EIGHT
I needed to find Vincent. I thought he might have come back for his camera, but he never did. There were no ghosts at the door, no creatures under the bed. The shadows in my flat were just shadows. Marshall Friess got bored and left. And still, I sat, and waited to feel like I was being watched, but I was alone. I waited for nightfall, still nothing, and it was the early hours of the morning when I decided that I would have to go to him instead.
I went to my corkboard and found Bertha's business card. I dialled and waited with bated breath, but just when I thought that no one would answer, I heard her voice, breathy and excited: "Hello you!"
"How did you know it was me?" I asked.
"I hardly ever give out those silly little business cards. Hey, I have something for you!"
"What is it? Vincent?" I said quickly.
"What? No." Something in her voice became serious. "You called for a reason- I think you'd better go first."
"I have his camera," I said, and I explained to her what had happened.
"So, he invited you to watch someone die, and you accepted, and got freaked out when someone died," she said scornfully once I'd finished.
"It was wrong," I hissed. "I haven't changed my mind about that. We should have helped him."
"Did Vincent speak in metaphor, perhaps? Maybe he hypnotised you into going with him?"
"No. Wait, can he hypnotise people?"
"You're idiotic, do you know that?"
"I still think- well. It doesn't matter. I need to find him."
I heard a noise like an exhale on the other end of the line and realised she was smoking. "Well, he's not here."
"Is he... upstairs?"
There was a pause. "How do you know about that? Did he tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
I heard an eye-roll. "About his bedroom, don't be dense."
"His bedroom's up there?" I asked her incredulously.
She swore, holding the receiver away from her mouth. "Of course he didn't tell you. Why would he. And don't tell him that I told you that either. No, he's not up there."
"I thought he was homeless."
"He's... a drifter," she said calmly. I could almost imagine her stubbing out her cigarette as she said it. "He doesn't live up there. He hasn't stayed the night in years."
"Well, do you have any idea where he could be?"
"Nope."
"Nothing?"
"Look," she sighed, "If he wants to see you again, he'll find you. He's bound to come back for his camera, like you say. I don't know why he's... Goodness knows where he is. Not far, I'd expect." She paused again. "He's taking a liking to you, you know."
"No, he hasn't."
"He has. He's never had anyone along with him."
"Because it's a crime, Bertha, and I'm a dead man!" I couldn't keep the exasperation out of my voice. "You really sell those videos of his?"
"They're all signed, sealed, and delivered," she said hotly. "Approved by the stars themselves, after they watch their own performances."
"I know it works, but it shouldn't have to. He could prevent their deaths- he doesn't have to show it to them. It's backwards. What is wrong with you people?"
"He can't prevent shit, mister. Listen, this is pissing me off and I have customers here. If I see Vincent, I'll tell him you called, okay? I'm going now. Gosh, I was in such a good mood when I picked up the phone."
"A man died."
"Yeah, well, show me a man who hasn't. What was I going to tell you? You've got me all turned around here. Oh, that was it- do you have a pen and paper handy?"
I stomped off to find one. "Yeah?" I spat at her.
"I found a place that specialises in rotten, manky books like the one you have. Take it to them. You're near Landy," she rattled off an address that I scribbled down. "That's their closest entrance to you, I think. See, that's me being nice."
"Yeah, well thanks a lot," I said acidly.
"Goodbye and fuck off," she said, and slammed the phone down.
I took my glasses off and rubbed my eyes, hard, unsure of what to do next. I felt like I had just been chastised by my grandmother. I pocketed the note with the address she had given me and passed Vincent's camera from hand to hand. It had worked all right. Something in that video had made Auggie free. He had seen something, been able to ascertain some truth, or find some meaning. But then again, I could say the same for my note. Hypothetically, I could say the same for me pulling him out of the water, in some parallel universe.
"... out of synch with the world. It wasn't for me anymore," Auggie had said. I had felt like that. I was seeing and understanding sequences that weren't meant to be seen and understood. My brain misfired and everything spelled doom. At some point, before I got ill all the time, before I became a shut in, I must have fallen through one of the cracks in the world, and was now in some sub-space. Limbo space. My new path in this place only led to one destination- death. Was the same true for Auggie? Had his path started to wither? Could he hear distant bells? Could he have been saved?
"Is it all planned?" I had asked, "Am I fated to die this way? Has it been so from the moment I was born?"
"Ask me an easier one," Vincent had muttered.
