American Blood: A Vampire's Story (12 page)

“There was a large tissue defect on the right side of Christopher’s neck. I estimated that it was about the size of a small fist. The skin and muscle had been cleanly removed by something impressively sharp. The right jugular was missing a couple inches of length. I asked to see the removed piece but Peterson told me that it . . . that it was missing.”

Ryan considered this for a moment. “She told me she could control herself . . . that only when she was extremely hungry she might lose control. This doesn’t make any sense to me. I mean she fed last night before this happened, didn’t she? I just missed you when I went to ask her some questions . . . yet she didn’t seem like she wanted to talk.”

“Um, well she kind of fed,” Siri said. “There was something wrong with the donor, something didn’t agree with her I think. It was something about his blood, it didn’t taste right. She barely took any now that I think about it.”

“Oh Christ,” Ryan said. “Was there anything unusual on the donor’s blood workup?”

“No, everything was right smack in the middle of her preferences, but I did notice it wasn’t the original print out.”

“Why would you be given a copy?”

“Probably just a mix up by the internal filing office.”

“Do you think that maybe we are jumping to the wrong conclusion here?” Ryan asked. “I mean isn’t it possible that a terrible accident really did happen to Christopher and Calida had nothing to do with it.” Ryan shrugged. “Sorry, but I don’t trust the Director. There’s something about him that doesn’t seem right to me.”

Siri shook her head. “I asked the Director the same thing and he told me that a video file would be available for review as soon as I was finished assisting.”

“From the surveillance cameras?”

“Yes, I watched it before I came here. It was her. She killed Christopher.”

“What else did the Director tell you?”

“He informed me that the agency wouldn’t hold us to blame for what happened. She is after all, what she is.”

Ryan turned away from Siri for a moment as a deep anger welled up from inside. “How considerate of the agency,” he said, finally.

“But it’s not our fault!”

Ryan thought for a moment and in a calm voice said, “Maybe it is.”

“I . . . I’m not following you.”

“Where is this video file?” Ryan asked.

“It’s in a locked folder on the level three security network. I can access it from any of your workstations as long as it’s a member of the parent domain.”

“I want to see it,” Ryan said. “I want to see it with my own eyes.”

C
alida came awake on the cool concrete floor. The odor of death lingered in the air. Usually after such a rich blood meal she would stay asleep for several days, but not this time. The blood she had taken last night possessed a grave innocence that deeply troubled her. She could feel that the sun was still twenty minutes from setting, but something told her that she had slept enough.

She slowly stood up and looked around at her confines. The blood that had been spilled during her feeding had been cleaned away. She glanced down at her jeans and blouse. They were damp with Christopher’s blood which had begun to dry. Calida felt an immediate urge to get her clothes off. She tore the blouse and jeans from her body and threw them into a corner. She walked over to the shower head and let it run until a thick steam began to build. She leaned against the stainless steel wall and started to wash the memory of the night from her skin.

And her demon returned.

“You were magnificent last night,” the Director said as he walked into the cell and sat down on a chair.

Calida ignored him and began to wash the dried blood from her hair using a shampoo that smelled of strawberries and cream.

“Ooh yes, your silence is fine. Do not be troubled. I have no need to administer any punishment—in fact, I prefer that you listen.”

“What could a twisted bastard like you say that I’d want to hear?” Calida asked. And she turned toward him and began to work up a thick lather that she used to wash her face and neck.

“Last night was a test, my dear. Nothing more. Yes, yes, it’s unfortunate that one so innocent had to be served up to you, but I had to know if you possess any troubling delusions of morality that might interfere with your responsibilities.”

“And what have you decided?”

“That you are nearly pure of purpose.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, come now, what you did was quick, but also compassionate. I only hope this sense of compassion will not prove to be a weakness.”

“I did exactly what you wanted,” Calida said. “But I’m not the real killer, not this time you sick old man.”

“We are both killers, to be sure,” the Director said. “There will always be a place, I dare say, a need, for killers such as us.”

“It wasn’t necessary. I would have gone out and been your good little assassin. You made me take him because it pleased you to do so.”

“Yes it pleases me,” the Director said, placing his pipe between his lips. “It pleases me to always maintain certain advantages since, after all, as you have said: I’m merely a sick old man.”

“What more advantage do you need?”

“It is because of my admiration for you, for your abilities, that I require even greater advantage. You are, after all, very resourceful. How else could you have survived so long in such a hostile world?”

“So what advantage
did
you gain last night?” Calida asked. “It was a pointless death.”

