by Craig Jones
31
Martin heard his son’s scream before he saw him on the beach.
His clothes were drenched as the storm had begun in earnest since he had dropped down below the clouds. A ripple of thunder echoed through the sky, and just a few seconds later the whole of Skerries was illuminated by a blast of sheet lightning. The scene below Martin was highlighted like a black and white photograph for a second, and as he landed quietly on the sand, he already understood why Christian had cried out so.
Sinead was kneeling on the sand, cradling Christian’s head in her lap. There were two other bodies sprawled nearby. Martin could see the strong pulse of the shorter one still pumping nutritious red blood within the unconscious body, but the other was devoid of life. Even though the boy was lying face down, Martin could see the ragged hole in the side of the neck and the pool around the head in the sand. As he took in the sight, Martin felt all of his energy, all of his hope, seep from his soul. It was like he was the corpse dead upon the beach, and his legs gave way. He crashed to the ground just a few feet short of his son and the girl and it took all of his will to pick himself back up again.
‘Christian?’ he asked, bending over and taking his son’s hand in his.
No reply came from his stricken child, but just by looking at Christian, he could see that his son had changed. His shoulders were broader, his chest solid. The girl had pulled off his jacket and had made an improvised pillow for his head, and his biceps, previously wasted and puny, now stretched at the fabric of his stained white t-shirt. His hair looked thicker; the tired, black marks that had permanently rested under Christian’s eyes were now gone, and the first show of stubble was flourishing across his chin and cheeks.
The effort of getting back to his feet suddenly overcame Martin, and he fell to his knees once again, stroking Christian’s hand.
‘Christian, my son. What have you done?’
Christian’s eyes flickered at the sound of his father’s voice, but it was the girl who spoke.
‘It wasn’t his fault,’ she said so quietly. ‘None of this was. It was him.’ Sinead pointed at Owen’s body. ‘He was the one who stabbed David to make it look like it was Christian. And then the two of them attacked me. Christian saved my life.’
Martin looked at her face.
‘They did that to you?’
‘He did,’ Sinead said, fighting back the tears. ‘But Christian stopped him, and then he attacked Christian again. That was when he…’
Christian stirred in her arms, his head rolling from side to side.
‘How long as he been like this?’ Martin asked.
‘Since he…you know. He let out this noise I never want to hear again, and then had some sort of fit.’
Martin nodded, recalling his own change. He made a soft hand gesture, encouraging Sinead to continue.
‘And he’s been like this since. I thought he was dying.’
‘He is not dying, child. He is…he is changing. He was not a complete vampire. He had never taken a life. Now, that has changed.’
Christian suddenly opened his eyes and took in a deep breath.
‘It’s okay,’ Martin and Sinead said at the same time.
‘It’s okay, my son,’ Martin repeated. ‘I…we are here. You will be okay.’
‘Will I, Father?’ the boy croaked. ‘I saw…?’
‘I know. But rest now. As soon as you can, I want you to take your friend to the tower. I need to speak with Connor and resolve this conflict. It seems there has been some mischief afoot.’
Sinead helped Christian to his feet and found herself unable to take her eyes off him. He looked bigger and stronger, but it was more than that. His eyes were darker and held a strength in them that she had only glimpsed previously. He surveyed the scene of devastation around them and pulled Sinead close.
‘I am sorry you had to see this,’ he murmured with his head bowed.
Sinead lifted his chin.
‘You have nothing to be sorry for. You saved my life.’ She wiped the smear of blood from his face with her sleeve and she kissed him. Before, he would have been embarrassed and self-conscious of such a display of affection in front of his father, but even that had changed.
‘Father, I shall come with you.’ Christian stood upright and Martin noticed how much more brooding his son appeared, how much more presence he had.
‘Christian, I think your being there will only make the situation worse. Please trust me to deal with this.’
The boy deflated. ‘Of course, Father. You’re right.’
Martin nodded and placed his hand on his son’s shoulder.
‘Christian, did you see…?’
‘Yes I did.’
It was Martin’s turn to drop his gaze. He took a steadying breath and it was clear to Christian and Sinead that he was battling back a powerful wave of emotion.
‘Father. It’s okay.’
‘No, it is not. I swore you would one day be with your mother again, that you would feel love like you deserve to.’
‘But Father,’ he said, hugging Sinead closer. ‘I know the love you felt for my mother.’
Sinead leant her cheek on Christian’s shoulder, tears welling again in her eyes.
‘Then you understand all the more why I want you both across on the island?’ Martin’s voice was solemn and low.
‘Yes. Yes, of course. We shall go immediately.’
‘Son, I have to ask you. After so long, what made you…? You could have saved her without killing the boy.’
Christian tensed, and Sinead took the hand he had on her shoulder. ‘It was back at the windmill. When I carried the dying boy out? His blood was all over me and it took all of my self-control not to… And when he attacked us again, I had no control left. Father, I was not killing to feed. I was killing because he was trying to kill us. And if I had not stopped him, he would have continued to pursue us until one of us had died. And now my powers, I can feel them growing inside me…’
‘But—’
Martin got no further. From far up the beach on the Head, the roar of a crowd drew all of their attention. Even from a distance it was clear that half the town had amassed there and they had seen the carnage at the furthest reaches of South Beach. They appeared unperturbed by the severity of the weather. And only one man stood trying to talk the group down from their frenzy.
