From lf@CAIS.CAIS.COM Sun Jul 14 20:46:04 1996 Date: Thu, 16 May 1996 03:28:36 -0400 From: Apache To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: More Things Between Heaven and Earth (T/LC) SPOILERS FOR ASHES TO ASHES usual copyright disclaimers More Things Between Heaven and Earth I called him evil, and then I killed him. Aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play? He weighs a ton, but it's doable. I have these great bungee cords in my car for hauling loads down from my folks' place to my apartment, and now I'm using them to get a vampire body wrapped up in a sheet out of an abandoned church. Bump, bump, bump, Christopher Robin up the stairs. Vachon, why were you so sure? You got better from being ripped to pieces in an airplane crash, and this little scratch was going to kill you? God, the first I ever saw of him -- his gut ripped open, his cheek open to the bone, forehead open, an arm cut off and then his eyes blinked open and he looked at me. If only I'd never seen him again. I'd never know -- what? About vampires? No, I would have been dead, because Vudu would have killed me. Or the hired killer with the knife down on Yonge Street. Or anything. Oh God, I cared about him and all I could do was be snarky and call him evil. Bump. Vachon, do vampires diet? Is that blood full of calories or what? Thank god this is a shallow basement.... I remember the place. He told me he put Screed by the water. "He used to be a sailor, you know." When was that, Vachon, in the days of the Spanish armada? You never told me anything.... Vachon probably just flew in here when he buried Screed, but I don't have that option. It took me 45 minutes to get his body into my car, wrapped in a sheet. There was no way I was dragging it from a parking lot to the shore. Let alone the thrilling possibility of running into the park patrol. I was envisioning the explanation: well officer, it's true I'm about to put this body in a shallow grave, but it's a vampire body, not a human person, so it's not a crime... honest, call the Crown Prosecutor, he'll tell you. How would I know? Well, I'm, uh, a homicide detective.... So I drove my car onto the frozen ground and came down by the lake. It wasn't hard to find the patch of disturbed sod. Strange no one has dug it up. Well, maybe not so strange. Fortunately for me the soil right by the water is both soggy and sandy. Otherwise, Vachon would have to keep till spring, or I'd have to bring in a backhoe. //That would be an interesting requisition. 'Vetter, you want a what? For personal use? Vetter, you've been seeing that New Age lady shrink a little too often.' // The New Age lady shrink thinks a vampire killed me in a past life. Great. //Well, doc, I had a big therapeutic breakthrough this week. I killed a vampire. Am I even? Want to break out the crystals and see if they hum a happy tune?// That woman is a fruitcake. A nice fruitcake, but I think she thinks she's channeling Carl Jung. If I were Carl Jung, I'd resist. //Great, Vetter. Nice thoughts. -- Well, what are you supposed to be thinking about while you're trying to bury a vampire?// I did have a shovel in my trunk, nice and sharp, so I used it like a pickaxe to break the ground open. I kept at it steadily for a couple hours, and got down about two or three feet. Unfortunately, I didn't have any gloves. //A glove compartment, and no gloves. I never really thought about the name.// I never really respected the Mafia's expertise until this minute. Getting rid of a body is hard. It takes planning. It takes specialized skills. I do not have a future as a Mob enforcer. Eventually, I needed to take a blister break. I went over to the Taurus, where Vachon was wrapped in a sheet in the back seat, and leaned on the side of the car, breathing hard and looking at all the little sore, puffy things on my fingers and palms. Wait a minute, Vachon's motorcycle gloves. In his jacket? back pocket of his jeans? //Officer, I know what this looks like. Yes, I am rifling the dead vampire's pockets but it's not a robbery. It wasn't even a homicide, technically...