Death of an Immortal (27 page)

But Terrill was behind bars, with an entire police department surrounding him.

Take on the whole town?
Horsham thought.
Why not? Let them try to stop me!

Screw the Rules of Vampire. They were sniveling, cowardly precepts that been created by a renegade and a traitor. They were as worthless as he was. Without Michael and Terrill, Horsham would be the oldest vampire. The others would do as he said. No more hiding in the shadows. No more pretending to be human. They would become fully vampire and dare the humans to defeat them!

He had twelve hours before dawn came. Let them try to stop him. They’d shoot him, no doubt. They might try to restrain him with pepper spray or electric shocks. None of it would do any good. They wouldn’t know what they were up against. They’d be helpless. There weren’t a lot of crosses or much holy water in a police station.

He turned to Jamie. She was looking at him with a defiant but uncertain expression. There was no way the humans could stop two vampires. They’d break into the jail, take care of Terrill once and for all, and kill any human who tried to stop them; hell, kill any human who even
saw
them.

Horsham had never felt so strong, so certain.

He threw open the door and marched out into the night. Jamie scrambled to keep up, throwing on clothes as she ran, astonishing the night clerk with a glimpse of her lingerie.

#

Horsham started at the front entrance, killing the duty clerk before the woman even knew he was there. He worked his way through the rooms. It wasn’t until he got to the second floor that a human finally reacted, shooting him twice. Both bullets would have missed the vital organs of a human. They didn’t slow Horsham in the slightest. He took special satisfaction in tearing the limbs off the man and leaving him still living––briefly––on the floor.

Until then, Jamie hadn’t had to do a thing. Horsham had directed her to walk in front of him, with her revealing clothes and her sexy stride, as it was confusing to the poor humans.

But after the sound of the first two shots, more humans started producing more weapons, and soon Horsham was being sprayed with bullets. But each time, he fed on the attacker, and whatever damage had been done was instantly healed. Jamie was similarly engaged. He could tell she was reluctant at first, but the more she fed, the more bloodlust she felt. She was going to be a real vampire by the end of the night.

He continued upward. He’d glanced at the directory on the ground floor, and it showed that the jail cells were on the third floor. He took his time, making sure none of the humans got past him. He could almost feel Terrill’s presence. At last, he would confront his old friend. His old enemy. The murderer of the one human Horsham had ever loved.

Chapter 45

It had taken all afternoon and into the evening before Terrill was finally released.

Strangely, they let him––the murder suspect––go before they released the two men who had simply tried to hide him. Terrill and Sylvie waited for Perry and Grime together, and Father Harry joined them. They couldn’t say much with the police listening, but they had an interesting conversation about religion, and encoded in that terminology, they talked about themselves.

“Your sister is new to… these sins,” Terrill said to Sylvie. “It will take a long time before she begins to really think about the meaning of it all.”

“How long?”

Centuries?
Terrill thought. What he said aloud was, “The good news is, I don’t believe I am the only… person like me… who has turned against the darkness. There was another like me. Like Horsham was becoming, before… Anyway, it is possible, but it will take a long time.”

“Jamie was a good soul,” Father Harry said. “Maybe that will help.”

Terrill tried to remember his human self. Had he been good? Had he been bad? What he remembered most was being hungry and tired and beaten down, by both his family and life itself. Maybe Jamie would work her way through to the light faster than he had. “It’s possible.”

Perry and Grime were being led out of the cellblock, smiling. The others stood up to greet them.

That was when they heard the first two shots.

#

Most of the cops ran for the stairwell, toward the shooting. Only the jailer remained, and the big cop from Portland, Brosterhouse, who came into the room a couple of seconds later.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, drawing his gun.

Terrill stared him in the eyes. “Detective Brosterhouse. Will you listen to me for a moment? What I have to say may seem very strange to you, but I assure you it’s true. Your gun won’t be of any use.”

At first the big man frowned, and then he lowered his gun and put it back into its holster. “What do we do?”

Terrill looked about the room. It was all metal, plastic, and plaster: no wood to be seen. “We need wood,” he said. “To make stakes.”

