by Leo Romero
Thank God that’s over!
He grabbed his chest and rubbed it.
Now, he thought. Now to get them hard earned dollars. He put his foot down, keen to get out of the inner city, where he’d hit the highway up to Beauchamp’s mansion. He wound down his window and sucked in the polluted city air as it rushed into the car. Right then, it felt like Heaven.
PART FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dom finally pulled up outside the Beauchamp mansion and killed the engine. The second he did, his head involuntarily flopped down onto the steering wheel. At the same time, his chest deflated like it had been pumped up full of poison gas for the past couple of hours and finally now released. Behind his closed eyes was a black, blissful peace. Man, I’d love to just go to sleep right now. Pure, restful sleep with some nice dreams about beaches and palm trees.
The way up to the mansion was almost as bad as being in that house. Watching his rear view every two seconds for cops or fangheads or vampires or whatever the hell. He made super sure not to make any kind of traffic violation in case he got pulled. What with having a dead vampire rolled up in a rug stashed in his trunk, that would’ve been bad news. He watched his speed, staying well within the speed limit, put the brakes on whenever he approached a traffic light instead of jumping any reds. He could swear he was getting funny looks from other drivers like they knew what he had in the trunk. Or maybe he was just being paranoid. Either way, it made the journey that more edgy.
The relief of pulling up to the gates of the Beauchamp mansion was unparalleled. It was like crawling up into a warm bed after being out in a torrential blizzard. The whole estate was quiet as usual and right then, that quiet was golden.
He glanced down at his hands. They were dirty, cut and bleeding. And they were shaking as if he had developed Parkinson’s over the last couple of hours. He shook his head. If he had to go through what he just went through on every job, he would end up with all kinds of disorders. Trauma. Paranoid schizophrenia. Brain hemorrhages from acute stress. He unzipped his jacket to assess the damage that lunkhead Marlon had done on him. The stab wound had clotted, which was lucky because it could have caused a serious problem if it carried on bleeding. And that would have meant a visit to the hospital. He shivered. It just caused him a bit of pain when he breathed, but he could live with that. Asshole could have killed me, he suddenly realized as if he hadn’t before. How true was that? He could be six feet under right now. If that chick hadn’t stormed in at that exact moment, I would’ve got myself killed. He chuckled humorlessly at the thought. Who the hell was she anyway? Why was she there? And did you see those eyes? Like jewels...
He still couldn’t shake them off. Those emerald eyes. They were everywhere, like a hallucination that wouldn’t fade. He shivered again. Well, whoever she was, she appeared to have issues of her own with vampires, which couldn’t be a bad thing. She seemed to know a lot about them and had the equipment to deal with them. The only problem Dom could envisage would be if he crossed paths with her again on a job and she tried stealing his bounty. Then, they may have a problem...
But, she wasn’t there for a bounty, or even to kill Drake. It was like she was there only to help me...
But why? Who am I to her?
His head began to hurt and he shook it. This ain’t the time to think about things like that, buddy.
It’s payday. He smiled faintly. The smell of money was in the air. And he’d earned it.
He breathed a big sigh of relief and zipped up his jacket again; he didn’t want Beauchamp to see any wounds. Didn’t want him to think he hit any snags. He wanted to look as pro as possible. And why not? His first day on the job and it was a rousing success. He gazed at his reflection in the rear view and shrugged. “No problem,” he said to himself, before looking around. “No problem,” he repeated. He grinned as he got out the car, the gray skies staring down at him. He pushed the intercom.
After a bit, Beauchamp’s regal voice then answered. “Hello?”
“Mr. Beauchamp. It’s me. Dom. I’m outside. I got him, for you, Mr. Beauchamp,” he said in a relief-riddled voice. “I got him.”
“That’s excellent news, my boy. Do come in.”
*****
The gates opened and Dom rolled into the Beauchamp residence. He pulled up outside the front doors, the place as silent and unruffled as the last time he was there. He threw the car door open and swung his feet out onto the gravel. He stood up straight and stretched, the aftermath now settling inside him; relief, freedom, liberation from all those negative thoughts and emotions while on the job. It was a crystal clear waterfall cascading into a serene pool of cool water. He sucked it up, bathed in it.
