Immortal

by V. K. Forrest

  “I do not know why you lie to me.” Celeste rose and planted a kiss on top of Elena’s head. “After all these years, you should know I know you.”

  “Do not worry.” Elena patted Celeste’s hand on her shoulder and then kissed it.

  “You say that, and still I worry.” Drawing her pashmina around her shoulders, Celeste started up the steps. “You will be in soon?”

  “Soon.”

  As Elena listened to Celeste’s footsteps die away, she watched her nephew head north toward town and wondered where he was sneaking off to at this time of night.

  Victor stirred in bed and, half awake, wondered if he should get up and go home. Mary usually made him go in the middle of the night, or at least before dawn; she still had the foolish notion they needed to keep their affair a secret. But he didn’t like going home to his empty house, not when Mary was here, all warm and soft and sweet. He rolled onto his side and reached out for her. Realizing she wasn’t there, he opened his eyes and glanced toward the bathroom, expecting to see light coming from under the door.

  No light.

  Victor rose and threw his skinny legs over the side of the bed. His bones cracked and popped and he grimaced at the pain. There were things he liked about being a senior citizen: saying whatever he wanted to say and getting away with it, the early bird specials at the diner, the wisdom that came with age. But he didn’t like the way the physical body broke down. He didn’t like the aches and pains. He hated Regan for what he had done to him if for no other reason than the principle of the thing, but he had to admit, he did like the promise of youth in his future.

  “Mary?” He fumbled in the dark for his boxer shorts and found them on the floor. Vampires had enhanced senses, but he bet most people didn’t know they, too, faded with age. “Mary? You out there?” He shuffled out of the bedroom and into the hall and saw light coming from the kitchen.

  Victor ran his fingers through his thin, white hair and then scratched his belly. “Mary?”

  “Here,” she called.

  He found her at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea. He was disappointed that she had put on her flowered housecoat. He liked her naked, the way she had been in bed tonight. Maybe she didn’t have the perfect, high, round breasts he saw bouncing on the boardwalk, and maybe her tummy wasn’t as flat as it had once been. But Victor thought she was beautiful just the way she was.

  “What are you doing?” He squinted to see the clock on the wall. He had glasses, but he could never find the darned things. “Three fifteen in the morning.”

  She sipped tea from a flowered teacup. “Couldn’t sleep. You want some?” She pointed to the tea.

  He shook his head and debated whether to go back to bed or head out. If he went now, he could go back to sleep in his own house. But Mary looked troubled.

  He slowly settled into the chair across the table from her. “What’s keepin’ you up?” He rubbed his arthritic knee. Right one was always worse than the left.

  “Go back to bed, Grumpy.”

  “I’m not bein’ grumpy,” he grunted. “This is the way I talk.”

  She smiled at him across the table and her smile made him warm inside. “Can’t help who I am,” he added. “Tell me why you can’t sleep.”

  She sighed and looked down into her cup as if she was a gypsy reading tea leaves. When she lowered her gaze, she reminded Victor of his wife. Sarah had been her name. Beautiful Sarah who had never known what happened to her husband after he disappeared; bright, quick Sarah who was now hundreds of years in her grave.

  “Liam will be returning from Prague soon. He belongs here in his father’s home, but”—she looked at Victor, offering a half-smile—“but I like my privacy.”

  Victor leaned back in the kitchen chair and grinned. He liked the way Mary made him feel younger than he really was. “I like your privacy, too.”

  “I won’t be comfortable having you over with my son here, Victor.”

  “I could get a new mattress and you could come to my house,” he offered. She complained about his lumpy mattress so they had sex mostly at her house. Besides, her refrigerator was always full. He usually had a bottle of vodka and some open cans of ravioli in his.

  She sighed again and he felt bad for her. It wasn’t often that he saw Mary unhappy or worried.

  “It’s not the mattress, Victor. Liam is a grown man. He needs his own place.”

  “Connor’s place is still empty. The boy could move in there,” he said, thinking out loud. “Connor was just reborn last year, so he’s back with his sister.”

