The Midnight Vampire Trap

  The screaming ceased. Remy’s face came back.

  “Is it real, or is it a hoax? Would a respected Fortune 500 company really kidnap and torture a movie star? Only Desmond Sharpe can say, and he cannot be found. The burning question tonight: where is Desmond Sharpe?”

  Deke Hollingsworth went apoplectic on Eleanor. “I cannot believe your incompetence has so damaged this company!” he screamed. “How could you be so careless, so stupid?! If we suffer material damages I swear not only will I shitcan you but you will be held personally liable for our losses!”

  “Perhaps it’s not as bad as it seems,” said Courtland.

  “This company has just been exposed to charges of kidnapping, false imprisonment, assault and God knows what else!” Deke yelled, “How is it not as bad as it seems?!”

  Courtland answered quietly.

  “CG&P cannot be accused of kidnapping, nor false imprisonment, nor assault,” he said, “Because kidnapping, false imprisonment and assault only apply to people.”

  A long silence filled the boardroom.

  “This is a publicly-traded company, is it not?” Courtland continued. “You were planning to someday go public with the provenance of these new technologies, weren’t you? CG&P will not appear to be in the wrong because CG&P is not in the wrong. Desmond Sharpe is not a human being. He is a vampire, a monster we have removed from the streets for the betterment of mankind. What’s wrong about that?” He brought his hands up to his chin, tenting his fingers. “Society must be protected,” he said.

  “It’ll mean court…” Hollingsworth said.

  “It was going there anyway,” Courtland replied. “Besides, Deke,” he added gently, “What other choice do we have?”

  Hollingsworth shook his head. “I hope to Christ you’re right,” he said.

  “I’m a lawyer,” Courtland replied. “I know the law. Call a press conference, tonight. The best defense is a good offense… we cannot appear hesitant or apologetic. We cannot appear guilty. And I’ll talk to Legal.”

  Deeper in the building, telephones began to ring. Hollingsworth waited one beat, then nodded curtly, dismissing them. Eleanor and Courtland stepped out into the hall.

  “Are you all right?” Courtland asked his cousin.

  “Don’t worry about me,” she replied, opening her handbag and checking on her gun.

  Desmond sat at the plastic table in his cell, staring at the two interlocking rings he’d drawn on the table-top in his own blood. Suddenly, the outer door open, and Eleanor Warner entered. Pointing to the deadly radiation-emitting boxes in the upper corners, she unlocked the inner door and stepped inside Desmond’s cell, closing the door behind her.

  “Now what?” Desmond asked, and in reply Eleanor pulled out a walkie-talkie.

  “Okay,” she said, and then a whole crowd of people poured into the antechamber: Remy and her camera crew, other reporters and their crews, CG&P lawyers, CG&P security officers, Chuck Mahoney and sweet Mary and Joseph, Guy Mitchell and Cynthia Carroll!

  “Guy!” Desmond exclaimed. “Cynthia!”

  He rushed to the reinforced window, but recoiled from the invisible radiation buzzing between the panes.

  Cynthia pounced on Eleanor. “I demand you release him!” she ordered.

  “I’m sorry,” Eleanor replied. “I can’t do that.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t do that?” Guy demanded. “He’s a movie star!”

  “No, he’s a trade secret,” Eleanor replied.

  “You release him right now!” said Cynthia.

  “Get a court order,” said Eleanor.

  “He is my client!” said Cynthia.

  “Be that as it may, he is also a vampire,” said Eleanor.

  “Are you insane?” said Cynthia.

  “If I were insane, could I do this?” said Eleanor, and whipping out her gun, she shot Desmond point-blank in the face. Blood, bone and pulverized tongue splashed against the window in front of the horrified onlookers. They gasped.

  “Oh, vu vucking bith!” said Desmond… and before the eyes of the onlookers and the rolling cameras, his face healed.

  “Desmond…!” Cynthia breathed.

  “Oh, like you didn’t know,” Eleanor said, and Cynthia clammed up, shutting her mouth with an audible hup.

  “What are you doing?!” Desmond cried at Eleanor, his face completely restored.

