The Hollow Church Page 7

  "I guess we've each got stuff to be doing today," he replies after a few seconds, clearly feeling extremely uncomfortable. "Maybe we can catch up tomorrow."

  "Maybe."

  "Just keep everything turned down for a day or two. Let me handle the stuff with the girl."

  "Clare," I say. "She has a name. Remember?"

  He smiles awkwardly.

  With that, I turn and leave his office. I've long known that Steven Duffield has got some dark edges, and I can't shake the feeling that he might be in deep this time. Still, I can't stand around here arguing with him when I've possibly got two entirely different and very big problems crashing down toward me. For one thing, there are the people who attacked me last night, who are unlikely to give up just because their first attempt was a failure; for another, there's the small matter of Abby Hart. Obviously I can't go running around shouting about vampires, not after everything that happened ten years ago, but I feel as if I'm caught in the middle of something bigger and tougher than I can handle, and right now I don't see how I can possibly protect myself from all angles. Then there's the other possibility: perhaps, if I'm really lucky, I'm just losing my mind again.

  Abby Hart

  "You want a drink?" the guy asks, barely able to keep still on his bar-stool. "Seriously, I can buy you a drink. What do you fancy? What's your poison?"

  "I'm good, thanks," I reply, hoping against hope that he'll get the hint. The last thing I need is for some horny drunk human to start pestering me. That's another problem with humans: they get drunk so easily, and they end up shoving their hands in places where they don't belong. Sometimes it can be amusing to watch them flail, but right now I just want to be alone.

  "You look better than good," he mutters, slurring his words. "You look hot! You look how my ex-wife looked when she was still my wife-to-be." He waits for me to laugh. "Seriously, can't a guy buy a girl a drink in America these days? Just a friendly drink, I swear!"

  Grabbing my glass of wine, I get up and walk over to the other side of the bar. It's almost lunchtime and this is the very last place I should be. After working so hard to climb the ladder and reach my current job, I'm at risk of throwing it all away just so I can sulk in a dark little hell-hole. I called in sick this morning, claiming I'd come off my bike and had to go to hospital for a few stitches. The woman on the other end of the phone seemed to believe me, which at least buys me some time, but I'm already starting to wonder if it's time to get out of town and start a new life somewhere else. Again.

  When I came to New York, I thought I could build my own life and erase everything that happened before. I thought I could rebuild myself and start to forget about all the stuff that happened with the Watchers and my uncle and Shelley and my parents. I mean, I'm not naive; I knew that I'd never be able to completely wipe my mind, and I didn't want to blank them out of my life forever. What I wanted was to redefine myself and prove that I'm my own person, rather than just being the daughter of a messed-up vampire and an equally messed-up human. Unfortunately, I can't shake the feeling that I've got a human side and a vampire side that are constantly at war with one another, and the result is that I'm being torn apart.

  I take a sip of wine.

  I should have killed Mark Gregory. I've killed so many people in the past, so why did I suddenly start showing mercy? The guy means nothing to me; he's just some human who got in the way and ended up seeing my darker side. His heart had already stopped beating, so why did I work so hard to give him CPR and revive him? It's as if my instincts told me to bring him back to life, even though the logical choice would have been to let him die. I made a mistake

  For all I know, right now he could be in his boss's office, telling him all about the vampire medical examiner who saved his life. Hell, there might even be a bunch of cops beating down the door to my apartment, ready to haul me off for more experiments. Sometimes I wonder if that's what I really want. At least when I was young and had a collar around my neck, I knew what was expected of me. What really, truly terrifies me is the thought that maybe, deep down, I wish things had worked out differently. After all, if Benjamin was still alive, still telling me what to do and what to think, I might be happier. Not free, not myself, but probably happier.

  "Come on," the drunk guy says, suddenly sitting nearby. "Why's that pretty face of yours looking so bent out of shape? I know it's a cruel world, but won't you let an honest-meaning guy help you out? I'm just a little down on my luck, that's all, but I still know how to show a lady a good time."

