Primacy of Darkness

by Brock E. Deskins

  “Leo,” Stanley interrupts from his office doorway, “come on in.”

  I wave to Jeanine as I follow Dr. M. “We can talk about the importance of appointments after I’m done with my…not appointment, if you like.”

  Jeanine flips me a wrinkly, too-big knuckled finger as I stride past her desk. I wonder if she enjoys our little verbal sparring as much as I do, or if she really does hate me. I decide I don’t care and drop onto Stanley’s couch as he sits behind his desk and unwraps a sandwich.

  “You were serious about that?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  “Why aren’t you in your chair? You’re supposed to be in your chair when we talk.”

  “Because I am eating lunch. When I am talking to a scheduled patient, I sit in the chair and take detailed notes. When I am eating lunch listening to someone who does not care enough to follow any of my rules and little of my advice, I sit at my desk.”

  “I don’t know what’s more passive aggressive, you or that God-awful sandwich.”

  “What’s wrong with my sandwich?”

  “It smells like kimchee and pickled assholes.”

  “It’s just a Reuben. You should try one. They’re delicious.”

  “I ate a Reuben once. It took me days to get the taste out of my mouth and the smell out of my nose. I think he was a plumber.”

  Stanley wipes a bit of sauerkraut from the corner of his mouth. “I think you just want to complain in order to avoid talking about what brought you here.”

  “I think you picked that sandwich just to screw with me.”

  Stanley wraps the sandwich back up and hides it in his desk drawer. “Can we proceed?”

  “Can we Febreze?”

  “Dammit, Leo! This is classic avoidance, and typical of almost all of our conversations.”

  “It’s not my fault I have a heightened sense of smell. It’s like a homeless man is using my face as a bicycle seat right now—having just eating a Reuben sandwich he found in the dumpster.”

  “Leo, since I cannot eat my lunch while we talk, you have thirty minutes to tell me what is bothering you.”

  “I bet you’re charging me for the full hour.”

  “Actually, I’m charging you for two—at time and a half and you have already used five minutes of your half hour complaining about the smell.”

  “I’ve compared you to a prostitute before, haven’t I?”

  “You have.”

  “The analogy is still valid.”

  “Leo…”

  I sigh and stare at the ceiling. “I had the dream again.”

  “You often have the dream. What was different about it this time?”

  “I was…aroused.”

  Stanley nods. “That is something you never mentioned before. Do you think you were aroused back then, or do you think it is a manifestation created by your subconscious? It is no secret that you use these flashbacks to punish yourself.”

  “No, I think that was what happened back then. When I saw myself like that, it was what… ‘woke me up.’ That was when I finally realized what I was doing and what I had become.”

  “It horrified you.”

  “I dropped the girl and I ran. I thought the worst part of what I had become was all the lives I took, but now, remembering that, I realize how much I enjoyed the killing, and I don’t know how to reconcile it.”

  “Understanding it and accepting it, is how you begin to reconcile it. Leo, you suffered a massive psychotic break in Vietnam. Those are bad enough in normal people. For people like you, it is catastrophic.”

  “I’m sure gorgeous people have had psychotic breaks before. Oh, you mean vampires.”

  “Your mind suffered a critical injury and the horrors you committed were your brain’s attempts to heal itself. It was not until you recognized your state of arousal that your mind realized that what it was doing to try to salve that wound was actually killing you. Many people hurt themselves and others, not because they want to or because they enjoy it, but because they are trying to fix something that is broken within them.

  “The trouble is that those people rarely understand the underlying problem, and the solutions they devise, while providing a temporary reprieve, only cause more pain. Some choose alcohol, drugs, or abuse others. Your mind, largely because it is somewhat inherent to your nature and very survival, chose slaughtering people.”

  I stand up and pace the room. “Is that supposed to make me feel good about what I did?”

