Chapter 77

Gods and Monsters

Author's note: Happy Derby Day readers! Since I live in the beautiful state of Kentucky, the Run for the Roses consumes everything for the 2 weeks leading up to this 1st Saturday in May. But I was called back to our story to let you see what the bad guys are up to while our favorite vampires are celebrating at Temecula. (You didn't think they'd just go away, did you?)

Intro song: Beloved, Mumford and Sons

John Giles prowled agitatedly around and around the spacious room at the Crucis offices in New York City as if he were a caged animal - a ferocious animal with an unsatisfied need for the ministrations of his co-conspirators at Crucis since the loss of his wife, a wild animal was exactly what he felt like. He'd been pacing for hours and now the sky was beginning to brighten, signaling the start of another

The moment he had laid eyes on Rebecca's lifeless body, everything changed for him. He didn't give a damn about the Crucis mission or plan. He just wanted revenge on these monsters. Anything that delayed, or interfered with that, was not to be tolerated. After discovering Rebecca Anderson's body in Chicago, John had been inconsolable.

Gerry Gledson had called Durand in a panic. "I don't know what to do with him, Christophe. Since we found his wife's body, he's been inconsolable. He won't talk, won't eat, barely drinks... and he won't put down his goddamned gun. Keeps talking about going out to hunt vampires. I had to lock him up for his own good - if he's out walking the streets with a gun in his hand, the cops will shoot him. I don't know what to do."

Durand, who had already received detailed reports from his son, still did an admirable job of feigning shock and dismay at the news of his subordinate's descent into grief-fueled madness.

"I'll come as soon as I can get free," he had told the frantic head of Chicago operations - and then deliberately waited another day before traveling to Illinois. He'd wanted the situation to get as bad as possible. The idiots in the Windy City needed a wake-up call as to how dangerous, how murderous, vampires were, how much was at stake in this conflict. He could not have engineered a more effective message than the sight of his second in command weeping over his dead wife's body, and vowing revenge.

Gledson had met him as he stepped onto the tarmac from the CHOIR corporate jet - just another of the perks generous benefactors unknowingly paid for.

"Sorry I couldn't get here sooner, Gerry," Durand had lied smoothly, his large hand easily enveloping the much smaller man's as they shook. "I was hoping you'd tell me that a little more time brought John to his senses. From the look on your face, I'm guessing not."

"No, Christophe, it hasn't. I've tried talking to him, Brian's tried. I told him you were coming. He just looks through you as if you weren't even there."

Perfect. "I'll get through to him, Gerry. I promise you that. John will listen to me. Did you confirm that it was a vampire slaying?"

The smaller man had bristled as he escorted Durand to the waiting limo. "When you see her body, it's pretty clear, Christophe. She's got bite marks over her jugular, and she's been bled almost completely dry. I didn't think we needed more proof of what happened than that!"

"Calm down, Gerry! I wasn't implying that you hadn't done your job. I know this has been tough." He had tried to sooth the jittery man, secretly enjoying his discomfort. "How's morale after all this? I'm concerned about the whole team here."

"Sucks," Gledson had responded gloomily, without thinking. Shit! He'd heard stories of how Christophe handled operatives that he deemed as less than loyal to their cause – or to him. He needed to tread carefully.

"Elaborate please - and be specific," Durand had said icily. "Are we going to lose members? Or financial backing?"

The Chicago head had shaken his head emphatically. "No backers, no. We've managed to keep this under wraps, out of the papers. We may lose a couple of operatives, though. There'd probably be more, but..." He had hesitated.

"What?!"

"Well, the men are all scared, make no mistake about that, but most of them are more afraid of..." Gerry had trailed off.

Me, Durand had thought, smiling inwardly. He had no intention of letting his chief of operations off the hook that easily though. "What? What are they more afraid of than vampires?!"

"You, Christophe!" Gledson had blurted. "They've all heard stories and they are more afraid of what you might do to them if they quit."

"Stories," Durand had spit out, waving one hand dismissively. "There will always be stories, Gerry. It's your job to manage that - otherwise, what do we need you for?" Keep up this incompetence and we won't need you.

The rest of the car ride had passed in silence.

John Giles had been every bit as much of a basket case as Gledson had described, to Christophe's carefully disguised delight. That little weasel, Gledson, had been accurate in his description. When the bedroom John was in had been unlocked, they found him still pacing and waving the gun the Chicago team had been unable to safely wrest from him. Giles had frozen in his tracks, however, when he caught sight of Durand. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen into small slits in the lined face he had turned to his leader.

"You were wrong, Christophe. You were so wrong. She's not okay, she's DEAD! Those monsters killed her! They were…at…her. They- they FED on her!" He had sunk to the bed, weeping.

