A People's History of the Vampire Uprising

by Raymond A. Villareal

  “Of course,” I replied, with a glance at Reilly. His eyes told me he had the same concerns.

  De’Ann led the way down the stairs of a confined stone staircase lit by a few hanging lightbulbs to the basement. It smelled like wet stone or some type of cave. As we reached the bottom I was concerned that the lights did not illuminate the entire room.

  “This building used to be a garrison, and this basement leads to others down the entire block,” De’Ann said.

  We reached the middle of the basement and I ran into the back of Father Reilly, who had stopped all of a sudden. “Hey,” I cried as I looked around him to see De’Ann holding a gun. A Desert Eagle, in fact. That thing was about the size of a human head, and it could probably have blown a hole in me, Reilly, and the wall behind us.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you really want?” she asked, her face etched in anger.

  “Well,” Father Reilly said with his hands up and a slight warble to his voice, “we actually are here to see your artifacts.”

  De’Ann glanced at him with her hand tight on the trigger. “No one knows that I have Greek objects. I’m known for dealing exclusively in Moorish and Roman artifacts. But you know. How is that?”

  “A source told us,” I replied. “We’re here with the Order of Bruder Klaus.” I steadied myself and my muscles tensed. I wasn’t sure what the reaction would be with that statement and a gun pointed at me, but there weren’t many options and the ones I could think of weren’t so exceptional.

  De’Ann lowered the gun, and I took a deep breath. “My great-grandfather was in the Congregation of Gibilmanna. These artifacts that are in my possession have been handed down to family members in Sicily, Germany, and Poland. All members of the congregation. Families disappear, others acquire different interests, and interest wanes. Soon enough it was all left to me.”

  Father Reilly leaned toward her with an intense look in his eyes. “These artifacts may match up with a new analysis of the third secret of Fátima. It’s important that we see them.”

  “I think you’ll find these particularly interesting, then,” De’Ann said. “Come this way.”

  She led us down another hallway attached to the basement. The ceiling was low and we hunched over as we followed the swinging lamps that lined the walls. The path opened up to a room with a large safe beside a computer monitor in the corner. It seemed so out of place against the ancient surroundings.

  De’Ann placed her thumb on the print reader and the safe door clicked open with a climate control hiss that filled the room. She flipped on a bright desk lamp near a wooden table with a velvet cover.

  She pulled out a 5x diopter magnifying floor lamp, which she placed next to the table. From the safe she pulled out a statue of Pan in marble and put it on the table. She placed the magnifying glass next to the face of the statue and invited me to look.

  I leaned over and peered into the glass: two small fangs were in the mouth of Pan. I looked over at Father Reilly, who was grinning at me. “Doesn’t prove much,” I declared.

  De’Ann was silent as she then placed a photograph and a piece of marble on the table. “This was taken from the excavation of the Pergamon Altar in Greece. It tells the story of the life of Telephus, founder of the city of Pergamon. In 1878, a German archaeologist named Carl Humann excavated the site. He took all the fragments to Berlin for reconstruction per his agreement with the Greek and Turkish governments. Unbeknownst to his superiors, he kept many of the most historically scandalous artifacts and donated them to the Knights Hospitaller, a military order of the Catholic Church.” She pointed a finger at the photograph, which showed a relief of a man sucking blood from the neck of another man, and a woman collecting blood with a cup. Another section portrayed men with fangs protecting families from invading forces.

  I heard Reilly awkwardly clear his throat behind me. De’Ann then presented the piece of marble on the table and placed the magnifying glass over it. I looked at it and the ancient Greek word that appeared: “Hema…”

  I looked up and De’Ann glanced at me with a knowing smile. “It means—”

  “Blood,” Father Reilly whispered under his breath.