“But just look at the fullness of your lovely tummy,” the Director replied. “The meal certainly hasn’t harmed you.”

“No.”

“It didn’t have to be that young man last night,” the Director said. “Is that clear enough for you to understand?”

Calida stepped closer to the Director—her nakedness only heightened her stunning beauty. She gave serious thought to making a full speed try at the man, but it was still day and her full strength had not yet returned.

“What is it that you want from me?” she asked, ignoring his question. “I’m done performing tricks for you.”

“Well, well, you asked the right question at last,” he replied. “That is why I am here . . . to discuss your first official duty as a member of this agency.”

Calida considered making a try for him for another moment, but her instincts prevailed and she decided to be patient. “And I thought you were here to look at what you can never have.”

“Ah, but I do have you. I have you precisely as I need you. Are you ready to listen? There is considerable ground to cover.”

“What do you want?”

“Thank you,” the Director replied, and he placed his unlit pipe back into his suit jacket. “Your first task is to remove a loathsome individual named, Manic Dee, from our society. He is causing great harm to our country’s youth while also providing assistance to our enemies abroad.”

“Where is this Manic person?”

“At present he is on the west coast, Los Angeles, to be exact. He owns a music club that caters to fellow drug dealers, gang members, prostitutes, etc. Your first assignment is to eliminate him.”

“Why do you need me to do it?” Calida asked. “This would be a simple kill, even for you.”

“Yes, yes, the agency could solve this problem rather quickly. But what I must know is can you?”

“So this is just another one of your tests?” Calida turned off the showerhead, walked over to her small dresser, and picked up a folded towel. “Do your tests always involve killing someone?”

“Only when it is required,” the Director said. “Think of this as a field exercise, nothing more. Now you must infiltrate this club and place yourself in a position to perform the elimination without drawing any attention to what you are. Do you understand?”

Calida started working on her hair with the towel. “So how am I supposed to kill him? With a gun?”

“No, no, I don’t want there to be any witnesses or evidence that you exist. You must disguise yourself, of course. How you perform the elimination is at your discretion. But you mustn’t be caught in the act, you see. And you must not leave any physical evidence on the body that would be suspicious.”

“I’m a vampire you fool.”

“You must hide any feeding marks.”

“And how am I to get to Los Angeles? Walk?”

“The last thing this agency needs is a trail of your dead meals lined up across the country. No, you shall be flown on an agency jet to a secure location. You will be given whatever you need as far as clothes, money, or any other necessity that you desire.”

“What about the necessity of blood?” she asked, and wrapped the towel around her head. “What if I need time to get close to this man?”

“There are many homeless in Los Angeles. Just show the proper discretion with your meals. If you make a mistake, if you draw unwanted attention to yourself, the exercise will come to an immediate end. Now are we clear on everything?”

“Well, when do I leave this cage?”

“Tonight, my dear. Oh, one final point . . . you will also be required to gather some information from the mind of a Pashtun opium dealer who will be meeting with the target at his yacht.  You shall be thoroughly briefed on this matter during the plane ride to Los Angeles.”

Calida retrieved a second towel and began to dry her feet and legs. “Anything else?”

“Do you have any final questions?”

The chance to get out of her cage was an offer Calida couldn’t refuse. “How exactly do you want this man to die?”

“Messy will do just fine.”

R
yan watched the video again. It was split into four windows that showed what happened from the ceiling cameras. One thing couldn’t be denied. Calida had killed the young man.

“Do you see?” Siri asked. “Right . . . there. That’s the killing bite.”

Ryan watched, but he paid even closer attention to the audio that had been recorded. “Listen, it sounds like she says ‘Don’t worry, Sweetheart’ and then she . . . she kills him,” he observed. “It’s sick.”

“I’m going to replay it,” Siri said.

The video restarted and Ryan turned up the audio.

“Why does she keep looking toward the front of the cell,” he asked. “Is she afraid someone, maybe a guard, might catch her?”

“But where are the guards?” Siri asked. “How did Christopher get himself into this?”

“Go back to where Christopher tried to take her over to the feeding station,” Ryan instructed.

Siri reversed the video.

“Stop! There. Look at her. Why does she do that?”

Siri again ran this short segment of the video. “Look at her,” she said. “Is she in pain? See how her eyes suddenly squeeze tight?”

“I see it. She does the same thing about thirty seconds later. I don’t get it. Does she always experience these weird little seizures before she makes a kill?”

