"I'm Afraid the Bridge Is Out"
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dochermes"I'm Afraid the Bridge Is Out"
12/6/1942
I.
Escorted backstage by the script girl, Kelly O'Connor had seldom felt more confident. Admiring eyes followed her long trim legs beneath the pale green dress which also went so well with the wavy red hair. Keeping to her diet no matter what and walking everywhere had given her a stomach flat as a board and a twenty-three inch waist. Her green eyes caught all the appraisals and she lapped them up with glee. Maybe if journalism hit a dead end, she might go for show biz herself! Of course, her singing voice was so bad it hurt people's feelings...
New Haven's Westgate Playhouse was smaller and more ornate than she had expected, seating one hundred and forty. People milled about quickly, everyone seemingly intent on whatever esoteric stagecraft they were enabling. At the end of one corridor were three wooden doors marked CREW and CAST, with a five pointed gold star on the third. The script girl rapped sharply with her knuckles on the last one and sang out, "Reporter from THE MESSENGER, Mr Kostov."
"Oh, by all means," answered a familiar mellow voice, "Do come in."
The script girl ushered Kelly in and closed the door from the outside. Kelly found herself in a rather small and cluttered room that was overly lit by a rows of brilliant bulbs encircling a mirror over a make-up table. There were three folding chairs, a traveler trunk on one end with an empty plate and fork on top of it and not much room for anything more. The air was rank with cigarette smoke, stale sweat and coffee.
Smiling up at her was one of the most famous faces of that era. A long face, sunken under high cheeks, with a high forehead and brushed back black hair, that face had deep dark eyes that regarded her warmly. Kelly was taken aback. She had screamed at that face more than once in darkened theaters and had seen it caricatured in many cartoons and advertisements. But in person, Nikola Kostov had the air of a kindly old uncle welcoming her home after school.
"Please have a seat, my dear," he said in that famous posh British tone. "I believe you are from the NEW YORK MESSENGER?"
"Yes, Mr Kostov," Kelly replied, arranging herself on a chair so close that she could not cross her legs even at the ankle. "I'm very pleased to meet you. Normally, I'm a crime reporter. I was surprised to be assigned to meet you."
That seemed to amuse him. He scratched a friction match with a thumbnail and lit a Players. "Taking a break from real killers to relax with a mere imposter, I see. Well, this play is entering its third week and doing quite well. I'M AFRAID THE BRIDGE IS OUT is based on a silent film of the same name. The old dark house in a thunderstorm always goes over well, you know."
"Mr Kostov, I looked over a few interviews and honestly they seem to be the same questions each time. How did you get into acting? What's it like working with a director like Lewis Carney? What's your favorite role? I thought maybe we might try something different. What would you like to say that you've never been asked?"
His smile seemed genuine. "Oh, very good. I like that. Miss O'Connor, the war news is of course on everyone's minds these days. The films I make, with their chills and thrills, are a sort of therapy for the world scene, in my opinion. One gets drawn into a suspenseful situation, bites one's nails and sits on the edge of one's seat and then, all is well. The monster is slain, the young lovers are united, the lights go up and we go home relieved of stress and anxiety for the moment."
The conversation rolled along smoothly, more informative than a standard interview, Kelly was jotting down her esoteric form of shorthand that was indecipherable to everyone else, prodding with an occasional comment and question. After a few moments defending English cooking, which he emphasized did not involve boiling everything into mush, Kelly found herself laughing and entirely at ease.
"I think that takes up the half hour you agreed to give," she said, folding up for notebook. "I'm so very glad to have met you, sir. I was expecting, well... a Boogeyman."
He rose to offer a warm dry handshake. "It IS acting, my dear."
Kelly straightened her skirt and adjusted her plain cloche hat. "Oh, and I was supposed to see if I could find your co-star for a few words. Is he about?"
"Dragos? I shouldn't think so. Dragos never shows up before dark. He claims to be working on a novel that will make him a Nobel Prize in Literature."
"Really?" asked Kelly with a grin. "A famous actor who plays a vampire doesn't show up until nightfall?"
A trace of mockery eased into Kostov's own smile. "Quite. Rather droll, isn't it?"
II.
The fastest and most accurate typist on the MESSENGER staff, Kelly batted out a transcription of her notes, did one rewrite for polish and handed it over to her editor within an hour. She sat with legs crossed at the ankle, hands primly in lap as he studied the paper. Kelly wasn't even braced against the coming blast of criticism and disparagement. This was part of the job. It hardly registered with her any more.
Bill Greenspan, universally referred to as 'Crazy Old Bill', was an incredibly obese globe of a man who dressed well in fitted suits and so did not appear sloppy at all. The pure white hair down over his collar and the brushed out beard were neatly trimmed. A final flamboyant touch was a pair of glasses so thick the lenses appeared opaque. He scrutinized Kelly's copy as intensely as if it held the secrets of life and death.
After a long unexpected silence, the old man grunted and tossed the piece of paper down on his cluttered desk. "Run it as it is, O'Connor. It's different enough. I like the little dig Kostov gets in about Isolationism before the war. Your style's getting a little punchier."
"Really? I mean, thanks, chief. I'll hand this to our copy boy."
"One more thing, O'Connor. I think you're ready to take on more substance. I can get you a press pass to watch that show backstage tonight. I smell something fishy about this Dragos ham. Rumors hint he left three wives back in Romania and government police had unanswered questions. Because of the war what with the Russians and the Germans flattening everything in sight, he's not being pursued right now but I know you."
Starting to rise, Kelly hesitated, "What does that mean?"
"That little Irish nose of yours sniffs out trouble the way a kitten sniffs for tuna fish. You've got the curiosity instinct that can't be taught. I'm not so much giving you assignments as I'm turning you loose."
"I take that as a compliment, chief."
"It's the only one you're going to get. Get there early and use your eyes and ears. Now get outta here and send Flashbulb in."
III.
At nine that night, Kelly O'Connor strutted smugly up to the lobby of the Westgate Playhouse. At twenty-four, great health and a natural self-assurance had given her an unshakable faith that nothing really bad could ever happen to her. All the close calls and terrifying chases and encounters with gunfire as the Green Devil had not made a tiny dent in this belief.
