She wandered over to the right-hand wall. Here were old pictures, pre-epidemic. Actors and actress blithely pretending to be other people, ignorant that the drama of their real lives had only a limited future. She wanted to reach out, through the glass of the frames, touch the grains that made their faces, feel the plush contours of their costumes, step right into their world. Just for a second and then, to return to the safety, cleanliness and order of her world, where all were equal, where all had a valid part to play.
‘Emily? What are you doing over here? Let’s get back to the fire.’
They stood, back at the pit, allowed the fire to warm the deep red of their wine.
‘Sorry I took so long. I got caught by some people I know.’
‘That’s okay. I was just soaking up the atmosphere. I love it here.’
‘Have you been here a lot?’ Simon asked.
‘Not often enough.’
‘I’ll be happy to take you as often as you wish.’
‘I might take you up on that,’ Emily said with a smile.
‘My choice next time though,’ Simon said, taking a drink.
‘Didn’t you want to see this?’
‘I want to see it because you do …’
‘But?’ She interrupted, more as a tease than out of any genuine concern for his taste. Given that the play centred on the life of a vampire, she’d practically assumed that he’d disapprove.
‘No comment.’
‘But you want to,’ Emily pushed.
‘I’m not saying a word.’
‘Maybe watching it will change your mind,’ Emily suggested. He smiled at her and gave her a quick sideways hug.
‘Maybe,’ he said.
The surprise of the physical contact stole Emily’s planned witty retort. The call of the theatre bell was her courteous saviour.
‘Come on,’ Simon said. ‘Let’s go. One of the best things about this place is that you can take your drink in with you.’
Emily tried not to be too pleased or impressed that Simon had booked them a box and that they had it all to themselves. The theatre itself was always an anti-climax after the bar. The fire theme was continued in the red of the velvet and the gilding of the cherubs that reposed on the pillars and fluttered plastered wings at the ceiling.
Simon was leaning on the velvet-lined ledge of the box, scanning the audience. He called her next to him and made her complicit in his surveillance.
‘Opposite box. See that woman, blue dress, expensive looking diamond necklace?’ Emily nodded. ‘Her husband owns half of the Dining Circle, including Print. And …’ He moved his gaze further. ‘See that group down there,’ He pointed to the back corner of the stalls, ‘that crowd own most of the art in the Entertainment District. Only one that’s missing is Gabriel Black. Vamp rich kid. Owns Blacks Art Gallery.’
‘Never been there. Funnily enough the credits I get paid don’t run to the purchase of fine art.’
‘You should go. He’s got excellent taste. For a vamp. I’m surprised he’s not here. Often is. And …’ This time he redirected her gaze to another of the boxes opposite them, ‘That couple there, she has a clothes boutique near where the Entertainment District and ShopFest run together. The chap – he’s her chief designer. What he actually has designs on is her money, but she can’t see it and indulges all his little whims.’
‘How do you know all this?’ Emily tried to keep the awe from her voice. Yes, she knew a few of the club owners, but that was hardly impressive.
‘A lot of them I’ve interviewed. Most people like to talk about themselves, given the opportunity. Most are quite dull beneath the glitz. Reporting in the Entertainment District isn’t always as exciting as it’s about to get.’
‘What do you mean?’ Emily pounced, suddenly remembering that she’d been going to quiz Simon about his meeting with Bernstein.
Before he could reply, the lights dimmed and hush descended like snowfall.
Thirteen
The curtain swished back into place, sweeping the debris of the final scene away. Emily sat back in her seat and, having stepped into the life of another, took a moment to return to the reality of her own. Her brow crinkled; yes she’d enjoyed it but, ultimately, it had left her dissatisfied.
‘So?’ Simon enquired. She voiced her thoughts and was a little surprised by his dry chuckle.
‘I would have thought that it was right on your wavelength. Two brothers, one a failing actor, one a struggling playwright, him saved by the love of a good old vampire lady and then going on to pen a sell-out play that restores the career of his brother. I’m surprised there’s a dry eye in the house.’
