by P. N. Elrod
He was staring at me with open curiosity, and I was beginning to think it was his favorite expression.
“Excuse me, but are you breathing at all?”
“Only when I talk. I’m afraid it comes with the condition.”
“In the winter you shall have to remember to wear a scarf over your mouth or people might notice.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Listen, do you mind answering some of my questions?”
“Not at all.”
“How did you find me and know what I am?”
“I confess to a lifelong interest in the outré, but never expected to come face-to-face with a living, so to speak, example. I first saw you at the railway station and was instantly struck by the fact that we physically resemble each other, though of course, you’re a bit younger.”
“I don’t think so. How old do I look?”
“No more than twenty-three or -four.”
“But I’m thirty-six,” I protested.
“Perhaps it’s part of your changed condition. That is very interesting. But to continue, I enjoy watching people: I note their mannerisms, walks, faces, but I don’t like to get caught doing it; that spoils the fun. People draw the wrong conclusions or become offended or both, so I practice covert observation.”
“Come again?”
“I don’t get caught watching. I follow them, face one direction and look in another—and I study their reflections in mirrors.”
“I didn’t notice any mirrors.”
“True, but there were several panels of glass available that served just as well. Even the window on the door of the cab you took was useful. I saw your trunk and the porter, but could not see you. Something as unusual as that could not be ignored, so I followed you in another cab to your hotel. I listened as you registered and got your room number and the name you gave. When you came back down and went to the Stockyards I lost you there somehow, but by great luck you turned up again at a newsstand that was on your route home. Then you spent some time at a Western Union office, and when you left I tried to find out the nature of the telegrams you sent. To their credit, the employees were quite reticent, though one did mention you sent money to your mother. Then I had to leave, lest I lose you. I set up a vigil at your hotel, intending to call on you during the day to see if my suspicions were correct. You left again some time later, so I seized the opportunity to search your room.
“Once inside, I took the liberty of going through your luggage and found those two bags of earth. It gave me quite a turn because up to then I was still only half believing what my eyes had told me. Of course, you might have had some other reason for carrying them around, but it would hardly explain your lack of a reflection. I wanted to meet you and talk, but had to do so without placing myself in unnecessary danger. It would have to be under controllable conditions. My knowledge of vampires is, at present, limited to Stoker’s book and that film. I had to hope they were correct. Leaving you my note, I took your bags to guarantee your coming, and set my defenses.”
“Just the crossbow?”
“And the hope that you could not cross the threshold without an invitation.”
“That’s it?”
He opened the desk drawer and drew out some garlic and a large crucifix. He was puzzled when I didn’t flinch away, and his eyes went wide with alarm when I actually picked them up. I wrinkled my nose at the garlic, but then I never did like the stuff. I gave it back to Escott. “You can’t win them all.”
He fingered the cross with astonishment. “But I thought—”
“Yeah, I did, too, once. Look at it this way: I was basically a decent guy before someone killed me, and I don’t feel any different now. Maybe if I were, say, the real Dracula with his life history, I’d twitch if I saw a cross, too. As for the garlic, in the part of Europe where it originated as a weapon against vampires it’s a basic cure for just about everything. You got a cold, rheumatism, a headache? Try a little garlic. Troubled by vampires? Use garlic, it can’t hurt. It can’t help, either. What good is something that smells bad against someone who doesn’t have to breathe?”
“That is a good point,” he admitted. “Was I at least right about the threshold?”
“ ’Fraid not. How do you think I was able to get into the hotel in the first place?”
“Oh.”
“How did you get into my room?”
“With the aid of some highly illegal, but very useful lock picks, which also served well for your trunk. I must compliment you on that for a very good idea; a large trunk is certainly less noticeable than a coffin.”
“It was the only thing I could think of. Besides, it beats taking a flop in a closet.”
“I’m sure a coffin might bar you from the better hotels as well.”
I gave him a look. He was joking.
“Why, though? Why get to know me? If you’re crazy it doesn’t show.”
“Thank you, I think.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure if I can explain why. Perhaps I suffer from terminal curiosity. If you’d been a different sort of person from what you are, I don’t think I’d have taken the chance I did tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, any man who sends money home to his mother can’t be all bad.”
“Good grief.”
“How did you evade me at the Stockyards?”
“Like this.” I vanished, floated through the door, reformed and came back inside. Escott hadn’t moved a muscle, but his heart was thumping hard and his eyes had gone a bit glassy.
After a long time, he said, “That was very interesting, not to mention unnerving. Would you mind doing that again?”
I didn’t mind a bit, it was good practice. He was still unnerved. When I thought I had enough control, I tried a partial disappearance while still sitting in the chair. It was all pure show-off.
“That is absolutely astounding,” he said. He looked like a kid with a new toy. “I can see right through you. It’s like a photographic double exposure. Can you talk while in this state?”
I moved my lips, there was still some air left to form words. After a second my reply became audible. Faint and hollow, I said, “Don’t know, haven’t tried.”
“It seems the more solid you are the better the quality of sound.” He stood and reached toward me. “May I?”
