"Cast Away Your Faith"
"Cast Away Your Faith"
5/3-5/5/1971
I.
"I won't do it!" yelled Shay. "You don't want to be like this. You have no idea how horrible it is."
In the harsh light of the naked light bulb hanging by a wire, her face twisted up in pain. Ashley 'Shay' Dunne was a pretty young woman at twenty, not movie star-stunning but attractive with shiny black hair, an oval face with a cleft chin and full lips. Standing in that cellar with its damp stone walls, she had wrapped herself in a wool blanket so only her head and one hand showed.
"I can't taste anything, I can't smell anything," she went on. "I only take a breath when I need to talk. I can't tell if it's freezing or a hundred degrees outside, I can't feel pain. And the worst part is, I can't laugh and I can't cry. I'm numb inside."
Walter Helton stood waiting until she finished. He was almost ten years older than she was, a thickset man with short black hair and a round thoughtful face. Coming down to his cellar, he had kept his down-filled winter parka on, which made him look even bulkier.
"Do you understand? Are you even listening?" she shouted, inches away from her face.
"Honey, think this over," Walter said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You know what's gonna happen to me. You want me to go through all that when you can help me?"
"Oh, don't. Stop. Even dying is better than this. I'm not alive, I'm not really dead, I'm trapped into the hell between. I can't stand it."
He pulled her closer. "Okay, okay. Right now, get your rest. Tonight when you get up, we can talk about it calmly. We have to do something soon."
"I suppose." She pulled away and dropped the blanket to the rough stone floor. The basement had never been finished. Naked now, Shay climbed into the coffin which sat propped up on concrete blocks, stretched out and reached up to lower the lid. Outside, they knew it was dawn.
II.
At the front door of the Shokan Public Library, Bleak stepped outside and stood lost in thought. He should not have been an imposing figure. Only five feet nine and thin, he was wearing black slacks and a light blue dress shirt with the cuffs rolled back. In grudging deference to the night chill, he had added a white windbreaker. Yet, unremarkable as he was physically, there was some intensity in his manner which caught peoples' attention. The pale blue eyes and short straw-colored hair were in a face set in grim, unhappy lines as if frozen that way. The name 'Bleak' certainly suited him.
Three hours poring over back issues of the local newspaper THE STAR-LIBERTY had been followed by another hour working the microfilm projector to search further back. In his hip pocket was his small notebook and pen, filled with copius notes in fussy completely legible handwriting. If the library was not closing at nine, he might have spent another couple of hours there.
As he stood there, a car door closed and he glanced up with a frown.
"Mr Cross! Mr Cross, hey wait up!" called a man's voice.
Only a few years old but obviously having endured rough handling, the 1968 Chevrolet Camerao convertible had a hideous lime-green paintjob. Dents on the left side and a missing side mirror were testimony to the car having survived a collision, and rust was starting where the paint hadn't been replaced. Moving quickly away from the Chevy was a college age youth who was still gangly and awkward as a colt. He wore white sneakers, blue jeans and a maroon sweatshirt that read TRACK in white cursive letters.
Seeing the boy's feeble attempt at growing a beard and the long wavy hair parted in the middle, Bleak didn't know whether to feel amused or annoyed. Styles changed, he knew he was a fogey. "Hello, Zeke."
"Hi! I was hoping to catch you here. Find anything?"
"Calm down," Bleak said, walking to meet the boy halfway. "I think I've got a few pieces of the puzzle but I'm not sure how they fit together. What have you been doing?"
Ezekiel Dunne took in a deep breath and exhaled hard. "I'm getting nowhere! Nowhere, I tell you. I've got Shay's address book and I've been calling her friends and trying to get some idea where she might have gone. Nobody is any help at all. It's a disgrace."
"She didn't mention any new boy friends? Any plans on going to a concert?"
"Nothing like that. Shay kinda kept herself, she was a shy girl." Zeke shook his head. "I'm only a year younger and she hardly ever told me or Mom and Dad what she was up to. She said as long as she didn't get into trouble, whose business was it?"
Bleak made a neutral grunt. He was moving over to his gleaming black van with tinted side windows. "I wish I could give you reason to hope, Zeke. It doesn't look good for finding her."
"I know. I know. It's been three months. Not a peep."
"I checked with the State Police and the Motor Vehicle Bureau," Bleak said. "They're getting to know my work. Her car has not been found anywhere. None of the hospitals within a hundred miles of your home of any record of a girl matching her description being treated."
"Aw, but you must have turned up SOMEthing," Zeke pleaded.
"A couple of strange items. I see a possible connection. On December 28th, up in Margaretville, the Goldman Funeral Home was broken into, and a coffin was stolen. Nothing else. Police thought it was a senseless prank and never made any progress. There were two missing persons cases in that area which have not been solved, both in January. One was a homeless Nam vet, one an elderly man who went out to get the paper one night and never returned. No bodies ever found. Both were within a twenty mile radius of the coffin theft."
"You lost me. I don't mind admitting it. Are you saying... I don't want to think about it, but did someone murder my sister and steal a coffin to bury her in? That's beyond weird!"
The man called Bleak dug his keys out of his pants pocket and moved over toward the driver's side door. "No, son. I think she stole it for herself."
III.
At two-thirty that morning, they were driving north along the coast, with the grey still waters to their right. Distances between towns were getting longer. At the wheel, Bleak listened to his passenger with barely concealed impatience.
"Then, during the summer, Shay got mad because I got sent to Camp Onandaga while she stayed home but I was in the Scouts--"
"Zeke, enough!" barked the older man. "I need to think over the case. How does what you're saying relate to the mystery?"
"Sorry. Jeez." The boy pouted for a few minutes, staring out the window. "Mr Cross, can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"You mentioned something about your family, and that was why you were being patient with me. I'd hate to see you when you WEREN'T being patient. What's up with that?"
Bleak opened his mouth to yell, caught himself and kept his tone civil. "I don't talk about it often. All right. Zeke, I used to be a Roman Catholic priest. My parish was outside Boston. I prided myself on organizing food drives, volunteering to help runaways and drug addicts. I did some tutoring for problem students from the elementary school."
After pause long enough to make him uncomfortable, Zeke ventured to say, "What happened?"
"In one night, I lost everything. My faith. My sister and my nephews. My position. I resigned from the Church, accepted the wealth my family possessed from real estate and began training myself for my new mission."
"Mr Cross, I appreciate you telling me this but I still don't understand."
Signalling with his indicator, Bleak turned off the highway onto a country road. "My sister Mary Elizabeth was murdered, and so were her two sons. I loved those boys, so bright and hopeful, they were the light of my life. According to the Medical Examiner, all three were killed by someone somehow using a device to make punctures in their necks. It suctioned nearly all their blood out. That's what the coroner concluded anyway. I found out otherwise."
"Oh. Wait. You're saying it wasn't a nut with some machine. You're telling me you believe in vampires?!"
For one second, Bleak turned those haunted eyes on his passenger. "I've been fighting them ever since. So far, I have destroyed twenty-eight of the creatures. It's not killing, they're not alive, I'm sending them to the final rest they have been denied."
"Okay. Umm, never mind the vampires right now. I can tell you're serious. What I want to ask is, why did you lose your faith? Was it too much to accept?"
Bleak got hold of himself. "I know God moves in His own way, that there is a Plan to life that we can't comprehend. I used to help my people in their confessions by telling them that we are only little children who don't understand when parents explain why terrible things happen. But Mary's death, the deaths of John and Hal, were too much for me to rationalize away. I couldn't accept a loving God allowing them to meet that fate."
This time, when Bleak paused, Zeke did not prompt him. After a moment, the man behind the wheel added, "I want to believe again. I really do. I try to pray but it's not sincere. But I feel as if ice-cold water washed away my comfortable illusions. All I have now is my mission to exterminate those monsters."
"Mr Cross, maybe you should know I decided I'm an atheist. My folks were never particularly religious, we used to be dragged into Easter and Christmas services at a Lutheran church in town, but that was it. The more I read and the more I thought things over, the less sense the Bible made."
Bleak raised one eyebrow. "I can't argue with you, Zeke."