  De’Ann brought out more photos. “These are pictures of the Antikythera mechanism. It’s an ancient orrery and complex clockwork apparatus. Some say it was the first computer. Swedish scientists used computer simulation and X-ray topography to read the inscriptions through the corrosion of the artifact. This line at the top. It reads ‘A—’”

  “Anoesis,” Father Reilly said.

  Chapter 28

  November 29

  Forty-Two Months After the NOBI Discovery

  Lauren Scott

  Doctor and Supervising Researcher, Atwater Corporation

  The flight took forever, with two connections, before I stood outside the airport. I was told to take an Uber and then walk a mile to an abandoned parking garage downtown, near a row of run-down strip malls. After the long walk, I took a flight of stairs to the second floor. There were no working lights and the drape of darkness made me shudder and, oddly enough, think back to the warehouse in Melbourne.

  The rumble of a vehicle echoed through the structure as it growled through the garage and up the ramp. The lights burned my eyes, and I held up a hand to shield my face. The vehicle stopped directly in front of me. I couldn’t tell who was driving, but I moved to the side as a large, fit middle-aged man stepped out of the back and opened the back door without a word. He held out his hand and I gave him my cell phone. I got inside, and as the door closed, I wondered why I had agreed to this.

  My stress was compounded when I saw that the windows were coated in such a way that I couldn’t see anything through them. The man sitting next to me did not utter a word for the entire two-hour trip. I could not relax at all, and without my phone or paper or a pen I couldn’t even pretend to do work.

  The car stopped and the man placed a hood over my head. I was led by the hand and walked about twenty feet before climbing some stairs and being taken to a seat. The bag was removed and I found myself inside a small private plane. Naturally, the windows were blacked out on this ride as well.

  The same man sat across from me, tapping his fingers on an iPad. The plane took off and I couldn’t sleep or relax no matter how hard I tried. All of those meditation techniques Hector had demanded I learn did nothing for me. They only made me more nervous. We were in the air about three hours before landing, which made my adrenaline spike again. The man handed me the hood and this time I placed it over my own head. A thirty-minute drive led to my removing the hood while standing inside yet another garage with a large elevator. It felt as though we were going down instead of up, which seemed odd at the time.

  I was led to a room that closely resembled a law enforcement interrogation room with two-way mirrors, a table with chain locks, and a few chairs. Oddly enough, the walls were a strange construction of uneven and cutout wood designs that resembled a maze. It was eerily quiet. The man returned and waved me into the room behind the two-way mirrors.

  I stood there for a moment, lost in thought as my adrenaline waned and my body was fighting with my exhaustion, before a voice jerked me awake. “Did they run you through the gauntlet?” a voice said from behind me. I looked to the side to see the stoic face of Agent Hugo Zumthor.

  “They sure did,” I replied.

  “I’m surprised you agreed to come here,” Hugo said.

  “They told me it would be worth my time,” I said, now doubting whether that would be true. “It better be, considering how long this day has been already. What’s up with the weird construction in the room?”

  Hugo’s eyebrows raised up as if he were impressed I had noticed it. “It’s an anechoic chamber. It’s designed to absorb reflections of either sound or electromagnetic waves. It helps us control Gloamings.”

  “Really?”

  Hugo nodded. “It makes for a weird experience in there.” He glanced at me. “They didn’t say anything to you about
why you’re here?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. But I guess you know.”

  “The CIA types barely tell me anything,” he replied. “But I think you’re going to like this one.”

  As if on cue, the door to the interrogation room opened and four heavily armed guards in tactical gear led in a man wearing a full priestly cassock in all black. I leaned closer to the glass for a better look as the guards attached the chains to the steel holdings forged to the table. “Is that—”

  “Father John Reilly,” Hugo whispered.

  I turned back to Hugo. “He’s a—”

  “Yes, he is.”

  I stared through the glass at every part of him and after a moment Father Reilly’s head turned and his eyes met my gaze even through the reflected mirror. “Have you talked to him?” I asked.

  “Yes, I have.”