  “Finishing what you started,” she replied calmly, replacing her gun in her handbag. “You wanted to be famous.”

  “Desmond! Desmond!” Remy yelled, “Do you have anything to say?” And that set them all off, the reporters baying for a quote and Cynthia yelling “Desmond, say nothing!” and the CG&P security guards bawling “All right folks, show’s over. Let’s all go back to the conference room. Nothing more to see here,” and herding them all out until it was Eleanor and Desmond alone once more.

  “What have you done?!” Desmond almost wailed.

  “You started it,” Eleanor replied. “Standing there, flapping your vampire arms around, going ‘look at me, look at me!’ Well, now they are. Happy?”

  “When I get out of here,” Desmond said, gritting his teeth, “I swear by all that is holy I. Will. Kill. You!”

  Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Anyone can kill me,” she said. “Let’s see you make me come.”

  Once more indicating the radiation boxes, she marched out of the cell, locked it behind her and opened the anteroom door. “Oh, Ms. Carroll!” she cried. “Mr. Mitchell! Tell me: what color is blood?” The door shut behind her, and Desmond was once more alone.

  Out in the CG&P parking lot, Cynthia and Guy sat slumped in the front seat of Cynthia’s Mercedes, both of them almost numb from what they’d just heard from Eleanor Warner. Guy’s cell phone rang, and wearily, he answered it.

  Even across the aether, the New York accent of Bruno Schultz, President of Magna Pictures, was unmistakable.

  “Guy?” he yelled. “What the hell is going on over there?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you, Bruno,” Guy sighed.

  “Well, is it true? Are they holding him? And they won’t let him go?”

  “Yeah,” Guy said. ‘It’s true.”

  “Well, that’s a problem, Guy, because we have a twenty-million-dollar contract with that bloodsucking putz, pay or play!”

  “I know, Bruno,” Guy said, rubbing his temples. “I made the deal.”

  “Then it’s your job to fix it!” Bruno yelled. “You hear me? I don’t care how, but you fix it!”

  Bruno hung up, and Guy turned to Cynthia. “Bruno wants us to fix it,” he said.

 

  8

  Judge Davis

  Back in the CG&P lab, Eleanor slapped a temporary restraining order on the table in front of Brian. “Well, they got a restraining order,” she complained. “As of eight a.m. this morning, we are legally enjoined from performing any more experiments upon Desmond Sharpe, esquire. Well. We can wait it out, of course, but now I have to go to court to fight her attempt to get an injunction forcing us to release him us: waste of time!”

  “What shall I do in the meantime?” Brian asked.

  “Oh, the last of those glucose tests,” Eleanor replied, “Or the tidal volume readings.”

  “That won’t take very long,” Brian said. “I was hoping for new samples.”

  Gathering her things for court, Eleanor nodded toward the book on radiation she’d given him.

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she said, and left.

  At the Los Angeles County Court, Judge Laverna Davis lowered Cynthia’s Petition for Injunction and surveyed her courtroom. On one side sat Cynthia Carroll, Guy Mitchell and lawyers from Magna Pictures; on the other Courtland and Eleanor Warner, and lawyers representing Consolidated Gas and Power. Behind them in the observer’s area sat the almost salivating press corps, including Remy and her crew.

  “Is this true?” Judge Davis asked Courtland. “Are you holding him again
st his will?

  Courtland stood. “Yes, your Honor,” he said. “We are.”

  Judge Davis was astounded. “Why… why is this woman even standing in front of me?” she asked rhetorically. To Cynthia, she said, “Have you brought criminal charges?”

  “We filed this morning, your Honor,” Cynthia said, glaring at Courtland.

  “Well, Mr. Warner?” Judge Davis said. “Would you care to explain your client’s actions?”

  “Certainly, your Honor,” Courtland replied. “We are holding Desmond Sharpe against his will because his will is immaterial. Desmond Sharpe has no rights. Desmond Sharpe is not a human being.” The press corps gasped, and Judge Davis barked “Quiet!”

  Cynthia now stood. “Your Honor, this is absurd,” she said. “Of course he’s a human being. I have here his papers of U.S. citizenship, issued in 1984…”

  “Using whose birth certificate, Ms. Carroll?” Courtland asked.