"But even so, I respect people's beliefs. I don't make fun of them. Mr Cross, I'm sorry for everything that you lost.. that was taken away from you."
"Thank you. I haven't told too many about my past. 'Bleak' was a childhood nickname that stuck, it's how I'm usually known. I always work alone but I'm making an exception in your case. You might be able to help finding out what happened to your sister."
"I hope so," Zeke said. "My Mom and Dad are never gonna be the same again, but even if I can only tell them she's definitely dead, it might put an end to the uncertainty."
"That's obvious. Everybody knows that." Abruptly, Bleak pulled off the road into the empty parking lot of a restaurant which was closed. "Zeke, you have to overlook my lack of manners. I've changed and not for the better. Nothing matters to me except destroying the Undead."
"Aw, that's okay," the boy answered. "My Dad talks to me rougher than you do. He says boys have to be toughened up."
Bleak slowed as he checked the number on a mailbox by the side of the road. "The Humberts, 178. We're looking for 211."
"I'll help you any way I can," Zeke offered. "I've been working out. I placed second on our track team."
"Your offer does you credit, Zeke. But when you actually see a vampire close up, it's no joke. Your body tells you that you're in great danger. That you're near something that's terribly wrong. Almost anyone will freeze in horror and provide an easy victim." Bleak slowed again as he scanned the number on a white frame house they passed.
"You're the expert," Zeke said. "I'll do whatever you say."
"And if they're still able to speak coherently, don't have a conversation with one. Never listen to anything they say. It'll all be cold-hearted lies to draw you in. Revelations from the grave are never to be trusted."
IV.
At sunset, Walter had descended into his basement with an armful of fresh clothes. Now wearing plain canvas sneakers, navy blue slacks and a white crewneck shirt, Shay had gone upstairs with him to sit at the kitchen table underneath a picture window that had its curtains closed.
"I can't smell that coffee," she complained. "I can see the percolator bubbling but I can't smell anything except blood."
"Sorry."
"You didn't do this to me. She buried her face in her hands. "I thought people like me became heartless and cruel. That's what you see in movies. I shouldn't be so depressed over this."
Getting up to fill his mug and stir in one spoonful of sugar, Walter said, "You're still you, honey. You have your memories. Maybe more of your feelings will come back in time."
"I don't know. I wish I didn't feel anything at all. I'm thirsty. It's been two nights, I think I have to go out. This is like being a junkie."
"Listen. You didn't ask for this to happen. It's not your fault. It's like my disease." He sipped the coffee. "More of my test results came back. I've got six months to a year but the pain and weakness will start soon. Pancreatic cancer, never expected that."
Staring at him across the table, Shay took a deep breath to enable speech. "I don't think I can give you what you're asking, Walt, I can't do it."
"Think about it. We could be together forever, never getting old. We could protect each other. You're the only one who can spare me months of suffering and then dying, Shay."
"Give me a little more time to talk myself into it," she said at last. "It's a horrible thing to do to someone."
"Let me know when you're ready to go out."
"I can drive myself," she answered after taking another breath. Often her mouth moved soundlessly as she forgot there wouldn't be air in her lungs unless she put it there. "I haven't turned into an animal."
"Shay, you're a missing person. If anyone recognizes you, cops will be falling over each other to find you. In my van, you can ride in the back and if I run into a routine traffic stop where they're checking registrations and inspections, you're hidden
under a blanket and safe."
"Fine. That makes sense. Wait until it's a little darker and we'll go. I don't know, maybe I'll hunt at the Mall toward closing. Entice some fool into the shadows and only take enough blood to survive."
Walter finished his coffee and put the mug down with a clunk, but made no comment.
"As long as I don't drink enough to kill them, they won't become... like me. You know? I can get by like this indefinitely, I guess." She pushed her chair back. "Come on, let's watch some TV. Maybe a comedy show, we both could use a few smiles."
IV.
Pointing at the signpost which read CHURCH STREET, Zeke sniffed, "That's right to the point."
"When these towns were founded, the entire community pitched in to build their church," Bleak observed. "It was the social center, where everyone came in times of danger or disaster, and it was where many bake sales, dances and raffles were held." For the first time, a tinge of melancholy softened his voice. "Gone now. Society has changed."
"Don't yell at me for asking, okay? But you still miss being a priest, don't you?"
"Yes," Bleak confessed. "I felt I was doing good work, helping those in need. Materially and spiritually. Maybe someday I might turn to volunteer work at soup kitchens or homeless shelters, but for now my purpose is focused to a cause."
"This is all beyond me," Zeke said. "If God allows evil things to happen to good people, then He's either not all-powerful or that good a guy. I've worried about the implications lots of times."
In a strange comforting gesture, Bleak reached over with his right hand and squeezed Zeke's left forearm. "Wiser minds than ours have wrestled with the problem."
"That helps a little. There, that looks like the church, huh?"
Ahead of them, at the end of the short back road sat a one story building with white planks with a slate roof and a belfrey where a brass bell visibly hung. The grass around it was neatly tended. On the front door was fastened a four foot cross of dark wood, and a plaque read MOUNT CALVARY LUTHERAN CHURCH with the hours of services listed.
"I haven't been here in years," Bleak said, pulling over to the side of the ride and peering out his window. "There's Keith's car around by the back."
Starting to get out, Zeke asked, "I thought you were a Catholic, Mr Cross. This is a Protestant church, right?"
Stepping out into the brisk late-night air, Bleak placed his hands in his trouser pockets and stood gazing thoughtfully at the scene. "We in the clergy often work together for the community. Rabbi Weiss over in Cementon is a good friend. Keith.. that is, Pastor Mertzlufft, is a fine decent man. Difference in dogma should not prevent us from being allies."
"That cheers me up," Zeke said.
Bleak took off with his usually impatient stride around to the back of the church. Here was a propane tank up on a stand and one neat unbattered alumninum garbage can. By the back door, a garden had been arranged within a frame work of shortened 2x4s nailed into a rectangle. Here in the light from a single bulb burning over the door, a heavyset man in plain work clothes of corduroy trousers and red and white flannel shirt was lost in the use of his trowel.
"Good to see you again, Keith," Bleak called out quietly as they drew near.
The Pastor gave a start, rising to one knees and grinning broadly. "Ah, Henry! When my phone rang so late at night, I had a feeling it was you."
"My apology for rousting you, but my business is urgent."
"It always is, Henry."
The two men shook hands firmly. "Pastor Mertzlufft, this is Ezekiel Dunne, he is helping me in an investigation."
"A strong name to bear, Ezekiel," said the Pastor.
"Zeke, please. My folks only call me Ezekiel when I'm in trouble, I hope that's okay with you."
Catching Mertzlufft's eye, Bleak pointed to a thick tree trunk which lay horizontally for thirty feet along the edge of the property. Many of the branches had been sawed off. "Let's sit where we so often debated each other, my old friend. Dark forces are on the move, there is much to do."
Ten minutes later, Bleak had related the events which preoccupied him. Mertzlufft listened without asking any questions, then gestured for Zeke to add further details.
Finally, the Pastor bent his head and studied his clasped hands. "My Church does not accept the existence of such beings as vampires, nor of demonic possession. But unofficially, speaking as a private person and not a representative of my church, I believe everything you two have just told me."
"That is good news, Keith," Bleak responded without any trace of excitement in his manner. "You know this community well."
"Yes. You understand, Lutherans do not take confession as Catholics do. Whatever my flock tells me is not under an edict of secrecy. Only my understanding that they trust me keeps it to myself. But I can give you a name without feeling I am being unethical. Walter Helton."
"Never heard of 'im," said Zeke.
"Your sister was a secretive young woman, if I may say so. Not that I ever heard of her shoplifting or getting in fights or other misdemeanours typical of her age group. But from what everyone mentions, she did not volunteer information about herself."
"Heh, that's my sis, all right. Shay used to go, 'Since when is my business any of your business?' and that was all you got out of her. Why, one time--"
"Let the Pastor talk," Bleak said in a tone that made it a command.
"Ashley Dunne has been seen many times recently in the company of this Helton man. He's rather old for her, in my opinion. They were having lunch at the Bistro, walking near the Reservoir, often simply sitting somewhere deep in conversation. I'm certain the police have already asked him questions but you, Henry, may do better than they did."
