End of Days

by Max Turner

  — CHAPTER 19

  AN UNEXPECTED GUEST

  I awoke a few hours before the sunset, which was unusual. I was strangely alert. My heart was beating hard. I heard footsteps in the hall. Hackles started to rise on my neck. The footsteps stopped outside my door. A series of gentle knocks followed.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “It’s me, boy. You up?” It was Mr. Entwistle.

  “I’m awake, yeah.”

  The door opened slowly. Sunlight from the hall window filtered through the dusty air. It was faint, but strong enough that I had to squint.

  “I was having trouble sleeping,” he said, and stepped into the room. “I thought we should talk.”

  I was more than a bit surprised. He was supposed to be long gone. And it was daytime. The sunlight was still strong and there wasn’t a mark on him. “How did you get in here?”

  “Here? Oh, simple. I never really left. I’ve been sleeping here all day.”

  “I watched you go.”

  “Yeah. I did. I had to see a friend. But then I came right back and cut the glass out of a basement window. I couldn’t risk staying away for long. Not with a creature as dangerous as Hyde running around. I had to stay close.”

  He started pacing back and forth in front of the window. It was shuttered with thick wooden slats. A blind and set of curtains kept out almost every photon.

  “So you stayed?”

  “Yeah. I figured if Ilona found out, I’d ask forgiveness. It’s easier than getting permission.”

  Funny, that was Charlie’s philosophy. It had helped him set the school record for after-class detentions. When I thought about it, the two vampires had a lot in common.

  “Why do you call her that? Ilona.”

  He cleared his throat, but his feet kept moving. “Ilona is her name. Or it was, centuries ago. Why? What does she call herself now?”

  “Ophelia.”

  “Ophelia.” He paused for a moment, his lips pressed together, but his eyes stayed busy. “ ‘To the celestial and my soul’s idol, the most beautified Ophelia . . . Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.’ ”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed, then stood up right away and started pacing back and forth in front of the painted window again. He did this for about half a minute. He was mumbling to himself.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I’ve been thinking. A lot. And I . . . Well . . . About your future and what’s happening and what Ophelia said, and I think she’s right.”

  I wasn’t certain what he was referring to. What was she right about? It was hard to concentrate. His behavior was distracting—his voice, his restlessness, and the rapid movement of his eyes from the floor to me, to the window, to the door. He couldn’t stay focused on anything for long. It reminded me of the first time I’d seen him, when he crashed a motorcycle through the lobby of the Nicholls Ward.

  “You seem agitated.”

  “Yeah. Happens when I get visions. Can’t sleep. And I could use a bolt or two. Haven’t had a drink since our Little Lake adventure.” He tapped his chest. “I usually have a bottle handy, but I sacrificed my last one during our getaway.”

  “Maybe Ophelia has something you can take.”

  He shook his head and waved a hand in front of his face. “No. No, I’m not into medication. My mind needs to be alert. That stuff turns you into a zombie.”

  He looked to be halfway there. If he hadn’t been moving so quickly, I might have mistaken him for one.

  “Has Ophelia spoken to you yet?” he asked.

  I wondered if that was the real reason he was so restless, because he was worried I knew about him and about his past—that he’d once been a murderer and an executioner. “Yes. I have spoken with her, and I . . .” I didn’t know how to explain about Baoh. It was just a dream, but it was more than a dream. I needed a second or two to think about what to say, but I didn’t get time. He kept on talking.

  “I have much to atone for. I’ve been many people in the past. Most of them bad. There are things I hope history will forget. Things you wouldn’t understand. I was raised in a different age.” His voice began to waver. He stopped long enough to look at me. His pale blue eyes were watering. “I have done terrible things. Unforgivable things.” He looked away again. His fingers strayed to his forehead. “And no matter how often I change my name or redirect the course of my life, I can’t escape them. . . . It is my cross to bear.” He waved his hand and muttered something to himself. “But that is as it should be. And it’s neither here nor there. What I came to tell you was this—I have tried to make up for it. To live my life, my recent life, in a way that is fair and good. That would be pleasing to a higher power . . .” His forehead wrinkled up and he lost his train of thought.