  Another man came in and introduced himself to Father Reilly as the interviewer. Reilly didn’t seem surprised. His face was impassive. They talked about a journey Reilly had made to view certain artifacts related to the Gloamings, which seemed to indicate they had been here much longer than we thought. But all I could think of was how this would affect my research. This historical analysis was for someone else to consider. “Where is this leading to?” I asked Hugo.

  “He wants to speak to you.” And as Hugo finished that sentence, Father Reilly turned his head and looked directly at me.

  I stood in front of the table on the other side of Father Reilly. The interviewer glanced at me. “I’m almost done here, and then you can ask him a question.”

  I nodded and he continued.

  “So what did these artifacts tell you?”

  Reilly shrugged. “They moved my mind in a certain direction. After everyone had gone back upstairs, De’Ann Saxon brought me back down to show me the Veil of Veronica. Used to wipe the sweat from Jesus’s brow as he carried the cross. It bears his likeness.”

  “Is that a fact? So what? Another artifact.”

  “This artifact had been protected by a band of Gloamings known as the Knights Hospitaller.”

  The interviewer leaned forward after a pull on his cigarette. “Wait a fucking minute. There’s a group of Gloamings out there we’ve never heard of? Where is their base of operations?”

  “This isn’t current.”

  “What do you mean?” the interviewer asked.

  Father Reilly gave a slight smile, his eyes wide open. “This was back in the year 1153. They formed the concept of Anoesis—a state of mind consisting of pure sensation or emotion without cognitive content. There is a philosophical theory that states there is no God now, but that doesn’t preclude the existence of a God in the future. They conceived of themselves as a type of simulacrum—copies that depict things that had no original to begin with.”

  Silence. Even I was intrigued. And Hugo’s face was creased with a frown.

  “So that made you want to re-create?” the interviewer asked.

  “I thought Cian Clery was the key. I thought he was the continuation of Anoesis—I plan to bring it back. To conceive of Gloamings as these pure creatures to bring goodness to our lands.” Father Reilly stared at his chained hands as if remembering a painful part of his life.

  “But?” the interviewer said with a peeved look.

  “But he was just a terrorist, intent on demolishing everything having to do with humans. I was wrong and no step closer to the one who would bring back Anoesis.” He looked over at me and it was like a jolt of electricity. “Your sister knew about it.”

  My heart sank for a moment but the feeling was soon replaced by the anger that had filled it so well for so long. My face was grim. “How dare you? What do you know about Jennifer?”

  “I met her once and I know she was intrigued by the concept and wanted to explore it.”

  “Who killed her?”

  He stared at me with his head cocked and an almost absent look on his face. “Cian. She wanted to be re-created. It wasn’t out of malice. It just didn’t take. She knew the risks.”

  “Bullshit!” I yelled.

  He stared at me with a gloomy look on his face. “You know it’s true. She loved you and only wanted you to do what is moral.”

  He was right.

  “Tell me about your re-creation.”

  He was silent for a moment, staring at the table with his lips pursed. “It’s not really something we talk about,” he replied.

  “Like confession, right?” Hugo added.

  A slight smile played on Father Reilly’s lips. “That’s funny. Not really, though.”

  “Tell me the story,” I insisted.

  Father Reilly shrugged and took a deep breath. “I assured you of honesty. And I will keep that oath. Liza and I traveled to Brazil for Carnaval. A lot of Gloamings enjoyed the celebrations there for various reasons. I didn’t like it there at first. My sleep patterns were messed up from staying up all night. But things aren’t always pleasant, so I adjusted.

  “We would spend nights walking among the people celebrating, but it was uncomfortable with every person in a mask covering their faces, including the elaborate headdresses that also covered their features. It became disorienting to me, walking among the masked crowds pushing me and the piercing sounds from every direction. Like it was all meant to take me away from who I was.

