"Confirming deactivation request…user species: vampire. Deactivation request denied."
Vlad stared at the disk in disbelief. "I-- I can't turn it off."
"Curses!" the Count hissed, clenching his fists. "It can tell the difference between the blood of vampires and breathers."
"It's not so bad, really." Vlad tried to sound optimistic in spite of the predicament they were in. "All I have to do is find a breather to release you."
"And where exactly are you going to find one? You sent them all away!"
"Right." Vlad paused for a moment to think. It would be nearly impossible to come up with a story believable enough to convince someone to follow him to the castle and shut down the disk. He could simply hypnotize someone so they would free his father and not remember. But there was a risk the hypnosis could wear off eventually and the person would remember being lured into a vampire lair. Anyone with those memories would be a risk to their secrecy and safety if they told anyone. Then it occurred to him. "I'll get Renfield to do it. He can't have gone far from town in one night. I can find him and convince him to come back with me."
"That imbecile? He's probably lost in the sewers, chasing cockroaches." The Count waved dismissively. "Come on, think!"
"What about Robin, then?" It seemed like a logical choice to Vlad, since Robin had known about the Draculas since the day they moved to Stokely.
"By all means go get the Branaugh boy, because it worked out so well last time. All our problems began after he found out about us! You may as well announce our secrets to all the breathers in town right now and give them time to light the torches and sharpen some stakes!"
"Robin is a good friend. He may have made some mistakes, but he helped us out of trouble plenty of times. Remember the chess match between you and Chandu? You would be a mummy right now if it wasn't for him. And then there was the time Ingrid and I were captured by Van Helsing. And--"
"All right, all right!" the Count interrupted him mid-sentence, grimacing at being reminded of the times he needed help from Robin Branaugh. "So he isn't completely useless." Suddenly the Count looked towards the door with an alarmed expression on his pale face, listening to something that Vlad's ears didn't detect. "Ingrid's back!" He turned to Vlad and said in a lowered voice, "Quick! Lie down again over there and don't move!"
Vlad obeyed without saying a word, mimicking the position he had been in earlier. He didn't have a second to spare. As soon as he closed his eyes he heard the sound of a door opening, followed by a slam and the footsteps of someone crossing the room. The footsteps stopped close by and he heard Ingrid say sarcastically, "Hi Daddy. I'm home."
The Count's response matched Ingrid's sugar-coated sarcasm. "Ah, Ingrid. Back so soon? Why not stay out a while longer and watch the sunrise?"
"Eat garlic," Ingrid snapped. "I see Vladdy hasn't come around. A poor choice for a 'Chosen One', don't you agree?"
Something nudged Vlad in the side, which he could only guess by the feel of it was the toe of Ingrid's shoe. He focused on staying completely still.
"Leave him alone!" the Count said sharply.
"Make me," Ingrid said, taunting him and gloating at the Count's powerless state. "Oh, that's right. You can't."
The Count muttered something under his breath that Vlad couldn't quite catch. Whatever it was, it didn't sound very pleasant.
Ingrid ignored the Count, and Vlad could hear her walk in the direction of where her magazine collection used to be organized before the fight broke out. There was a brief rustling of papers as she shuffled through the remaining pile. A chair at the dining table scraped across the floor closer to where Vlad was, and Ingrid sat down. "Now all we have to do is wait for Vlad to wake up," she said. "Then we can have a nice little chat about what happens to people who let slayers leave this castle alive." Vlad could tell from the tone of her voice there would be nothing nice about what Ingrid had planned. After Ingrid spoke, there wasn't another sound except the occasional page being turned. At one point Vlad opened one eye long enough to see his father standing in his cage, his fists clenched and glaring in Ingrid's direction with a look that could freeze the sun itself.
Vlad lost track of time as he lay on the floor. Eventually Ingrid got up from the table and walked over to him again. "He's still out cold." Vlad felt Ingrid's shoe prod his ribs again, this time strong enough to bruise. "This is taking too long," she said before yawning loudly. "And I'm tired. I think I'll get some sleep and deal with the two of you later. It doesn't look like Vlad will be going anywhere soon." She began to leave, but then paused and said to the Count, "If you aren't both still here when I come back, I will take every breather in this town and skin them alive… starting with the Branaughs."
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The sun rose bright in the morning sky, casting its rays over everything in Stokely, including a snoring lump of rags curled up on a bench in the center of town. As the light grew brighter the snoring stopped and the lump sat up, revealing that it was not a pile of old rags but in fact a very grubby man in shabby clothes.
Renfield stretched and got up from the bench he had slept on. He was quite hungry, and couldn't remember when he last had something to eat. He realized that there wasn't very much he could remember. But there was one thing he knew, and it was that he wanted breakfast. Renfield got up from the bench and wandered aimlessly down the road looking for something to eat. He stopped to look in a café and ordered a pastry, but when he reached in his pockets he found they were empty. Leaving the café, he wondered if he was homeless. That would explain why he didn't have any money and couldn't remember where he lived.
As he passed one particular storefront, a yellow flyer taped by the door caught his attention. Looking closer, he saw a drawing of a rat and beneath it the words, "Exterminator Wanted. Inquire at Stokely Museum 09:00 – 17:00." Taking down the sign, Renfield folded it up and put it in his pocket before continuing down the road.