Dark Rain: 15 Short Tales (18 page)

“Other vampires?”

“Yes, Mr. Spinoza. The killers out there. Those who wreak havoc. Those who take from the human race, who exploit it.” He paused, and I noted that his chest did not move. He did not pause for breath. He paused to collect his thoughts. “I understand you are wary of me. I would be wary, too, which is why, I think, I spent so much time in my dreams convincing you of my worth.”

“Why?”

He checked his watch. “Because in about twenty-two minutes, a man will step onto the train and either kill me, or not. The ‘not’ part is where you come in.”

The train hummed along, vibrating, jolting slightly, churning through the darkening evening, from Los Angeles County deep into Orange County.

“And who is this man?” I finally asked.

“I assume he’s a vampire hunter.”

“Have you met him before?”

“Just the once. I saw him in the back of my classroom. I recognized him instantly from my dreams. Somehow, I had attracted his attention. The how isn’t so important. I suspect he’s good at what he does. I suspect he has ways of finding vampires—through contacts, perhaps. Possibly supernatural contacts? Somehow, some way, he crossed paths with me, and knew what I was.”

“Do you know others like you?” I asked.

“No,” said Professor Artemis. “Nor do I advertise the fact. It is a closely guarded secret.”

“Unless someone snaps your picture.”

“Right,” he said. “Perhaps a picture of me—or a
non
-picture—circulated to the right person. And now, he’s on the hunt.”

“Tonight?”

“He’ll be armed with a crossbow, concealed inside his trench coat. Smaller than traditional crossbows. He’ll be very proficient at it, his aim true. I am shot in the heart, and dead within seconds. At least, in half my dreams, I am.”

“And in the other half?”

“You save me.”

I drummed my fingers on the Formica table. It was surprisingly clear of graffiti and urban etchings. There was an ‘X’ carved not very far from my drumming fingers, but the carving was not very deep. The carver, apparently, wasn’t very inspired.

“How accurate are your dreams?” I finally asked.

“When I dream, Mr. Spinoza, the dreams are always prophetic. Usually, I don’t dream. Usually, I slip into complete blackness, only stirring when the sun sets. I see I am losing you again. Care to take another picture?”

I shook my head, checked my own watch. We were due to arrive in Fullerton in just under twenty minutes. I reached inside my jacket and adjusted the holster. I kept my jacket open, the pistol grip facing out. I didn’t care if someone saw the weapon. At least, not for the next twenty minutes anyway.

“I know this is a lot to accept—and in so short a time. But you do have experience with my kind. Maybe that’s why you keep appearing in my dreams. Maybe you, better than most, are equipped to deal with the supernatural. So, perhaps that’s why you are here.”

“I’m here because you asked me to meet you here.”

“True enough, Mr. Spinoza. But make no mistake, there is a reason why you appear in my dreams over and over. And there is a reason why there are two versions of the outcome.”

“Free will,” I said.

“Very good, Mr. Spinoza.” The professor sounded very much as if he were speaking to a student. “In particular, your free will. You get to choose whether I live or die.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but a young lady wearing a USC sweater, jeans, and a backpack stepped into the cafe car. She perused the many shelves of potato chips and candy bars and nuts. As she reached for a can of Pringles, she paused, cocked her head, then abruptly turned and left.

I watched her go in the mirror above, then turned to the vampire. “What happened to her?”

“I gave her a suggestion that she wasn’t hungry after all.”

Just as I was about to protest his perception of free will—and get damned pissed on the topic—the kid with his oversized cell phone suddenly got up and brushed past us. The cashier next flipped over a sign on the register that now read “Be back soon,” and headed for, I assumed, the crew break room or perhaps, the restroom.

“What just happened?” I asked.

“In my dreams, we are alone.”

“Fuck your dreams. You just controlled those people.”

“I cannot deny that I did, Mr. Spinoza.”

“And are you controlling me now?”

He held my gaze longer than I was comfortable with. “No, Mr. Spinoza.”

“Would I know if you were?”

The vampire smiled, but there was no humor at all in the expression; hell, it had the opposite effect. “No, Mr. Spinoza. I’m afraid you wouldn’t. But my strong desire is for you to stay. Perhaps my desire is enough to influence you. I cannot say for sure, but I am not willfully attempting to influence you.”

I thought about my actions. I thought about why I was here. I thought about why I hadn’t gotten up and left. Truthfully, I had no reason to do so. Professor Harry Artemis might be the world’s creepiest teacher, but he wasn’t anything I hadn’t already seen… and dealt with.

No, I was not against sitting here now, and not against hearing the man out, either. Then again, I wasn’t against killing him, should he attack me. I considered the grim possibility that I’d been compelled by him since we’d first spoken on the phone.

The vampire chuckled lightly. “My powers are not so great, Mr. Spinoza. At most, a small suggestion here and there.”

“So says the man who just cleared out a room. Or, should I say, a train car?”