For that night, she had done her hair up into a swirl held in place with an ivory chopstick. She wore sensible shoes, a white skirt with a single pleat, a black scoop-neck blouse under a white bolero jacket. On a short golden chain, her favorite handbag swung, the soft brown leather number. Kelly hadn't been getting to wear the full Green Devil costume much recently. The motorcycle boots, snug pants, leather jacket wit the white trident across its back or the helmet to which she had glued short devil horns. She missed the flamboyance. This quick change outfit was not nearly as satisfying for dramatic entrances.
Since her editor had called ahead to pull a few strings, Kelly was met in the lobby by the "script girl," actually a tall rangy woman hitting fifty, who carried an attaché case crammed with papers and who had at least one pen or marker between her fingers or behind one ear at all times. "Good to see you again, kid. Everyone here read your piece on the big star and liked it. Nikola himself couldn't believe you actually reproduced what he said and didn't put words in his mouth. That's rare!"
Kelly let out her slightly goofy laugh, "I'm hoping to build a rep for being fair and accurate. I didn't catch your name....?"
"Virginia Clausi, might as well call me Ginny, everyone else does." She escorted Kelly to a section of the wings where three cast members were giving their scripts last final scans. "Listen. Dragos is about to throw out the first line."
Watching from the wings where she could not see all the stage at that point, Kelly heard a baritone with a heavy East European accent proclaim, "I'm afffraid the bridge ees out, you'll haff to stay the night," provoking laughter from the audience.
"I'd know that voice anywhere," Kelly admitted.
Ginny shrugged. "It's actually holding Dragos back. Ten years he's been in Hollywood and he hasn't even tried to learn to tone that accent down. 'MEEESter Rrrrroberrts.' It keeps him from taking a variety of roles."
"Hmmm, yeah. I can't imagine him tackling a cowboy. Or an Army officer or anything really but a Hungarian."
"Romanian. See, that's a big reason why Dragos hates Nikola so much. Nikola grew up in Canada with a Brit family. His voice can blend in anywhere if he wants. There's a reason he's so much more in demand than Dragos."
They wandered around backstage, Kelly staring up at the narrow catwalks high overhead and the backdrops ready to be dropped on cue, at the banks of spotlights that left black blinking afterimages in her eyes, at the foley master in his nook with all his gadgets for simulating hoofbeats or cars roaring away or thunder.
"Fascinating," Kelly said. "I think I could sell the editor a color Sunday page about the sound effects alone."
"Come this way," Ginny tugged her by one hand. "See that barber chair? That's where Ollie Pratt fixes make-up and teases hair in between scenes. Nikola must be ready for his cue or he'd be getting touched up."
"I wish we had someone like Ollie Pratt at the MESSENGER," Kelly laughed. "A gal comes in from the wind and rain, and he pretties her back up again right away."
For a while, Ginny let Kelly watch the play from a corner of the backdrop where she could not be seen by the audience. It was surreal. The audience themselves were mere cheers and laughter from a pit of darkness and the klieg lights shining down made the cast members darkened silhouettes at best. As she started to follow the dialogue, the appeal of I'M AFRAID THE BRIDGE IS OUT became clearer to her, though.
A young ingenue said, "I don't care anymore, I'm going out in the storm. I'll cling to a tree branch or something and float to civilization."
A slightly older male voice coaxed, "And miss our supper? We were promised beef stew."
Then the dulcet but somehow ominous tones of Nikola himself, "Our cook delivers the most delightful surprises, my child."
"My plate is the last place I want to find any more surprises right now!"
As the audience roared, Ginny tugged at Kelly's jacket. "That's Drogas' exit cue. He's not back onstage for twenty minutes. Come on, he goes outside for one of his vile cigars."
The stage door was propped open with a brick to let in brisk night air. Leaning in the opening was a tall, sturdily built man in a formal butler outfit. He was indeed puffing quickly on a thin black cigar with a pungent odor. As Kelly and Ginny approached, he turned an unwelcoming eye toward them. Even with the exaggerated stage make-up, Karel Dragos was recognizable. The sharp widow's-peak of black hair, the hawklike nose, the round cleft chin were all distinctive.
"No more fans, Ginny, I've warned you," he grumbled.
Kelly stamped down on the flare of resentment at his curt words. Her temper was something to be always kept in check. "Mr Dragos? I'm O'Connor from the MESSENGER."
"A reporter..."
The dismissal in his voice really ruffled Kelly, but she bit her tongue and took a breath. "I caught your performance on the REMINGTON HOUR last night."
"Ah? Really. We were on opposite that buffoon Red Ruffansore with Doc Valentine." Dragos softened his imperious gaze slightly. "I didn't think too many would be listening."
"I like drama more than laughs," Kelly replied. "You were fine, Mr Dragos, but the show stepped on your lines. You got cut off."
Dragos softened visibly and turned to face her for the first time. "You thought so, too?"
"I'll tell the world. You gave the big dramatic resolution about knowing what had happened to the killer. That should have been the end! Hit the theme music, but no... Instead, the widow character immediately cuts in and says now she wants to move back to California. I didn't like that one bit."
"You are perceptive for one of your fallow generation, miss." Dragos was studying Kelly's legs as if memorizing them. She was used to it.
"I'd like to see you do more radio, to be honest," she prompted. "Some adaptations of classic tales of mystery."
"Heh. So my agent recommends. So few roles for an actor of my ability. I was a star in my own country and here I find myself reduced to playing... servants! charlatans! surgeons of dubious skill. A leading man in a romantic triumph is something more worthy of me."
Feeling she might be making a misstep, Kelly ventured, "Getting away from that Exeter role must be hard..."
She broke off at the infuriated glare. Drogas spun his cigar butt out into the street and strode into the theater, shoving past the two women without a word.
Seeing Kelly deflate, Ginny rubbed her upper back for a second. "Aww, honey, you were doing great until you mentioned Exeter. He loathes that character like it's another ex-wife showing up in court. His last big hit was CURSE OF EXETER and that was three years ago. Every summer, he does a traveling road show of the play EXETER was based on and he curses it out with a fury."
Kelly O'Connor shrugged. "Live and learn. Thanks, Ginny, I guess I'm not likely to get an exclusive interview with him now."
"A marriage proposal, maybe," laughed the script girl. "He was picturing you on a plate with silverware next to it."
