by Hal Bodner
“A friend. He helped us get home after I was...er...impaled. They’ve been like that all night,” he told Becky before she could ask another question. “At least we’ll have a few minutes of peace.” Chris handed her the file on Rex and assumed his best lecturer’s manner. “I’m pretty sure this is the guy we’ve been looking for. One: He’s old, at least eight hundred. Two: He’s good-looking enough to have attracted the victims. Three...”
“Has anyone ever told you that’s a really annoying habit?”
“What?” Chris asked.
“That business with your fingers,” Becky replied, mimicking him. “One: Blah, blah, blah. Two: Blah, blah, blah. I really wish you’d stop. It makes me want to break your other shoulder.”
“Sorry,” he said absently. “Now, where were we?” His brow furrowed for a moment in thought. “Oh, yeah. Three:”
Becky sighed in defeat.
“Three: He disappeared during the Spanish Inquisition and no one’s heard from him since. And, finally, four: He’s been seen in West Hollywood—recently.”
“What?” Becky gasped. “Seen? You mean there’s a third vampire in town?”
“No,” Chris replied, puzzled. “How do you figure that?”
“You said you could all identify each other on sight.”
“So?”
“Well, if you didn’t see him, that means another vampire must’ve.”
“Or a werewolf, or a demon, or as in this case, a ghoul.”
“A ghoul?” Becky felt faint.
At this point, the object of their conversation entered the living room holding a frying pan that looked like it had been salvaged from Chernobyl.
Becky looked up. “Hello,” she said and looked to Chris to make the introductions. Before Chris was able to open his mouth, Scotty screamed. Becky, startled, returned his gesture by letting out a scream of her own.
“Oh, my god!” He dropped the frying pan and darted back into the bedroom.
Unfortunately, at that moment, Troy was coming through the doorway in the opposite direction carrying a casserole dish in each hand. The two met head on.
Troy went flying backward from the impact, his arms pin-wheeling wildly. Both casseroles slipped from his grasp and sailed merrily across the room to smash against opposite walls. Troy lost the struggle to maintain his balance and fell backward against the coffin.
Scotty however, managed to merely ricochet off the door frame, keeping his balance—barely—and, with a tremendous leap which cleared both Troy and the coffin, landed next to the bedroom closet. With another cry of dismay, he yanked open the closet door and dove in, slamming it shut behind him.
“What was that about?,” asked Becky, calmer now that the initial shock had passed.
“Oh, it could be anything. His kind are not the most stable of people. Years of hiding in grave yards, scared of every shadow.” He hauled himself to his feet. “Well, let’s go find out.” Becky followed him into the bedroom.
Troy was lying flat on his back, legs above his head.
“Have you noticed,” Troy began, affecting an upper-class British accent, “that since we arrived on the shores of fair Los Angeles, madam has spent an increasing amount of time falling on her arse?” He rose, majestically, and made a show of wiping imaginary dust from his clothing.
“Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain,” Chris told Becky and opened the closet door to reveal Scotty, huddled in the corner, hidden under several of the opera capes.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Chris asked him.
“She’s one of them!” Scotty wailed.
“I know that!” Chris shouted, and grimaced when his shoulder twinged.
“What’s she doing here??” Scotty screamed back through his tears.
Becky, concerned, reached out a hand and gently grasped Chris’s good arm. “Count to ten,” she admonished him. Chris did so.
“She’s a friend,” he said once he’d recovered his temper.
“Are you kidding?” sniffed Scotty.
“What? You’ve never seen a normal before? Don’t you go to work? Shopping?” Troy was amazed.
“But she’s in your house,” Scotty whispered, as if Becky were hard of hearing. “Your home! Your lair, even!”
“It’s OK. She knows about us,” Chris said.
“She’s the coroner,” added Troy.
“Coroner?” Scotty drew one of the capes back over his head and began to weep anew.
