The Conversation [Dhara]

[Deagan (DELETED 7215)]

Deagan
Hello. My name is Deagan. Thank you for sharing your email with me. I read your post on the forum, and felt like there might be more you had to say. If it helps, I will start: my wife was murdered last year. Her throat was ripped out, and all of the blood was drained from her body. The irony is that I am a professional folklorist. There is a name for this phenomenon, and I know exactly what it is: vampirism. But that is not something you can tell the police, and 6 months later they declared the case cold. But I am not done looking nor trying to explain what happened to my wife that night, what could be potentially happening to others in Harper Rock. I hope I do not sound completely insane. Please write back when you have the chance. -D.M.


Dhara
Hello Deagan,

For now, you can call me Music@Midnight - I’m a little paranoid about this because the last time I talked to someone, they threatened my life. You don’t sound insane to me. I have travelled all over the world and have seen a great many unusual things, but nothing so strange as the things I’ve seen here. Nor have I experienced the things I have here. Harper Rock seems like a myth and a legend all on it’s own.

I won’t yet give name to the things I know, but I do know that a lot of people go missing. The cops are unusually jumpy, and the newspaper claims there are ghosts. I know, and so do you, that it’s not just ghosts. I would caution you to be careful… people who talk, who make accusations… those are the first to go missing.

M@M

Deagan
I appreciate your concern. I truly do. And I appreciate the vote of confidence in my sanity, though some nights I feel it brought into question. But I guess that’s just grief rearing its ugly head, isn’t it?

I know that what you are saying about Harper Rock is true; that more and more this town seems to be a place where unexplainable things happen. It wasn’t always that way. I grew up in this town, and though I left for many years to pursue my career as an author and researcher, it was for the most part a peaceful and serene place. A wonderful town to grow up in. It seems that only in the last 3 years have the number of truly bizarre occurrences seemed to escalate. Earthquakes. The Quarantine Zone. Perhaps I should have left while I had the chance, while Emily was still alive, but this was my home, for better or for worse.

Might I ask, without compromising your anonymity, if you could share a firsthand experience? Something out-of-the-ordinary that you have experienced in Harper Rock?
Any bit of information I can gather could possibly help me in my search for an answer.

Again, thank you for taking a chance on reaching out to me. - D.M.

Dhara
Deagan,

There are several experiences I could relate, I suppose it’s a matter of which ones you’re interested in. There have only been two terrible things that have happened since I’ve come here, in spite of all the strangeness. I came here on a whim, and that was over a year ago. I’ve never stayed anywhere so long, it’s almost as if Harper Rock has some sort of hold on me, though I know it doesn’t.

Grief takes on many forms and I am quite familiar with all of them. While time can make it easier, it never really goes away. Some day though, you’ll be able to look back on the memories with out them hurting so much.

And here’s one strange thing for you… I live in the Quarantine Zone.

M@M

Deagan
Dear Music@Midnight,
I apologize. I know it has been almost a week since my last correspondence, and you may have wondered if something had cut off our communication. I will be honest with you, after I read your last email, I almost deleted this whole chain as well as your address from my list of contacts. I felt quite sure that I was being made a fool of, that you were somehow baiting a man too lost in his grief to see the joke.

But I have allowed some time to temper my response, and I have decided that the fairest thing to do is to give you the benefit of the doubt, the same benefit as you must undoubtedly be giving me and my tale of horror. But your statement regarding where you live begs many questions, and you can’t be surprised that I will feel compelled to ask at least a few of them.

So for brevity’s sake, I will impose a limit on myself in this email, and ask just one question: Exactly what the hell is going on behind that government blockade?
-D.M.

[Dhara]

Dhara
Deagan,

To be honest I thought you disappeared as so many in this city do. And please do not be offended, but I did not find myself concerned as we have never met and at this moment you are simply an email address. For all I know you could be pulling the same type of prank you’ve accused me of. However, I am glad to see you are healthy and hale and that you haven’t vanished into the night. I can understand why my statement has given you pause and a reason to question my own motives and sanity. I must ask that you take that same fragile trust, that benefit of the doubt, and apply it heartily to my next statement.

Zombies, is the answer to your question. That it what lies behind the gates to the Quarantine Zone. Obviously there are ways in or I would not be able to live here. The building is newer, built some time in the last two years I think. The apartments are nice, really, and the neighbors quiet. At least once you get off the first floor. I am thankful that zombies can’t use the elevator. If you ever do come to explore this place just know that it is infested with undead, flesh eating monsters who want nothing more than to tear you to shreds.

