Vampires Don't Cry: The Collection

by Ian Hall

  It was a slow, deliberate decline, and the stuff the Helsings were lacing my blood packs with wasn’t helping my coordination any. Out of the brush surrounding the bowl-shaped valley, more camouflaged figures emerged, converging on the compound in the center. The effect was nothing less than surreal; slow-walking trees with crystalline faces and space-aged-looking weapons. And I was one of them.

  Fifty yards downhill, the valley slithered with vampires, already dropped to their bellies and lungs fighting against the coagulant stiffening their muscles. They were fish in a barrel (as dad would have said), easy pickings for the Helsing militia. Too easy.

  Racing away from Atlanta, and any Helsing retribution from the Amos Blanche debacle, Reynolds drove south. ‘Heading for the sun’, he said, then after a bit we took a stop on a highway Subway. Sandwiches all around. Well, apart from Mandy.

  The place was deserted, and the staff wasn’t interested, so we sat uninterrupted in a corner. I felt I had to ask the question. “So what now?”

  I didn’t expect the abject silence that followed. So, taking the initiative, I asked questions.

  “Mandy; what’s forefront in your head right now? Anything?”

  Her voice was low; she was shielding her mouth like a patient after the dentist. I mean, her fangs had been ripped out. “I want revenge. I want to rip every Helsing’s head off; no offense.”

  Mary-Christine’s response was trite. “None taken.”

  I could see Reynolds looking from one of us to the other. Then he burst out laughing. At first I was offended, but it seemed it was infectious. In seconds we were all in stitches, even talking about the execution in very irreverent terms.

  Mandy stopped, pursing her lips. “Seriously, on a personal level, I’d like recognition that Jackson and I actually killed four of our own kind, saved Lyman the Helsing, and helped bring to justice the biggest vampire in the western hemisphere.”

  “Wow, I mean, good luck with that one,” Reynolds said. “The Washington Post doesn’t usually follow that kind of news story.”

  “Not from the newspapers,” Mandy grinned. “From the Helsings.”

  I broke the silence that followed. “I think she’s got a point. I mean, at the very least, the Helsings need to give us recognition for the stuff we’ve done. Recognition for the team; the four of us.”

  Mary-Christine banged the table lightly with her fist. “And an apology.”

  I nodded. “More than an apology, but I know what you mean. They dismissed us from the start, totally disregarded our investigations.”

  “No, you idiot,” Mary-Christine chided. “We need an apology for what they did to Mandy. That torture was way out of order.”

  “You sound like a civil rights protestor.” Mandy grinned again, showing us her gaps. “But we also should do something to ensure this kind of thing doesn’t happen again. I mean, if someone had done this…” and she bared her teeth, “to a dog, without some kind of painkiller, there’d be a public outcry.”

  At our inaction, she suddenly went very serious. “They also took samples from way up my, you know, down there. Front and back. And, when my legs were held apart on the stirrups, I got offered to the guy.” She looked at the mess of papers on the table. “Luckily for me, he wasn’t into vampire pussy.”

  Well, that sure put a cloud on our humor, but it did bring the extent of Mandy’s trauma to the surface.

  I decided to start again. “So, seriously, what do we do now?”

  Surprisingly, it was Reynolds who answered. “I know I’m not into all the details, but I can sure as heck read between the lines pretty good. I’m going at this from a very methodical point of view, but it’s helped me in the past, so bear with me. You guys chase and kill vampires - I know, I can’t really believe I said that, but regardless - that’s what you do. And from the events of the weekend, it seems that you do it well, and need little guidance from the upper echelons of Helsing-ness. So, and I now get to the point, I think you’ve got just one real question to ask yourselves. Is the job finished?”

  Well that got a chorus of ‘hell no’ and such, but he beat us down with raised hands.

  “Okay. You’re not finished chasing and killing vampires; that brings us to the logical question. If you’re still going to chase and kill vampires, do you need the support of the Helsing organization?”

  Okay, that was a more difficult one. “No,” I said, simply. “But we don’t want them against us either.”

