Stake

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Helsing would not let doubts get the best of him. The shadowy investors behind Sarka Imports were beyond his reach, at least for now, so he set his sights on an achievable goal. The night watchman was in there, hiding behind the imagined safety of his fence.

  Avoiding streetlights, Helsing made his way to the back of the warehouse. He could hear something rustling through the dumpsters just outside the chain-link fence, probably a raccoon or a rat. After being moved outside the gate for trash pickup, the dumpsters had been left right up against the fence. Helsing could have climbed on top of one, thrown a jacket over the barbed wire, swung himself over. But he wouldn’t make his move yet. Vampires were strongest in the dead of night. This was just his initial surveillance and confirmation.

  At half past the hour, the office door opened, and the night watchman emerged to make his regular rounds, leading a chocolate-and-tan German Shepherd on a leash. Standing in the pool of light from the open door, Eldridge fiddled with the collar and unclipped the leash to let the dog roam free. The German Shepherd bounded back and forth on his nighttime romp, letting the guard pat him on the head before he raced off to explore the grounds.

  Helsing watched from the shadows behind the rear fence. He had learned everything possible about the man, which wasn’t much. Eldridge was Helsing’s age, and he also had a military service record in Bosnia. Eldridge had been stationed west of Sarajevo during the peacekeeping mission, but he had not distinguished himself in any way, nor had he suffered any similar ordeals in Bosnia. Eldridge had merely put in his time and come home.

  But when he returned from Bosnia, the man’s personality had suddenly changed, so much so that it stood out when Helsing began to investigate. Eldridge had changed his schedule, working only nights. He left very few clues about himself. Like many of the other potential targets, Eldridge was single, lived a solitary life with no friends, no family connections. For the past seven years, he had worked as a night-time security guard for Sarka Imports.

  It required very little imagination to guess that Eldridge was a lackey for the invisible businessmen who brought secretive objects back from Eastern Europe. In all likelihood, he was directly in thrall to the king vampire himself. Some nights, Eldridge mysteriously failed to show up at his job, perhaps the times when he went out hunting. He owned the guard dog, which implied he was a higher-ranking vampire, one allowed to have an animal familiar.

  The guard had a broad chest and a solid belly that made him look like a barrel with arms and legs. He wore a dark uniform and openly carried a sidearm, probably a Glock. He stood on the concrete steps and lit a cigarette; the bright orange ember glowed like a demonic eye in the darkness. After taking a few drags, he ambled down the sidewalk to the chain fence in a casual circuit. Under the bright security lights, Eldridge didn’t have a care in the world. No doubt, the vampire was confident he could defeat any human opponent who dared to challenge him. Helsing watched the predatory grace of his movements and wondered what the man would be like in the stupor of midday sleep.

  That was when Helsing could easily take care of him. He knew where Eldridge lived.

  He was so intent on watching the guard make his rounds that he didn’t hear the click of claws, the heavy panting breaths. The growl started deep in the German Shepherd’s throat as it sprang out of the shadows from the corner of the building and charged toward him. The dog let out a ferocious snarl as it slammed against the fence.

  Startled, Helsing stumbled back into the shadows. The dog kept barking, growling. Saliva dripped off its fangs in silver droplets. Its eyes flared with pure evil. It scrabbled on the chain link, trying to tear apart the wires.

  ‘Hey!’ The guard ran closer, huffing breaths and pumping his arms. ‘You kids better get out of here!’

  Helsing scuttled into the shadows of the alley, cursing the dog under his breath. ‘Spawn of evil.’

  The German Shepherd kept barking as it clattered against the fence, unable to climb over. Eldridge ran up to the chain link and peered out into the darkness, but he couldn’t see beyond the well-lit grounds.

  Helsing kept moving. He had seen what he wanted to see. Now he just needed to wait until the light of day.

  The vampire’s daytime lair was a small two-bedroom home with a tiny fenced backyard. The house had seen better days, but apparently Douglas Eldridge couldn’t afford anything better on a security guard’s salary. Either that, or it was part of his clever disguise.