Cautiously, Christophe had pried the gun out of his limp hand, handing it back to Gerry, who had followed him into the bedroom, trailed by Durand's son.

"Leave me alone with him," he had said sternly to the two men, adding, "Now!" when he saw them hesitate. He had waited until they left the room to turn back to the grieving man.

"If you've come to take me back, Christophe, forget it. I'm not leaving here until I've hunted down the vampires who killed Rebecca."

Durand had spoken soothingly, his soft voice seeming to penetrate the wall of grief Giles had erected. "I understand, John. You want revenge. I want you to have it too. But, you want to kill all the vampires, not just one or two, right? I mean, there's no way to be absolutely sure which one killed her." Seeing Giles hesitate, he had added cruelly, "For all we know, any number of vamps may have fed on her." He had watched in silent satisfaction as that terrible idea, once planted, took root in Giles' psyche. The tortured man's eyes had filled with tears and he'd turned away, his whole body shaking with grief and outrage.

Durand had sat down slowly on the bed beside Giles, reaching out one long arm to drape it around the smaller man's heaving shoulders. It was his words, however, that had bound the disconsolate man to him. "I will help you exact revenge, John, I promise you. We will not rest until the vampires are dead. All of them. We have to be smart about it, though. These may be animals we are fighting - but they are strong, clever animals."

He had waited in silence until the grieving man looked up at him before continuing. "Here's what we are going to do, John. First, we are going to take Rebecca home for a proper burial. Isn't she from New York?"

"Long Island," John had replied almost inaudibly.

"Long Island. Right." Durand had nodded approvingly, his large hand patting his subordinate on the shoulder. "We are going to take care of her, the way she deserves. Then, we are going to get you squared away. Once we've done that, we will review our plan. If we need to change anything to make sure that the vamps in Chicago, in particular, are dealt with, we will."

"That's not enough, Christophe," Giles had whispered.

"No, of course it isn't. It will never be enough. But, we will get them all -and, to do that, we have to follow the plan." Durand's voice had been firm. Seeing the look of insubordination on Giles' face, he'd squeezed the smaller man's shoulder until he had winced in pain. "Let me ask you something, John. I know you've killed men for me – but how many vampires have you killed?"

The question had caught Giles off-guard and he had answered haltingly, "Tw- two, Christophe."

"Uh-huh. Those were the two prisoners we were using to test the silver injections and ammo, right?"

Giles had nodded wordlessly, staring dully at Durand.

"Well, let me tell you, John, killing a vamp in the 'wild', so to speak, is quite different. I've hunted a few and they are fast, strong, bloodthirsty, and tough to put down. You won't be able to get revenge for Rebecca if you're dead. You need to be prepared and take the proper precautions - you can't go off half-cocked." He had peered closely at his subordinate. "Do you hear me?"

Those words, finally, had seemed to resonate with Giles, who straightened and displayed some life in his face for the first time since he had laid eyes on his wife's body. "You're right, Christophe. Of course, you're right. I just..." His hands had tightened into fists. "I need to get these monsters. Promise me we won't wait much longer to begin Domino."

Durand had given him his word.

Since that night, Giles had been numb, unable to even consider what his life would be like without Rebecca. Her body had been flown back with them on the private jet, a nightmare trip for him as he sat beside the coffin, crying and drinking whatever Durand handed him. By the time they had landed in New York, he had been thoroughly inebriated and had almost fallen on the bed Christophe led him to in his Crucis apartment.

The next day, Durand had handled all the arrangements for a tasteful, private funeral service. When Rebecca's coffin was lowered into the ground, Giles had felt as if part of him - the best part - was being buried in the dark with her. Bereft, and unwilling to return to the apartment he had shared with his wife, he had allowed Christophe to settle him into a bedroom at Durand's own place.

"Stay here as long as you want - or need to - John. Hell, as far as I'm concerned, consider this your permanent home. None of us are going to be here in New York much longer, anyway. We'll be moving across the country, driving those bastards ahead of us. Like lemmings," he had added with a satisfied smirk.

At first, feeling like a lost soul, John had been grateful for Christophe's support, spending his days and nights drinking and scrolling through pictures and text conversations with his wife. He'd kept them all, never wanting to delete anything related to Rebecca, even though she often teased him about that hoarding. Looking at them now, he was so thankful that he hadn't taken her suggestion to delete them and clear out his phone. He was also appalled that so many of their interactions focused on Crucis and the mission she had cared so passionately about.

Where were discussions about plays they'd seen, books they'd read, vacations they'd taken? There were none because they hadn't done any of those things in recent years. Belatedly, he could see that Christophe's life's work had become their own as well. So much time wasted…

Now, however, he had nothing else.

