Fanghunters Page 3

Failure to pay the full amount of rent in arrears will result in an eviction detainer lawsuit filed with the County Court.

  Yours sincerely, Christopher Cushing (Landlord).’

  Dom threw his head back and groaned. That was all he needed. Suddenly, he didn’t know where to turn. There was no family to go back to, and now there wasn’t even any venom to go back to either. And soon, he’d have no home.

  He trudged back into his lounge and looked around, lightheaded. He didn’t have any readily available cash money that he knew of. His memory was so mashed, he could have a swag bag full of diamonds stuffed beneath the floorboards and he wouldn’t even know it. As far as he was concerned, he had a few bills in his wallet and that was all.

  He collapsed onto his sofa, an exhausted heap. Confusion and fear reigned in his mind. What the hell is happening? What have I done to deserve this, man? What?

  He sat up on the sofa and stared at the blank TV. His tired expression faced him. What do I do? What do I do?

  Then a thought surfaced from the chaotic soup in his mind.

  There must be others, dude. I mean other people like you who were or are victims of vamps.

  Dom nodded. Yeah, there was that other fanghead in the basement. The one he smashed with an empty bottle.

  No, others. People who’ve escaped from them. People like you. Maybe networking is the only place left. Maybe they can help you.

  Dom sighed. “Okay, but how am I gonna find them?” he asked the empty room.

  The answer hit him in an instant. He clicked his fingers, got up and grabbed the laptop sitting on the coffee table. He flicked it on. He went straight to Google and typed in ‘vampire’. He got 1.2 million hits.

  No, dummy. You gotta be more specific than that. Try ‘vampire escapees’.

  Okay...

  He typed it in. Google asked him if he meant ‘vampire escape’.

  He sighed. Man, I was never any good at this Internet stuff. Eddie was the geeky one.

  Then, a sudden realization dawned on him. If there really were other ex-fangheads out there, they wouldn’t wanna freely advertise it on the web. There was a personal safety issue at play. Hey, maybe vampires use the Internet too, you never know...

  He remembered Eddie showing him something, a trick to get to parts of the web known as the deep web, the dark web. Eddie said that was where all the crazy stuff was, and where you could get anything you wanted. You could only get to it with something called a proxy browser, which masked your identity, meaning you could surf the dark web anonymously; the only way you were able to.

  You can betcha bottom dollar that’s where the ex-fangheads are, buddy...

  Dom got to work. He installed the software he needed to mask his IP, recalling the instructions Eddie showed him. He brought up the proxy server, which gave him access to the deep web. And then, in the blink of an eye, the truly weird stuff was all available. He managed to get a list of encrypted web addresses from a proxy search engine after typing in ‘vampire escapees’. Screw Google. After a brief bit of surfing, he found a plain text message board on a black background where random people were openly discussing all the strange things out there. Alien encounters, secret service surveillance, mind control victims, strange creature sightings. Werewolves, zombies, yetis. And another sub heading read: vampires. Dom immediately clicked it. With baited breath, the page loaded. Up flicked a list of messages with replies. Dom scanned them.

  HELP!! ADDICTED TO VENOM! CAN’T GET AWAY! HELP!!!

  GOT JABBED BY A VAMPIRE LAST NIGHT, NOW WANT MORE!!!111

  VAMPIRE ICED ME. I NOW THINK I’M IN LOVE...

  Dom’s eyes lit up. His head spun like Beetlejuice. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He scrolled down, the messages and replies went on and on.

  VAMPIRE BIT ME.

  VAMP ATTACK.

  EX-VENOM ADDICT.

  He wasn’t alone...

  Relief bombed in his heart like an anvil; it mushroomed up his lungs and escaped out of his mouth in a satisfied gasp. He grabbed his head and ran his hands through his hair.

  An excited chuckle escaped him. I can’t believe it. Where the hell did all this come from?

  This stuff was hidden form the mainstream consciousness. It lay under the surface like a bubbling geyser, always there, never a threat, but just waiting to explode. Maybe...