  “When I was young I talked all the time about things: myself, people, love, pain…But now I preferred to be with my thoughts. But that one night, Liza and I walked up into the Rocinha favela in the center of Rio de Janeiro with the stacked houses and winding streets.

  “I followed her into a favela at the top of the neighborhood made of brick, rebar, and mismatched wood, with two water tanks on the roof. A Brazilian man and woman led us down into a newly constructed basement and wooden tunnel with a depth of about a hundred feet, with ventilation and electricity. It bottomed out to a large living room with a bar and a few bedrooms that branched off. The floor was simply dirt from the ground and it smelled moist.

  “There were about five other Gloamings sitting on the floor, talking and drinking oleander tea.”

  I nodded. “What did you talk about?”

  Father Reilly’s eyes looked at me but it was almost like he was looking past me. “Failure. Whether it’s too late to start over. I thought that I should be content to see these faces without their masks and leave it at that. Liza mentioned that now she did not care about why things happen. There was a young beautiful Gloaming in a red shirt who looked exactly like Morrissey on the Bona Drag cover. He told me that he still couldn’t comprehend this organic life that came from inorganic matter. He heard a philosopher say the same thing and it stuck with him. Everything that has happened before could be thought of as implausible.

  “Liza asked me to talk about my family, especially my father. And that’s when I remembered it. My father’s favorite Bible verse.”

  “Which was?” I asked.

  Father Reilly looked up at me. “Romans 12:2. ‘Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.’

  “I knew then that I had to be transformed.

  “I didn’t want to say it out loud, but I felt the continuation of his theory was that to rise above we needed a partially divine creature to appear and take humanity a step beyond where we were now. I believe Hegel talked about the man that could become God—who once was and will be again. Where is the greater intelligence other than what has now been created? I think I felt tears fall down my face, and I glanced over to see Liza Sole staring at me. I didn’t have to say a word, but she already knew what I was asking and she consented without a symbol of communication.”

  “Is that when she did it?” Hugo asked. “Right there?”

  Father Reilly shook his head. “It doesn’t work quite like that. I lay on a bed and she lay next to me. No words exchanged. I might have fallen asleep and had premonitions. I’m not su
re but I remember her mouth on my neck and I began to dream…”

  Hugo and I stood there in silence for a moment, just watching him.

  “Did you ever find them?” Hugo asked.

  “Who?” Father Reilly said softly, as if I had woken him from a daydream.

  “The person you were looking for to bring Anoesis back,” I replied, my mind still jumbled with thoughts of my sister.

  The lines almost left his face, as if he were thinking of something calming and nurturing. “I did. Finally. Someone who had abandoned intention—via negativa, as they say. Resurrect me with the dropping of the sun. I’m not trying to be abstract—it’s just that no one quite understands it all. Yet.”

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Myself.”

  Chapter 29

  New Year’s Eve

  Fifty-Five Months After the NOBI Discovery

  Lauren Scott

  Doctor and Supervising Researcher, Atwater Corporation

  I had never felt so lonely in my life, as this strange, ongoing, unspoken battle continued. I was lonely even with Hector beside me. After the initial victory in the Atwater lab, my anti-NOBI drug failed in many of its field tests. Every week another scientist left Atwater, or a professor at some university would email to inform me that they were no longer conducting research on the NOBI virus. They couldn’t take the pressure anymore.

  I was assigned a detail of federal marshals as security—essential, given the amount of death threats I received after my research was discussed in a New York Times article. I began to work nights and sleep during the day. It was easier than I thought. I couldn’t get comfortable enough sleeping at night: I was always feeling as though I was on guard. Every sound outside was someone trying to break in. It was exhausting.

  Hector published his book, entitled The Blood of the Eternal Covenant: Chasing the NOBI Virus. It was actually a bestseller, with Hector appearing on the Today show. Of course, his appearance was marred by an argument between him and the host about whether my research was ethical vis-à-vis altering human genetics to combat the NOBI virus.