  “Or sticking their noses in,” Mary-Christine said. “We wouldn’t want our takedowns mucked up by their uninvited investigations.”

  “That could end up dangerous for us all,” Mandy said. “Look what happened the last time. We need to be more careful ourselves. We’ve got enough problems looking over our shoulders for vampires, never mind Helsings.”

  Reynolds gathered us closer over the table with a big sweep of his hands. “So, we’ve got to do many things over the next few weeks, and they are all directed at the Helsings. We to negotiate a truce, that’s the first thing. We need apology, both for us and especially for Mandy. We need autonomy, to enable us to go about our own investigations, and we probably need communications between us and them, to coordinate our efforts against the common enemy.”

  “Wow,” I said, and it seemed no one else wanted to chip in. “When you put it like that, it seems we’re asking for the moon.”

  Reynolds nodded. “And only you guys can decide if we’re starting it right now, or if you need some space first.”

  Space? I had enough space between my teeth thank you very much. Lyman and Mary-Christine’s demands for an apology from the Helsings was all well and good; but, I, for one, no longer believed in Santa Claus. I couldn’t be that naïve, couldn’t expect Dave Muscat to extend his hand in gratitude - let alone friendship.

  I had a personal score to settle. Something I don’t think my friends could comprehend; and I know for damn sure wouldn’t accept. So, I kept it to myself. For now.

  “Mandy? What’re you thinking, sweetie?”

  Lyman’s voice broke through my stewing. I looked over and saw the sour expression on Mary-Christine’s face; guess he needed to cool it with the terms of endearment. Last thing I needed was another enemy.

  So, I brought her into the conversation the best way I could think of - by grilling her for information about her kind.

  I shoved my scabbed up fingers under her face. She nearly gagged on her last mouthful of turkey on rye.

  “Is this sort of thing typical? Do they do this to all the vampires, or should I feel special?”

  Mary-Christine bought herself a second to think by taking a long draw off her Diet Coke, “Yes…and no. Part of the preparation does include…neutralizing any threat before execution as a precaution, in case the vampire somehow gets free of their restraints. Clip down the nails, remove the fangs,” she shook her head adamantly, “but I’ve never known them to remove the whole nail and never had any clue they do while the vampire is awake and can feel the whole procedure.”

  “I think I killed one of them…Tucker, I think. When they opened the crate, I scratched his throat…”

  “Yeah. He bled to death, Mandy,” Mary-Christine confirmed as if baring bad news, “Fred Tucker; he was a good guy.”

  I launched, “Boo-fucking-hoo, Mary-Christine! That ‘good guy’ cracked me in the head with a crowbar!”

  “I only meant—”

  I was on a roll, “Then his friends slowly tortured me…and they made sure I was awake for it.”

  That thought had just occurred to me. Miranda, the Helsing doctor, probably gave me just enough juice to keep me defenseless but make damn sure I felt everything they did to me. Well. Retribution was a bitch; but it goes both ways.

  “They even dilated my pupils and taped my eyes open so they could fry them with that fucking overhead lamp…”

  Lyman cut me off, “You need to forget about it…”

  “I wish I could forget it!”

  That was a lie
. I had no intention of forgetting what happened to me in that room.

  Lyman edged his chair over to mine and drew me in for a long, cozy hug. I heard Mary-Christine’s chair screech away from the table, rapid footsteps toward the exit, and the bell over the door chime as she stormed out. Fuck her. That warm shoulder was the only thing between me and an all-out ape-shit tantrum.

  “I’m sorry for what they did to you, Mandy,” he said. “I wish I could take it all back; but right now there’s no place to go but forward.”

  I just hoped “forward” wasn’t taking us - me and Lyman - in two different directions. But, I kept that fear to myself.

  It killed me to do it, but I pulled away.

  “Your girlfriend doesn’t like me very much.”

  The slightest of grins tugged at the corners of Lyman’s mouth. “I think it’s me she doesn’t like right now.”

  “You better learn how girls work…you’ve got about five more seconds to go after her or your ass is toast.”

  Reynolds was looking around. It seemed our drama had caught the attention of some employees up at the counter. He stood up.

