by Titus, Rose
“And what can I get for you, Detective Atkinson?”
“Leon, you wanna not yell out loud here what my orientation is, please?” But then again, the music was so loud, maybe no one would hear. And most of the people looked pretty spaced out anyway.
Leon laughed, actually seemed a little happy to see him.
Martin wasn’t even sure about Leon, who, or what, he was. He was pretty damn friendly with Them; strangely enough he could also be seen walking around in broad daylight, too.
“Just get me someone to talk to.”
“I’m all ears! Hey, people get drunk and tell me all their problems every night, all night!”
“No, not like that. I mean Irina. Is she around?”
“She’s always here. You should know that.”
“Can I see her?”
He was led up to the top floor of the building by some extremely pale individual that Leon found to escort him up the elevator. Apparently they didn’t want people wandering through the place unsupervised. The guy who brought him up took him to a lavishly furnished room and politely told him to wait, then left him alone.
He was relieved when he left, but what was next?
If necessary, he did have his gun. According to legend, that was pretty useless, but he did hear otherwise. Perhaps it would slow one of them down long enough for him to get away.
Damn it, he thought, I shouldn’t have even bothered with this stupid experiment.
He remembered that he expected her office, her living quarters, the space where she hid all day, to be down below, down below in the darkness where they all gathered and fed.
Thinking of it disturbed his stomach.
To distract himself he looked at his surroundings. The room was softly, dimly lit. The furniture was Victorian, in excellent condition, probably genuine, not reproduction, he guessed. The walls were covered with exquisite artwork. At least she had taste for something else besides...
A door opened; he turned to look. It was her daughter Alexandra, who was also a manager for the businesses Irina owned. “She will see you now.”
He rose to follow her and he watched her as she walked in front of him. She wore a plaid dress. It was plain and simple, but not while it was on her. Her long straight golden hair cascaded gently down her back.
To watch her made him weak.
She opened a door for him. Irina sat at her large mahogany desk. “Thank you, Alexandra.” She stood up. “And how are you, Detective Atkinson? It has been a long time. Do sit down, make yourself comfortable.”
The door closed behind him, leaving him alone with her. He found a seat near her desk and sat. He noticed the extremely ornate, delicate tea cup she sipped from. There was no tea bag. Then he noticed the brochures. “Now,” she began in her lightly accented voice. “Martin help me!” She held up one of the glossy pamphlets. When she moved her arm he saw several, not one, but several diamond bracelets wrapped around her thin white wrist. The brochure had photographs of an expensive looking sedan, but he could not read it because the room was so poorly lit. “I am trying to decide. They are all so lovely! Perhaps the Lincoln? Instead of the Cadillac? But it is difficult. Which color? If I do not decide, I shall have to buy three of them because I cannot make up my mind on which color. Life can be so difficult.”
“I don’t know what color you should get, Irina. I really don’t.”
“Well, never mind it then. Shall I have them bring you coffee?”
“No. That’s okay, Irina.”
“Oh, but you must have something.” She picked up her phone. “Let me call the kitchen for some pastries for you. Some tea, maybe? And you can talk me into buying a Lincoln instead of a Cadillac. Or three of them, or one of each. You know I am still very distraught lately, after what happened to my Crown Victoria. I would love to just get my hands on the thieves, they all should be shot. No. Sent to Siberia!” she laughed. “Where there are hungry wolves and bears and endless snow. I suppose they dumped it into the ocean, after stripping it.” She went on complaining about the loss of her car and how some of her jewelry and her purse were on the front seat at the time.
She was an attractive woman; she wore a dark silk dress and a long string of pearls. She of course did not look her age, and she would never tell anyone what her age was; but by the way she spoke of the Russian Revolution he knew she wasn’t as young as she looked.
A petite blonde waitress came in with a tray of cakes and pastries, a pot of tea for him, and another teacup already filled for her.
He simply did not like the idea of eating in front of any of Them. Especially not while They were drinking That. They told him more than once it was from slaughterhouses, but did he really know that for sure?
“No, Irina. No one has discovered the remains of your car.” She was wearing him down; his voice betrayed it.
“Oh well. It’s just making me upset. Let’s talk of something else. How is the little girl? What is her name?”
“Jennifer.”
“Still all alone?”
He winced. His wife died five years ago when the restaurant where she worked was held up by an armed robber who was high on crack and carrying a machine gun; she was gunned down along with several other innocent people.
“Yes.” he answered simply.
“A little girl needs a mother.”
Oh hell. “Irina. I didn’t come for any social reason. There’s been a murder.”
“And so, the big thug who called himself Lord Whoever, his name escapes me now, sent his little thugs into the helpless village to abuse the peasants. They torched their simple homes, killed the animals, and so on. Hey, didn’t I tell you all this already?”
“How awful. This really happened? No, you really didn’t tell me all of this. You stopped, remember? Because you got worried someone might hear you. I’m sorry I said that thing out loud. I feel really stupid again.” She was now flat on the couch in the darkness, with the old hand made woolen blanket to cover her. The only light came in through the window, letting in the glow from the moon and stars.
