Two servants—one female and one male, both non-Gloamings—stood at attention, one at each end of the room, each staring intently at Leslie for any hint of an order. With a wave of her hand, everyone else in the living room left, and I was stuck in my chair with a gut like a basket of snakes. “Is anything wrong?” I asked. I sat on the couch, which seemed to swallow me whole.
“Yes,” Leslie replied. “We need to discuss Wade Ashley. He’s causing problems again.”
“How?”
Leslie sat down in the seat across from me. “He is attempting to interview Amanda Allen.”
I was confused for a moment as to what this had to do with anything. “The state treasurer? She got out of the race.”
“Yes, I know,” Leslie continued. “But Joseph: he’s still trying to make a story out of the reasons why she declined to run.”
I shook my head. “There’s nothing. Zero story. He’ll give up, and it’ll go away.”
Leslie stared at me. A Gloaming’s stare—even after all these months, it was still a disquieting experience. Equally frightening and glorious, or…something. You wanted them to stare at you, but at the same time you hated it. I wish I could impart the feelings of anticipation and curiosity—kind of like trying coke for the first time. You feel lighter, and words and awareness feel repetitive. A weird combination of commotion and clarity. You feel trapped because all you want to do is leave and be alone to reflect on all of this. “Unless…I’m guessing there’s a story?” I asked.
“Yes.”
There are certain periods in a political campaign when issues like this arise. You spend so much time with the candidate and their family that you learn things: the candidate is having an affair, the candidate was seen doing hard drugs at a party, the candidate engaged in unethical business practices. You get the picture. I tend to subscribe to the philosophy that, as campaign manager, I just don’t want to know. Unless the information gets out publicly, I’m not there to judge. I was there to run a campaign, not put out personal fires. For a campaign manager, ignorance can be bliss.
This felt like one of those quandaries. I wanted to ask her not to tell me. To simply handle it on her own. “Do I need to know this?” was all that came out of my mouth.
“You do,” she said.
I gulped and sat there like an idiot.
“I wanted to clear the field for Nick. So I got rid of the candidates. We paid off the other guy, but Amanda Allen would not be swayed so easily. So my team did some investigating and we found out that the recently divorced Miss Allen had quite the reputation at the capital. Various affairs with different lobbyists who conducted business with state government. We installed cameras and took photographs of these sexual encounters. Toshi met with her—”
“Oh no,” I groaned. “Not Toshi.”
Leslie went on, as if I hadn’t said anything. “Toshi confronted her with all the evidence and offered to find her a nice landing spot to get out of the race. She refused. So we had to get tough. We threatened to kill her if she stayed in the race. Simple as that. And now…” She trailed off. She looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable.
“And now Wade Ashley is getting closer to finding out,” I said.
She didn’t reply.
I found myself with my head in my hands. This was a disaster beyond anything I could have imagined. These types of circumstances landed people in prison for many years. “I wish you hadn’t told me,” I said. “I can’t know all this.”
Leslie sat next to me.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Well,” Leslie replied, “I’m already monitoring Mr. Ashley’s movements.”
“Maybe you should let me handle Wade—”
“You need to concentrate on the election,” Leslie said. “I will handle Wade Ashley in my own way.”
Then she patted my leg.
As if the information she just told me didn’t scare me enough, her reaching out to comfort me with physical contact was even more terrifying.
“Joseph,” she said, “don’t think of going soft on us now. I think you know you’re in this with us the entire way. We’re going to win this.”
In my defense, over the next few weeks, I tried to warn Wade Ashley. I knew I couldn’t call or text him—that could be traced back to me. I found out where he was staying and, disguising myself as a janitor, snuck into the hotel and knocked on his door. Wade answered in his typical state of raggedness—he was clearly on some kind of bender. He didn’t even recognize me. I held up my hands, as if in silent apology for disturbing him, and walked away. I would have to leave him to his own devices—after years of covering the Gloamings for the newspaper, he knew the risks. Perhaps he knew the risks even better than I did.
Leslie had been right, of course. Nick was going to win, and I was part of all this now. It was like the Mafia: once you were in, you couldn’t leave until you were smoked.
Blood in, blood out.
1 Here’s the full text of Claremont’s historic announcement:
“I am sorry. I suppose not many political speeches start with an apology—but this one will. About three months ago, I was inside my office and I happened to look outside my window from the eighty-fifth floor of my building. And I realized that I couldn’t see the street below. Only clouds and a constellation of stars. I could not see what was going on in the streets below me. I couldn’t look out the window. My view of the world—of humanity—was not one based on reality. I knew there was a lot going on outside that window that I didn’t know about.