‘That’s a bit of an over simplification, Simon.’
He laughed again and held out her coat for her to step into.
‘I’ll admit that, but it’s hardly great literature is it?’
‘I think it had potential actually,’ Emily said.
‘It had equal society stamped all over it.’
‘Don’t get started on that again,’ Emily protested as they returned through the buzz of conversation and the reluctance of people preparing to go out in to the chilled night air.
‘No. I’m going to be quiet now. I promised myself that I wouldn’t bore you with my opinions tonight.’
Emily raised her eyebrows.
‘Thank you for your courtesy on this occasion,’ she replied, mock polite, glancing back at him as they threaded their way through the foyer.
‘I’m sure there’ll be plenty of other opportunities,’ he reassured her.
‘There’s something to look forward to then.’
The night they stepped into had grown even colder. Stars freckled the sky, their ancient light doing battle against the floodlights that shone on the theatre. Emily’s heart quickened slightly as it dawned on her that they were both lingering. She herself didn’t particularly want to go on anywhere else, but was unwilling to let the evening end. It seemed unfinished somehow.
They stood opposite one another, their cascades of cloud-breath mingling before dispersing into the night. Looking up at Simon, Emily found his gaze and a slight smile resting on her. She tried a smile of her own, but couldn’t manage it. It seemed too false. She changed direction needing to dispel the tension of the moment.
‘So,’ she began, managing a more genuine smile. ‘What is it you and Bernstein have been cooking up?’
‘You don’t give up do you?’
‘Nope.’
‘Maybe you should become a journalist too.’
‘Maybe I should. You’re not going to tell me are you?’ Emily said. Was that delight glinting in his eyes?
‘That depends,’ Simon replied.
‘On what?’
‘On …’
His words were stolen. A sharp crack. A rent in the air. Screams. Smoke. And then it was raining blood.
Only it wasn’t blood. It was red paper. Scraps of red paper.
Neither of them had moved. People around them had scattered, but were now stopping, turning. Looking for danger. Finding none.
‘Are you all right?’ Simon reached out to touch her chin, tip her face so her eyes met the concern in his. She nodded and asked,
‘What was that?’ Emily asked.
He shrugged. She bent and picked up a handful of the scraps and saw they were covered in tiny print. Simon lent in closer.
‘RAGE,’ he answered.
Emily looked quizzically at him.
‘I recognise the style.’
RAGE. Anti-vamp paper. She’d heard of it. Never read it. And certainly didn’t intend to now. She couldn’t crumple the paper small enough.
‘Just shows you the mentality of these people,’ she said.
‘They’re just trying to make a point.’
‘A pity they have to resort to scaring people then.’
Anger stomped her down the steps and she passed others, equally angry, shocked or simply shaking their heads in disbelief. A few held scraps of paper, most just ig
nored them. She over-heard at least one call to the Security Forces.
Emily felt Simon catch her arm and say,
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘It’s only a stunt. No one was hurt.’
‘I suppose you secretly approve then? I imagine you see, what? Some sort of value in it,’ she said.
‘Hang on. I didn’t say that.’
‘I don’t care,’ Emily said, and she was off, headed for the tram station and home.
It took him a few paces to catch her up.
‘Look, I’ll see you home,’ Simon offered.
‘There’s no need.’
‘Emily, stop.’
She didn’t.
‘Please.’
That halted her.
‘I thought you said you’re okay,’ Simon said.
‘I am.’
‘Then?’ His bewilderment was genuine.
‘I’m just cross. It’s all just so unnecessary.’
‘It was only a stupid prank,’ Simon pointed out.
‘I know that. It’s just …’
‘What?’
She felt his eyes desperately searching her face.
‘It’s just that it spoilt a really great evening,’ she said, her voice low.
‘Emily …’ he began and then said no more. Simply kissed her.
She pulled back. Not quite what she’d been expecting to happen. He took her hand and said,
‘Come on. I’ll take you home.’