No. I would ask him again, because I was sure that he knew. Somewhere behind those white eyes lay a truth, an honour system that bound him. Something that made sure he rigidly and compulsively did what it was he did. No one would choose that job. No one would take joy in capturing the last moments of everyone around him. No one sane, anyway. In the time I had known Vincent, I had questioned his humanity, but I knew he wasn't completely unemotional. I could hear it in his voice rather than see it in his face. I imagined him as a pall-bearer of sorts, but why? I had to find him, and I had to-
My phone chimed. The text read: "Funny man, Vincent. Party @ 11:30 2night. 173 Cooper Grange. Funny man brings his own snacks- no human food being served. Garth."
Garth!
Some things, it seemed, still aligned for me. The right place at the right time, for once. The universe throwing me a final scrap. It turned out that I could have a final meeting with Vincent, if I wanted it.
Hungry and eager to prepare for the night ahead, I dashed to the corner shop and gave the clerk (who I fully expected never to see again after I bought the razor blades) a wry smile. I bought a few perishables and went home to set about making a meal, a proper meal. I spun around the kitchen wildly as I cooked, always a nightmare chef, and when I ate, I thought about what I would wear. I had rarely gone to house parties, even in my prime, but this was a vampire house party. Should I don a cloak?
When ten pm crawled around, I was too anxious to sit around anymore, and searched for directions to Cooper Grange. It wasn't too far, so I thought that it would be appropriate to do a Vincent, and walk. The snow was coming down thick and fast. In the pocket of my big coat, there was the camera. I had brought nothing else. I had considered bringing alcohol, of course, as it was a house party, before I remembered what it was that vampires actually drank. I hoped I wouldn't say anything offensive in front of them.
The sickness started again when I was halfway there. Mild at first, and easily ignored just by focusing on the rhythm of walking. Walking was hypnotic. Walking and keeping calm meant I didn't have to worry about the growing film of unease that made me shake under my thick coat. About the growing pressure in my head that made me picture my brain ballooning out of my skull.
Cooper Grange was a big cul-de-sac, full of huge, expensive townhouses. There was only one on the street, however, that was lit up, and laughter reverberated from the inside. Red light spilled from the windows- 173. This was the place. My stomach was in knots. That wonderful meal I'd made, not so wonderful now. It felt like I was digesting gravel, and I could already feel a lump in my throat that spelled impending vomit. I looked exactly how I was scared to look in everyday life. An ill freak, hunched over, clutching his stomach. I couldn't care about any of this now. Perhaps if I stayed quiet about it, and went into the party as if nothing was wrong, full of good-intent, then they'd martyr me in the next life. That is, if there was a next life. Perhaps I'd turn vamp. Vampires, and what else? Were there witches and werewolves? Goblins and frankensteins and little green ghouls? Standing outside the door of 173 Cooper Grange, I was transported to a sort of Halloween town in my mind, where everyone donned cheap rubber masks and hailed the grim reaper, parading pumpkin lanterns round the streets in his honour. All there was to eat would be trick or treating sweets, all to watch would be horror b-films and spooktacular TV specials. Vincent's world. I stumbled up to the front door, and knocked lamely. I was hanging off the door frame when the woman answered: she had a mullet, a badly broken nose, and a spiral shaped tattoo that curled around the left side of her face.
"Hungry?" she asked, looking at me sympathetically. She had a French accent.
"No," I said with a grimace, "I can't eat right now."
"Wait- who are you here with?"
"Vincent," I replied.
"Oh shit. Come in." I fell through the doorway and she led me past the stairs, where a few people sat and chatted, to the front room, where the brunt of the party was in full swing. Far from the costume party I had imagined, everything seemed fairly normal. This was just some random-er's house. People congregated in groups, laughing and shouting over the music, a stupid nu-metal track. The only thing amiss was that there were no drinks in hands, no food in sight. The furniture had been pushed back, a few chairs pressed against the wall, and a table in the far corner which should have, in the real-world, held bottles, and red plastic cups was covered in old TV sets. They were stacked on top of each other in a wild pyramid. Adding to the music and shouting, the cacophony of many different films playing over the top of each other was deafening. Everything was hooked up to extension cords, and loose wires littered the floor. They were all horror films, I realised.
I spun to the mullet girl: "Garth- do you know where he is?"
"In the kitchen I think," she said, and then smiled at someone over my shoulder, and went away.
