by Ray Garton
"Hey, Norman, how's it going?"
"What have you been up to, Norman?" Casey said, smiling.
Norman blushed. "Oh, hi, Casey, um, I been helping Mrs. Dupassie a lot lately."
He kept looking down, as if embarrassed. Norman was clearly very shy. He was in his twenties and wore a black T-shirt and jeans. He had a belly, but his shoulders and arms were very muscular, and enormous. He stood over six and a half feet tall.
As Mrs. Dupassie put the groceries away, Norman reached into his pocket and pulled out some one-dollar bills and a five.
"Here's your change, Mrs. Dupassie," he said.
"You keep the change, honey. That's for being nice enough to go get this stuff for me."
"Oh, thanks, Mrs. Dupassie." He put the money back into his pocket, smiling. Then he turned to Karen and Keoph and said, "It was real nice to meet you." Then to Mrs. Dupassie, "I gotta go."
"Where you off to, Norman?" Mrs. Dupassie said.
"I gotta go serve soup at the homeless shelter."
"You tell Madge I said hello when you get there."
"I sure will," Norman said as he walked back to the front door. "Madge'll like that." He ducked again on his way out.
"That Norman is a real sweetheart," Mrs. Dupassie said as she returned to her seat at the table.
"Is he for real?" Karen said. "I mean, is he really going to go serve soup at a shelter?"
"We try to keep someone working the homeless shelters as regularly as possible," Mrs. Dupassie said. "That's often the first place a new vampire will go, usually confused and scared. We like to have someone there to bring them in, get them help adjusting to their new lives. It's our way of preventing the creation of any more of those fucking brutals."
"Where else do you keep a lookout for new vampires?" Keoph said.
"Bus stations, train stations, airports," Mrs. Dupassie said. "We have shelters of our own, halfway houses where novices can be educated about their new condition, and hopefully encouraged not to prey on mortals. But my Norman—he's such a good boy, he'd probably do it without being taught. That's just the kind of person he is."
Karen said, "Has Norman ever dealt with the brutals?"
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Dupassie said. "Poor Norman lost a good friend to the brutals, a young woman he'd taken under his wing. They became very close. This was just last year, not all that long after Norman had been turned. I think Norman was pretty sweet on this girl. I don't know how she felt, but I know she liked him and appreciated his help. Then one night, she was out walking, and she was taken, and raped, and bled dry."
Karen said, "The brutals feed on their own kind?"
"They don't consider us their own kind," Mrs. Dupassie said. "Those fuckers despise us. They see us as weak and vulnerable. They don't understand the strength it takes to go against our nature as vampires and drink only bottled blood. They don't understand that because they are either incapable of or unwilling to see anything from somebody else's fucking point of view."
"What did Norman do when his friend was killed?" Keoph said.
"Well, I wasn't there, so all I know is what I heard," Mrs. Dupassie said. "But the story goes that he got ahold of some brutals, and he tore them up with his bare fucking hands. Took them to pieces. Broke them in half. For the life of his friend, he took three of theirs, and he did it, as the story goes, without a weapon. Now, I suppose that tale has been exaggerated some, but I have no doubt he's capable of such a thing. Normally, he's a kind and gentle soul. But he has his limits. And he doesn't like the brutals, not one bit. He's a strange fuckin' case, Norman is. He still lives with his parents, and they don't know he's a vampire. He was changed by some mean-spirited woman. Most vampires are just assholes, you know that? Anyway, Norman doesn't know how to tell his parents, or even if he should. At the moment, they think he's lazy for sleeping so late, and they seem to think he's gay but won't admit it to himself or anyone else. He's frustrated and confused, and I try to give him a little guidance whenever I get the chance. Norman is a little slow, but he's no fucking dummy. He's a smart boy. See, he once thought people just didn't like him. I had to point out to him that, because of his size, most people were just fuckin' afraid of him. That made perfect sense to him, he'd just never thought of it that way. Ever since then, he's been very soft-spoken and unfailingly polite, he never raises his voice, he's a perfect gentleman. He goes out of his way not to frighten people, and if they are frightened by him, he does his best to put them at ease." Mrs. Dupassie shook her head. "But you don't want to piss him off. No, not Norman."
