Tales From The Belfry: Carrie's Tale Read online

she needed to do to survive. She was a vampire, and she would suck blood. That was just the way it was.

  She preyed exclusively on men who sought out working girls. They were the easiest to deal with. After all, most only wanted one thing, wanted it quickly, and had no desire to be seen doing what they did. And wasn't it payback for Gareth? Wasn't it delicious to end the life of some cheating scum?

  She started by waiting on the corners that the other girls used, but something about her seemed to frighten them, so she wound up cruising the streets alone. But she had no trouble attracting men. She'd been frozen at the height of her beauty by the vampire who had turned her, and the something that alarmed her fellow prostitutes seemed to have increased her desirability among her customers. They'd drive off with her into the darkness, or walk beside her into a seedy hotel, carefully staying out of sight (thereby relieving her of the necessity to see to it herself), expecting pleasure but receiving death and a ghastly new existence instead.

  It brought her no pleasure. The feeling of freedom she'd had at first had long since disappeared; now she just felt numb. Numb for days at a time, and then a gnawing, painful hunger when it was time to Drink. And to Drink, she needed to go to the worst places in the city, to abase herself before the worst of men, and to feed on them like a human leech. It was survival, but of the most depressing kind.

  A month after her transformation, she approached a potential customer who hovered at the entrance to a darkened alley. Like so many of the men she had used, he seemed afraid to come out into the light, his sharp nose, pale skin, and blade-like cheekbones limned faintly by a distant neon sign. This wasn't going to be an easy seduction; he was one of those she'd have to coerce.

  She started his way, assuming her very best alluring walk, although she actually felt nothing like "sexy." In fact, something about the man both intrigued and disturbed her. Just as her fangs began to slide from her gums, he turned to her and smiled.

  "Hello, Sister," he said. "Shall we share a Drink?"

  Later, after they had both fed, he showed her how to plant a Stake in the Drink and dispose of the body in the Flame. She watched dumbly as the remains of the poor man flared up in a burst of orange, flickered and subsided into glowing ash. She almost wished she had been the Drink, but her mentor gently touched her arm and led her away.

  "There are some people you need to meet," he said. "And by the way, my name's Harvey Branson."

  "Carrie Cooper," she managed.

  "Almost a movie star," he chuckled.

  Carrie nodded. It had been an old joke in her family and with their friends: "Gareth" was shortened to "Gary" and so the two of them became "Gary and Carrie Cooper, Hollywood Stars." The neighbors thought it was hilarious. Carrie hated it.

  "You know, that was my married name," she said. "I prefer my maiden name: Larson."

  "Carrie Larson it is, then," said Harvey.

  "Where are we going?" she asked.

  "Someplace safe. Someplace where you'll feel at home. We call it 'The Belfry'."

  Carrie nodded. "As in, 'bats in the —?'"

  "Right," Harvey chuckled. "Not my idea—that's Gus. He's the guy that owns the place."

  "What is it?"

  "A kind of club, I guess," replied Harvey. "A group of us gets together there every now and then. You'll see."

  They were all men, of course. Gus seemed affable enough though aloof and distant; Stephen was a humorous soul, Bill Cunningham was officious and strict, befitting his role as a security guard, Wendell was a nonentity, collecting his government stipend and keeping a low profile.

  Doc Peterson was serious and apologetic. "I'm so sorry about all this," he said. "We try to prevent any new vampires as much as possible. That's pretty much all Harvey does these days."

  Harvey nodded. "It's why I was watching you," he said. "You'd left too many without the Stake and Flame."

  "I didn't know," Carrie said, chagrined. "Nothing in my life prepared me for this."

  "Of course not," said Doc. "Who could be prepared?"

  The dour man in the corner snorted in derision.

  "Read history," he said.

  "What's that supposed to mean, von Somogyi?" asked Harvey.

  "Is all in history books. I quote: 'He roasted children, whom he fed to their mothers, and cut off the breasts of women, and forced their husbands to eat them. Then he had them all impaled.'"

  "Oh my God!" gasped Carrie. "Who did that?"

  "The one who made us all," said von Somogyi. "Vlad the Impaler."

  Harvey shook his head. "Don't pay any attention to him. He's obsessed with Dracula."

  "Dracula? He really exists?"