"In his dreams! Kelly snorted. "It's a good thing I didn't mention I'm a bigger fan of Nikola anyway. Remember that Christmas show last..."
Seeing a uniformed security guard stomp quickly by, hand on his holstered sidearm, Kelly felt her heartbeat speed up. Ooooh, that looked promising. Leaving Ginny in mid-sentence, she trotted after the older man.
IV.
A dozen people were trying to climb over each other to get a clear look inside the janitor's closet. A galvanized steel sink, two wheeled yellow buckets with mops soaking in murky water, push brooms and a sack of sawdust. Stretched out gracelessly over all the paraphernalia was the slender body of a young blonde wearing only step-ins and a strapless bra. Dark blue eyes bulged open sightlessly.
Standing on her toes, stretching her neck, pushing people aside quite rudely, Kelly O'Connor finally got a good look. Below that jawline, from two puncture marks side by side trickled down thin threads of bright red. Kelly felt as if she had been poked in the chest with ice.
Every voice was going full speed to try to be heard over every other voice. The security guard's efforts to push the crowd into some distance from the scene was not making much progress. Getting thrust back away from the front of the mass of people, Kelly caught movement from the corner of her eye. There. Scuttling quickly away down one of the narrow corridors was a tall figure wrapped in a black trench coat, making a run for it. For Kelly O'Connor, there was no conscious decision to be made. She took off like a sprinter hearing the starter's gun.
As she ran, Kelly unsnapped her white skirt, turned it inside out and fastened it on again to reveal its other side was green. She reversed the snug bolero jacket to show its inner side and buttoned it up. Within a second, her black and white clothing had changed to all dark green. Kelly had practiced changing into her various Green Devil outfits obsessively in her room at the boarding house.
Tightening the strap on her handbag so that it would stay closer to her side and not swing all over, she unzipped the top and found a silk bundle by touch. Now she was ready. Even as she continued to run, Kelly yanked the green silk mask down over her head and tucked her hair up inside it. Only her face below the nose was exposed now. It had to be an illusion, a mere psychological trick, but a surge of confidence swelled up inside her.
Just as the fleeing man reached the EXIT door and grabbed for the horizontal metal bar that would open it, the Green Devil tackled him headlong. He was taken completely by surprise and the two of them slammed hard to the floor in a tangle. Kelly scrambled free, jumping up to her feet and getting a sassy wisecrack ready when her heart missed a few beats,
On his hands and knees, the man hissed like an enraged big cat. A bloodless face white as chalk was lit by two red-irised eyes which fixed on her with an absolute killing rage she had never seen before. The upper canines gleamed. In three years as the Green Devil, Kelly had never been so completely frozen with fear as she was in that instant. It was like coming within inches of an enraged wild beast.
Then the monster was gone into the night, the EXIT door slamming shut behind him. Kelly got behind some rolled up curtains for the moment. No one was in sight. Her hands were shaking visibly, but she managed to reverse her clothing and stow the green mask away. It took forever for her breathing to stabilize. That had been a vampire. There was absolutely nothing funny about it, she had felt a surge of realizing that she was in the presence of something utterly wrong. A dead and cold body, its soul long fled, had no business moving around and threatening a living girl.
That monster had been ready to plunge at her, to rip her throat too. And there would have been nothing she could have done to stop it. The Green Devil tangled with crooks and spies but the Undead... She found she was whispering "Holy Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death," which surprised her.
But her funk only lasted a minute. Hearing the commotion down the corridor, Kelly snapped back to life. Notebook and pen leaped into her hands as if they had grown there and she hustled down to start taking notes and jotting down quotes. From the laughter beyond the backdrop, it was clear that the show was going on and that the audience knew nothing of the death. In a few minutes, when the boys in blue lumbered in, doors would be secured and a real investigation would begin.
To his credit, Dragos stood up to the unreasonably hostile mob. He drew himself up to his full height and sneered down his aristocratic nose at the riff-raff.
"Always playing vampires!" "Never shows up until dark!" "Just LOOK at him!"
Off to one side, Kelly thrust two fingers in her mouth and blasted a shrill whistle. When heads turned her way, she tapped on the full-length mirror on the wall next to her, "Hey you rubes, notice anything? Like his reflection here in full living color?"
That slowed but did not derail them entirely and the crowd began yelling again.
Then, tightening a dressing gown around himself, Nikola Kostov raised his authoritative voice to roar, "Stop this foolishness at once! I have had lunch in the sunlight with dear Drogas many times! He was married in a Church on a Sunday afternoon! Are you all children that you believe nursery tales?"
That cowed everyone. Not only was Nikola Kostov the star of the show and a celebrity, he had a natural presence and a trained voice that carried authority. As the hubbub dropped to resentful murmurs, Kelly stepped back into a door that had been left open a crack. It was the manager's office and she pounced upon the telephone which sat on a cluttered desk. Dialing the MESSENGER's night desk was automatic. As soon as she reached old Jenkins, Kelly told him to start taking notes and rattled off the events bof that evening leading up to that very moment.
Naturally, nothing was said of the Green Devil's encounter with a genuine vampire.
V.
As she was adding some colorful details to her story, a beefy hand firmly took the handset away from her and hung it up. "YOU again!" growled an unfriendly voice.
"Why, Sergeant Castillo," she purred. "I was just thinking of you."
"I bet you were!" the bulky cop snapped back, his face turning a red that would have alarmed a doctor. "This is the second time you turn up in New Haven and the second time I find you next to a fresh stiff!"
Kelly tilted her head down and gazed up at him with green eyes wide. The pose was wasted. "I could say the same about you, Francis. Mighty suspicious."
That made him sputter. "I'm a cop! It's my job to be here."
"And I'm a reporter. Take a breath, Francis, before you pop a blood vessel. Your face looks like my old catcher's mitt as it is."
With great effort, clenching and unclenching his bony fists, Sergeant Castillo spoke in a normal voice. "The boys are getting the names and addresses of everyone in the audience before releasing them. But you, MISS O'Connor, were backstage. So naturally we are going to be asking you pointed questions."
"We're both just doing our duty," she replied, swinging her handbag blithely. The Green Devil mask was tucked inside a seam where she was ninety per cent sure no search would find. She was glad that for once she had not brought the leather glove with the sewn-in knuckle dusters. "Shall we join the party?"
