“You shoot a lot of weapons?” Maggie asked pointedly.
“No,” admitted John. “I fight evil with the Eucharist and prayer. A pistol packing priest might be a good western, but it’s frowned upon in real life.”
“You need me,” she replied. “And there’s something you haven’t considered.”
“What’s that?”
“He may know about me. If he kills you, he’ll probably come after me. If it’s inevitable, I might as well be by your side. You're stuck with me.”
“I wouldn't say stuck...”
Chapter 20
Tragedy
With his heightened hearing Malcolm heard peals of muffled gunfire emanating from the police station. He sat in his Jaguar on the street. He kept his eyes searching for any police who might come back to the station. He didn’t want the siege to be interrupted before they had the priest. With the electricity out in the neighborhood the power company would have its phone lines flooded. There would also be calls to the police and fire departments. The calls at the police station would be unanswered as everyone inside was busy dying. If officers on patrol didn’t get a response from the station he was outside to make sure no returning police would be able to help.
Malcolm reached out with his mind. He could sense the vampires he created. Simone was pleased. This feeling probably meant Inspector Henderson was dead and with the help of a growing fire, evidence would be destroyed. What he sensed from Simone next was excitement. She was free to wreak havoc in the dark station. She had been with him the longest and he could almost hear what she was thinking. He could certainly feel her joy.
With Henderson dead and the police station attacked in a spectacular fashion, the events at the church and Malcolm’s visit to the station would have diminished priority. Whatever Henderson thought about the church and Malcolm died with him. It would be easier to snuff out the entire affair along with the main suspects and move somewhere else than try to answer any difficult questions. It was unfortunate the time and hard work it had taken to establish the church was laid waste. It was lamentable. It was the safest way for them to find victims to feed upon he ever devised. The church operated for years. It was a reliable source of revenue and blood. No one had to die. No one had to work or steal from victims. Detection was, he thought, negligible. Being discovered in an age of skeptics was an exceptionally cruel blow dealt by fate. The priest was a wild card. How he believed in vampires was beyond his imaginings. Was Heaven finally striking out, smiting his evil after hundreds of years?
Malcolm was aware of a sudden vague, ethereal pain. One of his children was hurt. He sensed it as Angelique died. How had such a thing happened? He hoped it would be the only one. He stayed in the car; he could sense the battle was waning. The sound of gunfire was less and less. Maybe his team of killers had moved further into the large building. Malcolm saw several of the vampires casually depart out the front doors and blend into the night. They would wait for the signal to return to the passenger van for the return trip to the church. Frustratingly, none had custody of the priest. Was he not in there or had he been killed?
Four of the Limited exited the front doors, hustled to their dark van, and drove away. Four? Had there been six casualties on his elite team? He would need to find out who died so their families could be taken care of. In the meantime, they were to disappear until needed again in whatever city they moved to next.
Pain! Danger! Simone was hurt. He couldn’t feel specifics, but he flew out of the car and ran into the darkness to find her. The last thing he sensed was pain, fear, and rage -- but she wasn’t dead. He would know if she ceased living. In a blind panic he circumvented the police station using his full potential. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two distant figures running in the dark. Were they his people?
Malcolm quickly dismissed the thought of them and focused on finding his wounded lover. He found her lying on the pavement in the station parking lot between two cars, a pool of blood expanding from the back of her head. He crouched over her body and examined her wounds without touching her. There were two small bullet holes on the side of her head. The exit wounds were small as well. Her luminescent eyes glittered with no recognition of him. He didn’t know if she could see. Her marvelous mind, sparkling wit, had been shattered by bullets.
Blood mixed with tears in Malcolm’s eyes. He craned his head upward and screamed a soul wrenching cry. The sound of loss and pain and anger reverberated for blocks. Humans huddled against the dark shuddered when they heard the inhuman cry pierce the quiet night. Her body might never recover from such serious wounds. She could remain throughout eternity a helpless, mindless vampire, dependent on Malcolm for life giving blood.
