Symbiosis: A Vampire Psycho-Thriller

by Louise Atkins

  ‘What we are proposing is strictly confidential. We know who knows and we will find the source of any indiscretions.’ He looked around at them. ‘Forget synthetic blood. We can get all we need from the humans.’

  Lucas risked a quick glance around the circle. All vampires. Lucas didn’t recognise any of them. A meeting within a meeting. He shifted from one foot to the other.

  ‘What is of a much higher priority is an ability to reproduce. Make children. Vampire with human initially – see what adaptations that can bring our kind. Long term we need vamp to vamp reproduction. Keep the genetics pure. We have little idea as yet what such progeny could be like. Sunlight tolerance could be one advantage.’

  ‘But it’s not biologically possible,’ protested a new voice. His speech wavered, faded under the glance of the first speaker. His eyes studied the floor at the man began again.

  ‘We all know the ability to reproduce is frozen, along with aging, hair growth, digestion of food and a natural heartbeat. But look at us. Most of us were changed in our prime. Early manhood. Although the Committee would never admit it, there have been no new vampires made over the age of thirty five for the last century.’

  There were mutterings at that. The Committee were a select group of vampires, select prior to the Joint Government, select prior to HaemX, select back when vampire stories were only just becoming folklore. These were the originals. Lucas knew they were meant to be a level below the Joint Government. He also suspected that they merely tolerated this position and used its cover to their advantage.

  ‘What we’re proposing,’ the speaker continued and all became still once more. ‘Is a research facility into Synth Blood to the rest of the world, but with, shall we say, hidden depths. Well-hidden depths. This discussion ends here. Now. Go about your business. We’ll contact you.’

  For a moment, no one moved. The speaker turned, exited the room, not looking back once. Then, slowly, slowly the group uncoiled. No one spoke. All unwilling to comment in front of anyone else.

  Lucas paused in the corridor, unsure of what he thought. Max caught up with him.

  “This is it, Lucas. We’re on this job. You and me. It goes no further. We get this right and the Committee will be sending all their projects to us. This is it.” Max’s whisper managed to convey all his excitement, despite the lack of volume. It wasn’t a feeling Lucas shared.

  *

  He’d received an email about fifteen minutes after he’d returned to his office. Cryptic. Alluding to the ‘project discussed tonight’. Lucas wasn’t sure ‘discussed’ was the right word. The clandestine nature left him cold. The email simply informed him that further instructions would arrive. He had to admit it would be interesting from a structural point of view, but only that. He’d leave the fertility issue to others. He had no wish to pass on his genetic material. That time was long passed. He knew many vampires, Gabriel included, who thought that the inability to reproduce was yet another advantage of their status. The proposer here was recently made, of that Lucas was sure. Enthusiastic, wanting to make the most of his new found vampire eternity. Lucas turned his attention back to his earlier sketches, fairly certain that the ‘progeny project’ as his brain had now labelled it, would be a long way in the future. If it came about at all.

  The rest of his working shift had been productive but uneventful and now he was in the Entertainment District, outside Gabriel’s gallery. A promise was a promise.

  The light in Black’s Gallery might have been carefully muted to display the artistic treasures in their best way, however, it was unfortunate that it did little to mute the occupants of the gallery, who probably still numbered around one hundred, despite the hour.

  Mingled alcohol and bodies that had perhaps mingled a little too long made him reluctant to enter. He hesitated.

  ‘Luke! You came. Excellent. Just at the right time. The serious party people are here now.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe the evening we’ve had,’ Gabriel slurred, slinging an arm around Lucas. ‘We had a total crisis about …’ he raised an arm wearing a heavy gold watch a little too close to his face. Opening his eyes extra wide, he peered at the time. ‘Well, a little while ago anyway,’ he finished, shaking the offending arm. Lucas felt his smile relax into a more genuine one.

  ‘And what was that crisis?’ he asked.

  ‘Champagne! We nearly ran out!’

  ‘A real crisis, I agree.’

