Night School

by Alex Dire

  Another figure entered the room before the door closed. A tall skinny man with a thinning wisp of hair combed over his head walked in. He filled the empty seat across from Norman, laying his briefcase on the table.

  “Murphy. You’re late,” said Walsh.

  Now that the HUD Secretary had arrived, the cabinet was complete. And none too soon. In a few seconds, the press would arrive. Norman would have to delay if he were to succeed. He focused on the security guard who pulled the door closed. His orb floated there. One was so easy. Norman gripped it. “Close the door. No one gets in.”

  The cabinet members shifted in their seats and looked between each other. Walsh stopped reading through the folder. “What’s this?”

  Skeete laughed out loud. “You never learn, do you Norman.”

  Norman concentrated on the people within the room. He saw the orbs of the cabinet members floating around the table, as well as Skeete’s. Hers was an icy blue in contrast to the wild red of the others. If he was lucky, he’d get her too. He reached out with his smooth tendrils, the wild jagged arcs of the men and women in the room practically begged to be tamed. He made a grasp for Skeete as well.

  He felt himself latching to most but slipping from some. Closing his eyes, he saw the room within himself. He honed on the wills. Grasping. Pulling. Slipping. Every time he conquered a free will, another slid away. He pushed deeper into his own mind. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Sounds from the impatient press leaked through the doors. Focus. Almost there. He felt Skeete slip from him.

  “You’re losing your touch, Norman,” she said.

  Then it clicked. His grip snapped into place on each of the humans in the room. It was like a key in a lock. It fit perfect. Why had it seemed so hard?

  “Nice try.” Skeete rose from her seat. Too late. With the humans subdued, he gripped her will as well. It was slick, resistant, but Norman’s tendrils found purchase Her eyes went blank as her smile flattened.

  He opened his eyes and smiled. “Now. Ladies and gentlemen.”

  A highpitched squeal interrupted. An electronic sound. It came from HUD secretary’s briefcase. Norman’s focus slipped. Skeete slid away first. She blinked out of her trance and smiled.

  Then a click from the brief case. It exploded in a burst of metal and flame.

  30

  Aftermath

  Screaming, coughing, burning. The sounds were Norman’s first perceptions. He opened his eyes. Blurry images. Fire. Broken furniture. Wall board and rubble. Thick smoke.

  How much time had passed? Norman lay on the ground against the wall. He tried to push himself up, but he slid further down. He looked over to what was left of his arm. Sinew and tangled veins trailed away from his stump. His body screamed from a thousand puncture wounds. He writhed on the floor. There was not enough left of him to lift himself up. He closed his eyes once more.

  When he opened them again, men in fire gear sprayed thick white gas over the flames. A woman knelt over the man next to Norman. She held a gun in one hand, the other pressed to the man’s neck, searching for a heartbeat.

  Norman’s new arm pulsed raw and pink. It stung as he pushed his hand against the floor. His body ejected fragments of metal out of his face and chest. The pieces cut back through his skin on their way out. Norman lifted his head to where the head of the table had been. Fragments of Walsh's chair lay on the floor. The window behind it was broken. Crumpled at the corner of the wall and the floor, beneath the window was half a man from mid chest down. The rest had been blown away and organs lay in heaps next to what was left of the President of the United States. Norman fell back down. His face smacked against the floor. Darkness consumed him.

  Norman awoke. His body had healed, but he was so tired. He’d never had so much of himself torn away. It was if most of his body had to make itself anew. He needed a desperate drink right now.

  He sat in a chair facing the door of a small room. He glanced around the walls. Empty. He stood with pain. His new joints and muscles screamed as if atrophied as he reached for the door knob. Locked. He stepped back and fell into the chair.

  Moments later the latch clicked and the door opened. Two Secret Service members stood outside the door pointing their guns in. One looked off to the side and nodded.

  A woman with a pointy nose, tight hair bun and glasses entered the room and stood before Norman. “Mr. Bernard. You’re awake. Do you remember what happened?”

  Norman’s larynx cracked. Phlegm and spit blocked his words. He nodded.

  “Can you speak?”

  Norman coughed. He felt the wounds within still healing. “Yes.” The word, practically a whisper, came out with much effort. So drained. His healing had slowed. His body screamed for blood. He smelled the woman in front of him. Life flowed through those veins. Just a little would do the trick.

  “Good.” She looked back to the guards. “Send him in.”

  One of the guards disappeared for a moment. He returned with a short man in a suit. Norman made out a blurry mustache. The man took a timid step into the room, then looked back at the guards.

  “Come in. We have to work fast,” said the woman.

  As the short man approached, his features came into focus. His lips quivered and his spectacles rested on the end of his stubby nose. Norman recognized him. He was Chief Justice Martin Reinhold. What was happening?

  Reinhold opened his mouth to speak but his voice cracked. He sounded like Norman. He coughed and started again. “Raise your right hand.”

  Norman stood. “What’s this?”

  “You’re being sworn in,” replied the woman.

  Adrenaline pricked Norman back to life, a vestigial reaction from his human days. “Wait.”

