Vampires Don't Cry: The Collection

by Ian Hall

  As for me - I just twirled my straw through the beading glass of raspberry tea like it was the most interesting thing in the world. When Lyman dropped his fork on his plate I thought the gruesome scene had come to an end; but, quite unfortunately, he motioned to the waitress and asked for seconds.

  Between dinners, Lyman struck up conversation.

  “What’s on your mind, Mandy? You haven’t said very much since we left Weeks.”

  I pushed my glass aside; all the invitation I needed to speak my mind. “Why wasn’t he afraid of me? Why didn’t he jump out of his skin when I showed up, right in front of him?”

  “Weeks? He knows what you did back at the execution. He knows you’re one of us.”

  “No, Lyman, I’m not. I’m a…” I lowered my voice and cupped a hand over my mouth, “…freaking vampire. Weeks is human; he should at least get a severe case of the heeby-geebies around me. Instead, he just shakes my hand and gives me a credit card? Doesn’t that ring a little odd to you?”

  Reynolds straightened. I could tell from his expression that he didn’t dismissing my point as out-of-hand as Lyman had.

  “Listen to her, kid. It’s a fair question.”

  Lyman conceded, though reluctantly. “Okay. You’re right. But you’re the frigging…” he mocked the way I’d covered my mouth, “…vampire here. Did you sense anything amiss? I mean- the guy stood a foot away from you…”

  “No,” I stated curtly, really starting to get fed up with Lyman’s attitude problem.

  “And did you notice,” he continued, patronizing me with his tone, “how nobody shot at us today? No helicopters. We’ve been sitting in this restaurant for an hour…nobody’s stormed us yet. Just maybe, Mandy, Weeks is on the level.”

  I tapped my chin considerately. “Gosh. I must be having déjà vu or something. Isn’t that exactly what you used to say about Dave Muscat?”

  “Don’t pin that on me!” he pounded the table. “That man pulled me under his wing before I’d ever even heard the word ‘Helsing’, he mentored me, taught me the ropes. Let me date his fucking daughter for God’s sake.”

  Reynolds threw up the time-out sign. It seemed we were getting into the habit of causing a scene at eating establishments. Lyman took heed and backed down. I went back to twirling my tea and thought it over.

  Soon, the waitress brought Lyman’s second helping of meatloaf. I’m glad to say he ate it at a much more civilized pace. Gave me time to think about what he’d said.

  I broke it down for him quietly, “Lyman, Dave Muscat is your Alan McCartney. When Alan chose me, he pulled all the same stuff. Got me to trust him, gave me just enough information to make me feel like I was inside the loop…but, of course, there was a whole bunch he left out. Once he had me where he wanted me, there was no more Mr. Nice Guy.”

  Lyman pushed his half-eaten meatloaf aside. I think I’d just killed his appetite for him.

  “That’s exactly right, Mandy.”

  I thought I literally heard Lyman’s heart crack open inside his chest. For the first time, I really got what Dave Muscat had meant to him. This had been somebody he trusted and looked up to; a father figure.

  “They’ll pay,” he vowed, jaw tight. “Both Muscat and McCartney.”

  I hated to even bring her up, but felt someone had to. “What about Mary-Christine? Do you have any immediate plans to go rescue her from the tower, Prince Lyman?”

  “No. there’s no reason to plan anything immediate. She’s safe where she is; Muscat’s not going to throw his own daughter under the train.”

  Reynolds threw his two cents in, “She wasn’t really…adapting…too well to life on the lam anyway.”

  Lyman smirked but refused to laugh. I, on the other hand, giggled my ass off.

  Lyman put it up to a vote. “So…it’s just the three of us for now.”

  Both Reynolds and me confirmed with sharp nods of the heads.

  “We need to come up with a plan then; where do we even fucking start?”

  I kept my head down, afraid Lyman might see my ulterior motives written on my face. “Since we’re here…we might as well pay a little visit to Unicorps. After all - we are all one big, happy family now.”

  Corporate Headquarters

  I took my meds as soon as I got back in the car. Warm Coke and all.

