by Ian Hall
I suddenly realized I felt hungry.
Actually, downright freaking famished.
Luckily, Lyman’s attic had a decent supply of mice. Plenty of roaches. One night a raccoon had even snuck in. All made for sufficient midnight snacks. But, I craved something with more substance.
Something like a cop. Like that Calhoun jackass who thought Lyman’s parents were killed by their son after getting caught in the middle of an orgy.
I mean, Lyman didn’t need any more problems. Like me, he’d lost his parents, been turned into a vampire. And even more than that, he had this girlfriend whose dad might stake him any minute.
He didn’t really need some dildo of a cop trying to string him up by the balls. Calhoun didn’t have to die, so to speak, I mean, he didn’t have to disappear off the face of the planet. I had to get him into a position where he’d be willing to listen to reason.
And if the whole “beholden” thing happened to come into play…so be it.
So, I went from Lyman’s house straight to Jackson’s grave. I sat on one of the boulders, and told Jackson what I intended to do. I didn’t hear any protest, so figured it all seemed good.
After dark I headed downtown to the small police station. I knew that Calhoun worked out of Flagstaff PD, but I took a chance he’d be here in Gregor. I waited outside, I mean, I couldn’t very well just walk right in; I still had an APB out for me after I killed Alan.
But, mom used to tell me that if you stay in one place long enough, the whole world will pass you by. Mom was always right. Less than an hour of waiting, and Calhoun crossed the parking lot, jingling his keys, making his way to an unmarked car.
I knew him immediately, I recognized his scent. He was tall, lean, and balding. Broad shoulders, fit, better looking and younger than I would have thought. Yep. Just like a P.E. teacher.
“Officer Calhoun?” I called, keeping out of the light.
He popped his head up and his key-free hand went right to the holster at his waist, “Who’s out there? Show yourself.”
“I need to talk to you…”
“Then step out here where I can see you…”
I did what he said, slinking out of the dark in that vampirey way. Edging up slowly, I got as close as I could without getting shot. The breeze brought my scent right up to him - clay for the molding.
Calhoun blinked his eyes dramatically, like he thought I was some sort of ghost.
“You’re that girl…Mandy Cross.”
I could see his eyes fading out of focus. His gun hand dropped to his side, keys to the ground.
“Yes. It’s me,” I replied, running my hand up his toned chest. “You gonna arrest me, officer?”
My dad had his own sayings. “It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.” I never really knew what that meant until my encounter with Officer Calhoun.
“What’s your first name, hon?” I breathed my vampire love potion into his face.
He smiled, first on his mouth then in his pants.
“Winchester. My friends call me Spike.”
“Oh…well, I’m not really your friend, Winchester. Not yet anyway. Do you want to be mine?”
Calhoun grabbed me around the waist, clutching me tight to this body. I realized then that I hadn’t had sex since Mexico. Figured I might as well have some fun. Dinner first, sex afterwards - the perfect first date.
“Let’s go somewhere, Winchester…become more friendly.”
That dude had his keys in hand so quick you would’ve thought him already a vampire.
“Where to?” he asked I slid into the passenger seat.
“Someplace private. There’s something we need to talk about.”
Calhoun leaned over his seat until he practically sat in mine. “I want to do a lot more than talk…”
I let him kiss me. His tongue tasted minty. I wanted to bite it off.
Instead, I went for his throat. Careful not to take too much; I’d never turned someone before.
“Now,” I told him as he sucked the blood from my wrist, my hand unzipping his pants, “I wanted to talk to you about Lyman Bracks…”
Almost as soon as Mandy left, the doorbell went, and I answered it with some reluctance. I felt exhausted.
On the doorstep, looking foreboding: a guy, a lady. They showed their badges. “Child Protective Services.” I moved to the side, and they walked past me, their eyes cold. We went through all the gritty details again, then they started asking questions about my age, finances, all too much. I withered under their constant bombardment, then the doorbell went again, and I answered it, grateful for the respite.