The front door then opened and Beauchamp’s skinny frame came ambling out of the house to join him, his face a portrait of enthusiasm. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. On seeing Dom, he grinned. “Welcome back, my boy! So good to see you.” He gave Dom a small pat on the back. “I prayed for your return.”
Dom grinned back. “And here I am...”
Beauchamp nodded. “Indeed. How did it go? No hitches I trust.”
“No sweat, Mr. Beauchamp,” Dom replied with a nonchalant shake of his head. “An in-out job. In. Kill. Out. Piece of cake.”
Beauchamp chuckled. “That’s good to hear, my boy. Now, where is the rascal?”
“In the trunk. Come on.”
Dom led him to the trunk of his car, both pairs of their feet crunching on gravel in unison. Dom felt like some kind of drug dealer about to do complete a transaction for a suitcase full of cocaine he had stashed in the trunk. He checked the skies for police helicopters.
Don’t be a dummy. I doubt cops would be bothering this guy...
Dom nodded to himself. That made sense. He got to the trunk and then flipped it open.
The package was stuffed in there. Beauchamp peered downward, his eyes landing on the bare feet poking out the end of the rolled rug. They instantly began to redden. “Oh, my...” he said, looking up at Dom. “Doesn’t look much like a vampire.”
“Trust me, that’s him, Mr. Beauchamp,” Dom replied. He reached down, grabbed the edges of the rug and yanked them. Slowly, Drake’s head began to emerge from beneath the rug. His face was all distorted, like a waxwork left in an oven for too long.
Dom stepped back and sniffed loudly, rubbing his nose at the same time. He clapped his hands together and opened them up like he was presenting Beauchamp with a piece of art. Beauchamp took a tentative step forward and peered down into the trunk. His eyes widened. He grabbed a white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and put it up to his mouth and nose. “My goodness!” he gasped, turning to face Dom.
Dom nodded ruefully.
Beauchamp took another peek from over his hanky. “This is him is it?” he said, pointing at the corpse in the trunk “The one who took Patricia?”
Dom shrugged. “Yep. That’s him. What’s left of him, anyways...”
Beauchamp sighed and nodded, removing the hanky from his face. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. “Excellent work, my boy,” he said, patting Dom on the shoulder. He then glanced up at Dom with a wry grin and a gleam in his eye. “You know, there could be a lucrative future for you in this...”
Dom gave him a slow, deliberate nod. “Maybe, Mr. Beauchamp. May-be...”
“Righteo. Without further ado. Here’s your money. Plus a bonus for a job well done.” Beauchamp produced a brown envelope from his pocket and handed it to Dom.
Dom’s eyes lit up. With a wide grin, he took the bulging envelope and pulled it tight to his chest. It felt fat, full of notes. It was like touching silk for the first time. It was hard cold cash. And it felt lovely. A wave of relief washed over him.
Beauchamp swallowed, looked down at the trunk and nodded. “Okay, I’ll take it from here.”
Dom frowned. “You mean you’ll take the body?” Dom asked, his face a portrait of surprise.
Beauchamp nodded briskly. “Yes. I’m thinking of having what�
��s left of the head stuffed and put on my wall.”
Dom chuckled.
“Saves you the trouble of disposing of it, my boy. Heavens knows you’ve been through enough trouble to get it here.”
Dom wanted to say ‘too bloody right, old chap’, but bit his tongue.
Beauchamp clapped his hands. “Right, now if you could just bring the whole lot through to the rear garden, I’d be most grateful.”