His mind raced, formulating several options. First he would have to try saving her where she lay. He took of his jacket and rolled up his sleeve. Malcolm cut open his wrist placing it over her open mouth. The blood hit the back of her throat. She remembered. She remembered the first time drinking from him. The exquisite rapture as the dark fluid issued into her mouth. Her red pouty lips surrounded the open vein on his wrist and Simone drank deeply, more instinctive behavior than conscious thought.
Malcolm had found her in Dijon, France in the 1800s. She was a beautiful, uneducated farm girl. His first inclination had been to drain her to death. There were always pretty farm girls. As he toyed with his food, seducing her, he found her witty, effervescent, an untrained mind but certainly not stupid or dull. He didn’t take her the first night. He returned successive nights, an odd courtship began. As the seduction progressed, he sensed she was different from other maidens. Finding something he loved in her, he offered her immortality. She became more than her peasant parents ever envisioned. She became a vampire, a lover, a friend, a confidant.
Malcolm winced in pleasure/pain as she imbibed the majority of his blood. He knew if she were to survive she would need old blood, strong blood. What he had in mind would take great sacrifices. He pulled his wrist away from her mouth, her tongue snaked out trying desperately to reach the incision. Malcolm leaned back, his features were drawn and sharp, his mind reeled from the loss of blood. He would need to feed heavily tonight to recover his strength.
He called his children to him. They had melted into the night, escaping the carnage. Behind him the station started to glow, the fire growing uncontrollable. Quickly six vampires appeared around him. They gasped in shock at Simone’s condition.
“What can we do to help her?” asked Dionysus.
“I’m working on that,” Malcolm replied. “In the meantime, the night is still young and there is much to accomplish. Angelique is dead. Did anyone retrieve her body?”
"She’s inside with the fire." stated Thomas, no emotion in his voice. In his unspoken opinion, the attack had been a mistake. The church would have been abandoned anyway. This was carnage driven by foolish blind rage. “Her body was probably consumed in the fire by now.”
“Unfortunate,” he said, but not for the reasons they might think. It wasn’t any sentimentality in Malcolm. Simone needed blood if she were to recover. Angelique’s blood could have helped. He would have fed Angelique’s blood to Simone to help her heal. He would drain them all to bring her back if it were even possible.
He could put her out of her misery, quick, efficient. Decapitate her. The thought of killing her, even to be merciful, was abhorrent to him. Ice was wounded. Now Simone was hurt. What had this priest not taken from him? His life, his church, his companions; all were savaged. What was left? The desire for vengeance. He needed to hold onto Simone. He could take her and treat her like an invalid for however long it took for her to heal. He had no idea if it was possible. It could take countless years before she could do anything for herself. He didn't think he had the constitution to sit by year after year and play nursemaid. It would break his heart almost as surely as if he killed her now. She might languish for hundreds of years and never be whole again.
“Carefully take Simone and lay her on the seat of the van.
She clings to life and may yet be healed. Go by the church first. If all the Sturm und Drang is over take her into the chapel. If the police or news lingers...” Malcolm paused. It was an emergency. He hated revealing his secret bolt hole, but it didn’t matter since they would be leaving town. “No. Ignore the church. Wait for me down the street from the church, and I will lead you to a safe house.” Safe house. His secret house bought and paid for with money from the worshippers.
The assembled vampires glanced at one another.
“What safe house?” asked Thomas suspiciously. Of course it was Thomas. He was an ever present thorn in Malcolm’s side and always the first to dissent or argue. Malcolm looked at him coldly.
“A safe house near the church in case of emergencies,” replied Malcolm. “Do you think this qualifies as an emergency?”
Thomas furrowed his brow, angry, but said nothing.
“It’s still early. Marcus, go to a hardware store; buy three shovels, a pick, and rope. Meet back at the church at 9 pm.” Malcolm pointed to Simone. “Let’s get her into the van. Support her head. She’s precious cargo.”
