Sophie Morgan (Book 1): Relative Strangers (A Modern Vampire Story) (9 page)

"We all need to get out of here," Mickey muttered through gritted teeth. I knew he had to be in a lot of pain.

Maggie was saying something to the vamp across the street, although I couldn’t make out all the details from a distance. She could have been speaking to him in Flemish or French for all I knew. Whatever it was, the vampire listened with reluctant compliance. When she finished, he walked away, scooped up the body of my original attacker, wrench-head, and threw him in the back of their van. Maggie then marched him over to us, keeping the barrel of the gun pressed firmly into his back, and told him to pick up the other body

"Now, be a good boy," Maggie instructed him, "and pick up your friend and get rid of him too.”

The vamp bent down and picked up the remains of the gunshot victim. Our eyes met when he leaned over to scoop up the body. Neither of us uttered a word, but his silence conveyed everything.
I’m going to kill you one day you bitch
and if I don’t, someone else will, trust me. We're going to keep you for months; we'll have fun with you. It can take a long time to die if we want. He
turned and carried the body back towards the van, closed the door and got back into the driver’s seat. Casting a sideways look at us through the window, he sneered and bared his teeth.

"I don’t want to see you here again, "Maggie shouted.

He appeared to nod, turned the key to the engine and drove off. I watched in astonishment as the van disappeared into the darkness.

Given that Maggie had a gun and knew how to use it, I decided that it would probably be sensible to let her carry on taking charge. Besides which, she knew the area and the people. If anyone was going to be able to get us through the night, I figured it was probably going to be her.

Remembering that, despite her gun-wielding ways, Maggie was probably old enough to be my grandmother, I took most of the weight when helping to get Mickey up off the ground. The wound in his neck was healing, but he’d lost a lot of blood, and taken one hell of a beating. He was unsteady on his feet and needed help to manoeuvre his first few steps.

Maggie led the way back up the streets to O’Malley’s, and we shuffled behind her as fast as we could. She told us that we were probably lucky that we were attacked where we were; at least the bars and restaurants had all closed up by then, the handful that there were. Nobody was going to tell on us. Although there were a few flats for rent above them, they weren’t occupied by the most salubrious of tenants. The area was generally known for prostitution and small time drug dealers. Curtain twitchers rarely went to the police. Most of the residents didn't ‘officially’ live there anyway.

I couldn't help wonder what would have happened if it had all gone down in a busy, residential area. Maybe, someone would have come to our aid earlier. Still, Maggie had a point. I wasn't convinced that anyone would believe we'd just killed two vampires. Everything felt pretty surreal, with our luck we'd probably get locked up ourselves.

We walked cautiously and in silence until we eventually reached the bar. Maggie unlocked the door and pushed it open. Mickey and I shuffled through, arm in arm, and plonked ourselves down on the nearest bench.

Maggie pulled down the heavy, steel security door behind us, locked it and slid the bolts at the bottom into position. She shook it to be sure it was secure, it rattled but this seemed to satisfy here, and then closed and bolted the internal, saloon style doors behind them. Once she was done, she dragged one of the benches behind the door for extra reinforcement and propped her rifle against the bar.

Now I was sitting down, I finally began to feel the extent of my own injuries and peeled off my jacket to inspect them further. Between the two violent incidents of the evening, I had sustained more than a cut to my neck. It seemed strange that the bite could have healed so quickly compared to the pattern of bruises now appearing on my arms. Green tinges were forming on the edges of the impact sites. My right arm felt like it had been pulled out of its socket, a strange mix of aches and numbness. A chain of purple fingerprints decorated my wrist like a daisy chain. I rubbed it with my other hand, grateful that at least it wasn’t broken. I didn’t want to even think about what my knees would look like.

I studied Mickey and felt guilty for even thinking about my own condition. He’d lost most of the skin from the knuckles on both hands, his hair was matted with blood, his lip was starting to swell and he was caked in blood down most of the neck. His clothes were filthy with dirt and blood and his tee shirt was torn.

