A People's History of the Vampire Uprising

by Raymond A. Villareal

  We stepped into the suite’s bedroom and one bright light—a lamp—illuminated a small table next to a figure reclining on a red velvet chaise. There was no other furniture in the room. A nice touch, I thought. No place for us to sit, so as not to prolong our interrogation.

  I strode over to the lounge chair and Calvin followed suit with a cough, the flowering stench seeming to reach its peak as we approached the chaise lounge. The figure in the chair leaned forward and closer to the light, and I was struck—I must admit at that moment I saw everything that had entranced every person who attended the opera and every person who ever came into contact with Cian. What led them to post messages about the encounter on every Internet outlet imaginable. Every single person who met Cian had a story about seeing him the first time, and here was mine. I’d only viewed drawings and read descriptions before, and now here he was—a captivating, angelic face that seemed to radiate and reflect light at the same time. The famous yellowish-gold eyes appeared to look through and inside me. I found myself leaning in toward him.

  Cian seemed used to this reaction, and he waited. As if his whole presence emitted a pull similar to gravity, dragging planets into his orbit. I knew that this display was only a fraction of his capability.

  I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Calvin sighed audibly next to me. I snapped out of it—reminding myself, This thing is a Gloaming, and actively resisting his assertion of power over my mind.

  “Why are you here?” Cian asked in his deep melodious voice. His voice sounded like a favorite song that you wanted to play on repeat over and over again.

  “We need to talk to you about a series of gold thefts that have occurred in different cities that correspond to the dates of your tour,” I said, meeting his eyes.

  The light seemed to sparkle off his skin and eyes, but now that I was focused on our agenda, I felt less transfixed.

  “And you suspect me in these thefts,” he said carefully. “Because they occurred when I was in that particular town with my opera?”

  “It’s not that simple,” I replied. “No one is accusing you of any participation in or knowledge of the thefts. Our investigation, through individual radiation-marking testing, shows conclusively that the crimes were committed by one or more Gloamings. These tests are infallible, as you know.”

  “Infallible,” Cian said, as he drew out the pronunciation. “That is an interesting word. Free of blame or error. ‘Every word of God is flawless.’ Isn’t that what you believe, Agent Zumthor? You must know that we are the closest to that ideal among living, sentient beings—save for a saint, if you believe in such concepts.”

  I breathed through my mouth to avoid the sickly-sweet smell in the air.

  Calvin found his voice. “You have many Gloamings on your staff. That’s a fact. And the thefts were committed by Gloamings. Another fact. We simply want to know if you have any information. Any strange behavior you might have seen.”

  Cian stared and once again I struggled to push back against those eyes. “I can’t imagine,” he stated. “No, I absolutely am certain that no one on my staff has participated in or facilitated any theft of gold. Gloaming or not.”

  I forced a smile but I wasn’t sure he bought it. I’m not sure I did either. I probably looked pale and sweaty. “Be that as it may, I would like to talk specifically about each Gloaming on your staff—”

  A cough behind us. William Gascoigne was back. He stepped forward with a raised hand. “Agent Zumthor, I believe that should be enough for now. We’ve clearly fulfilled the obligations that were discussed with your superiors.”

  “We only just started—”

  William Gascoigne waved both of his hands. “We had an agreement. Mr. Clery is on a strict schedule. And any further questioning should be in the presence of Mr. Clery’s attorney—”

  “Fine,” I said, not wanting to hear any more from this spittle-talking maniac. Plus, the FBI brass would have my ass if I interfered with tonight’s performance. The governor of California and other elected officials and dignitaries were slated to attend. “But I’m not done with this. I’ll want to schedule another interview.” Sooner than later. I wanted to talk to Cian about all the dead bodies drained of blood every time he visited a city.

