I found her a moment later, sitting in the passenger seat of Taylor’s black Chevy Monte Carlo. My view of her was slightly obscured by the tinted window, exactly like my vision. The icy fingers of déjà vu sent a shiver down my spine as I watched the real-life events of my vision unfold. Taylor was all over Nadia, kissing at her wildly.
My stomach turned in a surge of revulsion so powerful, I almost hurled right there on the sidewalk. But I was furious enough to swallow it down.
Nadia needed me to be strong.
An irrational surge of possessiveness grabbed hold of me. Nadia was mine, my special friend. Not exactly my girlfriend, but still mine.
I yanked open the door, seized Taylor by the back of his jacket, and hauled him out onto the pavement to give her a chance to breathe. Taylor had been smothering her with his lanky body pressed up on her tightly.
As he fell out of the car door, Nadia came with him. She was latched onto his shoulders with her head buried in his neck. Seeing her like this reminded me of the countless times Nadia had embraced me the same way, her dainty little head snuggled close into the hollow of my neck. Taylor landed hard on his back with a thud, and a grunt of pain. Nadia let go of him and sat up, coming face to face with me as I reached down to help her.
I started to ask if she was alright, but the words died in my throat.
Her jaw was wide open, inhumanly wide. She hissed, an unmistakable sound of menace, baring half inch long canine teeth. I stared into the face of an enraged predator, super pissed off at having been interrupted in the middle of feeding.
I thought she was about to bite my face off, her jaw opened wide enough to give it a decent shot. Her gaping mouth was smeared red, blood dripped down off her chin. Her tongue slid out to wrap around her lips, stretching all the way to jawline to lap up the last drops of Taylor’s blood.
I fell over backwards in shock, frozen in terror. My butthole puckered and I suddenly felt the need to shit and piss simultaneously. I watched in horrified awe as Nadia’s huge jaw closed back up and her freakish tongue snaked back into her mouth with a wet slurpy sound.
She glared at me and threatened in a menacing growl, “DON’T. EVER. DO. THAT. AGAIN!”
Then she looked down at Taylor who lay in a dazed stupor from whatever she’d done to him. Fixing him with the full power of her gaze, she spoke in her low, Jedi-mind-trick voice, “Go home and get some rest.”
I sat on my butt and watched as this tiny fourteen year old girl-creature stood up and jerked Taylor to his feet by one arm. The kid outweighed her two to one, but she pulled him off the ground like a rag doll and promptly sent him on his way.
It hit me like a slap to the face. The power she had just exerted over Taylor, was the very same influence she used on me nightly. I made a girly squeal and backpedaled in a crab walk on hands and feet, scrambling to get away from her, as far away as possible. I took off in a dead run for my car, terror driving me, my sphincters ready to release any second.
I tore out of the skatepark with the same urgency that had seized me the night I first met Nadia on Stratford highway. Then, I’d been trying to save her life. Now I just wanted to get away from her as fast as my little Geo would take me.
I thought I heard her yell as I drove off, “You can run but you can’t hide!” I slammed the accelerator to the floor.
I drove out of town following Broadway south to Interstate Highway nine (I-9) east, and then exited to the south end of Moses Lake. I didn’t have a plan. I just wanted to go somewhere she’d never expect me to be, a safe hideout. Then it occurred to me that Tommy had died out here at the south end sand dunes. I could stay away from the Nadia-thing and see for myself where Tommy died, see if it was the same pit of my vision.
I ran through the unbelievable scene of the Nadia-creature and Taylor, over and over in my mind, seeking a way to quantify it somehow. No matter how many times I looked at it, there wasn’t a single logical or plausible explanation. The situation defied reality. I started reaching towards fantasy-horror concepts like vampires and werewolves.
“Stupid.” I had been the sole witness. No one else had been anywhere near Taylor’s car to see the creature masquerading as a girl while it munched on Taylor. Taylor seemed clueless, totally unaware of what had happened to him.