“Sure.”
I was finding it interesting as well, though it was disturbing to see Escott’s hand passing right through my midsection. I was certain I could feel it, like a tickling within.
“Rather cold,” he commented. “And you have a tendency to drift.”
“I have to concentrate when it’s like this.” I relaxed and materialized completely. “It’s draining in a way.”
“I should think so. Everything about you vanishes—your clothes and effects, that is—I wonder what your limits are.” He held out his pipe. “Would you mind, just once more?”
I didn’t. Escott took back the pipe and puffed on it. “Still lit . . . I find that interesting.”
“Why?”
“It means things are unaffected when they go with you. That could prove to be very useful.”
I pondered on what he wanted to use it for, disappeared again and came back. “There may be a weight or size limit. I tried to take the chair with me this time and couldn’t.”
“Perhaps you need more practice. We can research all this thoroughly, I’m sure. What you do is certainly not covered by the present laws of physics.” Another idea struck them. “Are your teeth—may I examine them?”
I shrugged and opened my mouth.
“You’re very fortunate; they’re perfect.”
“Erf-ik?”
“You’ve never had cavities.”
“Uh-Ah-aah—”
“What?” He let go.
“But I’ve had cavities.”
“Then you’ve no fillings.”
“You sure? Check the back on this side.”
He did and only found unblemished molars. “Yo
ur condition is not without its beneficial side effects.”
I moaned, “This is getting strange.”
“One more look?” He gently pushed back my upper lip and probed the gum area above the canines. “They would seem to be retractable . . . and very sharp.” He tugged at one. “Extends at a slight outward angle . . . mm . . . about half an inch longer than the others.” He released the tooth, and I felt it slowly slide back. “Extension probably the result of an involuntary reflex occurring when stimulated by hunger pangs. Is that correct?”
“Yeah, they come out when I need them.”
“I might like to see that sometime.” He fiddled with his pipe.
I found the man’s clinical interest, at least on the subject of my dining habits, to be annoying.
Escott continued to poke and cluck to himself, oblivious to my growing irritation. It was like a medical exam, and I never liked medical exams. In the end, I had to take off my coat and shirt so he could see the bullet scars.
“There’s hardly any mark in front at all now, but there is a large discoloration on your back . . . very slight, though, and it appears to have shrunk. From your description of the chest wound, I’d say you were shot at close range by a large-caliber bullet, perhaps a dum-dum.”
“I took a forty-five auto off Sanderson.”
“I’d wonder what you had that was making your coat pocket sag so. It would certainly meet the requirements.”
“Here.” I dug it out and gave it to him.
“And he shot you that second time without harming you?”
“It hurt and did not improve my suit. I didn’t like it at all.” I buttoned my shirt.
“I should think not.” He looked out the window. “Well, well, it is getting rather late for you, and I’m a bit sleepy myself. Could we continue this discussion tomorrow at your convenience?”
“I’d like that, sure.”
“In the meantime, I shall begin inquiries into your case.”
“Well, go easy, you can see how rough these boys play. You better keep the gun.”
“Very well, at least as evidence.”
I picked up my bags of earth. “I’ll be by a little after sundown.” “That would be perfect. Good night to you, Mr. Fleming.”
“Good morning to you, Mr. Escott.”
4
NOT much of the night was left. If I rushed it I could pull out and find another place to stay before the sun caught me. Instead, I walked home, dumped the bags of earth back in the trunk, and got undressed. My instincts about people were fairly sharp by now, and I had a good feeling about the man. The question of whether or not to trust him had only been briefly considered. With something close to fear I realized I was alone, I needed a friend badly.
There was no hunger the next night, so I could skip visiting the Stockyards and go straight to Escott’s office. the afterglow of the sunset made my eyes burn, though, and I made a mental note to acquire a pair of dark glasses at the first opportunity.
It was only eight. A fair amount of traffic still cluttered the street and my mind was on sunglasses, so I almost didn’t notice the dark green Ford parked in front of Escott’s stairway until too late. I approached the stair opening and at the last moment continued past without breaking stride. Two men were at the top just emerging from Escott’s door.
I raced around the block to get a good look at them from behind. Peering around the last corner, I was in time to see them stowing a long, heavy bundle of carpeting into the trunk of the Ford. They were red and puffing; their burden seemed overly heavy for its size. The trunk lid slammed down and they dusted their hands off. The one on the left had a bandaged right forefinger. It was Fred Sanderson.
Their backs to me, they opened the doors and got in. Before those doors shut I was making a beeline for the trunk, crouching low. There was no time to try opening it. The engine was kicking over, giving me a face full of exhaust. Not having any better ideas, I vanished and seeped through the crack between the lid and the car’s body before they pulled out. I cautiously resumed form again, making sure there was enough room to do so.
I was on my side, crammed uncomfortably against the rug which smelled of dust, grease, and other less pleasant things. It was difficult to hear well over the rumble of the car, but I was sure I detected muted breathing beneath the layers of nap. Reasonably certain it was Escott, I hoped we’d stop soon before he smothered. Under the present circumstances it was impossible to unwrap him.
