by Lari Smythe
Chapter 7
It was late—Jason's eyes were getting droopy when I first heard it. Before I could even react, Elizabeth, Benjamin and Tink were in the room.
"Motorcycles?" I puzzled.
"They're on the drive," Elizabeth said with obvious alarm.
The ground was rumbling now—there were a lot of them.
"What the—" Jason said as the sound entered human range.
"Come," Benjamin said, "there isn't much time." He motioned us toward the hallway.
Tink fell in behind Jason as he got up. Just as we started forward, a shotgun fired, blowing out the window where Jason and I had been sitting.
"Quickly," Benjamin ordered.
Before we'd even made it out of the room, a barrage of gunfire erupted outside. There were shards of splintered wood flying all around us and I occasionally felt the sting of what I assumed were bullets.
"Where are we going!" I yelled.
"The basement," Tink replied.
"Ahh!"
"Jason!" I turned as he crumbled into Tink's arms. A bullet grazed my cheek below my left eye.
"Keep going," Tink said, "I've got him."
We raced down the beautiful curved staircase, spindles exploding as bullets tore through them. Glass was falling like rain from the shattered crystals of the chandelier. I heard it crash to the floor as we started down a tiny staircase at the back of the kitchen. When we reached the wine cellar, Benjamin pressed one of the bottles inward and the wine rack against the far wall slid away. Behind it, a stone lined tunnel ran off into the darkness.
Benjamin stood at the entrance to the tunnel. "This leads to the family mausoleum. Follow your mother. Tolliver, take young Jason and go with the women. I'll be along shortly."
"Bring a bottle of brandy." Tink nodded toward Jason. "He's going to need it. Shoulder," he added.
"Very well. Go!" Benjamin ordered.
It was a surprisingly long tunnel that must have taken years to dig. Portions had obviously been dug by our kind, because there were places where it bore though solid rock. Once we reached the mausoleum, Tink pressed Jason into my arms, tore off his own bloodstained shirt and retreated back down the tunnel toward the house.
"Dang, girl," Jason moaned, "you sure know how to show a guy a good time."
I realized right away that breathing was out of the question—Jason's arm was covered in blood. I glanced up at Elizabeth. She was pressed back against the wall. Before I could speak, Benjamin entered the vault, but stopped at the entranceway.
"How is your young friend?"
"Hurts like hell," Jason said, "and wouldn't you know it, my throwing arm to boot."
Benjamin looked across the entranceway to Elizabeth. "Come, this way."
"You can't mend his arm alone," she said.
"Jason," I said, ignoring their conversation. "Are you alright?"
"Been better."
"Let me have a look." I slowly peeled back his hand so I could see the wound. His blood on my hand—as though it were seeping into my skin—was even stronger than his irresistible scent. I was dazed. The fire in my throat flared more than I had ever experienced—I tried to resist, but I brought my hand to my mouth.
"Is the wound from a bullet or a splinter?" Benjamin asked, distracting me.
"How—how can I tell?"
"The wound would be circular if it's from a bullet," Elizabeth wheezed.
"How do you know—"
"Quickly, girl."
I glanced down at Jason's wound. "It's round."
"Is it through and through?" Benjamin asked.
"Through and what?"
"Is there an exit wound?"
Jason cringed as I rocked him to the side so I could see the back of his shoulder.
"No, only on the front. What does that mean?"
"You're going to have to take the bullet out," Jason moaned.
I looked up in time to catch the bottle of brandy.
"That would be for me," Jason said. He grabbed the bottle and took a long gulp—choking as the alcohol burned his throat. "Listen," he said as he took a smaller sip, "I'm not exactly sure what kind of drunk I'm going to be, so if I get a little frisky, well I'm just a guy remember?"
"I don't know how I'll be able to tell," I soothed.
Jason took another mouthful. "Boy, this is going to make a great first drink story."
"Dad?" I looked to Benjamin. "I can't do—"
"Yes you can," Elizabeth said, leaning over me to kiss the top of my head. "You can do this. Here is Benjamin's medical kit. There's gauze, a pair of tweezers and some thread—"
"Thread?"
"To stitch the wound once you've removed the bullet. There are bandages when you're finished. Benjamin will talk you through the procedure." She stood, smiled apologetically and disappeared down the tunnel.
"Take a minute," Jason said, wiggling out of my arms. "Go talk to your dad, I'll manage. Besides, you don't want to screw up and kill the patient, right?" Jason took another swallow of brandy. "Whew, I gotta tell you this stuff makes me appreciate that burn in your throat you talk about."
