The Tome of Bill Series: Books 1-4 (Bill The Vampire, Scary Dead Things, The Mourning Woods, Holier Than Thou)

by Rick Gualtieri

  “Then you and Ed go check on my Dad and I'll rescue Mom,” I countered.

  “No way,” he replied. “You're not going in there solo.”

  “I don't have a better plan, do you?”

  “Call him,” said Ed.

  “What?” Tom and I both asked.

  “Call him,” he repeated. “If there's no answer, then call the cops. They'll get there a lot faster than any of us will. Besides...” He put his hand on my shoulder, about the closest I'd ever seen him come to anything resembling actual sympathy, “You probably don't want to ... find him.”

  There was a moment of silence. He had a point, although I wasn't sure I was ready to face the awful truth just yet.

  I looked to Tom for guidance. He had known my parents for as long as we had been friends. I knew he was almost as messed up by this as I was.

  “Do it,” he said.

  Slowly picking up the phone from the cradle, I hit the talk button and, sure enough, there came the sound of a dial tone. I hesitated for a few more seconds and then dialed my parents’ number.

  Ring.

  Who was I kidding? I was too late. I had failed my parents.

  Ring.

  He was gone. My father was gone.

  Ring.

  He had faced a creature too strong for a normal man to overcome.

  Ring.

  He had died protecting my mother.

  “Hello?” answered a groggy voice on the other end.

  He was answering the phone?!

  “Dad!” I yelled into the receiver. “Is that you?”

  “Huh, Bill? What time is it?” asked the unmistakable voice of my father.

  “Dad, are you okay?”

  “I was until you woke me up. Is something wrong?”

  Had my father been out when Jeff attacked? Perhaps he had come home, assumed Mom was at a friend’s house, and then had simply gone to bed. It was possible he didn’t even know. If so, I had the terrible duty to break it to him.

  “Dad, you need to listen to me. Something terrible has happened to Mom.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, irritation starting to seep into his voice.

  “Dad...”

  “You know, this drunk dialing thing wasn't funny even when you were still in college.”

  “Dad, are you even listening?!” I screamed into the phone. “Mom is in trouble!”

  “Your mother is asleep right next to me.”

  What?!

  “Pray tell, exactly what trouble is she in?” he asked in a deadpan voice.

  “Mom's okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake! Here...” I could hear him shifting around and then a soft snoring noise filled the phone. Yeah, that was Mom, all right. She slept like the dead (no pun intended), and was a heavy breather throughout the night.

  A few seconds later, my father got back on the line. “There, happy?”

  I was stunned for a second ... glad as all hell, don't make any mistake about it, but confused, too. “Yes. Thanks, Dad,” I answered, trying to collect my wits.

  “Good,” he replied sarcastically. “Now, why would you think she was in trouble?”

  I thought fast and then gave him the only excuse that came to mind. “I ... uh ... had a nightmare that ... vampires were attacking you guys.”

  There was a momentary pause on the line. “William, you know your mother and I love you very much, don't you?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Then I'm sure you'll forgive me for doing this...” click! The line went dead.

  I exchanged glances with my companions. They had obviously heard my side of the conversation and could no doubt figure out the rest.

  “Is it safe to assume your mom was there?” asked Ed.

  I nodded.

  “Well, that's the important thing, anyway.”

  Tom noticed me being a bit too quiet. “So, what's wrong, man?”

  “Nothing,” I answered. “I'm glad Mom and Dad are fine. But still ... what the fuck?” I turned to Sally. “Is Jeff's master plan to try to kill me via a panic attack?”

  She shook her head. “I don't think so. Even a complete moron would have to know that you could call that bluff with just one phone call. Besides, that's not Jeff's style. If he says he has a hostage, then he has a hostage.”

  “Maybe this is a distraction to set us up for an ambush?” Ed offered.

  Sally shook her head again. “Also not his style. He likes to make a big scene. A showdown, like he set up on the phone, is just the kind of thing he loves to do. Fucker's probably been sporting an erection about it ever since he left here.”

  “Okay,” I replied. “And thank you for that imagery, by the way. Now I have a picture in my head of him clubbing me to death with his dick.”

  “Worry about Jeff's cock later,” Ed said. “If he doesn't have your parents, then who does he have?”

  I shrugged. “No idea.” Then an unpleasant thought struck me. “What if he found yours or Tom’s info while he was trashing the place? What if he made a mistake and grabbed the wrong mom?”

