by Nina Bruhns
Don’t panic, she’d thought. There’s still the emergency alarm button. But pressing the button had produced…nothing. Not a bell, a buzz, a ring, or even thud. That was when she’d opened the box of chocolates and her panic gorge fest had begun.
A thought occurred. Cell phone. Maybe her cell phone would work. Giselle sent up a silent prayer. The service on her cell phone was dodgy, particularly when she tried to use it in an elevator. She saw her purse lying in the corner.
Giselle got to her knees and crawled to the purse and began rooting around, pushing the junk from side to side. Finally, she just upended the entire contents onto the floor. The phone landed with a heavy plunk in the middle of a pile of bills right next to a box of breath mints and a tampon.
She was about to pick it up when the Scooby theme sounded. Wow, that was timing.
The caller ID readout displayed an unfamiliar number. She opened the phone, pressed talk and jumped in without greeting.
“I need help. I’m trapped.”
“Giselle, ma cherie. It is Vector.”
This couldn’t be happening to her.
“Vector.”
“I give you another chance for the romantic with me. I am thinking that you are the tiredness when I see you at hotel. But you have rest and now—”
“How did you get this phone number?” she demanded, interrupting him.
“You call to confirm our date.” His voice sounded even more tinny and nasal over the phone.
“We didn’t have a date. Well, we had a date, but it wasn’t a date date. Oh, never mind that. I’m stuck.”
“I save your number in my phone so I call with just one number, the how-you-call-it speed dial. So you are uniqueness, yes? You have the number two. If I am pressing the number two, I call you. I, of course, am number one on the speed dial.”
“Why would you need to have yourself as number one? You don’t have to call yourself. Oh, never mind that. I’m trapped in an elevator at the hotel.”
“You want Vector to come to the hotel and have the sex in the elevator?”
“What? Are you insane? We are never, ever, going to have sex. I’m trapped in the elevator. You need to call someone at the hotel.”
“You want me to call you back at the hotel? But why do I not call you back on your cell phone? It is easiness. I am only pressing the speed dial number two in my phone.”
“Oh, just forget it.”
Giselle snapped the phone shut. It clicked so hard it sounded like an animal trap springing shut. If only it was a trap wire springing shut right on the skunk’s neck.
The face of the phone said there was service. Thank heavens. Opening the phone again, the Scooby theme sounded before she could press in a telephone number. The little French twerp was calling her again.
She cut off the call without even answering. Then she began to dial 9-1-1.
Before she could press in the last one, the obnoxious ring of her phone sounded again. Vector.
“Aggggghhhhh!” If she ever got out of this elevator he was going to be one dead varmint.
At one time she had loved having Scooby on her phone. Now she wished she would never have to hear it again. She cut off the theme by pressing talk.
“Listen, Vector,” she said into the phone. “You must stop calling me. Do you understand?”
She waited for an answer. None came. From a great distance, a muffled voice could be heard, as if fabric covered the microphone on the phone.
“I know that she love me,” the muffled voice with a French accent said.
“Yeah, buddy, but what do you want?” another muffled voice asked.
“Quoi?”
“What?”
“What?”
“Stop that,” the muffled non-French voice said with exasperation. “What do you want to order?”
“Oh. I wish the espresso… But I am say, that I know she love me even though…”
Shuffling, crinkling paper, scraping and clinking.
“Hey, bub. You can’t smoke in here.”
Vector’s phone was calling her from his pocket. That idiot. Giselle pressed the end button.
“I am just light the cigarette, I not puff,” she heard the French twerp say.
“I don’t care, this place is non-smoking. You can’t light that cigarette in here by law.”
“I am not lighting cigarette by law. I am by counter.”
She pressed the button again with no effect. The stupid phone had seized up and wouldn’t let her disconnect.
“Vector,” she screamed into the receiver. “Vector, can you hear me?”
“Cute, but you still can’t smoke,” the muffled voice continued.
“I no understand you. I am not by law. So I am smoke, yes?”
“No.”
Oh, forget it. She snapped the phone shut again. Maybe if she gave it a rest it would work. Almost immediately the musical ring began. A line of obscenities formed in her mind about a mile long.
She opened the phone. Would it be a call from Vector or from his pocket?
“Ms. Hunter, you were repeatedly warned.” The gravelly whisper with a metallic edge sent a spike of fear into Giselle’s heart.
“You did not leave Savannah as I told you to do. Therefore, you will die,” the voice continued.
Giselle couldn’t tell whether it was a male or female. The voice sounded electronically altered and she’d never be able to identify its owner. Although it probably didn’t matter if the person behind the voice was about to carry through with his—or her—threat.
“I’ll leave now.” Giselle heard a frightened little girl quality in her voice. She hated that and beat it down…that and the tears that suddenly filled her eyes. “Not! Listen, you coward, if you want a piece of me come in here and get me.”
A grating mechanized chuckle met her challenge. “Oh, there’s no need for that, Ms. Hunter.”
The elevator car shook and then jerked. The motor gave a high-pitched whine.
Thank heavens. The car was about to move. She was finally going to get out of here.
The car lurched upward again. Then the floor dropped and kept falling faster and faster.
