Alexandre took a long look at each of them before sealing up their crates. The next time he saw them, they would be moments away from awakening. He would have to help them adjust to their new environment, to cope with the shock and upset of their world disappearing. And Leonora and Freddie would mourn the loss of their father. It would be a traumatic time for everyone.
He knew everything was moving fast, but he could not think about it too much. If he did, he might change his mind and then where would that leave the others? In limbo perhaps forever. No. He was doing the only thing he could. He understood why Madison was upset and sceptical, but he had no doubt she would do exactly the same thing in his situation.
He took the hammer and drove nails into each of the crates, ensuring no light could find its way in. It felt wrong to hide them away again, but he knew he was doing it for the right reasons.
At 9.20pm, a sleek black van pulled up in front of the house. Alexandre opened the door as the driver exited the vehicle. He was a beefy man in a tight-fitting suit. Alexandre also wore a suit. Madison had eventually relented and taken him to a gentleman’s tailor where he had half-a-dozen suits made to measure. He did not care for his casual clothes and they now lay, unworn in the bottom of his wardrobe.
‘Mr Chevalier?’ the man asked in a gruff cockney accent.
Alexandre nodded.
‘Good evening, Sir. I’ve come to take you to Hamilton Blythe.’
Alexandre had already carried the crates upstairs and they were now lined up in the large hallway.
‘Are these going in the back?’ the man bent down to lift one up.
‘Please leave those. I will take them.’
‘It’s no problem, Sir. I can ...’
‘No. I will take them.’
The driver stepped back and watched as Alexandre bent to lift the first of the boxes. Of course, he picked it up as though lifting a scrap of cardboard off the floor. The driver moved aside, a look of grudging admiration skimming his features.
The driver opened the van’s rear doors and Alexandre laid the crates one-by-one on its carpeted floor. The driver jumped up into the back and began securing them with thick straps but Alexandre motioned to him to step outside. He would see to his family. Once satisfied they were completely secure, Alexandre stepped down and walked around to the front of the van, opening up the passenger door. Madison was sitting there.
‘Non!’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
‘We have talked about this.’
‘Uh, no. You talked about it and I disagreed. I’m coming and you can’t stop me. Everything’s sorted. Ben’s staying at a mate’s for a couple of days. If you don’t let me ride with you, I’ll just follow in the Land Rover. I know where the offices are.’
The driver got into the van, pretending not to hear their conversation. Alexandre shook his head, with a face like thunder. He lifted her out and she began to struggle.
‘I will sit in the middle,’ he said. ‘You can sit on the other side, near the door.’ Madison stopped fighting against him.
‘Thank you,’ she said
The traffic was light and the drive was fast and smooth, taking just under two hours to reach the solicitors’ Marylebone offices. No one engaged in conversation. Madison knew Alexandre was cross with her, but she slipped her small hand into his and he took it. He held it in both his hands, running his thumb gently along her fingers and palm.
She looked chic in a short navy Chloe dress and Alexandre’s eyes were riveted to her slim bare legs. He kept glancing at the driver to make sure he wasn’t looking anywhere near Madison. He was so tense it wouldn’t take much for him to flip. The driver, however, was completely focused on the road. He had obviously been briefed to speak when spoken to and keep his mind on the job and nothing else.
He swung the large vehicle into a concealed entrance which led down a steep ramp to an underground car park. They drove right up to the far end where about thirty or forty vehicles were parked. The driver pulled up next to a set of large metal double doors and got out of the van. He approached the double doors and pressed a buzzer, speaking into the intercom.
Four men in white coats came through the doors, wheeling wide steel hospital gurneys. Madison and Alexandre exited the van and walked around to meet them. Their driver had started unbuckling the straps which held the crates in place, but as soon as he saw Alexandre’s face, he jumped out of the van and let Alexandre take over.