Be safe.
M@M

Deagan
Zombies? What does that mean? People with some sort of infection or virus? Or do you truly mean a living dead creature under some sort of curse or spell? I’ve studied folklore most of my life. I know about zombies, at least what they are supposed to be according to legend.

The funny thing is, even if the answer really is that you have walking corpses shambling through your garden in the Quarantine Zone, I believe you. You see, something extraordinary happened to me today. I too have seen the dead.

Today is the one year anniversary of my wife’s death. And her ghost came to see me. It wasn’t some rotting corpse though. It was as if she was alive again, right in front of me. I was only able to see her for a few minutes, and then she was gone again. But she spoke to me, told me there was something important she needed to tell me.

Since her death, my world seems to have been slipping further into madness, and today I think it finally toppled over the brink. I believe you; I believe in your zombies. Do you believe in my ghost? - D.M.

Dhara
Deagan,
I do believe you about your ghost. I’ve heard of a similar thing happening to others. And by Zombies I do mean hordes of the shambling undead. There’s even different types. There are monsters, Deagan, and they are not relegated to our nightmares. But by the same token, some of the things that we think are monsters are not monsters at all. It’s hard to explain, and doing so via email makes me very nervous. I am not sure what the next step is from here.

Again, my condolences on your loss. I know from experience what kind of hole that can leave in your life. It feels like you will never recover.

Be safe.

M@M


Deagan
Thank you for your kind wishes. I hope you have learned to live with the grief of your losses even as I am attempting to live with mine.

I think the next step is that we should meet. I know it is a scary thought to come out from the safety and anonymity of the internet, but something has happened that I...can’t explain. And this from the man who has seen a ghost! Like you, I am no longer comfortable using the internet as a venue for this type of conversation. I hope you will trust in me, and in my sincerity, enough to consider meeting someplace, preferably very public and well-lit, that we can discuss the things that we are afraid to by email. I feel like this is something you need as badly as I do, or you would not have reached out to me. Please consider my proposal. -D.M.

Dhara
Deagan,

Public, well lit, and during the daylight hours, though I know that even that offers no real safety. Tell me where you are thinking of and I will consider it.

M@M

Deagan
Well, given the “cyber” nature of our relationship, perhaps one of the webcafes in town would be appropriate. In fact, if you don’t think it’s too “on the nose,” there is a place I’ve been meaning to check out called the Voodoo Cybercafe. Perhaps it is my gallows humor, but it sounds like an appropriate meeting place. Tomorrow afternoon, if you are amenable. And thank you for the trust you have shown so far in our correspondence. It has been a challenge for me as well, but in a city with this many secrets, it is imperative we find people with whom we can be honest. All best. -D.M.

[Deagan (DELETED 7215)]

It always happened at fairly inopportune times. Who knew being haunted would be such an inconvenience. At least this time Emily had the decency not to surprise him while he was driving. That didn't make it any less upsetting, but it did lessen the chances that Deagan McNamara would die in a fiery auto crash.

Please help me!

The desperation and terror in her voice was agonizing. Deagan had just been putting on his coat and preparing to walk out the door of his house. Their house. But possibly not for much longer. The mortgage was overdue. Deagan hadn't worked in over a year, and what he made in royalties wasn't cutting very deep into the stack of bills. Perhaps he was letting it happen on purpose. He wouldn't be heartbroken to let the place go. It was, after all, the site of his wife's murder just over a year ago. The one who was speaking to him now.

Deagan spun around at the sound of the voice. The last several times Emily had spoken to him, she had been nowhere to be found, but there was always that desperate hope, the hope that she would appear to him in all of her glorious beauty, like she had the first time she had visited him in the bookstore. But the wood paneled entryway of their modest bungalow was empty of all but a coat rack and an umbrella stand, and he doubted she was hiding behind either of those. "Emily, where are you? Tell me how to help you?"

Silence. Then...

Deagan, are you there? Can you hear me?

It was always like this. Like talking to someone with shitty cell phone service. As if hearing her voice wasn't enough reason to question his own sanity, the fact that they could never actually seem to reach each other, to communicate clearly... He decided to try again, just in case. "Emily, I love you. I miss you so badly! Please tell me that wherever you are, you're all right. Or if not, then tell me what I can do to help!" He paused, waiting anxiously for a response. "Emily? Emily, please answer." It was useless; she was gone again.

