With my eyes still open, but completely immobile, I watched as the agent took a knee next to me. He stared at my yellow cat-like irises, and then took a finger and lifted my top lip.
"Fucking incredible," he said upon seeing my fangs. It was then that I grabbed his arm. He yelled and tried to break free, but couldn't shake loose the death grip I had on him.
"Never again will you people do this to me," I said quietly. With the last strength available, I yanked him down to where his neck sat tantalizingly close to my mouth. I bit and drank with no intentions of stopping.
Soldiers yelled, wondering what to do, but still I fed. A muzzle came close to my head and fired, but I ignored it. My hollow fangs sucked in a gluttonous frenzy until every drop of blood in the man was gone. I tossed him to the side and levitated to my feet. The soldiers surrounding me stared in horror, and then unleashed their machine guns. Sidestepping the peashooters, I flashed forward to the nearest, embedded my fangs, and drank some more. He too perished, but I had no time for remorse. The others, understanding the battle was lost, raced for the helicopter. I chased and caught another feast. By the time I was done with him, the Blackhawk reached for the sky. I let them go…for now. They, not I, had declared war.
Chapter 24
I made haste returning to the playground, worried that troops would already be on scene investigating why the cell phones had been stationary there earlier. I found my daughter and Karen looking nervously in the direction that the battle had occurred. When I landed, Lori raced into my arms, her body trembling with fear.
"I was so worried!" she said. "We heard explosions and saw the flashes. There's blood all over your face, and your clothes are burnt rags!" She pulled away and looked me up and down. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." I wasn't. I felt that I had crossed a tipping point that would change all of our lives forever.
"You really should have some indestructible clothes designed if you're going to continue with this lifestyle," Karen said as she approached. I wasn't in the mood for her humor.
"Did any vehicles come by or did anything fly over?" I asked. They both shook their heads. "Okay, let's get some cover just in case."
I led them to a nearby thicket of large evergreen shrubs that they could run into should anyone approach. A picnic table sat on the edge, where we sat for a brief respite while waiting for my son's assistance. Karen plopped the cardboard box she had purloined from the Navy base onto the table and started to open it.
"Care to share why that's so important?" I asked.
"I'm hoping it might help the situation." She pulled out a small plastic bag filled with dark-red powder.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Freeze-dried blood."
"There's no such thing."
"Google it if you don't believe me. The Israelis developed it for the battlefield. It's easier for soldiers to carry. They add water to reconstitute it, and then give it to the injured. I just so happen to have some water. I filled a test tube from the sink when I got the box so we could try it." From her pocket, she pulled out a clear plastic tube full of liquid, capped by a rubber cork.
"I don't want to experiment right now," I said. She looked like she was about to argue, but changed her mind. She dropped the test tube into the box and closed it up.
"Fine, maybe later," Karen conceded. "So this son of yours we're waiting for, where does he live?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know where your own son lives?"
"I haven't seen him in decades."
"It's like I have a brother now," Lori said.
"Not by blood of course. We adopted Andre after my wife found him wandering the streets alone. He was just a toddler. We suspect the Nazis took his parents to a concentration camp because Andre had a gold star sewn onto his coat identifying him as Jewish. It was a couple years after that, towards the end of the war that both him and Elizabeth…that was my wife, vanished."
"I remember in the hospital, when you were delirious, you often mumbled her name. You never found them?" Karen asked.
"No."
"Maybe she, umm, went to live with another man?" Lori asked, the painful nature of the question making her cringe.
"No, it was my fault they were taken. Someone saw me fly and reported it. When I found out they were gone, I had already drank the potion, intending on blending back into society fast. That left me helpless to rescue them."
"Oh," Lori said, eyes downcast.