“Well, you should know,” Siri replied, straight-faced. “But I wouldn’t think so. It would make her susceptible to injury from a struggling victim.”

“Hmm, I agree. I think there’s something wrong with her—something we’ve missed. Maybe she hasn’t fully recovered from the night she was captured.”

“Okay, even if she hasn’t fully recovered, and even if there is something causing her pain, she still killed him,” Siri said. “And now we know what happened to the missing piece of Christopher’s neck.”

“I didn’t catch that. Where is it? Somewhere on the floor?”

“No.” Siri forwarded the tape to the moment of the killing bite. Calida could be seen opening her jaws uncomfortably wide and suddenly bringing her head down. “Look. She never spits anything out.”

Ryan turned away from the screen wishing he hadn’t just watched this terrible moment for the third time. “It’s missing because she swallowed it,” he said.

“Remember what she said?” Siri began. “Something about taking more than blood from those who are just food.”

“You think it’s a dietary need?”

“It’s probably something she can’t help,” Siri replied. “Blood is a rich source for protein and other important nutrients, but she’ll also need more direct sources of calcium and high energy fats to keep up her regenerative abilities.”

“You have to wonder if her dietary needs are genetically programmed at this point.”

“They must be.”

“Then why all this pretense with him?” Ryan asked. “She wasn’t treating him like food. She was being kind to him, even more than kind.”

“Don’t let it bother you,” Siri replied. “She’s a vampire, after all.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” Ryan replied, defensively. “She’s a killer, we all know that. But something else is going on here, something we’re just not seeing.”

“What do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out what happened.”

“Where will you start?”

“By asking her why she did it.”

“I’m coming with you. I don’t think anyone should be left alone with her, ever again.”

“Still the question is: why was Christopher allowed to be in there with her?”

“You don’t believe that he was able to arrange being alone with her, do you?”

“Here? At this place with that little over obsessive control freak running things?” Ryan shook his head. “I don’t know how he’s involved, but one thing is for sure: he’s involved. It’s his nature.”

Siri stood up. “Then why are we still here?”

“There is science, logic, reason; there is thought verified by experience. And then there is California.”

—
Edward Abbey
, American Author

T
he only nineteen-hundred-year-old woman on the planet had never before flown on a plane. After her final meeting with the Director, she received a fresh set of clothes and after the sun dropped below the horizon, she had been escorted out of her prison. Calida asked to see Ryan and Siri before she left but, the Director insisted she could speak with them upon her successful return if, and whenever, that might be.

During the six-hour flight she had been fully briefed on her mission. There were additional aspects of her assignment that the Director neglected to tell her, which didn’t surprise Calida in the least. The agent who gave the briefing was completely terrified of her. He kept repeating himself, apparently unsure whether she would attack him, or that she was unable to retain what he said. Before the flight reached the halfway point she tired of him and started reciting word for word everything he had discussed from the beginning. For the rest of the flight he didn’t talk much.

Calida had been to Los Angeles many times during her travels across America. Every few years she would find herself back at this city and spend a month or two walking the darkened streets waiting for a robber or rapist, or even a murderer to chance upon her, which all too frequently is how she obtained a blood meal. And the Watts District, where her target’s club had been established, boasted some of the best hunting grounds she had ever known. She hoped that the community’s revitalization plan since her last visit had failed.

Calida arrived at her safe house: a rundown motel on the Imperial Highway that defined the district’s southern border. She got out of the van that had taken her from LAX and stood at the curb for a moment. She inhaled the familiar odors of the city: a mixture of living sweat, smoke, decay, and the faint presence of the ocean blowing in from the west. But her moment of quiet solitude was broken as the van sped away, leaving her alone on the broken sidewalk.

As soon as she walked into the motel she became aware that its looks were meant to deceive. It had been carefully maintained to appear in need of repair, as if it struggled to keep its door open for a desperate clientele. Calida noticed that both the clerk behind the lobby desk and the man painting a handrail were obviously agents, at least to her. She followed the clerk to a room at the back of the motel. As soon as she entered the room another agent, a woman, greeted her.

“Agent Lopez,” she said to Calida. “My name is Allison and I’ve been assigned to review your final instructions. Please close the door so I can get started.”

“I don’t need any more instructions,” Calida said as she closed the door.

“I have put together a selection of appropriate clothes and footwear for you,” Allison said, pressing on. “It’s best to go tight with the clothes so you’ll fit right in at your destination.”

Calida gave a quick review of the well worn leather boots that were grouped next to the bed. They all had stiletto heels and ranged from dark brown to polished black. “Anything else?”