With a sob, Deagan sank to the floor and put his head in his hands. This nightmare only seemed to be getting worse. The things he was seeing and hearing now. The whole world seemed to be descending into hell. But he had leads that he needed to follow. The drive to find her killer continued to pull him forward like like a program driving a fleshy automaton. Where he had been heading when he was going out the door was one of those leads. The girl (he assumed it was a girl) who could tell him about the zombies.

Like a jerky puppet, he clambered back up to his feet and trudged out to his waiting car.

Ten minutes later he arrived at his destination and parked. He realized almost as soon as he got out and headed to the door that he might have made a mistake. The Voodoo Cybercafe was not what he had expected, and the opposite of what his counterpart had asked for. He had assumed, incorrectly, that it would be some sort of coffe shop for the hipster wi fi generation. Well lit with big windows and twee indie music playing from the speakers, while barristas too cool to work at Starbucks served mochas and lattes to irritated looking young people who had no idea how easy their lives were.

Instead, the inside was dark, and the place felt more like some kind of goth club or dive bar. In fact, he realized with dismay, the Voodoo Cybercafe was a bar. Someone should really teach the owner some French, he thought dourly. He hoped they served coffee. Deagan had made it a point to avoid even walking into a bar ever since Emily's death. He had poured every bottle of liquor in the house down the drain. He knew for a fact that alcoholism was a disease that had run rampant in his family for generations, and though he had never been terribly worried before the tragedy that it was a disease he would succumb to, he couldn't afford to take that chance any more. Diving to the bottom of a bottle would not help him find Emily's killer.

Deagan found a table in a relatively bright section of the room, and took a chair facing the door. For all he knew, Music@Midnight, the faceless internet handle whom he was supposed to be meeting today, was already here. But if that was the case, he supposed she would have no trouble spotting him and would be joining him shortly. Though neither party had given the other a description of themselves in their email correspondence, Deagan McNamara was a published author who had had his photo snapped enough times that he doubted it would take someone as obviously talented in internet usage as M@M long to find him.

Deagan sat and waited, contemplating the questions he would have for her when she arrived.

[Dhara]

She'd been to the cafe a time or two and knew the general location. The email had suggested to meet there this afternoon. She pushed her pale, sky blue hair from her eyes and contemplated the email. It was such a huge risk, meeting some one else from the internet again. The last time hadn't gone so well. The fear from that encounter had lead her to getting rid of her burner phone and abandoning her apartment for nearly two months. She'd moved from place to place, thanks to managing several properties for one of her employers. And now, here she was again, thinking of doing the same thing.

Fear slid along her arms like an oily cloth, leaving goosebumps on her flesh. She pushed back from her chair with a sigh and went to get dressed. She chose her usual attire of an ankle length black skirt and a tunic shirt in pale pale pink. It complimented the color of her long hair and served to accentuate her incredibly pale skin. Grabbing up her satchel, she paused once more at the computer and googled the name of the man she was meeting. There were plenty of pictures of him, given that he was an author. With his image firmly in her mind, she put her boots on and left, being sure to lock her apartment securely.

Her keys jingled in her hands as she walked to her car. She couldn't help the thrill of pleasure when she looked at the sleek Mercedes. A very generous bonus from her boss. He'd given her use of the car when she first started taking care of his properties, and had signed the title over when he saw the quality of her work. It was one of the nicest things she'd ever owned and as a result, she took immaculate care of it. She realized she was stalling and rushed to the car and slid behind the wheel.

It didn't take her long to reach the cafe, and a cursory glance told her that he'd beaten her there. She silently cursed herself for dawdling. She didn't let her amber gaze linger on him, she still had the upper hand since she was the unknown mystery element. He didn't know her name or her face. Walking past him, she went to the counter and ordered a medium black drip coffee. Paying for her drink, she took a seat near the man she was supposed to be meeting, quietly watching him, trying to judge his authenticity. She sipped her coffee in silence, chastising herself for being rude. After all, a famous author surely did not have time to sit and wait while she decided if she was going to join him or not.

Thirty minutes later, she was back at the counter for a second cup of coffee. This time, she paid and then walked past her table. Standing near the table he occupied, she looked him over once more, then pushed her sky blue hair over her shoulder. She wondered what he would think of this seemingly random stranger that stood before him. She was tiny, almost fragile looking. Her best friend said that she was like a pixi, with her too pale skin and large, amber eyes. The delicate bone structure and short stature didn't help any, she imagined. Her voice was soft with a blended accent that was both German and Australian.