  Both Tom and Ed visibly paled. Moments later, they repeated my earlier action and made phone calls of their own. After a few tense minutes, though, they both met with similar results – although, to Ed's credit, at least he came up with a less lame excuse for calling than vampire nightmare. All of our folks were fine. As a result, after everyone had been hung up on, we found ourselves again wondering what the hell was going on.

  “You're sure he's not just screwing with our heads?” I asked Sally.

  “I don't see the point. What benefit would he get from it?” she responded. “No. I'm certain he has somebody.”

  “So, the question is,” Ed asked, “do we march into his trap and try to save this somebody? Or do we leave them to die and then go after Jeff at a time and place of our choosing?”

  “I don't know,” Tom replied in a small voice. Now that the adrenaline of the past couple of hours was wearing off, he looked like he’d had enough for a while. “I don't want to see anyone die because of me, but putting ourselves right where he wants us ... I just don't know.” With that, he walked away and disappeared into his room.

  I started to follow, but Ed held up a hand. “Leave him. He needs a few. Shit, we all probably do.”

  “So you want to go with option two, I assume?”

  He gave me a grin. “No. I think if we wait, then this'll only get worse. If you don't show up for your big cage match, how long do you think it'll be before he starts hunting you ... and by proxy, us, down? He has home field advantage, but from the sound of it, he's probably expecting you to be alone. No doubt he probably also thinks you’re going to be completely distraught. That gives us a chance. You go in, but with a clear head and us there to back you up – well, it might be enough to even the odds.”

  Sally clapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to make him stumble, and said, “Your friend here makes a lot of sense ... for a walking Happy Meal.”

  “Care to play with the toy that comes with it?” he asked with a wicked grin.

  “Maybe some other time,” she replied dryly. “For now, I suggest we get ourselves ready. I know the place he's talking about. It's supposed to be a coven safe house, but Jeff likes to use it as his own personal larder. We have a few hours until the three of us...”

  “Four,” said Tom, reappearing from his room, something clutched in his arms.

  “Four?” I repeated.

  He stepped forward and dropped what he’d been holding. A bunch of broken action figures fell to the floor. “Four! Son of a bitch must pay,” he said with an almost scary determination. It was on.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  My roommates stayed behind to do a damage assessment of the apartment and to see what could be scavenged. Sally and I headed out to grab a few supplies for the coming conflict. I was a little leery of her plan. Sure, New York had the reputation of being the ci
ty that never slept, but that only went so far. At this late hour – or early, depending on your point of view – our options for places that were open were pretty much limited to pizza, convenience stores, or maybe an all-night rave or two. None of those, as far as I was aware, were particularly good for combat preparation unless maybe the plan was to eat enough Slim Jims so as to make us look forward to our impending death. However, Sally wasn't daunted by little details such as that. It soon became apparent why.

  “This will do,” she said, coming to a stop in front of a store about a mile from my apartment. It was a sporting goods shop, probably family owned, and small enough that you could easily pass by without noticing it. So it was with city-based small businesses. Space here was at a premium and one made do with what they could.

  “For what? It's closed.” I pointed out the locked security gate covering the entranceway.

  “Not for long.” She took a look around to confirm the street was empty and then gave a hard tug on the gate. The lock held, but the latch itself broke off. She moved it aside and said, “Wait for it.”

  I did, and then after a few seconds replied, “I don't hear anything.”

  “Exactly. Small shop like this probably can't afford an active security system. If there are cameras inside, it's a good bet that they're just props.” She grabbed the front door and gave another pull, which had a similar effect as on the gate. “After you.”

  “Age before beauty,” I quipped in return.

  “After today, let's hope age is still something we can worry about,” she replied as she entered the shop.

  I figured we'd be loading up with football pads and other such protection, but Sally told me to leave them. She explained that, against a vampire of Jeff's strength, a little bit of padding would have about the same effect as using a Kevlar vest to stop a cruise missile, especially for my roommates. Speed and mobility would be more important than body armor. I protested that some protection would be better than none and, after a moment's consideration, she agreed. We settled on a few helmets for my roommates as well as some basic protection for our extremities such as elbow and knee pads. We'd look more likely to be spending the day at a skate park than in battle, but it covered the basics of leaving us mobile while not entirely unprotected.

