Almost On

"So, you'll help me, Mr. Reach," she asked.

It was one of those questions where they're not really asking.

"That depends, Mrs," I leave the end open for her to finally give me a name.

"Debussy," she says. "Claudette Debussy."

"Goddamn," I say as I scratch the sore on my right cheek.

"All of us, if you ask me, Mr. Reach," she replies. "For we are all of us undeserving of mercy. The money will be more than enough, and the initial payment will be hitting your account, just about...now."

My phone beeps. I try with every bone in my body to keep from looking at it but I'm a ghoul and we're known by some to be fiends, so, I'm just following type.

"God. Damn," I say and for the second time since meeting this woman, my jaw falls with a chattering thump onto my desk.

"That is the appropriate response, Mr. Reach," she says.

By the time I pick my jaw back up and maneuver it into place, my office door is shutting softly behind her. I lean back in my chair and spin around to try and catch a glimpse of her out the window before I remember that my office faces the alley. Metaphors are a thing with me. Won't be getting much sleep tonight. Not that anyone does in the perpetual twilight of The Country.

I wake up, or rather, I get up, early the next morning. I guess it's morning. Who really knows anymore. The sun is always half up here. Has been for as long as I can remember. I shake off the cobwebs and start a pot of coffee. I drink it black, in case you were anticipating expectations to be subverted. My apartment is next door to my office and it's a dump. The walls are streaked with some black substance I don't have the courage to investigate and I'm a damn undead supernatural creature. The original hardwood floors are sticky. They were that way when I moved in, I swear. Yet, despite the relative squalor, I do have a few possessions untarnished by this purgatory. My office is much cleaner than my living space, no sticky floors in there. The desk, though faux mahogany, is close enough that most of my clients can't tell. Not that most of my clients have ever seen real mahogany. Mrs. Debussy has though. And she could tell.

My mind starts working more efficiently after the first drop of coffee hits and I play back yesterday's conversation in my head.

Before she gave me her name, I pegged Mrs. Debussy as being well-off, so much so that she could've passed as a member of one of the vampire nations, well-known for their wealth and incomparable taste in everything from shoes to toothbrushes. Turns out, I wasn't too far off the mark. She named Vyren Montclair as the father of the long-lost son she asked me to find. Montclair is the current heir of the Montclair Vampire Group. One of the oldest vampire nations in the world and the only one that can operate under the terminal twilight of The Country, the secret of which has sparked world wars.

The lady herself, is the founder of Infinity Inc., a company devoted to helping the small mortal population of this world compete with all the undead monsters that make up the majority of it. From what I hear, they do a surprisngly good job, too. Mrs. Debussy is not selling snake-oil. She really does have a method for extending mortal lifespans and it's so effective it's made her the richest woman, human or otherwise, on the planet. A company, that I learned from her, was started with Vyren Montclair's hush money. He fathered a child with a mortal woman who was not his wife and he had paid to get rid of the evidence. Hiring me means she didn't go all the way.

So, I have the names of the heavy hitters involved and little else. I don't know how old this kid would be now. I don't know where she dumped him and I don't know why she wants to find him after so long. Not for a second did I get warm fuzzies coming from her. She doesn't want to find her child for sentimental reasons. There is something else behind it and if I can figure that out, it might lead to an even bigger payday when I find the kid. I know I said I didn't have much to go on, but I am pretty good at this stuff. I have no doubt I'll find him one way or another.

With so much money involved, I start at the most logical place I can think of, Mrs. Debussy's bank. I dust off an old fake I.D. that says I'm a proud agent of the Federal Reserve and rent a suit with the small fortune my client paid me up front and then get ready to betray her trust in nearly every way imaginable. There are days when I love my job.

