Worlds Away and Worlds Aweird Page 3

  “Just confirming things, sir. Lousy picture, though. Whoever took it got you way over to one side, the other half is empty.”

  Bob looked down at the picture again. “Wait a minute, wait a minute, there’s something wrong here. I’m sure I only got photographed once at the party, and it was with my date, Alicia. Looks like someone Photoshopped this, took her out.”

  “Impossible. This picture was still in the camera, which we found in the room—no way it could have been tampered with. Are you sure you don’t remember this shot being taken?”

  “No, I don’t. All I remember is just one shot of me and Alicia.”

  “There were no pictures of you with a girl. Something is strange here. Sir, I am going to have to ask you to get dressed and come down to the station with me.”

  “Sergeant, you haven’t told me what happened here. Am I being accused of something, arrested, what?” Bob was beginning to get worried.

  “Oh, sorry. There was a murder, the body of a—” again he looked at his notebook to be sure he had it right “—a Sam, short for Samhain, Wilfred. We are not ready to arrest anyone yet, but since you were there at about the time of the murder, we are considering you a ‘person of interest.’ We want fingerprints and the answers to a few more questions.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll go get dressed.” Bob rose from the recliner and started walking toward the bedroom. “Do you need to come watch me to make sure I don’t try to escape?” he asked over his shoulder.

  Sgt. Piper shook his head tiredly. “No, Mr. Talbot. That won’t be necessary.”

  The interrogation room at the police station had grimy green walls and a buzzing fluorescent light overhead. On the table was another copy of the picture showing Bob way off center and several sheets with thumbnails of all the pictures in the camera’s memory. The thumbnail of the picture of Bob had been heavily outlined in magic marker.

  Sgt. Piper, and a plainclothes cop who introduced himself as Lt. Anderson, kept asking him the same questions about the photos over and over again, and it was obvious from Bob’s expression that he was getting annoyed.

  “You said a picture was taken of you and your date,” said Anderson. “How did she react?”

  “I don’t remember,” Bob muttered. “See what she looks like in the picture—oh, wait, you don’t have that picture, do you? Too bad.” Bob remembered—when Alicia realized that they had been photographed, she let loose with a few choice swear words—but by now, he was so annoyed that he wasn’t about to tell the cops anything more.

  “You said this girl’s name was Alicia Farragut?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “There’s no such person, Mr. Talbot,” said Lt. Anderson. “We checked the college records, voter rolls, driver’s licenses, there’s no such person. The last person we could find with that name died some forty-seven years ago. Forty-seven years! I think you’re lying to us.”

  “I’m not lying,” Bob protested. “That’s what she told me her name was. Maybe she lied to me. You think I should have asked her for ID before I took her to the party?”

  The two policemen kept on with the questions for another hour, but finally gave up and let him go.

  By the time the police dropped Bob off at home, it was after eleven. He hadn’t had any breakfast, except for a cup of horrible coffee, so he decided to head out and get lunch. On the way back after lunch, he drove by Greg’s house. It was festooned with yellow “Police Line” tape, and a cruiser was parked in the driveway, so he didn’t bother stopping. He wanted to talk to Greg, and when he got home he picked up the phone, but quickly decided there was no point in calling Greg’s home number. He looked up Greg’s cell and dialed that instead.

  When Greg answered, he said, “Hey, I want to talk to you about the party. The cops just hauled me in to ask a bunch of stupid questions. Kept asking me about my date, too, wanted to know where she lived. I told them all I knew was I picked her up outside one of the women’s dorms. They weren’t happy about that. She wasn’t on any of the college’s dorm lists, but I couldn’t tell them any more.”

  “Yeah, Bob, I think I’d like to talk to somebody about it, too. But I have a class to teach right now. Could we meet in the Student Union coffee shop in about an hour?”

  “Sounds good to me. See you then.”

  Bob hung up the phone. He noticed the photo the cops had brought on the coffee table, and he put it over by the door where he would be sure to see it and pick it up on the way out. Having some time to kill, he dropped into his recliner and picked up the book he was reading.