“Oh, Merciful Lord and Savior!” said Chris with disgust and waded into the closet. He tried to grab Scotty and haul him out into the room, but the ghoul was flinging clothes at him, trying to get away. One of Scotty’s flailing arms caught Chris on his injured side and, with a cry of pain, Chris fell to the floor. Becky rushed to his side.
“Stop it now!” Troy yelled, and Scotty froze. “Out!” Troy commanded and the ghoul meekly complied.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “Did I hurt you?”
“Yes,” Chris said, lips tight with pain. “Can we please stop the hysterics for a moment? Or do you want to kill me and finish what the rogue started?” Scotty stood, meekly trembling as Becky helped Chris to his feet. “Well, that will certainly keep me off the cricket field for a few more days,” he quipped.
“Can you stand without help?” Becky asked.
“Don’t be foolish.” Chris shook off her arm, annoyed. “I’m perfectly fine. Will everyone please stop treating me like a consumption victim?”
“Good. In that case, do you mind...?” Becky said, indicating the coffin. “I’m not quite used to that yet.” She turned and left the bedroom.
Holding himself ramrod straight, Chris followed as Troy marched the reluctant Scotty back out into the living room and sat him down on the couch. Troy made a great show of rubbing his rear end before he sat down himself.
Once all were comfortable, Chris performed the introductions.
“Becky, this is Scotty. Scotty is a ghoul.”
Becky blanched. “A ghoul?” she inquired weakly.
Troy tried to be helpful. “You know. A rot rat.”
Scotty mustered what little dignity he was able and shot back, “Renfield!”
Troy bristled. “Corpse chewer!”
“Bloodsucker-butt licker!”
“Carrion queen!”
“That’s enough!” yelled Chris.
The two fell silent.
“Scotty is the one who spotted Rex Castillian — our killer,” said Chris, determined to keep the conversation from totally falling apart. “I’m hoping he’ll volunteer to help you out during the day.”
“But she’s a coroner!” Scotty protested.
Becky’s curiosity was aroused. “So?”
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you anything?” Scotty asked with disdain. “Coroners, undertakers, grave diggers, medical examiners, archeologists—they’re all the same. You know how they are. They hate the competition, trying to keep every corpse to themselves. And why, I don’t know. They certainly don’t use them for anything useful. Just stealing food from our table, Mama always said.”
Becky felt slightly nauseated and was sorry she’d asked Scotty to explain.
“And coroners! They’re the worst. They only know how to do one thing. Cut, cut, cut!” Scotty paused and added belligerently, “She’s probably got all her scalpels in that purse right there. Just waiting to cut me up,” then added more dubiously, “Right?”
“Good god! This is the twenty-first century! She’s not going to hurt you.”
“I promise.” Becky gave Scotty her best smile. “All I want to do is catch whoever’s been killing people.”
“Oh, we never kill people,” Scotty assured her earnestly. “After they’re already dead it’s fair game. But we never, ever kill people.”
Becky looked slightly greener.
“Oh, cut it out,” said Troy with exasperation. “All you people do is brag, brag, brag. When was the last time you really ate human flesh?”
“Please,” said Becky, her voice breaking into a much higher register than normal, “don’t answer that!”
Scotty began to protest, but Chris shushed him.
“Now, let’s get back to the problem, can we?”
They all nodded.
“During the day, Scotty and his friends will help you scout around town. They may be able to think of some places we haven’t thought of. At night, Troy and I will take over. Deal?”
“Tomorrow night,” Troy stressed. “You need time on your back.”
“Very well.” Chris conceded.
“What’re we looking for?” Scotty wanted to know.
Troy was pleased to show his superior knowledge of the situation. “Rex’s daytime lair.”
“You mean the other bloodsucker?”
“I don’t mean Katherine Hepburn, Mary!”
“But I already know where he lives,” said Scotty.
“The prop shop on Fairfax? He’s not there anymore,” Becky said.
“Prop shop? What prop shop?” Scotty asked.
All three looked at him in amazement.
“You mean,” said Chris slowly, “he’s got another casket?”