They said little on the short walk to the tram station. There were others in the queue who’d been at the theatre and so whose talk buzzed with the attack but also those who hadn’t been present and were greedy for details. Listening, Emily learned that the Entertainment District Security Force had turned up, plain clothes, low key; no real problems were ever allowed in the Entertainment District. They had organised a clean-up of the mess and sent everyone home.
‘Maybe we should have stayed. Given a statement or something,’ Emily said.
‘Someone said they weren’t taking statements. No one was injured. I expect that they’ll just issue a warning to the publishers of RAGE. Don’t suppose they’ll take any notice. Don’t usually.’
‘Do you know who runs Rage?’
‘No. No idea.’
Emily decided not to push the subject further but wrapped his rather hollow answer in her own thoughts as the tram transported them through the night.
‘Your stop’s next,’ she pointed out.
‘I’ll see you home first and then come back.’
‘No. It’s fine.’
‘Emily, please.’
‘Honestly.’
‘It’s been a great evening and I just want to make sure that you’re okay.’
‘I am okay. And it has been an excellent evening, but I really don’t need you to escort me home.’
‘I’d like to though.’
‘But I don’t need you to, so please just get off here.’
‘Emily …’
‘Please, Simon. I’ll send you a message when I get back. If you insist.’
He eyed her silently for a moment. She hoped he wouldn’t press further. She didn’t want the evening to end on a disagreement.
‘I do insist then. I’d also like to insist that we do this again, minus the explosive end. I’ve enjoyed tonight, well, most of it anyway.’
‘I have too. I’ll see you at work and we’ll sort something out.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he said, rising to go. Emily stood and pressed a kiss onto his lips.
His surprised look jolted an explanation out of her.
‘Thanks for tonight. And, well, thanks for getting off here.’
He shook his head, rolled his eyes and smiled at her.
‘I’m resisting the urge to say ‘women’ with a derogatory tone in my voice you know,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget that message.’
‘I won’t.’
Emily leant her face on the glass and cupped her hands to create her own little patch of non-reflection so she could see outside the tram. Simon raised his hand in a wave, which she returned. He waited on the platform until the tram had slid on and they were out of sight.
She knew attacks like that had happened before, not often, but they had. This one had made her part of it. Had scared her. She would never have admitted that to Simon though. Part of her core wanted to lock that fear away. What she didn’t want was Simon there to rationalise it. And she was sure he would have done. He would have explained it away to nothing-ness.
And his kiss…That had surprised her. She was all too aware that she’d avoided it earlier, on the steps, before the world had turned red. She couldn’t deny it had felt good. Good, but sullied somehow. Fake. Jeopardy rather than romance. She hadn’t wanted that part of their relationship to start in such a way.
As the lift spirited her to her apartment, she sent the message that Simon had required of her. She read the message on the phone’s screen before she committed to sending it. Her mind’s focus on the end of the evening had lent it a factual, business like tone, which she knew wasn’t fair. Her face slid into a smile as she added a kiss to the end of the message and clicked it to send as the doors opened at her floor.
He had obviously been waiting, as his reply was instantaneous. A thanks, see you tomorrow and a return of her kiss.
Turning to hang her coat behind the front door she saw, a fleck of red, resting, like an innocent rose petal, in the hood. Her heart stilled and then molten anger gave her fingers deliberate purpose. In her mind’s eye, she reached out, lifted it by the tiniest contact with the corner and then transported it to where the rest of her rubbish resided. But, instead traitorous fingers led the paper towards traitorous eyes and she read the tiny print.
DO NOT TRUST THE BLOOD DRINKERS. THEY SEE YOU AS NUTRITION. PURE. SIMPLE. YOUR BLOOD IS ALL THEY WANT. THEY HAVE NO ROLE IN OUR FUTURE. THEY WILL RISE UP AND TAKE OVER OUR WORLD. UNLESS WE STOP THEM. DO NOT COUNT THEM AMONG YOUR FRIENDS. THEY WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN. JOIN US. HELP US RID THE WORLD OF THESE FOUL IMITATORS OF HUMAN LIFE. JOIN US. LET US RAGE.
