Bring On The Night (4 page)

Tonight, that business was stripping copper wire from the air conditioning unit of an empty building. Not the best sort of business, he knew, but he could sell the copper and make a little money. He didn’t spend the money on drugs, like some of the people he knew. He spent the money on medicine. There was a difference. Mickey knew he wasn’t like other people who lived out in this part of town. He wasn’t a junkie. He had injuries, and he needed medicine for them, pains all over his body. His leg hurt all the time where the stump met the ill-fitting prosthetic. He had nightmares too, that had nothing to do with the monsters feeding all over the waterfront now. Monsters of a different sort lived in his head, and the medicine helped to keep them quiet. Some part of him knew his medicine was a false light of his own, but he always pushed those thoughts far away, down deep until he couldn’t hear them anymore.

He limped along, carrying his stolen copper wire through the empty building. He needed to get to his safe place soon. It was getting to be the time of night the monsters liked to come out for their supper.

In the stillness, he heard the unmistakable sound of someone inhaling deeply. He froze, waving the small flashlight in his hand. It gave only a quarter-sized beam and weak light at that. He criss-crossed it around the big room, finding nothing moving. Maybe it was just somebody looking for a place to crash for the night. He got moving again, quicker this time. The side door where he’d come in was still several yards away, propped slightly ajar with a rock he’d found in the alley.

Another sound—this time something falling to the floor with a chunk. He raised the flashlight again, spotting something on the floor a few feet in front of him, the rock he’d left in the door. Another sound—something he could not identify, from behind. He turned slowly, the beam from the small flashlight wavering in his shaky hand.

A scream ripped out of him.

Brandon turned a corner, checking his watch. He knew Reverend Kirkbride was a night owl and most likely still up working in the shelter, but even so, it was long after midnight. This was not his best idea, being out in this part of town at this hour, even without a possible serial killer on the loose. He checked his pockets for the can of pepper spray and the brass knuckles he carried. Still there. This made him feel somewhat better. He picked up his pace, wanting to reach the shelter as quickly as possible.

This stretch of street was uncomfortably empty. The sidewalk was littered with garbage. He walked on the side of the street that still had a few functioning businesses, locked up at this time of night. Across the street was a large office building, abandoned and severely run down. He picked out the shadow of graffiti on the walls. Most of the street-lights from this point through the next two or three blocks were out, either on the fritz or busted out. He saw where the lights picked up again, three blocks down. The shelter stood a block farther. Feeling somewhat foolish, Brandon figured he could make it there by running if he had to. He shook his head, embarrassed. Then he heard the scream.

* * * *

Mickey dropped his load of copper wire and ran as fast as he could on one good leg, which wasn’t fast enough. The man caught him easily, pinning him to the hard floor. Mickey cried out, pleading words pouring out in an indecipherable flood of panic. Sprawled face down on the floor, the man’s hands clawing into his back, Mickey kept screaming. The attacker flipped him over and leaned over slowly until Mickey could see his face. Mickey’s screams petered out, shock beginning to settle in. The attacker’s face looked human, yet not, distorted with a feral hunger. Was it a man or a monster? Its irises glowed a bright silver in black pupils, like twin full moons in a cloudless sky. It opened its mouth in a maniacal grin, showing its teeth. Its canines lengthened into razor-sharp fangs. Viciously pulling Mickey’s head back by his hair, the monster exposed his neck. As it lowered its mouth to his flesh, he began to scream again, loud, echoing screams of incoherent terror, almost drowning out the sound of the creature laughing as it sank its teeth into his skin.

* * * *

Brandon shouldered the door open, pepper spray in one hand, brass knuckles on his punching hand. All he saw was someone hurting someone else, one man holding another smaller man down on the ground. The smaller man’s legs flailed and kicked. Brandon took off at a run and plowed into the assailant, knocking him off the victim. The screaming kept up, though, and Brandon chanced a quick glance at the screamer. Blood poured from a wound in his neck. He looked around for the attacker, not seeing him in the dark. Brandon moved to the victim’s side, fumbling with the pepper spray and the brass knuckles to pull a handkerchief out of his pocket. He wound up dropping both in his haste.