“Sure,” Scotty said innocently, “I could have told you that last night if you asked me.”
Chris barely refrained from slapping his palm against his forehead, cursing his stupidity.
“Where is he?” asked Troy.
“I don’t know what the place is called. It’s that little brown building next to the park over by Rage. You know, the one with the blue shutters.” Scotty wiped his nose.
“My god,” Becky said very quietly.
“What’s wrong?”
Becky looked at the other three, suddenly white-faced and shaken.
“Well...?” Chris demanded.
“You’ve never been there,” she began, “but...” Her words trailed off. She looked at the others helplessly, “That’s the morgue!” she cried. “My office! “
“Of all the unmitigated gall...” Chris breathed. “The bastard’s taunting us.”
“Not to mention trying to kill you,” Becky pointed out.
“That clinches it,” Chris resolved. “It’ll be light in a little while hour or so. If we leave now, we’ll make it just after he holes up for the day. It’ll be the perfect opportunity to...”
“You are not honestly thinking of coming with us?” Becky interrupted, appalled.
“Yes, I am,” Chris replied. “None of you has dealt with a rogue before. I have. Besides, while I can survive foreign objects trashing my body, Troy can’t. He’s the only one of you who has any idea of how to deal with a vampire...”
“How to deal with them...how to sleep with them...how to clean up after them...how to-”
“That will be quite enough from you, monkey.” Chris cut him off. “We’ve got to get this guy as soon as possible—before he kills again. And Troy isn’t going anywhere without me to protect him.”
“You’re in no condition...” Becky began.
“Nonsense,” Chris said and moved toward the front door. “Let’s go.”
“What about the sun?” Scotty asked quietly. “It’s just about dawn.”
Chris stopped in his tracks.
“He’s right, you know.” Troy said. “You’re hurt. You’re tired. And you didn’t have time to eat tonight. Ten minutes in the sun and you’ll look like Michelle Pfeiffer in The Witches of Eastwick. You know, after Jack Nicholson cursed her and made her all bloated?”
“Is that true?” Becky asked. “I’ve seen you in the daytime.”
“That was in Philadelphia.” Troy told her. “It’s almost always cloudy there. This is L.A.”
Becky looked at Chris, expecting an answer.
“The sun burns us sometimes,” Chris admitted reluctantly. “If we’re hurt or hungry, it can be pretty bad.”
“I am not spending the entire day rubbing aloe vera into your skin again,” Troy said. “The last time he got sunburn,” he told Becky, “all the satin in the coffin was slimy for weeks. At first, it was kinda kinky but...he finally made me replace it.”
“TMI, monkey. TMI,” Chris said. “I’ll manage and I’m going.”
“No, you’re not!” Troy snatched the car keys from the coffee table and thrust them down the front of his pants. “Come and get ’em,” he taunted, “if you can.”
Chris lurched across the coffee table and made a grab for Troy’s crotch. He missed and fell lengthwise onto the table, landing on his injured side. Before he could try again, Troy slapped him.
“Goddamn it, Troy! That hurt!” Chris roared.
“Goddamn it, yourself!” Troy roared back.
“Stop it! Both of you!” Becky shrieked. “How much of this do you think I can take? I thought I was doing very well, dealing with dead people and...”
“I’m not dead,” Scotty pointed out.
“Fine. Dealing with people who eat dead people then,” Becky said snippily. “But I’m having to make a serious effort here. The least you could do would be to nix the holy martyr act.”
“I am not letting Troy go out there alone,” Chris insisted.
“We’ll be with him,” Scotty hastened to assure him.
“A fat lot of good that will do!” Chris huffed.
“A fat lot of good a sedative would do,” Becky chimed in. “I am very tempted to indulge my curiosity and find out how much Valium it would take to knock you on your undead ass if you don’t shut up.”
With difficulty, Chris folded his arms and sat back on the sofa in a sulk. “We’re at an impasse then.”
“I still have the car keys,” Troy pointed out.
