Awakening (Fire & Ice Book 1)
Page 13
The warden headed at speed down the sharp decline which led to the bowels of the building. Akin to an iceberg constructed in steel, eighty percent of the facility was buried underground, with the lowest level housing the stage-three offenders and, since the rise of vampires, The Butcher.
At the bottom of the slope, the warden pushed through a rubber-edged steel door. It marked the boundary of the death chamber wing. The polished stainless steel walls glistened with condensed moisture, and the rushing current of the River Thames could be heard through them.
The Butcher’s cell was through a door on the left. Petrification of his body had occurred within a year, but the tablespoon of human blood drizzled into his throat each day preserved his consciousness, as his sentence demanded.
Connor followed the warden inside and clenched his hands behind his back, closely observing the ritual. The warden wheeled an aluminum trolley from its resting place against the wall across to the open stainless steel-lined coffin shell.
Peering into The Butcher’s wizened petrified features, Warden James pushed back an eyelid and watched the contraction of the jet black bead of his pupil. “You have served 90 years,” he muttered conversationally as he filled a metal pipette with blood, inserted it between the cracked dry lips, and discharged it into the vampire’s mouth.
The blood stained his lip line red, but the desiccated features remained rigid. The warden studied the pupil reaction once more before nodding decisively. “He’s ready for you, doctor.” Turning away, Warden James trundled the trolley back to its station.
“Thank you,” said Connor, stepping forward.
He cradled the aged vampire’s skull in his hands. Settling his thumbs firmly onto the temples, and closing his eyes, Connor tapped into the hypersensitivity of his vampire enhanced nerve endings.
His hands tingled as blood red visions crowded his mind. Connor grimaced when bloodlust raged through his body, saliva flooded his mouth, and he became The Butcher.
Ice cold calculation chilled Connor; He followed a young couple through the thick fog of a 1900’s London night. They stumbled into an alleyway. The Butcher watched them, his own groin swelling as the young man pulled the girl’s skirts up, exposing her pale thighs and his own naked backside. The musk of sex plumed into the air as the young man’s hard body eased into her soft wet flesh. She moaned when he began moving inside her, driving the sighing breath from her lungs. He rocked his hips into hers, pushing her breasts up into his hands.
Connor could feel the tenderness radiating from them, and he knew they were making love. This is not lust. Sadness weighed him down because he knew the couple were doomed. I wouldn’t be ‘seeing’ them, otherwise.
At the moment of climax, just when the youth’s body clenched tight, The Butcher’s face appeared, leering over her lover’s shoulder into the girl’s flushed face. As his ardent body pumped into hers, fear crushed her chest. Her soft flesh clamped around his erection as panic rattled through her, and the youth groaned with pleasure. The Butcher yanked the boy’s head back and buried his teeth in the pulsing carotid artery.
The girl’s scream became a drowning gargle as, smiling, The Butcher reached forward and jabbed his thumbnail into her neck, severing her vocal chords and filling her throat with her own blood.
Connor had seen enough. He brought the shutters down inside his head. The blood red images faded to pink and the tension drained from his body.
“The neurotransmitters are functioning in the temporal lobe and his emotional responses are intact. The central cortex is at fifty percent hydration.” Connor opened his eyes and withdrew. “I’ll report to the council that our friend is still giving his actions serious thought.” Or enjoying them. I’m not sure he’s suffering.
When he left The Butcher’s confinement cell, the stagnant atmosphere beyond the room was a relief.
In the chamber opposite, four vampires awaited the release of stage-three; the violent end of having their skulls crushed which brought release from the torment of their thoughts. Connor was not obliged to look into their minds like he had with The Butcher. Julian had changed the protocol which required Connor to give a condemned vampire the opportunity to express regret and make amends.
Julian had quickly realized that the vampires may be achieving ‘closure’, but it was at the expense of Doctor Connor, who, as their confessor, carried the vivid images they shared for weeks before finally being able to file them away where they could not haunt him.
