The_Amazing_Mr._Howard (29 page)

A car turned onto the road leading to the house. His ears, which could pick up sounds at much greater distances than a human, followed its progress. His fingers gripped the soft leather, knuckles darkening with stolen blood.

Come to me, I am waiting.

The car stopped outside. The engine turned off. A door slammed. Keys jangled on a chain as someone approached the front entrance. The keys turned in the lock. The front door opened with a protracted creaking and closed with a thud. A grandfather clock chimed to announce the hour. “Good morning, Luther.”

Van Adams jumped back as if hit by an electrical shock. “What the hell!” He clutched his heaving chest. Eyes dilated, he searched the room until locating Mr. Howard.

“How did you get in?” Van Adams stomped closer. He no longer wore his famous smirk, but rather, a threatening scowl that hinted at his hidden nature. “You heard me. How did you get in?”

Mr. Howard sighed. Engaging Van Adams in any sort of intellectual match was like talking to a jackass about the weather. “Tell me, what is more important, how I got in, or why I am here? Think, Luther, use that little peanut brain of yours and come up with something of substance.”

Van Adams drew closer, his scowl giving way to his typical smugness. “You’ve heard the board has agreed to cut your position, is that it?” He strolled into the family room and dropped onto the recliner next to the one Mr. Howard sat in. “You knew this day would come.”

“You act as if I should care.”

Van Adams dismissed him with a condescending laugh. “What are you going to do now? Sit up in that big house of yours by yourself and write crappy books?”

“Why does that thought amuse you? I am old. I have an excuse. You are still young and yet, you stay in your big house by yourself and do nothing. You are but a fly born from your father’s shit. A pest that buzzes around and annoys people.”

Van Adams shook his head. “Sticks and stones, Professor, sticks and stones.”

“You are right. My words could never hurt one as dense as you.”

“The vote was unanimous by the way.”

“The vote?”

Van Adams continued to smirk. “To let you go, the Board voted unanimously. They would have gotten rid of you years ago if not for Dean Harris. I’ll never understand what she saw in a freak like you.” His neck craned like a swans as his attention traveled to the carpet. “Did you drag dirt inside?”

“No, you did.”

Van Adams slid off the chair and went to a knee. A hand brushed over the carpet. “This is wool carpet you bastard.” He looked up with a snarl. “You’ll pay for this.”

“You brought the dirt, not I.”

“Crazy son of a bitch.” Van Adams stood. He pointed toward the door. “Get out of my house before I call the cops.”

Mr. Howard slowly pushed out of the chair. “I will call the police.”

“What?”

“To report a murder.”

Van Adams appeared sucker punched, the blood draining from his face. “That’s it. I’m getting my gun and if you come within five feet of me, I’ll blow your goddamn head off.” He hustled toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

Mr. Howard sprung from the ground to the ceiling. He scurried forward, passing Van Adams before he reached the hall. Van Adams stopped. His mouth hung open as he stared into the inverted face of the vampire.

“Jesus Christ.” He took a step back. “What are you?”

“You are calmer than I expected.” Mr. Howard dropped onto his feet. “That will not save you.”

“Save me from what?”

“From the reality of your situation.”

He stepped toward Van Adams, who backed away. “Ah, now you are cognizant of the danger. I see fear in your face, a paleness in your cheeks that rivals my own, widening of the eyes, sweat upon your brow, rapid breaths escaping from your lungs. You are frightened as you should be, the same way you have terrified countless women to satisfy your delusions of love. No one could satisfy you, Luther, for they could not provide the same affection you reserve for yourself. You are in love with your reflection, and because of this, you fail to see the beast that stares back at you. You created in your mind a canvas of happiness and color, but in truth, your life is the nightmare of a Bosch painting. You deserve pity, and yet, I am not in the mood to give it.”

Van Adams raised a trembling fist. “Get out of my house, you crazy bastard.”

A harsh transformation occurred within Mr. Howard, a warming of the blood that coursed through his veins, a closing of the doors which led to compassion, a long, dark passage emerging in the reaches of his mind, the road to his own personal hell. Like a young wolf that suddenly realizes its capacity to kill, he too became a messenger of death.

Van Adams’s fist came down and his entire body quivered. “My God, what is happening to your… face? Your veins are… everywhere, and your eyes… blood red. God no, please, I’ll do anything, just tell me what you want.”

