David Lewis
BLOODTRAIL
The Beat Goes On
It was dark, but they had no way to tell. It was quiet, but silence was all they knew. Tenuously tethered, they floated in their own private ocean, less than jellyfish in their Sargassian universe. They did not eat, they did not drink, they did not sleep, they did not wake, they did not contemplate. They did not realize. They merely waited, consciousness beyond them. They existed, but they did not know it.
It was the rhythm that made them real. They could not hear it, but it coursed through them in a pulse as ancient as life, as old as waves upon the shore. It called to them and, in their minute way, they responded with Lilliputian rhythms of their own, two tiny flutterings answering the massive one around them that was life. The tempo was different, but the pattern was the same. The beat of a billion years. A primordial cadence that wakened purpose. The beginning of two new brains became bombarded by the beating of two new hearts, mathematical certainty fell into place, entrainment melded the rhythms into life-sustaining compliance, and the vibration of millennia seeped through them. They knew they were.
From that instant they felt each other, were aware of each other in the rhythm flowing through the fluid in which they drifted. As the pulse of creation continued and they became more aware of the where of life, they knew more of the how of life and helped each other roam.
THREE
Introduction to a
Vampire
At around four a.m. Moira walked out of the bedroom and into the bath. Sleepy, she didn’t notice Casey on the couch. He lay quietly until he heard her use the john. Before she could flush, he spoke up.
“Good morning.”
A strangled shriek issued from the bathroom and the door slammed, the lock rattling vigorously.
Casey laughed. “Don’t panic,” he said. “You’re in no danger. You might want to put on a towel or something before you come out. I’ve been in prison a long time. I could forget my manners.”
“Casey?” she said, her voice muffled by the door.
“That would be me.”
“Casey!”
“Right again.”
“What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in my room? Why aren’t you in prison?”
“Need something to put on?”
“Jesus Christ! You scared me half to death!”
“I’m a scary guy,” he said, smelling her adrenalin sweat. “Need something to put on?”
“You’re supposed to be locked up! How’d you get loose?”
“I don’t like talking through doors. If you’d like to come out, may I bring you clothing of some type?”
“Ah, there are some sweats on the chair in the bedroom.”
Casey collected the clothes and stood outside the bath. “Here you go.”
She took the pants and shirt through the slightly opened door. Five minutes later, her hair partially brushed, she walked out into the living area and looked at him. Casey sat at a small table. He’d turned on a light.
“You have some explaining to do,” Moira said. “Lemme start the coffee pot and get some shoes.” She walked into the bedroom. When she came out, she was holding a handgun.
“You stay right in that fucking chair, Goddammit,” she growled, pointing the gun at Casey, “and don’t you move a muscle.” Never taking her eyes off him, she backed toward the room phone.
“You don’t have to call the cops,” Casey said. “They’re probably on the way here already.” He glanced at the pistol. “When I smelled the gun oil, I expected a nine. That’s a .45.”
“If I wanna shoot poodles, I use a nine,” she said. “If I wanna shoot people, I use a .45.”
“Para-Ordnance, double action only. Nice gun.”
“It works,” she said, reaching for the phone.
“No calls, please,” Casey said.
“Shut up and don’t move,” she said, lifting the receiver. Casey moved.
He covered the eighteen feet to where she stood in less than a quarter of a second. In the next quarter second he removed the cord from the back of the phone and grabbed the pistol with his thumb against the hammer so it couldn’t accidentally discharge. He grasped Moira lightly by the back of the neck and locked eyes with her from a distance of three inches.
“Don’t be brave,” he whispered. “It won’t help.”
She passed out.
When she came back, Moira was lying on the couch, and Casey was wiping her face with a wet washcloth.
“Hello,” he said. “How ya been?”
“You’re not a dream,” she stated.
“Nope. Nice of you to think so, though. You okay?”
“This is all real.”
“So far. Can you sit up?”
He eased her to a sitting position. She put her elbows on her knees and leaned into her hands.
“How’d you get in here?”
He peeled back the paper on a Hershey bar and handed it to her. “Eat that. Your blood sugar is shot. It’ll keep ya going ‘til we can get you some real food.”
“How’d you get out of prison? What in the hell is all this? What in the hell are you?”
Moira looked at him, tears gathering in the bottom of her eyes, a bit of chocolate clinging to her lip.