  “Of course not. If you still took pleasure in what happened in Vietnam, or even the lives you have to take now just to survive, we would not be having these talks. What you should do is appreciate the fact that even in your darkest time, when you were more animal than man, there still resided a part of your brain that was…we’ll say human for lack of a better term. It was strong enough then to pull you back into the light, and it is much stronger now and faces far less resistance than it did back then.”

  “Why can’t I make it go away entirely?”

  “Because it is part of you. It will always be part of you. The key is controlling it and not letting it control you. Have you ever watched the show Dexter?”

  “I don’t watch much TV.”

  “Dexter is a serial killer. There is a part of his brain he calls his dark passenger. He controls it by feeding it in a way he thinks is healthy. For him, much like you, he does it by killing criminals. You cannot destroy it, and you will only exhaust yourself if you try. If you weaken yourself too much by trying to destroy it, you are giving it a chance to take over again, and no one wants that to happen.”

  I nod and make for the door. “Thanks, Doc. Speaking of serial killers, I heard that a guy is out there killing hookers. You should watch yourself.”

  “Thank you, Leo, I will keep it in mind.”

  “You should also buy your secretary something nice to show your appreciation for all her hard work. Maybe something in a leopard print and a pair of tacky high heels.”

  “Goodbye, Leo.”

  I try to smile politely as I leave, but Jeanine recognizes my obvious sarcasm and flips me off again. I wipe away an imaginary tear with my middle finger and pretend to flick it at her as I walk out the door. The fog outside is getting thicker, but not so much as to obscure the black SUV parked out front or the face of the man who is certainly waiting for me.

  “Wyatt, does Vincent know you slipped your leash and got out of the yard?”

  Wyatt gives me an abashed grin as my little verbal jab strikes home. He’s on something between house arrest and probation, and it’s still a touchy subject for him. It serves him right for his part in putting me through a bunch of crap, so I feel justified in giving him as much shit as I can.

  “Vincent needs to talk to you,” Wyatt says.

  “I kind of figured.” I crane my neck to look into the vehicle’s windows. “Where’s the rest of the Mod Squad?”

  “It’s just me.”

  “That’s a little odd. Why is that?”

  “Vincent will explain when you meet him.”

  “You seem to think my coming when he calls is a foregone conclusion.”

  “Leo, please get in the car. It’s important.”

  “It’s a truck and I have my own ride.”

  “I don’t care. I need you to get in the car.”

  “Truck.”

  “Just get in the goddam…vehicle!”

  I shake my head as I walk toward the SUV. “It’s always a contest with you. You need to feed my meter though. I’ll be damned if I’m going to get a parking ticket just because Vincent can’t be bothered to call first. You know, there’s a thing called making an appointment. He should try it sometime.”

  Wyatt digs into his pocket for some change, storms toward my motorcycle, and pulls up short. “There’s no goddam meter!”

  He spins back toward me, but I’m already in the driver’s seat and lock the door. Wyatt darts over to the driver’s side door and pulls on the handle.

 
“Open the door, Leo.”

  I push out my ear with my finger. “What?”

  “Open the door and get out of the car!”

  “Technically, it’s a truck.”

  “Technically, I’m going to kick your ass! Now get out before I rip this door off and beat you to death with it!”

  I push the lock button on the armrest. Wyatt pulls up on the door handle, but of course, it does not open.

  “Too fast. You have to wait for me to push the button before you try to open it.” I push unlock and lock in quick succession, thwarting Wyatt’s attempt to open the door again. “You did it again.”

  “No I didn’t! Get out of the car!”

  “First you want me in, then you want me out. Indecisive much?”

  Wyatt grinds his teeth and snarls at me through the glass. “Stop screwing around, Malone.”

  “Hold on, maybe I have to turn it on.” I turn on the ignition and actuate the locks too fast for him to open the door. “Nope, that didn’t work. Maybe I need to pull forward a little. I heard this model can stick when it’s in park.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Wyatt shouts as I gun the engine.