“What I want?”

Van Adams backed toward the front door. “You can have your job back. I’ll talk to the board. They’ll listen to me.”

“You think I care about retaining my job? I can get a job at any university in the country, including your old alma mater.”

Van Adams stopped, his jaw set. “Harvard would never hire you.”

Van Adams’s arrogance was predictable and amusing. Even in the face of death, he refused to believe anyone could rise to his station. “Luther, I do believe if locked in a room with Albert Einstein, you would maintain your air of superiority, even if the subject turned to quantum theory. But the difference between what you believe and what is the truth matters not. We are in the here and now, and our actions will shape the course of history.”

Van Adams raced for the door. Mr. Howard leaped onto his back and placed him in a choke hold. They spun around, crashing into an end table. A porcelain lamp shattered. The battle moved toward the kitchen. Van Adams gasped as he struggled to stay conscious. He whipped around, slamming Mr. Howard against a large mirror. Glass splintered. Mr. Howard held on despite the stabbing pain in his lower back, surprised by Van Adams’s strength.

“Uh-uh-uh,” Van Adams muttered, his face the color of a beet. He dropped to his knees, shoulders heaving in a final effort to shake him, but Mr. Howard held fast. Van Adams’s body relaxed and the guttural sounds ended. Releasing his hold, he eased Van Adams onto the floor. Mr. Howard wiped sweat from his brow onto the sleeve of his coat as he looked down at the unconscious Van Adams. The bastard put up more of a fight than he expected. “Now, Luther, let us take the next step toward your enlightenment.”

***

Van Adams’s eyes opened with a start, as if he’d been awakened by a hypnotists clap. He blinked several times while gazing around the room. He fought against the ropes that held him, and then suddenly stopped, his attention on Alicia tied to a chair across from him. He stared at her for a long time before shouting, “Mr. Howard, goddamn it!”

“You called?” Mr. Howard stepped out of a shadowed corner so Van Adams could see him.

Van Adams fought the restraints once more with a desperate growl. “Untie me at once!”

Mr. Howard glanced around the basement. “Based on your décor, I thought you were into bondage.”

Van Adam’s went pale and he appeared in need of a bucket. “You’re not going to do anything… unnatural are you?”

“Do not worry, Luther,” he said, walking to Alicia. He stood beside her and stroked her hair. “If I intended to do anything, it would be with her. I would rather die than take part in what you imagine.”

His words seemed to put Van Adams at ease. Van Adams took a deep breath and blew the air out with a puff of his cheeks. “Who is she?”

Mr. Howard looked down at her. “She is beautiful, yes? And smart too. Smarter than you anyway, which is not saying much. I have seen dogs chasing Frisbees whose intelligence rivaled yours.”

Van Adams grimaced. “Must you continue the verbal assaults?”

Mr. Howard left Alicia and strolled over to the table that held the wooden box. Opening the box, he raised the glistening needle for Van Adams to see.

Van Adams stared at the needle with wide eyes, as if sensing the means of his demise.

“What’s that for?”

“The needle is an instrument of transformation. With this, your chrysalis shall form and from it, you will emerge a new being. The life you have known will no longer exist.”

“Get away from me, you fucking creep show!”

“Our paths intersected for a reason. Call it fate or destiny, the word matters not. We both have parts to play in this drama. That is the way of things.”

He unbuttoned a sleeve on his shirt and rolled the material past his elbow. “Please forgive me if I do this poorly. I have only done this once, and swore to never try again, but for you, I must make an exception.”

Van Adams attempted to stand, but quickly sank back to the floor.

“Even now, you contemplate escaping. Fool. Not even God hears your call for help. You belong to me, a slave to my will.”

Panic turned to anguish, tears welling in Van Adams’s eyes. “Don’t kill me.”

Mr. Howard stepped before him. “I have no intention of killing you.” He positioned the needle over a vein in his own arm and jabbed it under the skin. The vein burned as he wiggled it from side to side. When he extracted the needle, blood rushed to the surface of the puncture and trickled down the length of his forearm. Mr. Howard returned to the box, wiped the needle clean, and placed it inside. “Are you ready?” he said facing Van Adams.

“Get away, get away from me!”

He walked to Van Adams and leaned over his face. “Open your mouth.”