"May I join you?" She asked, the soft question for his ears only. She wondered what he would think of this seemingly random stranger that stood before him. She was tiny, delicate, pixi-ish as some described

[Deagan (DELETED 7215)]

Perhaps she's not coming, Deagan thought as he checked his watch for the umpteenth time. He could've killed time by ordering something, a coffee, to drink, but he had remained fixated on watching the door and the evaluation of the patrons who passed in and out, trying to determine which one might be Music@Midnight. He strongly suspected from her demeanor that M@M was a woman. He had seen several women come and go, but was hard pressed to guess which one might be her. Was it over the hill hippie in her peasant shirt, posting flyers for a lost cat? Was it the rather slight young woman with the blue hair and the pink top? Was it the woman in jogging gear, whose obvious preference her own music over that which was playing from the jukebox was made apparent by that fact that she never bothered to take out her ear buds or turn off her iPod? Or could it have been on of the several other, less memorable people who had crossed his line of sight? Deagan didn't know, but his frustration was rising. Nonetheless, he would sit and wait. He had no choice.

Deagan was a little taken aback when moments later, the elfin girl with the blue hair, whom he had seen enter almost thirty minutes ago, sat down next to him with her cup of coffee. Though her demeanor was pleasant enough, her large amber eyes seemed to be quietly appraising him.

May I join you?

The accent was foreign, but one that he could not easily place. South African possibly? Deagan smiled cordially at the young woman. "Well that really depends," he said. "You see, I'm waiting for someone. My name is Deagan McNamara. I don't suppose you're Music@Midnight? " From the things she had told him in her emails, it seemed unlikely, but, like Alice, Deagan was getting used to believing six impossible things before breakfast. The fact that this young lady, who looked as if a strong breeze might blow her away, could be the same person claiming to live in the Quarantine Zone was at this point no more unbelievable than the terrifying creature he had encountered just two days ago...

[Dhara]

<Dhara>She slid into the chair and gazed at him, both small hands wrapped around her coffee mug, the hot liquid warming her skin from the autumn chill. “I am.” She said simply and left it at that. She wasn’t sure she trusted him, wasn’t yet ready to give up her name. Revealing her face was frightening enough, and she knew at least two people in her life who would verbally skin her alive for what she was doing now. “I am sorry I kept you waiting… this makes me incredibly nervous.”

<Deagan> Deagan smiled kindly at the young girl. Two nights ago he had encountered another young girl, one who also had seemed nervous around him. This one struck him as considerably saner, and so he felt it best to make the most of that advantage and get them started on the right foot.

“I can appreciate that…” he realized she had not shared a real name yet, but decided not to press the issue. “This must certainly be as odd an experience for you as it is for me. I’ve never done something like this before.” Which, he realized, sounded exactly like something someone would say who did this sort of thing all of the time. “But I think we are both sitting here because we both have had odder experiences in our lives than meeting a stranger from the internet in a coffee shop.” He supposed that’s what this place was, as he eyed her coffee enviously. He could really use a drink right now, and the coffee might take his mind off ordering something harder.

“We’ve discussed some of the...more unusual experiences we’ve had in our emails. But I think we’ve reached the point where even email does not seem terribly secure. I’m here because I want to tell you about another strange experience I had that I think you will be able to relate to. When I’m done, I’m very much hoping that you will feel comfortable sharing as well, and elaborating on some of the things you’ve hinted at in our correspondence.” He took a breath and realized he had speaking too long. Time to let her respond…

<Dhara> She sipped slowly from her mug, her eyes never left his face as he talked. She listened intently to every word that came from his lips, even half smiling when he realized he made himself sound like a creeper. “My one previous experience was not good.” She said in answer to his comment about meeting people from the net. She listened to the rest as she sipped her coffee. As he went on and on, she got the feeling that he might be nervous. She was too, but as a performer, she was very good at not showing how she felt.

“Perhaps we should get some coffee first?” She was a woman of few words, at least for now. She settled comfortably in her chair, still holding her empty mug. But her suggestion and the way she had adjusted, settling in to the chair, suggested she would stay for a while yet at least.

<Deagan> “Ah, um, yes, of course.” He had been rushing things. His anxiousness to get closer to the truth had a nasty habit of pushing people away, and he couldn’t afford for that to happen right now. Music@Midnight obviously did not want to be hurried into this conversation, and who could blame her? They were about to discuss things that were absurd and fantastical in the eyes of the world, but which they both knew to be real. You didn’t just jump into a conversation about a dinner party you had attended the previous evening with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny without first considering the ramifications. Deagan pushed out his chair and nodded his head courteously to the blue haired young woman. “I’ll get this round. As a way of saying thank you for agreeing to meet me.” He smiled again and walked to the bar.