Connor opened the death chamber door and walked in.
The bodies were laid out on a row of waist high stone plinths, and a metal C-clamp framed each vampire’s head.
Connor walked along the line, ensuring that the six-inch diameter plates welded to each side of the clamp were correctly fitted at the temples. The metal arch passed over the crown of their heads, allowing the condemned an unobstructed view of the polished steel ceiling.
On one side, a thick screw protruded through a threaded hole in the frame. This was the free-running side where an adept twist of the T-shaped handle tightened the vice. Vampire strength made mechanization unnecessary.
Connor would give the command, pronounce the deaths as the doctor of record, and report back to the council.
He held his hand aloft, waited until the attendant at each execution bed grasped the metal T-bar, and then closed his fingers in a fist.
Driven by the hands of vampire executioners, the screws in each of the clamps accelerated into a fast rotation and slammed the steel plates together. The swish of oiled-metal was overwhelmed by the shriek of grinding bone, and then, with a loud crack, the skulls exploded and fragments spat into the air.
As crushed bone dust drifted across the chamber, Connor wondered how painless the process could really be, and, what last thought went through their minds.
The attendants removed the clamps, placed them in a crate marked ‘used’, and disappeared through a side door.
Pulling a key from his belt, the warden stowed the filled crate inside a walk-in storage room. Once cleaned and checked for damage, each clamp would be placed on one of the hooks which lined the walls, until they were needed again.
Connor waited for the warden to return and they left the steel lined chamber together, via the main entrance.
As they walked away, the metal shutter dropped into place with a groan, sealing the death chamber. The rumble of rushing water vibrated through the walls indicated the sluice gateway had opened. Like an airlock in a spaceship regulates oxygen, it allowed an avalanche of thousands of gallons of the River Thames to thunder through the death chamber, sweeping the vampire remains out into the fast-flowing current of the estuary. Low tide would drain away the remaining few inches of water and leave the room ready for its next set of inhabitants.
Raising his voice above the turbulent sounds of the cleaning process, Connor said, “Warden James.” He inclined his head in farewell, and moved swiftly back up through the levels. In a matter of seconds, the main door loomed in front of him.
“Doctor Connor, Sir.”
Recognizing the warden’s voice, Connor whipped around, lifting an eyebrow in inquiry as the warden rushed into view.
“A guardsman delivered a message from Principal Julian. You are required to attend the council, directly.”
“Thank you, Warden,” said Connor.
“I’m not sure you’ll make it tonight, though, Sir. You are, of course, welcome to stay here until sunset.”
Connor looked at his watch, “Thank you, but I’m not sure Principal Julian would appreciate the delay. I better get moving.”
As he exited the building and whisked through the metal gates in the perimeter fence this time, he speculated. Serge must have the bit between his teeth to move this fast.
Setting off towards the city, Connor, staying barely one step ahead of the breaking dawn, was reduced to shadow hopping for the final approach. Just typical, a sunny day. He came to an abrupt halt outside the council building. Connor raked his han
ds through gray hair, reviving its black luster as the final stubborn dust particles of crushed skulls scudded into the air, drifting towards the heavens.
The smell of airborne calcium, a grim reminder of his own possible fate, focused Connor’s mind on the cut and thrust of what lay ahead. Serge will be setting out his case. He set his jaw and mounted the steps. Rebekah is safely hidden away, so, bring it on.
He pushed through the oak doors and was met by a vampire dressed in the livery of the court. “Doctor Connor, they are waiting for you, if you’d follow me.”
Connor nodded, adopted a meek demeanor, and fell into step.
Moments later, he stood in the dock of the opulently theatrical vampire council chamber. His alabaster complexion glowed in the ambient light, and the stark contrast of his raven black hair captured the drama of the occasion. The composure of his striking features reflected a respectful attitude. He was every inch the attentive, circumspect vampire; I know how to play this game.