  "Only in that man's mind," said Doc. He gestured to include all of the people in the room. "This is the result of some sort of virus or genetic disturbance, a mutation. That's all. Dracula is fiction."

  "Is fiction you would do well to acknowledge," said von Somogyi bitterly. "I am living example."

  "What does he mean by that?" Carrie asked Harvey in a whisper.

  Harvey answered softly, "He claims to be a contemporary of the original Dracula. He's nuts. We only put up with him because he's got lots of money, and helps to support this place. God knows that Gus doesn't make enough with his barbering."

  "He scares me."

  "Yeah," said Doc. "He scares everybody. I have half a mind to give him the Real Death."

  "'Real Death?'" Carrie asked.

  "We're immortal, or near to it, as long as we stay out of the sun," Doc said. "But stay more than a couple of minutes in direct sunlight, and it's all over. It's the only other thing besides the Stake and the Flame that can kill a vampire."

  "How do you know all of this?" Carrie asked. "How the hell does anybody know all of this?"

  "They know because I tell them," said von Somogyi. "Is only thing of what I say that they believe."

  "Got to admit that he's been right about a lot of stuff," said Stephen, joining the conversation. "Even though he is an asshole."

  "One day you will thank me. All of you."

  "Yeah, well don't hold your breath, Vartan," said Harvey.

  "Or what?" asked von Somogyi. "Or I will die?" His laughter was a harsh bray. "I, who have lived more than 500 years?"

  Doc shook his head, ignoring the outburst. "Listen, Carrie. I need to take some of your blood for reference. I need to see if it has the same characteristics as the rest of us. Someday, I'm sure we'll be able to beat this thing, if we get enough information about how it works."

  "I still have blood?" she asked. "I thought I'd been sucked dry."

  "We all have blood. It's just that losing it doesn't seem to matter to us as it would to a human."

  'To a human', Carrie thought. Something I no longer am. How can I go on like this?

  And so she consented to having her blood drawn, and any number of other tests that Doc performed at the hospital in the middle of the night when only a few people were on duty. He was so earnest in his belief that he could find a "cure" for vampirism that Carrie almost believed him.

  Almost. But progress was slow. And she still had to pretend to be a whore to live; she hadn't been other than a housewife for 12 years, and there was precious little that she knew how to do in today's business marketplace…and even fewer places where she could work at night. Waitressing was an option, but it depressed her to think about being a server. She'd done enough of that as a mother and wife.

  To ease her depression, she often traveled to her old neighborhood on those evenings when the Hunger wasn't upon her. She'd stand in the grove of trees behind her former house, staring longingly through the windows at the family that was no longer hers.

  Watching as Gemma brushed her auburn hair, so much like Gareth's. Smiling as Gavin played with his Lego set, building ever more fantastic plastic cities. Really missing Gareth—as strange as that might be—as he sat alone at the dining room table after putting the kids to bed. He actually looked as devastated as she had hoped he would be, and it gave her a g
uilty twinge. Her "revenge" was complete, but at what cost? They were going on with their lives without her. She wasn't necessary.

  The neighborhood visits increased in frequency, until they became almost a nightly occurrence. Her time at the house lengthened as well. Even the approaching dawn and the danger of daylight were not enough to drive her from her surveillance. The resulting burns from her too-long vigils made it harder and harder to attract the johns that she needed for her feedings; her face took on a piebald cast, the burned areas contrasting sharply with her normally pale visage.

  She was looking and feeling her worst when Harvey arrived with the New Brother, Gordon. He was handsome, in a roughshod sort of way, with a tangle of brown hair framing a rugged face. His blue eyes flashed with anger as the others in The Belfry seemed to mock him.

  Carrie felt sorry for him; she knew what he must have been feeling at his first meeting with other vampires. She had felt so alone, had never believed that there could have been any others like herself—except the one who'd turned her. And now Gordon would realize—as she had—that he was just one of many, and that without a careful adherence to the code of the Stake and Flame, that there would be many more.

  The denizens of The Belfry were dedicated to seeing that that never came to pass. But here was another New Brother, and they were teasing him unmercifully. And of course, von Somogyi had to mention Dracula.

  After Harvey had lectured Gordon on The Code, Carrie caught up to him at the coffee urn.

  "I guess I should say 'Welcome to The Belfry,'" she