  I slip the SUV into gear and hammer the gas. The truck darts forward with a squeal of the tires, leaving Wyatt standing in my rearview mirror. He pulls out a pistol and points it at my bike. I slam on the brakes, roll down the window, and lean out.

  “I am not chasing after you, Leo. Back it up, or I am going to put a bullet in your motorcycle.”

  “You leave her out of it! She has nothing to do with this.”

  “Back up.”

  I fumble with the gearshift. “It’s stuck!”

  Wyatt grumbles something incoherent and storms toward me. The moment he reaches the driver’s door, I slam it into reverse, and mash the gas. Wyatt’s gun comes up and points right between my eyes. I slam on the brakes and come to a stop a few yards away.

  “Get out of the damn seat!”

  He jerks the door open and climbs in as I scoot over into the passenger seat. “Is this a lease? You should really get someone to look at it. It has some serious maintenance issues. So…how you been?”

  Wyatt jerks the SUV into gear and romps on the accelerator. “Blow it out your ass.”

  Wyatt refuses to engage me in conversation as we make our way to Manhattan, so I fiddle with the radio until I find a truly awful station. Wyatt casts me a sideways glance but refuses to play along with my game. That means he forfeits and I win, which is good because I can’t stand losing.

  It’s strange seeing New York through the encroaching miasma. The tops of the buildings are lost in the haze, and people disappear just a few blocks away. It makes the city feel much smaller. Even the tall, black building that serves as vampire central looks as if it were decapitated. An omen perhaps? We pull into the underground parking beneath The Tower and park near the elevator.

  “Wait here a second,” Wyatt says as he gets out and walks to the front of the SUV. He pulls a business card out of his wallet and holds it toward the windshield. “Do you know what this is?”

  I lean forward in my seat to read the small print. “Some sort of retarded eye test?”

  Wyatt kicks the bumper and sets off the airbag. It hits me in the face with the force of a Mike Tyson knockout punch.

  I curse, grab my nose, and climb out of the car. “To answer your question, it’s a dick move. Clever, but totally dickish.”

  Apparently, my victory celebration was a bit premature. I’m a big enough man to concede to a draw. I actually like Wyatt and I’m glad almost breaking my nose brings him some small pleasure. A grin is plastered across his face as the elevator doors close and we race toward the top of the building.

  I am more than a bit surprised when the elevator stops well short of the top. I’ve never been interrupted on any of my trips up to see Vincent before, and when the doors open, there is no one waiting in the hall.

  Wyatt steps out and motions for me to follow. This is a change from our usual meetings and I don’t like change. This one has me unconsciously slipping my hand into my trench coat pocket for the reassuring touch of Shalonda, my .500 magnum. The entire floor appears unoccupied. Some of the rooms are even under renovation. Wyatt leads me into a room bereft of furniture. The fact that Vincent is here waiting for me means that whatever he has to say is important—at least to him.

  “Vincent, your new office looks like shit. I have to tell you, I don’t care for the Spartan motif. There’s nothing for me to break.”

  Vincent stands with his hands crossed in front of him. “I am afraid that there has been a political shift in the council, thanks to the latest debacle.”

  “It was hardly a debacle. We only blew up a tiny bit of Pennsylvania. It’s not our fault the illegal Homeland Security operation wasn’t stationed in Pittsburg where no one would have noticed. They probably would have baked us a thank you cake.”

  “I think there was a cumulative element precipitating the intervention.”

  “So the council tossed you out on your pasty ass?”

  “Hardly. I still enjoy the support of the council, but outside agencies have decided that our enclave requires an audit, particularly in regards to how we handle rogues and potential exposure.”

  “I told you that you shouldn’t go around exposing yourself. So what now, you can’t go within a thousand feet of a school or gay bar?”

  Vincent pauses as he reinforces his steely façade. “It means that my authority to deal with certain situations is very limited at the moment.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “A lot. Have you heard about the murders around the city this past week?”