Allison gave Calida a once over. “The boots are all size seven, and the clothes are a mix of threes and fives. You won’t have any trouble attracting the right attention.”

“That’s never been a problem.”

“Um, no, it doesn’t look like it would be,” Allison said. “There is money and a choice of arms in the closet.”

Calida looked around the room. It was freshly painted with new carpeting. “I didn’t know the agency was in the cheap motel business,” she said.

“This place has been used since the early nineties. Anyone can get a room in the front section. Those rooms look like the outside of the motel, of course. Mostly we get Johns and their prostitutes who need an hour. We never turn anyone away. And we always watch and listen, to everything.”

“I’m not surprised,” Calida said, and she pulled aside the edge of curtain at the window next to the door and looked outside through the closely spaced iron bars imbedded in the masonry.

“The rest of my instructions are as follows. You are to receive no assistance from us . . . which is unusual. Insertion and contact are your responsibility. Once you have met the objective you are to return to the lobby of the motel for pick up. Do not return to your room after you’ve retired the mark.”

“Are you finished?”

“Um, yes, agent Lopez.”

“Then here are my instructions for you,” Calida said. “I will need to be left alone. No one is to enter this room for any reason. Understand?”

“That won’t be a problem,” Allison replied. “Anyone who so much as approaches your door will be taking a long sleep.”

“I hope you’re right,” Calida said. “Either you people take care of anyone outside of that door or you’ll have a serious mess to clean up if they get inside.”

“No one will get inside,” Allison said, confidently. “But we are used to cleaning up messes around here.”

“Not the kind I make.”

The woman nodded and walked toward the door. “Will you be going out this evening?”

Calida gained a directional sense of the sun. There was less than two hours until dawn. “No, I will stay here until sunset. Just make sure those two fools in the building across the alley don’t mistake me for an intruder when I do choose to leave. If one of them takes a shot at me you’ll have a mess over there, too.”

“Um, yes, agent Lopez,” Allison said in a respectful tone. “And can I give you some advice?”

“Can you?”

“You can’t go walking around Watts at night looking like this, I mean it’s your face, mostly. You need to ugly yourself up, a lot.”

“You’re sweet.”

“I wasn’t told to provide you with a makeup kit. Did you bring one along?”

“Don’t worry. I brought everything I need.”

Allison looked at Calida and then at the floor between the bed and door. “But you didn’t bring anything.”

Calida gave the woman a slight smile. “It’s time for you to go.”

Allison reached for the doorknob and before leaving she said: “Good luck, agent, and stay safe.”

Calida nodded at her and as soon as the door closed she secured all three bolts on the heavy duty steel door. She wouldn’t need blood tonight so there was no reason to take a walk. She adjusted the thick black curtains so that they completely blocked the only window at the front of her room.

Calida undressed and lay down on the bed and insinuated herself beneath the covers. She reached over and turned the light off. The sheets and blanket had been freshly cleaned which she found to be amusing, but also comforting. And the last conscious thought she entertained before going to sleep was that she had just flown twenty-seven hundred miles to go from one cage to another.

“W
hy was she allowed to leave her cell?” Ryan demanded.

“As I have told you,” the Director replied, “and I will not repeat myself again, she is on a special assignment for the agency.”

Ryan could only look at the man, dumbfounded by the revelation.

“Why this sudden surprise?” the Director asked. “I made the agency’s intention quite clear to you regarding Miss Villena. Once her cooperation was gained there would be plans for her.”

“Miss Villena just drained one of your recruits,” Ryan said. “I wouldn’t call that cooperation. How can you trust her being around people on the outside? This is insane.”

“Ooh, no, that was merely an unfortunate mistake by the young man,” The Director said. “His progress wasn’t meeting our expectations anyway, so it was probably for the best, really.”

Ryan fought hard against the anger boiling up from inside. He gripped the back of the chair he was standing behind and said, “I didn’t expect his death to make much of an impact on you.”

“The video is self explanatory,” the Director said as he reached for his pipe on the desk. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you please sit down so we can discuss this civilly?” the Director asked.

Ryan remained standing. “It all seems a little too convenient.”

“Be careful, Doctor Ryan. I will not allow you to bring distress to an already delicate situation. The young man’s body is being turned over to the family today. We must be properly circumspect and consider the needs of the agency.”

“And what about the needs of his family?”

“Do you think they need to be told that their son was killed by a vampire?” the Director replied, plastically. “A vampire that was under both your and Doctor Lei’s supervision? Is this what you really want?”

