In a brighter mood, Bradley offered Ringwood a cheery smile. “What’s on your schedule tonight? I believe I can set something up with Mr. Chandler at around seven tonight.”
“On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“A wealthy man like this Chandler fellow should be able to have any chick he wants, right?”
Bradley gave an uncertain head nod.
“Tell him to get me a brunette from one of those exclusive escort services in Atlanta. Someone that looks like the weather girl.” Ringwood winked his eye conspiratorially.
“I’m sure that’s not a problem for Mr. Chandler,” Bradley said.
“And tell him to send a limo for me. I don’t want to draw any attention. You know, making side deals while riding around in a city vehicle.”
“Sure; I understand. See you tonight.” This time, Bradley winked.
CHAPTER 18
Not a man to throw around good money, Bradley M. Jones hated having to come out of pocket to pay for a limo ride for the mayor. But he supposed he should count his blessings. Arranging for a limo service was a lot easier than getting Elson on the phone. He was on hold for an eternity, all the while praying that Elson would not impulsively send his crew of deadly vampires after Tessa. Though he’d warned Nicole to lock the doors, arm the alarm system, and hide Tessa in the attic, he doubted if ordinary security measures would deter a determined and deranged vampire like Chaos. He knew for certain that Chaos could scale walls, and he was probably proficient at picking locks. There was no doubt that the fiend could sniff out Tessa’s hiding place in a hot minute.
Yes, paying for the limo was a small price.
Giving the limo the thumbs-up sign, the mayor, reeking of alcohol, joined Bradley in the back. After examining the minibar, his mouth turned down. “What’s with the economy-priced liquor. Your Arab guy gets a strike against him for stocking the bar with cheap alcohol.”
“He’s not an Arab; he’s in business with them,” Bradley said, sticking to the story he’d devised.
“Whatever.” The mayor reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a flask. “I brought the good stuff with me. Good thing I’m always prepared.” The limo glided toward the highway, and Ringwood glanced out the tinted window. “Where’s he staying— The Atwell Hotel or is he leasing a swanky place outside of town?”
“We’re going downtown to meet him.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Ringwood said, turning the flask up to his lips. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and began muttering angrily to himself.
“Are you okay?” Bradley asked.
“You can ask me that question after my rendezvous with the high-class hooker.”
Bradley frowned in confusion.
“I asked for an escort from one of those pricey agencies,” Ringwood clarified.
“Oh, right . . . right.”
“The rich guy is taking care of that, isn’t he?”
This moron has got to be kidding me! “Yes, I informed him that you were interested in a date that resembled the meteorologist on channel six, and his assistant is taking care of it—absolutely.”
“I’m getting a boner just thinking about that weather-fore-casting broad,” Ringwood exclaimed and took another swig from his flask.
Jesus! What a creep! Dealing with Ringwood was like trying to placate a petulant child. Bradley and the mayor had been casual acquaintances for several years, and though he’d heard about the man’s drinking problem, he’d never realized that Ringwood was such an extremely obnoxious individual.
Luckily, when the limo turned down the raunchy side street that led to the back entrance of The Lilac, Ringwood wasn’t paying any attention. Deep in thought, his eyes were closed as he sipped aged scotch. His mind, no doubt, was occupied with forbidden fantasies of him and the weather girl.
The driver pulled up to the curb in front of The Lilac, and Ringwood’s eyes popped open. Frowning at the abandoned hotel, he spat, “Hey! I’m not going in there; why’d you bring me to this rundown dump? Is this your idea of a practical joke?”
“No, Mr. Chandler is an eccentric man; he and his people prefer meeting in, uh, secluded settings.” Bradley gazed out at the crumbling building, looking for a sign of activity.
“Secluded!” Ringwood scoffed. “That word doesn’t begin to describe this decrepit place!”
Bradley made a helpless gesture. “The superrich can be odd birds, at times.”
“I want you to turn this limo around, and tell those Shahs of Sunset to arrange a meeting in a decent hotel—something that hasn’t been shut down for a quarter of a century.” Ringwood sat back. Refusing to budge, he stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest.