"Some party, "grumbled Castillo, but his tone softened as he tugged her along by one arm. Staying angry at a pretty young redhead with the Blarney wasn't easy for most men.
Thirty people were crowded together behind the curtains and, despite admonishments, many were talking over each other. A uniformed officer stood stolidly at the EXIT door when Kelly had experienced that outré encounter only a few minutes earlier. She did not recognize the middle-aged man barking questions at one person after another.
"Who's the bird doing the interrogating?" she asked.
"That's Inspector Ulysses Hallowick of Homicide," Castillo growled, "And he has no sense of humor at all."
"Judging by that spotted necktie, I'm not too sure..." she mumbled but kept quiet after that.
Keeping back in the crowd, Kelly waited her turn to be questioned. She took notes on how direct and blunt Hallowick acted. Nearing retirement age, the greying Inspector simply disregarded any complaints or requests from the people he grilled. He moved on quickly from one to the next, seemingly skipping ahead without taking time to consider the answers. But Kelly concluded the man knew his business and was building a mental jigsaw puzzle from the pieces. She noticed the uniformed officers also paying close attention.
When her turn came, Kelly kept her answers short and honest, not volunteering any information or opinions. And of course, she said nothing about the real vampire or her activities in the green mask.
Hallowick fixed a cold hard stare into her eyes. "Something you're not telling. I can smell it. I'll get back to you, young lady."
She made no answer. With cops she knew, Kelly felt free to be sassy and impudent, but all her instincts were warning her to be careful with this hardened bloodhound. Two people were standing in the doorway to the office, so there was no chance of getting to that phone.
Seeing one of the cops give her a slightly friendly expression, she leaned over, "Hey, where's the coroner anyway?"
"Aw, he's tied up over in Danville. Three car collision. I wouldn't expect him before midnight to be honest." At that, Hallowick turned a frosty gaze on them and the cop backed away.
Same questions, nearly the same answers from everyone. The dead girl's name was Gretchen DuBois, she had been a wardrobe assistant. Quiet, reliable, no one seemed to know her that well. Kelly was speculating on what explanation the Medical Examiner would whip up to explain the blood loss and the two puncture marks when she noticed Drogas was nowhere in sight. That was odd, the crowd seemed to have forgotten accusing him of being a literal vampire but still, he was a celebrity.
Then a high piercing shriek made everyone give a violent start. One man had been leaning against a chair and he fell completely over at the jolt. From beyond the curtain, from the rear of the seating, Drogas' unmistakable voice yelled, "Eees another one!!"
VI.
Nothing the police did could have stopped the stampede off the stage and into the seating area. It seemed that no one remained silent, either. Standing by the office door, Kelly hesitated only for a second before deciding she had to see what had happened first. She remembered seeing a phone booth in the lobby, maybe she could sneak into it...
And then she glimpsed movement in the propped-open exit door. Outside, a tall thin figure was leaning inward and staring at her.
VII.
Even when she was a child, Kelly's mother had told her she had more nerve than sense. Her immediate reaction was to run headlong toward the monster. Instead of calling for help, she said, "Hey buddy, I got something to say to you."
A gaunt arm snapped out and an ice-cold hand tightened around her neck. "Awwrk," was all she managed to get out. The creature easily lifted her up entirely off the ground and walked away from the Playhouse with her wriggling and kicking.
"I think I will save you for later," the monster laughed. "I'm already glutted."
Feeling the pressure on her throat ease up slightly, Kelly wheezed, "Exeter...?"
That made the creature pause, slowing as he reached the far end of the parking lot where woods began. Those lambent red eyes narrowed more in amusement than anger. "Yes. John Exeter himself. You seem to have kept your sanity despite your imminent death."
"I'm a reporter," Kelly said. "Used to tight spots. Ugh, give me a second. Let me guess, you have a grudge against Dragos just because he played you in a couple flicks?"
Surprisingly, Exeter lowered Kelly so she was standing but he still kept a chilly hand around her neck. The white face tilted to regard her. "It's not mere vanity, girl. Give me more credit than that."
"Then why? What's the point?" Kelly felt some confidence come back to her as she realized even these Undead beast might want to explain himself. As the Green Devil, she had gotten out of some dire situations by getting her enemies talking.
Exeter glanced back toward the Playhouse and found no one sight. He carried his captive into the woods to pause behind an elm. "Young woman, you have seen these so-called horror films about my kind?"
"One or two," she admitted. "I like musicals personally."
"Yet even you know about the stake through the heart? The use of holy objects? How sunlight destroys us?"
"Well, yeah."
Sudden rage flared up in those red-irised eyes. For a moment, Kelly had forgotten how much mortal peril she was in. "I mean, who doesn't know that stuff?"
"Exactly! Exactly! Such lore used to be obscure, almost forgotten. Only a few Eastern European scholars had such knowledge. Vampires were safe from reprisal. Then that fool Dragos and his wretched motion pictures made sure even ignorant Americans could fight back against us."
"Yeah, I see your point," Kelly said in what she hoped was a sympathetic tone. "But I don't see how it can be undone."
"There is not even any point in merely slaying that stupid actor," Exeter ranted. "I intend to stalk him for a while and then turn him into a vampire such as he portrays. Won't the irony be sublime? Heh. A heh. Ah hah hah hah..."
Realizing he had released her entirely, Kelly drew herself up as tall as she could. "My name is Kelly Mary Catherine O'Connor. I was baptized and confirmed in the Our Lady of Grace Church in Flatbush by Father Paul Winston. Maybe I haven't gone to confession in a dog's age but I'm still a good little Catholic girl."
That puzzled Exeter and stilled his glee. He peered at her in the gloom.
"This was given to me by my Grandma just before she died!" snapped Kelly. Her hand darted inside her neckline and came up with an exquisitely crafted silver crucifix on a fine linked chain. Even as Exeter hissed in fear and hatred, she pressed that talisman firmly between his eyes.
Steam rose from the contact. A cross-shaped burn sank bone deep. Exeter reeled back, fell and lurched back up again. He stepped away from her, crouched in a feral pose, and kept moving into the woods.
"Yeah, you'd better back off!" she snapped. "I'm gonna start carrying my family's Bible with me, too."
Exeter pawed gingerly at his agonized forehead and shook his fist dramatically before running off. "This is not over. We will meet again!"
"Great," scoffed Kelly to the fleeing figure. "We'll do lunch."
