UNQUENCHABLE
by
David Dvorkin
II
Alpensprings
Chapter Three
Once again, Richard Venneman found himself driving from Denver into the mountains, heading toward the ski town where he had been made into a vampire. A year had passed since then, but every moment of that first trip and that strange transformation remained vivid in his memory. His drive back down from the mountains, and his further transformation, were just as vivid.
He remembered that during the second trip, the cold air had seemed mild to him. He had navigated by what Elizabeth called "nightlight," the grey, directionless light that vampires see by at night. But for Venneman, his next transformation had changed that light to the color of blood. Dinsmuir's machine had changed him from vampire to super-vampire, had changed the color of nightlight from grey to red, and had filled Venneman's nights with dreams of a sea of blood, an ocean in which the flotsam was human body parts. Toward the end, that ocean had begun to erupt into the waking world. It had broken out of his dreams, pursuing him.
Venneman shivered, as much at that memory as because of the cold mountain air. This time, he would observe the rule Hapgood had praised, that one should be satisfied with his lot. This time, all Venneman wanted was to be a vampire. He would be satisfied with that. He would not try to achieve a further transformation this time.
Jill and Hapgood's victim was named Rick Norton. The coincidence of the first name being almost the same as his own made Venneman uneasy, but he managed to put that feeling aside and practiced until his signature was a reasonable facsimile of the one on the white strip on the back of the credit cards. The cards' limits were high enough for Venneman's purposes. He was able to reserve a one-way seat to Denver on a flight that left shortly after midnight and arrived in Denver, after four hours in the air, at three-thirty in the morning. Traveling west meant that the difference in time zones worked in Venneman's favor by giving him more hours of night at his destination.
Unfortunately, it also meant that he arrived too early. He had to wait at the airport in Denver for more than two hours before the rental car offices opened. He spent that time worrying about the possibility that Norton's body had already been found and identified and that the police would spring out of nowhere and arrest him as soon as he used one of the credit cards.
But his luck held. By dawn he was on his way, heading west from Denver in a rented car. When the police finally managed to track him to the rental car office, the forms he had filled out would lead them on a false trail of supposed business contacts scattered around Denver - but all within the city, none of them in the mountains. By the time they realized that the information was false, it would be too late. Venneman would have accomplished his aim.
I'll be dead, he thought. You're too late, officer. The suspect has succeeded in having all the blood sucked from his body.
When he reached the state highway he wanted, Venneman left the interstate and drove for a few miles, looking for a safe place to stop beside the road. He found one and pulled off and parked. This part of the highway wound through a canyon. A creek ran through the canyon, close to the highway. The turnout held a couple of picnic tables overlooking the creek. At this time of year and this early in the day it was too cold for picnickers and most hikers. At the same time, the ski resorts were not yet open. So Venneman was alone by the creek, and no cars passed by on the state highway.
He watched the water rushing by. It was crystal clear. The morning sun was just peeking over the hilltop behind him and shining into the water. Venneman could see every pebble on the creek bed, every detail of the rocks the water tumbled over. Briefly, he wondered about the source of the spring water. Melting snow? A mountain spring? It must be cold, he thought. It looks alive, but it's dead and cold, like a vampire.
He thought that reality might be easier to accept if that were true. Vampires should be dead and cold, but instead they were the very opposite.
He took Rick Norton's credit cards from his pocket and ran his finger over them, looking for life in them, for some last trace of the dead man's soul.
Nothing.
Venneman looked around to make sure he was alone. He tossed the cards into the creek and watched as the water carried them rapidly out of sight. Then he returned to the car and continued on his way.
* * * * * * *
The sign read Alpensprings.
He hadn't even realized before that the town had a name. The first time, it had been a place he disapproved of morally. The second, it had been important only as the home of Elizabeth Vallé. The name had been unimportant, irrelevant to his life.
"Alpensprings," he said aloud. Some real estate developer had come up with that one, he thought. It meant nothing. These were the Rockies, not the Alps, and Venneman didn't remember seeing any springs during his previous two trips here. The name had nothing to do with the area or its history. It had been chosen for its sound and its association with Switzerland and in order to elicit some idealized picture of nature. But that was appropriate, Venneman thought. The town itself was a foreign thing and utterly synthetic. It had been planted in the mountains as a lure for outsiders. They were supposed to come here and spend their money in the vain pursuit of happiness and then leave.