It had been days since her death and he felt more like he was under Durand's thumb than that he had a refuge. He chafed at the restrictions and cautions that had been thrown at him. He wanted justice for Rebecca, revenge for himself. He wanted...blood.

I want their blood on my hands, he thought to himself as he made yet another fruitless trip from his room to Christophe's den. The Crucis leader had left late the previous evening, after extracting a promise from Giles not to leave the condo until he returned.

"Trust me, I'll make it up to you, John. Just humor me - stay here until I get back."

Giles regretted agreeing.

After a fruitless attempt at sleep, he had given up and climbed out of bed, prowling the apartment as the night passed with agonizing slowness - just like those preceding it. He had done everything Durand had directed him to do, but the inactivity was wearing on him. This morning, before Christophe left, the two men had argued bitterly over the best way to proceed, with Durand again counseling patience.

"John, vampires on both coasts will be on high alert right now after everything that's happened. That was exactly why I didn't want that idiot McGowan using our prototype ammunition on St. John. We wanted him out of the way without raising undue alarm. But now..." The big man had shrugged. "Do you want to walk into a hornet's nest right after you've kicked it? I myself have an intolerance for getting stung."

Giles' head knew that Durand's council was wise - but his heart demanded that he avenge Rebecca. The lonely bed he stared at each night demanded it. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when he masturbated to a joyless climax, alone in the dark, demanded it. The waves of anguish that washed over him when he contemplated a lifetime without her, demanded it.

He had tried to explain this need to Christophe, but his superior had stood firm. Has he ever really loved anyone? Or been loved by anyone? Giles doubted it.

Their exchange had grown more and more heated, until Durand had finally backed off, apologizing for not being more sensitive to what his second-in-command was going through...and coercing John to wait for his return. He had alluded to something of significance happening that would help Giles on his quest for revenge.

Had John Giles known that vampires on the West Coast were celebrating the survival of one of their own, he'd have never agreed. Durand had known that. His spy had reported on the party in detail and he planned to share all that as fuel for Giles' rage. When the time was right.

"Dammit!" Giles exclaimed, heading for the door. It had now been almost a full twenty-four hours since that confrontation with Durand and the grief-stricken man had had enough. I don't care what I promised him, enough is enough. He was reaching for the door when it suddenly swung inward, revealing the imposing figure of the head of Crucis. Shit!

"Going somewhere, John?" the big man asked in his deceptively soft voice. "I thought we agreed you would wait on me."

"Ju- just coming to check and see if you were back yet," the startled man stammered, involuntarily taking a step back. Why did you lie? Why didn't you just tell him you were going vamp hunting, you chicken shit? Rebecca would have! He cursed himself for his weakness.

"Good!" Christophe's heavy hand descended on John's shoulder, interrupting his gloomy thoughts. "Sorry I was gone so long. Things were a little more complicated than I had planned. But...come with me. I have something to show you that will cheer you up."

As he trailed the Crucis leader down the long hall toward the elevator, John could only wonder what Durand had planned. Nothing good. The words jumped, unbidden, into his head and he uneasily shrugged them off as he followed the tall figure.

"What are you looking at?!" The words, coming from the striking woman chained to the wall, were spoken with a defiance she didn't feel. When no answer was forthcoming from the man sitting in the shadows, she bared her fangs in a snarl, jerking painfully - and uselessly - at her bonds. Painfully, because the silver in the cuffs around her wrists and ankles had rubbed off the skin beneath them and prevented their healing. Uselessly, because that same silver, coupled with the injection of liquid silver that had been administered to her when she was captured, had weakened the vampire to the point where she had no chance of breaking free. She had not, however, received the potentially lethal dose that Victoria Silver had almost succumbed to. Christophe Durand had been clear about that. He didn't want Marie Santiago dead. Not then.

He had other plans for her.

The beautiful Spaniard moaned weakly as the silver cuffs ground into her raw and bleeding wrists. She had enough experience with the deadly compound to know that the levels of silver in her system were increasing, and causing more damage. Her vision was growing increasingly distorted and she felt sicker with every passing minute. Marie told herself that her veins weren't really burning from the poison she'd been injected with, that it was just her imagination running away with her. She told herself that...but she wasn't sure she believed it.

It didn't help that she hadn't fed in over twenty-four hours. She was one of the older vampires in New York and, because of that age, she could normally go much longer between feedings if she needed to - but not when she was hurt and poisoned. She craved blood with an intensity she hadn't felt in years.
Her captor suddenly leaned forward, his face exposed by one of the small, recessed spotlights in the soundproofed ceiling. The smile on his heavily-lined face was chilling and she flinched involuntarily, drawing as far away from him as her restraints would allow.