It can be hard for a regular Joe ghoul to get an appointment with a high-ranking bank official. As a group, we're not known for our financial portfolios, so we're not seen as a pressing engagement. It might surprise you to learn, however, that ghouls make up an inordinately large number of government positions. Well, on second thought, that's probably not that surprising at all. Regardless, that statistic helps make my subterfuge all the more believable and within minutes of flashing my badge, I'm sitting across from the bank's president, Mr. Davis Long. His desk is real mahogany and costs more than my entire apartment building.

"Would you like a mint, Mr. Reach," he asks, waving his hand out in front of him like he's showing off a set of steak knives that will cut through aluminum cans and still be sharp after.

"No, thank you, Mr. Long," I reply. "I would just like to get to it if you don't mind."

"Of course," he says. "I understand you're investigating some anomalies in Mrs. Debussy's accounts. Is that correct?"

"Something like that," I say. "I really only need a few things to close my investigation. When did she open her account and when did she make her first large deposit? Those dates are not lining up with some of your bank's filings."

"I assure you, Mr. Reach, that my bank's dealings are above suspicion," he says.

"I'm not here to prove otherwise, Mr. Long," I say." "We just need to close some gaps in our records. Probably just a discrepancy going from paper to digital. We're the government, after all. Not known for our efficiency."

"Ha," he laughs and sounds like he means it. "That is very true, Mr. Reach. Let me pull up that data for you. It should only take a minute."

In spite of myself, I reach for a mint. I'm a nervous snacker and there's no telling what he's looking at on his computer. Except, there is. He's wearing glasses and I can see his monitor on them clear as day. I catch briefly the info I need, before a large red box pops up alerting the user that the information is classified. That's interesting, I think. Davis looks genuinely puzzled.

"That's strange," he says.

I cock an eyebrow.

"It appears I don't have access to those particular records. They popped up but I was blocked from going any further. I apologize, Mr. Reach but I don't think I can give you the information you seek."

I stand up and hold out my hand. He doesn't take it.

"That's ok, Mr. Long," I say. "You've been very helpful. Have a good day, sir."

The date must have been a clerical error. Otherwise, Claudette Debussy opened a new account with an 8 figure deposit, almost 100 years ago. Then, she was Claudette Peron. If it wasn't a typo, that raised a slew of questions I wasn't getting paid to ask but now I had a range of dates to start looking for this child to show up on hospital records, adoption records, orphanage records, you name it. And I have a new last name to run down. It's a good start.

Debussy said she was poor and while that information alone doesn't narrow down my search much, the fact that she was picked up by a vampire positioned as highly as Vyren Montclair, does. There aren't a lot of places in the Country you can go to not be seen. Another side effect of this infernal twilight that never ends. A man as powerful and important as that might slum it, but he would only slum it in one place-The Verandas.

The Verandas is a gated community for mortal beings-those who would otherwise find themselves prey to things like me, if I swung that way. The inhabitants are poor, but that's not why they live there. They live there so that they don't get eaten or worse but fencing themselves off from a dangerous world also cuts them off to any opportunity to better their lives. I don't judge. You can scrape and scrounge to feed your family, or you can risk feeding your family to a monster. That's the choice for the people in the Verandas. Sometimes they gamble, and it sounds like Mrs. Debussy rolled the dice and won.

I'm not mortal, so getting into The Verandas is a tall order even for someone as harmless as me. I flash my fake badge, making sure to not let them study it for too long and eventually, the rusty iron gate opens up and I skulk in. I head to the security office since I have no idea if anyone related to Mrs. Debussy still lives here.

The security guard is a thin, ashen faced man, who I had no doubt could put a bullet in my forehead before I even saw his hand move. Technically, I can't die. But just between you and I, getting over a headshot hurts like hell and you're never the same after. So, I wanted to keep this as cordial as possible.

"My name is Gorman Reach," I say. "I'm an agent of the Federal Reserve and I'm trying to shore up some gaps in our records belonging to someone I believe once lived here. Would you be able to assist me?"

He shakes his head. "If you're a Federal, then I'm Frankenstein," he says. "I don't care who you are. You can ask your questions and I'll answer or not."

"You mean Frankenstein's monster," I ask stupidly.

