Chapter 14: Confessions
Phil woke up late New Years Day to the sound of snoring. Loud snoring. It was making his head pound. He tried to reach behind and hit whomever the noise was coming from, but he found his movements impeded by something soft. Phil tried to sit up and noticed he was lying on his left side. Pillows were wedged behind his back and against his chest, apparently to keep him on his side as he slept. He turned his head to follow the snoring (Ow! Ow! Ow!) coming face to face with a pair of dry, ugly feet. Glancing down to the foot of the bed Phil found Chet Morton, sprawled under a spare blanket.
Memories of the previous night flooded his mind, the last one being a blurry, garbled scene of Frank shouting, then begging. Frank!
"Chet! Chet! Where's Frank?" but he only continued to snore. Phil sat up slowly, dizziness and the urgency of nausea washing over him, so he quickly staggered to the bathroom. Later as he washed his hands and face he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like hell. Phil experimentally touched the stitches in the back of his head and winced. That was when he heard Chet stirring.
"Phil, hey man, where'd you go?" Chet asked, his voice raspy from sleep. Phil stepped out from around the bathroom door. Chet was sitting up, still wearing his dress pants from the night before, but had removed his button-up shirt in favor of his white cotton undershirt.
"Where's Frank?" Chet lowered his head.
"They took him." Phil sank back down on the bed, devastated.
"Have you called Biff's family?" He asked with a shaky voice.
"He's alive."
"What? Where is he? Bayport Memorial or did they fly him to Center State?"
"He's in your guest room, asleep."
"What!" All this was beginning to be too much, and he began to sway where he sat.
"Look Phil, lay back down before you pass out. I'm going to get my kit and check you out, then I'll call Joe and Vanessa. Okay?"
"But I can't, we gotta get out there, find Frank." Another wave of dizziness and he moaned.
"Yeah, well you just sit tight. I'll wake up Biff and be right back."
…..
After a quick assessment, Chet surmised that Phil should be fine despite the sutured lump on the back of his head. He handed Phil a couple of aspirins and searched his freezer an ice pack and some steaks. As he applied the ice pack to his head, Phil gave Chet a funny look, glancing at the thawing steaks on the counter.
"You lost a lot of blood with that head wound. I want you to take in a lot of fluids and eat these steaks after I fix 'em. And don't give me a hard time, you're gonna eat them medium rare." Phil crinkled his nose.
"For one, you need the protein to counter-act the alcohol still floating in your system, and you need the iron for the blood loss."
"Did they teach you that in nursing school?"
"No, my grandpa."
"Too bad you didn't go on to med school, Chet. You'd make a great doctor." Spoke up Joe as he sipped on some freshly brewed coffee.
"If I had, I'd have to send you a bill every time I patched you idiots up to pay for the student loans." Chet sat down on the other side of the kitchen table, running a hand over his shortly cropped hair.
"So, that happened last night."
"I feel like I'm waking up from some weird-ass dream." Joe confessed. "I mean, vampires, really?"
"I'd never have believed it either. If it weren't for the pointy teeth and those eyes, I would have thought they were strung out on drug, like having 'roid-rage or something. But that message on the answering machine from Dr. Wheeler gives some credence to it. We ain't in Kansas anymore."
"Our machine?" asked Phil.
"Yeah, hope you don't mind, but after we got you in bed I saw the message light flashing. I checked it out to see if there was, I dunno, some sort of indication that maybe Eric was trying to contact Frank. But Dr. Wheeler had left a message about the DNA tests that were run. They can't identify half the DNA sequence with any known animal species. But it's definitely not one hundred percent human." Joe and Chet continue to talk about the incredibility of vampires existing among them, but Phil was growing increasingly agitated. In all his years of knowing the Hardys, whenever one of their own was in trouble they hot-footed it to the rescue. Yet here sat Chet and Joe, sipping coffee, chit-chatting. Phil slammed the ice pack on the table, startling his companions.
"What the fuck is wrong with you two? Why aren't you calling the police? Your dad? Why aren't we back in that alley looking for evidence?"
"We're not going to find any evidence, Phil." Phil quickly turned around (Ow!) to see Biff lumbering out of the guest bedroom.
"Who died and made you a detective?" Phil spat at his friend. "And how are you not dead? How do you look like you're in better shape that any of us (noting the scrapes and bruises on Joe and Chet)? I saw the dent on that dumpster, you should at least be in full body cast!"
