The Strain: Another Season
Episode 6

Captives
Chapter Four

East Berlin - Autumn 1989
Dungeon feeding room

Eichhorst enters, wearing a robe and partly made up. His prosthetic ears, nose and throat are on but the teeth, lenses and wig are not. Also, the make up for that part of the scalp that will be covered by said wig has obviously not been applied.

Sandra leaps up and runs to Eichhorst with every appearance of eagerness. She looks hard at his face. 'You've missed a bit,' she teases.

He slowly turns to face her and blinks his nictitating membranes.

Ignoring her flippancy, he announces, 'There is another experience that I have been unable to indulge in for more than forty years. Another pleasure that I can taste once again, vicariously, through your blood.'

'Oh…kay…' says Sandra warily. 'Will I like it?'

'I guarantee it,' he says. 'I believe we established that your enjoyment is, regrettably, fundamental to mine.'

She grins. 'Name it, then,' she says blithely.

I have acceded to all your previous requests bar two. Soon, you shall have your warm soapy shower. With everything. And, if you survive this night…'

'Which it is in your interest to see that I do,' she reminds him.

He nods. 'You shall have all those stories you were so eager to hear. In addition, I suspect you will have some further act-specific stipulations.'

Sandra looks intrigued. 'What is this act?'

'I want to get drunk,' he announces. 'What are your terms?'

Sandra frowns, confused. 'Can't you just dip your thing in a bucket of vodka or something?' she asks.

'No,' snaps Eichhorst. 'Terms. Quickly, now.'

'OK,' she says, thinking. 'First, I want the good stuff…'

'Naturally,' he says. 'I shall be able to taste it.'

'Then why did you give me all that crap to eat, to start with?' she asks, puzzled.

He sighs. 'I have kept many captives over the years. Others have attracted my notice - one in particular, long ago. I treated him well - like a friend or a…a pet. I fed him tasty food and spoke kindly to him. We talked of politics and religion and even our childhoods. I enjoyed his company and valued his artistry. But he was a prisoner and he began to think he meant more to me than that. He was so disappointed when I refused to save him. I shall never forget the way he looked at me - his pained, tragic eyes. I will never again allow my captives to delude themselves like that.'

He had been nostalgic but now he comes back to earth. 'Once you are of no further use to me you will be killed. Do not think otherwise.'

'You know what,' says Sandra. 'In amongst all the usual cruelty and arrogance, there was a tiny bit of humanity in that. Only a tiny bit, mind you - there's no need to look so insulted.'

He scowls at her.

'Don't worry about me, Eichhorst,' she continues. 'I hate you. And I know you don't care enough about me even for that. You may feed me what you wish to taste and never trouble what passes for your conscience.'

He gives her an odd look and then asks, 'Is that it? Is the good stuff the extent of your demands?'

'In a glass,' she adds, as if he'd never reminisced. 'The drink will have to be strong too, to work fast enough. Second, while I'm drinking you'll tell me why you want to do this.'

'The Wall is falling,' says Eichhorst baldly. 'It's too soon. Far too soon.' He raises his eyebrows. 'And we're in the basement of the Presidential Palace,' he adds.

'Wow!' exclaims Sandra. 'Wasn't expecting that. OK.'

She digests this information for a second then continues. 'And third, I think you'll have to almost drain me to get even slightly tipsy won't you?'

'Probably,' he shrugs.

'So you need to finish prettying yourself up.' She waves her hands to indicate his current appearance. 'And have a car ready to take me to a hospital.'

She takes a deep breath. 'And finally, since I'll be giving up my best chance of escape to date…' she says. 'We'll be revisiting the whole issue of my accommodation.'

He frowns but leaves without saying anything else.

Later Sandra is in a shower. It's quite luxurious but the curtain has been removed and Eichhorst, now looking fully human, is watching impassively.

She has a razor, which perhaps explains the vampire's vigilance.

Impassive or not, he is obviously making her wish for privacy. But the technique she employs to make him turn away shows that it's not because she feels uncomfortable…

She finishes shaving her legs and examines her shower gel. It is the same unperfumed brand from Corey's Maastricht apartment that she brought over on the ferry.

'How did you know?' she asks.

He rolls his eyes.

She grins. 'Right, yes. Of course, sorry.'

She begins lazily soaping herself and hams up a porn star - licking her lips, tossing her hair and moaning.

When she has the cleanest breasts in Berlin and still hasn't provoked a reaction beyond a terse "Don't flatter yourself", she starts with the, "Oh yeah, baby"s and "Mmm…you like that don't cha"s.