9/24/2024
12/6/1942
I.
Escorted backstage by the script girl, Kelly O'Connor had seldom felt more confident. Admiring eyes followed her long trim legs beneath the pale green dress which also went so well with the wavy red hair. Keeping to her diet no matter what and walking everywhere had given her a stomach flat as a board and a twenty-three inch waist. Her green eyes caught all the appraisals and she lapped them up with glee. Maybe if journalism hit a dead end, she might go for show biz herself! Of course, her singing voice was so bad it hurt people's feelings...
New Haven's Westgate Playhouse was smaller and more ornate than she had expected, seating one hundred and forty. People milled about quickly, everyone seemingly intent on whatever esoteric stagecraft they were enabling. At the end of one corridor were three wooden doors marked CREW and CAST, with a five pointed gold star on the third. The script girl rapped sharply with her knuckles on the last one and sang out, "Reporter from THE MESSENGER, Mr Kostov."
"Oh, by all means," answered a familiar mellow voice, "Do come in."
The script girl ushered Kelly in and closed the door from the outside. Kelly found herself in a rather small and cluttered room that was overly lit by a rows of brilliant bulbs encircling a mirror over a make-up table. There were three folding chairs, a traveler trunk on one end with an empty plate and fork on top of it and not much room for anything more. The air was rank with cigarette smoke, stale sweat and coffee.
Smiling up at her was one of the most famous faces of that era. A long face, sunken under high cheeks, with a high forehead and brushed back black hair, that face had deep dark eyes that regarded her warmly. Kelly was taken aback. She had screamed at that face more than once in darkened theaters and had seen it caricatured in many cartoons and advertisements. But in person, Nikola Kostov had the air of a kindly old uncle welcoming her home after school.
"Please have a seat, my dear," he said in that famous posh British tone. "I believe you are from the NEW YORK MESSENGER?"
"Yes, Mr Kostov," Kelly replied, arranging herself on a chair so close that she could not cross her legs even at the ankle. "I'm very pleased to meet you. Normally, I'm a crime reporter. I was surprised to be assigned to meet you."
That seemed to amuse him. He scratched a friction match with a thumbnail and lit a Players. "Taking a break from real killers to relax with a mere imposter, I see. Well, this play is entering its third week and doing quite well. I'M AFRAID THE BRIDGE IS OUT is based on a silent film of the same name. The old dark house in a thunderstorm always goes over well, you know."
"Mr Kostov, I looked over a few interviews and honestly they seem to be the same questions each time. How did you get into acting? What's it like working with a director like Lewis Carney? What's your favorite role? I thought maybe we might try something different. What would you like to say that you've never been asked?"
His smile seemed genuine. "Oh, very good. I like that. Miss O'Connor, the war news is of course on everyone's minds these days. The films I make, with their chills and thrills, are a sort of therapy for the world scene, in my opinion. One gets drawn into a suspenseful situation, bites one's nails and sits on the edge of one's seat and then, all is well. The monster is slain, the young lovers are united, the lights go up and we go home relieved of stress and anxiety for the moment."
The conversation rolled along smoothly, more informative than a standard interview, Kelly was jotting down her esoteric form of shorthand that was indecipherable to everyone else, prodding with an occasional comment and question. After a few moments defending English cooking, which he emphasized did not involve boiling everything into mush, Kelly found herself laughing and entirely at ease.
"I think that takes up the half hour you agreed to give," she said, folding up for notebook. "I'm so very glad to have met you, sir. I was expecting, well... a Boogeyman."
He rose to offer a warm dry handshake. "It IS acting, my dear."
Kelly straightened her skirt and adjusted her plain cloche hat. "Oh, and I was supposed to see if I could find your co-star for a few words. Is he about?"
"Dragos? I shouldn't think so. Dragos never shows up before dark. He claims to be working on a novel that will make him a Nobel Prize in Literature."
"Really?" asked Kelly with a grin. "A famous actor who plays a vampire doesn't show up until nightfall?"
A trace of mockery eased into Kostov's own smile. "Quite. Rather droll, isn't it?"
II.
The fastest and most accurate typist on the MESSENGER staff, Kelly batted out a transcription of her notes, did one rewrite for polish and handed it over to her editor within an hour. She sat with legs crossed at the ankle, hands primly in lap as he studied the paper. Kelly wasn't even braced against the coming blast of criticism and disparagement. This was part of the job. It hardly registered with her any more.
Bill Greenspan, universally referred to as 'Crazy Old Bill', was an incredibly obese globe of a man who dressed well in fitted suits and so did not appear sloppy at all. The pure white hair down over his collar and the brushed out beard were neatly trimmed. A final flamboyant touch was a pair of glasses so thick the lenses appeared opaque. He scrutinized Kelly's copy as intensely as if it held the secrets of life and death.
After a long unexpected silence, the old man grunted and tossed the piece of paper down on his cluttered desk. "Run it as it is, O'Connor. It's different enough. I like the little dig Kostov gets in about Isolationism before the war. Your style's getting a little punchier."
"Really? I mean, thanks, chief. I'll hand this to our copy boy."
"One more thing, O'Connor. I think you're ready to take on more substance. I can get you a press pass to watch that show backstage tonight. I smell something fishy about this Dragos ham. Rumors hint he left three wives back in Romania and government police had unanswered questions. Because of the war what with the Russians and the Germans flattening everything in sight, he's not being pursued right now but I know you."
Starting to rise, Kelly hesitated, "What does that mean?"
"That little Irish nose of yours sniffs out trouble the way a kitten sniffs for tuna fish. You've got the curiosity instinct that can't be taught. I'm not so much giving you assignments as I'm turning you loose."
"I take that as a compliment, chief."
"It's the only one you're going to get. Get there early and use your eyes and ears. Now get outta here and send Flashbulb in."
III.
At nine that night, Kelly O'Connor strutted smugly up to the lobby of the Westgate Playhouse. At twenty-four, great health and a natural self-assurance had given her an unshakable faith that nothing really bad could ever happen to her. All the close calls and terrifying chases and encounters with gunfire as the Green Devil had not made a tiny dent in this belief.
