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THIS STORY IS NOT SUITABLE FOR READERS UNDER 12
Chapter 5: Confession
When Velma woke up it was nearly 8pm. The lay-in had helped her recover a little from the stress of yesterday, but still she had a lot on her mind. After drinking Bernard dry, Velma had become the bat as she dropped from the Presidential Suite’s balcony and flown home unseen. No one knew she was there. No one suspected her. She was safe. But that didn’t make her feel any better.
She put the kettle on and switched on the radio – it was time for the local news. When the kettle boiled she half-filled a mug with cold water before topping up from the kettle. She liked her drinks blood-warm.
The newsreader’s very serious voice spoke of the sudden death of Mr Bernard Viyal CBE, who was the latest victim of a new pathogen.
“Mr Viyal,” he explained, “for anyone who is just joining us, was the CEO of Inigo Bio Tech, and he succumbed last night to the new bloodless pathogen, as it’s currently known. Apparently this is a shock to all who knew him because there were no apparent symptoms beforehand.”
Velma switched off the radio and left the kitchen. She sat in a comfortable chair in the living room, clutched her warm mug and closed her eyes. But the silence didn’t help. Unable to slow the rotation of her own negative thoughts, she switched on her other radio which was tuned to a national station.
“Should we be worried?” asked the host, “Is there any idea what’s causing this? Might we all be vulnerable?”
“There’s no need to panic,” a woman’s voice responded. “We are talking to Mr Viyal’s family to find out if he had a pre-existing condition.”
Velma recognised that voice.
“Would you advise people to go to their GPs? Get checked out?”
“As I said, there is no need to panic. We don’t know enough at this stage to be certain it’s even contagious.”
It was the voice from the phone last night. The woman Bernard had been talking to.
“But there have been other cases recently haven’t there?” the interviewer persisted. “Four men in the same house died of it last week? That points to contagious doesn’t it? Surely.”
“Panic will only make things worse,” the woman spoke firmly. “News reports should be factual, not speculative. Please be respons-“
“Oh, sorry about that, we seem to have lost the Health Minister. We’re trying to get her back so while we’re waiting, let’s have some music – here’s The Magnetic Fields with ‘92 Weird Diseases‘. Enjoy.”
Velma switched off the radio. It did no good to listen to it. She knew what she had to do. She had to protect the lab animals. The innocents. She had to come clean. But how could she do that without putting herself at risk?
The sound of her phone was a welcome distraction from her anxiety. It was Muriel.
“Hey Murry,”
“Vel! Andy’s trying to get a doctor’s appointment coz he’s worried he might have caught bloodless from Sammy coz he lived with that guy who died of it!”
“Muriel,” Velma replied calmly and patiently, “was Andy actually worried? Or did you make him worry?”
“He’s my friend Velma, I couldn’t say nothing could I? I had to warn him!”
“A couple of days ago you said it was rubbish! Scaremongering you said.”
“Yeah but that was before I saw the Health Minister on the telly. She said it was something they were concerned about and they were looking into it. Looking into it Velma! They wouldn’t look into it if it was nothing would they?”
Velma sighed. “You were right the first time, Muriel. It’s not a disease.” She paused before adding, “But it’s not nothing either.”
Muriel was silent for a moment. “What do you mean?” she began quietly, “What aren’t you telling me Velma?” getting louder after every pause. “What do you know?!”
What Velma knew was that she might lose her closest friends if she told them the truth. She also knew that she had no choice. “Can you come to mine?” she asked, “and ask Andy to come too.”
“Velma – tell me now. You’re scaring me.”
“Don’t be scared. You don’t need to be scared,” Velma told her gently, “but I need to see you face to face to tell you this. Please.
*
Forty two minutes later Velma heard Andy, Sammy and Muriel on the landing outside her door. The agitated human whispers and high-pitched canine whine made a knock unnecessary. They were abruptly silenced by Velma opening the door.
“Hi Vel,” Andy smiled.
“I’m nervous now,” said Muriel, “come on, put us out of our misery. What have you got to tell us that you couldn’t say on the phone?”
“Do you want some tea first? Coffee?”
“No! Tell us!” Muriel insisted, “What is it? Why are you being so mysterious?”