Brosterhouse laughed.
Well, it was worth a try,
Terrill thought.

Father Harry looked up into the face of the detective. He looked like a child next to the huge man. He was in full vestments, a giant crucifix around his neck. “You must believe him, detective. I have seen it. I believe it.”

Brosterhouse didn’t move. He didn’t go running off; he didn’t pull out his gun again. He stood there like a massive statue for a few moments. Then he nodded once. “You know, if it wasn’t for something that happened to me in Portland, I’d think you were crazy,” he said. “I believe the only wood in this whole station is that old beat-up desk they gave their unwanted visitor. In my office…” he turned and lumbered away, and the others followed him.

In the background, it sounded like a war had broken out. There were hundreds of shots from downstairs; an impossible number. The jailer was turning whiter and whiter, and rather than running down the stairs to join the other cops, he followed the little band. There was a long, narrow corridor on the other side of the squad room, and at the very end, there was a tiny little office, not much bigger than a broom closet.

“Welcome to Siberia,” Brosterhouse said.

They squeezed into the little room and slammed the door shut. There was no lock. It was a supply closet; why would there be? Terrill pushed the filing cabinet against the door. It wouldn’t do much good, but it might buy them a few seconds. They were packed inside almost on top of each other.

“Listen to me, everyone,” Terrill said. “The vampire attacking us is probably the most dangerous vampire who has ever existed. He wants me, but that won’t save you. He won’t leave anyone alive. First Rule of Vampire: Never trust humans.”

“How do we stop him?” Brosterhouse asked.

“A stake in the heart, as you’ve seen in every movie. But even that won’t do it unless it remains there for several seconds. He can remove it and regenerate immediately if he has blood to drink. Almost nothing you can do will kill him, simply because you are all full of the blood he needs.”

“Then what’s the use?” the jailer exclaimed.

“We must weaken him by any means possible. We must hold him down and stake him. And he must not be allowed to remove the stake.”

Brosterhouse pulled out his gun. “I shot him right between the eyes. It seemed to scare him off.”

“Only because he was surprised and unprepared. Your gun is of no real use. But by all means, put a couple of bullets in his head.”

Terrill examined the desk. It was solid oak, not very splinterable, but the drawers seemed to be made of white pine, and were thinner. He pulled out a drawer and dropped the contents onto the floor: Chapstick, a few sticks of stale gum, and a paperback novel. He handed the empty drawer to Perry.

“You and Grime start making stakes. As many as you can. Even if it doesn’t hit his heart, the wood will weaken him a little.”
A very little,
he thought, but he smiled encouragingly. Perry threw the drawer onto the floor and started stomping on it.

Father Harry looked resolute. He was holding out a water bottle. “I came prepared. Holy water drove him off last time.”

“No, the dawn drove him off last time,” Terrill corrected him. “The holy water only kept him at bay long enough for daylight to arrive. But it might delay him a few moments. Try to throw it into his eyes. It might blind him for a time.”

Grime held up two pieces of shattered wood in the shape of a cross. He looked questioningly at Terrill.

“Stakes are better. A cross is merely uncomfortable, an inconvenience, something to avoid if possible. But it won’t stop him.”

Father Harry fingered his giant crucifix doubtfully.

“Now, your cross might do some good,” Terrill said. “It’s covered with silver, and it comes from a church. It might keep the monster away for a few moments.”

Grime and Perry were busy breaking up more drawers. Terrill grabbed one of the pieces that tapered to a point. He went to the door and started moving the filing cabinet out of the way.

“What are you doing?” several voices exclaimed at once.

Terrill turned to Sylvie. “I’m sorry I brought this to your town. I never would have come if I’d known.”

“Stay,” she said.

“He wants me. Maybe once he’s killed me, he’ll leave the rest of you alone. Maybe bullets to the head, holy water, inconvenient crosses, and the sight of wooden stakes will be enough to dissuade him. But don’t count on it.”

Terrill went into the narrow hallway and closed the door firmly behind him.