"I have my methods," said the man called Bleak as he rose. "An address is all we ask of you now, my friend."
Getting up himself, the Lutheran minister paused to give Zeke a piercing stare. "You're not a person of faith, are you?"
"No. Honestly? No."
"Hmm. I know that Henry here carries a virtual arsenal in his van. He has been given a special dispensation by the Arch-Bishop of New York to possess samples of the Host, a flask of holy water, and more so long as he put them to proper use. But you, I think, would benefit from something personal. Wait a second." Mertzlufft went into the back door of the church and returned promptly.
"I don't wanna seem like a phony," Zeke began.
Pastor Mertzlufft handed a small object to the young man. Fitting across a palm, it was an exquisitely hand-carved ivory crucifix with every detail of the Christ figure showing clearly. The letters INRI on the crossbeam were goldleaf.
"This.. this is beautifully done, sir," Zeke said.
"It belonged to be my grandmother, may she rest in peace," said the pastor. "For these past twenty years, it has stood propped up against my bookshelf. Now I know what I was saving it for."
"Oh, I couldn't take it, Father. It wouldn't be right."
"It is a true gift which is freely given," the Pastor told him. "My grandmother was a woman with deep abiding faith. She tried to live her life hurting no one, simply raising two generations of children and beginning on a third with great-grandchildren when she passed away."
Watching from arm's length, even Bleak dropped some of his sour expression. "I remember her, Keith. If anyone in this world can protect this boy, it would be your grandma's crucifix."
"But I don't even believe in it!" Zeke protested. "I'm just being honest."
"Wait and see," Pastor Mertzlufft responded. He turned sad eyes toward his colleague. "Henry, I wish you well. I don't intend to give any inspiring pep talks. Faith may return to you on its own, when you are ready, like a flown bird coming back thrown a window you leave open."
"I hope so," Bleak said. He held out his hand for a farewell shake. "Whatever happens, I will check back with you before leaving this county. Zeke, are you sure you want to come with me?"
The boy had looped the gold chain around his neck and now tucked the crucifix under his sweatshirt, an act which made him obviously uncomfortable. "You know it. I'm in this rumble until it's settled." Seeing Bleak striding toward the van, Zeke gave a half-bow without knowing it. "Thank you so much. I will take care of this with my life, sir."
"May it do the same for you. The Lord bless thee and keep thee, the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee Peace. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen." As he made the sign of the cross in the air, Mertzlufft watched the two visitors drive away. A terrible cold sinking feeling gathered in his chest.
V.
as he drove, Bleak launched into a lecture about the Undead. "The worst part is that there are so many exceptions to the damned things. Sunlight destroys nearly all of them, but there are some rare daywalkers. A wooden stake through the heart works almost every time. Fire repels and consumes them but it must be fire hot and strong enough to kill a regular human being. Silver sometimes hurts or drives them away, but not always. Same for garlic. It's infuriating. It's like hunting wild animals who constantly change their habits."
"I only know what I've seen work in movies. Crosses, mostly. Someone holds two pieces of wood together and that's enough to scare a vampire away.
Bleak made a remarkably disgusted noise. "Don't ever count on that. Crucifixes usually work, but it's not the cross shape that hurts vampires... it's the figure of Christ. Even then, holy objects sometimes fail."
"Getting light to the East," Zeke ventured. "Think it would be safer to go looking for these monsters after the sun's up?"
"Absolutely." Bleak glanced over at the vague hint of dawn. "It's dangerous confronting them at night, but you get better results this way. I could spend the whole day searching for a well-hidden coffin and get nowhere but.. if I catch them as they're still out for the night...!"
They rode on in silence. Finally, Zeke blurted, "How come you're letting me come with you, Mr Cross? Seriously, I don't get the feeling you welcome too many guests."
"Because it's your sister you're worried about. That made the difference." Bleak exhaled sharply. "Zeke, listen. Let me try not to yell at you. Whatever happens, no matter what horrible things you see, don't go the way I went. I'm as damned now as the creatures I track down. You have a long life ahead of you. The world doesn't want another Bleak."
"Thanks. I appreciate the thought. But I have to ask something. How can vampires work? They're dead, right? Then they start moving around and drinking blood and somehow they're imitating being alive. I don't get it. How is it possible?"
"I don't know if I can explain, we're coming up on the address. As I understand it, and I may be wrong, there's a mystic transcendental energy called gralir. The human mind can bond with this energy and use it to control other forms of energy like heat, light, gravity. And gralic force somehow animates these corpses into the semblance of life called vampirism."
Zeke made a scoffing sound. "Thanks but that went right over my head. Let me think about it."
"Here we are," Bleak said as he rolled to a stop at the bottom of a hill. "See that house up there? One light over the front door. That's where we're going."
"Now I'm getting scared," mumbled Zeke. "I mean... vampires. Ack."
Bleak had pulled a pair of binoculars from under his seat and was scrutinizing the scene. "An A-frame of redwood with a walkway on one side. Someone had money. There's a red and yellow Volkswagen van parked next to the house. There! A glint of light escaped the curtains on the front window." He lowered the glasses and reached behind him into the boxes of equipment stored in the rear compartment.
"What do you want me to do?"
"For the moment, wait here with the doors locked," Bleak told him. "I'll do a recon and come back for you." With that, the former priest got out and opened the side panel on the van. He shrugged out of his windbreaker and tugged on a sleeveless leather vest which had four deep pockets on the front and at least two on the inside. From various boxes, he quickly stowed items into the pockets and then pulled the windbreaker on again. Finally, slinging a leather satchel four feet deep to his back with its strap diagonally across his chest, Bleak walked around to a staring Zeke.
"Wind this window up," he ordered. "Don't open the door to anyone except me. If someone says I've been hurt and need help, or that I asked you to go up there, remember they're lying. Revelations from the grave are always deceit. Don't do anything stupid."
"I got it. But... Mr Cross, what if you DO need help?"
Reaching over his shoulder into the satchel, Bleak drew out a three foot length of ash wood, thick as two fingers held together. One end had been sharpened to a fire-hardened point. "I'm not the one who will need help," he promised before marching off up the hill.
V.
Standing on the porch where he could keep the VW in sight, Bleak smelled death. That sickly, almost-sweet stench of decay was unmistakable. Planting himself with feet wide apart, he ignored the bell and pounded hard with his fist on the door itself. After a second, he slammed the door again. "Police Department! Open up or we're coming in!"
The door swung open barely enough to reveal a pale, unhealthy-looking face with black hair. The eyes were red and watery. "I'm sick. Very sick. You don't want to catch it."
"I'll take my chances," Bleak snapped. "Is your name Walter P Helton?"
"Yes. Keep back a little, I'm infectious."
"I bet you are." Bleak seized the door edge with both hands and swung it open out of Walter's grip. The man cringed back unsteadily. Bleak pushed past him into a living room lit only by a single nightlight down in one corner. No one was in sight.
"You get one chance to save your physical body and your immortal soul, if you haven't lost it already," Bleak told the larger man. "Where IS she?"
Visibly deflating, Walter hung his head and pointed to a narrow door in the far wall. "Down there."
"Let's go. You first of course." Bleak looped a powerful pencil flashlight around his wrist with a leather thong. Casting its brilliant cone before him, he followed Walter rapidly down crude wooden stairs into the unfinished basement. Along the damp walls were an oil-burning furnace, a water heater, an emergency generator, some boxes of belongings stowed away.
And, standing on four cement blocks, an open coffin of mahogany with brass fittings.
What had recently been Ashley 'Shay' Dunne wheeled around at the light and hissed like a enraged cat. In the flash beam, it could be seen that her upper canines had extended downward in sharpened fangs.
"Walter!" she cried in a hollow echoing voice. "You brought him here!"
"Here, catch," Bleak responded, tossing her a small wooden object. Shay automatically held out both hands and immediately screamed. Smoke tendrils rose from her palms where the crucifix had landed.
