“Yes, Geoffrey?” Edison said dismissively as he penned immaculate notes into a leather bound journal.
Geoff sat his own notebook down on the lab counter and took a deep breath before continuing, “I’ve been your assistant here for several months now. I want you to know I’m thankful, but I have some questions. Personal questions I’d like to put forth, if you don’t mind.” Geoffrey adjusted his spectacles on the bridge of his nose.
Edison lowered his quill; he favored using an inkwell and quill late at night, and picked up his ever present goblet of red wine. “Previous assistants have asked personal questions Geoffrey. Many of them did not like the answers they received, leading to their resignation, or termination. Ask what you will, but be mindful that the answers you seek might only muddle your feelings.” The genius sipped at his wine, and inclined his head, indicating for Geoffrey to speak.
Geoffrey swallowed down yet another dry mouth as his heartbeat thumped loudly in his ears. He steeled himself, and asked his first question, “Why do we only work at night?”
Edison was quick to answer, “I dislike the sun. Also, it amuses me that the research we do to eliminate the darkness of night is done at night. I find it fitting. Poetic.”
Geoffrey nodded apprehensively. He didn’t quite like that answer, but was scared to press the issue. “I also wondered about your diet sir. We’ve spent so long together these past few months, and I’ve never seen you eat so much as a single bite of food. All I’ve ever observed you eat or drink is that wine sir, and that worries me. How you stay well is mystifying.”
Edison cracked another wry grin, revealing teeth stained pink from the wine, “I’ve found that my stomach has a gentle constitution since I took ill several years ago. I eat very little now, and my wine soothes my humors.” He lifted the glass chalice and took another sip to emphasize the point.
“I see. I guess I just–well, I find it odd that we aren’t using the larger laboratory upstairs, where the others work, and you avoid sunlight entirely, and you never eat. It’s very odd, and I worry.”
“Don’t fret, Geoffrey. I am as healthy as an ox, and I plan on being around forever. If you play your cards right my son, I might just keep you around here for a good long time as well, and you will learn more science than you can imagine. We will change the world! Now, fetch me another bottle of the red please. I seem to have run out.” Edison downed the remainder of his glass and motioned for the sturdy wine cabinet in the corner of the low ceilinged room. Bolstered by the distraction of the small task, Geoffrey hopped up and retrieved the last heavy red bottle. He shut the stained glass door to the now empty cabinet, and started walking back to Edison.
“This is the last bottle, sir,” he said as he walked around one of the larger lab counters.
“Oh dear. I’ll need to send for more tomorrow. This bottle should get me through tonight though. Do bring it here. Be careful,” Edison snapped his fingers impatiently. Geoffrey thought it looked almost nervous, almost frantic.
Disaster struck. Geoffrey, lost in thought about Edison’s near manic moment, cut the final corner near the lab counter too short, clipping the bottom of the bottle on the hard soapstone surface, shattering it. The red wine issued out the broken bottom in a flood, covering his best slacks and creating a substantial spill on the smooth tile floor. The cleanup would set them back the rest of the night.
“Oh no, Mr. Edison! I’m so sorry!” Geoffrey said, looking down at the floor and the red spill. His foot was in the center of the mess, and he turned slightly, causing the foot to skid and slide on the wine. The consistency of it struck him as odd, and he knelt quickly, putting a knee and a finger in the dark red pool. He lifted the red fingertip to his nose, but before he even smelled the coppery, iron filled blood, he knew what it was. He stood, and saw a look that was beyond rage, and something entirely inhuman on the face of his mentor.
“Mr. Edison-“ Geoffrey said, suddenly very frightened for his life.
Edison moved–no, Edison launched over the lab counter like an enormous predator cat. Geoffrey didn’t have the time or sufficient reflexes to move, and literally before he knew it, his head was bouncing off the tile floor, and he was blacked out. When he came back to consciousness, Edison was crouched over his chest with one hand holding his neck against the floor in a grip that was vice-like. Edison looked positively feral, and radiant with rage. Long yellow-white fangs came down where the canines should have been in his mouth, and now for certain, Geoffrey knew Edison’s eyes were red. They glowed not unlike the red embers from Edison’s light bulbs.