I pushed past people, people who didn't look right. Someone caught me in the stomach by accident with their elbow, and I doubled over, trying not to throw up right there and then. I made it through to the kitchen. There were more old TVs set up in here, balanced precariously on the edges of the counters, their volume turned down low. I stumbled past one that showed a young man smacking his head against a mirror, bringing forth a trail of blood from his hairline, which glittered with broken glass. There was a stack of tapes on the kitchen island, and Garth came away from one of the benches, from two people he was talking with, and went to grab one.
I yelled at him in greeting. It was quieter in here, but not by much. The whole house thrummed with electrical power and confidence. A night to remember, I was sure. Garth recognised me and pulled me up. "Jesus, dude, are you good?"
"Where's Vincent?" I asked him through gritted teeth. The two people Garth had been talking to looked up. One looked delighted, the other, scared.
"He's not here with you?" Garth asked. I shook my head. "Then he's not here. I haven't seen him, anyhow. How come you came separately?"
I explained to him what had happened, and showed him the camera. One of the people pulled themselves away from the kitchen bench. It was the one who had looked scared. "So, he's not coming?" they asked, a hint of relief in their voice.
"Dime..." Garth chastised.
The other guy, the delighted one, joined us, now looking decidedly disappointed. "Bummer. I had cash to buy some shit off him. I'm Teddy." The guy raised his hand to mine, and I took it and shook it, my other arm still curled protectively around my belly. Teddy was dark-skinned, with a bandage wrapped around his hair. The other person, Dime, had long brown hair and a bad sun-burn (a sun-burn, in December, can you credit that). Garth introduced me to them both.
Dime eyed the camera warily. "Do you think when he finds you, he'll kill you?"
I paused, and then said decisively: "No, he won't kill me. And I'm gonna find him first."
"Good luck," Teddy said with a laugh, and gave the TV closest to us a wistful pat before moving off into the front room.
"Vince won't kill anyone, Dime." Garth said.
"Oh, you'll see. He's pissed at me! He's gonna rain down hell on me, you'll see."
"Hell on Newmaker, maybe."
"But he'll never find him. He could find me easy enough, take his anger out on-"
"Newmaker's the guy you sold Vincent's tape too, isn't it?" I cut in. "The 'First Visit' one?"
Dime grabbed me by the lapels. They looked me dead in the eyes, scared as hell. "I didn't know it was him. I barely knew who he was- you'll tell Vincent that, won't you? I didn't know who I was selling it to!"
I backed up, but Dime clung on. My mouth was dry. Garth separated us. "Leave him alone, bro. Vincent knows you didn't mean anything by it. No need to get wound up."
"Who's Newmaker?" I asked Garth once I had straightened myself up. He shared a look with Dime. "I'm out," said Dime, and he went back through to the main room.
Garth stared at me with incredulity. "How long have you known Vincent?" he asked me.
"Not long."
"I don't know if it's my place to say."
"That's what he said about you, when I asked.
"What did you ask?"
"If you were a vampire."
Garth laughed sensibly. "Yeah, I am, actually."
"Is everyone here?"
"Yeah, pretty much, dude."
I swallowed. "Am I... I mean, am I in danger?"
Garth slung an arm around my shoulder. "Oh, funny man," he said. "C'mon. Come watch us feed."
I let him drag me back into the main room without complaint. He gestured to Teddy, who stood by the TV table. As I watched, a girl on the TV screamed. A knife was plunged into her stomach and pulled out. The blood spray was immense- this was definitely a fictional film. A cheer came from some of the people standing in the front room, and Teddy ran his fingers over the screen. Static flickered in and replaced the image of the stabbed girl, her blood everywhere. Teddy pressed his full hand against the screen and threw his head up. His eyes rolled into the back of his skull and static fully consumed the image. The sound cut out, and when the image came back, it was in black and white. Teddy withdrew his hand, and looked me square in the eye. He looked fuller in the face. Well-fed.
"How's that taste, Ted?" Garth asked, a smile in his voice.
"Fucking amazing, man."
"Yeah, well don't forget to rewind it, or Bertha'll have my head."
Garth pulled me back into the kitchen.
"Vamps're a dying breed," Garth told me. "It's mostly video vamps now." I was astounded, unable to speak. "Hey, I was buzzed when I found out too, don't worry about it." Garth said. "'Course, by that time, they'd already pulled my fangs, so it's not as if I had much choice. Bertha called me a picky eater- that's not true, y'know." He flashed me a gap-filled grin. "Celluloid tastes just like the real thing."