“Are you okay?” he asked the smaller man, knowing it was probably a dumb question. “How bad are you hurt?” He held the handkerchief over the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. There was so much blood it obscured the wound.

After a moment the injured man seemed able to speak again, instead of just scream. He said in a frightened whisper, “Where did it go? Where is it?”

Brandon looked around. “We need to get you out of here. You need to get to a hospital.”

“It’s still here. I know it is. I can feel it watching us.” The man tried to pull himself up to a sitting position. Brandon helped him.

“What’s watching us? Is there an animal here?” Brandon felt pretty sure the mugger, or whoever, had left. He also felt pretty sure this guy wasn’t playing with a full deck. He took one of the man’s hands and placed it on the handkerchief at his wound. “Can you keep pressure on it? I’m going to call nine-one-one.”

The man shook his head in a panic. “Cops won’t get here before the monsters do.”

Brandon pulled his cellphone from its clip on his belt and opened it, grateful for the little bit of light it gave off. A deep guttural growl sent chills through him. He moved the cellphone slightly to the left. Its light illuminated a pair of fangs snapping at him. He jumped back, dropping the cellphone. Mickey began to wail again, dragging himself away. Shock froze Brandon in place.

The mugger moved toward him, reaching out with an almost feline-like gesture. The reporter’s part of his brain noted the man’s large size, dark clothes and hair. The frightened part of him could only take in the predatory menace and inhuman fangs. This was no mere mugger. Instinct sent him scrambling backward across the floor. His brain was locked in a fog of shock, horror and disbelief. The injured man wailed in terror, the sound seeming to come from far away. A snarling hiss came from the fanged creature, whatever it was. Close enough—he felt it moving nearby in the dark, disturbing the air around him. Through the fog of his panic, dim thoughts about the need to run, to fight back, tried to push forward but couldn’t. He was backed up against something, a wall, he couldn’t tell what. The creature, whatever it was—though a dim voice calling to him from deep in his brain whispered
vampire
—edged closer. It seemed to be looking him over. It reached out to grab at him, picking him up and holding him aloft, by the throat. He gasped for breath, struggling to get loose, legs kicking, arms flailing. The creature was too strong. His lungs burned, running out of air.

Another form moved in the dark, behind the creature, as if someone was trying to surprise it. With no warning, he was dropped to the floor as the creature disappeared in a haze of smoke and ash. Brandon rubbed his throat, looking around, and finally up, to see a woman standing over him where the creature had been. She held a sharpened length of wood in one hand.

Brandon stared at her for a long moment. His brain had not caught up to events. She extended her empty hand to him, and he took it, shocked at her strength as she helped him stand. Surprised again at how small she was, nearly a foot shorter than him and slender.

“What...” He did not know what to say. Looking in her eyes, he saw shadows. He stepped closer, wanting to see her face better. She took a step back. “Who are you? What just happened?”

The woman kept her gaze on him, pointing to where the injured man had hidden himself. “That man needs help.”

Brandon followed the direction of her arm and saw the homeless man curled up in a ball behind an old filing cabinet, one hand still pressed to the wound on his neck. “If I can find my phone, I’ll call nine-one-one.” He turned back to look at her again, but she was gone. Not walking away, gone.

“What the hell?” Brandon looked around for her in the dark.

The front door caved in from a vicious kick and a floodlight lit up the darkness. Thinking it might be cops, Brandon raised his arms and called out, “Hey, there’s a guy in here who needs a doctor.”

Reverend Kirkbride ran in carrying a sawed-off shotgun and a backpack. He found the victim and pulled him up by one arm. Spotting Brandon, he waved him over. “Come on, help me get him out of here!”

Brandon obeyed. He barely knew the minister but he’d never been happier to see an ex-Marine. As they cleared the door, he eyed the shotgun. “How did you know someone needed help?”

“Someone heard screaming and came and got me.”

“So you came running...with a shotgun?”

Kirkbride gave him a look over the bleeding, slumped form between them, but said nothing.