I stood and looked down on him. "I doubt it. Don't go anywhere."
"Where would I go?"
I raced over to Benjamin and he went through the procedure. As long as I could locate the bullet, it didn't sound all that difficult—of course there was Jason's irresistible blood to deal with, but I had no choice. "Benjamin, what happened back there?"
"Take care of your young man," he said with finality.
"Alright." There was no need to take a breath, but I did anyway.
I was surprised to see how much of the brandy was gone, but figured it would help. Jason's body was placid, his attempts at conversation illegible slurs. It hurt me to dig into his arm with the tweezers. He was brave, but I could tell from the tightness in his face that my probing was painful. Once the tweezers hit lead, I was able to extract the bullet. It was surprisingly small considering the amount of blood. "This is going to hurt a little." I told Jason before dousing the wound with brandy.
"Ya think?" he groaned through clenched teeth.
"A few stitches and you'll be good as new."
"If this leaves a scar it's your fault." Jason took another drink. "What's a guy gotta do to get a kiss around here?"
"Okay, mister, that's enough for you." I took the bottle from him, took a swig and swirled it around in my mouth and then swallowed. "Like I thought, not even close."
Tink returned for a moment and tossed a clean shirt to me. I removed Jason's shirt and slipped the new one on starting with his injured arm. I tore off the bloodstained portion of his old shirt and tossed it in the far corner and then fashioned a sling out of the rest. Elizabeth came back with a blanket and helped me tuck him in.
"Thank you," I said.
She curtsied, but retreated to the tunnel again, this time taking Benjamin with her.
"I guess they trust you now." I laughed, looking down at Jason, but he was totally out of it. "Guess I see why." I gently stroked his face. "This is my fault. I never should have allowed you to talk me into bringing you—your mother was right you know. I love you, with all that I am, but—"
"No," Jason mumbled. "No buts. I love you—we are one—forever—for as long as I live."
"Sleep, my love—sleep." I held him for nearly an hour even though he was asleep in less than ten minutes. "You're a cheap date," I whispered, gently laying him on the stone floor. It was time to find out what was going on. Before I left, I took a torch down from the wall and burned the remnants of Jason's blood soaked shirt.
As I crept down the hall toward the house, I heard Benjamin and Elizabeth talking.
"How is this possible?" Elizabeth said. "It's been almost forty years by my recollection."
"Forty four," Benjamin corrected. "More than enough time." He scratched his head. "I must say I don't understand it. Izzy," he said, turning toward my approach, "how's your young man?"
"Sleeping. What happened forty
four years ago?"
Neither Benjamin nor Elizabeth gave any indication of answering my question.
"Tink?"
"This isn't the first time we've been here," Tink said.
"I know that. This is the Faulkner land, right?"
"Yes," Benjamin said. "My family lost the land after the war. It has taken a great deal of time, patience and money to reclaim what was once ours." He looked to Elizabeth. "She is part of our family, she deserves the truth."
"Very well," Elizabeth said. "Come Izzy." She led me down another tunnel that if I had my bearings right went toward the river. Sure enough, after a short distance I could smell water. Elizabeth stopped and turned toward me. "You already know this is the Faulkner Plantation."
"Yes."
"You know that Boonsboro is where Benjamin died—this is where he lived. After we adjusted to our new existence, Benjamin wanted to regain what was once his. Benjamin was the sole air to the family estate. His parents took ill after Sherman burned his way across Georgia destroying everything in his path—the Faulkner plantation was in that path. When Benjamin's parents died, the land was parceled out and sold at auction. Over the years, Benjamin has repurchased the land plot by plot."
"I understand that it must have taken a longtime, but—"
"Fifty years ago we were finally able to purchase the original home site."
"The house."
"Yes. Of course the house was no longer here. Piece by piece we painstakingly rebuilt the house to what Benjamin remembered from his childhood. Our attention to detail was so remarkable it drew the attention of the local historical society. To preserve the plantation, Benjamin agreed to have it classified as a historical landmark. That was forty five years ago."
"This is the first time you've been back since then?"
Elizabeth's eyes were glassy—probably tears if she'd been human. "Yes. When you left us and I understood why, I had no reason to think you would return. When I told Benjamin, it broke his heart. This seemed like the logical place for us to start over again. He called the caretaker and told him to have the museum closed and that a family would be living in the house temporarily to do some redecorating."
"Okay, that all makes sense, but what about the motorcycle gang?"
