Vampire Seeker (10 page)

But there was Sally. Had she noticed I hadn’t come home? Or had she been on some three day shag-a-thon, shacked up in
her room, enjoying the pleasures of her latest fling? I could remember her being locked away in her room for six days once.
What they both did for food and water I will never know, but the noises that had come from her room were incredible. I remember
Karl and me trying to make a few of our own, to drown out Sally’s – but Karl only ever brought me to a mere whimper
that usually sneaked from between my lips, five minutes after climbing into bed together.

Why did Sally always have the fun? And I knew that if it was left to her, my missing person’s report wouldn’t
be filed for a few days yet. What about Karl – it was over between us – he had moved on. So who was going to miss
me?

I pulled my coat about me and headed down Main Street, wondering what else my subconscious mind would make up. The street
was lined with tall posts that had flames burning atop of them. The flames licked back and forth in the wind which had started
to pick up. I passed a white-washed building that had
U.S. Marshal’s Office
written across the front. Lamps burnt warmly from within, and with my head bent low, I passed on the other side of the street.
I wasn’t afraid of the law, I had done nothing wrong as far as I knew, but I didn’t want to draw attention to
myself by the local law enforcers. Next to the Marshal’s office, there was a courthouse. Of all the buildings in the
town, this one looked the biggest and cleanest. Just like the Marshal’s Office, it was made of wood and painted pristine
white. It had a triangle overhang which was supported by four large, white pillars. Then at the end of the street, I saw a
church with a steeple that stretched up into the night sky. Moving closer towards it, I could see that it was more of a chapel
than a church. I walked up to its front door and turned the handle. Why I wanted to go inside, I didn’t know. The last
time I had set foot inside a church had been for my father’s funeral, and I took that opportunity to snatch several
bottles of holy water. Maybe I was hoping to find another holy man other than the preacher. I wanted to see if he was anything
like the so-called holy man who was going to lead me up into the mountains. The chapel door swung open, and I stepped inside.
The smell of candle wax was almost intoxicating, as was the atmosphere that the flickering candlelight created. The church
was empty, and as the door slowly shut behind me, drowning out the sound of the revellers in the saloon, it was like I had
fallen into a well of silence.

There were several rows of benches that all faced a huge wooden cross which was suspended from the wall before me. I passed
amongst the pews and sat on one end. I could never really remember praying before, only as a kid before bedtime. Looking up
at the cross, I said, “If this really is just a dream, let me wake up. Let me go home.”

The wind whistled around the eves outside, almost as if in answer to my prayer. What the answer was, I didn’t know.
Then looking down, I saw a small, silver cross winking back at me from the floor. It was a set of rosary beads. I picked them
up and they felt cold in the palm of my hand. I tucked them into my trouser pocket. Standing up, I headed back towards the
rear of the chapel. Missed as I had entered, I now saw a small table set against the wall. It was covered with a thin, white
lace and several small bottles. In neat black handwriting, someone had written
Holy Water
across each one. Taking one of the bottles, I placed it into my coat pocket. I remember reading somewhere back home that
guns meant didly-shit against vampires – crucifixes and holy water was what counted. As I slipped out of the chapel
and back into the night, I realised that all I needed now was a pocketful of garlic and I’d be armed just like I had
been back on that tube train.

While I’d been in the chapel, the clouds had dispersed and a full moon hung in the sky. It looked huge, with a hazy
blue tinge around it. The moon had never looked as big or clear as when I had looked up at it hanging in the night sky back
home. Whistling the song
Blue Moon
by The Marcels to myself, I made my way back up Main Street, wondering if the preacher and the others had returned. As I
made my way along the dusty street, I noticed a small structure nestled between two bigger buildings. The exterior had been
painted a dark brown and the door and window frames had been painted green. The sign hanging above the door read
Newspaper Office
. To the left of the door stood a stack of what looked like old newspapers. With the wind picking up, one of the newspapers
fluttered from the top of the pile and scuttled towards me. I bent down and snatched it up before it had a chance to get away
from me. Wondering what was breaking news in this part of the world in 1888, I turned the paper over in my hands, then gasped.
Splashed across the front in bold black letters was the headline:

Local Woman Found Mutilated

With moonlight streaming over my shoulder, I read the article which gave a horrific account of the murder of a woman from
the neighbouring town of Crows Ranch. She had been found the previous day by the shoe smith as he had arrived for work. The
victim had been beheaded and her innards removed. Letting the newspaper slip from my fingers and flutter away along the street,
I could at once see the similarities to the murders being committed by Jack the Ripper in London of 1888 and the London of
2012.