I shook my head, trying to collect my thoughts. "Do you eat the videos Vincent makes?" I asked.
"Yeah, sometimes. If he'll sell to us. He doesnt often. He's..." Garth rummaged around for the right thing to say. "He's an odd-duck."
I pictured my corkboard, lonely at home and missing out on all the action. Before I could stop myself, a torrent of questions came fumbling out. "How old are you? And, and I'd heard vampires are allergic to garlic, and holy water- is that true? And can you go out during the day?"
Garth laughed at me, ignoring all of my questions. "Come on, I'll introduce you around."
And he did. I met a woman whose party trick was being able to take both her eyes out, and switch them around. I met a guy who was trussed up in a scarf, earmuffs, and mittens even though the house was warm and getting warmer with every jostled movement. Garth introduced me to a group of older women who were arguing about French Extremity Cinema (they gave me a terse greeting and went back to their conversation). One person pulled me aside and tried to offer me their pair of Walkman headphones: "Good enough for a snack, if you're on the move," he told me, before Garth informed him that I wasn't, in fact, a vampire. "Weird," the walkman person said, looking at me, before I was pulled away. In fact, I was just starting to have a good time, my mind buzzed with enough new information to throttle even the most persistent head-ache, when the front door burst open with a clatter enough to stop the party-goers in their tracks.
A young kid burst in, clutching his red side, which was dripping with blood. "Hunters!" he yelled. "Dentists are on their way!" the music was abruptly cut off, and the sofa was brought forward. The room filled with anxious chatter as a couple pulled the kid through and lay him down on the chair.
"Get him something!" someone yelled.
"Something gory to take the edge off!"
A TV set was brought forward. I recognised Dime, hunched over and fumbling to put a tape in the player. The kid groaned and tossed and fretted on the sofa while someone else patted his forehead soothingly. Dime sped up whatever tape they were playing and found a good part. Someone's arm got ripped off on the screen and hollers filled the room from the blown-out speakers. Someone lifted the injured kid's arm, and placed his fingertips on the screen. He moaned gratefully, and the image faltered. Celluloid blew out, and the screen went dark. When it flickered back to life, the black and white man clutched his injured stump. His blood now evidently belonged to the injured kid, who sat up and thanked us weakly, pulling up his ruined shirt to examine his wound. The injury, a stab-wound by my estimate, right below his ribs, was already closing over, and I watched in morbid fascination as the skin knitted itself back together. Someone went around and switched off the remaining TVs, and everyone came close to listen to what the kid had to say. Storytime, I thought.
"Hunters," the kid said. "They had been following me. I don't know where I picked them up, and I don't know who tipped 'em off. There's three of 'em. Inexperienced, though. Stupid. Two had knives, one had the pliers. One with a knife went for me without warning, and the plier guy was in the back the whole time, telling him off for being too quick. They're coming for teeth, man."
"Lock the doors," someone called out.
"Barricade them," another said.
"They'll smoke us out," came the shouts. "We should run." The room was suddenly alive with rushed activity. With fear like that, everything has a pulse.
Garth piped up, his voice loud and clear over the chatter. "Calm down!" he yelled. "We're not going anywhere."
"Easy enough for toothless here to say, he's got nowt to lose!"
"Hey!" Garth yelled indignantly, then lifted his hands as if soothing a rabid dog. The crowd quietened as he walked toward the centre of the room, commanding attention. I had to remind myself that Garth was a tailor, not an army general, or a speech-giver. The control he exerted over the room was electric. "We're not running," Garth said again. "Everyone stays put. I'll go out there to see them off." Garth the diplomat. Even I couldn't help but feel a grudging respect, a sort of admiration that made me truly believe that if Garth sorted it, it would be alright. Then Garth turned and pointed at me. "He's coming with me. Any other volunteers are welcome to join."
My jaw slackened, but then someone shouted: "It's true, he can send them away! He's no blood-eater." The person with the Walkman. Murmurs came again, this time directed at me. Garth pulled me to the front with him.
"We're going out there," he said, loudly. "Any takers?" The room went quiet.
The kid rose himself up from the sofa. "I"ll go with. I'll show you where they had me."
Garth nodded. "Thanks, Cowboy. Alright. Turn the music back on, have fun. We'll be back soon enough." And then Garth was pulling me to the front door with Cowboy in tow before I had gotten a word in edgeways.