  Ignoring him, I take another sip of wine. I guess it was futile to have ever believed that I could control my own destiny. With my father gone, a whole new generation of vampires has begun to emerge. At first, I assumed that I'd be responsible for kick-starting the species, but they seem to be emerging from all over the world. I don't fully understand what has been happening, and the Book of Gothos has been useless on this subject since it recounts the past but says nothing about the future. There seem to be some pages missing from the end, and I can't help but wonder if it's those pages that contain the information that I need. Without anyone to help me, I feel totally lost, as if I'm adrift in a sea of chaos. This incident with Mark Gregory only proves that I can't hold it all together. I'm a creature of chaos, living in an age of chaos, and sanity seems to be out of reach.

  "So what's your name?" the guy asks.

  "Abigail," I tell him, staring at my glass. Damn it, why did I answer?

  "Nice. Old-fashioned. Abigail what?"

  I turn to him. Is he really a drunk, or is he here to spy on me? Maybe I'm being paranoid, but after the incident in the parking lot last night, I can't afford to let my guard down. It occurs to me that maybe I should kill this asshole, just in case he's a threat. I could drink his blood for good measure. In fact, now that I think about it, I would like some blood, just to steady my nerves. I can already feel the pangs of hunger tugging at my gut.

  "Suit yourself," he mutters, taking a big swig from his pint of beer.

  I need to go and kill Mark. Maybe, just maybe, it's not too late. After all, if he goes blundering into an office and starts talking about vampires, he'll be laughed out of the room. Either that, or he'll be locked up. There might still be time to get hold of him and neutralize him, which at least would give me a chance of salvaging my current life. While I've come to regret some of the deaths I've caused over the years, I can't deny that killing humans has always worked rather well. They're weak, insubstantial creatures, and the life of one human can't seriously be considered equal to the life of a vampire. The human race is generally less intelligent, less important and even less alive than the rest of us. In fact, there have even been suggestions by vampires in the past that humans can't feel pain. Although I made a mistake by not killing Mark, it's a mistake I can rectify.

  "You going somewhere?" the drunk asks as I stand up.

  "I should be at work," I mutter, finishing the last of my wine.

  "Good luck with that," he says, laughing.

  "I'm not like you," I tell him. "This stuff doesn't affect me."

  "You're not wasted?"

  "I don't get drunk. My body works differently."

  "So have another."

  I shake my head.

  "I've seen women like you before," he continues. "You think you're better than everyone else. You think you can just sail on past and not have the same problems." He lets out a burp. "Whatever," he mutters. "I bet you can't even walk to the bar in a straight line."

  Smiling at his stupidity, I turn and start walking to the door, only to lose my balance and stumble, landing hard on one knee. Instinctively, I reach out and haul myself back up, but the damage is done and the drunk guy is laughing at my misfortune. I don't think I've ever felt so stupid, but I have to admit, I'm feeling out of sorts. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe alcohol does affect me after all.

  "That was an accident," I say firmly, turning back to face the laughing idiot.

  "Cheers," he replies, grinning as he rais
es his glass to me.

  "You think I'm like you?" I ask, staring at him. Suddenly it's as if he's become the epitome of the entire human race, encapsulating their arrogant sense of superiority. "You think you understand me?" I continue, walking toward him. "Look at me. Do you seriously believe that you know who or what I am? I mean, Jesus, look at me. Do you think I look like one of your..." I pause, disgusted by the idea that I could be mistaken for a human. I guess my mother's side is showing through again.

  Without saying anything, the drunk guy just grins at me.

  I pause. It would be so easy to lure him to a quiet spot and rip out his throat. He might be an aging alcoholic, but his blood would probably be of some benefit, and I could certainly use a little pick-me-up right now. It's not that I'm addicted to blood. I can go days, even weeks without tasting any, but from time to time I could certainly use a few extra drops. Right now, I can't stop thinking about how sweet it would be to drink from the neck of a human. That doesn't mean I'm addicted; it just means that I have certain needs that must be satisfied from time to time.

