Speaking as if her mouth was full of bile, Helen’s mother spat out almost indecipherable words about pregnancy and unmentionable diseases. Poor Helen. No one had realised she was in such a mess. If only we’d known about her past, we might have been more alert for trouble in the present.
Afterwards, I thought about the superficial parallels between Helen and Rufus Aston. In some ways, it had been like a replay, but it wasn’t finished. There had been no solution, no true denouement.
Roland still lives at Deermount, waiting for his wife to return to the world. But it’s a bad place now. You can feel it sometimes, up there at the house, so I don’t go there often. Something waiting, like a nerve end, to be touched.
Just His Type
The trouble was she was just his type. Sitting at the back of the stuffy pub function room, her eyes fixed upon him, she commanded his attention, apparently without effort. He could tell she was tall, because her head was the highest on the row. Her hands were clasped in her lap and she was dressed in black.
She had come to watch the famous historical investigator and author, Noah Johnson, deliver a lecture. He found he was playing to her alone throughout the evening. He knew the talk, ‘Vampires in Myth and History’, off by heart, having delivered it countless times before. He updated it constantly, but essentially, it was the same old stuff: colourful but careful. He was selective about what he gave the punters. He knew how to please a mixed crowd.
The regular meetings, ‘Enigmas of History’, were going well. He ran it once a fortnight in the upstairs room of his local pub, The Gun and Duck, and now had a regular attendance of around fifty people. Sometimes, he had to turn some away. More than fifty and the front row started fainting. He’d started it to augment his writing income, for the periods when funds were slack – a downside of any writer’s life. But it was going so well, he had planned more events; outdoors, now that summer was coming. Sarah would have loved all this. But he mustn’t think about her now. She was no longer part of his life.
Noah’s friend and assistant, Gary, dimmed the lights in preparation for the slide show. Some of the audience were fanning themselves with the handouts Gary’s girlfriend, Abby, had placed on every seat prior to the meeting. The windows were open, but did little to improve the air quality in the room.
One by one, the slides slipped across the screen: illustrations copied from ancient texts, photographs Noah had taken himself while investigating in far corners of obscure eastern European countries. Some of them had been reproduced in Noah’s best-selling book, ‘The Search for Nosferatu’. The subject no longer captivated him: he’d done it and it was over, but the public were always hungry for it. Noah had moved on to other things and was currently researching his next book, which was concerned with the mythical landscape of the remote Scottish islands, and how the strange ancient structures there might have come to be built.
When the lights came back on, Noah’s eyes were drawn immediately to the girl on the back row. He half expected to see that she’d left. That would be just his luck, but no, there she was, sitting straight and demure, gazing at him from beneath downcast lashes, a slight smile on her lips.
He began to answer questions from the audience, but was anxious to keep it short tonight. If people wanted to air their opinions, which most of them did, especially the regulars, they could continue in the bar downstairs. He interrupted a woman as she was speaking. ‘Hey, it’s too hot up here. Shall we move down?’
Most of them would go home, but the ones who saw themselves as the core of his group would remain until closing time. It was only nine o’clock.
People started getting out of their seats, apparently as eager as he was to escape the hot function room. The woman who’d been interrupted looked crestfallen, somewhat confused.
Gary and Abby began clearing up, gathering the dropped leaflets, packing away the slide equipment. ‘Good turnout,’ Gary said.
‘You could hire a bigger place,’ Abby suggested. ‘You’d still pack it.’
Noah was looking at the crowd shuffling out. He saw that the girl in black had remained in her seat. He smiled at her and she stood up. He went towards her.
‘Excuse me, Mr Johnson, would you mind if I asked you something?’
‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘Come down to the bar. We usually stay on for a few drinks.’
‘Thank you.’
He put his arm behind her proprietarily to guide her to the door.
‘Thanks, Noah!’ Abby called behind him. ‘We’ll just finish off, shall we?’
He grinned back at her and she shook her head in mock disapproval. Abby was used to him and he knew how much he could get away with.
Downstairs, punters insisted on buying Noah drinks, but he bought one for the girl himself. ‘I haven’t seen you here before,’ he said, leaning on the bar.
She pulled a face. Her features were delicate, mobile. ‘No, I’ve only just moved here. It was great to discover this group, especially that it’s run by you. I’ve got all your books.’
He laughed. ‘Thanks.’ In his mind, he could hear Abby’s warning cry of: ‘Noah! She’s a fan, OK? For God’s sake, be careful.’
The girl brushed strands of dark hair from her eyes. Her well-shaped lips were painted perfectly in a dark purple. Her dress was of black lace and velvet, down to the floor. She was virtually the same height he was. ‘I’m Lara, by the way. Lara Hoskins.’
Noah handed her a vodka and tonic. When she took it from him, he saw that her lace cuffs came right down to her fingers. The nails were painted black. ‘So, what did you want to ask me?’ He was conscious of the eyes of his ‘core group’ upon him, their resentment at a newcomer monopolising him. Normally, this was the time for Noah to hold court.