* * * *

Jessie spent the day holed up in her hotel room, the “do not disturb” sign hung on the door. The early hours of the day were spent in a fitful sleep full of dreams of the night before. Images of the mortal held up off the ground, the look on his face as he realized he was running out of air, as well as the reaction after she’d killed the vampire, the amazement and the shock. She remembered too, the way he smelled: wild vanilla dusted with a blend of spices, a scent that had no business coming from someone who lived in a city, among asphalt, pavement and pollution and a scent most modern men would probably think of as almost feminine. The only creatures with more gender role confusion than modern women were modern men. What she could smell from a person had nothing to do with perfumes and colognes, scented lotions and the absurd scented laundry detergents, and all the other things people used every day offering some sort of “refreshing” scent or other.

What she could smell, what that other vampire smelled, and werewolves too for that matter, was blood. His blood sang of vanilla and clove, cardamom and chocolate, with a tang of something sharp underneath, something with a little bite—tobacco, perhaps, or something similar. It made for a rich brew that delighted the senses and she had no trouble understanding why that vampire cast aside the weaker, easier victim to go after him, whoever he was. His blood would taste too good to make just one feast out of him. Keeping him locked up, bound, drinking from him every day and twice on Sunday—that would be the way to go. Not that she did that sort of thing anymore.

Fed up with her dreams and with lying awake thinking feverish thoughts of the blood of a man she’d never taste, she tossed aside the covers and took a shower. Not that it helped calm her, she felt like a caged animal and, until sundown, that’s exactly what she was. She tried watching TV but it bored her. Jessie attempted reading a few of the books she’d brought along, but couldn’t concentrate on the words. She spent an hour forcing herself to work through a rigorous yoga routine. The usual peace it gave her remained elusive this time. Finally, she found herself sitting on the floor, back to the wall, plugged into her MP3 player. With the lights off, the sun shining through the hotel curtains acted as her clock. She flipped through a long playlist. No jazz this time, though. She wanted nothing to soothe her. Unable to find any calm, she decided to stoke the low burning fire within with Garbage, Korn, Muse and Nine Inch Nails. Like raising energy, it was the way a witch she knew had taught her. She turned the volume up louder, and waited for the night.

* * * *

It took Brandon most of the day to work up the nerve to search “vampire.” He wouldn’t do it in the
Post
’s bullpen, where someone might glance over his shoulder and see what was on the computer screen. He waited until he had a chance to leave the building, offering the vague unnecessary excuse of a late lunch. He didn’t want to go to any of the usual places he might be found at lunchtime. He walked several blocks from the paper and found a small, quiet coffee shop with Wi-Fi and settled into a seat with his back to the wall. Arranged before him on the table were his laptop, a mocha latte, and a blueberry muffin. He ate the muffin and drank most of the latte before he finally opened his laptop and started his search.

The first thing he learned about vampires was every girl from junior high on up seemed to be obsessed with one in particular, who was both fictional, and sparkly.
Go figur
e.
Lestat was fabulous, but even he never sparkled
. He stared at the screen for a moment, considering what he just thought to himself.
I’m never repeating that to anyone.
Ever.
He drained his latte and ordered another, this time with a chocolate chip muffin.

Legends and myths, fiction and fanfic—that’s what he found, nothing that any reporter outside the Bigfoot press, as he considered them, would consider a legitimate source. Even with the disparate legends, a few things seemed to be fairly consistent: a thirst for blood, aversion to sunlight, wooden stakes and decapitation. An image of the woman from last night, standing where the fanged creature had been before disappearing, with a wooden stake in her hand, came into his mind. If he was going to consider the possibility that vampires were real, he figured it made sense there would be people who knew about their existence, people who fought them, demon hunters, perhaps.

He closed his laptop harder than he meant to. There was no such thing as vampires. But then what had he seen last night?
This morning, he’d tried to find the homeless man Kirkbride identified as Mickey, but he had disappeared after being released from the emergency room. Brandon tried the shelter but a few kids told him the reverend was asleep and would be back at noon. It was now after two. He could try that avenue again.