"I'm glad he's on our side," Keoph muttered.
Mrs. Dupassie leaned forward and said, "Now, let's get back to your situation."
There was an explosion of sound from the living room. Karen turned to see four people rushing into the apartment. Everything after that was a blur. She heard Casey cry out. Then something came down hard on the back of her head, and Karen lost consciousness as she fell out of the chair.
Davey was caught completely off guard. One moment, Mrs. Dupassie was talking, the next someone was rushing the table. He was knocked over backward in his chair, and before he could get up, he was kicked in the stomach. Then a foot came down hard between his legs and smashed his testicles. He rolled onto his side and vomited.
He heard Mrs. Dupassie say, "Well, I sure fucking didn't see this coming."
Keoph saw the blur of movement coming from the door, but only had time to stiffen his back before he took a great blow to the side of his head. He went over backward in his chair, and the back of his head slammed into the wall. He rolled off the fallen chair and got to his hands and knees, but the floor tilted sharply and he fell over on his side.
In what seemed like seconds, the commotion was over and the apartment was silent.
Davey righted the chair and leaned on it heavily as he got to his feet. He looked around. Keoph was on the floor on his hands and knees, still dizzy, but slowly getting up. Mrs. Dupassie remained seated at the table, untouched.
Casey and Karen were gone.
"Oh, shit," Davey said as he ran to the door. He still felt nauseated from the kick in the nuts, but he tried to push it from his mind. The screen door had been kicked in and ripped off its hinges and lay on the floor in the living room, bent out of shape. Davey looked all around the courtyard, but saw no one, nothing. "Oh, god," he muttered as he ran across the courtyard to the front of the complex. He saw no cars pulling away—there weren't even any driving by on the street. "Oh, Jesus," he said as he looked up and down the street, and saw nothing.
Davey turned around to find Keoph limping toward him. "What happened?" Keoph said. "Where's Karen? Where's Casey?"
Davey's voice broke when he said, "They're gone. They've been taken."
"Oh, my god."
Davey felt hot with anger. Part of him wanted to punch Keoph right in the face—it was his stupid investigation that had gotten them where they were. The nausea he felt now was only partly due to being kicked in the testicles—part of it was fear for Casey. Karen, too, but it was Casey he worried about most. He knew how cruel they could be, how sadistic. They wanted something in return for Casey and Karen, and Davey knew they would let him know what that was. He was prepared to give them anything they wanted. But even if he did, that was no guarantee that Casey and Karen wouldn't be tortured or harmed in some way. The brutals had no conscience. They were not burdened by morals. They took delight in the suffering of others.
He clenched his fists, his jaw. He had to get her back. Davey was not sure he could function without Casey. Panic gripped his lungs as one thought repeated itself over and over in his mind: The brutals have her. The brutals have her.
"Who were they?" Keoph said. His voice was breathy with tension. "Where did they go?"
Davey put his right hand over his face a moment, then pulled it backward, pulling his face tight on the right side as he released a sigh. "They were brutals. They've taken Casey and Karen, and will probably hold them until we can assure them t
hat your investigation has stopped. I don't know, they may want more than that now. They're very unpredictable in many ways, and in others, they're like Pavlov's dogs."
"You're saying they've been kidnapped?" Keoph said.
"No, no. Kidnappers would be much easier to deal with. These are vampires. Very angry, bitter, mortal-hating vampires." Davey went back into Mrs. Dupassie's apartment. She was standing at the short bar between the kitchen and the dining area, talking on an old-fashioned wall phone with a rotary dial and a long, curly cord connecting the receiver to the base. She held the phone in her right hand, while her left was on the bar, bunched into a pale, blue-veined, knobby fist.
"No, you listen to me, Castlebeck," Mrs. Dupassie said. Her little old lady voice was gone, and now her voice sounded low and smoky, filled with controlled rage. "They broke into my fucking home, do you understand that? I carry some fucking weight in this community. I've been in it a lot fucking longer than you. Longer than most, in fact. I know how you fucking clowns operate. I turn a blind eye to a lot, Castlebeck, and a lot of it trails right back to you in one way or another. This was brought into my home, you fucking moron. Maybe I'll start paying more attention to what's going on around me, you know what I mean, Castlebeck?"