Alexandre effortlessly lifted the crates onto the gurneys and they followed the white coats through the double doors and along a dimly-lit hospital-like corridor. Madison’s heart hammered against her ribcage. She had a bad feeling about this, but was still glad she had come.
Seconds later, they arrived at a set of lifts. One of the white coats pressed the button and the lift doors opened. Two trolleys were wheeled into one, and two into another. Alexandre did not like this arrangement as he was loathe to let any of the crates out of his sight, but this time he didn’t protest; he just clenched one of his fists and got into the nearest lift.
They descended three floors and Alexandre was put in mind of the underground Cappadocian city all those years ago – of secrets buried deep underground. The doors opened and he was relieved to see the other two gurneys outside the doors. Two smart-suited men waited in the lobby. One of them, Alexandre recognised as Winston Blythe. The other, a younger man, he did not know.
‘Alexandre, welcome,’ Blythe said, extending his hand. Alexandre shook it.
‘This is Madison Greene,’ Alexandre said.
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Madison,’ Blythe said, with a smile. ‘We weren’t expecting you, but you are very welcome.’
‘Hello,’ she said and then she turned to the other man and fixed him with a glare. It was Vasey-Smith.
‘Madison, how are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Might’ve been nice you’d warned me I was moving into a houseful of vampires though.’
‘Please,’ Alexandre said softly. ‘Not now, Madison. It is not the time.’
‘Sorry,’ she said to Alexandre and turned away from Vasey-Smith.
Vasey-Smith gave a small shrug and extended his hand to Alexandre. ‘It’s very good to meet you at last. My name is Robert Vasey-Smith.’
Alexandre shook the proffered hand and shook it once.
‘Would you like to follow me,’ Blythe said. ‘I’m sure you’re anxious to get started.’
The small group made their way out of the lobby, along a plush carpeted corridor, lined with a lot of closed doors. One of the gurneys had a squeaky wheel, the only noise in their dimly-lit hushed surroundings. They turned left and then left again.
Alexandre could not shake a sense of déjà vu. Flashbacks of the past. Images of ancient darkened caverns and winding narrow tunnels came unbidden to his mind. Of screams and blood and death. He had to try and concentrate, to focus on the present or he felt like he might lose his mind.
Everything here smelt sterile, of man-made fibres, metal, glass, plastic and cleaning fluids. He realised they were all now standing outside an opaque glass door, waiting whilst Vasey-Smith opened it.
They filed into a vast high-tech room with a wall of glass at one end - a viewing gallery. A bank of padded benches lined the back of the room and several swivel chairs sat in front of a wide console with rows of buttons and levers. The room was dark. The only source of light came from a few glowing buttons on the console and from the brightly lit room on the other side of the glass window. This looked down onto a large area very much like a hospital operating theatre, with a bed surrounded by complicated apparatus and a cylindrical industrial-sized lamp on a long swivel arm.
‘Please sit down.’ Vasey-Smith pointed to the leather benches but Madison and Alexandre remained standing.
‘Leave us please,’ Blythe said to the white coats, who exited the room, leaving the crates there. Blythe turned to Alexandre. ‘Please have a seat while I expla
in something to you.’ He sat himself on one of the black leather swivel chairs and Alexandre sat next to him. Madison remained standing.
‘As you can see,’ Blythe said. ‘We are all set up and ready to go, but there is one thing we must do before we proceed.’ He paused and looked at Alexandre who did not speak or change his facial expression, but continued to stare intently at the man. Blythe cleared his throat and continued. ‘To put it simply, we need a live subject to determine the level of cell degradation that is acceptable before complete disintegration of the tissue occurs. As long as we can determine this, we can avoid irreversible damage to the others.’
Alexandre immediately grasped what the man was trying to tell him. ‘You want to put me under the UV lamp?’
‘No!’ Madison cried. ‘I knew this was dodgy. We should leave, Alexandre. There’s no way you can go under that light. You’ll die!’