"Can't ask for better proof," said Bleak. He rushed forward and kicked one of her ankles to the side, dropping the Undead on her back. In the same smooth unhurried move, he dropped to one knee, raised the stake high and drove it into her chest with his full weight. She resisted. One hand scrabbled uselessly at the smooth wooden side of the stake and the other tried to claw at Bleak's face. All for nothing. A faint wheeze sounded, then she collapsed. Her eyes remained open.
"Rest in peace," Bleak told the body. "If prayers mean anything, you will be remembered in my prayers." He got up in time to feel an arm tighten around his chest, pinning his arms to his side, squeezing so his ribs began to crack. An ice-cold hand closed over his throat, painfully tight against his windpipe. Bleak felt himself being lifted up off the stone floor so his furious kicks connected with nothing but air.
"Thank you," hissed a noxious-smelling breath in one ear. "I don't know if I would have had the heart to finish her myself, ha ha hah!"
VI.
The red crescent of the Sun showed on the horizon, then the entire sphere and dawn had broken. Somewhere a bird was trilling. It seemed to Zeke that he had waited hours but in truth it was not more than forty-five minutes after Bleak had left that the young man got too restless to sit any longer. What if his sister was in there? Was this Walter dude some sort of pervert who was holding her against her will? He had read articles about 'white slavery,' where pretty girls were hauled from state to state and sold as for sex.
That whole rigamarole about vampires sounded more ridiculous the more he thought about it. So a coffin had been stolen, that didn't mean anything. People did crazy stunts all the time. As for the bodies drained of blood, who knows, maybe they were anemic, maybe there was some new parasitic worm or something. None of that seemed important compared to finding out what had happened to Shay.
The front door of the house had remained open. In the increasing daylight, the house seemed less ominous.
Hopping out of the van, Zeke did not consider taking a weapon from the back of Bleak's vehicle. Young and strong, an athlete on his college track team, he had natural confidence. Even though he had never been in a real fight, Zeke felt absolutely certain he could handle himself.
As soon as he stepped onto the porch and through the doorway, something strange happened. His chest tingled. It felt the same as when he had accidentally touch a live socket for an instant, but this was not painful. There was comfort in it. Zeke placed his hand on his chest and felt the outline of the crucifix that Pastor Mertzlufft had given him.
No. That was silly. It was only a bit of ivory from a long-dead elephant. Nothing magic about it. And yet, the tingle was there, he could feel it spread up to his shoulders and down his arms, and he liked the sensation.
I'm getting as screwy as all the adults are, he thought. Maybe when you hit forty, your brains get soft.
At the other end of the living room, a narrow door stood open and a faint flicker of light showed through that murky rectangle. Without knowing it, he kept his hand pressed against the crucifix beneath his sweatshirt and edged down the stairs as stealthily as he could.
There was a lot to take in. The man everyone called Bleak had his wrists tied with wire to an exposed overhead pipe, sagging as if stunned, his head hanging down. A big guy with a black beard was standing right next to him. And, weird enough to be mesmerizing, an open coffin stood on four blocks. Zeke came to the bottom of the stairs. The bearded man had not heard him.
In the coffin lay his sister with a wooden stake protruding obscenely up from the middle of her chest.
What kind of strangled noise he made, Zeke could not have described. The cold pang in his heart felt worse than anything he had ever known. It couldn't be true, it had to be a trick, that couldn't be Shay...!
A dreadful strong hand seized him by one forearm and effortlessly hurled him up against the far wall. Zeke hit hard, banging his nose so blood started pouring and falling to a sprawled position. "You broke my nose!" he said.
"You'll wish that was your worst suffering," hissed the bearded man. In the candlelight, his irises flared a lambent red. Two sharp fangs showed in his upper jaw as he leered. "My first prey."
Zeke felt his heart pounding faster than was safe. Between the pain and the fear, it was impossible to think straight. This was no deluded pyscho, this was something that should not be... a dead body walking and talking and moving toward him hungrily. He rolled over, holding his left hand to his nose in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.
Through a rag which had been tied into his mouth, Bleak was trying to shout. The former priest supported his weight on his toes, which meant if he sagged, he was hanging from his arms and unable to breathe.
The Undead was within reach when Zeke pulled on the chain around his neck and drew out the crucifix. The ivory shone as if reflecting a searchlight. With a rasping cry, what had been Walter convulsed wildly and reeled backwards, turning its face away.
Zeke managed to get up on his feet. Part of his mind worked furiously on what was happening. How could this tiny piece of material repulse such a vicious creature? Zeke did not feel any different. He certainly had not had any abrupt surge of religious fervor or glimpse of any higher power offering him help. But he was sure grateful for this unexpected relief.
Without knowing why, unable to explain his actions, the young man went straight at the Undead thing. Walter's revenant staggered back and fled up the stairs out of the cellar. All that occupied Zeke's mind was fury at seeing his poor sister lying in her coffin. This monster had to pay for that.
Across the living the room they moved, the monster being driven back by the presence of the small sigil which Zeke shoved at him. Out through the open door they went, onto the porch. Too late, the Undead thing realized it was trapped between two dooms. In its feral inhuman mind, panic surged. Zeke thrust the crucifix forward. Walter fell backwards off the porch to land with a thump right in direct morning sunlight. The vampire twisted, shuddered and went limp.
For a long breathless moment, Zeke stood staring, half expecting the monster to be shamming and to rise up again. Then he remembered Bleak. He ran back into the house and tumbled recklessly down the stairs. Letting the old crucifix dangle around his neck, the youth fumbled with clumsy fingers to unwind the wire binding Bleak by the wrists.
As soon as he was free, the older man tore the gag from his mouth and took charge. "See that roll of paper towels on the bench there? Plug up that nostril and keep your head bent forward." Without waiting to see if Zeke was going to comply, Bleak raced up the stairs out of the cellar.
Ripping off a segment, Zeke rolled the paper towel into a tight cylinder and gingerly inserted it into his nostril. The material instantly became soaked red but only a few drops fell from its end. He sank to the floor and gasped, only then realizing how rapidly he had been breathing.
A few minutes later, Bleak returned and checked his condition. "Sit still. Try not to move your head around. I've got some gauze in his van, I'll pack that nose in a minute."
"Is he dead?"
"Yes. Destroyed by sunlight. His remains didn't fall apart or shrivel because he had only been a vampire such a short time. I'd guess he'd been Turned only tonight."
"And, that's Shay over there? It IS her?"
"I'm afraid so. I'm so sorry, son. No one has ever found a way to bring them back. She was already lost."
Zeke's shoulders were trembling but no tears showed. His voice was steady. "It's too much to take in. I can't understand any of this. I can't tell Mom and Dad. They'll think I'm nuts."
"No." In the first comforting gesture he had made in a long time, Bleak sat down next to the shaking youth and put an arm around his shoulders. "This is a secret you will have to keep to protect their peace of mind, Zeke. You have to be strong."
"I can't handle it. But, I guess I'll have to. Poor Shay. She wasn't a bad kid, Mr Cross."
"It's all over for her," Bleak said. "She's beyond pain or fear. I'll drain the gas tank of the man's vehicle, drag him down here. Not enough will be left after the fire to provide any clues to investigators." He squeezed Zeke toward him as if supporting a child who has been frightened. "Look at it that way. People who knew your sister will remember her as she was."
"Bleeding seems to be stopping. This sweatshirt's ruined. Heh. As if it matters. Mr Cross, I don't know what to think. That crucifix chased the monster right out into the daylight. But I still don't have any faith. It's not like I heard a Heavenly voice encouraging me. How does stuff like that work anyway?"
"No one knows," Bleak replied. "Some think that the energy of belief which Pastor Mertzlufft's grandmother felt is some infused in that symbol. Or that the belief of millions of others of the Faithful becomes focused somehow when needed. It's beyond me. Wiser minds than ours have spent their lives trying to understand."
When Zeke realized he was leaning up against the older man, he sat up straighter and disengaged. "I guess. I suppose I'll have nightmares and a guilt complex the rest of my life. Mr Cross, do you ever wish you had your faith back?"
"All the time," Bleak answered as he got up off the cold stone floor. "I can't lie to myself or to any God who might be out there. Nights like tonight do make me wish I believed. Maybe that wish is enough for now."
