Symbiosis: A Vampire Psycho-Thriller

by Louise Atkins

  ‘Let me finish reading it.’

  Taking a deep breath, Emily said,

  ‘Simon, I can see exactly what Bernstein meant. You can’t call them blood suckers. Or leeches. You just can’t.’

  ‘But that’s what they are.’ He hammered his fist onto the computer table, making it shudder. ‘Maybe somebody is doing society a favour. If they are gone that is.’

  Emily pushed her chair away and gathered her coat.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Home. I’m not helping you.’

  ‘Why not?’ His tone was genuine bewilderment.

  ‘Because I don’t, can’t, agree with you.’

  ‘They’re nothing, Emily. Small vampires. No great place in the world. Small.’

  ‘No. To someone, they’re friends, they’re colleagues. To someone, they’re important. They all had a purpose. Vampires get their opt out clause remember? Every month. They get the chance to end it. And these didn’t. These people chose to be here. And now they’re missing, or worse, just gone.’

  ‘Emily,’ his tone was fine-wine smooth. ‘Okay, I was a little harsh, but I really need your help on this one.’

  It was a lie – his arm around her shoulders, the attempt at imploring eyes shouted it at her, but she allowed her exit from the room to be halted.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘The one and only reason why I’ll do it is, no, actually there are two reasons. The first, it might serve as a warning to other vampires to be careful.’

  ‘Fair point.’ His acquiescence made her feel sick.

  ‘And the second reason is because something will go out into the world with your name on it that looks pro-vampire. And that is quite satisfying.’

  Simon began a reply, then clearly thought better of it. Emily crossed back to the computer.

  ‘You need to change the headline and all these derogatory names.’

  ‘But I can’t use vampire all the time – it’s too repetitive.’

  ‘They’re still people. You can call them that.’ The edge to the look she gave him axed the words about to tumble from his mouth. He simply indicated the computer once more.

  *

  ‘There.’ Her voice held no note of triumph.

  Simon scanned the text on the screen. Looking up, he said,

  ‘I’m sure Bernstein will want it now.’

  Emily stood, buttoned her coat.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Simon asked.

  ‘I told you, home.’

  ‘But,’ he paused, ‘We need to go out, celebrate my big scoop.’

  ‘I don’t want to celebrate missing vampires.’

  ‘Well,’ he stumbled ‘at least to say thank you then.’

  ‘No need.’

  ‘I’ll just send this through to Bernstein. Please wait.’

  ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘But Emily …’ She did not turn from the door. ‘Can I at least call you later? Let you know what Bernstein thought.’

  ‘Yes. You can do that.’

  ‘Thank you. For your help that is. I appreciate how you feel. About them.’

  ‘No. I don’t think you do.’ She said and left.

  Twenty Three

  ‘Please tell me that you’re going to exhibit this somewhere,’ Lucas said, addressing Gabriel, but not taking his eyes from the sculpture that he was walking round. It was made from sheets of steel, polished shiny on one surface, brushed metal on the other. The sheets had been cut, twisted, welded and smoothed to become a face. Eyes closed, mouth open in a forever silent scream. The face was displayed on a waist-high block, and the size of it brought the smooth outline of the skull level with Lucas’s eyes. The twist the face portrayed was pure agony.

  ‘I am actually. It’s part of a whole metal work exhibition that’s being put together by some human or other. There’s about fifty contributors. I figured safety in numbers.’

  ‘That’s great. About time you showed your stuff off. This is really good.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘From a picture or a model?’

  ‘My imagination actually. I’m getting quite creative in my old age,’ Gabriel laughed aloud.

  ‘I didn’t know you had the kit to do all this metal work.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Gabriel waved nonchalantly at a whole pile of gear in the corner of the studio. ‘Had it a while actually. Never had much purpose for it until now.’

  Lucas was still nodding appreciatively at the sculpture.