The six vampires carefully picked Simone up and carried her to the passenger van under Malcolm’s worried and watchful eyes. Simone’s eyes were open and she was watching. She didn’t speak and exhibited only minimal movement. The bullets had damaged her brain, though a spark of something still burned in her eyes. Malcolm held onto feeble hope she could recover. Drastic action was needed.
From her limp hand the shiny cross fell. Malcolm picked it up and looked at it. He knew what this was. It was the priest’s. A gauntlet was thrown down. The priest had escaped the attack and hurt Simone. Rage welled up from the depths of his inhuman soul. He wanted to murder the priest more than ever. Medieval tortures would be a kindness compared to the horrors he wanted to inflict upon Father John Bryant.
“Go now. I will meet you at 9 pm.” Malcolm was fuming as he turned away. The order was given and the vampires drove away without question. He moved toward the darkened neighborhood. He needed to feed. Giving all his blood to Simone in an effort to save her left him with a burning need. Blood lust clouded his mind like he hadn't felt in a hundred years. He picked a house nearby with a lone car in the driveway. He stood still as a statue outside as he listened. Inside the house two people were talking, a man and a woman. They were sitting in the dark talking, mainly wondering when the lights would come back on.
Another rash action was needed for his survival. Malcolm walked quickly and soundlessly to the front door and tried the handle. It was unlocked. How fortunate for him and deadly for the humans inside. They had no idea of the timeless danger about to murder them. He turned the knob quietly and slipped inside like a ghost.
A kitchen was to the right of the front door, and candle light gave a soft glow from the room directly ahead. Malcolm peered around the corner. There was a couple sitting on a couch facing a darkened TV. On the coffee table in front of them was a candle holder with four long tapered candles burning. Something normally brought out for Christmas or Thanksgiving. It was a fancy affectation to make something normal like a dinner seem special. The four candles lit the space with a warm yellow light. In the sudden blackout they looked for a flashlight in the junk drawer, but the batteries were dead.
“Hope the power comes back soon. I don’t want all the food in the fridge to go bad,” said the middle age woman.
Malcolm strode into the room, a fast back hand knocked out the man before he was aware of the invader in their house. The danger was upon them before they could react. He scooped up the surprised woman and restrained her movement. He clamped his mouth upon her throat. Sharp canines bit into the flesh, puncturing the jugular. There was no time for gentleness. No time for beguiling. He needed to feed. He placed his mouth over the pumping vein. Hot blood splashed into his mouth and he drank greedily. His sharp omnipresent hunger drove him even more now he was so deprived of blood. When the woman was bled dry he dropped her body on the couch. He moved to the unconscious man and fed.
When the man was dead Malcolm sat on the couch between the two corpses for a few minutes. His thirst was temporarily slaked but there was still much to do before sunrise. His mind was racing. He scanned the room. There was a wet bar on one wall. He crossed to in and looked at the alcohol. He picked up the one with the highest proof and poured it on the couch and the bodies. Everything was burning tonight. The great October police massacre and fires of Las Vegas would be remembered for years.
Malcolm lifted the phone receiver off the cradle. It had a dial tone. At least he hadn’t shut off the phones when he destroyed the transformer on the pole. Malcolm dialed a local number from memory. The line rang twice and a voice answered.
“Hello?” The man was hesitant.
“Max, it’s Malcolm.”
“What number is this? I don’t recognize it,” Max said. Calls from Malcolm at night were not unusual, it was the norm for his business. The very rare calls in the daytime shocked him.
“It’s over. We’re leaving. Liquidate all church accounts and transfer them to the Caymans. Rent a box truck and have it delivered by 11 p.m. tonight at the church. Sixteen feet at least, a twenty footer would be better. And see if it can be light tight in the cargo space.” Malcolm was creating the plan as he talked.
“It’s that bad?”
Malcolm ruefully smiled to himself. “Worse. It’ll be on the local news tonight. It’ll be on the national news in the morning.”
Max was silent for a moment on the other end of the call. “Ok. I understand,” he said calmly. “Where are you going?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have a direction to go by morning. There are things to take care of tonight.”
