American Blood: A Vampire's Story (13 page)

A woman strolled along the line ignoring the enthusiastic platitudes being directed at her. When she arrived at the entrance to the club she smiled at the doormen and continued past.

“Whoa there, Sweetness,” one of the men said, and he reached out and stopped her from reaching the steps. “You just can’t go walkin’ into here. This is the Dee-man’s place.”

Calida gave the man a disinterested smile. “Are you saying that he prefers boys?”

“Check this bitch out,” he said, laughing to the other two. “She asked if the Dee-man likes boys. What a crazy bitch.”

“Dawg, she’s fine,” one of the other men said.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” the first one said. “And look at those boots . . . hmm mm, maybe you don’t wanna go inside, maybe you-n-me can go have a little party.”

“I don’t think you could handle me alone,” Calida said.

“You kiddin’ me,” he said, bending down to get a close look. “I’d split you.” And he exchanged playful jabs with the other two.

Calida looked at the man’s face and then teasingly lowered her eyes. “I’d finish you off in an hour, sweetie.”

“Oh shit! We got ourselves a winner right here,” the third doorman chimed in. “So what’s your name, baby?”

“Now who inside is gonna care what my name is?”

“No, Sweetness, nobody cares. Now come over here and let me see whatcha got.”

Calida stepped up to the biggest of the three doormen and rapped her arms around his thick neck. She stroked his skin for a second and released the tiny messengers produced by her skin.

“Maybe we can hook up for a little snack sometime,” she said, while he grabbed her from behind. I’ll be in town for a couple days, but right now I want to dance.” Calida reached out into his thoughts and said, “You’re gonna let me go dance, right?”

The man blinked and started to nod. “Yeah, you can go dance.”

“Jamaal, this ain’t time for a date,” the third one said. “Get your sorry ass back over here and help with the line. You know the rules, bitch. We play on our own time.”

“Dawg, I ain’t your bitch.” he replied. “Sweetness, you just go on in now and if the Dee-man sees you tell him Jamaal sent him a present.”

“Jamaal?”

“That’s right. Every fine piece we let in that he likes gives us a little bonus, you understand? The Dee-man knows how to treat his boys.”

“Don’t worry, Honey, I’ll tell him personal.”

“Don’t you forget about me now. I’ll treat you real fine.”

Calida gave him her naughtiest smile and walked through the entrance to the club. As she entered she was immediately confronted by one of her favorite foods, a nameless jerk.

“C’mon, let’s get nasty on the floor,” he said.

Calida gave the jerk a wistful look. His heavy cologne reminded her of coal tar, which bothered her, so she let her fingers graze his cheek as she brushed past.

Calida took in the activity around her. Everywhere lights flashed in synch to the hard bass line of the music. The club was packed wall to wall. And rising above everyone on the large dance floor were a half dozen black pedestals with girls dancing inside glass tubes that pulsed with colored light to the beat of the music. Yet even among this surplus of eager young females more than a few lustful glances were cast her way.

The club scene was nothing new to Calida, just another means to her end. So she walked around for a few minutes, smiling here and pressing up against someone there. Offers to buy her drinks she just ignored. It was a blood rich environment and she thought it would be nice to have at least a little snack later on depending how the night went.

Calida completed an entire circuit around the lower level of the club and then slinked her way to the middle of the dance floor. She started to gyrate with the music and moved back and forth among a growing group of admirers. In some indefinable way her movements were a little more sensuous—her eyes a little more seductive—than the other women on the floor. And they noticed her, too, and started to cast jealous glances as she attracted more than her fair share of the available men. Calida on the dance floor caused hormones and tensions to edge higher.

A new presence entered her awareness. Calida made a slow turn and casually looked at the newcomer as she continued to move with the up-tempo rhythm.

“You’ve been picked to go upstairs,” the muscular man said. “So what you wanna do?”

Calida reached forward and placed her right hand snugly into the crook of his elbow. She allowed him to pull her along through the heavy crowd. Several women close by had watched as the invitation was given and accepted. Calida ignored their hateful thoughts and made a point to smile at each one as she passed by.

She was led to a stairway next to one of the club’s side bars on the south side of the dance floor. Two impressively large men in black t-shirts and jeans allowed Calida and her escort to gain access to the stairs. Calida observed the details of the club’s interior. She hadn’t survived this long by ignoring her surroundings.

At the top of the stairs there was another more intimate bar that overlooked the dance floor below. And by a clever trick of sound design the music wasn’t quite as loud as on the lower level.

Two girls were in the process of being dragged away toward the stairs by another one of these huge, overly muscled men that Calida had determined were more bodyguard than bouncer.