Geoffrey was taken aback by how cold he felt against him.
“I SAID BE CAREFUL!” Edison snarled in Geoffrey’s face, his mouth stinking of rotten blood. “Now I’ll need to feed Geoffrey! And you are the only meal here tonight! What will I tell your parents when you’re a husk in a closed casket? Moron!”
Geoff couldn’t breathe. Edison’s claws were shutting his windpipe, and he gasped and sputtered, trying to say something, say anything that might buy him his life. Finally, as he was about to succumb to the blackness once more, Edison let up the tiniest bit, and the closing circle of death retreated.
Geoffrey coughed, “Mr. Edison, what are you? You’re cold, you’ve been drinking blood? You–you’re a beast!”
The fingers tightened again, “Do not presume to tell me what I am boy. I am primordial! I am advancement beyond humankind, beyond the brittle flesh of the living! I am the first of an old kind to take back the blackness of night. I am a vampire!” Edison snarled, baring the fangs once more.
What was a Vampire? Geoffrey choked out a broken series of words, “What? How?”
Edison looked down to the pool of blood and ran his hand through the spill. Blood red fingers disappeared into his mouth one by one, and he suckled on them like a babe at a teat. The tiniest amount of the vitae seemed to stabilize the monster that had erupted.
“I was approached by a wealthy businessman while on holiday in Europe. He gave me an offer I could not refuse. Eternity to research my obsessions. All I need sacrifice was my life, and the sun. But you see, that is not a loss at all, my boy, for I have created electric light.”
Geoffrey nodded slightly. Edison’s hand had loosened more. It seemed like the blood had calmed him. “But you also need to drink blood? Do you kill?”
“Vampires are ageless creatures from beyond the curtain of death young boy. Not human, not alive, but more. Yes, I need to drink blood to maintain my existence. Yes the sun is my bane. Yes I must kill now and again but sacrifices must be made, Geoffrey. To advance science you must question everything, even morality, even God. Every soul that meets their end in my red wine glass furthers mankind as a whole. It is a small price to pay, murder.”
Geoffrey was nearly speechless. Nearly. “Who dies?” he asked.
Edison was now sitting on his haunches, gargoyle-like, “Anyone at first, when the thirst is strongest. But now, just immigrants. I have several men who offer jobs to immigrants getting off of boats in New York City. A few every week is more than enough. In fact, I’m contributing rather substantial funds anonymously to the creation of a new immigration center. It is to be called Ellis Island. But no one will know I have anything to do with it, right Geoffrey?” Edison’s glowing red eyes flared as he looked back down at the young man below him.
Geoffrey shook his head, his eyes fixated on Edison’s long fangs, “Of course sir. Nothing you say shall ever pass from my lips. I understand completely.”
Edison continued. He was fervent, zealous, “Your predecessors Geoffrey, some were just incompetent, and they saved the lives of immigrants, feeding me instead of the foreigners. But some, like you, asked the questions. You are the smart ones Geoffrey, the inquisitive minds. But are you different from the others? Can you handle the truth of who and what I am and persevere in the face of that reality? For the good of science? For the good of mankind?” Edison looked away, then back again, but with a different kind of smile entirely, �
�Or will you become just another cabinet of red wine for me?”
Geoffrey nodded emphatically, “Sir, I understand. You’ve given everything to be one of the world’s most prolific minds, and I’d do the same. No one can understand what it means to truly seek knowledge in the way you have, and the way I wish to. I would do anything for the world, for science.”
Edison’s eyes lost their raw flare and faded back to a normal color as he regarded the boy on the floor below him. Geoffrey watched as his eyes drifted down to the throbbing artery in his neck, then back up to his eyes. Edison’s fangs slowly retracted back into his gums, much like a cat’s claws.
“You seek eternal life?” He asked softly.
“I don’t seek eternal life, Mr. Edison. I wish to seek. To learn, to study, and to know. If that means I must be as you, I accept that sacrifice.”