Wincing, I managed to lift my arm high enough to put it around him and I pulled him into me. He stayed there for a few moments, enjoying a brief period of peace, before he sat himself back up. He ran his hands through his hair, wincing as he did so. I wasn’t sure which part of him hurt more.

"Ouch," he muttered. "I need a drink". He tried standing up but was still wobbly. Thinking better of it, he stood back down.

Maggie took a seat at the table with us, bringing with her a bottle of Jamieson and three shot glasses. She also brought the gun, which she rested against the table. Pouring three large measures from the bottle, she looked us both up and down and asked how we were doing. I lied and assured him I was doing okay. Mickey didn’t respond and just drank his whiskey.

She told him that she’d need to dress Mickey's wounds, although they would heal soon enough. He'd feel weak for a few days. She was good at this and I was glad she was taking charge, but I couldn’t shake the burning question of what she thought actually must have gone on. She hadn’t seemed at all fazed by the whole debacle. And what the hell was she doing carrying around a gun?

I was halfway through my drink before I managed to spit out my first question; Mickey choked on his drink as the words left my lips.

"So do you usually go round shooting vampires who try to kill your bar staff?" My attempt to sound offhand and casual did not come out well. I sounded plain hysterical.

She didn’t answer; just looked at me, quietly smiling as if I’d asked her nothing more than
so do you like the décor?
"Sorry," I added, crinkling my nose, "I didn’t mean that to come out like it did."

"That’s alright dear, I understand. I was young like you once. I’ve seen a lot of the world since then. Very little surprises me anymore."

"Like vampires?" Mickey added, cringing as he it, partly from pain, but mostly from embarrassment. Vampires. Despite everything we’d seen, it still sounded remarkably far-fetched when you said it out loud.

"Yes pet, like vampires."

Nobody spoke for a little while. Maggie looked down at her wristwatch and visibly relaxed.

"What’s up Mags?" Mickey asked.

"It’ll be dawn soon. I doubt we’ll have any more trouble tonight. They don’t come out in the daylight too much."

"Does it kill them?" I asked.

"Not sure dear, but with the late nights I expect they like to sleep in like the rest of us."

"You seem to know a lot about them," Mickey observed.

"There are more things in heaven and earth Mickey, try not to worry so much. You need to get some rest if you are going to heal properly. Sophie, you give me a hand carrying him upstairs, will you dear? You look in a slightly better condition than him, and I don’t think we should wake Sean and worry him if we don’t have to. The young can be so hot-headed."

My cheeks flushed. I felt chastised, but her matter of fact attitude was really disconcerting. She might have been used to this sort of carry on, but I definitely wasn’t, and okay - perhaps we were pretty stupid and naive and all the rest of it, but she couldn’t talk either, wandering around the streets in her her night-gown and sawn-off shotgun.

Mickey and I deserved some answers, and as she was the only person who seemed to know anything about anything, she was going to give them to me, come hell or high water, and I didn’t care if she felt I was being stupid, childish or hysterical, or if in fact I actually was.

"Look Maggie, I hope you don’t mind me calling you that, but I’m sure you appreciate that this all seems a bit, well, mental. I don’t know about where you come from or what goes on here, but I’m not used to being rescued by a gun-toting granny, no offence intended, or being mauled by the super bloody natural".

"She’s got a point Mags," Mickey piped up.

Maggie rolled her eyes in defeat and apologised if she had seemed insensitive, but added that she wasn’t exactly familiar with rescuing people either; how are you supposed to react?

After a long pause, Maggie explained that it had been a long time since she had last seen a vampire, but she suspected that something was amiss when she saw that the bite on my neck heal so quickly. When she came downstairs, to get her reading glasses, which she’d left behind the bar, and found us missing, she grew concerned that something had happened to us. It took her a little while to find us, and for that she apologised. She assumed that we would probably head off in the direction of my earlier assault. Her guesswork had paid off.

"I’m glad you came for us, though," I assured her, trying to make up for any rudeness on my part.

"Where did you get the gun Mags?" Mickey piped up. He obviously wasn’t aware of its existence, which intimated that she probably wasn’t meant to have it.

