Forever My Mother By Jesse Smith, slicer69@hotmail.com http://slicer69.tripod.com/ I'd like to dedicate this story to my mother. For all the usual reasons and for all the unusual things she did for me. Prologue Betty tightened the girth on the saddle, checked it and glared at her mount. "Suck it in, buster," she ordered, pulling the leather tighter. Her mount, Andrew, returned the glare, then, slowly sucked his gut in. "Better," she smiled, giving his neck a pat. Betty led Andrew away from the fence, where she'd had him tied, and over to a mounting block. The block, no more than a wooden box with an enlarged sense of self-importance sat in one corner of the yard. Betty stood up on the box, placing her hands on the saddle. She nearly fell as Andrew side stepped and tossed his head. His nostrils flared and he pranced about. "Now, now, none of that," Betty soothed the nervous horse. He'd been skittish for years now. Nearly getting run over by a large truck will do that to a small horse. They don't like that sort of thing at all. He was getting better, it had been months before he'd let another person on his back. Betty was sure he still heard the echo's of his last owner's screams (mixed with the blare of air horn) as she was thrown into the ditch. But, she was quick to point out, he was quite settled now. Andrew rarely ran out of control or tried to shake her off anymore. She'd even walked him down the road one day. Amazing progress, she claimed, for a horse that wouldn't let anyone but herself ride him. "Steady boy," she whispered, throwing a leg up and over Andrew's back. He was throwing his head before she was even firmly in the saddle. It must be the breeze, Betty thought. The wind was whistling through the trees this fall morning in a most unusual fashion. Well, there was nothing to do but face this fear. "Come on," she ordered, turning Andrew toward the tree line. A nice, familiar trail ride would help relax them both. Chapter 1 -- The Hunter Returns Home I returned home around 3:00 in the morning and tossed my coat on the nearest chair. I breathed deep the air of my little apartment and nearly choked on the smell from my clothes. Smoke. Cigarette smoke, to be exact. Why oh why did I let myself get talked into going out to these places? I stripped off my shirt. It was time for a shower, I thought. Nothing like it to wash the smell of the bar off me. I turned to the stereo. Some of my own music would probably help. Something relatively quiet, after the pulsing dance music to which I'd just subjected myself. "STAND IN FORMation," I quickly turned the volume control down. Tupac would do, if played softly. He helps me put things in perspective. A red, flashing light caught my eye. The good news: It was my phone, not a bomb. The bad news was in the message. "Hey Walter, it's Susan. I...ah wanted to let you know that Mom was in an accident this weekend. She, well, fell off a horse. She's going to be okay, but she's going to have to rest for a while. Just thought you should know." Susan would be my younger sister. A lovely munchkin of seventeen. Nice of her to inform me of what was going on back home. Chances are, no one else would have told me. In my family, the more one gets hurt, the quieter it is kept. Something, anything, to put my mother out of commission for "a while" was likely to be kept a closely guarded secret. Well, shoot, I thought as I climbed into the shower, perhaps it was time to make a trip back home. I hadn't been East in a few years and was starting to miss it. Vancouver is a beautiful city, full of things to do, which was exactly why I wanted a vacation. I grew up in the remote, rural regions of the maritimes, where little happens and nothing happens quickly. One of the nice things about being a vampire hunter, I thought, as I towelled off, was that one can make one's own hours. Business was slowing down anyway with the tourist season winding down. Yes, time to make a little surprise visit home. I'd pack first thing in the morning. Vampire hunting seems to run in the family. My father was a Hunter, his father was a Hunter. Even my mother's father was a Hunter, though he never talks about it. I'm not sure, but I think something very terrible ended his career. Not that any of us really talk about it, per ce. Slaughtering the undead is not something that can be brought up in polite company. Growing up in quiet Nova Scotia didn't seem like a good way to continue my business, so I moved West a few years before. Even Dad finally agreed that there weren't enough blood suckers left in the province to make a living on and retired. Now he works at the post office, a nice, respectable job where the only blood shed he sees is from paper cuts. It's nice to be back home, I thought, as I navigated the rental car west out of Halifax. It was a nice, clear, fall day and the little Toyota zipped down the highway like it was riding on rails. During the entire trip I attempted to suppress a sense of deja vu. As I said, it had been a few years since I'd been home. My brain was constantly picking out scenery or images that looked familiar. Of course they look familiar, I growled at myself, I grew up here. I decided it would be best if I picked up a few items on my way home. I was in the habit of travelling lite and wanted to bring something with me. Especially since I'd been away so long. Grocery shopping, here I come. I'd been up all night on the plane. Staying up odd hours was nothing new for me, it comes with the territory. However, driving much of the following day was not my habit. I donned some sunglasses, coming out of the store. Partly to protect me from the glare of the sun. Partly, also, to hide the bags which were growing under my eyes. I hopped back into the little, green Toyota and headed for the edge of town. Let's see. It's 3:22pm now, so that means I'm... Just in time to pick my sister up from school, the other half of my brain finished. Not what I was aiming for, but I had to admit it was correct. I parked the car near the school, away from the student cars and away from the buses. After making sure it was locked (can't trust kids these days) I sauntered inside. "Would you please call Susan Barkhouse to the office," I asked upon entering said office. The tall, thin woman looked up and over her glasses at me. "Your are?" she asked. "Walter Barkhouse, her brother," I supplied. I didn't offer ID, a fact that the secretary (or receptionist or whatever they are now) seemed to take note of. She looked me up and down a few times. She took in the black, worn shoes, the dark tench coat and the "I am Canadian" shirt. While she was looking me over, I took a look back at her. A rather tall woman, and very thin. She looked like she could use a sandwich. I could almost count her ribs beneath her white blouse. The thought of taking her to dinner crossed my mind. Rather, I kept myself in check and merely smiled politely when she picked up the intercom to grant my request. My sister had changed a little in the two and one half years since I'd seen her last. Being a teenager, that was to be expected, I suppose. After all, they go through growth spurts