Deadspawn

Clarke had been ready for that. He sighed and turned to the Minister. 'Do we have to have this meathead in on this? I mean, if he must forever be wriggling about like a fucking great maggot in people's heads, can't it be from a distance? Say, right outside the door here?'

Unruffled, the Minister stared right back at him. 'Are you saying that Paxton is wrong, Clarke?'

Clarke sighed again. 'I saw Harry and Trevor last night, yes. He's right that far.'

'So you're saying that Harry Keogh and Jordan aren't vampires?' The Minister's voice was very quiet.

Clarke looked at him, looked away, chewed his bottom lip. And the Minister prompted him: 'They are vampires?'

Clarke faced him again and said, 'Jordan... isn't.'

'But Keogh is?'

Clarke snapped, 'But you were already pretty sure of that, right? All thanks to -' he glanced fire at Paxton '- to this slimy shit! Yes, Harry's been contaminated. He picked up this bloody thing protecting us - every single one of us - doing a job out in the Greek islands which I had asked him to help us with. So that in my book at least he's not about to turn killer now! What more can I tell you?'

'We think quite a lot,' Paxton answered, but softly now, his pasty face reddening from the sting of Clarke's insult.

Clarke looked at him, looked at the Minister, and felt no rapport. He wasn't getting through to them at all. 'Why don't you let me tell it my way?' he pleaded. 'And why don't you try listening to me? Who knows, you may even learn something?'

But Paxton said, 'Yes, and we might get thrown right off the track, too.'

Clarke glared at him, looked at the Minister across his desk and said, 'Look, your pet parrot here isn't making much sense. Shit, I don't understand a word! Do you know what he's raving about?'

The Minister came to a decision, gave an abrupt nod and said, 'Clarke, I'm going to give it to you straight. E-Branch was monitoring your place last night. Yours and Jordan's both. You see, we knew even before you did that Jordan was back from the dead, which is to say undead. What? A man dead and gone, yet up and about among the living? Undead! That's how we see it, the only way we can see it. And not only Jordan but one of those murdered girls, too. Vampires, for there's nothing else they can be.'

Clarke cut in desperately, 'But if you'll only listen to me -'

But the Minister wasn't listening. 'We know what time Keogh got to Jordan's flat, the time they left it together and where they went, and the fact that however much we don't know - and even if you hadn't admitted as much -still we'd be absolutely sure that Harry Keogh is a vampire! How can we be so sure? Because he carries all the stigmata. You could say he even smells of vampire: which is to say he covers himself in mind-smog. Do you follow me so far?'

'Of course I do,' Clarke answered, feeling his desperation increasing by leaps and bounds, knowing that the Minister was building a case, but what sort of case? Against whom? He had to take one last stab at getting through to him. 'But can't you see that even in this you're wrong? With all due respect, you don't know anything about vampires. You've had no experience of them. You're not even talented. You only know what you've read or heard from others. And hearsay can't make up for experience. See, this mind-smog you're talking about is something Harry can't control. He doesn't "cover himself" with it, it just is. It's a result of what he is. Like a dog has a tail, Harry has mind-smog. It isn't deliberate. In fact if he could get rid of it he would, for it's a dead giveaway!'

The Minister looked questioningly at Paxton, who nodded however grudgingly. Or perhaps it wasn't so much a grudging nod as a grim one. A nod of affirmation? And even as his apprehension went up another notch, so Clarke said, 'So you see how easy it is to make mistakes?'

Unblinking, unwavering, the Minister said, 'All vampires have this mind-smog, right?'

Clarke did blink, however, as his nerves started to jump. There was nothing to fear here, for his talent would warn him of it, but still his nerves were jumping. 'As far as we know, yes,' he answered. 'All of them that we've dealt with, anyway. When a telepath tries to scan a vampire, he gets mind-smog.'

'Darcy Clarke.' The Minister's face was white now. 'It must have taken a lot of nerve to come here. Either that or you're a madman, or you really don't know what's happened to you.'

'Happened to me?' Clarke could feel the tension building and didn't know what it was about. 'What the hell are you talking - ?'

'You have mind-smog!' Paxton spat the words out.

Clarke's jaw dropped. "What? I have...?'

The Minister raised his voice. 'You out there, Miss Cleary, and Ben. You can come in now.'

The door opened and Millicent Cleary stepped inside, with Ben Trask right behind her. The girl looked at Clarke and her voice was breathless as she said, 'It's true, sir. You... you have it.' She had always called Clarke sir. He looked at her, backed away a step and shook his head.

But Ben Trask said, 'Darcy, she's telling the truth. Even Paxton is telling the truth.'

Clarke took two hesitant steps towards him... and Trask narrowed his eyes, backed off and held up his arms to ward him off! Clarke saw the look in his old friend's eyes and couldn't believe it. 'Ben, it's me!' he said. 'I mean, with your talent you have to know that I'm telling the truth, too!'

'Darcy,' Trask answered, still backing away, 'you've been got at. It's the only answer.'

'Got at?'

'Without your knowing it. You believe you're telling the truth, and on your own that would be enough to throw me. But it's two to one, Darcy. And you have been pretty close to Harry Keogh.'

Clarke spun on his heel, looked at the faces surrounding him. The Minister, white as chalk behind his desk. Paxton, grim-faced, his right hand nervously playing with the lapel of his jacket. Trask, whose talent had never once let him down - until now. And Millicent Cleary, still respectful for all that she'd just accused him of being a monster!

'Crazy, every damned one of you!' Clarke shakily husked. He thrust his left hand into his pocket, brought out his Branch ID and tossed it on to the desk. That's it; I'm through with all of this; finished with the Branch for good. I'm walking.' He reached with his right hand inside his jacket and dragged his issue 9mm pistol into view -

- And Paxton yelled, 'Freeze!' and aimed the gun which he had produced a moment earlier.

Astonished, Clarke turned towards him - turned his empty gun towards him, too - and Paxton squeezed off two shots.

Simultaneous with the deafening reports, Millicent Cleary and Ben Trask yelled, 'No!'

Too late, for Clarke had been hurled halfway across the room by the first bullet, then swatted from his feet and tossed against the wall by the second. His gun went flying as he crumpled to his knees against the bloodied wall, and his hand crept tremblingly to an area over his heart. There were two holes in his jacket, both turning red and dripping through his twitching fingers. 'Shit!' he whispered. And: 'What - ?'

He fell forward on to his face, rolled over on to his side, and Trask and the Cleary girl went to their knees beside him. The Minister was on his feet, aghast, holding on to the edge of the desk to keep from falling; and Paxton had come forward, his gun still at the ready, face pale as a sheet of paper with holes punched out for eyes and mouth. 'He had a gun.' He gasped the words out. 'He was going to use his gun!'

The Minister said, 'I ... I thought he was trying to hand it in. That's what it looked like to me.'

Ben Trask cradled Clarke's head, moaning, 'Jesus, Darcy! Jesus!' The girl had unbuttoned Clarke's jacket, torn open his crimson shirt. But the blood had almost stopped pumping.

Clarke looked down disbelievingly at his chest and the red life leaking out of him. 'Not... not possible!' he said. And the fact was that yesterday it wouldn't have been.