"I’ve got a license", she retorted, defensively. "Admittedly, it’s not for this gun and it’s only for hunting and at the gun club, but I’ve got one."

"Do I want to know where you got it from Mags?"

"No Mickey you don’t. As far as you, the law and everyone else know, it doesn’t exist, and I think we should try and keep it that way given the circumstances."

Mickey took a swig of whiskey, and then nodded in agreement. I nodded, but she had peaked my curiosity all the same. "Maggie, can I ask you how you know so much about vampires in the first place?"

"I don’t think I know that much about them my dear," she replied," but what I know I’ll willingly share."

Mickey and I sat like excited children waiting to be told a story, hanging on every word, almost missing our lips when we lifted our glasses to our mouths.

Maggie was born and raised in a small rural town in Ireland, not far from the border with the north, although the south side, the "right side", the Republic. She was the eldest of five children. The way she described it made it seem idyllic, which would no doubt make whatever horror befell her seem even more terrifying.

She was raised at a time when few professions, in reality, were open to women, but it didn’t take her long to realise that teaching or being an office worker wasn’t for her. She was six years old when she declared that she wanted to be a nurse, and when she was old enough, she secured a place at the nursing college in Belfast. She was just eighteen and had lived a very sheltered life, but her parents allowed her to go on the basis that she lodge with her mother's sister during the week. Her aunt lived in Belfast and had a spare room available due to her own daughters getting married.

The years of bandaging teddy bears and treating her younger siblings for minor ailments had paid off; the teaching staff praised her for her caring manner and light touch. She excelled and was all set to pass her final year. Then it all fell apart.

Times were different for a young woman then than they are now, more so for those living in a small Catholic community in Ireland. Each Friday, Maggie would take the bus journey back to her hometown and settle into the usual routine of helping her mother with the cooking and cleaning.

When Saturday came around, she’d make the long walk with her girlfriends into the nearest town and to one of the few available dances. They’d made the transition from touring show bands to having a disc jockey to play the hits of the day, and it was liberating. It was all flared jeans with the men and white patent boots on the girls. I imagined that Maggie would have been quite a looker in her day.

Maggie explained that she hadn’t had much time for boys, between her father’s mistrust of them all and her own commitment to her studies. But on one night, there was one who took her breath away.

It wasn’t uncommon to sometimes have strange young men from the north turn up in the area. Often they wouldn’t stay long; transient types, either looking for work or keeping a low profile for one reason or another. It was usually accepted by the girls that they should stay away from such men. They spelt either trouble or heartache or both.

"Oh, but when this one walked in," she released a short, sharp, breath; "well he could have bowled you over with one look."

I glanced over at Mickey, but he was too busy listening to Maggie to notice me. Men are sometimes exasperating.

Tastes in the seventies also appeared to be different to modern times, as I can’t imagine finding a man in a pinstriped, three piece trouser suit and longer hair than me anywhere close to attractive. Nevertheless, I can see how the stranger would have been intriguing, exotically dangerous, to a country girl. Hadn't I myself half swooned over "tall, dark and handbag?" What I knew about men you could write on a postage stamp.

Maggie went on to describe how he had picked her out of the whole crowd, took her hand and asked her to dance. She didn’t dance with anyone else for the entire night; they were quite the talk of the place. Every word from his lips dripped into her ear, telling her how beautiful she was, how different from every other girl there, that she was better than them, exceptional.

It’s not hard to believe how someone could be swept away by such compliments, particularly if you weren’t experienced with men, and Maggie definitely didn’t sound like she had been. It struck me that she could have been describing me.

"He didn’t bite me on that first night, no surely he didn’t. He waited, like a spider. He walked me and my girlfriends all the way back home. It would have been a four, five mile round trip and he looked like he could’ve afforded the taxi fare for all of us if I’m honest. But no, he wanted to spend every minute he could with me and a taxi ride would be over too quick. Oh, how that impressed me, the daft cow that I was. He walked each and every one of my friends to their door, and then we walked hand in hand down the lane to our farm. He even took me to the door and shook my mammy’s hand when she opened it. She told me afterwards that she thought he was a sly one, but couldn’t put her finger on why.