and such. Not that she was much taller...probably never would be. But she'd changed never the less. Turned into a young woman while I was away. At any rate, she seemed mildly surprised and slightly pleased to see me. Probably all the more so because I had a car and she wouldn't have to take the bus home. She's always dis-liked the bus. Susan was kind enough to inform the office administrator that, yes, I was her brother and that, no, I wasn't likely to hurt her. Silently I wished the school had kept the same secretary who had served in the position when I went through the education system eight years previous. Of course, chances were the lady that was receptionist then wouldn't want to stay in a building full of teenagers for another eight years. We each collected hugs (my sister and I, not the office admin) picked up her books and headed to the car. "That's your car?" she asked. I couldn't tell if she was taken with the thing or embarrassed to be riding in it. Frankly, I wasn't sure myself how I felt about it. "It's a rental. The best I could do on short notice. Hop in." We rode home, more or less, in silence. A few attempts at small talk dredged up that I was doing fine in BC, mom was okay, though she's lost quite a lot of blood in the fall and Susan was doing well in grade twelve. Also, judging by the colour her cheeks turned when I asked, she had a boyfriend now. Another thing had changed, it seemed, since I was home last. We arrived at good ol' home sweet home at 4:00pm. My folks have a little place outside of town where mom rides horses, dad fixes cars and cats abound. Everyone has a hobby and my parents, certainly, were no exception. Some of the cats greeted us at the door, hoping, no doubt, to be fed. I pushed one aside with my foot and put my hockey bag down on the floor. Susan disappeared in the direction of her room. "I'm home," I called. How long had it been since I did that? My father came out of my parents' bedroom and stopped dead in his tracks. Then a smile spread across his face. "Nice to see you, son," more hugs were exchanged. Not a day goes by that I don't miss the warm embraces of home while in the city. People just don't connect the same way there...unless they want something. "It's nice to be back," I replied. I took a deep breath, "It's good to be home." Something tugged at the back of my mind. "Just in time for dinner, as always," Dad joked. I took another deep breath, "Always," I replied with a smile. "What's that smell?" it wasn't quite a cat sort of smell or a dog or... "Hey, my cooking isn't that bad," Dad pretended to look hurt. I shook my head, "I'll put this in the guest room," I said, "then go see Mom. She's upstairs?" I pointed my chin toward their bedroom. Dad nodded, "You heard then?" "Yes." "She took a nasty fall. She'll be alright, but she got banged up pretty good. Looks like she fell through a thorn bush on her way to a rock," he chuckled nervously, "but she'll pull through." "No doubt," I headed for the basement. "Oh, you'll have to take the couch," Dad advised. I turned around. "We rented out your room while you were away." Always the joker, I thought and headed for the guest room. The guest room, which had been my room, was not, as Dad would have me believe, rented out. Just as well, I thought. I'd give the tenant a run for their money. One does not hunt vampires without picking up a trick or two. I tossed my bag on the bed and headed upstairs. Walking past my sister's room, I could hear "Away From the Sun" by Three Doors Down blaring out from under the door. Poor thing, probably hasn't heard any good music for a while, I thought. I'll have to fix that before I return home. Maybe get her some Sheryl Crow or Bonnie Rait CDs. The room to my parents' bedroom was shut, probably to keep the cats out. I knocked lightly, waited a second and walked in. I closed the door behind me and moved into the room softly, not wishing to surprise her. I walked over to where Mom lay, her pale face in contrast with the deep blue blankets covering her. I sat on the edge of the bed. It almost hurt to look at her. She'd obviously lost weight since I left home, probably recently. Deep scratches criss-crossed her right cheek and patches of hair were missing from her head. I reached down to brush some of her brown bangs from her face. Her eyes snapped open, blinked and focused on me. Not their normal, deep blue, Mom's eyes were tainted with yellow. The pupils were too small given the lack of light in the room. It seemed to take her a second to recognize me, then she smiled. "Hi, mom," I whispered. A pale hand uncovered itself from the blanket and found mine. "It's nice to see you, Walter," she said softly. "You didn't have to come all the way back here for me." "I wanted to see you," I replied. "Regardless of what shape you may be in." I looked her over pointedly, "In this case, you seem to be an odd shape indeed," I chuckled softly. Her hand squeezed mine and I was rewarded with a smile. "Didn't I tell you horses would be the death of you?" I mock scolded. Mom shook her head a little and coughed. "You're still wrong," she retorted, "I'm still here." "Thank God for small miracles." "Supper!" Dad called from down stairs. "I'll bring you up something," I promised and walked quietly from the room. Chapter 2 -- Strange Discovery Dad, Susan and I ate corn chowder, well aware of the empty seat at the table. Chew, chew, slurp, chew, stir. I finally asked the question, staring at my corn and potato chunks. "What happened?" They stopped and looked up at me. "What do you mean?" Dad asked. "With Mom. What happened, exactly. All I know is she fell off a horse." "Oh, well, we're not sure exactly. It looks like the horse spooked, she fell off. Must have hit her head on a rock. The doctor said she fractured a few ribs in the fall..." he trailed off. "How'd they find her?" "Andrew, the horse, came back on his own. Susan saw him, caught him and went looking for your mother." Susan blushed. I nodded and studied another piece of potato. "She was out on one of the wood trails?" I directed the question to Susan. "Yeah," she swallowed some chowder, "I found her at the top of the trail, next to the waterfall." I took a sip of apple juice. Something didn't digest quite right. "The waterfall where we used to go swimming in the summer?" I wondered. "You? Swim?" swimming was not my forte. I was more of a, shall we say, stone in the swimming department. "Yes. She was lying near the water..." Susan got quiet and became very interested in stirring her supper. Again, that little tingle in the back of my mind. Found, bucked off her horse, in the clearing by the waterfall. The silly horse probably spooked and... "...In the clearing, by the waterfall," I echoed my thoughts out loud. "What was that?" Dad asked. "Hmm, oh nothing. Just trying to take it all in," I said. "How are things down at the Post Office?" Not many people, outside of the family, know that I hunt undead by moonlight. It's not something that most people are willing to believe. Not that I'd want them to. The fewer people who are willing to believe in evil, blood sucking monsters, the better, I