A Rainy Night in Collinsport

ollinsport. As the ‘Vampire Killer’ has been apprehended, the citizens of Collinsport once again find themselves returning to their every day lives, relieved to have read in the Collinsport Star that this latest incident was not, as rumoured, to have been a part of the ‘The History.’ Rather indeatd it was the actions of a mere madman with a delusion. But, in the coming storm of this night, the true ‘Vampire Killer’ once more stalks the night, seeking out direction from one to whom “The History” means everything.

Soundtrack: [www.rainymood.com]

Lightening flickers across the night sky.

She stands beneath a slight outcropping of the old building as the rain splatters upon the pavement rushing into a small stream to race down along the gutter. She thinks of a Steven King novel and of a small paper boat running long the gutter stream toward the storm drain and an evil, malevolent creature residing somewhere far, down below.

Thunder rolls.

Only tonight the evil, malevolent creature isn’t hiding beneath the old iron grille work overrun by the torrent of water – tonight it is standing beneath the slight outcropping of an old building.

For it is she who is the evil and malevolent creature.

Across the street, on the second floor of the Brewster Apartments, she watches as the man stands in the window, looking out upon the wet street below. For sometime now he doesn’t seemed to have moved. He just stands there watching – expectant. Waiting?

Waiting for what?

Does he know she is there – standing in the darkness, watching?

Lightening flickers across the sky illuminating the night and then the street falls back into darkness.

She moves quickly – a blur from one shadow to another. She has become very good at moving between the shadows.

Quickly across the street, she glances at his Mercedes and then turns to look at the wall. She observes the minute indentations of brick and mortar of the old building. Her fingertips finding purchase, she ascends the wall.

Through an unlocked window she gains entrance to the apartment building. In a darken room, she stands and lifts her arms and closes her eyes, with an almost balletic movement, she exhales and steps forward, shoulders up and out – and she is now dry . . . seemingly having stepped out of the dripping wetness of the rain, which she has left behind to soak into the carpet.

Silently, she steps over and opens the door into the corridor and strides toward his room.

The Reverend Mr. Trask stands looking out across the darken street of Brewster Avenue, watching the rain falling harder with the crack of lightening and the roll of thunder as the sound of the rain grows now ever louder through the open window. He watches the low sidewalk gutters now overflowing with the flash of a flood.

He hears the door of the small apartment open.

“Miss Drew, may I be of service?” He asks, although he has not turned to see who has entered.

“Yes — you may.” She says as she seductively enters the room, closing the door behind her.

“How, pray may I?” He asks still surveying the rainy street below.

“I have done as you directed,” Alison Drew replies as she strides into the room closer to the reverend standing at the window, his back to her. “And yet, she still has yet to seek me out.”

“Alas my dear, the ways of the vampire are not so manifest as to be predictable,” He tells her, his voice soothing and gentle, “But be assured she shall come to you.”

Hip-shot, she stands looking at his back, “How many more—how many more do I have to kill—before she accepts me? Why—why can I not just go to her?”

The Reverend Trask remains watching the rain, “If she wanted to acknowledge you my dear Miss Drew, then she would not have left you in that dumpster.”

Alison’s eyes grow darker, the sharpness of her fangs now evident, “Why! Oh, how I so long to ask that bitch why—“

“Why hast thou deserted me?”

Alison stands remembering that night in the motel, Room 2, when she came to her – when she placed her lips upon her throat – when she drank from her, when she wanted her to drink of her – drink her dry . . . and then – that night, much later when she was struck from behind – savaged, drained, hefted up and tossed in with the stench of the trash and left to awaken in a dumpster.

Transformed.

“I so want to know why she did this and then deserted me.”

The Reverend Trask watches a brilliant flash of lightening, “Then you shall have to wait—wait until we force her to acknowledge you.”

Alison hears the rain falling harder.

“But—do I have to keep murdering these –”

“Do you not enjoy the thrill of the night, the excitement of the hunt, the ecstasy of life – life in the blood? For is not blood the life?” He asks her.

“It—” She feels the desire even now, the desire for the scent of blood, the taste of blood, the sensual savor of it’s heady taste as she drinks and drinks – she closes her eyes against the growing need, It is murder Reverend! There is no way around it, it is Murder!”

“Does the lion or the panther consider the gazelle it devours?” He turns to look at her now, “You are beyond that mortal dilemma my dear – you are now a far more magnificent creature.”

“So you say, Reverend – but when I look upon the bodies of those I have fed upon when I see their lifeless eyes, I see myself reflected there as nothing less than a loathsome monster.”

“You must let go Miss Drew of this pitiable bond to humanity,” he tells her calmly.

Much too calmly she thinks. Alison is still shocked at the words that this man of the cloth continues to say to her, but he is the only one whom she now trusts, owing to her metamorphosis. The only one who has tried to help her – deserted to fend for herself. Try and make some sense of what was happening to her – the terrible awareness of something inside her . . . wanting to take control.

The Reverend Trask extends a hand out the open window into the chill night air. “And which one among them my dear would not gladly severe your lovely head from your shoulders?”

“So you say Reverend, but I can not help but feel . . . Nicole was never like this!”

The Reverend Trask smiles at her, “She feasted upon you my dear, drank of your blood.”

He looks over to her and says in a voice totally devoid of any emotion, “That which came has from the stars, it too lives within her—she is as you, no longer human, more than human, greater than human, and she lives for the night, she too lives to devour lives.”

Thunder roars.

“And what of you Reverend?” She asks, her eyes narrowing now, “What of you?”

“I my dear have long since abandoned this mortal consequence and have accepted another. And as such you well know, it is I, and only I who judges you not. Together my dear there are yet greater things for us.”

Alison Drew looks down – and cannot help feeling that she has now aligned herself with the devil in a clerical collar. They will come as wolves dressed as sheep.

But, then again, whom shall she align with? Is she not evil? She is after all – undead. A vampire.

The Reverend Trask nods now, “But yes, the time has come that we shall need a new tactic – “

“A new tactic?”

“Yes.” The Reverend tells her, “I must commend you my dear, using that fool Silva to take a blame for the previous attacks was a most astute maneuver on your part. It frees us in many ways.”

“But they shall not be fooled for to very long.” She tells him.

“That is why from now on you must be far more selective in your feeding.”

“I . . . I just want to see her!”

He nods, “All in good time, Miss Drew, all in good time.”

She steps forward and notices the severed head in the jar inside the cabinet.

She looks at it, then back at him.

“That my dear does not concern you.”

Alison now watches as the eyes open and they look at her.

“What?”

“As I said my dear – that, that concerns only the Collins’. It is a long time in coming.”

And then he turns once more to look out at the storm.

The rain falls harder.

Cue Music End of Episode