‘Connor!’ said Martin.
Sinead stiffened. ‘My father?’ You have to help him!’ she implored.
‘You think the town would turn on your father after all he has done for them?’ Martin asked.
Sinead nodded, tears now streaming down her cheeks.
He stepped towards her and took her hand.
‘You father is a good man. I swear I shall protect him. Now you both must go.’
‘You need to speak to my friend Claire; she knew what they were planning on doing,’ Sinead said softly, her thoughts suddenly focused on David. ‘And Frank here will spill the beans on Owen if it saves him.’
‘I understand,’ Martin said. ‘Now go!’
Christian nodded and led Sinead through the rain as his father ran along the beach before leaping into the air, flying low across the land towards the Head.
32
As Martin approached the Head, another burst of thunder erupted from the sky, the lightning that came with it making the street lights around the parking lot flicker and threaten to fade permanently. The emotions coursing through his head and his heart felt as though they could tear his body apart, but he knew he had to maintain his self-control at least for the next few minutes if he was to solve the massive problem that was now presented to him.
He found Connor and aimed his flight path towards the beleaguered town mayor, knowing that all the eyes of Skerries were upon him. He closed in on the tarmac of the parking lot and the crowd surrounded him, their weapons raised, the anger in their eyes reflected in their postures. Connor turned to face him, almost held his arms out towards him as he slowed his approach and cam
e to a standstill next to his friend. The townspeople formed a semi-circle around Martin and Connor and the vampire had no idea how long they would keep their distance before they tried to take him.
Martin recognized most of the people glaring at him. He had never seen such malevolence in the faces of humans; not even when he was cast out of his home village had he been met with such hatred. But there was one face that smiled back at him. One set of arms that carried no weapon, only a rucksack. One mouth that did not bare its teeth. One voice that spoke above the shouts and the catcalls with decency.
‘I’m glad you could make it, Martin. We have a problem here that, as ever, only you can solve.’
Patrick Robinson took a step closer to Martin and Connor. Thunder boomed as he finished his sentence and the pulse of lightning illuminated his face; the smile was nothing more than a sneer, the welcoming eyes nothing but dark holes to the man’s soul.
‘Your son has taken the life of one of us,’ he continued. ‘Now, you have been good to this town and this town has been good to you, but we cannot allow this to happen.’
‘What do you expect me to do, Robinson?’
The crowd had fallen silent. The rain bouncing off the concrete of the parking lot was the only sound for a few seconds as Robinson seemed to consider his answer before he finally spoke, slowly and deliberately.
‘We expect your son. An eye for an eye.’
‘But my boy did nothing. This has all been—’
‘Someone else’s fault? How convenient!’ Robinson snarled.
The crowd erupted in cheers and jeers. Martin stared at Robinson, who returned the look with unblinking confidence.
‘What other choice do you have? Do you think you’ll find anywhere else like this to survive?’ Robinson asked, sweeping his hand towards the town. The catcalls surfaced again.
‘This is not your decision to make!’ shouted Connor Mooney over the noise of the weather and the mass of people. ‘We decide things as a committee. We work with Martin, not against him.’
‘Oh, and at last the puppet master opens his mouth,’ Robinson said derisively. ‘Mooney, you’ve used this thing and its son to make yourself a small fortune. No wonder you defend him now!’
Calls of agreement rang out from the throng. Martin turned to face Mooney.
‘Is this true?’
‘Now, Martin, don’t let him get to you.’
‘Oh, it’s true enough,’ Robinson said. This time, when the lightning ignited the sky, even he ducked his head slightly. ‘Ask anyone. Ask Susan Welsh the hold he has over her. The fear he uses you to instill so he gets first chance to buy up property. If you could, ask anyone of the many, many people you have murdered on his behalf. Not the town’s. His.’
All the while Robinson spoke, Martin could not take his eyes off Mooney. The man’s face glowed more red than his daughter’s wounded cheek. His hands twitched and he could not meet Martin’s stare. He did not want to believe what Robinson was saying, but now it seemed so clear that the mayor had used him all along.
‘Is what he says true?’ Martin repeated, his voice calm despite the rage bubbling under the surface of his skin.
‘Don’t listen to him, my friend. He’s just—’
‘Is what he says true?’
‘Martin, the situation suited us both,’ Mooney entreated. ‘You had a safe place to live and I made a little money. Does it really matter?’
The crowd of people had become surprisingly subdued by the turn of events. There was clearly much more going on in their town that many of them knew about or understood, and it seemed unlikely they would ever get another chance to fully comprehend the truth about what lived behind the façade of Skerries. They were going to milk this moment for all its worth.
‘Tell him, Mooney,’ Robinson interjected. ‘Tell him how you’ve used these vampires to terrorize this town when they thought they were the good guys all along! Why don’t you do that now?’
‘Okay, so it’s true,’ admitted Mooney as he lost hold of his temper.. ‘But I’m not the only one to benefit, not the only one.’