‘I understand your reticence, Miss Greene. And believe me when I say I wish there was another way; but there is not. Without this first step, it will be entirely hit and miss as to whether or not the others survive the exposure. My people assure me they are hopeful Alexandre will not suffer any lasting damage, just some discomfort and it will mean the difference between success and failure.’
‘That’s bullshit-speak for you hope he don’t die and it’s gonna hurt like ...’
‘Madison,’ Alexandre interrupted. ‘It is fine. I do not mind one bit. It will be easy for me to do this. I want to do it if it means there will less of a risk to the others.’
‘But more of a risk for you,’ she said.
Alexandre turned to Winston Blythe. ‘Yes. I am happy to go ahead.’
Vasey-Smith spoke to somebody on a speaker phone and suddenly, the room below started filling up with people in white coats, setting up equipment and switching on monitors.
Madison approached Alexandre and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘I’m scared. Don’t do it. What if …’
‘Shhh,’ he put his fingers to her lips. ‘You know I have no choice. You know this, so do not protest.’
She let her hands drop to her side, realising he wouldn’t listen to her. Alexandre stood and squared his shoulders.
‘I am ready whenever you are,’ he said to the two men. He bent down and kissed Madison on the lips, having long-since shed his nineteenth century attitudes to public displays of affection. She ran her fingers through his dark hair and they hugged quickly.
‘One thing has just occurred to me,’ Alexandre said to Winston Blythe.
‘Yes?’
‘Before I awoke. Madison told me I drank, first from her and then from her brother. The blood may have fortified me against some of the harmful effects of the light. I think it may be necessary for the others to drink before they are exposed. In fact, I insist upon it.’
‘Very well,’ Winston Blythe said without flinching. ‘I will arrange it.’
Madison was shocked by the calm manner in which the old man had responded to such a gruesome request. She wondered if he would ask for volunteers or force some poor white-coated stooge to submit.
‘Do you also need some for yourself?’ Blythe asked Alexandre.
‘No, I have fed recently.’
A young woman wearing a black suit and glasses came into the room. She ignored Madison and spoke to Alexandre in French.
‘Suivez-moi s'il vous plaît, monsieur.’
Alexandre smiled at her, enjoying the sound of his native tongue.
Madison looked at the woman whose blonde hair was pulled severely off her pretty face in a neat bun. Bitch.
Alexandre turned back to Madison and gave her one last look before he left the room.
‘You may be more comfortable in another room. One where you can’t see what’s happening,’ Vasey-Smith said to her. ‘Alexandre will be fine, but it may not make very pleasant viewing.’
Madison did not reply. She just sat down on one of the swivel chairs and leant back crossing her arms across her chest.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But please let me know if it gets too much and someone will take you next door until it is over.’ Blythe turned to Vasey-Smith. ‘How long will they take to prepare him?’
‘Shouldn’t be too long. His skin will have to be cleaned first, as well as the others.’
Madison felt small and alone, like an unwanted child. A feeling that over the years had become all too familiar.
Chapter Twenty Nine
*
Madison sat in the viewing gallery biting her nails down to the skin. Everybody else acted like she wasn’t even there, which suited her fine. She had nothing to say to these people anyway. She was so scared and so angry. There was a whooshing in her ears and she hoped to God she wouldn’t pass out.
If anything happened to Alexandre what would she do? And if anything happened to her, what would happen to Ben? No, she had to try to stay positive. It was the only option left. Alexandre was doing what he had to do and she respected that decision, she honestly did. She just wished he wasn’t doing it.
She remembered how badly the daylight had affected him all those months ago, when she’d dragged his crate outside under the setting sun. He’d gone through excruciating agony, feeling weakened and half-dead, but then he’d recovered almost immediately. The sun had acted like an electric shock to his system, kick starting him back to life and killing the disease in his cells. Would it really work on the others?
She looked and saw there must have been about twenty people down in that room now, but still no sign of Alexandre or the others.
*
Alexandre followed the French woman out into the hall and down the corridor. They descended a set of steps and turned right into a small room where two men waited.