Let us rage. She could see the words so close in front of her eyes, seared into her brain as she lay in bed later. Red anger clamped her limbs to her body, fixed her eyes on the ceiling.
Let. Us. Rage.
Yes she thought, but let us rage against you. No society was perfect, she wasn’t as naïve as she played it with Simon, but their society was balanced. Out of necessity. It was ordered. It was better than society had ever been. There were figures to prove it. And, it was the world she knew. No one was going to shake that. No one.
Consciously, she shut her eyes to the message. She carved her views firmly in her heart. No one would change that.
Fourteen
Cursing under his breath, Lucas scanned the messages on his computer screen once more. He’d heard nothing from Gabriel other than his out of office message for over a week. A twinge of worry was beginning. The Entertainment Times had run a small, somewhat dismissive article about a couple of vampires who’d failed to turn up for work in the last two weeks. Unusual admittedly, but Gabriel disappearing for a few days at a time was not new, although he’d never stayed out of contact for this long. Lucas hoped he was in the studio, creating a new sculpture that was consuming all his attention. What was firing his annoyance was that it was more likely that Gabriel was holed up with the blonde he’d met in the club. No doubt he would soon tire of her and add her broken heart to the pile.
A message alert blinked at him from the top of the screen and he focussed his attention on that instead. It was the monthly population census and had to be completed by midnight that night. He usually dashed it off at work, ten minutes before the deadline. Today he was up early. He dismissed the thought that it was concern for Gabriel that had awoken him.
He could leave the survey till he got to work. He could just leave it. He knew there were consequences implied by the Joint Gov
ernment for failure to complete but he had never not done it. And today he knew that he’d tick all its little boxes too. He sighed; it was simply too much effort not to.
Clicking on the message, he watched it unfold, in a supposedly enticing haze of graphics and sound. Classical music symphonised forth from the speakers, composed to both sooth and stimulate as the census questions were posed. Lucas clicked the speakers off.
He checked his personal details. Date of birth seemed rather irrelevant now, as did ‘Date of Change’. All so long ago, and today, almost too long ago.
Lucas scrolled down to the first question: ‘Please rate your quality of life on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being total contentment.’ He allowed his hand to hover over the keyboard. Three options here: honesty, bitter sarcasm or middle-of-the-road blandness. Rolling the choices around his mind, he decided that sarcasm was very much the flavour of his day. He clicked 1 – ‘total contentment’. Question two queried his satisfaction with his accommodation. ‘Not bad for being supplied by the Government’ was not in the drop down list of comments so he selected ‘perfect’ and continued.
Questions three and four were about transport to and from work, ease of and costs. Again, he picked answers in keeping with his first two.
Question four completed, he watched as the section of questions seemed to detach from the screen, become a normal, if virtual piece of paper, fold itself into an envelope shape and stack itself in a virtual desk tray – all ready to be sent to the massive data base in Government House. Once there, analysts would compile the figures to tell everyone what a happy life this was, the joy ready to be shared at the Public Forum the following week.
The next section of questions related to equality of opportunity. He confirmed his job details, place of work and credits paid and then selected every option to say how fantastically equal all his opportunities were. Once done, that section obligingly folded itself and joined its companion.
Lucas completed the sections on the facilities in the Entertainment District, the environment, cleanliness and sanitation just as rapidly, always selecting the most positive options.
There followed a new section, which caught his attention. It had been inserted before what Lucas always labelled the Ultimate Question, and not simply because it was the last one. Still, a new section, that was interesting. And what was it on? Donation Centres. He almost laughed aloud as he saw how cleverly the questions were structured so that they needed no adaptation for human or vampire respondents. They sought opinions on hygiene, professionalism of the staff and finally, atmosphere – that was a good one and one that definitely needed a total contentment number one answer.
Symbiosis: A Vampire Psycho-Thriller Page 7