// Because I'd had to open the sheet to get at Vachon's clothes, I was looking at his face again. He looks great. The scruffy grunge look actually turns me off, but he broke all my rules, including that one. Part of me was crazy for him. I found the gloves. A little help in burying him.... this vampire who kept helping me. It hit me again, and I started crying again, stroking his hair with those awful bangs. "Keeps it out of my eyes, Trace." He just cut it around his face, he said, without looking. No kidding. History's worst haircut, I bet, and you had 500 years to perfect it. Back to the shovel. Job to do. I got in another hour and a half, thanks to Vachon's gloves, before I needed a break again. I went back to the car, and got in the backseat. Actually, there was so much sand, I was down at least four feet in the soil by now, in fact, maybe even five. One more good long effort, and I'd have it. I had to take Vachon's head in my lap to have room to sit, but I didn't mind. I stroked his hair some more. I touched his face, but he was as cold as something in the refrigerator. It was hitting me in waves, that he was really dead. "I didn't believe you could die," I said, stroking his cold forehead, and the tears came back. "I wish... I wish I had told you the other part, how much you gave me. I hope you knew." I sniffled. "I wish you had kissed me again. I guess you couldn't, though. Did you have a girlfriend?" The thought made me snort out a laugh, then cry even more. "A vampire girlfriend? Did you guys bite each other, or did you kiss? Or didn't it matter anymore after you became what you are? You were always touching me..." Even tonight. I called him evil, and he stroked my cheek. He caressed my chin and shouted at me in the next instant to get the stake and kill him. It hit me all of a sudden that I was exhausted. In every way. There's no energy left to dig with. If I don't finish up now, I'll still be sitting here with him in the backseat when the sun comes up. I think I don't want to know what would happen then. The thought made me move again. I dragged Vachon's body out of the car. OK, so it's not a whole six feet deep, but it's maybe four and a half or five... God, this is hard. "You weigh a ton, Vachon," I muttered yet again. Oh, for a block and tackle. //Give me a lever and where to stand, and I will move the world" -- Mrs. Clark, eighth grade geometry, quoting some ancient Greek guy. Ari-something, they're all Ari - something. Aristotle, Aristippus, Aristophanes...// "Get a grip, Vetter," I told myself. The sheer craziness of what I was doing, plus how completely strung out I was emotionally, was taking me right over the edge. I finally got him to the side of the hole. It was fairly deep. I got him stretched out flat next to it but I didn't want to just roll him in. It was too... rough. So I jumped in, grabbed his feet and slid them in first, then lowered his torso down. Then he was lying at the bottom of the grave, fairly straight. I crouched down by him and touched his cold face. "I wish you'd told me more," I said. "About the others.... who do I tell? How will they know you're gone?" "We know." I almost fell over onto Vachon, I was so shocked. There was a man dressed in black standing right next to the grave, though I never heard him come up -- oh my God, it's that man Lacroix and he just said "we know." //'We.' You lied. Oh shit, I'm dead. He's going to bury me in this grave with you.// I reached for my gun, and realized I'd left it in the car. Lacroix extended his hand gently. "Do not concern yourself. I'm not here to hurt you." I don't know why, but I believed him. But I also believed he could rip me to pieces in a second. I reached out and took the offered hand. It was cold, like Vachon's hands were cold. He helped me up out of the hole -- out of Vachon's grave -- and let go of my hand immediately. Then we just sort of looked at each other for a moment. Why was he here? And there were so many things I wanted to know. Starting with-- "Did you do that to him?" A little smile. If you could call it a smile. It had that doubleness, the wryness and irony that Vachon always had. And more, much more. Where Vachon was humorous underneath, Lacroix was... terrifying. "No. And I assure you that the one who did this... has paid." His face changed. "Permanently." "Another va--" I didn't have to finish; I could see the answer in his face. Something clicked. "The same person who killed Hamid--" He didn't even let me finish. "Yes." "Vachon said he knew who the murderer was." I looked down at him. I hadn't folded the sheet over his face. I looked back at Lacroix. "And you -are- one of them, aren't you? He said you weren't." The frightening smile again -- kindness and killer, all in one. And a self-deprecating quality-- "How... thoughtful of Javier," he said archly. Then the smile disappeared. "We do protect each other, my dear. You are not to know of us." A wave of terror rocked me. "I thought you weren't here to hurt me." My voice was little more than a squeak. Another smile. "Quite true, I assure you. But it is -time- for you to let go of the past." It made me look at Vachon. //Let the dead bury the dead gets a whole new meaning with you guys.