  His fingers sprang into life, ready to get to work networking and putting all the emotions down for the others to see, to get it all out. His fingertips touched the keys, and then he stopped dead. Another thread caught his eye: WHY DON’T SOME1 JUST KILL THESE MOFOS? Dom clicked the link, the first reply read: Yeah, where’s Van Helsing when you need him? I’d clean out my wallet for that guy’s help.

  To which, someone replied: He’s prolly busy sleeping, just like the rest of society...

  And with that, something else now dropped into his mind, taking things on a step further from where he was currently at.

  How about hunters, buddy? his mind threw up to him. If all these guys are here complaining, there may even be hunters by now...

  Dom leant back. Hunters? he contemplated, rubbing his chin.

  Yeah, the old Van Helsing character. Like a hitman but focusing on vampires.

  Then another delicious notion swirled in his consciousness. Hey, buddy, maybe you could... become one yourself. Earn a few bucks taking these things down. You know, create a niche market for yourself, get you out of debt. How about that for an idea?

  Dom nodded. It sounded great. Meant he could make some cash while helping these other guys out. He knew how they felt. The loneliness, the helplessness, the fact no one would believe you. You existed on the fringes of society, in the dark part, the underbelly; the dark web. No one to talk to, no one to understand you. All cause of vampires, creatures of the night and their addictive venom. Dom’s heart went out to every one of the victims who were reaching out on this bizarre message board. And he wanted to help them all.

  “Yeah, I’ve got nothing to lose now. I wanna help. And I’m gonna.”

  He got back to work.

  He now searched for classifieds. Specifically weird, bizarre classifieds. Soon, he found himself on another plain text site with obligatory black background, the white text glowing like phantasms. On it were various ads: weird dating, strange requests. There was an advert for an exorcist, another seeking an expert in voodoo, and another looking for a hitman. Someone else needed a curse lifted. Dom shook his head. Then, something caught his eye. In capital letters:

  VAMPIRE HUNTER NEEDED. DISCRETION ESSENTIAL.

  Excellent reimbursement guaranteed to right candidate.

  Bingo!

  Dom leant back and rubbed his hands. “Excellent reimbursement, huh?”

  That means lots of money, buddy.

  Yeah, I know that, thanks.

  But, can you handle it, this early?

  He puffed his cheeks and looked around his lounge. “I’ll have to handle it. Otherwise, it’s cardboard city for me.”

  Then, you know what to do.

  Dom nodded his head and clicked ‘send message’.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dom pulled up outside the gates of the biggest mansion he’d ever laid eyes on, wondering if he’d got the wrong address. He killed the engine, then turned and gawked in awe at the building ahead of him. It was like something from that TV show: The Bold & the Beautiful. Another freakin’ world.

  After responding to the classified on the deep web, he got into an email exchange with the owner of the huge house. He discovered that the guy seeking a vampire hunter on the dark web was Beauchamp. Vincent Beauchamp. He was the founder and CEO of the biggest enterprise Dom had never heard of. From what he understood, they were into tech: weaponry, chemicals, whatever, it was beyond him. According to their masked email exchanges, Beauchamp’s daughter became a fanghead before she OD’d on venom; something Dom wasn’t even aware you could do until now. Beauchamp had managed to locate the whereabouts of said va
mp, and now he wanted to get his revenge. Being too old to storm into a vampire’s nest and snuff him out himself, he was outsourcing. And that was where Dom came in...

  On the drive all the way up to the mansion, he kept asking himself if any of this was real. The guy living inside was a freakin’ millionaire, for Chrissakes and he wanted a vampire hunter? No way... The plot was getting more surreal as the clock ticked by. For a while Dom thought that this whole thing might just be a dream; he was actually passed out from too much partying on some couch somewhere downtown, and he was living this weird nightmare of vamps, venom, and millionaires.

  He stared at his tired eyes in the rear view and flicked his cheek.

  “Ow...” he gasped, grabbing his now stinging cheek.

  Definitely real, buddy. So, soak it up...

  And go meet your first client.

  Dom straightened his back and nodded.

  It all still felt weird as he leant out his window and pushed the button on the intercom, but hey, everything was weird now, so it made no difference. He was still unsure. This whole thing could be a joke. A prank at his expense.