  “I think it’s time we all got out of here.”

  Lyman was the next to stand, and he gave me his hand to grip on to. I rose but quickly fell forward into his arms.

  “Goddamn, you’re weak. You’ve got to feed.”

  I opened my maw at him, “How am I s’pose to do that?”

  “Leave it to me,” Reynolds said. “I’ll come up with something.”

  With a lot of help from Lyman, I made it to the car. Mary-Christine was leaning on the trunk, staring off into some pissed off abyss. Diplomatically, Lyman deposited me in the front seat and went around back, grabbed Mary-Christine by the hand and dragged her around the building for a private chat. Man, what I wouldn’t have given to be a fly on the wall during that conversation…

  Reynolds, on the other hand, went back inside the Subway, grabbed the yellow pages from the cashier, and brought it back to the car. Silently, he thumbed through the book as I drifted in and out of something I’ll call sleep for lack of a better term. It was some kind of hazy purple state of consciousness.

  Couldn’t say for sure how long we were parked there. After a while my eyes just kind of flitted open to the sight of Lyman and Mary-Christine walking back to the car; they were no longer holding hands. When they filed into the backseat, an artic wind blew in. Each sat pressed up against the opposite door, a gulf of vinyl between them.

  Reynolds acted like he didn’t notice. “You kids ready?”

  The motion of the car sent me back into oblivion. I was nudged awake by Reynolds offering me a lidded cup with a straw. An empty bag with the bottom rolled up like a tube of toothpaste was crumpled on his lap.

  Without even reaching for the cup, I leaned into the straw and sucked up a mouthful. Type O-negative; my favorite. I drained the supply, feeling the strength return to my body. I mean, it was cold, and usually I get my blood at body temperature, but it was good. Even my senses started to sharpen, the fog over my brain cleared. That’s when I saw that we were parked right across the street from a Red Cross Blood Bank.

  Lyman leaned up between the two front seats, grinning ear-to-ear. “There’s a cooler in the trunk with a shitload of that stuff.”

  I glanced at Reynolds who just shrugged, “All in the line of duty.”

  “How much are you paying this guy, Lyman?”

  “I’ll tell you later. You’re dizzy enough right now as it is.”

  Even Mary-Christine chuckled.

  I lifted the lid, took out the straw, and sucked down the drop or two left in the bottom of the cup. Then I sent Reynolds for a refill.

  “OMG…he’s worth every cent.”

  Once I’d half-downed my second helping, Reynolds paraphrased his question from before.

  “Where to, kids?”

  Now that I’d gotten my wits about me, I had no trouble coming up with an answer, “Harris.” Then I turned to the backseat and addressed both Lyman and Mary-Christine, “We’ve got a lot of work to do there.”

  I pulled gently on Mary-Christine’s hand, and led her reluctantly to the side of the Subway, away from an eye-view of the car.

  “We’re all under a bit of stress right now. We need to stick together.”

  She whirled on me like a dervish, tugging her hand out of my grip. “Stick together?” she snapped. “Why don’t you go stick to Mandy, God knows she needs some attention right now!”

  I almost hit back, but took a second, and calmed down. “Mary-Christine? We’re not out of the woods here, and although you think you’ve thought of everything, I’m telling you straight, you haven’t.”

  “Oh, yeah, mister vampire, what the hell do you know?”

  I looked at her with an incredulous look on my face. “What have I done? Why are you so much on the offensive?”

  She folded her arms; a little girl’s fit of pique.

  I shook my head. “Mary-Christine, we are now officially on the run; fugitives. I’m guilty of murder and breaking and entering, you of murder and conspiracy, and Mandy of murder. We might think we have carte blanche, but we don’t. The only person who can present themselves at the Helsing front door is you. Daddy will forgive his little girl. But let me assure you right now, unless we negotiate, the rest of us are pretty-well fucked.”

  “But you keep going back to, ‘her’, for acceptance, for comfort; I mean, you even went away with her.”