Velma was more nervous than either of them. “I’ll tell you,” she said, “but it’s not easy. It’s not easy to tell you and it’s not going to be easy for you to hear. At all.”
Muriel’s worst fear was confirmed. “We’re all gonna die!”
“You’re not going to die!” said Velma firmly. “At least not for a while. Hopefully.” She realised she was making it worse – alleviating their anxiety only momentarily before restoring it again. “This so-called disease is no danger to vegans.” She stated. “Let’s put that to rest right now.” She went quiet again but her friends didn’t say anything. “It’s not even a disease so – let’s sit down.”
In the living room Andy, Sammy and Muriel sat on the sofa, looking expectantly across at Velma on the armchair. The wait was too much for Sammy who withdrew under Andy’s jacket, but the other two just waited patiently until eventually Velma resumed speaking.
“Maybe I should’ve told you this before. I never doubted I could trust you with it. But I was scared of losing you both. Now I have no choice so please let me finish explaining before you respond.” Both friends nodded.
“How do you know it’s not a disease? Where did you get that from? And where did you read it’s not a danger to vegans?” Muriel just couldn’t help herself.
Velma went on. “My raison d’être, for as long as I can remember, has been animal activism. Saving the animals. Protecting them, defending them any way I could.”
Muriel nodded, said we know, and then covered her mouth with her hand and whispered sorry.
“I know you know, you’re the same,” Velma smiled, “but what you don’t know is that I’ve been doing it a lot longer than you. My first experience was when I was eleven years old. I went out at night with my mum to rescue pheasants from breeders.”
“I was only ten when I rescued -” Andy blurted out before remembering he was supposed to wait for Velma to finish. He mimed the locking of his lips and gestured for her to continue.
“I was in no way trying to compete with your equally early experiences, only to explain that mine happened a lot earlier. In 1960.” Muriel and Andy exchanged confused glances and then smiled at Velma. Velma smiled back. “Believe me, I know how crazy this sounds. I was born in 1949.”
“What?!” Andy stood up, “come on Velma, we’re not idiots. Just tell us whatever you want to tell us without this crazy smokescreen!”
“We’re all about the same age. Born in the nineties,” Muriel agreed, “there’s no way you’re -” there was a brief pause while she worked it out, “seventy seven!”
Velma realised she was making it worse by trying to provide context for her confession. “I just wanted you to understand why I did it. To save the animals! To prevent future violence to animals! That’s why I killed those men.”
The silence she’d been asking for was finally forthcoming. Both of her friends were stunned. Lost for words.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” Velma told them and left the room.
She made mint tea for Andy, coffee for Muriel, warm water for herself and put a bowl of cold water on the floor for Sammy. Then she sat at the kitchen table, unable to find the courage to walk back into the living room. Maybe it was a good idea to let that sink in before she tried to explain any more. She’d wait until they came to her. They’d have to come through the kitchen to get to the exit so she didn’t have to worry about them slipping away without telling her. After an unusually long seventeen minutes, there was a gentle tap on the kitchen door.
“Come in.”
Andy took Sammy to the water bowl before sitting at the table with the others. “We’re worried about you,” he told Velma, “we think maybe you need help.”
“A psychiatrist maybe?” suggested Muriel, “you can get them on the NHS I think.”
Velma shook her head and smiled. She hadn’t lost them yet.
Muriel returned the smile, “you’re not a killer Velma. You’re just not.” Her smile was so warm. “But we, all of us, look into the abyss when we fight for animal rights. It’s a traumatic place for our thoughts to dwell, and sometimes we do fantasize about killing the kind of people who would do such horrific things. I know I do. We can’t help thinking the world would be a better place without those people. That we would be doing the world a favour if we took them out.”
Andy raised his eyebrows.
“Well, I do. I think like that sometimes. I know if those people don’t get arrested and put in prison for life – and they never do – they’re going to keep doing monstrous things. They’re going to keep breeding and slaving and confining and hunting and killing -” she paused for breath. “I can see why you would fantasize about doing it Vel. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. That’s not who you are.”
Velma’s eyes were pricked with tears and she squeezed Muriel’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered. “But I don’t need a psychiatrist. I’m a vampire.” And with that she smiled broadly, showed her retractable fangs and ended the discussion.
***
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