  I shrug. “Cops think a serial killer is cutting up hookers. I fail to see how that involves me.”

  “Do you know the name Montague John Druitt?”

  “Is he one of the people who played Doctor Who? Sorry, I don’t watch much television, and why do people keep quizzing me on pop culture references?”

  Vincent rolls his eyes. “I weep for the American education system.”

  “We were never close, so I tend not to get emotionally involved.”

  “Dr. Montague Druitt was a friend of mine in old London.”

  “Friend or”— I create a circle with my finger and thumb and slide the index finger of my other hand in and out of the loop—“friend?”

  “I thought you were over your petty need to mock my sexuality.”

  “I did too. I must have had a relapse. Maybe you can point me toward a good rehab facility.”

  “There is no rehab for insufferable pricks.”

  “Sure there is. Which one did Mel Gibson go to?”

  Vincent sighs loudly and plods on. “Montague was a close friend of mine—just a friend—who contracted syphilis from a sexual encounter. He believed, probably rightly, that his sexual partner contracted it from a prostitute. As his mind slipped into madness, his hatred toward women of the night increased until it became a psychotic obsession. With his health and state of mind rapidly deteriorating, I did the only thing I thought might have a chance at saving his life. I turned him.”

  I shake my head and smile. “You gay vampires, always trying to convert people.”

  “The turning took hold,” Vincent continues, ignoring my interruption, “and while it cured the disease, it did not reverse his psychotic fixation and hatred of prostitutes. Shortly after recovering from the conversion sickness, he began murdering women around the city.”

  “You mean like Jack the Ripper?”

  Vincent shook his head. “No, not like Jack the Ripper.”

  “Are you telling me that you created the Jack the Ripper? Wow, that is a historical screw-up of epic proportions. Who else did you make? Stalin, Hitler, Pol Pot…Rick Santorum? He is awfully pasty and he totally gives off that ‘hooker killer’ vibe.”

  “Are you finished?”

  “Are you? This story is getting boring, mostly because I’m not in it yet.”
/>   “Since I felt personally responsible for him—”

  “Only because you are.”

  “—I chose to put him down myself after failing to convince him to let go of his irrational hatred. I chased him across London for months. With me and the constabulary closing in on him, he faked his death. While this got the police off his trail, I knew better. He fled to America and I followed after him. He was responsible for a spate of killings in New York, Boston, and Chicago. On our last meeting, he barely escaped my grasp, and I believe he fled to South America where he has been keeping a low profile but certainly still assuaging his obsession, for the past century and more.

  “The vampire community in the United States was growing and we needed to form a proper enclave. Instead of pursuing Montague, I decided to stay in New York. I was willing to let him go as long as it was to a place where his predations would go largely unnoticed.”

  “Unless you were a Colombian prostitute. I imagine they noticed.”

  “It was a different time back then. But, for whatever reason, he has returned to New York.”

  “I feel like this movie is almost over, but I haven’t gotten so much as a cameo in it.”

  “Gertrud Fleischer has been appointed the nominal head of our enclave during the audit. She has expressly forbidden me from enlisting your help in this matter.”

  “Look at who is suddenly a rebel. Way to go, Vincent. If I didn’t know better, I would think you were trying to convert me with your sexy rule-breaking act of defiance.”

  My comment earns me another eye roll.

  “They would certainly kick me out of the club if I even tried such a thing.”

  “So, why am I here? Why risk your standing by enlisting me against orders?”

  “Frau Fleischer does not understand what she faces, and our suppression squad faces potentially catastrophic failure if they use standard tactics.”

  “You talk as though he is some kind of super vampire. He isn’t much older me, and let’s face it, he’s English. How tough can he be?”

  Vincent gives me a stern look. “I am English.”

  I return his glare with a smile. We both know he could probably rip my arms off and beat me to death with them, especially in my present condition, but that does not prevent me from poking the bear whenever I get a chance.