by Philip Henry
What Kaaliz didn’t know was how angry Risk was. He didn’t know that the drummer of Epic Void had always wanted the name changed to The Contra-band. Risk was furious not only because they had not regretted firing him, but also because they had got a gig so quickly. They must have been planning to axe him for weeks, maybe months. If this band did turn out to be the new incarnation of Epic Void, he would be the most unhappy Che’al/ vampire hybrid in the room.
Risk knew even before he entered that it was his old bandmates. He heard Highway to Hell being blasted as they got close and the guitarist was still fucking up the solo. A big, good-natured biker sat at the door taking the money.
“That’s Three pou…” The biker saw Risk’s face and stood up. He took a couple of steps back. Risk and Kaaliz walked toward him. The doorman fumbled for something to say and then ducked inside and into the crowd. Risk entered and looked at the stage. His old bandmates were jumping around and the guitarist was doing his best attempt at Angus Young’s duck-walk. Rage exploded in Risk. He started towards the stage not even noticing the people he threw aside, or the force with which he threw them. He fixated on the new singer. He wore ripped jeans and had his chest exposed but the worst thing of all was his short hair. Risk had been replaced with some guy with short hair. Not just short hair either, but trendy little spiky hair. The fucker was dead!
Risk climbed onstage and grabbed the singer around the neck and lifted him off the ground. Highway to Hell trundled to a stop. The band all looked at Risk, recognition dawning on each of them slowly. The crowd were silent and confused. The bouncer stood at the back and made a point of not noticing what was going on. Risk, still holding the singer in his grasp, turned to the mike and spoke. “Do you fink…dis is…if dis was deh…fing dat I, my band…” he growled in his throat. He couldn’t make the right words come out of his mouth. His speech was slow and what came out was not what he intended. He looked at Kaaliz standing at the back and said, “Fuck dis.” He pulled the singer close and bit into his throat.
The crowd started screaming and there was a stampede for the door. The rest of the band dumped their equipment. Kaaliz flew over the heads of the escaping masses to the stage. This caused a fresh outbreak of screaming. Kaaliz landed on the stage just in time to prevent the rest of The Contra-band from escaping. Risk was holding the singer upside-down now and drinking from his torn throat. The blood fell over his face and clothes. Being bathed in the blood excited him and made him feel even more powerful. He threw the singer at the escaping crowd by the door and they all pushed and screamed harder. Risk lifted the guitar from its A-stand and gripped it by the top of the neck. Kaaliz pushed the guitarist towards Risk. Risk drew the guitar behind him and swung it at him. The guitar impacted on the side of the guitarist’s head, crushing his skull inwards and breaking the neck of the guitar. The guitarist fell to the ground with the nerves causing his hands and legs to twitch.
Risk lifted the bass guitar and drove it through the bassist’s stomach and out the other side. He stood there for a moment, in disbelief at what had happened, then stumbled down the stairs and got a few steps across the dancefloor before he collapsed.
Risk lifted the drummer’s sticks from the floor tom and approached the man who, in Risk’s mind at least, was the ringleader in getting him sacked and the guy who had stolen his girlfriend. Risk stabbed the two drumsticks into his eyes simultaneously. The drummer howled and fell backwards against the wall. Risk advanced on him. The drummer’s arms were out trying to keep Risk away from him. Risk grabbed both arms and pulled them out of their sockets. The drummer’s arms went limp and Risk sat down on his lap with one knee on either side of him. Risk wanted to say something that this fucker could take with him to Hell, but his mind was only filled with hate. The drummer was pleading for his life. Risk took hold of the sticks and tilted them upwards. The drummer screamed again. Risk shoved the sticks upwards into his brain. The drummer shuddered for a few seconds and then fell lifeless to one side.
From behind them there was a noise. They turned and saw a girl run from the toilets and head for the exit. “Anfea,” Risk growled. He looked at Kaaliz and pointed to Anthea. “Her.” Kaaliz flew at the girl and intercepted her before she made it to the door. He held her as she kicked and squirmed in his arms. Risk marched towards them and realisation blossomed on Anthea’s face. Kaaliz released her to Risk when he was close enough. Risk pulled her close. He ran one of his talons down her face and rested on her left breast, squeezing gently. Anthea’s eyes were wide and her mouth was taking short gasps.