7/7/2020
5/3-5/5/1971
I.
"I won't do it!" yelled Shay. "You don't want to be like this. You have no idea how horrible it is."
In the harsh light of the naked light bulb hanging by a wire, her face twisted up in pain. Ashley 'Shay' Dunne was a pretty young woman at twenty, not movie star-stunning but attractive with shiny black hair, an oval face with a cleft chin and full lips. Standing in that cellar with its damp stone walls, she had wrapped herself in a wool blanket so only her head and one hand showed.
"I can't taste anything, I can't smell anything," she went on. "I only take a breath when I need to talk. I can't tell if it's freezing or a hundred degrees outside, I can't feel pain. And the worst part is, I can't laugh and I can't cry. I'm numb inside."
Walter Helton stood waiting until she finished. He was almost ten years older than she was, a thickset man with short black hair and a round thoughtful face. Coming down to his cellar, he had kept his down-filled winter parka on, which made him look even bulkier.
"Do you understand? Are you even listening?" she shouted, inches away from her face.
"Honey, think this over," Walter said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You know what's gonna happen to me. You want me to go through all that when you can help me?"
"Oh, don't. Stop. Even dying is better than this. I'm not alive, I'm not really dead, I'm trapped into the hell between. I can't stand it."
He pulled her closer. "Okay, okay. Right now, get your rest. Tonight when you get up, we can talk about it calmly. We have to do something soon."
"I suppose." She pulled away and dropped the blanket to the rough stone floor. The basement had never been finished. Naked now, Shay climbed into the coffin which sat propped up on concrete blocks, stretched out and reached up to lower the lid. Outside, they knew it was dawn.
II.
At the front door of the Shokan Public Library, Bleak stepped outside and stood lost in thought. He should not have been an imposing figure. Only five feet nine and thin, he was wearing black slacks and a light blue dress shirt with the cuffs rolled back. In grudging deference to the night chill, he had added a white windbreaker. Yet, unremarkable as he was physically, there was some intensity in his manner which caught peoples' attention. The pale blue eyes and short straw-colored hair were in a face set in grim, unhappy lines as if frozen that way. The name 'Bleak' certainly suited him.
Three hours poring over back issues of the local newspaper THE STAR-LIBERTY had been followed by another hour working the microfilm projector to search further back. In his hip pocket was his small notebook and pen, filled with copius notes in fussy completely legible handwriting. If the library was not closing at nine, he might have spent another couple of hours there.
As he stood there, a car door closed and he glanced up with a frown.
"Mr Cross! Mr Cross, hey wait up!" called a man's voice.
Only a few years old but obviously having endured rough handling, the 1968 Chevrolet Camerao convertible had a hideous lime-green paintjob. Dents on the left side and a missing side mirror were testimony to the car having survived a collision, and rust was starting where the paint hadn't been replaced. Moving quickly away from the Chevy was a college age youth who was still gangly and awkward as a colt. He wore white sneakers, blue jeans and a maroon sweatshirt that read TRACK in white cursive letters.
Seeing the boy's feeble attempt at growing a beard and the long wavy hair parted in the middle, Bleak didn't know whether to feel amused or annoyed. Styles changed, he knew he was a fogey. "Hello, Zeke."
"Hi! I was hoping to catch you here. Find anything?"
"Calm down," Bleak said, walking to meet the boy halfway. "I think I've got a few pieces of the puzzle but I'm not sure how they fit together. What have you been doing?"
Ezekiel Dunne took in a deep breath and exhaled hard. "I'm getting nowhere! Nowhere, I tell you. I've got Shay's address book and I've been calling her friends and trying to get some idea where she might have gone. Nobody is any help at all. It's a disgrace."
"She didn't mention any new boy friends? Any plans on going to a concert?"
"Nothing like that. Shay kinda kept herself, she was a shy girl." Zeke shook his head. "I'm only a year younger and she hardly ever told me or Mom and Dad what she was up to. She said as long as she didn't get into trouble, whose business was it?"
Bleak made a neutral grunt. He was moving over to his gleaming black van with tinted side windows. "I wish I could give you reason to hope, Zeke. It doesn't look good for finding her."
"I know. I know. It's been three months. Not a peep."
"I checked with the State Police and the Motor Vehicle Bureau," Bleak said. "They're getting to know my work. Her car has not been found anywhere. None of the hospitals within a hundred miles of your home of any record of a girl matching her description being treated."
"Aw, but you must have turned up SOMEthing," Zeke pleaded.
"A couple of strange items. I see a possible connection. On December 28th, up in Margaretville, the Goldman Funeral Home was broken into, and a coffin was stolen. Nothing else. Police thought it was a senseless prank and never made any progress. There were two missing persons cases in that area which have not been solved, both in January. One was a homeless Nam vet, one an elderly man who went out to get the paper one night and never returned. No bodies ever found. Both were within a twenty mile radius of the coffin theft."
"You lost me. I don't mind admitting it. Are you saying... I don't want to think about it, but did someone murder my sister and steal a coffin to bury her in? That's beyond weird!"
The man called Bleak dug his keys out of his pants pocket and moved over toward the driver's side door. "No, son. I think she stole it for herself."
III.
At two-thirty that morning, they were driving north along the coast, with the grey still waters to their right. Distances between towns were getting longer. At the wheel, Bleak listened to his passenger with barely concealed impatience.
"Then, during the summer, Shay got mad because I got sent to Camp Onandaga while she stayed home but I was in the Scouts--"
"Zeke, enough!" barked the older man. "I need to think over the case. How does what you're saying relate to the mystery?"
"Sorry. Jeez." The boy pouted for a few minutes, staring out the window. "Mr Cross, can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"You mentioned something about your family, and that was why you were being patient with me. I'd hate to see you when you WEREN'T being patient. What's up with that?"
Bleak opened his mouth to yell, caught himself and kept his tone civil. "I don't talk about it often. All right. Zeke, I used to be a Roman Catholic priest. My parish was outside Boston. I prided myself on organizing food drives, volunteering to help runaways and drug addicts. I did some tutoring for problem students from the elementary school."
After pause long enough to make him uncomfortable, Zeke ventured to say, "What happened?"
"In one night, I lost everything. My faith. My sister and my nephews. My position. I resigned from the Church, accepted the wealth my family possessed from real estate and began training myself for my new mission."
"Mr Cross, I appreciate you telling me this but I still don't understand."
Signalling with his indicator, Bleak turned off the highway onto a country road. "My sister Mary Elizabeth was murdered, and so were her two sons. I loved those boys, so bright and hopeful, they were the light of my life. According to the Medical Examiner, all three were killed by someone somehow using a device to make punctures in their necks. It suctioned nearly all their blood out. That's what the coroner concluded anyway. I found out otherwise."
"Oh. Wait. You're saying it wasn't a nut with some machine. You're telling me you believe in vampires?!"
For one second, Bleak turned those haunted eyes on his passenger. "I've been fighting them ever since. So far, I have destroyed twenty-eight of the creatures. It's not killing, they're not alive, I'm sending them to the final rest they have been denied."
"Okay. Umm, never mind the vampires right now. I can tell you're serious. What I want to ask is, why did you lose your faith? Was it too much to accept?"
Bleak got hold of himself. "I know God moves in His own way, that there is a Plan to life that we can't comprehend. I used to help my people in their confessions by telling them that we are only little children who don't understand when parents explain why terrible things happen. But Mary's death, the deaths of John and Hal, were too much for me to rationalize away. I couldn't accept a loving God allowing them to meet that fate."
This time, when Bleak paused, Zeke did not prompt him. After a moment, the man behind the wheel added, "I want to believe again. I really do. I try to pray but it's not sincere. But I feel as if ice-cold water washed away my comfortable illusions. All I have now is my mission to exterminate those monsters."
"Mr Cross, maybe you should know I decided I'm an atheist. My folks were never particularly religious, we used to be dragged into Easter and Christmas services at a Lutheran church in town, but that was it. The more I read and the more I thought things over, the less sense the Bible made."
Bleak raised one eyebrow. "I can't argue with you, Zeke."
