HORROR THRILLERS-A Box Set of Horror Novels (49 page)

Yes, she
understood. Look at what she was going through and how many years she
would continue to go through it. She nodded her head in agreement. It
was an immoral act to make the disease spread to the uninfected that
way. If they all were to do it, the entire world's population one day
would be only vampire, and then they would all truly die.

"So,"
Mentor said, "no one can stop you from being involved with your
young man. But you must think where it will lead. Or not lead. He is
not like you. If you've any heart, you won't wish to make him like
you. As he ages, you won't—not on the surface. When you must
migrate to a new body, the way we all have to when the old ones wear
out, will he love that body, too? When he reaches the end of his
days, will you be able to stand by him and watch him leave you alone
again and lonely?"

She shook her head
and felt the tears well in her eyes. Mentor knew she had already
thought of her future. He knew she was not simply asking about having
a high school sweetheart, but a partner, a mate. Maybe not Ryan, but
someone.

When she wiped the
tears away, she was disgusted to see her own blood smeared on her
knuckles. Mentor leaned forward and handed her a handkerchief. She
wiped her hands in a frenzy and tried not to cry.

"This is a
cruel life, then," she said in a broken voice. "I knew
that, but I . . . didn't really understand it."

She heard the
vampire in the basement moaning, and she drew in her shoulders.

"We are as
chained as he is," she said, wiping at her cheeks and eyes with
the handkerchief, frantically cleaning away the blood.

Mentor's voice was
soft as he said, "That is why I'm here, Dell. To help you find a
way to move through the days while dragging all the chains behind
you."

She had her eyes
shut, the handkerchief over them and she thought, I don't know if you
can do that, Mentor. I don't know how any of us stand it.

10

Dr. Alan Star had
finished reading the marked volumes, magazines, and photocopied
articles Charles Upton had given him to study. He sat in his
apartment, the papers scattered all around him, his feet propped on
the coffee table. He ate from a can of pork and beans with a spoon.

He knew it was an
odd habit he'd gotten into, but sometimes he couldn't face the idea
of walking into the kitchen to cook a meal for one. On those days he
simply chose a can from the cabinet, whether it was a can of corn,
beans, hominy, tuna—whatever—and sat in the living room
eating from the can with a spoon. It filled his belly, dispelled the
hunger until he could go out to buy a meal. Why dirty a dish?

As he spooned the
beans into his mouth, he thought over some of the stories he'd been
reading. Only to a dying man would the tales seem to have some
semblance of reality. Okay, there was a case or two where graves of
the dead were dug up and the corpse was missing. And there were
eyewitness accounts testifying to seeing who had died walking through
a town. But the stories did not take place in modern society, in
today's world. They happened in Yugoslavia or Cuba or Haiti, where
the people were already steeped in superstition. Didn't Upton notice
that?

Also, there was
some research into the Haiti zombielike incidents, where the dead
seemed to return, that showed witch doctors used a potion that
included poison from the blow fish. Given in correct dosage it could
make a man appear dead. Within twenty-four hours the witch doctor dug
up the grave of the victim, revived him, and used him for a slave.

None of these later
theories explaining how a dead man might walk again were found in
Upton's papers.

So what was Alan
going to say to Upton, that was the question? Could he really live
with himself if he took the money and spent his days hunting down a .
. . vampire?

He grimaced,
feeling the slimy chunk of fat in his mouth that was invariably found
in cans of pork and beans. He spit it back into the can and set it on
the coffee table. Andy Warhol had become famous painting cans of
Campbell Soup. It was no mystery to Alan that the cans were not of
pork and beans. Jesus, next time he'd lay off the beans and choose
good old whole golden corn kernels. Corn never had mysterious meat in
it.

He stared at the
books and papers at his feet. He sighed and began to gather them and
put them back into the bag. He had an appointment with Upton at three
o'clock. He'd have to make a decision by then. He would have to
wrestle with his conscience and decide which choice did the least
harm. He wished now he'd never been on the staff tending Charles
Upton and that he was not one of the leading experts in Upton's
disease.

Alan rose, took the
can and spoon to the kitchen and set it alongside a row of empty cans
on the counter. His mouth twisted in distaste. He had to stop eating
like this. If anyone saw the mess he'd made, they wouldn't believe
it.

He turned away and
strode to the bathroom, where he turned on the shower. He had two
hours to bathe, dress, and make his way to Upton Towers. He had two
hours to determine just how far he would go to build his research
center.

As he stripped, he
knew already what he had to do. Being honest with himself, he
admitted he had known all along, even before reading Upton's
research.

He would let the
man hire him to track down vampires. He would make a true and
thorough search. He would not stint on that search, nor would he let
his own prejudices and disbelief deter him. He would bring to the
hunt all of his critical faculties and lessons learned.

If Upton wanted a
vampire hunter, then he had just hired one.

Stepping into the
shower, Alan smiled. The thing was, he could never tell anyone about
this. Never. Oh, God, not a word. It was a secret worse than his
eating habits.

~*~

Charles Upton could
see through Dr. Star's guise. Just like Upton's partner, David, the
man did not believe.

