by Jeff Orton
A cold fury lit within his eyes, though it was quickly doused as Mr. Godwin, the businessman, took over. “You’ve been talking to people you shouldn’t, Jeshua. You have no idea how valuable... Hmm... But then, I suppose if I have you instead then it doesn’t really matter. Very well. I’ll honor your one condition, but only if I find your intentions to be true. You’ll have to travel back home to Dallas, though. I’m not going to risk transporting her. Not now, with times being what they are. Meet me at 15480 Industrial Boulevard at 11:59 PM October 2nd. That’s one week from today—Are you going to write this down?”
I got up and grabbed a pen and notepad from over by the phone and jotted down everything he told me.
“Don’t forget to bring your two new friends. I look forward to seeing them again. But keep in mind that when we meet I will look deeply, very deeply into your heart. And then I will see definitively, without doubt, if you truly mean to go through with the ritual.”
He rested his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers, and leaned his body forward. His head was cocked slightly to one side like a chained Rottweiler contemplating whether or not the approaching mailman was close enough to nail yet.
“If you try to take that little whore and fuck me over, the three of you will die very quickly but also very painfully. I will not tolerate betrayal. I’ve done a lot for you over the years, Jeshua, and I expect some gratitude and loyalty in return. If I find treachery in your heart, I will kill you where you stand.”
MTV resumed its normal programming. The phantom stranger was replaced by some mentally vacant, yet stylishly dressed VJ.
* * *
I called Aaron at the cell number he’d given me at the bar and relayed the news to him. He was expectedly ecstatic.
“He agreed? My God! I can’t believe it.”
“Yeah, but his one condition is we have to go to Dallas and be there in a week. I guess that’s where he’s been keeping her all along. And he wants all three of us. Me, you and your dad.”
“Dallas...” Aaron’s voice trailed off as he thought some things through, “Don’t worry about that. I’ve got a good car. We’ll just have to road trip it. My father can probably fly there, now that the airports are reopening. Pack whatever stuff you’ll need. I’ll pick you up tonight.”
“Whoa, wait a minute,” I said, “Remember, I’ve got a job. And I’d rather not lose it right now.”
“But we have—“
“Listen,” I said, cutting him off, “I work the lunch shift tomorrow. I got a week’s worth of vacation time saved up plus two floating holidays that I haven’t used. I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow and see if there’s any way I can take them all at once. It’s probably a long shot they’ll give it to me on just one day’s notice, but I have to try.”
He sighed, “I understand. I just don’t like losing twenty-four hours is all... Alright, now don’t worry about food, money or weapons. I have all of that covered. Just take some clothes and whatever else you think you’ll need.”
We said our goodbyes and I hung up the phone. I was excited. I wanted to start packing immediately. I opened the bedroom door perhaps a little too fast in my rush and the metal cross that was hanging on the other side fell to the carpeted floor with a hollow thump. It was the same large, heavy cross Desiree had given to me at the airport so many years ago. I stifled the heartache it triggered as best I could and snatched a small suitcase from the top of the bedroom closet. I threw it on the bed and unzipped it, but my eyes were drawn back to the cross. It felt as though the damn thing was staring at me.
I walked over and picked it up from the floor. I was about to hang it back up when something occurred to me: in all the years this cross had hung from its little nail on the bedroom door, I couldn’t remember one single instance in which it had fallen off. (And whenever Dez got pissed at me, that door had a tendency to get slammed quite a bit.)
A cold chill caressed the back of my neck.
“Alright, you win,” I whispered as I dropped the cross into the suitcase.
* * *
In less than twenty-four hours we were on the road, my one piece of luggage tucked safely away in the trunk of Aaron’s BMW 325i.
“So I guess sunlight still has some effect on you,” I said as I took stock of his heavily tinted windows.