“You cannot know what you say, you are far too young, too naïve. You have not yet proven yourself loyal enough to receive that gift. You’ve sacrificed so little. But I shall spare your life for this night. I have a strange faith in you that I have never possessed over my previous aides.”
Geoffrey was ecstatic. “Thank you, good sir. I shall prove my worth, as I said. I know I will.”
Edison stood, the knees of his pants, and his face covered in blood. “I suggest you never drop another bottle of my wine if you wish to live, Geoffrey. Quite literally it is the one thing that is keeping my teeth from your throat every night.”
*****
It took Geoffrey two full weeks of sleepless days to build up the courage to approach Mr. Bradley. He knew it had to be done, and the only man who Geoffrey thought knew enough about Edison’s… condition, to be of any assistance.
Geoffrey couldn’t fail in this, or Edison would kill him. And drink him.
Mr. Bradley sat in his office, his hat resting on the top of the spike filled cane in the corner. Mr. Bradley wore only his vest, and he was sweating profusely. The early summer heat had risen dramatically, and the assembly line was even hotter. Several of the immigrant workers–those Mr. Edison hadn’t drained of blood–called the sweat den the devil’s den. Mr. Bradley wiped his brow with a white handkerchief and shuffled some forms on his desk, looking for something in the numbers and words.
“Mr.-, Mr. Bradley?” Geoffrey asked from the doorway. Geoff had come into work far earlier than usual, specifically to meet with the man about Mr. Edison, and his... needs.
Bradley looked up from his sweat stained paperwork and assessed Geoff. “You’ve gotten a bit pale, Geoffrey. All these late nights with Mr. Edison have taken a toll on your complexion.”
Geoffrey laughed nervously, “They’ve certainly taken a toll sir. Speaking of which, I was wondering if I could steal a few minutes of your time? Regarding Mr. Edison and the… condition you spoke of?”
Bradley sat the paperwork down and stared at Geoffrey. There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence, and Geoff thought Mr. Bradley might’ve forgotten what he was referring to, or wanted nothing to do with the conversation. Finally he motioned for Geoff to take a seat in the hard wooden chair near his desk.
“What is it you need to talk about?” The plant manager asked, pulling the bottom desk drawer out and producing two tumblers and a bottle of scotch.
Geoff watched him slowly pour a finger in each tumbler, mesmerized by the brown, oaky liquor splashing up the sides of the glass. Finally he spoke as Bradley pushed the drink across the desk to him.
“Mr. Edison has changed sir. Before I started to work with him, something dire happened. Something I think you’ve suspected all along.”
Bradley downed the finger of scotch and immediately poured twice as much into the glass. He swirled it around and licked his lips, “What can you tell me young man? Make no statements that aren’t fact. In this manner I suspect there’s precious little we can afford to guess on.”
“I believe Mr. Edison is a vampire,” Geoff said quietly, looking over his shoulder at the open office door. He felt a bead of salty sweat trickle down his cheek. He couldn’t tell if it was from the sweltering humidity, or from nerves.
“Where did you learn that word?” Mr. Bradley asked, sipping at the scotch.
“I read it in a book. Mr. Edison also said it a few times. It caught my curiosity so I did a bit of research,” Geoffrey replied, sipping at the harsh liquor. It burned his throat as it slid down, and he wondered why anyone would drink it.
“I think you’re right, Geoffrey. I’ve wondered for a good long time since Mr. Edison took ill, and since he stopped eating and going out at day. I’ve also thought it strange how he talks poorly of religion now, saying it’s all bunk. I’ve Romanian blood in me, and my mother and father told me of the blood drinkers. Have you seen him drink his wine? It’s blood, isn’t it?”
Geoffrey sipped the liquor, and slowly nodded.
“I knew it. I’ve known all along. He is one of God’s forsaken.”
“I don’t know what to do, Mr. Bradley. I accidentally dropped a bottle of his… wine the other day, and he nearly killed me. Teeth as long as a wolf’s, and eyes that glowed like coals. He had such strength sir. He held me down like a bear might hold a river salmon. I was able to talk him out of killing me, and since I’ve been able to stay in his good graces.”
“He’s a murderer.”