  ‘I had to go out and get more. Damn Sarah. Those humans get very little right. I would fire her,’ Gabriel leaned into Lucas conspiratorially, ‘but she is rather fine looking.’

  Lucas felt his senses assaulted by various different perfumes that clung to Gabriel.

  ‘Smells like you’ve not been short of female attention already, my friend.’

  ‘What can I say?’ Gabriel executed a wobbly pirouette to turn and face Lucas. He spread his arms wide. ‘Ladies simply appreciate a talented artist and entrepreneur!’ The final word tangled in his grin and Lucas could not suppress a laugh.

  ‘Come and have a drink. Forget the real world. Forget your dull old angles and square corners.’

  With more dexterity than Lucas would have credited him with, Gabriel lifted two flutes of champagne from one of the trim, black-clad ladies he employed specifically for what he described as their ‘aesthetic qualities’ on such evenings.

  ‘Go and have a look around. If I find anyone suitable, I’ll send them your way. You’ve missed Harriett, I’m afraid. Left with some fat wallet, fat belly old chap. Her loss. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.’

  Mood lighter, Lucas took a deep slug of champagne. Alcohol was one of the vices that united human and vampire. Liquid could pass through anyone’s brain, but vampires got drunk quicker and paid more dearly the next day though. Too little to absorb their excesses.

  He turned his attention to the rest of the gallery.

  ‘Serious party people’ had been Gabriel’s words. Serious drunkards would have been his. Most were huddled in small groups in corners or draped over one another on black leather sofas, once in prime position to take in eyefuls of art. Now some eyes were shut and many stared so blearily that they were probably unable to see the pictures, let alone appreciate them.

  There were a few who were simply serious, still standing before the pictures. Mainly men, mainly on their own, centres of their own wide circles of emptiness. Lonely, depressed. Typical artists, Lucas dismissed them quickly.

  He tuned out the quiet hum of the chatter, the odd raucous laugh, the background orchestral music, took no pleasure in the sound his booted feet made on the hard wood floor and headed for the quietest spot he could find to actually enjoy the art work.

  Red dots on the edges of frames showed Lucas that it had had a very lucrative opening, although he knew that Gabriel would only count the number of people still crashed out in the morning as his indicator of success, but he’d count the money too. Eventually.

  Protection given once more by the shadows of a dark corner, Lucas tried to decide how a canvas covered in circles of green and purple could be classed as art and who would have considered it artistic enough to have paid… he leant closer to the light ash wood frame to read the price by the red dot.

  ‘Don’t waste your time looking at that.’

  A low female voice and a hand running across his shoulders made him rise slowly. She was petite, tight black curls spilled down her back, green eyes accentuated by dark eye liner. Red dress. Lips, blood red to match. Not subtle, but appealing in a way.

  ‘Have you seen better?’ he responded.

  ‘I’m exhibiting better.’

  She took his hand, turned and drew him through a nearby archway into a smaller, much darker room. The only lighting here was in the floor; it splayed upwards beneath each piece. There was, he supposed about fifty or so paintings displayed here.

  Handing him another glass of champagne, she deposited his empty one onto the waitress’ tray without taking her eyes from his.

/>   ‘Guess,’ she demanded, turning her body fully towards his. Lucas frowned slightly, took a sip of champagne. Her eyes still tried to hold him, but he broke away, surveyed the room. There was nowhere to sit in here and the room was comparatively empty. He looked back at her and nodded.

  ‘Tell me your name.’

  ‘Xanthe.’

  He repeated it. Yes. Yes it would be.

  She remained rooted to the spot, one hand on her hip, the other holding the champagne glass, a smile curving the corners of those ruby lips.

  He felt the heat of her stare as he strolled by the paintings but resisted the urge to look at her. It was all part of the game. The champagne was starting to bubble in his brain. He focussed on his challenge.