“Some,” he replied with a weak smile, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to spontaneously combust at dawn tomorrow, so you can sleep easy if you want. I can walk in daylight same as everyone else, but even a moderate amount of light still hurts my eyes. It’s not nearly as bad as it used to be though, when I was... The effects of sunlight on my physical and psychological well-being have slowly weakened and diminished over time. Salyssi hates light.”
Later, we stopped at a fast food place and Aaron ordered us some cheap, but decent Mexican food.
“That’s one thing Dallas has on New York. Authentic Mexican food. The shit they have up here just doesn’t taste the same.”
“I know,” Aaron said as he devoured a burrito while keeping one hand on the steering wheel, “I lived in Dallas for awhile. There’s as many Mexican restaurants as there are gas stations.”
“So when you were a vampire, did you live solely on blood?” I asked.
“Oh, hell no. Never stopped eating regular food. Blood was just an addition to my diet, a supplement if you will. Salyssi loves blood, especially the blood of the innocent. It’s not a sustenance issue, really, it’s just his favorite treat.”
By the time we’d arrived at the Pennsylvania border, I’d asked him enough questions about his old bloodsucking days that he finally just smiled and shook his head and said, “I thought this would probably happen, so I brought something for you to read. Look underneath your seat.”
I reached down and pulled out a thick spiral notebook with the word Journal printed on the cover. It was dog-eared and battered, with a myriad of white cracks running through the navy blue of the front cover.
“I documented all of my experiences. Most while they were still fresh in my mind. Every noteworthy event from the past is in that notebook. I’ve actually thought about burning it many times, but can never seem to let myself go through with it. I keep thinking it’ll be therapeutic. It’ll be symbolic, like I’m erasing my past. But then I realize that’s just a great big load of bullshit. Besides, I’ve spent way too many nights scribbling in it. In the loneliest time of my life, that book was my only friend, the only thing in this world I could confide in.”
I tucked it back underneath my seat and said, “Wake me at dawn. I’ll read it then.”
Aaron smiled, “Right. Sometimes I forget others can’t see as well at night as I do.”
* * *
I awoke after dawn to find Aaron still driving. Though the sun was behind us, he was already wearing his sunglasses.
“Need me to drive for awhile?” I asked, wincing at the stiffness in my back.
“Maybe after breakfast. Right now I want you to read. I’m anxious to see what you think of it. My journal. I’ve never shown it to anyone, not even my father. Once you’ve read it, I’m sure you’ll understand why.”
“Alright,” I agreed as I stretched my arms out in front of me, “So where the fuck are we?”
“West Virginia. In probably another two hours we’ll hit Kentucky.”
“Damn, really? You must’ve drove all night.”
“With a brief stop at a gas station, yes.” Aaron glanced down at his gauges, “We’ll need to stop again fairly soon.”
I retrieved the notebook and felt for the pack of cigarettes in my jacket pocket. “Mind if I smoke?”
His grimace of disgust was only half-concealed. He really didn’t want his precious one-year-old BMW smoked in, but his gratitude for my help overrode his desire to tell me to cram my pack of Dorals straight up my ass. He hit the button that rolled down the passenger window and I lit up quickly, worried he might change his mind. I made sure each puff was exhaled out the window and not into the vehicle’s whi
te leather interior; but with Aaron cruising at eighty-five miles an hour, the high winds smoked half the cigarette for me.
I’d read through about a third of Aaron’s writings by the time we stopped at a diner near the Kentucky border. I got us a table and ordered coffee while Aaron filled up the tank at a station next door.
After we ordered our breakfasts, I lit another cigarette and said, “Sounds like you had it pretty bad for Ana. Reminds me of the way I was over Des. I think it just took me longer to figure it out... So spoil the ending for me. What happened with you two? Was it just a high school thing or—“
“Not something I really like to talk about. It ended badly.”
My gut sank a little. “Is she..?”
“No. Not dead. She’s gone into hiding I think. I’ve tried every means I can think of to find her, short of hiring a private detective. But I don’t think she really wants to be found.”
“She’s hiding from Louis?”