Eichhorst sighs and reaches a hand into the shower. He turns a knob. It must have been the thermostat because the steam stops and the screaming starts.

She flies out past him and snuggles into a robe, shivering and glaring.

He holds out his hand indicating her woolly tights/minidress ensemble from the night of her abduction. She confirms their cleanliness with a sniff and dresses quickly.

Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, Brooklyn, New York

Rather than take the obvious route through the Hugh L. Carey toll tunnel, the FinchCorp cars continue north to Brooklyn Bridge. The passengers are all silent, trapped in their own thoughts. There is indeed disruption over the bridge and long before they reach it, they are mired in traffic.

As the morning ticks away, the tension levels rise and Keane petulantly wants to know why the English lady didn't send a helicopter to Mr Fet's house.

'Miss ffinch-Myles decided not to draw attention to her connection to Professor Setrakian and his friends,' says Karl.

'We still have plenty of daylight left, sir,' reassures Richard.

Bowery, Chinatown, New York early afternoon

The cars are still stuck in traffic. Dutch and Richard wind their way between cabs, arms full of takeaway.

They get back in and hand out cartons.

'Good job we got jammed in this neighbourhood, eh kids,' she says brightly. 'And if we don't get moving soon, we're nearly within walking distance.'

Dutch leans past Neeva to give Keane his lunch and the older lady whispers in her ear, 'If it comes to that, you'll have to leave me here and take the children yourself.'

Beneath them, a Feeler clings upside down to the sewer ceiling, exactly like a spider. It cocks its head and sniffs. The car doors are open and Zack Goodweather's scent filters downwards. The vampire-child clicks excitedly and scampers off.

Union Square East, Manhattan

The afternoon is drawing on and everyone in the car is getting restless now. Dutch tries everyone's mobiles without success then her head pokes forward between Richard and Karl. 'What the hell is going on boys?' she asks, frustrated. The bodyguards look at each other and Karl gets out. He approaches a police patrol car and knocks on the window. There's a brief interchange and he returns to the others.

'The new mayor has ordered a quarantine for the entire city,' he explains. 'No vehicles are being allowed to leave, except on government or military business.'

'Which, of course, has worked better than any evacuation call,' sighs Dutch.

'Miss Dutch,' says Neeva anxiously. 'You must take the children onwards.'

'Hang on,' whines Keane. 'Can't your mom call someone and make this all go away?'

Dutch looks pointedly at Richard and Karl's radios to reinforce the suggestion.

They each try in turn but can't transmit at all. All they can receive is the audio for FinchTV's coverage of a news conference. Eldritch Palmer and the new mayor are announcing the quarantine along with a new financial rescue plan, funded exclusively by Stoneheart.

Dutch bolts out of the car and makes for a side street. She searches high up on walls and lampposts until she finds a blinking camera. 'Can you see what's happening, Mu…Mr ffinch-Myles? Get us out of here?' A suited arm turns her round.

Fet's place, Red Hook, Brooklyn
Laboratory/Gym

Eph is working on his secret solution, now marked "Rx" for "prescription" to distinguish it from the chemical weapons marked with a skull and crossbones and "POISON". He is testing it on samples of strigoi blood. Judging by his expression, it is going very well.

Setrakian is walking on a treadmill. He strides out strongly, enjoying his health. He increases the speed to a gentle jog. And grins.

After a few more minutes, he heads upstairs to the shower.

Nora watches him fondly from the kitchen as she makes some coffee.

In the living room, Fet is examining the latest delivery from FinchCorp. Crates of grenade casings and realistic-looking water pistols - or rather water rifles and machine guns – are spread on the floor.

Nora slams down Eph's mug on the lab bench and carries two more up to the living room.

Eph watches the angry woman leave the laboratory and sighs. He looks down at the Petri dish on the bench and across at the caged strigoi.

He injects a tiny quantity of Rx into a blood bag and feeds it to the creature by squirting it into the mutilated stinger. For a few seconds the vampire does nothing and then it begins hissing and convulsing, before folding up in a resentful heap in the far corner, nickering sorrowfully.

In the living room, Nora perches Fet's coffee on an empty crate and sits down opposite him.

'You're worried about her, aren't you?' she says, taking a sip.

He stops and looks at her.

'Her father was a Mossad agent, her Dad was the second best hacker the world's ever seen and her mother is the billionaire ice bitch from hell who somehow survived months of Eichhorst's "hospitality". If anyone's born to survive, it's Dutch.' he says firmly. Then he pauses and sighs. 'Yeah, 'course I'm worried.'