  "What's wrong?" he asks. "You want a piece of me?"

  "I..." Taking a deep breath, I try to decide what to do. I want to fight my vampire side, but at the same time I feel drawn to feed. Besides, the last thing I want right now is to feel human, so perhaps the best thing to do is to embrace the other aspects of my soul. If I drink this guy's blood, maybe my fear and anger will subside and I'll have a clearer idea of how I should handle the situation with Mark Gregory.

  "Let me tell you something," he continues, leaning forward and almost spilling his beer in the process. "You're not special. You're not smarter than everyone else. You're not any different to the rest of us, so why don't you cut the little princess act and get with the program? What's wrong? Did Mommy and Daddy promise you'd grow up to be someone special? Did they tuck you into bed every evening and give you a goodnight kiss?" For the first time, the drunk smile disappears from his face and I'm left to stare at the ugliness of his soul. "You're just another pretty little thing wandering around on thin little legs, thinking she's better than everyone else. And you know what? You're not. You're not special at all. You're nothing."

  "Huh," I reply.

  "Huh?" He laughs. "Is that all you've got to say? Is that the fucking limit of your fucking conversational skills? Fuck, Mommy and Daddy really did a number on you, didn't they?"

  "You have no idea," I say calmly. For a moment, I consider heading outside and leaving this creep alone. Finally, however, I signal to the barman for another glass of wine. Even though I know this is probably a mistake, I'm overcome by the urge to teach this asshole a lesson and maybe get a little extra blood in my system. After all, I can't deny my true self, and it's perfectly acceptable for a predator to occasionally feast on its prey. I'm strong. This guy is weak. As I grab my fresh glass of wine and sit next to the drunk guy, I realize that this is the most natural thing in the world. This is what vampires are supposed to do. We kill.

  Mark Gregory

  "Detective Gregory? Wait!"

  Stopping on the stairs, I turn to see Katie Chambers running down toward me, still wearing her lab coat. Instantly tensing at the thought that Abby might be nearby, I realize I need to get out of here as fast as possible.

  "I don't have time to talk," I tell Katie. "I'm sorry -"

  "Wait," she shouts breathlessly, leaning on the railing as she reaches me. "I..." She takes a series of deep gulps, and it's clear that she's totally out of shape. "I need to ask you..." She takes some more deep breaths before pulling an inhaler from her pocket and taking several squirts of gas. "Have you seen Dr. Hart anywhere?" she asks eventually as she manages to calm down.

  "No," I say firmly. "Isn't she at work today?"

  She shakes her head.

  "Did she call in sick?"

  "I don't know. I just went to the lab and there was no sign of her. I've been getting on with some work. I tried just standing and waiting for my instinct to kick in, like she told me to do, but nothing really happened and eventually I started cataloging the bodies. I got pretty far, and then -"

  "I'm sure she'll turn up soon," I reply, interrupting her. "I really don't have time to stand around talking about this, okay? If you see her, just... Just don't tell her you spoke to me."

  "But I need someone to come and see what happened," Katie continues, having finally got her breath back. She carefully places the inhaler in her pocket. "It's really freaky. That's not even the right word. It's..." She pauses. "I think maybe I'm cracking up."

  "I know the feeling," I mutter.

  "Please," she continues. "You have to come and see. You'll think I'm nuts. You'll, like, start tying the sleeves of my coat together and telling me I'm not allowed to hold adult scissors. It'll be like school all over again. But you have to see this."

  "I promise I won't think you're nuts," I reply. "Just tell me what's wrong."

  "Well, the bodies are..." She pauses. "I mean, I can't really say. It's just something you have to see. It's like, I don't even..." She pauses again, as if she literally can't put her thoughts into words. "It's the freakiest thing I've ever seen. I don't know if someone did it as a practical joke, or if it's some kind of weird effect, or what, but it's like..." She takes a deep breath. "I don't like it," she says eventually. "I don't like being in there while they're like this."

  "The bodies?"

  She nods.

  "What's wrong?" I ask again. "Come on, just tell me. I don't have time to stand here guessing all day."