  “That’s a thought.”

  “Or…you could just move in with me.”

  She met his gaze across the table. “You would want me to move in with you?”

  He reached across the table to cover her hand with his. “I wouldn’t just like you to move in with me, Mary. We can do better than that. I think me and you, we ought to get married.” Victor didn’t know where that came from but the minute he uttered the words, he knew it was the right thing to say. He knew it was the right thing to do. He wanted to marry her.

  “Victor, we can’t marry.” She pulled her hand away, her cheeks turning pink. She was embarrassed and tickled at the same time and she looked so delicious he could have eaten her.

  “Why not?”

  “You know why. The sept forbids it. Bobby was my husband and when he was beheaded and taken from us, I lost my right to marriage, forever.”

  “The hell with the sept.” He slapped his hand on the table.

  “Victor, dear.” She got up from her chair and came around to him. “To live with you, it would be enough.” She clasped his cheeks with her hands and leaned down and kissed him. “We have to follow sept law.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he grumbled.

  Chapter 10

  Richie sat on the edge of the towel in the cool sand in the dark and dug his toes in. It was late. Really late. He needed to get home. His mom would wonder where he was and he didn’t like to worry her, her still taking chemo and all. But he couldn’t go home yet, not until he talked to Brittany. Not until he understood.

  “I can’t believe you cheated on me again.” His voice cracked, but he was so upset, he wasn’t embarrassed. He could still smell her on his hands. What kind of girl had sex with her boyfriend under the boardwalk and then broke up with him? “I mean, why didn’t you just tell me you wanted to break up? I don’t understand why you had to sleep with Todd.”

  It was dark on the deserted beach, but he could still see her. The street lamp up on the boardwalk cast pale light over them, making his hands and feet a sickly yellow color.

  Brittany stood there in front of him and twirled a lock of blond hair around her finger. Her hair wasn’t really blond; she bleached it.

  “You’re mad,” she said, like it was all his fault. “See, that’s why I didn’t tell you. I knew you were going to be mad.” She couldn’t even look him in the eye.

  It really is over this time, he thought.

  “Damn straight I’m mad! Everyone but me knew about it. People were laughing at me behind my back.” He rested his chin on his knees.

  He and Brittany had just finished their first year at Del Tech and he’d gotten a great job managing the arcade here in Clare Point. They were supposed to be taking classes together again in the fall. Maybe it was just junior college, but it was a good start, what with him having to pay his own way and all. His mom just had too many medical bills to help him out. He and Brittany were going to be teachers and teach in the same elementary school some day. They loved each other so much; they’d talked about getting married. Now here she was telling him that she was going away to college in the fall and that she was breaking up with him. And that she had slept with his best friend.

  Richie squeezed his eyes tight, fighting back tears. Brittany didn’t love him. He knew that. This wasn’t the first time she had cheated on him. A couple of beers at a party and if he wasn’t there keeping an eye on her, she was in bed wi
th some loser she didn’t even know. She was such a slut. His mother had told him so two years ago when they started going out. His mom had been right.

  So why did he still love Brittany? Why did it hurt so much?

  “Look.” She pushed sand around in front of him with her high-heeled sandal.

  Who wears high heels at the beach?

  “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Richie.”

  “You didn’t mean to hurt me?” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “You slept with the guy who’s been my best friend since Cub Scouts and you didn’t think that would hurt me?”

  She didn’t say anything. She just stood there. Finally, he looked up at her. She was wearing a short gauze skirt and a skimpy tank; he knew for a fact that her panties were in her purse. She had too much sparkly blue eye shadow on. She looked like a slut.

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he told her, getting up. He’d pulled the beach towel out from under the boardwalk after they were done because it was hot under there. “I gotta go. I gotta be back by ten tomorrow morning to open the arcade and Mom just had a treatment. She might need something.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jean cut-offs. He could feel his keys. The keys to the car and the arcade. “You, um, need a ride home?”