As the car plummeted downward toward the bottom of the shaft where it would smash into little pieces, it occurred to Giselle that she was going to die and she’d never found a ghost. On the other hand, now she would be a ghost.
Giselle crouched in the corner of the elevator, her arms outstretched, each palm levered against a wall, as the elevator car continued to nose-dive.
Eighth floor, seventh floor…
The car accelerated as it fell, a strange whirring sound set in.
Was she supposed to jump up at the last second to avoid massive injuries or was that just an urban legend?
Six floor, fifth floor…
Eyes squeezed firmly shut, Giselle tried to remember a prayer and couldn’t. She opened her eyes.
Fourth floor…
Maybe she was supposed to lie flat on the floor. Then she wouldn’t have anywhere to fall.
Third floor…
Wasn’t her life supposed to flash before her eyes at this point? Nothing came to mind. Giselle couldn’t even bring her parents into focus. She couldn’t think of anything except Ry’s face. Why would she think of the bastard?
Second floor…
Suddenly, there was terrible grinding screech of metal rubbing against metal coming from under her feet. Was it her imagination or had the elevator car slowed?
First floor.
The elevator car jerked and then heaved in a slight upward motion before it lunged about a foot. There was a great thud before the car came to an abrupt rest.
Giselle opened her eyes. She was still alive. Wasn’t she? She looked down at herself then into the mirror on the back wall. Her reflection clearly showed a person who was alive and extremely filthy.
A few bumping noises and scratches came from outside the doors. Then a small opening appeared, followed by a metal tool that gripped either side of the doors ne
ar their top. The tool pried at either side of the gap until the doors slid open.
Giselle found herself looking up at a rotund bald man dressed in a service technician’s blue uniform, standing in the doorway. Beyond him was the pinched face of the desk clerk and the hotel lobby. The elevator, it seemed, had come to rest about half a floor below the main level.
“Let me help you out of there, miss.” The service man extended a hand down to her.
Her legs quaking under her, Giselle stepped to the corner and retrieved her purse and then took hold of the hand with a grateful smile to the man.
The serviceman pulled and Giselle felt herself lifted.
“Don’t hurt your back, Tony,” she heard the desk clerk say.
Lovely. That was probably a comment on her weight.
“No problem, she’s light as a cloud,” Tony said, smiling down at Giselle as he continued to lift her.
Bless him.
The serviceman stepped back and swung her up and onto the lobby floor. Giselle’s knees almost buckled, but the wonderful serviceman held on to her waist until she steadied.
“Poor girl,” he said.
Giselle stepped away from him. “Thank you so much.” She swayed. It felt as if the floor moved under her. Her head whirled with dizziness.
“I don’t know what could have happened to that elevator,” the serviceman said.
“Someone tampered with it,” Giselle said, wiping at the perspiration that had formed on her upper lip.
The desk clerk’s pinched expression turned even more sour. “I don’t see how that’s possible,” he said.
“I don’t either,” the serviceman said, scratching his chin. “But it’s a good thing the brake was in working order. Who knows what could have happened if it had hit the bottom of the shaft at full speed.” He eyed her with speculation. “You don’t look well. You look as if you are going to faint,” he said. “You’d better go to your room.”
Nodding, she turned looking around “Where are the stairs?”
“You don’t have to take the stairs, miss. The other elevator is working.”
“It is? There was an out-of-order sign on it earlier.”
The desk clerk’s eyebrow arched. “That’s odd. I saw no sign. And no one told me that it was out of order.” His tone told her clearly that he thought she was lying or crazy or both.
Her stomach rolled.
“I don’t care if it’s working. I’ll be taking the stairs—probably from now on.”
She staggered and another wave of dizziness overtook her. The last time she’d felt like this was the ten minutes following her ride of the roller coaster called The Tornado. And that time she’d upchucked her breakfast shortly thereafter.
“Oh, no.” She barely got out the words and turned from the serviceman when her stomach heaved and she helplessly vomited its contents at the feet of the desk clerk.
The box of chocolates didn’t look so appetizing now.
* * *
Giselle had to wash her hair twice to shower out the gunk that had accumulated on her scalp during her travels. She’d brushed her teeth three times to get the taste out of her mouth. She didn’t even want to think about it.
Now wrapped in a cozy bathrobe and sitting on the bed in her hotel room, Giselle reviewed the history on her cell phone. There it was. The number of the person who had called her in the elevator. The person who must somehow have made the car fall and nearly killed her.
Pressing the talk button to call the number, Giselle waited for an answer.
“Room service.” A young female voice answered.
Great. The call had come from a hotel phone. No help there.
Giselle disconnected the call.
She pondered the yellow flyer that had come from the trunk of her abductor’s car. The flyer was the only clue as to the identity of her abductors at this point. The car had driven away while she’d rolled on the pavement, so Giselle had not had a chance to see any part of its license plate. And the two men who had abducted her existed in her memory as indistinct blobs.
Strong and rough but a blur.
The Savannah police still hadn’t called to get a statement about the two attempts on her life. They probably didn’t have time to investigate the abduction, or the elevator tampering with so little to go on. Since Ry’s assistance was no longer an option, she’d just have to do a little investigating of her own.
