Terry couldn’t really remember, the last time he’d felt this happy.
His heart was full, his step was light and even his permanent distaste for the British middle classes had, for the moment at least, begun to fade into the background.
Next, he’d be laughing at Four Weddings and a Funeral, thought the Vampire, smiling to himself, before leaning back on his chair and taking another sip of Hector’s excellent wine.
Of course they was no mystery to his present state of euphoria.
Jordan.
He was totally brilliant.
Whether he was breaking Hector’s private meditations in the Kabbalah with the sounds of Skepta or Kendrick Lamarr or rushing around the apartment with his phone held aloft showing everyone articles about Social Justice or Trans pets that made their own milk shakes, he was like a breath of the freshest clean air on a sticky summer’s day.
Okay, it was like living with a Woke Vampire, but this was a version that dazzled rather than depressed, and as the months began to pass, Terry slowly felt himself falling into that dreadful cliché, where Jordan began to represent “The son he’d never had.”
Of course, Lauryn still occupied his thoughts, how could she not, his love for her was deep, much deeper than even he had ever suspected, but somehow the presence of her son in his life right now, brought a welcome salve to his damaged heart. Maybe this could be a new beginning, mused Terry, as he watched Hector and Jordan engage in another one of their dinner time arguments, this time about what a better society might look like.
“Without Free Speech young man, we have nothing.”
“Nah bruv, that just lets the Nazis in.”
Terry couldn’t resist a smile.
Bloodsuckers, arguing over what was best for humanity.
The irony, as always, was delicious, and so the Vampire continued to listen dreamily to the conversation at the other end of the table, until Hector rose to bring in the cheese board, so they could decamp to the comfort of the front room, with a nice bottle of Port. Obviously, this ritual provided little attraction to someone as young as Jordan, who promptly stretched out on the sofa with his phone, while Hector nibbled on a piece of Stilton before nodding off in his favorite leather chair. “Perfect” sighed Terry and he was considering following his old mentor and indulging in a post dinner snooze himself, when a ping from his phone, diverted his attention towards an unexpected text.
“Oscar killed Lauryn, we have to meet ASAP- Errol”
Now his heart quickened as he sat up in his chair, before glancing over towards Jordan on the sofa opposite.
“You okay?” asked the younger Vampire, pulling out an ear bud, as he noticed a frown on Terry’s face.
“Err, United lost again.”
“You should support Arsenal bruv, get a proper team,” Jordan replied with a big smile, before returning to his You Tube video, while Terry frantically searched his mind about what to do next. It hadn’t mattered so much when only Hector knew the truth, he was like a father, who cared little for ego, only the best outcome for the one he loved. But Errol was a different matter entirely. He was a contemporary and would demand blood. Of course, his lover’s death should have been avenged. Everything in his soul had told him this, and even after all the platitudes and excuses had been trotted out by the more rational side of his mind, was he, in the end, nothing more than a miserable coward? Possibly. He still railed about the Iraq War, the first and greatest of the many lies that now defined the new century, and would have gladly bled out Campbell and Cheney, the real villains of the piece, in a heart-beat, had it not been expressly prohibited by Carswell and the Vampire Council. Yet he balked at Oscar, who had taken the “supposed love of his life”. However, whichever way his thoughts now took him, honor, dishonor, brave man, pussy, everything still came back to one single consideration. Jordan. Any revenge, would only result in certain death for his Spirit Son and so, in reality, whatever his ego might protest, all bets were still, basically off. “Nice” Terry now mumbled to himself and happy that he could still look himself in the mirror in the evening, as contrary to myth, Vampires could see their own reflection, he quickly texted back his former house-mate, to arrange a meeting for the following evening.
That night, he managed a relatively, undisturbed sleep, and after rising early, he made himself a healthy breakfast of muesli and natural yoghurt, before wandering over from North London to a boating pond in the middle of a park in Fulham, to explain himself to Errol.
“Hi,” said Terry sliding out of the darkness and approaching a familiar shape sitting on a park bench.
“Mate,” replied Errol standing up with a nervous smile.
“Thought we couldn’t be friends,” said Terry, with a grin and shaking his hand.
“Yeah fuck that.”
“Crazy innit?”
“Crazy’s the word. Been running around with Di Franco and all those fucking idiots and instead I should have reached out.”
“Reached out? You’re so Woke geezer!”
“Believe! Why can’t they just say “contact”, for fuck’s sake? Oh, and you’ll like this one. Been doing PR for a firm called Embrace Vegan, yeah?” said Errol, sitting back down and happy to see his friend again.
