The Victorian Vampire

Home > Other > The Victorian Vampire > Page 9
The Victorian Vampire Page 9

by Nick James


  I groaned. This was my first mission abroad and clearly time sensitive if I didn’t want to get inadvertently blown up by my own country. We discussed further details into the early morning, pawing over maps, and then we decided to meet up again on Monday night for a recap, a final walk through and weapon checking. Afterwards, I headed back to my home to rest and think about the days to come and Veronica.

  My date with Veronica came quickly. Thanks to my contacts through the dodgy side of London – well, mine and Suzie’s, of course – I procured two joints of meat. My employee would’ve been put out if I hadn’t bought her one, too. It was always best to keep Suzie happy. She was pleased that I had found someone new, although upset that I had left her bed empty. But she did still love me and would do anything for me. It made me miss my family when I heard that.

  It was seven o’clock on the dot when there was a knock on the door. Even though I knew it was going to happen, I still jumped. I smoothed down my suit jacket and opened the door. There stood the beautiful Veronica wearing a grey dress that fitted her perfectly. She stepped inside.

  ‘Well, hello, Mr Captain. My, what a lovely house you have,’ she said with a smile and pressed her red lips to my cheek.

  I could feel the residue of lipstick on my cheek, it was like she was leaving her mark. ‘I’m glad you could make it. I’m sorry about the picnic,’ I said with a chuckle as I closed the door behind her. I took her gasmask and hung it on a hook on the hatstand, which was followed by her stylish hat. ‘I don’t get much time in the sun.’

  Veronica slapped me gently on the arm as she pulled off her leather gloves. She smelt wonderful. ‘Don’t be silly, soldier boy, this way I can see where you live,’ she said, giving me a wink and then taking a big sniff. ‘Is that…beef?’

  I gave her a knowing smile. ‘Now that, my dear, would be telling. Let me show you around my home.’ I proceeded to take her from room to room.

  She did blush a little at the master bedroom. But then again if I could’ve, I would’ve. By the way her heart was racing, her thoughts were aligned with mine. She saw a photo of me in my uniform when I first joined the London regiment in 1886. She gave me a look.

  ‘Uncanny, isn’t it, but that’s my father,’ I lie with a smile.

  And then she took in the rest. I did take out my and Anna’s wedding photo after a restless night’s sleep as I decided that I didn’t like to hide things. If the lies fell apart, so be it. One day I would have to come clean anyway.

  ‘That was Mum, Annabel, and my Aunty Emily and Uncle Stanley, he died in the last war,’ I said sadly, but the army was his life.

  I could see her drink in the images, remembering every detail, but I think that’s just the way women work. Anna was just the same. If I moved even a single ornament on a shelf she knew by just walking past the room.

  My tour of the house brought us both back to the living room. ‘Now, Veronica, would you like a drop of wine?’

  She tapped her lip with a dainty finger. ‘Ermm… Yes, that would be lovely.’ She smiled a winning smile.

  I walked away into my study and poured two glasses of red wine. Stanley had sent a few cases of French wine to me when he could. He was a good lad.

  Veronica was still looking at all the photos and pictures on the wall. I stilled when I saw her staring at the picture of myself in front of the pawnbrokers when it first opened. She smiled at the proffered glass, her throat was tantalisingly close and tender looking as she took a sip of the wine. Our eyes met; her cheeks flushed and her pulse raced.

  ‘So, you own a shop, Albert?’ she asked.

  ‘We used to, but Father sold it back in the day,’ I answered.

  She nodded happily and moved on with her investigation into my past. The questions kept on coming. She loved all the old things that I had kept, like a Trafalgar goblet with an empty bottle of port next to it.

  ‘Right, time for dinner, milady,’ I stated before holding out my arm, which she happily took, wrapping her slender arm around mine.

  ‘Lead on, Mr Captain,’ she said, giggling.

  I noticed her glass was empty. The wine was good, but it had a certain potency that never bothered me; however, my guests were always swept away. I led her to the dining room and seated her at the upper end of the table. I sat opposite her instead of at the head of the table. We were there to eat together, not to entertain royalty.