Some of us, he thought, are more fully outsiders than anyone else here realizes.
Some of them, he corrected himself. I'm not an outsider anymore. Not yet.
He drove first to the motel where he had stayed during both of his previous visits. He parked outside the office while he considered registering. He had no reason to do so, since he hoped it wouldn't be necessary for him to stay in town for long. It just seemed appropriate that he repeat the entire pattern.
He stared at the building for a while, trying to imbue it with something, some kind of significance, a special presence, but it remained just a building.
The parking lot was empty. The town was probably empty, Venneman realized. It came alive during ski season, when vacationers covered the slopes during the day and, transformed into predators stalking each other, filled the streets and bars at night. But not yet. It was still too early in the year.
The air was already too cold for comfort, though. Venneman started the car again, turned the heat up higher, and drove away.
* * * * * * *
Once again, he drove out of town along a winding county road and turned off on a dirt road that led to Elizabeth Vallé's house.
After Dinsmuir's machine had transformed Elizabeth into a super-vampire even as it reduced Venneman to humanity, she had exulted in her new ability to move about in daylight. That and the way her human victims would now yearn to have her feed on them again were blessings, in her view. They were gifts that Venneman had rejected, but she was delighted by them. It was her reaction, along with certain things she had said earlier, that had led Venneman to assume that Elizabeth would now be traveling widely. Now she would no longer be restricted to Alpensprings and her house outside the village. By now, she could be anywhere.
But was he assuming too much? For the first time, he questioned his assumption that she would not be here.
Suddenly queasy, Venneman pulled off the road.
If he got to the house and Elizabeth was there, what would she do to him? Had she managed to regain her full size and strength yet? Not that it mattered. Small as she was when he'd last seen her, she'd nonetheless been far stronger than Venneman. She was stronger than an ordinary vampire and therefore much stronger than a human being. She had demonstrated that in Dinsmuir's lab when she'd easily lifted Venneman to his feet and sunk her teeth into his neck.
But at her first taste of his human blood, she had spat it out in disgust and had done nothing to him. Because of what she'd become, only vampire blood was sweet to her now. So he had no reason to assume that she would harm him, even if she were waiting in her house.
If Elizabeth were indeed present, the worst she would be likely to do would be to thwart Venneman's plans by not letting Karen attack him.
Karen was the real danger.
His blood would be a feast to Karen, and she had reason to want him to suffer. That was both the risk and the promise.
But he had no choice in this. Not any longer. He might as well press on.
He drove on and eventually turned off onto a well-remembered dirt road.
It was close to noon now, but the pine forest closed around him and the road was in deep shadow. He remembered noticing before that Elizabeth had chosen a house built on the north-facing slope of a mountain, so that she would never have to fear direct sunlight. Now he was entering the shadows, freely and of his own will, planning never to emerge from them.
Venneman slowed unconsciously as the car drew near the house. His car moved slowly over the leveled dirt of the driveway. Every noise the tires made - the crunching of gravel, the cracking of a small twig - sounded amazingly loud to him.
He stopped with the front of the car a few feet away from the door.
Venneman took two deep breaths. Then he got out, walked to the door, and knocked.
There was no response. The last time, the sound had been faint because of his weakness. This time, he pounded as hard as he dared, risking reopening his side. The sound still seemed soft to him.
Little matter. It would be loud to a vampire's ears. If Elizabeth had been here, she would have been awake and would have come by now. If Karen were here, she would be lost in that irresistible deep sleep that overcomes vampires during daylight.
He went back to his car and waited for dark.
* * * * * * *
When he judged that the sky had grown dark enough for Karen to be waking, Venneman went up to the front door and pounded on it again. As best he could, he kept his mind blank, trying not to think about Elizabeth being there or about Karen not being as manipulable as his plan required. He tried to move mechanically, as though he were a robot blindly following a program.
There was no response. He tried again and again as the last trace of daylight faded from the sky and brilliant stars appeared, but still no one answered his knocking. This was the worst possibility of all: that Karen, too, had left, and he had lost his last chance.
There was a low growl behind him and the sound of claws on gravel.
Venneman spun around, throwing up his arm to protect himself.
Something hit him and slammed him back against the heavy wooden door. His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees. Reflexively, as he fell, Venneman clutched at his attacker. His fingers closed in fur. He could feel a thick, stiff hide and powerful muscles working under it. The animal stank of rot and blood. Venneman could barely see it in the almost-total dark.