Kaaliz watched the thin girl being held by the giant. He saw Risk’s claw squeezing her breast. Kaaliz didn’t know that in all the time Risk and Anthea had gone out together she had never let him have sex with her. The sexual desire was raging in Risk now. “Do you two want to be alone?” Kaaliz asked. Risk ripped her T-shirt off and snapped the straps on her bra. The ripped clothing fell to the ground and Risk stared hungrily at her breasts. “I guess you do,” Kaaliz said and wandered to the exit.
The car park was now deserted. In the distance Kaaliz could see some of the crowd running across the fields. He stood listening to the screams of the girl being raped. When they silenced, he poked his head inside the door and saw the girl lying naked and dead on the floor. Risk wasn’t finished with her, though. Her had ripped open her chest and was eating her internal organs. Kaaliz decided to give him another minute or two.
A sword drove hard into Kaaliz’s back and stopped when it hit the hand wrapped around his heart. Kaaliz turned and saw Xavier trying to push the sword forward. He twisted and the force threw Xavier against the wall, losing his grip on the sword. Kaaliz reached round to his back and edged the sword out. Xavier jumped at him and tried to grab the sword. Kaaliz pushed him back hard and Xavier was winded as his back slammed against the wall. Kaaliz threw the sword to one side.
“Xavier. How the fuck did you find us?”
Xavier breathed hard. “Police scanner, asshole. They’re on their way.”
“Oooh, police. Whatever will become of me?”
Xavier charged him again. Kaaliz stopped his attack easily and landed a series of punches to Xavier’s head and body so fast that he didn’t even see them coming. When Kaaliz stopped, Xavier was wavering from side to side, barely able to stand. Kaaliz grabbed him and threw him as hard as he could against the wall of the clubhouse. Xavier slammed into it awkwardly and heard something crack in his back. He only had the strength to raise his head and look at Kaaliz. He walked slowly towards him, lifting Xavier’s sword on the way. Xavier tried to get up but it felt like a thousand frozen daggers were stabbing his back. Xavier was sweating profusely and the blood from his bleeding face was running into his eyes. He saw Kaaliz’s shoes next to his face. Kaaliz reached down and grabbed him by the lapels and flew him upwards. Xavier heard and felt the broken bones in his back grind together and almost lost consciousness.
Kaaliz flew him to the top of a nearby tree and grabbed him around the throat with one hand, then slammed him against the trunk of the tree. Xavier’s eyes wanted to close but he kept forcing them apart. Kaaliz drew Xavier’s sword from his belt and dragged the point across Xavier’s face.
“I wish I had a few more of these, then I could crucify you properly,” Kaaliz whispered. Xavier didn’t have the strength to answer him. “But I’ll make do with one.” Kaaliz pulled the sword back and then drove it into Xavier’s stomach with all his strength. The sword slid through Xavier’s mid-section easily and then went deep into the tree trunk. Xavier was struggling to scream but he couldn’t draw breath.
Kaaliz moved back cautiously and then smiled when he saw that the sword would hold Xavier’s weight. He came close and whispered in Xavier’s ear, “I don’t want you to die quickly. I want you to hang here thinking about what I’m going to do to Claire and your son when I get to the hospital. I want you to hurt because there’s nothing you can do to help them. They’ll think you’ve abandoned them, like you abandoned me when the Mini
stry caught me. Your wife and kid will think you let them die. I’m going to keep Claire alive while I have some fun with the little one. I’m going to make her watch.” Xavier managed to lift one of his hands to Kaaliz’s throat but his grip was extremely weak. Kaaliz laughed at his attempt. Below them Risk walked out from the clubhouse – his face masked in blood – and looked around for Kaaliz. Kaaliz looked Xavier in the eyes again. “And when I’m done with your family, I’m going to let that crazy son of a bitch loose on them.” Kaaliz smiled. “You think about that.” Kaaliz flew down to the ground beside Risk. A few seconds later Risk lifted his arms and Kaaliz scooped him up and flew away. Xavier forced himself through the pain and put his hand in his pocket
Claire was sitting by Tom’s bedside. She felt happier now. Tom was feeling much better. He was out of bed and playing with one of the other children in the ward. Claire had been taking phone calls all evening from the mothers of Tom’s school-friends, all asking how he was and what had happened. Claire had amalgamated the house burning and the big, black dog stories into one. She had left the back door open, like she always did to let the smell of cooking out, and the stray dog had come in and bitten Tom. As Xavier tried to chase the dog from the house it had knocked over some candles that were burning because of their anniversary and before they knew it the house was ablaze. Poor Gillian, the babysitter, had perished in the blaze. That was the story and it seemed to work on everyone. Claire knew the truth would come out when the investigators examined the remains of her house, but she also knew that she, Xavier and Tom would have to move on after this. There would be too many questions that she couldn’t answer. Whatever happened with Kaaliz, her life here was over.