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s the deal. I don’t have time to be nice. I don’t have time for long explanations. You’re in or you’re out. You wanted to know my secrets? For a price I’ll let you in on them, some of ‘em at least, but only on my terms. I’ll let you test me, examine me, learn what you can from me. Just to whet your scientific appetite: I don’t get colds, I don’t get ill, I can’t get AIDS, my teeth don’t decay, and I was forty-two years old long before your great great-grandfather was born.”
Moira looked at him for a moment, then swallowed.
“You’re serious.”
“Lady, I am the most serious sonofabitch you ever met.”
“God.”
Resisting the urge to comfort her, Casey went on.
“What I need from you is a yes or a no to the deal. If you say no, I’m gone. When the cops show up, you can tell them anything you want. They won’t believe you anyway. If you say yes, then you are in it. You are in it all the way. If you ever attempt to give me up or betray me, I’ll be gone, and you’ll be dead.”
Moira fell back into the couch. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
“Not one little bit.”
“Okay,” she said, running a hand through her hair and regaining some composure. “We know some of what’s in it for me. What’s in it for you, Casey?”
“Company, cover, a little security, and …”
“And? C’mon,” she said, turning to face him. “Don’t stop now. What else?”
He looked past her for a few seconds, pleased by the courage behind her quick recovery, and then he caught her eyes. “I want you to help me find my daughter.”
“Your daughter?”
“You said you’ve got all these contacts, all this information. I don’t know a thing about computers or anybody, except you, who does. Let’s just say that you move in circles that I can’t. I need your help; you need my help. Quid pro quo.”
“A trade?”
“A trade. Deal?”
“Maybe,” Moira said. “How old is she?”
“Fourteen.”
“Where’d you see her last?”
“
“When?”
“1852.”
Moira leaned back on the couch and stared at Casey.
“You’re nuts,” she said.
“Nope.”
“Certifiably ga-ga.”
“Not me,” he said.
“Then I am.”
“Wrong again. I am not what I appear to be, and neither is my daughter. Where’s your purse?”
“On the table.”
Casey rummaged in her bag for a moment and retrieved a metal nail file.
“Watch carefully,” he said, and plunged the file into his left forearm.
“Casey, Jesus!” Moira cried, sitting up.
Casey withdrew the file and held out his arm. In a matter of just seconds, the wound closed and disappeared.
“My God,” Moira gasped.
“That’s the tip of my iceberg, Miss Flynn.”
“I’m in,” she said.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Good. I hope you won’t regret it.”
She smiled. “I don’t have many regrets. What’s all this about the police?”
“I talked to you today,
“I’ll just tell them I haven’t seen you, I don’t know where you are, you told me to leave you alone.”
“You’re harboring an escaped convicted murderer, Miss Flynn,” Casey said. “That’s a class A felony. You wouldn’t like prison.”
“Probably not.”
“Plus, I killed a guard when I left
“What?”
“Graveyard dead. I did it on purpose with malice and forethought. He deserved to die, and I needed his life more than he did.”
She studied his face. “You don’t seem overly remorseful.”
“I’m not. Now, here comes a big secret. It’s the only one you get for nothing. You, by you I mean homo sapiens, you don’t quite measure up to people like me.”
“People like you?”
“People like me.”
Her eyes flashed. “Then, there are more of you.”
“Yes. While I am unique in your experience, I am not unique in my own.”
“And you can do things the rest of us can’t.”
“Like you can’t believe. Most of my kind considers your kind to be little more than cattle.”
“Cattle?” she said, and Casey could see her pupils dilate with anger. “You mean like some kind of slow-witted herd?”
“No, Miss Flynn. I mean like livestock. To the Nosferati you are little more than food and recreation.”
“What!”
“Prey, if you will.”
She shuddered and wrapped her arms about herself. “That’s horrible!”
“It is if you’re one of the cows.”
There was a sharp knock on the door. Moira jumped.
“Do whatever you think is best,” Casey whispered. “You can still back out. Last chance.”
“Who is it?” she shouted at the door.
“Police, Ma’am. Open up please.”
“Just a minute. I’ve got to put something on.” She turned back to Casey.
He was gone.
After the two policemen left, Moira sat on the couch
for a while. They seemed to have believed her story. Casey didn’t want
anything to do with her. He had told her to leave him alone. She’d had
no contact with him. He had not called again; he had not come by. How
would she know where he was? If the prison couldn’t keep track of their
inmates, it wasn’t her problem. She was leaving in the morning, driving
back to
She ate the last half of the Hershey bar, walked out on the balcony, and stared at the other wing of the motel. A blur appeared over the railing and flashed by her. She turned to see Casey sitting on the couch.