  Half an hour later, he got up and headed for the car, carrying both the photo, and, in case he was too early and had to kill a little time, his book. He drove to the campus, but by the time he found a parking spot, it was time to meet Greg, and he went into the coffee shop with the photo. He had barely sat down when Greg arrived and sat down opposite him.

  “So the cops are hassling you, too? At least you have a place to live. I’m stuck on a friend’s couch until they get that damn yellow tape down!”

  “Yeah, that’s tough. But what I want to know is who this Sam is…was. They wouldn’t tell me much.”

  “Sam was one of my students, or really, one of Professor Lindenmyer’s students. Lindenmyer is my advisor. He teaches a course on ‘The Literature of Fantasy.’ He does the weekly lecture, and I do one of the study sections. I invited the students in my section to the party, but I’m sure regretting it now. Especially since I didn’t like Sam much. But I couldn’t invite the rest of the students and leave him out.”

  A waitress came by to take their orders: pie and a soft drink for Bob, cake and coffee for Greg.

  “So you didn’t like this guy?” asked Bob. “What was wrong with him?”

  “Besides the fact that he wasn’t very sociable, he had a vampire fixation. The students had to read books and turn in reviews, any fantasy was okay, but so far he had done Bram Stoker’s Dracula, an Anne Rice book, and one of Jim Butcher’s Harry Dresden books. And all he talked about in the Dresden was the three Vampire Courts, Black, Red, and White.”

  “Well, I guess that could be a nuisance, but if any fantasy was okay, whatever floats your boat—”

  “But, Bob, there’s one more thing I haven’t told you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How he died. I don’t think they were going to tell me either, but somebody slipped and left the coroner’s report in the interrogation room where I could see it. He died from almost total exsanguination, with two puncture wounds in his jugular vein! Like, a vampire got him!”

  “Damn, Greg, you’ve got to be kidding! But if a vampire got him—if there’s any such thing as a vampire—why in hell are they giving me a rough time?”

  Greg picked up the photo that Bob had left on the table and looked at it. “Did they seem especially interested in this picture?”

  “Yeah, it’s kind of strange. I only remember having one shot taken, and that was with my date, Alicia. But here I’m alone. And for some reason whoever took it did a lousy job, put me way off center. Real amateur work.”

  “The guy taking pictures at the party was Felix Foreman, one of the top professional photographers in the area. He teaches classes in photography and graphic arts here at the college. And, by the way, he is plenty pissed that the cops confiscated his camera.”

  “Well, I don’t blame him for that. But if he’s so good, why the rotten shot?”

  The waitress put their orders in front of them, and Greg took a bite of his cake before answering. “Did your date know that Felix was going to take the picture?”

  “No, he just popped up in front of us and clicked the shutter. In fact, when Alicia realized what had happened, she cussed a blue streak. I don’t know why.”

  “Bob, did you ever read Dracula or any other vampire stories? Do you remember one strange thing about vampires, that they have no reflection in a mirror?”

  Bob took a bite of pie while he thought, then said, “I thin
k I do remember that, yeah. But what does that have to do with this?”

  “Back in Bram Stoker’s day, mirrors were common enough, but photography not so much. So it might not have been noticed that not only do vampires not reflect in mirrors, but they don’t show up in photos either. Now, however, every clown has a camera in his cell phone, and there are lots of pictures around mysteriously missing people. Or lots of camera-shy people. This guy, Sam, always ducked out of sight if someone wanted to do a picture of the study section.”

  Bob sat, thinking. Finally he said, “So you think maybe this guy, Sam, was a vampire? And Alicia? Felix would have composed me and Alicia in the frame and taken the shot. But if she were a vampire—this is ridiculous—the picture would show me off center, and just background where she was standing.” He got a frightened look on his face. “Oh, my God, you mean I was dating a vampire? And I’ll bet you’re going to tell me she was the one who killed Sam?”