“Mrs Ford?” The nurse said from the doorway. Claire turned and looked up. “Another phone call for you.” The nurse smiled and Claire smiled back.
As Claire walked to the phone she wondered who hadn’t checked in yet. She lifted the receiver from the nurses’ station and said, “Hello.”
“Get out,” a low, raspy voice answered.
“What? Xavier, is that you?”
“He’s coming for you.” Xavier was breathing hard. “Get out. Get Tom out now.” The line went dead. Claire dropped the phone and ran back into Tom’s ward.
the prophecy
Portrush, 1945
William Davis waited uneasily by the harbour. He lit another cigarette as his heel twisted the last one into the ground. He didn’t like the harbour at night. He didn’t even like being out at night by himself. Too many strange things happened in this area when the sun went down. A couple walked in his direction. He feared they were police but as they neared he saw it was a man and a woman, no doubt looking for an out of the way spot. The man had a military gait and the girl – who had a pair of gams to rival Betty Grable – was holding him tightly around the waist. The girl was giggling at everything he said. Davis got a warm feeling inside as he imagined the story of the solider going off to fight the Hun and the girl waiting for him all these years. A lot of girlfriends, and wives for that matter, hadn’t been so lucky. As the couple passed Davis, the young man nodded his head and Davis gripped the brim of his Trilby and nodded in return. There was an unspoken language between men where women were concerned and now more than ever, people wanted to be happy after the war. No one wanted to be preached at about out of wedlock shenanigans. Everyone just wanted to embrace life and not be afraid anymore.
Davis turned back to the sea. The black ocean stretched out before him. The moonlight showed no vessels approaching. Davis reached into the inside pocket of his new suit and brought out his pocket watch. They were twenty minutes late now. Davis looked around him again. It was going to look suspicious if he stood here much longer. He spotted a bench further on down and walked to it. He checked the seat for ice-cream spillages or that gum which the yanks had brought over and children seemed to leave everywhere. The seat was clean. His new suit was safe. He sat down and still had a perfect view of the harbour, and the sea beyond it.
He wondered what he was going to do now the war was over. He had been classified as unfit to serve because of his asthma and had felt ashamed walking around town in the first months of the war. Women looked from their doorsteps at him; some with tears in their eyes as they thought about their own loved ones, some with hate and venom. Some women even shouted “coward” as he walked the streets. He had felt cheated. He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to go over to Germany and stick a bayonet straight up Hitler’s arse. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t run a hundred yards without falling to the ground and fighting for breath. He stopped going out soon after. His wife Elsie went to the shop for what they needed. Davis kept a low profile for the next two years.
He stayed home and played with his son when the lad was home, which wasn’t often. William Davis Junior, or Billy as he was known, spent most of his time out with his friends. He had made a wooden rifle from scraps left over in the garage and would patrol the coast ready to fire if any U-boats tried to invade Portrush. He was a brave lad and Davis always encouraged him in his diligence. At nine years old Billy was ready to fight anyone who tried to harm us. By us he didn’t mean his family; he meant his country. Davis saw from a young age that Billy had an inner strength and a strong moral discipline. Billy got into fights at school like any other boy, but when he told Davis that someone had called his dad a coward, or someone was picking on someone smaller, his dad always hugged him instead of punishing him. Considering that his son would grow up to spend most of his life fighting vampires and losing an arm for the cause, Davis prepared him well.
