DISCLAIMER: Okay, you know that new song "Go Vertigo" by U2? Now I realize that high-school Spanish was a long time ago, but I'm pretty sure that Bono is saying "1, 2, 3, 14" at the beginning of the song. It's pretty difficult to confuse "cuatro," or the number 4, with "catorce," the number 14. And what in the samhill does "Go Vertigo" mean anyway? Sorry, but that was bugging me.
As you probably already gathered, I don't own any of the "Shaun of the Dead" characters. But I do have the pleasure of owning a signed letter from the amazing Simon Pegg which he sent in response to a fan letter. Yippee! Simon is officially the coolest guy ever. Sorry, Ioan Gruffudd, but you've been replaced at the top of my celebrity crush list. Please accept your severance package, clear out your desk, and don't let me catch you stealing office supplies either.
The Mini Cooper sped off toward the University of London, Sara taking the speed limit as more of a suggestion than a strict rule. Once they arrived, she parked illegally on the street, hoping she'd be back before any constables came around. She and Shaun asked the registrar for the location of Professor Ryland's office. With the help of a campus map, they found the right building and started to climb the stairs to the fourth floor.
"So when we find this guy, do we go for the 'good cop, bad cop' routine?" Shaun asked.
"No, I pretty much stick with the 'asking questions, hitting in the face' routine."
"And that works for you?"
"Quite well, actually."
Will was not having the same navigational luck. He circled and circled through the streets of Southwark till he finally found Ryland's flat. Parking his Saab across the street, he exited the car. He considered taking one of the weapons he kept stashed in the boot (or "trunk," as Sara would say), but dismissed the thought. This was just a man, after all. Even if Ryland was at home, Will just wanted to ask him some questions. If he indeed had nothing to do with Davrok, Will would feel pretty foolish charging in with a loaded crossbow.
He pulled up the collar of his grey trenchcoat and hurried across the street up to the front door of the building. He picked the lock of the door and entered the common hallway. He proceeded upstairs to Ryland's flat on the third floor. Picking the lock of its door, Will stepped slowly and quietly into the room. It was an open and airy flat with a breathtaking view of the Thames. He wondered how much this place must cost. Furnished and decorated with artifacts and antiques from every corner of the world, it vaguely reminded him of his own childhood home in Devonshire.
"Now if I were incriminating evidence, where would I be?" he whispered under his breath, surveying the room. There was a makeshift office in the corner by the window. He decided to start with the desk and then the laptop that sat on its surface. Lesson plans, bank statements, credit card receipts, passport, travel guides. Nothing there.
"Can I help you with something?" The polished, articulate voice came from in front of him.
Will lifted his head slowly to face Ryland. "Ah, Professor Ryland, this probably looks a bit odd."
"A bit, yes."
"You're probably wondering why I, a complete stranger, am rifling through your desk."
"The thought had occurred to me." Ryland moved to stand behind the desk, so Will retreated back toward the center of the room. "Are you from the museum?"
"Uhh, yes, actually."
"No doubt looking for your lost casket," Ryland sighed, starting to straighten out the papers on the desk with a look of frustration. "I've already told you people a hundred times that I didn't take it."
"Right, yes. But you can understand the museum's concern in finding it. The casket is a priceless artifact."
"The casket is merely a box. A simple structure of wood and metal. What was in it is far more valuable."
"I see. And would you mind telling me what was in it?"
Ryland smirked. "I'll do better than that. I'll show you."
Will felt a presence behind him. He turned to face a large, muscular figure clad in armor, holding a broadsword in his armor-plated gloves. "Allow me to introduce Davrok Sakkari."
Davrok plunged the sword into Will's abdomen, and he cried out in agony.
"You're not really from the museum, are you, Mr. Collins?" Ryland asked, calling him by name as he moved to stand by his side. "In fact, I think that you're from the Council. A bunch of bleeding-heart do-gooders sent by the Catholic Church to battle evil. Am I right?"
Will shook his head, despite the pain.
"It's no good, you know. Sure, you and your slayers might have killed a few of our vampires. But there are more, and there will be more. This city has never known the devastation that we will wreak upon it. The streets will be awash with the blood of those who will not submit to the rule of Davrok. Starting with yours..."
Davrok withdrew the sword. Will sank to the floor, blood pouring from the open wound in his torso and through to his back. He tried futilely to cover the wound with his arm as his breath grew slow and labored. The color quickly began to fade from his already pale complexion. It couldn't end like this, could it? His work couldn't be over, could it? He realized sadly that he didn't get a vote in the matter. At least death would bring an end to the pain. Just make the pain stop, that would be his last request. Grant me only that, he pleaded.
"That's another Persian rug you've ruined," Ryland groaned, kneeling to check the man's pulse.
"He knew nothing. He had no value," Davrok proclaimed, almost upset at staining his sword with useless blood.
"On the contrary," Ryland said, after searching Will's pockets and finding his security pass to the Council. "He may have given us the most precious gift of all."
Meanwhile, Sara and Shaun, having picked the lock of Ryland's office were also fumbling through desk drawers and filing cabinets. "If Ryland removed the casket from the museum, maybe there's a receipt for a moving truck or a storage unit," Sara conjectured.
