by Guy Adams
She ran through the canyon, aiming for the farmhouse and her supply of blood. She would restore herself, then think of the future. Maybe she could just slip away somewhere – or maybe she could even blame it all on Nayland? After all, would anyone really believe her capable of the things she had done? Surely not. The world loved her. The world would forgive her anything. Just as soon as her beauty was returned. As soon as she was herself again.
It took her half an hour to reach the farmhouse, her feet bleeding but beneath her attention, a ragged, wild-haired beast painted black in the moonlight with the blood of her lover, the man she had intended to marry.
To hell with him. There would be others.
Elizabeth had to force the lock on the door, using the handle of an axe that lay in the undergrowth nearby. She roared her frustration at the chain but the links were only as strong as the handles they were looped through and they couldn’t keep her out for long.
Once she was inside she ran to the bathtub, fetching a heavy jar of blood and tipping it in. She climbed in, looking up at the still-swinging bodies of her donors. Two parallel beams of moonlight lit them up like spotlights on premiere night.
‘Not me,’ Elizabeth said, ladling the blood over her as she stared up into their dead eyes. ‘Never me.’
Eventually she climbed out of the bath, dripping a trail of blood behind her as she walked towards the open doorway and into the light beyond.
She was exhausted, barely able to keep her balance as everything finally caught up with her, the adrenalin burned away in a last desperate act of self-preservation.
She would clean herself up in a moment, she decided, but it was best to make sure that the blood did its work first. Maybe that had been the problem, maybe she hadn’t let it soak in for long enough?
Outside the cool air chilled her wet body. She shivered, nipples stiffening on breasts that she was once more proud to call her own. She smiled and leaned back against the door, absurdly happy, guilt less and free.
There was a growling from the darkness of the trees. It was too dark to see anything but she heard a low snort from a few feet to her left, then another from her right and, out of the night, the pack of coyotes began to advance.
It took her a moment to register that she was in real danger. She had become so accustomed to her invulnerability, so convinced that she was untouchable by anyone or anything that for an instant even the sight of these wild dogs as their snarling faces emerged into the moonlight around her seemed like something that was beneath her.
‘Scat!’ she shouted, kicking dust at the leader of the pack. ‘Get away!’
It ignored her, growling once more and exposing its fangs as it continued to advance.
Elizabeth turned to run back inside. Her wet feet skidded in the trail of blood she had left behind her and she fell forward, hitting the ground with a cry, the door still wide open behind her.
‘Stupid,’ she said, holding her hand up to her mouth, lips swelling from where her face had hit the ground. ‘Hit my face. Beautiful face.’
Behind her, the lead coyote gave one last growl before it jumped. Elizabeth rolled over, desperately trying to hold it off with her hands. It was far too strong, and it was not alone as the rest of the pack descended, wild with hunger at the scent of blood and old meat, drooling from their jaws at finally being let in here to the building that had called to them for so long.
‘Not my face!’ Elizabeth screamed as the beast’s jaws snapped a mere inch from her nose. ‘Not my beautiful face!’
The coyote snapped at her fingers, tearing them away at the knuckles before lowering itself to her throat. It clamped down with its jaws and yanked them up. Elizabeth gave one last gurgling shriek.
The coyote agreed with her on one point: her face was beautiful. The closest that a coyote could come to such an appreciation flashed through its animal mind as it tugged at the flap of flesh below her chin and tore it from her still-screaming skull. Rich and wet, it slipped down the creature’s throat like a blood-soaked caul. It was very beautiful indeed.
NEWSPAPER HEADLINES APPEAR ON-SCREEN:
‘HUNGARIAN ACTRESS ON THE RUN AFTER KILLING MAID’
‘“SHE KILLED FOR BLOOD!” CLAIM POLICE OFFICERS IN SASDY INVESTIGATION.’
‘COUNTESS DRACULA! – THE HOLLYWOOD HORROR CONTINUES!’
‘“SHE MADE ME HELP HER,” INSISTS FRANK NAYLAND. “I TRIED TO STOP HER …”’
[INTERTITLE: THREE WEEKS LATER]
THE CAMERA PASSES THROUGH THE BARS OF A POLICE CELL TO FIND NAYLAND, A BROKEN MAN, BEARDED AND PALE, A SHADOW OF HIS FORMER SELF, LYING ON A BED. DETECTIVE SCOTT HARRISON ENTERS, GIVES NAYLAND A LOOK OF OPEN DISGUST, THEN SITS DOWN ON A CHAIR THAT HAS BEEN BROUGHT IN FOR HIM.