“Oh right? The ones who do the sausages?”
“That’s them. Totally ethical apparently, you know bring in their ingredients by sailing ships to save the environment and all that kind of shit, But get this. First, they stopped their workers starting a Union with the help of that Lefty Democrat, AFM, you know Angelina Felicia Mendes and then because of a backlash in the Press and their sales going down, to cut costs, they’ve secretly been getting their sausages and burgers made by a firm that processes meat. Actual fucking meat, bro’. Can you believe it? Saw the invoices the other day. It’s hilarious.”
“Don’t surprise me.”
“Yeah they’re a joke” said Errol, shaking his head again before there was a brief silence between the old friends, until Terry started to speak again.
“So your text about Lauryn, then?”
“Yeah mate. Sorry about that, I was gonna text earlier when I saw it in the paper, but... Anyway, but I overheard Oscar and Jamaal talking at a party didn’t I? They were out of it and Oscar was saying that he killed Lauryn, you know in revenge for what Hector did to him. Just thought you should know.”
“I knew, already.”
“What? You knew?!” said Errol suddenly rising from the park bench.
“ He sent me a text from her phone and I went around and saw her on the bed.”
“Fucking hell. You knew?” repeated Errol, while Terry slowly nodded his head.
“He can’t get away with that mate.”
“Look Errol, It’s not that easy,” said Terry firmly, looking up at his friend.
“You what?!”
“This is what he wants. Make me react so he can kill me in self defense.”
“What? Fuck off Terry! Seriously? That bastard killed your bird.”
“You know as well as me, he’d fuck me up in a second, plus I hear he’s banging Carswell, so he’s protected. It would be suicide, you know that.”
“Ah, this ain’t you. I’ve seen you stand up to older Vamps before. What about Parsons? You done ‘im, remember?”
“Parsons is only 100 years older than me, plus he’s a twat. Oscar is a different story.”
“Don’t seem right bro’.”
“Well, it’s the way it is. I’ll have to bide my time.”
“Okay Tel. But you know killing her wasn’t the only thing he did,” said Errol, looking away a little embarrassed.
“Why, what do you mean?”
“Well, I didn’t want to say anything, but he also said that… err...”
“What?” said Terry, now standing up from the bench.
“Well, he said that, erm. Well that he hypnotized her and, well you know. Said it was the sweetest thing.”
“Fuck! You sure?”
“You know Oscar, that’s his thing innit, power, revenge.”
“Piece of fucking shit” replied Terry, now walking around in front of the bench, while he tried to process this new information, and was just about to turn around again to ask Errol something else, when out of the trees, a figure suddenly appeared.
“Jordan, what you doing here?” said Terry, moving towards the young Vampire.
“Who the hell is this?” said Errol turning towards Terry.
“He’s Lauryn’s son.”
“What?! Well, hypnotize him quick, then” shouted Errol
“No he’s one of us,” replied Terry, a millisecond before Jordan suddenly sprang forward to grab the lapels of his black leather jacket and scream vengeance for his dead mother.
Now any chance of a better outcome would be lost forever, as Jordan’s incurable curiosity had led him to follow Terry on a whim and had now overheard what should have always remained a secret. However, despite this, Terry sat the young Vampire down on the park bench and tried to reason hard with him, even enlisting help from Errol, who, gradually realizing the perilous nature of their situation, especially now as it included Lauryn’s son, began to side with his old friend. But it was to no avail and so after an hour or so of back and forth in the middle of the park, where with tears in his eyes, Jordan begged for Justice for the death of his mother, Terry and Errol were finally forced to admit defeat and pledge all of their efforts to the destruction of Oscar.
Therefore, in light of this, the next few nights, were frantic to say the least, as the three Vampires met to try and formulate some kind of a plan. However, whichever way they worked it out every scenario seemed to end up, either in their own destruction by way of Oscar or later at the hands of Carswell and the Council, who wouldn’t think twice about snuffing out the lives of Bloodsuckers so young. All the same, despite the ridiculous odds, by the third night, a plan did finally emerge and predictably, it was pretty basic. They would stay the night in Errol’s cell in Fulham, and then before the setting of the sun, the three of them would walk along the corridor to Oscar’s door and just as he came out for a shower, would take him by surprise and rip out his heart, which other than decapitation, was the only sure way to kill a Vampire. “Piece of piss” noted Terry dryly, and so for the rest of the week, they went over every detail of their plan, whilst drinking copious amounts of human blood, from Errol’s private reserve to increase their strength. Terry, in particular, schooled Jordan relentlessly on how to anticipate the reactions of a Vampire and more importantly how to avoid being destroyed himself.