  “I had a vision yesterday. I think it was meant to show me the way forward. I have been thinking about it . . .” He looked over at me again, then down at the floor. The pacing continued. “I think this Hyde creature is my penance. A thing I have to face, alone, to atone for what I’ve done. I don’t think I’ll survive. I don’t think I’m meant to. But I have to face him anyway.” He looked over to make sure I was following him. Or that I believed him. I kept nodding. “I have to, because no one else can. After that, there is only darkness. But it doesn’t matter. Do you know what matters?” His eyes found me again, then bounced away. I got the sense he’d forgotten the answer to his own question. But he kept talking anyway. “There are men out there who will judge us and kill us. And vampires like Vlad, who will do the same. I believe in balance. Yin and yang. You understand what I mean?”

  I wasn’t sure, but I said I did anyway.

  “Well, there needs to be balance in the vampire world. A balance of perspectives. I don’t judge people anymore. I used to. When men called me the Butcher of England. The Butcher . . . But I’m not like that now.”

  He sat down again. “What I’m trying to say is this. There has to be someone out there who doesn’t judge. Who will try, no matter what, to be good to everyone, whether they’re good or whether they’re bad.” He waved his hand in the air as if he’d just said something ridiculous. “Well, we’re all good and bad. Everyone. You, me, Ophelia, Charlie. You know that.” He stood up. “But sometimes the evil is more obvious. The good is buried. But it’s always in there. Deep down. And you can find it—raise it up. Even in your enemies. You believe that, don’t you?”

  I did and I said so.

  “Good.” He looked at me and stopped again, but only for a second. “Good. You have to. You have to believe. Believe in goodness. And forgiveness. You have to. Because when I’m gone, there has to be someone left who will keep the balance. Who will see the good in all things. In all people. I think that someone is you.” His eyes flashed over to me, then shot around the room. “No. I don’t think it’s you. I know it’s you. It has to be you.”

  He stopped pacing and turned to the door. More footsteps echoed in the hall—light and quick. He sat down on the edge of the bed and whispered, “Listen carefully.” Panic was in his eyes. “You’re going to come to a crossroads. To a decision. I’ve seen it.”

  He was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Zachary, are you all right?” It was Ophelia.

  “I’m fine.”

  Mr. Entwistle kept whispering. He waved a hand as he spoke. “Forget about her. Well, no, don’t forget about her. She needs you. You have to stick together. Charlie, too. But just listen. The Apocalypse is upon us. For our kind, at least. And the one who leads us through the End of Days, who emerges in the aftermath to establish a new order, will be a saint or a demon.”

  A saint or demon? That sounded close to “a shepherd or a scourge.” Was he was talking about the prophecies? He must have seen the surprise on my face.

  “You know this already?” he said quickly.

  I nodded.

  “Good.” I could feel his relief. It settled him down, but only for a second.
“Like I said, you’re going to come to a crossroads. To a decision. Do your best to be a saint. It’s what the world needs. Lord knows, there are enough demons out there . . .”

  As he was reaching for the knob, the door opened. Ophelia was standing in the hall, an alarmed expression on her face. “What are you doing here? The sun is still up.”

  If Mr. Entwistle noticed her fear, he gave no sign. He fished into one of the pockets of his overcoat. “Just bringing him this.” It was a bag of blood. I was surprised all his pacing hadn’t popped it open. “I got worried that if Hyde came and he was still injured, you wouldn’t be able to escape.” He fished in his other pocket. “I brought one for Charlie, too. And for you.”

  “Where did you get these?” Ophelia asked.

  “From a friend. It’s clean, if that’s your concern. Harvested straight from the source. They haven’t passed through the Underground, so there’s no way for them to be tainted.”