  Greg nodded. “But it gets worse. Did you know that according to some sources, one vampire can kill—well, they’re undead already—but really kill another vampire, by totally draining his blood? Sam was a vampire, too, I’m pretty sure. He was always ducking people with cell-phone cameras, didn’t want to get caught like Alicia did. If I were you—” he paused for a moment “—if I saw Alicia, I think I’d duck.”

  They finished their snacks, paid the bill, and walked out. As they separated to walk to their cars, Bob said, “I think that’s good advice, Greg. I’ll just stay away from Alicia, at least until this blows over, maybe forever.” Never was he less of a prophet.

  By the time Bob got home it was dark out. As he opened his front door to enter, something fluttered by him and into the front hall. It was a bat. It descended to the floor and transformed into Alicia. He was too stunned to do anything, and before he could back out through the door, she slipped past him, slammed it shut, and locked it.

  “Hello, Bob,” she said. “I think we need to talk. But don’t worry, I don’t intend to kill you.” She led him over to his recliner and pushed him into it, then sat on the couch. “At least, I hope I don’t have to kill you, I like you too much.”

  Bob sat there for a moment, then said, “Thank goodness for small favors. So all that vampire stuff is true? You are a vampire? And Sam was, too?”

  “Yes, that’s all true, but you don’t know the entire story. Most vampires are ruled by the Vampire Council. We have rules, laws, and do as little harm to humans as possible. We have to drink a little human blood, but mostly subsist on animal blood. When we get hungry, we’ll go out and ‘tap a cow’ as we put it. And for the human blood, a quick raid on a blood bank works as well as actually biting someone.”

  Bob absently ran his hand up and down his neck as he listened to her. “But what about Sam? Why did you kill him?”

  “Sam was a renegade. He flouted the laws of the Council, drained blood from humans, killed them simply because it was convenient. The Council sent me after him. Unfortunately, well, do you remember the old Mission Impossible series?”

  Bob nodded.

  “They told me, ‘If you are caught or killed, the Council will disavow any knowledge of your actions.’ And the cops have that damned photo. You and Greg know what it’s about. If the cops figure out what it really means and try to go after the Council, I’ll be in deep doo-doo! I’m not sure what to do next.”

  Bob said, “You know, I never heard of this thing about killing a vampire by draining its blood. I thought you had to drive a wooden stake through the heart.”

  “Oh, that works fine. But can you see me going to a party carrying a big wooden stake and a heavy sledge hammer to pound it into his heart with? Exsanguination is much subtler, quieter.”

  “Ah, that makes sense. But you did kill him?”

  “Yes, I did kill him. Like I said, by order of the Council. Now all I have to do is make sure the cops don’t get me and don’t get a lead on the Council. But really, they’re never going to believe I’m the same person who died—was turned—forty-seven years ago. And guess what? They don’t have a picture of me!” She laughed. “So I think I just have to do something about you, and maybe Greg.”

  Bob looked apprehensive.

  She continued, “Hopefully something other than killing the two of you.”

  “You can’t just go away, back to your bat cave or whatever, and drop the whole thing?”

  “I could do that. The Council wouldn’t be too happy, but I could. And I doubt Greg would be in much trouble. But the cops are sure you’re lying about the picture, and about dating a girl who died years ago. That makes you their prime suspect! If you don’t want to end up in the slammer for homicide, we have to do something.”

  “What?”

  “Bob, how would you like to be a vampire? Avoid sunlight and garlic, and you could live forever, or damn near. I could turn you, then we’d both head back to the, as you so neatly put it, bat cave. And, I might mention, I like you and I’m not currently dating anyone regularly. How about it?”

  Bob was about to say something when the phone rang. He grabbed it.

  “Bob, this is Greg,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. “I just left the police station. They had me in for more questions, heard one of them say they’re going to come out and get you, arrest you for suspicion of murder. They’ll be there shortly.”

  Bob stared at the phone, then said, “Thanks for the warning, Greg,” and hung up. He looked at Alicia and asked, “How long does it take, this ‘turning’ thing? Looks like I don’t have much choice. I can’t afford a good lawyer and I’m scared to death of ending up in jail. Being a vampire sounds better than being a convict. But I have to do something fast.”