She listened as he moved about quietly through the dark. He got up suddenly to go into the small kitchen to satisfy his ceaseless yet strangely civilized hunger. “And so then the people became extremely terrified and told the soldiers of the vampire who hunted the deer by night. In those days, no one questioned that. It was fact, simple as that. Well, the soldiers brought word back to their lord and his mind began to work when he got the information—”
“What do you mean?” she interrupted. He returned with a full bottle in his hand and sat by her once again. She felt that she should be made nervous by this, but he was being well-fed, she reasoned. And what did it matter, anyway, if he did suddenly turn on her in the dark of night when she was vulnerable. Wasn’t that what she really wanted?
She didn’t know anymore.
“You people today know very little of our history. We were not always savagely hunted by the fabled mobs of peasants carrying torches, chasing us through the woods with hounds. No. In ancient times, when Rome ruled the world we were treated almost like gods. On the surface, that sounds good, but not quite. There are tales of one sect that would like to keep one of us, always only one, easier to keep that way, and once captured we were not allowed to leave the temple. They say we could have anything we demanded for comfort, except freedom. Another group of people in Eastern Europe would encourage us to join their warriors to intimidate their enemies, we could always find a job that way as a paid mercenary, paid in money, or in other ways.”
“Would you be good at it?” she wondered out loud.
“Excuse me?” he did not fully understand the question.
“As a warrior, I mean?” he did appear to be very strong, though he was thin and pale.
“Not me personally. I’m the type who just hangs around and watches TV all night, when I’m not painting or running the store downstairs.”
“But way back then, I mean—”
“I suppose, if the
attack came before dawn.”
“I see.”
“And of course some people always feared us, believed we were cursed, the walking dead, and so on. But back to the story. The lord in his castle was probably most typical of his day. Remember, this is the Dark Ages. A man’s worth was measured in how many slaves he had, how many people he killed, how many weapons he owned. And now, he thought about this. ‘A vampire, loose in my forest. I must have it.’”
“Have it?”
“Yes, own him. Like a very expensive hound, or a new kind of war horse, he wanted to own him, control him, keep him, like a domesticated animal. But how? In what way could he be contained?”
“Damn it, I blew it,” Martin growled out loud. He struggled to unlock his door. It was stuck again. He kept trying to remember to oil it. “Damn it.”
“If you are so sure we have something to do with it, then why don’t you let one of us help you?”
“What the?”
It was her. Alexandra. She was standing at the dark end of the hallway. She must have left work early after Irina had one of her people quickly escort him back out. None of them would cooperate now. Or would they?
“I said—”
“Why the hell would any of you want to help me with this?”
She drifted quietly forward out of the darkness, coming uncomfortably close to him and into the light. Her pale blue eyes seemed to almost glow under the brightness of the lamp that hung from the ceiling. He flinched, looked away. It was too eerie to look at, and dangerous, maybe.
“Because I don’t believe it could be any of us, that’s why. I want you to find the real killer, that’s why! Don’t you realize how many people there are, out there, who like to pretend?”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“They play make believe. They want to be like us, some of them even believe it. Sometimes they commit terrible crimes, to prove it to themselves.”
“Wanna talk?” Dear God, I can’t lose it again.
“When?”
“Right now,” damn it. He almost said the words damn it but he shut his mouth. He felt uncomfortable swearing around a woman, and he was especially uncomfortable around her.
Martin went inside and paid the babysitter. He gave her an extra ten dollars because he was late, then went to check on Jennifer. She was soundly asleep with her pink bear. He wanted to come into her room and kiss her but it would wake her up. He shut the door.
Alexandra knocked on his door minutes later and he let her in. He didn’t bother to offer her anything. She sat at the kitchen table across from him.
“So,” he began nervously, “What can you tell me?”
She shrugged. “What do you want to know?”
“I dunno. Tell me about these people, these wanna-be’s.” A decent place to start, he figured. “Know any?”
“Not personally. But I’ve heard about them. How was this person killed?”
“Beaten to death.” He got up to get himself a beer from the fridge.
“So, then why would you think it’s one of us?”
“The poor idiot’s neck was all chewed up, that’s why. Ripped right through the skin, right into the muscle tissue.”
“Why would any of us do that?”
“Oh come on.” He sat down again. “You’re the expert. You tell me.”
“Okay. Suppose, just suppose, one of us did do this. Why chew him up? It is a complete and total waste of time. We just do not chew on people.” She emphasized the word not.
“Huh? So you can tear him up to get in at the blood.”
“But why bother to tear him up? It isn’t necessary. It takes no effort at all to puncture the flesh on the throat, no effort. You just do not realize how razor sharp my teeth are Martin.”
He shivered. She noticed.
“Don’t worry. I won’t prove it to you. Although I could do it on my own wrist just to show you how easy it is, and that it’s mostly painless. But I know you wouldn’t like that, would you?”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to.” Damn it, he swore again to himself. He had missed that fact all along. Whoever it was who did this thing obviously had to really, really tear into this guy.