With my hands thrust into my coat pockets to protect them from the cold, I made my way back to the saloon and up to my room.
I couldn’t help but wonder if the murders were connected somehow. Had the murders all been committed by the same killer?
That would be impossible, right? Not only had the murders taken place over five-thousand miles apart, they had also taken
place with a one-hundred-and-twenty-four year gap between them.

Once in my room, I took off my coat and lit one of the hand-rolled cigarettes the preacher had given me. With streams of blue
smoke jetting from my nose, I sat on the end of my bed and tried to make some sense of the killings. Could they really have
been committed by the same killer? Or had the police been right – the murders committed in 2012 had been the work of
the copycat Jack the Ripper? But one thing that I wouldn’t budge on – one thing that I wouldn’t change my
mind about - was that I still firmly believed that the killings in 2012 were the work of a vampire.

The saloon had emptied for the night. It was now quiet in the town of Black Water Gap, and as I sat in my room and tried to
figure out where I was and why I was here, I heard the sound of a horse trotting down Main Street. I turned down my lamp and
went to the window. Hidden behind the hem of the curtain, I watched Louise approach the saloon. She was on her own. The horse
stopped, and in the light of the moon, I spied on Louise as she dismounted and tethered the horse to the wooden rail. Then,
looking over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being watched, she crossed over to the horses’ drinking trough.
Then raising her hands, she quickly plunged them into the water and washed away the blood that covered them in long crimson
streaks.

Then, as if somehow sensing that she was being watched, Louise suddenly looked up at me. I quickly stepped away from the window,
and slipped back into the shadows, praying that I hadn’t been seen.

Her eyes were dark like chocolate, her skin was pale, and her light brown hair had started to grey in little wispy tufts around
her ears. Like her eyes and hair, her dress was brown and he slowly undid the buttons that ran down the front of it. Beneath
her dress he found a petticoat, and this annoyed him – just another layer to remove before he got to what he had come
for. He removed her flannel knickers and black woollen stockings. He had already disregarded her boots and straw bonnet.

Before slitting her throat, they had been intimate; but only briefly. He hadn’t been interested in her for that; the
sex part never really interested him. He wanted something else altogether. The thirst was bad tonight, like he had swallowed
a red-hot poker. He knew her blood would soothe the fire that raged in his throat and out across his chest like fingers coated
with lava.

Taking her clothes, he folded them into a neat pile and placed them against the wall of the outhouse. It was dark, but he
could see clearly – he could see everything. The dark was good. He liked the way it seemed to wrap itself around him
like another layer of skin. With his legs crossed, he sat beside the woman and looked at her naked corpse. He touched her
breasts with the tips of his long, white, bony claws, and shuddered at the warmth that still radiated from her. She had yet
to turn cold. Taking one of her hands in his, he raised it to his mouth. He traced the tip of her forefinger over his lips
and sighed deeply. The smell of her skin was wonderful – intoxicating. It made that feeling of burning within him seethe
all the more fiercely. Although it was agony, it somehow brought him pleasure and he wanted to make it last for as long as
he could, because he knew once he started, it would be over all too soon.

Unable to resist any longer, he sliced through the soft tissue of her finger with his fangs, then through the knuckle, as
easily as if it were made of matchwood. The crunching noise coming from his jaws sounded as if he were chewing on broken glass.
The skin and bone were just waste to him, it was the blood he wanted, and he sucked on the end of her finger like a straw.
The blood gushed into his mouth, and he gulped it down, that burning feeling in his throat and chest fading away. But not
fast enough.

