You and Greylord together.
It's really ironic that, in the end, two great rivals like you are sharing such a difficult time. I feel the sun is about to rise, this sun so overbearing along with our lycan allies. The time for me has come to retire in my uncomfortable refuge. The trunk I brought with me, in theory full of garments, is my hideaway during the day.
I hope, I pray, that tomorrow will bring with it the news that the Sheikh surrendered and revealed where they keep you prisoner.
Dubai, June 3
Everything that could go wrong has gone wrong.
Al Farai, taking advantage of a time they had set him free to go to the bathroom, committed suicide by jumping out of a window and impaling himself on the fence below. I found out a few hours ago from the lycans. They came to give us the news with their tails between their legs, wondering what our reaction would be. It happened before he could give us a clue on the location of the mysterious laboratory in which you are hidden so, right now, the chances of finding you are very slim.
I'm in shock. While my brothers were in the other room arguing with the lycans, I locked myself up in mine and watched the DVD for the umpteenth time. I fear that these could really be the last images that I'll ever have of you, my love. If only I had talked to you the other night...
The only option I have left is to find out something useful through the document you keep at your home in Paris.
If I don't, I will go through the safe deposit box in your bank. I will leave no stone unturned, even if a part of me would rather go to bed and never get up again. In less than two hours, we have a plane that will take us back to Europe. The rest of my team will go to London, while I will be flying to Paris for further investigations. I hope they do not kill each other in the meantime and will have to count on Skinner and Cinàed for this. I have to pack and run. I just wanted to let you to know that I think of you and will not stop looking for you until my mind and my heart tell me that there's no longer hope in finding you. Dead or alive.
Yours, Shibeen.
Paris, June 5
You’re very good at hiding things, by the way!
Nothing in the safe in the Montmartre apartment, nothing in the one in St. Germain Boulevard, and nothing in the bank, or so it seemed at first inspection. I was about to give up when I found a little note in the middle of some foreign passports. I opened it with my heart in my throat in an unpleasant sensation of suffocation and read this cypher, which puzzled me even more:
BDF A2 - 6531-2
I had the impression that it might be important, so I took it. Mr. Degas, the bank director, is a very kind person: coming in person to open the branch at night so I could access the vaults was a very kind gesture. He's the only one who knows about our true nature and has proven himself faithful throughout these years. Raistan, you have most likely made it clear what would happen to him if he revealed our secret. He has been able to conceal the terror that he feels with a competent and cordial attitude, even if his hands tremble every time we meet and he tends not to get too close to us if he can. I turned to him again tonight so that he could help me shed some light on those numbers and letters, which for me were more perplexing than Egyptian hieroglyphics. Letting a human share in our business, almost a stranger, is something I never expected to have to do. He just needed a quick glance at the note to solve the mystery: ’In my opinion, it means the Banque de France, Agency 2... Then the number of a safe deposit box. I could be wrong, but I don't think so.’
At that point, there was a second problem to be solved: enter the bank and find an excuse that didn't sound like attempted robbery that very night. Degas saved me again: with a phone call, he advised the director, his tennis partner, about my arrival, explaining the situation to him. Before I could stop myself, I had kissed him on his cheek. However, he thought that I was about to pounce on him so he became stiff and closed his eyes, opening them again soon after with a comical expression imprinted on his funny face.
Eventually, he asked me what else he could do for me.
Pray, there was nothing else. Just pray.
I left him to reflect on my words and ran to the other bank. There was a tall guy waiting for me there, walking back and forth and biting his nails. When I materialized in front of him, he winced, stifling a curse, pale as a sheet.
’Excuse me. I'm the person Mr. Degas had spoken to you about and I'm in a hurry. I have to control a safe deposit box and access it.’
He wasn't very accommodating with the last part of my request, so I had to use my charms. After a few seconds, he was as gentle as a lamb and escorted me towards the elevator leading to the basement of the bank. Finally, I was able to look at the contents of your other two safe deposit boxes. In the first, there was only an old stuffed rabbit, yellowed and patched up, the tips of its long ears consumed. As I examined it, I felt a lump rise in my throat and raised it to my nose hesitantly; if I had smelled even a hint of your scent, I'd have started bawling right there and then. The reason that motivated you to have kept it a secret escapes me, apart from your irritating habit of hiding your feelings from anyone, even trying to convince yourself that you don't have any. You'll forgive me if I don’t put it back and take it home with me. It is perhaps the most personal thing you own that I now have. I find dismal and dreadful your attempt to pass through this world as a ghost. The only object that you were probably really fond of was the band with the emblem of the Diurnals that you gave to the human family. What's left for me? A stuffed rabbit owned by a child who lived more than three hundred years ago and lost. Who knows what's left of you in him? Maybe a bit of nostalgia since you’ve kept this toy for so long.
