The Midnight Vampire Trap

by L.S. Richards

  Leaving Amborella, Desmond caught up Cynthia, twirling her around, and then she was singing too, and she knew that somehow, someway, everything was going to be okay.

  The last chorus, and it was the aliens on one side and Desmond, Cynthia and Brian on the other, in perfect harmony, then a final, joyous reprise and it was over, and the judge was banging his gavel furiously on its sounding block.

  “Cease this at once!” he demanded, coming to his senses. “This is a courtroom, not a cabaret! We have a hearing to conduct!”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Desmond replied.

  “I beg your pardon?” the judge barked.

  “Well, your Honor,” Desmond replied, “I think the plaintiffs are about to drop the charges.”

  “What?” said the judge. “They are?”

  “Yes. CG&P, because if they don’t, and they’re claiming me as their property,” Desmond said, turning his head, nailing Deke and Chuck with his gaze, “Then they become legally responsible for my actions under the laws governing product liability.” He smiled as the two executives blanched, having obviously never thought of that.

  “If, on the other hand, they release me,” Desmond continued, “I’ll be glad to pay for all the damages myself.” He addressed the lawyers from IT&T. “You guys want a new satellite? I’ll buy you a new satellite, with more bells and whistles than you can imagine.” He addressed the military officers. “You, too.” He turned back to the judge. “And everybody who lost money or suffered in any way because the satellites collided, I’ll take care of them, as well.”

  “You can do that?” said the judge.

  “I’m four hundred years old,” Desmond replied. “I have more money than God.” And suddenly he was across the courtroom, nose-to-nose with Hollingsworth.

  “Besides, Deke,” he said, sotto voce, “If you don’t release me, I’ll tell the nice Federal Judge over there how I personally witnessed you kick an unconscious woman into a swimming pool. Deal?”

  The District Attorney weighed in. “But what about the treason?” he said.

  “What treason?” Desmond replied. “I had a problem, and taking out the satellites was the only way to get rid of it. I never meant to overthrow the government. If you want me to stand trial for treason, okay, but I think you’re going to have a hard time proving it. And if there is no treason, then there is no conspiracy.”

  “But what about the murders?” the D.A. said.

  “Mr. District Attorney,” Desmond sighed. “Do you have one shred of evidence that I ever committed one single murder? Let alone one hundred and forty-six thousand? Do you?”

  “Well, actually…” said the D.A.

  “Exactly,” Desmond said.

  “There is still the battery charge brought by Judge Laverna Davis,” the judge reminded them. Sighing, Desmond looked at Judge Davis.

  “Judge Davis?” he asked. Judge Davis exchanged a long, meaningful look with her husband.

  “I drop the charges,” she said.

  “So, out-of-court settlements! Cynthia, write these people checks, I’ll sign them tonight. Deke? You letting me go?”

  “…Yes.”

  “Mr. D.A?”

  “…Yes.”

  “Military guys?”

  “….Yes.”

  “Well then,” Desmond said, holding out his arms and turning like a circus ringmaster. “That’s that! Happy endings can be bought!” and the room applauded.

  “Just one goddamned minute!” cried the judge, and it was clear that there was something bothering him, something he was extremely loathe to mention but which, in good conscience, he just couldn’t leave alone.

  “What was up with all that singing?” he demanded. “Care to explain that?” And suddenly Desmond knew a way.

  “Of course, your Honor,” he said lightly. “There are vampires in Transylvania.”

  The judge stared. “Well of course there are,” he said. “Everyone knows that. Well then,” he continued, “After careful consideration, and pending a more thorough hearing at a date to be determined, I hereby find that Johannes Van der Hoeven, now known as Desmond Sharpe, is the legal property of himself, with all the rights and responsibilities adherent thereto, and this hearing is adjourned!” He banged his gavel, and the room erupted in a mighty cheer.

  Desmond scooped up Amborella, spinning her around.

  “Marry me!” he cried.

  “I can’t, I’m already married,” she replied, her husband moving up like a shadow behind her.

  “Well then, what do you want?” Desmond said. “Diamonds, pearls, the Taj Mahal? Name it!”

  “I don’t need your money!” she laughed.

  “I must do something!” Desmond pleaded.

  “Fine,” Amborella said, squirming out of his grasp, “Buy us Oakley Court.”

  She moved away to Hemlock and Courtesan, gathering their things, and Desmond turned to Brian.

  “What’s Oakley Court?” he asked. “Beats me,” Brian replied.

  They all moved into the hall outside the courtroom, around a central atrium, where they were swarmed by reporters.

  “Desmond! How do you feel?” yelled one.

  “Desmond, what was all that singing?” yelled another. “Is there going to be a King of Vampires sequel?”

  “Dr. Warner, why are you dressed like that?” yelled a third.