“Yeah, okay. But the letter V was written on the wall above the body, written in the victim’s own blood.”
“If you killed someone, Martin,” and she looked directly into him. He didn’t like that. “Would you leave your name and address at the scene?”
“Okay.”
“Besides, we’ve got plenty of food. Why waste time and energy, why get nice clothes all covered in blood, why bother to beat it out of some fool?”
“I dunno. For kicks?” that’s the motive he believed all along.
“Then why so close to home?”
“Alexandra?” he looked down at the floor, at his shoes when he suddenly interrupted her.
“Yes?”
“Have you ever?”
“What? Drink blood. All the time, Martin. You know that. I don’t live off donuts and cold pizza and beer like you do.”
“No. Not like that, I mean. You know... I mean—”
She thought a moment. “Oh. I see. Well yes. But I don’t see him anymore. After I thought about it for a while, I began to think he was just using me.”
“Huh? Using you?”
“For kicks.” She smiled now, amused at his reaction. “To him I guess it was an adventure of some kind. But I don’t believe he really cared for me. So I left him. No, it just did not work. I suppose after that he tried drugs to get his high. I don’t know. And I don’t care.”
“Let’s talk about some of these people who play make-believe, okay?” he grew more and more frustrated as the conversation continued.
“The way I heard it, they like to dress up in capes, light candles, some of them have got their own little fan clubs, too. They get really into it, coerce people into letting themselves be cut so they can try their blood. Some of them even think they really are. I don’t know what these people would do if they met the real thing. Probably run like hell.”
“Tell me about Leon?” he seemed like a clean kid, but...
“Oh, he’s adopted.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Alex found him sleeping behind some trash cans twelve years ago. He was thirteen, I think. Irina took him in, spoiled him rotten.”
“Then he’s not—”
“No. Not sure where he’s from. Don’t know who his real parents are. But he is like one of the family, he knows everyone, hangs out with my other brother a lot, too. Yeah, he’s family. That’s that.”
“Is he okay? Does he want to be—”
“He knows he’s not.”
“Okay. Any of you people ever have a drug problem?” He’d hate to see one of them high on crack, and the damage it could do.
“No.”
“Telling me the truth?”
“As far as I know, none of us are on drugs.”
“Okay.”
Where the hell was the missing link?
Lina pulled up into her driveway and parked her ‘Vette. She saw another car parked on the street by her house and wondered briefly who it could be. When she got out and walked up towards her door she heard voices from inside.
Oh no, she thought. Not again. Not Sky.
She had a rough night and closed the shop early after dealing with abrasive customers and tourists. And now Sky. She was probably in there telling Alex he would be a better, happier, more complete person if he would listen to his inner child or his spirit guides or whatever crack-pot idea she was into now. Either that or she was telling him to become a vegetarian.
She listened.
No. It was a man’s voice. Who was it? Not Rick, his voice was too soft and quiet. Not Martin. But the sound was familiar.
She unlocked the door and went in. If it wasn’t Sky, then she would feel safe to enter.
“Lina! Well, it is good to see you again. It has been so long.”
It was Jim Ellison, t
he journalist who made his living reporting on the unusual and unexplained. Jim once rented one of Alex’s apartments until he married and bought his own home in another town, but they kept in touch. She was pleased to see him.
“Jim! Well, what brings you here?”
The lights were out. She reclined on the worn out couch wrapped in the woolen blanket, drifting into the dreamlike state between alertness and sleep and listened to the sound of his soft voice. “Have you gone to sleep yet?” he asked.
No, she wanted to say, keep talking, keep telling me these things. But she did not have the energy to speak up.
Why did she trust him so much? She never allowed herself to trust anyone before. Was it because he was different? Because he was also kept apart from the rest of society? Or was it simply because she needed to trust someone, anyone?
She heard him go to the closet for his jacket, getting ready to leave and go out. And then he was gone.
Jim was sitting at the small kitchen table, finishing his Chinese takeout. “Alex insisted on getting me something; this is rather good. Too bad you never have any.”
“It has certainly been a while since we’ve seen you,” Lina bent to pick up her poodle. “And you! Stop begging under the table, Alex is right, you are spoiled rotten.” She put the dog back down. “It’s really good to see you again, Jim. Actually, to be honest, I am glad it’s really you, I almost thought it was a neighbor, a tenant actually, when I heard people talking on my way in. I thought it was her, causing trouble again.”
“Yes.” He opened a fortune cookie and silently read it. “Alex was telling me all about that one. Ought to do a feature on her, maybe. How about... let’s see... Woman Possessed By Space Aliens?”
“No,” Alex growled from the living room where he sat in near darkness. “Space Aliens Invade Earth, Refuse to Pay Rent.”
“Oh Alex, now let’s stop making fun at her expense!” And she looked down to notice the dog begging again.
“And Lina, I see that you still are as lovely as ever. Alex is a very lucky man.”
“Oh stop it, Jim.” She felt herself nearly blush. Even at her age, he made her feel like a school girl.
