Chapter Text
Guillermo had a switch in his mind. It had always been there, and it still threw him off other people didn’t have that switch. See, when things got difficult, when he had to do something he couldn’t handle, Guillermo did a very reasonable thing and quietly switched off whatever it was that didn’t want to do bad things. Super efficient.
“Guillermo, dispose of these human bodies. Guillermo, trick some random virgins into visiting the house. Ignore your family, your friends. Lie to your mother.” And there you go, Guillermo turned off the switch and did what he needed to do. It was the only way to get what he wanted! Distantly, Guillermo knew something was very wrong with him, but, conveniently, he didn’t have to care about that when he switched off.
He could blame it on the vampires. Maybe they’d hypnotised him too many times and even though it didn’t work on him anymore, it left a sort of dulling. It was a good theory- probably the theory he’d share if he ever had to talk about it. However, it wasn’t true, which negated the ‘good’ part of the theory. Guillermo had been switching off since forever.
He found his mother's diary one time, scribbled prayers in her cramped, looping script. She’d left it on her bedside table along with a bottle of melatonin and the little ceramic cats she liked to collect.
For my son- there is a darkness in him that frightens me.
At the time it just pissed him off. He thought it had something to do with his obsession with vampires and that he wouldn’t go to Mass anymore. But now he found himself agreeing. When it got really bad, he’d slip up and everything welled into his throat, and wildly, he’d think that it tasted like blood. God, what the hell is wrong with me? He’d think.
It was getting more and more difficult to control when and why he switched. That really was the flaw in this whole system. There’d be weeks where he’d go on autopilot, perfectly functional. And then, for practically no reason at all- like, running into an old, virgin, acquaintance, and getting him invited as the meal for his master’s orgy- the switch all but disappeared! Everything came roaring back and he couldn’t move, talk, or breathe. His hands went numb, and the lights seemed to flicker and there was a high-pitched ringing in his ears that blocked out everything but the emanate terror that he was about to be struck dead, and that he deserved it if he did die and why did he want to be an evil undead thing again?
So, yeah. He tried to just stay off mostly now. Cause, honestly, who even had time for an emotional breakdown?
This night, like many nights, was wet and cold, filled with the splashes of rushing cars and screams from the cellar. Guillermo couldn’t hear much of anything past his incredibly loud thoughts. From the street, a passerby might see a few strands of dark hair bobbling an inch above the ground, but they would not notice this because a looming creature poised just to the side was sufficiently distracting. Guillermo didn’t know how long he’d been digging in the yard. He couldn’t feel the wind or his fingers.
Dirt tumbled into his hair, and Guillermo startled. He looked up. The night sky had taken on a slight grey tinge, heralding the oncoming sun. His master dropped more dirt onto him with a little kick of his pointy boot.
“It is time for coffin, Guillermo. I shouted from the house. It was rude of you to make me come all this way just to see you in a hole.” Guillermo’s glasses sat in his chest pocket and so he saw Nandor as a dark, angular blob.
“I’m sorry, master. I didn’t hear you.”
“Ah. Because of your stupid mortal ears.”
“I guess.”
Nandor cocked his head, eyes on the abnormally deep hole, and then on the rather small corpse lying beneath a sheet nearby. “It was not a big snack.” Nandor said. It surprised Guillermo he commented at all.
“I’m trying to avoid sinkholes.” Actually Guillermo did not know if a deep hole would help. He should google that. He had to return Grave-digging for Idiots to the library before he finished reading it. It had been little help anyhow. The book suggested he install a giant metal lid around a coffin to keep the ground from sinking, which was very useless to Guillermo, who did not have sheets of steel or unoccupied coffins. None of that mattered because he hadn’t intended to dig such a deep hole.
Nandor stood by impassively, his hands resting on his forearms, while Guillermo climbed out. It was difficult. His hands and feet couldn’t find footholds, the dirt was wet and cold, and Guillermo was an okay sort of strong, but not a- leap out of a six-foot-deep hole- kind of strong.
He squirmed up, using the shovel as leverage, and rolled onto the ground. Already, the damp soaked through the back of his jacket. He lay there for a second, breathing hard, and then forced himself to stand before Nandor could get impatient.
So here was the thing about being genetically predisposed to kill vampires. It didn’t work all the time, whatever ‘it’ was. If he’d been attempting to attack Nandor, Guillermo wouldn’t have had to think about how to get out of the hole. Instead, he would just be there, right next to him, and probably with a wooden stake somehow. He hadn’t exactly experimented with it. Not on purpose, anyway. But that seemed to be the running hypothesis. It was terrifying and awful. Guillermo wished he could get back to digging so he didn’t have to think about it any longer.
He pushed the body into the hole, and it fell with a thump and a wet squelch.
“Enough dandle-dwandle!” Nandor turned with a dramatic swoop of his cape, and stomped toward the house, leaving Guillermo with the predicament of an open grave and an unburied body and the possibility of just about anyone walking by and seeing them. He managed a few scoops of dirt onto the corpse, and then with a hushed apology, he raced after Nandor.