  “No.” She looked up in the direction of the boardwalk. “I called someone…I got a ride.”

  Richie turned around and looked up. He knew he shouldn’t have; he should just let it go. But he couldn’t help himself. He had to know. He saw the silhouette of a guy; he knew the silhouette. He lowered his gaze to his bare feet, stuck in the sand. “So you and Todd, you’re together now?” He barely sounded like himself. The thought that she had just been with him and now was going to let Todd stick it to her made him sick to his stomach. He’d never loved anyone but Brittany; never made love to anyone but her.

  “I wanted to tell you face-to-face. Not send you a text or an e-mail.” She started to back up, headed toward the steps that led from the beach to the boardwalk. “So, see you around?”

  He just stood there, head down. “Sure. See you around.” Richie didn’t watch her go. He didn’t want to see her and Todd together. Maybe eventually he’d have to, but not tonight.

  Hands still in his pockets, he dropped to the towel again and stared at the waves rolling in. It was late; the beach was empty. There was no one on the boardwalk either, just Brittany and her new boyfriend and he could hear them walking away, talking. Brittany giggling.

  He was glad she was with Todd—not with him, but with him walking back to wherever his car was parked. They hadn’t caught whoever killed the guy from the caramel popcorn place. Personally, Richie thought the authorities would eventually find out the kid was involved in a drug ring or something like that. Why else would the killer have slit his throat like that, other than to set an example for other kids who might try to rip them off? So Brittany was probably pretty safe anyway, but Richie felt better knowing Todd was there to protect her.

  Tears welled in Richie’s eyes unexpectedly and he rubbed them away with the heels of his hands. He felt stupid crying. He needed to get his flip-flops and get home. Hopefully, his mom was in bed, but if she woke up and discovered he wasn’t there, she’d be worried.

  Startled, he turned around and saw the silhouette of someone approaching. His first thought was that Brittany was coming back to apologize, to say how sorry she was for cheating on him and beg for his forgiveness. But that was crazy, of course. She wasn’t sorry and she didn’t want to be with him. Besides, the person was coming from under the boardwalk, which was a little weird. He knew people went under there for various reasons, like why he and Brittany had been under there half an hour ago, but he wasn’t expecting a girl, not alone at this time of night.

  Curious, but a little wary, he watched her. He assumed she was headed for the stairs, but she walked right up to him.

  “Hi,” she said, stopping in the shadows of the boardwalk that loomed above her.

  He couldn’t see her features very well in the dark. “Hi.”

  She stared at him for a moment and then gestured in the direction Brittany had just gone. “You okay?”

  Richie didn’t know what to say.

  “I…Sorry, but I kinda overheard some of your conversation with that girl. I didn’t mean to,” she added quickly. “It’s just a weird coincidence because my boyfriend just broke up with me. He…he wanted to go out with someone else, too.”

  Richie felt his cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. It hadn’t occurred to him that anyone might be nearby to overhear him and Brittany. He sure hoped she hadn’t been under the boardwalk earlier. That would just be too weird. But she didn’t seem to be weirded out or anything.

  Richie still wasn’t sure what to say. Girls didn’t just come up to him and start talking like this. “Sorry about your boyfriend.” He stumbled over his words. “Hurts.”

  She sniffed and wiped her nose with her arm. “Bad.”

  She sounded like she’d been crying. Maybe still was. He got up and brushed the sand off his shorts. She was still standing there. He felt bad for her. Bad that her boyfriend broke up with her and she didn’t have anyone better to talk to than some loser stranger on the beach.

  “Hey,” she said, looking at him more closely. “I know you from the arcade. You’re the owner, right?”

  “Just the manager. But I’m there all the time. Some old lady owns it, so I’m pretty much in charge,” he explained. She obviously assumed he was older than he was. He thought maybe he recognized her. Maybe her voice. But it was hard to say in the dark.

  “I…I’m Richie. Richie Palmer.”

  “Mandy.” She smiled.