  “Mr. Bernard, we have little time. We need to get you in front of some cameras ASAP. The president is dead. Along with the entire cabinet.”

  “But…”

  “The Speaker of the House was assassinated. By a vampire.”

  “Vice president Jackson?”

  “Dead.”

  “What about—”

  The woman shook her head.

  “Why me?”

  “You’re next in line.” She turned the corners of her mouth down. “I don’t like it either.” She gave the chief justice a nod.

  “Raise you right hand,” said Reinhold.

  Norman’s mind reeled. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. Mouth agape, he raised his hand.

  Reinhold lifted a bible. Norman looked down at it. It’s cover was adorned with a gold foil crucifix.

  Reinhold looked down as well. “Oh. This isn’t going to be a problem for you, is it?”

  These people knew so little. Who could blame them. Norman placed his hand on the cross.

  “Repeat after me.”

  Norman had read the statement they’d prepared for him but took no questions from the press. It all went by in a blur. Generals had stood behind him. A show of strength, certainty. At least it would look that way for the cameras. Then he was whisked off.

  He stood in front of a desk in the Oval Office. This office was his.

  He ran a finger along the desk. The door clicked shut behind him. He turned to face the four men in military uniforms. He did not recognize their ranks.

  One of them stepped forward. “I’m General Sykes. I’ll be running this meeting.” He pursed his lips and pushed a huff through his nose. “This is General Dunn, General Wykoff and Admiral Jenkins. We’ll be taking over from here.”

  Norman nodded. He had no idea what to do and was, frankly, glad someone else would manage the situation.

  “Let’s be clear about this. You are the Commander in Chief. The Constitution is definitive about that.” The general stepped to within a pace of Norman and stared down at him with his hard, chiseled face. It was as if each feature turned itself down to a frown. “But under no circumstances will the U.S. military ever take orders from a vampire.”

  The general stepped even closer. “And you will sign the Vampire Registration Bi
ll.”

  Norman struggled to keep his ground. “If I don't?”

  “I believe the Secretary of Veterans Affairs might be more amenable, if you catch my meaning.”

  Norman did. The Secretary of Veterans Affairs was next in the presidential line of succession.

  “Are we done here?” asked Sykes.

  “Quite,” replied Norman.

  31

  Advisers

  Sitting at the desk in the oval office reminded Norman of his first day as Headmaster of Night School. For over a century his schedule had been dictated by clocks and bells. Now he could order his day however he wished or needed. It was paralyzing at first. And now he was president! No superintendent to answer to.

  A knock on the door snapped Norman back to the present. Rae entered before he could respond. She sat in a chair in front of his desk. Norman chuckled.

  “What is it?” said Rae.

  “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat at a desk with a student sitting just as you are for some code of discipline violation.

  “We need to figure this out.” She seemed to ignore his anecdote.

  “Our plan is blown to hell,” said Norman. The memory faded and took his mirth with it. He longed desperately go back to that world. Just him, thirty-four students and The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.

  “Not exactly. We just need to change course.” Rae was a much better political tactician than Norman would ever be.

  “Chip told me I need to not care so much.”

  Rae’s eyes strayed for a moment in contemplation. “I’ve been doing this a while. Maybe he’s right.”

  “What’s our next move?”

  “You veto the bill.”

  “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy. The heads of the military have made it clear I’m just a figure head. I'll be doing exactly as they say. They’re running the show.”

  “Don't listen to them. You're the president!”

  “Rae, we're vastly outgunned.” Norman's gazed dropped. “They're going to make me sign the bill and be the first to register.

  “So glamor them.”

  Norman shook his head. “It won’t work. Too short term. At best it will create confusion. They’ll say one thing publicly one day and something different the next. I’ll spend all my time pulling marionette strings. Too many to hold at this point. It’s not like a captive audience of thirty-four teenagers. Plus…”

  “Plus, what?”

  “I’ve been struggling. I slip more when I try to capture more than one.”

  “Has that happened before?”

  “Now that I think over it, it’s been coming on. Gradually.” Norman thought of previously ignored instances where he’d failed to grip the wills of humans. “And Alric. He said I would fade. He wanted me to follow him into the ground.”

  A knock on the door and a click. The door creeped open. A young man with stiff gelled hair parted on the side poked enough of his head through to see. “Um…” his voice cracked. It was just a boy.

  “Come in,” said Norman.

  The young page entered. “Sorry. It’s my first day. One of your advisers is here.”

  Norman raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with Rae. “Advisors? Send him in.”

  The boy didn’t move. “Uh…Sir…It’s a woman.”

  Norman shook his head, exasperated. What difference did it make? Send the God damned “advisor” in. Then it struck him. “Wait. What woman?”

  Before the page could respond, Skeete slipped through the door. She wore a smart suit and carried a duffle. Her ever-present smug grin stabbed at Norman’s heart.

  “Uhhh…the president will see you now, Ms. Daniels,” said the page to Skeete despite the fact she was already in the room. She looked down at him. Her eyes bore into his face. The boy nearly melted under her gaze. “I’ll…” he pointed a finger out the door.

  Norman nearly jolted out of his seat. How did she get in here? He fought the urge to leap across the desk and tear her throat out.

