She was so open about it, I was a little disconcerted, somehow. I wasn't positive she was telling the truth, and if she was, I wasn't too sure I wanted details. “Much blood, ah, exchanged in these encounters?”
“You aren't into that, are you?” she said, with a little laugh.
“No, 'fraid not.”
She scooched down in her chair, and regarded me in earnest. “Okay, look, this is how it goes… ”
She explained that, most of the time, there wasn't much blood involved at all. It was frequently produced by nicking the skin between the fingers or toes, for instance. Just a few drops. Sometimes, if things were truly intimate, blood could be taken from a tiny cut on the lip, or the earlobe, and exchanged with kisses. Sometimes, if things really heated up, little cuts on the buttocks, or an area near the genitals or breasts.
“Depends,” she said.
“On?” I figured that if I was going to get an education, it might as well be thorough.
“Well, on whether or not you're in love at the time, for one thing. Or on just how fucked up you are, for another.”
She went on, describing how more severe cuts could be inflicted, depending on the mood of the donor. She was pretty circumspect, and I could tell she was trying not to go somewhere, but that the questions were leading her there anyway.
She stopped talking, and looked at the door to my office. “Could you close the door?”
Hester reached over and pushed it shut.
Huck looked at the windows. The curtains were pulled.
“Well it's been a day,” she said, with a sigh. “What the fuck. Look, I was an abused kid,” she said. “My mother had a boyfriend when I was about thirteen or so. Okay? And he used to get at me in a sexual way, and he'd smack me around once in a while, just to keep me in my place. And, like, Mom knew, 'cause I told her. And she, well, she ignored me, okay? So it went on. All through high school.” She shrugged. “Until I was a senior, and he left her for some skanky twenty-year-old.” She looked at Hester. “So I could handle it, you know? No problems. It was over, right? Well, I didn't socialize much, I mean, he didn't want me out of the house all that often. And I could, well, remember when home had been a safe place once, and I thought that now it could be again.” She shrugged. “We all make mistakes, now and then. But I really liked music. I was happy in music, and I was good with my music.” She stopped, and it didn't look like she was going to restart.
“What instrument?” I asked.
“Flute.” A wistful smile. “I was good, too. Went to the University of Wisconsin at Madison on a music scholarship.” She'd been slumped while she was talking, but when she started about her music, she almost imperceptibly straightened. “Once I got to play the 'Jolivet Concerto for Flute and Orchestra,' with the whole symphony. Well, it was at a rehearsal, not at a concert, but the conductor said it was 'flawless.' ” She brightened. “Leiberman's, too. I was pretty good,” and her voice trailed off.
Her hands came up, and she spread her fingers wide, and looked at them for a moment. “Now I deal cards for a living. Dexterity is very important for a blackjack dealer, too. I'm pretty good at that, and the breath control is a snap,” she said, lightly.
Then back to the here and now. “So, about halfway through my first year as a middle school music teacher at a little town in northern Wisconsin, I discovered I couldn't handle the past as well as I thought.” She chuckled ruefully. “Christmas vacation, and I decided to spend it by myself in my apartment. Ever drink absinthe? That is some fine shit, let me tell ya. Just never get drunk on hard liquor when you're secretly all fucked up in the head, and all alone by yourself. Boy.”
Hester and I were both very quiet.
“So, back to our problem,” she said briskly. “Things got to me. Really, really got to me. They don't want you teaching their kids after you've had an 'episode,' you know? So when I got out of the treatment facility I resigned. It was the easiest thing to do, for all concerned, really. I went home, and there was mother dear who was in a state of mourning over her lost love, and just couldn't get real concerned about me, except that I was broke. And I hated that, and when I was 'discovered' by Edie, who talked me into living at the Mansion, I just moved in. Rent-free. I figured I'd just take some time, then maybe go back to teaching or something. No more, I guess.”
