know about the Shinzo whatever people up in New Jersey?"

  "It's fine," I reply, figuring I'd rather keep him out of the loop. "I guess sometimes the simplest explanation is the right one after all. It's not inconceivable that a bunch of idiots at some compound were behind the whole thing."

  "Glad to see you're starting to talk sense," Duffield says. "Shame they didn't get any footage of the lesbian vampires, though. For research purposes, I mean." He waits for me to laugh. "Seriously," he adds, "you need to lighten up. You're gonna give yourself an ulcer if you keep going like this. You need to focus on finding moments of lightness in all the crap."

  "Don't you have any work to be doing?" I ask, trying very hard to keep from telling him to go fuck himself. Honestly, Duffield has long been the most annoying man I've ever met, but he seems to be going for a world record here. It's hard to believe how eagerly he's buying the FBI's line about the Shinzo Aka cult, but I guess he's got a vested interest: he needs to believe that the horror is over, and he's scared to admit that there might be more to come.

  "I just dropped by to see if you want to grab a beer later," he replies. "To celebrate."

  "Celebrate what?" I ask.

  "Solving the case!"

  Getting to my feet, I walk around the desk and head for the door. "There's nothing to celebrate," I say, glancing back at him. "We've still got two hundred dead people in the morgue, most of them without much hope of ever being identified."

  "But at least there won't be any more," he replies. "That's gotta be a good thing, right?" He pauses. "So what's that twitch all about?"

  "What twitch?" I ask, immediately realizing that I might sound a little too defensive.

  "Your left eye," he continues. "Don't get me wrong, but something's up, isn't it? You seem nervous. If you want to talk about it -"

  "There's nothing to talk about," I say firmly.

  "Okay," he replies, with a faint smile. "Whatever. You're not fooling anyone, though. Something's clearly got your goat."

  Without answering, I head out into the corridor. The truth is, I don't share Duffield's optimism. I'm convinced that there will be more bodies in the next day or two, unless something's done to find the real killers. The only hope, as far as I can tell, is that Abby Hart might have found a way to deal with the problem. It's been forty-eight hours since she left the bar and told me she'd 'take care' of things, and I haven't heard from her. I've been patient, but I figure it's time to go to her lab and find out if there's any news. I just wish I could shake the feeling that the killers are still out there somewhere, with more victims being drained of blood.

  Mark Gregory

  Ten years ago

  "What do you think?" Hoskins asks as we make our way into the gloom of the cave. "If you were a vampire, is this where you'd hang out?"

  "How large is this cave system?" I ask, shining a torch into the darkness.

  "Fuck knows," he replies. "Doesn't matter. You know what we're gonna do? We're gonna stand around for a few minutes, just long enough for it to look like we're actually doing something, and then we're gonna head out and go back down to the town. Then we're gonna tell the old guy that we took a proper look around and that we didn't find a vampire, and then we're gonna go back to base and tell the guys about this. Seriously, they're gonna laugh." He pauses. "It's all about perception, Sergeant Douglas. As long as the locals think we're taking their superstitious bullshit seriously, they'll be happy enough."

  Stopping once we're a few meters inside, we both shine our torches around the place. It's a fairly large cave, and it's clear that it extends quite a long way into the mountain. In this part of the world, there are cave systems that run for hundreds of miles, which makes them perfect for anyone who wants to hide. Although Hoskins is convinced that there's no real threat in this part of the country, I can't help thinking that he's relaxing a little too much. Vampires might not be real, but insurgents and mercenaries are very real, and I still think we're unwise to let ourselves be drawn into this kind of situation.

  "Can we go now?" I ask eventually.

  "What's wrong?" he replies with a grin. "Scared?"

  "Cautious," I tell him. "We're taking an unnecessary risk."

  "You're welcome to go back to the jeep," he says. "Seriously, I can handle this. There's nothing here, anyway. If you're worried about Vlad the Impaler jumping out from the shadows, don't sweat it. Just go and wait outside."

  "I'm not worried about vampires," I tell him. "I'm worried about more mundane threats."

  "Jesus Christ," he replies, sounding as if he's out of patience with me, "will you just listen to someone who actually fucking knows how it works out here? Yes, there are parts of this country where it'd be fucking suicide to do what we're doing right now, but I know this town like the back of my hand, okay? The people here are on our fucking side, Gregory! They're superstitious and they're stubborn and sometimes they're pretty weird, but they're not gonna hurt us! We're more like cops than soldiers! Believe me, we're sitting fucking pretty compared to ninety nine per cent of soldiers out in this dust-bowl." He pauses. "Just calm down, get a grip, listen to reason and do what you're told. That's an order."

  "Fine," I mutter, realizing that I'm not going to change his mind.

  "Go get a bigger flashlight from the jeep," he continues. "That's an order!"