What Guillermo really wanted to know was why the stupid genetics company even knew he was related to Van Helsing. That wasn’t how it usually worked, right? It was supposed to tell him genes that predisposed him to certain medical conditions and give him a map with a list of the places he was from. He was mostly Mestizo, which he expected. But it wasn’t like it told him what family he descended from! Why did it bother to identify his 3.12% Dutch blood by name?
Maybe there was some gene called Van Helsing coincidentally, and he’d completely over reacted. Maybe the Van Helsing gene made cilantro taste like soap. Or maybe it was some kind of blood disease with a cheeky name. That would be a good thing! He reconsidered. No, blood disease wasn’t a good thing.
He needed to do something or he was going to go crazy.
Once Nandor was comfortable in his coffin, Guillermo waited an hour. He hesitated in the front room, passing a duster from hand to hand as he debated. It was better to just ignore it. He was very busy, with cleaning, finding more virgins, finishing cleaning up last night’s dinner, and… other stuff. He didn’t have time to mess around because a stupid piece of paper had him all frazzled.
“I’ll just… finish the grave,” he said out loud. Perhaps to reassure himself. Perhaps to make sure, on the very slim chance that a vampire was awake, they heard him say that.
Guillermo swallowed, gave one last glance up the stairs, and scurried to his bedroom/closet. He pushed past his curtains, and dug into the back of his mini fridge, where he hid the uh… he didn’t remember putting these wooden stakes in here, to be honest. He pulled out the envelope with steady hands. If he kept moving, everything would be fine. He couldn't afford to hesitate. He sat down onto his cot, and it squeaked beneath him.
Guillermo unfolded the page for the first time since he’d first opened it. It said exactly what he remembered it saying. At the bottom, there was a customer service number. A very foolish idea had been bouncing around in Guillermo’s skull for the last few hours, and he threw himself at it before he could stop. He just needed more information! It wasn’t that big of a deal. His phone was in his hand, and then at his ear, ringing.
Here, in the pause before someone picked up, Guillermo began to feel afraid. The switch in his mind almost faltered. He shivered, listened hard for any noise in the house. Silence.
“Genetic Testing Company,” drawled a tired voice. “How can I help you?”
“Um. Hi. I’m- I- my name is Guillermo de la Cruz, and I received my results a few weeks ago?”
“Uh, huh.”
“I was… wondering about one of the results.” He managed a nervous laugh. “Um, it says I’m related to Van Helsing? I was just… that’s-” It was here he realized he needed to act like a normal person and not a vampire familiar, terrified to be related to a famed vampire hunter. “Like, he’s not even real? Is this some kind of joke? Or is it a name for a condition? I tried googling, but nothing came up, so…” His mouth was so freaking dry.
For a long second, the line hissed. Guillermo pulled the phone away from his face, but he was still on the line. “Uhhh, hello? Can you hear me?”
“Sorry, sir! I can hear you!” The attendant sounded much more awake than he had a moment before. “I’ll transfer you to the correct department!”
“Oh.” Guillermo frowned. “Okay?”
A click, five seconds of scratchy violin music, and the line picked up.
“Van Helsing Institute,” A woman’s voice this time- a hard voice. “What is the nature of your emergency?”
Guillermo stuttered. “I, uh, I don’t have an emergency? There’s an institute? What kind of-”
“Can you tell me your location, sir?”
“I- I- um, holy shit-” Guillermo hammered the end call button and dropped the phone onto his bed like it was hot. He stared at it, hands over his mouth. Okay. Okay cool. He would not be calling there again. He bit on the edge of his knuckle reflexively, and didn’t realize quite how hard he was doing it until he tasted the familiar tang of blood. Guillermo had this under control by himself. Yeah.
Above, something thumped. Glass shattered. Because of course it did.
Guillermo shot to his feet. He was up the stairs before he knew where he was going. “Laszlo?” he called down one of the many long, twisted hallways.Laszlo sometimes got bored in his coffin and wandered around in the shadows, being generally annoying. Guillermo was not about to get pants-ed again. He sucked at his knuckle. Stupid, bleeding here. He should know better.
He was about to let down his guard when a flicker passed the window. He caught sight of a skeletal hand on the wall and he jumped forward, ramming the creature against the wall with more strength than he knew he had. The vampire, an ugly thing that smelled like mildew and rot, bared its fangs, but it didn’t get a chance to do much else. Guillermo rammed a wooden stake into its throat and then into its chest, and it screamed, gurgled, and slumped. Dead. Predictably, Guillermo did not know when he picked up a wooden stake.
Guillermo’s heart was hammering in his chest, fire racing through his veins. He wanted more! Where were the rest of them! He’d gut them, and their stupid, ugly-
The vampire dropped to the floor, startling Guillermo out of whatever trance he was in.
There was blood on the walls, on Guillermo’s sweater, on his hands, on the portraits of Nadja in this hallway. The quiet pressed onto him, and Guillermo’s breathing seemed far too loud. Belatedly, the vampire’s cheek rolled on Guillermo’s shoe. Guillermo had to stop himself from lifting that foot up and crushing the thing’s head.
A wave of horror rushed over him, overwhelming the switch in his head before he could even attempt to contained it. The bloody stake slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the floorboards.
“Shit.”