“Oh, Lyman, poor baby.” Suddenly engulfed in the larger than life character of my Grandma Bracks, I hugged her tight. There was no problem that she couldn’t deal with.
As I looked over her shoulder, I saw grandpa walking up the drive. He gave a sheepish wave as grandma poured tears onto my shirt. I answered his wave with a smile, and her tears with some of my own.
The cavalry had definitely arrived.
Turns out they had been in town for the funeral, and had visited me in hospital when they were here. They then went back east to sort out some of their own affairs, and now they were here to settle things in Gregor.
She announced herself to the Child Protective Services guys, then ushered them politely to the driveway.
“You need to sort out some of the boring things, son,” grandpa said after the initial white heat of the arrival had diminished. “The house, the money, the cars, school; all that and more.”
We were sitting at the kitchen table, grandma busy around us, cooking some meat dish from stuff she found in the freezer. She’d announced the fridge a disaster area. “First things first, Larry.” She stirred the stew pan on the stove. “Lyman, are you going to stay here, or come to Wichita with us? Do we look for a new school?”
Grandpa nodded. “One question at a time, honey.”
For the first time in maybe an hour, there was a moment of silence. I embraced it, then answered. “I’m staying here. I have a girlfriend, and I have to finish school; I have to graduate. There seems no point in going through another ‘final’ year.”
“That makes sense.” Grandpa began writing in a brand new notebook. “So we’ll have to sort out guardianship for you then.”
“Just for a month or so; I’ll be eighteen in January.”
“But it has to be done just the same. We’ll have to get the house sorted out, transferred to you.” He began to leaf through the huge pile of letters on the table. “We’ll need copies of death certificates. It’ll take a while.”
It turned out to be nine days, and it wasn’t as bad as I expected that first day. There was more to this than I had first expected. The manager at the bank was instrumental in pointing us in the right direction, but when my Grandma and Grandpa Bracks drove away, a good deal of my life had been sorted out. I had the bank manager as my friend; I had credit and debit cards and four good accounts with the branch, all with money. All in my name only.
The insurance forms were all filled out and mailed, and by the time of my birthday, I would own the house outright, and the death insurances checks would soon be deposited.
Of course, during the nine days, Mary-Christine was a sweetheart, and Dave and Roni won my grandparents over in seconds. We’d had dinners out, and in both houses, grandma and Roni taking turns to outdo the other. In the end, my grandparents respected my decision to stay, but of course gave us all a huge invitation to Wichita for Christmas.
From then on, the number of letters addressed to my parents began to diminish, replaced by my own name. Mary-Christine brought my work from school, and I started to catch up, determined to recover in time for school after the holidays.
Although I made constant progress physically, it did take longer to recover than I first thought. Grandma’s help around the kitchen had proved invaluable, and she left a few recipes in her wake, pinned to the large refrigerator with magnets. By the week before Christmas, I was
walking better, and decided that it was time to start back at the gym.
And of course, laced through every day, like a vein of red in white marble, was the dread of waking up, needing to drink blood. It was difficult to ignore, though I think I did okay outwardly. I mean, how would I explain that one to grandma?
But, of course, every morning, my cornflakes still tasted fine, and I still preferred my bacon grilled rather than raw.
Dave called in early one morning and asked if I’d go to work with him. “Blood work.” He called it.
“How come I’m not going to hospital for that?”
He looked on edge. “We need samples to send to Atlanta. We’ll be looking for more complex changes than the hospital.”
I knew it had to happen, but I did the best I could to hide my reticence.
Dave drove me to Unicorps, and I got a taxi back. For the next two days I walked on eggshells, even Mary-Christine noticed. On the evening that I got the results, we were cuddling on the couch, watching some singing contest on ABC.
To my surprise, both Dave and Roni came to the door. Dave held a large manila envelope.