Upton dismissed the
thought. It didn't matter what Star believed. What mattered was that
Upton had convinced him to search for a living vampire, even if it
took him to Europe, even if it took him the rest of Upton's life.
Which would not be so long, Upton thought ruefully, so it wasn't that
great a sacrifice. I'm a real bastard, he thought. I take advantage
of people who want my money. Of course, hasn't that been the way
throughout all my life?

"I'll make
sure the hospital won't give you any trouble about time off,"
Upton said.

"I appreciate
that, Mr. Upton."

"I know how
you care about your patients. If any of them really need you, you
have my permission to halt the search in order to see about them."

"Thank you,
sir."

"Can't you
call me Charles?" Upton tried to smile, but his paralyzed lips
would not move for him. He hoped the smile reached his eyes instead.

"Okay, I'll
try, Charles."

"There, that
wasn't so bad, was it? Well then, our business is concluded. I'll
have my will updated and a copy sent to you immediately. I'll also
send a contract that states our arrangement, and will deposit ten
million dollars in a special operating account. I'll have my partner
begin negotiations for land in the downtown area and soon we'll have
a construction crew on the site. He's used to me giving millions to
charity. I have to, for tax purposes, and if nothing else, David
understands taxes. Do you have a name for your new facility?"

"Not yet, sir.
Uh . . . Charles."

"All in good
time, I'm sure. Meanwhile I'll let you get started on your work. If
you need to hire anyone, just give me a call, and I'll handle it for
you. If you need transportation anywhere, I'll have a flight booked.
Any expenses you incur on my behalf will be completely covered."

When Alan did not
respond, Upton eyed him carefully. "Look, I know what you must
think. I know this is going to be hard for you. I know I must look
like a man who has gone insane. But ask yourself this. What harm will
it do? If your search turns up nothing, then that's it, isn't it? You
still get your center. I'm the only one who can lose. I take all the
risk."

"I know,"
Alan said.

"All right,
then, let's shake on it. Let it begin. If there is such a thing as
immortality, let's find it." He held out his old gnarled hand
where new sores had erupted. The doctor took it unflinchingly, and
shook with him.

Upton watched him
leave the bedroom before he drew the bag of books and papers close to
him. He unzipped the bag and drew out one of the books, turning to
the page with the folded corner.

It gave him hope to
read about the possibility of life after death, no matter how
farfetched, no matter how superstitious and crazy and
unsubstantiated. He thought the possibility of real vampires walking
the Earth no more a fantasy than the one held by millions of a God in
heaven and a final reckoning of the soul.

~*~

Alan rode down in
the Towers' private penthouse elevator with his hands locked together
behind his back. He'd done it. He'd taken the step that men of
science would have scoffed at. He was Upton's vampire detective. If
he tried to sell this to Hollywood, they'd lap it up, but if it ever
got out to his colleagues, he'd be laughed out of the Houston medical
community. His reputation and his practice would die on the vine.

He shook his head
as the doors of the elevator opened and he stepped into the shiny,
black marble lobby of his benefactor's building. He hardly knew where
to start. He had to find out who was going to cover his patients, and
come up with a story that they would believe. Even with Upton
intervening for him, there would be questions. Then he would consult
the notes he'd taken on the articles he'd read. Where would he have
to go? Who would he have to see in order to convince the old man
there was no such thing as vampires? Would he ever convince him?

Probably not.
Probably whatever he came across would be dismissed out of hand. This
was the wildest goose chase any sane doctor had ever undertaken, and
he would have to carry around the guilt of his greed and weakness for
a very long time.

As he made his way
into the underground garage and over to his car, he felt a knot
tightening in his stomach. It was the beans he'd eaten, he guessed.

Or it could be the
decision he'd made.

~*~

When Alan got back
to his office, he found a message from Bette Kinyo on the answering
machine. It was not unusual for Bette Kinyo to give him a friendly
call just to say hello. Alan Star thought the call that afternoon was
just such a greeting.

"Bette! How
the hell are you? Been to any good medical conventions lately?"
He and Bette had gone to medical school together and dated a few
times before drifting apart. Neither of them was ready to get into a
serious relationship, mainly because both were headed in different
directions in their careers. Bette did not want to practice medicine
so much as she wanted to stick with her microscopes in a laboratory.
Now she headed up a Dallas lab where they did HIV testing on blood
supplies for the city. Alan, on the other hand, wanted nothing more
than to practice and save lives in that close, hands-on environment
occurring between a patient and doctor.

"Hello, Alan.
You know the last convention I attended was with you in Austin.
Listen, I called to check out something." She sounded pensive.

"Okay, shoot.
I'm hurt you're not calling to ask me out, but shoot anyway." He
smiled into the phone. Why had he let this woman get away from him?
She was smart, hell, brilliant in her field. And he loved her small
face with the dark Oriental sparkling eyes. At every convention they
attended, usually at least twice a year, they took a room together in
the hotel and renewed their affair. When the convention ended, they
went their separate ways, back to Dallas and to Houston, with phone
calls their only contact. It was a strange system for sometime
lovers, though he had to admit she brightened his life considerably
when he was around her periodically.

"Alan, you
know I have a record of all the blood supplies in the city, right?"

"Sure."
What could this be about, he wondered?

"Well, for
some months I've been concerned. One of the banks, the Strand-Catel,
has been low on blood about once a month for as far back as I've been
testing. I just never noticed it before."

"Low?"
His brow furrowed.