23 Hours: A Vengeful Vampire Tale(42)

When the rite was finished Forbin was weeping. Malvern opened a drawer of the desk and took out a small glass bottle with a rubber dropper. It was full of straw-colored liquid Clara couldn’t identify, but she was pretty sure she knew what it was.

Behind Forbin the office door opened quietly and a pair of half-deads came in carrying a simple pine box. A coffin. Forbin didn’t even look at it. She just opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue.

The curse itself wasn’t enough to make someone a vampire. They also had to die by their own hand. The curse helped with that—it got inside your soul, made you want to die, to be reborn. You could fight it off if your will was strong enough, or if you had enough to live for. Forbin didn’t even try.

The liquid in the bottle must have been some kind of very strong, very fast-acting poison. Malvern leaned forward and handed the dropper to Forbin. The prisoner put the drops on her tongue, put the dropper back on the desk, then sat back on her heels and closed her eyes.

After a minute or two, she started to twitch. Her arm jumped at her side. Her head rocked on her neck. The twitching got worse and graduated to full-blown convulsions—but only for a few seconds. Then Forbin’s face turned purple with congested blood and she fell backward. The two half-deads caught her easily and laid her out in the coffin. Then they pushed the lid onto the coffin and carried it away again, with Forbin inside.

It could be that easy.

The other three women sitting on the couch watched it all without a word. Their eyes took it all in, measuring, evaluating. They were clearly working out in their heads whether it was worth it or not to follow the same path.

The warden cleared her throat. “Hauser,” she said, and the white woman stood up and came to kneel before Malvern. She had a tattoo running down the side of her neck that read 100% PURE. Clara had worked in law enforcement long enough to know what that meant. Hauser was a member of the Aryan Brotherhood, most likely the girlfriend or sister of one of the white supremacist gang.

“I’m not afraid,” she said, looking straight at Malvern. “Let’s get on with it.”

The warden looked at her handheld. “Two different counts of vehicular homicide—that’s pretty suspicious. You ran down an eight-year-old black boy with your van, and got a light sentence because you claimed you merely lost control of the vehicle. Then when you did it again, less than a year later, the judge decided that you either desperately needed to tune up your brakes, or that maybe there was something more to the case than met the eye.”

“I’m not sorry, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Malvern grinned wickedly.

“Currently serving life without the possibility of parole, because your offense was judged a hate crime.”

“That’s right. I confessed everything already. I don’t feel the need to do it again,” Hauser said. She turned and stared at the warden. “You want me for this detail or what? I was planning on offing myself anyway looking for a chance. This sounds even better than hanging myself in my cell while seven colored bitches look on and cheer. Let’s get it f*cking on.”

Malvern reached down and grabbed the woman’s cheekbones. “You’ll do as I say in all things?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then hush, child, and receive the gift,” Malvern said.

Clara could only stand and watch in horror as the grotesque vignette was repeated again—poison, convulsions, Hauser taken away in a coffin. The other two volunteers went down without any more hesitation than Forbin or Hauser.

In a prison as big as SCI-Marcy how many women would be suicidal? How many were looking at futures without hope, without prospects? These four had volunteered even after seeing Malvern, after seeing what an old and decrepit vampire looked like. They were willing, like the warden, to take the curse even if it meant rotting away forever. It was still better than what they had now. Tomorrow night, Clara knew, there would be more volunteers for option three. When the prisoners saw what brand-new, freshly made vampires looked like—there might be a lot more.

When it was done the warden reached across the desk to pick up the bottle of poison. Malvern snatched it out of her grasp.

“You’re still useful as a mortal,” Malvern explained. “As a human face, should any curious fellows come to the door asking what has happened here.”

The warden nodded, though she didn’t look happy. “Soon,” she said. “You promised me it could happen soon.”