"The original reconstruction took nearly seven years, but we were in the local area longer than that. Naturally we avoided contact with humans as much as possible but there were a few instances where we might happen across a hunter or fisherman. There was never any cause for alarm. As I said, we stayed out of sight during the work. Benjamin directed the reconstruction through drawings and notes. We inspected the progress at night. I wish you could have seen Benjamin in those days, he approached the task with the same effort to detail that he has for his painting. These were happy times and it brought him great joy."
"So what happened?"
Elizabeth looked annoyed that I had interrupted, yet again. "To celebrate the opening of the plantation as a landmark, the town's historical society organized a reenactment. There are those who go to great effort to relive the past—for the most part they do an admirable job. Benjamin and I got caught up in the splendor of it all and found ourselves as participants. Naturally, with our knowledge, we had a great deal to contribute. Again, you must realize Benjamin and I were merely caught up in the illusion. Unfortunately, when the day came it was all too real. The Yankee charge across the northern fields brought back the terror of my demise." She shook her head with disgust before continuing.
"Benjamin had been asked to portray a commanding officer in the Confederate Army. To achieve a realistic battle scenario, a great deal of people were involved. To this end, the historical society held open registration for soldiers. Basically, if you were male, you could participate. There were, what I would call professional re-enactors that came from many places around the country to participate. There in would lie the problem. I do not pretend to understand the intricacies of battle, but I know Benjamin became a student of such things after his demise at Lambs Knoll. The re-enactors had a basic plan for the day, what they were doing, who would win, who would fall and where, but there were entirely too many people involved to be specific. Then, when the Yankees charged—"
"Instinct took over," Benjamin said, walking up behind us to lay his hands on my shoulders.
"I'm sorry, dear," Elizabeth said, "I know this is painful."
Benjamin turned me to face him. "You remember my paintings and our discussion about the battle at Lambs Knoll?"
"Yes, it was for my History class."
"I'm not the smartest pea in the pod I'll admit, but I learned from that experience. As the Yankees charged, I recognized their formation and ordered my troops to attack their flank. This time however, I held half in reserve so we were prepared for their counter attack." A brief smile crossed his lips. "Of course it was all just a recreation. Afterwards, one of my commanders came by to chat. He was young, pale, and wore dark glasses. He confessed that he spent entirely too much time in the library. We discussed the battle sequence. Accordingly, he asked me the most poignant question, 'Were you at Lambs Knoll?' I was stunned to say the least. He quickly recanted saying I also must spend too much time in the library, but went on to describe in great detail the possible significance of the battle had it gone the other way. He asked me several times about family, but I avoided the questions. I pardoned myself and rejoined Elizabeth. During the course of that evening, I saw him several times. Each time, it seemed as if he were watching me and would nod casually. It was, to say the least, unsettling."
"Okay," I complained, "what does all this have to do with what just happened?"
"Patience, my dear," Elizabeth interrupted. "Continue, dear."
"Late that evening, after most of the guests and participants had gone, I saw him at the edge of the woods with a group of scraggly looking lowlifes some of whom had participated in the day's re-enactment. Then, in the wee hours of the morning, a band of motorcycle riding vigilantes descended on the property."
"Like tonight," I said.
"Elizabeth and I met them at the front porch. The bikers as you referred to them, pulled to a stop at the base of the stairs. The largest man of the group, who I recognized from the edge of the woods, threw a brown duffle bag up on the porch. Out of it spilled a hammer and several wooden stakes."
"But that's just a myth."
"Correct, but like so many historians who are led astray by legend, his information was flawed."
"You think the man who asked you about Lambs Knoll was responsible?"
"Perhaps he knew more about the battle than he let on," Elizabeth said.
Benjamin nodded. "The large man made a gesture to one of the lowlifes who immediately pulled a gun and fired on me. When I did not flinch, he fired on Elizabeth."
"Then they did know, or at least suspected."
"Even after so many years in this existence, we reacted as humans would. Elizabeth retreated into the house and I, a trained soldier, attacked, wading into the barrage of gunfire slashing and tearing whatever I could reach. The bikers retreated quickly when they realized their guns were of no consequence. The exchange left three dead."
Benjamin drew in a long human breath. "I buried them, but not before draining the blood from their bodies."
"Benjamin!" Elizabeth gasped. "You never told me—"
"I'm sorry my dear, but the anger, the urge was too overwhelming." He turned to me to conclude his story. "Obviously we had to leave, but as we made our preparations, they returned, this time with bottles of flaming kerosene. They tossed them at the house from their motorbikes as they circled us, setting the house a blaze."