  Helsing waited until the autumn sun was highest. He had already scoped out the home, knew that the neighbors on either side worked regular jobs during regular hours, never guessing that their reclusive neighbor was a vampire.

  Under the clear sky, Eldridge’s house was dark and silent, as if cringing from the light. The blinds and curtains were drawn, darkening the interior to shelter the creature inside. A sidewalk and a square-cut hedge of dying juniper shrubs graced the brick front of the house. Feeling exposed, Helsing walked down the driveway and slipped around the garage to the back, where a gate led to the backyard.

  Helsing carried a satchel with his sharpened stakes and also a Taser, which should expedite his work. These old houses usually had woefully inadequate doors and security systems. There was always a chance a lampir could have installed strong barricades, but Helsing doubted it. Most of them were arrogant, unwilling to accept their own danger.

  He opened the gate and slipped inside, closing it behind him. He held the solid mallet in his right hand, ready for work.

  The German Shepherd galloped toward him, snapping its jaws like a bundle of fur, claws, and fangs. The attacking beast sent a primal chill down Helsing’s spine, but he was ready. He assumed that Eldridge kept the dog to guard him while he slept during the day. Merely another kind of monster. Helsing had to be swift and sure.

  The German Shepherd lunged toward him, slavering to tear out his throat, but Helsing swung his right arm and smashed the heavy mallet against the dog’s skull. He heard a solid, satisfying crunch of bone. The animal’s yelp of pain fell silent as it dropped. He left the bloody mess on the patchy grass of the backyard.

  Helsing stepped up to the rear porch, swung open the screen door, and made quick work of the lock. Carrying his satchel with stakes and the red-spattered mallet, Helsing entered the kitchen as quietly as possible. Unzipping the satchel, he donned the crucifix necklace, splashed holy water on himself, then removed the Taser.

  The house was filled with gloom. On a small hall table not far from the bedroom door, Eldridge had left his holstered Glock right out in the open. His security guard jacket hung on a hook on the wall.

  Helsing heard someone stir in the bedroom. So, not yet the sleep of the dead … Roused by the loud barking of his dog, Eldridge yelled, ‘Shut the hell up!’ He blundered out of his room, half asleep, and saw Helsing standing there with the bloody mallet in his hand. His eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open.

  Helsing brought up the Taser just as Eldridge lunged for the handgun on the table. Before he could grab the Glock, the Taser wire spun out and the electrodes pierced the vampire’s chest with a cracking, popping sizzle. Thrown backward, the guard jerked and jittered.

  Helsing hadn’t been sure whether a Taser would be effective on a vampire, but Eldridge flailed, dropped to his knees. The crackle of the discharging electricity continued through the long spooling wire until the single charge drained.

  When the guard fell to the floor, Helsing roughly rolled him on his back. Barely in control of his muscles, Eldridge blindly swept up a hand to fend off his attacker, but he was too weak to have an effect.

  Moving fast, Helsing snagged the duffel and produced one of his sharpened pine stakes. He placed it against Eldridge’s chest, easily finding the right spot. The man’s eyes were bloodshot, confused, but when he saw the stake, he tried to scramble away.

  Helsing brought the mallet down hard and fast. With a wooden crack, the stake plunged into Eldridge’s chest and pierced the heart with a bubbly splash of dark blood. His
hands jittered upward, grasping at something, then dropped back.

  Helsing struck a second time, pounding the stake all the way through his chest. The man slumped into death, as if his bones had turned to jelly – but that was all. No flash of light, no crumbling to dust. Disappointing. It seemed to minimize the threat the lampir posed.

  In all the times he had slain vampires, rarely did the dying creatures sprout fangs and claws. In a few spectacular instances, the victims became howling monstrosities, thrashing and fighting for their very lives with all the supernatural powers they possessed … and yet they always perished in the end. Most, though, died just like this, a bland and pitiful end. He guessed it was because they were too weak during the daytime.

  Breathing hard with the effort he had just expended, Helsing looked down at the body with a warm glow of satisfaction. Another vampire dead, another success. Sprawled out on the linoleum floor, Eldridge lay in a pool of blood, no longer a threat to the human race.