“Dammit,” she blurted. “Stop that!”
He grinned at her as she walked into the room. “In another day or so. Pretty soon, I won’t be able to do it. Good job with the cops, by the way.”
“I told them …”
“I know what you told them. I was listening.”
“From where?”
“The roof of the next building.”
He pulled her .45 from the waistband of his slacks and held it out to her.
“Here. I took this with me when I left in case they shook the place down. Don’t want you to get in trouble.”
She accepted the gun. “At least they’re gone,” Moira said, checking the chamber for a live round.
“Silly girl,” he said. “They have six men in three unmarked cars triangulated on the parking lot. It’ll be getting light soon. Forget the quick shower. Get dressed and we’ll hit the road.”
“We? You just said they were watching.”
“Get dressed. Everything’s fine.”
In keeping with Casey’s instructions, Moira pulled her car under the office overhang, put her two bags on a cart, and wheeled them out to the Taurus. She opened the rear passenger door and then put her luggage in the trunk. Walking back by the open door, she closed it and noticed Casey grinning at her from the rear floor. She bit her lip to keep from grinning back. Twenty minutes later, she was westbound on I-74, and Casey was in the front seat. They had yet to speak, and she attempted to digest what had happened. When Moira lit a cigarette, Casey knew she was ready to talk. He lit one of his own and partially turned to face her.
“So?” he said.
“So, what are you, some kinda superhero?”
“Superhero?”
“Yeah. You came over that railing like Spiderman or somebody.”
Casey grinned. “No superhero. I’m what is often called a Nosferati.”
“Nosferati? What does that mean, like Nosferatu?”
“Just like that.”
“Vampires? You’re telling me that you’re a vampire?!”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“Bed rest,” Moira muttered, trying to keep her eyes on the road. “Lots of bed rest, extensive therapy, warm baths, long walks, maybe a puppy to play with a little while every day. You are fruitier than a nutcake!” She took a long drag on her Virginia Slim. “Vampire my ass!”
“Take it easy, Miss Flynn …”
“Stop calling me that!” Moira shouted, waving her cigarette dangerously close to the headliner. “I just lied to the cops for you, smuggled you out of a city where they’d just as soon shoot you as look at you, and now I’m aiding and abetting your escape. Thanks to you, I am a fleeing felon! This fleeing felon’s name is Moira, goddammit! Call me by my fucking name!”
“Moira,” Casey said quietly, “you’re driving over ninety miles an hour. We don’t need to be stopped by some highway cop. Slow down. Be calm. We just passed a rest area sign. Pull in and let’s talk.”
She almost missed the exit, braking violently and shooting up the ramp much too fast. She slid into a space in the nearly empty pet-walking section of the parking area and slammed the front tires violently into the concrete retainer. The car rocked on its springs. Moira stared blankly at the dashboard and trembled.
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “Vampires? Gimme a break!”
“I need one too,” Casey said, opening his door. “C’mon. Grab your purse and let’s take a stroll before somebody pulls in to walk their dog.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Dogs, as a rule, don’t like me.”
“And I do?” Moira asked.
Casey chuckled. “C’mon. You need movement.”
“Stop telling me what I need! Stop telling me what I should do!” She stabbed the dead cigarette into the ashtray. “And for God’s sake, don’t tell me there are Vampires! That’s bullshit! There are no such things as Vampires! No tooth fairy, no Easter bunny, no Santa Claus, no Great Pumpkin, no Loch Ness Monster, no fucking Bigfoot, okay?”
She was pounding on the steering wheel, with tears in the corners of her eyes. She turned to him. “There are no fucking Vampires, goddammit! There are no fucking Vampires!”
Moira sagged back in the seat, head down, her arms dropping to her sides. She sat that way for a moment, sniffling, then glanced sideways at Casey.
“Are there?” she whispered.
“I’m gonna walk around for a while,” he said. “Wanna join me?”
“Why the hell not?” she said, and blew her nose into a Kleenex. “I’ve come this far.”
They walked slowly to the concession area, and Casey got her a cup of black coffee from a machine. He then purchased a can of orange juice, two packages of cashews, and some Hostess cupcakes. He led her to a picnic table, and they sat down.
“When you’ve finished all that stuff,” he said, “I’ll get you some bottled water, and we can drive on ‘til we find a restaurant.”
Moira opened the cupcakes with trembling fingers. “So, tell me, Casey,” she said. “You a Vampire, big guy?”
