[CLICK]
ARCHIVIST: You don’t mind if I record this, do you?
DAISY: Knock yourself out.
ARCHIVIST: Right.
DAISY: ‘course, if anyone else ever hears it…
ARCHIVIST: You’ll arrest me.
DAISY: [heh] No.
ARCHIVIST: …Right. Um, so, you came to deliver one of the tapes.
ARCHIVIST: From Basira?
ARCHIVIST: The uh, the, the audio tapes.
ARCHIVIST: …
ARCHIVIST: So… can I have it? Please?
DAISY: I’m thinking.
ARCHIVIST: Right. Um, I thought you needed me to check them?
DAISY: You don’t get it, do you?
ARCHIVIST: I-I’m not sure I follow.
DAISY: The tapes. Why she was giving them to you.
ARCHIVIST: She, uh. She wanted my help.
DAISY: [small, exasperated laugh/huff]
ARCHIVIST: You, uh, you didn’t have a tape player at your station.
DAISY: She thought you did it.
ARCHIVIST: What?!
DAISY: We both did.
ARCHIVIST: Wait, you thought I killed Gertrude?!
DAISY: Yes.
ARCHIVIST: Whuh - uh - I - why?
DAISY: [exasperated laugh/sigh] Look at you: you’re obsessed with it, jumpy as hell, and the only person who benefited from her death.
ARCHIVIST: Well uh, I… I mean. I didn’t.
DAISY: Yeah. I know.
ARCHIVIST: [stressed, exasperated exhalation]
DAISY: Finally got IT to clean up the CCTV for the week she disappeared. No cameras in the archive, but we got plenty of footage of you. Watched your movements that whole week. You didn’t kill her.
ARCHIVIST: I don’t - what does this have to do with the tapes?
DAISY: Didn’t have enough to hold you. Basira was worried you were going to run.
ARCHIVIST: So, what - you fed me a couple of tapes to keep me around?
DAISY: Yeah.
ARCHIVIST: And, now you know I’m innocent…?
DAISY: Hm. I reckon we should cut you off, but Basira’s soft. She likes you. [heh] No idea why. Maybe she keeps feeding you tapes, doesn’t involve me, I don’t plan on seeing or hearing anything about it.
ARCHIVIST: Well… thank you, Detective Tonner -
DAISY: Daisy.
ARCHIVIST: Thank you, Daisy.
DAISY: Sure.
ARCHIVIST: …If you don’t mind me asking, hhhow long have you been sectioned, now -
DAISY: [angrily] I do mind -
DAISY: …
DAISY: [quickly] 14 years.
ARCHIVIST: …I don’t suppose you’d like to make a statement?
DAISY: [sullen] ‘bout what?
ARCHIVIST: Whatever you like. 14 years - you must have seen a number of paranormal things.
DAISY: And you want me to tell you about them.
ARCHIVIST: Uh - IIIIII -
DAISY: Okay.
ARCHIVIST: [stammering] What?
DAISY: Okay. I’ll give you a statement about - how I got my first Section 31.
DAISY: …You look surprised.
ARCHIVIST: I mean, I was largely asking as a formality, Basira didn’t give the impression you were the sharing sort.
DAISY: Maybe you caught me in a good mood.
ARCHIVIST: Right, well… good. Do you need me to go over our non-disclosure policy -
DAISY: Not as long as you understand my policy: if it gets out, I’ll break every bone in your body.
ARCHIVIST: [sigh, muttering] There are worse things that could happen to them…
DAISY: [confused, possibly offended] What?
ARCHIVIST: Uh, nothing. Uh, statement of Detective Alice “Daisy” Tonner of the London Metropolitan Police. What’s the subject?
DAISY: Traffic stop of a delivery van on the M6 near Preston, afternoon of… 24th July, 2002.
ARCHIVIST: Recorded live from subject, 1st December, 2016.
ARCHIVIST: Statement begins.
DAISY (STATEMENT): This was a long time ago. I’d been police for two years. I wasn’t even with the Met back then. I was based up in Lancashire with a road policing unit. This is before the Highways Agency took most of the grunt work, so there was plenty to do. None of it much fun, but it needed doing. Booking drunk drivers were my favorite. I always hoped they’d refuse the breathalyzer, maybe even took a swing at me. Nothing funnier than a drunk asshole trying to avoid being arrested.