Connor flexed his ribcage to fill his lungs, and, using the vampire function of speech, his throat vibrated gently as he inhaled and tasted the air at the same time. The atmosphere was heavy with the pleasant fragrance of burnished oak paneling, and the beeswax polish used to maintain its glossy finish.
Waiting, he wondered how convincing Councilor Serge’s story would be, and how hard he would have to work to wriggle off the hook. I have the respect of the jurors, but will it be enough?
The vampire council jury of three commanded the court from the elevated vantage point of a marble dais. Seated behind an imposing antique oak bench, each was dressed in black, but wore a color of cravat which indicated their decades of service. The jurors surveyed the surroundings like birds of prey.
Connor glanced through hooded lashes, looking for clues in their hard expressions.
The golden-toned presence of Principal Julian, head of the London Hive Vampire Council, was flanked by his two jurors.
Connor assessed the youngest Juror, Alexander, a vampire with hair the color of wet sand, and noticed the lively cast to his eyes was dull today. He looks bored, that’s a good sign.
Juror Marius, he wasted little time on. The vampire was an enigmatic shadow. His cap of seal-black hair swept back from a strong brow and an aquiline nose brought intensity to his dark gaze. Like a black hole, his eyes were hungry for information, constantly scanning, but his face gave nothing away.
Finally, Connor met Julian’s eye.
The principal inclined his head and said shortly, “Doctor Connor, good of you to make an appearance at such short notice.”
“I try to please, Principal Julian.”
Connor absorbed the full force of a scathing look, and he took the hint. He’s in no mood for levity. He dutifully set his eyes front and center, and squared his shoulders.
The courtroom gallery was motionless; no rustling of fabric or involuntary movement. The vampires were at rest. Connor’s gaze passed over the sea of immobile faces... like a mill pond, but who knows what goes on beneath the surface. Despite the varying skin complexions, which were five shades paler than when they were mortals, there was an eerie similarity in the glazed expressions. They had endured decades of time, stretching back into centuries for some, so anything to fill it was a welcome distraction.
Connor wondered how long they had been waiting for this performance to begin.
It was shaping up to be an autumn day of more sun than cloud, and shadow-chasing was not to every vampire’s taste, although the gallery would certainly thin as dusk drew in. The siren call of promenade was strong; to walk unfettered through London and feel the damp evening air balmy on their skin, and to feel human, even for a moment, without the fear of cloud cover breaking and the glare of sunlight desiccating their skin.
The fifteen years following the pandemic had seen changes to these court sessions. The vampire code of conduct became redundant - ‘foolish disposal of human remains’ no longer threatened them with exposure. The hearings were often boring, dealing with in house fighting, and stirred little interest in the hive.
But today was different. This was the respected Doctor Connor being called to account. Vampires enjoyed a spectacle, so the gallery was packed. Connor’s fleeting smile glimpsed out from behind his dead-pan facade.
“Doctor Connor,” said Principal Julian, sharply, “I trust the stage-three sentences have been delivered?” His crisp diction filled the courtroom. His generic principal garb did nothing to disguise the ramrod straight posture of his 19th century origins.
Connor linked his hands behind his back and met the interrogation head on. “It all went smoothly,” he agreed.
“And, The Butcher? I understand you examined him?” Principal Julian’s youthful brow creased in speculation. “He’s not lying in state for another month. You were a little premature.”
“True.” Connor inclined his head. “But, I was at the facility in any case. His blood dose has not required an adjustment for the last few years, so I decided that an early examination would not matter. Everything is now in order for the viewing. His hydration is good and he’s still conscious. I’m sure the horror of his sentence will have lost none of its impact on the hive members.”
“I would hope not. I expect it to curb reckless behavior.”
Connor cast a sharp glance the principal’s way. Was that a warning shot?
The circumstances which brought vampire wrath down upon the heads of Jack the Ripper and The Butcher no longer existed. Staying under the humans’ radar and not revealing vampires as real monsters, and not myth, had become a redundant notion.