“No, no . . . let us stay,” the one girl said, twisting back toward a large, curved, black leather sofa where a man sat alone.

“Sorry, girls, but the man says you have to go.”

“But we were treating him sweet.”

“Yeah, real sweet. Don’t we look good? You tellin’ me we don’t look good.”

“I ain’t telling you anything,” he said and as Calida was led passed, the two girls suddenly noticed her.

“You’re making us leave for this bitch?” the first one asked.

“She ain’t nothing. Come on Dee, get rid of the bitch and let us stay,” said the second girl. “You know will treat you like sugar.”

The man on the sofa shook his head and gave them a dismissive wave.

“I want no more shit from you two,” the bodyguard said. “You keep the shit up and you’ll be out for good.”

Calida’s escort brought her over to the sofa, placed his hand firmly on her shoulder and said, “Now you sit here and if the man wants to talk you’ll know you can stay.”

She allowed herself to be pushed down and once she was seated her escort walked over to the bar and sat on a stool.

Calida looked at the man on the sofa. He wore a Los Angeles Lakers jersey and a pair of white sweat pants. Around his neck were several heavy gold chains and on his head was a purple and yellow cap that was turned to the side. His eyes would have been hidden to anyone else behind the dark sunglasses, but Calida could easily see him carefully looking at her.

“I’ve been told to call you Sweetness,” he said in a low, deliberate voice that was pleasing to Calida.

“That’s what my friend outside called me,” Calida said.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Jamaal, he asked me to tell you that he sent a present if we talked.”

He lowered his dark glasses for a moment and made a slow pass from Calida’s boots to her hair. “Yeah, Jamaal knows something good when he sees it. Sometimes the fool tries to make his own move, but the others know how to bust him.”

Calida bit her lower lip and leaned back on the sofa while she crossed her legs, showing off the fine black mesh stockings she wore. “You can call me Sweetness, but my name is Cali, you choose,” she said.

“I like em both,” he said. “Never heard of Cali before.”

“It’s an Indian name.”

“I was trying to figure what you are. I didn’t notice the dot until you came up here. So you’re Indian? Never been with an Indian babe before.”

Calida slinked over to him and placed her arm around his waist. “Never? You’ve been deprived.”

“Sweetness, Manic ain’t never been deprived.” And he took his hand and buried his fingers in Calida’s thick black hair.

Calida let him tug on her hair and said, “I’d be the last woman you’d ever need.” And she placed her hand on his leg and eased her red nails across his thigh.

“You know how many girls tell me that?” he asked, then chuckled. “Ya’ll talk the same talk.”

“I know what I got,” Calida replied. “I know you’re curious, or I wouldn’t be up here.”

“Yeah I’m curious, but I’ve never seen you in my place before. I’d remember you. Tell me where an angel like you comes from?”

“You think I’m an angel?”

“You look like one.”

“I’m nothing like an angel,” Calida said, and she moved her hand higher.

“You ain’t no angel. Angels don’t dance like that. You’ve got one evil groove on the floor. You put all the girls I pay to shame.”

“Is that why you wanted me up here? To tell me you like how I dance?”

“Just told you that.”

“Maybe I can give you a private dance . . . you want that?”

“Whoa, you’re a quick honey. Yeah, I’d like a real personal dance—” He suddenly stopped tugging Calida’s hair. “Dawg, what are you stopping my business for? You know you don’t interrupt me when I’m with a fine woman like Sweetness here.”

“Sorry Boss,” the bodyguard said. “That appointment you been waiting for is at the boat.”

“Shit! Those fools always show up at the wrong times. That’s why this country kicked their sorry asses all over their own sorry country.”

“Should I make ‘em wait?”

Manic looked at Calida. “Sweetness, I’ve some business right now . . . why don’t you wait up here and when I’m done I’ll have my boys bring you over so you can give me that dance?”

“I can’t wait around anymore tonight,” Calida replied. “But I’ll dance for you tomorrow night. Just for you.”

“Awright, Sweetness . . . you tell my boys out front to get you a limo ride home. And don’t you go playing round with Jamaal. I ain’t playing with you after Jamaal. Word got out on something like that it’d bust me.”

Calida leaned up into him and placed her lips on his. “I’m not here for Jamaal,” she said after the kiss. “Just don’t eat any salty foods until I see you tomorrow.”

“Why Sweetness?”

“So you’ll taste good.”

“Damn, I hate my life tonight.” He took his sunglasses off and tossed them on the small drink table in front of the sofa.

Calida observed that he had one green eye and one brown. She decided that, all things considered, he was good looking. “Too bad you have to go,” she said.

