by A. L. Mengel
Her mother picked up after two rings, and she heard the familiar, comforting voice.
“Mom….” she began, and that’s all she could get out before she started crying again.
“Oh, dear, Paula, what’s wrong?” her mom asked, automatically with a hint of concern in her voice.
Paula was so drunk and upset that she could hardly get the words out. “Dominick…..” was all she said.
“What?” Her mother asked, urgently, “What has happened to Dominick? Paula, are you drunk? What happened?”
The line went dead, sending Paula’s mother into a panic, she was calling out Paula’s name, over and over, frantically wondering what happened to the line, but little did she know that Paula was lying there, on the couch, passed out from all the vodka she had drank.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The monstrous demon snapped his head in Hernan’s direction.
The drink that shattered on the floor did not cause the activity to cease. The demon resumed sucking crimson red from Roberto’s neck. The young man looked over at his father with glassy eyes as the demon took him further and the intensity increased yet again.
“What is this?!?” Hernan screamed. “What is this in my house?” He stormed into the room, and as Hernan moved the demon looked over and glared at him with a start, eyes bearing down on Hernan with an icy stare. The monster assaulted Roberto with such forcefulness and intensity that the headboard continued its own assault on the crumbling wall.
Hernan stopped in his tracks, motionless and speechless. Roberto stared lovingly at his father.
The monster held his stare with Hernan, holding him still, pinning him against the wall. The demon then grew larger and taller - to an immense size – spreading its wings, writhing and screaming.
Hernan was powerless to stop them and all he could do was stare. He barely registered the moment as he turned and fled.
Roberto developed a thin film of sweat as the demon screamed and the wings spread once again, and swelled in size, causing a river of blood to flow down the bed sheets. The demon held his icy stare, and Roberto did not snap out of his dreamy, lustful gaze. It was then that demon growled deep and chesty - very loud and grating - so loud that it hurt Hernan’s ears and shook the walls.
And Roberto continued staring ahead, yet seeing nothing, as Antoine’s breathing subsided. He transformed back to his immortal form, the monster gone back to Tartarus, the deed now done.
Regulating his breathing, Antoine rose and bent over Roberto who was now out of his trance.
“I told you that I would come to you,” Antoine said. “But you came to me.”
“Um hum,” Roberto said.
“This will seal our pact. We are partners now. You will protect me, and I will protect you. Together, there will be nothing – and no one - that we cannot conquer.”
*~*~*
Earlier that day, Roberto had been speeding north on US1 towards 95 north. He was headed to one place and one place only: South Beach. He knew that was where Antoine lived, and that was where he would look for him. He knew that, on the first night that Antoine had come to him, Antoine had said to wait to meet him until later that evening, but he could not wait to see the beautiful specimen who was so comforting once again.
The obsession had begun.
As he got on the freeway, heading north, he decided that he could stop at the market to buy some roses for Antoine.
He turned east onto the MacArthur Causeway, past the towering ocean liners, waiting to be filled with passengers and head out to the wide open sea, past the parrot jungles, Star Island, and then the fabulous towers of apartments and condos as he bore left to Alton Road.
After stopping at the market, the roses set on the passenger seat, he decided to park the little BMW at Flamingo Park. He wouldn’t have to worry about feeding a parking meter there, and he could leave the car by the park and walk through the residential zones (where he couldn’t park without a sticker) towards Washington Avenue, where Sacrafice was located, near 15th.
Antoine had mentioned Sacrafice briefly when they were together the night before, saying that it was a new club that was opening on Washington Avenue and that it would be unlike any other club that South Beach has seen.
Roberto didn’t really know where to find Antoine, as Antoine had told Roberto to come to him, but Roberto figured that he might be able to ask someone he might run into at Sacrafice. Even though the club was not yet open, chances are there would be people around in the district near the club that might know about Antoine or his whereabouts.
Roberto walked briskly down 12th street, heading East towards Washington Avenue, with the red roses in his right hand.
The morning was hot, bright and sunny, and the trees of 12th street hung down, the branches reaching low down towards the hot pavement, like long fingers looking to scoop up an unsuspecting visitor.
Roberto began to sweat as he walked in the Florida humidity, and Washington Avenue seemed too far away, even though physically it was only three blocks. He passed the scores of parked cars that lined the streets, the art deco style, quaint little apartment buildings that looked to be out of a comic strip, towards the neon and glitz of Washington, now blandly white during the day in the bright sunlight.
All the buildings looked as if they were run-down and old, windows so blurred with age they looked like they were covered with wax paper; now not shielded by the darkness of night, Roberto could see that the buildings were old and dirty and dusty.
Still, colourful lines bordered the buildings, which, upon getting closer, Roberto recognized as the neon which had been turned off in the bright sunlight.
Roberto looked down as he was crossing Euclid and wiped the sweat from his brow that had gathered during his walk. The temperature was soaring, and he hoped that wherever he was going had air conditioning.