As soon as she saw Davey, she smiled and waggled her stiff fingers at him in a girlish wave. She listened for a moment, then said, "That's not enough, Castlebeck. Bring those young women back here immediately. Right fucking now." She said nothing for a moment, then shook her head. "Not enough, Castlebeck, not enough."
"Who's Castlebeck?" Davey whispered.
"Don't forget," Mrs. Dupassie said, "I know where all the fucking bodies are buried. And which ones have been dug up and moved. You hear me, Castlebeck?"
"Does he know where Casey is?" Davey said.
Mrs. Dupassie held up a hand with her forefinger sticking up straight in a wait-just-a-second-I'll-be-right-with-you gesture.
Keoph came in and joined them in the kitchen. "What's going on?" he said.
"You have until midnight," Mrs. Dupassie said. "I want them brought back here to my apartment, untouched. Don't fuck with me, Castlebeck, because I'm one of the few people in this town who can fuck with you right back. I might, anyway, for what happened here tonight." She slammed the receiver down on its hook. She opened a cigar box on the bar and took from it a big fat cigar. She took a butane lighter from the counter and turned the cigar around and around in her mouth with her left hand while holding the flame to the end with her right. She puffed on the cigar awhile, then picked up the box, opened the lid, and offered it to Davey and Keoph. They declined.
"Well, if it's him," she said around the cigar, "we'll know pretty fucking quick."
"Who's Castlebeck?" Davey said.
"A big-shot in adult entertainment—a pornographer, really, might as well be honest about it—with connections to the brutals. They provide him with much of his talent—enslaved mortals, to be humiliated, mortified."
"You think he might be behind it?" Davey said.
"It's possible. If he is, like I said, we'll know pretty fucking quick. That fat fuck is terrified of me. And on top of that, he owes me money, and a lot of interest. If Castlebeck did it, he'll have your friends back pretty soon. But he sounded genuinely flustered. My suspicion is, he's not behind it."
"Then who?" Davey said.
Mrs. Dupassie shrugged and puffed.
Keoph said, "I thought you were supposed to be psychic."
Mrs. Dupassie removed the cigar from her mouth. "Supposed to be psychic? Who told you I was supposed to be psychic."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dupassie, he's just unfamiliar with you." He turned to Keoph. "Mrs. Dupassie is psychic."
"But that doesn't mean I know everything," she said. She moved an ashtray from the bar to the table and sat down again. "Hand me their purses."
Their purses hung from the corners of the backs of their chairs. Davey got Casey's while Keoph got Karen's, and they put them on the table in front of Mrs. Dupassie.
She put her cigar in the ashtray, reached out both arms, and pulled the purses to her chest in an embrace. She turned her head and rested it on the purses. Ten seconds later, she sat up in her chair and pushed the purses away.
"I'm not getting anything," she said as she put the cigar between her remaining teeth again and puffed. "It's possible they're unconscious. I can try again in awhile."
"That's it?" Keoph said. "That's the best you—"
"Gavin, please," Davey said. "Let me handle this."
"I'm psychic," Mrs. Dupassie said to Keoph, "but I don't do magic, okay? I'll try again in awhile."
Keoph ran a hand through his hair as he paced.
Davey sat down with Mrs. Dupassie at the table. "Do you have any idea at all who might have taken them?" Davey said.
"Well, obviously, they were brutals," Mrs. Dupassie said. "Beyond that, I've got no fucking idea. There's a chance Castlebeck is involved, we'll see. If he is, then Barna's involved."
"Who?" Keoph said.
"Victor Barna."
"The real estate mogul?" Keoph said. "One and the same."
"He's a vampire?"
Mrs. Dupassie waved a hand dismissively. "He's a sadistic monster, and an arrogant prick."