“Depends on who you ask,” he said. “We, my kind, owe a real debt to Bram Stoker, Anne Rice, Bela Lugosi, Gary Oldman, Wesley Snipes, and all the others who have perpetuated the myth over the years. I have no fangs, I don’t sleep in a box, I love garlic, I use a mirror from time to time, and, as you can see, I have a tan.”
“What about crucifixes? Scared of those?”
“Another myth, presented to ignorant masses by the Catholic Church to help maintain control through fear.”
“This is just too weird,” Moira said. “You actually believe that you’re a vampire?”
“You’re missing the point. I actually am a vampire.”
“Okay,” she said, fingering the filling out of the center of a Hostess cupcake. “I’ll play along. Stake through your heart kill you?”
“It might, if you could find somebody good enough to put it there.”
“Can you come into my house if I don’t invite you?”
“I already did.”
“Oh, yeah. The motel room. Can you change yourself into a bat?”
“No, but I can walk down the street and turn into a bar.”
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” Moira snorted. “Isn’t he wonderful? Count Dracula will be here all week. Be sure and catch tomorrow night’s show with special guest, The Mummy!”
She finished her cupcakes in silence. Casey waited patiently. Finally, she turned to him.
“You gotta have blood?”
“Yep.”
“Really?”
“Really. That’s why I worked in the hospital. Lots of blood. I’d syringe ten or twenty cc’s out of a fresh bag every day. Nobody noticed; nobody got hurt. Good deal all around. Drink your orange juice and eat some nuts. Make you big and strong.”
“And what can I get for you, Sir?” she said. “A pancreas? Some nice liver? A spleen or two?”
“That’s enough.”
“A warm glass of AB negative?”
“Stop it.”
“You wanna straw with that, or just straight from the neck?”
“Stop it!”
“How ‘bout a snack?” Moira spat. “I found a four-year-old wandering in the parking lot who looks plump!”
“I said stop it!”
“Fuck you, Casey, and the broom you rode in on!” she snarled.
He looked at her, and something flickered behind his eyes that instantly brought goose flesh to Moira’s arms and neck. “Got a chill, little human?” he hissed. A sparrow before his cobra, she froze. “You pompous, judgmental, narrow-minded, ignorant cunt! For centuries I’ve watched you good, God-fearing fools kill and rape and burn and sacrifice your own kind on a hundred battlefields. In a thousand alleys I’ve seen you use each other for selfish purpose and then just walk away. Your religion has killed untold millions, your patriotism equally as many. Your kind, Miss Flynn, kills for land or money. Your kind kills for hate or jealousy. Your kind kills for God or Allah. Your kind kills for poison to pump into your own fucking veins! Your kind has blood on your collective hands so rank, fetid, and congealed that no amount of washing could ever remove it, and you call me names because I have a drop or two on my chin?
“You kill more people every day in family disputes than I could slay in a hundred years with a thousand swords! You drop bombs, you fire missiles, you drink your blood from miles away by pushing a button. You commit unspeakable acts against your fellows and even beseech God to help you! And you judge me?”
Casey got to his feet and began to pace.
“I’ll tell you who we are, little human Moira. We are the thing that goes bump in the night. We are the tickle on the back of your neck when there is no breeze. We are the gurgle at the bottom of a well, the new creak in an old house, the bare branches scraping against the bedroom window at night. We are the unexplained disappearance, the empty bed, the shadow in the corner of your eye, the empty chair that rocks.”
He paused long enough to smile at her. Moira’s head spun.
“We are what makes the lonely dog bark and what makes the alley cat hiss. We are the snapping twig in the dark. We are what roams outside the circle of firelight. We live in the closet. We lurk under the bed. We are the werewolf, the shape-shifter, the zombie, the evil spirit, the moan in the woods, and the cry on the wind. We are your worst nightmare, and we may just be your salvation. When the herd is diseased, the wise stockman culls out the sick animals. We are the wolves to your buffalo! Be goddammed careful you don’t come up lame!”
He was looking down at her. Energy crackled and sung around him like leaves in a whirlwind. Weak and fighting to breathe, Moira watched him sit down. During the entire tirade, he had not raised his voice, but her ears ached and rang. She clutched at the edge of the table and waited for the world to right itself. After some time, she licked her trembling lips and spoke.
“Jesus Christ,” she said.
Casey smiled. “Drink your orange juice, Miss Flynn,” he said. “It’s good for you.”