LITMIR.BIZ

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      AH: Of course. Of course he did. He was my father in miniature. He couldn’t wait.

      JS: So what did you do instead?

      AH: Finished university. Moved to London. Discovered drugs. Became very, very fond of them.

      JS: How did your family react to that?

      AH: They cut me off the first chance they got. Said I was a stain on the family name, that I was no longer welcome at home. They turned their back on me, Mr Supernova.

      JS: Bastards.

      (pause)

      AH: On several occasions I would be at a party, or in a bar, and I would catch someone staring at me, someone who didn’t look like they belonged with me and my friends. And a couple of times I got home and knew someone had been in my flat. Nothing was missing or out of place. It was professional work. But I knew. So I suppose they kept an eye on me, in their own way.

      JS: Because they were worried you might talk?

      AH: I don’t know. I imagine so.

      JS: But you never did. Until now, at least. Why not?

      AH: I wanted to forget everything. I didn’t care about their stupid little department, and I doubted anyone would believe me. So I tried to let it go.

      JS: Why now then?

      AH: Spite, Mr Supernova, as you said. And justice. And because I’m sick of carrying this around with me. I want to be rid of it.

      (pause)

      JS: This is good stuff, you know? The black sheep son of a noble family cut off and left to rot, heroin, homelessness, people following you, going through your stuff. It’s juicy, mate. Very juicy. But there’s still one problem.

      AH: Which is?

      JS: Vampires. Blacklight. I just… I can’t see a way that anything you’re telling me is the truth.

      AH: I understand your position, Mr Supernova. Better than you realise, believe me. But it is the truth. I can tell you what my father told me, and that’s all. Beyond that, you’re on your own.

      JS: Tell me.

      AH: I’m afraid I can’t duplicate the pathetic awe in my father’s voice, but I can still remember most of what he said. I’ve already told you that Blacklight was founded in the late nineteenth century. Well, in the hundred or so years since, it’s changed rather a lot. My father told me it started out as four men in a house on Piccadilly, but now it’s more like the SAS, a classified special forces unit that polices the supernatural. I doubt you’ll find it mentioned officially anywhere, but you’re welcome to try and prove me wrong. As for the vampires? Nobody knows what made Dracula more than human, but what is known is that he was the first. After he died, he left a handful of vampires behind, vampires that he had personally turned. They turned others, and so on, and so on. The rise in vampire numbers is what prompted the expansion of Blacklight.

      JS: What about the vampires themselves? Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m saying that word, but what are they about? They, what, swoop around in the night, changing into bats and wolves?

      AH: No, Mr Supernova. The shape-changing was added by Bram Stoker for the entertainment of his readers, as was the susceptibility to crosses and holy water. They don’t work. Nor does garlic or running water. The rest of it, though, is true. They’re strong, and fast, and vulnerable to sunlight. Their eyes glow red. And they need to drink blood to survive.

      JS: What kind of blood?

      AH: Any, as far as I am aware.

      JS: Human?

      AH: Yes. Of course.

      JS: So they bite people?

      AH: They do. They bite people, and if their victim doesn’t die, they turn into a vampire as well.

      JS: So why aren’t there thousands of them? Why don’t I see them on every street corner?

      AH: As far as I understand, it’s because very few of their victims survive. And because Blacklight works very hard to keep them secret.

      (pause)

      JS: What do you want me to do with all this, Albert?

      AH: I don’t understand the question.

      JS: You’re a smart man. You know every editor in the country is going to laugh me out of their office if I write this up and submit it. Nobody is going to believe it. I’m sitting here looking at you and I believe you mean every word you’ve said, but even I can’t accept it as the truth. I just don’t see how it can be. How come nobody has ever broken ranks before? Why has no vampire ever come forward? Why aren’t the papers full of missing persons and bodies found drained of blood? You see what I’m saying?

      AH: You are a journalist, aren’t you?

      JS: Yeah.

      AH: Then do your job. Everything I’ve told you is the truth. So dig, Mr Supernova. Find out what you can. If you can’t find anything to back up what I’m saying, then forget it, with my blessing. But if you can, if you can find any tiny little thing that corroborates what I’ve told you, you will find yourself in possession of the biggest exclusive in the history of humanity. Surely that’s worth a few days of your time, even if all it does is confirm that you were right about me all along. As for why nobody has ever broken ranks? I would imagine that the members of Blacklight would find it very difficult to speak to anyone without being monitored, and even if they did, I’m sure they would swiftly find themselves facing a court-martial. And the vampires? Why would they make themselves known? So that all their potential victims know they exist, so that the government can declare open war on them? And finally, Mr Supernova, I’m sorry to have to tell you that the papers are full of missing persons, and people who have had terrible things done to them. And that’s not even allowing for the hundreds of dead and disappeared who never make the pages of the tabloids.

      (pause)

      JS: I think we’re done here, Albert.

      AH: I think so too.

      JS: Where can I find you? If I need to follow up on any of this.

      AH: You can’t. If I’m still alive in a few months’ time, if neither the vampires nor Blacklight get me, I’ll find you.

      JS: This is ridiculous. You know that, don’t you? It’s nuts.

      AH: Just do your job, Mr Supernova. That’s the only advice I have for you. Treat it like any other story and see what you can turn up. I wish you the very best of luck, I honestly do.

      JS: Cheers. I think.

      (tape ends)

      Kevin McKenna dropped the transcript on to his desk and exhaled heavily; it felt like he had been holding his breath the entire time he had been reading. The dead cigarette fell from his lips, making him jump; he had forgotten all about it.

      Jesus, Johnny, he thought. How desperate were you?

      The transcript was nonsense, so much so that McKenna felt almost embarrassed for his former mentor. This kind of tattling, tabloid silliness was so far beneath the Johnny Supernova he had once known that it made him genuinely sad.

       Things must have been so much worse than I realised. The Johnny I used to know would have laughed this guy out of his flat.

      McKenna got up from his chair and flicked through the rest of the folder. It contained four or five pages of notes, written in Johnny Supernova’s distinctive sloping scrawl. He gathered them up, held them over the wire rubbish bin that sat beside his desk, then paused.

       He left you this in his will. It’s disrespectful just to throw it out.

      He put the folder back on his desk, grabbed his jacket, and walked quickly out of his office. A minute later he was in the elevator, checking his watch.

      Should still be

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