  “This is impossible,” Desmond said. “Want to get away?”

  “We can go to the safe house where we’ve been staying,” Amborella replied.

  “Okay,” Desmond said. “Just hang on to-- where the hell have you been?!”

  The media thronging the hallway parted as water as another vampire, tall, broad-shouldered, skin a rich brown, matted dreadlocks halfway down his back.

  “I called you, Maximillian!” Desmond said, furious. “I called and called!”

  “Oh, I was warned to lay low before all of this started,” Max replied, unperturbed. “We were all warned.” Desmond closed his eyes, experiencing a moment of pain.

  “By the Warner,” he said.

  “It was explained to us that it was in our best interest to do so, until certain matters were sorted out,” Max said. “But now that a high mortal court has found in your favor, we feel their world a significantly safer place for us to be.”

  “You always were a selfish bastard, Max,” Desmond said.

  “Oh, it was partly for your benefit, “ Max replied. “You had to learn the risks of your behavior. So when we were asked to curtail our own activities to help you, we complied.”

  “For me? You all wanted to help me? You were concerned about me?” Desmond said, clearly touched.

  “Er, not exactly,” Amborella coughed. “Max agreed to help, but he did exact a price.”

  “Price? What price?” Desmond said.

  Amborella and Max looked up, to the floor above, as many other vampires gliding to the railing, each and every one holding out his or her personal copy of the CG&P torture file.

  “I hate you!” Desmond pouted.

  “No you don’t,” Amborella replied. “Now about that safe house…”

  “Yes, where it is?” Desmond asked.

  An hour later, Desmond, Max, and the aliens stood outside the door to Desmond’s mausoleum.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Desmond said.

  “Safest place in L.A.,” Amborella replied. “You were going to kill me, remember?”

  “‘Bring forth men children only,’” Desmond said to her. “‘Thy undaunted mettle should compose nothing but males.’” Amborella laughed, and together, they went inside.

  From the outside, the mausoleum was a neglected ruin; on the inside it was a splendid, Italianate villa arranged around a central courtyard, with lush plantings and a sparkling fountain. A huge banner stretched across the back wall read WELCOME HOME DESMOND, and more vampires applauded snarkily as Desmond walked in, flipping them birds with both hands.

  “I love your ga
rden,” Amborella said, “But your landscaper has given you all white flowers, because you told him you were only going to visit at night. He didn’t know the sensitivity of your eyes. I’d have given you a greater variation.”

  “Yes, botanist?” Desmond smiled as they took seats around a wrought-iron patio set, the other vampires milling in the background.

  “Botanist by training,” Amborella grinned back. “Botanical hematologist by necessity.”

  “And that planet I saw in Hemlock’s mind…?” Desmond said.

  “Venereal,” Amborella replied.

  “Venereal?” Desmond echoed, before thinking oh, right, of course.

  “Named for the Venari, a race of blood-drinking mortals,” she continued, and Hemlock made a thumb-and-pinkie, Hawaiian ‘mahalo’ gesture.

  “Oh,” Desmond said. “Okay. And how can I help you?” he asked sincerely.

  “You already have,” Hemlock said, and placed on the table a small black box, which he opened, exposing a row of sealed test tubes, each one containing a pinkish-red liquid, a pinkish-red liquid that was glowing.

  “We worked on it at home,” Amborella said. Desmond picked up one of the tubes, twirled it between his fingers.

  “So that’s it,” he said, marveling.

  “That’s the physical manifestation of it,” Amborella replied. “That’s it caught in a web of organic chemistry.” She shrugged. “Whatever else it might or might not be, frankly, Desmond, I don’t give a damn.”

  “We’re going cross this with single-cell bacteria,” Hemlock continued, “Bacteria that will feed upon the blood from our plants, bacteria that will convert iron into magnesium, generating power, bringing light and warmth to a previously dark world…”

  “Freeing us from our dangerous reliance on a single-crop economy,” added Amborella.

  “And once we have it, a cheap, safe source of biological nuclear power, the galaxy will come to us!” Courtesan finished, a certain megalomaniacal tone to his voice.

  “Ensuring the prosperity and security of the Venari for generations to come?” Hemlock suggested quietly to Courtesan, suggesting that Courtland really, really wanted to re-think his position.

  “Well, yes,” Courtesan said, abashed, “That too.”

  “And we’re sorry about Tommy,” Amborella said.

  “I’m not,” Desmond replied. “He was a nasty little cuss. So,” he said, trying to wrap his head around it, “This whole thing was what, a giant shopping trip?”

  “You could call it that,” Hemlock replied. “I call it a wedding present.” He and Amborella rubbed noses, obnoxiously cute. Desmond blenched.

  “Glad I could be your guinea pig!” he complained.