think. Keeps the panic to a minimum. It's something most people are born into, or for which they are specially recruited. Once a potential Hunter is found, they go through a few simple tests, experience a year's worth of training and are sent out into the world. I suppose it's a practise that goes back hundreds of years. Vampire hunters form a sort of guild of members who are given assignments and paid commission. Most of us work alone. Why would one want to chase creatures, who regard humans as food, alone? For one, it keeps a person from having a strong attachment to a person who is likely to end up as a vampire's lunch. The other reason, which rises to my mind, is that the people who would want to hunt and kill something which looks so human probably isn't the sort to make friends easily. I wandered into my parents' room. Mom was lying, propped up on some pillows. The tray, with chowder bowl and spoon sat next to her. "Very good, Mrs. Barkhouse, I see you've cleaned your plate." Hey, who couldn't resist making one nurse joke? My mother made a face. "Thank you, dear," she said as I picked up the tray. She reached out and petted my arm. "I am feeling a bit better." "You're looking a little better too. But your hand is cold," I took her hand and slid it back under the blanket. "Keep yourself warm, or I'll request the doctor put you on a nastier tasting medicine." "Evil child," Mom retorted. Something...my mind whispered. Something... I closed the door behind me and took the dishes downstairs. Dad was occupied with washing dishes. I set the tray down next to him and picked up a towel. "Where'd Susan take off to?" I enquired. "She's upstairs, supposedly doing homework," he replied. "However, I suspect she may be talking to Adam as much as studying." "Adam?" "Her boyfriend." "Flavor of the week?" A pause, "No, they've been together for a couple of months now, at least. So far, so good. I don't feel the urge to break legs yet." A shared laugh. Another clean, dry dish. "I suppose it won't hurt her any," I thought out loud, "I never specialized in anything and I pulled in eighty grand last year," a chuckle. Dad didn't seem to see any humour in the remark, "But Susan isn't going to be taking a night job," he said pointedly, stressing the word "night". Dad's cute when he worries. "Probably a wise choice," I agreed. "The business is full of religious freaks and gothics. Not to mention the union hasn't managed to get us danger pay." My humour seemed to be lost on him tonight. Perhaps he was thinking about how his real union wasn't doing any better than my made-up one. I threw myself into bed that night. I had been up for well over twenty-four hours by the time my head hit the pillow. As I slipped into sweet unconsciousness, I felt as if my brain was melting. It was a good feeling. One thing I've noticed about my fellow Hunters is that each has an overlying characteristic which dictate how he or she fights vampires. Some are big on the occult. They carry around pentacles, and herbs. They draw circles around themselves and mutter charms under their breathes. They look for disturbing auras in their prey and hope for special dreams to guide them. The other large group of which I've taken note is the Christin group. These folks believe the Divine will guide and protect them. That vampires are unholy and therefore it's God's will to destroy these blood thirsty creatures. These folks are often observed with silver crosses around their necks, Bibles in hand and can be heard muttering prayers under their breathes. Actually, come to think of it, the two groups aren't all that different. Dad subscribes to a slightly different approach to vampire hunting, which is more in step with modern science. He calls it "Better living through chemistry." While much of the medicine community does not support the concept of vampires, there are some who have agreed to perform research. Usually young university students, who don't know the damage such research will do to their careers. These young professionals have taught Hunters a few important things. Such as, vampires really do react badly to sunlight, though not so dramatically as one might be led to believe. Vampires are, as a rule of thumb, allergic to garlic. One other thing that caught my interest; vampirism is spread by the blood of a vampire being passed to a victim. However, and here's the interesting part, any bodily fluid exchange can cause vampirism to be spread. Yes, Virgina, vampirism is a STD. My apologies to the goth community if I've just put a damper on your sexual fantasies which include vampires. My internal clock felt like it had been raped on the way through too many time zones when I finally pulled myself out of bed at 10:43 the next morning. Susan had already gone off to school and Dad was no where to be found. I helped myself to some breakfast -- toast and peanut butter -- before knocking on mom's door. "Come in," she called. I walked in and perched on the edge of the bed. "How do you feel?" I asked. "Like a million bucks," Mom lied. "You look like it too," I smiled. "Liar." "Those scratches are healing nicely," I side-stepped. "I've had a good doctor," Mom answered. "Speaking of which, would you like something to eat?" I enquired. Mom nodded. "I was thinking about getting up-" "Not-" "But since you're offering, I would like some orange juice." "And, perhaps madam would care for some toast?" "Crackers." "Coming right up." I stood, wandered over to the door and let myself out, careful not to let any cats slip into the room. Click, went the door behind me. Click, went my mind. Potato may be the least taste-filled food on the planet. However, it goes with darn near everything. Dad seemed to have learned this a long time ago. Since then, he cooks an amazing number of the things. He was peeling just such a potato when I came down to the kitchen in hunt of Mom's snack. I got the breakfast tray down from the shelf and started hunting through the fridge for the juice. "Dad?" "Yes, son?" the potato in his hand stared at me with its eyes. "When you brought mom out of the woods, did you happen to....happen to..did you notice anything...well, odd? About her?" Dad joined the potato in locking me with his gaze for a second. Then resumed peeling, "The paramedics brought her out," he answered, "I met them at the hospital." So he wasn't there. I poured juice and went hunting for a box of crackers. "And they picked her up from the clearing, by the waterfall," I continued the line of thought out loud. "That's right." Another potato into the pot. Plop. I found the crackers on my third attempt. I was quiet while I looked for a plate on which to put said crackers. "Something on your mind, son?" Dad turned to give me his full attention. "Susan and I used to go swimming up there, before I moved," I said. Dad just nodded. This shouldn't be so hard, but for some reason it was. "There aren't any thorn bushes in that clearing. At least not anywhere near the water," I blurted out. Dad looked as if I'd hit him. What I wouldn't have given to have known what was running through his mind just then. My father, who had survived among some