“Two of what she’s having,” he told the bartender/barrista, who eyed Deagan curiously, possibly evaluating whether he was the girl’s father or something far creepier, and proceeded to pour two cups of coffee. Deagan paid and collected the drinks. He returned to the table, and handed M@M hers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to ask if you took anything. I always drink mine black.” Taking a sip appreciatively, Deagan let the hot, bitter liquid temporarily satisfy his need for something else, and settled back into his seat to wait patiently for his companion to speak again.

<Dhara> “Black, the way nature intended.” She said in answer to his apology, taking a long swallow of the hot liquid. It amused her when she realized she was living up to the typical German stereotype of stoic, unsmiling and somber. It was so unlike her that she almost laughed out loud. This man, this Deagan, if he ever had run into her on the street, he’d have thought that she had a twin. Her normal personality was sprightly, bubbly, overly enthusiastic about pretty much everything. Much like a puppy let loose in a field filled with tennis balls. Yet here she sat, calmly sipping coffee and staring at him as if her silence held the answer to all the mysteries in the world. After another long swallow from her cup, she looked at him again. “After you, I insist.”

<Deagan> So she wanted a story. Well, Deagan had made his living as a storyteller for years, so he felt confident he could deliver. But which one? His mind touched briefly on his encounter with the man named Ambrose… no, he was not ready to talk about that one yet. But he could certainly tell her about the zombie. Deagan settled into his chair and took another sip of his coffee.
“Two nights ago, I received a letter in my mailbox. It had no stamp, no return address. So you can easily surmise, someone other than the postman had to have put it there. Someone I don’t know, but who apparently knows me, or at least where I live. Inside the envelope, which was addressed to me, there was simply a sheet of paper with an address, and nothing more. Now, I’ve mentioned having… seen my wife, since she passed? You can understand I am not always in the best state of mind to make rational decisions when it comes to anything that may hold a clue to her death. And so I went out that very night, and tracked down the address from the letter, hoping it would lead me to a clue. What it lead me to instead was an abandoned factory in Newborough. Which I went into with nothing but a flashlight, and certainly no clue of what I was doing. This is the part where you can feel free to call me an idiot.”

Deagan smiled, and continued, “What I found in there, well, it’s hard to explain. There was a woman, a young woman, probably not much older than yourself. And she was… a little off. She had a teddy bear, and when I found her, she was having quite the conversation with it. One sided of course. The young woman called herself Nesa. She spoke like a child, but they say from the mouth of babes and all that, and I guess there’s something to it, because she warned me there were bad things in the night, and good lord did the night prove her right. I feared Nesa was some sort of escaped mental patient, and so I offered to escort her home out of that ruined building. But there was… something else in there with us. I heard it. I almost saw it, but Nesa grew frantic and insisted we leave. And so we did. Getting the disturbed young woman someplace safe was my first priority. We got back in my car and were about to leave that dark and ruinous neighborhood. And that was when I saw the zombie.”

Deagan took a deep breath. The coffee now sat forgotten on the table, as his mind wandered back to the horrors of that night. “It looked like every Hollywood version of a zombie you’ve ever seen, but at the same time, infinitely worse. Because just by looking at it you could see that it was no special effect, no man in a rubber suit. It was a walking corpse. Something that defied all laws of reason by… moving. It shouldn’t have been moving, but it was! The funny thing is, at first, it didn’t even acknowledge we were there. I almost ran it down with my car before even seeing it. But I slammed on the brakes at the last minute and pulled up short. And there it was, just crossing the street in front of us, like an absent minded old lady, or a bewildered deer that loses its way and wanders into the city. And then it turned to look at us.”

Deagan shuddered. He used the word “look,” because it was the best approximation of what the thing did. To be more accurate would be to say it turned its rotting head in their direction.”It had no eyes! The thing looked right through us with empty sockets. And then, well, things only got weirder. Nesa was out of the car before I knew what was happening. I thought perhaps she would try to run for it, but I couldn’t let her go out there on her own. So I got out of the car as well. And by the time I had reached them, Nesa had produced a knife from god knows where and stabbed the zombie through the head. And then she walked away and simply disappeared. I mean, I ran after her, and there was no where she could have gone or hid so quickly. The woman vanished into thin air.” Deagan prepared to draw his bizarre tale to a close.