  Veronica gasped when I brought out a plate full of sliced roast beef. I thought it prudent not to show her the joint of beef I was given, just in case she turned out to have morals about the populous being on ration cards. But the way the woman was hurriedly placing slices of the beef onto her plate, I needn’t have worried about it at all. She barely had room for the roast potatoes and veg.

  Now, I have lived with soldiers in barracks and seen the biggest of men put some food away, but the sight of Veronica eating that mound of food will stick with me until the day I turn into a pile of ash. I don’t eat much food now, only for show, but I did always like a traditional roast dinner – and a bloody piece of beef was the best. So I joined the eating machine which was my date for the night and started to eat.

  ‘I have more beef if you want it?’ I offered.

  Her cheeks flushed, but then she nodded slightly with mischief in her eyes like a child stealing a sweet.

  What truly amazed me was the trifle for pudding; she had a second helping. Her ration book was taking a beating if she always tried to eat like that. I watched as she wiped her bowl clean with her delicate finger and sucked the cream off it, which made my libido jump up like a meerkat searching for predator. If she attacked me like that dinner, I don’t think I would survive.

  ‘How was it, Veronica?’ I asked with a smile.

  Once again her face shone. ‘That was amazing. I won’t have to eat for a week now,’ she said, sporting a big smile and wiping her hands clean with the napkin. ‘May I just go and clean up, Albert?’

  I nodded and showed her to the bathroom I had fitted when the new models came out. The décor of the rest of the house stayed as Annabel had liked it, to keep her close to me.

  The plates were cleared as I waited for her to come back. No doubt she was looking at the other photos I had on the stairs. They were mainly of Emily and her family, and of Stanley and his army mates. The door creaked open and she walked back into the room smiling.

  ‘I am full to burst, Albert,’ she said with a slight cackle to her laugh.

  I offered her my arm. ‘Well, let’s go and sit in the lounge. Fancy a cuppa?’ I asked as I showed her to the sofa.

  ‘Yes, please, Mr Captain, sir.’ She once again gave me a brief salute, so I pushed her onto the sofa, making her giggle like a schoolgirl. She must have been drunk on wine and meat.

  When I came back with the tea, I placed the tray on a small table in front of the sofa and poured out the cups.

  Veronica took a sip from her cup and then added sugar to taste. ‘So, where’s this shop of yours?’

  I chuckled. ‘We owned it years ago and I sold it to family friends who expanded it to other shops around the city.’ I took a sip, hoping that would appease the nosey woman, but clearly there was blood in the water. Can’t remember where that saying came from, but she wasn’t going to give up.

  Her eyebrow raised slightly and a small smirk appeared on her perfect lips. ‘That’s nice. Where is the original shop, then?’ That question hung in the air like a barrage balloon, and I was the bomber. She knew I was going to hit, and she was waiting.

  ‘Just off Whitechapel Road, Buck’s Row.’ I then saw in her eyes that she was storing away the information for future use. ‘How is your work?’ I asked, determined to sit and hear her beautiful voice for a time.

  Veronica relaxed back into the sofa and crossed her legs. Unlike most of the women of this time she preferred bare legs, and they looked smooth as silk. I couldn’t pick up the sound of a single rasp of hair on the material. ‘Not too bad. Busy as ever, of course. Dare I ask about yours
?’ she said. ‘Or will you have to kill me after?’ That was said with a playfulness, her eyes sparkling.

  With a shrug, I replied, ‘Like yours, really, but I will be travelling soon.’ I then locked eyes with her.

  ‘Abroad?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Are we talking snails, pasta or sauerkraut for dinner?’ she probed.

  ‘The first one, from Tuesday and back… Well, you know,’ I said and saw water gathering in her eyes. ‘But I will be fine. I’m good at what I do.’