It occurred to him, as he walked toward the sound of violence, that none of the war preparations had affected in him the least. He hadn’t felt discomfited by the closeness of the holy water; the crosses hadn’t made him feel queasy.

Ordinarily, he might have been pleased. But just now, he wished he had some of his old strength and quickness back.

It was a temptation. He sensed that, even now, it wasn’t too late to turn back. A little blood, a little flesh, and he would start to reverse his progress.

But it didn’t matter. Horsham was much stronger than him; he had been for a long time. It was perhaps fortunate for Terrill’s soul that he knew this, that he wasn’t tempted to fight vampire to vampire to save his friends.

He entered the big room just as bloody, savage-looking Horsham came in, followed by a beautiful and vicious-looking female vampire. Jamie. Looking as though she was enjoying every minute of it.

It was the sight of her savage beauty that gave Terrill peace. He deserved whatever happened to him. He was ready.

Chapter 46

Humans are so easy to kill!
Jamie thought. Their bullets would hurt for a moment, and then she’d bite into the nearest flesh, taste the blood running down her throat, and all pain would be replaced by pleasure. She tore the humans apart as if they were meat puppets.

There’s a soul inside each of these pieces of meat
, someone in the back of her mind said. But the voice was dim and distant, and irrelevant to her current existence. She found she didn’t really care.

Horsham seemed to be taking even greater pleasure in feeding. It was cathartic for him, a way to take out his anger and his pain. She watched him kill and maim with abandon. She followed his example, making sure that none of these cops would come back as vampires. She found she was jealous of her new abilities, jealous of Horsham’s time––she didn’t want to share this existence with anyone or anything.

They reached the third floor and entered, expecting to be confronted by whatever force of cops was left. Perhaps a hail of bullets. Some kind of organized resistance.

The room was empty but for one tall, frail-looking man at the far end. He stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the doorway as if he’d been expected them. He didn’t seem frightened. He didn’t seem dangerous. With a shock, Jamie realized it was the vampire who had Turned her––Terrill. Except… he wasn’t a vampire.

How was that possible? According to Horsham, once a vampire, always a vampire. She’d adapted to this new life with the knowledge that there was no going back. Not that she wanted to. She searched her feelings for this man. She had a memory of liking him, thinking he was a nice guy, but no more than that.

She felt nothing toward her Maker.

So this was the great Terrill, the object of Horsham’s obsession? He didn’t look like he could put up much of fight.

“I’m going to look for Richard,” she said.

“No. Stay here,” Horsham ordered.

“Why? You can have him all to yourself. I don’t care. I want Richard Carlan dead.”

“I told you to stay here!” Horsham screamed. He backhanded her. For some reason, it hurt. She had been shot and bludgeoned by dozens of cops, and she’d been able to shrug it off, but one blow from her Mentor, and she was sent reeling.

She should have been cowed, but instead some of her old memories came back: memories of the Jamie who had been a helpless victim, unable to get away from the men who abused her. Well, she wasn’t that Jamie anymore.

“I told you,” she hissed. “Never strike me.” She turned and left without waiting for Horsham’s reaction. Richard Carlan was near. She could smell him.

#

Jamie found the back corridor to the jail cells.

Luckily for Richard, she didn’t feel like playing anymore. She was going to kill him and be done.

He was at the bars of the cell, obviously alarmed by the sound of gunshots. It must have seemed to him that an army was storming the police station.

It occurred to her that Richard had no idea what was going on. With that thought, she retracted her claws and fangs. She wiped the blood off her face and put on what she thought was a pleasant smile.

From Richard’s reaction, the smile was actually anything but pleasant. He didn’t recognize her at first. She was simply a blood-drenched woman in skimpy clothing. She stood there with her grimace of a smile until realization dawned on his face.

“Ja… Jamie?” he stuttered.

“Hi, Richard. Miss me?”

He fell back from the bars as her face transformed into that of a vampire, the mouth and jaws pushed outward as if in search of blood. Her fingers turned into claws, her nails into talons, curling to razor-sharp points.