of the most violent, blood thirsty beings to walk the Earth and, before his time at the Post Office, also hunted vampires, actually looked unnerved. He pulled himself together quickly though. "What are you thinking, Walter?" he asked. I swallowed, "So where did mom get those nasty scratches on her face?" I threw the thought out into the air. It flew around the light a few times, danced on the wine glasses and landed (plop) in the pot of potatoes. Dad turned to look down into the pot, probably searching for the thought. I picked up the tray and headed back up the stairs. While my dad did educate me on the finer points of Better Living Through Chemistry As It Applies to Vampire Hunting, I developed some of my own techniques. I call them Better A Live Chicken Than A Dead Duck or Better Safe Than Sorry. Basically, my tried and true method of vampire hunting is to learn as much as I can, avoid as much risk as possible and then do the job quickly. While my fellow Hunters might not see the glory in this approach I see the payoff every day. One of the finer points of my approach is recon. While my colleges go rushing in, armed with crosses and garlic, I'm observing. Knowledge is power, after all. I like to know where the exits are (I don't want to have to chase my target and I want to know which way to run if things turn against me), I like to know a vampire's habits (they're easier to kill in their sleep), and I like to know what its strengths are (a vampire with a 9mm can really ruin one's day). I entered my parents' bedroom, tray in hands. I pushed a cat out and closed the door with my foot. Then I approached the bed and set the tray down next to Mom. "Thanks dear," she said, sitting up more, "Oohmph." "Mom?" "Yes?" "Do you remember anything of the accident?" I asked. She thought for a moment, sipping on her orange juice. After a moment she said, slowly, "I remember riding up to the waterfall, you know, the one you kids used to play around," I nodded and waited, "Andrew was really nervous. I think it was the breeze in the trees or... But anyway, I remember urging him into the clearing and then, I dunno. That's about the last I can remember." I looked at her face, wrinkled with concentration. The criss-crossing scratches which were healing quickly. Her pupils, so small when considering the lack of light in the room. "Susan said you'd lost quite a bit of blood," I said quietly. Mom nodded. "I was out a long time," she said. "I'm sorry for asking you all these questions, but I'm just trying to get a firm idea of what...what happened." Mom patted my hand, "It's okay, dear, it was just an accident." "Just one more," I said, "any internal damage? Heart? Liver? I mean, that much internal bleeding....you must have knocked a few things loose..." I trailed off, trying to make it sound humorous. Mom just shook her head, winced and shook it slower, "No, everything is still working. The doctor said my insides are good. So you can stop worrying about me," she gave me her Brave Girl smile. Ironically, I was starting to worry more. I kissed her forehead and walked out. Had I been one of my colleges, I would have been on my way up the hill to look for the blood stain I was sure wouldn't be there. I knew it hadn't rained in the last four days. However, I wasn't one of my colleges, I was me and I already knew the answer. Down in my temporary room, I closed the door and turned on the CD player. The pieces were starting to fall into place. Mom, on horse back. Mom falling (pulled?) off. A brief struggle, a quick blow to the head to render her unconscious. Her blood removed and her body left for dead. But, she didn't die. Which meant...which meant... I couldn't take the thought any further. In the back of my mind, Tupac rapped along, "She ain't the cause of all the drama Cause momma's just a little girl." I remember one time when Susan and I were quite a bit younger, she'd had doubts that Santa Claus really existed. "Is there really a Santa Claus?" Susan had asked, waiting for Mom to pass judgement either way. I watched on, wondering if Mom would lie or break the illusion. "Why do you ask?" Mom had replied, probably stalling for time. "Because Jeffery," (that would be one of her pre-school friends), "said there isn't any Santa. Is there?" again Susan waited for Truth to be passed down. "And what do you think?" Mom had turned the question around. Susan had thought about it, turning the logic over in her young mind. Finally she smiled and said, "Yes, there is." Well, there you have it, Virgina, I thought. "One other thing, Mommy," Susan was a question machine at that age, "Why does Santa live at the North pole an' not the South?" I decided to field this one, "Because he's allergic to penguins," I answered. Mom gave me a dirty look, then turned and smiled and nodded to my sister. "There ain't a thing I wouldn't do for my mamma in this world Cause you know I ain't mad at cha." With that thought in mind, I headed upstairs to break the bad news to Dad. How to do this? "Hey, Dad, guess what?" Or how about, "Dad, we have to talk." Perhaps, "So, Dad, you married your work." This wasn't going to be easy. Dad was reading in the living room, seated in his favourite chair. The book was a Tom Clancy novel though I didn't bother to take note of which one. Dad only reads serious books. Once, when I was younger, I asked him why he didn't read fantasy. "Most people would consider what I do to be fantasy," he'd replied, "Why read it when I already live it?" Sometimes I wondered if that conflict between what he knew to be real and what people generally thought to be normal sped his retirement. I sat down in the chair next to him, turned toward him and licked my lips. "Dad?" It took a second, but he pulled himself out of Clancy's world of bombs, Russians and guns. "Yes?" "Dad," deep breath, "Mom is a ... well, is turning into a vampire." I don't think I could have caused him more shock or hurt had I told him that I'd pissed on his mother's grave. For an instant I wondered what Creator would allow Ian Barkhouse to feel this kind of pain. Not a loving one, I decided. "She's ... She's ... How do you know?" I could see him processing the possibility even as he tried to reject it. "Some thinking and a brief examination. I'm pretty sure. I mean, well, it's possible I'm wrong, but... But this is what we," Dad had been studying the floor, he looked up sharply, "I mean this is what I do for a living. ... I'm pretty sure." Dad took a deep breath. Several deep breaths, in fact. Then he stood up. "Have you talked to her about this?" he asked. "No, I've only mentioned it to you," I answered. He nodded and ran a hand over his face. "What are you thinking?" I wondered. "I dunno. I think I need to think for a while." Dad realized he was standing, looked around and sat back down in his chair. "Just don't do anything until I get back," I said as I stood. Dad looked puzzled...more puzzled I mean. "Where are you going?" he demanded. I stretched, "If I'm right and if Mom is turning, that means we have a vampire around here. I'm going hunting." "Now?" I shrugged, "Yes." "With what?" He had a point there. I hadn't