  Ophelia took the bags from him and backed away toward the bed. He stepped into the doorway and turned to face me one last time. We made eye contact. He nodded. I nodded back. Then he closed the door and walked away.

  I listened to his footsteps as they faded down the hall. He was talking to himself quietly. “ ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me . . .’ ”

  . . . thou art with me. The words felt like a quiet rebuke. This wasn’t right. I opened the door. “Wait,” I shouted.

  He stopped. An uncovered window sat at the top of the stairs. The light was too bright so I had to step behind the doorframe. I don’t know how he managed to stand there so calmly. Then I realized he wasn’t calm. He was the opposite.

  “Don’t leave. Just wait downstairs. In the basement maybe.”

  I was worried Ophelia would object, but she didn’t. I closed the door and listened. His footfalls descended two flights of steps. Ophelia moved toward me. I held up a hand to stop her. I wanted to listen—to see if he kept pacing. He did.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “How did he get here?”

  I wasn’t sure exactly what to say, so I said nothing.

  “He seemed manic,” she said.

  “Yeah, he did. He was like that last year, too. When he crashed that stolen motorcycle through the lobby.”

  She looked at the door, then at the window. I’m not sure what she saw there, but she was thinking. “It could be a seasonal affective disorder.”

  I’d heard of this. Sad Stephen, one of the patients I used to know at the Nicholls Ward, had the same thing.

  “Could you give him something?” I asked. “I think he just needs some sleep. He was worried.”

  “About what?”

  “He says he has to face Hyde. Alone. He saw it in a vision last night. But he can’t see anything after that. It’s all dark. I think it means Hyde’s going to kill him.”

  Ophelia looked at the door. Her expression changed. Worry became alarm. “Oh . . . Oh, no.”

  I didn’t understand this. She’d booted him out last night and might have done so again just now, in broad daylight. “I thought you didn’t trust him.”

  She sat down on the bed. She stared at the bag of blood in her hand. Her eyes were unfocused. “I don’t know what to think.” She looked at me. “What did Baoh say?”

  “He said I need to be righteous.”

  “And about John?”

  I looked down at the floor. His footsteps drifted up from the basement. From two floors up, they sounded no louder than the soft patter of a cat, but he was probably carving holes in the carpet. “He said that people can change.”

  “But can we trust him?”

  “He didn’t know. But he said I should not do to others that which is harmful to myself.”

  Her eyes returned to the window. For a time she just sat and stared, then she looked down at the bags of blood Mr. Entwistle had given her. “And what does your heart tell you?”

  “I trust him. I think he’s honest.”

  “A person can be totally honest and still not be trustworthy.”

  I didn’t know what she was getting at. My expression must have told her as much.

  “What if a person has poor judgment? For a person to be worthy of trust means you can count on them, not just to be truthful, but to be prudent as well.”

  I hadn’t considered that. I sat down beside her. “Do you trust his judgment?” she asked.

  “No. But that’s why you’re here.”

  Ophelia laughed. She didn’t do this often. Not these days. The pleasant sound made it impossible not to smile.

  “He told me you were right,” I said. “That I had to stick with you. I guess he wants to protect us. He’s going after Hyde alone.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “He told me about the prophecies. He thinks I’m the messiah, too. That I need to see the good in people.”

  Ophelia squeezed my arm, then stood up. “Perhaps his judgment isn’t so bad after all.” She started moving for the door. “I’ll see what I can do for him.”

  “Thanks.” I eyed the bag he’d delivered. My gums started to tingle. It meant my teeth were going to drop.

  “Ophelia.”

  She turned.

  “I think we should stay together—all of us. I think he wants to be on his own to distance us from trouble, but it won’t do us any good if he dies alone. I think this trouble will find us. That Hyde won’t stop until we’re all dead. And the Coven. We’ll need his help for that, too.”

  She took a deep breath. “John’s behavior is reckless, Zachary. He’s a magnet for attention. That makes him dangerous to us, whether he means to be or not. We need to keep a low profile for the time being.”

