Emily awoke about half an hour later. Rubbing her eyes, she cursed and checked the time. 9.45. Way too early to go to bed. She rolled off the sofa and crossed to the computer to restart the film. How much had she managed to see? She began again at a bit she definitely remembered and went to shut the blinds. She was gratified to see that it was still snowing. It would be deep by the morning. She poured another glass of wine and returned to the film once more.
This time it was the door buzzer that woke her. It took her a second or two to realise that she had fallen asleep again and another couple to work out what the loud buzzing actually was. She frowned as she realised it was nearly eleven o’clock. Who would want her at this time of night?
‘Hello?’ She aimed for quizzical coldness in her tone as she answered.
‘Emily, it’s Simon. I know it’s really late, and I’m sorry things haven’t gone at all to plan but, can I come up?’ There was an over long pause that she did not take the opportunity to fill. ‘Please?’
Emily still did not reply. She covered the mouthpiece of the buzzer with one hand and leaned a head full of questions against the wall. Was there a right thing to do in this situation?
‘Emily?’
‘I’ll let you in. Listen for the bleep’.
The decision made seemed to alert her to the fact that she had been asleep on the sofa, probably looked a state and had about a minute to sort herself out, such that she appeared convincingly nonchalant about a ruined evening, but so devastatingly gorgeous that he would be humbled by his failure to keep their date.
She dashed to the bathroom, splashed her face, ran a brush through her hair while anger and curiosity as to the excuses he could possibly offer her fought for control. What was she going to say? Admit that she had been annoyed or pretend that it didn’t matter? Use it as another reason to keep him at a respectable distance? Looking in the mirror, she was glad he would not be able to see her butterfly heart, which seemed to be beating its wings in anticipation. Shaking her head, she realised that she had no idea what she was going to do.
Even though she was waiting just behind the door, the buzzer made her jump. She stifled her shock, ran hands through her hair once more, forced herself to count to ten and then opened the door.
Simon was a mess. He remained in the corridor, displaying a bottle of wine and what Emily was sure he thought of as his most sincere, sheepish grin. His hair was wet with melting snow and he was in need of a shave. His eyes looked as if they had been drawn in by a child showing off their best, new purple crayon. She frowned. He seemed shrunken.
‘I’m really sorry, Emily. I know I look a bit rough, but I’ve not been home since Tuesday.’
‘Looks like it too.’
‘You can tell me to go away if you want, but I am sorry and I don’t say that often – and, this is a fantastic bottle of wine …’
He let the sentence hang. Emily couldn’t quite settle on a reaction. She was still annoyed with him – as if she could be won over simply with an apology and a good wine – but, he did look rather appealingly pathetic stood there and that did make him slightly more forgivable. She realised that this appraisal had left rather a long silence.
‘I’ll go.’ He turned.
‘No. No. Sorry – come in.’
She let him in, hung up his coat and placed his wet shoes on a back copy of their newspaper. Part of her wondered what he thought of her flat. How similar it was to his. All homes for singles were the same dimensions. She had a few pictures, a few keep sakes and that was about it - but that was all she needed.
‘What were you watching?’ he asked, still standing and nodding towards the screen.
‘Just a film.’ She shrugged, feeling horribly on show. Emily forced herself to remember that she didn’t want, or need his approval, although she certainly wasn’t going to admit that she’d been asleep on the sofa in front of said film.
Simon picked up the half empty bottle of wine from by the side of the sofa. He eyed it suspiciously.
‘Perhaps you’d better open mine.’
Emily sucked in the breath that contained her retort to that. She picked up both bottles. Her anger helped her suddenly realise that she was now in a position of power with him. Messed up plans and turning up at anti-social hours? It worked to her advantage. She turned with a smile.
‘I’ll do that, then you can tell me exactly what you’ve been doing and why you’ve made no attempt to return my calls or even acknowledge my messages.’ She turned on her heel and went into the kitchen.
Slugging back a mouthful of wine, she briefly contemplated giving him a glass of hers to see if he’d notice, but she was sure he would. The thought that she could stubbornly persist with her wine also crossed her mind, but she dismissed it. Churlishness only went so far. Taking the two glasses, she returned to the living room.
‘Sorry. Again.’ Simon said. ‘I didn’t mean to annoy you then either. Annoy you any more than I already have, I mean.’
Emily raised her eyebrows and sat along the sofa from him.
‘Tell me then. No excuses. I want to know what you’ve been up to.’
‘Just working. I’m sorry it’s messed up our plans.’ He paused and tried on a smile. ‘Not that you’d said yes anyway.’
‘True, but you’ll never know if I was going to.’
‘I suppose not. I’d like to think you would’ve done though.’
‘Doesn’t matter now. But what does is what you’ve been doing.’
Simon rubbed a hand over his face, she heard the crackle across his stubble. He suddenly looked incredibly tired. Her traitorous heart weakened.
‘It’s just a story. Needs a bit of investigating.’
‘Just a story? A story about what?’
He shrugged and looked back at his wine.
‘Come on, it must be pretty important if it keeps you away from home and makes you argue with Bernstein.’
His gaze drilled into her.