“Before she vanished, I asked her a question. I asked her where the zombie had come from. And she responded, ‘Where all us baddies come from.’ The response was typical of her childish manner of speaking. But the implications of it left me deeply disturbed.” Deagan stared into the distance for a moment, remembering. Then he was back. He reached for the cup of coffee, and cradled it in his hands, the source of the warmth seeming to comfort him somewhat. He had not even mentioned the car that showed up immediately after Nesa’s disappearance. But what he was saying was already a lot to process, and so he decided to leave that little detail out. At least for now…

<Dhara> She listened to him quietly. She didn’t move, didn’t blink and, unless you looked very closely, you couldn’t tell she was breathing. When he finished his story, she sat in silence, observing him intently. She could tell, from the haunted look in his eyes, the way his mind wandered and the conviction in his voice that he believed, devoutly, every thing he had told her. At long last, she picked up her coffee and took a slow sip. “It sounds to me as if Nesa might be…” She paused, looked around, then leaned forward and whispered softly. “A vampire.” Her amber eyes were serious and so was her tone. There was absolutely nothing to suggest she was pulling a hoax on him or that she doubted his words or her own. With a sigh, she leaned back and brushed the blue locks from her eyes.

“I’ve been here a year and a half or so now. Shortly after I first arrived I was staying in an apartment, one I thought abandoned, only to find out how wrong I was. One night, just after sunset, a man appeared. I don’t know where he came from, but it certainly wasn’t through the door. He shot me in the back. Told me to get out. The pain was excruciating. His face even more horrifying. The tattoo’s are in my nightmares even to this day. Any ways… before I could even move to the door to flee, I was in the park in the city. Thornside park. I have no idea how I got there, but I came to learn later it was through teleportation.” She was keeping her voice deliberately low, so that no one could hear their conversation. At least she hoped no one could hear them. She shifted in her chair, wrapping her hands around her mug, then sighed again. “I made it to hospital and they patched me up. After that, I found a hostel in town and stayed there. I never saw him again, thankfully.”

A slow sip of her coffee and she looked him over again. “There are other strange things, such as the zombie you saw. Vampires are very real. But they are not like the movies or the books foretell. Some are scarier I think, in the way that they blend in so perfectly, but hide such evil. Others are… just like you and me, save for the terrible affliction of having to drink blood.” She shrugged a little. “It all depends on the personality of the person I suppose.” What she didn’t say, and wouldn’t say, was that she was friends with a great many vampires. Her best friend, her best friends boyfriend. Several others in the city proper, and even her own boyfriend. But she wouldn’t reveal any of that to the man sitting at the table with her.

[Deagan (DELETED 7215)]

<Deagan> He stood at a mental crossroads. It was one he’d been heading towards ever since Emily’s murder, ever since he had started investigating the mysterious occurrences in Harper Rock.His progress down this road had accelerated rapidly since he had begun seeing and hearing Emily’s ghost. One of the most basic tenets of his belief system, that tales of the supernatural were nothing more than a sort of cultural zeitgeist,indicative of a society’s fears of death and the unknown, had been smashed to pieces. Ghosts were real. So were… other things. Including zombies. But vampires? Could he make that mental leap? It would explain so much about Emily’s death, but the explanation almost seemed… too easy. And what was next? Witches? Werewolves? Was every boogeyman ever conceived somehow linked to reality?

There was nothing in the young woman’s story that provided explicit evidence of a nosferatu. In fact, the whole thing could be explained quite easily. She was in shock from the gunshot wound. Her assailant, perhaps realizing his mistake or at least not wishing to be linked to a murder if the crime was discovered, had dumped her in the park as some sort of conciliatory gesture, knowing she might be found if she was in a public place. As for the teleportation? Simply fainting and reawakening in a disoriented state could have accounted for her loss of time and perception of having been transported instantly from one place to another.

Except that Nesa had vanished as well. And he had no convenient rationalization for that. So perhaps even teleportation was real. His mind could handle that possibility, as amazing as it seemed. One could identify rational, scientific reasoning to explain teleportation, based on quantum physics and other concepts that a Humanities person like Deagan didn’t have a real good grasp of.

But vampires? Blood sucking creatures of the night, living in moldy old castles and saying things like “The blood is the life, Mr. Renfield?” Of course, to hear the girl with the blue hair tell it, they looked just like everyone else, blended in with society. So what really then were vampires, if not simply people? People who needed blood, like some kind of strange addiction.