For that night, she had done her hair up into a swirl held in place with an ivory chopstick. She wore sensible shoes, a white skirt with a single pleat, a black scoop-neck blouse under a white bolero jacket. On a short golden chain, her favorite handbag swung, the soft brown leather number. Kelly hadn't been getting to wear the full Green Devil costume much recently. The motorcycle boots, snug pants, leather jacket wit the white trident across its back or the helmet to which she had glued short devil horns. She missed the flamboyance. This quick change outfit was not nearly as satisfying for dramatic entrances.
Since her editor had called ahead to pull a few strings, Kelly was met in the lobby by the "script girl," actually a tall rangy woman hitting fifty, who carried an attaché case crammed with papers and who had at least one pen or marker between her fingers or behind one ear at all times. "Good to see you again, kid. Everyone here read your piece on the big star and liked it. Nikola himself couldn't believe you actually reproduced what he said and didn't put words in his mouth. That's rare!"
Kelly let out her slightly goofy laugh, "I'm hoping to build a rep for being fair and accurate. I didn't catch your name....?"
"Virginia Clausi, might as well call me Ginny, everyone else does." She escorted Kelly to a section of the wings where three cast members were giving their scripts last final scans. "Listen. Dragos is about to throw out the first line."
Watching from the wings where she could not see all the stage at that point, Kelly heard a baritone with a heavy East European accent proclaim, "I'm afffraid the bridge ees out, you'll haff to stay the night," provoking laughter from the audience.
"I'd know that voice anywhere," Kelly admitted.
Ginny shrugged. "It's actually holding Dragos back. Ten years he's been in Hollywood and he hasn't even tried to learn to tone that accent down. 'MEEESter Rrrrroberrts.' It keeps him from taking a variety of roles."
"Hmmm, yeah. I can't imagine him tackling a cowboy. Or an Army officer or anything really but a Hungarian."
"Romanian. See, that's a big reason why Dragos hates Nikola so much. Nikola grew up in Canada with a Brit family. His voice can blend in anywhere if he wants. There's a reason he's so much more in demand than Dragos."
They wandered around backstage, Kelly staring up at the narrow catwalks high overhead and the backdrops ready to be dropped on cue, at the banks of spotlights that left black blinking afterimages in her eyes, at the foley master in his nook with all his gadgets for simulating hoofbeats or cars roaring away or thunder.
"Fascinating," Kelly said. "I think I could sell the editor a color Sunday page about the sound effects alone."
"Come this way," Ginny tugged her by one hand. "See that barber chair? That's where Ollie Pratt fixes make-up and teases hair in between scenes. Nikola must be ready for his cue or he'd be getting touched up."
"I wish we had someone like Ollie Pratt at the MESSENGER," Kelly laughed. "A gal comes in from the wind and rain, and he pretties her back up again right away."
For a while, Ginny let Kelly watch the play from a corner of the backdrop where she could not be seen by the audience. It was surreal. The audience themselves were mere cheers and laughter from a pit of darkness and the klieg lights shining down made the cast members darkened silhouettes at best. As she started to follow the dialogue, the appeal of I'M AFRAID THE BRIDGE IS OUT became clearer to her, though.
A young ingenue said, "I don't care anymore, I'm going out in the storm. I'll cling to a tree branch or something and float to civilization."
A slightly older male voice coaxed, "And miss our supper? We were promised beef stew."
Then the dulcet but somehow ominous tones of Nikola himself, "Our cook delivers the most delightful surprises, my child."
"My plate is the last place I want to find any more surprises right now!"
As the audience roared, Ginny tugged at Kelly's jacket. "That's Drogas' exit cue. He's not back onstage for twenty minutes. Come on, he goes outside for one of his vile cigars."
The stage door was propped open with a brick to let in brisk night air. Leaning in the opening was a tall, sturdily built man in a formal butler outfit. He was indeed puffing quickly on a thin black cigar with a pungent odor. As Kelly and Ginny approached, he turned an unwelcoming eye toward them. Even with the exaggerated stage make-up, Karel Dragos was recognizable. The sharp widow's-peak of black hair, the hawklike nose, the round cleft chin were all distinctive.
"No more fans, Ginny, I've warned you," he grumbled.
Kelly stamped down on the flare of resentment at his curt words. Her temper was something to be always kept in check. "Mr Dragos? I'm O'Connor from the MESSENGER."
"A reporter..."
The dismissal in his voice really ruffled Kelly, but she bit her tongue and took a breath. "I caught your performance on the REMINGTON HOUR last night."
"Ah? Really. We were on opposite that buffoon Red Ruffansore with Doc Valentine." Dragos softened his imperious gaze slightly. "I didn't think too many would be listening."
"I like drama more than laughs," Kelly replied. "You were fine, Mr Dragos, but the show stepped on your lines. You got cut off."
Dragos softened visibly and turned to face her for the first time. "You thought so, too?"
"I'll tell the world. You gave the big dramatic resolution about knowing what had happened to the killer. That should have been the end! Hit the theme music, but no... Instead, the widow character immediately cuts in and says now she wants to move back to California. I didn't like that one bit."
"You are perceptive for one of your fallow generation, miss." Dragos was studying Kelly's legs as if memorizing them. She was used to it.
"I'd like to see you do more radio, to be honest," she prompted. "Some adaptations of classic tales of mystery."
"Heh. So my agent recommends. So few roles for an actor of my ability. I was a star in my own country and here I find myself reduced to playing... servants! charlatans! surgeons of dubious skill. A leading man in a romantic triumph is something more worthy of me."
Feeling she might be making a misstep, Kelly ventured, "Getting away from that Exeter role must be hard..."
She broke off at the infuriated glare. Drogas spun his cigar butt out into the street and strode into the theater, shoving past the two women without a word.
Seeing Kelly deflate, Ginny rubbed her upper back for a second. "Aww, honey, you were doing great until you mentioned Exeter. He loathes that character like it's another ex-wife showing up in court. His last big hit was CURSE OF EXETER and that was three years ago. Every summer, he does a traveling road show of the play EXETER was based on and he curses it out with a fury."
Kelly O'Connor shrugged. "Live and learn. Thanks, Ginny, I guess I'm not likely to get an exclusive interview with him now."
"A marriage proposal, maybe," laughed the script girl. "He was picturing you on a plate with silverware next to it."
"In his dreams! Kelly snorted. "It's a good thing I didn't mention I'm a bigger fan of Nikola anyway. Remember that Christmas show last..."