‘What?’
‘I heard you, today, before lunch. You two were ahead of me on the stairs. Didn’t notice me of course, but you were telling him about the implications of something.’
‘You heard that? What else?’
‘Nothing. You disappeared into Bernstein’s office at that point.’
Simon flopped back onto the sofa again. Energy seemed to drain out of him.
‘I can’t tell you anything.’
‘You owe me some sort of explanation – I’ve hardly heard from you in the last couple of days and now you turn up, late at night, looking dreadful.’
‘It’s going to be big, that’s all.’
‘That’s all?’ she echoed.
‘Yes. I can’t say anything more because I’m not sure I’m right. Bernstein doesn’t think so, but there’s something there, I know there is.’
‘Journalist’s hunch?’ Emily enquired, her tone softening. Simon laughed, a genuine laugh. Emily allowed a small smile to grow inside her.
‘Definitely. I am sorry though. Sorry for not calling, for messing up the plans, for the wine comment and for not being able to tell you.’
‘That’s a lot of apologies.’
‘Probably some sort of personal best. I’ll have to swear you to secrecy now.’ He leaned across, hesitated, and then kissed her cheek.
Emily decided that she was as satisfied as she was going to get with the mystery this evening; she didn’t need to play the petulant child for much longer. But there was one more thing.
‘I want you to promise that you’ll tell me when you are sure. About whatever it is. I don’t want to find out from reading the paper. There’s got to be some perks to this relationship after all.’
Simon laughed and hugged her.
‘I promise.’
‘Let me get you a towel for your hair,’ Emily offered, extracting herself from his arms. ‘You’re getting me all wet. Isn’t the snow fantastic though?’
‘If you say so.’
As she left the room, she hea
rd him click the film back on.
Catching sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she paused to run a brush through her hair properly. She collected a clean towel and returned to the living room.
Returned to find Simon asleep. What a great evening this was turning out to be. As he didn’t stir when she removed the wine glass from his hand, she decided against waking him. She glanced at the clock. Somehow it was gone midnight and, suddenly, she too, was tired.
Gently, she laid the spare duvet over Simon and turned off both the computer and the wall screen. No reaction from him at all. Clicking off the lamps, she left him where he was.
Emily lay curled on her side in bed. Not quite the anticipated end to the evening. Was she disappointed? No. It felt strange enough knowing that Simon was only separated from her and her pyjamas by the wall, let alone being in his bed, let alone actually doing more than sleeping. And she did have his promise to tell her what was going on. She wasn’t going to let him forget that. Satisfied, she rolled over and shut her eyes.
Nineteen
Snow. It’s so pathetic. It’s lazy. Purposeless. It descends so slowly, allowing the time for all to admire it, then it’s gone. United into part of the whole.
Not me. I will never be part of the whole. I am truly unique. In my vision. My purpose. No one could do this but me. And yet, it’s not the time for people to admire me yet. It’s not even time for them to find my mark. But they will. When I allow them. When I am ready. For now, my small kills will continue.
My preparations for the next part of my plan are nearly complete. My new weapons are so small, so beautiful. Crafted. Deadly.
I can hardly wait.
Twenty
The photograph was old, the image grainy. Much older than the rest in Lucas’s collection. Taken when digital cameras were the sparkling new technology. He touched only the edges, as if the image itself could contaminate him, even now, over a hundred years later.
It was a dead body. Human. The cause of death was obvious to those who knew the symptoms of HaemX and, back in those days, everyone did.
Bloaters some had called them. Or Bleeders. That was what had killed them; their blood vessels bursting. Simply couldn’t hold the volume of blood that the virus demanded the bodies produce.
The corpse was so swollen it looked like an over-stuffed rag doll. The skin was stretched, mottled, blues, greens, yellows, purples, black. A bruised rainbow.
But the face… The twisted fascination of fear drew Lucas to the face, always the face. The features were disproportionately large, the cheeks swollen, nose bulbous, lips puffed up for a final lover’s farewell.
The eyes were the worst. The eyeballs bulged so that the lids could not close. Did a life flash before them in those final moments? If so, it was tinged with red. For here too, the blood vessels exploded. Gone were the whites. A red taint for fish eyes that threw their glass marble stare at the morgue ceiling.
A breath that was black tinged with anger hissed from his body. Was he the only one that didn’t see E-Day as a celebration? Yes, it had been an end, but only an end to the death so graphically shown in the photograph. He replaced it in the box. The first part of the day’s ritual completed.
For those of his kind, the fear and loss from the blood plague had taken a long, long time to fade. Ten years after the final death, it had been deemed safe to celebrate - E for ‘end’ as well as ‘epidemic’. And now it was only the vampires who remembered the waiting game that every day had been back then. Waiting to see who would be next. Waiting even to see if your own final day of health had been the previous one. And yet, even some of his kind had no memories. So many had been changed after HaemX had completed its population cull. Today, all Gabriel would be remembering was probably the fun that he had had on E-Day the previous year.
And the humans? What did they know, or care? Their ancestors had been survivors. For them, all today was a celebration of the end of a horror that had simply happened to someone else.