In my head, I was shouting, “Oh, fuck” continually, but I managed a calm, “Come in.”
I sat back down and put my arm round their daughter.
“It’s good news, Lyman,” Dave said quickly, settling down in the chair opposite. “There’s been no advance in the vampire genes at all.” He took the papers out. “I’m leaving you a copy, but it is still kinda secret stuff, you know.”
I nodded. “So, I’m not a vampire then?”
“Oh, no. From the blood work here, you are definitely a vampire, but there’s just no change in the blood from last time. For some reason, the vampire gene isn’t dominating like it should do.”
“And that’s good, right?”
“Oh, that’s very good.”
“But it still means that I’m living with a death sentence looming over my head.”
He looked at me awkwardly. “I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”
Roni interrupted. “And you can’t live your life thinking that way. Cancer patients can’t think of their deaths all the time. They have to be upbeat.”
I looked at both of them, and I wanted to scream. In a month, I turned eighteen years old, and what I had happened to be worse than cancer.
I had a gene that, if it manifested itself, meant that my girlfriend would hammer a stake into my heart.
Lyman’s grandma smelled ripe. Definitely Helsing; mixed with that old lady smell. I couldn’t take it so I didn’t even bother hanging around his attic. While they were in town, I just stayed at Spike’s (started calling him Spike after…y’know).
The cop turned out to be a very useful acquisition, BTW. Oh - I guess that makes me sound a lot like Alan. But, at least my intentions were pure (pure-er). Because of my influence over him, Spike totally botched the investigation. Initially, Lyman had been named as “a person of interest.” Now…let’s just say he seemed a lot less “interesting” to Flagstaff PD.
Turns out if you’ve got a young vampire beholden to you, you can pretty much make them do whatever the freak you want - including not letting them know they’re a vampire. You gotta be stealthy. To quell the bloodlust, I just drained rodent blood into his protein shakes every morning. To handle the hormonal urges, I just made sure he got his fill every night.
If he ever got a little out of hand, I’d whisper little suggestions like: “No killing, you’re not hungry, Lyman’s the good guy, we never had this conversation…” and he’d just go on his merry way, none the wiser.
Then he’d get to the station and screw up everything he touched, destroying his own investigation without even realizing it.
After I felt certain Lyman wasn’t going to be thrown in jail, I got to work clearing my own name. Two days ago I planted a bug in his ear, telling him Alan McCartney’s real murderer had fled to Utah. So, Spike would be out of town for a few days. All fine by me; I was all caught up on sex for a while and really wanted to see Lyman.
Up until that point, I’d been only vaguely aware of the holidays. Every day had just kind of run into the next; especially since I never slept much and hardly left Spike’s apartment (and the guy didn’t even have cable). So, it felt kind of weird to get out and notice all the lights and lawn decorations.
It would be my first Christmas without a family; bound to be the first of potentially thousands. That got me feeling really down in the dumps. Not that I felt worried about the presents I wouldn’t get or the honey ham I wouldn’t eat.
It was like…I had nothing to look forward to anymore. I could walk this planet for centuries to come but never really feel alive again. And I’d traded everything for a chance to get into Alan McCartney’s pants.
Not that I knew it at the time, but Spike and I had a lot in common back then; just doing stuff and not having any comprehension why or what was in it for me.
I wondered how many suggestions I might have been fed by Alan that I now had no memory of; like the time I wanted to get funky and go all lesbo with Cami…and Alan just happened to be standing there outside her house on the night I showed up at her window.
Or the fact that it took me so long to run away from home after Hannah and Barton moved in then proceeded to beat the shit out of me. Had Alan programmed me to stick around and take it?
Had he gotten to me before my parents’ death and got me primed to go along with it? So much of what I had done - that wasn’t me. I was the perky little blonde cheerleader; not some homicidal maniac. Alan might have changed me in ways I’d never figure out.