She shrugged. “Anyway, I suppose I got into the blood stuff because I was accepted, and felt somebody actually cared, you know?” She looked at us both for a second. “And Jessica takes us places, too. Chicago several times. New York once. We get to go to things like concerts with her, and galleries. Shows. More than just tickets. She, like, knows some of the artists, and we get to meet 'em, and go to social things with really cool people.”
I nodded.
“And I get to be around music, and music people… ” She sort of drifted off. Then, “But it still hurt a lot, inside. A lot, and it never went all the way away. But Dan, he showed me a way to make the pain go for quite a while.”
She stood.
“Now, don't go all embarrassed on me, I wear exceptionally nice underwear,” she said, and abruptly pulled down her slacks.
On the inside of her left thigh were six or eight long, pale but pronounced scars running from about two inches below the groin to about an inch above the knee. She looked at both of us. “Both thighs, underneath both breasts, and the inside of the upper left arm, but this way I can still wear nice clothes, you know?” she said, pulling her slacks back up. “I do it to myself. It looks weird, I know it. But it actually makes you feel better about some things, to do that. It's the endorphins, I guess. The body releases them to cope with the pain caused by the knife, and they make you feel good all over, inside and out, for a while.”
She sat. “Those were for Danny boy. Sometimes I just hate myself for that.” Her face kind of twitched for a second. “But, anyway, when I used to do that, there was a lot more blood than you get from your earlobes. For everybody. But I haven't cut for over a year now.”
We were silent, and I was feeling very, very awkward.
She flashed a smile. “I'm sorry if I embarrassed you two. Really.” She looked past me, at the wall. “But then I started to catch on. I mean, I was really into Danny boy, let me tell you. I'd do anything he wanted, because he cared, didn't he. Oh, yeah. He said he was trying to help me. Get me over the pain. Past it. To replace the hurt with love. But I wasn't quite so fucked up one time, not as much as usual, anyway, and I really listened to the son of a bitch talk to me. And I caught on. I mean, there we are up there on the third, and we're in that great bed, and he's touched all the right places, and we've done our thing, and now he's a little thirsty, and he's making me feel like he really gives a damn. And he's talking to me.
And I actually listened to what the bastard was saying. You know what? He was bringing up all the old pain, everything I'd told him. And while he was doing that, he was saying that 'one last cut, and then you'll never do it again. One more and it'll all be out, all the pain, let it out… The last one.' That prick was depressing me on purpose! So I'd cut myself. Encouraging me to do it again! Can you believe that?”
She'd been leaning farther and farther forward, as she spoke. She became aware of it, and sat back, very carefully, and composing herself almost instantly.
“Pardon me. I really don't like to rant.” She shrugged. “But, I mean, all he wanted was my blood.” She forced a weak laugh. “I mean, it didn't have to be my personality, but why not just my body? So, anyway, that's why I stopped.” She forced a smile. “It didn't make me feel that good, not anymore. You know?”
TWENTY-TWO
Monday, October 9, 2000
19:18
More to just take some of the tension out of the air, I simply said, “So, that's why Toby thinks that this Peale is a vampire. He has a blood fetish.”
“Noo, I don't think 'thinks' is the right word,” said Huck. “No, Toby believes that Dan is really a vampire, is immortal and will never die, can't stand exposu
re to sunlight, is supernaturally strong, and has to consume blood to exist.” She looked at Hester and me in turn. “Really, I'm serious. Toby believes Dan is a vampire, because Dan himself really believes Dan's a vampire, and Toby really needs to believe in Dan.” She smiled, apologetically. “That's pretty complex.”
“But don't vampires have little quirky things that give them away, that you could use to prove it, sort of stuff?” I was curious.
“Such as?”
“Well,” I said, drawing on my vast movie experiences, “like, not reflecting in mirrors? Having to be invited in? You know. That stuff.”
She smiled. “Movies, huh?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Let me tell you what Dan tells people when they come up with some things that he just can't do, or can't bring off. He says that those are false aspects of the vampire. He says that they're purposefully invented and promulgated by vampires, to mislead normals into looking for false signs. To lull humans into a feeling that, like with your mirror trick, they can test for vampires. When the test fails, they feel safe.”
