“I cannot do that. You forced my hand. You took everything.”
“Then let's cut the crap. Just do it. Kill me.” Brad shrieked, unable to handle standing there and waiting until Dillon had finished toying with him.
“I cannot make that decision. Rules are rules.”
“Then I will,” Brad said, locking eyes with Dillon. “I concede.”
Dillon shook his head and walked to the wall. He paused and then turned back to Brad.
“You know what this means for you if you go ahead and withdraw?”
Brad licked his lips. “We both know I'm dead anyway. I don’t want to give you the satisfaction.”
“Admirable and, as it happens, something of a first. Such a shame Mr. Jackson. Under other circumstances, the two of us may have become friends.”
“I doubt it. I wouldn’t willingly mix with a lowlife, fat, piece of shit like you, Dillon. Even if you are rich.”
“But my wife was good enough?”
“She doesn't love you, you know,” Brad said, finding it in himself to smile. “For all the money and the power, it was my name she screamed as she dug her nails into my back. She saw you for what you really are Dillon. A pathetic, insecure little man.”
Brad expected fury, but Dillon sighed.
“I know. I have known for some time, sadly. However, I am a man of great determination. And in a way, you have helped me.”
Dillon filled in the missing blanks of the clue and then approached the ladder.
“The clue reads, Mon épouse Monique est morte, which in English means,”
He leaned on the ladder and spoke in a whisper.
“My wife, Monique, is dead.”
“No, you wouldn’t, you said she…” Brad stammered, and all at once his acceptance had turned back to horror, because Dillon’s eyes said he was telling the truth.
Brad wanted to explain, to plead and beg for his life, but Dillon had already pulled the ladder from under him. The last thing Brad saw before his neck snapped was Dillon’s smiling face and the writing on the wall. Mon épouse Monique est morte.
THE TRIAL OF EDWYN GREER
The man restrained to the table was slender, his features sharp as he watched his captors with cold defiance. The windowless room was colder still, stainless steel walls lined with a host of control panels displaying thousands of calculations per second. The machines were connected to the man’s arms and chest, monitoring and feeding information to the plethora of scientists in attendance.
One such scientist approached the restrained man, watching him as he stood poised with his pen and clipboard.
“Subject 27431 is under restraint and appears calm. Please state your name for the official record.”
The restrained man sneered at his captor and then flashed a wide grin.
“You know well enough my name.”
The scientist looked over his shoulder, and his superior nodded from behind the seven-inch bulletproof glass. The scientist turned back to the subject and spoke loudly enough for the overhead audio recorder to pick up clearly.
“The subject’s name is Edwyn Greer. Caucasian male, five feet eight inches tall, one hundred and twenty pounds. Life age is unknown. Estimated body age thirty to forty years. Subject has been with host for approximately two hundred years, and fusion is at ninety-seven point three percent. As per the United Governments’ Agreement, Mr Greer is to undergo the Longborough Removal Procedure in order to stand trial for his crimes to humanity.”
The scientist approached the restrained man and looked at him as one might look at an animal which he found slightly amusing.
“Do you have anything to add, Mr. Greer?”
Greer was silent and stared in defiance at the scientist.
“For the official record, the subject has declined to comment. With the authorisation of Sir Jonathan Longborough, Dr. Alfred Moran and the Signed Warrant of the United Governments, with the grace of God, I am about to begin the first ever Longborough Removal, on this day which will go down in history. September 4th, 2022.”
The scientist walked to one of the control panels and set his clipboard down. He took a deep breath and flicked his eyes to his watching superiors.
“With the panel’s permission and the permission of the governments and leaders of the world watching live, I will begin the procedure.”
The scientist waited, as his superiors behind the bulletproof screen awaited the confirmation of the World’s Governments, who were watching via linkup from their various countries. A full minute passed in silence, and then the scientists superior and inventor of the procedure, Sir Jonathan Longborough turned to the window and flicked on the intercom.
“Authority granted. Proceed with the procedure.”
The scientist nodded, and then took a deep breath.
“May God be with us.” He said, and activated the system.
The huge, intricate machine suspended above the restrained man whirled into life, its multiple arms designed for the most intricate of surgical work. Greer struggled against his restraints but was unable to move as the mask was lowered over his face and the highly potent anaesthetic was pumped into his lungs. He began to lose consciousness as the titanic machine above his head readied to operate. Perhaps sensing the danger, the parasite which was bonded to him tried to force its host to stay awake, but it was no good, and Edwyn Greer was unconscious before the first cut was made.
***
He awoke in a brightly lit room, and was immediately aware of the pain deep in his stomach, followed by the tight, maddening itch of the scar which extended down the full length of his rib cage. His senses were overwhelmed, and he leaned over the side of the bed and vomited a huge gout of blood.
“Just relax, don’t try to fight it.”
The voice came from a large speaker high in the wall of the windowless room. Before he could examine it further, another wave of nausea swept through him, and he vomited again, adding to the already ejected puddle of claret by his bedside.