  Reynolds took us to a diner, and I don’t know how I’d gotten so hungry, but after so long off my anti-vampire medication, it felt like the whole world had slowed down again. It was actually very nice to be back under the meds once more; almost relaxing. After two plates of meatloaf, I actually felt the best I had in many days.

  I only half-listened to the guys talking, but my ears did prick up when Mandy said she wanted to visit Unicorps. “What the heck for?”

  Her smile looked nowhere near convincing. “Just to see how they work.”

  “Hmm. You’re not planning anything, are you? Like instant revenge? Retaliation?”

  “No! Of course not.”

  Of course, I didn’t believe one word. But I did follow Reynolds on a lot of things, and he nodded. “You think it’s a good idea, too?”

  “Yeah, I do. If I joined a new company, I’d like to see exactly what it could offer me. We’ve obviously got a good deal so far, but just take me, for example. My clock’s ticking. I don’t have an emotional investment in this. I need to pay the bills. I kinda need to know how much of my time you’re going to be using, and who’s going to pay for it.”

  Until then, I had never even thought of Reynolds’s fee, and I felt slightly guilty about it. I was comfortable financially; mom and dad’s insurance had left me almost rich, but I could see that if I continued spending like I had been doing, that it wouldn’t last long.

  So I dialed the number again.

  “Lyman?”

  “Yes, sir. We’d like to see inside Unicorps, if that’s ok.”

  “Eh, yes, I think that would be to our mutual advantage. Are you still in Atlanta?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then just get to the airport. I have another meeting in town; I’ll be leaving in about two hours. There’s a private terminal, just follow the signs for Charter Flights. The company name is Transperian.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  “Goodbye, Lyman.”

  I flipped the phone closed. “We’ve got two hours to make it to the airport.”

  Mandy looked bemused. “I thought we were talking about here in Atlanta?”

  “Obviously not.”

  Hartsfield–Jackson Atlanta International Airport is on the south side of Atlanta, and of course, we were on the north side. Seven lanes of freeway circled the city, and every single one full of speeding traffic. Reynolds drove, thank goodness. ‘The busiest airport in the world’, it stated on the signs. We had to get parking sorted out. The bus ride. Finding the right terminal. Even so, we were just on the ninety-minute mark as we walked to the check-in desk at Charter Flights.

  As we waited in the line, a large black guy in a suit approached. “Transperian?” he asked. Just the one word had been enough to hear his clipped East Coast accent.

  “Yes, that’s us.”

  “Party of three?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, no. Follow me.”

  He had a Grundec Systems badge on his suit jacket pocket. I remembered the name from Howard Weeks’s card.

  The airplane wasn’t quite Lear Jet quality, but it very comfortable inside. I’d never been in such a small airplane before, and felt quite impressed by the room inside. There were only twenty or so seats, most with fixed tables. We were seated in particular seats, and within minutes, Howard Weeks came aboard.

  “Good afternoon, all.” As he sat, the plane doors closed. “Welcome to my little concession to the global warming myth. Despite several comfortable commercial flights, I do prefer to fly alone, so to speak.”

  Despite my attempts to the contrary, Howard did not want to talk about himself or his company, b
ut in the two hours, he successfully pried our three life stories into the open. We reached Chicago around six pm, and thirty minutes later we stood in front of the glass doors of Helsing central.

  Vampire control HQ.

  “I have personnel working late most days, but today they get a treat. This is an auspicious day indeed; never has a Helsing-vampire, and a vampire-Helsing walked these corridors together.”

  We took an elevator down three floors.

  Considering the double doors in the Atlanta building, I looked around for a similar level of security, and saw none.

  When the elevator door opened, four white lab-coated figures awaited us. All had Transperian logos on their breast pockets.

  “Doctors,” Weeks said. They all bowed their heads slightly. We were all formally introduced, although I’m not sure Mandy liked being called the world’s first ‘vampire-Helsing’ all the time. I memorized the doctors’ names; Frobisher, Wang, Cuthbertson, and Styles.