A stack of details assembled in my mind like the pieces of a puzzle aligning for the first time. Nadia was inhuman, a creature of the night. She never came out in daylight.
I had never seen her while the sun was up. Why didn’t I notice it before, why only now? She must have been manipulating me, using her Jedi-mind-tricks. And what of the night we met? Bloody and broken in my bed, smashed by that car doing fifty plus miles an hour, she still had the fortitude to pop her own shoulder back into socket with only a little help from me.
I had been living in a world of fantasy and denial, lying to myself because I was so attached to her. And then there was the money. I’d overlooked every facet of her strangeness.
Like the shoplifting incident when she hypnotized the undercover security guard. She was completely fearless, took whatever she wanted. And why should she be afraid? She was obviously much more dangerous than she looked. And she recovered immediately from those traumatic wounds on the highway. Her skin had healed completely, not a mark. She’d run my hand over the smooth skin of her hip to prove it while I stood there like a retard.
I must have been hypnotized into stupidity to miss that one.
Then that night she drove me home after the fight, that wasn’t a dream, she was actually licking my wounds! She had licked me up and down with that creepy ass freaky tongue of hers! She must have done something to make me heal faster, like a cat licks its wounds.
And all those dreams, the insane erotic dreams of Nadia rubbing all over me. Those weren’t just dreams either. What about the money? And why was she paying me anyway? What was she really doing while I slept? Maybe she was doing the same thing she did to Taylor, munching on me in my sleep – feeding from me.
But during all this time, she had never hurt me, not once. If she wanted to hurt me she could’ve done it a hundred times. In fact she had stepped into the path of an oncoming car to save my life. No matter how I looked at it, I had to admit she’d never hurt me. In fact, she seemed protective.
Why should I fear her?
She had some other agenda, but it wasn’t about hurting me. My fear dissolved into anger and hurt.
I had trusted her more than any other person in my life, even more than Anita. She tricked me, pretended to be this vulnerable little girl in need of help. She weaseled her way into my life, lying to me every step of the way.
I no longer cared about Tommy or the scene of his accident. I wanted to face down the Nadia-creature, right now. She had a lot to answer for. I’d introduced her to my friends, brought her into my home!
No more ignoring the freaky truth.
I skidded down the graveled Sand Dunes Road through the south end, racing to the other side of the sand dunes to take the back-roads leading to the one place I knew she’d come, my home. Minutes earlier I’d been on the run from what I couldn’t face, but now I was ready to confront her and learn the truth.
As I passed the main recreation area by the lakefront, I spotted the silhouette of someone standing alone. A girl in a hoodie sweatshirt.
It had to be her. It was always her – everywhere I went, in every part of my life. She’d become like a second skin, always there, always finding me no matter where I went. How is it I never noticed the freakish way she always found me, always showing up? Stalking me, lying to me.
I turned off into the sand leading down to the beach. I caught another flash of her in the headlights, the flawless pale skin that never saw the light of day, the reddish shine of her hair. She was running away faster than I could drive through the heavy sand. I plowed through the sand to chase her down to the edge of the waterline where she stood boldly waiting for me. She had chosen this time and place, manipulating me – like always.
I was so worked up I didn’t care what she was, or how dangerous she might be. I was so sick of the lies, I just wanted answers. I braked to a stop five feet from the Nadia-creature and leaped out the car door coming face to face with the little monster. She watched me serenely, no trace of the predatory thing beneath the girlish façade.
“I want answers! No more lies! What are you? Who are you? What do you want from me?” I screamed into her calm little face, using aggression to overcome the lingering fear gnawing at my guts.
She simply nodded, which was even more infuriating. I stepped up to grab her arm and found that same slender girl underneath the hoodie, the girl who had spent her nights hugging me tightly, as if I was the last human being on the planet.
She spoke with quiet calm. “I have never lied to you. But there are things I haven’t told you. I was waiting for the right time.”
