For the story so far, click here for chapter one

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Chapter 2: The Protector

There were only two left and Velma needed three. Two would have to do. She blindly took the tiles and added them to the four already on her rack. Everyone was watching. She needed to score at least 17 points to win. And she only had one vowel. It seemed there was nowhere to go. It seemed impossible. She’d have to concede the game. Again! But then, when she was just about to give up, she saw it. An A with five spaces in front of it – the fifth of which was a pink Double Word Score spot. What words began with A? She looked at her letters: Q, R, G, E, L, N.

It seemed hopeless but she told herself to focus. She rearranged the letters on the tile rack. The Q was no use – she took that away. She put the N in front of the G to make an NG. Okay. Now she imagined attaching that to the A. ANG – what does that leave? L E R. Oh no. She couldn’t contaminate the board with that word. No. She wouldn’t do it. She would rather lose. Again.

“Come on,” Muriel urged her, “I know you’ve got something, I saw it in your face.”

Velma smiled. “Nope. You win. I give up.”

“No! Don’t let her win again! If you’ve got something put it down – even if it’s unpleasant like SEWAGE, or SQUAT,” Andy laughed. “Come on – it might give me something to attach to.”

“Let me see.”

“No!” Velma grabbed a few of the tiles and stuffed them in her pocket as Muriel got the tile rack away from her.

Muriel laughed. “You are so weird,” she said, “but that’s why I love you.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Velma grinned as she half-folded the board and slid all the tiles back into the box.

“Me!” said Andy, “I was only six points behind! I could have beat her if you’d given me a vowel to use.”

“Aw, poor Andy, always the sad loser,” Velma put on a sad face and both women reached out for a hug to mock-console him.

“No!” Andy stood and put his hand, palm up, in front of his face, “I will not be consoled by anything less than chocolate cake.”

“There’s tiffin in the fridge,” Velma told him with a smile.

Andy disappeared into the kitchen and Muriel called after him. “Put the kettle on!” Then she turned to Velma, “You always have his favourite in stock.”

“Well I knew he was coming.”

“Yeah.” Muriel smiled politely.

“I got your favourite as well.”

“You did?! Bakewell Blondies?”

Velma tilted her head sceptically, “I thought vegan jaffa cakes were your favourite.”

A sharp intake of breath from Muriel showed her excitement. “They are! Yes they are! Thank you so much! Did you get them from Koda? I thought they didn’t do them anymore.”

“Yeah, I told them we missed them and they started doing them again. Thought I’d better make sure I get some every week so they know there’s a demand.”

“Yes! Good thinking,” Muriel’s voice tapered off as she went through the connecting door to the kitchen just before Andy returned with two mugs of tea in one hand, and a plate of tiffin on top of the third mug in his other hand.

“Thanks Vel, this is awesome,” Andy put his cake and the drinks down on the table and Muriel followed.

“Oh, hang on, I’ll get another plate,” she said, “Vel can have a third of yours and a third of mine. That’s fair.”

“No,” Velma laughed, “Sit down. I bought these for you. I’ve already had mine.”

Muriel narrowed her eyes, “have you?” she asked suspiciously.

“Yes! Didn’t you see the plates in the sink? I had one of those Biscoff cheesecakes – it was pretty messy and I haven’t washed up yet.”

“Do you ever wash up?” Andy didn’t worry about offending anyone but Velma was only ever amused by his cheek.

“Of course – every time I run out of clean plates. Unless I’ve got a clean bowl I can use instead.”

*

By the time her friends left it was nearly half ten and Velma was feeling peckish. She added the mugs and plates to the pile in the sink and decided to go for a run. She turned off all the lights in the attic flat, opened her bedroom window, tossed her clothes onto the bed and became the bat as she dropped from the window and flew towards the open countryside. Upon reaching the woodlands, she dropped to the ground, becoming the wolf to run.

Running helped her to clear her head, find peace. The twenty first century was so hectic, so busy. No time to rest, everyone feeling compelled to earn more, buy more, achieve more, have more. Enough was never enough. Added to that was the constant watching of others around the globe, being forced to absorb their pain, their struggles, their mistakes, their shame and their regrets. Those things come to everyone in time, in their own lives, and most would have the strength to weather their own storms if they weren’t carrying the weight of everyone else’s.

There was no point in knowing about things one could do nothing about, but Velma knew there were some things she could help with. Some ways she could make the world a better place, in her own small way. And those were the weights she carried. Those gave her purpose.

As powerful as being a vampire was, it could also be very lonely. She had a few good friends but they didn’t know who she really was. What she really was. To tell them would be to frighten them and then to lose them. It was hard enough to make friends when she couldn’t stay in the same place for more than a decade. Couldn’t stay in the same community long enough for them to notice she wasn’t aging. So when she did make connections, even for a short time, she wasn’t going to risk losing them.

Vampires were not actually evil, as popular culture would have people believe. They were simply creatures who needed to consume blood to survive. You wouldn’t call the tiger evil for killing the antelope would you? He didn’t kill for pleasure or profit. He killed to survive. He had no choice.

So it was for Velma. She needed to drink warm blood straight from the vessel, the living body. TV shows got it wrong when they scripted vampires going to the blood bank or the butcher for sustenance. It couldn’t be done like that. So Velma had to kill. What made her a good vampire was that her killing wasn’t indiscriminate. She chose her prey carefully. Only taking those who killed others, either directly or by proxy, so that she was saving their future victims. Her prey were serial killers. She was The Protector.

On the other side of the woods was an open meadow through which a river flowed. There was a man, sitting on a folding chair at a folding table. Beside him was a fishing rod on a stand, its line in the water. The man had a knife in his hand. He reached into a plastic shopping bag on the table, pulled out a still-gasping fish, and cut off her head. At least that fish’s agony was over now. The innocent had already been fatally injured by the hook the angler had caused her to swallow which had sunk to her stomach and damaged her internal organs on its way back up to catch in her lip.

Velma still found it impossible to comprehend why human beings described this pastime as a peaceful sport. A relaxing way to enjoy the outdoors. The word angling was one of her most despised, not least because those who indulged in it generally considered themselves decent people.

Velma the wolf growled. The terrified angler’s scream was halted when her teeth penetrated his neck and in the brief moments before his death he felt all the pain and horror that he had inflicted, and would have continued to inflict, on the countless innocent victims of his favourite pastime.

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Violet’s Vegan Comics – fun, exciting and sometimes slightly creepy vegan fiction since 2012