“On that day I resolved to look at the world outside my confines. You have to look. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. And what did I see? I saw people—my people—the American people struggling in hunger with a thirst for righteousness. But what keeps them moving? A sense that our country—our individualism yet also our collective traits—can bring us forward together. We are not a people that look backward. I could list the problems which cause people to feel cynical, angry, frustrated, but what good is that without a solution for each and every one of them?
“There are no Gloaming problems and there are no human problems. There are only New Mexico problems. And those we can solve together. New Mexico has a 20 percent unemployment rate and a 30 percent dropout rate for high school students. When did we start to believe that was acceptable? When did we believe that this cannot be fixed? When did we stop fighting for something better? I believe we can find a collective destiny which surpasses the glories of the present and the past. That we are led by ‘the shining light that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.’
“I know there are many people who hate me and do not trust my intentions. But I will work for them too. Someone once said to love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which spitefully use you and persecute you. Every single person deserves a piece of the American dream and a seat at the table. I will ensure that we all have a place at the starting line of prosperity.
“There are times when history and fate meet at a single time in a single place. And I believe this is one of those times. I pledge to you every resource of mind and strength that I possess to change the direction of this state into that place we all yearn for and struggle to reach. And together we can look out every window and see the problems that we must face and the solutions we will find. I hope that we can meet again in every town and village in New Mexico.”
Chapter 11
Father John Reilly
Operative, the Order of Bruder Klaus
Subject stands in front of a window, watching the glittering light below. His hands and feet are shackled but his face betrays a slight smile.
Interviewer: See anything interesting?
Father Reilly: Well, first of all, I can’t believe we’re in New York City, and secondly, I can’t believe there’s a window in this room. It’s been a while.
Interviewer: It’s the only room we have available and it has a window. What can we d
o? Anyway, I’ve been told that the odds of you escaping our current location are under 40 percent.
Father Reilly: Seems kind of high to me.
Interviewer: We’re pretty far up. I like our chances.
Subject points at the window.
Father Reilly: We must be at least seventy floors up. I see the Central Park Zoo, Rockefeller Center, and that might be the Apple store right below…Holy shit, we’re in 432 Park Avenue! Billionaire’s row!
Interviewer: I’m impressed. You have acute geographic sensing skills.
Father Reilly: So, what billionaire is letting you use his luxury home?
Interviewer: Why don’t we get to the questions? Did the rise of Governor Claremont affect you and the order?
Father Reilly: When I first heard about Nick Bindon Claremont running for governor of New Mexico, I was shocked at how swiftly the Gloamings were transitioning from a mysterious elite to more palatable fellow members of human society. They already had infiltrated pop culture; now they were going a dangerous step further.
Surprisingly, the Order of Bruder Klaus decided as a whole to not pursue any sabotage against Claremont’s campaign—we had too many operations in progress to have any real success in undermining a gubernatorial election. Although they did agree to begin surveillance on Nick Bindon Claremont. I disagreed vehemently, and thought I might try my hand at stopping a Gloaming from becoming a state governor.
I shadowed the campaign manager, Joseph Barrera, for a couple of weeks. I had done my research: Barrera was a lifelong Democrat who seemed committed to progressive causes. It made me wonder why such an enlightened person could suddenly support a Republican Gloaming for high office. He also seemed to be under considerable stress, with his constant smoking, his shaky hands and rumpled appearance.
Interviewer: Hmm. I’ve never heard this one before. Go on.
Father Reilly: I needed to approach Joseph, but he was surrounded by campaign staff and other contractors day and night. He stayed at a Holiday Inn next door to the rented office space that served as the campaign headquarters. On many nights, too, he entertained various females at the hotel, adding another wrinkle to finding a window where he was entirely alone.
I spent some time watching him and seeing if I could find a night when he seemed to be in a solitary mood. Then one night I sat on a bench close to the storefront type of building where the campaign headquarters was located. The bench was somewhat angled off from the front of the large window of the campaign office. One night, I saw Barrera leave the campaign office at about four in the morning—alone. I rose from the bench where I sat, but noticed a black van with darkened windows nearby. I walked the opposite way from Barrera, and sure enough, the black van began to trail me. I was being followed. Probably since I landed in Albuquerque, if not earlier—and this made me angry for neglecting my preparation. I walked another block, then doubled back to the previous block, and jumped inside a large metal Dumpster. I spent the next two hours stuck in a greasy and stinky mess of garbage before I figured it was safe enough for me to get out—or before a dump truck arrived.
I walked back to my La Quinta in a cloud of garbage. I resolved to be much smarter about tracking Barrera. Two days later, I rented a room at his Holiday Inn, one floor below his fifth-floor double.
I made a point to ensure that there was no surveillance on myself as I watched the comings and goings of the guests and staff at the hotel. I hacked into the Holiday Inn server, so I could monitor the security cameras inside and outside the hotel. Three nights later, on the outside camera, I saw Barrera make the walk from the headquarters across the street—he was alone.