“Right now is the right time! What do you want from me? Why are you here? What are you?”
“I’m here for you, Misha, to help you, to take care of you. I’ve spent a lifetime looking for you, and now that I’ve found you, I’ll never leave.”
Her words hit home with a solid impact. These were things she had hinted at several times before, but it never really meant much until now. The girl-creature believed I was someone special to her. She would never leave me alone.
The prospect of her stalking me for the rest of my life was pretty damn freaky.
“I’m not Misha! You’ve got the wrong person! This is all a mistake, I’m not who you think I am.”
“Yes, you are Michael Evans. Even your name betrays the truth. I knew you as Mikhail Ivelitsch.” She was so damn calm and assured, convinced this was the gospel truth.
“No. I am not Misha or Mikhail! I’m Mike, just Mike. You’re wrong!”
“See for yourself.”
She pulled a bit of jewelry from her hoodie pocket. It was a tiny gold chain with a golden locket the size of a nickel. The hinged locket opened like a set of golden butterfly wings. Inside was an ancient sepia-colored tintype photo of a young man with dark hair slicked down. It could have been me in one of those Old Tyme photos at the Grant County Fair where everyone dresses up in Wild West clothes.
All my anger drained away, replaced by horror. I suddenly needed to pee, now.
“You gave this to me in 1917, with a promise that we’d be together forever. In this life or the next, I hold you to your promise Mikhail Ivelitsch.” She’d been holding the locket in her palm, but then she dumped it into my hand.
The moment it touched me I was thrust into a set of visions so vivid it was as if I’d been transported back in time. I actually stood there with these people from another century.
* * * *
Chapter 15
Manhattan, July 1917: Natasha and Mikhail
Weather beaten planks of a huge waterfront pier stretched out of sight. The sounds and smells of a working dock assaulted me. A tumble of happy passengers disembarked down bunting-draped gangplanks from a massive white steamship. Porters loaded crates and wardrobe chests into a waiting row of ancient Model T looking cars. Nadia, wearing a full-length dress, stood among several people, and the way they took orders, they must be the servants. They all squeezed into these antique cars and sputtered off into the ancient sprawl of New York.
In a mind-bewildering swirl, my viewpoint zoomed forward through time and place to a set of lavishly furnished apartments in the heart of New York City. I soon learned of the boss, The Count. Well-groomed, with salt and pepper hair, the Count looked close to fifty. I could see from his face and manner he was one of those old bloodlines, some kind of royalty. He had sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. Everyone bowed to him, calling him ‘Your Grace.’
The place looked like something straight out of a museum. Thick brocade drapes hung with golden tassel borders, and the trim and doors were a rich, glossy chestnut that matched the hardwood floors polished to a bright gleam. Fabulous Persian rugs decorated various rooms throughout. The place was lit by ornate electric lamps of brass with beautifully decorated lamp shades of Arabic mosaic patterns in tan and cream colors. The Count appeared wealthy and well-traveled.
Speeding along, the vision finally settled on a specific point, Count Orlov seated in a heavy oak chair with a guest sitting across from him on a loveseat. His gaze rested squarely on his guest, a portly, bald man with a bushy handlebar mustache and beady little brown eyes.
I listened to this strange conversation, and learned that Mr. Goldstein was a wealthy Manhattan banker with his fingers deep in the Count’s business affairs. He was offering investment advice. Something about stock options. Herman had the Count’s undivided attention. “A few points increase will quickly result in many thousands in profits if the option is exercised with prudence.”
The Count rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and then pierced the old, fat man with an intense look. “And what is the risk of loss? Surely there must be risk if the reward is so high.”
“Quite minimal,” Herman reassured him, “If the stock value drops there is usually time to recover before the option expires. This has become the preferred method of stock investment. All the speculators are using options. I could advance a leveraged position on credit. His grace need only reimburse me upon exercise of the option, from the profits, of course.”
The Count persisted with his concerns. “And if the price remains unfavorable past the expiration of the option, then what?”