Dom duly obliged.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Vincent Beauchamp released a contented sigh as he pulled apart the outer casing of the mold he’d left to set. The prize inside popped out and hit the surface of the metal desk with a tiny clang. Vincent picked up the cube of clear Lucite and held it up to the fluorescent light. Encapsulated inside were the fangs he’d extracted from the vamp young Dominic had slain. Vincent turned the small block in his hand, taking the fangs in from all angles. He nodded his head in appreciation. “A clean set of ivories on this one,” he mumbled to himself. He took a moment to stare through the hollow, syringe-like stem of each fang, through where the venom flowed freely. The very thought of having both of them sink deep into one’s flesh was a sickening prospect. One he’d hate to ever experience. He pitied those that had.
He looked away briefly and shivered. He then turned his attention back to the preserved fangs and sighed. It was strange. There was this seemingly unending satisfaction in extracting vampire fangs that he couldn’t quite explain. Fascinating things. What was even more fascinating was the fact that they are the only part of a vampire that doesn’t dissolve in sunlight. Most curious. The brain, the heart, the bones, the blood, all evaporate under the UV light, but the teeth were made of sterner stuff. And that was why he chose to keep hold of them.
As for the corpse. Well, the weather forecast for the next day was dry and sunny. He’d lay the body out on the back porch and watch it frazzle away into dust, glass of mineral water in hand. He had nothing on tomorrow.
He chuckled to himself as he stood up from the desk and made his way toward the door at the back of his lab. He triggered the voice recognition and the metal door slid open to reveal his secret room. His personal trophy room. He stepped inside with a spritely gait, happy for young Dominic, glad that he pulled through and managed to kill his first vamp. Vincent had been worried he wouldn’t see or hear from him again. Unfortunately, that had happened in the past and he quite liked the young man. He had spirit. An inner strength. Vincent appreciated that.
He fully entered the small room and flicked on the light switch. The overheads came on, illuminating both the small chamber and his trophy cabinets, along with their contents. Now, hundreds of similar blocks of clear Lucite resin stared back at him, each with a pair of fangs encapsulated within them. He scanned the rows and rows of trophies, seeking the perfect spot for his latest addition. Space was at a premium and Vincent suddenly realized he’d need a whole other trophy room pretty soon to store his prizes. He managed to find a space on the top shelf of the cabinet nearest the door. He carefully placed the block down amongst the others where it fit nice and snug. Vincent took a step back and stared up at it, pride and nostalgia surging through him. Years and years of hard work, good work stared back at him. Necessary work. Work that had earned him the moniker of the Dentist.
Fearsome vampire slayer.
But, he needed new blood. An apprentice to take up the mantle. His creaking bones were no longer up to the task. Dominic had passed the first test with flying colors, now it was about him overcoming the next hurdle: separating oneself from the normality of life. It all came down to how much he wanted to change things.
And only time would tell.
A satisfactory smile spread across Vincent’s wizened face. It had been a good day. He turned and left the room and his prizes alone, flicking the light off. He stepped through his underground lab and up the stairs that led back to the hallway of his mansion. From there he entered the lounge where he and Dominic had been sitting just a day or two before. Was it a day? Two? Vincent found himself having a senior moment; his memory wasn’t what it once was. He shrugged. It didn’t really matter. A day or two, what difference did it make?
He moved over to the sideboard where he poured himself a glass of mineral water. He went to pick it up when something popped into his mind. “Oh!” he said aloud, before digging a hand in his trouser pocket. He pulled out a chain with silver pendant dangling from it. The one he’d noticed hanging around the dead vampire’s neck. He removed it from the corpse, only just remembering he’d placed it in his pocket. That vampire must have thought it valuable to hang it around his neck in such a fashion. He held it up to the light coming in through the window. The pendant gleamed and glittered as it swayed idly to and fro on the air. Vincent stared at it in confusion. He swore he could feel something emanating from it as it swung this way and that. Something... not good. He got a tingling; it crawled up his spine and branched out into the very marrow of his bones. He shivered. And the more he stared, the more he found himself transfixed. He watched it sway back and forward, its effect akin to a hypnotist swinging a watch whilst attempting to put someone under. Vincent felt his eyes half close that tingling continuing unabated. Something wasn’t right. And then he could hear a faint whisper; the ancient recitals of a forgotten past. They uttered in the hushed tones of creatures skulking in the shadows. The darkness is coming... they said among other things.