I switched to a view of the lobby. It was empty. This would be my chance.
I rushed out of my room and took the stairs to the fifth floor, where I stood in front of the elevator. I said another quick prayer that he was alone. When the elevator door opened, Joseph stood there sucking on a straw in a McDonald’s drink. I stepped aside and he glanced at me while walking out.
“Joseph Barrera,” I said.
He froze. “Yes. Can I help you?”
His eyes seemed wary but his exhaustion seemed to override any self-defense mechanisms he thought of putting up.
“Do you have a minute? I’d like to talk to you.”
“Look, I’d like to, but I’m beat and I have to be up early again tomorrow. Call my office. Let’s make an appointment for this week sometime.”
I stepped closer. We needed to get inside before someone saw me in this hallway. “I’m not a reporter but I do have something very important to talk to you about,” I said as I glanced at the elevator, expecting its door to open at any time. “It’s about Nick Bindon Claremont and the campaign.”
I could see Joseph’s tired eyes glow awake. I said, “I am a member of the Order of Bruder Klaus—I think you know who we are.” I told him straight-out: “You can’t let him win.”
I saw Joseph relax. Not the reaction I anticipated. “Look,” he said. “I get your type approaching me every week. No offense, but—”
This was my only chance. I had to convince him. “I don’t think you understand who I am. I am a member of an organization that has infiltrated the upper reaches of Gloaming society. If you give them this foothold, they will run over this country without regard and…”
Joseph stared at me for a moment. “I’m in for good. You need to understand that. Your words aren’t enough to make me go back. I may have had some doubts but those are gone, and I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to. And after all this shit I’m not sure I would want to.” He cut me off. He straightened his shoulders and pointed to the elevator. “Please leave.”
I had badly misjudged myself and this man. “I’ll leave, but I will be back with evidence,” I stated. “Then you will know.”
Joseph nodded as if he had heard this all before. “Have a good night.” Then he watched until I called the elevator and got in. He even slipped in, pressed “Lobby,” and slipped out as the door closed.
The elevator stopped on the next floor. I barely had time to look up before the first fist hit me on the side of the head. I stumbled back to see two men in dark joggers and jackets step towards me as I bounced off the wall. My self-defense training kicked in along with a headache as I pushed my foot out and struck the blond guy directly on the nose. The blood poured out in an instant but it didn’t slow him by a second. I knew that I couldn’t take these guys by myself and I needed to get out of there, so I bolted towards the stairwell exit. The bad part was that that’s exactly where they wanted me to go and they grabbed me as I opened the door.
One of the guys punched me in the back near my kidneys and I dropped in agony to the ground. They each grabbed me and dragged me into the stairwell. My body shook as I dropped to the ground—
One of the men’s heads rolled back, off his shoulders—I saw blond hair flowing with the head—and thumped down the stairs like a flat basketball.
I wondered if I might be hallucinating as I looked up to see a young female with scattered black curly hair laying a whip kick on the other guy. He fell back into the wall. I wanted to help her but my right leg felt numb and my head was a mess of sparkles and pinwheels.
I watched the woman slap both of her palms against the man’s ears and the guy dropped to the ground just as she released the curved blade in her hand and swung it faster than I thought possible. His head, too, rolled cleanly off his body.
The woman looked at me with some exasperation, which confused me. “Get up. We need to go,” she said. “You’ve been causing a lot of trouble, and I don’t know how many more of these guys are out there.”
That’s how I met Sara Mesley.
Interviewer: Ah, yes. Sara Mesley. We’ve been after her for a while.
Father Reilly: So had I. When we were back on the road, speeding down the highway towards the airport, I was finally able to gasp out, “I’m a little bit at a loss for words. Sara Mesley: you’re like a ghost or something. I confess, I didn’t ex
pect you to look so young. I mean, you really took care of those dudes like—”
“Don’t think for a second that this is it—that we won,” Sara said. “You’re lucky that the order isn’t angrier with you. You really put some of our plans out of sequence. I had to drop what I was doing just to come out here and save your ass. I’m still shocked you’re the same guy that did the Vatican job. You were way out of your depth back there.”
I ignored the snipe. “We need to stop him from being elected governor. Am I the only one who sees that?”
Sara looked in the rearview mirror for maybe the hundredth time. “You might be, Father. The order has decided that Nick Bindon Claremont should be elected governor.”
“Why?”
“We’re not getting anywhere with our current operations. Sure, we can pick off a high-ranking Gloaming when we want—but even that is becoming harder. The advances we make are incremental. We need the greater society to see what the Gloamings are about and what their goals entail. Hearing us speak about it is not enough. We’re losing the war for people’s minds. Let the Gloamings win the governorship and they won’t be able to help themselves. And then people will have concrete proof of their intentions. And we win.”
A People's History of the Vampire Uprising Page 18