The Vampire Keeper (7 page)

Wyler listened for the receiver to click before hanging up. His hand rested on the phone as his mind wandered back to the night he removed the musket ball from Larkin’s back.

He awoke disorientated to the sound of shattering glass. The advanced years of war taught him the importance of quickly focusing to assess his surroundings for potential dangers. He did not jump up immediately, but quietly remained in the fetal position. He knew the first rule of survival was never to expose one’s self unless you have a clear visual of your area. He had to first let his eyes adjust; it did not take long. Once adjusted he thought,
I can see everything so clearly. It must be a full moon out tonight, and the moonlight has flooded this dreary room
. Now that he could see, he found himself and his bag in an empty porcelain bathtub. He grabbed his medical bag took out his scalpel and a small shard of mirror. Holding the looking glass over the edge of the tub, Wyler observed that he was in a small-enclosed room. He was alone, so he took a deep breath and plotted out his next move.
How did I get up here?
Wyler silently question, for the last thing he could remember was falling back asleep on the old porch swing.

Suddenly, a loud thud from below startled Wyler. Moving quietly he tried to secure the door, but it would not lock. The thuds grew closer, and he froze as he could now hear the grunting of two men struggling. Thinking swiftly, he braced himself behind the door so that if it swung open he would be able to force it closed. Wyler tightly gripped his scalpel at the sound of accelerated footsteps. The door did not swing open as expected, but burst open like an explosion. Wyler watched wide-eyed as an individual erupted through the door and into the wall. There was a gaping hole where the assailant’s body bounced before hitting the ground. Wyler was surprised to see that the man picking himself up out of the debris as if nothing had happened. The man spotted him and stared directly into his eyes. Wyler recognized his face at once, for it was the man he had patched up earlier that night.

Before Wyler could speak, he was gone. Wyler scanned the room but did not find him,
Where did he go? I didn’t see him pass by me.
He moved to the tub, but found nothing. He heard a struggle downstairs; it sounded as if the house was coming down around him. Wyler debated on whether to try to run for safety or fight. He stepped to the window and saw several figures standing in the dim shade of the trees below;
It’s not a full moon. How can I see so well?
Trying to comprehend the situation, Wyler heard several more thuds, before his former patient Larkin reappeared. Ducking down below the window seal, Wyler whispered, “They spotted me.”

“I’ve taken care of all of them; it is safe to come out,” reassured Larkin.

“No! There are two outside under the tree,” replied Wyler.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! They spotted me! I need a musket.”

“A firearm won’t help you now,” said Larkin as he crouched down and closed his eyes.

“What is your name again?”

He answered, “Larkin” before making a shushing sound at him. After a few seconds, Larkin whispered, “You’re right. There are two downstairs plus one on the roof.”

Until his return, Larkin directed Wyler to remain quiet and out of sight. With a blank stare on his face, Wyler moved to the back of the porcelain tub and crouched down.

Wyler shifted from side to side as he debated on whether to help Larkin as the brawl below ensued.
If there are two he will need help. I must help him,
thought Wyler; although, he could not perceive why he felt the sudden urge to help, Wyler boldly charged out of the room. Before Wyler could reach the staircase, an adversary crashed through the ceiling landing on his feet directly in front of him. Wyler stumbled back in shock at the intruder’s cat like reflexes.

Wyler’s mysterious opponent moved one-step closer and said, “Your brother sends his regards.”

“Brother! I don’t have a brother,” yelled a terrified Wyler.

“He is talking to me,” Larkin said as he lunged forward gripping him from behind. Once he had him in a chokehold, Wyler’s mysterious acquaintance’s slammed their foe onto the floor with such force that they fell through to the first.

Wyler stood frozen for a minute as he gawked at the hole they created. Edging to the corner, he peered in to see if anyone survived. Neither was dead. He watched them fighting below as he pondered,
He moves like he was never injured.
Larkin was winning until the enemy swirled around him, grabbed his neck, and pounded his head into the wall several times. With Larkin’s cheek pinned against the wall, the enemy pulled out a wooden dagger and plunged it into his back. With a slight, hesitation, Wyler pulled the scalpel out of his pocket, jumped down onto the enemy’s back and slit his throat before he could snap Larkin’s neck. Wyler stood stunned for a second as he watched the blood flow from his attacker’s neck.

Wyler rushed as Larkin called to him “Hurry, remove the stake! He is not dead, yet.”

He followed Larkin’s directions, but alleged, “He looks pretty dead to me. I slit his throat from ear to ear.” He reached up and pulled at the stake, but it wouldn’t budge. He gripped it with both hands, but it still would not move. “I can’t get it. It must be deep. If you remove it, you will likely bleed to death.”

“Don’t worry about that. Are there spikes at the end of the stake?”

“No.”

“Okay. Go get your medical bag,” demanded Larkin. “I am going to need you to sew me up again.”

Without hesitation, Wyler ran up what was left of the tattered staircase. There were missing sections, holes, and boards that resembled splinters dangling from the railings. He had barely entered the bathroom, when he heard a loud growl. Grabbing his medical bag, Wyler ran back to the hole. Remembering Larkin’s claim that the assailant was not dead, he took caution and stopped next to a hole. Peering down below, he could see Larkin still pinned against the wall as well as the attacker lying motionless on the floor.

Wyler’s attention was drawn to Larkin, who was using his legs and forearms as leverage against the wall to push himself free. With every push, he let out a growl-like cry until he was free. Larkin held the center of his chest as he pulled the bloody stake out of the wall.

Wyler rubbed at his eyes for clarity when he observed the enemy, whose neck he had sliced open with his own hand, regain his footing. Instead of being completely paralyzed with fear, he immediately alerted Larkin. “Hey! Look out!”