  Veronica stood up, took my cup of tea from me and placed it down onto the table, and then slid onto my lap. We kissed deeply. It felt like it went on forever. I knew she could feel my passion underneath her, but we both knew tonight wasn’t the night. Particularly not with full bellies and emotions running high. She placed the palms of her soft hands on either side of my head, stared into where my soul had once been and said calmly, ‘You come back to me, Captain. Don’t get hurt or killed. You come back to me, and we will start making new memories for your walls. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, as soon as I am back, I will come to you. I promise.’

  We spent the rest of the evening kissing and talking about the future. Veronica agreed that having children with me or anyone else should wait until the war was over. That saved an awkward conversation for another time.

  Chapter 8

  Well, I was right: the lying bastard had no intention of taking that bottle of rum to Churchill. I smelt it in Major Matterson’s desk. In response to my question, all he did was shrug and send me to an airfield by the coast so that I could carry out a final weapons check and last-minute intelligence briefing.

  They had planned a small bombing raid on the submarine pens at Lorient, Brittany. The Mosquitoes would fly in low and fast and drop incendiaries so the high-flying Halifaxes could follow and add their payloads. As the Mosquitoes headed for home, I would be dropped from one after being in the co-pilot seat. What could go wrong…? Everything.

  I stood on the edge of the landing field. All the pilots had just come back from their briefing and started to filter away to their own aircraft. Yes, I had concerns about what was to come, but I had a job to do and I would do it the best way I could. I reminded myself that I was merely an asset, as when I was back in Ireland. People like Samuel treated you like a friend, but they weren’t. They used your willingness to fight for your country to achieve their goals, and those of their master. But I was really here for Veronica, Suzie and her family, and the Edwards boys and their families.

  It was my first time up in a plane and it was fun. It was Flight Sergeant Peter Butler that scared me; he just wouldn’t shut up. All he talked about while going over the Channel was the problems with the plane and what had happened to his last co-pilot whom he nicknamed ‘No Nose Johnson’ after losing his face. The monster in me wanted to feed on him just to shut him up. He thought it hilarious that the plan was for them to drop their bombs and then I was to crawl back and throw myself out of the open bomb bay.

  ‘Well, we’ve never used these crates for bombing raids. Supposedly, you’re a special case,’ Butler said with a chuckle, his eyes showing the insanity that lived in his brain.

  I decided that silence was a better response, especially as I was trying to centre myself and not rip his head off. My thoughts drifted to Veronica. I could hear her voice in the background as I remembered our night of talking and kissing on the sofa, and the promises of more to come.

  I was shaken from my musings when the night’s sky was illuminated. I looked at the pilot who was turning his controls. ‘What’s happening?’ I shouted over the noise.

  ‘We just flew over Brittany, starting our bombing run, and they aren’t happy,’ he announced over the radio, still with a hint of laughter.

  There was ground fire exploding all around us, which was painful to my hypersensitive eyes and ears. I felt the plane drop and the whirring of machinery and then a huge explosion.

  ‘Fuck, looks like Barry and Timmy have bought it…shit,’ he added, and then there were more explosions from the ground. ‘Okay, getting ready to drop our load. Once they go, you better start to move back,’ the sergeant ordered.

  I felt the plane move up in the air as the bombs dealt out their destruction. Then we were physically thrown into the air within the plane, sparks spitting from the instrument panel, a small fire at our feet.

  ‘Shit, we’re hit! Bert, get that fire out!’ Peter screamed and pointed to the fire extinguisher between us.

  I moved quickly and sprayed the powder, but it was a stubborn one. I managed to look out of the windows and saw that one engine was ablaze and part of the wing had gone. It was then that I knew we were going down.

  Butler was fighting the aircraft; his insanity had gone and fear was riding alongside professionalism. I knew that Veronica would be angry yet sad when I didn’t make it back, but hopefully I would get to see my Annabel again.

  ‘We’re going down, Bert, not far off the area you need, but we will be swamped by the Krauts, that’s if we survive!’ he shouted through the noise before ripping off his mask as all the systems shut down one by one.

  The second engine stopped with a bang and smoke disappeared into the darkness.

  ‘Dumping the fuel, tighten your harness and hold on, mate.’ He then went quiet.

  All I could hear was the whistling of the wind as we sped towards the ground and the never-ending darkness of death. I closed my eyes and held on. I heard what sounded like branches snapping, then nothing.