“We have been working hard at our responsibilities.” Ryan dug his fingers into the back of the chair. “The lack of security that led to this is not because of any decisions we have made. I can’t believe you have the nerve to—”

“Nerve? What nerve do I possess?” the Director calmly asked. “Please direct me to your recommendation that the barrier needed to be replaced.” The Director started to search through a large folder on his desk.

“You know I haven’t made such a recommendation,” Ryan said. “But I also never recommended that it be removed. My research has been—”

“And that is the real issue here,” the Director interjected. “What has your research provided about Miss Villena’s secrets?”

“We’re only in the preliminary stage of data acquisition,” Ryan replied. “It might be months, or longer, before we can start unraveling her genetics. I was very clear with you regarding expectations on the research.”

“But unlike you,” the Director began, “I don’t have the luxury of spending months, or longer, inside the quiet shelter of a laboratory. Your lack of progress has really given me little choice in this matter.”

“I’d hardly call it a lack of progress,” Ryan said, trying to untwist the meaning of the Director’s last statement.

“All the same, the decision to use her has been made, for good or ill. Now is there anything else you would like to discuss?”

“You’re too comfortable with the blood of others on your hands,” Ryan said.

“My, my, we’re not the Boy Scouts, Doctor Ryan. The agency must always be ready to meet any serious threat to our country. And yes, we have lost, and will continue to lose men in the field.”

“He wasn’t lost in the field. He was lost right under your nose.”

The Director bored his eyes into Ryan and with an emotionless voice he asked, “Is that an accusation you are directing at me, Doctor?”

Ryan wondered if he had pushed too far, but he held the Director’s gaze for a long moment. “It could have been prevented,” he replied.

“That is true of many unfortunate events,” the Director said. “You’re concern for this young man’s death is greatly appreciated by this agency, Doctor Ryan. Now is there anything else you would like to discuss?”

Ryan could see that he was never going to get any real answers regarding Christopher’s death from the Director. “So where is she?” he finally asked.

“Her current location isn’t important to your research.”

“Then when will she be back?”

“That depends on her, really. If she is able to complete her assignment in a timely manner she will return in a few days.”

“And if she doesn’t complete this assignment?”

“It’s really a very simple task, Doctor Ryan.”

“I’m sure it is . . . so who has she been sent to kill?”

The Director gently placed his pipe back down on the desk and looked intently at Ryan. “Who said anything about her killing anyone? She is merely participating in what I would call a small training exercise.” The Director looked back at his desk. “Now are we finished? I have other important matters demanding my attention. I will be meeting with the young man’s family soon to convey the agency’s condolences on their tragic loss.”

Ryan straightened up and released his grip on the chair’s back. “No, I have nothing more to say to you.”

“Very good,” the Director said. “Now, I want an update from you on this possible new element—it intrigues me.”

“I’ve handed this area over to Professor Balken,” Ryan said.

“Just make sure you provide me with timely reports on this untrihexium. It is a most remarkable discovery.”

“Everything about her is remarkable,” Ryan said, and he turned to leave the Director’s office.

But before he reached the door the Director said, “And don’t worry about her, Doctor Ryan. I’m sure everything will work out just fine.”

Ryan left the Director’s office both bewildered and angry. He was bewildered by the Director’s transparent effort to deflect responsibility for Christopher’s death onto his and Siri’s shoulders. But he was also angry because the Director’s last comment hit too close to the mark. Ryan was worried about Calida. He couldn’t deny, even to himself, that he wanted to see her again.

T
he large electric sign on the front of the old two story brick building flashed “The Party House” in dazzling red and white letters that created an oasis of light in this otherwise dark and beaten down section of the district. Below the sign a line of Friday night, south L.A. club worshippers faithfully waited for their chance as they inched forward.

It was a warm, southern California evening that would have been clear if not for the mid altitude smoke from a large brush fire that burned in the small canyons to the east of the city. The wannabes outside the club didn’t care. They never looked up to see the stars anyway as the driving bass from an energetic mix inside the club shook the air, teasing them with an empty promise of something better if only they could get inside.

Three door men were exercising their nightly humiliation of those making it to the front of the line. They refused admission to a group of young men who pleaded to gain entry and even offered to slip them a fifty. Yet two girls who were both a couple years shy of twenty-one, but dressed like calls girls looking for a rich John, were quickly ushered in without paying the door. It was the responsibility of these three to make sure that the club had a healthy imbalance between the sexes. And these doormen performed their job with deliberate efficiency.