“I… I just don’t know,-” He had begun to say her name, then realized he still didn’t know it. It was starting to get frustrating. “Vampires… it’s just so unbelievable. So, if what you’re saying is true, what do we do about it?” You couldn’t simply walk into a police station and tell them that the town was infested with vampires, not unless you wanted to end up in Winterbrook Asylum. And what did you use to stop vampires? Garlic? Crosses? Or would plain old bullets do the job? Deagan looked the petite woman in the eye. “I can tell you, if I make a decision to believe you right now, it could be very dangerous. My wife was murdered. Her body was drained of blood. Everything about how the police handled it reeks of a cover up. If vampires are real, then I have no doubt that they killed my wife, and I will not stop until until I find the one who did it and make them pay.”

Deagan was a gentle soul. But right at that moment, the gentleness was all but gone from his eyes. In its place was a righteous fire that burned fierce and bright.

<Dhara> She settled back in her chair and watched him for a moment, then shrugged slightly. “There aren’t many ways I know of. I’ve heard things, of course. I have sources, friends who help me stay safe. Others who urge me to leave. Some of the best protection is to stay in an apartment. Not a hotel or a public space. They can’t come in unless they are invited… sort of. There are abilities that let them come in, unseen, bypassing locks and security measures.” She shook her head again and pushed her hair back. “It’s… well really life goes on. They stay quiet, try not to draw attention to themselves. For the most part I mean. The police though… they know something is up. They are far too jumpy to deny it. Not even the Korean police are as twitchy as these Canadians.”

Another sip of her coffee and a soft sigh. “Not to long ago some strange things were happening. There were these…” She trailed off slightly, casting for a word. “Tears? Like between our world and what they call the ‘shadow realm’. I couldn’t see them, but I heard a lot about them. And I sort of felt one, if that makes sense. Since then, the headlines in the papers keep mentioning ghost sightings and stuff like that. I suppose it all comes down to what you believe. What are you willing to believe, and what will it cost you in terms of sanity.”


<Deagan> Cost? Deagan had paid the cost, a year ago. There was no price he would not pay now, nothing he would not give up to solve the mystery of his wife’s murder, to avenge her death. Most people acquainted with Deagan would agree that he had a long fuse, possibly the longest of anyone they knew. Of course, the scary thing about a long fuse was that, ultimately, you couldn’t be sure where it lead.In Deagan’s case, it could be a powder keg, or it could be a fifty megaton warhead. Somehow, the latter seemed more likely. There was nothing more dangerous than a man with nothing left to lose.

“A tear between worlds…” Deagan mused for a minute. “I wonder then what would happen to the vampires if that tear was somehow closed, and the link between worlds… sealed off.” It was a longshot. In fact, Deagan himself only had the flimsiest understanding of what it was he was talking about. But it was a start. If the supernatural was real, if the occult was a thing that could actually be manipulated, then Deagan had found a new avenue of study and inquiry for his pursuit, one that could potentially lead him all the way to the end of his quest.

“You say the police know about this. And you know as well. Why not tell people? Bring this out into the open?”

<Dhara> She gave him a look that plainly called him an idiot, and sipped her coffee. “I don’t know what the police know, other than something strange happens here and the body count is exceedingly high. As for those tears? I haven’t heard of or seen any more. But to my understanding, which is limited, the shadow realm is where a vampire goes when it ‘dies’, but then they come back after a time.” She blew out a breath, knowing how crazy she sounded right about now. “I don’t know any more than that. There are just some things that you shouldn’t poke around in. Especially when no one would miss you.”

<Deagan> Deagan heard the veiled threats in what Music@Midnight was saying. Perhaps she was just trying to warn him away, for his own sake. She couldn’t understand that his own sake meant nothing to him at this point. Still, he knew he had a penchant for over speaking his mind; for rushing in. He had been searching for answers now for over a year. He could be patient; he could keep searching. She had said this “shadow realm” was where vampires went when they died. It only reinforced his earlier thought. This tear had created an unnatural connection between the worlds of humans and vampires. But what if that connection could be severed? What if, when a vampire went to the shadow realm, it no longer had the option of coming back? His revenge would be hollow if Emily’s killer could simply return to kill again. Or perhaps there were other ways… It would bear some thinking on.