"Or maybe he's keeping it in his basement."
"That casket weighs several tons, Shaun. He wouldn't have been able to move it himself, and it certainly wouldn't have fit in his car."
"Maybe he already has some vampire-wannabe disciples helping him out. Y'know, they each take turns baby-sitting the coffin week to week," he said, flipping through a day-planner. "Well, I don't see 'take over the world' marked on his calendar. Any other ideas?"
"I'm not even sure what we're looking for," she sighed. "This place is spotless, the guy must be obsessive-compulsive. You'd think he'd have the decency to have a file marked 'Incriminating Evidence.' Maybe Will's having better luck at the guy's flat."
Shaun began examining the many bookshelves. "Y'know, just for the record, I happen to like the way you dress."
"What?"
"The whole Land's End look—it suits you."
She briefly glanced down to remind herself that she was wearing her usual boot-cut jeans and a burgundy V-neck sweater over a T-shirt. "Oh, that. Well, one of the perks of this job is no dress code."
He turned to her and crossed his arms. "Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Someone tries to pay you a compliment and you make a joke, you deflect it. It's like your self-esteem is dying of hunger but you won't feed it."
She rolled her eyes and groaned. "I'm sorry? Is this residual therapy I'm hearing? Did Liz actually make you go to couples counseling?"
"Occasionally," he muttered, with a shrug.
"After all you went through on Z-Day, and then she wants to drag you in front of a complete stranger to discuss your private relationship problems? And I'm guessing those problems were always your fault."
"Sometimes."
"Did Liz ever accept any responsibility? At all?"
"Look, you don't know her," he protested half-heartedly.
"She dumped you, Shaun. Why would you waste your breath defending her?" Sara argued. "I may not know her, but I know her type. And I know it's women like her that make men assume that we're all scheming, manipulative, soul-draining sirens."
"Wait, didn't we have a lecture on soul-draining sirens?"
"Yes, they're called succubi," she recited. "Anyway, we're on the clock. Could we dabble in the psychobabble later?"
"Fine," Shaun replied sulkily, turning back to the bookshelves, "as long as you don't mind denying your inner child the acceptance and support it so desperately longs for..." Moving on to the next shelf, he managed to find a journal on the bookshelf, a strange foreign language written on the pages. "Hang on, I might have something." He brought the book over to her. "Does that writing look Serbian to you?"
"Indeed it does. If we get this back to the Council, maybe Lex can translate it. Maybe there's some way to re-apply the binding spell after it's been broken." Sara got out her cell phone and called Michael to tell them what they'd found.
"Well done, Sara. I haven't heard back from Will yet. Maybe you should get over there and see if he's found anything."
"Okay, we're on our way." She hung up the phone, and she and Shaun left the office, careful to put everything back the way they'd found it.
Across the river, a silver BMW pulled up to the Council building. Professor Ryland used Will's security pass to gain access through the gate that faced the street. Davrok made short work of the stunned security guard who had left his booth to investigate the unfamiliar car. They placed his body in the trunk and proceeded into the darkness of the garage. They waited for Davrok's vampire henchmen to join them after sunset as they had been hastily ordered. Ryland had decided that once the opportunity presented itself, it couldn't be passed up.
Dozens and dozens of vampires began to stream into the garage, their yellow eyes glowing brighter than the dim lighting. They waited patiently for instruction from their master.
Once they had assembled, Ryland strolled up to the front desk in the expansive lobby of the Council. "Hello, I'm Professor Malcolm Ryland. I used to do some consulting work here."
"Yes, Professor Ryland," the long-haired blond receptionist smiled. "How can I help you?"
"I was wondering if I could speak with Michael Simmonds."
"Mr. Simmonds is quite busy, but if you'd like to leave a message—"
"I'm afraid this is a very urgent matter, miss. It is imperative that I speak with him right away. It's about the recent killings here in town. I have an informant who might prove useful."
"An informant?"
"Yes, but you see he's a...well, he's a vampire," he whispered. "He's very concerned that his identity be withheld. Otherwise he would face retribution from the vampire community."
"Is he willing to come in and speak with Mr. Simmonds?"
"Oh, yes. In fact, he's here with me. But you see, if he comes in the building, he'll set off the vampire detectors and bring himself a lot of unwanted attention."
"I see. I'll let security know to disable the alarms and then you can bring him in." She made a brief call, then put the phone down and looked back at him with the smile. "The alarms are temporarily disabled. He can come in whenever he likes."
"That is most kind of you. I wonder if you could lead me to the parking garage access door."
"Certainly, sir, it's just down this corridor." She got up from behind the desk and walked toward the hallway.
"Thank you, you've been most helpful." As he stepped forward to follow her, he grabbed the side of her head and snapped her neck. She sank to the floor. Ryland moved quickly to the garage access and opened the metal doors, looking out on the sea of vampires that greeted him, Davrok at the head of the quickly-assembled army.
"Won't you come in, Davrok?" he said. "But remember, leave the library to me."
"What of the humans we find?"
"Wipe them out...all of them," he ordered.