"And you hid here," I concluded.
"In those days this was an extremely remote area, so no authorities were dispatched," Elizabeth continued. "We withdrew before dawn, our efforts to restore our past lost to the present."
"I anonymously funded yet another flawless reconstruction which stood as a testament to our past—" Benjamin added
. "That is until today."
"And the historian guy, what happened to him?"
"We never saw him again."
"It doesn't make any sense," I pondered. "Your lowlifes would have to be in their sixties or even seventies by now. The bikers had to be the same ones from the pool hall."
"Pool hall?" Elizabeth questioned.
"We called the game billiards," Benjamin clarified. "When was this?"
"When Jason and I went out earlier this evening we stopped at what turned out to be a pool hall slash biker bar."
"Izzy," Elizabeth droned with disgust.
"I know, not the best choice, but Jason was starving. Anyway, this guy Duke and a couple of other 'lowlifes' as you put it made advances toward me. To avoid a scene, I challenged Duke to a game of pool. He was the largest of them, so I figured if I took him on that would be the end of it."
"Ahh," Benjamin nodded, approvingly.
"Naturally I trounced him, not missing a single shot."
"And was that the end of it?" Elizabeth asked.
"Sort off," Jason said.
Naturally we'd heard Jason come down the tunnel, but we were so engrossed in the conversation we ignored his approach.
Jason continued, stepping into our circle. "There were two guys, in a booth not far from the pool table that seemed overly interested in Izzy's game. After she sank the eight ball, I looked back and one of them was gone, just like that—vanished."
"Do you recall what he looked like?" Benjamin asked.
"No, not exactly, but he was wearing a hat and sunglasses—I mean seriously, it was dark in there."
"Are you suggesting the motorcyclists may have followed you here?" Benjamin surmised.
"They could have, or maybe they were already on their way."
"Interesting," Benjamin said, stroking his mustache. "We'll leave you two now." He and Elizabeth vanished down the tunnel without further discussion.
I listened carefully to make sure they hadn't stopped before I spoke. "I think Benjamin thinks one of our kind might be responsible for what happened tonight."
"Seriously? You fight among yourselves?"
"Ah, hello, remember Forks? Your dad?" I probably should have left off the last part.
"Oh, right. Which one of you does Benjamin think they're after?"
I hadn't thought of it in those terms. I'd just assumed they were after all of us. Why couldn't it be just one?
"Since this happened once in the past," Jason continued, "we could make the assumption that they are after one, or all of the Faulkners although I have no idea how they would have known they would return." Jason thought for a minute. "You haven't been with them that long, so I doubt it's you unless we were followed." He read the hesitation in my face. "We weren't followed, were we?"
"No, I don't think so."
"That doesn't sound very reassuring. Maybe we should tell your dad."
"No," I insisted. "your father followed us for only a few miles and I—well he didn't follow us after that."
"And the rest stop?"
"No, that doesn't make sense. If someone were following us, why would they kill where we could see?"
"Okay, reasonable. How about when we got home—anything?"
"No, although I had this kind of feeling that someone had been there. I was never sure one way or another."
"At your house, I remember that. So, that leaves the biker bar. You know, come to think of it maybe this doesn't have anything to do with your parents. Maybe its because you whooped that guy Duke's butt."
"Sore looser?" I shrugged. "That's awfully harsh."
"They were harsh dudes."
"Duke wasn't."
"What about the guy in the sunglasses, the one who did the disappearing act? Sure, I thought maybe strung out on something, but what if he was hiding—"
"Crimson eyes," I speculated.
"Hey, I know, maybe the bikers are like his zombie army."
"Jason, this isn't a movie."
"Sorry, you're right." He leaned back against the wall.
"Let's sit," I offered, realizing he was almost as pale as me.
We both sat down on the stonewall that rimmed a pool of water in the center of the cavern.
"So is this like a well or something?" Jason said.
"No, it connects to the river. It's the secret escape route."
"That's awesome." He reached for the water, but cringed.
"Does it hurt much?"
"Nah, I guess not, but I think I had too much wine, my head is killing me."
"Well, an alcoholic you're not."
We both laughed half-heartedly.
"Hey, wait a minute," Jason said. "If we could get Duke away from the others, maybe you could do that mind probing thing you do. You know, find out what he knows—what's going on."
"But how? He knows us and like you said, they could be after me."
"There's got to be a way."