brought any tools of the trade, airport security doesn't like them. "Where are yours?" Dad hadn't been in the business for some time, but I knew he still had them somewhere. He's one of those types that has more junk drawers than non-junk drawers. Sooner or later everything ends up in them. Ten minutes later, I was looking over a small arsenal of guns, knives, garlic, powders and volatile liquids. Dad had, as I'd predicted, stashed them all in the garage. The trunk sat between my first bicycle and the table saw; I was not disappointed with the stash. "You found it?" Dad asked from the garage door. I stood up and faced him, "Sure did," I tried to grin and failed, "I'll be back soon," I promised. It was a promise I hoped to keep. Chapter 3 -- Gone Hunting Due to the many dangers involved in vampire hunting and because Hunters tend to work solo, certain safe guards have been put into place over the years. One of those is that if a vampire hunter doesn't report in to a central authority once in a while, they are deemed lost. When this happens, other Hunters are sent in to investigate. Usually they just find that a fellow Hunter has become the victim of a car crash or hair-dryer-in-tubicitis. On the rare occasion when a vampire has been involved, the corpse is burned and the undead chased down and destroyed. The idea that other Hunters are standing by to avenge you is supposed to be comforting to those of us in the field. However, as I climbed up the mountain toward the old waterfall, I felt distinctly alone. I reached the clearing and looked around. It had been a while since I'd come up here, I reflected, yet it hadn't changed much. The trees had grown just a little taller, the pool at the base of the mini-waterfall was a little wider. Very little was different from my last visit, but this time I felt cold. I wasn't here to play or swim. I was here to destroy, to avenge, to hunt. There were no tracks here worth following. The ground was rocky and any sign of the recent activity was long gone. Not that it mattered much, I knew I didn't have a hope of tracking a vampire through the forest. Even if I'd had the help of Search & Rescue, a vampire wouldn't show up on their heat sensors any more than a raccoon. The forest is a big place with a lot of trees, rocks and bushes to hide behind. It is also a lonely place, which is what I was counting on. Vampires drink blood, usually human blood. They ache for it, crave it, go mad without it. And, while animal blood can sustain a vampire for some time, they grow tired of it as quickly as a meat lover tires of tofu. Given the remoteness of this area, I had reason to believe this vampire had not drank human blood for at least four days. That was my hope, for the only way I was likely to find this creature was if it found me. I wondered briefly if this is what a bull fighter feels as the bull stalks him. The fighter is there, after all, to kill the bull. However, that can't be done until the bull attacks. I sat down, took out a water bottle and began to sing a little tune. My hand began to ache for the touch of the hunting knife hidden under my fall jacket. If this bull is smart, I thought, I won't even see it coming. Just like Mom didn't. It was time to wander about a little, I thought. Pretend I'm lost or looking for a camp site. Really, I just wanted to cover more ground so as to make my whereabouts known. I followed the stream further up the mountain side for a bit, then turned and made a long circle, coming back to the waterfall. Sitting down next to the pool, I took out a sandwich. The sun was setting and the sky was awash with the colour of blood. It's hard to enjoy the scenery when one is waiting to be attacked. Zen was never a strength of mine. I took a drink from my water bottle. Splish. Splish? That wasn't a water bottle sound. I twisted my body around to look behind me. There, flying through the air, over the pool, was the vampire. Gaunt, pale and silent it came straight for me. Strange how human it looked, despite its current condition. That was my last thought before its body slammed into mine and we went tumbling across the grass. Its clothes (blue jeans and bush jacket) were soaking wet and the smell coming off the creature was terrible. We came to a stop in the middle of the clearing, the vampire on top of me. Male, I decided, taking in its features, it used to be a man. His cold, wet hands tried to find mine. I slipped my left hand out of his and struck him a ringing blow to the head. He paused to catch his balance for a second and I rolled out from under his body. He recovered quickly, lunging at me like a dog. I caught his arms in my hands and rolled with his weight, landing, this time, on top of him. Pinning a vampire isn't much of a victory as they are still in close proximity. And strong. This one was no exception. Water dripped from his face and foam dribbled from his mouth as he tried to pull me closer. Leverage, I needed leverage. I got my knees on the ground and pulled us both to our feet. I let go of the creature's arm with my right hand and reached down. As fast as a snake, his left hand reached behind my neck and pulled my head and neck to his mouth. What a stupid stupid gamble one part of my mind scolded me as my right hand came out from under my jacket. I drove the blade of the hunting knife up into the vampire's mid-section. I don't recall if he screamed, but his hand rushed down from where it held my neck and gripped my wrist. He pulled my hand, still holding the knife handle, down and out. Keeping his hold on my arm, he pushed my knife hand toward my throat. I dropped the knife before it got too close to my own veins, then, using his arms for leverage, I jumped up and back. My right foot came up, kicking the vampire in his face. He let go as I landed a second kick, propelling myself away. I landed on my back and the air rushed from my lungs. Fighting the urge to roll over and curl into a ball, I raised my head. The bastard had already gained his balance and was rushing toward me! My left hand fumbled inside of my jacket even as I rolled out of the way. I bashed my face into a nearby rock, but was rewarded with the thump of his body slamming into the ground where I had lain. I was too winded to do more than kneel where I had landed. Blood streamed from my nose into my mouth. I tried to spit, but couldn't catch my breath. The beast swung his fist at me, catching my jaw and knocking me back to the ground. Too slow. I was moving too slowly. Finally, I raised my left hand, my father's gun in it. God bless semi-automatics, I thought as the first bullet caught my target in the shoulder. He seemed more surprised than hurt. Pausing just long enough to make sure that arm still worked, he turned back to me. Just in time to catch a bullet in the face. Then another. Two more in his chest for good measure. He toppled over backward. Not taking my eyes from the limp body, I reached into my pocket and took out a vial of clear liquid. Carefully untwisting the cover with my finger and thumb, I fired another shot into the vampire's chest. Then I walked over to look upon the battered corpse. He seemed dead, but looks can be misleading. I poured the liquid onto his chest, took a step back and fired one last shot. The vampire's clothes sparked, then flamed. I waited, not lowering my gun hand. Even undead can play dead. Not this one. He burned. The stench was enough to make one lose one's lunch. Fortunately, I hadn't had any. At last, the body was gone. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, I thought. I took out my sandwich and finished it. I was tired. Far too tired and sore and emotionally drained. I took a last drink from my bottle and walked out of the clearing. It was nearly midnight when I finally dragged myself through my parents' front door. My legs hurt in ways that I cannot describe. It had been some time since I'd had to trek up and down a hill and my body certainly didn't enjoy the experience. I could hear muffled crying coming from my folks' room. I considered going up to check on them, but then decided not to. Walking in on them now would only embarrass them. We'd have time to talk in the morning. I went to the guest room and kicked my shoes off. The jacket I tossed onto a bedpost and I lay down. I must have fallen asleep. Fuzzy dreams of endless swamp swirled in my head. I was walking, hoping rather, from clump of grass to new clump, looking for a way out of the trackless muck. The sun went down, the wind died. All around me I could hear the low moaning of something coming to life after a long, deep sleep. Lumps rose out of the slime and glided toward me. Dark, faceless creatures reached for me. I ran and ran and yet they kept pace with me, always just out of reach. I tripped and fell, face down, in the mud. At once the monsters were on me, tearing my clothes, slavering for my flesh. I twisted my body, trying to escape. I screamed. I heard...I heard an echoing scream. I woke up. I was sitting up in the bed, sweat covered, looking into the shocked, wide eyes of my mother. Warmth. I looked down, my hand was gripped tightly around my hunting knife. The knife was buried in my mother's stomach. A surprised gurgling sound dripped from her mouth. Blood formed a river down my hand and dripped from my wrist, staining her blue house coat. "Oh no. Oh, God, no," I whispered. I released my grip on the knife and rolled out from under her body. Mom jumped back, hit her head on the bedroom wall and lost her footing. High pitched wailing sounds escaped her throat. I turned and tore off my pillow case. I advanced, shaking, toward Mom. She lay, half-curled, in the corner. Quiet sobs shook her body. "Let me see it," I said. She turned her shoulder toward me, hiding her face. I was suddenly reminded of a time, long past, when I had large wood splinter stuck deep in my finger. Mom approaching with hydrogen proxide in one hand and a large needle in the other. "Let me see it," I repeated. I put one hand on her shoulder and sat down next to her. "Lemme see," I coxed. I pulled her hand away from the wound. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it was bad. A knife wound to the stomach area is never healthy, especially for someone who is probably already running low on blood. I placed one hand on Mom's shoulder, kissed her forehead and wrapped my fingers around the handle. A quick tug and it was out. Something pushed me from behind and I fell against the bed. I turned, knife raised in defence. Dad is a rather tall individual. He seems more so when one is sitting on the floor. He tore the pillowcase from my hand, turned and ripped Mom's house coat open. He pressed the pillow case against the wound, slowing the flow of blood. For a second I had to shut my eyes. Too much, it was too much. My undead mother lay naked and crying before me, bleeding from a knife wound I had inflicted upon her. Nothing I know of can prepare a soul for such an experience. I think I may have blacked out. "We have to get her to the hospital," it was Dad's voice, drawing me back from far away. "What?" I tried to shake it all off. He scooped her up and headed for the door. I managed to pull on a jacket and throw myself into the car before Dad drove off. I cradled Mom's head and pulled a blanket (which I'd had the presence of mind to bring) tight over her shaking body. Human bodies are shells to vampires. That's what they told us time and time again in school. Vampirism is a disease. An incurable, horrible disease which takes over a human body and completely destroys it from the inside. Honestly, I'm not sure how much of that is truth and how much is to keep new Hunters from going insane after killing their first vampire. Really, if one is to go around shooting bodies and burning corpses, they have to believe these things are not being done to people. People or not, my mother's shell lay in the emergency room, my Dad hovering just outside the door. He stood, fixed in place, watching the doctor sew up her wound. Watched the IV drip precious blood into her veins. I wondered, deep down, if something in him wanted to stop the flow of blood. If, perhaps, he wanted to destroy this vampire too. ... In sickness and in health, I thought. But vampirism is one Hell of a sickness. I returned from the bathroom and walked over to the room my Mom was in. Dad stood, faced off, with the doctor. "She's in no condition to be moved, sir," he was saying, "we're keeping her for observation." "She was in no condition to be moved when I picked her up and brought her in here, either," Dad retorted, "but we moved her then and I'm moving her now." Dad stepped to one side, probably in an effort to get around the doctor, who reached out and put a hand on Dad's arm. "Sir, your wife has obviously been through a lot tonight. We are going to have to keep her here for the rest of the day." I was suddenly very aware of the gun strapped under my jacket. I was tired enough, my mind detached enough to realize this gun could quickly end this argument. I was also aware that used or not, having the gun on me, in a hospital no less, could be very incriminating. "I'm taking her home," Dad pushed past the doctor and into the room. He gently disconnected an IV, a heart monitor and another IV. "Sir, she has to stay here," the doctor stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. Dad quietly picked Mom up and waited. Damn, I thought. It was the last considered thought I remember having before I reached out and wrapped an arm around the doctor's neck. Have you ever met a doctor that also happens to have a black belt in karate? I have. But this wasn't him. I pulled the doctor over backward, kicking his legs out from under him. I let him fall, hard, to the cold, tile floor. The air rushed out of him, making a whooshing sound. Dad walked around him and out the front door. I followed closely behind. By the time we got home, the sun was up. So was my sister. Susan was munching on some Cheerios when we walked in, carrying Mom between us. "What happened?" Susan was on her feet in a second. "An accident," I muttered as we turned up the stairs. "What kind of accident?" "The painful kind," I replied, shortly. The next few days were spent in tense watch over my mother's sleeping body. I took days, Dad