Picking up the phone on the bedside table, Giselle punched in the telephone number from the flyer. She didn’t want them having her cell phone number.
Three rings and the call was answered with a mechanical click.
“Welcome to VICTIM.” The male voice was low, sultry and vaguely familiar. The electronic message continued. “Are you a victim? If you’re not a victim, become a victim. VICTIM stands for Vampires in Crisis, Together in Misery. Our mission is to raise awareness as to the plight of vampires nationwide and to mount legal challenges to the rampant discrimination against our brethren. Every fifty seconds in the United States a vampire is subjected to prejudice. You can help. With a small donation of just twenty-five dollars per month, you can join VICTIM and sponsor a needy vampire―”
Giselle cut off the call. She’d found out what she needed to know.
A Girl, a Guy and a Ghost: Chapter Ten
A trip to the hotel’s business center allowed Giselle to do some surfing on the internet. She found that a filing had been made to create a nonprofit organization with the name VICTIM. The incorporators were none other than Marissa La Bianca and the Vampire Lester. Could that be his legal name? It seemed that the government didn’t discriminate against vampires in the creation of a bogus charity.
The corporate information did provide a surprise however. As if Giselle needed any more shocks this weekend. The name of the registered agent for VICTIM was listed as Armand Kopeleski and his home was identified as the address of the corporation.
Talk about muddying the waters of suspicion. Bad choice of expression. The words muddy and water brought back disturbing memories. Too much of both of those lately. But this information about Kopeleski did create confusion. Since Kopeleski was associated with VICTIM, it could be him, and not the Vampire Lester, who had plotted her abduction. Or it could still be Lester. Or it could be both of them. For that matter, it could be Marissa La Bianca. Who knows how many people had become a victim? It could be anybody, really.
Giselle also checked her email selectively. No need to open those ten, no eleven urgent messages from Willie. She’d just talked to him on the phone. Of course she’d been incoherent at the time, but it still counted. She had at least another twenty-four hours before she had to open his messages.
She did open an email from the Vampire Lester. She read with amazement.
Dearest Giselle, How do I love thee. The ways count more than flowers. And if it would make you come to me, I would use all of my powers.
Well, he wasn’t the best poet and not at all original.
The email was signed, Forever yours, The Vampire Lester. P.S. Tonight at eight p.m. please :(=
She supposed the symbol was supposed to be an unhappy vampire.
He had included an address for the assignation. Giselle would definitely make time for that date.
The poetry confused Giselle even further. What did this strange communication from Lester mean? As if the flowers hadn’t been confusing enough. Forever yours? When had he acquired this great love for her? Somewhere between the restaurant last night and arranging for the delivery of the flowers this morning. What about Marissa? It was bizarre. Plus, he could be a kidnapper, or at least a conspirator to kidnapping. And he was in league with that old wizard Kopeleski, who was in league with Madam Divinity. Giselle would never forgive that woman. When someone called her fat, there was no coming back from it. Plus, Madam Divinity was Ry’s mother. Ry. No, don’t go down the Ry road of thinking. That road led to heartache and misery.
What she needed was to clear her head. What could she do? N
ice bowl of healthful fruit? No. Exercise? Lord no. A drink? Yes, but probably counterproductive to a clear head and also a little scary at this time of day. Memo to self—Don’t become a wino. Aspirin? Yes, but not good enough. What she needed was retail therapy. Serious retail therapy.
As Giselle walked toward the front door of the hotel, the desk clerk hailed her. “Ms. Hunter, just a moment.”
Giselle sighed. Well, at least this time the clerk would see someone clean and not at all wet. A vast improvement over her appearance during her earlier encounter with the man. The clerk, however, had the same pinched look on his face. When she reached the front desk, he pulled her to the side and spoke with a condescending curl to his lip and in a loud stage whisper.
“Ms. Hunter, the management would like you to check out of the hotel, shall we say, forthwith.”
“What?” It wasn’t clever. But it was all she could think of to say.
“You are not the, shall we say, caliber guest the hotel is used to.”
“Why?” Brilliant.
“You have caused too much, shall we say, disturbance since you checked in yesterday.”
“Huh?” Another great comeback.
“There was the, shall we say, unfortunate appearance you just made with your clothing and your smell. I don’t even want to mention how you attempted to destroy our elevator. Nor do I want to mention the unfortunate sickness all over the lobby floor…and my shoes. ”
“Urmmm.” Inspired.
“And if that wasn’t enough, there was that, shall we say, strange little French man who loitered around the hotel lobby for hours.”
“Vector?” Still monosyllabic. Or was that doublesyllabic. Was that even a word?
“And let’s not forget the odd, shall we say, woman hovering around and mumbling about casting of spells. She was frightening the guests.”
“Witch?”
“Yes, but one letter different.”
“Ahhhh,” Giselle nodded.
“Then there was the crazy old man bullying the hotel staff for access to your room and demanding we turn over some metal.”
“Huh?” Come on, Giselle, you can do better than that.
“And then there were those two other, shall we say, gentlemen.”
