Follow The Lines

The smell of beef and garlic filled the living room and kitchen, and began to creep upstairs
as Chris read from a paperback while leaning against the kitchen counter. His eyes flicked to the pan between every other sentence, and he flipped the slab of meat with a pair of tongs between every other glance, giving it a stir amongst the herbs. As the thick rump steak soon reached a prime state of medium-well, he took it with the tongs to a dinner plate and turned the gas off, opening the oven and shovelling a tray of roast potatoes onto the plate. With a smile on his face, he opened the fridge and put a can of beer in the pocket of his dressing gown, then gripped the plate at the edge and carried it into his living room, where a DVD was on pause at the start of a comedy he’d seen a hundred times. Pressingplay and taking a bite out of a roast potato, he settled in for the evening.

Halfway through his meal, a thud on the window of the back door was so loud he jolted out of his seat, spilling the contents of the plate onto the floor with a yelp. He cursed out loud and kicked the plate with a benign fury, before he heard the rattling. Looking back towards the kitchen, he knew the sound was the door handle. His skin tightened. The sound was slow and gentle, and the door was locked so whatever it was couldn’t get in. A dog pestering a source of light? It was past three o’clock in the morning and Chris had the kitchen light still on so he could see while he ate in the living room. He was more than likely the only one awake on the street, but it still seemed odd. He walked slowly into the kitchen, where the rattling of the handle was faintly louder. With the light on, he couldn’t see anything out of the frosted window of the door, and approached it slowly. Feeling foolish, he stopped when his fingers touched the key, and tried to see what was outside by squinting, but there was nothing. Breathing deeply, Chris turned the lock and opened the door, his knee poised by the opening to block any of the big dogs the neighbours owned from running into the house. As he pulled the door open he felt weight behind it, and as it opened a few more inches, the body slid through the door into his knee and fell half into the kitchen, legs dangling limply on the end of the garden path. Martin looked up at Chris, his face full of confusion. Dark blood stuck crusted on his neck and covered his collar on one side. Chris grabbed Martin’s arms and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut and then dropping to his knees.

‘What the fuck happened? Where are the rest of them? Jesus Christ, how did you get here? What HAPPENED?’

Chris’ voice seemed to stir Martin, as he began to breathe deeply but in short, panicked spasms. His left hand went to his neck, where most of the blood seemed to be. Chris stood and drenched a towel under the sink, then dropped back to the floor, speaking so quickly that spittle flew from his lips.

‘Martin can you talk? What happened? Do you need pressure on the cut or what? Where did they get you? Where’s everyone else?’

‘Wipe my neck. You need to see’

Chris started to gently dab Martin’s neck, and when he saw no fresh blood trickling, he wiped the skin.

‘See what? Just tell me who did this. Do you need an ambulance?’

‘No point with an ambulance. Look at it’

Chris continued to wipe, as his worry blended with confusion and impatience. He looked at his brother’s pale eyes with worry. As the blood on the neck cleared, he saw what his brother meant. Two deep pink holes in his neck, with tiny flakes of blood sat inside as deep as Chris could see. Each one was half a centimetre wide, and the holes looked deep. The image made Chris feel sick.

‘Stop wiping. You’ve seen it. I’m gonna die. She bit me. It’s just like they say, in the books and stuff’

‘No you’re not dying. The bleeding’s stopped. And it looks clean. We just need to get you to hospital. How long ago was it? Who bit you?!’

‘It’ll bleed again; it always does. I’m sorry about your kitchen. We took Mark to a strip club, underneath Captain Jack’s. We thought it’d be a laugh’

Martin’s story became harder to hear as his voice slurred, and tears began to form in Chris’ eyes. He shook his own head hard, and pulled his phone from his pocket, dialling 999. The operator answered immediately, and he asked for an ambulance. When the second operator asked for his address, Martin convulsed and grunted, as blood gushed from his neck in a thick stream that make Chris retch. He threw his phone to the side and pushed the towel against his brother’s neck, and flinched as he felt the throbbing pulse of the blood through the towel. For however weak Martin was, his pulse felt as strong as an athlete’s. Watching Martin’s face pitifully, he didn’t notice the lack of heat coming from the blood – a tepid cool despite the force of its flow.