Geoffrey nodded, “I think he’s been killing people every week since he took ill, as you said he did. What do we do?”
Bradley’s hand shook as he tipped the tumbler once more this time draining it. He started nodding, building in rapidity to the point where Geoffrey though the man might be having a small seizure. Finally he stopped, setting the glass down on the wide oak desk with a clink.
“What do we do sir?” Geoff asked again.
“We kill him, like my ancestors did in Romania, the same way they have for centuries. I will drive my ash stake into his cold dead heart. And to be sure, we shall strike his head from his shoulders, and bury one far from the other. Are you with me, Geoffrey? Do you have the courage to do this with me?”
Geoffrey reached across the desk and picked up the bottle of scotch. With shaky hands he poured an inch of the liquor, and downed it immediately, wincing from the scorched throat it gave him. He nodded, almost of a different mind, “Yes, Mr. Bradley. I don’t see as if I have a different choice in the matter.”
The factory manager got up and walked around the desk, closing the office door gingerly. He sat back down, and produced a clean sheet of letterhead paper from a stack. He picked up a pencil, and started to jot notes.
“What are you doing?” Geoff asked.
Bradley looked up and scratched his beard with dirty fingers. Geoff thought there were a few new gray hairs. Quite a few.
“First, we plan.”
*****
“He sleeps in a dormitory in the basement,” Geoffrey told Mr. Bradley two weeks later. It was then deep into the core of the humid New Jersey summer, and the heat was crushing in the mid afternoon. The sun bored through the slats in the window shade like daggers made of flame. Glasses of iced tea one after another did their best to fight against the dehydration, but it was a lost cause until the sun went down.
Bradley looked over the notes Geoff had written earlier and nodded. They had their plan.
The manager spoke, “My mother once told me that the vampires are weaker during the day as they sleep.”
Geoffrey didn’t know how to respond, so he nodded. He felt his heartbeat quicken.
“We go now. We do this and end it all. Today, Thomas Edison meets his end, Geoffrey, and we will either be hailed as heroes, or criminals should we do this wrong.”
“I don’t know if I-“
“You’ve no choice. Take the cane, I’ll get the torches. Today, we use only the light that fire provides us. Edison’s electric light will not shed justice in this, the good Lord’s matter,” Bradley stood, and for the first time, the manager looked confident. Righteous. Just.
Geoffrey grabbed the bras
s headed cane and followed the man out into the hallway towards the stairs that would take them down to where Edison’s cold, dark lair was.
*****
Edison’s body was in a container that looked exactly like a seven foot long water chest. A large padlock hung from it, but Geoffrey knew it to be false. Like the chest it hung from, it was all only for the sake of appearance. A single ornament designed to dissuade the viewer from the real purpose of the chest.
In his left hand Bradley held the lit torch they had made from a scrap of wood, a handkerchief, and some of the vodka the Russian immigrants from the factory drank so freely. It burned bright and clean, casting orange light and black shadows across the finely appointed apartment. In his right hand Bradley held a large cross. He made the sign of the holy trinity and motioned for Geoffrey to approach the chest with him.
The young man held his breath, his heart hammering away. Adrenaline coursed through him, electrifying his every nerve and muscle, much like Edison’s loved energy might. He had never felt so alive, or so close to death. It was a queer exhilaration.
“Open it,” Bradley said quietly.
Geoffrey walked around the newly minted vampire slayer and took the torch from him. He handed off the hawk headed cane and with a nod, lifted the padlock, raising the lid of the water chest as well. Bradley had already unscrewed the spike from the cane, and had it at the ready.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bradley,” said Edison from the corner of the room, several feet from the chest. His voice was low, and full of malice.
Bradley spun, producing the holy cross at the area of the bedroom Edison had spoken from. Geoffrey lifted the torch to try and shed more light on the vampire, his hand shaking like a leaf blowing in a pre-storm wind. The shadows, impossibly black and thick peeled away from the corner of the room like a cloak unfurling. The darkness was unnatural, and the torch’s flame did little to pierce it. Edison took a step forward into the room, his fangs bared casually. He looked omnipotent.
The Shed Page 7