However, vampires living in a society led to conflict, and injuring a member of the hive by failing to seek confinement during grave sleep had attained the equivalence of first degree murder in this courtroom. Those who appeared in the dock rarely escaped unscathed.
‘Threatening the food supply’, whether by accident or design, foolishness or determination, carried the sentence of locked-in syndrome in the storage facility. The Butcher’s fate provided a forceful reminder of what became of those who stepped out of line; the sentence of eternity awaited them.
Thanks to Principal Julian’s hard-line approach, the hive ran smoothly, most of the time.
Connor said, “I’m certain The Butcher will be with us for a long while. Warden James takes his care very seriously. He considers him one of a kind.”
“If Vampire Jack had not forced our hand, there would have been two,” said the principal soberly.
“One is enough. Being paraded past The Butcher should petrify even the most rebellious hive members.” said Connor. It certainly chilled me to the bone.
“Perhaps. Which is why I’m surprised you’re here to answer an accusation which calls that into question. I am mystified, as are the jurors.”
Connor scanned the blank faces of Jurors Marius and Alexander. They don’t look mystified.
“We are used to hearing cases of physical harm, but we thought charges of ‘threatening the food supply’ were a thing of the past. Surely, you would not risk ending up in Storage Facility Eight?” Principal Julian flicked a gaze to his left and beckoned. “Councilor Serge.”
The silence in the courtroom was broken by the rustling of fabric as Councilor Serge rose to his feet.
“Now we have Doctor Connor here to answer your accusation, we can continue. But I repeat, for his benefit, you will need more than guesswork, councilor.” Principal Julian smooth facade masked his obvious annoyance. “Doctor Connor is our most respected physician, one of the few who can function inside the human farm and this-” He waved a dismissive hand in Serge’s direction. “The concerns you have voiced so far, do not constitute a case.”
The councilor drew near, and the principal wrinkled his nose at the stench which always accompanied Serge.
“Principal Julian, you must agree it is strange that Doctor Connor’s medical assessment of...?” Serge glanced at Connor, determined to make him jump through hoops, it would seem.
Serge’s gaze sharpened, and Connor’s smirk became fixed. We both know I’m lying, but Serge must prove it. Better yet, Connor knew the principal would not be lending Serge his support. Maybe when Serge qualified as a phlebotomist and surgeon, and had more than fifteen years of vampire sense under his belt, he would have a chance.
“Annabelle, just so,” Serge repeated, his bony fingers framing his chin. “His medical assessment of Annabelle was advanced graveling, and yet, she did not report for farm duty, as Doctor Connor said she would.”
Serge crossed the courtroom and looked Connor in the eye. “I wonder, can you reveal which cluster you returned her to? It would settle things, do you not think?” He tried to act casual, but satisfaction at closing a trap made him tremble.
Connor’s eyes dulled to iron-gray and he muttered, “I’m sorry, Councilor Serge, I can’t remember the cluster house location.” His worried frown was convincing. “And sadly, medical advice is exactly that, advice. I assumed she would turn up at the farm.” He rubbed the back of his neck, every inch the regretful physician as he looked across at the jurors. “I did not think the councilor would expect me to frog-march her there myself.”
Principal Julian’s green stare said ‘don’t push it’ as he suppressed a twitch of amusement.
“Councilor Serge, the death sentence is irreversible, and you will need more than two missing guardsmen and a lost youngling to invoke it.”
Serge opened his mouth and spluttered.
Julian plowed on. “A lost youngling. You have no proof she is human.” His eyes flickered briefly as he added, “This is a very serious, and frankly, baffling accusation.” He had no need to look to his fellow jurors for agreement, the stony silence of Marius and Alexander said enough.
Undisguised frustration glistening in his reptilian gaze, Serge locked eyes with Julian and inclined his head. “I shall present my case again when I have more evidence.” His brittle tone implied criticism. “If you feel it is really necessary.”