  “You will have another interview, Agent Zumthor,” Cian said. “And you as well, Agent James. You could ask a hundred and eighty-three questions, my friends, and I would answer them all. Such an obsession with blood you have, Agent. For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it to you upon the altar to make an atonement for your souls. For it is the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul.” He stared at me for a moment longer than I wanted. “William Gascoigne, please give the agents a list of all the members of our staff and crew, and specifically note those who are Gloamings. Agents, you may make of it what you will.”

  I nodded and met his eyes for a moment longer. I felt myself on the edge of the zone of ignoring the scent and sights and focusing on the interrogation and what I could get from this slick Gloaming. Who I knew was lying. I couldn’t wait to step outside and take a deep breath of clean air. “Whatsoever soul it be that eateth any manner of blood, even that soul shall be cut off from his people,” I said with a long glance. “Thanks. We’ll be talking again soon.”

  “You are welcome, Agent,” Cian replied. “I’m so sorry about your partner in that incident in Austin. I find it hard to believe those criminals were true Gloamings.”

  I felt my breath coming in waves and my hands flexing in anger. My fingers brushed the gun in its holster as I stared. How dare he even mention the incident at Kerbey Lane? I wondered if I could even get the gun out of the holster with his Gloaming twitch muscles always at the ready.

  Calvin’s hand on my arm scattered my thoughts.

  William Gascoigne handed us a piece of paper—he had already prepared a list for us—and turned around and proceeded with steps and stomps that I followed. The steps took me halfway to the door before I stopped. I twisted back to look at Cian. “You know,” I said, “I’m glad we met, and the thing is, I’m pretty sure that I’ve made my point here. We all know the Gloamings never take chances. They cut and run. As if they’re always being chased by a thousand suns.”

  With that we left the penthouse suite.

  I am not sure whose ego is bigger: a Gloaming’s or an actor’s. I had accomplished what I needed to, though: I disparaged Cian’s talent as a thief. And if I knew the psychology of the Gloaming—which I had been studying for a few months now—they never missed an opportunity to correct a doubter. They would make that attempt on Sasha’s gold. But I was always one step ahead and if I wasn’t then I’d get there soon enough.

  At Sasha’s property, we were met by a team of three more agents and two Los Angeles police officers on loan to us as they were setting up the surveillance. I had requested three five-man teams with outside perimeter surveillance and backup but had been quickly rejected by my superiors. The estate was surrounded by a high fence with cameras and laser detection, but those would be useless in a Gloaming attack. Just ask the director of the Blanton Museum.

  We needed eyes on the ground.

  The first two nights at Sasha’s house—the first being opening night of Nixon in China at Walt Disney Hall—were quiet. But I knew the Gloamings wouldn’t back off on this one. Too much pride.

  The third night started strangely enough, with a full moon and rain. Though they say it never rains in Southern California, it only pours. Calvin and I took up our post in the large living room with wall-to-wall windows that seemed to cover half of the house. I wasn’t sure whether to feel better or distressed that we could see pretty far out yet also be seen by anyone out there. The entrance to the vault was located under a stainless steel floating staircase in the middle of the room which led up to a small loft area. The bottom of the staircase moved to reveal the vault when you pressed a button located under a latch at the third step or when you cranked a large iron handle hidden inside the secon
d step. You could access the handle by lifting up the second step with the press of a small button underneath the step.

  A press of the button or a crank of the handle and half of the staircase moved to the side to reveal an entrance in the ground covered by the vault door. The vault door, made of reinforced steel and concrete two inches thick, could only be opened with a biometric password. Only three people had the requisite password: Sasha Bowie, her attorney, and her father.

  At 2:30 a.m.—after my fifth cup of cold Blue Bottle coffee—I needed another bathroom break. I called one of the police officers to cover the living room area for me. Calvin also took a break, to make another one of his protein shakes. He said it would take less than five minutes.

  Sasha’s bathroom was an elaborate space pod of mirrors and steel, as if Apple had decided to make a restroom instead of a phone, although I noticed some mold growing among the tiles. I had an immediate urge to regrout the bathroom. Alas, I took a deep breath and had begun to urinate when the lights flickered and went out.