"But even so, I respect people's beliefs. I don't make fun of them. Mr Cross, I'm sorry for everything that you lost.. that was taken away from you."
"Thank you. I haven't told too many about my past. 'Bleak' was a childhood nickname that stuck, it's how I'm usually known. I always work alone but I'm making an exception in your case. You might be able to help finding out what happened to your sister."
"I hope so," Zeke said. "My Mom and Dad are never gonna be the same again, but even if I can only tell them she's definitely dead, it might put an end to the uncertainty."
"That's obvious. Everybody knows that." Abruptly, Bleak pulled off the road into the empty parking lot of a restaurant which was closed. "Zeke, you have to overlook my lack of manners. I've changed and not for the better. Nothing matters to me except destroying the Undead."
"Aw, that's okay," the boy answered. "My Dad talks to me rougher than you do. He says boys have to be toughened up."
Bleak slowed as he checked the number on a mailbox by the side of the road. "The Humberts, 178. We're looking for 211."
"I'll help you any way I can," Zeke offered. "I've been working out. I placed second on our track team."
"Your offer does you credit, Zeke. But when you actually see a vampire close up, it's no joke. Your body tells you that you're in great danger. That you're near something that's terribly wrong. Almost anyone will freeze in horror and provide an easy victim." Bleak slowed again as he scanned the number on a white frame house they passed.
"You're the expert," Zeke said. "I'll do whatever you say."
"And if they're still able to speak coherently, don't have a conversation with one. Never listen to anything they say. It'll all be cold-hearted lies to draw you in. Revelations from the grave are never to be trusted."
IV.
At sunset, Walter had descended into his basement with an armful of fresh clothes. Now wearing plain canvas sneakers, navy blue slacks and a white crewneck shirt, Shay had gone upstairs with him to sit at the kitchen table underneath a picture window that had its curtains closed.
"I can't smell that coffee," she complained. "I can see the percolator bubbling but I can't smell anything except blood."
"Sorry."
"You didn't do this to me. She buried her face in her hands. "I thought people like me became heartless and cruel. That's what you see in movies. I shouldn't be so depressed over this."
Getting up to fill his mug and stir in one spoonful of sugar, Walter said, "You're still you, honey. You have your memories. Maybe more of your feelings will come back in time."
"I don't know. I wish I didn't feel anything at all. I'm thirsty. It's been two nights, I think I have to go out. This is like being a junkie."
"Listen. You didn't ask for this to happen. It's not your fault. It's like my disease." He sipped the coffee. "More of my test results came back. I've got six months to a year but the pain and weakness will start soon. Pancreatic cancer, never expected that."
Staring at him across the table, Shay took a deep breath to enable speech. "I don't think I can give you what you're asking, Walt, I can't do it."
"Think about it. We could be together forever, never getting old. We could protect each other. You're the only one who can spare me months of suffering and then dying, Shay."
"Give me a little more time to talk myself into it," she said at last. "It's a horrible thing to do to someone."
"Let me know when you're ready to go out."
"I can drive myself," she answered after taking another breath. Often her mouth moved soundlessly as she forgot there wouldn't be air in her lungs unless she put it there. "I haven't turned into an animal."
"Shay, you're a missing person. If anyone recognizes you, cops will be falling over each other to find you. In my van, you can ride in the back and if I run into a routine traffic stop where they're checking registrations and inspections, you're hidden
under a blanket and safe."
"Fine. That makes sense. Wait until it's a little darker and we'll go. I don't know, maybe I'll hunt at the Mall toward closing. Entice some fool into the shadows and only take enough blood to survive."
Walter finished his coffee and put the mug down with a clunk, but made no comment.
"As long as I don't drink enough to kill them, they won't become... like me. You know? I can get by like this indefinitely, I guess." She pushed her chair back. "Come on, let's watch some TV. Maybe a comedy show, we both could use a few smiles."
IV.
Pointing at the signpost which read CHURCH STREET, Zeke sniffed, "That's right to the point."
"When these towns were founded, the entire community pitched in to build their church," Bleak observed. "It was the social center, where everyone came in times of danger or disaster, and it was where many bake sales, dances and raffles were held." For the first time, a tinge of melancholy softened his voice. "Gone now. Society has changed."
"Don't yell at me for asking, okay? But you still miss being a priest, don't you?"
"Yes," Bleak confessed. "I felt I was doing good work, helping those in need. Materially and spiritually. Maybe someday I might turn to volunteer work at soup kitchens or homeless shelters, but for now my purpose is focused to a cause."
"This is all beyond me," Zeke said. "If God allows evil things to happen to good people, then He's either not all-powerful or that good a guy. I've worried about the implications lots of times."
In a strange comforting gesture, Bleak reached over with his right hand and squeezed Zeke's left forearm. "Wiser minds than ours have wrestled with the problem."
"That helps a little. There, that looks like the church, huh?"
Ahead of them, at the end of the short back road sat a one story building with white planks with a slate roof and a belfrey where a brass bell visibly hung. The grass around it was neatly tended. On the front door was fastened a four foot cross of dark wood, and a plaque read MOUNT CALVARY LUTHERAN CHURCH with the hours of services listed.
"I haven't been here in years," Bleak said, pulling over to the side of the ride and peering out his window. "There's Keith's car around by the back."
Starting to get out, Zeke asked, "I thought you were a Catholic, Mr Cross. This is a Protestant church, right?"
Stepping out into the brisk late-night air, Bleak placed his hands in his trouser pockets and stood gazing thoughtfully at the scene. "We in the clergy often work together for the community. Rabbi Weiss over in Cementon is a good friend. Keith.. that is, Pastor Mertzlufft, is a fine decent man. Difference in dogma should not prevent us from being allies."
"That cheers me up," Zeke said.
Bleak took off with his usually impatient stride around to the back of the church. Here was a propane tank up on a stand and one neat unbattered alumninum garbage can. By the back door, a garden had been arranged within a frame work of shortened 2x4s nailed into a rectangle. Here in the light from a single bulb burning over the door, a heavyset man in plain work clothes of corduroy trousers and red and white flannel shirt was lost in the use of his trowel.
"Good to see you again, Keith," Bleak called out quietly as they drew near.
The Pastor gave a start, rising to one knees and grinning broadly. "Ah, Henry! When my phone rang so late at night, I had a feeling it was you."
"My apology for rousting you, but my business is urgent."
"It always is, Henry."
The two men shook hands firmly. "Pastor Mertzlufft, this is Ezekiel Dunne, he is helping me in an investigation."
"A strong name to bear, Ezekiel," said the Pastor.
"Zeke, please. My folks only call me Ezekiel when I'm in trouble, I hope that's okay with you."
Catching Mertzlufft's eye, Bleak pointed to a thick tree trunk which lay horizontally for thirty feet along the edge of the property. Many of the branches had been sawed off. "Let's sit where we so often debated each other, my old friend. Dark forces are on the move, there is much to do."
Ten minutes later, Bleak had related the events which preoccupied him. Mertzlufft listened without asking any questions, then gestured for Zeke to add further details.
Finally, the Pastor bent his head and studied his clasped hands. "My Church does not accept the existence of such beings as vampires, nor of demonic possession. But unofficially, speaking as a private person and not a representative of my church, I believe everything you two have just told me."
"That is good news, Keith," Bleak responded without any trace of excitement in his manner. "You know this community well."
"Yes. You understand, Lutherans do not take confession as Catholics do. Whatever my flock tells me is not under an edict of secrecy. Only my understanding that they trust me keeps it to myself. But I can give you a name without feeling I am being unethical. Walter Helton."
"Never heard of 'im," said Zeke.
"Your sister was a secretive young woman, if I may say so. Not that I ever heard of her shoplifting or getting in fights or other misdemeanours typical of her age group. But from what everyone mentions, she did not volunteer information about herself."
"Heh, that's my sis, all right. Shay used to go, 'Since when is my business any of your business?' and that was all you got out of her. Why, one time--"
"Let the Pastor talk," Bleak said in a tone that made it a command.
"Ashley Dunne has been seen many times recently in the company of this Helton man. He's rather old for her, in my opinion. They were having lunch at the Bistro, walking near the Reservoir, often simply sitting somewhere deep in conversation. I'm certain the police have already asked him questions but you, Henry, may do better than they did."