Roberto turned north on Washington and got a glimpse of Sacrafice from a distance, and then could see what Antoine was saying.
The architecture made the building stick out from all the pastel colours, light art deco style buildings of South Beach: it was very dark, and made of masonry stone to look like an old cathedral. Antoine was right, he thought, this is something that South Beach has never seen the likes of before.
As Roberto got closer to the club, he read a sign that said:
SACRAFICE
Prepare Yourself.
Coming Soon.
The sign stood out on Washington Avenue like stood against the backdrop like something of a different age; as if it didn’t belong on this street full of kids and young adults who were incessantly wandering in and out of the doors of the petty merchants on the streets, bidding their doings well into the night.
The sign was just as oddly medieval as the club’s building – which at a casual first glance one might mistake it for a church or towering cathedral. The structure looked strangely out of place for a place so trendy as South Beach; the dark stone, contrasting against the pale pastels and the light whites, still dark and ominous looking in the bright Florida sun.
Roberto swung the roses in his right arm, quietly humming “Fur Elise” to himself as he trotted down Washington, a song that he had played back in grade school in the concert band that for some reason popped into his head at that particular moment. And, as he skipped down the sidewalk, dodging passer-by, waiters serving cocktails at the outdoor cafes and young couples walking hand in hand, he approached what looked like a castle, a structure looming over the avenue like a giant, towering dark cathedral.
He looked up at the behemoth building, shaking his head at the size and monstrosity of it, decided to himself that Antoine had to be there. He could feel it, he could sense his dark lover of the night was somewhere within.
There was a sign near the entryway foyer, which read:
OPENING SOON.
Roberto ascended up the steps leading to the grand door, and placed his right foot on the first step, about to go up, when a voice stopped him:
�
��Where are you going, young sir?”
It was a man, with long hair, brown and straight, just past his shoulders, a white collared shirt on and a dark, black trench coat. Roberto thought the man looked to be Italian, but he seemed pale.
“Uh…” Roberto stammered, “I was going to find a friend of mine who lives in this area.”
“I see…” the man said, carefully taking several steps closer to Roberto.
Roberto braced himself slightly, because he did not know the man nor did he know what this man’s intentions were, and he took a step back, rising himself onto a higher level of the stairs. “I was just stopping by to say hello to him.”
“And he lives here?” the man questioned, raising his eyebrows as he did so. “He lives at the site of this club?”
“I…I don’t know.” Roberto said. “I just had a feeling that he would be here.”
“And why is that young sir?” The man took a few more steps towards Roberto, and, noticing that, Roberto darted his eyes around nervously, trying to find a way out of the situation.
The man seemed irritated, his face wrinkled up in a scowl. “Why did you think that your friend would be at this location? Do you know what kind of club this will be?”
Roberto looked down at his feet for a moment. “No, I don’t.”
“I see.” The man said. “Well then, you do not know much about your friend. Antoine is what we call…a night owl.” The man chuckled to himself slightly as he said this. The boy had no idea, apparently, what type of creature Antoine was. How the young man found Antoine so quickly, he did not know. Perhaps the two were drawn to each other by some outside force.
“Would you like me to take you to Antoine?” The man asked, extending his right hand to Roberto, as if to guide him down the steps and to the unknown like leading a child.
Roberto paused and thought for a moment. He looked down at the roses he had bought for his newfound friend, and decided to go with this man. He had to see Antoine again. He descended the steps towards the mysterious figure.
And then, the man took Roberto one more block down Washington, along the side of the gothic exterior, around the corner to 15th street, leading him to a door and a set of steps that ate their way down into the earth through the sidewalk.
It was only then that when the man was opening the heavy wooden door that Roberto noticed the small, smoked glass window leading into a black abyss. Roberto hesitated for a moment - realizing in a moment of clarity that he was going into the unknown with a total stranger, and that somehow this mysterious man knew he was looking for Antoine, without having to be told so.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Astral’s offices on Ponce de Leon were getting ready to close for the evening.
The sun had just gone down; the shoppers were straggling away from the Miracle Mile – just a handful of determined bargain hunters still remained. Many of the shops were closing their doors for the evening – one by one, the lights went out, and the grating sound of the silver chain gates pierced the quiet serenity of a street preparing for a nights slumber. Closed signs swung in front of doors, from shop to shop, and The Astral was no different. Anthony Peterson tiredly walked from his small, cramped office through the waiting room. He closed the blinds from the expansive windows overlooking the leather furniture, and straightened a pile of magazines on the coffee table. Making his way to the door, he drew the blind on the door and flipped the sign to say
CLOSED.
The Victorian style street lights were glowing a familiar reddish orange, lending a warm feel to the tropical street. Many benches were scattered over the brick and cobblestone sidewalks lined with tropical flowers – birds of paradise, orchids and ginger created a stunning colorful palette. The royal palms that rose out of the gardens cast long, thin shadows in the fading sunlight along the streets of Ponce De Leon.