The driver suddenly opened the back door and without warning, he yanked Bradley out by the collar.
The mayor let out a surprised yelp. “What the hell is going on? Get your filthy hands off me! I’m the mayor of Frombleton; you can’t treat me like this. I’m going to report your behavior to your employer, and I guarantee you, you can kiss your job goodbye.”
“Is that so?” the bullishly strong driver said in a voice filled with menace. At that moment, Bradley realized the driver was a vampire. It shouldn’t have surprised him that the long arm of Elson Chandler had reached the limousine service.
The vampire-driver slashed Ringwood across the face with a sharpened fingernail and then flung him to the ground with brutal force. The back door of the hotel creaked open, and three grinning, pallid-faced vampires immediately swooped down on the mayor. Ringwood howled with rage, hurling profanities as he tried to fight off the vampires.
Overpowering the mayor, two vampires bit into his flesh, while the third—a woman—kicked Ringwood in the side repeatedly. She hissed and emitted low growls with each kick, her eyes flaring with irrational hostility.
Recognizing the hateful woman as the lullaby-singer that had murdered the little boy last night, Bradley shrank back in fear, afraid that meeting her eye might trigger irrational violence directed at him.
After five or so minutes, the growling, kicking, and noisy blood-guzzling ceased. Moaning miserably, Ringwood was dragged down a dusty hallway by the female vampire. The two males followed behind. Moving at a leisurely pace, they swiped blood spatters from their clothing, and made awful slurping sounds as they lapped crimson blood from their palms up to their fingertips.
Tagging along sheepishly, Bradley was halted by the limo driver. “You stay here,” the driver said firmly. Looking around the dim environment, Bradley decided that the cobwebbed area appeared to have once been the hotel lobby.
He paced anxiously for a good ten minutes. Hopefully, the mayor hadn’t been so badly maimed and traumatized that he was unable to sign his name to the documents that were still inside Bradley’s briefcase.
With any luck, the vampires had taken Ringwood to Elson. Elson would keep the mayor alive long enough to sign the paperwork. Although Elson had his moments of savagery, he behaved in a civilized manner most of the time. In fact, Elson and the girl named Ismene seemed to be the only sane vampires in the pack. Chaos, the female vocalist, and all the others were deranged, bloodthirsty lunatics!
Worried sick that vampires like Chaos and the crazy vampire woman would lapse into a blood-crazed frenzy before Ringwood could sign the papers, Bradley began pacing again. If the vampires killed Ringwood, Tessa’s life would be in jeopardy. Bradley’s breath quickened, and a pulse pounded at his temple as he worried about his daughter’s safety.
Physically fatigued and emotionally spent, he finally stopped pacing and set his briefcase on the floor. He collapsed into a dust-covered chair. With his hands folded on his lap, he gazed at the flame of the lone candle that burned on top of an outdated concierge desk. The flickering flame had a calming effect, and he closed his eyes as he waited to learn Tessa’s fate. It was out of his hands now; there was nothing more he could do. If Elson decided to go after Tessa, Bradley’s final option would be to steal the limo, speed t
o his ex-wife’s house and do the job himself. A swift death would be an act of kindness when compared to being tortured endlessly by a pack of bloodsucking, soulless vampires.
But how could he kill Tessa and Nicole swiftly when his gun was locked in a safe in his condo? He pondered for a few seconds, and decided that a knife through their hearts would be quick and efficient. But what about him—in what manner would he end his own miserable life? He couldn’t very well stab himself to death. After brief contemplation, he came to the conclusion that hanging himself was his only option. No! That wouldn’t work. He didn’t have any experience with tying a sturdy and effective noose, and the process seemed time-consuming and complex. He could undoubtedly find the directions online, but that would give the vampires time to find and apprehend him. Slashing his wrists was the quickest way out, Bradley concluded.
He became melancholy as he thought about how much of Tessa’s life he had missed while climbing the ladder of success. He’d been absent at too many birthday parties, too many school events. Now, all his achievements seemed petty and meaningless; he’d give anything for the opportunity to be a good father. His eyes glimmered with tears. Tessa was an innocent child; she didn’t deserve to lose her life so soon and so violently. Even gold-digging Nicole didn’t deserve such a brutal ending.