‘Well, I have to admit it was the subject of the talk tonight that most attracted me,’ Lara said. She laughed nervously. ‘Not that I wouldn’t have come anyway, of course…’
‘And?’
‘Why don’t you talk about the origins of the vampire myth?’
‘I do. You heard it.’
She was silent for a moment. ‘I think we both know there’s more to it than that.’
‘Essentially, it’s European, although there are parallels in Mesopotamian and Judaic mythology.’
‘But where do those myths come from?’
‘There are recurrent themes in every mythology. People the world over have the same fears, the same desires. There’s no reason to think the vampire myth comes from a single root source.’
‘But in ‘Nosferatu’, you implied differently.’
‘What are you getting at?’ Noah said, grinning. ‘Don’t tell me you’re a vampire searching for your roots!’
A vampire would certainly not colour up the way she did then. ‘I have a serious interest in the subject,’ she said. ‘I’d hoped you’d take me seriously too.’
‘Look,’ he said. ‘If you want the truth, I think people can become obsessed with certain myths, especially the vampire ones. It’s dangerous.’
‘How?’ She looked hungry.
‘Any obsession is dangerous. I don’t like to encourage it.’ He was thinking of Sarah. Her face was before his eyes, sad and despairing.
‘What happened?’ Lara asked in a low voice. It was as if she knew already.
He could tell her easily. She could be his confessor. ‘I knew someone,’ he began. Then a hand slapped his back.
‘Hey!’ It was Abby. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t got drinks in for us!’ She smiled at Lara. ‘He treats us like lackeys!’
‘Sorry,’ Noah said. He turned to attract the attention of the barman.
For the rest of the evening Abby refused to leave Noah’s side. He knew why. Abby knew him too well. She was good company and gave no indication to Lara that she was suspicious of her, but Noah was well aware of his friend’s feelings.
After last orders, when the group was breaking up, Noah said to Lara, ‘There’s an event next Sunday. We’re going on a tour o
f local ancient sites, churches, springs and so on. Should be quite a convoy. Would you like to come?’
‘Well…’ Lara put her empty glass down on the bar. ‘Might be difficult. I don’t have transport.’
‘I could pick you up,’ said Noah.
‘Great!’ Lara opened her bag and rummaged in it. ‘I’ll give you my address. What time?’
‘Oh, about mid-day.’
‘It’ll cost a tenner,’ said Abby, somewhat darkly.
‘Good value,’ Lara said, taking the lid off a fountain pen.
Outside, in the car park, Abby started on Noah. ‘What are you up to?’ she demanded. ‘I thought you’d decided to leave punters well alone.’
‘What do you mean?’ Noah countered, fiddling with his keys.
‘I mean that you fancy her. It’s obvious. But you’ve been down this road many times before. You know where it leads.’
‘She’s just coming to the event,’ Noah said. ‘What’s wrong with that? Lots of other people are going and they’re all punters as well.’
Abby folded her arms belligerently across her chest. ‘I’m not stupid!’
‘Give him a break, will you,’ Gary snapped.
Abby was not to be deterred. ‘She’s a fan, Gary, and she’s got her sights set. There’s something a bit odd about her. I can just feel it.’
‘He’s a grown man,’ Gary said in a tired voice. ‘For Christ’s sake, Ab, you sound like his bloody mother.’
‘I’m the nearest he has to that,’ Abby said, getting into the front passenger seat of Noah’s car.
For the next few days, Noah couldn’t stop thinking about Lara Hoskins. Abby was wrong to be so suspicious. Of course, he had met Sarah at a lecture, long before he’d begun the regular meetings, and perhaps this was why Abby was so scared for him. He’d dated lots of girls since, some of them plucked from the ‘Enigmas of History’ group, and he was the first to admit that none of them had worked out particularly well, but he was sure this was different. Lara was bright and had an enquiring mind. There were no warning signs. Her hands had been steady on her glass all evening. She’d been open and sociable.
By Sunday morning, he was buzzing with anticipation, and spent more time than usual on his appearance. Lara was probably about ten years younger than him, in her mid-twenties by the look of her, but that didn’t matter. He looked young for his age. All his life, women had flocked to him.
When he drew up outside her house, she came through the front door before he’d even turned off the engine. She was dressed in black jeans and T-shirt, with a black hooded fleece tied around her waist, presumably in case it got cold later. Her long black hair was caught up in a severe pony tail but swished provocatively around her head and shoulders as she ran down the short drive to the road. She was as slim as a boy and looked athletic. Noah’s heart turned over. She was gorgeous.
‘Hi!’ she said breathlessly as she virtually threw herself into the car. She smelled strongly of an oriental yet floral scent.
‘Hi,’ Noah echoed. ‘I like a woman who’s ready on time.’
Lara laughed. It was a bright, free sound, devoid of artifice. Of course, she’d been ready for hours.
When they arrived at the meeting point, Noah was pleased to see there was a good turnout – about seven packed cars. Abby was going round collecting money and distributing maps.
At each site they visited, Noah had the group sit down and meditate to see if they could pick up any information from the past, such as what the site might have been used for in ancient times. He never did this at the indoor meetings. This was his select group, with whom he was prepared to try more ‘weird stuff’, as some referred to it.