Anthony snapped off half of the bright, overhead florescent lights, so any passer by outside would see that the business had closed for the evening. He straightened some magazines on the white laminate coffee table in the center of the stark, black and white linoleum tiled room behind the main lobby, and he went to the break room to make himself a cup of coffee.
It was going to be a long night.
He raised his hand to his neck, and touched the bandage. He had been with Antoine just several days ago, and his neck was still oozing bright red blood from time to time.
It was strange.
As he had been sitting in Antoine’s living room, sipping a perfectly made vodka martini, Antoine had emerged from the basement.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Antoine said as he had walked back into the living room, dusting himself off. Anthony had just taken a sip of the martini. Treasuring the warmth of the alcohol coursing down his throat, he closed his eyes for a brief moment.
And when he opened them again, Antoine’s face was right in front of his.
Startled, Anthony started a fit of coughing, and Antoine reached around to pat him on his back. When he recovered and regained his composure, he spoke: “Antoine, I must ask you. You have that door in the kitchen. It leads to the basement, correct?”
“Yes,” he responded, standing again, gliding over to the sofa. He sat down and crossed his legs, arms spread out on the back of the sofa.
His senses dulled by the alcohol, Anthony had to pause and think for a moment to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t really sure where he was going with this line of questioning.
“What would like you to know, Anthony?” Antoine asked, this time leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, showing interest in what Anthony was asking about.
“Okay,” he said, rising to his feet, slapping his thighs. “I am just going to come right out with it.” He walked closer to where Antoine was sitting, across the room, and Antoine’s eyes followed his every move. “What are you? I know that you’re not a vampire…but…” He paused for a moment, as if searching for words.
“I am not a vampire,” Antoine offered. “But I do have many similarities to them. I am associated with their kind. I do many things that vampires do. And I am immortal. Just like them, I am also damned from everything decent and good for eternity.”
Some all too familiar thunder rumbled in the distance. The rain continued each night in Coral Gables, as it had night after night.
“Antoine, then what are you?”
Antoine stood. He walked over to the window, and gazed out into the rainy night. He stared through the window as he had so many nights before, and let out a deep, all too human feeling sigh.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Paula gradually opened her eyes, and heard the annoying beep! beep! in her ear - the annoying noise that lets one know that the phone was left off the hook. What time was it? She did not know. Still in a stupor, she lazily looked around the room, wanting to know what time it was, but she could not see a clock. Her eyes felt heavy and puffy. And her head pounded. All she could think of was her mother. She had to get to her mother, and she would make everything okay.
She struggled to stand, and after one time of staggering back into the couch, she made it. She was still drunk, but since the short sleep, she felt she had her senses with her. She slowly made her way down the hall to her baby’s room, rubbing her eyes. The baby was not awake, not making a sound, but it was evident she had been crying earlier as her cheeks had the puffy, slightly pinkish look of distress - the type when a baby cries and cries for long periods of time with no attention. But of course, Paula hadn’t heard a thing.
Paula bent over, and staggered again. She braced herself on the side of the crib. She reached down and placed her hands gently around the baby, making to pick her up. She raised the baby to her chest, cradling the small child in her arms like a true mother only could.
Tears welled up in her eyes. She came to realize the fact that, even though her mother was supportive and always there, the only person she really had in her life was the baby. She held the child, cradled it in her arms, and suddenly deci
ded to leave.
She had to see her mother.
She had to see someone in her life that she could speak with and relate to on an adult level. She put the baby back in the crib and pulled on an old, raggedy pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt. That’s all she needed. Besides, given her current condition, she could care less about what she looked like or who she attracted.
Paula still stumbled around the house, lazily returning to the baby’s room where the little girl had returned to a slumber. This time, while the baby was roused, the child began to cry, softly at first but then louder and louder as the small child was tossed around and jostled as if it were a rag doll, while Paula was packing a few items.
Starting out to the car, Paula stopped by the coffee table and took two swigs of vodka directly from the bottle. Staggering backwards, almost falling, and jolting the baby as well, she turned and headed out towards the car. She slammed the door and forgot to lock it. She swayed once more with a crying baby on her shoulder disappearing into the damp, moist, humid Miami night.
Paula’s small car weaved through the lanes of South Dixie Highway, speeding towards Coral Gables. Tears streamed down her face as Sonny and Cher sang “I got you babe” on the radio. Of course that song had to come on. She and Dominick sang that song once at Bonnie’s karaoke night.
Paula was still drunk, and was not sobering up no matter how many times she rolled the window down to the rainy night or how low of a temperature she set the air to. How did her life get to this point? Now she was alone, with a child to support by herself, no one to love her and no one to turn to.
The small car swerved dangerously to the side of the road, when Paula decided that was it. She could not go on any further. She cried, diverting her attention from the road.