“Dawg, get me outta here now or I’m gonna miss my appointment,” he said, and after giving Calida one more look, left with his body guard.

Calida watched him leave and noticed “Manic-D” spelled on the back of his jersey. After a moment of watching the mayhem below on the dance floor, she stood up and made straight for the stairs. As soon as she was back on the lower level she walked through a swing door with a sign that said: “Ho’s.”

A few minutes later a blonde walked out wearing a pair of black leather boots, a black sequin skirt, and black mesh stockings. A short, unsteady man wearing baggy jeans that were falling off his waist and a grey sweat hoody that appeared to have been the target of several thrown drinks immediately confronted Calida.

“Hey, baby, where ya been all night?”

Calida smiled at him. “Don’t you remember? We met when I first walked in.”

“Huh? We did?”

“Sure, baby. So you want to leave with me?”

His eyes lit up like he had just hit the biggest jackpot of his life. “You—you want to leave . . . you want to—to hook up with me?”

“You’re just my type,” Calida said.

“Hallelujah,” he shouted. “I ain’t ever been nobody’s type before. I knew this new scent would bring somethin’ good. Now you come with me,” he impatiently continued, as if he was nervous Calida would change her mind. “I got a ride in the lot across the street.”

“Just promise you’ll feed me.”

“Sure, I’ll feed you good . . . uh, what’s your name?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Uh, my name’s Leech.”

“That doesn’t matter either.”

“I like girls and I like money.”

—
Snoop Dogg
, American Poet

“S
EQUENCE MATCH” flashed on the display of the analysis workstation that the HeliScopes and Crays dumped their data into. Ryan noticed the alert from behind a nearby lab bench, but he forced himself to finish with his research journal entry before getting up.

“You see that?” Henry asked.

“Might be nothing,” Ryan replied, trying to show calm before a possible storm. He closed his journal, walked over to the flashing display, and sat down. “Hmm, that search program I wrote finally made a complete pass without hanging up,” he observed. “With all of the line editing and additions I didn’t think even the Crays would be able to run this in less than a month.”

“I can’t believe you even tried to run a time-based, two dimensional search,” Henry said. “That you even wrote the program . . . no thanks.”

“I thought it’d be easy, but I never learn,” Ryan said. “Hmm, it looks like we have a sequence match between Sample One A, from the first test batch, and Sample Twelve A, which I prepped and loaded into the HelioScopes two days ago.”

“How close is the match?” Henry asked.

“Uh . . . it—it looks like—Good Lord! How about the whole length?”

“No way, you’re seeing things,” Henry said, and he came over to Ryan.

“I only see what my eyes tell me. And we have better than a ninety-nine percent match. Now how did that happen?”

“I’m going to change my belief system,” Henry said. “Or maybe I’ll just redo graduate school.

“And I’ll join—”

Again “SEQUENCE MATCH” flashed on the display.

“What’s going on here?” Ryan asked. “The other Cray found another match?”

“Yep, looks like samples One B and Twelve B?” Henry replied.

“So what’s next? One C and Twelve C?”

A third alert popped up, followed by a fourth and a fifth.

“These samples, let me see . . . uh, sets one through twelve were taken over an eight day period starting with the blood samples from her first night to the skin and blood that we got from her on day eight which was sample set twelve.”

“Okay, so what?”

Ryan shrugged. “It appears that her DNA sequence reset itself . . . .” Ryan studied the data for another moment. “Is this right? Her DNA reset itself after eight days of sampling?”

“But the replication mechanisms don’t work that way,” Henry said. “How would the polymerases know what the sequence from seven days ago was? They’d need a template to make a copy. But her template keeps changing.”

“There’s something we’re missing.” Ryan frowned. “Where is this template hiding? It’s not in any of the samples we’ve obtained or we’d have seen it in all of them.”

“It’s got to be in her cells somewhere,” Henry said.

“Putting the missing template aside,” Ryan said. “If this is what is really going on with her, it sure would explain certain things about her, you understand?”

Henry stared at the display and shrugged. “I guess her healing abilities would be tied into this, but don’t ask me how.”

“Right, but think bigger.”

“Not following you on this.”

“Henry, she only ages for seven days.”

“Huh? Then everything resets?”

“That’s it. This data indicates that every eight days her DNA is reset to its original sequence from seven days before. Any mutations or errors that occurred during that time are self corrected, perfectly.”

“But it’s the accumulation of mistakes in our DNA that control lifespan, cause cancer, and just about everything else that goes wrong with us.”

“Not hers,” Ryan said. “If the data is correct she only ages for a week and then her entire genetic code gets a fresh start all over again.”