  We walked slowly down a corridor with windows on either side. Inside were laboratories, mostly empty, but some with lab-coats working inside.

  Wang took the role of tour guide.

  “We have four individual Vampire departments here in Transperian Chicago: V-Study, V-Recovery, V-Regenesis, and V-Nemesis.

  “V-Study, Vampire Study, is my baby. It’s a gene program which looks at the historical database of all captured subjects. We have an extensive gene map which goes back almost four hundred years.” Wang looked at Mandy. “We will be revising our gene extraction processes in the light of your testimony, Miss Cross.”

  Mandy just nodded. She had a blank expression on her face, but she appeared interested, constantly looking around.

  “All gene extraction is carried out pre-execution, so we were unable to process Amos Blanche in that respect.”

  I opened my mouth to apologize, but he’d continued.

  “But we got blood and tissue from the spatter on the wall, which made extraction just as easy. Unfortunately, when a vampire disintegrates, their DNA collapses, too. It’s quite inexplicable.”

  We walked on.

  Doctor Frobisher took over, “My department, V-Recovery, is a gene-level study to discover an antidote to the vampire gene. We anticipate success within years rather than decades.”

  Mandy looked up, instantly interested. “You mean to reverse the effects?”

  “The research is on two tracks; both to reverse the actual process, and as an inoculant, a vampire flu jab, so to speak.”

  “So you’re looking to get rid of the gene totally?”

  “In essence, yes. The long term plan is to eradicate the world of vampires and their effects.”

  I had to admit, I had not thought of this when I entered the building.

  Doctor Styles spoke for the first time. “V-Nemesis is my baby. It’s the study of the Helsing gene, its origins, its transfer, and its actual physical makeup. Mr. Bracks, you have been the talk of the department since your attempted turning last month. We would love to take some blood and tissue samples before you leave, with your permission, of course. We also now have a new sub-department, which just deals with the new vampire-Helsing mix. ‘Your’ department, so to speak.”

  Doctor Cuthbertson took over. “On our left is V-Regenesis. While we work for the eradication at a gene level, if we left the vampire population alone, it would increase exponentially every year. V-Regenesis is the program you are currently involved in, the physical extermination of the vampire at the source. No disrespect intended, Miss Cross, but the vampire population represents a threat to humanity. If it were properly led, it could become pandemic. We are fortunate that the leadership is fatally flawed. Frank Herbert once said, “Power itself does not corrupt, it merely attracts the corruptible.” Mr. Bracks, Miss Cross, your recent data regarding the cell structure of the vampires in Arizona is currently being looked at, and we would be grateful for your input in our investigations so far.”

  Impressed by the sheer scale of the operation, I looked around in silence.

  It looked like Transperian in Chicago was the hub of the Helsing-vampire movement all over the world.

  For my part, I kept very quiet. I felt, at first, disappointed that we ended up in Chicago; I’d been looking forward to a grand tour of the Atlanta facility. Who cares about their fancy labs, their “V” this and “V” that? Personally, I was far more interested in scoping out blue eye shadow and black ponytail.

  Despite my promise to my reflection, that would have to wait for another day. One thing about vampires - we’ve got time.

  I did perk up a bit at Dr. Styles’ talk about this V-Nemesis deal. Would it be possible? Reverse the effects of vampirism? Become human again? Obviously, they were at least halfway there. Lyman now had a new supply of meds and looked back to his old self. Could they really get him all the way back?

  Get me back?

  And if they could - did I really want that? Humans got old. They got diseases. They died for real. I mean, I’d died twice already, and I walked around, business as usual. I could continue to live for centuries.

  Of course, it wasn’t turning out to be much of a life so far. Being hunted. Killing to survive. Not able to get close to anybody. I didn’t really like other vampires much, and humans sure as heck didn’t like me.

  Sure - Lyman seemed to be my friend. But, if he never completed transition into full-on vampiredom, someday he would die. Then where would I be? Alone, that’s where.

