Vampires Don't Cry: The Collection

by Ian Hall

  Chris just snarled, “Fuck off, bitch.”

  “If you’re gonna be a bad guy - you might want to work on your insults.”

  He reprised his last statement, “Fuck off, cunt.”

  “Better. More pithy.”

  That had served as our “goodnight” and I left him - straps and all. Sleep wasn’t in the cards for either of us, though. I went upstairs and sucked down a couple pints of blood. I felt some tension building, and I wanted to be over-nourished on my blood that be needing it if this war of words got physical. The more I drank, the stronger I got and my senses sharpened - hearing included. Chris’s ranting could be heard coming up through the floor; he kept it up all through the night.

  By dawn I felt like the worn-out mother of a colicky infant. My nerves were shot. Despite the good feeding, I felt drained; physically and emotionally. I’d have traded my growing fangs for a muzzle in a freaking heartbeat. Instead, I referred to a little babysitting 101. Crying baby: shove a bottle in its mouth.

  I grabbed a pint from the fridge and carried it off to the safe room. Once Chris got his eyes on the gleaming red liquid-filled bag, he’d lost all interest in killing me.

  “Hungry?”

  He made to lunge for the blood but the restraints kept him locked in place. I pierced a hole in the bag with my front teeth and sucked down a mouthful.

  “Mmm. Good stuff.”

  “Give it to me!” his voice thundered off the walls.

  “What do I get in exchange?”

  Chris bared his teeth. “I won’t kill you slowly.”

  “Not much of an incentive,” I said, taking another suck.

  Chris railed and thrashed against the table like some epileptic seizure.

  “If you want some of this you’re gonna have to calm your ass way, way down.”

  I came in closer as he settled. When I brought the bag within reach, Chris’s head sprang up to meet it. I tried not to notice how his pants tented as he drank. He seemed in frenzy mode, his mind nothing but pure carnal desire. I knew the state well.

  He emptied three bags before the lust began to ebb. But, the massive hard-on he sported didn’t subside. The smell of his pheromones were hitting me hard, whipping up my own vampire cravings. As I held the bag in one hand, the other took on a mind of its own. I found my fingers probing the well-formed muscles of Chris’s arms and chest, my breathing becoming heavier.

  I threw myself back, clutching the wrist of my wayward hand like it might somehow run away from me.

  Chris’s voice sounded suddenly sultry and his eyes misted over. “Don’t just take me halfway…”

  OMG! How I wanted to finish that ride.

  Instead, I ran up the stairs to the kitchen, splashing cold water on my face. All I got for my trouble was a wet face, my body still apparently in overdrive.

  “What harm could it do?” I asked myself out loud, not allowing myself to wonder if that thought could have been of Alan’s making. “Might make him more compliant once he’s got that beast under control.”

  Turned out I didn’t need much convincing. My feet moved me back to the safe room in seconds. I found Chris miming the motions, thrusting his pelvis into the air, jaw clenched, fists balled tight, eyes rolling back.

  At the sight of him I felt the fever lift from me and the raging waves in my body went still. This wasn’t my Chris; not the man I’d fallen for. No way this mimic could pass for the real thing.

  I closed the door and left him to ride through frenzy on his own.

  Cold Meat on the Slab

  Mandy looked a real mess when we got home. Chris hadn’t turned full-blown vampire, but he’d a rage frenzy like I’d never seen.

  “That’s with a full blood meal in his belly,” Mandy said. I saw both resentment and disappointment in her eyes.

  Frank moved forward, then recoiled from the smell. Even from the door he smelled kinda gross. “He’s been to the farm.”

  “Farm?”

  “Lyman!” Frank interrupted, “Get Mandy out of here, tell her about the farm. I need some time alone with Mr. McDonald.”

  Mandy lingered for a second, then shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t care anymore.”

  I took her upstairs, then out into the car. Well, dad’s old car actually, mine lay kinda broken, languishing in some desert retreat.

  She glanced back once, then turned, facing forward, totally resigned to whatever Frank had in mind.