He shook his head, “From me. If Louis wants to find you, he’ll find you. Doesn’t matter where you hide or what you’ve changed your name to. Finish reading. It’ll make more sense to you then.”
As we ate our food, a large trucker walked in and just stood directly in front of the cash register woman’s glass alcove. He turned towards the waitress serving our table and just stared at her with large empty eyes.
As she turned away after refreshing our cups of coffee, her eyes caught his and the pot of coffee slipped from her hand, shattering onto the black and white checkered floor in jagged slivers. She didn’t scream, but she wanted to.
I scanned the supposed ghost of this woman’s father and felt nothing. His thick reddish-brown goatee squared his mouth like a picture frame.
Then his eyes found mine. “Don’t believe everything you read, Jeshua.”
I blinked and he was gone. Aaron was sliding out of his booth and reaching for the floor, trying to help the waitress.
“No, sir, it’s okay,” She said, trying to still the sobs in her voice, “I don’t want you to cut yourself on the glass.”
* * *
“My turn to drive?” I asked as we left.
“Eh, maybe later,” Aaron answered, “So what the hell happened back there?”
“Well, either one of two things happened,” I said as we got in the car, “Either we saw the ghost of that girl’s dead father, a ghost that for some reason knows my name, or Louis chose to appear in his image—probably just to fuck with our heads. I’m casting my vote for option two.”
“I never saw anyone,” Aaron said as he pulled out onto the service road, “But then I haven’t seen him in years, though God knows he’s appeared to my father enough times. That illusion he sent was meant for you and that waitress alone. I don’t know why he’s ignoring me, but this means he’s watching us. Not constantly. Even he’s not capable of that. But I know him. He’ll be checking in on us as often as he can. We’ll have to be careful what we say to each other now. Guard your thoughts closely too. He can probably still read them, though not as well as he can in person.”
“Right,” I agreed. I opened Aaron’s journal as the Beemer picked up speed on the highway and continued to read as we made our way through Kentucky.
After a late lunch, Aaron wrote some directions on a napkin and let me drive for the rest of the day as he napped in the reclined passenger seat. It seemed funny (in a weird Addams Family sort of way) to watch a grown man sleep with sunglasses on; topping it off with the creepy way his hands were clasped over his midsection like a corpse in a coffin.
But I had a new respect (or perhaps it was wariness) for him after reading his entire book. Louis Godwin had put this poor bastard through hell and had insisted he was doing so all in the name of friendship.
No, son, I ain’t pissin’ down your back. This here’s a fine Merlot. Never mind that it’s warm. You should feel blessed, my boy.
Until this point in time I’d had almost no concept of what kind of monster I was preparing to take on. Who’d have thought that a teenage boy whose favorite hobby was dabbling in witchcraft and dressing goth would end up controlling one of the largest illegal pornography rings in the world. We were going up against a man who’s probably lost count of the men, women and children he’s killed or had killed. Even some of the highest ranking members of the various world mafias were scared to deal with him due to his reputation.
When a Cuban mafia leader in Florida got pissed off at Godwin, he’d made the dire mistake of putting a price on Louis’ head. The very next day that man and every single member of his family were systematically exterminated. They all died in different ways, but they were all just as dead, even the ones still living in the homeland. Louis had wiped out everyone in the immediate family within an hour and had moved on to the aunts, uncles and cousins. He even got to the second cousins. In all, there were over a hundred Cubans put to death that day.
Giovanni Riletti, a guido mob boss out of Brooklyn, commonly referred to Louis as the Devil’s Man. But most knew Louis by the nickname Aaron had given him in their youth, Creeper.
* * *
We finally made it into Texas. Only thirty minutes after crossing the Red River, Aaron’s cell phone rang. He retrieved it from a small alcove in the dash and said hello.
“You’re at DFW? We’re probably still another hour and a half away... Sherman, on 75... Hey, it’s not my fault you’re early... Alright, where’s the hotel? Highway 183 and Esters? Okay, we’ll meet you there... What? God, you’re kidding me... Alright. Okay. Bye.”