  All this flew through my head while the Transperian geniuses took turns, going on about their different projects. Lyman, on the other hand, ate it up. He nudged me in the side when he noticed my head wasn’t in the game.

  “Are you paying attention?” he whispered, as Dr. Cuthbertson led us to what he called ‘the debriefing room.’

  I grinned. “Every word.”

  We ended up in a large hall with a giant, black marble-top table. It had elaborate etchings in its grand oak legs. Cushy, black leather chairs - about twenty of them - were placed all around. On a far wall hung a line of portraits of a succession of distinguished-looking men in suit and tie. Emblazoned at the bottom of each sat a brass plaque with names and a span of years.

  Hugo Terry 1920-1945

  Vance Petron 1945-1965

  Warren Fleece 1965-1985

  Howard Weeks 1985-Present

  And the years went back in time - clear back to the early twenties. I played the curious child in the museum; I strolled right up to the wall-of-fame and examined each and every face. All very serious, yet bright and aware. Men of honor all; men of secrets.

  “Former Transperian C.E.O.s, Miss Cross,” the good doctor filled in.

  “Looks like you’ve got quite a long history, Dr. Cuthbertson.”

  “And a notable one, Miss Cross.”

  I twisted to find that Mr. Weeks had come in behind me; somehow I hadn’t heard him - somewhat unusual for a vampire. He took the chair at the head of the table, Dr. Cuthbertson sat to his left, and Lyman to his right. Reynolds and me stuck close to our friend.

  “I’d really love to hear about it,” I said, taking my seat.

  Lyman chimed in, “So would I, sir.”

  “Suffice to say that our legacy is one that stretches back centuries; before our ancestors ever stepped foot on American soil. It’s a noble and valiant tradition. One I’m proud to have spent my life devoted to; and am truly honored to now have each of you a part of.”

  Weeks did a decent job of using a lot of words without actually saying anything— and somehow managing to not come across as evasive. Lyman, at least, nodded along with the speech and didn’t pose any follow-up questions. I decided to save mine for another day.

  Satisfied he’d pacified us, Weeks continued, “So, here’s where our two respective paths converge into one. Fitting that our first official debriefing should commence in this room where so many of our predecessors - great minds of their generations - mapped out the strategies that have led to some of our greatest achie
vements.”

  “War room?” Lyman mumbled, perplexed.

  Weeks nodded sagely. “In a sense, yes.”

  Personally, coming to terms with the scale of this enterprise proved difficult. It seemed to me that Lyman and Reynolds were experiencing their own likewise epiphanies. Suddenly we had the “great minds” Weeks had spouted about at our disposal. We had funding. Backup. Maybe even troops; for sure we had our new general.

  And Weeks certainly knew the right question to ask at just the right moment, too.

  “Miss Cross, how’s all this setting with you? I’m sure it must be quite a transition into our world for you.”

  My response seemed inadequate to sum up all we’d witnessed. “I’m working through it…sir…”

  “I assure you that your presence on our team is most welcome. You will find no further opposition from Unicorps going forward.”

  That pill seemed a little too big to swallow. Last week they wanted to stake me; now I was suddenly just one of the fellas. Too weird.

  A man in a blue suit came through the door, presented Weeks with a stack of what he called, “the latest intel”, and left just as abruptly as he’d come.

  Weeks spilled over the data, lips puckered in thought. Then he pushed the file over to Lyman, who made a very similar face.

  “We’ve got our front line, team,” Weeks announced. “We’re taking our fight to Harris.”

  There seemed little point in going back to Atlanta, but our guns were in the trunk of the car, and with the coagulant pistols, we simply couldn’t leave them there. So Weeks’s plane took us first to Atlanta, where we brazenly walked back into the airport with our bags, flashed our badges at the ‘Charter Flights’ desk, and back onto the plane to Flagstaff.

  We hired a taxi to Gregor, and dropped Reynolds off at his office. Mandy wanted to go straight to Harris, but I wanted a change of pace for a day, and told her so. As soon as we were dropped off at my place, she just got in her car and left. Vampires need so little sleep.