  “Yes,” said Skeete. “Why don’t you.”

  The boy shuffled off, never taking his eye off Skeete.

  She watched him go. She just couldn’t resist torturing the boy, could she?

  “You can go, too, Ms. Peters,” said Skeete. “I need to have a word with ‘President Bernard’ alone.”

  Where did she get off ordering people around? She had no authority here. What could she possibly want now? Why go through the trouble of getting so deep inside the White House? She clearly didn't come to fight.

  Rae looked at Norman and opened her mouth to speak.

  Norman interrupted. “Are you alone? Or do you have any of your…”

  “It’s just you and me, Norman.”

  Norman nodded to Rae.

  Rae got up and left. She halted briefly before passing Skeete. Her eyes threatened the whitehaired vampire.

  “Bye,” said Skeete raising her palm and wiggling her fingers.

  She closed the door and replaced Rae in the chair across from Norman. “Here we are old friend. The only survivors of that terrible blast.”

  “How is every officer in DC not chasing you down?”

  “What do you mean? I’m a victim. Just like you. And poor President Walsh.”

  Norman stared at her with hate. He wanted to respond but knew he couldn’t without screaming.

  “Can you believe Secretary Murphy would bring a bomb into the White House? So hard to find loyal subjects these days. Believe me, I had to work quite a bit of magic myself.”

  “I should kill you right here,” said Norman. He couldn’t help himself.

  “What? Now? In our moment of triumph?”

  What could she possibly be talking about? “We’ve won nothing.”

  “Norman you are so blind. You always were. I used to think it was cute how you thought your students were worth saving. Now it just makes you look stupid.” She was pulling out all the stops. “Don’t you see Norman? We’re finally free. Nothing stands in our way. We can do what we want.”

  “I want you dead,” said Norman.

  She sat back in her seat. “Is that any way to treat an old friend?” She folded her hands. “Now we can pass the Vampire Registration Bill. No one will stop us.”

  “What?”

  “And, as a symbolic gesture, the President of the United States himself will be the first to register.”

  “Like hell.”

  “The rest will fall in line. You’ve become immensely popular in what remains of our race.”

  “I will not sign that bill.” Norman knew the military opinion on his authority. Perhaps he couldn’t hold all of their wills from long enough to wrestle control of the country from them, but he could probably manage a bill signing.

  Skeete stood up and placed her fists on the desk, bringing her face close to Norman’s. “Oh Norman, do you ever tire of being wrong? You will sign that bill.” She stood and reached into the duffle she’d brought in. She pulled out a heavy object and dropped it with a thud onto Norman’s desk.

  Norman stared down at the war hammer she’d somehow produced. Declan. He looked up at Skeete. Her smile almost made him vomit. “How did you get him?”

  “Oh, I didn’t get him, Norman. He came to me. They’ll all come to me.”

  32

  Coups de tat

  Norman dropped into the chair behind the desk in the oval office. “I don’t see a way around it. Skeete and the military commanders will push me to sign the bill.”

  “I think you’re making a mistake,” said Rae.

  Norman was, ostensibly, the most powerful man in the world, but he still felt impotent. “I can’t keep them glamored forever. This way is better.”

  “Vetoing the bill is the one card you have. Why bargain it away?”

  “That’s what cards are for.” He thought over his words and wondered if they were actually true. “I know your opinion. Can I count on you to back me up?”

  Before she could respond, t
he phoned beeped from the desk. Norman tapped a button. “Yes?”

  “General Sykes just informed me he wouldn’t be making the meeting,” said a voice from the speaker.

  Rae raised an eyebrow, a silent I told you so.

  “Did he say when he would arrive?”

  “No, he just said to tell you he wouldn’t be coming.”

  Norman clicked the phone off. “Well, then.” He met Rae’s glance. “We’ll have to go to them.”

  Norman had wanted to make his visit somewhat of a surprise, but that was impossible when you had the type of security and entourage that now encumbered all of his maneuvers. He could just blur away on his own, but he wasn’t sure how much of the protocol and tradition he should openly flaunt.

  Two soldiers in uniform stood with holstered side arms and rifles behind the reception desk at the Pentagon. Another uniformed soldier hung up a phone. “The general can’t see you now.”

  Norman dipped his head and gripped her will. “Yes, he can. He’s always got time for the President of the United States.”

  The man’s face relaxed. “Of course, Mr. President. Right this way.” He rose from his seat behind the desk.

  “Don’t trouble yourself. I can find my way.”

  Norman pushed through the door without knocking.

  The general sat at his desk looking through bifocals at two papers in his hands. A woman in uniform stood behind, leaning over his shoulder to read the papers. They both looked up with a start as Norman entered.

  Norman glanced back to Sykes’s security. “Wait here.” He waved Rae through and closed the door behind him.

  General Sykes lifted the phone and pressed a button. “I thought I told you to tell the Pres…That I was busy?”

  Norman’s vampire ears picked up the soldier at reception through the receiver, “Yes, um. But…”

  “No matter. Clear some time for me to meet with my special guests.” Sykes hung up the phone.