By the time I got to Lyman’s place, I was in a really bad mood.
The Helsing Diaries
Christmas Eve came almost without warning. One day I went to the gym, took my vitamins, shuffled homework and hung with Mary-Christine, the next, it was on the doorstep, and I had to find a present for Mary-Christine, although I wasn’t really up to the mall yet.
Dave came by early that morning with a pile of folders under his arm. “How you doing?”
“Not, bad, but I could use a favor.”
“Oh, yes?”
I explained the need for some nice jewelry, and the need for some secrecy, and he readily agreed. Seems my shopping trip had been taken care of.
“What’s the paperwork?” I asked, pointing to the folders.
“Ah, this - I hope - is your next assignment.” He began to spread them out on the table. Each blue folder had a year on it; 1957 to 1963. “These are the diaries of Marvin Knight; he was a Helsing back in the day.”
Dave opened one of the folders and pulled out notes, receipts, writings, and news cuttings. “Our Marvin here wasn’t much into organization, but we’ve done most of the initial work for you. We think we’ve got it sorted out into the right years.”
I looked at the newspaper cuttings. “Eight Killed in House Fire”, “Gangland Killings Increase”; most were Philadelphia, some were New York. Some were just obituaries, with circled names.
“Marvin worked extensively to bring down Amos Blanche in Philadelphia. Marvin died doing it, but Amos got executed in September, 1963. We know Alan was turned back then, and many, many others. We thought that since you were ‘doing nothing’ so to speak, you could do it for us. Maybe turn one of the bedrooms into a ‘situation room’ so to speak.”
I felt intrigued. From a kind of foggy funk I’d been in, instantly energized. I immediately recognized that had probably been the whole point; Dave wasn’t a stupid man.
“I’d love the challenge,” I replied, shaking his hand. “What exactly do you want me to find?”
“Well, I actually don’t want to point you in any direction. Let’s just say that we’ve had these diaries for at least ten years, and this is as far as we’ve got. We need someone with a bit of time on their hands, a knack for the hunt, and bit of grey matter. You’ve got all three.”
I looked at the folders, the diaries of Marvin Knight, and immediately c
hristened them, ‘The Helsing Diaries.’ I was inheriting a legacy, and it was going to be fun.
I spent the whole day arranging the first folder, 1957, on the dining room table, chairs, chest of drawers and floor, then started to get it into the proper time order. I got my laptop downstairs, checking dates, obits, and headlines. I found out within an hour that many were from the wrong year, and assumed the rest of the folders were going to be the same.
I also found that the laptop screen was too small, and the keyboard too cramped. I leant up from it, my back ached. “Argh!” I roared. I needed something like Tom Cruise had in Minority Report. Big ass screen. Big ass computer.
With my dad shouting, “It’s Christmas Eve, dumbass!” in my head, I decided to go get some gear.
The store looked busy, but not that bad for Christmas Eve, and I got a cart right away to lean on as I walked. I only took a few steps inside the PC department, when I heard my name.
“Lyman? Is that you?”
I turned to see Vernon Malchovy walking my way, Blue Best Buy T-shirt on, headset, microphone, the lot. “Hey, Vern.” I raised my hand. Vernon shared a class with me, but I couldn’t remember exactly which one.
“How are you doing, man?” he asked. “Sorry to hear about the folks.”
“I’m better than I should be.”
An awkward silence fell between us, then I suddenly remembered my reason for being there.
“Vern, I need some help.”
Well, with Vern guiding me, and my thirst to try my new debit card, I soon had a new PC, huge monitor, and wireless ‘everything’ stacked at the main desk.
But I soon began to regret my initial enthusiasm, my body ached, and my back was killing me.
“What time do you finish?” I asked.
He looked up at the wall somewhere. “Four. Just over an hour, why?”
I knew that I must have looked at the very least, tired. “Well, how would you like to earn a couple of hundred bucks tonight – cash?”