“The older ones are, on average, about five times faster than Vampires like me and Errol, so that means they are ten times faster than you. So don’t mess about. We just need you to hold onto Oscar’s legs for only a few seconds, before I drag his arms back and hopefully Errol can plunge the knife straight into his heart,” explained Terry, as he repeatedly threw Jordan around his cell to concentrate his mind on anticipating the moves of someone as terrifying as Oscar. Every now and again Hector would stroll by, and take a peek in at all the rough and tumble, while Terry would smile and explain that he was just showing his protege how to fight off any rogue Lycan he might encounter. Obviously, all their problems would be over, if Hector was on their side, but he also knew that his Spirit Father would only try to dissuade them from their suicide mission, and as Jordan had made them all make a “Blood Pledge” which could not be reversed, it was probably best to keep things as they were. Very soon Saturday evening arrived, and after being ushered into the house by Errol, they all stayed deathly silent in his cell until the next day, and then as the sun started to set, the three Vampires crept silently along the hallway to wait for Oscar to emerge from his usual weekend orgy of sex and Class A drugs. They had reasoned that this was probably when he would be at his weakest, and so remaining outside his cell door, the minutes seemed to tick by like hours, until finally they heard a click and then a familiar swish. In less than a second, Errol had leapt forward and delivered a huge kick to the older Vampire’s chest, while Terry sprang to his right and grabbed one of the Oscar’s arms.
“What the …” cried Oscar, as Jordan quickly joined the fray and even succeeded in securing one of the Vampire’s legs, while Terry moved around the side and managed to pull back the other of Oscar’s arms, so at one point it seemed as if the day was won and Errol could plunge his dagger straight into their enemy’s chest. However, at the last minute he hesitated, maybe killing a fellow Brother in Blood, proved too much for him, but whatever the reason, it allowed Oscar, time enough to wrestle free from Terry’s grip, while a quick kick to Jordan’s head, left the young Vampire unconscious, in the corner of his cell.
“Good Lord. Assassins. What larks. Well your chance has gone chaps and now you must pay the price. Like poor Lauryn. So very sweet” grinned Oscar as he grabbed both Errol and Terry by their throats and forced them up against the wall of the cell.
“Vampires should never kill one other, but as this is in self -defense I think the High Council will understand,” declared Oscar with a savage grin, as he squeezed harder, causing both, Errol and Terry to flail around for breath, until their assailant was suddenly grabbed from behind and thrown to the ground.
“Hector! Thank god you’re here. These three villains have just tried to kill me as I came out of my cell,” spluttered Oscar, as he looked up at the older Vampire, who had now appeared in the room.
“I know. I read young Jordan’s mind three days ago. Stupid plan. We should never kill one of our own.”
“It is the law,” confirmed Oscar, now getting to his feet, before raising his hand to straighten his hair.
“Yes, Oscar, it is the law,” replied Hector and then taking the knife from the hand of his Spirit Son, in one swift movement, he plunged the dagger deep into his heart.
There was now a slow gurgling sound, which lasted maybe less than a minute, before the Vampire, slumped to the ground and immediately start to decay. The stench was nearly over-powering as Terry and Errol looked on in utter amazement, until Hector declared “You must go now,” before walking over to a corner of the cell and starting to weep.
*
The guards hustled Hector into the middle of the meeting chamber, and glancing sheepishly under their brows, they loitered for a moment, until the figure standing on a purple dais, quickly raised her hand, and they turned to march away.
“You look tired Hector. A drink?” said the Vampire Leader, her voice echoing around the heavy wooden beams as she glided down the steps of the raised platform to approach her old comrade.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure, it’s very good” said Carswell walking over to a decanter sitting on a side table and then pouring herself a whiskey.
“The mortals are lucky don’t you think. Live seven or eight decades, learn a few things, make a mark and then that’s it. If you make a big enough mark, your ideas live on, and if you don’t some woodland creature relieves himself on your headstone, but at least it’s done. A beautiful release. Thinking about it now, that’s how I should have left you, when I found you in the library of Cordoba serving under Abd al Rahman III. You were brilliant, are brilliant. Your name would be up there now with Omar Khayyam, Newton, Goethe, revered like a Titan for the rest of eternity, but your body, sadly long crumbled to dust. You could never adapt, could you? The challenge of a longer life? Always fighting a cause, not realizing, that it’s all artifice. Fate makes the decision. She loves chaos. It’s the best disinfectant, don’t you think?”