"We were very poor, both of us working on an ammunition assembly line, so when my memory returned and I realized that I had a lot of money stashed in various places, I retrieved some before heading back home. I found a lawyer I could trust and set up a foundation that was supposed to pop into our lives with a windfall from a deceased relative. I knew Elizabeth was tired of being poor, as was I. Once I drank the potion though, I forgot all about the foundation, and since I left town, they never found me. At least I hope they found Elizabeth and she used the money to take care of herself and Andre."
"He's obviously still alive and seems pretty well off, so that's a good possibility," Karen said.
Headlights appeared on the road that paralleled the small park. All of us jumped up, and I had Karen and Lori disappear into the shadows of the evergreens. A black Lincoln Town Car with dark tinted windows pulled to the curb and flashed its headlights off and on. Carefully, I approached the vehicle, watching warily as the driver's window came down.
"Michael Moreau?" the muscular driver asked. He appeared to be in his late thirties, suffered from male pattern baldness, pitted skin from youth-related acne, and his voice held a heavy, almost Cockney, English accent. Beyond his looks, he had shaken me, for the name Moreau was the one I had used in my previous life with Elizabeth.
"Yes," I replied hesitantly. "And it's Mike Spencer, now."
"Certainly, Mr. Spencer." I perceived a hint of humor in his eyes. "I've been sent to bring you and your party to Andre Moreau."
"Okay. Hold on." I waved all clear to the women. Karen and Lori trotted down, and we piled into the spacious leather backseat. Thankfully, the driver had a blanket that I used to cover myself with, and he promised clothes would be waiting at our destination. Other than that, he was silent.
For several hours, the driver navigated winding country roads, notifying us that the military was conducting a full-out search for me, which included several roadblocks on the larger highways and streets. Finally, we arrived to a small airport in Currituck, North Carolina. He pulled directly onto the tarmac, and stopped next to a crisp-looking Learjet 85. A man dressed as a pilot walked to the car and opened the door, allowing us to exit. He introduced himself as the copilot with a voice that had a much more refined British accent than our driver had.
"Ma'am, if you don't mind, all cargo must be stored in the cargo bay," the copilot said, indicating to the box Karen held. "I'll take it for you." He reached for the box, but Karen pulled it back.
"I'd really feel better if I could hold onto it. It's not that big," she said.
"I'm sorry, but it is company policy. They would ground us if it were to be reported by another member of the crew. I promise it will be safe." He gave her a reassuring smile.
"Seriously? Where's the pilot? I want to talk to him," Karen said. The copilot's smile faltered.
"Right here, mum," our driver said, walking around the car to Karen.
"But you're the driver," Karen replied.
"Jack of all trades, I am. I promise your package will be safe and tidy with me." He reached out and took the box from her before she realized what he was doing. "Now onto the plane with you. We have a long flight."
"Okay, but please be careful with it."
"My personal guarantee." He winked and smiled.
The copilot escorted us to the plane. Once Karen's back was to the jack-of-all-trades pilot, I watched as he handed Karen's cargo off to a ground crewperson. He spied me, and gave me a wink as well, apparently his way of instilling confidence. I didn't fe
el confident.
A Dutch flight attendant brought me clothes that were still wrapped in the store packaging, and led me to the lavatory so I could clean up and change. In a violation of normal rules for flight safety, I was shocked when the aircraft took off while I was still fighting to dress myself in the confined space. I managed the contortion act, and then made my way to a plush leather seat that faced Karen's seat.
"This is quite a plane. Just how much money did you start that foundation with?" she asked.
"Twenty-million dollars in the 40s. God knows how much that would be worth now days."
"Twenty million!" Lori blurted from across the aisle. "And you gave me ten bucks a week for an allowance? Dad!"
"Alright, alright…I'll bump it up to fifteen. Give me a break; after all, I just remembered a few days ago that I've been stashing gold for the past ten-thousand years." The flight attendant walked out of the cockpit and approached us with a smile.
"Can I get anyone a drink or snack?" she asked.
"Vodka tonic, please. It'll help me sleep. How long is the flight?" Karen asked.