“Then we simply allow the option to expire. The risk is the option fees advanced on your behalf. Far cheaper than purchasing a losing stock. This is why I prefer options, you control so much with so little. The fees are affordable. I know of an excellent opportunity on a shipping stock. We can control several hundred thousand shares with a fee of say … ten thousand. This stock would be a competitor of yours, I think. Your Grace holds a shipping warehouse here in Manhattan?”
“Yes, you’re very well informed, Mr. Goldstein, and you have caught my interest. I should like to explore this further.”
“Wonderful. And your property, might I enquire its status? I have an interest in acquiring waterfront properties in this vicinity.”
“I regret to inform you I have no inclination to sell, and the property is currently used as storage. I have yet to launch my shipping business.”
Nadia slipped into the room in her frilly maid uniform as she served tea to the Count and his guest. She brought in various silver serving dishes in stages with the help of another servant, a severe, grey-haired woman. They began to exit unobtrusively while the men continued talking of business. The fat man held a lecherous eye on Nadia, winking as she passed.
The Count caught sight of it and teased him. “I see you are a ladies man, Mr. Goldstein.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. I have been known to entertain the ladies from time to time. Perhaps I will have occasion to entertain this little one.” He addressed Nadia directly. “What is your name, child?”
Nadia blushed and looked down and away averting her eyes from his directness. “Natasha, sir.” She spoke with a thick Slavic accent, her broken English barely understandable.
“How musical your names are in Russia, an enchanting name for an enchanting girl.”
She blushed even further, obviously uncomfortable with his scrutiny and praise. “I am but a servant, sir.” She turned to the Count, eyes downcast in deference. “Your Grace, may I beg your leave to be excused?”
The Count didn’t bother to speak. He waved his hand and she scuttled out of the room quickly. Herman’s eyes followed her dainty figure as she exited.
“You like our little Natasha?” Herman nodded yes and the Count continued, “She is beautiful, but not yet a woman, Mr. Goldstein. I believe the girl is promised to Mikhail, the footman. He is a bit older, but he is determined to wait for her. I am told she has his heart.”
“Ah, what a shame, so young and fresh, unspoiled. I like them young. Reminds me of my own youth, invigorating.”
&nbs
p; The Count nodded sagely. “It is not uncommon in Russia to take a wife at the age of fourteen or fifteen, but we see this as a practice among the country folk. Noble marriages are arranged at a slightly riper age of sixteen to eighteen. Unfortunately, Natasha is only fourteen, and though she is my servant, I don’t feel this an appropriate age for such things. As you well know, it’s not advisable to mix the classes. In Russia we would never contemplate marriage with common folk.”
“I understand perfectly,” Herman agreed quickly, but he looked disappointed.
I was ushered to another moment at some point in the future with that nauseating jump-flash. I swayed, disoriented for a few seconds. I stood in the same room with the same people, Count Orlov and Herman Goldstein.
The Count was distressed about a failed investment, and he railed against Herman. “You expect me to cover the entire ten thousand dollar fee? I thought these stock options were low risk, easily liquidated? Is that not what you promised?”
Goldstein took offense. “Yes, I did say that, but your Grace mustn’t take my words out of context! I specifically told your Grace the fee advanced on your behalf was at risk. I made this very clear!”
“You also spoke of high profits!”
“Of course I did. It is a game of probabilities; I thought your Grace understood.” Herman saw his opportunity and seized the moment, “I could be persuaded to cover this cost with the collateral of a deeded property, assuming it is of sufficient value. The waterfront warehouse property would be suitable to me.”
“Aha! That is what you’ve wanted all along! I told you the last time you enquired that my warehouse is not for sale! Were I to hand over my property, I cannot be certain of the value. Have you seen the property?” The Count watched Herman carefully, realizing he may have said too much in his excitement.
Herman answered casually, “I believe I have passed by on the street, but I did not gain entry if that’s what you mean.”
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 73