  She was crying. He could see the wet on her cheeks. She was pretty. At least from what he thought he could see in the dark, which wasn’t much. He wished she would step out into the light, but maybe she was embarrassed, too.

  “I…don’t exactly feel like going home yet,” Mandy said.

  She looked at him with big eyes, looked at him in a way that made his stomach flip-flop. Like she liked him. How old was she? He wished he could get a better look.

  “You…you got a few minutes? You wanna go for a walk or something?” she asked.

  Richie thought about his mom. He really should go home. But she was asleep for sure. Then he thought about Brittany and he was sad all over again. And angry.

  This girl, Mandy. She seemed nice.

  He only had to think about it for a second. “Sure, I got a few minutes.”

  Fin stared at the body of Richie Palmer. He knew it was Richie Palmer because the assistant manager had identified his boss right before he vomited up his Egg McMuffin and chocolate Yoo-hoo. What Fin didn’t know was what Richie was doing seated in the NASCAR game, hands on the steering wheel, in the closed arcade. Dead.

  “What do you want me to do with the kid who found him?” Pete asked.

  Fin couldn’t take his eyes off the dead boy. Richie Palmer was young and nice looking like Colin Meding. His throat had been cut ear to ear, like Colin Meding’s. What made Fin think that when Dr. Caldwell did the autopsy, he would find two puncture marks somewhere along the incision line? Just like Colin Meding.

  “Fin?” Pete said quietly, touching his arm to get his attention.

  Fin knew Pete was right there, but he still jumped.

  “Sorry,” Pete muttered. He nodded toward the skinny kid with the runny nose standing on the far side of the arcade, as far from Richie Palmer as he could get. “I need to get him out of here. Name is Patrick Callahan. He’s been working here all of a week. Showed up for work a few minutes before ten, went to let himself in through the back with his key, found the door unlocked, and well, you know the rest.”

  Pete glanced at the scared young man, then back at Fin. “You want me to take him down to the station? He wanted me to talk to his parents. They’re already on their way, but they’re in northern New Jersey so it will be a couple of hours.”


  Fin looked at the live kid a second longer, then back at the dead one. Neither could have been more than twenty or twenty-one. Babies. “Yeah, sure. Take him to the station, talk to him. But don’t let him use the phone again. And get his cell. I don’t want him telling anyone about this until the victim’s family has been reached.”

  “There’s just a mother, apparently. No siblings. Dad abandoned them when he was little or something.”

  Pete spoke softly. Fin liked his demeanor. Right now, he was a hell of a lot more composed than Fin felt. Fin wanted to punch a wall, punch a person. Punch the person responsible for this atrocity. He was sick to his stomach, not just because this human life was wasted, but because of who had done it. How could a member of the sept do this, after all the sept had done to redeem themselves? It was a smear on their family’s good name. On the principles they stood for.

  “The state police said they would send a car over to tell the victim’s mother,” Pete continued. “Patrick says the woman has cancer or something.”

  Only child, murdered. Cancer, Fin thought. Life was so unfair for humans. “Get his statement,” he said, nodding at the other boy. “You know how to handle him.”

  “Will do.”

  “Thanks, Pete.” Pete started to walk away and Fin called to him again. His mind was racing in so many directions that he felt like he had ADD or something. “And when you have a minute, could you get a hold of Rob Hill? I need to talk to him. He works here. He probably has a good idea of who comes and goes.”

  “You want him here or in your office?”

  It wasn’t Fin’s office. It was his uncle’s, if and when he ever showed up for work again. But Fin knew this was neither the time nor the place to bring that up. “Not here,” he said. He glanced at the dead kid. “At least not before…” He let the sentence go unfinished.

  “Right. Will do.”

  Pete went to tend to the puking kid and Fin turned his attention back to the body driving the simulation NASCAR vehicle. The game was on. It roared with the sound of car engines. One of the other cops had wanted to unplug it to silence it, but Fin had stopped him. He wanted to get the full effect of the scene before doing so. All the other machines were quiet, so he was guessing this one had specifically been turned on. By Richie? Maybe by the killer?