Van Adams clenched his teeth so hard the muscles in his jaw flexed. He shook his head.

“Open your mouth,” he said again, the words harsh and unforgiving.

Van Adams mumbled something.

“All right, have it your way.” Mr. Howard pinched Van Adams’s nose and held on as he jerked his head from side to side. After struggling for a while, his mouth opened for air. Mr. Howard thrust his arm against Van Adam’s lips, his blood flowing past Van Adam’s teeth and onto his tongue. “Swallow!”

Van Adam’s spit blood into his face. “Fuck you!”

Mr. Howard pushed his arm over Van Adams’ mouth. “Fight with all your strength, but in the end, you will swallow.”

More blood dripped onto Van Adams’s tongue, only this time, Mr. Howard seized Van Adams’s jaw. He shoved his lower jaw upward to prevent him from opening his mouth. Van Adams gulped down the blood and Mr. Howard stepped back.

Van Adams met him with a sharp gaze. “You son of a bitch, what did you do to—?” His face contorted into a mask of fine wrinkles and beneath his skin, veins swelled and deepened in color. His entire body shook like a can of paint in a mixing machine. He became a blur, the violent shaking tipping the chair over. “Ah, ah, ah,” he cried, as if suffering the start of impalement. Mr. Howard remembered the pain of his own transformation, a fire that sparked in the blood and spread slowly across every nerve. Van Adams flipped the chair from its side onto the back. His feet stamped upon the floor as if dancing over a mound of biting ants. “Stop it! Stop it! The pain, oh God, please stop it!”

The chair went back over and as he kicked and struggled, the chair started to rotate, faster and faster. Van Adams continued to scream, the wails bouncing off the basement walls. This continued for several minutes until the chair came to a stop and the cries faded away, replaced by the sound of Van Adams sobbing. Mr. Howard checked his watch. Half past noon: he was right on schedule.

“I’m dying.”

“You are most certainly dying, yes,” Mr. Howard answered, “but you are not dead yet. Your blood is turning to dust. Soon there will be nothing in your veins to sustain your life force.”

“Jesus Christ, help me.”

“You need new blood.”

“Blood, yes, give me more blood.”

Every newly turned vampire experienced
The Hunger
, the period when their old blood died and had to be replaced. For some, such as him, the stage lasted for many hours, while others, like Van Adams, required blood right away. Still, it was best to keep Van Adams waiting a while longer so his deficiency turned into a blood lust. When that happened, the Devil himself could not keep Van Adams from his prey.

Mr. Howard checked the ropes holding Alicia and patted her cheek to make certain she slept. He owed her that much. Van Adams twisted and fought against his restraints. He snapped at the air, a threatening growl rising from his chest. “Untie me, damn it!”

Mr. Howard retreated to a far corner and waited. Too soon, it was too soon to turn him loose. The overhead light reflected upon Van Adams, who grew paler by the minute. His eyes became red embers that glowed with rage.

“I must feed! I’m dying! Give me blood!” He managed to stand while still tied to the chair. Hunched over, he crept toward Alicia, fangs bared, blood-tinged drool dripping from the corners of his mouth. “Give her to me.”

Mr. Howard rushed over. He grabbed Van Adams by the throat and shoved him backward. Van Adams crashed to the ground. He glared at Mr. Howard and snarled. “I’m dying, I tell you. It burns. I’m burning inside.”

It wouldn’t be long.

Van Adams flicked his tongue in and out of his mouth. He started to babble. “Fucking Howard, fucking trustees, fucking Mom, fucking Dad, fuckers the lot of them. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Jesus forgive me, no, I forgive you, no, I don’t. Nah, nah, nah. This is bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Help me. No, no, no. Mister mojo rising, rising, rising. All that glitters is gold. If the stores are all closed, fuck. La, la, la, I’m a god, I’m a god. Shit.”

Van Adams looked straight at him. “You did this, Mr. Howard, you cock-sucking, son of bitch, piece of shit, mother fucker. You did this. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And for our first contestant, we have Van Adams, fucked in the head, wished he was dead, la, la, la. Jack and Jill ran up the hill. I knocked Jack down, broke his goddamn crown, then fucked Jill ever after. I need blood, mother fucker! I’m God’s burning bush, yeah, I’m on fire. Fuck. I’m really on fire. Help me, you fucker!”