DAISY (STATEMENT): I usually rode with Isaac Masters. He’d been working with the RPU a lot longer than I had, and was even harsher than me. I know why, though. He tried to be a good police, give everyone a fair shot, but you see a lot of accidents - not much worse in the world than a really bad car crash. It gets to you. You get hard on people who don’t respect the road, and there are plenty of them out there.
DAISY (STATEMENT): It was raining that night, that heavy, thumping rain that means you can’t hear a damn thing. It crashes onto the roof like someone’s jumpin’ on it. Me and Zack was sitting in a lay-by, watching traffic and trying to drink coffee. We’d picked it up from a service station a few miles back, but it was one of those open-topped styrofoam cups. By the time we’d got back to the car, the rain had got in and left us with two cups of cold sludge.
DAISY (STATEMENT): So we were both in a pretty bad mood. It was maybe 1:00 in the afternoon, but you wouldn’t have known it. The clouds weren’t letting any sun through, and everything looked grey, wet and lifeless. Couldn’t even talk over the sound of rain on the roof, so we just sat there in silence, drinking lukewarm sludge.
DAISY (STATEMENT): The motorway was quieter than normal. A Wednesday afternoon doesn’t see a lot of traffic, but the rain usually brings out more cars. That day it was pretty empty. Everyone seemed to be driving careful on account of the rain, which was also not normal, and I was torn. Part of me wanted to spot some idiot who I could take my bad mood out on, when the other part of me didn’t want to get any wetter than I already was.
DAISY (STATEMENT): It looked like I wasn’t gonna get a choice, anyway - at least not until I saw the van. It was a beaten up old Citroën C15. There was some writing on the side, but I couldn’t see it clearly through the rain. It was either very dirty, or painted a nasty shade of off-white.
DAISY (STATEMENT): Most importantly, it was driving about 25 miles an hour. The limit is 70. There’s technically no minimum speed on a motorway, but the van didn’t show any signs of speeding up, and it was kind of strange. We had enough cause to stop it if we wanted. I wasn’t sure whether to let it go or not, but Zack had clearly made his decision already. He was in the driving seat and fired up the lights as we drove up behind it.
[FAINT STATIC/VIBRATION BEGINS TO RISE IN BACKGROUND, INITIALLY BARELY-PERCEPTIBLE]
DAISY (STATEMENT): The van glided to a stop on the hard shoulder at the side of the road and sat there. The headlights, which had been turned on for the rain, died. Then it just waited.
DAISY (STATEMENT): Zack was out first. The rain was so thick that he had to take his torch to see properly. The light passed over the van, and I could see rust creeping around the edges of the paneling.
DAISY (STATEMENT): We walked up to the driver’s side. I could see dark shapes from inside, but they weren’t moving. Up close, I could read the name on the side: “Breekon and Hope Deliveries.” It was covered in a thick layer of dirt that the rain couldn’t quite wash off.
[OMINOUS MUSICAL TONE. STATIC/VIBRATIONS NOW VERY AUDIBLE.]
DAISY (STATEMENT): Zack knocked on the door and it opened. The man who got out looked normal - so normal that these days I can’t really picture his face. Said his name was “Tom.” I wasn’t the one looking over his driving licence so I don’t know about second names.
DAISY (STATEMENT): From the other side two men climbed out. They were huge. Hard faces, like a pair of old stone statues, dressed in overalls and flat caps. They asked what was going on, speaking back and forth in Cockney accents so broad and fake-sounding that I thought they were putting them on for a laugh. I was about to lay into them for it when a sound cut me short.
DAISY (STATEMENT): Zack had been talking to “Tom,” who was making some bland explanation for his slow driving - caution, heavy rain, empty road, all that crap. They heard it, too, and he stopped mid-sentence to look at me.
[DEEP, INTENSE BACKGROUND VIBRATIONS CONTINUE]
DAISY (STATEMENT): From the back of the van, there was a sound of moaning. It sounded kind of like a moan of pain, but long and drawn-out. It went on for almost a full minute, and was almost, I don’t know, kind of musical. I looked at Tom and the fake Cockney passengers, but their faces were unreadable.