“Help me.” He moaned, unable to deal with the sensory overload. “What have you done to me?” He shouted as he wiped the blood from his chin. He tried to stand, but the room began to spin, his sense of balance deceiving him as to which way was up or down. He fell from the bed, landing hard on the floor and losing consciousness.
The second time he awoke, he was a little less overwhelmed. It seemed that someone had cleaned up the mess he had made, and he was more aware of his surroundings, and the fact that he was now tied to the bed which he had fallen out of before. His chest and stomach still hurt, and his head throbbed with a painful migraine. He looked around the room, trying to piece together where he was.
White walls, no furniture aside from the bed which he was tied to. In the corner was a security camera which was trained on the bed and below that speaker embedded in the wall.
His head felt like a lead weight, and he let it fall back to the single pillow as he closed his eyes. The door opened, and a man walked in. Greer recognised him as one of the scientists who had been watching from behind the window. He was carrying a folding chair, which he set up at the foot of the bed. He sat down and folded his hands over his lap.
“Good morning Mr. Greer. My name is Jonathan Longborough.”
Greer said nothing and closed his eyes as he tried to ignore the pain which raged through his body.
“Mr. Greer, it would be in your interest to listen to what I have to say. I will only say it once.”
Greer opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at his visitor.
He was an older man, perhaps in his sixties. His skin was smooth and unlined, and his head bald. He wore a goatee beard which was white apart from a few stubborn black flecks, and he watched Greer with blue eyes which although were serious, were not unkind. There was a palpable air of authority about him, a magnetism which even intrigued Greer enough to listen to what he has to say.
“I’m in pain,” Greer said, unable to get used to a feeling that had been absent fo
r so long.
“Of course you are. Your pain receptors have been dormant for so long, that it's to be expected for you to feel so…delicate. You are through the worst, if it helps. We had you under heavy sedation to help you to deal with it, but unfortunately, part of the rehabilitation process is in dealing with the senses that you had forgotten.”
“What have you done to me, I feel…empty.”
“And rightly so. We have cured you, Mr. Greer.”
“Cured me of what?”
Longborough smiled, and although Greer had a suspicion of what was to come, he couldn’t help but ask anyway.
“It’s gone, isn’t it? You took it.”
“Yes, Mr. Greer. You are no longer a host.”
“Then what am I?"
“You are human again, Mr. Greer, just as nature intended.”
“That’s impossible. It cannot be done.”
“It’s already done. The things that you think of as pain are just normal, human senses. You feel as we feel. Hot, cold, taste, touch. All are restored and will, I suspect, take some getting used to.”
“You took it from me; you took it without my permission.” Greer hissed.
“No. We cured you, Mr. Greer. For two hundred years you have been plagued, but rest assured, Thanks to my staff here at Longborough Industries, you are a vampire no more.”
***
For the next week, Edwyn Greer learned how to become human again. He was forced to rediscover the taste of foods, and the indignity of performing bodily functions in order to purge the re-introduced products from his system. He received no visitors in that week following his brief conversation with Longborough, and was never allowed out of the room which was more of a prison cell than a place conductive to a recovery.
It was on the eighth day when Longborough returned, this time, accompanied by two other men who hid their eyes behind dark sunglasses, even though the room was lit only by a single overhead strip light, and was quite gloomy.
“Mr. Greer, I trust you are feeling better?”
Greer didn’t answer; instead, he sat on the edge of his bed and stared at Longborough and his two companions.
“I see you aren’t in the mood to chat, so I will make this brief.”
Longborough motioned to one of the men who were with him, and like a dog obeying its master, the man removed a thick folder of papers from his briefcase and tossed them on the bed. Greer glanced at them and then turned his eyes to Longborough.
“What’s this?”
“A legal summons. You are to appear in court for your crimes.”
“Really, and what kind of court will hear a case against a former vampire?”
Longborough smiled and folded his arms.
“Because of you, and, more specifically my technique, a lot has changed in the world. Rest assured, you will be tried, and you will be convicted.”
“You seem so certain,” Greer said with a smile. “Why bother with a trial at all?”
“We can’t all be a law to ourselves, Mr. Greer. In the civilised world, there are rules to be followed.”
“I get the impression you think that I would be better off beheaded, or hung.”
“Either would be a suitable outcome, Mr. Greer.”
“Then let me ask you why?”
“Why what, Mr. Greer?”
“Why did you even bother to separate me from my vampire, when you wish me dead anyway?”
Longborough smiled and checked his watch.
“Why do people climb mountains, or try to break records? Because they can Mr. Greer, and besides that, I needed to prove my technique worked. I am responsible for the greatest invention the world has ever seen. Years from now, the Longborough technique will be mentioned in the same breath as Thomas Edison’s light bulb, or Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone. You were a necessary part of it, unfortunately.”
Greer snorted and smiled without humour.
“Then perhaps, since I am the first, it should be called the Greer-Longborough technique. No?”
Longborough frowned and shook his head.
“I think not. The reward for the hard work is mine alone to reap. You might be wise to consider pleading guilty, and save the world a very long and very expensive legal battle.”