“So, anything he can't do, he just says that it's a false expectation?”
“Yep. But falsehoods planted by very smart vampires. Just so they have an easier time of hiding.”
“That,” I said, “strikes me as being awfully fucking convenient.”
She smiled at that, too. “Well, yes.” She giggled. “Awfully. But he exhibits enough of the familiar traits, like stamina, strength, being nocturnal, being very convincing in everything.”
“Did he ever say how you get to be a vampire?” asked Hester.
“Well, he says he was 'turned' a long time ago, by a female vampire. He says you can't be born a vampire, or anything like that. You have to choose, like he did.” She shrugged. “I suppose if I'd actually expressed an interest in becoming one, he might have said more. You should ask Toby about that.”
“Toby,” I asked, “wants to be a vampire?”
“In the worst way,” said Huck, with a little smirk. “You know what I mean. He's really a wannabe, for all the wannabe reasons.”
“Does anybody else think Dan Peale is really a vampire?” asked Hester.
“Oh, yes. Hanna does. I think Melissa does, at least I think she probably does now. Kevin doesn't really say, but I'm sure he leans that way, too.” She shrugged. “There are times I'm not too sure, myself. Honest.”
“What is it that makes you think that he's a real vampire?” I was really curious.
“You saw that photo on the wall, up on the third. The one taken at Highgate Cemetery?”
“Yeah. Circle of Lebanon… ”
“Well,” she said, in a very low voice, “one of the crypts there is Dan's.”
“Pardon me,” interjected Hester. “His?”
“That's what he says. His. He told me.” She looked at the curtains again. “Maybe that's why you can't find him in the London Directory?”
“Serious?” I asked.
Huck giggled nervously. “Shit, I don't know. Sitting here with you two, oh, maybe not. But I don't want to take any fuckin' chances.” She looked me square in the eye. “Would you?”
“Well,” I said, truthfully, “I'd really need a lot of evidence. One whole hell of a lot of evidence.”
“Me, too,” said Huck. “But let me tell you… Look, he is really strong, all right? And he is an absolute sex machine. Really, he can keep it up for seven, eight hours easily. He refuses to go out in the sunlight without max-SPF lotion. He's got… well, a really dominant personality. Really.” She twiddled her fingers for a second, considering something. “It's a lot more than that. Things he says. Things he does. Really, like, supersophisticated, well educated, and he… ” She laughed. “Shit, I can't believe I'm telling you this, but he, well, talks about things that happened in the 1700s and 1800s. Like he was there, you know?”
“You okay?” She was getting brittle again, and close to the edge, I thought.
“Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. But, and I'll tell you straight up, you watch him drink some blood, watch him drink your blood, and the greedy, slurping sounds, and he… ”
She shuddered, and then just stopped. None of us spoke for a few moments. I figured it was time to change our tack just a bit. “So, why would Dan kill Edie? Any idea?”
Huck shook her head. “Are you so sure that he's the one who did?”
“He's our chief suspect,” I replied. “Unless you know different.”
“Well, if he's your best suspect, then you're probably right. If it's any help, it sounds like you might be right.”
“But you don't know why he did it?”
“Edie was getting so controlled, you know? It's not like she'd ever walk away. So, so she'd do what he wanted, I know that.”
“What exactly did he want?” asked Hester.
“Oh, you know. Sex, of course. Blood sharing, not like me, Edie didn't go for cutting on my scale. But a little. He could at least get a taste. With me,” she said, ruefully, “he could drink the stuff.” She shuddered again. “Compliance. Service, and I mean that in a business sort of way.” She struggled for a word. “Hausfrau? Geisha? She provided all the creature comforts when he came up without Jessica. Especially access to the third floor, where all the privacy was. Edie had the only access key except for Jessica, as far as I know.”
“Third is a big plus, then?”