  Next up, she started grabbing baseball bats, both aluminum and wood. The wooden ones, she explained, could be easily sawed off and sharpened. They made for much better stakes than just sharpening random hunks of wood. I didn't argue with her logic, having seen Jeff make good use of one some weeks prior. The aluminum bats, on the other hand, would make excellent bludgeons, being both well balanced and sturdy.

  Okay, so now we'd be skateboarders with baseball bats. Forget the skate park – we were going to look like rejects from some bad post-apocalyptic movie.

  “Other weapons?” I asked. Sure, I knew crosses and holy water were going to do dick but, off the top of my head, I could come up with a small arsenal of more interesting weapons than what we had picked out so far.

  “This is probably the best we can do for now.”

  “You're kidding me What about ... say, a crossbow?”

  “Can you fire a crossbow?”

  “Well...”

  “At a moving target?”

  Okay, she might have had a small point there. However, I was not to be deterred. “Then how about katanas, or a battle axe, or hell, some dynamite?”

  She looked me squarely in the eye. “Unless you know of any combination ninja supply and explosives depots around, then I'd say probably not. I know what you're thinking, but we don't have a week to prepare for this. We've got to make do with the best we can. Besides, if you come marching in there with a ton of gear strapped to your back, you're going to be so weighted down that Jeff will be able to casually stroll up and take your head off with one swipe of his claws. That would be ... embarrassing.”

  “Claws?” I asked, ignoring that last part.

  “Yes, claws. You know.”

  “No, I don't.”

  “You've got to be kidding me,” she spat, rolling her eyes. Hey, at least now I knew the key to victory. As long as I pictured Jeff as Sally in mid eye-roll, then I was sure to be in a murderous rage. “Claws ... like this.” She held up one of her hands. Before my very eyes, her fingernails lengthened by about two inches.

  “We can do that?” I blurted out.

  “If you spent more time practicing and less time jerking off to online porn, you might be surprised to learn what you can do,” she said, turning to leave.

  “Hold on a sec.” I pulled out my wallet and left some cash on the register. It probably wasn't enough to cover our shopping spree, but it made me feel a little bit better.

  She laughed as I did so and said, “You know, you really aren’t cut out for this lifestyle.”

  As she walked away, I was forced to wonder whether she might be right.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  We arrived back at the apartment to find Ed sitting on what was left of the couch. In his lap was the shotgun he had appropriated from his stepfather. He was busy loading it from a box of shells that sat nearby. He saw the look in my eyes and said, “Yeah I know, surprised the hell out of me, too. But it was still under my bed where I left it. I guess he was too busy trashing the place to be thorough.”

  “Either that or he didn't consider it a threat,” Sally pointed out.

  “I think,” he replied, “I prefer to imagine the former, if it's all the same to you. Makes it easier to keep from losing my shit entirely and hopping on the next plane to Canada if I do it that way.”

  “Whatever floats your boat.” I discarded our bundle of supplies onto the floor in front of him.

  He glanced at the pile and then looked me in the eye. “Are we fighting him or challenging him to nine innings at the sandlot?” he asked with a dubious tone.

  “Just because he wants to rip our guts out doesn't mean we can't be sporting about it,” I replied with a grin.

  We explained to Ed the logic behind our purchases. He agreed with us in theory but said he'd be bringing along the shotgun anyway if it was all right with us. Worst-case scenario, he told us, was it didn't work on Jeff, in which case he could use it to blow his own head off. Gotta love a guy with a contingency plan.

  “Where's Tom?” I asked while Sally went in search of something in our kitchen with which to sharpen the bats.

  “Tom's gone bye-bye,” he replied.

  “He left? Is he freaking insane?”

  “No,” explained Ed. “He's in his room. I just meant his mind's taken a leave of absence. Dude is not a happy camper. I mean, I've seen five-year-olds take having their toys broken better.”

  “They're NOT toys!” barked Tom, stepping into the living room. “They're investments.”

  Yeah, Ed was right. Tom had gone nuts. In my absence, he had apparently decided to Rambo-ify himself ... or at least try to. He was wearing camouflage sweat pants, a black sweater, and had what I assumed was old Halloween makeup slathered on his face in a bad imitation of war paint. The outfit would have looked like something a dork might wear to a weekend outing playing paintball except for a few other accoutrements to round it out. Stuffed in his belt were a couple of butcher knives from our kitchen and around his neck, hanging from a length of clothesline, was his trusty Transformer totem, Optimus. It was all I could do to keep from laughing my ass off.