  "You have to see it," she continues. "There's no way you'll believe me if I just describe it. You'll think I've gone off my meds or something."

  "Of course I won't," I reply. "Wait, what meds?"

  "Come and see them for yourself," she says, tugging at my arm. "I swear to God, I'm scared I'm going crazy. I need, like, someone to see it and tell me I'm not out of my mind."

  Realizing that there's no point arguing with her, I reluctantly let her lead me back up the stairs and along the corridor that leads to Abby Hart's lab. There's a part of me that's worried this is some kind of trap, and that when I get to the lab I'll find Abby waiting for me. At the same time, I'm fairly sure that I can trust Katie, since she came highly recommended from a colleague and, besides, she seems utterly confused. When I first met her, I was worried she was high on some kind of drug, and now I see that I was right: as we hurry along the corridor, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out some kind of pill bottle, from which she removes a small pink lozenge that she quickly swallows.

  "You okay there?" I ask cautiously.

  "Epilepsy," she replies, glancing at me with a nervous smile. "I'm fine as long as I take my pills. The problem is, one of the side-effects of the pills is short-term memory problems, which makes it harder to remember, so it gets kind of difficult, but I write it on my hand." Stopping at the door to Abby's lab, she turns to me and holds up her left hand to reveal the word 'pills' scrawled in marker pen. "See? Okay. This is either gonna freak you out, or it's gonna make you think I'm crazy. If I'm crazy, I'm gonna have to go back to my doctor and get him to change my pills. These new ones taste bitter anyway, and I've stuck with them for a month even though I don't think they're really much of an improvement over the last ones, but Dr. Bannister says, and Dr. Mehta kinda agrees, and so does my Mom, that I need -"

  "Maybe you should just show me," I say, interrupting her. "You're sure Dr. Hart isn't anywhere around?"

  "What's wrong?" she replies. "You scared of her or something?"

  "Of course not," I reply. "I was just... So are you going to show me what's wrong or not?"

  She pauses. "First, I need you to understand that I was just doing my normal work. I didn't set this up or anything. I was in the room, walking between the tables, tagging and cataloging everything, and there was nothing weird. Then I left the room for, like, five minutes to get some other equipment, and I didn't hear anything, but when I came back, the bodies had... Well, they were like this." S
lowly, and clearly concerned, she pushes the door open. "Go on," she whispers. "Tell me this isn't the single most fucked up thing you've ever seen in your life."

  Stepping past her, I walk into the room and immediately see what she means.

  "Who did this?" I ask, walking toward the rows of bodies.

  "No-one," she replies. "I swear to God, they did it themselves."

  Unable to quite comprehend what I'm looking at, I reach the nearest body and stare at its arm, which is reaching out and holding hands with the body next to it. In fact, that's what they're all doing. There are one hundred and ten dead bodies in this lab, on individual trays laid out on individual trolleys, and - if Katie is to be believed - it seems they've all spontaneously reached out to one another and begun to hold hands.

  "So," Katie says, still standing nervously by the door. "Tell me I'm imagining this. Please? I really don't want this to be real."

  Abby Hart

  "Fuck!" I mutter as I drop my keys.

  Carefully kneeling on the carpeted floor, I try to focus as the whole corridor seems to spin around me. To be honest, I don't quite understand why this is happening. Sure, I drank half a dozen glasses of wine during the day, but I shouldn't be affected like this, especially now that I've got a healthy dose of human blood in my system. Fumbling for the keys, I eventually find them and haul myself back up. It takes longer than it should to get the door open, but finally I'm safely back in my apartment.

  "Home," I whisper, throwing the keys at the nearby table. Stumbling to the kitchen, I check my watch and see that it's almost 5pm. I've spent the whole day drinking, and now I need to sober up. In a way, this is pathetic. I mean, I'm a vampire; I'm a thousand times smarter, stronger and better than every human in this city, so why am I doing dumb things like this? I pull the fridge door open and grab a carton of milk, drinking a drop before letting it fall to the floor.