  I told her about the chopper ride, Alan’s compound, the two separate huts, and the big generator under the tree.

  “So that’s what Alan’s up to,” she said. “He’s manufacturing the stuff.”

  “Yeah, and I thought it was Angela behind it all.”

  Somehow, I ended up on I40 west, heading towards Everton. Then the turnoff for the farm drew closer, and I slowed and turned up the long drive.

  “Where are we going?” Mandy asked.

  I wasn’t aware that I had a destination, then I remembered Corinna, and the hint of vampire from inside the club. “I want you to take a walk around here. I’m looking for a vampire stray. A ‘Pustiu’.”

  “Lone wolves don’t do well; look at me.”

  I drove past the strip club’s front entrance, and round the side. Big car park, lots of cars.

  “I need you to smell them for vampire.”

  I parked as she nodded.

  We took a leisurely stroll, and I told her about the armored car and the gas suits.

  “They’re absolutely gathering momentum, huh?” she said, sniffing at an open window.

  “Either that or they’re getting desperate.”

  “But why the armored car? They’re the ones who spray the stuff. Why would they want to shield themselves?”

  “Oh, my!” I turned her to face me. “I think I’ve got it!” then I saw a guy over her shoulder. He wasn’t coming out to his car, he had a radio in his hand, and he headed straight for us. “Kiss me,” I said, grabbing Mandy by the elbows, and pulling her towards me.

  “What?”

  “Just kiss me.”

  I don’t care how many girls I lay hands on, and I don’t care how good they all look or taste, there’s no one can kiss like Mandy. Man, by the time the guy came close, I swear I forgot why he I’d been here in the first place.

  “What are you guys up to?”

  Mandy jumped away from me like she’d been caught with her fingers in the cookie jar. Great acting if it had been.

  “Oh, I was here on the weekend, I’m a friend of Guido’s. I was trying to persuade Mandy here to go for a test dance. You know, see how she turns out?”

  The guy had been put off his stride by my mention of the big boss. “Well, just get out of the parking lot, you’re not allowed back here.”

  “Anywhere quiet we can go?”

  He pointed at the mountains. “Yeah, over there.”

  We took a different route through the rows of cars back to mine, when Mandy stopped. “This one.” She pointed to a white Mustang, pretty new.

  I took a note of the number. “Drive the car near. Take a note of who comes out, just in case I don’t get back in time.”

  “Okay.”

  I waltzed into the club, right up to the desk. A tired, pretty lady looked up from a big ledger. “White Mustang in the employee’s parking lot.”

  “Yes?”

  “Guy just hit it on the way out. He didn’t stop.”

  “Crap. I’ll see to it. Thank you.”

  I made my retreat and joined Mandy in the car. Five minutes later, a young woman walked directly over to the Mustang. She checked both sides as Mandy and I approached. Mandy sniffed and nodded.

  “Hello, miss,” I said, trying not to be too much of a surprise.

  She rounded on me like a hungry lioness, and I was a gazelle.

  “Don’t bother, dearie,” Mandy said, slipping her hand onto my ass. “He’s mine, and I don’t share.”

  There seemed a definite tiredness about her; a weariness that you only can ach
ieve with many years on the same treadmill, and she didn’t look old enough to be there yet.

  “My name’s Lyman, how old are you?” I asked.

  She nodded, and took the two steps required to come real close. Then she sniffed me, just under my chin, just like Angela McCartney had done. “Not as old as you, pumpkin. I’m just a baby.”

  “When were you turned?”

  “Seventy-three.”

  “You the only vamp on parade here?” Mandy’s hand had slipped into my back pocket.

  The girl nodded.

  “You doing okay?” I asked.

  “No one bothers me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I wrote my cell number on an old receipt in my pocket. “You’re not alone. We’re just down the road, and if you need anything, help, blood, just call.”

  “Regular Samaritans.”

  Mandy stepped forward and gave her a hug. She looked genuinely surprised.

  “Name’s Mandy.”

  “I’m Pat.” Then she gave me a good look up and down. “I’d fuck him right here and now, Mandy.”