Licking her dry, chapped lips, the captured vampire ran her tongue over her exposed fangs, deliberately pricking it with their sharp tips and filling her mouth with her own blood. It was an old trick her sire had taught her two centuries before. While her blood wouldn't help her to heal or lessen the burning craving in her gut, it would help to clear her mind and allow her to concentrate - and, lord knows, she needed that if she were to have any hope of getting out of this. You really think you aren't going to die here? Don't kid yourself! Marie pushed the pessimistic thought away and concentrated on her captor. Her only chance would be if she could take advantage of him - whoever the hell he was.

Deciding to voice the question in her mind, she asked, "Who are you? And, why do you have me tied up like this?!" When he only smiled coldly at her, she added, "If it's about ransom... I have money. Just name your price."

That was a mistake.

In a heartbeat, he was up out of his chair and in her face standing almost nose to nose with her, his bloodshot eyes boring into hers. "Price? he snarled, his face alight with fury and indignation. "You want to know my price?! How about my wife's life - what do you suppose that's worth?!"

He's insane, Marie thought, her heart sinking. Still, she had to try to reason with him. As calmly as she could, the vampire replied, "I'm afraid I don't know anything about your wife, but perhaps I can help you find her…if that's what you want."

"What I want...?" He spoke softly, almost wonderingly. "What I want is to have my wife back. Can you do that for me, you bitch? If you can, I'll let you go."

"I don't know your wife. Tell me who she is and maybe I can help. I have-"

"Was." John Giles shouted, spraying her with spittle with the force of his words. "My wife was - because of you and your kind. You fed on her. You drained her. And you left her to die alone on the filthy ground in a parking garage."

"Listen, I don't know who you are, but I can assure you, I didn't have anything to do with your wife's death!" Marie protested loudly, trying to get through to the distraught man.

"No, I'm fairly sure you didn't," he responded almost conversationally. "After all, she was killed in Chicago."

Goddamit, Eli! Marie thought. Aloud, she said, "Then, why-"

"Why you?" he interrupted, turning away to pick up a long knife he had left on the ground next to his chair. "Oh, you're just the first. You see, I used to be content with the idea of just driving all of you out of our borders. Let you be someone else's problem. But that was before. Before...Rebecca." he faltered, his eyes momentarily filling with tears.

Clearing his throat he continued, his conversational tone a frightening contrast to his words. "I don't expect any of you animals to actually confess to murdering Rebecca. Monstrosities like you have no morals, no sense of right and wrong, no compassion, no…soul. None of you would be...human...enough to tell me about her death. But, if I kill all of you, why eventually, I'll get the vamp that killed her." He smiled again. "And then I can join her."

I'm so fucked. Marie's mind seemed to flip into high gear as she furiously examined, and discarded ideas, searching for a way out of this nightmare, all the while fruitlessly testing her bonds. Suddenly she froze as a thought coalesced in her frightened mind.

Frantically, her eyes once again black and huge in her pale face, she blurted, "Wait, wait! It wasn't vampires. It wasn't vampires! Desperately, she tried to get through to her captor. "We would never leave a body to be found - it goes against all our rules. We have Cleaners that take care of things like that. A vampire would never have left your wife in a public place to be found like that. You're being set up!"

"I don't believe you." Giles made the statement almost regretfully. As he approached her with the long knife, he held it up and calmly described it as if she were a potential buyer. "Six inch tempered silver blade, inset in a mother-of-pearl handle with silver inlays. Custom-made. A gift from Christophe. I think it will be very useful, don't you?"

Marie blinked tears from her dark eyes. After the centuries she had walked the earth, the overwhelming desire to live that welled up surprised even her. I don't want to die. She didn't realize she'd said it out loud until he responded.

"Neither did Rebecca."

"Please..." She knew, of course, that begging wouldn't help her, but she couldn't keep herself from it. There was no honor in dying bravely - alone here, with this madman...

"Make no mistake," he said, lifting her chin with the point of the blade, "you are going to die. But don't worry, it won't be for quite a while. I'm going to make you suffer the way Rebecca suffered. And you'll die alone - just as she had to. The only question is...how to start."

His face a mask of madness and grief, John Giles stood in front of his helpless captive, turning the large silver knife over and over in his hands. Abruptly, he smiled and grasped the beautiful handle firmly. "I know...an eye for an eye..."

As Marie Santiago's screams of agony filled the soundproofed room, Christophe and Adam Durand watched the scene with satisfaction from the monitor in the Crucis leader's private study.

Things were going far better than they could have hoped...

End Song: Gods and Monsters, Jessica Lange version from American Horror Story