  I unholstered my pistol and waited for the backup generator to kick in. But after half a minute still in the dark, I took out my cell phone and clicked the flashlight app on. With my gun leading the way, I jogged a few paces out of the bathroom. I hit my earpiece. “Zumthor here. James, what’s up?”

  Silence.

  I pinged all the other agents. Nothing.

  “Calvin,” I tried again. “You there?”

  “I’m here.” A whisper. “Gun out.”

  I sighed deeply. I couldn’t afford to lose another new agent. “You see anything?” I asked.

  “No. I’m going into the den.”

  “Wait for me. I’ll be there in a second.”

  After gliding along the wall with my light in front of me, I stepped around the corner and down another hallway. While dodging sculptures and paintings I jogged the carpeted hallway. I stepped into the kitchen and froze. The barrel of a gun. Then it lowered, and I saw it was Calvin.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. The generator should have kicked in by now.”

  Calvin looked at his cell phone. “I tried to call in backup but something is blocking our cell signal.”

  “Mine too. But I prepared for that. I left instructions with Gibbs at the field office that I will text him every ten minutes and that if I haven’t texted him back, and he can’t reach me, then he will send backup immediately.”

  Calvin nodded. “Let’s hope they’re on it. I’m kind of wondering how long we can hold off a gang of Gloamings.”

  “In about five minutes, they’ll be expecting my next message,” I replied. “But we can’t wait for it. We need to go to the living room to check on the gold.”

  Calvin looked deathly serious.

  “Hey, Calvin,” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s it like being kissed by a vampire?”

  He rolled his eyes. “What?”

  “It’s a pain in the neck. Come on. Watch the back and I’ll take the front.”

  I walked forward and Calvin stuck close, taking his steps backward. I decided not to use the flashlight so as not to highlight our position, although the Gloamings were adept at seeing in the dark. A few shards of moonlight gave us precious little light to see the way back to the living room. I cursed these megamansions, with half a football field from the kitchen to the living room. We tripped down some steps that led to a lower part of the expanse and I was surprised neither of our guns went off at that moment. As soon as we reached the floor, I heard a mechanical sound, as if gears were turning or grinding. I knew that couldn’t be a good thing. I could practically sense Calvin gripping his gun tightly. We stepped farther down the long length of carpet and I knew we were coming close to the living room and the staircase.

  A shot rang out.

  We both hit the floor, slipping behind some kind of sculpture of the Milky Way galaxy—at least that was my interpretation. Calvin leaned over to me. “Bang out those windows,” he said. “I don’t want any reflection—and they need to know we’re here.”

  “On three.”

  So on three, we shot. As the glass shattered, we heard shouts and equipment dropping. I was suddenly thankful for California homes and their ridiculous floor-to-ceiling windows. The sound of breaking and falling glass filled the room, and I thought it odd that there was no return fire.

  The fractured gaze of the large-faced moon showed through most of the living room. And in the moonlight, I could now make out a few figures near the staircase and a peculiar mechanical object—like a Segway with arms.

  I heard a couple of deep shots that sounded almost like shotgun blasts as something whizzed by my head.

  Calvin and I returned fire and one of the figures lifted what looked like a small bazooka-type weapon mounted on his shoulder. He pointed it directly at us.

  “Move!” I yelled as I heard a hollow popping sound. Calvin and I ran back as a few canisters hit the ground next to us. The canisters hissed and emitted smoke. Tear gas? I had just lifted my free arm to cover my face when everything went black…

  I woke to bright lights and my head a mess of disorientation. I started coughing. Someone placed a cup to my mouth and I swallowed cold water.

  A young man in blue scrubs leaned over me. I realized I must be in an emergency room.

  “How are you feeling?” the young man said.

  “Like shit,” I answered. “Tell whatever asshole did this to me they just made my list of things to do.” I looked at myself in the reflection of the iPad on the table. Cracked teeth, a smile, and blood. And I wear it well…

  “You may have a residual irregular heartbeat, restlessness, body aches. That’s from the Narcan.”