After the first few minutes of the ride I lost all sense of direction and had to fight off motion sickness. We crossed water, and soon the sound of the wheels on the road steadied. There were no more stops and turns, and the speed was steady, so I gathered we were on a highway. This was worrying; if the ride were too long, I’d be stuck somewhere without my earth, but long before this could become a problem the car slowed and made a sharp right turn onto a very bumpy dirt road. We slid to a stop and the motor was cut.
I pressed an ear to the bundle and was reassured by the sound of working lungs, though I didn’t think their owner was conscious yet. Outside, crickets and other small creatures made their little noises. Awkwardly close at hand, the two men lurched out of the car. Not wanting to be discovered in such a tactically poor position, I floated from the trunk and reformed where I hoped I wouldn’t be seen.
Trees were all around, but too sparse to offer adequate cover. When I turned to face the car I thought the game was up, Sanderson was looking right at me, then his eyes skipped blindly past. He didn’t have my night vision. His friend even gave him a flashlight to facilitate their work.
They opened the trunk and with a none-too-gentle wrench, hauled the bundle out, and dropped it on the ground. From their movements, I’d have to interfere soon, but dark or no dark, I didn’t want to risk being recognized by Sanderson. I tied a handkerchief cowboy-fashion over my lower face, feeling foolish about the melodramatics, then turned up my coat collar and pulled down my hat.
The men were professionally matter-of-fact about their task. They yanked one end of the rug up and Escott’s unconscious body rolled out onto the leaves and dirt.
“You want to do it here?” the other, younger man asked Sanderson.
“Nah, we might get blood all over us takin’ him to the river.”
“We could carry him in the rug.”
“Georgie,” came the patient reply, “we would then have to throw it in with him. The boss don’t like wasting a good gimmick, he’ll want to use the rug again someday, and then where would we be? Come and get the legs.”
They grunted and lifted their burden. Before they’d gotten ten feet, I darted in and punched Sanderson for all I was worth. I felt and heard bones give under my fist. The big man’s head snapped back, and he shot straight away from me and smashed against a tree.
His partner had little time to react, but he was fast. He dropped Escott’s legs and clawing for his gun when I knocked the wind out of him with a gut punch. He doubled over with a whoosh and was made unconscious by a more restrained tap on the head.
I tore my mask away and knelt by Escott, checking him over. There was a swelling behind his left ear and a little blood from a cut lip, but he seemed otherwise uninjured. On a hunch, I searched Georgie and found a whiskey flask. I sniffed to make sure it was drinkable and dribbled a little into Escott’s sagging mouth. I was surprised at my enormous relief when he coughed violently and opened his eyes. He was understandably dazed; it took a few more minutes and another swallow before he was up to asking questions.
“Dear me, how ever did we get out here?”
“By way of Fred Sanderson taxi service.”
“They caught me like a bloody amateur,” he complained, painfully probing his lump. “Did they get you, too?”
“Hardly. I hitched a ride when I saw them load you into the car. Neither of them looked like carpet layers.” I indicated the discarded rug.
Escott was unsteady, but made a game effort to get to his feet. I helped him. “I am very
much in your debt, Mr. Fleming. I hope that I may somehow—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I interrupted. “You could have aced me with a hammer and stake anytime today, but you didn’t. We’re even.”
“But, my dear fellow, such an action never occurred to me.” Escott was truly shocked.
“But I thought of it. The way I am now I gotta be careful who I trust, but I know you’re gonna be square with me. Now before we get all maudlin, let’s pack these two mugs in the car and get back home.”
I left the flashlight with Escott and got busy manhandling Georgie into the backseat. Having had some practice at it, I removed his tie and secured his hands together behind him, then went back for Sanderson.
Neither of us had to venture very close to know something was seriously wrong. Sanderson’s utterly loose posture was enough to alert Escott, who gingerly felt for a pulse. I already knew that to be a futile effort.
Escott turned the body face up into the light and his breath hissed sharply. I looked quickly away, sickened by what I’d done.
Twenty minutes later we were almost back in Chicago. Sanderson’s body was in the trunk, wrapped in the rug. Occasionally Escott would check the backseat to make sure the now-blindfolded Georgie was quiet. I’d been silent, driving carefully to avoid the unwelcome attention of any cop with a quota to fill.
“You’ve got to understand,” I finally said, “this is scaring the hell out of me.”
“I do understand. A healthy dose of fear will certainly temper your actions from now on.”
“That’s not it. I’m afraid of what I’ve become. What I did back there—I knew what would happen if I hit him like that, and I did it anyway.”
“Good.”
I glanced at him, surprised. His face showed a dour expression that must have matched my own. “Good?”
“Mm. Do you honestly think I harbor any regret or pity for a man who would have been the agent of my death and was by your own guess responsible for yours? Your feeling of guilt is misplaced. Were our positions reversed I should give no more thought to the matter than a soldier does when he must shoot at the enemy.”