  “Mr. Warner, you will address your remarks to me,” Judge Davis said, an edge to her voice.

  “I apologize, your Honor,” Courtland said. “But we stand by our assertion: Desmond Sharpe is not a human being. He is a vampire.”

  “Your Honor, this is ridiculous!” Cynthia cried.

  “I am inclined to agree with you, Ms. Carroll,” Judge Davis said. “Mr. Warner, only my stubborn refusal to believe that the entire CG&P organization has lost its collective mind is keeping me from citing you for contempt of court.”

  “I understand, your Honor,” Courtland said. “I was just as skeptical when I first learned the facts of the case. But with the court’s permission, I’d like to call as witness Dr. Eleanor Warner.”

  At a nod from Judge Warner, Eleanor rose, and walked to the witness’ chair.

  Meanwhile, in the CG&P lab, Brian idly leafed through the book on radiation. A passage caught his eye, and he read with more interest… and then with intense interest. He skipped back a few pages, read avidly, then spun to face the large chart of the periodic table on the wall. “Oh, my,” he said.

  In the courtroom, Eleanor sat in the witness’ chair. Courtland stood before her.

  “Eleanor,” he said. “You understand you are under oath, and any false statements expose you to the charge of perjury?”

  “Of course,” Eleanor replied.

  “You are currently employed by Consolidated Gas and Power?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you obtained your doctorate in biotechnology from Cal Tech, after which you did research on plant-derived ethanols at the H. West Institute for Alternative Fuel Development?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you now lead the research into the physiology of the creature known as Desmond Sharpe?”

  “Yes.”

  In the lab, Brian held his cell phone to his ear. Eleanor’s voice played, saying, You’ve reached Dr. Eleanor Warner, please leave a message… Exasperated, he hung up, and then, squaring his shoulders as if reaching a momentous decision, left the lab.

  “In your expert opinion,” Courtland said to Eleanor, “is CG&P justified in holding this creature against his will?”

  “Definitely,” Eleanor replied. “By his own admission, Desmond Sharpe is a bipedal, sanguinivorous humanoid, or, if you will, a vampire. He therefore, under the law, has no more rights than a lab rat.”

  “But, Doctor, what evidence do you have of this?”

  “Mr. Sharpe was apprehended using technology that exploited his vampiric physiology,” Eleanor said. “Were he not what he is, we could not have captured him. Experiments with various foodstuffs have shown that Mr. Sharpe is incapable of eating normally. And, of course, Mr. Sharpe heals inhumanly fast, as I believe the world recently saw.”

  “And you can back all this up with hard data?”

  “Yes… although to do so in open court would endanger valuable trade secrets,” Eleanor concluded.

  Courtland thanked her, and retired. Cynthia, eyes glinting, came forward.

  “Dr. Warner, tell me: have you ever personally witnessed Mr. Sharpe kill anyone?” she asked.

  “No,” Eleanor replied.

  “Ever see him assault anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Ever see him drink blood? Other than that you forced on him, that is.”

  “No.”

  “So you really have no evidence that he’s a “vampire” at all, do you?” Cynthia asked. For all you know he’s just a guy with unusual physiology, right?”

  Courtland interrupted. “Your Honor, we will be more than happy to supply Ms. Carroll with all the evidence she requires,” he said.

  “And just when will that be, Counselor? When you feel like it? Your Honor, I demand that they release him at once!”

  “Your Honor, we cannot proceed until you issue a gag order protecting CG&P trade secrets!” Courtland countered.

  “A man is in immediate danger!” Cynthia cried.

  “He’s not a man!” Courtland cried back.

  “Which you have not proved!” Cynthia snarled.

  “Well, we will!” Courtland snarled back.

  “May I say something?” Eleanor asked.

  “Oh, Dr. Warner,” said Judge Davis. “Yes, you may.”

  “Regardless of whatever else he may be,” Eleanor said, “Desmond Sharpe is a killer. In order to live he must kill, and his favorite victim is human. He has not been fed in six days. If you free him, your Honor, I assure you, someone will die tonight.”