“We have to try, Dierdra.”
“Utopians always say that don’t they? We have to try. We have to make a difference. Spare me, please. Such rot. Take Mother Nature for example. Forget the Patriarchy, she’s the biggest misogynist of them all. Menstruation, Menopause, Men! A real bitch, if ever there was one and yet we learn to accept, don’t we? Because in the end, loyalty is all we really have and it’s Lady Carswell to you, you pitiless dog” shouted the Chief Imperator, throwing her glass on the floor before flying across the room and striking Hector, hard across the face.
“Oscar was diseased,” said Hector, defiantly.
“Then why turn him?”
“It was my one mistake.”
“In hell’s name! You are such a fraud, Hector! Plaguing history for centuries with your ridiculous compassion. Attracting acolytes and then drawing them to their death. You know Rousseau’s children all ended up in an orphanage and Marx left his family in penury. Hypocrisy doesn’t even cover it. Why can’t you leave well alone.”
“This is an old charge of yours.”
“And still true. You are a snake Hector, worse than me, worse than the old one, who made us what we are today. You have all this power, and yet you try to share with those less fortunate. Prometheus in sack cloth and ashes, perhaps? What is it you used to say in the Vampire elections? Oh yes, I remember. If you are destitute vote for your own interests and if you are rich vote for the interests of the destitute? Weasel words. It changes nothing. In fact it only makes things worse, because all you really do is stop the underlings from hating you more and rising up to take your power.”
“My power?”
“Yes, your power Hector. The power of the Missionary, the benevolent Billionaire, the random caring Celebrity. So bloody transparent and like you, they achieve very little, except, of course, to increase their own social capital, which is all hypocrites like you, crave anyway. Is that not right my dearest? You know, I knew Mother Theresa rather well, and every time, I searched her mind, all I saw was vanity, and pure self-interest, as I glimpse in yours, when your guard is down. The Legend! The Great Thinker! The Righter of Wrongs! Unmasked at last. That’s why you believe so much in charity, isn’t it? For that line in the newspapers or that little whisper at a party, “Oh he does such good work” Christ in heaven! At least I’m honest. I believe in charity, for one reason and one reason alone. Because it sedates. Starve a man and he may kill you in your sleep, but keep him just about alive and he may even thank you. I do the same as you, but with less mess.”
“I am nothing like you.”
“You are exactly like me. Exactly! You don’t even like the poor, you pity them. What is that? Enlightened? And anyway why should we pity them? Who built this world? The 80%?, as that Lycan dog used to call them. No fear. They just sit there, like they have always done, waiting to be fed. They build nothing! NOTHING! We built it. We, the Elite, the gifted, the so-called chattering classes, you spend so much of your wasted life spitting venom at. Imhotep, Plato, Buddha, Al Khwarizmi, Francis Bacon, Alan Turing. Where the hell do you think these people came from? The Swamp? The Ghetto? The Housing Estate? Of course not. You know maybe I should kill you Hector. I was responsible for you, you were my making. Maybe should I take your life, as you did Oscar. He was dear to me, because he was your blood son.”
“He was a monster.”
“We are all monsters! ” screamed Carswell grabbing Hector by the throat and lifting him from the ground with one hand.
“I am ready,” said Hector, closing his eyes.
“I don’t doubt you are. A martyrs death, you long for it, so? A worthwhile end to a lonely life, but I find, that despite the ways you have always found to hurt me, I still love you,” said Lady Carswell, throwing Hector to the ground and then turning to walk back to the purple dais.
“Within a few hours, the Vampire Council shall convene an emergency meeting, in this very Hall, in fact. It is over 600 years since a First Tier Vampire was killed by one of his own, and so they will, most assuredly, insist on your demise. A slow end, stretched out under the Arctic sun for a crime, which is doubly egregious. A fellow Brother in Blood, and your Spirit Son. What should I say Hector,” said the Vampire Leader, glaring back at the Spaniard.
“You should say yes.”
“I should, but I won’t. You are not supposed to die yet, your time is not done, I sense it. So I will recommend that you be interred for 500 years, a quarter of your life.”
“I would prefer death.”
“No you wouldn’t and anyway I will be long gone by the time you awake and maybe the world will be more to your liking then. Goodbye Hector,” said Lady Carswell, sharply, now turning her back.
“May I see Terry before I go,” asked Hector, softly, with his head bowed.