// His face looked so sweet, like he was just sleeping. No breath, and cold as ice, but so beautiful, like that fairy tale with the poisoned apple. //I'm sorry for what I said, Vachon. I hope you knew the other things I should have said.// I was about to jump back in and cover him all the way up, but the vampire stopped me. "You have done very well, child. But it is time to be done." He handed me the shovel. Of all the annoying... it was how I always got over Vachon's weirdness, too: he ticked me off and I'd forget to be afraid. "Care to help?" I snapped. Lacroix shook his head ever so slightly. "It is your office. And, also-- your gift to him, is it not?" I shot a glance at him. He was absolutely right. Is he being kind? Oh who knows, he's a vampire. Still, it was very hard to push that first shovel of dirt onto Vachon. It mostly hit the sheet, but a bit of soil hit his face and I began to cry again. I kept pushing dirt, and kept crying -filling in a hole is a lot easier than making one. It was over in a few minutes, really. The vampire backed off and waited by my car. I whispered to him a little as I did it. "I'm sorry, Vachon, so sorry. I wish that we-- I'm just sorry." And last of all, "Luck, okay? Really good luck." I took a minute or two to tamp down the surface, but really I just didn't want to be finished. I even gave the dirt some strokes with my hand to smooth it, as if somehow it was the last way I had of touching his face. I felt incredibly old and tired when I finally straightened up. And turned around to face the black-clothed figure standing patiently next to my car. I picked up the shovel and trudged over to meet my fate, whatever it was going to be. He had to be here for something. I walked over and just looked him in the eye. I'd believed him when he said he wasn't going to hurt me, but I was wondering if he was going to do something worse. He stood and looked down at me for a long moment, and said gently, "What will you do now?" I looked back. "How old are you? He told me he was about 500. I'll bet you're even older than that." A crocodile smile. "I am somewhat older than that, yes." There was a funny quality of self-deprecation in his answer, a downturn in his mouth, that made me think he might be as old as the stars. "And the man who killed him?" Weirdly, what Lacroix said was word-for-word the exact thing I was thinking: "Not a man." A vampire, I meant. But Lacroix went on, "A woman. A child, actually -- a very ancient child." "A vampire child? My God--" A wry smile flashed on Lacroix's face. "I would imagine that your God had -very- little to do with this child, Detective Vetter. It was she who killed Javier -- and others." "No," I said without thinking. "She hurt him, but no. I killed him." The vampire had been drifting into his thoughts, but now he looked at me sharply. "I beg your pardon?" "I did it." I sighed. "He was-- crazy. Delirious, like. He asked me to put a stake in his heart." My throat constricted. "He said I had to push it right through." The words came out as a whisper. "And you did this for him?" Lacroix's voice was smooth, but his eyes were sharp, piercing. I sighed again, and my head drooped. "I tried, but I couldn't. I mean, I chickened out. But then he threw himself on it while I was holding it." It made me remember so vividly -- tears started again. I brought my hand up to rub at my eyes and runny nose. "A remarkable story." There was no expression whatsoever on Lacroix's face. "Yeah, fine, remarkable," I said, crying harder. I didn't want to be remarkable. I wanted to be consoled -- by Vachon. I wanted his softness, no matter how superficial it might have been. Lacroix was like ice; I couldn't feel anything from him. It embarrasses me to be crying and out of control in front of anyone, but in front of this inhuman being, this other vampire who was so totally unlike Vachon, it was horrible. I turned my back to him, and covered my mouth, trying not to make any sound. When he touched me, I jumped, and banged my knee against the car. It was just a little pressure on my shoulder to get my attention or something, but I didn't hear him coming. I looked around at him. He produced