took nights. We waited, we watched and we hoped. Susan came and went, trying to keep some sort of normalcy in her life. During the evenings, she'd do math homework on the bed while watching Mother for changes. Chapter 4 -- Dangerous Safe Guards There were times I wondered if Mom had come into the room that night to check on me. Perhaps she'd heard me having the nightmare and had responded to some internal, mothering instinct. Perhaps she was hungry, the other part of my mind thought back. Perhapses, what ifs and maybes floated through my head day and night. On the third day, Dad and I realized we'd have to take further action. Or as he put it, "She needs blood." I headed for the library in the hopes of finding information on where one could get blood on short notice, were one not from the Red Cross. Dad drove to the hospital in hopes of begging, borrowing or stealing some of the precious liquid. Susan took a sick day from school to hover over Mom and keep watch for the changes that we were sure weren't going to happen. Was it safe to leave Susan there? Which was Mom, more human or more vampire? Where was the tipping point in the balance? Discouraged with my findings, or lack there of, I returned home. It seemed, according to my research, the only way we'd be able to get a plentiful supply of blood was by setting up our own blood donor clinic. "And what organization are you with, dear," an older woman, rolling up her sleeve, asked me in the corner of my imagination. "Christians In Support of Vampirism, ma'am," my cynical mind replied. I entered the house, kicked my shoes off and- Something didn't feel right. There was a smell in the air. Not quite a burning smell... I opened the porch door and walked into the kitchen. There, seated at the table, was a man. Thin, short, blond hair, black leather jacket. My mind quickly searched for a match. School friend? neighbour? sister's boyfriend? Too young, too city slicker-looking, too old... I hoped. "Walter," the stranger greeted me. It almost sounded like a question. It began to dawn on me that this stranger had me at a disadvantage. He's in my home, knows my name and ... the house is far too quiet. "John," the stranger said by way of an introduction. "What brings you here, John?" I enquired. He slid his left hand forward, pushing in front of it, a small piece of paper. It looked a bit like a small playing card. I craned my neck to get a look at it, not stepping any closer to the table. "I'm a vampire hunter," he supplied. Blood, like ice, flowed into my heart. My mouth suddenly turned dry and I felt the colour rushing away from my face. "A Hunter?" He nodded in reply. "What brings you here?" I tried to sound casual. Almost lazy-professional. John, assuming that was his real name, coloured a little at the cheeks. I wondered why. Like a basin with the plug pulled, John's face drained of emotion. His voice went from hard and cold to simply cold. Sounding like a passage from a text book, he spoke: "When you did not report into the agency for seven days, another Hunter was sent to look for you. Upon finding your apartment empty and clothes missing, I was asked to contact your next of kin. Upon finding a vampire on the property, I killed said creature." Creature!? That "creature" was my mother! The gun under my jacket...My hand went to my jacket zipper, trying to make the motion look slow, casual. In a flash John had a pistol out, hovering just above the table and looking me right in the eye. "Don't do that," he ordered. Obviously not an amateur. John regarded me for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he stood up from the table and tucked his card back into his pocket. "I've left the body for you to destroy as you see fit," he began to walk around me to the door, "I felt I could give you that much." He shook his head, never taking his eyes from me. He backed to the door, slipped outside and was gone. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Then I ran up the stairs. The door to my parents' bedroom was closed. I nearly took it off its hinges throwing it open and taking in the disaster on the other side. An ocean of red met my eyes. That was my first impression. Blood seemed to cling to everything. Mother's body lay, half under the blankets. One shot to the head, multiples to the chest, a detached portion of my brain noted. Close range. Eyes closed, hands tucked neatly under the soaked covers. I remember falling to me knees, tears clouding my vision. Then I remember seeing the foot, poking around the corner of the bed. I inched forward and looked around the post. I instantly regretted every time I'd told Susan that I wished she were dead; that I wished she wasn't part of our family. I lay on the floor, spilling tears and spitting vomit. I don't know how much time passed. Later, I'm not sure how much later, I found myself in the garage, going through an arrangement of knives. I exchanged the half-empty clip of my pistol for a full one. I grabbed a large knife, some rope and headed for my car. Blood. I wanted blood. His blood. John's blood. Time to take stock of the situation, something in my head told me. Fuck that! I'm doing this. I'm going to kill him as soon as... ...I find him. Damn it! I didn't even know which way John drove after he pulled out of our driveway. Hell, didn't know what kind of car he was driving or if he's name was really John. Okay, I turned off the car long enough to take a deep breath. I hunt vampires for a living, surely a living person can't be that hard to track. So, what do I know about John? 1. He's a Hunter. 2. He's local. Someone else was looking for me in Vancouver. He was just here to check my next of kin. 3. There are less than a dozen Hunters in the maritime provinces. As a Hunter I may be able to find some of them if I go to local HQ. 4. John is going to fucking die. But that led me to a second problem. John couldn't be held accountable for murder, or I might (just might) have called the police. Mother was a vampire and he was within his (legal) rights to kill her. However, if I killed John (and I would) I'd be tried and convicted, first degree. Ways around that? Don't get caught? Or... I stomped back into the house, jamming the car keys back into my pocket. Think, Hunter, think. Okay, first, I had to get information on John's whereabouts before he reported in. I picked up the phone and dialled directory assistance. "Yes, hi," I said, when I got put through to HQ. "John was just here an few minutes ago and... Well, he was checking up on me and-" I had to pause in my pitch to give my own information (name, license number and date of birth) before the lady would allow me to continue. "Anyway, John left his wallet here, so I was wondering if I could get his address and I could- ... No? I understand. Perhaps just his cell number. He's probably not home yet and I'd like to make sure-" I scribbled the number, "Thank you. I'm sure he and I both appreciate it." That's when I heard Dad come home. Three hours of talking, crying and Internet searches for a certain phone number later, I was driving east with an empty stomach and a beer cooler. The sun had set