  “So you had a lousy fortnight,” Amborella responded. “It was going to happen sooner or later. Science has known about the similarities between the porphyrin rings for over a hundred years. Nuclear fission has been understood for decades. Honestly, this collision has been overdue for more than a century, since Stoker published his novel the year before Curié discovered radium. It was going to happen sooner or later… just imagine if it hadn’t been us.”

  Desmond stared at her, silence stretching out until she finally said “What?”

  “You like me.” Desmond said.

  “Well, maybe a little,” she replied, fighting a grin.

  “I am the center of the universe!” he said wonderingly.

  “You are such an asshole,” she sighed.

  “And so now everyone is at peace,” Max said, clamping his hands on Desmond’s shoulders. “My friend, we must take our leave of you. The dawn approaches.”

  “Yes, I feel it myself,” Desmond said. “I feel as if I haven’t slept in years.”

  He rose, and Max and the other vampires vanished like wraiths.

  “There are mortal beds inside,” Desmond said. “You’re welcome to them.”

  “Deal,” Courtesan said, yawning. He, too, rose. “You coming?” he said to Amborella and Hemlock.

  “In a minute,” she replied, and the others disappeared into the shadows.

  “I must sleep,” Desmond said. “Will you wait for me tomorrow night?”

  “Yes.”

  He moved to a huge, ornate marble sarcophagus and pushed back its carved-stone lid. “You know everything else,” he said, “you might as well know this, too.” He climbed inside, lay down on the quilted velvet lining.

  “I know. We trust each other.” Amborella replied. Desmond’s expression slackened, his eyes glazed over, and he was gone, asleep. Together, Amborella and Hemlock managed to push the stone back in place.

  Amborella turned, intending to walk inside the mausoleum, but found her way blocked by Hemlock.

  “Oh. Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  “Suppose there’s an extra bed inside?” Amborella said. “Suppose it’s in a private room?”

  “Who needs a bed?” Hemlock said, removing his jacket and throwing it up on top of the sarcophagus.

  “What, here?” Amborella said.

  “It’s been too long,” Hemlock said, “And I am so tired of sharing you with another man.” He lifted her bottom onto the sarcophagus, then hopped up next to her, pushing her back onto his jacket.

  “Hemlock, stop it!” Amborella mock-protested. “Stop it! Oh… stop it some more!”

 

  14

  Farewell

  The marquee of the Galaxy Cinema proclaimed the engagement of The Midnight Vampire Trap, and on the stage Amborella, in a floor-length gown of black silk and sewn eel-skins, a jeweled black veil tucked into the low chignon at the base of her neck, and Desmond, in a new designer tux, advanced upon one another, singing a stately, operatic duet about saying goodbye, their voices spiraling to the rafters, bringing the audience to tears. The song over, they embraced, the audience cheered, and the movie began, even as the ink on Cynthia’s petition to the Supreme Court asking Vampire-Americans be granted full rights as citizens was still drying.

  As the audience fell into rapt attention of the screen, Amborella led Desmond behind the screen and into the alley behind the theater, where Brian waited with Courtesan, Hemlock and the luggage.

  “Well, this is it,” Amborella said, tucking the deed to Oakley Court into her pocket.

  “You really can’t stay?” Desmond asked.

  “No, we’ve been away too long as it is,” Amborella said. “Besides, I have a promise to fulfill.” Desmond looked at Hemlock.

  “I see,” said the vampire.

  Hemlock stepped forward, handed Desmond a folded note.

  “I, uh, wrote this for you,” he said shyly. “Do me a favor, don’t read it until we’re gone, okay?” Touched, Desmond nodded.

  “Is a spaceship going to pick you up?” Desmond asked. “Do you have to go somewhere special?”

  “No, this is good. Goodbye.” Amborella said, stepping over to the alien men, and she, Hemlock and Courtesan began to fragment, breaking up into thousands of tiny particles, until a gust of wind swept them up, into the night.

  “Wow,” Desmond said, his heart swelling.

  “What does the note say?” Brian asked. Sniffing back tears, Desmond ripped it open.

  “Why, you little fucker!” he exclaimed.

  Brian stared. Desmond held out the note. “‘We had sex on your coffin while you slept,’” he read.

  Brian laughed, and Cynthia stuck her head out of the alleyway door.

  “Desmond? You’re missing your movie,” she said.

  Together, Desmond and Brian re-entered the cinema, Brian taking a seat next to Cynthia, Desmond remaining off to the side, in the shadows next to the screen. He pulled the note from his pocket.

  “‘We had sex on your coffin while you slept,’” he read again, and then, to himself, he added, “And did you there conceive a child, Hemlock?”

  In a bound, he vaulted from where he stood to the front row, landing before a startled Brian and Cynthia.


  “Brian! Cynthia! Get up!” he cried. “We’re going to NASA!”

  THE END

  Your move, Fox.