Davey felt as if his entire body were vibrating. He could not bear the thought of Casey in the hands of brutals. He understood Keoph's impatience, and felt it, too. But he couldn't afford to alienate Mrs. Dupassie. Davey leaned toward her. "Mrs. Dupassie, would you mind if we stuck around for awhile?"
"Sure, that'd be just fine." Mrs. Dupassie stood. "Can I get you a beer? Some blood?"
Davey realized he was feeling the nagging pangs of hunger that were especially strong at night. He asked for a bottle of blood, which she got from the refrigerator.
Keoph asked for a beer and she gave him one. Mrs. Dupassie went back to the phone and made a call. "Hi, Norman, honey. I know you're on your way to the shelter, but I thought I'd tell you this before you went to work. Not long after you left, a few fucking brutals busted into the place and roughed everybody up, then took Casey and Karen." She puffed on her cigar as she listened. "That's right.... No, they didn't touch me. Don't worry about it now, honey, but we'll handle it later tonight, when you're done at the shelter. Okay? All righty, bye-bye now."
When she hung up the phone, Mrs. Dupassie caught Keoph staring at her.
"You use Norman?" Keoph said.
"We use what we have, Gavin," she said. "And as you pointed out earlier, Norman is, fortunately for us, on our side. He's as big as a fucking house. We use what we have."
Mrs. Dupassie went out to the living room with her cigar and sat down in a recliner facing the television. She took the remote from the arm of the chair and turned the television on as she said, "I'm missing my fights."
Davey went into the living room with his bottle of blood in hand and found her watching professional wrestling.
"Have a seat, boys," Mrs. Dupassie said. "Watch the fights with me. I'll see if I can pick something up from Casey and Karen in a little bit."
Davey sighed heavily as he sat down on the couch with Keoph. For the time being, they had nothing else to do but wait.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Karen remembered bits and pieces, but only vaguely: Being thrown into a van, her hands being tied together behind her back, being blindfolded. There were male voices, too.
"This one's hot."
"They're both hot."
"How much time we got?"
"No fuckin' way, not with these two. They're to be delivered untouched."
Her head ached. She floated in and out of consciousness for awhile before finally drifting off.
When she finally opened her eyes again, she could see nothing but blackness. At first, she thought she was blind, then she brought her hand to her face, and when it was close enough—about an inch from her eyes—she could see it, a shape in the darkness.
She sniffed. All she smelled was some kind of industrial cle
aner with a pine scent.
She felt around herself with both hands and determined she was lying on a cot with a thin blanket over her. She sat up on the edge of it and swept the blanket aside. The only light in the room came from under a door, just a thin slit of light. Karen realized she was no longer wearing her clothes; she was naked.
"Hello?" she said.
A whispered voice came out of the dark: "Oh, you're awake, Karen."
"Who's there?" Karen whispered, too.
"It's Casey. How do you feel?"
"My head hurts."
"Mine, too."
"Where are we?" Karen asked.
"I don't know, but from the looks of the room, we're in some kind of dormitory."
"You can see the room?"
"I have very good night vision, Karen. Much better than yours."
"One of the advantages of being a—" Karen cleared her throat. "—a vampire?"
"Yes, it is. But the truth is, I'd rather be mortal."
"Really?"
"Oh, yeah," Casey said wistfully. "I'd be forty-four. Imagine that. Middle-aged. Davey and I would have a few kids. They'd be in high school by now. We'd have a dog, a couple cats." She laughed a breathy laugh and said, "Listen to me go on."
"What are they going to ... do to us?" Karen said.
"I don't know, honey. I honestly don't. But I can promise you one thing: It's going to be very unpleasant."
Karen gulped. "Thanks for cheering me up."
"I'm not going to sugarcoat it, Karen. We're in trouble. If they wanted us dead, we'd be dead already. They're keeping us alive for something, and whatever it is, it's not going to be good. We need to be prepared."
"Well, I'm not prepared. How the hell do you prepare for something like that?"
"Whatever you do, don't fight them, don't resist. I'll look for an opening, any opening."
"An opening for what?"
"For me to get us out of here."
Mrs. Dupassie hugged the purses to her again, rested her head on them. She stayed that way for several seconds.