He could see she was getting frustrated with him. He did not want to burn this particular bridge. Perhaps in time, the young woman would open up to him more. But for now…

Deagan smiled kindly. “I understand your concern. And I appreciate it. You’re right, of course. No sense going off half-cocked. I know, if what you say is true, that you are probably taking a risk just talking to me like this. I understand that, and appreciate the chance you’ve taken on me today. I promise you, I will never break our confidence. I understand if you wish to remain anonymous, but we have some experiences in common that not many people can claim to have, and I’d like to think that could be the basis of a friendship. And I have to admit, I don’t have many of those left these days. So perhaps, sometime soon, you might feel that you can trust me with a name I can call you other than an internet handle.” He chuckled. “I’m afraid I’m going to feel rather silly calling you Music@Midnight if our friendship is to continue.” Deagan smiled again, taking a sip of his coffee, and waited for her response.

<Dhara> She smiled, though her own gaze was haunted. She knew that nothing she could say would turn him off his intended path and so she gave up trying to talk him out of it. “Dhara. My name is Dhara.” She said quietly, though many people already knew the tiny little sprite of a woman. Not everyone knew her name. She sipped her coffee slowly and looked around the cafe, then back at him.

“I suppose there is no way to talk you out of whatever mission you have set for yourself?” She already knew the answer, but asked just incase it was different. “You’ll need information. I have some, more than I should have and still be among the living. But you must understand there are things I will never tell you. People I will never allow you to harm, if that’s what you’re about. I have friends here and though they may not be the conventional sorts, I will still protect them.”

<Deagan> “Dhara. That’s a very pretty name.” He was starting to get a clearer picture. There were people who she felt would be harmed if the reality of the supernatural dealings in Harper Rock came to light. Which meant they were somehow connected to those happenings. Could it be her friends were… vampires? Dhara had said something earlier about the vampire’s nature depending on their personality. That would really make them no different than people in that regards. There were good people, and there homicidal maniacs. You didn’t have to be a monster to do terrible things.

Though the fire of vengeance burned in his belly, Deagan was not looking for a witch-hunt. Years of researching the stories that people told about the supernatural had also brought him face to face with the sometimes tragic results of those tales. The Salem Witch Trials. The Inquisition. The wholesale ethnic cleansing that had occurred in medieval Europe because certain ethnic groups were said to be werewolves or vampires. He suspected that what Dhara said was true; perhaps these were just people, with the same hopes and fears that we all possessed, but cursed with a terrible affliction. Like Nesa. Dhara believed her to be a vampire. Nesa had been almost childlike, as well as half out of her mind, but she had also killed that zombie with ruthless efficiency. He would not condemn these vampires as a race. But he would never truly trust one, not until they earned it.

Which of course brought up the tricky question again of whether he believed any of this. He still hovered on that mental precipice, still stood undecided at that crossroads. Every word Dhara had said had brought him one step closer to making the leap. But not yet. For Deagan, seeing was believing. He had seen incredible things in the last two weeks. But he had not seen any real hard evidence that vampires were real. A sliver of doubt persisted in his mind. But in his gut, he had the uncanny feeling that that sliver would soon be washed away, and his instincts would be giving him a hearty “I told you so.” He hoped it wouldn’t be on his death bed.

“Dhara, you can trust me. And I trust you. If there are people you don’t want affected by this, the best thing is not to tell me anything that may put them at risk. And if there are those who you say don’t deserve my enmity, then know that I believe you. But if there’s anything else you want to tell me that could help me find my wife’s killer, know that I will be forever grateful, and forever in your debt, no matter the potential danger it puts me in.”

<Dhara> “I think the first thing I should do is show you. Show you things that you have yet to see. Things… things that defy explanation. If you’re up for an unconventional jaunt, and willing to put your trust in a stranger that is.” She looked at him and gave a small smile. “Sometimes seeing is believing, after all.” She sipped her coffee and looked him over. “I’m not a fighter, by any means. And something tells me you aren’t either. So you have to be fast, and stay close. Don’t draw attention to us… I’m sure you get it.”

She emptied her coffee cup and set it quietly on the table, watching him. She felt exposed in this cafe, but coming here had been worth it. She didn’t need Deagan’s assurances that she didn’t have to tell him certain things. She just simply wouldn’t tell him and that was that.

<Deagan> Deagan had to think fast. He hadn’t expected the conversation to take this sharp turn from talking to action quite so quickly. Was he ready for this? He had to be. If there were risks involved, they were worth it. It was all worth it to get closer to the truth. He set down his coffee cup as well, and gathered up his coat. “I’m ready when you are. Lead the way.”