  There’s only one way to find out, buddy.

  There was no response from the intercom other than the gates clanging into life and opening up of their own accord. Dom watched them as they swung away, allowing him entrance. Now, the whole mansion and surrounding grounds were in view. They stretched for what seemed like miles. It must be great not having any neighbors to bother you. And no landlords...

  And stationed nice and discreet on the outskirts of Chicago, not caught up in the chaos and mess of the city. Dom kinda envied Beauchamp, but at the same time feared him. He was powerful, no doubt expecting some experienced, hard-boiled vampire hunter to be crossing his threshold. Hey, how many vamps you snuffed, Dom? To be honest, a big fat zero, but we’ll negotiate a suitable price for my services...

  Dom groaned. A guy with this much wealth would obviously want to get value for his money. How could Dom offer that?

  He clasped his steering wheel tight. “I’ll get the job done for the guy!” he said to the empty car through clenched teeth. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  Okay, buddy. You roll with that. Now you gonna sit here all day?

  Dom huffed and got the car in gear. He rolled past the gates and was soon swallowed by expense and class. The expanse of grass surrounding him had been cut to perfection, every blade identical in height. In the distance, lines of tall trees marked the boundaries of the grounds. The mansion itself was immaculately well-kept. Clean, pristine. Quaint shrubs and bushes lined the gravel path that led up to the front doors. The afternoon sun was peeking out from behind a grey cloud, giving the area a nice, hazily-bright quality. As Dom fully entered the grounds, he realized that the place was quiet. Dead. No security, no gardeners, maids. Nothing. It was like a scene from one of those post-apocalyptic movies where the world still spun even though it was devoid of human activity. He rolled slowly up the gravel path like Mad Max in his last stand, feeling alone in the big, empty world.

  He made it to the end of the lane and he stopped, killing the engine straight after. He had another look around. Nothing. He glanced up at the myriad of windows glinting in the daylight. Not a curtain twitched.

  This better not be a frickin’ joke...

  Dom sighed as he threw his door open and stepped out, his sneakers crunching on the gravel below. He swung the door shut and stared up at the massive house, still unable to digest where he was.

  Well, here goes nothing.

  Hands on hips, he stepped up to the front door. He searched for the doorbell, spotted it. Then pushed it. A tinkling rang out from inside. He waited, licking his hand and neatening his hair, breathing into his fist to check his breath. He could’ve done with a shave, but it was too late for that now. About ten seconds passed and he began rocking on his heels, apprehension setting in. At any moment, he expected to hear heavy footsteps and then for an oversized lump with square shoulders and dead, droopy eyes to open the door and say: ‘you rang,’ in a slow, deep voice.

  That or a hunchback.

  He got neither. The door finally clicked open. Dom became perfectly still, and flashbacks to the other day when knocking at his old house for Dad began playing in his mind. He swallowed, and tried to put on a grin. He failed miserably.

  The door came open fully and a slender man with a lined face and side-parted silver hair stood in the doorway. He had friendly, but sorrowful blue eyes that for some reason appeared a lot older than they actually were. He wore a casual pastel cotton shirt, grey trousers, and smart, shiny shoes.

  He stared at Dom with a puzzled expression: raised eyebrow, slightly open mouth.

  Dom cleared his throat. “Mr. Beauchamp?” he asked in what he realized was a croaky voice.

  The older man’s gray eyebrows jumped upward. “Ah, you must be Dominic.”

  Dom smiled. “That’s right.” He scratched the back of his head. “Sorry I’m a bit late, my car kinda broke down on the way here.”

  The corners of Beauchamp’s mouth turned up into a smile. “Not to worry, my boy. These things have a habit of occurring when one least expects.” He spoke with a regal English accent, the kinda thing the Royal family used, or almost all the bad guys in the movies. “Do come in,” he then said, ushering Dom into his home, “we have plenty to discuss.”

  Dom nodded and entered, making sure to wipe his sneakers on the welcome mat beforehand.