“But how?”

Ryan focused on the image display and fell silent for several moments. He then turned away from the display and slapped the bench top. “It’s that weird double-double! She’s got two complete helixes . . . one is actively used and the other is conserved . . . understand?”

“So every seven days the active strand is corrected using the other, conserved, helix . . . Doctor Ryan, this . . . this is huge.”

“She became a vampire when she was a young woman and this genetic mechanism has physiologically frozen her in time.”

“Um, so she turned into a vampire when she was twenty-four, and she’s now, what would you call it, preserved at that age?”

“That’s why she’s physically twenty-four,” Ryan replied. “She’s been alive for the last nineteen hundred years . . . so to us she’s preserved, but to others going back centuries with their superstitions they might call it something else.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Undead,” Professor Balken said. “Now that was not very hard, Henry.”

“You need to stop doing that,” Ryan said.

“It’s an old habit,” Professor Balken said. “I’ve been listening to this conjecture . . . I must say the evidence is flimsy at best.”

“And that is why we’ll recalibrate our equipment and rerun the samples,” Ryan said. “This ‘I’m sciencier than thou’ attitude of yours is becoming tiresome, Professor.”

“Do ye always make up words when defending your position?”

“I’m not defending—”

“Oh, come now, Doctor Ryan. I didn’t come here to debate the scientific method with you.”

Ryan took a controlled breath and he glanced at Henry who was smiling. “Is there something you need help with?” he asked Professor Balken

“I seem to have made another discovery,” Professor Balken said, looking pleased. “But since you are busy with your—”

“What is it?”

“T’is those funny cylinders of yours,” Professor Balken replied, smugly. “They seem to have a peculiar reaction under ultraviolet radiation.”

“What kind of reaction?”

“They disintegrate, is all.”

“The cylinders from her skin?” Henry asked.

“If that’s where these preparations came from, then yes, it would be from her skin.”

“What do you mean by disintegrate?” Ryan asked. “They fall apart, crumble . . . what?”

“They disintegrate, is exactly what I mean,” Professor Balken replied. “I was examining some cylinders on one of the electron micrograph slides that Henry had prepared with that nice little CRAIC Microspectrometer you have.”

“So we really do have useful instrumentation here?” Ryan asked.

“Many of the great advances in physics have been applied to other sciences.”

“Uh huh, now back to the cylinders, please.”

“I noticed that there was a region of cylinders, Doctor Ryan, that were incompletely plated by gold during Henry’s preparation. Fortunately, even sloppy technique can be useful.”

“There’s nothing sloppy about my—”

“It’s all right, Henry,” Ryan said. “You do first class work. So what did you find, Professor?”

“I wanted to obtain a spectral fingerprint on the cylinders to fine tune the data you have already obtained regarding their composition,” he replied. “I started with ultraviolet light at three electron volts and moved higher in tenth volt increments.”

“Can you please tell us what you found?”

“At precisely 4.10 eV the exposed cylinders flashed into nothing,” Professor Balken replied, and then he paused for a long moment. When neither Ryan nor Henry said anything, he animatedly continued, “Something in the composition of the cylinders is extremely sensitive to UV at 4.10 eV.”

“The untrihexium?” Ryan asked.

“It would be the most likely suspect.”

“So it responds to UV energies.”

“Once more, it’s at precisely this energy,” Professor Balken replied. “I examined a second slide and found additional exposed cylinders and ran them at 4.20 eV and higher. Those cylinders remained intact.”

“So they absorb at a specific energy . . . 4.10 eV isn’t that high. It’s one of the wavelengths that cause sunburn.”

“Yes, but Doctor Ryan, what would happen to Miss Calida who has billions of these cylinders incorporated into her skin and perhaps her very flesh when exposed to sunlight?”

“Professor Balken,” Ryan began and rubbed both eyes for several seconds. “I think you just discovered why vampires have a problem with sunlight. That’s remarkable.”

“I am aware of that,” Professor Balken beamed. “Less than one percent of the UV that gets through our atmosphere is at this energy and higher. But it is still enough to destroy these creatures.”

“It’s actually a slow process,” Ryan said. “I’ve seen how it starts. It accelerates as direct sunlight becomes more intense.”

“So what would happen if a vampire became exposed to a higher intensity of the proper UV energy?” Henry asked.

“It would probably be a quicker death,” Ryan replied.

“These cylinders can’t be there just to kill the host organism,” Henry said. “They must have another purpose, right?”

“T’is very difficult to even speculate,” Professor Balken replied. “But the answers to such questions must be part of the untrihexium mystery.”