  Even in my fog I recognized the name of the medication used to reverse a drug overdose. Must not have been plain tear gas in those canisters. Subsequent tests confirmed it to have been an aerosol advanced chemical weapon filled with a fentanyl derivative.

  Luckily, my backup signal was caught and the FBI and local police had brought EMS with them, who recognized the overdose symptoms in the entire team and administered the Narcan immediately. I was hospitalized for two days so they could monitor my health—a nightmare for a workaholic. By day two I was anxious to get reports on the status of the robbery and conclusions about what happened that night.

  Calvin came to visit me on the second day, and though I was delighted to see him, I have to admit I was jealous. I suppose it didn’t take him as long to recuperate because of his age and physical condition.

  “You back on the job already?” I asked.

  Calvin smiled and shook his head. “Not really. I was released yesterday and technically I’m not allowed to be back on official duty, but I couldn’t wait to see the evidence they recovered from the scene.”

  “So, what did they find?” I asked as I sat up in the hospital bed.

  Calvin sighed. “Half the gold was gone. Apparently they used a modified Segway to get it up and out of there so quickly. Needless to say, Sasha Bowie is not happy.”

  I shook my head. “She loves the fucking publicity. This is the best thing to happen to her in years.”

  Calvin nodded and moved closer to the bed. “She’s already done an interview with BuzzFeed and Facebook news. It’ll be released in a day.” He leaned closer to me with a big grin. “But I haven’t told you the best part.”

  I leaned forward.

  “One of the bullets from your gun was collected and it had Gloaming radioactive blood on it.”

  I could barely contain my glee. “I hit one of the bastards.”

  “Even better,” Calvin stated. He was sitting on a gurney beside me. “One of our sources at the Standard said that Cian Clery was rushed inside the hotel through the back kitchen entrance with his face bandaged. All performances of Nixon in China have been canceled until further notice, and Cian is nowhere to be found.”

  I couldn’t stop smiling. “That smug fucker. I knew it.
I bet that face ain’t so pretty no more.”

  “You bet,” Calvin replied. “Hey, Zumthor?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why are vampires such good actors?”

  I thought about this. “Who knows? They’re such complicated—”

  Calvin grinned. “It’s in their blood.”

  The medication was clearly still messing with me. It took me a second. Then I laughed out loud—and gasped. Fuck, it hurt to laugh. “Good one,” I groaned.

  Then Calvin was all business again. “Not sure we’ll ever find the gold, but I don’t think Cian will be back anytime soon. The Internet is already going nuts.”

  “It’s not over yet,” I told him, but even I knew it would be next to impossible to find Cian if he didn’t want to be found.

  True enough, Cian Clery was never seen again.

  Harvard Theological Review

  Spring Semester

  Edited by Jonathan Newton

  Despite the many articles and verbal pronouncements regarding current major religious institutions and the integration of Gloamings, there has been a decided dearth of scholarship concerning the doctrine of each denomination and how it guided its views on the Gloamings. In his new treatise entitled “Phänomenologie der Religion auf die Gloaming” (Tübingen, 2022, Mohr, xii–670), Gerard van der Leeuw considered how many major religious bodies confronted the Gloaming appearance.

  Many people are aware of certain members of the Catholic Church being opposed to Gloamings and everything they represent. However, there are other religious institutions which have issued opinions on the Gloamings and their newfound presence in society. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (generally known as Mormons), under the doctrine of continuing revelation, and through the church president, considered a modern-day “prophet,” in consultation with the Church’s quorum of the twelve apostles, stated that they believe that the Gloamings could be considered a type of angel, yet they are still awaiting further instructions from God in order to fully determine how the Gloamings are to be represented in the land of God. Mormons believe that there are three types of “angels” that might be sent to minister to people. Therefore, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has counseled to their members that they are prohibited from re-creating until guided by God through Apostolic Revelation.