a little smile. "Your face is quite dirty, Detective," he said with gentle mockery. It made me angry, which is good because I began to get a grip on myself, thinking, and what's that got to do with the price of potatoes in Calgary? But Lacroix didn't really mean to be mocking, I thought. His face actually seemed kind of solemn. Sad, even. "It is -difficult- to see a loved one die in any circumstances," he said, his voice taking on a philosophical lilt, like he was debating some proposition, "but even harder when one has... participated in some way, no matter how necessary, how desirable the... ending." I looked at him blankly. Is he telling me that he-- ? Never mind. I don't want to know. I mean, I probably do, but not tonight. I've had enough shocks for one Monday. He was still watching me closely, though. "Tell me, Detective, would you like to forget?" I scowled. "No. Of course not." The twisting, sad smile again. "I myself would, I believe." He drifted off again, then brought himself back to focus with a visible effort. Another smile. "If, of course, I should ever find myself in that position." "Yeah, if," I said. I didn't have the energy to grill him. It was probably like Reese said -- he's guilty of something -- but-- not tonight. I threw the shovel back in the trunk, peeled off Vachon's gloves and threw them in with it, and closed it. Enough philosophy. Vachon's in the ground. Face the music. "OK, now what?" "I believe I asked you that question first," he said. Vampire coyness. Just like Vachon, even though his manner is totally different, aristocratic where Vachon was cas.-to-the-max, and harder than nails where Vachon was always soft. But still coy -- still irritating. Like Vachon. Annoying, yet-- "Can I say something to you?" I bit my lip. It wasn't as good as saying it to him, but-- "I told Javier I could feel that there was evil in him. It was why I thought you were, um, what you are -- it's the same. But I never got a chance to say that I knew there was more." I looked up at the vampire's eyes, but his whole face was utterly inscrutable. "That I was sorry. That I knew it hurt his feelings -- knew he had feelings." I chewed on my lip some more. "You called him Javier-- is that why you're here? To say goodbye to him?" The vampire gave a little laugh. //Guess not.// But his answer surprised me. "It seems that I am," he said, "though I can't say that had been my intention. Another... -friend- of his spoke of a gift, earlier tonight." The painful smile curled his mouth again. "Perhaps we have all received them, in the midst of this pain." I didn't have a clue what he was talking about. He saw it, and went back to his question. "What will you do now?" I shrugged. "Go home. Call the precinct and say I'm not coming back in. Clean up. Sleep." Why was I giving this creepy guy a totally honest answer? "Cry some more, probably." "Yesss." Another downturned smile. "*Sunt lacrimae rerum,* even now." His eyebrows quirked. "'There are tears in human affairs,'" he translated for me. "The poet Vergil." "Human," I said tiredly. It made him smile again. "Quite right," he said. "In -everyone's- affairs, indeed." He opened the driver's door of the Taurus. "Come, Detective Vetter, you've had a difficult night." I got in, sliding behind the wheel and reaching to turn the key in the ignition. Lacroix was holding the door like he was about to close it. I glanced over at him, noticing how pale his gray eyes were, and then I thought I heard a sound, an echo, or something-- "--a difficult night. You will go home, and take a shower, remembering a young Spaniard called Javier Vachon. You learned that he was a vampire, and he told you he had searched the world for centuries without ever finding another such as himself, and that though he had created a companion for himself in his loneliness, his creation would feast only on vermin and ultimately died. You were fond of each other, as young people are. Perhaps it was love. Perhaps it was merely the attraction of good to evil in both of you, for the two are forever clinging to each other. Eventually, as you knew he would have to do, he left, and you wept." I was in this dark room, with a pale gray light, and there was only this voice to hang onto-- it had stopped, and without the voice there was nothing, nothing. Then the whispery echo started up again: "But that was not all, for in the end you learned that he cared deeply for you. That evil incarnate was capable of love." ********* Apache lf@cais.com