A minute passed - a minute of Martin writhing in agony and Chris trying to reach his phone, which he cursed himself for throwing rather than dropping. Soon the blood stopped, and the pool of hardening claret around Martin’s head stopped its crawl across the floor. Chris eventually had the nerve to pull the towel away, and his face tensed as it ripped from the skin like soft Velcro.

‘I’ll be dead soon. Each one hurts less, which isn’t good. You need to kill her’

Chris’ face dropped. His brother was talking like a mad man, but his face was now relaxed, and his voice calmer than earlier, although still papery and thin. The suit he’d worn for the stag night now consisted of a blood-soaked shirt and trousers torn on both knees.

‘Where are the others?’

‘I don’t know. I knocked her down and ran out of a fire door. Think I got lucky and got out right near the front door; I climbed up a wall and was back on the front street. There were still people outside the pubs, so if they did follow me they couldn’t exactly drag me away’

‘You walked the two miles home bleeding out of your neck?’

‘Well I couldn’t get a taxi could I?’

Martin tried to laugh, and the sound broke Chris’ heart. His big brother was going to die, he knew. Realising the blood had stopped, he leaned away from Martin and reached for his phone. The 999 operator was still on the line as Chris sat back down, but before Chris could get past a hello, Martin lifted an arm and somehow found the strength to bat it out of Chris’ hand and into the living room.

‘You need to go there. You need to KILL HER’

‘You’re not talking sense!’

‘If you kill her, you might save me. Her name is Freya. Ask for her. At the bar, ask for her. She’s tall, she has black hair. You ask for a private dance and you stake her through the fucking heart’

Chris closed his eyes tight, thinking the words ludicrous but at the same time seeing the wound on his brother’s neck. It’s just like they say, in the books. He opened his eyes and Martin lay on the floor still, but his head was turned and he stared at him deeply, the bright blue of his eyes almost returned. His lips quivered as he spoke, but his voice was assertive.

‘The basement bar underneath Captain Jack’s. Kill her, and then come back. If I’m still dead, drive a stake through MY heart. I love you’

Martin closed his eyes slowly, and exhaled. Chris reached to hold his head and pull him close. He felt a couple more jerky gasps before it stopped. He looked down at his brother’s face and cried. With his eyes closed, he already looked at peace. Chris laid him down and struggled to his feet, before stumbling towards the living room.

The faint smell of his dinner still lingered, but had turned stale and unpleasant. The television lit the room in a pale orange from the film on its screen, and Chris walked slowly, scanning the carpet for the small black phone. His foot soon nudged against something, and reaching down he found it. Turning it in his hand, the screen was still lit with ‘999’ near the top; he put the phone to his ear so eagerly that it nearly slipped from his hand, and through his jagged breathing he spoke, struggling to keep the panic from his voice.

‘Hello?’

‘Please state your location-‘

‘My brother’s been killed. He’s at 8 Braine Way, I’m his brother. He’s in my kitchen. He’s already dead’

‘Did you say he’s been killed? Are you in immediate danger?’

‘No, I don’t think so. He came home after being attacked. We’re at 8 Braine Way. He’s my brother’

‘Sir I have an ambulance and police unit on their way to your home. Please stay calm and wait for them. Are you injured?’