  At CG&P, Brian hesitated outside the door to the antechamber of Desmond’s cell, then unlocked the door and stepped inside.

  “Right,” Judge Davis said. “I want to see this individual for myself.”

  Desmond looked up, surprised to see Brian alone.

  “You’re breathing!” Brian said.

  In the courtroom, Eleanor and Courtland exchanged a glance, then raised their eyebrows at Judge Davis as if to say, “you asked for it.”

  Later, in the hallway outside Desmond’s cell, Courtland handed Judge Davis a clipboard on which was fastened a CG&P waiver. “Please sign,” he said, “Indicating you have been warned as to the true nature of the individual and the risks inherent in this visit and of your agreement to hold CG&P and all its affiliates harmless in the event you are injured, maimed or killed.” Eyeballing him hard, Judge Davis signed the waiver.

  Eleanor unlocked the door, stepped through…and stopped short, gasping. Brian and Desmond were face-to-face through the glass.

  “Brian, what are you doing here?” Eleanor cried.

  “Eleanor, I found something, in…”

  “Are you all right?!”

  “Yes, I’m fine. I--”

  “Do you recall any lost time?”

  “No, I’m fine, but I--”

  “Dr. Warner?” Judge Davis asked from the hall.

  “Later, Brian!” Eleanor snapped. “This way, your Honor,” she said to Judge Davis. Unlocking the inner door, she allowed Judge Davis to step through.

  “Oh, God,” Desmond said.

  “Mr. Sharpe?” Judge Davis said.

  “You bitch!” Desmond spat at Eleanor.

  “Are you all right?” Judge Davis said to Desmond, taking a step toward him.

  “Stay away from me!” Desmond said desperately to Judge Davis… but she stepped even closer.

  “I’m here to help you, Mr. Sharpe,” she said.

  “No!” Desmond said, almost strangling on it, and turned his back on the approaching woman. Meaning well, Judge Davis reached out and touched his shoulder.

  “Mr. Sharpe?”

  Desmond’s hand clamped onto Judge Davis’ wrist. He turned, his eyes suddenly strange, inhuman. Judge Davis gasped and tried to pull away, but he pulled her closer.

  “Ah, Laverna,” he said. “You’ve come to me at last.” His blank eyes gazed into hers, and she stopped struggling, her brow smoothing out, her expression softening. Desmond twined his hands in her hair

  “Morris hasn’t ever really s
atisfied you, has he?” he murmured to her. “Oh, I know, you love him, you would never betray him, but he doesn’t know, does he? Not like I do. He doesn’t know how easy it is to give a woman pleasure when she wants it, when she’s already half way there…”

  He slipped his knee between her legs, and her head fell back. “When all it takes is a gentle nudge,” he said, and as Judge Davis moaned, he sank his fangs into the veins of her neck. The room dissolved into a red haze, swarming with a woman’s orgasmic moans.

  Judge Davis hit the ground, hard. Shocked, her eyes popped open. She was on the floor, her skirt pushed up. People were pounding on the connecting glass, and Desmond was across the room, crumpled up, his garments smoking.

  She rolled onto her hip, touched her hand to her smarting throat and gasped when it came away coated in blood.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God!” she said.

  The inner door unlocked, and Eleanor rushed to her side.

  “What is he?” Judge Davis shrieked. “What is he? My God, that thing belongs in quarantine!” She turned on Desmond, who still lay across the room. “How dare you! That was battery! I’m pressing charges!”

  Eleanor took her by the shoulders. “Your Honor, I agree, he belongs in containment,” she said. “But where is the facility as well-equipped as ours to hold him? Show it to me and I’ll move him tonight. But for right now, isn’t he better off where he is?”

  “Yes… yes… let him stay.” Judge Davis said, and humiliation flooded her as the memory of what she’d just felt, what she’d just done before all these people hit her. She rounded on Cynthia.

  “And you!” she spat.

  Everyone else had left the antechamber outside Desmond’s cell, and Cynthia stared dejectedly at the big, red DENIED scrawled in Sharpie across her Petition for Injunction, which Judge Davis had thrust at her before she stormed out of CG&P. Guy came up next to her, whispering hoarsely.