“Privacy. I mean, if there was a chance somebody else was going to drop in, you wouldn't be so comfortable with… well, with debasing yourself, actually.” She shrugged. “All I know is that when he took me upstairs, he'd have to get the key from Edie. She didn't like that, not a bit.” She looked at Hester. “I mean, she was worried for me, too, you know, but jealous at the same time? Especially later, when we were doing him on about a fifty-fifty basis.” She sniffed. “No secrets up at Renfield House.”
“Is that the only connection you all have with him?” asked Hester. “Nothing more… oh, I don't know, social? For want of a better term.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Huck, with enthusiasm. “That's just about the best part, really. I mean, we really dine, you know? Full, formal dining, with seven course meals that we prepare. Just like in real Victorian times.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Oh, you bet. Formal attire. Men in black tie, women in their finest.” She smiled. “I'm sure you saw the clothes? And we'd talk, or anyway, Dan would, mostly. About the old days, in Victorian England. Mostly.”
“He'd talk about them like he'd been there then?” I asked.
Huck considered that a moment. “Well, now that I think about it… Not so much as if he'd been there, but he gave the impression that he had been. I'm not being very clear, am I?”
“Not sure,” I said.
“Then I'm not. He never actually said, I don't think, that he'd like, talked to Emily Bronte, or Lord Byron, or anything that straight out. But,” she said, earnestly, “he gave that impression, without saying it. He'd sort of refer to them, you know? Like they were old friends. But he never said he was actually there.”
I looked at her quizzically.
“Okay, look, he'd say something like 'Like Byron used to say,' but he'd never say 'that's what he said to me.' See?”
“Okay.”
“Now, in private, it was different. Well, with me, I know for sure. Once he told me about a conversation he'd had with a Prime Minister named Gladstone, and he said he'd known the Wyndam sisters.”
“And they were?”
“Gorgeous women at the turn of the century, I think. Maybe in 1910 or so. High London society.”
“And he's about thirty-five or so?” I just thought I'd better interject that.
“That's how old he appears,” said Huck.
“Was Jessica at these dinners, then?” asked Hester, heading us back on track.
“They were only when Jessica was there,” said Huck. “He and she were the Lord and Lady of the house, kind of, and we were their friends invited to dine.” She
sighed. “It was great, really great. We'd use the finest china, and light the real candles in the candelabras, and use the good goblets, and got to drink the old wines Jessica keeps in the basement.” She looked wistful. “New Years is always the best.”
“Does Jessica talk about the past?” I asked.
“Oh, sure. But not like Dan. Just asks him questions. Laughs at his answers sometimes. I don't know why she does, but she laughs.”
I thought I might know, but decided not to say anything. Time to get back on track again. “What did you think when you first heard that Edie was dead?” I asked.
“That he'd killed her.”
“Dan, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Deliberately?” from Hester.
“No, I thought he'd fucked up. He used to give us a bit of blood thinner, you know, to retard clotting with the little cuts.” She held up her right hand, palm toward me. “Not with my 'special' cuts, though. No way. Neither of us was ever fucked up enough to try that shit, not those times.” She shook her head. “Christ, I could have bled to death in no time.”
We were all quiet for several seconds, as Hester and I brought our notes up to date.
“A moment ago,” said Hester, “you said something about Melissa and believing Dan was a vampire, something like 'she does now,' or something close to that.”
“Well, yeah,” said Huck. “Sure. I mean, for one thing, we all know one of you shot him and it sure doesn't seem to have affected him. What else could we think?”
“What?” I asked.
“The young cop dude, you know. He shot him, and it didn't affect him at all.”
“The younger officer didn't hit him,” I said, rather embarrassed.
“Oh, sure. Yeah. You bet, but we looked for the holes, see, and there wasn't a mark in that doorway or in the little wall or anywhere, all right?” She looked disgusted. “We aren't stupid, you know.”
It was the first sign of anger I'd seen in her, and it struck me that, what with time passing and all the talking about things being like a catharsis, her post-grief euphoria was wearing off.
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