The outburst caught the enemy’s attention, which allowed Larkin enough time to thrust the stake into his rival’s chest, grab his head, and twist until it snapped off letting his decapitated body fall to the floor.

Wyler jumped down to the first floor and stared at him in amazement. “How did you do that?”

“I am sure you have a lot of questions, and I will answer each one, but while you stitch me up.”

Larkin removed his shirt and Wyler slinked over to him. There was blood oozing down both sides of his body. “I don’t know where to start. I never stitched up a wound this large.”

“Just stitch the outside closed to hold the blood in,” Larkin instructed.

Wyler was skeptical as whether or not his new friend could actually survive such a trauma, but nevertheless he had been proven wrong about their now decapitated foe. Taking a deep breath, Wyler examined the wounds and determined it would be best to suture the wound closed while Larkin was standing. Perhaps, his patient might lose less blood, and if nothing else at least Wyler would be able to see where to stitch.

Larkin laughed, “Alright, so what is your question?”

He threaded his needle and said, “How did you pull his head off.”

“I just twisted until it popped off, not to mention your fancy knife work helped.”

“Technically, with all this blood loss you should be dead, but so should he,” observed Wyler as he pointed to the headless body. “Why didn’t he die after I slit his throat? And, why are you still alive?”

“I will tell you after you finish,” replied an unemotional Larkin.

In a low mumble, he said, “This is not natural.” Silence fell between them; and Wyler shook his head before blurting out, “No!”

“I want the answer to my question, or I won’t stitch you up,” demanded Wyler moving his hands away from the half sewn hole.

Larkin thought for a moment but knew he had to agree. He also knew it would take months to heal if he left his wound unstitched, thus leaving him vulnerable to future attacks.
He drank my blood, so he shouldn’t refuse me. I will try once again, but this time more direct?
Larkin thought. He turned to Wyler and demanded, “No. You will stitch me up now, and I will tell you after.” Larkin inhaled deeply causing blood to gush out.

Wyler pushed an old shirt at him and said, “Here hold this over that hole and turn around so I can stitch up your back.” Larkin said nothing as he turned holding the shirt to his chest. With Larkin’s back toward him, Wyler thought,
Why did I agree against my own wishes?
Mystified at his own behavior, he questioned Larkin as to why he had not followed his own judgment. “Why do I feel like I need to stitch you up right away? I was dead set against helping you, if you had refused.”

He stood there silently until he felt the needle pierce his skin. Finally, Larkin answered, “You can’t refuse me.”

“Why not?” demanded his alarmed surgeon.

“Do you remember when you drank that cup of water, after you removed the musket ball?”

“Yes.”

“You drank a small dose of my blood, which made you protective and loyal to me.”

“What? Why? What are you? How long does it last?” The questions rambled out of Wyler’s mouth without a pause.

Larkin did not make an interjection to his blathering. Instead, he listened silently, and responded only to the last. “Forever!” he said, before elaborating on such a life changing effect, “You will always feel the need to be loyal and protect me as long as you live.”

Wyler took a deep breath as he tried to understand, “What else happened to me when I drank that water?”

Feeling the tight pulling of his skin uniting, Larkin explained that for a short period of time Wyler may develop some of his supernatural attributes; such as, being able to see clearer, hear sharper, or form better reflexes. You might get one or all; it depends upon the benefactor.” Seeing Wyler’s brow furrow with concern, Larkin added, “The advantage of long term consumption will cause your rate of aging to slow down considerably.”

It didn’t take Wyler long to know which trait he had received, for now he could explain as to how he had seen figures standing by the tree. “They should have been masked by the darkness,” mumbled Wyler.

A grim smile crossed Larkin’s face, “Your abilities will weaken as the day wanes.”

Wyler listened most astutely as Larkin assured him that the only way to retain his new features that he would need to drink of his blood daily. “Let me get this straight. By drinking your blood every day I will have better vision, reflexes, and age slower, but since I have already drunk it once I will be loyal to you even if I never drink it again,” concluded his exasperated surgeon.

“Something like that,” he confirmed, before offering Wyler a proposition. Larkin explained how Wyler’s actions after drinking the blood tinted water interested him greatly, for he had noticed that Wyler went back to sleep with hardly any concern or interest of his well-being. Larkin confessed, “After drinking my blood, I thought perhaps you were immune. But, by the time I had considered that you hadn’t drunk enough blood to bind you to me I heard them coming from afar. I could have left you, but I didn’t because I knew if I had you would certainly meet death, so I stayed. Now, my duty to you is fulfilled, and I am glad I did not leave, since I want to retain your services as my Keeper.”

“Keeper! What is that?” He said as he finished tying the knot on the last stitch. Wyler stood up to examine the injury he had sutured earlier that night. The lesion had vanished and all that remained were tiny pieces of thread. He gasped, “The other wound, it’s healed.”

“I heal quickly. Are you done back there?”

He mumbled, “Yes” and Larkin turned to face him. Even though the shirt Larkin held to his chest was blood soaked Wyler still told him, “Keep holding pressure against it, I need to rethread my needle.”

“That headless enemy seemed to have some of the same attributes I currently have. Was he a Keeper?”

“No.”

“Okay, move the shirt. Is he like you?”

“Kind of.”

Wyler thought to himself,
Kind of. What does that mean? Why is he always so vague with me?
Blood spurted out onto the floor as he continued to close the hole in Larkin’s chest, and he thought,
Oh, this is a lot of blood. I wonder why he isn’t dead yet.
Wyler took a deep breath and slowly exhaled before he asked, “I am getting close to being finished. Will you tell me now how you are still alive after this significant loss of blood?” and thought,
Not to mention the type of wound he sustained.

Knowing that Wyler could not refuse to continue suturing him up, he told all. “The reason we didn’t die from life-threatening injuries is because we are already dead.”