Seeing a uniformed security guard stomp quickly by, hand on his holstered sidearm, Kelly felt her heartbeat speed up. Ooooh, that looked promising. Leaving Ginny in mid-sentence, she trotted after the older man.
IV.
A dozen people were trying to climb over each other to get a clear look inside the janitor's closet. A galvanized steel sink, two wheeled yellow buckets with mops soaking in murky water, push brooms and a sack of sawdust. Stretched out gracelessly over all the paraphernalia was the slender body of a young blonde wearing only step-ins and a strapless bra. Dark blue eyes bulged open sightlessly.
Standing on her toes, stretching her neck, pushing people aside quite rudely, Kelly O'Connor finally got a good look. Below that jawline, from two puncture marks side by side trickled down thin threads of bright red. Kelly felt as if she had been poked in the chest with ice.
Every voice was going full speed to try to be heard over every other voice. The security guard's efforts to push the crowd into some distance from the scene was not making much progress. Getting thrust back away from the front of the mass of people, Kelly caught movement from the corner of her eye. There. Scuttling quickly away down one of the narrow corridors was a tall figure wrapped in a black trench coat, making a run for it. For Kelly O'Connor, there was no conscious decision to be made. She took off like a sprinter hearing the starter's gun.
As she ran, Kelly unsnapped her white skirt, turned it inside out and fastened it on again to reveal its other side was green. She reversed the snug bolero jacket to show its inner side and buttoned it up. Within a second, her black and white clothing had changed to all dark green. Kelly had practiced changing into her various Green Devil outfits obsessively in her room at the boarding house.
Tightening the strap on her handbag so that it would stay closer to her side and not swing all over, she unzipped the top and found a silk bundle by touch. Now she was ready. Even as she continued to run, Kelly yanked the green silk mask down over her head and tucked her hair up inside it. Only her face below the nose was exposed now. It had to be an illusion, a mere psychological trick, but a surge of confidence swelled up inside her.
Just as the fleeing man reached the EXIT door and grabbed for the horizontal metal bar that would open it, the Green Devil tackled him headlong. He was taken completely by surprise and the two of them slammed hard to the floor in a tangle. Kelly scrambled free, jumping up to her feet and getting a sassy wisecrack ready when her heart missed a few beats,
On his hands and knees, the man hissed like an enraged big cat. A bloodless face white as chalk was lit by two red-irised eyes which fixed on her with an absolute killing rage she had never seen before. The upper canines gleamed. In three years as the Green Devil, Kelly had never been so completely frozen with fear as she was in that instant. It was like coming within inches of an enraged wild beast.
Then the monster was gone into the night, the EXIT door slamming shut behind him. Kelly got behind some rolled up curtains for the moment. No one was in sight. Her hands were shaking visibly, but she managed to reverse her clothing and stow the green mask away. It took forever for her breathing to stabilize. That had been a vampire. There was absolutely nothing funny about it, she had felt a surge of realizing that she was in the presence of something utterly wrong. A dead and cold body, its soul long fled, had no business moving around and threatening a living girl.
That monster had been ready to plunge at her, to rip her throat too. And there would have been nothing she could have done to stop it. The Green Devil tangled with crooks and spies but the Undead... She found she was whispering "Holy Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death," which surprised her.
But her funk only lasted a minute. Hearing the commotion down the corridor, Kelly snapped back to life. Notebook and pen leaped into her hands as if they had grown there and she hustled down to start taking notes and jotting down quotes. From the laughter beyond the backdrop, it was clear that the show was going on and that the audience knew nothing of the death. In a few minutes, when the boys in blue lumbered in, doors would be secured and a real investigation would begin.
To his credit, Dragos stood up to the unreasonably hostile mob. He drew himself up to his full height and sneered down his aristocratic nose at the riff-raff.
"Always playing vampires!" "Never shows up until dark!" "Just LOOK at him!"
Off to one side, Kelly thrust two fingers in her mouth and blasted a shrill whistle. When heads turned her way, she tapped on the full-length mirror on the wall next to her, "Hey you rubes, notice anything? Like his reflection here in full living color?"
That slowed but did not derail them entirely and the crowd began yelling again.
Then, tightening a dressing gown around himself, Nikola Kostov raised his authoritative voice to roar, "Stop this foolishness at once! I have had lunch in the sunlight with dear Drogas many times! He was married in a Church on a Sunday afternoon! Are you all children that you believe nursery tales?"
That cowed everyone. Not only was Nikola Kostov the star of the show and a celebrity, he had a natural presence and a trained voice that carried authority. As the hubbub dropped to resentful murmurs, Kelly stepped back into a door that had been left open a crack. It was the manager's office and she pounced upon the telephone which sat on a cluttered desk. Dialing the MESSENGER's night desk was automatic. As soon as she reached old Jenkins, Kelly told him to start taking notes and rattled off the events bof that evening leading up to that very moment.
Naturally, nothing was said of the Green Devil's encounter with a genuine vampire.
V.
As she was adding some colorful details to her story, a beefy hand firmly took the handset away from her and hung it up. "YOU again!" growled an unfriendly voice.
"Why, Sergeant Castillo," she purred. "I was just thinking of you."
"I bet you were!" the bulky cop snapped back, his face turning a red that would have alarmed a doctor. "This is the second time you turn up in New Haven and the second time I find you next to a fresh stiff!"
Kelly tilted her head down and gazed up at him with green eyes wide. The pose was wasted. "I could say the same about you, Francis. Mighty suspicious."
That made him sputter. "I'm a cop! It's my job to be here."
"And I'm a reporter. Take a breath, Francis, before you pop a blood vessel. Your face looks like my old catcher's mitt as it is."
With great effort, clenching and unclenching his bony fists, Sergeant Castillo spoke in a normal voice. "The boys are getting the names and addresses of everyone in the audience before releasing them. But you, MISS O'Connor, were backstage. So naturally we are going to be asking you pointed questions."
"We're both just doing our duty," she replied, swinging her handbag blithely. The Green Devil mask was tucked inside a seam where she was ninety per cent sure no search would find. She was glad that for once she had not brought the leather glove with the sewn-in knuckle dusters. "Shall we join the party?"
"Some party, "grumbled Castillo, but his tone softened as he tugged her along by one arm. Staying angry at a pretty young redhead with the Blarney wasn't easy for most men.