Replacing the photograph, Lucas’s fingers hovered over the long brown box on the top shelf. His breathing stilled almost to nothing. His heart too pain swollen, too damaged to beat on. Yet, as usual, and every year on this day, his fingers failed to open the box and the dull drag of his heart continued. The ache was just part of him. He didn’t need E Day to remind him of that.
The box would remain unopened.
Although it was only two o’ clock, outside it was grey and it was cold and that was good. The sun that had fallen the previous day had melted to nothing ness. Might as well never have been there. The winter sun seemed to be honouring the day; her veil of grey clouds would make it safe for him to go out. He would go, as he always did, to the Wall. That was all he could ever manage. It shamed the pain into not showing on his face, into turning its claws inwards. And that clawing was the only thing that made getting through the hours that were today almost bearable.
*
Emily had been sure that Simon would have been gone by the morning. She’d awoken late and then lain in bed listening intently, trying to work out whether she was alone. She had thought she would have been able to tell. Surely she knew her own space that well at least. But she couldn’t. She’d dressed quickly and tied her hair back; she could tidy herself up properly later on.
She had pushed open the door to the living room very gently until she had been greeted with:
‘It’s okay. I’m awake.’
He’d looked a little better for some sleep, the black shadows around his eyes had paled slightly. She’d been surprised to find herself pleased that he was still there. And been even more surprised when he reminded her that they were going to spend the day together.
He’d gone home to change and they’d caught the tram to the very southern end of the Entertainment District, away from the pubs and clubs. They were now drinking tea in the warmth of a café.
‘So what now?’ Simon asked with a smile.
‘Now you tell me what’s going on at the paper.’
‘I meant what do you want to do now.’
‘I know you did. And what I want to do now is get the explanation that you promised me last night.’
‘I think you’ll find that I promised to tell you when I’m sure of what’s happening.’
‘And? I think you are sure you see.’
‘Maybe, but not enough to share yet.’
Emily lapsed into silence, but only for a second.
‘Maybe I could be like a sounding board or something. You could share your ideas and then I could give you my take on it.’
‘No.’
‘It might help.’
‘I can’t tell you yet.’
‘Can’t? Won’t you mean.’
‘Okay. I won’t tell you. Not yet. But when I can, I will. A promise is a promise.’
Emily slumped back into her chair and let silence rule the space between them. She focussed on the steam rising from her cup.
‘Emily, this story ruined our night last night, I don’t want it to spoil today as well.’
Emily eyed him a moment longer than was necessary. Was he being genuine or did he just want her off his back? Time might be the only answer to that one. She shrugged a reply.
‘So?’ Simon asked again. Her answer was ready, had been since she thought she wasn’t going to be seeing him at all.
‘I’d like to go to the museum.’
‘The museum?’
‘Yes. E-Day is all about remembering the past – so the museum seems rather fitting to me.’
‘The museum?’
‘Yes.’ Her affirmation was more insistent this time. ‘It’s not far from here. We can go past the Wall on the way.’
‘Which will be crawling with vamps.’
‘You asked me what I wanted to do, and that’s it.’
*
Lucas stood, hands thrust deep in pockets, legs apart, head held high. There was always a natural hush that fell by the Wall of the Lost. It was imposing, made of black
slabs that sucked in even the brightest sunlight of a perfect summer. Anyone could go to the Wall any time, but most didn’t. Somehow, for most, it was just another landmark.
Everyone had some relative shown here. For the Humans, it could only be one part of a family line. Mere names from the past that had contributed an immune great great grandparent. Names that perhaps invoked curiosity, but names that only meant as much as a character in a play or book. An actor in their past.
But for his generation of vampires, it was different. His generation knew the people whose deaths were immortalised on the Wall. They’d shared their lives with those people. People who they’d touched. Been touched by. People whose deaths they’d been unable to prevent.
Everyone had two digits and a colour to tell them the location of the names they sought. There were so many, they were on a constant loop. There, and then gone. Like the lives of the people they commemorated. The slabs that formed the Wall loomed a man’s height above Lucas. He was glad he did not need to look up there. His row was eye level. He waited. Through red, to white. Names, maybe of more people that he’d known, but not those he wanted to see.
Lucas was aware of many figures, stood, like him, surrounded by a protective barrier of solitude. The only people who came here in pairs were humans. They never stayed long. Watched a few pretty colour changes and then left. Unmoved. He was aware of people on the steps below him now. Others, vampires, making the sad spin away from the Wall that he too would soon make.
Green now, then gold. And finally. Purple. The two names he sought appeared. He stared and stared and stared. Then, as ever, he hung his head as fresh pain crumpled his proud stance. It would diminish, he knew it would, but for now, it was all he wanted.
*
‘Told you. Vamps galore!’ Emily was shocked, at both Simon’s words and that fact he didn’t bother to lower his voice as they slowed their pace at the Wall of the Lost.
‘You can’t tell that,’ she said, her gaze lingering not on the names but on the figures standing around the front of the Wall.
‘No, not for sure, but just look at them. All heads bowed and grief struck for people dead over 150 years ago.’
Symbiosis: A Vampire Psycho-Thriller Page 9