The following week it was all I could do not to chuck in my studies and go back home to see him. I didn’t want any other girl to get their hands on my prince charming. But common sense prevailed, and I settled for a telephone call every night from the phone box at the end of my auntie's street. I’d wait all evening for that phone to ring, and then spend half an hour listening to him telling me how much he was looking forward to seeing me.

I couldn’t wait for Friday afternoon to come, when I’d get on the bus back home. I was back by tea-time, and once I’d helped Mammy with the dishes said I was going to bed. But I didn’t go to bed; I wanted to sneak out to meet him. Once I was sure that everyone in the house had gone to sleep, I crept out of my room, trying not to wake my little sisters, and went down to the barn. He was there waiting for me, just like we’d planned. I’d never known anything like it; he took my face in his hands and kissed me all over my face, and it was electric...... am I embarrassing you Mickey?"

Mickey shuffled uncomfortably and claimed it wasn't the case at all. He wasn’t a very convincing liar. Despite the tension, a wry smile spread across Maggie's lips.

"It should have been perfect and in a peculiar way it was. His lips went over my eyes, my cheeks, my mouth, my neck. And then, then he did it."

"Did what?" I asked, literally hanging on to the edge of my seat.

"He feckin' bit me!"

"Sweet baby Jesus and the wee donkey," Mickey exclaimed.

"No need for that, Mickey," corrected Maggie.

"Sorry Mags," he murmured.

"Well, it was the sweetest pain I’d ever felt. It hurt, surely it did, but as he held me in his arms, I honestly felt like I didn’t care at all. I just felt like I was melting into him; it was painful and wonderful all at the same time. After a minute or two, I’m not sure how long exactly, he just stopped. I felt all of a quiver and a bit unsteady and he helped me lay down onto the hay.I didn’t know what the hell had gone on or what to make of it, but I knew that something wasn’t right when I looked into his eyes. I’d heard the lore about vampires, but that was mythology and fairy bloody tales. Besides, he wasn’t evil, he was gentle and kind".

Mickey poured himself another shot of whiskey from the bottle. This was getting too much for him. It was a bit like hearing your parents talk about sex; well, at least how I’d imagine it to be, my mother had never talked about my father let alone describe my conception.

"He told me not to worry, that this was natural for him, second nature and that he wouldn’t hurt me. I wanted to trust him; he was beautiful and charming, hypnotic. He wiped the few drops of blood off my neck and away from his lips; he had been careful and gentle, not like those monsters out there. It seemed magical, and I couldn’t help but lift my face up and kiss him. He asked me if I wanted to forget what had happened between us. He could make me if I wanted to.”

"What did he mean?"

"There’s something in their bite, in the saliva I think. I didn't ask, I was young, stupid, naive, swept up in it all. Whatever it is, it’s like a type of drug or a poison. It helps you heal, he told me that much, but it also makes you forget what happened. He said he could bite me again and release this, stuff, this magic, and I’d wake up with no memory of what had passed between us."

"Like Rohypnol?" I asked. Was that the discharge I had felt leak from the dead vampire's mouth? I had only applied a little pressure to force it out so depressing the fangs into the flesh would probably be sufficient to release it. I wondered how much you needed for it to have a memory suppressing effect. Mickey and I both seemed fine.

Maggie looked at me blankly.

"Ruffies, Mickey interjected helpfully.

"I suppose so, yes", she nodded knowingly." He told me that he didn’t usually give people a choice. That he simply released it, like snake releases venom, and then people were never the wiser. Most wouldn’t even remember meeting him; let alone what had passed between them. But me, I was special, he didn’t want me to forget, he loved me. Loved me! We’d only just met, but I was drunk with the feeling of someone wanting me so badly, thinking I was unique, different, better than the other girls. I didn’t want to forget. We stayed lying together in the barn for a few hours until it was time for him to go. I crept back into bed and drifted off to sleep, having dreams about my strange prince charming.

I hoped to see him at mass the following morning, but he wasn’t there and he didn’t come round to see me either. I worried at first that I had done something wrong, but now I figure they just don’t like being out and about in the day."