  ‘Have you seen this report in the Times?’ Gabriel asked. He handed Lucas a folded copy of the Entertainment Times from the work bench that ran around the edge of the studio.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s only just come out.’

  Lucas took in the headline.

  ‘Vanished Vampires?’ he read the headline aloud but then found his attention drawn to the thumbnail of the journalist who had penned the article. Familiarity dragged at him. Who was it? Simon Jones. As the words slowly took shape in his mind, he clutched desperately for them.

  ‘Public Forum.’

  ‘What?’ Gabriel asked.

  ‘The journalist who wrote this. He spoke at the Public Forum, the one you were at too.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Have you read it?’

  Lucas turned back to the article, but his brain nagged at him further - there was one more puzzle piece to fit. He ignored it and read.

  ‘This is dreadful. Thirty missing,’ Lucas said, turning to Gabriel as he finished.

  ‘Or may be even killed. Killed again, I mean,’ Gabriel added.

  ‘You don’t seem very bothered.’ Lucas eyed his friend.

  ‘Well – they’re small fry aren’t they? Did you know any of them?’ Lucas quickly scanned the list of names again.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Exactly. Not big movers in the world. Just random vamps.’

  ‘We’re just random vampires too, you know. Small fry, as you put it. It could easily have been one of us.’

  Gabriel turned to face him, eyes suddenly serious.

  ‘Could it though? Really?’

  The rapid mood switch threw Lucas off balance. What was that edge in Gabriel’s voice? Was it fear?

  ‘I suppose there’s no logical reason why not us …’ Lucas chose his words carefully.

  ‘No logical reason at all,’ Gabriel echoed. His eyes seemed locked with the empty sockets of the sculpture.

  ‘Although I guess we’d be missed pretty quickly,’ Lucas said. ‘Maybe more so than these people, judging by the descriptions given here. They seemed like loners.’

  ‘Yes. We’d be missed. We’re important in this world.’

  Lucas’s head whirled. Was Gabriel seeking reassurance from him?

  ‘We’re certainly a little higher up the ladder than these people seem to have been,’ he admitted.

  ‘Yes. And we’ve been changed longer. We remember more. More of what it was like. Lucas – you can even remember before HaemX.’ Gabriel’s voice had regained some of its usual lightness. ‘Let’s face it, you’re older than old now. Ancient probably.’

  Gabriel clapped him on the back and the world returned to normal. ‘Maybe we should be a little more careful though,’ Lucas said.

  ‘Maybe.’ Gabriel paused. ‘But… you up for going out after work tomorrow, it being Saturday night and all?’

  ‘I can’t. Got a big project on. You’d like it actually, given your new burst of creativity. Redesigning one of the metal cutting plants on the northern edge of the Industrial District. One of the first ones. I did the originals way back and now they want improvements.’

  What he didn’t admit to Gabriel was that he also had a serious photographic job on – the girl from the tram had wandered into many of his museum shots. It had to mean something. He needed time to bring her properly into focus. Simply even acknowledging that thought made his senses quicken.

  He found Gabriel’s eyes on him.

  ‘Do you want to feed before you go?’
/>   Did he?

  ‘Yes.’ The thought of her, the anticipation, hungered him.

  ‘Come on then.’ Gabriel led them down to the kitchen area which lay just outside the studio, safe from the twisted metal eyes of the sculpture.

  As they returned to the studio steps some ten minutes later, Lucas determined to keep his mind on the jobs at hand. He must not let his thoughts stray to the girl. His body was as satisfied as feeding ever made him. He mustn’t let ideas of her undo that as they inevitably seemed to.

  ‘Can I take that paper with me?’ Lucas asked when they were in the studio proper once more. Gabriel, already eyeing his metal face, welding mask in hand, barely gave Lucas a glance.

  ‘Sure. Help yourself. I’ve read all I want to.’

  Sitting on the tram, Lucas stared at the photo of Simon Jones. Where else had he seen this man? In the paper probably a thousand times before. His title read ‘Lead Investigative Journalist’. Pretentious, then.

