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Chapter 22: Undisciplined
Velma was in a hurry. She had to get back to Muriel before she woke up but not before she found her some deserving prey. Otherwise, newly vamped and undisciplined, she might panic and prey on the first person she saw. A good vampire only preys on serial killers. Unless they’re really desperate. The trick was not to get really desperate.
*
Nationwide Crime Agency HQ,
London, 22:13 HRS GMT
“Why am I only just hearing about his now?” Griff was furious. “This happened more than twenty hours ago and you didn’t think to – …. no, I don’t care who dropped the ball! I need everything – all CCTV footage since Flench was brought in; all your crime scene photos; and all your witness interview recordings! Email them to me now!” He slammed down the phone, gritting his teeth. Then he counted to ten and breathed deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth. As soon as his fitness tracker stopped panicking, he picked up the phone again and called one of the field agents tasked with monitoring Muriel Gedding.
“Agent Carter.”
“Anything to report?”
“No sir, all quiet. She was home by curfew. Just.”
“What’s she doing right now?”
“Sleeping presumably.”
“Presumably?” Griff could feel his tension rising again. “Aren’t you watching her?”
“No, cameras haven’t been installed yet. But we know she’s home ’cause of the ankle monitor.”
Griff grabbed his stapler and bashed it violently and repeatedly against his desk. “Ankle monitor?! Are you kidding me?! That doesn’t tell you who’s there with her does it?! You know what we’re dealing with! It’s no good just watching the front door!”
Carter hesitated before answering. “We’re not watching the front door sir,” he admitted.
“Then what the hell are you watching?” Griff’s red face shouted into his spit-sprayed handset but before he could get out another word there was a gentle tap on his office window. He turned to see Carter, in the adjacent office, nervously holding his phone to his ear.
“My screen, sir.”
*
It had been nearly a day since he’d eaten and Andy was feeling hungry again. He roamed the country park with Sammy, wondering what to do about it. Then he felt guilty for not remembering that Sammy must be hungry too. He needed to take him back home.
So they walked back across town to his flat. He knew Velma would probably tell him it was too risky because that would be the first place the cops would look for him, but he had to get Sammy’s food and reasoned that …. no, he couldn’t reason his way out of the obvious. His flat would be the first place they’d look and he’d be stupid to take such a risk. He stood across the road from his place, arguing with himself about whether to go in. The street was quiet. There was no one else about. His front window was dark. There probably wasn’t anyone there. Sammy’s wet nose nudged his hand and his quiet whine nudged his heart. His dog was hungry – he had to go in.
When he opened the front door the hall light came on. Andy tiptoed up the stairs as quickly as possible and listened at the door of his own flat. It was empty. He was sure of it. He let himself in and, even in the dark, could see the place had been ransacked. Cupboards and drawers were left open, their contents tipped onto the furniture or the floor. Obviously the police had been here but they weren’t here now. He headed straight for the kitchen but Sammy’s food wasn’t where he’d left it. Nor were his bowls.
Cher! Cops took Sammy’s food! He didn’t have time to worry about why they’d taken it because now he had to focus on getting some more. There was a shop in town that sold pet food but he doubted they would stock Benevo. Still, he had to try. He could probably mist his way in but, of course, he’d still have to break out with the food. And he wouldn’t be able to take Sammy with him because he’d have to leave him outside and he might wander off. He could leave him at home of course, but what if the police did come back?
Finally he decided that all of that would be too risky so he measured out a mug of TVP, put it in a saucepan with two mugs of water, added a teaspoon of yeast extract and brought it to a simmering boil on the stove. Sammy could have a home-made dinner today.
When it was ready he tipped it into a casserole dish and left it to cool while he went for a shower and a change of clothes. He knew he should have left already but the longer things stayed quiet, the more confident he was that he was safe there. When his stomach rumbled he was reminded that he’d have to go back out soon anyway.
Andy put the bowl down for Sammy who needed no further encouragement. Then he grabbed a rucksack and packed it with a small towel, some deodorant, his toothbrush and tooth-tabs, Sammy’s toothbrush and toothpaste, a bar of soap and a clean T-shirt. After zipping up he remembered to grab some spare shorts and socks but before he could add them to his go-bag he heard a key in the door.
Someone switched on the front room light and Sammy ran to the door, barking and growling.
*
“Control, Bravo-Six on site. Subject asleep,” Officer Siân Preed spoke quietly into her radio after sneaking into Muriel’s flat. She double-clicked the push-to-talk (PTT) button and nodded at Greg from tech support to follow her in.
Greg began with a canvas hanging on the east wall of the living room. The abstract painting, which featured many spots and thick blobs of light and dark colours, was ideal for concealing a tiny spy-cam. It wasn’t strictly lawful to install secret cameras here, but the Home Office had made an exception in this case because they couldn’t think of another way to track the vampire down. Also it wasn’t usual practice to install spy-cams when the resident was home, but for some reason orders had come down from HQ not an hour ago that this must be done tonight.
Siân checked the rest of the flat for occupants and, finding there to be no others, returned to the living room where Greg was already installing a second camera in a clock on the adjacent wall. Feeling anxious about having to do this in the presence of the occupant, he fumbled with his tools and dropped his screwdriver. He held his breath as it narrowly missed the coffee table and landed quietly on the carpet. Keeping his eyes fixed on the sleeping blonde, he bent down to pick it up. A moment later he stepped on a creaky floorboard and froze.