Setrakian comes down from the bathroom, humming. Nora leaps up.

'Would you like some tea, Mr Setrakian?' she asks.

'No thank you, my dear,' smiles Setrakian. 'But I'd love some coffee. I believe I'm allowed - now that I have a healthy heart.' He winks at her. She smiles back, and then her face falls. 'You shouldn't really have caffeine straight after a workout,' she warns.

Fet is watching them open-mouthed and he interjects, 'We got some decaff from the Luss', y'know.'

Nora thanks him for the reminder and runs lightly downstairs. Setrakian watches her go.

East Berlin 1989

Back in the feeding room, a freshly showered, collarless Sandra sits on a plastic chair sipping some really expensive old whisky.

'Whoa, this stuff's amazing,' Sandra says. She smirks at Eichhorst. 'Is this how I taste?'

'You are an immensely irritating and demanding young woman, Miss Edwards,' announces Eichhorst with a sigh. 'It's like running with Werner all over again. So much so that I can only assume you are descended from one of his many illicit spawn. Let me assure you - if you didn't taste very much better than that, you'd already be dead.'

She looks at him for a while, assessing. She takes another mouthful and whatever inhibitions she had begin to slip away.

'You miss him don't you?' she says.

'Dreverhaven?' he asks, puzzled.

'Your prisoner,' she says. 'The one whose company you enjoyed. It was Professor Setrakian, wasn't it?'

'Drink faster,' he snaps.

She starts to chug it and, very squiffy now, she says, 'I get under your skin too, don't I?'

Eichhorst is unsmiling and losing patience. 'Like a louse,' he bites out.

'Blurry chick,' she slurs indignantly, finishing the bottle. 'You call'n me budslucker - Thomas. Tommy Ike…Tommy tom tom.' Giggling, she clumsily flicks his fake nose and makes a noise, 'Twaanngg!' Then she collapses untidily in his arms. Still stony-faced, he sighs an emphatic 'Finally!' and drinks.

West Berlin night of 09/10 November 1989

Around the corner from the best hospital in the city, Eichhorst's car draws unsteadily to a halt. Sandra is pale and unconscious on the back seat. He has removed the engagement ring.

Looking in the rear view mirror, he wipes some makeup from the edge of his lower eyelids, revealing a portion of red rims beneath. He takes a bottle of water from the door pocket and spills some into each eye.

Pulling out again, he murmurs a slightly slurred, 'And Action!'

The Merc is thrown around the corner at speed, tyres screaming, and pulls up in the ambulance bay. Eichhorst leaps out, a picture of frantic anxiety and easily picks up the lifeless girl. He carries her into the hospital yelling for help.

Concerned nurses flock to him and he spins his cover story…

Sandra is his daughter - the anglicised name being her late mother's fancy. Her boyfriend is a fan of those dreadful, erotic vampire novels. He's never liked the young man and tonight he came home from the office to find terrible screaming coming from his daughter's room. The sick, wicked boy ran down the stairs past him and fled into the night - he gives Corey's description to the police who interview him. Imagine his horror, when he raced into the bedroom to find his little girl unconscious, covered in blood with bite marks on her throat. He thinks she's been drinking – or been made to drink…What if that fiend forced himself on her? He believably freaks out for a bit before returning to the doting father persona.

'Please, please help her,' he begs convincingly. 'She's all I have left.' And he completely breaks down.

Sandra is taken straight through to a treatment room and a peripheral line swiftly placed. A colloidal plasma expander is given until her blood can be typed.

The doctor asks him, 'Do you know what your daughter's blood group is, sir? It would save us time.'

Eichhorst shakes his head innocently and the senior nurse reminds the doctor that supplies are low because of the disorder around the Wall - perhaps "Sir" would like to donate?

Eichhorst backs away palms outwards as the medical team cut off Sandra's tights, revealing the partially healed wound in her inguinal area. He evinces total shock at this violation of his poor baby and uses it as an excuse to run from the room.

Eichhorst lurks outside until the first unit is put up, the line fully open. Sandra remains unconscious and people in scrubs are still swarming about her barking clipped orders. He notes her type and sneaks down to the blood bank. A borrowed white coat and an air of authority get him there and back without interference. A refrigerated boxful is stashed in the boot of his car and then he gets back into character.

He waits devotedly by her bedside until she is declared out of danger. A specialist team reassures him that no sexual assault has taken place. The police lose interest when it becomes clear that this is no murder but rather a consensual sex game gone wrong. Plus, of course, the wall is down and they are busy with a whole city in chaos.