  *****

  Beauchamp led Dom through a huge lobby and into an adjacent room with what looked like a conference table; the kinda thing mafia dons sat around when discussing how to carve up the city in movies like The Godfather. Hanging on the walls in an unceremonious fashion were heads of various stuffed animals: moose, deer, antelope. Dom couldn’t tell if they were real or fake. Either way, they were nonetheless creepy, watching his every move.

  “Take a seat, my boy,” Beauchamp said pointing at a chair with his open hand. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Er...” I could murder a Bud right now, dude.

  Try and be professional, Dom. At least try...

  “Fruit juice will be fine, Mr. Beauchamp.”

  “Righteo,” Beauchamp replied. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  Dom frowned. A jiffy? He’ll probably bring back afternoon tea and scones.

  Beauchamp left the room, leaving Dom alone with the heads on the walls. He rolled his eyes round in their sockets in a nervous manner, feeling their stares, the tick-tock of the grandfather clock standing to attention on the opposite side of the room the only audible sound. The sun was now shining through the windows and lighting everything up, it glinted off the ornate silver candlesticks on the dust-free table, as well as the glass on the front of the oak suites lining the walls. Inside were various trinkets: more silver, statuettes, carvings, pottery. Old man Beauchamp was a collector of things.

  Without realizing, Dom began thrumming his fingertips on the surface of the table. It was a reaction to the eeriness of the empty mansion and all those heads staring at him.

  Just play it cool, buddy. He seems like an alright kinda guy.

  Dom nodded. Yeah, he seemed alright. A bit of a scatterbrain, but okay.

  Just then he came scuttling back into the room with a glass in his hand and a grin on his face. “I found a carton of grapefruit juice in the cupboard. Hope it will be to your taste.”

  “That’ll be great,” Dom replied.

  “I took the liberty of adding ice as it wasn’t refrigerated.”

  “Ice is cool, Mr. Beauchamp,” Dom said with a chuckle.

  “Indeed it is, my boy. Which is the very reason I added it to your drink.”

  He placed a small coaster on the table and then the glass on top. Dom smiled, guessing Beauchamp didn’t quite get his joke. Maybe a bit too cryptic there, buddy. He’s old, and he’s from abroad.

  Dom let him off. The old guy had pineapple juice in stock and that made him good in Dom’s books. “Cheers,”
he said, picking up the glass and taking a long gulp. It slipped nicely down his dry throat.

  “Good health,” Beauchamp said, pulling up a chair a couple away from Dom’s.

  Dom placed his glass down and gasped in satisfaction. “That hit the spot.”

  Beauchamp placed his palms on the surface of the table. “Now, my boy. Down to business.”

  Dom nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “As I’ve outlined during our brief email exchanges,” Beauchamp began, “I’ve managed to make contact with an ex-fanghead called Max.”

  Another one of those bouts of weirdness stuck Dom again. It was hearing this posh English guy actually say the word ‘fanghead’.

  Vincent continued. “He was under the influence of the same vampire that managed to...” His voice began to waver. He took a deep breath to control himself. “Snare my daughter, Patricia.”

  Dom nodded in understanding and sipped more juice.

  Beauchamp sat upright in his seat and clasped his hands together. “Now, I want him dead,” he said in an uncompromising tone. “The vampire that is, not Max.”

  “Of course, Mr. Beauchamp, I fully understand and sympathize. And that’s why I answered your classified.”

  Beauchamp rapped his knuckles on the surface of the table. “Good. Now, I believe you too were a victim of a vampire.”

  Dom shivered involuntarily. “I was.”

  “So how did you de-fang yourself?”

  Dom swallowed more juice from his glass and looked around him, locking eyes with an antelope. “I’ve gone cold turkey. I realized losing the ones I love would be worse than staying with…” He swallowed. “Him. Maybe I got lucky.” Dom then burst into laughter. He grabbed his forehead. “Sorry, Mr. Beauchamp. It just feels weird talking about vampires to someone like you. Someone so rich and successful that is...”

  Beauchamp nodded. “Yes, life can be full of surprises at times. I never thought I’d be here hiring someone to kill a vampire for me, but hey ho.”

  Dom chuckled. “Touché.”

  “So, have you killed any of them before?” Vincent then asked, staring straight at Dom.