‘No, I-‘

The bony fist made such solid contact with his head that Chris’ vision failed completely. He felt the floor against his cheekbone, and before he could remember where he was. Martin wrapped an arm around his neck. In the pain and confusion, Chris tried to suck in air. When that failed, he pawed at his neck and felt an arm. They came back to finish him. His eyes flicked from one side to the other, and through his clouded vision he saw a plate. He reached and grabbed in one smooth motion, but when he swung the plate behind him he hit only air. He tried to groan, but even that was an impossibility. The pressure on his neck was strong and crushing one moment, weak and haggard the next. Chris raised his arm once more, and smashed the plate on the floor in front of him, squeezing his eyes shut from debris. With his eyes closed, and the arm tight on his neck, he suddenly felt like he was floating. Give me enough breath to open them again, he thought. His eyes did re-open, and the arm loosened again. He grabbed the largest chunk of broken plate and dragged a point across the arm around his neck. A horrid scream erupted behind him, neither male nor female. Chris was finally free to face his attacker, but when he turned and saw Martin clutching his arm and staring at the wound with a vicious snarl, Chris’ legs almost gave out from under him. It was impossible. He tried to speak. He tried to say his brother’s name, but his lips and tongue were numb. Martin looked away from the cut on his arm and stared at Chris. The eyes were a pale red pupil, empty and full of rage. Full of hunger, Chris thought as his lip trembled and tears formed in his eyes. He blinked, and Martin was on him. They fell to the floor, but Chris soon put his brother off balance and mounted him. The sounds coming from Martin’s mouth weren’t human. He sounded like an animal, snared and wounded, and he moved with a feral intensity but no real strength. Chris’ eyes moved to his neck. To the two holes. The bite marks. He could barely believe his own thoughts. There was no other way this could even be real. Chris realised he had his hands on his brother’s throat, and had a sure grip. The tears in his eyes grew heavier and began to drop onto Martin’s face as he began to push down, but a minute passed, then another, and Martin’s arms flurried the same. He didn’t get tired or ask for mercy; he tried in vain to clutch his brother’s throat, those inhuman sounds straining from his mouth. Chris lessened his grip when he heard sirens. His eyes flicked from the door that led to the hallway and front door, to the back door via the kitchen. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, and without giving himself the chance to question, he grabbed his brother’s head and twisted with all of his strength. He heard and felt the snapping of bones, but twisted as hard as he could until the head wouldn’t physically turn further. As if in answer to his prayer, Martin’s arms dropped to the floor. Chris let out a wail as he loosened the grip on his brother’s head and flexed his fingers, which ached brutally. He stood and staggered in a run to the kitchen, to the door. He looked at the blood on the floor, and the body on the living room floor. The smell of garlic lingered in his nostrils as he opened the back door and slid out less than a minute before paramedics knocked heavily on the front.

Chris’ eyes scanned every garden fence he walked past as he walked, breathing as calmly as he could. Captain Jack’s. He had to get to the pub. He knew it well; it stayed open much later than the other pubs in the village square, and he’d heard they had a strip club in the basement. Freya. His mind considered broken stool legs and pool cues. Could he really kill a woman? Although she was no woman, he told himself. He’d seen for himself. My big brother came back from the dead. The thought brought tears to his eyes again, and he sobbed openly as he walked. The village square was minutes away now, and the semi-detached homes that Chris and his brother had shared made way for terraced houses. The windows to each one suddenly became eerie, and as Chris walked past each one, living room followed by kitchen for each home, he found himself terrified of glancing inside. Maybe the whole town was overrun. Chris thought about everything. Sometime he thought out loud. He even caught himself laughing once or twice. Killing a vampire probably wouldn’t bring his brother back from the dead. Especially after breaking his neck, Chris thought with shame. But it didn’t matter. If it brought Martin peace now, it would be enough. The thought of police made Chris’ stomach churn; he was going to be blamed for Martin’s murder now. Best not to dwell on it. His brother deserved freedom in death, and if killing this Freya was the cost, he was willing to pay it. He’d seen the face of what was once his brother, snarling at him and trying to claw at his face. That wasn’t Martin.

The village square soon opened up from the road Chris walked. Streetlights cast a pleasant yellow on the cobbled ground and shop fronts. To his right, Captain Jack’s stood wider than each other building, although equally tall. He walked to the door without thinking too much, his head down, trying to look normal. The doorman looked at him and held a hand out before Chris’ chest.

‘Been fighting?’

Chris looked up at the bouncer, who had half a smile on his face.

‘Eh?’

‘That’s a fair bit of blood on your shirt, Chris’

It took a moment to realise. The bouncer was Eddie, who Chris knew well. He looked down and saw Martin’s dried blood covering his left arm and smeared over the breast pocket. He took a deep breath and smiled at Eddie.