During the meditation, Lara saw a great deal of detailed and pertinent imagery.
‘I think you’re psychic,’ Noah told her privately.
‘Oh, I know that,’ she said.
‘You couldn’t be more perfect,’ Noah said.
Lara smiled. ‘When can we continue our conversation?’
‘Later. How about dinner?’
‘Sounds great.’
Noah had to lose Abby and Gary for the evening, which was not easy. He didn’t want Abby to know he was taking Lara out, sure that she would insist that she and Gary went with him. Fortunately, they’d brought their own car that day, so at the last site, Noah whisked Lara off quickly, virtually without saying goodbye to anybody. He knew he’d have to pay for it later and could anticipate Abby’s terse message that would be waiting on his answerphone when he got home. But for the time being, he didn’t give a damn. Both he and Lara were giggling as his car skidded away in a cloud of dust and gravel.
‘Why do I get the feeling we’re playing truant?’ Lara asked.
‘Sometimes, I want a bit of privacy, that’s all,’ Noah answered. ‘The trouble with these events is that people want it to carry on till all hours. Sometimes, that’s fine, but tonight…’ He glanced at her and she smiled.
He took her to a Thai restaurant he’d never visited before, secure in the knowledge that none of the group would track him there. The food was rather lacklustre, but it didn’t matter, because Lara was sitting opposite him and her smile seemed to enfold him in a hazy golden mist. They were both high on the sense of being secret conspirators. They were high on the potential of what might happen later.
Lara seemed content to listen to Noah talk about his new book, and it wasn’t until the coffee arrived that she broached the subject she’d brought up after the meeting last Tuesday. ‘Why did you react so badly to my question?’
‘I don’t think I did. Some things I just steer clear of.’
‘So what’s the story behind it?’ She took a sip of coffee, smiled disarmingly. ‘Or is it a secret?’
Noah leaned back in his chair. ‘It’s no secret. If you become part of the core group – and I’m sure you will – anyone would tell you about it. Basically, while I was writing ‘Nosferatu’, I was involved in more than the obvious method of research. The problem came from that.’
Lara put her head to one side. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You saw what we did today. People are keen on the psychic stuff. On one level, it’s harmless, and most people never go beyond that. But on another, it isn’t. Sitting outside an old church and trying to visualise images of the past can’t hurt anyone, because it’s dead and gone. It’s nothing more than a psychic photograph. But other things, well, they’re more alive, still around, so to speak.’
Lara laughed, lit a cigarette. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you contacted a vampire psychically?’
Noah hesitated for a moment. Part of him didn’t want to say more, but Lara’s wide eyes were fixed upon him with a bright, intelligent gaze. He felt safe with her. ‘I worked with a girl called Sarah. People don’t realise it, but a lot of the information in my books comes from what I call ‘inspired’ sources, from psychics. Most of what I find out can’t be used in a serious book, because it can’t be checked out and verified as fact, but it gives me a feel for and understanding of the subject. Sarah was my assistant and also my partner. She was very psychic.’
‘Was,’ Lara said, her chin resting on her hands. Smoke curled around her in slow tendrils. ‘That sounds ominous.’
‘Let’s just say that I was interested in the origin of the vampire myth, like you are. I’d investigated all the legends of blood-drinking demons, from medieval Europe, right back to Sumerian times. Somewhere along the way, the flavour of the subject changed.’ He gestured with both hands. ‘It’s difficult to describe, but the idea of the vampire as unfortunate undead – perhaps a victim of their circumstances – mutated into the idea that the original vampires were very much alive and that their vampirism was by choice, a necessary facet of their belief system.’
Lara nodded enthusiastically. ‘That’s my thought also.’
‘It all seemed very academic to us. We called them the vulture people, a shamanic tribe who indulged in blood drinking and sacrifice. Sarah picked up so
me interesting stuff that pointed us in the direction of certain ancient sites in Turkey. The imagery she saw could be verified. These places existed and there was archaeological evidence that a shamanic culture existed there, who had worshipped vultures. They believed that drinking blood gave them superhuman abilities. Whether that was true or not, we thought that other tribes would probably have regarded them as supernatural, as demons, even, because of their bloodthirsty habits. We believed that there was a diaspora and that factions of this tribe might have moved gradually into Europe, eventually giving rise to the vampire legend.
‘Every evening, I’d have Sarah go into a kind of trance, guiding her further and further back into the past, seeking the true story. It seemed we were meant to discover all this, to make the link. The vulture people became more real for us: powerful shamans, who used the rites of blood to change their world. As time went on, Sarah started to get jumpy about it. She said she sensed little dark things that scuttled in the folds of these creatures’ vulture wing robes, that they had begun to touch her. She wanted to stop, but I persuaded her otherwise. I thought we were getting close to something that would prove my theory incontrovertibly. We had to continue. But then, one night, Sarah brought something back with her.’
There was a silence, while Lara took a long, meditative draw on her cigarette. Then she said, ‘And Sarah couldn’t cope?’