  “Would you want me to be by myself with that thing running around out there?”

  She shook her head. “No . . . but that isn’t the situation.” She looked at the clock beside my bed. A few hours of sunshine remained in the day. “I think you should get some more rest.” She backed into the hall. “Take care.” Then she closed the door behind her and went downstairs to look after Mr. Entwistle.

  — CHAPTER 20

  A TRIP TO THE HOSPITAL

  If you’re a vampire, when blood enters your body, every system goes wonky. Energy courses through your limbs. Sometimes the rush is so intense you think your brain might catch fire. But when you’re injured, it’s a different game. The pain of your injuries gets concentrated into a few seconds of intense agony. After the burn comes the itch. I guzzled the blood Mr. Entwistle had given me, closed my eyes, and tensed every muscle. Ripped tissue mended. I hissed. Pain racked my body. Then the itch came. I started scratching at the bullet wounds on my thigh and shoulder as if I needed to take the skin off. When this faded, my mind went to heaven. I sat and enjoyed the pleasant aftershocks. When they were gone, I closed my eyes. I started thinking of Luna—how nice it would be if we could visit on the Dream Road every day. I carried this thought into a sleep that took me a few hours past sundown.

  I woke up with Mr. Entwistle standing over me. His eyes were still restless, and his appearance was so haggard, if you’d told me he’d been hit by a train, then dragged along the tracks for a few hundred miles, I would have believed you.

  “Did you get any sleep?” I asked.

  “No, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you leaving?”

  He nodded. “I’m going to see if I can find the Fleabag.”

  I didn’t think it was a good idea for him to go after Mr. Hyde alone, and I said so.

  He looked at me for a few seconds, his teeth clenched, the muscles at the sides of his jaw twitching. “I understand your concern, but there are greater things at stake than the life of John Entwistle.”

  “Where’s Ophelia?” I was hoping she could talk him out of going after Hyde alone.

  He handed me a note. “This was downstairs on the dining room table.�
�

  The writing was Ophelia’s.

  Zachary,

  Detective Baddon has asked for some assistance regarding the investigation of Everett’s death. I thought it might help to clear your name. I see no sign of Mr. Entwistle. Should he return, please exercise caution. Don’t leave the house. There is exercise equipment in the basement and a collection of books and movies. My recommendation is rest. I should be back from the police station in a few hours.

  O

  “It says here you left,” I said.

  “Yes, I did. I had to see someone about a lead. Before I go after Hyde, I thought it would be a good idea to put you in touch with someone who might be able to help out in my absence. Come on. We’re going to the hospital.”

  “I’m not supposed to leave.”

  I held up the note with one hand like a raffle ticket. I hadn’t meant for him to read it, but I guess the way I was holding it suggested otherwise, because he snatched it from my fingers and glanced it over.

  “ ‘Exercise caution,’ huh? That’s great advice. So . . . you coming?”

  “But it says—”

  “Look, boy, the toughest vampire on planet Earth is leaving. Are you safer with me or here by yourself?”

  He had a point.

  “There’s the spirit of the law, and the letter of the law. Always go with the spirit, Zack, the spirit. Always. Ophelia wants you to be safe. You’re safer at the hospital. Plain and simple.” He clapped me on the shoulder and headed down the stairs. “We’re going to be tight for time,” he added over his shoulder, “so hurry. I’ll be in the garage.”

  “What about Charlie?”

  “He’s waiting for us downstairs.”

  I should have known. If trouble was brewing, he’d already have his nose in it.

  I was dressed and downstairs in a flash. The place was dark and empty. I made my way to the garage. I walked in and found Mr. Entwistle and Charlie digging through a toolbox. The old vampire pulled out a small tommy bar and handed it to my friend, who stuffed it into a backpack. Before he closed it, I spied the head of a hatchet and a coil of white rope that was woven with red. It made me think of a candy cane.