"I have my methods," said the man called Bleak as he rose. "An address is all we ask of you now, my friend."
Getting up himself, the Lutheran minister paused to give Zeke a piercing stare. "You're not a person of faith, are you?"
"No. Honestly? No."
"Hmm. I know that Henry here carries a virtual arsenal in his van. He has been given a special dispensation by the Arch-Bishop of New York to possess samples of the Host, a flask of holy water, and more so long as he put them to proper use. But you, I think, would benefit from something personal. Wait a second." Mertzlufft went into the back door of the church and returned promptly.
"I don't wanna seem like a phony," Zeke began.
Pastor Mertzlufft handed a small object to the young man. Fitting across a palm, it was an exquisitely hand-carved ivory crucifix with every detail of the Christ figure showing clearly. The letters INRI on the crossbeam were goldleaf.
"This.. this is beautifully done, sir," Zeke said.
"It belonged to be my grandmother, may she rest in peace," said the pastor. "For these past twenty years, it has stood propped up against my bookshelf. Now I know what I was saving it for."
"Oh, I couldn't take it, Father. It wouldn't be right."
"It is a true gift which is freely given," the Pastor told him. "My grandmother was a woman with deep abiding faith. She tried to live her life hurting no one, simply raising two generations of children and beginning on a third with great-grandchildren when she passed away."
Watching from arm's length, even Bleak dropped some of his sour expression. "I remember her, Keith. If anyone in this world can protect this boy, it would be your grandma's crucifix."
"But I don't even believe in it!" Zeke protested. "I'm just being honest."
"Wait and see," Pastor Mertzlufft responded. He turned sad eyes toward his colleague. "Henry, I wish you well. I don't intend to give any inspiring pep talks. Faith may return to you on its own, when you are ready, like a flown bird coming back thrown a window you leave open."
"I hope so," Bleak said. He held out his hand for a farewell shake. "Whatever happens, I will check back with you before leaving this county. Zeke, are you sure you want to come with me?"
The boy had looped the gold chain around his neck and now tucked the crucifix under his sweatshirt, an act which made him obviously uncomfortable. "You know it. I'm in this rumble until it's settled." Seeing Bleak striding toward the van, Zeke gave a half-bow without knowing it. "Thank you so much. I will take care of this with my life, sir."
"May it do the same for you. The Lord bless thee and keep thee, the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee Peace. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen." As he made the sign of the cross in the air, Mertzlufft watched the two visitors drive away. A terrible cold sinking feeling gathered in his chest.
V.
as he drove, Bleak launched into a lecture about the Undead. "The worst part is that there are so many exceptions to the damned things. Sunlight destroys nearly all of them, but there are some rare daywalkers. A wooden stake through the heart works almost every time. Fire repels and consumes them but it must be fire hot and strong enough to kill a regular human being. Silver sometimes hurts or drives them away, but not always. Same for garlic. It's infuriating. It's like hunting wild animals who constantly change their habits."
"I only know what I've seen work in movies. Crosses, mostly. Someone holds two pieces of wood together and that's enough to scare a vampire away.
Bleak made a remarkably disgusted noise. "Don't ever count on that. Crucifixes usually work, but it's not the cross shape that hurts vampires... it's the figure of Christ. Even then, holy objects sometimes fail."
"Getting light to the East," Zeke ventured. "Think it would be safer to go looking for these monsters after the sun's up?"
"Absolutely." Bleak glanced over at the vague hint of dawn. "It's dangerous confronting them at night, but you get better results this way. I could spend the whole day searching for a well-hidden coffin and get nowhere but.. if I catch them as they're still out for the night...!"
They rode on in silence. Finally, Zeke blurted, "How come you're letting me come with you, Mr Cross? Seriously, I don't get the feeling you welcome too many guests."
"Because it's your sister you're worried about. That made the difference." Bleak exhaled sharply. "Zeke, listen. Let me try not to yell at you. Whatever happens, no matter what horrible things you see, don't go the way I went. I'm as damned now as the creatures I track down. You have a long life ahead of you. The world doesn't want another Bleak."
"Thanks. I appreciate the thought. But I have to ask something. How can vampires work? They're dead, right? Then they start moving around and drinking blood and somehow they're imitating being alive. I don't get it. How is it possible?"
"I don't know if I can explain, we're coming up on the address. As I understand it, and I may be wrong, there's a mystic transcendental energy called gralir. The human mind can bond with this energy and use it to control other forms of energy like heat, light, gravity. And gralic force somehow animates these corpses into the semblance of life called vampirism."
Zeke made a scoffing sound. "Thanks but that went right over my head. Let me think about it."
"Here we are," Bleak said as he rolled to a stop at the bottom of a hill. "See that house up there? One light over the front door. That's where we're going."
"Now I'm getting scared," mumbled Zeke. "I mean... vampires. Ack."
Bleak had pulled a pair of binoculars from under his seat and was scrutinizing the scene. "An A-frame of redwood with a walkway on one side. Someone had money. There's a red and yellow Volkswagen van parked next to the house. There! A glint of light escaped the curtains on the front window." He lowered the glasses and reached behind him into the boxes of equipment stored in the rear compartment.
"What do you want me to do?"
"For the moment, wait here with the doors locked," Bleak told him. "I'll do a recon and come back for you." With that, the former priest got out and opened the side panel on the van. He shrugged out of his windbreaker and tugged on a sleeveless leather vest which had four deep pockets on the front and at least two on the inside. From various boxes, he quickly stowed items into the pockets and then pulled the windbreaker on again. Finally, slinging a leather satchel four feet deep to his back with its strap diagonally across his chest, Bleak walked around to a staring Zeke.
"Wind this window up," he ordered. "Don't open the door to anyone except me. If someone says I've been hurt and need help, or that I asked you to go up there, remember they're lying. Revelations from the grave are always deceit. Don't do anything stupid."
"I got it. But... Mr Cross, what if you DO need help?"
Reaching over his shoulder into the satchel, Bleak drew out a three foot length of ash wood, thick as two fingers held together. One end had been sharpened to a fire-hardened point. "I'm not the one who will need help," he promised before marching off up the hill.
V.
Standing on the porch where he could keep the VW in sight, Bleak smelled death. That sickly, almost-sweet stench of decay was unmistakable. Planting himself with feet wide apart, he ignored the bell and pounded hard with his fist on the door itself. After a second, he slammed the door again. "Police Department! Open up or we're coming in!"
The door swung open barely enough to reveal a pale, unhealthy-looking face with black hair. The eyes were red and watery. "I'm sick. Very sick. You don't want to catch it."
"I'll take my chances," Bleak snapped. "Is your name Walter P Helton?"
"Yes. Keep back a little, I'm infectious."
"I bet you are." Bleak seized the door edge with both hands and swung it open out of Walter's grip. The man cringed back unsteadily. Bleak pushed past him into a living room lit only by a single nightlight down in one corner. No one was in sight.
"You get one chance to save your physical body and your immortal soul, if you haven't lost it already," Bleak told the larger man. "Where IS she?"
Visibly deflating, Walter hung his head and pointed to a narrow door in the far wall. "Down there."
"Let's go. You first of course." Bleak looped a powerful pencil flashlight around his wrist with a leather thong. Casting its brilliant cone before him, he followed Walter rapidly down crude wooden stairs into the unfinished basement. Along the damp walls were an oil-burning furnace, a water heater, an emergency generator, some boxes of belongings stowed away.
And, standing on four cement blocks, an open coffin of mahogany with brass fittings.
What had recently been Ashley 'Shay' Dunne wheeled around at the light and hissed like a enraged cat. In the flash beam, it could be seen that her upper canines had extended downward in sharpened fangs.
"Walter!" she cried in a hollow echoing voice. "You brought him here!"
"Here, catch," Bleak responded, tossing her a small wooden object. Shay automatically held out both hands and immediately screamed. Smoke tendrils rose from her palms where the crucifix had landed.