  She was too confident to be a tortured soul so he discounted anything that had too much black or purple or looked deep and abstract. Something bold, making a statement. He passed a series of portraits done in shades of blue. Good, clever but far too pretentious. Landscapes, fastidiously represented but too much so to be hers.

  ‘Here.’ He stopped, turned. She crossed the room to join him, hips swaying, the click of her high heels punctuating each step.

  He looked back to the picture. It was perfect. A building. It emerged from the ground, cylindrical, glass, which darkened to black on the side facing the sun. Its lines were sheer, smooth as if made from molten metal. The reflection of life on the outside of the building hid the life that was happening inside. There were a series of six, all buildings based on different geometrical shapes. The purpose of the buildings was not even hinted at, but all were cold, precise, secretive. Each had the same title: The Future.

  ‘Very good,’ she commented, trailing a hand across his shoulders once more.

  ‘I might say the same,’ he returned.

  ‘Go on then.’ She pressed her body against his. A taunt.

  ‘Very good,’ he said.

  ‘The best.’

  ‘Really?’ He asked; he could play her game. ‘I’m not so sure.’

  ‘And what qualifies you to judge?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I agree. You’re just the friend of a gallery owner.’ He frowned at her. She continued. ‘I saw you when you came in. You’re not an artist, you’re not on the scene,’ she almost sneered the word out. ‘Gabriel talks about his friends. I know who you are.’

  Lucas went to pull away from her but her arms snaked round his waist. She stretched up. Pressed those red red lips to his. Warmth.

  She stepped back, demanded:

  ‘Show me better then.’

  He thought for a moment. He had nothing to lose.

  ‘Come with me.’

  He looked around. The room was empty, sounded as if the party was dying down. How long had he been here? He led her to the back corner of the room and pressed the top of a panel in the wall. The panel swung inwards.

  ‘Impressive,’ she admitted.

  ‘I designed the interiors.’

  There was a short corridor that ended in a spiral iron staircase. They descended, footsteps loud on the metal.

  Opening the door at the bottom of the stairs, Lucas felt around for the lamp he knew was just inside the room. The fluorescent strip lighting overhead would be so wrong. The lamplight revealed sculptures of head, faces displayed on a table in the middle of the room. Men, women, children, some beautiful, some plain, some twisted by illness or scars but all exquisitely formed.

  She looked. Made no comment. Went to him, pushed herself into his arms.

  ‘Yours?’ she inquired.

  ‘No. I’m just the friend of a gallery owner. Remember?’

  ‘Whose then?’

  ‘Gabriel’s. He’s a fool, never exhibits his own work.’

  ‘They’re good. Very good maybe, but I still prefer mine.’

  ‘Your choice,’ Lucas shrugged.

  ‘My choice now is you.’

  She forced him back against the wall with her body, stretched her face up to his. He smelt her, something familiar, and then she was kissing him, hard. Her hands travelled over his body.

  ‘Hang on,’ he pushed her away slightly. ‘You need to know something.’

  She sighed testily.

  ‘Vampire. Believe me, I know.’

  His hands dropped from her waist to his sides.

  ‘But you’re human.’

  ‘I know that too. But vampires are my kind. Once I tasted my first, I knew I wanted that feeling again and again.’ She pressed herself tighter to him, then arched her back, ran her hands over her own body this time. ‘Once you’ve had immortality inside you, you take it whenever you can get it.’

  ‘Get away from me.’ He pulled away from her. Snapped the overhead lights on. Saw her for what she really was. What his kind termed a ‘VampTramp’. Someone who saw sex with vampires as the ultimate bed post notch. If the humans had a name for them, he didn’t know it. Nor did he want to. She laughed at him. Ran a hand through her hair.

  ‘Gabriel didn’t react like that earlier on.’

  The smell. Now he knew it. Gabriel’s aftershave.

  ‘I’m not him.’

  He stormed through the darkness. Walking was good. Walking was what he needed. It fuelled his anger. No comfortable tram ride home tonight. Too many people. Too normal. Too light and bright. He needed the darkness that still clung to the early hours of the winter morning.

