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Human Resources Part 3 Reading

“I see so when he awoke in your dream and saw his daughter was gone that’s when you woke up in your bed in your work clothes?” queried the doctor.

The doctor was a man in his late forties with greying hair, a slanted nose and small light green eyes.

“Not exactly there was glimpses of something else. My girlfriend dead on the floor, blood everywhere. I still haven’t found her. Her apartment is still empty, and she still doesn’t answer her phone.” Deborah answered.

“Clearly your concerns about your girlfriend, the rumours about your boss and a random collection of memories have cobbled together and given you a haunting dream. As disturbing and as real as it may seem, a dream is all it is. Describe the man to me again.” The doctor responded.

“You know it’s the strangest thing. He appeared so different back in the flashback, whatever you want to call it. Its not that he’d aged, he just looked so much better now than he did back then. His disguise lets call it, could have something to do with it. A handsome face to cover the rot. It wasn’t that he looked completely different, it’s just that all his features looked better.”

“You know they used to associate ugliness with sin, even now the attractive get away with things others would not. Its curious how deep this dream seems to go, dreams on the whole seem to be usually much more basic but its not really my area. Perhaps after we’ve dealt with your thirst, I should have you see a psychologist.”

“What about my thirst? What can we do about it?”

“Well I’ll take a blood sample and if that comes back fine there’s a good chance its just psychological. If you could hold out your left arm and I can look for a vein.”

She did as he asked, and he had no trouble finding a vein. Cleaning the area with a septic wipe he attempted to stick the syringe in her arm only for the body to resist, the end was unable to breach her skin.

“That’s rather odd.” He remarked.

“What is?” She shivered.

“The syringe isn’t getting into the skin. Please relax a little.”

She breathed in and nodded; he then gave the syringe a hard push and this time it was successful.

“There we are.” He beamed.

He drew a small amount of blood from her and held it up to look at.

“Hhm a little darker and thicker than expected. Perhaps the blood is starting to clot?” He mused.

“Is that bad?”

“Well I don’t know yet.”

The blood starts to swell until the syringe fails to contain it, breaking free of its confines causing it to spill out onto the floor.

“Oh my God!” she cried out.

“That’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before but I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. I will have to clean this up. Can’t leave it there, now can I?” He returned.

He wiped up the blood with a septic wipe and opened the bin with his foot to throw it away. It became animated, jumping off the wipe onto the doctor’s body, leaching up him in a worm-like motion and crawling into his mouth. He began to choke, grabbing his throat. Deborah froze terrified and confused at the sight before her. He collapsed on the floor and the red trail worked from his mouth and ran up Deborah’s stone still body and slid back into her body through the small hole the syringe had made. Unsure of what to do she regained her composure and ran out; she didn’t know how long she’d been in there but when she had entered there was still light in the sky and when she exited it was night. She felt her bones chill as she heard the call of a raven, seeing it seemingly watching her from the window ledge of a nearby building. She took the Underground home, constantly looking over her shoulder and looking at the other passengers. No one asked her what she was doing or if she was alright, this was London after all. She was riddled with insomnia, her apartment had once felt like home; now she felt every shadow to remind her there are things in the dark, heard every creak to remind her there is always danger and knew every empty space to remind her how alone she was.

It had been a long time since she had been to church, but its walls brought her some comfort. Artificial lights went some way to illuminating the stain glass, bringing light to the stories of God and his prophets that they so told. She pondered whether she would be granted some level of protection by the grace of the deity, she had her answer not long way when the doors were opened, his steps were almost militaristic in rhyme. The marcher was the director or as she knew him now; Johann Wagner. He was clad in his work suit, mostly black but with a slight purplish hue.  She got to her feet to meet his entrance.

“Stay back! This is all your fault!” She screeched at him retreating to the altar.

“This may be a difficult adjustment period for you, but we all go through it.” He responded coolly.

He continued to advance towards her, slowly but steadily. When he reaches her, she grabs the cross from the table and holds it up at him.

“Shouldn’t you rebel in fear or burn or something?” She queries.

“Why should I fear the facets of the church? Vampires have infiltrated religious institutions for centuries.” He replies.

“So, holy water is no good too I take it.”

“Honestly do people still expect those things to work?”

She attempts to punch him, but he grabs her fist.

“So predictable, if you want to fight one of our kind you have to be smart and experienced. You are a clever woman, but you are neither, not yet.” He proclaims.

“You did this! You did all of this!”

“I didn’t kill the doctor; I didn’t kill your girlfriend. You did. Like how you didn’t kill my wife.”

“How did you know she was my girlfriend? And wait you were German, why did I experience your memories in English?”

“When two vampires connect either by sharing blood or in this case by the passage, there is a sort of sympathy created between them where they are able to understand each other.”

“So, does that mean when I speak you hear German?”

“Not quiet it only changes the language you hear if you aren’t fluent and it’s been a long time since I spoke with my mother tongue.”

“Well it doesn’t change anything. The facts say you are a monster, a criminal.”

“Well the world is full of both. You are one of us now, you must do things our way. You need to stop caring about oblate laws so much.”

“And what about your humanity?”

“Ah the great delusion of oblates that to be human is to be moral, but history paints a rather different picture wouldn’t you say?”

“I see your point but what about guilt?”

“It’s hard at first I’ll be honest with you, but you learn to live with yourself, what you are.”

“But what if I can’t?”

“Our kind is hardwired to survive, and we are born of death. We can experience a quietus, but it is not so easily achieved. Offing vampires isn’t as easy as in the movies. So, if you are planning to kill yourself it may take a while.”

“What are you doing here plague bearer?” Came a new female voice seemingly out of nowhere.

Johann and Deborah turn to find a woman in robes and a clerical collar. She had short brunette hair with matching eyes and a short nose.

“Not now Isabella, can’t you see I’m a little busy here?” Johann hissed at the cleric.

“I can’t believe the Vanguard gave vermin like you permission to passage. Feral dogs shouldn’t breed. Now get out of here or I will put your plague bearing ass down.” She retorted.

“I can’t believe your one of them too. I’ve known you all this time Isabella and I had no idea.” Deborah pronounced.
“Well your one of ‘them’ now too thanks to him. I liked you but now you are a Nachzehrer. I can’t have anything to do with you. Get out of my sight both of you.” Isabella responded.

“Come along Deborah we aren’t welcome here.” Johann interrupted before Deborah could respond.

Deborah just nodded and walked out with him.  Isabella was just happy to see them leave. Deborah had reluctantly agreed for Johann to watch over her as she was still recovering from the passage. When she finally fell asleep her mind was once again filled with images of Middle Ages Germany, she was brought back to experience more of his memories. Died and brought back, his daughter gone, his wife dead, his life by all accounts was over but he was forced to persist; this was then he met the deranged Vanguard and his celebrants.

Continues in Human Resources Part 4

Published by Alex Burton

My name is Alex Burton. I am a 22-year-old Computing Graduate from the North West of England but computing as you can imagine is not where my dreams truly lie. Having finished University (those unfamiliar with the British education system should note that College and University are separate, and we don’t have middle school) I have been volunteering at two primary schools in my local area. Having received support in both primary and secondary school I wanted to give something back as it were. Terror Firma has its origins in my last year or so of high school but has come a long way since then, I actually found an extremely early draft of my notes a few months ago and well I can scarcely bare to read it. I worked on the setting alongside studying through college and university, and now I feel it’s ready to unveil.

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