  As he disembarked from the tram, his brain finally leapt on it. Made the connection that was to determine his mood. Simon Jones. In the museum on E-Day. Out for the day with his girlfriend.

  Twenty Four

  At last, my work has been reported, legitimised, publicised. And on the front page, no less. A snappy headline too, although not necessarily as creative as anything I would have come up with. Alliteration is such a tired technique.

  What is pleasing though, is the portrayal of my choices, the splendour of the numbers that I have achieved so far, and I feel that the ordinary smallness of my victims, the random way I choose them is there for anyone with a mind to look.

  It’s perfect, and there are still so many more headlines to be created. The greatest part of my work is soon to begin.

  Twenty Five

  Emily stamped her feet in the cold darkness and was glad of the cloud cover, even if it did block out the stars. Where was Simon? She considered returning to the warmth of her flat above, but she had said that she would wait for him here. He was late though. And although she’d allowed herself to be won round slightly in the couple of weeks following her rewrite of Simon’s article, this was not that impressive.

  Her phone rang. Gloved hands made retrieving it a task that required concentration.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi. Sorry. I’m running late. I’m on the tram.’

  ‘Look, why don’t I just meet you there? Wherever it is we’re going?’

  ‘You can’t. A, because I’m not telling you and B, because you won’t be able to find it without me. And C, most importantly – it’s not safe for you on your own.’

  ‘Just hurry up, I’m freezing.’

  *

  As they got off the tram, in the furthest corner of the Entertainment District, Emily asked,

  ‘Do I need to wear some sort of blindfold?’

  Simon laughed and kissed her.

  ‘No, don’t be daft.’

  ‘You’ve made it sound so mysterious. I feel like I’m about to infiltrate some secret club.’

  ‘It’s not a club actually. It’s sort of a meeting place, more a bar I guess.’

  ‘And what’s it called?’

  ‘The Forbidden Lounge.’

  ‘Really?’

  They crossed from the tram stop and entered a narrow alley, their footsteps echoing. Emily began to feel a little disconcerted. The lights at the end of the passage were their only salvation.

  ‘It’s not illegal is it?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’ Again he laughed, but it seemed hollow, reflected back at her by the tunnel in mockery.

  ‘Then, why forbidden?’

  ‘I guess you’ll find out,’ Simon replied.

  The alley led onto a street of boarded up houses. No official government plans for them yet. From the end of that road, they took a left. Emily read the street name ‘Witherly Close’. Who’d lived here all those years ago? Who’d died here? She shuddered. Simon, misinterpreting it said,

  ‘Yes, it’s definitely getting colder.’ He put his arm around her. ‘We’re pretty much there now.’

  He stopped in front of a house that seemed as boarded over as its blank eyed neighbours. There were no lights, no music. There was, however, a keypad on the door. It glowed slightly. Not enough to draw the attention of one who was not looking for it, but enough to illuminate the letters and numbers there.

  ‘Before we go in, I need to tell you some stuff,’ Simon said.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to go in. Can’t we go somewhere else? Somewhere a bit livelier?’ Emily turned away, eyeing the emptiness around them.

  ‘This place will be lively enough when we get inside. It is Friday night, after all.’

  Emily painted scepticism on her face and let it sit there.

  ‘I’ve brought you here because it’s a place that’s important to me. I helped start it actually,’ Simon explained.

  Emily was amazed that there was only the tiniest hint of pride colouring his words.

  ‘And, also because, well, I think you need to come here. I’m not sure you’re going to approve of it though.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s important. I’ve thought a lot about you and what you think of the vampires since the night you helped me with the article.’

  Emily fought the creep of goose pimples down her arms which were nothing to do with the chill of the night.

  ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,’ she interrupted. ‘I’m not sure I want to go.’