Vincent listened to them, his jaw slack, his eyes now slits, while that pendant swung to and fro. To and fro.
The darkness.
The dark.
Fear. Spite.
Hate...
Can you feel—?
A noise behind him made him start, breaking his bizarre trance. He spun, eyes widening, to be faced with the young lady jumping in through the open window. He quickly jammed the pendant into his pocket, its effects quickly dissipating, becoming a memory. He cleared his throat and then narrowed his eyes in disapproval. “I wish you’d use the door, Patricia” he told her as she strode up to him.
“Doors are boring, Daddy...” she replied. “And I wish you’d stop calling me Patricia.”
Vincent huffed. “And I wish you’d stop calling me ‘Daddy’.”
“Sorry, Dad...”
Vincent groaned under his breath. “It’s just not normal to be jumping through windows... Trixie,” he then said.
“Says the man who collects vampire fangs...” Trixie retorted.
Vincent sighed. “They’re a reminder of what needs to be done,” he said with a dark glare.
“Speaking of that, I found another one,” Trixie told him.
“Where?”
Trixie checked her nails. “South Side. Need a new ad? I’ll get the tech guys on it.”
Vincent turned his mouth down and looked to the side. “Maybe. So, how did our boy do today?”
“Not bad. Had to step in at one point when a fanghead tried to throttle him to death.”
Vincent chuckled. “Sounds... interesting. Funny, he never mentioned that...” He narrowed his eyes. “Protégé material?”
“If he can avoid almost get himself killed...” She shrugged. “He might be okay.”
“I hope so, Trixie. We need new blood, especially as the Great Unveiling is nearly upon us.”
Trixie widened her eyes. “Ooh scary.” She wiggled her fingers on the air. “Great Unveiling! Pff, whatever, Dad...”
Vincent let out an exasperated sigh. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
“Can’t wait...”
Vincent put on a pleasant smile, before changing track. “I have to say I quite liked young Dominic. How about you? What did you think of him?”
She smiled. “He’s cute, in an innocent kinda way...”
“If only I had a son,” Vincent lamented. “Then I wouldn’t have to outsource for my replacement.”
Trixie cocked her head to the side. “Thanks, Daddy.”
“Well, you refuse to take on the challenge.”
Vincent pointed at her. “Yes, we must look after the clothes, of course...” He held up his glass. “You know, I’m really beginning to think that with young Dominic we might have just solved our problem. I’m seriously considering bringing him into the family. Okay with you?”
Trixie shrugged. “Okay, as long as I don’t have to keep bailing him out.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll get good over time. It’s all about experience, my dear...” Vincent gave her a grin before he drained the last of his water. He let out a satisfied gasp afterwards. Indeed. Youth coupled with experience—a killer combination.
He poured another glass of water and toasted his daughter. “Cheers,” he said with a cunning grin.
FANGHUNTERS 2: THE BLOOD ORDER — EXCERPT
CHAPTER ONE
The elevator pinged and the doors slid open, the fluorescent light from inside spilling out into the darkened building floor. Ensconced inside was Sammy the Saint, much to Leviah’s deep chagrin. He watched on from his leather recliner with sullen, apathetic eyes, idly tapping the armrest with his slender fingers in a passionless concerto. He took a brief moment to pour himself a glass of blood from the bottle on the table ahead of him, ignoring the visitors to his chamber. With a sigh, he casually picked up his glass, before leaning back and taking in the heady aromas of his drink. He scented a good measure of sub-Sahara African, laced with peasant Arabic, with just a hint of regal interloper thrown into the mix. A delectable combination. A drink of rarest quality. As he drank, the occupants of the elevator stepped out into the room; apart from Sammy, Leviah didn’t recognize the others. Nor did he care. He was instead enjoying the myriad of lifelines swarming over his tongue, the sensation transporting him all the way back to the desert incarceration, the sweat of the slaves a delight on his taste buds.