“The Director has taken a special interest in this element,” Ryan said. “There’s really nothing more we can do with it unless we gain access to a high energy laboratory, isn’t that right Professor?”

“I’m afraid we would require one of those billion dollar particle accelerators that you poked fun at, Doctor Ryan, to learn anything of value on the untrihexium.”

“I don’t think the Director would allow any of our work to move to an outside facility,” Ryan said. “He’d never give up his control of what we’re doing here.”

“To learn about this element we’d need to smash other particles into it at high energies and observe its decay modes,” Professor Balken said. “If we at least knew how Miss Calida came in contact with it I might be able to postulate a course of study with some of the equipment here, but at this time . . . .” Professor Balken gave Ryan a strange look. “There’s a knowledge gap, I fear.”

Ryan felt a wave of apprehension pass through his body. He ran through the extraordinary discoveries of the past few days and it all pointed to the same thing. “I think I know where it came from.”

“And?” Henry asked.

“You must tell us,” Professor Balken demanded.

“It’s the stone.”

T
he Director sat at the small conference table across from the two committee members. He fidgeted with his cane while he listened to the concerns being directed at him.

“Aren’t we taking a serious risk,” Senator Pachy said. “How can you assure this committee, and I don’t want to hear any bull, that this . . . uh, what am I supposed to call it?”

“Oh, I think Agent Villena is appropriate, Senator,” the Director replied.

“All right, that Agent Villena has made successful contact with this Manic Dee fellow?”

“She is most persuasive,” the Director said. “I daresay that few men would find it possible to resist her—her charms.  But we have a tag that has confirmed the contact.”

“I didn’t even recognize this was her in these photographs,” Senator Asinas said. “Her skin and hair are so dark. This isn’t makeup?”

“Oh, no—it is as natural as if she was born that way.”

Senator Asinas picked up one of the photographs and studied the close up of her face. “Even the shape of her face has changed. If I look closely I can’t tell it’s her.”

“It has been determined that she doesn’t change her facial structure,” the Director said. “She cannot alter her bones to any significant degree. But she can reshape the muscle and overlying skin and make rapid changes to her hair, eye, skin, and nail color. Her ability to disguise her appearance is convincing.”

“It’s more than convincing, Director.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Can we stay on topic?” Senator Pachy asked. “Now how good is the latest intelligence on tonight’s rendezvous?”

The Director smiled at the senator. “There is going to be a meeting tonight on his yacht with our terrorist friends just outside the harbor at Catalina Island. Miss Villena will be on the yacht and she’s been instructed on our expectations of her.”

“I don’t abide these middle eastern types selling drugs into this country,” Senator Pachy said. “This is an ungodly heinous act.”

“Oh certainly, Senator Pachy,” the Director said. "Terribly heinous.”

“And she will be able to retrieve the information from them?” Senator Asinas asked. “Her ability is that evolved?”

“Yes, Senator . . . she has exhibited exact control of both the sending and receiving of information using this—this quantum telepathy. I’ve seen the video with my own eyes and her ability is precise.”

“And if she is able to obtain what we need,” Senator Asinas began, “how soon before we can move to our main objective?”

“It will all depend on how successful she is with this initial phase,” the Director replied. “There’s no guarantee that she’ll live to see tomorrow night, although I wouldn’t underestimate her.”

“Nobody here is going to underestimate a vampire of all things,” Senator Pachy said.

“No, of course not,” Senator Asinas agreed. “Now is being on this yacht while at sea going to present problems for her?”

“If extraction is needed we have assets in the vicinity,” the Director replied. “That is only a last resort. If she doesn’t make it off the yacht the sun will remove any evidence unless they keep her below decks, which isn’t how they’ve disposed of bodies in the past.”

Senator Asinas picked up a pack of cigarettes and tapped it on the table. “As we have previously discussed, this has gone all the way to the highest levels, you understand? The present administration desperately needs to rehabilitate its image.”

“Not everything has been the fault of the president,” the Director offered.

“I challenge anyone to identify one single serious mistake this president has made,” Senator Pachy boomed.

“But he shoulders much of the blame,” Senator Asinas said. “9-11 was unprovoked, but the war in Iraq, Katrina’s aftermath, the Taliban’s resurgence in Afghanistan, the Abu Ghraib scandal, Guantanamo, the financial crisis, and so many other disasters can all be laid at the feet of the current administration.”

“The good senator from Vermont would agree that because of the diligence of this administration Saddam was handed to the Iraqi people on a silver plate,” Senator Pachy lectured. “And let’s not forget that there haven’t been any attacks on our shores since 9-11.”