  “Oh, I’m gonna.” Mandy’s grin made me tent my pants in seconds.

  “Either that or take some cinnamon tablets, it’ll take the edge off the itch between your legs.”

  We said our goodbyes, and as I sat in the car, Mandy slid down in the passenger seat until her head lay below the window. Her shirt got pulled tighter across her chest, her eyes wide and smiling. “Want some?”

  Lyman’s face got so pale I thought all the blood in his body had drained to his loins. I laughed out loud at his moment of indecision.

  “I wasn’t serious, dork. Is she gone?”

  He exhaled but who knows if it was relief or frustration; probably both. “Yeah.”

  I popped my head back up. Little Lyman still stood at attention, the second time in one day I’d been in the presence of a raging boner. Just like with Chris, it proved hard to ignore. But, I wasn’t about to set myself up for another heart-to-heart with Mary-Christine. I’d barely survived the first one.

  “Maybe you should hit the club,” I suggested, looking out the window and trying to sound casual about it. “I’m sure they’ve got some VIP room in there.”

  “Yeah, Mandy. That’d be spectacular, waltzing in there with wood.”

  “I bet you wouldn’t be the first.”

  Lyman tugged at the material around his problem area, squirming in his chair. From the smell, I figured he hadn’t being religious about his meds and the overload of hormones had caught up to him. With a freaking vengeance.

  “Can’t you help me out a little here?” he panted.

  I smiled like it’d been a joke. “If I did, you’d only regret it.”

  Lyman reached out and placed his hand on the back of my head, encouraging me forward. “Not if we keep it our little secret…”

  I smacked his arm away. “I’m not Mary-Christine’s stand-in, you asshole!”

  For a minute it looked like he’d strike me back. Instead he flung the door open and got out. “I know somebody who is.”

  Stunned, I watched Lyman’s back as he stalked away to the club. I got my second surprise when they actually let him in. An hour later he reemerged, but if he’d found any relief inside, it wasn’t evident by the scowl on his face.

  “Holy shit, Lyman Bracks. What the hell have you been up to?” I asked as he got back in the car.

  “You should know better than anybody, Mandy Cross.”

  I watched his face as we drove away. No remorse. No trace of emotion whatsoever. I remembered this side of Lyman from back at Sheldon Newell’s house; cold, calculating.

  “Do you love her?” I asked as we drove on.

  His answer seemed distracted; some part of him still lay back in that club. “Who?”

  “You have to ask?”

  “There’re a lot of girls in the world, Mandy.”

  “I didn’t think there was for you.”

  Lyman finally paid me the honor of a sideways glance. “Would that have made a difference to you back in the parking lot?”

  I wanted the answer to be “hell no” but quickly realized I didn’t know for sure.

  “Mary-Christine loves you,” I said instead.

  Lyman scoffed, “That’s on her.”

  “Pull the car over!”

  “That’s more like it…”

  Lyman found a gated entry into some farm road. No streetlights. No traffic.

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  He leaned over the seat, hand coming up my waist to my chest. “Not exactly what I had in mind.” Before I knew it, our lips were meshed, our tongues entangled.

  I pushed him back. “This isn’t what you want, Lyman. If it was, you could’ve had me back at the safe room.”

  “I was stupid. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  In the next instant Lyman had me pinned against the door, lying over me, my ankle threaded through the steering wheel. I reached behind, popped the door latch, and we both went tumbling to the hard ground. With the reflexes of a cat, Lyman maneuvered to land on his hands and knees above me; but the momentum still managed to clack our heads together.

  “Son of a bitch!” he howled, compressing his sore head with the palm of his scraped hand.

  I rolled to a sit and held my head likewise. “Hopefully that knocked some sense in to you, you retard!”

  Lyman burst out laughing. He plopped himself down, sitting up against the side of the car. “Okay. It did.”

  I scooted over to him and he wrapped his free arm around my shoulder. We clasped hands but stared strictly down at our feet. Obviously we were both too embarrassed to look one another in the eye.