Things. The word scared and startled Max. Being a vampire’s accountant exposed him to some pretty unusual things. For Malcolm to be exiting the state with no pre-planning there must have been some dreadfully horrible things going on. Malcolm paid very well for Max to work at odd hours. The vampire and his church were Max’s only client.
“I’ll take care of it.” Max said calmly. He was a cold calculating man. Horrors didn’t touch him. “When you get to where you’re going I’ll forward all routing numbers and accounts.”
“Good man.” Malcolm hung up the phone. He tipped the candleholder over into the spilled alcohol. It caught, blue flame from the alcohol travelled quickly catching the room on fire. Not as well as gasoline would have but sufficient to set the house on fire and burn the bodies. His crimes would be disguised by the damage to the house. A coroner, overworked from the police station attack, would probably miss the blood loss and the holes in the unfortunate fire victim’s throats. Two drunk people burned in a tragic fire during a blackout.
Malcolm walked to the kitchen. The living room was starting to burn vigorously. Fire licked up the walls to the ceiling. Smoke and flame would soon be pouring up through the roof. He washed the blood off his face in the sink and dried himself with paper towels. He tossed the flammable towels into the growing inferno on the way out. He locked the door behind him.
The police station was glowing, fire belching forth from the windows. Sirens could be heard approaching. Someone had noticed.
Malcolm walked to the Jaguar and got in. He started the engine as the first fire truck turned onto the street. He quickly transitioned to a side street before switching on his headlights. He didn’t want his plate to be seen leaving the neighborhood.
There was much to do before morning.
Chapter 21
Rhyolite
In the closed, empty garage, under Malcolm’s dangerous, watchful eyes, Simone’s limp body was removed from the seat of the van and placed gently in a waiting coffin. It was modern, metal with a cream colored interior, her bandaged head rested upon a pillow. Next the rows of seats were removed from the passenger van to make room for the coffin. There was a trip to take.
Simone made no sounds but her eyes flicked back and forth, watchful but not registering cognizant thou
ght. Whatever she looked at had the same significance, the same attraction. She looked upon the people with as much interest as she looked at the garage ceiling light. After the coffin was loaded into the van, the top half of the coffin lid remained open exposing Simone.
Shortly before 9 pm, Marcus arrived with three shovels, a pick axe, and rope. The tools were loaded into the van.
“Excellent,” said Malcolm. “We can start our journey. Marcus, drive the van, Thomas, James, Scott, get in the van. Marcus you will follow me to our destination.”
“Where are we going? What are we going to do with her?” Thomas asked as they followed his orders and climbed into the van.
Malcolm didn’t snap or glare at the young vampire, he approached the open van door and spoke in a frightening, expressionless voice. “We are going to bury her far away from here. She may be able to recuperate, but it will take a long time. It’s best if she hibernate while her body recovers.”
“Can she really recover?” Marcus asked as he got in the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“I don’t know. I hope so.” Malcolm replied in a moment of candor. He was a bit of a mystery to his creations. He fed them and kept them safe, but most couldn’t say they knew him well. He hadn’t confided in them. They knew some of his past from Simone or Ice who had traveled with him the longest, but he didn’t gather them together and tell stories of his immortal life. Malcolm pressed the garage door button. “Wait for me outside, I’ll lead the way. If you are having trouble keeping up, flash your lights. I don’t want you to get lost.”
“Where are we going?”
“Rhyolite.”
“Where's that?”
“It’s a ghost town about two hours up the 95,” Malcolm replied. “Like I said, follow me.” He closed the van doors. When the van cleared the door and started backing down the driveway Malcolm pressed the button again and the garage door rolled down. He walked through the house and locked up. Here was another thing, a possession he needed to abandon. It was a simple one story ranch style house with a pool, modestly furnished to the point of being austere. It had been a refuge from the demands of the church. No one could bother him if they couldn’t find him. Like the church, it would be liquidated, the money used for the next adventure.
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