  ‘Accepted, but it might help you to realise some things about me, understand where I’m coming from a little better. And realise that I’m not the only one who doesn’t trust the blood suckers.’ Emily bit back the words that flew to her lips as Simon continued, ‘We don’t have to stay long.’ He stepped up to the keypad.

  The code was so long that even if she’d wanted to, Emily would have had little chance of remembering it. Obediently, the door swung open. Still no noise, but now a dim light. With a deep breath, Emily climbed the steps to join Simon. He took her hand and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘Just give it a chance,’ he said and led her inside.

  The door led to more steps, down this time. The glow she had seen came from lights set into the stairs, marking the edge of each tread. The steps ended abruptly in two metal doors. Plain metal. Not decorative, merely functional and solid looking. She had expected Simon to get out his credits card, but there was no slot or reader. Instead he raised his hand and pressed a buzzer concealed at the side of the door.

  This time, the doors opened inwards and they were greeted by two men in black suits.

  ‘Evening Simon, good to see you.’

  ‘Hi John, Robert,’ Simon smiled at both men as if he knew them well and then turned to introduce her, ‘This is Emily.’

  They extended their hands one at a time and, once she’d fumbled off her gloves, Emily shook hands. They expressed their pleasure at meeting her, but words didn’t seem able to form themselves in her mind. She did her best at a smile and hoped she didn’t look as apprehensive as she felt. Robert took their coats, Emily releasing hers only reluctantly, and John opened a door opposite their grey metal entry route.

  ‘Don’t we need to pay?’ she hissed with a backward glance as the door closed silently behind them. There was carpet under their feet now and pictures of what appeared to be film stills on the wall. She paid them little attention as Simon said,

  ‘No. No entry fee.’

  ‘What about signing in? A card swipe at the very least?’

  ‘No. We don’t keep records here.’

  As the tunnel swallowed them further, Emily became aware of the dull pulse of music, of other voices, of slightly more light and warmth. Then, they were at the end of the corridor, a smoked glass door before them. Emily could make out little through it, other than a haze of slowly changing lights and a curious flickering.

  ‘Here we go.’ Simon squeezed her hand and pushed open the door.

  It had none of the cacophony
or chaos of the clubs she was used to. Here, it was all reclined elegance. Yes, the lights were dim, yes there was reasonably loud music, yes there was a bar along one wall, but Emily was left in no doubt that this was definitely a lounge, not a club.

  The room was roughly square, filled with low tables of the same smoked glass as the final door, positioned round each table were sofas, easy chairs. Nothing matched, yet it went well together. There were probably about fifty people, sitting in various sized groups, chatting, drinking. Some curiously were reading, and no, she hadn’t been mistaken, there was some sort of library on the farthest wall. Books and what appeared to be pamphlets, magazines. More were also strewn across the tables.

  As they made their way to the bar, Emily could see that they were, in fact, comics, and she struggled for the word, she’d seen some in the museum, that was it, graphic novels. Those sort of things were available in digital formats, what were these doing here?

  She didn’t have time to read the titles as her attention was demanded by the fact that Simon seemed to know the vast majority of people in the lounge, by sight if not by name and was constantly greeting people, some with a wave, others with a handshake. He introduced her a few times, and again she managed a polite smile, but no words.

  The solidity and anticipated familiarity of a drink was her haven. The bar was different, but so far, she had seen nothing not to like. Not her normal haunt, but not offensive. She released the tension in her shoulders and tried to relax.

  ‘A drink? What would you like?’ Simon asked. She looked from his smile to the rows of bottles behind the bar. There was nothing she recognised. ‘No GastroChoice here I’m afraid. And it’s all full strength. No watering down in this bar.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Emily questioned.

  ‘All Government subsidised drinks, all the GastroChoice stuff, all that’s available in the Entertainment District, is all watered down. Lower alcohol percentage than it claims. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, Emily.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I just do. Read the right manifesto from the days after the blood plague – it’s all set out. All for our own good. For the good of society.’