In the second box, I found a big, black-covered agenda, dating back many years but with continuous recent updates. It’s filled with names, codes, phone numbers, and mysterious abbreviations of which only you know the meaning. With something concrete in my hands, I returned with great haste to your apartment. I like being there for the same reason I loved having found the rabbit: it belongs to you. There are traces of your life: the books you like, some of your drawings, and your clothes, some of which are still impregnated with your scent perhaps because they escaped the washing machine. I have the feeling or, rather, I hope that if I stay here, I'll eventually get some signs from you. It’s unbelievable that it hasn't happened yet. Either you're already dead, you're kept in a place with a very powerful shield, or they're using silver on you. I have never felt such void. Anyway, when I got out of the elevator and arrived at your door, I lived a moment of extreme anxiety. Someone was inside. A human. A woman, judging by the trail of scent that still lingered. I broke into the house with fury, teeth bared, but instead of an army of terrorists, I found myself in front of a little human girl screaming: your Sophie. I'm sorry I scared the shit out of her, but you can never know what can happen breaking into the house of one of us.
’Who the hell are you, little miss?’ I asked her as soon as she stopped screaming. I had some suspicions, but I wanted to get direct confirmation from her of her identity.
’I'm Sophie, Raistan's... uhm... girlfriend. Who the hell are you? Do you think this is the way to come into someone's home? You scared the shit out of me!’ The fact that I was a vampire didn't seem to have shocked her all that much. My respect for her took a small step forward.
’I'm Shibeen O' Connor, Raistan's... uhm... maker, just to clarify the importance of the various statuses we have present here, that is. What is it that you want? You do know that Raistan's not here, right?’
’Of course, I do. He promised that he would call me every night and, for a while, he did, but now I haven't heard from him for ten days and I'm worried to death...’ Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke of a feeling I knew very well. ’Do you know what happened to him? I don't even know why I came here... I just wanted to stay here, with his stuff... Isn't it silly?’
Considering that I was thinking the same thing a few minutes ago, I understood perfectly well what she was talking about
.
’Sit down Sophie; it’s best that you know the truth.’
I summarized for her the facts of those last days and, seeing her getting whiter and whiter, I realized that she didn’t have the faintest idea of your current profession. Finding it out, then, was truly a terrible blow to her. I'm sorry, I did not want to have been the one to have revealed that news to her, I just assumed she already knew. Sometimes, it's quite difficult for a human to accept something that appears normal to us. Our concept of morality is entirely different from that of mortals. I realized this as I saw her face getting paler and paler. She had managed to accept that you kill for nourishment, but it appeared that she couldn't tolerate the idea that you also did the same for money. It was obvious that the fact you kept your silence about it hurt her very much. She was so lost and disoriented... She was manipulating her hands and sniffling. I sincerely felt sorry for her because she was catapulted in a world she didn't even imagine existed in less than ten minutes. When I thought that she would jump from the couch to run away, she somewhat pulled herself together and, for the first time since we met, I saw what attracted you to her.
’Now what?’ she asked with a homicidal expression in her eyes.
’Are you willing to help me? Is that what you're saying?’
’That's right. And when we find him, he'll have to deal with me, that bastard!’ she snarled, making me laugh.
Well, you actually asked for it.
For the last two hours, we analyzed your records page by page. There were also your job assignments with names, dates, and places of the executions of the last fifty years. If she was able to endure reading those lines, she can very well withstand anything; though, I'm not sure she can. Some names surprised me too: the explanations to some of the unsolved crimes of recent decades were staring me right in front of my face.
’Oh, my God... oh, my God...’ she continued to stutter every time she came across a new name and with all its implications. If that book should fall into the wrong hands - or right ones, depending on your point of view – it would trigger a political earthquake of enormous proportions. It's like handling an atomic bomb that was already activated. As soon as I am done examining it, I will take it back to the bank. At one point, I saw her jump to her feet, like a rattlesnake had just bitten her. ’You... you... son of a bitch of a vampire! He killed my favorite singer!’ She uttered, her cheeks flushed with rage. I could just say an ’Oops!’ then we looked at each other and, suddenly, burst out laughing. She was rather hysterical, I was quite amused. It seemed like we couldn't stop ourselves. But then, there was the name of the next candidate: God help him, he was due to be exterminated in three months.
We then moved on to examine the second part of your agenda, the one filled with codes, names, and phone numbers. To whom can we turn to get some help? Sophie's gone, dawn is looming, and I’m still here probing. She promised she'll be back tomorrow to help me again. She's a good girl and looks like she's in love with you, although I don't know how your relationship will survive after the terrible revelations she received this evening. You don't have to worry about your future safety, assuming that we will come out alive from all this mess; I'll erase the names of your victims from her memory. She'll still know about your current profession, but the details will be shrouded in a mist. As for the rest, you'll have to handle it yourself. Don't expect too much from her, she's only a human thrown unexpectedly into a frightening and uncharted dimension.
’Three hundred and ten, Shibeen,’ she told me at one point, ’he slaughtered in cold blood three hundred and ten people... for money. I'm not sure if I'll be able to accept it.’
’I know. I understand. Take your time, girl. Perhaps our world isn't for you, have you ever thought about that?’
’This is not about your world, it's much worse. What kind of values can a person who kills anyone for money have?’
’Not just anyone, mind you. All this mess has occurred precisely because he does not kill just anyone impetuously.’
’Oh, great, what should we do, give him a medal? So generous, so virtuous! A real saint, sorry if I dare criticize him!’