  "We don't need -"

  "Just do it!" he says, raising his voice. "It'll make it look like we're taking this seriously." He pauses for a moment. "You know the thing about war that most people don't understand? It's pretty fucking simple. War is totally, completely absurd. It's surreal. This is a perfect example. Now go get a bigger flashlight so we can make the nice elderly gentleman believe that we're genuinely looking for the vampire that sucking his goat's blood."

  Sighing, I turn and make my way out of the cave. As I
get to the jeep, I can't help but notice that there's still a small crowd gathered a few hundred meters away, on the edge of the town. They're watching our every move, and it's crazy to think that they're actually worried about a vampire. I guess maybe Hoskins was right when he said that we just need to humor them. Opening the back of the jeep, I start sorting through some of the boxes, and eventually I find a large flashlight that should do the trick.

  Before I can get back to the cave, however, I hear a single gunshot firing from the darkness. I freeze for a moment, before there's a second gunshot, followed by a muffled scream.

  Dropping the flashlight, I grab my rifle and run back toward the cave. As soon as I get into the gloom, I come to a halt as I see that Hoskins is on the ground, with someone kneeling over him, reaching down as if he's kissing his neck.

  "Stop!" I shout, raising my rifle.

  The figure turns to me, and to my shock I see that it's a naked man with dark, hollow eyes and a smattering of blood on his lips. He slowly opens his mouth to reveal a pair of sharp fangs, and then without any warning he turns and starts running deeper into the cave system. I race after him, eventually stopping to fire off several rounds. I swear to God, I must have hit him, but he just keeps running, until finally there's no sign of him.

  "You okay?" I ask, kneeling next to Hoskins and finding that one side of his neck has been almost completely torn away. He's still alive, desperately trying to say something as blood sprays from the wound. "It's okay," I say, realizing that I need to get medical back-up out here immediately. "You're going to be fine." As I say the words, however, I can already see that he's lost a massive amount of blood, and I feel a cold chill pass through my body as I look down at his eyes and realize that he's not going to make it.

  Mark Gregory

  Today

  "I haven't seen her," Katie says as she wipes down one of the metal tables in Abby's lab. "Not since..." She pauses. "I'm not sure. It's been a couple of days. I've been covering for her, but eventually someone's gonna notice that she's not turning up for work. If you see her, maybe you should tell her to drop by occasionally." Pausing again, she suddenly lets out the loudest sneeze I've ever heard in my life. "My allergies are playing up," she mutters, before taking a tissue from her pocket and blowing her nose.

  "Have you tried her phone?" I ask, trying not to let it show that I'm worried. The truth is, I already expected to find that Abby wouldn't be here, and I've got a horrible feeling that she might have bitten off more than she can chew.

  "Yeah," she replies, "believe it or not, that did occur to me. She didn't answer." As she finishes wiping the nearest table and moves on to the next, she seems lost in thought for a moment. "So do you want me to still keep turning up," she asks after a moment, "or should I go and do something that's actually useful?"

  "What do you mean?" I reply.

  "You're the one who told me to come and help Dr. Hart," she continues. "If she's not around, what am I supposed to do? I've spent the whole morning cleaning, and -" She pauses for a moment, just long enough to let out another huge sneeze. "I think I'm allergic to the detergent," she continues. "That's got to be what's wrong. But the whole lab is completely spotless, and if Dr. Hart isn't coming back -"

  "She'll be back," I say firmly, even though I'm starting to get worried. "She's probably just busy with something else."

  "That's great," Katie replies, "but I'm kind of at a loose end. I mean, I didn't come to work here just so I could scrub a bunch of old tables. I feel as if -" She pauses just in time to sneeze again. "I feel as if I'm not being used in my correct capacity," she continues once she's recovered. "I know I'm just a junior technician, but I'm supposed to be learning on the job, and right now I feel like everyone's just forgotten about me."

  "No-one's forgotten about you," I tell her. "Things are just difficult."

  "Cool," she replies, "but am I, like, her assistant or something? I'd kind of like to know what I'm supposed to be doing here. I don't even know if this is supposed to be a permanent position!"

  "Just stay put," I tell her, "and wait for Dr. Hart to come back. She will be back, Katie. You just need to be patient and get on with some other work until she shows up. Can you do that? I need..." Pausing for a moment, I realize that maybe I need to let Katie in on the situation, at least to some degree. "I need you to be my eyes and ears in here," I continue. "I need you to keep an eye on Dr. Hart for me, and let me know if you see anything unusual."

  "Like what?"

  I shrug.

  "Is he in trouble?"

  "No," I reply. "Why, has she said or done anything that worries you?"

  She shakes her head.

  "Just let me know if anything happens that you think might be useful. Don't go to anyone else. Just come to me."

  "She's missing, isn't she?"