  The stake had killed the lampir, but Helsing decided to burn the body, for added security.

  He had brought a bottle of charcoal lighter fluid in the duffel, and he doused the corpse, drenching the loose pajamas, the hair, the skin. Then he lit a match and set the body alight. It wasn’t a huge blaze, but enough to ruin the body. The vampire was dead. That was all that mattered.

  Leaving the stake in place as the blue and yellow flames licked upward, Helsing packed up his Taser and mallet, and zipped the satchel shut before darting out the back door past the dead dog. He became invisible again in the daytime streets of the city.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Working late again, disappointed by Detective Carrow’s dismissive attitude that afternoon, Lexi reviewed her own summary of the vampire evidence that Stoker1897 had compiled: the mysterious bodies, inconclusive reports of missing blood supplies, missing persons. Every curious point had a rational explanation, but the cumulative weight of suspicious little details was compelling to anyone willing to consider it.

  Detective Carrow clearly was not.

  One of these days, I’m sure to be right. She heard the words in Teresa’s voice, as if her friend had encouraged her to keep up the search.

  Because of the stake murder and the decapitated head stuffed with garlic – a fact now made public – the HideTruth vampire thread remained active. She wanted to lay out the ideas bullet point by bullet point and let the detective try to argue his way out of them. But she doubted he would take the time to read her site again.

  Feeling defensive sharpened Lexi’s concentration, and that was when she did her best work, even late at night during the black hole of 2 a.m. She still felt guilty about drawing attention to Holly Smith and the Bigfoot assault, so she was glad the online discussion had quieted to nothing.

  The house was dark and sleepily silent, and she heard the front door open, but realized it was just Blair coming in. She let out a small sigh of relief, glad to have her friend home. No Dirty Harry response this time, no guns drawn. He had worked an earlier shift at Olive U, then gone out – again – with Cesar. She hadn’t actually expected him to come home at all. His love-struck happiness seemed to linger in the air like a pervasive perfume. She enjoyed seeing her friend like that, though she was a little envious, trying to remember the last time she’d been so goofy. He deserved it.

  In the gloomy loneliness of the quiet house, Lexi wanted his company. She stretched the stiffness out of her arms as she emerged from her room. Blair had kept the front hallway light off, trying not to disturb her. He moved slowly in the front room, keeping his head down, probably tipsy again. She went out to offer him help.

  As she stepped closer, she saw his silhouette, realized his shoulders were shaking. She heard a sniffling sound. ‘Blair! What’s wrong?’ She flicked on the light, and he covered his face with a hand. Even before she saw his distraught expression, his tear-streaked cheeks, she was already hurrying toward him. His left eye was smashed and swollen; blood welled up from his lower lip. His shirt hung askew.

  He winced, turned away. ‘It’s fine. I’ll be fine.’ The swollen lip distorted his words.

  She grabbed his arm and led him to the couch. ‘Tell me what happened.’ She wrapped her arm around him, sat him down. ‘Were you mugged?’

  ‘No. This was self-inflicted, you could say.’ His voice held both despair and disgust. ‘He said he loved me. It was Cesar. He …’ He cradled his swollen eye in the palm of his hand. ‘He said he loved me, Lex!’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her. ‘So sorry.’

  He shuddered, pulled away. ‘Don’t. I just want to go to bed. Even nightmares would be better than staying awake right now.’

  ‘No, you’re going to have to put up with a hug for a few more minutes.’ Lexi just held him, and he laid his head on her shoulder. ‘Just stay here with me.’

  After a minute, he got up the courage to talk. ‘I was kidding around, flirted with someone a few nights ago. I didn’t think anything about it, but the same guy came in tonight. It was just a joke, but Cesar got jealous … violent.’ His fingers pressed down hard on her arms. ‘And when he started hitting me, I couldn’t get away. I didn’t know what to do, couldn’t even believe it at first. And then I was down on the ground.’

  She rocked him back and forth. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She stroked his hair. ‘It’ll be all right.’