Biff let Phil continue his rant as he calmly sat in the vacant chair next to Joe. Phil's anger was dissolving into confusion and grief.
"What is going on? We need to get Frank. You saw those…monsters…they'll kill him!"
"They're not going to kill him." Biff said.
"How do you know?" Phil was a wreck, shaking.
"Because if they had really wanted to kill Frank, they would have already. Then and there. Us too."
"You guys were out of it, but the last few moments Frank was there, Eric was really gentle with him…" Joe started telling them.
"I don't want to hear about how gentle that putz was with my boyfriend!"
"Frank did what he had to do to calm him down." Joe defended. "He begged Eric not to kill you! Or us. He had to say things to bring him around. And it worked obviously."
"If Eric cares so much for Frank, he definitely won't kill him." Biff added.
"So what will he do, Mr. Know-it-all?"
"He'll turn him."
…..
After another run to empty his stomach, Phil sat on the sofa, nursing a glass of ice-cold ginger ale that Biff handed him. Chet and Joe were busy in the kitchen fixing something that resembled a breakfast.
When it was ready, Phil toyed with the fried eggs and still bloody steak. He had no appetite, and all he could do was mourn for Frank.
"You gotta eat and get your strength back up." Chet said around a mouthful.
"What's the point?" Phil asked morosely, "Frank's gone, probably a vampire by now. He'll turn into a monster like Eric and I'll… we'll never see him again." At Phil's words, Joe put his fork down, pushing his fingers against his eyes to stop the tears that were beginning to sting.
Biff stood from the table and removed the calendar from the wall. He flipped it over and looked at the smaller version of the new year on the back.
"I'd say we have three, maybe two weeks at least before he's turned." Biff said as he set the old calendar on the kitchen counter.
"Come again? You mean you don't turn after you get bit, or whatever?" Chet asked.
"It's a gradual process. Like any other drug or toxin, too much at once and it'll kill you."
"How do you know so much about vampires?" Joe asked. Biff shyly stared at his hands.
"Imaslayer." It was such a quick reply that the others barely heard it.
"I'm sorry, what?" Joe leaned forward.
"I am a slayer." Biff enunciated each word. Dead silence. His friends stared at him blankly. Biff sighed and started eating, allowing the trio time to digest the information.
"You slay vampires." Chet said slowly.
"I'm not an Alpha yet, but I've helped my cousin Buddy on several hunts."
"Buddy? Gay Buddy that you go deer hunting with." Joe asked.
"I always had a hard time believing a gay man would willingly go deer hunting." Muttered Phil.
Joe suddenly started to titter.
"Okay, lemme see if I can get this straight. My brother has been kidnapped by…vampires! And now I find out that one of my best friends is a vampire slayer! Biffy the vampire slayer!" Biff screwed his face up in a frown and banged his fist on the table.
"Listen to me! You would never have believed me if I had told you before now. You didn't even believe vampires existed until you saw them with your own eyes and listened to that message on the machine. The only way I can convince you guys that I'm telling the truth is to show you." Biff stood up, his chair screeching and tumbling over. "If you want to have even a remote shot at saving Frank, I suggest you rest up and call in sick tomorrow morning. We're taking a road trip!"
…..
Phil couldn't sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes he saw visions of vampires, dark alleys, and Frank. He couldn't sleep on his back, it put too much pressure on his injury. He turned to his right, but the moon was full and bright, burning through his eyelids. Normally the ambient light didn't bother him, no such luck tonight. Phil flipped over to his left, but he was staring at Frank's side of the bed. He moved closer, touching Frank's pillow. When he pulled it to his face and he could smell hints of Frank, his shampoo, his aftershave.
"Where are you, baby?" he asked no one. He closed his eyes again, begging sleep to take him.
His mind finally began to drift.
He was in his father's store, watching Mr. Cohen lock the center link onto the engraver. I won't lose you.
Frank was sitting at the kitchen table with his tablet, unconsciously tapping his fingers, the bracelet Phil gave him for Christmas clinking in time with the taps.
Phil sat straight up in bed. How could he have been so stupid to forget? He scrambled out of bed to the other end of the apartment, tapping furiously on his computer.
"Come on, come on!" Nothing. Phil leaned back in his chair. That didn't make sense. The tracking device he'd had installed in Frank's bracelet, just for situations like this, had failed. No signal appeared to be emitting, according to his software. That was nuts! It was working before Christmas while it was still sitting in the box, he'd tested it!