Imagining the headlines in The Frombleton Daily News, Bradley smiled wryly. Topnotch criminal defense attorney commits savage double homicide and then slashes his wrists. The media would have a field day with this one.
Sighing, he scanned the old lobby, and looking downward, he noticed that the faded letters in the center of the tattered carpet spelled out, “The Lilac” in fanciful script. The old hotel had seen better days. He closed his eyes and considered praying, but decided that even God himself couldn’t help him now.
In his mind, he pictured Tessa in happier times. He pictured her listening to music through headphones while singing loudly and off-key. He recalled their most recent argument, which seemed rather silly now. Tessa wanted a new car for her up-coming sixteenth birthday, but Bradley had resisted, believing his daughter to be too immature to take on the responsibility of owning and operating a car.
He smiled to himself, recalling how Tessa had persistently shown him images of shiny sports cars. His daughter had always been able to wrap him around her finger. When this nightmare is over, you’re getting your car, sweetheart, he vowed. Any car you want will be delivered with a big, red ribbon wrapped around it . . . and you won’t have to wait until your birthday to get it.
Suddenly sensing movement, Bradley jumped in alarm and rose to his feet. He jerked his head back and forth, but with the dim lighting of the candle, he only caught a glimpse of something moving quickly.
He heard a rustling sound and saw a dark blur in the corner of his eye. Panic flared within him. Could it be a rat? God, he hated rodents. His face contorted, and his eyes swept the floor. The next sound he heard was the soft peel of laughter . . . or was someone crying? Something shot past him, and Bradley whirled around, eyes wide open, as he tried to make out the indistinguishable forms in the gloomy lobby.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” he called in a hushed, quavering voice. Turning in a full circle, he shouted in a frightened, high octave, “Who’s there!” No response. Although the lobby was eerily still and quiet, he sensed a presence. Felt as if he was being watched.
Propelled by fear, he grabbed the candle and began searching the lobby. The flickering flame cast eerie shadows. The silhouette of a lamp shade resembled a large and sinister hat, and Bradley flinched in fear and reeled backward.
With an inexplicable knowing, Bradley realized with a jolt that something was hiding behind the concierge desk. He picked up his briefcase and using it as a shield, he clutched it in front of him as he crept toward the desk. A quick peek revealed nothing, but as he waved the candle around, he saw something that caused him to blink in astonishment.
Crouched in a corner behind the desk was a child—a leering little boy with ghastly pale skin and sporting a glistening pair of deadly fangs. Recognizing the child’s blood-encrusted Old Navy T-shirt, Bradley’s throat went dry as he backed away unsteadily.
Before Bradley could process the ungodly sight, he heard a familiar, croaking voice. “Babeeeee! Where’s my beautiful little baby?” sang a familiar, scratchy voice.
Oh, dear God—not her! Bradley pointed the candle in the direction of the entrance, wondering if he should risk trying to outrun the crazed vampire singer. Surely, he could make a clean getaway if he hopped in the limo and locked all the doors. He frowned, remembering the unnatural strength and agility of vampires. The psychotic singer was liable to burst through the limo’s windshield or rip one of the doors from the hinges.
Shakily holding the candle and hoping that the flame might protect him from an attack, Bradley trudged over to the dusty chair and slumped in the seat.
“Baby! Stop fooling around; Mommy has no patience for childishness!” called the vampire in a voice charged with anger.
Mommy? Astonished, Bradley mouth gaped open. The vicious, deranged vampire woman had transformed an innocent child into one of the living dead!
Responding to the stern tone, the child toddled out from behind the desk.
“Come to Mommy; I have something for you,” the vampire woman said, softening her ornery tone. She held up a baby’s bottle that was filled with a dark red liquid that was undoubtedly blood.