Still, the boy was rarely home and seemed very independent for his age and there were long periods when Davis just sat in the house listening to the radio. It was one Friday evening that his life changed. A stranger came to the door looking for him. Elsie seemed wary and distrustful of the man who introduced himself as Art Ledger. Davis picked up on her concerns and decided to take Mr Ledger to the pub for a drink. Mr Ledger, (hey, call me Art), seemed more comfortable away from Elsie’s stare and got the drinks in. Art told Davis that there were only a few like him still left and he wanted Davis to come work for him. When Davis asked him what he did, Art answered with a sly grin, “Things come my way sometimes.” He winked. Davis had a pretty good idea there and then what he would be getting into and he wasn’t wrong. Art seemed to be able to get just about anything…for the right price.
Davis never did think about where the stuff came from, (he forced himself not to) he just knew that he helped people. A piece of ham here, or a pair of tights there wasn’t going to stop the world. All profits went to Art and Davis was paid a wage. Art didn’t keep a very close eye on his employee and Davis took advantage of this to give the poorer families in town a little something every once in a while. He loved the look on their faces when he got them what they’d ordered. There wasn’t any one-upmanship in those days; no one was getting things to show off to the neighbours, they were getting them to feel normal again. He remembered Janine Phelps ordering a bar of dark chocolate from him and when he went back a fortnight later with soap he noticed the chocolate still sitting on the mantel in its wrapper. When he asked her why she wasn’t eating it, she said her husband always liked a square of chocolate when he came home from work and when he came home from the war it would be no different. Unfortunately, Michael Phelps never tasted that chocolate.
That was how he had spent the war years. He was a man who could get things. The whole town knew that and the taunts on the street had changed to invitations inside in a matter of weeks. He no longer looked at the ground when he walked down the street; he walked tall. He always wore a suit and hat, and Elsie had everything that she wanted for the house. He was significant again. No one teased Billy at school anymore. His dad was the most respected man in town. Even the local police never bothered him because they used his services too and didn’t want the supply of whiskey and cigarettes to dry up. He lived the next three years helping people get what they needed. But as he
danced in the streets on VE day, laughing and singing with everyone else, somewhere deep inside he was worried about what he would do now. He had been an accountant before the war and hiring someone to do your books was a luxury that no one could afford when war broke out. He imagined that the economy would recover, but it would be a slow process and it might be years until people allowed themselves the indulgence of an accountant again. He and Art had catered the VE Day street party and when he saw that Art was giving his coveted supply of alcohol away free on the streets, he sensed his employer knew it was over too. Back to reality. Davis couldn’t imagine what Art might be in the real world. He seemed so suited to the job he had, scavenging for anything he was asked for. Davis had asked him what he was going to do now during the party and Art just shrugged – though he was quite drunk and had an Ingrid Bergman look-alike on his arm.
In the weeks after the war ended there was still some trade to be done and Davis and Art did it. It was mostly things that wives wanted to welcome their husbands home. Beer, cigs, dresses, and even lacy French underwear was doing good business. As more and more of the men came home there was less and less need for two guys who could get things. Art told Davis that his sources were drying up and some other men who had been in the business before they got sent to Europe had threatened him. Now they were back and they intended to start trading again. The end was definitely nigh for two amateurs who had lucked into Black Market sales.
Davis looked across the water of the harbour again and still saw nothing. He reached inside his jacket and found his watch. Forty-five minutes late now. He looked around behind him and saw the man and woman with Betty Grable legs walking back from their tryst. Davis smiled as they straightened their clothes and the woman tried to shake sand out of her hair.
The streets were quiet after that. One by one the lights in the houses around Davis went dark and soon he felt like the only person not sleeping in Portrush. He didn’t feel tired because he was getting more and more anxious the later the boat became. He checked his watch and found they were now almost two hours overdue. Something had happened, of that much he was sure, but there were a thousand things that could have gone wrong with this deal and he couldn’t do anything until he knew which of those things had happened. He resolved to give them another half hour and then go home. Only ten minutes had passed when Davis finally saw the boat on the horizon. He relaxed a little. Then the erratic course of the boat began to make him tense again. The boat was coming slowly but it was veering towards the beach. Davis waited for Art to correct the course of the boat. The engine noise was getting louder. Davis looked at the dark windows behind him, waiting for one to brighten. They all stayed dark. Davis flicked his cigarette into the sea and moved along the promenade, trying to guess where the boat would run ashore.