“Your beloved? I shouldn’t, but if it is your wish,” said Carswell, remaining with her back to him, before dismissing him from the room with a wave of her hand.
As she predicted, the Vampire Leader used her considerable influence, to persuade the Council to defer the prescribed sentence of death for such a heinous crime to one of 500 years locked in a lead coffin in depths of the Blood Temple. Furthermore, the verdict of the Council was to be carried out within 24 hours of the decree, and so after getting his affairs in order and writing some letters to his Rabbi and a few close friends, Hector was then taken from his cell, to an inner courtyard.
“We could get you out, know,” whispered Terry, as the two men walked a few paces away from the four guards in attendance.
“No my friend, they would simply catch me again. Besides my sentence is just.”
“How is it just? You rid the earth of scum,” replied Terry, shaking his head.
“That’s as maybe, but I must pay for my crime. My only consolation is that you were not involved. They asked you questions, yes?”
“For hours. Even Jamaal turned up and nosed about the flat but got nothing.”
“Excellent. Say nothing and tell Errol and Jordan to do the same, because, have no doubt my dear friend, if Carswell ever finds out the truth, she will not hesitate to kill you all. I have glimpsed inside her thoughts, when she probed my mind for the truth, and rest assured she hates you and blames you for my fate. Believe me Terry, she will destroy you if she gets the chance.”
“Fuck her Hector. Anyway, who cares, this world is finished.”
“How can you say that? Always the pessimist,” said Hector, stopping to smile at his friend.
“What do you expect? I’m a Northerner.”
“Well, you must keep your head, my friend. Of course, everyone is crazy at the moment, but this is just because we are asking questions we have never asked before.”
“I dunno Hector, this is bad, worse than I have ever seen. All we do is look back to the past, to smash each other over the head. Today it’s Slavery, tomorrow it will be something else, we’re fucking doomed mate.”
“Not so fast my friend. Do you know where the word Slave comes from? The Slavs. When I was a boy, they were the dogs, and the only Slaves I saw in Spain were white. Then Black people were destroyed for 400 years, but very soon they will rise and probably become the masters themselves. In fact, I’d wager you a Caliph’s Treasure House, that in a less than five hundred years, a Black historian will write, that the British Empire for all its faults was ultimately a great thing, in the same way Gibbons said that the Romans civilized Ancient Britain. Do you think the Romans were loved 2,000 years ago? Of course not. But from a safe distance, devoid of any real memory, we come to admire them. It is one of the only joys of living so long, my friend, is that you see how things really are. I have seen Empires come and go. Everyone gets their chance to be the oppressed and the oppressor, no? and then they disappear like the morning mist. Where is the Kingdom of Kush now? Where is Macedon? The Mongols, The Aztecs, or even the Spanish? I have seen it with my own eyes. For some reason, humans, need to dominate each other. It seems to be their path to progress. But little by little, inch by inch, it gets better. Look at today? What a world we live in? Do you know the average life expectancy 150 years ago was 40. Now it is double that, we have so much to be thankful for. Fear not my friend, despite Carswell and those who think like her, the battle will be won. So, don’t give up, look after Jordan, soothe your angry soul and when I awake, we will rejoice again.”
“But 500 years Hector?”
“Yes, think of that. 500 years ago it was 1522, and there I was in Venice, conversing with Michelangelo, reading Martin Luther with all of the Renaissance crashing into my mind. Think of what it will be like when I awake? Listen to me, Terry and learn. I have been a Vampire, a scourge of humankind, a Psychopath for over a thousand years now, but despite my sorry condition, I still see only the good in us all.”
“I don’t. This Woke bullshit is fatal, Hector.”
“It’s fashion, nothing but fashion. Sixteen hundred years ago the Huns ruled in most of Europe and they had a custom, of wrapping the heads of their babies when they were born, so they developed coned -shaped heads. Crazy no? But because they were in charge, the people who they conquered, started to do the same thing to their own babies, and not because they were forced to, but because they wanted to copy the new elites. Think of it Terry, they deformed their babies just to fit in!”
“Probably explains the Mullet as well.”
“The what?”
“Nothing, a joke.”
“A joke? Yes, yes, very good. A joke is exactly what we need right now. Like poor Kierkegaard, we must laugh at the absurdity of life. Even the Puritans among us will not be able to resist the power of that, in the end. Be strong my dearest friend and I will see you again. You know, you always had the most beautiful smile,” said Hector, his eyes suddenly filling with tears, and then leaning forward to kiss Terry on the cheek he stared up at the night sky for the last time, before walking back towards the Vampire guards to meet his fate.