and I had nothing but the other cars and a Melissa Etheridge tape to keep me company. Ever so briefly, I considered how long it had been since I had eaten, or for that matter, slept. I stopped at a Tim Horton's to refuel on caffeine and an Irving station to top up the car. Then I was on the road again, raging east, ignoring all speed limits and most driving safety tips. The cooler would only stay cold so long. Springhill rolled into view around midnight. It's a quiet, dark, little town. Full of coal dust, ghosts and the history of Ann Murray. I stopped at a park (or maybe it was a play ground) to empty the coffee from my bladder and get my barrings. It had been five years, perhaps more, since I'd set foot in this little town. It appeared I hadn't missed much. Returning to the car, I heard Melissa crying out the words, "I came here to let you know ... the letting go ... has taken place-" Vigorously punching at the stereo, I stopped the music and that train of thought. For a moment, I wished I had a map. Driving around in an outward spiral from the centre of town had to do. Five minutes into the search, I'd found Spruce street. Then, shortly after, house number 18. I double checked the address and shut off the car. Not even 1:00 in the morning, I thought. What an unholy hour to be awake; to be stalking a target. To be acting so very much like the undead I Hunted. Now what? I quickly discarded the idea of a nap. I wouldn't sleep a wink this night. First, things had to be done; revenge had to be served. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the car and circled around to the passenger side. The beer cooler was filled with ice and a syringe. Mom, being the horse lover she is -- was, damn it, was -- always had a handful of syringes lying around in case she had to medicate a horse, force drugs down its throat or whatever you do to horses instead of shooting them. I walked up to the house, number eighteen, and tried the door. Locked. Circling around the house, the blood-filled syringe in my left hand, I found the back door. Also locked, but it was only a glass door. Who bothers to lock a glass door? A dead man, I decided and smashed the pane. Taking my pistol in my right hand, I knocked a larger hole and stepped through. It appeared to be a living room, dark and silent. No dogs barked, no clocks ticked. A floor board creaked from beyond the closest door. I tip-toed into the corner and held my breath. The door opened and my target -- for that's how I was thinking of him now -- stepped into the room. Obviously confused, sleepy and wearing only boxer shorts, he took in the scene in from of him. "Don't move," I hissed into the darkness. My eyes, obviously more adapted to the night at this point, tracked him. For a moment I thought he hadn't heard me, then I realized he was simply waiting for the next command. Good, I thought, very good. "Sit down, in that chair to your right," I invited. Slowly, he crossed the small distance and placed himself in the wooden chair. My gun aimed at his chest, I stepped into the centre of the room. The faint light spilling through the abused door lit his face. Concern, concentration...maybe something else there. "John, you left before we really got a chance to ... talk," I tried to sound conversational. My voice shook. It had been a long day; a long week. Too many things, too many emotions, too much coffee and not enough sleep. "Look, I know why you're here and I-" "Shut up!" His hands raised in a half-shrug, "Okay." "You killed my mother, John. My mother. Do you understand that?" He nodded, his face showing a sign of ... of sadness? "She wasn't your mother anymore, Walter. She was a vampire." "My mother!" half accusation and half plead. "Walter, I had to." "Why? Why did you have to?" I demanded. "Because you couldn't," his face was soft, forgiving, his voice firm. "You couldn't have put the gun to her head. No sane man could. I had to do it. She wasn't your mother anymore," he repeated. He sagged forward in the chair. "You know why I'm here?" I asked the following silence. "You plan to kill me." I nodded, not aware if the gesture was visible in my darkened outline. "You'll go to prison for it, you know," still that soft, yet firm tone. "Killing another human is still an offence. And I'm still human," he added. "That's why I brought this," I held the syringe up and to my side. Not sure if he could make it out, I told him, "It's vampire blood. My mother's." He didn't say anything, but I could hear his breathing quicken. "Yeah, I'll shoot you, inject you with this. By the time anyone finds your body, the virus will-" I was cut off by the sound of a door opening. A small girl, no more than eleven walked into the room. She'd come through a door to my right. Blonde hair flowed to her shoulders and one hand tried to rub the sleep from her eyes as she walked, blindly, into the room. "Daddy, what-" she stopped, both eyes open now. "We have a guest," he said, his voice going up in pitch, "just stay there for a minute, for Daddy, okay?" The girl nodded, her eyes fixed on me. "Daddy?" I mocked him. John nodded. I paused, darkness flowing through my mind's canals. "You know, John, I have another idea." He tensed. That felt good. "I could just, you know, inject this little lady and leave you alone. No mess." "No," up more in pitch. "There's no cure for vampirism," I said. "Yes, there is." I raised an eyebrow, forgetting he probably couldn't see me well enough. John nodded toward my pistol. "Ah, yes. I suppose you're right, John. Your Daddy's a clever man," I told the girl. She didn't move. "But I suppose that would fall under your job description, wouldn't it?" I needled him. "Leave her alone," I wondered if his voice would break. "Why?" "Because," his voice tried to level out again, "she's an innocent." "So was my mother," I whispered to him. The girl took a step back and I turned to watch her. She froze. I looked back and forth at my two captives. The girl, I noticed, looked a little like Susan when she was twelve. A little taller, perhaps, hair a little paler blonde. At that moment I realized I couldn't do it. Turning the girl into a vampire was wrong. This was all wrong. She was, after all, an innocent. John was another matter. He was not an innocent. I levelled my gun at his chest. For a second I saw myself sitting in that chair. A vampire hunter, just trying to make a living; to support a family. Too tired. I was too tired to make decisions about life and death and ... and... Memories swirled. My mother telling me to rise above, that violence wasn't the answer. My father's echoing words of an eye for an eye. Too tired to make decisions about revenge and justice. I fired. One. Two. Three shots rang out, ripping the silence apart. The little girl's scream cut through my ears as I stepped forward, leaning over John's body. I put the needle against his neck... I left the house quickly, hoping the neighbours were sound sleepers. I doubted it. Already dogs could be heard barking up the street. Jumping in my car, I drove down the hill and out of town. Perhaps, I thought, there will be enough pieces to pick up when I get home.