"Can't ask for better proof," said Bleak. He rushed forward and kicked one of her ankles to the side, dropping the Undead on her back. In the same smooth unhurried move, he dropped to one knee, raised the stake high and drove it into her chest with his full weight. She resisted. One hand scrabbled uselessly at the smooth wooden side of the stake and the other tried to claw at Bleak's face. All for nothing. A faint wheeze sounded, then she collapsed. Her eyes remained open.
"Rest in peace," Bleak told the body. "If prayers mean anything, you will be remembered in my prayers." He got up in time to feel an arm tighten around his chest, pinning his arms to his side, squeezing so his ribs began to crack. An ice-cold hand closed over his throat, painfully tight against his windpipe. Bleak felt himself being lifted up off the stone floor so his furious kicks connected with nothing but air.
"Thank you," hissed a noxious-smelling breath in one ear. "I don't know if I would have had the heart to finish her myself, ha ha hah!"
VI.
The red crescent of the Sun showed on the horizon, then the entire sphere and dawn had broken. Somewhere a bird was trilling. It seemed to Zeke that he had waited hours but in truth it was not more than forty-five minutes after Bleak had left that the young man got too restless to sit any longer. What if his sister was in there? Was this Walter dude some sort of pervert who was holding her against her will? He had read articles about 'white slavery,' where pretty girls were hauled from state to state and sold as for sex.
That whole rigamarole about vampires sounded more ridiculous the more he thought about it. So a coffin had been stolen, that didn't mean anything. People did crazy stunts all the time. As for the bodies drained of blood, who knows, maybe they were anemic, maybe there was some new parasitic worm or something. None of that seemed important compared to finding out what had happened to Shay.
The front door of the house had remained open. In the increasing daylight, the house seemed less ominous.
Hopping out of the van, Zeke did not consider taking a weapon from the back of Bleak's vehicle. Young and strong, an athlete on his college track team, he had natural confidence. Even though he had never been in a real fight, Zeke felt absolutely certain he could handle himself.
As soon as he stepped onto the porch and through the doorway, something strange happened. His chest tingled. It felt the same as when he had accidentally touch a live socket for an instant, but this was not painful. There was comfort in it. Zeke placed his hand on his chest and felt the outline of the crucifix that Pastor Mertzlufft had given him.
No. That was silly. It was only a bit of ivory from a long-dead elephant. Nothing magic about it. And yet, the tingle was there, he could feel it spread up to his shoulders and down his arms, and he liked the sensation.
I'm getting as screwy as all the adults are, he thought. Maybe when you hit forty, your brains get soft.
At the other end of the living room, a narrow door stood open and a faint flicker of light showed through that murky rectangle. Without knowing it, he kept his hand pressed against the crucifix beneath his sweatshirt and edged down the stairs as stealthily as he could.
There was a lot to take in. The man everyone called Bleak had his wrists tied with wire to an exposed overhead pipe, sagging as if stunned, his head hanging down. A big guy with a black beard was standing right next to him. And, weird enough to be mesmerizing, an open coffin stood on four blocks. Zeke came to the bottom of the stairs. The bearded man had not heard him.
In the coffin lay his sister with a wooden stake protruding obscenely up from the middle of her chest.
What kind of strangled noise he made, Zeke could not have described. The cold pang in his heart felt worse than anything he had ever known. It couldn't be true, it had to be a trick, that couldn't be Shay...!
A dreadful strong hand seized him by one forearm and effortlessly hurled him up against the far wall. Zeke hit hard, banging his nose so blood started pouring and falling to a sprawled position. "You broke my nose!" he said.
"You'll wish that was your worst suffering," hissed the bearded man. In the candlelight, his irises flared a lambent red. Two sharp fangs showed in his upper jaw as he leered. "My first prey."
Zeke felt his heart pounding faster than was safe. Between the pain and the fear, it was impossible to think straight. This was no deluded pyscho, this was something that should not be... a dead body walking and talking and moving toward him hungrily. He rolled over, holding his left hand to his nose in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.
Through a rag which had been tied into his mouth, Bleak was trying to shout. The former priest supported his weight on his toes, which meant if he sagged, he was hanging from his arms and unable to breathe.
The Undead was within reach when Zeke pulled on the chain around his neck and drew out the crucifix. The ivory shone as if reflecting a searchlight. With a rasping cry, what had been Walter convulsed wildly and reeled backwards, turning its face away.
Zeke managed to get up on his feet. Part of his mind worked furiously on what was happening. How could this tiny piece of material repulse such a vicious creature? Zeke did not feel any different. He certainly had not had any abrupt surge of religious fervor or glimpse of any higher power offering him help. But he was sure grateful for this unexpected relief.
Without knowing why, unable to explain his actions, the young man went straight at the Undead thing. Walter's revenant staggered back and fled up the stairs out of the cellar. All that occupied Zeke's mind was fury at seeing his poor sister lying in her coffin. This monster had to pay for that.
Across the living the room they moved, the monster being driven back by the presence of the small sigil which Zeke shoved at him. Out through the open door they went, onto the porch. Too late, the Undead thing realized it was trapped between two dooms. In its feral inhuman mind, panic surged. Zeke thrust the crucifix forward. Walter fell backwards off the porch to land with a thump right in direct morning sunlight. The vampire twisted, shuddered and went limp.
For a long breathless moment, Zeke stood staring, half expecting the monster to be shamming and to rise up again. Then he remembered Bleak. He ran back into the house and tumbled recklessly down the stairs. Letting the old crucifix dangle around his neck, the youth fumbled with clumsy fingers to unwind the wire binding Bleak by the wrists.
As soon as he was free, the older man tore the gag from his mouth and took charge. "See that roll of paper towels on the bench there? Plug up that nostril and keep your head bent forward." Without waiting to see if Zeke was going to comply, Bleak raced up the stairs out of the cellar.
Ripping off a segment, Zeke rolled the paper towel into a tight cylinder and gingerly inserted it into his nostril. The material instantly became soaked red but only a few drops fell from its end. He sank to the floor and gasped, only then realizing how rapidly he had been breathing.
A few minutes later, Bleak returned and checked his condition. "Sit still. Try not to move your head around. I've got some gauze in his van, I'll pack that nose in a minute."
"Is he dead?"
"Yes. Destroyed by sunlight. His remains didn't fall apart or shrivel because he had only been a vampire such a short time. I'd guess he'd been Turned only tonight."
"And, that's Shay over there? It IS her?"
"I'm afraid so. I'm so sorry, son. No one has ever found a way to bring them back. She was already lost."
Zeke's shoulders were trembling but no tears showed. His voice was steady. "It's too much to take in. I can't understand any of this. I can't tell Mom and Dad. They'll think I'm nuts."
"No." In the first comforting gesture he had made in a long time, Bleak sat down next to the shaking youth and put an arm around his shoulders. "This is a secret you will have to keep to protect their peace of mind, Zeke. You have to be strong."
"I can't handle it. But, I guess I'll have to. Poor Shay. She wasn't a bad kid, Mr Cross."
"It's all over for her," Bleak said. "She's beyond pain or fear. I'll drain the gas tank of the man's vehicle, drag him down here. Not enough will be left after the fire to provide any clues to investigators." He squeezed Zeke toward him as if supporting a child who has been frightened. "Look at it that way. People who knew your sister will remember her as she was."
"Bleeding seems to be stopping. This sweatshirt's ruined. Heh. As if it matters. Mr Cross, I don't know what to think. That crucifix chased the monster right out into the daylight. But I still don't have any faith. It's not like I heard a Heavenly voice encouraging me. How does stuff like that work anyway?"
"No one knows," Bleak replied. "Some think that the energy of belief which Pastor Mertzlufft's grandmother felt is some infused in that symbol. Or that the belief of millions of others of the Faithful becomes focused somehow when needed. It's beyond me. Wiser minds than ours have spent their lives trying to understand."
When Zeke realized he was leaning up against the older man, he sat up straighter and disengaged. "I guess. I suppose I'll have nightmares and a guilt complex the rest of my life. Mr Cross, do you ever wish you had your faith back?"
"All the time," Bleak answered as he got up off the cold stone floor. "I can't lie to myself or to any God who might be out there. Nights like tonight do make me wish I believed. Maybe that wish is enough for now."
7/7/2020