‘I thought you were my friend,’ said Martin in a voice just above a whisper, rapidly relinquishing the control he held over his emotions.
‘Friends? How could you expect to have any friends?’ Mooney ranted. ‘You and this town, you’re servants to each other, nothing more. And we worked well together. Don’t you forget that! I may have had my motives, but you, Robinson, are your motives any purer?’
‘I think they are,’ Robinson replied, unzipping the top of the rucksack and reaching inside. He pulled out a small framed photograph and took a moment to look caringly at it. Those stood behind him craned their necks to make out the image.
‘I’m not like you, Mooney,’ he said. ‘I’m not in this for the money.’
He lobbed the frame through the air towards Martin, who caught it in one hand. He turned the frame over and he wiped the glass clear with his thumb.
‘Do you recognize her?’
Martin paused, looked up at Robinson and then back down at the image of the young woman. The crowd had fallen into perfect silence.
‘Well, do you?’
Martin nodded.
‘That’s my sister, you monster. She disappeared five years ago. She was in her final year at Manchester University. Her whole life ahead of her. And she just disappeared.’
Robinson stopped, steadied his voice.
‘But she left one thing behind. Her phone, on the table in the bar. And she’d taken a picture of you, Martin, on that last night. Of course the police would never find you, Peter Hawke would make sure of that, but I searched every town and then, as if by magic, there you were. So, like I said, vampire, an eye for an eye!’
Before Martin had a chance to reply, Mooney jumped in.
‘But it couldn’t have been Martin. Skerries has always provided for him. He—’
‘Are you really this stupid?’ Robinson asked. ‘We know he travels, and you’ve always known what for. He needs blood, and just because he hasn’t been taking it from this town does not mean he hasn’t been getting it any place he can!’
The crowd then gasped as one. Martin, Mooney and Robinson all assumed it was due to Robinson’s claims until the whispering started, followed by the fingers pointing and finally to Robinson himself turning and searching out what had caught everyone’s attention.
Christian and Sinead were walking towards the mass, hand in hand. There were noises of objection as more and more people saw them, and finally Martin and Mooney caught sight. Christian’s father merely shook his head but Connor flew into a rage when he saw the bruise developing across Sinead’s cheekbone and her wet, sand covered clothes.
‘What are you doing with him?’ he cried. ‘Let go of my daughter now, you animal!’
He began to storm across the parking lot, but Martin moved faster than any eye could follow and blocked his way.
‘Consider your next words very carefully, my friend,’ Martin stated, the pitch of his voice defining at the devastating unpredictability of the situation.
‘Get out of my way. I’ll not have that thing touch my daughter.’
He brushed past Martin, knocking the photograph of Robinson’s sister to the ground where the glass splintered and the frame cracked. The vampire grabbed Mooney by the wrist and jerked him back towards his clenched right fist.
‘That thing is my son,’ said Martin, and he drove his fist into Mooney’s stomach.
Blood exploded outwards and many of those watching turned away. Others could not wrestle their stare from what was happening in front of them, and the memory of what they witnessed would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Martin reached up inside Mooney’s chest and grasped the man’s heart as Mooney exhaled brokenly. He pulled with all his strength and the mayor fell in a heap at his feet, leaving Martin standing with his forearm coated up to his elbow in blood and gore, Connor Mooney’s heart held tightly in his right hand.
‘No!’
screamed Sinead. She broke free of Christian and ran across the flooded parking lot. She threw her arms around her father as his blood spread across the tarmac, but he was already dead. Many of the crowd turned and bolted for safety, dropping their weapons as they went.
Martin let the heart fall to the ground, where it landed next to the shattered frame of the photograph, and looked earnestly at his son.
Why did you come back? he asked from inside his mind, but Christian had no answer. He was not even looking at his father. He could not, like most of the remaining crowd, take his eyes off Sinead as she rocked her father in her arms, trying to coax him back to life as his blood soaked her already drenched-through clothes. Some of the townsfolk moved out of the way as Alfie the Labrador nosed his way towards the front of the group and ran to nuzzle his mistress, not understanding why she wailed like he did when he was hungry. Only Robinson was able to react, and he dug again into his rucksack, now desperate.
‘Father!’ Christian shouted, suddenly alerted to the bigger scene running its course in front of him.
Martin turned to face his son as the thunder of the storm overwhelmed all other sounds and the lightning brought a moment of day to the night. The next sound was an almost silent phhht that cut off abruptly and was followed by a noise which resembled a gloved fist striking a punching bag. Martin felt the sound. He looked down to the left side of his chest. A short piece of metal, feathered at the end, had impaled itself between his ribs. He looked up and saw Robinson already trying to reload another bolt into his crossbow with terrified, shaking hands. Martin heard his son shout his name again as blackness darker than the night began to form around him and, as he felt his consciousness being dragged away in pieces, he looked to Christian for the last time and, with every ounce of his soul, he projected the face of Fionnuala, the boy’s mother, into the thoughts of his son. And then he was gone.
His clothes fell to the ground. For a moment before the rain washed them away, his ashes could be seen, still in the outline of his body, and then all that was left was the leather lace and the golden ring lying in the puddle.