‘Looks like you’re going to get away with it,’ said Harrison, not hiding the contempt in his voice.
‘A probable life sentence? For helping her hide a body?’ replied Nayland. ‘Hardly getting away with it.’
‘You shot a man.’
‘Only by accident – how many times do I have to tell you? Elizabeth was killing that poor boy and I was trying to save him.’
‘But you missed and shot your manager smack in the head. Yeah …’
‘You still don’t believe me?’
‘Of course I don’t. It’s bullshit and any sensible jury would smell it a mile off.’
Nayland fixed him with a blank stare. ‘We’ll see. You may get the climax you want after all.’
Harrison shook his head. ‘Nah … they’ll let you get away with it because you’re you. You’re the man they know from the silver screen, the hero, the man they think they know just because they’ve paid a few dollars to see you over the years.’
‘All I ever did was try to entertain.’
‘No. You’re a professional liar and as far as I’m concerned you’ve never stopped.’
Nayland shrugged and looked away. ‘Believe what you like.’
Harrison got up and walked out, unable to spend a moment longer with the man.
Outside, finally able to breathe fresh air, he unclenched his fists and leaned against his car, trying to get his anger under control. The man was guilty, guilty of far more than being a lousy shot and a weak-willed idiot who helped to cover up a murder committed by his wife. But there was no way he was going to be able to prove as much so what choice did he have but to let it go?
He looked up to see a billboard looming over him. It was advertising a new movie, Crime Without Passion.
‘No such thing,’ he told it. Then he got in his car and drove away.
CODA
‘YOU’RE SHITTING ME!’ laughed Tony Riggers. ‘You’re telling me he got away with it? Your story needs work, my friend.’
He walked off, laughing and shaking his head. Leo stared at the old man, still standing in front of the broken patio doors, half silhouetted against the bright sky beyond.
‘It does seem a bit far-fetched,’ Leo said, feeling that he ought to offer some opinion as he was still, at least nominally, the man in charge here.
‘I liked it!’ said Cheryl, holding her friend’s arm tight, kids sitting beside the campfire listening to scary stories.
‘Well, I thought it was disgusting,’ announced Margaret Riggers, ‘and certainly not the sort of thing I paid my money to listen to. You can rest assured that I will be asking for a refund.’
Good luck with that, thought Leo but said nothing as she marched back outside to join her husband.
‘I can’t help the facts,’ the old man said. ‘They are what they are.’
‘Hang on, though,’ said Vonda. ‘So you’re saying the police only ever found out about Georgina, the maid? All the other women they killed, all those prostitutes, that went undiscovered?’
Holdaway nodded. ‘They had no reason to look into it any further, did they? They’d never have believed that the blood had that effect on Elizabeth. The people at the party didn’t want to come forward and offer evidence of what she looked like at th
e end – they hid away and kept their secrets, just like Hollywood always does. The only other man who knew their secret was Fabio and he was dead. All the police had to go on was a missing maid and the dead bodies at the party.’
‘OK,’ Leo said. ‘I get that, but it still doesn’t make sense. As you say, there’s only three people who knew about it so … how come you do?’
Holdaway smiled at that and reached into his jacket pocket. ‘Because my name’s not really Gary Holdaway,’ he admitted, pulling out a small handgun. ‘It’s Frank Nayland – and you’re all going to help me make a comeback.’
IMAGE: A NEWS CLIP SHOWING THE HANDSOME FACE OF A YOUNG MAN WAVING AT THE PREMIERE CROWDS.
THE TEXT READS:
Rising star and winner of the Variety ‘One to Watch’ award this year, Gary Holdaway, wowed audiences last night at the premiere of his new star vehicle Shatterstar. ‘I’m just so glad to be given this opportunity,’ he told our reporter. ‘You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this moment.’
FADE TO BLACK
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Epub ISBN 9781446492086
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Published by Arrow Books in association with Hammer 2013
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Copyright © Guy Adams 2013
Guy Adams has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
Based on the classic Hammer film, Countess Dracula, directed by Peter Sasdy and released in 1971
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between these fictional characters and actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
First published in Great Britain in 2013 by
Arrow Books in association with Hammer
A Random House Group company
Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm
The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9780099553861