It was a dog, a small one, but amazingly strong. By luck, Venneman had hold of the loose skin at the rear of its neck, just below the skull. The dog twisted in his grip, turning its head almost one hundred and eighty degrees around as it tried to get its teeth into his hand. It dug its hind legs into the ground and squirmed and snarled at him.
Venneman held on desperately. Small as it was, the dog terrified him. There was something extra in its viciousness and strength, something more than he had ever seen in a dog of its size before. He staggered to his feet and held the dog off the ground while it twisted and jerked madly. Venneman could feel blood leaking from his side, soaking into his shirt and windbreaker.
He felt weak and dizzy. He couldn't hold onto the animal indefinitely. He had no idea what would happen if he let it go. He could scarcely see the beast as it was, and if it got away from him, it could attack him again, and he would not be able to see it coming.
There was a click behind him. Venneman looked over his shoulder as the door opened. A human shape stood in the doorway, ghostly white, barely visible.
"Don't hurt him!" It was Karen Belmont's voice.
"I thought the house was empty," Venneman said. He thanked God that his voice sounded normal. He couldn't let Karen know yet just how weak and vulnerable he was. He needed to say his piece first.
He stepped closer to her, and Karen backed away. She looked down, not meeting his eyes. "I hoped you'd go away if I didn't answer," she said. She looked up at him again. "Please don't hurt him! Let him go. I can control him."
For a moment, Venneman felt a hint of his old, vampire strength returning. It was as though he was drawing it from Karen's obvious fear of him. She doesn't realize how I've changed, he thought. She thinks I'm still the same as I was when she last saw me. "Karen," he said. Even his voice sounded stronger to him. "Karen, I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk to you. I have an offer to make. As for this dog, you'd better make him stay away, or you know what I'll do to him."
She nodded. "I know." She stepped out of the house, circling warily around Venneman, and moved away toward the woods. She disappeared quickly in the dark.
Then Venneman heard a strange call from her direction, a rising and falling cry. It was Karen's voice, but it was different in a way that made the skin at the back of his neck tingle. It was an animal cry clothed in Karen's voice.
The dog struggled even more desperately in his grip. "Let go of him now!" Karen shouted.
Venneman let the dog go with a sense of relief. One second more, he thought, and his fingers would have loosened whether he wanted them to or not.
The dog squirmed away from his grip, dropped to the ground, and leaped into the darkness.
Venneman backed away slowly until he felt the step at his heel. He turned and entered the house. He could see almost nothing. He slid his hand over the wall beside the door, searching for a switch.
Was there any electricity here? The only other time he'd been in the house, he had had his vampire vision to see by. There had been no lights on, as far as he could remember. His hand hit a switch. He flipped it, and the hallway was flooded with light from an overhead fixture.
Of course, he thought. Elizabeth had made her living as a writer. Possibly she used a typewriter, but more likely a word processor. What with that and a fax machine and all the other paraphernalia of the modern world, she would have kept electricity supplied to the house for her convenience.
He left the door open behind him and walked down the hallway, seeing it anew in electric light. The last time, everything had been awash in red for him. Elizabeth had expected him to appreciate the fine art and furniture, but the light he saw by had obliterated color and detail. Now he could see it as it had been intended to be seen - by human eyes, not by vampire eyes.
So much for vampires being superior to humans, he thought. We humans can appreciate sights they don't even see. And fine food and drink, both of which are nauseating to them.
Then his temporary strength began to drain away again, oozing from him with the blood leaking from his side. The pain returned, making it difficult to breathe except in short, shallow breaths.
Bent over, left arm pressed to his side, Venneman shuffled down the hallway toward the sitting room he remembered. Fortunately, there was an overhead light in there, too.
Venneman lowered himself carefully, painfully onto the same imitation 18-Century couch he had sat on last time. He leaned his head against the wooden back and closed his eyes. He could feel himself drifting down a long, dark tunnel. It slanted ever more downward. Far ahead, a red light grew brighter as he moved toward it. His speed increased.
He sensed a presence. It was strong, angry, and yet it was afraid of him.
He opened his eyes. Karen stood in the doorway looking at him. She was squinting in the bright electric light, and her nostrils were twitching like an animal's. "You're very different," she said.
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