"It will be several hours to Mr. Moreau's private island. It is in the Caribbean."
"He has a private island?" Lori's voice was filled with awe. "Twenty a week, Dad, and not a penny less."
"Is Mr. Moreau a doctor?" Karen asked.
"No. Why?" The flight attendant looked confused.
"You know…Moreau and island? Get it?" The attendant shook her head, still not understanding. "Never mind," Karen relinquished.
"Nothing for me, thanks," I said. "Lori?"
"Vodka tonic sounds good."
"I don't think so. She'll have lemonade." I gave my daughter a stern look to which she responded with a coy smile.
Later, as the women settled in with magazines, I looked out the window as the plane bulleted over the cloud tops. I felt nervous anticipation about meeting my son from so long ago. I doubted he even remembered me that well, but I wondered how to answer when he asked why I had abandoned them. I prayed they hadn't suffered at the hands of the Nazis, for that would make all my answers inadequate. At least now, with all that was going on in the world, I could answer his questions honestly. Son, I think those that you know of as vampires are behind everything. By the way, I'm a vampire, too. I realized when told like that, he would probably try to commit me. Wonderful, I thought sarcastically.
Soon, both Karen and Lori were asleep. I watched Karen breathe rhythmically with mixed emotions. Part of me wanted her, but another part felt suspicion. Mentally, I sensed she was hiding something, but my physical senses didn't pick that up, and they had never let me down. Maybe I'm overreacting? Or maybe I'm not reacting enough? I wondered if she had really washed equipment in her shower, or was it just the best on-the-spot excuse she could come up with. Perhaps the person who had taken the pictures from the balcony of Karen's home had also taken a shower there. And why did the FBI feel the need to escort Karen to the hospital after Samael attacked me? Something was not right, but what it was escaped me. I felt like a rat in a maze, searching desperately for cheese that kept moving just as I approached.
I turned my attention to the darkness out the window, seeing a world that only my eyes could see clearly. Ocean to one side, land on the other, dotted here and there with the lights of humanity. Day in and day out they toiled, trying to survive on a big ball of dirt twirling through space. It reminded me of an ant farm Lori had when she was little. She cherished the energetic insects, religiously opening the container everyday to drop in bugs for them to eat and to let in fresh air. One day, she reached in trying to pet one, but it bit her despite all the life-giving nourishment she had provided. Lori quickly forgave it, and still provided for the creatures stridently. To the ants, she must have appeared as an immortal god, but she was a child that simply enjoyed watching how they lived. Similarly, but on a deeper level, I enjoyed humans and envied them their toils. An immortal doesn't have to set goals. We have all the time in the world to get what we want, and the power to take anything we want; it is an existence that breeds desperation for purpose. For Samael, world conquest had become his goal. For me, humans gave me something to live for, and even though they bite on occasion, I still cherished them. They are my ant farm.
Chapter 25
The flight attendant appeared from the front cabin and informed me that the plane would land soon. I had stared out the small window the entire flight contemplating life, firming my resolve to help humanity.
"Karen? Lori? Wake up. We're here," I said. They stirred, slowly opened their eyes, and squinted at the morning sun streaming into the small windows. The plane veered hard to the right while descending rapidly. The engines powered down and I heard the landing gear extend.
"What time is it?" Karen asked, stretching. I checked my watch.
"Almost eight."
"Wow, long flight. Are we in the Bahamas or further south?" she asked the flight attendant, who was buckling into a forward seat.
"British Virgin Islands. You should buckle in." We complied, watching the island come into view. Within a minute, the wheels touched down with a gentle bump.
"It's beautiful!" Lori exclaimed, staring out her window. Along the edge of the small runway lay a beach of shimmering-white sand, dotted with palm trees. Beyond the sand, lazy waves of clear-blue water rolled gently ashore.
"Check out this side," Karen said from her window seat. Lori hurried over.
"Look at that house!"