  I open my mouth to reply, but I have no idea what to say.

  "It's okay," she continues. "I guessed. I don't know Dr. Hart very well, but I get the feeling she's a little...odd."

  "In what way?"

  "Well..." She pauses, as if she's not sure whether to continue. "It's like with that black substance that came from the bodies. We were running all these tests with it, trying to work out what it is and how it works and where it comes from, and we weren't really getting anywhere. We've still got some samples in a couple of tanks, but it totally seemed like we didn't have a clue. We were both getting totally frustrated, 'cause we were doing everything right and we still weren't getting any results. And then..." She pauses again. "Well, Dr. Hart kind of... drank some of it."

  "Are you serious?" I ask.

  "Not a lot," she continues, "but a sip. Maybe more of a lick. She said she wanted to get a better idea of what it was supposed to do. I told her it was dangerous, but she just smiled and said she'd be fine, like she didn't think it could really affect her. I mean, I guess it's good if she's brave and she thinks outside the box, but sometimes it's as if she's a little crazy, like she doesn't think the usual rules apply to her. Not in a normal way, either. More like she's not quite got everything connected properly in her head." She pauses. "I hope I'm not speaking out of turn or anything..."

  "How did she seem after she drank the liquid?" I ask.

  "Fine," she replies with a shrug. "In fact, I think she was kinda disappointed. It's almost as if she wanted to get a little sick, but it didn't seem to affect her at all." She pauses. "I saw the news. They're saying that some cult in New Jersey was responsible for all the deaths. It's not true, is it?"

  "What makes you say that?" I ask.

  "Just a hunch. Plus, it seems too neat and easy."

  "If Dr. Hart comes back," I say, heading to the door, "tell her to come and find me, and let me know when you've seen her. This is important. I need to speak to her as soon as possible."

  "Do you think she's hurt?" Katie calls after me.

  "I think she's more than hurt," I reply, making my way out into the corridor and hurrying toward the elevators. Although I want to trust Abby, I can't shake the feeling that she might have done something very dumb. There was something about her the other day, a strange mix of confidence and fear, that makes me think she might have walked straight into the heart of something she doesn't fully understand. I guess I was wrong to let her go off without me, and maybe I allowed myself to have a little too much faith in her ability to deal with whatever problem has arisen. I hate to admit it, but I'm more and more certain that Dr. Abby Hart might be in serious danger. Fortunately, I've got a pretty good idea where I might be able to find her. She tried very hard to convince me that the church next to Graves Park has nothing to do with any of this, but I'm convinced she was lying.

  Mark Gregory

  Ten years ago

  "Your report is..." Sergeant Edwards pauses for a moment, flipping back to the front page of the typed report I filed this morning. "Well, it certainly makes for interesting reading. Is this really what happened?"

  "Every word," I reply, sitting in his office. "I swear -"


  "The assailant," he continues, interrupting me, "was a naked middle-aged man of indeterminate ethnic origin, who tore a section out of Corporal Hoskins' neck and then ran off into the darkness, dodging a hail of bullets." He pauses. "Is that what you're claiming, Private Gregory?"

  "It's what happened," I reply, keenly aware that Edwards obviously doesn't believe me.

  "And is it your opinion that this assailant was a vampire?"

  I stare at him. There's clearly no answer I can give him that's going to be satisfactory. The truth, as absurd as it might sound, is the truth, but I don't expect anyone to believe it. After all, if I hadn't been there, I wouldn't believe a word of this story. Looking down at my hands, I see that they're still shaking.

  "What's with your eyes?" Edwards asks.

  "I'm sorry?" I reply, looking back over at him.

  "You're twitching," he continues, frowning as he stares at me. "Your left eye is moving a lot, Private Gregory. Have you been checked out?"

  I shake my head.

  "Stop it," he says firmly.

  I try to keep my eye and my hands still, but no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to stop. It's some kind of involuntary movement that I've developed over the past twenty-four hours, since Hoskins was killed. I can't help reliving, over and over again, the long wait for medical back-up to reach us; I keep thinking about the way Hoskins just stared at me while blood was pouring from his neck. There was nothing I could do, no way I could save him, and although I wanted to say something comforting, I ended up just watching in silence as he died.

  "Private Gregory?"

  "Sorry?"

  "Are you okay?" Sergeant Edwards eyes me cautiously. "You seemed to be drifting off there for a moment."

  "I'm fine," I tell him.

  "Huh." He looks back down at my report for a moment. "You understand, I hope, that a report mentioning vampires can't ever be filed." He pauses. "I mean, this is basically a piece of fantasy, Private Gregory. I have no doubt that the backbone of your report is accurate, but the way you phrase your description of the final moments, it's almost as if you're accepting the claim that the assailant..." He smiles awkwardly. "You understand my difficulty here, don't you?"