An idea hit him and Phil looked at the movement history, starting back to Christmas Day. It had recorded every move Frank had made, going to work, coming home, going to the store, the gas station, and so on up until twelve thirty New Years Day morning. The location of the last transmission came from the entrance of Hersher State Park, two hours from Bayport.
…..
"Hersher? You don't think the vamps have got some sort of home based in the park do you?" Chet asked when Phil told the guys about the tracking device the next morning.
"That's the only thing I can think of. The transmission stopped when they got a few feet inside the main entrance. They must have found the bracelet and destroyed it, that's got to be why it stopped sending out a signal."
"That bracelet was silver, wasn't it?" asked Biff.
"Yes, pure Jerusalem silver. I paid Dad to order it for me. When it came in I went by the store and installed the device before he set the emerald. Why?"
"They wouldn't have touched it, at least not directly. Silver is a caustic substance to vampires. The purer and holier the origin, the more powerful the silver. It's not necessarily crucifixes that you can use to injure a vamp, it's the silver it's made of, especially if it's been blessed."
"Well, if they are indeed in Hersher Park, without that signal it's going to be like finding a needle in a haystack." Phil lamented.
"What about a satellite image? Look for any camps or buildings?" Chet asked as he closed his travel mug.
"There aren't any satellite images to be found, it's like they're using some sort of signal scram…"
"What?"
"A signal scrambler, or blocker. That has to be why the bracelet failed!" Phil exclaimed.
"Vampires have technology?"
"This is the twenty first century, we all roll with the times." Added Biff.
"Well Phil, as slightly creeped out as I am that you would put a tracking device on someone you're dating, namely my brother, I'm glad you did. At least now we have some idea of where to focus our search."
"Creeped out or not, I'd be willing to bet Vanessa would love to have one installed in your wedding band, or your neck! You Hardys get into way too much shit not to take some sort of precaution."
"Hey!"
"Biff, is this the road to your grandpa's farm that we're turning into?" Chet interrupted what was beginning to sound like a quarrel between the two.
"Yeah."
"Why are we coming here?" Joe asked.
"You'll see." Biff answered. Joe looked out the SUV's window.
Old man Hooper's farm had once been a thriving orchard, selling apples other produce to markets throughout the state. But after Biff's father died in a hunting accident, Old man Hooper went into a retirement of sorts, focusing on growing dogwood trees for local nurseries and landscapers. People rarely saw the old man, save for immediate family. As they turned onto the farm's gravel road, Joe saw rows and rows of dormant, snow covered dogwoods and apple trees. He imagined once spring arrived the white and pink blossoms would be a beautiful sight. Joe closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, that Frank would be with them to enjoy the natural spectacle too.
When they were within a few feet of the main house, they saw a man in the distance. He looked like he was carrying two bundles of firewood, with the ease of a man carrying an armful of pillows. The man was walking toward the house, and he apparently could not hear the SUV, the snow muffling the sound of the tires rolling over the road.
"You guys watch this." Biff said mischievously. When he laid down on the car's horn, the man started and dropped his load of wood. When he turned around to face the vehicle, the boys saw that it was Old man Hooper. The elderly man's eyes widened and he immediately hunched over, grabbing his back. Biff was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes, but his companions were stunned.
"Not cool man!"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" But Biff continued to laugh as they exited the vehicle.
"I'm sorry Papa, I couldn't resist." He then sobered and tilted his head toward his friends. "They know." The elderly man nodded, and with the grace of someone half his age, stood upright, dropping his hands from his back.
"Guys, you remember my Papa, Alf?" The boys nodded, still beside themselves with embarrassment for their friend's idea of a prank.
"Papa, this is Joe Hardy, Phil Cohen and Chet Morton…"
"I remember them, Allen. That little pisser right there used to climb my trees whenever his mom came out here in the fall to buy a bushel." He said as he pointed to Joe. "Broke the limb off of one of my oldest trees." Joe flushed with guilt at the memory, but then the old man cracked a smile.
"It's good to see you boys. Now pick up this mess and come in the house, colder than a witch's tit on Halloween out here." He turned and led the way to the house while each of the boys picked up an arm full of firewood.
"That's not first-hand information is it?" Chet whispered to Biff, but the taller boy just rolled his eyes and chuckled.