  “Mary-Christine, will you take a look at yourself?” I felt my voice raising. “You came to an execution, and you executed. I’ve fought two vampires, I’m bleeding as we speak. Mandy…” she turned away, but I grabbed her by the shoulders, looked right into her irritated eyes. “Mandy has been with us since I got turned. She’s helped nail Amos, then she was thrust into the plan without her consent, had her fingernails removed, her teeth pulled, almost raped, and you think that you’re the victim here!”

  “She wants you, you fucking idiot!” she shook herself loose.

  “I give up,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “Mandy has been tortured! And Mary-Christine is the poor girl here because she feels jealous.”

  Mary-Christine turned to walk to the car. I followed a footstep behind. Things had never been worse between us.

  So we left Subway, and Reynolds headed west for a bit. “You got any cash on you, Lyman?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Oh, we’ll need a hundred or so.”

  “Yeah, I can cover that.”

  He headed off west, then started looking for a numbered building. 2156. I left him alone, because he had a weird, kinda ‘I-know-what-I’m-doing’ look on his face, not to mention a cheeky grin.

  Turns out 2156 was a Red Cross Blood bank. He parked right outside. “C’mon.”

  We walked in like we owned the place. There were a few donors sitting around, but we headed straight for the desk.

  “Hi,” Reynolds said, and flashed a card. “Look, I’m Lieutenant Fishman, Atlanta PD. I need to speak to the person in charge.”

  The lady cursorily looked at the card, then dialed a number immediately. “Lester, got a cop here, Lieutenant, wants a word. Sure.”

  She hung up, and flipped the lid of the desk open. “Second on the right.”

  Lester’s door was opened before we got to it. Reynolds flashed the badge, but Lester waved it away. “Lester Ziwickis,” he said and we all shook hands. “What can I do for you Lieutenant?”

  ‘Well, we’ve got a problem. I have an undercover cop, out of Decatur and he’s been cut pretty bad. Being cared by a friendly nurse, but I can’t risk blowing his cover. Not right now. We kinda need some blood. Under the counter, and we need it quick.”

  “Type?”

  “O.”

  Lester’s face went serious for a second, then punched a few keys on the computer. “I can give you two pints, no more. Sorry.” He typed a few enquiries, but came up shaking his head. “Pity it had to be O, we just mislabe
led a batch of six, and we can’t do a thing with them. Useless.”

  “Hold on, Lester,” I said. “You’ve got six pints of blood you can’t use?”

  “Huh, I’ve got six pints of blood nobody can use!” he laughed, but I could tell he was pissed at the incident. “We have to throw it out; regulations.”

  “We’ll make a donation,” I said, suddenly excited. “Boss, we would play the best department prank ever, come on.”

  Reynolds played the suitably horrified, yet, comically interested Police Lieutenant. “I can’t condone it. Not the department.”

  “Can we buy it?” I asked.

  Reynolds was already on his feet and leaving the room. “What I don’t know can’t hurt me.”

  “Okay, Lester,” I started counting out twenties. “I’m offering a donation to you. And I don’t care if it goes through the books, right?”

  Lester got the inference without further hinting. “I got it.”

  “Fine, how much we talking? For the six mislabeled ones, and the two bags of type O, of course. A hundred? Two?”

  By his tight-lipped grimace, it was obvious I was getting close. “Three hundred?”

  And I got the nod. “Follow me.”

  Ten minutes later we walked out with eight pints of blood, a carrier, and a liberal packing of ice.

  Mandy was ecstatic, I even saw Mary-Christine smile.

  Then Mandy said she wanted to go back to Harris.

  “Not before we get this Helsing thing sorted out,” I said with some authority. “Even if it’s just a phone call to test the water.”

  But like so many times in the last few days, Reynolds came to the rescue. “Number one, we’ve got to get to a safe place for the night,” he looked at each of us in turn as he spoke, “and eat, re-group, rest, have a beer, just chill for a night. Play Monopoly, five card stud, I don’t give a shit. Tomorrow morning, before Dave Muscat goes nuts, we phone in negotiation. Right now, we let Mary-Christine call her dad and tell her folks she’s okay. The last thing we need is a police hunt.”

  There were no shaking heads in the car.