’We're not like you! We don't reason as humans anymore! It’s like thinking ill of a lion because he kills gazelles to nourish himself!’
’It's not about food! That I could understand, I could accept that. I actually have accepted it, if not, I wouldn't be here. But, earning from it... How will I look at him, into his eyes, when he comes back? And I really hope that he comes back, believe me.’
’This is something you will have to deal with on your own, in the darkness of your room when you go to sleep tonight and the following nights. Ask yourself if you can live with the three sides of him: man, vampire, killer. Make a decision. I've known him for three hundred years, Sophie. I've been with him from the very beginning of his new existence, it was I who gave it to him, and I can assure you that there's plenty of good in him. There are generosity, spirit of sacrifice, courage verging on recklessness, perseverance, and gentleness, even though he does everything he could to conceal it. See that computer on the desk? It contains the first part of the story of his life, an autobiography. He's trying to remember everything for... I don't know why, actually. Maybe to take stock, to reflect if it was worth it. Perhaps you should read it. I have the impression that you don't know him very well. I love him, you know, and I always will. I don't want you to have the wrong opinion of him. Bring a flash drive tomorrow, you can copy it and read it at your own discretion. It's his desire somewhere in those pages for you to read it. Now go, dear. It's late for you and I want to have a closer look at that agenda.’
We parted and agreed to meet tomorrow night. I hope she comes voluntarily and that I am not forced to go out and look for her. It is crucial that I alter her memory: certain information has to remain confidential, just as I said. Now, I'll have to choose the person or persons able to help me among these dozens and dozens of names and numbers. It's like guessing the numbers at Bingo. The question I keep asking myself, and what worries me most, is: ’Will there really be someone willing to help a ruthless killer whose very name is unknown?’
I'm afraid I will find out soon.
June 6
Bastards.
They're all bastards, Raistan.
Do you have the slightest idea of how many phone calls we have already made? Do you have any idea of how many times they hung up on us, pretending they don't know whom we're talking about? They should all be exterminated without mercy. Them, really! Keep it in mind when you read this message.
Another day wasted and gifted to the lunatics who took you. That makes fifteen including today. It's three in the morning, Sophie has just left. She was shattered, in the end, she did nothing but cry and curse. She's been a true warrior, but it was of no use. Now we are at the letter M and under M, we see the word Mossad, Israel’s secret service. If they, too, are not even slightly interested in what is happening, mankind deserves to die out due to its egoism and blindness. It's not just about you; it's what lies underneath what they're doing to you. Someone has to be interested. The threat hanging over us is of such great magnitude that it can't be ignored, but, up to now, it seems much easier to do so. I don't venture calling anyone now, it's too late. We'll resume tomorrow at sunset. I must go out to feed myself, but I have no desire so I just took some bags from your fridge.
I heard from my brothers: together with the lycans, they're leaving no stone unturned: like you, Greylord had many contacts in the human world but, for now, there's no news even from that front either. I miss them and wish they were here with me. Sophie has copied your memoirs on her flash drive and promised that she will begin reading them as soon as she can. I hope you don't mind, I did it for you. Maybe, if she gets to know you better, she will be able to overcome the disgust she feels at this time of those aspects of your life so distant from her way of thinking. She'll be able to decide with greater knowledge of the facts and then you will know that, if she has decided to sta
y, it's because she has accepted every aspect of your life, even the most obscure. And, if you don’t come back, an eventuality which I fear I will have to start confronting, she will have learned what kind of person you were and that it would be worth it to keep on loving you. I, myself, will never stop.
Goodnight, Dutchman.
Yours, Shibeen.
June 7
Mossad. What a wonderful organization!
Colonel Adam Sharinsky, whose name stood out with an asterisk next to that of authority for which he works, interrupted me at once and scheduled an appointment for tomorrow morning as soon as he realized I was talking about you.
’Uhm... maybe tomorrow evening would be better, Colonel,’ I said.
There was a moment of silence. I could almost feel his mental gears turning at full speed, then he must have understood what the problem was and his voice came thundering back through the cell.
’The evening. Very good, there's no problem, ma’am. I'll send a car to pick you up at your preferred time if you tell me where.’
We agreed on nine o’clock, but I want Seamus and Cinàed to be with me tomorrow. Trust is good but not to trust is better, and three old vampires are far more frightening than just one, especially if that one is a female. As far as I know, they're already at the airport and they're looking forward to being back in action.
Sophie and I had a little party to celebrate. She almost got drunk with a bottle of white wine we found in your fridge and I had a couple of AB bags that were sleeping in your freezer. She said that she is reading your story and likes it very much, although it's hard for her to digest the light tone you use when you talk about the killings. She has the impression of reading a novel and, sometimes, has to stop and remind herself that it's all true, that you really lived in a distant time, different from hers. When she was talking about you, tonight, her eyes had a new sweetness in them. Maybe the shock treatment is working. I wish it were already tomorrow night, when I am to meet this colonel. I imagine him with a crew cut, tall and very military, stiff as a board. Perhaps I've watched too many war movies.
Rising to darkness Page 37