“So what’s up?” I asked.
“Dad saw an image of Louis and Tessa at the airport. Said they were holding hands, walking through there like father and daughter. And her face was bloody and swollen like she’d been beaten, but they were both smiling and prancing about like they were reenacting a scene from The Sound of Music.”
“You think it was really her?”
He shook his head, “No. A dancing girl with a bloody face would attract a lot of attention in an airport. Louis is just messing with his head. He’s been doing this kind of crap to him for years. I’m sure that image was sent to my dad only.”
“Yeah, he can do that if he wants to,” I said.
We met a still distraught Special Agent Collins at a hotel room in Irving, not very far from the airport. He had a detailed map of a particular section of Dallas unfolded on the room’s small octagonal dining table and stood over it like a general plotting out the next phase of his war campaign.
“I wish we could have more men involved,” he said, never removing his eyes from the map, “I’d have snipers on every roof and—“ he sighed, “Never mind. Better to focus on the task at hand and the resources we have available. Okay, Phil... Or do you prefer to be called Jeshua?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I answered, “Hey, your name’s Richard. Do you prefer Dick or Rick?”
I was actually being serious, but he glared at me as though I was trying to be a smartass. Ignoring my question, he continued. “Alright, the address Godwin gave is to this old bread factory here,” he said, pointing to a large building in the center of the map, “I did some digging and this factory was operational until just a few weeks ago when the company decided to close it in an effort to reduce their overhead. The company that owns this place hasn’t yet sold the property, so right now, it’s completely abandoned, or should be.”
“Sounds like a place Louis would choose,” Aaron commented, “The electricity’s probably been cut off by now, so if we do this at night like he wants, it’ll give him an advantage. We’ll need flashlights.”
“Do you think it’s possible he has her there now? What if we stopped by tonight, a day early, and picked off whatever thugs he has guarding her?” I suggested.
“I strongly doubt Louis has her anywhere near that building tonight,” Agent Collins stated, “He’ll probably drive her in from someplace not too far away... Did Godwin say anything to you about exactly where we’re supposed to meet? Inside, outside?
A particular room maybe?”
I shook my head, “No. Just the address.”
Not very long after, Aaron and his father started bickering. At first, it was over things of actual consequence. How early should we show up? What should we bring? Agent Collins was convinced we should have walkie-talkies and didn’t want to listen to his son’s insistence that they would do us no good. I had to back Aaron up on that one, explaining what had happened with my television set.
After twenty or so minutes, my head began to ache from their incessant arguing. And since they were both non-smokers, I decided to take the elevator to the ground floor to have a smoke. As I was walking away from the lobby into the parking lot, I spotted Aaron’s silver BMW parked a few rows back, away from the small herd of vehicles belonging to the other hotel guests.
After a few puffs, I saw something small and white stuck to Aaron’s almost obsidian windshield. It couldn’t have been any bigger than a deck of playing cards. As I walked closer, my stomach began to drop. I already knew what it was.
A white piece of paper was tucked securely beneath the driver’s side windshield wiper. The first logical thought I had was maybe Aaron had received a parking ticket (though for what I couldn’t imagine) or that maybe it was a flyer, advertising a new restaurant.
Knowing exactly who this note was from, I snatched it out from beneath the Beemer’s wiper blade and unfolded it.
Dearest friends,
When you arrive, drive around back. You’ll see three large bay doors. To the right of these doors you’ll see a regular door where the Shipping & Receiving employees used to enter. It will be unlocked. You may disregard the security cameras around the property since there is no longer any electricity to power them.
We’ll see you soon.
There was no signature, not that one was necessary. I finished my smoke and headed back to the room. The two of them were still squawking. I wondered if they’d even noticed I’d ever left.
“Hey guys,” I raised my voice to override their discord. I waved the paper at them, “There’s something ya’ll need to know.”