‘I was breaking one up. Should have seen the bastards. I know I look a state, but do us a favour, Ed. I just want to chill out ‘til closing’

Eddie’s half smile soon turned into a full smile, and Chris’ eyes dropped to his mouth, looking at his incisors. Were they normal?

‘Get in then, Chris. Dead tonight, though’

Chris nodded and walked through the first double doors but then stopped, and arched his head back.

‘I heard something about this place, Ed. Heard you’ve got some girls downstairs. Lap dance, private bar, that sort of thing. Do I need an invite or what?’

Eddie raised an eyebrow, but soon flashed his smile again. He nodded and turned to walk inside with Chris.

‘I’ll get you in, bud. Make sure you tip them well though, yeah? Think I saw your brother go down earlier on, with a stag do’

Eddie stopped before a fire exit, and turned to Chris. His smile was gone.

‘Have you seen him? Was it him who told you about this place?’

Chris’ stomach flurried as adrenaline ripped through him.

‘No, I haven’t seen him since he got all dolled up for tonight. It was last time I was here I heard about it. Just thought, with Lauren visiting her mum this week, I’d come see’

Chris flashed a smile as confident as Eddie.

‘You won’t tell on me, will you?’

Eddie’s mouth curved up, and slowly matched Chris’ grin. He barged open the fire-door with his hip, which led to a staircase.

‘Down there, bud. Have fun’

Chris nodded and began down the staircase. The slamming of the fire-door made Chris jolt so hard he almost fell the rest of the way down. Two dull lightbulbs illuminated the staircase, and as Chris slowly walked down, his mind ran a mile a minute. How can he find the girl? How can he arm himself? How will he get out? Martin had said himself he got lucky with his escape. What if there’s more than one of them down here? If Freya was gone, was he supposed to come back next time? She attacked a customer, there’d be blood everywhere; how would she cover for herself? If they were all vampires, would they smell Martin’s tainted blood on his shirt? Was Eddie in on it?

Chris reached a new door as his mind ran over itself with questions. He pushed it open and squinted against pink and purple neon as he entered a tacky, pseudo-Vegas hovel. Two girls danced on poles, side by side on a stage at the far end. On his right, an empty bar was manned by two bored barmaids wearing matching leather pants and jackets. In the center of this basement, seven empty tables were scattered, and one covered with empty glasses. A man in fancy clothes whispered into the ear of another girl, this one also wearing leather. She was beautiful, and her outfit showed off her body perfectly. He couldn’t deny a pang of envy as she giggled at the bloke’s jokes and refilled their glasses with a bottle of rosé wine.

Chris decided to go to the bar, and one of the girls came to serve him, her face set in a bored sulk.

‘A beer, please’

She stared at him a moment, an eyebrow raised. She was staring at his bloodied shirt.

‘A bottle of beer. Please’

She signed as she turned and pulled a bottle from a fridge. He paid her, and when taking his change he leaned over the bar to speak. The music was loud but he could speak without shouting, which comforted him slightly.

‘Is Freya working tonight?’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve been told she’s hot. I want a private dance’

He heard her bark out a laugh, then leaned back in.

‘She’s over there, with the snob. You might struggle to get her attention; he’s been buying us drinks all night’

Before Chris could think of a question such as how to snare her away, the barmaid was gone, back at the other end of the bar talking to a colleague. Sighing, he turned and leaned against the bar, watching his hands as they trembled. Eventually he worked up the courage to look at her. This time, he knew who she was. She was beautiful. She had dark eyes, and her smile seemed so genuine as she laughed with her customer. Victim. She killed Martin. He had to get her alone.

‘Mind if I join you?’

The rich man looked a lot younger, now Chris could see him close up.

‘Yeah I do. Leave us alone’

The girl made a pitiful face, with half a smile still.

‘Aww, he just wants to join in. Maybe we can find a girl for him too!’

The rich man looked at Chris with a scowl. Chris wasted no time.

‘I actually know Freya, and I’ve been planning for some time to come visit her’

‘Oh really?’

She spoke with a laugh, but he saw a glint in her eye. Whether it was amusement or annoyance, he couldn’t tell.