The patter of tiny footsteps sounded as the child rushed toward its new guardian. Reaching urgently for the bottle of blood, the boy hissed and whimpered in his eagerness to feed. Lips locked onto the nipple, he sucked greedily for several moments, and then began crying in frustration when the blood didn’t flow quickly enough. Using his strong, sharpened teeth, the boy ripped the rubber nipple in half. With his head thrown back, he guzzled blood, draining the bottle in a few seconds flat. Then he shook the empty bottle, and glared at it in rage and disbelief. Wailing angrily, he hurled the bottle across the room. At the calamitous sound of glass shattering against the wall, the boy’s teary eyes lit with satisfaction for a few fleeting moments.
“Bad boy; you’re a bad, bad boy. That’s the only bottle left; now you’ll have to feed like Mommy and the other grownups.” She shook her head in disappointment and then lifted the child into her arms.
Sniffing the air, the boy set his gaze on Bradley. Worked into a frenzy, the child squirmed and squealed, and relentlessly attempted to launch himself toward the scent of fresh blood.
“No, you can’t drink his blood; Elson says the lawyer is off limits.” She cast a hateful gaze Bradley’s way, as if Bradley were responsible for Elson’s decision. The boy fought and squealed, struggling to leap out of his guardian’s arms. Teeth gnashing, he snapped at the air as he tried to get at Bradley. Turning on his guardian, the ferocious boy’s teeth locked onto the sleeve of her dress. She yanked the fabric from his clenched teeth. “Calm down, calm down; there’s lots of fresh blood upstairs,” she said in a cajoling tone. Holding the boy firmly, she turned around and departed the lobby through an oval entryway.
The woman and child vanished in the darkness and Bradley was flooded with relief. He grasped the handle of his briefcase, fondling the leather strap reassuringly. The documents enclosed were his only ticket out of the petrifying, nightmare world that held him captive.
CHAPTER 19
The candle’s flame grew dimmer and he estimated the weakening glow would last no more than five minutes, tops. What’s taking them so long? Bradley wondered, craning his neck toward the entryway, hoping to see the bulky figure of the limo driver or perhaps Elson, himself. Bradley had completed his end of the bargain—he’d delivered the mayor and had drawn the paperwork. It wasn’t his fault that the mayor’s signature had yet to be secured.
It would be fantastic if he and Elson could shake on it and conclude the unpleasant business venture. But it didn’t seem likely that Elson would let him walk away with no strings attached. Bradley
glanced at the fading candle flame again, and resigned himself to sitting and waiting in pitch darkness.
“Good evening, counselor.” A feminine voice that held a hint of amusement, drifted through the darkness and seemed to tickle his ear.
“Uh, good evening,” Bradley replied, squinting and straining to make out the face that belonged to the voice.
“It’s Ismene. Elson’s ready to see you. Come with me.” She grasped his hand lightly, and he inwardly cringed at her ice-cold touch.
“Excuse the coldness of my hand; it’s been so busy here tonight, I haven’t had time to feed,” she said in a polite tone. Bradley nodded and smiled uncomfortably.
She guided him out of the lobby and down an unlit corridor that was so dark, he might as well have been wearing a blindfold. Ismene walked swiftly, and though she held his hand, he used the other to grope and feel his way through the darkness.
They climbed many flights of dark and forbidding stairs, and in the distance he could hear a chorus of howls that no doubt came from a new group of humans who had foolishly risked their lives by refusing to give blood willingly. Bradley’s heart went out to the victims that were being confined in the doom room. Before the night was over, they’d all end up mutilated, blood-drained, or turned into one of the undead. He shuddered at the thought of the toddler vampire. That poor kid would spend the rest of eternity drinking blood from a baby’s bottle or perhaps he’d advance to a Sippy cup. He’d never again feel sunlight on his face; he’d never learn to ride a bike, or play soccer. Hell, he’d never mature enough to even learn his ABC’s.
By the time they reached the fifth floor, Bradley was winded and perspiring. Ismene, on the other hand, made the hike up the numerous flights of stairs without any signs of distress. The hallway was illuminated with glowing candles that highlighted what appeared to be ancient artwork, mounted on walls that were painted in hues of brown, bronze, and gold—masculine colors that symbolized power. This, undoubtedly, was Elson Chandler’s floor.
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