"Do I look like one of you," he says. "If I'm anyone, I'd be the Doctor."

"Touche," I say. "Do you have anyone living here with the last name, Peron?"

"Not anymore," he replies. "Mr. Peron moved several years ago. He came into money or had just had enough of this place. Who knows?"

"Do you know where he moved," I ask.

"Actually, yes," he says. " Or I might. Like I said, it was a long time ago but when the off chance people do leave here, they leave a forwarding address. There might be a record of his."

I try, with what I'm sure is little success, to contain my excitement.

"Ahh, here it is," he says, pulling a yellowed piece of paper from an antique filing cabinet. "You can look but I can't let you make copies or take it with you."

"I understand," I tell him. I take the piece of paper and scan it quickly. There isn't much on it save for an address I sort of recognize. It's in an industrial park by the docks. A few previous cases took me down there and I really hoped I'd never find myself there again. Those didn't pay as well, though.

"Thank you," I say and hand the paper back. As I get up to leave, I hear a little cough escape the security guard and I look back over the raised collar of my jacket. He's holding out his hand like some kid dressed as a human on UnHallowed Eve. I hand him a twenty and haul ass out of there. I had some place to be.

I don't sneak around the docks. There's no need. Everyone hanging around here is just as shady as me and doesn't care why I'm here. I do, however, unholster my sidearm and hold it closely to my thigh. If I need it, better that nobody sees it first. The address I memorized for Mr. Peron belongs to a massive warehouse that is heavily fortified. There are no guards, nobody to trick my way into the building. This looks like the end of the road for this line of investigation. While I'm wondering why Mrs. Debussy would move her father to a warehouse in one of the worse parts of town, I feel my feet leave the ground. I know immediately what caused it. That didn't make me any less nervous, though.

"Mr. Montclair," I say. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

A low grumble comes from behind me and I'm back on solid ground. My legs buckle only slightly, and I don't think he notices.

"I've been following you for a while, Mr. Reach," he says in that velvety tone that only the oldest vamps seem to possess. I think it's supposed to have hypnotic effects on mortals. I don't see it myself.

"I know," I say only half lying. "Care to tell me why?"

"I believed you would lead me to something which I've been looking for for a very long time," he says with a tone that reeks of disappointment. "But there is little likelihood that one of my bastard children would be living in this squalor."

"I've only been on the case a day," I say. "Give me a little bit of credit."

"True," he says. "For someone of so few resources and competency, you have made surprising progress. How do you plan to enter this facility?"

"Well, honestly, I was about to call it a day and try something else," I admit.

"Understandable," he says. I really don't like this guy. "Ghouls are not known for being good at much outside of attacking grieving humans in cemeteries. I suppose I could help you if you wish."

I roll my eyes under my fedora. "Would you please," I ask sarcastically.

Without another word, I'm tossed over the large concrete wall that surrounds the facility and am hammered in the back as the vampire lands beside me, making sure I don't get too far away.

"Thanks," I cough out.

"Don't mention it," he says. "To anyone."

"Yeah, yeah," I say. "Let's just get on with it."

Inside the wall, the building is not nearly as well secured. I pick a lock that could've come from any local hardware store and we're in. There's no alarms, no blinking lights from security cameras, just utter darkness. I feel the vampire walking behind me take a large breath. True darkness to him must be like air to a drowning person. He claps my shoulder as though we're best friends who just happened upon one of our parent's liquor cabinets left unlocked. Strangely, it energizes me a little.

The feeling doesn't last long, as suddenly, row after row of bright fluorescent lights pops on, revealing an endless line of shelves holding large tubes. I can't help but gasp at what I'm seeing once my eyes refocus. The tubes, every single one, are filled with people. Even the vampire looks shaken.

Both of us jump at the sound of clapping coming from behind us. One suspect helped me break into this place, which means the clapping can only belong to one person.

"Mrs. Debussy," I say. "I assume you remember Vyren Montclair."