DAISY (STATEMENT): Zack gripped Tom firmly by the arm and led him to the rear doors of the van, demanding that he open it. He didn’t resist, just nodded, and got out a set of keys. He put one of them in the door, turned it, and the van opened.
DAISY (STATEMENT): I saw that the two big guys had walked up next to us, so I was gettin’ ready for trouble, but there’s no way I would have guessed what was in there.
DAISY (STATEMENT): It was a coffin. An old, wooden coffin. Rough, unvarnished. I could see splinters where the nails had been hammered in badly. Wrapped all around it was a thick metal chain ending in a heavy padlock. That weird moaning was coming from inside it. It was the only sound that cut through pounding rain.
DAISY (STATEMENT): I tensed up, reaching for my baton - if these people were kidnappers or worse, we would be in big trouble. I was ready for a fight, but they just stood there, not moving, staring at us. Everything about the situation felt wrong.
DAISY (STATEMENT): I looked over at Zack, and he seemed to be thinking the same thing. He looked over at the two men in overalls and told them to take it out, then looked over to Tom asking if he had a key to the padlock. Reaching into his jacket, the man who called himself Tom pulled out a large iron key and handed it to my partner. Didn’t look like the other keys.
DAISY (STATEMENT): I wanted to head back to the car and call in some backup, but Zack was a senior officer, and if he thought we should open it first, [inhale] I was gonna back his play.
DAISY (STATEMENT): Zack took the key and walked towards the coffin, which now lay on the wet tarmac, lit only by the headlights of our car. The moaning was louder now, almost drowning out the sound of the hammering rain. Water had begun to flow off the wood, but everything else about it was still.
DAISY (STATEMENT): As we got closer, I could see the words “Do Not Open” scratched into the surface of the wood. It didn’t look like my partner was paying them any attention, though. He gently placed the key into the lock, wincing slightly as he touched the metal, and turned it.
[BACKGROUND VIBRATIONS INTENSIFY FURTHER, WITH SOMEWHAT-CAVERNOUS WAVERING/SIGHING SOUNDS]
DAISY (STATEMENT): The chains snapped off like they were spring-loaded. They whipped around violently, and Zack jumped back, slipping and falling on his back. I brought my baton up, just in case the strangers made a move, but they were… motionless.
DAISY (STATEMENT): The moaning had stopped. The only sound was the creaking of hinges as the lid of the coffin began to move. It was slow, the gap appearing first as just a crack, before finally opening completely. It was too dark to see what was inside at first, but when I shone my torch inside, I heard Zack gasp. I think I did as well.
DAISY (STATEMENT): Inside of that wooden coffin, there was a staircase. It went down, apparently into the ground below, and seemed to go on as deep as I could see. They were steep, carved out of what looked like solid stone, and the rock that made up the walls didn’t match the wet tarmac around us, all the earth that would have been underneath it. It was completely impossible.
DAISY (STATEMENT): I tried to ask Tom or his companions about it, I yelled at them to explain what the hell was going on, but they just stood there, staring at it. So I hit one of them with my baton.
[ADDITION OF WOBBLY, HIGHER-PITCHED VIBRATIONS]
DAISY (STATEMENT): It was one of the large men in overalls, though I’m not sure which one. It was like hitting solid wood, and the blow jarred my arm badly, making me drop the only weapon I had. Even then he just stood there, staring at the casket. There was a sound of movement from behind me. I turned to see Isaac walking into the coffin, his torch shining into the hollow below. He’d already disappeared up to his waist, and there was this look on his face that I have never seen before - relaxed, like he was asleep.
DAISY (STATEMENT): I shouted for him, started to run but I felt a huge hand grip my shoulder. I grabbed it with my good arm, tried to escape it, but the grip was too strong. The texture of the flesh was like hard rubber. All I could do was watch as my partner kept walking into the earth, on stairs that couldn’t be there. After a few seconds, he was completely out of sight.
DAISY (STATEMENT): I expected to hear something - shouting, a, a scream, something - but it was still just the rain. The lid closed very slowly, and then he was gone. Just a coffin sitting on the hard shoulder of the M6.
DAISY (STATEMENT): The hand released my shoulder as the two men in overalls began to walk over and calmly wrap the chains back around it.