“Hurry up,” Siân whispered impatiently. He still had two more rooms to do. A crackle of interference on her radio preceded a voice from Control. She double-clicked the PTT again to remind them that she needed radio silence. Muriel remained unconscious.
Greg crept into the kitchen, climbed precariously onto the table and put another camera inside the smoke alarm. Then, holding his breath again, he tiptoed noiselessly past the sleeper on the couch, opened her bedroom door and mouthed a prayer of thanks for its well-oiled hinges. He pinned a button camera onto the hat of a doll that was sitting on the wardrobe. Nodding the doll’s head forward slightly gave it a clear view of the whole room. He was glad to note that the en suite had no window and therefore no way in or out except through the bedroom, so there was no need to put another camera in there. He was done.
“What are you doing?”
Startled by the unfamiliar voice, Greg jumped and turned to face a thin, blonde woman with black eyes and claw-like fingernails, gripping Siân by the neck.
*
It was past midnight and there was no one about so Velma was having trouble finding suitable prey for Muriel. She preferred to take her time choosing prey, making sure they were deserving and often being quite strategic about it. But sometimes she could just tell that someone was irredeemable and, when time was a factor, that was a very useful skill. Time was a factor now but there was no one about. Restaurants were closed. Shops were closed. Velma felt like she’d been walking in circles, somehow ending up back at the churchyard, with no leads. Being an urban area there were no animal farmers in easy distance. Except. What day was it? Thursday! A farmer’s market was held every Thursday in the Cook Street car park. Its poster on the church noticeboard boasted ‘pasture-fed organic beef, lamb, additive-free charcuterie’ and ‘rare-breed pork, lamb, and wild venison direct from the farmer’. The poster further informed her that the market opened at eight o’clock and she guessed that meant the stall-holders would probably start setting up around six. Sunrise was around half seven at the moment so that could work. If she could get Muriel to wait until six-ish for her first feed, she could take her to the market and have her back under cover before seven. Relieved, she hurried back to Muriel’s.
*
Sammy launched himself at the uniformed intruders and was knocked to the ground by the shield one of them raised. The other then disoriented him with a short blast from the fire extinguisher which was cold and loud, leaving him stunned and confused in a damp fog. All this happened in a couple of seconds and, when he’d shaken it off, he found himself on the landing outside the flat. He heard a voice coming from the other side of the door.
“Control, Delta-Nine and Echo-Three have gained entry. Dog subdued. Commencing search.”
Sammy desperately barked and scratched at the door, provoking an immediate response from the intruders who again attempted to neutralise him with the white fog. It emerged from under the door and surrounded him. Uncowed, he growled at it and snapped ferociously which was effective not only in vanquishing the fog but also in freeing Andy who now stood with him on the landing. Overjoyed at his best friend’s escape, and not a little proud of his own part in it, he jumped into Andy’s arms and they ran for their lives.
*
“What the hell are you doing?!” Velma shouted at Muriel as soon as she recorporealised in the flat.
“‘Ung’y.” Muriel had her mouth full.
“Let go of her now!”
Muriel reluctantly let go of Siân’s wrist and swallowed the mouthful of blood she’d taken from it.
Velma rushed to check her pulse. “What have you done?” she asked in a panic, “How much did you take?”
“What are you cross about?” Muriel was ravenous and resented the unjust reprimand. “This is what we do. Isn’t it?”
Relieved to discover the officer had suffered no permanent injury, Velma regained her usual patience. “I’m sorry,” she said, “it’s not your fault. I meant to be back an hour ago, I shouldn’t have left you so long.”
Muriel still didn’t understand. “But what did I do wrong? She’s the enemy isn’t she? The police are trying to stop us. They want us locked up – or worse!”
“You can’t blame her for that really, can you?” Velma asked. “Think about it from their point of view. We kill people. Killing people is against the law. Regardless of provocation. And they have to uphold the law.”
“She might be a serial killer though,” Muriel argued.
“She might be,” said Velma, “but we don’t know that. She might be vegan.”
Muriel nodded. She knew Velma was right. She would have felt awful if – “But I’m still hungry,” she whined.
“I’ve found you some prey,” Velma assured her. “Bona fide serial killers who profit from the slaughter of innocents.”
“Okay, where are they?”
“Cook Street farmer’s market. Or they should be at six o’clock.”
“Six o’clock? I’m hungry now!” Muriel pouted.
“You’ll have to wait.”
“Well you’ll have to bring them here – I’m not allowed to go out before seven.”
Velma rolled her eyes. “You can now, daft girl,” she smiled. “Now you’re a shapeshifter.”
Muriel’s blue-again eyes lit up and without needing further instruction she briefly became the wolf and the ankle monitor slid off her leg. “Yay!” she said, “let’s go out now!”
“Yeah, I think we should,” Velma agreed. “Somebody’s bound to come looking for this one.” She pointed at the sleeping police woman, which drew her attention to another foot poking out from behind the bed. “You did kill one? You already killed one? Before I got here?” She asked with rising agitation.
Confused, Muriel stood up and saw Greg, sprawled out unconscious on the floor. “Oh, him. No, I think he just fainted.” Her stomach rumbled. “They’re both intruders though. I think it might be legal to kill someone who breaks into your house.”
Velma grabbed her arm and led her to the window. “Be the bat,” she instructed and they both stepped off the balcony.
***
Velma the Vegan Vampire belongs to Violet Plum © 2026
Violet’s Vegan Comics – creating funny and exciting vegan fiction since 2012
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