She smirks. "You work fast, Mr. Reach," she says. "I hired you to use you as bait. I honestly never believed you'd make it this far. Though it wasn't without help. It's been a long time, Vyren."

"Not long enough, Claudette," he says. "What is this place and why has Mr. Reach come here in search of my son""

"Our son," she replies. "A son you wanted disposed of if I remember correctly. He isn't here, Mr. Reach. He isn't anywhere."

"What do you mean, Claudette," Vyren asks.

"I mean, I did exactly what you asked me to do all those years ago," she says. "I got rid of him. I sent him to The Tiers. You know as well as I do that that's a death sentence. I thought letting him burn to death or get eaten by some eldritch god was a better fate than you had in mind for him."

Then it dawned on me."That's how you live in The Country, isn't it," I say. "No vampires can live here. No vampires except for the Montclair group. You harvest human-vampire hybrids to make yourselves protected from the twilight."

"Of course, they do," Mrs. Debussy says. "Who do you think created The Verandas? It's a breeding pen."

"If they created it, then why did he need to follow me," I ask. "Why didn't he already have this address?"

"Because, she was different," Vyren says. "Claudette was special to me. She wasn't just breeding stock. I asked her to get rid of our child becuase I knew what would happen to him. I knew what would happen to her. So, I gave her a large amount of money to compensate for her loss and to get her out of The Verandas. I had no idea what she'd become."

"She became like you," I said. "Only instead of harvesting half human dna to survive sunlight, she harvested half vampire dna to prolong the life of humans. I still don't understand why you involved me, though."

"Simple, Mr. Reach," she said. "I needed someone to flush Vyren out and bring him here. You see, there are facilities like this throughout The Country. I've known for some time what the Montclair Group was doing and not only have I made a massive fortune from doing almost the exact same thing, I've also been starving their supply. The Montclair group is literally bleeding out and it has all been by my design."

"Is this revenge," Vyren asks. "Revenge for what I asked you to do all those years ago?"

"No, Vyren," she says coldly. "This is extortion. Give me control of all Montclair Group assets in The Country and continue to supply me with half-vampire donors or I send a signal that will initiate the demolition of all of our harvesting programs. I have contingincies. I know you do not."

Vyren shakes his head in a resigned gesture and lets out a long sigh. "Claudette," he says. "Did you think I came here alone?"

As he's finishing his statement, the doors and windows crash in. The noise is deafening. Dozens of Montclair security personnel surround us, weapons aimed at me and Claudette. Vyren waves a hand toward her and they're no longer aiming at me. I use that moment to slink out of a potential crossfire.

This time it's Claudette who sighs loudly. "Vyren," she says. "I led you here. Did you think I would be unprepared for your goons? You can survive the Eternal Twilight of The Country, but to paraphrase that old Vampire folk group I can't remember the name of, "Have You Ever Really Seen the Sun?"

It feels like the entire building is exploding. Lights so bright, they knock me to the ground burst forth from every square foot of the warehouse. The tubes erupt in fire, every one of them. Montclair's security follows. I shield my eyes with my hat and see Vyren stumbling toward Claudette. He closes enough distance to grab her throat but there's no strength behind it. She stabs him in the chest with a stake she was wearing around her neck. Strange that I didn't notice it before. Vyren Montclair doesn't burn in a pyre of flame. He simply floats away-ash in the wind. It's as though he never existed at all.

Claudette walks over to me and helps me off the floor.

"I assume you'll keep what happened here between us, Mr. Reach," she says. "The rest of your money will depend on it, after all."

I nod slightly and start to walk to the exit but before I reach it, I turn back to Mrs. Debussy.

"You know," I begin. "I didn't choose to be this. I was born a ghoul. It was just the hand I was dealt and I made the best of it. I've tried to help people. But you and him? You're monsters down to the marrow. This world deserves better."

I had already reholstered my gun and turned around before the bullet reached her. I never miss. She would die alone and unseen. Like all those she'd taken.