I asked Maggie if she ever saw him again.

"Yes, I saw him every weekend after that for a month. I’d creep out to meet him whenever I was home. I’d lie in his arms for hours, he’d feed on me and then we’d kiss and talk. Then one night he was acting peculiar, different. He said to move on. He wanted me to go with him, but I was scared. I was in love, but I knew what he was - evil, dangerous. He never used the word vampire, it was unspoken, but I knew. I knew and I did nothing. But I couldn’t go. I couldn’t become like him. I told him that I needed to time to think about it that I’d come back next weekend and he’d have my answer. But I didn’t go back. I thought he’d move on, get away from my town, and get away from me. I hated the thought of being without him, but I knew that what we were doing, and what he was asking of me, was against all laws of God and man."

"Did he go?” I asked. "Did you see him again?"

"Oh yes, surely, and I didn’t have to wait too long either. The following weekend I didn’t go back home, I made an excuse to my Mammy that I was behind with my studies and needed to catch up on my reading. On the Monday evening, I was walking home from the hospital to my aunt’s house, when he suddenly turned up. I’ve no idea how long he’d been waiting there for me or how he'd found me. At first I was excited, but then there was something in his eyes that made me scared. He was rough, grabbing me, trying to touch me. This wasn’t what I wanted at all. Before I knew it, he’d pushed me into the box and was tearing at my coat and my uniform. I was terrified; I thought at first he was going to force himself on me... you know
rape
me... but then he pulled my head back and bit me. This time he wasn’t gentle, he was mean. I’ve never known pain like it. He’d stop every few seconds and try to kiss me on my mouth, but all I could taste was blood."

"How did you get away?" I asked.

Maggie gestured to the picture of her late husband behind the bar. "Seamus", she said. "He was a porter at the hospital where I was studying. I’d never really noticed him before, except for a few polite hellos or a thank you in the corridor. He was lodging with a family a few streets along and happened to be passing at the end of his night shift. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be dead I reckon. "

She paused for a moment, remembering her husband. Lifting her drink into the air, she muttered something in Irish that I couldn’t understand.

"Seamus was a slight man, but liked to play football and could hurl something through the air if he needed to. He grabbed that thing's long hair, wrapped his hands around it and smashed his face right into the side of that phone box. I don’t know what happened to him after then. He wasn’t dead, I know that. He was writhing around trying to free himself, when Seamus grabbed me by the hand and told me to leg it. I’ve never run so fast in my life as I did that night. My auntie was overcome with relief that Seamus had happened to come by at the moment some pervert had tried to attack me. That's all we told her. My uncle called the police and they came round the next day and asked a few questions, but they found nothing of course. The vampire had made a run for it by then, and the whole thing wasn't considered a priority. There were bigger things to worry about in Belfast than a young girl being set upon by a jilted lover. That's how they saw it, I suppose. Anyway, Seamus was treated like royalty in that house after then. Seamus came calling every day after then."

I was intrigued to know if she had ever seen the vampire again, but she hadn't. She’d spent the following weeks recovering, too distressed to attend college or travel home. He knew where she lived there and could easily have tracked her down and hurt her parents and siblings.

Seamus was kind and gentle, asking for permission to take her out to the cinema when she felt stronger, and always sitting in the row behind her at mass on Sunday. She’d never really noticed him before, but now she was looking forward to seeing him wherever she went. Her mood improved so much that when her parents visited, they decided she remain in Belfast for a while, even though she had effectively decided to quit studying.

It took less than two months after that for Seamus to propose, an offer that she accepted with delight. He told her that he would always look after her, and confided in how he had known that her attacker was a vampire.

A cousin of his had been subjected to a similar ordeal, but sadly, though she’d survived the attack, she had ended up in an asylum. Everyone thought she was insane. She had been walking home from midnight mass one Christmas and had been dragged into a side street by a stranger. Her injuries were minor and she had no recollection of what had happened, not until the flashbacks which arrived several months later. The priest condemned it as ungodly. The doctor could do nothing. In despair, her parents had sectioned her. She killed herself shortly afterwards.