DAISY (STATEMENT): I felt a sudden burst of anger and picked up my baton. I lunged at them, but the one closest to me moved quicker than I would have thought possible. His fist slammed into my chest like a cannonball, and I felt a couple of ribs break. I collapsed to the floor, just lay there, as Tom and the two men locked the coffin back up, loaded it into the van, and drove off. I never saw Isaac Masters again.
[STATIC/VIBRATIONS DIE DOWN]
DAISY (STATEMENT): When I called it in, I was expecting a manhunt, an investigation, some kind of justice. It wasn’t like we didn’t have plenty of leads. Instead, I was handed a form I didn’t recognize, told to sign it, and then reassigned to the Met. Since then, it’s been one spook story after another.
ARCHIVIST: Right. Thank you. Um… are you quite all right?
DAISY: [angry] No. I never told that story to anyone except my old sergeant.
ARCHIVIST: I’m… not sure, I, er, uh -
DAISY: I should go.
ARCHIVIST: Yes, of course, I’ll see you out. Uh, there is one other thing - I’ve been meaning to ask Basira, but you might know better -
DAISY: I’m done.
ARCHIVIST: Oh - yes, it’s just, j - [quickly] do you know anything about vampires?
DAISY: Yeah.
ARCHIVIST: Oh!
ARCHIVIST: Uh, it’s just - that -
DAISY: A while back, there were some problems. Arrest irregularities around a few missing-person cases. Suspects being released without proper interrogation. Recordings of the interviews showed the subject wouldn’t say a word, but the officers doing the interview would let them go anyway.
[STATIC/VIBRATIONS BEGIN]
DAISY: I don’t know the details of the investigation, but there’s a new operating procedure now.
ARCHIVIST: Which would be…?
DAISY: Cases matching certain parameters have to be monitored by another officer outside the room by video. In the very specific circumstance where the suspect says nothing, but the interrogating officer acts as though they have, they’re immediately removed from the room. Then, they call me.
ARCHIVIST: Just you…?
DAISY: There are a few others around who do it, but I take care of a dozen or so precincts. I cuff the suspect’s hands and legs, drive them out into the middle of Epping Forest, and burn them to ashes. There’s never enough left to be a problem.
[ARCHIVIST CAN BE HEARD EXHALING IN HORROR]
DAISY: I don’t know if they’re vampires, exactly, but that’s what we call them.
ARCHIVIST: Good lord… H-how many have you… taken care of?
DAISY: Mm… five in the last nine years.
ARCHIVIST: I see…
DAISY: [anxious, drawn] Don’t tell Basira. She doesn’t know about that procedure. I, I’m not sure how much she’d understand, she - she’s not - cut out for that kind of work.
ARCHIVIST: Of, of course I won’t -
DAISY: Don’t tell her any of this, okay? I was never here. If she wants to get you more tapes, that’s her business, but you keep this visit to yourself! Got that?!
ARCHIVIST : Uh, uh, uh, of course!
DAISY: Good.
[HARD, ABRUPT CLICK; DAISY TURNED IT OFF HERSELF]
[CLICK]
DAISY: Supplemental.
DAISY: That was… an interesting interview. It seems we’re not done with sinister coffins just yet. The contents were surprising, to say the least, but don’t give any real clues as to its origin, purpose, or even its relationship with Breekon and Hope. Are they simply… couriers? Guardians? Hostages?
DAISY: At least I also have confirmation that the vampires Trevor Herbert described are not purely figments of a drug-addled mind. I probably shouldn’t be too pleased to discover that there are even more violent hunters stalking us through the night, but there it is.
DAISY: I’ll… admit to feeling a bit hurt by Basira’s true motivations. I suppose it’s hardly surprising, I have not been the most… stable over these last few months. Either way, I’ll not be bringing it up.
DAISY: Even if I wasn’t genuinely somewhat afraid of Detective Tonner [nervous laugh] such a revelation would only harm our relationship, and I need those tapes. I can’t afford to have Gertrude’s time at the Institute disappear back into obscurity.
DAISY: I’ll check the one I have, and then wait to hear from Basira. Or perhaps I should try to make contact…? I should really have got a, number or something. Well, that’s a matter for later. I need to go home. Try to get some sleep.
DAISY: I just wish it wasn’t raining.
DAISY: End supplemental.