Thirty people were crowded together behind the curtains and, despite admonishments, many were talking over each other. A uniformed officer stood stolidly at the EXIT door when Kelly had experienced that outré encounter only a few minutes earlier. She did not recognize the middle-aged man barking questions at one person after another.
"Who's the bird doing the interrogating?" she asked.
"That's Inspector Ulysses Hallowick of Homicide," Castillo growled, "And he has no sense of humor at all."
"Judging by that spotted necktie, I'm not too sure..." she mumbled but kept quiet after that.
Keeping back in the crowd, Kelly waited her turn to be questioned. She took notes on how direct and blunt Hallowick acted. Nearing retirement age, the greying Inspector simply disregarded any complaints or requests from the people he grilled. He moved on quickly from one to the next, seemingly skipping ahead without taking time to consider the answers. But Kelly concluded the man knew his business and was building a mental jigsaw puzzle from the pieces. She noticed the uniformed officers also paying close attention.
When her turn came, Kelly kept her answers short and honest, not volunteering any information or opinions. And of course, she said nothing about the real vampire or her activities in the green mask.
Hallowick fixed a cold hard stare into her eyes. "Something you're not telling. I can smell it. I'll get back to you, young lady."
She made no answer. With cops she knew, Kelly felt free to be sassy and impudent, but all her instincts were warning her to be careful with this hardened bloodhound. Two people were standing in the doorway to the office, so there was no chance of getting to that phone.
Seeing one of the cops give her a slightly friendly expression, she leaned over, "Hey, where's the coroner anyway?"
"Aw, he's tied up over in Danville. Three car collision. I wouldn't expect him before midnight to be honest." At that, Hallowick turned a frosty gaze on them and the cop backed away.
Same questions, nearly the same answers from everyone. The dead girl's name was Gretchen DuBois, she had been a wardrobe assistant. Quiet, reliable, no one seemed to know her that well. Kelly was speculating on what explanation the Medical Examiner would whip up to explain the blood loss and the two puncture marks when she noticed Drogas was nowhere in sight. That was odd, the crowd seemed to have forgotten accusing him of being a literal vampire but still, he was a celebrity.
Then a high piercing shriek made everyone give a violent start. One man had been leaning against a chair and he fell completely over at the jolt. From beyond the curtain, from the rear of the seating, Drogas' unmistakable voice yelled, "Eees another one!!"
VI.
Nothing the police did could have stopped the stampede off the stage and into the seating area. It seemed that no one remained silent, either. Standing by the office door, Kelly hesitated only for a second before deciding she had to see what had happened first. She remembered seeing a phone booth in the lobby, maybe she could sneak into it...
And then she glimpsed movement in the propped-open exit door. Outside, a tall thin figure was leaning inward and staring at her.
VII.
Even when she was a child, Kelly's mother had told her she had more nerve than sense. Her immediate reaction was to run headlong toward the monster. Instead of calling for help, she said, "Hey buddy, I got something to say to you."
A gaunt arm snapped out and an ice-cold hand tightened around her neck. "Awwrk," was all she managed to get out. The creature easily lifted her up entirely off the ground and walked away from the Playhouse with her wriggling and kicking.
"I think I will save you for later," the monster laughed. "I'm already glutted."
Feeling the pressure on her throat ease up slightly, Kelly wheezed, "Exeter...?"
That made the creature pause, slowing as he reached the far end of the parking lot where woods began. Those lambent red eyes narrowed more in amusement than anger. "Yes. John Exeter himself. You seem to have kept your sanity despite your imminent death."
"I'm a reporter," Kelly said. "Used to tight spots. Ugh, give me a second. Let me guess, you have a grudge against Dragos just because he played you in a couple flicks?"
Surprisingly, Exeter lowered Kelly so she was standing but he still kept a chilly hand around her neck. The white face tilted to regard her. "It's not mere vanity, girl. Give me more credit than that."
"Then why? What's the point?" Kelly felt some confidence come back to her as she realized even these Undead beast might want to explain himself. As the Green Devil, she had gotten out of some dire situations by getting her enemies talking.
Exeter glanced back toward the Playhouse and found no one sight. He carried his captive into the woods to pause behind an elm. "Young woman, you have seen these so-called horror films about my kind?"
"One or two," she admitted. "I like musicals personally."
"Yet even you know about the stake through the heart? The use of holy objects? How sunlight destroys us?"
"Well, yeah."
Sudden rage flared up in those red-irised eyes. For a moment, Kelly had forgotten how much mortal peril she was in. "I mean, who doesn't know that stuff?"
"Exactly! Exactly! Such lore used to be obscure, almost forgotten. Only a few Eastern European scholars had such knowledge. Vampires were safe from reprisal. Then that fool Dragos and his wretched motion pictures made sure even ignorant Americans could fight back against us."
"Yeah, I see your point," Kelly said in what she hoped was a sympathetic tone. "But I don't see how it can be undone."
"There is not even any point in merely slaying that stupid actor," Exeter ranted. "I intend to stalk him for a while and then turn him into a vampire such as he portrays. Won't the irony be sublime? Heh. A heh. Ah hah hah hah..."
Realizing he had released her entirely, Kelly drew herself up as tall as she could. "My name is Kelly Mary Catherine O'Connor. I was baptized and confirmed in the Our Lady of Grace Church in Flatbush by Father Paul Winston. Maybe I haven't gone to confession in a dog's age but I'm still a good little Catholic girl."
That puzzled Exeter and stilled his glee. He peered at her in the gloom.
"This was given to me by my Grandma just before she died!" snapped Kelly. Her hand darted inside her neckline and came up with an exquisitely crafted silver crucifix on a fine linked chain. Even as Exeter hissed in fear and hatred, she pressed that talisman firmly between his eyes.
Steam rose from the contact. A cross-shaped burn sank bone deep. Exeter reeled back, fell and lurched back up again. He stepped away from her, crouched in a feral pose, and kept moving into the woods.
"Yeah, you'd better back off!" she snapped. "I'm gonna start carrying my family's Bible with me, too."
Exeter pawed gingerly at his agonized forehead and shook his fist dramatically before running off. "This is not over. We will meet again!"
"Great," scoffed Kelly to the fleeing figure. "We'll do lunch."
9/24/2024