‘These men will wash you,’ she said in his native language.
‘I think I am capable of washing myself.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s a necessary part of the preparation. You must be cleaned thoroughly.’
‘Very well.’
‘Your clothes,’ she said.
‘What, here?’
She nodded.
He stripped off his clothes and let the men lead him into a large shower cubicle. He stood, feeling humiliated and slightly ridiculous. One of the men pressed a round chrome button and about twenty jets of hot water hit his body from all angles. The men stood at a short distance with long brushes. They squirted some foul smelling liquid onto the bristles and scrubbed at his steaming body. The jets were powerful and the brushes were coarse. His body tingled as hot water ran down his face and body in soapy rivulets.
When he was done, he stepped out of the cubicle and the men pointed to a small chamber. Alexandre hesitantly stepped inside. He heard a loud humming whoosh and warm air swirled around his body, drying his wet skin. After a minute or two, the dryer stopped and he left the chamber.
The two men had gone, but the French woman still remained. She handed him a cotton robe. He heard a male voice behind him.
‘Good evening. I am Dr Rasheed.’
He turned around to see a Middle Eastern man in a white coat. ‘I just need to take a few measurements from you,’ the man said.
Alexandre could sense fear from the man. He spent the next few minutes being weighed, measured, poked, prodded and tested by the young doctor. He grew impatient. Surely this was not necessary. But he did not speak, he was too wired.
He felt the thirst come over him and thought how wonderful it would be to drink from this white-coated man, in such tantalisingly close proximity. Perhaps he should have taken Blythe up on his offer to feed. No, he would be fine. He was just unsettled by all this detached examination of his body, worried about the pain he was about to endure, but most of all, terrified that his brother and sister might not make it. That they might leave him to face his immortality without them.
At last the testing appeared to be over and Alexandre followed the doctor through a thick metal door into the brightly lit theatre. He squinted up and
saw the dark glass of the viewing gallery, but he could not see through the window into the unlit room. He knew Madison would be watching closely and he hoped, for her sake, he would not have to endure too much pain.
The doctor removed Alexandre’s robe and asked him to lie on the raised metal bed. He was completely naked and his hard muscled flesh looked like marble. He lay down in one graceful fluid movement and thought of his family. His wonderful family whom he would see shortly.
The white lights in the room clicked off one by one until there was just an echoing silence in the darkened room. A small single spotlight highlighted Alexandre’s face and torso. He was connected up to all sorts of monitors, his arms and legs strapped down to keep him in place. He stared up at the dark ceiling.
The other staff had left the room and now just four doctors surrounded his bed. Their faces looked eerie in the reflected light, as they fiddled with the illuminated dials on a large square machine. The red light on a video camera glowed up high in the corner of the room.
He had never felt so vulnerable in his life. A combination of being naked in front of strangers in an unfamiliar place and knowing he was about to experience insanity-inducing amounts of pain.
‘We are about to begin,’ Dr Rasheed said to Alexandre. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, clenching his fists and curling his toes in preparation for the onslaught.
He heard a low hum and pop and the innocuous metal light was switched on casting a luminescent blue wash over the area. The effect was instantaneous. Alexandre’s white flesh began to glow and steam. He cried out in agony and tried to curl up into a ball to protect himself, but they had strapped him down too tightly and the pain had sapped his usual strength.
Almost immediately, the light was switched off and his body began to heal itself, the blistered skin instantly regenerating before the doctors’ eyes. They frantically made notes, viewed monitors and readjusted equipment.
‘Ready to go again?’ Dr Rasheed asked.
Alexandre nodded, but he felt far from ready. His body was on fire. It had been worse than he had remembered. Last time he had been unconscious and only half-aware of what was going on, half-aware of the pain. But this time he was fully awake and all too conscious of every burning fibre in his body. It felt like being set alight from the inside.
When Darkness Falls - Six Paranormal Novels in One Boxed Set Page 35