“Like I said, small suggestions only. All three were agreeable to the idea of leaving. Should I have suggested they leap from the moving train, they would have resisted. Just as you would resist if I tried to force you to stay. Or tried to force you to do anything against your will.”

“And what if you have taken over my will?”

“And what if I have? Is it so bad sitting across from me, talking to me? Am I so unpleasant?”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything. Okay, now
that
sounded like me.

“There’s nothing I can do or say to convince you that I’m not manipulating you, Mr. Spinoza. My words are hollow at this point. Indeed, only in death will you know my sincerity.”

“Why not manipulate me, then?” I asked. “If it’s important for me to stop the vampire hunter, then why not coerce me to do your, you know, bidding and all that shit?”

He gave me a small, scary smile. “The answer is obvious, Mr. Spinoza.”

I thought about it. “Because you didn’t coerce me in your dreams.”

“No. You made the choice of your own free will.”

“But sometimes, I chose to allow you to die.”

“You did.”

“Despite your best efforts to convince me otherwise,” I said.

“You can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said.

I’ve lived with a lot.

Some would say too much. Some would say that no man should endure what I had to endure. To those people, I say, fuck off. What I did to my young family—and what they had to endure, in those last few agonizing minutes of their lives—far outweighed my own pain and heartache.

Both dead. Both burned to death.

All because of me.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to live with Professor Harry Artemis’s death on my hands, too. Then again, how much of this could I believe?

It was all a dream, wasn’t it?

All a dream…

“As you might have guessed, Mr. Spinoza, I was curious about the man who kept appearing in my dreams. A man who sometimes saved me, and sometimes didn’t. My dreams, you see, are very specific. I knew the train. I even knew the minute of my death. I knew my killer and my savior, both.”

“Then why don’t
you
do something about it?” I said.

“I did. I contacted you.”

“But why don’t you stop the hunter on your own terms? Confront him? Fight him? Drop down from, say, the luggage rack and break his neck? Hell, why get on the train at all if you know you might be killed?”

The vampire looked down at his hands, which were clasped before him. Blue veins snaked between his knuckles, and on up inside the sleeves of his jacket. His skin looked viscous, simultaneously wet and dry, like the clear underbelly of some long-lost sea creature hauled up from the ocean depths.

Whether he was reading my mind now, or not, I didn’t know, nor did I care. Something very strange was going on. That the man in front of me was a vampire, I had no doubt. That he had been dreaming of me, and of this situation, I was beginning to doubt those things less and less, too. That a man bearing a crossbow would board this train seemed unlikely, but it was getting more likely as this damn conversation wore on. Something was happening, something strange and horrific and fascinating. I should get up and leave. I should get up and sit as far away from this guy as possible. I didn’t need a silver bolt between my shoulder blades.
Who’s to say the hunter will have a good aim anyway?

But I stayed and waited, fascinated by the man in front of me, and curious about his answers. It was an exploration of life and choices, why we do what we do, and the inner workings of all things. At least, that was what I told myself.

Then again, maybe the bastard was compelling me to stay, giving me subtle suggestions that sounded damn good.

I shook my head. I was here, for now, and I wanted answers.

“A lot is going on inside that head of yours, Mr. Spinoza.”

“This is a crazy, crazy world.”

“It is, isn’t it? And I love it. Even being what I am. In fact, being what I am has given me new depth, new appreciation, new experiences.”

“I have no doubt.”

“And to answer your questions, I am compelled to be here. Being here feels right. Being here is where I must be. Seeing my destiny through is important. Important enough for me to dream about it over and over and over…”

“With different outcomes,” I said.

“Only two outcomes, Mr. Spinoza. I either live or I die.”

“Based on what I choose,” I said.

“You are correct, sir.”

“Although I may not be the most photogenic guy around, I do like to take pictures. May I show you some of my own?”

“In your dream, do you show me pictures?” I asked.

The vampire blinked. It was, I was certain, the first time he had done so. “I do, yes.”

“And in the dreams, do I view them?”

“You do, yes.”

I grinned. “Then let’s do this.”

He pushed a cell phone across the table. Already open on the screen was a photo of a farm. “This is where I live, Mr. Spinoza. And, yes, believe it or not, there are farms in Orange County. As you know, I live in Trabuco Canyon, up against the Cleveland National Forest. I live on twenty acres. I don’t grow much food, although I do it for show. The food I harvest is given away to the local homeless shelters. Scroll to the next screen, please.”

I did, swiping the screen, and now, I saw a corral full of goats, pigs, cows, and sheep.

“Why are you showing me this?” I asked.

“You are looking at my food supply, Mr. Spinoza. I pick one poor creature every few weeks and drain it of its blood. The animal is killed quickly and humanely, and lived a good, comfortable life. I prepackage the blood and drink it in the privacy of my home. I give the meat away as well. Never have I harmed another human being. Nor do I intend to.”