  “I know it can be overwhelming - all the urges,” I said, trying to let him off the hook. “Sometimes a vampire’s just got to get laid.”

  “That’s what I was trying to do.”

  “You deserve better, Lyman.” I didn’t know what I intended to say until I’d said it. The words came out in a pathetic choke.

  “Better than you, Mandy?” he squeezed my shoulder. “They don’t come any better.”

  “You know what I mean - with somebody you love.”

  Lyman held me a little tighter then, kissing my temple gently. “Who’s to say I don’t love you?”

  I’m not sure what came over me, but I felt a lot calmer. Maybe it had been the meds that Mandy shoved down my throat. I swear I felt high, but at least it wasn’t showing in my pants.

  When we got back to my place, we found Reynolds’s car still parked outside. Down in the safe room, he leant over a sedated Chris, taking notes. I looked at the pad. It wasn’t his first page.

  “Come on, Chris Baby.” Reynolds said in a sickeningly soothing voice. “Just one more answer, I’ll let you sleep.”

  “Wednesday. We get deliveries on Wednesday.” His voice slurred badly, almost beyond comprehension. But looking at the notes, Reynolds had already tuned in.

  “Every Wednesday, Chris?” he patted his victim’s brow with a damp towel. “Every Wednesday?”

  Chris nodded.

  “Who does the delivery, Chris Baby?”

  “Four Moons.”

  “Okay, is that a delivery company?”

  “Four moons.” His eyes opened; the bulging whites were blood-red. “Four moons in the sky,” he sang, tunelessly.

  I hit the computer at Reynolds’s finger point. After a few searches, ‘Four Moons’ turned out to be a trucking company out of Albuquerque, and ‘Four Moons in the Sky’ was an Ian Gillan track. I noted all contact information, and turned back to the man on the table. Mandy looked on, but her concern had diminished from earlier, like she saw a shadow lying on the table, not a prospective friend and lover.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” Reynolds said, leading the way out of the safe room, and locking Chris in behind us. “We need to read this, dissect it, and turn it into a plan of Armageddon against Alan McCartney.”

  As we went upstairs, I dialed Mary-C
hristine. Her mother answered. “Yes, Lyman?”

  “I need Mary-Christine, Roni. It’s important.”

  “Okay.” She hung up.

  Say what you like about her husband and his ulterior motives for his Helsing connections, since Dave’s crazy behavior, Roni Muscat had proved herself solid.

  Ten minutes later, we were all sitting comfortably, waiting on Reynolds to begin.

  Frank settled himself in the sofa and looked to each of us individually. His tone sounded mellow, seemingly searching each of us for our own emotions.

  Mary-Christine sat by me and clung to my thigh, shifting her weight to my side.

  “Our ‘friend’ downstairs has been very helpful, though he needed coaching,” Reynolds began.

  I expected Mandy to protest the possible torture, but she remained silent.

  He consulted his notes as he spoke, dotting round the pages, making it into a legible flow.

  “Alan McCartney’s found a suitable level of ‘rage’ drug, and in the last week, he’s turned the facility from research to production. The two huts hold ten kids, all vampires, all taken from local schools, they’re all feeders, all feeding what Chris calls the ‘head man.’”

  “Alan,” I said.

  “Probably.” Reynolds nodded. “But we are still making assumptions.”

  “Alan tried to recruit a cadre in Gregor,” I said, “He’s just keeping it all going.”

  “Not sure he ever stopped,” Mandy added.

  “Anyway, word on the armored car is that it’s there for Alan’s own defense against the rage drug, in case Angela attacks again. It seems like they’re going to drop it from canisters, like depth charges. They’ve got tripwires everywhere.”

  “So why didn’t we come across them today?” I asked.

  “Not sure. Maybe we were just lucky.”

  “Maybe Chris talks out his ass.”

  “And that’s also a distinct possibility.” Reynolds looked sideways at Mandy. “But I didn’t tip out information until he’d said it, and I was quite persuasive.”

  “So we have a plan?” I asked.

  Reynolds jumped to his feet. “We have the beginnings of one, and it happens Wednesday.”