‘Yeah, you MUST remember me! I’m the guy with more money than this dickhead’

The rich man’s face dropped, and Freya’s eyes lit up for just a moment. Again, Chris couldn't tell if this was amusement. Before anybody else could speak, the rich man stood up and grabbed the bottle of rosé.

‘I’m meant to be your customer. Fuck yourself if you’re gonna embarrass me’

He stormed off and Freya called out to him, trying to be nice. She looked at Chris and her mouth twitched into a smile.

‘Maybe we should go to a private area, since you’ve been waiting so long to visit me’

Chris made himself smile, and let her take him by the hand and lead him around the stage, which led to a row of private booths. Her hand was cold, and it revolted him. She led him into the furthest booth; a plush sofa filled the length of one side, and next to it, to Chris’ relief, was a wooden table with a felt top and three thin, breakable legs. He expected her to sit him down, but instead she stood in front of him and put a finger into his chest.

‘He was making me a lot of money, so you better not be cheap. Before we go any further, are we clear on that?’

Chris nodded, and tried to look confident. He watched her mood change in front of his eyes; the anger and impatience made way for a comely smile and seductive stare.

‘Why don’t you sit down then?’

She pushed him gently onto the seat, and stepped back. Despite his intentions, he looked at her and drank in her beauty. He was going to have to act quickly, or he’d bottle it. He thought of Martin, and watching him die. Twice.

‘Come over here. If I wanted to stare at a woman from so far away, I’d be upstairs with the rest of the rabble’

She walked to him, and straddled his waist. She put her hands on his shoulders and slowly lowered her head to his, breathing into his ear with a low, breathy laugh. He almost folded, but the chance was too good. He gripped her head with both hand and began to twist, as he had with his brother, but she was quicker. She grabbed his arms and pulled him to the ground. Her hands were on his face in an instant as she straddled him. Her thumbs were over his eyes and pushing, filling his head with agonising bright lights. In the pain, Chris fanned his arms across the floor, and his left arm found the table. He said a silent thanks that the table was light, and gripped the bottom of the closest leg and drove it into her side, under her ribs as hard as he could, twice then three times, trying to knock her off balance. It was enough for her to let go of his face and reach for the table but he pulled his arm away, and pushed a knee up and knocked her off balance. She fell over him and while still on the ground he drove an elbow into the side of her head. He stood quickly and looked at her, his head pulsing with pain. Her eyes were still dark, but now a deep dark red instead of a sultry black. He broke the chair over his knees and the leg he gripped now hard a sharp point.

‘You killed my brother’

‘The one who got away? It’s a shame he didn’t bite you first’

Chris strode towards her, and she backed up against the wall. His mind was blank, running on instinct, and the pain behind his eyes was almost blinding. He thrust with the wood, stopping half way, and then pushed forward with all his strength. It was enough to trick her, and he got her square in the chest. He had to hope it was accurate. There were three inches of the weapon for him to use, and he pushed relentlessly, harder and harder, even after her body grew limp. He pushed until his hand touched her skin, then let go and pushed the end of the chair leg with his palm until his hand slipped off, at which point she slumped to the ground. Black ash fell from her closed eyelids, and fell softly over her face and neck. Chris’ breathing slowly returned to a steady gasp, and he turned to leave. He had to find the nearest fire-door. He had to get out before anyone responded. Had they made much noise? He had no memory of her screaming or shouting, but the pain in his head was still so strong that he couldn’t be sure; everything was fuzzy and hazy, and he needed to vomit. He could have been screaming himself for all he remembered. He stepped out of the booth, and looked down the corridor, but there was no exit, only more booths and then the turn to the bar. He walked back to the bar, his heart racing again. As he turned the corner to rush past the stage, he heard them. A dozen rasps , deep inhalations followed by snarled, vicious gasps, almost growls. His stomach knotted so intensely he dropped to his knees. There were maybe a dozen of them. Their incisors were long and pointed as they breathed through open mouths like wolves. He could faintly see the green glow of the fire exit behind them, but they drew close, in a pack, and blocked anything past the corridor. Their eyes were dark, and on the two closest to him he saw a deep red in their pupils. He thought of Martin as they swarmed him.