The panic subsides and he is left alone with a still-unconscious Sandra. He looks around, surreptitiously gives her a drop of his white blood and waits. By the time she begins to stir, the eastern sky is definitely more blue than black. If she regains her voice, she will certainly blow his cover. He gathers her up, along with the drip, and runs.

Berlin 10 November 1989

Sandra wakes in a large and beautiful bedroom. On a large and beautiful bed.

She is connected to a full blood bag up on the dripstand. One door is open, revealing an equally large and beautiful bathroom – even more so than the one in which she took her last shower. Another opens to a dressing room – it is neither small nor ugly. The last door is closed and there is a keycard reader on the inside. There are no windows.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, she can hear voices coming from the other side.

In the living area, Eichhorst has just courteously invited in a young blonde woman, apparently a prostitute. The girl looks around in appreciative awe and says, 'Oh, have I walked into a fairytale?' She moves to kiss her client but he gestures to the bedroom.

The girl spots Sandra and properly screams. She wheels on Eichhorst and is suddenly hostile.

'I don't know what sick kind of shit you've got going on here but…'

The rest is lost as Eichhorst is instantly behind her, restraining her with his hand over her mouth.

He smiles pleasantly at Sandra. 'A ménage?' he suggests. 'For when you're better.'

The girl struggles.

'No. No, you're right. For it to work for me, both of you would have to be into it too…'

The girl kicks out behind and connects with such force that she would have seriously discommoded any other potential suitor. Eichhorst just laughs.

'…And she really isn't, is she?'

He removes his hand for a second. 'Hearty screamer though,' he says, smiling at the girl admiringly. 'Will you scream...' he asks replacing his hand. '…Sandra? When you cry out.'

Sandra manages to croak out, 'You'll need ear plugs.' She weakly rolls over so she can't see what follows. But she can't avoid hearing it.

The girl screams and gurgles as Eichhorst drains her. Then he breaks her neck and drops her where she falls. He locks the door and heads to dressing room.

Some time later he returns au naturel apart from a new robe.

He pulls a simple but beautifully-made, white-oak coffin, full of soil, easily out from under the bed and puts it on top, next to her. He takes the card key out of his pocket and shows it to her before placing it in the bottom of coffin. The robe falls and Sandra sees all of his nothing as he climbs into the coffin.

He lifts his head over the rim, enjoying her look of disgust. 'I, too need to recover from last night's excesses,' he grins. 'I hope you like your new living quarters. Breakfast is secured down the hall.' He bobs down into the coffin and then pops up again. 'Mine, not yours. Sweet dreams.'

When she thinks he's asleep, she struggles up and tries to escape but the door is locked fast of course. She looks at the coffin as if deciding whether it's worth the risk but pulls a face and turns away. She checks the dead girl for life and worms and, finding no signs of either, she puts her in respectful corpse pose (hands crossed over chest, eyes closed). She tries to pull her into the dressing room but collapses at her feet, the drip stand clattering on top of them.

When she wakes she's back in the bed, with a fresh blood bag up. She's all alone. Eichhorst, the coffin and the dead girl are nowhere to be seen. She gets up carefully and pulls the dripstand to the door to try it but it's still locked.

Paris, France 1669

A very elderly man approaches King Louis XIV with a tribute.

'Your Most Christian majesty,' announces the courtier. 'May I present Rabbi Avigdor Levy of Metz.'

Levy staggers forwards under the weight of both his years and a great book, completely bound in silver.

He kneels and offers it up to the king with the words. 'From your humblest servant, sire. The Occido Lumen. The only thing of its kind, like your most magnificent self. A first translation of the ancient holy tablets of Eden.'

Louis takes the book and examines it. If the tablets bewitched the men and women who beheld them, then the book itself almost possesses them. It certainly is a work of tremendous beauty – inside and out.

The old Rabbi is very proud and points to certain pages, apparently crammed with dull nonsense script. 'You should see it in sunlight, sire. That's when it really comes to life. Keep it safe, your majesty, I beseech you. Many will come after it but who better than you, sire, the mighty Sun King himself, to protect it.'

Louis glares at the Rabbi then barks imperiously at his guards, 'Throw him in jail. Bring me the tablets and destroy them in front of me. Burn his scholarly texts.'

He caresses the Lumen and his eyes burn with lust. 'It shall remain unique. It shall remain protected.' He gets up and leaves, still embracing the book.

Like its author, the Lumen is locked away - in Louis' personal treasure vault.