  First thing I registered was the smell of smoke and then the heat of fire. Was I in hell where I deserved to be? It was certainly hot enough. Then there was the pain shooting through my stomach. My vision came back and I was in Dante’s version in hell. The plane was burning; I could feel my skin crisping as the flames licked through the broken fuselage.

  I tried to move but I was stuck fast, and then I found out why and the reason there was pain in my gut. It appeared that a part of the plane was in me, and that wasn’t good. Either I was going to bleed out or burn to death – if death could still take me this way, of course.

  With a crack that came from my neck, I moved my head. My body had clearly gone through the ringer, but not as bad as my pilot. Peter’s face was covered in blood, which was intoxicating to my senses. He was still alive, but only just. His legs were in shapes that nothing born of a woman should ever be in. The poor man was not going to make it, and I wouldn’t allow the brave airman to burn to death.

  I took hold of the piece of aluminium studded with rivets in my hands and yanked it out of my body with a deep breath, squirting blood and what looked like a piece of my liver. ‘SHIIIIIIT!’ I cursed loudly, placing a hand over the wound. I didn’t have much time as the flames were building with intensity. The harness came away easily enough along with my parachute, which clearly was never going to be used, especially by me.

  The lack of blood was causing me a problem. Even with my heightened abilities I still felt as weak as a kitten, especially because of the amount of strength it took to remove my skewer.

  I eased over towards Peter, searched around his neck and found his identity chain, which I pulled away with little resistance and not a sound, apart from the laboured breathing from its owner. The chain was placed in my pocket alongside his wallet. If I made it back, at least his family would know what happened, kind of.

  He was clearly on the homeward stretch of his life, but I had a mission to complete. So, with shouts and torchlights in the distance, I used the last of my strength to position myself across the brave man and sank my fangs into his tough skin. I heard the familiar pop as my fangs penetrated his skin, the artery allowing the life-giving fluid to vanquish my thirst and aid my healing.

  The pain in my stomach lessened; as it did, Peter Butler’s heart slowed. He must have already lost a significant amount of blood because he passed quickly. I pulled away from the peaceful-looking man and stared into the night at the torchlights coming my way. I lo
oked towards the back of the plane and saw that the bomb bay was empty and the doors had been torn away, but there was still a gap to the outside world.

  My last act in the cockpit was to take a hand grenade from my pack that had been stored behind my chair. Dangerous, I know, but not as much as having all those bombs on the plane too. I pulled the pin and let it fall to the floor while still holding a Mills bomb (hand grenade) and the priming lever. I pushed it under Peter’s leg. Either the flames would ignite it or a helpful Kraut would try to get the poor dead bugger out of his pilot seat. Either way, I couldn’t have any evidence of my feeding.

  I squeezed his hand and felt bad for leaving him even though I had only just met him, but I remembered that many more people would die in this accursed war. The gap to the outside was tight, but I made it. The soldiers were getting closer but only from one direction, which allowed me to move away into a copse of trees and to my escape. I was about half strength as I moved away from the crash site. Keeping low, I made my way out of the area following my compass all the way, hoping that I would soon hit some signs of life. It was then that I heard the thump of the grenade going off, followed by screams and what I imagined were German curse words – that’ll teach them.

  Two hours later and feeling exhausted, I realised that I needed to cross a bridge which would allow me to remain on the outskirts of the populated area. Hopefully I could find a place to wait out the daylight hours before making a push towards the casino and my target. There was one guard walking along the bridge; I could feel his nervousness from here. I edged closer but there was barely any light for him to see with, just a handheld torch and a small lamp by his guard box.

  I crouched and moved through the shadows. The wound in my gut still hurt, but luckily it didn’t hinder me too much. As I crept, I slipped out my double-edged commando knife, no teeth this time. I hid by a bridge support and leaned against the iron. It was freezing, indicating that it was going to be a hard frost in the morning. But what else did I expect? Good job it doesn’t affect me as much – but, still, I missed my fire.

 

‹ Prev