“Besides,” Scotty said as he pulled the blackout curtains from the window. “It’s dawn.”
The light streaming in wasn’t very bright; the sky was barely pink. Nevertheless, as the pale light touched the back of one of Chris’s hands, its effect was immediate and dramatic. The skin instantly reddened. Chris froze in shock and, before he could snatch his hand out of the beam of light blisters appeared.
“Close that, you idiot!” Troy screeched.
“Sorry,” Scotty mumbled, complying. “I thought you needed help making your point.”
“Let me see that hand,” Becky demanded.
“Why does everyone want to kill me tonight?” Chris grumbled, cradling it against his chest.
“Now, what was that about you coming with us?” Troy asked. “I refuse to share a coffin with someone who looks like the Elephant Man.”
“Look, Chris,” said Becky, kneeling beside him. “We can always call Clive with an anonymous tip and...”
“No way!” Scotty protested. “If any other normals are gonna find out about us, I’m not going.” He stood, arms firmly clasped across his chest to indicate stubbornness. Only the fact that he was trembling from head to foot and starting to sweat betrayed his resolve.
“He’s right,” Chris mused. “Even if he’s scared of his own shadow, at least he knows what we’re up against. Convincing the Captain would take some time.” He was silent for a moment, thinking. “Very well,” he conceded. “The three of you go. But—and I want to be clear about this—you’ll need to follow my instructions on how to kill him exactly. If you do it wrong, he can heal and he’ll go into hiding again. Then we’d be in an even worse position.”
“If it’s any comfort,” Becky said, “I’ll have my cell phone with me. If we run into trouble, I’ll call. You can throw a raincoat over your head or something and come running.”
“Hopefully, that won’t be necessary,” Chris smiled wanly. “Troy,” he instructed firmly, “there’s a box in the back of the hall closet. Grab some of those horrific gothic crucifixes left over from your decorating spree on the townhouse.”
“I wondered where those had got to,” Troy said as he moved off to get them.
“Scotty.” Chris turned to the ghoul. “Go into the kitchen and get some bottle or jars. If you can’t find any, empty something from the
fridge...”
“Not the vodka!” Troy called from the hallway.
Chris ignored him. “Make sure they’re clean and fill them with water from the sink.”
Scotty scampered off to comply. Becky looked at Chris askance.
“This guy was living when all the superstitions about us were accepted as fact,” Chris explained. “If we’re lucky, he may still believe them. If he wakes up, hold up a cross. It may help you to back him into a corner.”
“What about garlic?” Becky asked.
“Maybe,” Chris agreed, “but we don’t have any in the house and none of the stores will be open this early.”
“And the water?”
Chris grinned. “Just tell him it’s holy water. He’ll never know the difference.” He sobered and continued. “In fact, if you throw it on him, he may blister and burn. It’s psychosomatic, but the results will be the same.”
Within a few minutes, Troy came back into the room with a small armful of crosses and Scotty emerged from the kitchen with several bottles of water.
“Aren’t we forgetting something?” Scotty asked pointedly.
“Yes,” Chris sighed. “God, I hate having to do this,” he added as if to himself. He fixed Becky with a steady gaze. “Inside my coffin, the large one, you’ll find a small parcel wrapped in some cloth. It’s all the way down by the foot, under the lining.”
Becky looked with dread at the bedroom door.
“Becky,” Chris said gently, “if you can’t go into an empty coffin, how do you expect...”
“I don’t know him,” Becky said irritably. “It’s the thought of you in that thing that bothers me.” She trundled into the bedroom. Seconds later, Chris heard her struggling with the coffin lid.”
“What is this?” she called.
“Mallet and stake,” Chris called back.
She came into the living room, carrying the parcel, with a look of befuddlement. “Why would you keep these in your coffin?”
“Anyone who wants to use them,” Chris said seriously, “would have to get through me first.”
“What if they brought their own?” Scotty asked.
Chris looked surprised. “You know, I never thought of...”
“You have a talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time,” Troy told the ghoul.