On the other side of a lush grass meadow that was interlaced with golf-cart sized paths outlined by tropical foliage, stood a grand redbrick mansion. A decadent pool wrapped from one side to the back, a tennis court rested behind that, and on the other side, there was a large garden with statues and fountains. To the right, a deep-water dock occupied the nearby shore. I could see a large sailboat and a luxury yacht tranquilly bobbing up and down there.
"I could really get used to this," Lori stated.
The plane eased to a halt and I saw an extended golf cart waiting outside. Next to it stood an attractive woman who looked to be in her thirties. Her hair was long and dark, cascading around an exquisitely shaped well-tanned face with eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. She wore a loose-fitting white top that purposely failed to hide her exquisite feminine qualities, and a red sundress that swayed around her hips in a soft breeze. The dress matched her red-painted toenails peaking out from white sandals. I felt a familiarity about her, but couldn't place why. Her pursed lips told me she was every bit as apprehensive as I was.
"Stare a little harder, why don't you," Karen said.
"So, you're the jealous type," I responded, taking my eyes off the brunette.
"Maybe. At least when I'm unsure of where I stand?" Her words came out as a question, but in her tone, I sensed more of an attempt to control than a hope for love. It was then that I realized I had let myself fall too easily. There was more to this puzzle than I knew.
"When I know, you will know," I replied.
"Wow, Dad," Lori interrupted. "That's about as romantic as a rock falling on someone."
I glanced at her sideways about to speak, but then the flight crew interrupted, exiting the cockpit. After exchanging pleasantries with us, they opened the plane and we stepped into the warm Caribbean sun.
"Mr. Moreau, welcome. We spoke on the phone earlier," the French woman said, walking to us with hand outstretched. I accepted her delicate hand into my own, feeling an electric-like tingling pass between us. Somehow, I knew this woman. "I am Monique, your son's assistant."
"Hello," I said, trying to hide my suspicions. "Mike is fine, and the last name is Spencer now. This is Lori and Karen." After introductions, she led us to the oversized electric cart with extended white-bench seats facing out on both sides.
"I had a box with me," Karen said.
"Not to worry. They will deliver it to the house as soon as the plane is secured," Monique replied. She took the drivers seat, while the three of us piled onto the long seat
behind her.
"It looks like Andre has done well for himself," I said to Monique as she released the brake and eased the vehicle forward.
"Thanks to you, Michael. He has told me stories of you, and I must say that your resemblance now to what it was in a picture taken over seventy years ago is remarkable. It appears you have not aged a day."
Her words told me that my foundation had found Elizabeth. They also told me that she, and therefore my son, knew of my immortal nature.
We exited the tarmac and onto a path that led to the house, marveling at the splendid landscaping the entire drive. The island was about a thousand feet across, allowing views of the ocean on both sides. It looked like a resort, but the lack of tourists shattered the illusion. Completely deserted aside from us, it felt more like a ghost town. The small road wound around the empty pool and to the front of the house, where a circular cobblestone driveway sat mere feet from the dock at the water's edge. We disembarked and followed Monique up a ramp that covered the stairs, and stepped through a solid redwood door.
"Why the ramp?" Lori asked.
"Andre has been in a wheelchair for many years," Monique answered.
"Was he injured," I asked with concern.
"Well…it is best if I let him explain." An older woman, dressed as a maid, entered the large foyer. "Julia, would you take the ladies to freshen up and get something to eat?" Monique turned to Karen. "I'm afraid Andre is weak, and I don't want to overwhelm him with too much at once. Is that okay for you?" Her heavy French accent indicated that she probably still lived in France, or perhaps its smaller but more affluent neighbor Monaco.
"Sure," Karen said. She came over and kissed me on the cheek. "See you soon."
"Please, follow me, madam," Julia said.
Left alone with Monique, I was once again struck with how familiar she seemed. "Have we met before?"
"Come. I will take you to Andre. He can answer your questions better than I."
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