  ‘I’m not a fighter, Lex – you know that. Never hit anyone in my life. I’ve been beaten up three times by redneck homophobes.’ He sniffled. ‘But never by someone like … like Cesar.’

  Restless and miserable, he pulled away and stood up, swaying. Lexi took her place at his side, propped him up. ‘You’re right, let’s just get you to bed. You always take such good care of me. Now it’s time for me to do my part.’

  She guided him into his room and held him steady with one hand while she yanked back the bedspread with the other. ‘Here, sit down.’ He collapsed on to the bed, hanging his head. ‘Shoes off.’ She untied and removed each one, then unbuttoned his shirt and helped him fall back on to his pillow. He seemed like a marionette with the strings cut, as she lifted his legs and swung them on to the bed. ‘I’ll take care of you. I’m here. You’re safe at home.’

  He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He seemed so broken.

  She wet a washrag in the bathroom and came back, kneeling beside him as she dabbed his face, cleaned away the blood as gently as she could. Her heart ached for him, and she felt a flare of anger toward Cesar. How could anyone do such a horrible thing to a good man like Blair?

  ‘Stay here. I’ll be right back.’ When he reached out for her, she touched his hand. ‘I’ll just be in the kitchen.’

  She felt fiercely protective of Blair. She had hoped he had found real happiness with his new flame. For days she had experienced the halo effect of his giddy romance, and now she felt the anguish of what Cesar had done to him. That guy deserved to have a stake pounded through his heart!

  She dug in the freezer, looking for a bag of frozen corn, frozen peas, anything she could use on his bruised face. Back in Iowa, her parents had kept a large vault freezer in the garage filled with every imaginable frozen vegetable from their own garden, but Blair September wouldn’t be caught dead using frozen produce. Deep at the bottom of the drawer, she found a bag of shredded Swiss chard covered in frost. That would do. She pounded it on the counter to loosen the frozen leaves, then took it back to press against Blair’s cheek. ‘Here, hold that.’ He grimaced and sighed at the same time.

  Back in the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet, dumped three ibuprofen in her palm, added an aspirin, and poured a glass of water from the sink. She made him take the pills, and he didn’t complain.

  ‘Thanks for pampering me,’ he mumbled. ‘But I want to be alone for a while. Please?’

  She hugged him again, and he turned away, covering his face with the cold sack. Tears stung her eyes. She could sense his shame and despair, but she
also understood that he just wanted to curl up alone without her hovering too close. ‘I’ll be right here, just across the hall.’

  When she stopped at the door with her hand to the switch, he asked her to leave the lights on. ‘Now I know there are real monsters in the world,’ he said.

  She stared at him for a long moment, heartbroken, but he quickly drifted off to hide in sleep.

  Furious and wanting to do something, Lexi channeled her anger. She left her door open to listen for any sound from Blair’s room, then sat at the keyboard. Maybe she could compile a solid enough case to make the unimaginative detective reconsider.

  One of these days …

  She had outlined her logical argument, engaged in a silent debate using Carrow as her foil. Over the next hour, she wrote an impassioned blog, edited it, toned it down, doing her best not to sound crazy. After her experience with Teresa, she knew that the impossible could happen.

  Rather than focusing on the murders themselves, she looked at the evidence. What if there were vampires? What if this crusader was actually saving lives? He certainly must believe that.

  The only way to stop a bad guy with fangs, is a good guy with a stake.

  She recalled how Carrow thought HideTruth was preying upon the weak-minded. Sometimes her followers were overly enthusiastic, too credulous, but they were good people and earnest.

  Like Blair. He kept many details of his personal life private for his own reasons, and although Lexi was disappointed that he didn’t confide completely in her – did she even know his real name? – she understood his need to protect his details. Countless people refused to divulge their social security number, their phone number, their address. Where was the exact line between caution and paranoia?

  Worked up by what had happened to Blair – Now I know there are real monsters in the world – she posted ‘The Case for Vampires’. Displaced frustration, maybe, but it was some of her best writing. It was more than a blog post, more than an essay. It was practically a manifesto.