Using his claws, he drew one of his hooked nails down the length of her body from her breastplate to her pelvic bone. Peeling
her open, he removed her intestines, placing them on the dusty floor just above her right shoulder. The entrails glistened
like a nest of oily snakes. His hands were hot and sticky with blood and he licked them clean – slowly, his white eyes
rolling all the way back into his skull.

Then, tightening his apron, he set about gorging himself until he could eat no more.

I woke with a start. Sweat covered me and I looked about the room, not knowing who or where I was. Sunlight poured through
a narrow gap in the curtains hanging at the window. I held the rough, woven blanket which covered me about my shoulders and
climbed out of bed. At the window, I peeled back the curtains and peered out, and then I remembered. Seeing the dusty main
street below, with its wooden buildings and horses, soon reminded me I was in 1888. When was I going to wake back up in 2012?
When would I discover why I was here – that’s if, I really was?

Tethered to the rail below, stood the preacher’s horse along with the others’. They must have come back during
the night. I remembered spying on Louise as she had made her return alone, washing the blood from her hands in the drinking
trough. She had looked up, but had she seen me?

I went to the bathroom, peed, washed, and got dressed. I fixed the gun belt about my waist. There was a mirror attached to
the wall beside the bed and I looked at my reflection. What the fuck was I doing? Why was I dressed as a cowgirl? Why was
I carrying guns and a belt full of bullets? This wasn’t me – this wasn’t the Samantha Carter who had grown
up in London, studied criminology, who had had two loving parents who had died within a year of each other. The person looking
back at me wasn’t the Sammy who had shared a flat with a beautiful-looking nymphomaniac and had recently broken up with
a guy called Karl. To look at my own reflection was like looking into the eyes of a stranger. The only thing that we both
had in common was that we both believed in the existence of vampires.

I closed the bedroom door behind me and passed along the balcony. At the foot of the staircase, I made my way into the saloon,
which was empty, apart from Louise who sat at a table on her own. She glanced up. Had she seen me spying on her last night?
I worried. But so what if she had? I hadn’t done anything wrong. It hadn’t been me washing blood from my hands
in the middle of the night. She looked up at me and smiled, so I crossed the room towards her.

“Morning,” she said, pouring me a mug of coffee from a pitcher that was on the table.

The coffee smelt strong and wonderful and I took in a mouthful. It wasn’t as bitter as the stuff the preacher had concocted
by the campfire. Set before Louise on the table was a plate, which I guessed had earlier contained her breakfast.

“Do you want to eat?” she asked me.

“Sure,” I said. Then not knowing exactly what was on the menu, I added, “What do they have?”

“The eggs are good,” she said, pouring herself a mug of coffee from the pitcher. It was then I noticed a piece
of blood-stained cloth wrapped about her right wrist. She saw me staring at it. Then, looking over my shoulder at the bartender,
she said, “Could we have another plate of eggs over here?”

I sipped from the mug and the black coffee tasted wonderful as I peered down at Louise’s bandaged wrist.

“I cut myself last night,” she said, placing her hand beneath the table and out of sight.

“How did you do that?” I asked, trying to sound concerned more than curious.

“I tripped,” she said, staring at me.

“Is that when you and the others rode off?” I said, looking at her over the rim of my mug.

“Sure,” she smiled back.

There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence, so I said half-jokingly, “I thought you had left town without me.”

“And why would we do that?” she asked me.

“Dunno,” I shrugged, still staring at her.

“You’re one of us now,” she smiled.

“Am I?” I said, not knowing if I should be happy about that fact.

“The preacher says so.”

The bartender arrived with my plate of eggs. There were three and they looked soft and runny. Not how I liked them, but I
was hungry. Beside the eggs sat what looked like a mound of pink mashed potato. I couldn’t show my lack of knowledge
by asking Louise what the pile of pink stuff was, so I poked at it with my fork and took a small bite. By the taste I guessed
it was beans which had been mushed into a pulp, then had been seasoned with onion, salt, and pepper. To be honest, it tasted
good so I forked some more into my mouth.