“Perhaps I will, or perhaps I will yet live long enough to see you dead, Mr. Longborough.”
“Please.” Longborough snorted. “Your days of eliciting fear are over. You are just a man; a weak thing who I suspect has even now begun to forget the extent of the power he once held.”
Greer smiled, and Longborough squirmed where he stood.
“A few weeks ago, if you had spoken to me in such a manner, I would have been feeding you your own entrails by now.” Greer slid his eyes from Longborough to the two men flanking him.
“And your colleagues there would be begging for their lives. But as you say, I’m just a human now, and for that, you should be grateful. But I warn you, Mr Longborough, do not make the mistake of thinking me incapable of that which my vampire used to be capable of.”
“Whatever you say,” Longborough said with a smile. “Surely you must know you cannot hope to win.”
“We shall see, won't we, Mr. Longborough?”
“Yes, I suppose we will. Goodbye, Mr. Greer.”
Greer didn’t answer, and was content to watch as Longborough and his companions left, and locked him in his room.
***
Edwyn Greer’s preliminary hearing was held six weeks later at the central London County Court. Even though the appearance was only to allow Greer to place his initial plea, the media frenzy was intense, with news crews from all over the world jostling for position in order to get a shot of the world’s first humanised vampire. Immense crowds gathered, bringing traffic to a standstill as Greer was ushered from the police vehicle through to the courtroom.
The presiding Judge was ancient and harsh in appearance, and in front of a small team of legal representatives, silence fell and the Judge spoke.
“Please, state your name.”
“I am Edwyn Greer.” He said, flashing the Judge a sick smile.
“You are charged with the mass murder of over three hundred thousand souls, which, under the Anti-vampirism Act of 2020, signed and verified by the Nations of the World, is punishable by death. How do you plead?”
The room fell into silence, as Greer hesitated. He looked at the Judge, and then slid his eyes over to look at Longborough, who was watching from across the room.
“Not Guilty.”
The court descended into a frenzy, and the Judge tried to retain order. Eventually, the crowd silenced, and the Judge spoke.
“You will be remanded in the custody of the United Nations Anti-Vampire Association until your trial, which will take place three weeks from now on October the Fourteenth, 2022.”
Greer remained silent as the Judge motioned to the guards beside him.
“Take him down.”
Greer was led by the arms to the cells below the court, where he awaited the trial that the entire world was desperate to watch.
He was given a cell of his own, and there he waited, counting down the days until his trial began. He had been allowed a television and had watched with much amusement of the world’s obsession with him. It seemed he had both supporters and those who wished him burned at the stake, which he supposed was a normal human reaction.
He was not expecting his visitor, and for his part, the man who stood outside his cell looked like he didn’t want to be there either. He was an obese mountain of a man, who had squeezed himself into a cheap suit which looked to be at least two sizes too small for him. He wore his greasy, thinning hair in a side parting, and his grin was as insincere as it was frozen to his face.
“Good morning, Mr. Greer.” The man said, clutching his briefcase in front of him tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
“What do you want?” Greer said, cutting straight past the pleasantries.
“My name is Gustavo Blackman.
I am your court appointed lawyer, I have a few things to go through with you if...”
“No.”
Blackman stammered and clutched his briefcase even tighter.
“Excuse me, Mr Greer, I don’t think you understand, this is a very, very delicate case and I really think...”
“I said no.”
Blackman shuffled, increased the intensity of his grin, and went on as if nothing had been said.
“... Now, I think we might be able to get you a new plea as long as you...”
Greer approached the bars and leaned close to them. From here he could smell Blackman's aftershave and the not quite hidden hint of body odour.
“How old are you, Mr. Blackman?”
“Well, I, I think we should...”
“You don’t have to be exact, just an approximation will do.”
“No, I don’t have any reason to hide it, I’m forty-three,” Blackman said.
“Forty-three.” Greer repeated as he tapped his index finger on the bars.
“This coming February Mr. Blackman, I will reach my two hundred and seventh birthday. I have already forgotten more than you will ever learn. Now you might think that I need a lawyer and that without one my chances of being free are non-existent, but let me clarify, Mr. Blackman.”
Greer grinned and lowered his voice to a whisper.
“I don’t need or want your consultation, or your services. Furthermore, if you don’t leave here right now, I will telepathically communicate with one of my vampire colleagues, and have them feast on your flesh.”
The colour faded from Blackmans cheeks, and he stammered, struggled between grimace and smile, then without a word, turned on his heel and left. Greer watched him go, smiling all the while. There was, of course, no such thing as telepathy, but Blackman wasn’t to know, and even the prospect of the international television exposure that he would have received as Greer’s lawyer, wasn’t enough to risk being torn apart by a host of vampires, fictional as they were.
Greer smiled and turned back to his television. There were less than two weeks to go until the trial.
Day one
October the fourteenth was bleak and grey, the wind edged with rain. The hype for the trial had reached fever pitch, and Greer was ready to begin his trial. He was relaxed as he was led from the cells and to the courtroom clad in shackles around his wrists, ankles and neck.
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