  How could he have been so stupid? Why hadn’t he realised? He had tried being angry at Gabriel – but he knew that wasn’t it. Gabriel could do as he liked. He wasn’t even mad at the girl, although she was a fool too. How could he not have seen through her? But the warmth of her lips, her body, had made him feel good. Now, all he felt was sick.

  It seemed a long way home.

  Six

  To me, being a Killer is so much more than being a murderer.

  To murder is to take life without thought, with too much aggression, too much passion.

  A killer is someone who makes a point. It requires thought, calculation.

  And choice.

  Choice of victim. And that choice is so wide. My first kill won’t be my most important, I have no doubt about that. But neither will they be a random kill. I do not need a project to cut my teeth on.

  I don’t want to waste a life, therefore a little consideration is needed. My first will be someone who doesn’t support my way of thinking, doesn’t agree with my vision for the world.

  I promised you you could kill with me.

  Watch.

  My victim is alone. His brow is clouded with thought. His last thought will be of me.

  I step forward. He reacts. Mere surprise at another’s presence in this dark back street.

  I do not speak, but halt his progress by raising my hand. He stops.

  I wait. Raise my wooden weapon. Fear shows. Even vampires know that emotion when faced with death.

  No time to waste now. He knows what is coming. I drive the stake home. It requires effort. Strength.

  Feel with me.

  Feel that resistance his flesh offers as the stake forces itself through him, into him.

  Enjoy it. I do.

  I step back. The living dead becomes simply the dead. A neat pile of ashes to ashes.

  Leaving my mark, I allow myself a moment of pride. One down, many, many more to go.

  Seven

  Emily had been unsure what to expect from Simon on Monday morning. Flowers? Chocolates? A kiss on the cheek? What she had in fact received should have come as no real surprise – a cheery good morning to her and the other occupants of a Monday office, the same as it had been every morning for the last four years.

  Had his gaze lingered on her at all, she mused. It definitely wasn’t at the moment; his attention was firmly fixed on the logic games to be printed in Thursday’s edition. Simon, she knew, considered himself of above average intelligence and was always keen to offer his services in setting the time allocations for the various puzzles the paper offered.

  She h
ad to reluctantly admit that she was a little disappointed he’d not acknowledged her slightly more than the others. She smiled to herself. What was for sure was that if he chanced to look up now, he’d certainly find her eyes lingering on him.

  Emily shifted her focus to the rest of the office, fully staffed Monday to Thursday, ready to go to the masses for Friday lunchtime. Theirs was the only paper officially sanctioned to cover the Entertainment District and the paper was published on Friday ready to catch the public planning their weekend’s entertainment. She was proud that the adverts she pulled in from the bars and clubs that offered free entry and drinks were the ones that influenced dancing decisions.

  The government imposed their limits on the clubs. The promise, or threat as Simon had insisted on Saturday, of random blood-alcohol tests for drinkers made sure that both humans and vampires could enjoy being drunk without going too far. Hefty fines for the bar and club owners if they continued to serve those who had had too much also helped control the excesses.

  Simon had spoken at length and with what seemed great confidence on the subject and had informed her that all the drinks in the Entertainment District were watered down anyway. Emily wondered why he cared so much? She knew that all these measures had been drawn up by those still alive after HaemX. They’d been necessary then, welcomed if what she knew was true. If that was the way things were, then fine. She still managed to enjoy a night out with the alcohol served and the advertising paid her wages.

  To be fair, she reasoned, that and the food had been Simon’s only soapbox moments on their date. And ranting was part of Simon, maybe part of all those who had to write editorial copy. A slow smile spread across her face as her brain repeated the question from earlier. What else had she expected?

  She turned her mind to the list of calls to be made, deals to be closed, revenue to be generated. She risked a glance back at Simon to find he was smiling at her. She flashed her eyes away and was suddenly very interested in the top company on her list.

  Although work proved to be a good distraction, by eleven o clock she was mentally cursing in disbelief.