  “Oh, it only takes a few minutes.”

  “Good.” He got up from the recliner and sat down next to her on the couch, exposing his neck to her. He felt a brief pain as she sank her fangs into him, then a strange feeling washed over him, a strange but pleasant feeling.

  Suddenly there was a pounding on the front door, and a voice yelled, “Open up, Mr. Talbot. Police.” After a pause, the voice continued, “We have a warrant. If you don’t open up, we’ll have to break in.”

  Alicia told Bob, “Watch what I do and copy it.” She shimmered and turned into a bat.

  Bob watched carefully, and it proved to be very easy for him to imitate her and transform into a bat, too.

  There was a loud crash as the police broke down the door and entered. But then they jumped a mile, one falling off the front step and landing in the bushes, as the two bats flew straight at their faces and then past them and out the door. After the cops recovered and entered, they were very disappointed to find nobody in the house.

  Someone is Dying

  [Space exploration can be hazardous to your health…]

  SOMEONE IS DYING. I can’t remember who.

  The desert here is beautiful. In a stark, spare way of course. Rocks and sand, mostly, once in a while a tiny patch of lichen that manages to survive in the dry, thin atmosphere. Nothing man-made anywhere in sight, unless you count my footprints, a trail leading back across the dunes to the camp and the Mars lander.

  I’d better get moving again, got to take care of that errand. I wish I could remember exactly what it was. Something to do with death, someone is dying, but I can’t remember who. I’ll remember when I get there—if I get there—if I just keep walking.

  Death entered Kurt Behrman’s life early. Kurt was only three when they met.

  “Mommy, what’s the matter?”

  His mother had just gotten a phone call, and now she was sitting on the couch crying. Kurt climbed up next to her and tugged at her sleeve.

  “Mommy, why are you crying? Huh, Mommy?”

  She put an arm around him and for a while they just sat. Finally she said, “It’s your Daddy. He’s been killed in a plane crash. They say he died a hero, staying at the controls and fighting the plane down. The cockpit was totally destroyed, but he saved most of the passenger
s.”

  Kurt pulled away from her, fighting back tears, and walked in slow circles around the room, trying to understand. Finally he went back over to her.

  “Daddy’s not coming home any more, is he, Mommy?”

  “No, he’s not, honey.” She hugged him with one arm, while her other hand rubbed the bulging belly that was soon to become Kurt’s sister, a daughter who would never know her father.

  Later on, when Kurt was older, he understood what had happened to his father, and Captain Behrman’s final heroic act shaped Kurt’s life.

  Footprints! How in the world can there be footprints out here? I’m the first one to come this far from camp. They look a lot like my footprints. Damn! They are my footprints. I must have walked in a circle. Yeah, there’s that little hillock, and the camp is just on the other side of it. Funny, I can’t see the tip of the lander above the top of the hill. I should be able to, shouldn’t I? Must be an optical illusion. Things all look funny on this small planet, with the horizon so close. Doesn’t really matter.

  What matters is the mission. Someone is dying and I have to hurry. Got to get going. This time I’ll steer a course by the sun, no more walking in circles.

  Kurt was eight when his best friend Billy was killed. They were riding their bikes, racing down the big hill near Kurt’s house, when Billy somehow lost control of his bike and ran into a phone pole. He was thrown forward, and the end of the handlebar was rammed into his stomach. When Kurt came back to him, Billy was just lying on the ground. There was no blood.

  “Billy, get up, let’s go.”

  He mounted his bike and started to ride off, then noticed Billy wasn’t following. He circled back, stopped next to Billy, and repeated, “Get up. Let’s go.”

  Once again he pedaled off, then returned. This time he noticed Billy wasn’t breathing. He jumped off his bike and ran for the nearest house and pounded on the door. When it opened, he screamed, “Billy’s dead! Billy’s dead! Call an ambulance!” over and over again.